Chains

Moldova was on the border of two great cultural traditions. It had been ruled by the Ottomans long enough to be influenced by their culture—so you could get Turkish coffee, even if it wasn't called that, seasoned with cardamom. It had already been ruled, in various ways, by Russia for two hundred years, with a short interruption in the middle to be part of Great Romania. Tea was widely available. Shashlik was common, and you could get everything from Bulgarian chicken-with-sauce to Russian pelmeni in Chisinau.

If I stay here, I'm going to get fat, Hermione thought, looking from the plate of Tochitură—pork cubes cooked in their own juices and tomato sauce—served with cornmeal, eggs, and traditional farmer's cheese—to her cup of tea, happily twirling steam into the air.

Moldova's MinKol was run out of what had been a glorified bureau office for the Soviet MinKol before independence. There was a permanent liaison officer from Romania, and it was clear that even if reunification efforts between Moldova and Romania had stalled in the muggle world, the Romanian State Council for Magic was gunning for them to succeed in the wizarding world. And why not? After all, Britain and Ireland still shared a ministry. It could work.

Both the Moldovan muggle government and their MinKol officials had treated her like visiting royalty. There had even been a folk dance group performing for her.

The Moldovans had admitted that the smuggling route probably ran through territory they actually controlled. They thought it was likely loaded onto ships at the port of Giurgiulești, which was locally under the control of the Gaugaz autonomous government, with the cargo being given magical means of location that allowed it to be subsequently found by wizards smuggling it, from within conventional shipments on container ships, where the carrying cases were enchanted so they would not be noticed by muggles.

It was all very clever and had the hallmarks of an experienced operation by—Hermione had to admit—muggleborn wizards who were highly versed in both the wizarding and muggle worlds, and were using the sheer scale and complexity of the muggle world to hide things from the magical authorities. She appreciated that someone turned to crime from a background like her own would easily think of pulling it off.

Transnistria fit into it because the border with the Ukraine—where the dragon eggs came from—was controlled by the border guards of the PMR, not Moldova. The Moldovan MinKol had no control there at all, also. But, neither organisation established a 'hard' border with Transnistria, because doing so would be tantamount to admitting that Transnistria was an independent country—you didn't establish border posts on the frontier of a part of your own nation! This meant that, of course, the entire front with the Ukraine was very porous. You simply first went through the frontier from the Ukraine to Transnistria, and then from Transnistria to Moldova. And on the return, the Moldovans would not even issue exit stamps for entering Transnistria—again, because their position was that it was not a border, it was part of their own country.

So it was the perfect smuggling route, and it was probably being used for smuggling of muggle goods on a vast scale as well. Honestly, if dragon eggs were going this way—which had led to an investigation by her office in the Ministry when some had turned up in Britain—other things certainly were as well. The Department wouldn't have a particular interest in those, she wouldn't be here at all if it wasn't for the dragon eggs. But of course, even then, an Auror would have been sent if it wasn't for the fact that Transnistria would not permit extraterritorial law enforcement. If she was going to do anything more than issue a fact-finding report, it would be by convincing the Russian MinKol detachment to act.

Finishing her food in the street cafe, an armoured Mercedes from the Moldovan government came up. Her contact in the Moldovan MinKol, Valeria Cebotari, stepped out as Hermione got up. "Madame Granger, we have your luggage from the hotel. You are ready to head to the checkpoint with the Joint Control commission?"

"Certainly," Hermione answered, stepping into the car. She saw it had a goblin for a driver, which was good, as they could then speak freely, with Ms. Cebotari settling in on the opposite side of the back. "My understanding is that I'll be meeting with a Larissa Naryshkina?"

Valeria answered in accented but perfectly comprehensible English. "Yes, she's the chief MinKol officer for the Russian Federation peacekeepers in Transnistria. We deal with her often; a true pureblood aristocratic Russian…" A sigh. "Well, she's polite, and I don't think you want to hear a long dissertation on the dynamics of Koldovstoretz and internal wizarding politics in the old Union, but suffice to say, the purge of the aristocracy under the Soviets was not carried out in the wizarding world; instead, a compromise was made. So Koldovstoretz and the Soviet wizarding world was never actually fully under the control of the Soviet Power."

"I'd understand something of the sort." Hermione grimaced at the thought of what that pureblood society could be like. "I take it…"

"Well, we're not happy with any of them, because they're occupying part of our country, but she is approachable to deal with, and professional. Her cover in the muggle world is as an FSB officer. MinKol takes its duties to Russian interests seriously and the fact that they still have authority over the Wizards of Belarus and Ukraine is very problematic in that regard. She will be completely sympathetic to the policy of muggle Moscow to retain control over Transnistria and you cannot expect any cross-border cooperation, but she isn't corrupt and she will act to stop the ring—with internal resources in Transnistria. And they have an international," Valeria emphasized that, "portkey to Moscow so they can bring in reinforcements directly from headquarters if they need to."

