A/N: Here we go! Hermione's getting to be a big girl now! Enjoy and R&R!
Chapter 9: Initiation
Moscow 1997
Hermione can't sleep. She can't believe how fast the years have gone by, nor can she believe she's come so far and no way shape or form exposed her true nature or self to the girls and to Madam B. It's so incredible, she halfway expects to be the one gunned down at her graduation ceremony in a few hours. She imagines Madam B clucking her tongue and laughing, mocking and cruel, asking if she really thought she'd never get caught.
The thing is…
Surviving the program isn't even HYDRA's intent. When she came here at eleven, she was a seed with the expectation to grow and prosper and infiltrate the KGB. Her mission is to be a double agent, not to take down Russian Intelligence, but to have a figurative head of HYDRA's in place to be a step ahead of the game.
Unlike other seeds who've been distributed here and there across the globe, she is not to make friends. As in, she's not meant to bring others into the fold which had been difficult considering she'd love to have Taru with her.
It's a selfish desire.
Hermione misses her and hopes to see her soon. They had made…plans, and it's all too easy to reflect on how their relationship developed. It's ironic, too. They were already close but truly bonded over Lord of the Flies. Taru stole it from her and read and reread it, unable to part with it. So starved for even the tiniest bit of male influence. She yearned for a boy's presence and nearly had a seizure from envy when Hermione disclosed of her first and only kiss.
To calm her down or shut her up-Hermione can't really remember what she was thinking- she grabbed Taru's face and kissed her just to her show her kissing isn't all that great. At first, Hermione got the impression Taru hadn't enjoyed it at all due to getting a slap to the left cheek. Her roommate had stalked out of the library in a snit muttering "so gross" underneath her breath.
Hermione hadn't been offended. The intent was to mellow her out, not seduce her. Plus, Hermione wasn't exactly sure on where she stands on what she likes, whether male or female or both. Through her pubescent years, she's only been surrounded by other pubescent girls for the most part. The men that were around were guards and so off limits, there's no bother in looking twice. Displaying even the slightest interest in one of them could resort into the most horrible of whippings.
It used to not be so strict.
Until Prya.
A horrible whipping would've been a blessing for her.
No, she had to be expelled from the program. The same way Damdinsuryn was. Taru had been the one to pull the trigger, not only eliminating Prya but her fetus, as well.
After learning the second part of the initiation of graduating Chelintsov's program, the purpose of these girls became clear. Their purpose is to take life, not to create it. And even before Prya, the sterilizing procedure had been in place, but she'd been a year from graduation.
Madam B doesn't care what happened between the girls. Two of them couldn't make a child. She does, however, lecture often on the danger and pathetic nature of attachments, and The Baron would likely agree with her. Hermione finds it hard with Taru, though, and a little bit with Natalia. Natalia is her friend. Taru is more.
Following that slap from Taru, Hermione spent the next couple of hours studying before going to her room. Taru had been there. Natalia had not been. Ever the teacher's pet, she'd been doing some private training with Madam B.
Hermione disclosed an apology towards Taru, the girl buried in Anna Karenina. Taru had shrugged, not saying anything, so Hermione took the opportunity to get on the computer and work on the Ant Algorithm that took Natalia all of an hour to mimic.
Five minutes into a blaring headache, Taru had come beside her and told her she liked boys despite the lack of them. Hermione had nodded, not bothering to look away from the screen or stop her typing. Then Taru grabbed her face, pulling it to the side, and kissed her.
It had taken time getting used to kissing Taru. They'd both been inexperienced, and awkward, and brace-faced. But soon their friendship turned into a companionship of intimacy as Taru approached graduation, the idea of finding a place together after Hermione finished the program got tossed around.
Two year since Taru graduated, and Hermione's can't help but feel like a fool for hoping Taru's still waiting. There's been no contact. There couldn't be, and Taru had never veered off the path of boy-hungriness despite their relationship.
