"In order that he might rob a neighbour whom he had promised to defend", once wrote the British historian Macaulay of Frederick the Great, "black men fought on the coast of Coromandel, and red men scalped each other by the Great Lakes of North America."

Colonel Alexandra Lukachenko—promoted four months before—remembered that line very well, from when she had forced herself through the book as part of her military history studies, the old English, old concepts, old words, straining her knowledge of a foreign language to the limit. But the quote had remained with her, the uncontrollable spiral of war. The imponderable impacts of one action on another.

After Hermione had left on her terrible tryst with destiny, Alexandra had gotten a few letters, and knew enough to understand that she had survived, and succeeded, and now stood at the side of the defected General Black. She hoped that her friend was well, but something clearly wasn't.

Her own fate had been to follow General Pronichev in his promotion, receiving her own at the same time. He was assigned to take command of the 25 th Army Corps, defending the northern approach to Lake Van as part of the 2 nd Transcaucasus Front. Because of the fast-moving and complex environment when directly facing Lord Voldemort, Corps level coordination between Protection Battalions had begun, and she had been assigned to organise it—essentially concentrating MinKol and their assigned protectors into a Corps level Brigade-sized formation of which she was the deputy commander behind Councillor Maxim Astakhov, commander of said MinKol forces.

The first inkling of a problem had come when, going to get some tea in the headquarters compound (it was a fortified position of tents behind the lines, the situation in the mountains of eastern Turkey was quite rough), a woman in a VDV uniform she had never seen before had gone urgently to the General and begun to speak. Once, there wouldn't have been any women in VDV uniforms, except in the training and support elements—but then, that was before half their cities got nuked and the first two million or so troops had been torn through fighting the Morsmordre. The women and old men started showing up in lots of places then.

In the regular Army, that was when she had been made commander of a rifle company, after all. As for this woman? Half her face looked like it was burned off, so she must have been in the thick of it for a while. But rather uncomfortably, when she opened her eye, it was intact.

Awful wound to be disfigured like that, but she still had her eyes, she could still serve. The bad luck to kiss your face with fire, the good luck that you closed your eye, just in time. The Lord gives, the Lord takes away.

Alexandra watched her with the uncomfortable sense that something was definitely up. Then, with a senior sergeant at her side, she quickly left again, heading back to the helicopter pads. One of the birds was screaming airborne within a minute. Yes, something is up.

A moment later, General Pronichev called her over, and gathered the rest of his staff with him. "We've received orders."

Alexandra glanced back to see Zoë, the Palmyran, arriving. More wizards from Syria had escaped than regular soldiers, and they had agreed to reinforce the Russian MinKol detachments in the Transcaucasus. She had become the second in command for the 25th Army Corps' wizards and essentially Alexandra's equal in their chain of command. A wordless smile was exchanged with Alexandra, before the woman saluted to General Pronichev.

"Glad you could make it in time," he remarked.

"I apparated in as soon as I got the radio message, Sir."

"Unfortunately we have little time," he acknowledged.

Alexandra quietly offered a small cup of tea to Zoë, in the Arab style.

"I'm afraid," Pronichev continued, "that there has been a serious incident in London, and our forces in the British Isles and the allied British Government are in urgent need of assistance. I will put this plainly with you—that beast over there," he gestured toward Diyabakir, and everyone knew what he meant, who he meant, "has raised the dead of London, and turned them against the living. A major force of wizards is supporting this, but our intelligence personnel and the British agree that he is likely personally controlling this … plague of the undead, of his own volition."

Even by the standards of this war, several had gone stiff and pale. It was unfathomable to think about the scale of what was being described, no small group of the undead, but a vast host, from the burying grounds of an entire major metropolitan area.

"We are in a good position with the 25th to force Voldemort to intervene at the front personally," Pronichev continued, his own voice taut, features composed. Alexandra could tell he was a man about to say something he did not wish to. "So we are going to try and achieve that. We will be launching a counterattack."

