Shards of Nuance

“You’ve been avoiding me.” Bellatrix perched on Hermione’s kitchen counter, watching her pack. She’d donned her muggle uniform again – black skinny jeans and boots, black hoody with impossible curls spilling out from under the hood up over her head.

“Wouldn’t you after that stunt at the ball? Sorry – all those stunts at the ball.” Hermione was mostly only peeved because she’d had to scramble so quickly to hide the copy of the Daily Prophet with the picture of the three sisters under her bed when her alarm wards announced Bellatrix’ visit.

The woman frowned. “Probably. Only because I know what trouble I usually cause.”

“What makes you think I don’t?”

“I didn’t say you didn’t. It’s just that every now and then you act like you want to spend time with me.”

“And then I am immediately reminded of all the problems with that. Look, I believe you and Andromeda about all the old magic and the darkness and all that shit. I believe you, but that doesn’t change how much of a fucking advantage you have. It doesn’t change that you can just rebuild a massive political and economic powerhouse with next to no effort and that people will be so obsessed with it – even after you did such terrible things to them. And that affects me and everyone I love!”

“Yeah, that’s shit, you’re right.”

“Don’t play that card. You can’t get out of this just by agreeing with me.”

“I can’t get out of it anyway, Hermione.”

“Stop being so deterministic. You could have. Like the Weasleys – the Weasleys aren’t like you.”

“The Weasleys! The Weasleys are the worst of all. Do you know why the Weasleys are the way they are?” Bellatrix was clearly going to continue anyway, so Hermione didn’t answer her. “All Sacred 28 families – including the Weasleys, mind you – realized around the same time that muggleborns were going to change our world. Our reactions ranged widely, from the House of Black on one end to the Weasleys on the other.”

So far this was going exactly how Hermione expected it to, but since the dark-haired woman had yet to do much of anything that she expected, she began to get nervous about what she was hearing.

“The Weasleys felt guilty that the incoming muggleborn witches and wizards had virtually zero chance of achieving anything in our world. Don’t look at me like that proves your point – we all felt guilty. But the Weasleys tried to assuage their guilt by erroneously pretending they could share their power with muggleborns, like they could give up their unmerited advantages or something. They were trying to convince all the pureblood families to do it, but of course we refused because we knew it was an impossible endeavor. And we never wanted to give up power and wealth to each other, much less to the new muggleborns. Do you know what happened?”

Hermione obliged the woman and shook her head.

“The Weasleys signed over their Wizengamot seat to a muggleborn by the name of Sparks. Within the week, Sparks was in a subjection agreement to the Bones’ and the seat was removed from the Wizengamot altogether. The Weasleys began pledging funds to support muggleborns starting businesses, going to school, paying debts that they just kept incurring to pureblood families… They felt too guilty to stop; they wasted their entire fortune on it. They literally have nothing now except their property. And you know what? They feel good about it. Like they’re on your side; like they suffer with you muggleborns. But, Hermione, do you feel like they experience what you experience?”

Hermione shook her head again. She remembered how condescending the Weasleys always were to her when she shared a discovery or an idea she had about the wizarding world.

“They pretend like they’re like you. But they’re not. Even though they’re dirt poor, they still get all the rights and privileges that the rest of us purebloods have. They refuse to acknowledge that.”

That was absolutely true. She could still feel herself slouching into the chair in front of the fireplace in Grimmauld Place the first time she had realized that nothing would change as long as even the Order couldn’t – or wouldn’t – see how systemic pureblood supremacy was.

“Because they choose not to believe in their privilege, they can’t admit the thing it’s hiding. They can’t admit their darkness. They’ll be trapped by it forever, and they’ll keep you trapped if you let them.”

Fuck. That made more sense to Hermione than she wanted it to, but this was something she was going to be extra stubborn about. “The Weasleys are my friends, Bella. You can’t make me give them up.”

The woman laughed. “Why do you take everything as a challenge? I don’t think you should give them up. I’m just not sure your friendship with them is any less problematic than your friendship with me.”

A few years ago, Hermione would have scorned such a statement, but as she continued stuffing things into her bag (without magic, because it felt more satisfying) she knew she already agreed with the woman. “You’re just a lot harder to explain.”

“Well, that is obviously true, and I don’t envy you for that. But maybe you don’t need to explain.”

Hermione rubbed her face and said nothing, choosing instead to work in silence long enough to make the dark-haired witch antsy.

“Where are you going?” The woman spoke again.

“On a trip, I told you. For work.”

“Full time alchemist now that you've moved back to London, I hear.”

“I’m not working with Draco.”

“I know.”

“I’m not going to.”

“I know.”

“Bella, what’s going on? Why are you here?”

“I just wanted to see you before you left. You said I could come in. You didn’t have to. I’ll leave if you want.”

She made to leave, but Hermione pushed her gently back down onto the counter. “Stay.” Bellatrix looked at her with expectation, but Hermione just grabbed a water bottle and turned back to stuff it in her bag.

“How long will you be gone?”

“A few months.”

“You’re so evasive.”

“You’re so persistent. What is it that you want me to bring back?”