Hermione takes a deep breath and forces herself to let go of any romantic notion of them having a life together. There's so many reasons why it can't happen, and why she shouldn't even dare hope.
The alarm clock goes off, and Natalia shifts underneath her covers. Hermione turns off the clock and leaves to shower. A few other girls are already in the stalls and there are so few of them now left at the theatre. She was the last to come into the program and now all but a handful have graduated.
After her shower, she returns to her room and dons in her new ceremony dress she'll only get to wear once. It's the same as all the others—black with the white lace collar. She slides on a pair of sheer stockings and puts on her buckled, black kitten heels. It's graduation, and she's going to wear her hair down. Something she's only been able to do at night before bed or in the shower.
She goes to area behind the stage where Natalia and Hannah are waiting for her. She sits down at the lit vanity next to them and holds still as they apply her makeup. Hannah wants to put her hair up, but Hermione shakes her head.
"No," she says, studying her reflection in the mirror. Other girls before her have applied heavy coats of powders and thick layers of creams as if they were performing on the stage for all of Moscow. She has chosen natural tones and regrets it.
Her mother is staring back at her.
Devil.
Evil.
"A little more, maybe," she tells the girls.
They apply eyeliner and darker shade of lipstick. Her mother is harder to see now and thanks the Natalia and Hannah.
"It's time," replies Natalia. "Are you nervous?"
Hermione considers her friend, knowing full well now the girl's heart isn't true to the program or the KGB. Natalia operates to survive, and she's good at it. She's adaptable and hard to surprise. Very little phases her now, and she's great at pretending she knows things. It's her skill, along with being lethal and alarming beautiful. Like Taru, she grew out of her awkward, little girl stage and transformed into a stunning young woman.
"Yes," Hermione says.
"Have you given any thought what you'll do with your week before going on assignment?" asks Hannah.
Hermione smirks. "I'm going to have sex," she lies and adds a beat later, "with a man."
Hannah squeals, grinning excitedly. "Where?"
"Probably a bed. I'm not kinky."
Natalia almost smiles, and Hannah shakes her head. "I meant where are you going?"
"Not far. I doubt it'll be that hard to find a man."
"You don't want your first time to be with just any random man, Milas."
"It's not her fir—" tries Natalia.
"It will be the first time she has a you-know-what inside her you-know-where," supplies Hannah.
"You know ten different ways to kill someone with a chopstick, and you can't say the words." Natalia gives a rare chuckle, affectionate in sound.
Hermione gets up from the padded chair, inhaling. "I'm ready. It's time."
In the Red Room, Hermione politely and respectfully dips her chin at the five girls lined up at the mirror. To Madam B, Katja, and Master N; she curtsies. Her eyes fall to the pistol on the table between them, picks it up, and aims at the kneeling figure on the wooden floor.
For months, she practiced in her mind how she wanted this to go. She learned years before killing isn't simple but it could be quick if she allowed herself not to dwell. To act only. When she entered the room, she purposefully did not look in the direction of her victim. It left room for distraction. For hesitancy. For regret and guilt.
The person before her is a woman, she's certain. Young by her lithe figure, though Hermione can't see her face. There's a black sack over her head as opposed to the blindfolds the others have had to wear in the past.
Flicking the safety off, Hermione exhales. She's going to do this. But not for Russia. Never for them. For HYDRA.
Hail HYD—
No!
A lock of rose gold hair peeks out from beneath the black sack.
It's Taru.
"Madam B," she whispers. "What has she done?"
"Why don't you tell me? Put your talent to use for us one last time, child," says Madam B which surprises Hermione. Usually when a graduate asks, the same answers are given.
It doesn't matter.
Who's to say they've done anything?
It's not for you to know.
Madam B doesn't really understand how her talent works, believing she can get an eerily accurate read on those around her.
"It doesn't work that way. I need—"
"If it doesn't, then pull the trigger. You know how this works, Milas. Whether you find out she's worthy of death or not, she will die. You will kill her."
