No Going Back
As the meeting ended, Hermione very seriously considered apparating to London to escape the Weasleys. She wanted to be anywhere other than to face any of them at the moment, except for Ginny, who had stubbornly remained her friend. But, Ginny and Hermione had been in combat together for several years; they had a bond that she had come to lack with the rest of the family.
She wanted to get away, but she couldn't. Made she didn't completely want to get away; she felt well-disposed toward all of them, still. There was a perverse part of her (or the decent part? Gods only knew) that wanted this confrontation. She didn't try nearly as hard as she could have.
Ron obliged. As they began to drift away in the late evening, there he was, following her down the hallway. She paused, and turned. "Ron. There's something you want to talk about?"
"Something. Don't play coy with me." He approached straight up to her, and from the first moment, Hermione regretted not immediately using her wand to escape, even in front of everyone. A hasty wave and a 'Ta', and take advantage of wards keyed to her and no-one else outside of the family to leave without taking the Floo.
Instead, she was standing there. Fuck you, she thought to herself, looking up. There was a real element of threat. They were both fit soldiers, and he had the advantage on her in muscle, by far. There was always an element of threat when someone had your back to the wall, but especially, as a woman, your ex. She loved Ron to death even as she had been unable to stand what he did, even as it wasn't the kind of love that meant their relationship could ever work. Ever be anything other than a convenient fiction, held together for the reporters, in another time, another place, another future where she was running to be the next Minister of Magic.
All of that was true, but it didn't matter. In the end, being a woman backed into a corner by a man was scary. And with her experience on the front, it set her adrenaline rushing, she wanted to fight even though she didn't want to fight him. She forced herself to close her eyes, to sigh, to try to calm down.
He put a hand on her shoulder, and she froze. Her eyes blinked open—he was standing there, with a mix of love and anger on his face. "God, Hermione, what did she do to you?"
Hermione blinked.
"I heard your screams. Harry heard your screams. We thought … What she carved into your arm. Torture. But was it rape, too? Is that how all of this started?"
"It is not how all of this started," Hermione answered, feeling her breath freeze, her body, her skin go cold, the fury start to build that once again, someone had made the assumption that Bellatrix had raped her. I'm my own damned woman and I make my own choices! "I'm a lesbian, and I came to this relationship quite voluntarily. I'm sorry, but we would have never worked, we would have been unhappy, it would have all been a lie. I won't pretend to provide a satisfactory explanation of how I fell in love with Bellatrix, but I did."
He pulled his hand back. "The woman who tortured you. I would have done anything to kill her in that hour, anything to save you. But … You were happy with her?"
"Of course not!"
"But you're with her now.."
"It's not the same. There's attraction, there's always been attraction, but being with her during the Crimean operation, tore it open like a raging torrent. I couldn't resist, and I didn't want to resist, and I wanted to be with a woman like her whose exact response about every convention in the world is to not give a fuck about them, Ron. We're so close and so far apart—so much alike in intelligence and talent and ambition and so far apart in how we approach the world. And she's suffered so much…"
"Yes, yes, Azkaban is a moral crime. No doubt. I could lecture you about what I've seen on assignment in Europe, but I'm not going to be so churlish as to say that you don't understand what our enemy does. She tortured you. Her allies tortured her sister, Andromeda, and murdered her husband. I'm sure they still speak because they're blood family. I don't hold that against Misses Tonks at all. But you, Hermione?" He turned away, and then quickly turned back. "Damnit. You're the most spectacular woman in the world. She's a monster. I loved you and to this day, I think I scarcely deserved you. I'm not at all as intelligent as you are. I've succeeded only thanks to a desperate cunning and the fact I'm willing to do anything and anything at all to avenge Harry, do you understand?" He leaned closer, an expression that was thuggish, and dangerous again. " Anything. At. All. He was my friend. And he was your's too."
"And I talk to him when I'm alone! I smoke and I beg. I try to understand," she cried, the tears now falling hot and sharp from her cheeks.
"So you made love to Bellatrix, the woman who killed Sirius Black? Harry's Godfather…" He paused, and then sneered. "Damnit, Hermione. Forget Sirius a moment. What about Dobby?"