"Of course." Hermione jotted down some notes. Soon enough they were out of Chisinau and zipping through the countryside. There was very little traffic, and official government plates meant that the speed limit was blatantly ignored. The only reason they were taking the car, instead of apparating, was because Hermione's visit was known to the muggle government anyway, and so they needed to be consistent about maintaining, as it were, both identities.

Valeria was quiet for a bit as they drove out of Chisinau. Hermione, for her part, was still thinking about the flight in to Bucharest. She still felt like she had been really talking to Tonks. There had been something ineffably … She didn't seem like a muggle. Before she lost signal in the rural countryside of Moldova, Hermione started tapping out messages to Harry on her Blackberry.

Hey, Harry, you're Teddy's Godfather, I'm wondering – do you know about his first cousin, once-removed, Tamara Tonks? You know, uhh, Craig Tonks' daughter. He married some Romanian woman while he was in the service, I think?

Never met her, Harry answered. Honestly, I didn't know Craig was married, but maybe he got divorced a while ago. The military life is tough on marriages, and he was in the Special Boat Service. In fact, I've never heard of her before. Why are you asking?

I met her on the plane to Bucharest.

Oh. Interesting. I'll have to ask Andromeda. Teddy needs more relatives in his life. She's a muggle, though, I take it?

Well, she seems a little different. Do you know if one of Ted and Craig's parents was actually from the wizarding community? I think Tamara might be a squib.

I can check on the family tree, if you like. It is a strange coincidence.

Thanks Harry!

How are things?

We're heading toward Transnistria now. I'll update you when we get there.

Hermione leaned back and put her Blackberry away. There was both Georgian wine and Perrier in the limo's wine cooler.

All in all, this was a lot nicer than wallowing around with Ron in some insipid effort to 'spice things up'. He's your husband. And Molly and Arthur are like extra parents. They love you. The Burrow might as well be a second home. She poured out the wine with Valeria, and reflected on how she felt weighed down by her husband.

"I understand you were one of the heroes of the war against the Dark Lord?" She asked Hermione, finally being unable to resist."

"People call me that," Hermione acknowledged. She didn't flush, not anymore. It was too useful of a thing for her political career, and she had come to a certain measure of peace and distance with her experiences. "Do you know what it's like to be a hero?"

"I can't say," Valeria admitted, now looking uncomfortable.

"Well, it's mostly a lot of publicity about everything you do. Get in an argument with your husband in the international portkey terminal? Front page news in the paper." Why did I choose that as the first example?

You're overthinking everything. It just was, she told herself sternly.

"So you get tired of it," the Moldovan woman nodded.

"Quite," Hermione agreed, and was thankful for the silence that resulted. It didn't take long, not with the goblin driver operating the vehicle like a true lunatic. It was only like sixty kilometres from Chisinau to the frontier with Transnistria, and as long as you didn't look out the window and realise that occasionally the goblin driving the armoured Merc was overtaking on the right, everything was fine.

Yeah, everything's just fine. Merlin! Ron would be so terrified for me. Well, fuck that. Sometimes he just seemed like a ball and chain.

But that also meant that it was over in about another ten minutes, as they slowed down and approached the border checkpoint, swinging away from the traffic and over to the parking lot on the side. Two guards approached, and of course the windows were tinted, but the official plates counted for everything, as Hermione and Valeria opened their doors and popped the trunk.

She flashed her British official passport and UN documents, as Valeria showed her government ID—which of course, didn't explain the officially nonexistent ministry that she worked for—and had a brief conversation with the guards. Hermione grabbed her luggage at the same time.

"Come and see the Colonel," one of them said in Romanian, which Hermione could follow along with thanks to a magic translation charm placed in one ear.

A minute later, they were inside the post, and being offered coffee, prepared in the Turkish style—more than good enough. "Anton Epureanu," Valeria introduced her to the Colonel, before adding: "Hermione Granger, representing the Special Rapporteur's Office, originally from the British Foreign Ministry."

"Colonel Epureanu," Hermione acknowledged and offered her hand. After a quick shake, she sat and picked up the coffee.

"We were informed of your arrival. The Russians in Bendery were expecting you, Ma'am," Captain Epureanu explained. "There's an FSB officer waiting to meet you. I will warn you that everything they say will be tricks and lies. The Government of Igor Smirnov is up to its neck in the smuggling rings you are investigating; it's a state-sanctioned affair in the so-called Transnistrian regime."