Hermione lowers the gun and delves into Taru's mind at a gentle pace. She weaves through the last year since Taru left and sees her board a plane to the United States hours after leaving the theatre. She sees her in New York City and then crossing a lobby with a Central Intelligence Agency emblem on the glossy floor. She fast-forwards through the memories, witnessing missions for both the FSK and CIA and an unprofessional affair with her handler twenty years her senior.
Hermione pulls out. She's seen enough.
She had known Taru hated the program but had no idea the girl had the steel to betray Russia. Hermione can't help how impressed she is. Taru didn't even bat an eyelash when walking into the CIA. It'd been a plan of hers for a while to take advantage of that free week post-graduation.
In Taru's mind, Hermione had felt her feelings. She just doesn't hate the program. She thinks it evil. Wrong. She told the CIA, not just her position for the FSK, but everything about the Red Room. About the girls. She provided information that has since detained three graduates and two high-ranking officers of the FSK.
As much as she wants to. As badly as she should. Hermione can't hate her, nor can she be angry. Because she understands being taken and subjugated to someone else's purpose. The only difference is that Hermione knows that was for the better. It was best she leave England and become what she is now. Taru never got that with the KGB. And as much as she cared for the girls, for Hermione, it wasn't enough to not betray them.
Hermione takes in Taru's quietness. She's not moving at all. She's not crying. She's perfectly still. Hermione enters her mind again, not to look but to feel her now in the present. She's not afraid. In fact, there's relief. She wants to rest. It's her time. Her future is meaningless with both the CIA and FSK, and she's suffered hell long enough.
Hermione plants a whisper in Taru's head.
I'm sorry.
I'll miss you.
She aims the gun and pulls the trigger.
The Next Morning...
For the first time in seven years, Hermione steps outside. Her senses are hit all at once, and she has to lean into the guard who's got a firm grip on her arm. The sun is too bright and scratches at her eyes and cheeks. The air overly fresh and smelling of autumn and asphalt. Her lungs want to burst. The noise from the city is deafening. Horns honking. Tires screeching. Engines growling. People talking and yelling over each other.
She puts a hand on her brow to block the rays as she's taken to the car. The car. The car will be silent, and the driver opens the door for her, so she can climb into the back seat. It's a nice vehicle, black and polished with leather seats. Katja is already in the car, and she's still as beautiful as the day Hermione met her. The woman is touching up her lipstick with the help of her compact mirror.
The guard closes the door, and Katja caps the tube. "Don't be nervous."
"I'm not."
Katja closes her compact mirror to look at her. "This is necessary."
"I know."
The car starts, and they're moving. Hermione's eyes are glued to the window. There are so many people doing so many things. They all look different and act different. Some laugh and some don't say anything. There are those who walk and those who ride bicycles and drive cars.
It dawns on Hermione. She doesn't know how to do those last two things.
Her gaze snaps to the driver who lets out a bronchial cough and thinks she might be able to copilot a plane thanks to the computer simulations in the Red Room, but the basics of things. Like swimming. She hasn't swam since she was six years old.
"Katja," she says. "How exactly am I to do…what I'm supposed to do when I can't—"
"You'll be taught."
"…Elaborate please."
The woman throws her a smirk. "Simply finishing the program doesn't guarantee you a future with the FSK but does secure you training. You'll be training alongside other recruits. The training is a six-month endeavor. Unlike them, you will have an advantages they don't. Unlike you, they will have advantages you don't. You've graduated, yes, but your first day of school hasn't even begun yet."
"I'm more nervous about that than this." Hermione chuckles.
"You should be. You fail the six-month training, you're terminated and dumped into a shallow grave in the middle of Siberia."
Oh. "Have any of the other girls failed?"
Katja looks away from her to slip on a pair of sunglasses, the sun shining brightly on her face through the mirror. "Yes."
"So even with all the years in the Red Room—"
"The Red Room doesn't prepare you for everything," she hisses.