“Nothing. Why is it so hard for you to imagine that I’m not trying to get something out of you?”

“Then why are you here?”

“I like…your company.” The woman on the counter slouched.

“You’re not beholden to me, Bella.” Hermione stopped shuffling items so she could lean against the counter with her arms crossed, looking much like her own mother. “You don’t owe your life to me or anyone else. Just consider yourself free to live your life - and maybe you can even start helping others if you can find it within you.”

“Hermione, I said I like your company.”

“The Black family empire doesn’t seem to do ‘company.’”

Bellatrix sighed and closed her eyes. “I’m being honest. I’m here because I’d rather you not leave for a few months. I’m here because I’ll miss beating you at wizard’s chess, and I’ll miss the firewhiskey that you owe me when you lose.”

Hermione squinted insolent eyes, but the other woman’s sincerity was not lost on her. “You know when you slouch like that, you could pass for a teenager.” The woman rolled her eyes petulantly. “All the more when you do that.”

Hermione turned away again. Bellatrix certainly did not look like a teenager, and she didn’t want to be seen biting her lip when she accidentally looked at the woman’s mouth. They hadn’t spoken about the ball, but they met for wizard’s chess the week after it. It had nearly driven her crazy, though, to watch Bellatrix think, to see her eyes traverse the board and her fingertips dally on the table, the rim of a glass, or in the curl of hair she refused to pull back into her messy bun. The silence, the banter, the meaningless chitchat – it was all maddening. She made Hermione want without doing anything, need without meaning to, hope without any appropriate reason, and there was no one alive who should make her feel less that way. That’s why Hermione cancelled on her the last two weeks and was now taking the work trip. She had to get away. She would visit the big European cities, do tourist things, meet strangers in clubs – that sort of thing. If she picked up some rare substances for potion alterations and rituals along the way, so be it. She’d spent too many years wound tight, and she just needed it to cease, if only for a bit. Goddamn, if it wasn’t a dark lord then it was the Ministry, and if it wasn’t the Ministry then it was Bellatrix Lestrange.

“Don’t you dare leave me for good, Hermione Granger.” The dark-haired woman interrupted her thoughts again.

An unwelcome lump caught in Hermione’s throat, so she had to diffuse the tension. “Is that what the Dark Lord said to you?”

Bellatrix thought that was very funny, and the young woman was relieved. Poignant Bellatrix was harder to deal with than was seductive Bellatrix. “Don’t worry. I’ve never left anyone for good, bad, or anything in between.”

They shared a genuine smile, the kind that comes with warmth in the bones. Against her better judgment, Hermione let her magic roll out music and pulled the woman off the counter into an embrace. Their bodies pressed together, and the head of curls settled so that Bellatrix’s forehead nestled into the young witch’s neck. Hermione let her heart beat wildly for a mere moment before forcing herself to twirl the other woman away from her. They danced awkwardly at first and then with exaggerated gusto, bounding around the room and over furniture, until they collapsed against the kitchen counters again gasping for breath and laughing hysterically.

Once Bellatrix had gone, Hermione wondered at the absurdity of it all: dancing with the most infamous Death Eater in her own living room, laughing like schoolgirls or like – she couldn’t bring herself to say it to herself even though it was quite clear what she meant.

**

Hermione was true to her word. In Paris, she visited the Eiffel Tower and a magical apothecary buried in a muggle drug store. After completing her work in Berlin, she tarried several days in the bed of a muggle German woman about her age who’d found her drunken ramblings about legendary magical creatures rather amusing. She went on a tour of old churches in Spain, kneeling on a whim in one of them to receive a blessing from an ancient priest who reminded her of Dumbledore. By the time she arrived in Kiev, though, she sought out an owlery and sent a hasty letter.

“Quickly! Before I change my mind.” She shooed the owl out the window.

**

Bellatrix was lounging on the couch next to a bottle of wine she’d long since stopped drinking, hearing but not listening to her youngest sister drone on about trade wars with a corporation in Albania. A bird appeared on the horizon, hidden at first by the purpling shadows of sunset.

“Bella, are you even listening? Bella!” Narcissa’s exasperated voice rang louder.

“Sorry, Cissy.” Bellatrix sprang toward the window from her seat and opened it for an unfamiliar owl to swoop in and land in the middle of Narcissa’s nearly arranged papers. Bellatrix hastily unrolled the letter from its leg. A grin unfurled across her face when she read the few words.

Bella,
Wizard’s chess – best 2 out of 3? Next week? Same place and time?

Seizing a quill, she scratched out “2 out of 3” and scribbled “3 out of 5” over it in elegant, swirling handwriting. Then she called an elf to feed the owl before it returned the letter to its sender.