"Sir!" The Chief of Staff, Stanislav Osminin, a lean and slight man with a sharply made mustache, faintly trembled as he stepped forward to the map, marking the positions of the mountains. "We have been pushed back in five months of heavy combat—we have lost thirty percent of our strength in men, thirty-five percent in tanks and armoured vehicles, twenty percent in artillery. Twenty percent of our wizards, too. We don't have the ammunition allotments for the rocket artillery to provide support for an offensive operation, either, and the conventional artillery will give us only enough for two days before we exhaust the ready reserve stocks."

"Stanislav Antonivich, I know." Pronichev crossed himself. She'd never seen that before, in these years of war. "We're attacking. God help us. There's ten million people in Greater London, if we can distract that monster, we may help save some of them."

Stanislav nodded once and leaned over the map, beginning to tick off positions. "Sir, it's not in my character to plan an attack that's going to fail."

"We will have support. The Colonel I just spoke to said they are sending up a battery of 203's."

"Oh," Alexandra voiced it quite involuntarily. Pronichev nodded, seeing something in her expression that she herself did not recognise.

"Yes, Colonel, it's so. The NBC Protection Troops will be alerted, and everyone is to be ready with their NBC gear immediately. We've been allocated eight tactical nuclear weapons to support the attack. Now we do not have days, but hours; officers, we must plan this within minutes, not hours, and then distribute the orders to your units. We will make each life count."

Theodore Nott, long blonde hair, thin, slight, rather frail. One of those rock stars that Bellatrix had listened to back in the free-wheeling 60s. The kind that ended up dead of a drug overdose by 1975, really. But he was a wizard, not a rock star.

He also handled his imprisonment well, to his credit, though the holding cells at the Ministry were nothing so horrible as Azkaban. Bellatrix glanced to Cissy and Andy, then back through the cell window, past the bars, at Nott. He hadn't noticed them yet. "Cover me. This is an active combat zone."

"You're…" Narcissa began to speak, then trailed off. "Hmm. Yes."

"Exactly." Bella looked to the Auror on guard. "Unlock the cell."

And he did.

That was an unexpectedly weird feeling of empowerment. Probably she had fantasized about it, putting an Auror under the Imperious curse and just telling them to open the door, but she couldn't quite remember it. Maybe it was just her imagination.

Now Theodore looked up, and hissed, rubbing at the stubble on his chin. "Bellatrix."

"That's right." Bella leaned against the cell door. "Bella, if you prefer."

A laugh. "I'm sorry, but I don't think that fits quite right at the moment?"

"Well, I've been in these cells, though it was the next cell-block down," she said, an easy if frenetic laugh coming to her. "Sorry about your dad."

He froze. "Do you have to rub in it?"

"I don't think I am—he played the game and lost. I meant that sincerely." Her voice softened.

"And are you trying to mock me, before you kill me?"

"Oh what? Fuck no. I'm here to talk because, well, my friend, your dad was a bit of a bastard but he was better than most, he had real dignity. He tried to talk us out of punishing you, for what he pushed you into. And in fairness I think that's right. Oh, I chose my course. I don't think you did."

"...You chose your course, but it came out pretty well for you."

"You have absolutely got to know when to leap, my friend, when you're on a train speeding toward a wrecked bridge. That's all it was." She never called him kid or anything else. She wouldn't have liked it, when she was young, even if she had been caught here. "Look, as absurd as this sounds, we need your help."

He stiffened, a little.

Bellatrix sniffed and shook her head. "London is done. Dying. The dead have risen. You'll be fine in here, sure, in this holding cell. But people, wizards and muggles alike, are dying by the thousands right now. And joining the ranks of the living dead when they do. Inferi, he's raised Inferi, hundreds of thousands of them. And he has some way to do it, here in the city."

"Gods, hundreds of thousands of Inferi?" He stared up in blank horror. "How, but, he'll destroy everything?"