Hermione tried to swallow, tried to swallow again, like she were choking on air. Had to force one of her hands up to her throat, hold it in place, to help herself swallow, to clear her throat, her skin pale as a sheet, the tears still falling from her eyes, but now silently. "He deserved better. But you know, that dagger meant that Bellatrix treated him like a dangerous enemy combatant—a foe worthy of respect—not a slave, not a mere house-elf. She's always been good to her elves, respectful to them, and…"
"IT WAS JUST WAR?!" Ron erupted, screaming. "That's what the excuse is going to be today, Hermione Granger? 'Oh Well, it was just war'. Neville? War! Dobby? War! Sirius? War! Can I remind you that at the time she committed all three of those acts she was a fucking terrorist, and when she commanded Armies for Voldemort, she ignored the laws of War, on his order?! Can I remind you of that!?"
He shook his head in confused disgust. "What I'd give to understand it all. When you said what you said after Chisinau. Hermione, I killed those people to try and clear the way for a government which could rally and fight Voldemort. They were traitors and the families of traitors. I did what I had to. All of them were just as guilty as a Death Eater. As Bellatrix. Don't fucking cry, lay in your own bed, damnit. I don't feel a single pang of sympathy about this, you deserved to hear it all."
"You know what," he continued, laying into her until she felt like she was eleven again. "It's just power, that's what it is. You're a power-hungry bint, you always have been. You're attracted to it, and Bellatrix has got that in spades, magical, social, political. Powerful family. You'd probably go after Narcissa if her monster of a sister wasn't around, and I guess I'd forgive that, just a little. I was just going to be a fucking bonnet ornament for you. 'Look, Hermione Granger has got a man from a pureblood family, so vote Granger in the upcoming election, she has a stable, normal relationship so you can trust her with the Ministry,'" he wheedled and mocked. "Thank God you broke up with me! I take it back, I don't miss you at all, you're revolting!"
"I wanted to know what it was like. I was afraid to die. I thought I was going to die without a woman in my life," Hermione answered, feeling stiff and frozen from head to toe. "I never thought it would lead to this, but she was so tender and compassionate and passionate and skilled in bed—I thought it would be one night, and then I'd be dead… One night so I at least wouldn't die without knowing a woman … One desperate night. But yes, I wondered about those thighs from the night in Malfoy Manor. I couldn't help it. I don't know why but I couldn't. But now I regret nothing. There are beautiful depths in her soul, that were led astray by your awful, prudish world. She fought for her dark paradise where wizarding-kind could be free. It was Hell, and yes, she's a criminal and has committed horrible crimes, she walked down into the depths of Hell, but she started out with the best intentions. And she clawed her way back out, of her own volition, for the best of intentions too: For the sake of her daughter and her family. Our family, now. I am Delphini Black's second mother, and we're going to make it formal."
He jerked. "And you're going to tell Harry that? You're going to tell him all of that? By God, Hermione, he'll wish he was dead again."
"And I'll tell him about the Armies of Voldemort's that she defeated. The people who owe their lives to her. The people in Manchester and Birmingham who thronged the streets to hail her as a liberator and a saviour. The people in London who tonight are celebrating that she saved them. The parade in Oslo. Her refusal to turn to the power within the mountain—to Azi Dahaka—to beat Dolohov and the Carrows. She almost died, because she refused that power. And that was a truly good thing. She could have taken the power to defeat Voldemort, Ron, right then and there, but at a cost worse than Voldemort. She would have become the Dark Queen of Earth, and she refused! She is NOT lost. And I love her brilliance, her creativity and the very way she approaches the world, yes, I do. I will tell Harry the truth. And if he hates me forever for it, well, I'll still help him beat Voldemort and find a life where he can be happy, I've sworn that oath before the stars. But I won't give up, I won't turn back, and I won't regret Bellatrix. She's earned her place in our future!"
Ron stared at her with a face that was absolutely, absolutely expressionless. That dead look he had gained after the bitter rear-guard actions in Eastern Europe, even before Chisinau. "You don't get to be the judge of that."
"No, she doesn't, but Narcissa Malfoy does," Luna's voice came from the end of the hall. "Ronald Weasley, step back from her right now."
He stiffened.
"Now."
Took one step back.
"I love Harry so much! He's been here the entire time," Luna's blue eyes shone. "Your sister does, too. But we don't get angry at Hermione, because love is a complicated thing, and it can't be helped. Cupid just shoots that arrow, and you're in love. You really can't help it. And Bellatrix isn't being cruel or unkind to her. She's learning lessons. Let the Gods judge her when she dies, when she's lived her full life. I think," she added, stepping closer, eyes wide and guileless, "that you're not wrong in a lot of what you've said, but while it's true, that Hermione loves power, and is attracted to it, it's also her burning heart—compassion, forgiveness—which makes her the friend we love. She can't shut off one for the other, you just can't do that. So what makes her the best of us, also made her fall in love with Bellatrix too. The best and worst of her did that, because the best and worst of her is a whole person. And if we all just are excellent to each other, we'll push past it."