"I understand, Colonel. You can be certain that, since my objective is to understand the illegal trade and coordinate a response to it, that I will document any kind of prevarication or stonewalling from the Transnistrian regime and make clear in the strongest terms that is contrary to the spirit of the cease-fire accords."

He sniffed in disgust. "Nobody will listen, Madame Granger. Still, we will escort you across now."

Hermione smiled, and turned to Valeria. "Thank you, Miss Cebotari. I hope to see you on my return to Chisinau." There was at least some real sincerity to that, too—unlike a lot of other people who asked questions about her fame, Valeria had actually shut up when politely informed that it was just frustrating to deal with.

"As to you. Stay safe, Madame Granger!"

With that, flanked by two armed guards of the Moldovan Border Guards service, Hermione wheeled her luggage out across no-man's land. In fact, it was a very laid back affair. A few personnel of the Joint Control Commission—Russians-were waiting, and spent a while studying her official diplomatic passport, as a woman with dark hair and blue eyes in an FSB service uniform came up, her hands behind her back. Hermione noticed the leather utility pouch on her belt—neatly made to be the right size for a wand, but looking like it held a flashlight.

"Hermione Granger?"

"Larissa Naryshkina?"

"Larissa Sergeivna, please," the young woman, Hermione's own age, answered with a smile, and extended her hand. Her English was as upper-crust as a Malfoy's, with only a hint of an accent, but she betrayed absolutely no trace of disgust at the idea of shaking a muggle-born's hand, and so Hermione reciprocated gladly.

The Border Guards finished checking her passport, but it was a foregone conclusion with the 'FSB' woman there, that Hermione would be permitted entrance. A minute later they were walking together, and once they ducked around the corner of a building, Larissa extended her hand. "If you would allow me, Hermione?"

In fact, Hermione was relieved to step away from the muggle world by that point. "Of course!"

With that, they disapparated, to the MinKol bureau office in Tiraspol.

She didn't really register the figure who had been there in the corner of her eye, heading toward the Guard Post, moving with purpose through the shadows.

Tonks got back to their shared manse, feeling disquieted. She did not think her cover story with Hermione would last forever, though she would contact her mother and see if something could be arranged. She was, at times, deeply bothered by Valentina. The third vampire living in their house had something of an unusual disposition. She was politely, and, honestly, read to Tonks as pretty queer, being a woman soldier who unfailingly cross-dressed in men's clothes, but still had long hair.

She accepted Tonks' relationship with Bella, but regularly expressed her continued casual comfort with rightwing counterrevolutionary sentiments, decades after she had become a vampire, Merlin, almost fifteen years since it had stopped mattering by any objective sentiment. Yet, in fact, her intense loyalty mattered.

You just love collecting strays and trying to make them good people, she told herself. So long ago, now, she had gotten used to not having a heart beat. She wished that she could have remained in Britain with her son, but this was no life—existing in fear of losing control around your own child, unable to vote, having no human rights, 'regulated' as a 'creature'. That was what Britain promised her.

That was why she stayed in Transnistria, where she could as free as her and Bella could make themselves. And, for all of these years, she was sure that Bellatrix had not killed a single person—she could not say that she would have expected the same if Bella was alone.

Tonks reached her study, her hair slowly flickering to dark blue to reflect all the melancholy thoughts surging through her. Over time, changing her hair had become possible again without great effort, but anything else drained her in the literal sense that made her hungry for blood, and that had left the trip very uncomfortable, indeed, after she had been forced to quickly change away from the eyes she had been born with. And I'm not even sure that I managed it in time. Hnnh.

Andy's daughter started quickly dashing off a letter to her mother. It would go via a small portkey, not large or powerful enough to transport a person (in fact, 'large' had nothing to do with the size of the portkey itself, but rather the enchantments upon it), but sufficient for little post-cards, which was how she and Bella kept in touch with Andy—and Narcissa. She explained the situation with Hermione, and asked for her mother to cover for them.

She'd just sent it when Bella stepped in, and put a hand on her shoulder. An electric quiver shot through Tonks. The longer she'd lived with Bella, the more that she'd come to feel that. They shared blood. Indeed, she had known that Bella was coming, but it was so comfortable, and normal, that it hadn't really occurred to her to be ready.

"I startled you," Bellatrix murmured.

"You did. My own fault," Tonks turned up with a grin. She'd always felt herself pansexual—she had chosen to get married to a Werewolf, damnit (and Remus had been positively handsome, and she'd never forget him)-and she could also appreciate just how voluptuous and perfect that Bellatrix was. In her usual dress and corset, with her skin so pale, she was the very picture of a vampire in a gothic novel, her hair that constant black mass of curls, her perfectly haughty aristocratic face.

"Mmmn." Bella smiled for a moment, before the expression faded. "Valentina told me about your encounter with the mud—Hermione Granger, on the plane."