"Of course he will. He has never failed to punish those who betrayed him. Think of London like a person. It welcomed us back—it betrayed him. So, he's punishing it with utter destruction. Fuck, you know, I suffered the Cruciatus curse more than a few times for displeasing him. The further in time from his grasp over my mind that I get, the more I am incredulous I ever tolerated. But you don't think like that, in the grip of his influence. You never think like that, until long after it's over. I'm lucky enough to be able to reflect on it. Wouldn't you like the same luck?"

"You're desperate enough to offer me a pardon? But you just implied I would suffer horribly from the Dark Lord."

"After your father surrendered the city early, do you really think you will get off, in the slightest? He will punish you for your father's sin. For the sin of surrendering." She shrugged. "Suit yourself, die. Do you think the Gods of our ancestors will look kindly upon you, for that the graves of our people have been defamed and robbed, the dead are not quietly resting, but have been ripped from the Earth of our island? Don't be a fucking fool. Yes, we could all lose. But he's very angry and trying very hard to stop us right now, and we need your help. I need your father's information, whatever of it you have, on what he might have enchanted that's letting him control a horde of Inferi from such a distance, and I need it now."

Theodore closed his eyes and sighed slowly, and softly. "The Magic is Might Statue. Father said that, actually, it had been enchanted by Lord Voldemort to help him keep order at the Ministry."

Andy stepped forward, then, her eyes flashing with fear. "But, it's already gone, Bella, Cissy. We should have gone past it on our way in."

Cissy sighed softly, but her eyes gleamed. "The removal is a problem, but fortunately not that much of one; it was removed for disposal as a symbol of the prior regime. But it hasn't been cut up yet certainly, and considering that it's in a muggle yard with a bunch of others waiting to be crushed or melted, well, if they tried that with a cursed object… I'll be able to get the location within minutes, at least, the Home Secretary will have an inventory of where these were taken for destruction."

"Well, come along with us, Theodore," Bellatrix reached out and helped the surprised young man up. "We're going to surprise him with how quickly we stopped him. I have to admit, I rather like interfering with his plans." A triumphant sneer crossed her lips for a moment, she couldn't help it. "We are letting him go, right, Cissy?"

"Of course we are. One, it wouldn't behove me to refuse a promise you already made, and secondly, I'm absolutely sure he's not lying. It's so stereotypically – Voldemort." There was a real sneer of contempt there. "Let's go."

Together, three witches and one slightly shell-shocked young wizard whose father's plea had, in the end, given him a chance at life, left the Ministry Holding Cells.

Bella's only concern now was finding out what Hermione had been up to in the meantime.

Hermione and Ginny had met up with a group of Aurors and rallied them for the counterattack. They were chasing a group of Morsmordre Aurors led by a single masked Death Eater. Clearly it was an important target, if Voldemort had sent one of his remaining foremost minions.

From bulk and shape, Hermione figured it was a man. There had been new Death Eaters, but…

"Hermione Granger! Hah!"

Jugson.

He turned toward her and Ginny and unleashed a flurry of cutting spells, which drove them back on their shields. Hermione met him blow for blow. She'd killed one Death Eater during the liberation of the British Isles so far, she could handle another.

They were in what had been the Department of Mysteries, because of course they were. Hermione remembered plenty of it, and most of all, the fact that she had the first encounter of her life with Bellatrix here. Focus. Focus. She let loose with a Sectumsempra bracketed by disarming charms in a sharp economy of motions. Ginny surprised one of them by kicking over a potted plant even as she cast a spell; her physical focus on Quidditch had certainly done her very well in preparing for this day. It tumbled down on one of the men descending deeper into the Department of Mysteries, which, though officially one level, had a very complicated geometry.

Then Jugson shouted "Just keep going, I'll hold them!"

Hermione didn't think it was out of a sense of respect for his men. She blocked another of his spells, leapt clear of a second. There's something so important here that he'd rather die than fail in his mission.