Ron tried to open his mouth to answer, but Luna just frowned. "Also, I do believe you have a Nargle in your hair."
" Oh God, Luna…! " He exclaimed…
...She flashed a little wink to Hermione, and she turned away from the scene and raced down the hallway.
"Damnit, Luna… Hermione!? Hermione! HERMIONE!"
She paused at the end of the hall. "We'll meet again for Harry, to be there for him. And then we'll let it all take its course, come what may. Sorry, Ron, but I've got to be true to myself." Then she spun again, and apparated straight away to Diagon Alley without another pause. There was only one thought on her mind, come hell or high water, she wanted Bellatrix, she wanted to be with her, to talk with her, right that very night. If Bellatrix had taken a portkey to Galicia to take command of the Front, than so she could. She wanted nothing more than to be simply a thousand miles from Ron Weasley.
Hermione wanted nothing more than to be with Bellatrix. There was a part of her that felt absolutely terrible about this—that the response to a conversation about Bellatrix, about how absolutely awful Bellatrix was, had ended in her running off to be with Bellatrix. But that was exactly what she needed, she needed her lover and she needed her without another thought.
She took the international portkey to Ferrol. With its spacious port, it was serving as the effective capital, seeing that A Coruña had been hit by a nuke. In full uniform, there was no problem with it, her credentials as an aide to General Black carried enormous weight, and it was in the middle of the night. Seeing so many muggles at the Ministry waiting for their own portkey trips were astonishing, but they were almost all high-priority officers and couriers. She was unique in not having a duffel or backpack, but nobody commented on it.
A moment later, she was acknowledged with a salute by one of the officers of the Galician Government's Guardia Civil. "Colonel, Your Documents?" He asked in accented, but passable English, a thin man with a sharp little moustache greying at the tips, who looked as worn down by the years as Hermione felt—well, the war had gone on a long time.
She handed them over. "I'm going to General Black's headquarters." They hadn't gazetted the promotion yet.
"You'll want the Floo to Ourense, then." He confirmed the documents, and saluted again as he handed them back. "Good luck, Colonel." He had no idea what she was there for; and of course, that was for the best.
"Thank you," and Hermione felt that simple exchange was worth more than anything in the world at that moment, it felt normal, and she desperately wanted normal… Since when did being with Bellatrix feel normal? It had just started, at some point.
At some point she'd gotten comfortable. "Ourense Station House," she directed into the flames with a sprinkle of Floo powder, just a minute later. And then it would be: "Councillor of Witchcraft Hermione Granger, for General Black." She was given a quick set of directions by a harried junior officer, and started off at once.
She walked across the Roman bridge, the Ponte Vella. The city was dark and medieval, lit by a limited number of oil and magical lamps and candles—and in spaces, the bright harsh lights run off of military portable generator sets provided a sharp contrast. There was a light rain, but her coat and hat easily pushed it aside. The city was on the Portuguese Way of St. James, and famous for its baths, but beyond that, Hermione knew nothing of it. There was a sound of artillery engaged somewhere to the east, close to the frontier with Leon, but she ignored it, until the sharp whoosh of rocket-fire south, from the direction of Chaves, made her head briefly jerk. Then she shrugged. They were in combat on two fronts, that was obvious, but the fire was from at least thirty miles distant. It was nothing to worry about right now.
Her directions took her to the Plaza Mayor in the Old City. It was a good long walk, up and under the eaves of the old Romanesque Cathedral. Even though it was nothing like the route marches she had done before, it left her strung out, but not in an unpleasant way, not completely, because it meant she was almost to Bellatrix. Her exhaustion was emotional, more than anything else. The square was not exactly square, and the Town Hall beckoned in front of her, Bella's headquarters. She stepped in, to find the familiar sights: Map-tables, radios spread in unusual places, the pots of tea and coffee in almost infinite quantities, all of it brewed strong to stretch every bit of blackness out of possibly bad ingredients, the officers conferring. She could no longer hear the artillery, but there was a little vibration in the glass of the window, she swore, as she was saluted by the guards, and once again went through the ritual of providing her ID.
"You're expected, Colonel. The Lady General is in the Mayor's office."
I'm expected? She felt a surge of love and affection from those words, so intense it made her tremble. How…? But she didn't care, she acknowledged the salute, hat firmly set under her left arm, and climbed up a narrow old stair to the office that looked out over the Plaza Mayor.