"Thank you," Tonks enunciated clearly and firmly in response both to Bella's almost-slur, and self-correction of it. "Yes, I did sit next to Hermione Granger on an aeroplane."

"Do you think she suspects?"

"I do. She's much too intelligent not to."

"Why didn't you just turn around and get another flight?" Bella grimaced.

"It was probably too late by that point," Tonks shrugged. "It would be terrifically suspicious, anyway. And I suppose I was just stunned. I haven't seen her in years, you know. I certainly wasn't expecting to see her on a muggle plane."

"And she's coming here."

"Yes, she is, Bella. She's coming here. And?" Tonks couldn't help it, she felt herself tense. Even now, Bella scared her sometimes. More than sometimes.

"I asked Valentina to watch, and make sure she did not find out about us—without hurting her. You should help. I'll remain inside until it passes; the two of you can arrange my food, yes?"

"We have a stock of preserved blood for months. I doubt she'll be here that long. Did Valentina ask the Border Guards we pay?"

"I imagine she did. Like I said, I'll just stay in."

Tonks reached up, looped an arm around Bella's hips, and squeezed her into a sort of a hug, feeling the complicated emotions of her partner-mother-aunt-mistress. "I can feel that you don't really want to. You're intrigued to have her around. It's singing in your blood and you want a challenge. So I'm going to ask you to please follow through."

"Of course I can follow through! I have perfect self-control and self-discipline," Bella growled. "As long as I am well-fed, at any rate. I am not such a fool as to endanger what we've created here."

"...You live in the moment and do whatever you feel like at any given time," Tonks unsteadily giggled.

The flat denial of Bella's claim brought a glare from the older woman, who could sometimes still act rather more childlike than Tonks. "You impertinent …"

"You like me that way," Tonks nipped. "Stay in, for both of us, and everything we've got going. I'm sure in her own mildly awful way Valentina actually provided exactly the same good advice."

"She did," Bellatrix acknowledged and planted herself on the desk—kicking her booted legs up to straddle Tonks in her chair.

Tonks shivered again. It left her approximately eye-level with Bella's crotch, even if the elder vampire's skirt was modest enough not to make it wildly provocative.

"Still…" Bella abruptly had her wand out, and brought the tip thoughtfully to her lips. "Still, what if I were to deal with her in another way."

"You just promised not to kill her!"

"I'd never break a promise to you, Tonks," Bella assured her idly, her expression evidencing sincerity to Tonks—for what it was worth. "But… What if I made her into one of us? That would certainly remove the problem. I mean, if we're going to let Valentina into the house, and she was a muggle before she was a vampire, what's the harm in letting a mud—muggleborn into the house who is now a vampire? Wouldn't it be nice to have someone more junior…"

Bella trailed off. She had good reason to. Without even really thinking about it, Tonks had stood up right between Bella's legs, pushing her back against the wall on the desk, with a clatter of toppled items. Only the fact that the ink pot was enchanted to be self-righting kept there from being a disaster with Bella's dress and a lot of black ink. That still didn't stop Tonks, growling, from shoving herself closer and baring her fangs in challenge.

Bellatrix shrieked and cackled in delight. "Oooh, you don't want a rival?"

"Don't even think about bringing her across," Tonks warned.

"Or you'll what?"

"I'll leave," Tonks snarled, and pulled back. But Bella didn't take it seriously, or perhaps she didn't care. She followed Tonks, hopping down to the ground, and then moving so quick that she pushed Tonks into the doorframe, rather than let her go.

"Come, my wonderful Hufflepuff," Bella whispered huskily, her hands looped around Tonks' waist. "We have got a pocket Empire to ourselves. Let your aunt be a little vengeful sometimes. I'll keep my promises. But I can't forget she's part of the Golden Trio."

"Don't think you can fucking turn me on while talking about revenge against the people who defeated the Dark Lord. Good on her," Tonks exclaimed, knowing what was bound to come next.

Bella, going at her. Tonks, fighting back as hard as she could. The two crashing through the hallway as the House Elves apparated away to let them. Tearing, snarling, nipping, punching, grappling, rolling, all in a blur of vampiric speed.

Ending, after a few minutes of utter chaos, with fangs in each other's throats, better than any sex Tonks had ever known while she was alive.

Leaving Tonks to slip away, let Bella drag herself back to her bed before dawn. Settling down into her own room, feeling guilty at making the House Elves clean it all up; fuming that, again, what had been a real argument had just degenerated into violent vampire sex.

But it always seemed to happen that way, and because of the bond with Bellatrix, Tonks sometimes feared that, if it came down to it, she wouldn't be able to resist a true command from her lover-aunt.

And perhaps that was why she had never tried to find out.