That led to a second recognition, even as Hermione pressed home a fresh counterattack that drove him back against a wall. Jugson was still a threat to both her and Ginny, but she felt she was getting the upper hand. He's scared. Scared of failing. It would be worse than dying. Use that.

"I'm just here to handle the liquidation, Jugson," she mocked, sending a quick and handy undressing spell that managed to slip through and rip off his silver face-mask. Toppling the ground, she continued her threat: "It's Bellatrix who's already put an end to your scheme."

"The traitor!? I –" He cut himself off and tried to nail Ginny with an Avada Kedavra that she barely dodged.

A ruthless and unexpected result, but it did provide an opening. Hermione could see the man's eyes, desperate, wild, distracted. She finally caught him with an Expellarmius and then Ginny summoned his wand to her before he could possibly recover.

"Pursue them," Hermione instructed to the group of British Aurors, gesturing to where the Morsmordre Aurors had gone deeper into the Department of Mysteries. "I'll interrogate the prisoner."

"Colonel."

Ginny stepped closer, guarding her, as Hermione walked up to Jugson, laying back against the wall. He'd snapped his head on it rather hard.

"Let's get you talking about what you're here for."

His eyes snapped into lucid focus for a moment. "You don't know? But, the traitor…!"

Before he could finish the thought, his voice dissolved into a scream, right after Hermione shifted her wand. "Crucio."

"...Oh God Hermione did you just use the Cruciatus Curse on him?" Ginny blanched.

"Crucio." Hermione said again, the screams redoubling as Jugson curled and twitched like a man being electrocuted. She was not screaming. She was not red or flush with anger, this was far worse. To use the Cruciatus curse, you had to mean it, from the depths of your heart. Her face was pale with rage, the kind of composed, cool rage which made blood run cold. She knew it, she felt it, like the rage would burst forth any moment, but instead, it had her as cold as ice and ready to do anything.

"Hermione?"

She ignored her friend. " Crucio. "

"Oh my God."

It was then that she struck. When he was in such agony that there was no way for him to respond. " Imperio. " She tore into his brain without the slightest bit of resistance. He calmed down. The pain fled. He looked peaceful.

"The Imperious curse, too? My God, Hermione…" Ginny looked as white as a sheet.

"What were you here for?" Hermione addressed Jugson.

"Oh, oh, you know, Colonel. Orders. The Dark Lord sent me to fetch Harry Potter's head, that's all," he chuckled softly. "What would you have …"

Ginny froze.

Hermione slowly nodded, her face still frigid cold, feeling no emotion, like her blood had been replaced by ice-water. "What," she said, so, so softly, "does the Dark Lord want with Harry Potter's head?"

"Need to keep it safe, that's all he said, retrieve it at all costs… He didn't tell me anything else, Colonel. You don't just ask the Dark Lord what his reasons are."

"Hermione, I'm …"

"Worried about me and furious about Harry at the same time?" Hermione shot her friend a look. "Wanted to think I was going to hell, then heard what he was here for, and decided maybe it wasn't so awful, after all?"

"Hermione… Yes," the redhead admitted with a sigh. "Bellatrix, you know, she got me with a Crucio. And not that long ago, either. But I shut up and held it in, when she was on our side, for the sake of our future, to have her help, to win. Double shut up, when it turned out that Narcissa Malfoy of all people had ended up the Prime Minister. But Hermione, I'm worried she's making you darker, but…"

"I bet you want to Crucio Voldemort pretty fucking hard if you get the chance."

Ginny opened her mouth, closed it again.

There was a commotion by the stairs down. A group of their Aurors were coming back, with a few prisoners, and something else. Both Hermione and Ginny froze, and looked that way, and a blow hit Hermion straight in the gut, as hard as it could.

Ginny whispered, softly, staring, entranced in horror: "You're damn right I do."