And there was Bellatrix, wearing her uniform now as if it were a point of pride, though with the same features, the magical armour of the dragonhide corset, the hair which always wanted to escape, so much like her own had begun, laughing at the tight bun that she tried to keep it in, frizzy and kinky and in abject defiance, utter impossibility of forming a pony tail like that of Larissa or Ginny.
Bellatrix was talking on the phone. "Move the 24 th Field Artillery up to A Rúa with the utmost speed, Brigadier. I want them giving fires on the positions along the Sierra da Lastra by morning." She held up a black-gloved finger, and winked to Hermione, as if to ask for only a moment. It filled the younger witch's heart with need, and guilt.
The promised minute passed by, and the receiver clattered down. Hermione supposed that the idea of Bellatrix being gentle with muggle devices was so silly as to be pointless.
"Bella," she whispered.
"Hermione." Bellatrix rose to her feet. "Narcissa told me what was going to happen tonight, in a sealed message to only be opened when I was here, responsible for the front. I had them prepare quarters for you next to mine."
"We might as well just openly sleep in the same bed," Hermione laughed bitterly. "Ron found out. I suppose I wasn't crediting any of his intelligence to think that he wouldn't, but … Sometimes I guess…"
"Smart people put a lot of effort into creating convincing lies for themselves?" Bellatrix asked so smoothly. "To be honest, I think I have some experience with that myself, dear."
"You do," Hermione acknowledged with a wry smile, and stepped around the desk. Bellatrix was looking up to her. She'd never really process how a person so much larger than life had to look up to her. "Are you… Am I quite alright?"
"Neither of us," Bellatrix laughed. "But it can't be helped. We are what we are. Why – why bother with understanding how passion happens?"
Hermione laughed, and shook her head. "I thought that it would be a short war, fought for right, confined to the magical world, in the name of goodness and justice."
"We all feel that way in the beginning, Hermione." Bellatrix shook her head, her laugh, a soft, quiet thing, still bubbling up. Outside, the night was disturbed by a sudden volcano of fire, as a battalion of Smerch rocket launchers opened up at very long range from nearby. The light of the burning columns of flame from the rocket motors briefly eclipsed the moon, and glinted in hues of orange and white through the glass. Bellatrix grinned, almost involuntarily from the shock of the sound, responding to delight with something that would make others flinch. She took the last step forward, and embraced Hermione. "I love you. In a world like this, does anything else matter?"
Hermione kissed her with a furious intensity. She wanted to say that other things did, but she just couldn't bring herself to believe it anymore, she couldn't bring herself to voice the words. She felt warmth and love and need and passion and desire all bound up in this short and dark-haired woman who had once tortured her, and then fought half the world at her side. Their tongues met, their lips pressed, Hermione felt an incredible hunger, an incredible need for her, and Bellatrix was willing, was wilful, her tongue duelling and dancing, her eyes closing in pleased delight.
I've damned well made my choice, Hermione thought to herself, and pulled back just enough to free her lips, with a smile on them to reassure Bellatrix. Responsibility was bred into her just as strongly as the love she now felt. "Benjamarious is your second on the Front, isn't he? You should tell him you're turning in for the night."
"I will." Bellatrix grinned in dark delight, and spun out from Hermione's embrace to head to the door. "I'm not going to get enough sleep toonight," she sing-songed in that girlish way she sometimes did, "and I'm perfectly happy with that."
She leaned out into the hall. "Tarrant, you have the watch! I'm turning in!"
"Thank God, Your Ladyship. You need it."
Bellatrix, naturally, cackled in response. She hustled Hermione across the hall, and spun around like she was going to dance, laughing. "The baths are just as good as they are at Ancient House, the Albariño vintages are utterly amazing, the architecture is beautiful, the scenery is charming, and we're being pinched by two corps from the south and the east, so there's plenty of fighting to be done. And now I have you with me. What a delightful Iberian holiday."
You're mad, Hermione thought. But she'd known that going into the affair. And so with no further reflection at all, she stepped forward, and kissed Bellatrix again, and this time, she didn't put her down. The guilt was smothered. She was Hermione Granger Black, and there was no going back.
Notes:
1. "Plaza Mayor" translates to "Main Square."
2. Albariño is a vintage of Galician white, somewhat related to the Portuguese Vinho Verde.
3. "Gazetted" refers to the practice of making official government acts by publication in The London Gazette, the official newspaper of HM Government. So it's a verb referring to the act of making a promotion official, in this case. Narcissa has promoted her sister, but it isn't official until it's been "gazetted".
4. The Way of St. James is the great pilgrimage route of medieval Christendom to see the remains of St. James the Great in Santiago de Compostela.