Hermione pauses, considering Katja's reaction. There's a bitterness. An anger in her tone. She's upset. Hurt even, that the Red Room can't be more than what it is. But there's only so much that can be handled in secret at the tourist attraction that is the Bolshoi Theatre.
"In your week, try and do things, all right?" Katja suggests. "But no sex. With the procedure, it will not be good. You'd be surprised how many girls regretted having not listened to me and the doctor."
Hermione nods. Despite her lie to Hannah and Natalia, sex was the furthest thing from her mind. Especially after with Taru…
Katja seems to read her mind.
"You did not disappoint in killing Taru," she says approvingly. "It's unfortunate you had to be the one to put her down. Not all the girls are as unlucky as you and have to kill someone they care about. It's easier when the test is a stranger."
"Maybe," starts Hermione, her eyes lowering. "It's easier to find fault in someone you know."
"As long as you don't know them too well, I can see your thinking."
They pull up to hospital, and the driver gets out of the car to get the door for them. He lets Katja out first and then Hermione. The older woman circles the car and links her arm through Hermione's, guiding her through the front entrance. The atmosphere of people noisily zipping all over the place, disappearing into elevators and stairwells. Doors closing and dinging, and people talking. Babies in hysterics, and children sobbing as their mothers try to placate them.
That will never be her, she thinks, and she can't help but be grateful.
Katja coaxes Hermione to the greetings desk and speaks with the receptionist about Dr. Smymoi's 8 o'clock arriving for her procedure. The woman behind the desk nods slowly and picks up the phone, belaying the information onto the person on the other end of the line. She then hangs up and tells them they're good to go.
The two women take the elevator down to the lower level, and Katja takes the lead in taking Hermione down a barren and somewhat neglected hallway. She grimaces at the grime wedged up and into the sides where the floor meets the wall.
"I'm hoping the procedure will be done in a cleaner area," she comments. "I wouldn't be surprised if there were rats down here."
They arrive to a set of double doors with a telephone mounted to the wall. Katja picks it up and holds the device to her ear. After a moment, she tells whoever is listening that Smymoi's patient has arrived. The double doors open, and they are greeted by a nurse with a clipboard. The nurse dips her head at Katja and Hermione separately.
"Katja. Milas. Follow me," the woman instructs. She takes them into an examination room, a hospital gown folded neatly at the bottom of the examination chair. "Remove all of your clothing, Milas, and put on the gown."
"This is where I leave you," says Katja. "I'll be here to collect you when you are discharged."
The nurse and Katja leave, closing the door behind them. She strips and puts on the gown. Not five minutes later, team of clinicals come in and swarm her, from examining every inch of her and taking her blood to shaving her. They then depart to make room for the ultrasound tech who gives her both a lower abdomen and vaginal scan. The tech leaves, and Hermione watches the clock on the wall, the big hand hitting six following numbers before Dr. Smymoi comes in, a woman in her mid-forties with faded ginger hair styled into an unflattering bowl cut.
Dr. Smymoi offers the ultrasound prints to Hermione, pointing a gloved finger at black and white static. "Your tubes are healthy. Strong. A surprise given how low your body fat percentage is so low. A shame, too, but what can you do? There's no reason the surgery shouldn't be a success. The room is being prepped. Do you have any questions?"
Hermione shakes her head.
"Refrain from intercourse for four to six weeks. Pregnancy is impossible without IVF. This is a very thorough procedure. Are you ready?"
"Yes."
"Good. Come out into the hallway and lay down on the gurney."
Hermione complies, her heart rate speeding the moment she's flat on the mattress. Two men in scrubs and lab coats wheel her down a long hallway and passed a set of open double doors. There's a surgical bed with a tray of shiny and sharp metal instruments and monitoring machines beside it. The two men stop her when she's parallel and a few feet away from the surgical bed. One of them make a remark how it's a shame she's doing this. She'd make pretty babies. She thinks about hocking a spit wad in his face, but he's got a mask on her quick. Her vision goes dark.