Without further hesitation, Narcissa had sworn Theodore Nott an oath of wands to his loyalty to the Crown and her Government. Then she had gone to one of the banks of Floos in the Atrium, where fresh detachments of MinKol personnel were arriving to re-secure the Ministry. There, she used one of them to contact Whitehall immediately, and ended up bent over in a hushed and urgent conversation with Priti Patel.

As Narcissa spoke with the Home Secretary, Bellatrix paced with Andromeda, nervously, eyes flashing as she looked around the Atrium. "I should go look for her," she started, again.

Then Andy gently brushed her shoulder and pointed. "No need, Bella."

Bella turned and sighed in relief, to see Hermione well, just immediately to stiffen again. The look on her face looked suitable only for a funeral, and the look in her eyes—well, it reminded Bellatrix of a kind with the sorts of looks that she had sometimes. Ginny, next to her, had a firm set of her jaw and was absolutely pale, almost impossibly so even by the standards of redheads. The Aurors, guarding their prisoners, including a ruined, trembling, partially spasmed Jugson, were formed almost like a funeral procession.

And there was a fine box of old oak that Ginny was carrying, just about the right size, and …

"Oh." Bella felt herself lose all expression, too, and Andromeda blanched, and stiffened.

"I'm very, very sorry," Andromeda whispered to the girls.

"He never got a chance to be his own man. Dumbledore manipulated him from the start, to play his part. Maybe failing was the first time he was free from being someone else's pawn. After five years of smoking cigarettes with the Russian Army I can safely say that was all some fucked up shit," Hermione answered. "Fuck, I miss him. God. That's what they were here for. For Harry. For Harry's head!" They had not found it with the others at Hogwarts, and Hermione had just set it aside. Refused to think about it. Refused to think about what it had meant. Buried it deep and turned it into the anger she had run on while liberating the British Isles. She looked up to Bellatrix, shaking her head, shaking herself slowly. "Why is he so obsessed with Harry, Bella? Even now? Why? Why couldn't he let him rest in peace? He killed him, he won, he left me and Ginny and Ron and Luna and all of us to stumble along and pick up the pieces and fight to keep hope alive… Harry wasn't even allowed to rest in one piece? Really? Why does he hate him so much? He sent Jugson here in the middle of this fucking Death Eater Tet Offensive to find Harry Potter's Head? Why?"

Bellatrix frowned, and looked back to Jugson, feeling incredulous for a moment. And then a thought came to her, like they had never really escaped the original mission which had brought the two of them back together, the mission she had been sent on to Koschei's Palace. Koschei the Deathless. She was very well read and had studied the myths exhaustively, and knew Hermione was exactly the same way and… "Hermione, the Water of Death. We have access to the Water of Life, so if we had access to the Water of Death… No magic can restore someone to life, except that's not true. If you use the Water of Life and the Water of Death you can bring someone back to life. At least, in principle. Master Flyorov should know more, someone should Floo him. Uhm…" In front of her, Hermione and Ginny had frozen like ghosts at the prospect.

Bellatrix forced a wan smile. "Voldemort is still scared shitless of him, I think. He's afraid that we'll bring Harry back from the dead and Harry will still defeat him according to the prophecy. That's the only reason for him to go to this length that makes sense, at all. He's scared. He's Tom Fucking Riddle and he's scared. "

Hermione looked at her as if, just very subtly, but quite profoundly, something had changed.

Then Narcissa turned back to them. "I have the location of the statue. Ladies, I've overheard what you've been talking about, and I understand perfectly that this fine young man demands a proper funeral. But, we must act to save the city. I must have you rally to me. Right now. We need to go, while there's still a chance."

Ginny quietly set the box down on the plinth of the statue that they were about to go destroy.

Hermione gave one single nod.

Notes:

203's - 203mm or 8-inch artillery is quite rare in the modern world, but notable for being able to fire tactical nuclear artillery shells. These would be the 2S7 Pion.