**

They requested the table in the far back of the shop – the one so small the chess board hung off the edges. It was technically a booth, as the chairs were built into the wall, but they were hardly wide enough to accommodate a single person on either side. It was partially obscured from the rest of the room by a giant hanging fern on one side and an awkwardly extended bookshelf on the other, and it faced the back of the building so that it could only be seen when exiting the bathrooms or the back end of the bar.
The waitress typically only sat single customers at that table due to its size and atmosphere, especially ones who were there to linger and brood alone. These two women, whom she’d served several times, always asked for it. They had quite the reputation among the staff. Invariably, they ordered the same thing: a cappuccino for the chestnut-haired woman with the distant eyes and “a double shot – no, triple today – actually, why don’t you just drop off the whole bottle?” of whiskey for the one with the impressively dark, curly hair; maybe some chips for both of them. The wait staff had nominated her to be their regular waitress since they paid her little mind and tipped her well. This was after several instances where the dark-haired one had viciously berated other waitstaff with wild hands, a snarled lip, and nasty words. Each time, the other woman had laid a firm hand on her forearm, handed the waitstaff a surprising amount of cash, and asked them to just send the bill over with someone else. She thought herself savvy enough to refrain from extraneous comments, limit her time near the booth, select a top shelf liquor while only charging for the house whiskey, and bring them an extra cappuccino after an hour or so. When she saw one of their chess pieces brandish its weapon and shatter the pawn in its path without either of them touching it, she turned away abruptly so that they wouldn’t notice her presence. The first time the dark-haired woman had given her a smile, the charcoal eyes seeking hers out very intentionally, she had backed away quickly unsettled by the strange but not unwelcome buzzing under her sternum.

The women had to fold themselves into the table in a way that should have looked awkward but somehow didn’t. It made her feel like she was intruding on something, and she looked away every time after the first. They would slide into each booth the same time but with their legs alternating one at a time so that they didn’t have to jostle them under the table to try to find a comfortable position. They began interlocked and remained so throughout their visit.

She surmised it was an affair, that the calm woman with the faraway eyes, usually in nondescript attire, had a husband who probably knew what was happening but never asked her about it. The scary dark-haired woman looked like she had once belonged to someone in a deep, soul-rending way that had marked her indelibly but had since passed, leaving mixed feelings in its wake. She normally scorned infidelity, but they looked so whole together that she decided to put her disdain aside along with her curiosity about the chess pieces. All sorts of people came to this unique shop to be left alone, and she felt it her duty to oblige them if they tipped well.

Once, the dark-haired woman pulled up her sleeves, revealing a gaudy tattoo on her right forearm. The other folded her hands and removed her attention from the chessboard to study the large skull with a sinister snake protruding where a tongue would’ve been.

The dark-haired woman became very still, aware of the other’s intense focus on the ink. “You didn’t know it was still there, did you?”

“I tried not to think about it,” came the reply. “I thought maybe it went away when he did.”

“Well. It’s all still there.”

“When did you get it?”

“Too long ago.” The woman pursed her lips. “I deserved it.”

“Why would you say that?”

“It was technically a gift. A badge, if you will. Given to me the day I nearly killed my father and burned Andy off the family tree.”

That was a shocking statement, but it wasn’t totally out of line with the woman’s persona. The waitress knew she should walk away. Instead she continued to wipe down dishes quietly.

“Did you want it then?” The lighter-haired woman looked sad.

“I wanted to protect my sister. And it made me feel so alive.”

“Hard to go back from, huh?”

“Impossible.” There was silence, and then. “Do you hold it against me?”

“No. Which is hard to explain to myself, but I don’t feel like I need to.”

“Do you want to?”

“Be able to explain it? No. Hold it against you? I don’t know. I don’t know anymore.”

The two women traded a few moves in silence before the melancholy one raised her eyes to the other. “The year after the trials. In the Ministry rehab program. What was it like?”

The dark-haired woman shrugged. “Unremarkable, really. Day in, day out, the same routine. Wake up in a simple room with grey walls. Eat unimpressive breakfast. Minor calisthenics. Morning tinctures with tea. Listen to someone drone on about something. Sit for some sort of testing. A few times it was unpleasant, but not most of the time. Tinctures with afternoon tea. Forced reading time while memories were extracted from us. Individual therapy. Dinner. Evening tincture. Vague socializing. Go to sleep in the grey room. Start again the next day.”

The woman listening furrowed her brow. “But what about your magic? Wasn’t that part of it?”

Magic? The waitress wondered; if she had believed in magic, that would have made the women make much more sense. As it was, she didn’t.

“We used it and felt it less and less. One day I woke up, and it was just gone.”

“Did that feel …bad?” The woman blinked rapidly, obviously trying to make sense of something she didn’t expect to hear.

“No. Just like it was happening to someone else and not to me.” The woman ran a hand through her heavy curls. “I didn’t really think much of it, honestly, until Andy picked me up when I was released. That was a shock. Her magic was utterly overwhelming.”

“Is that why you left her house so soon?”

“Partly.” The woman clearly wasn’t going to continue answering that question.

“That doesn’t make sense. Surely something horrible happened or they wouldn’t have tried to kill you afterwards.”

Attractive, trilling laughter bubbled up from the dark-haired woman and frustrated her counterpart. “Hermione, you should stop letting that weigh on you. People have been trying to kill me since I was a teenager. If I let it bother me, I’d be clinically insane by now.”

“I put my fingers literally in your body to pull out some ungodly magic, and your blood soaked my living room, and you want me to just let it go? That was super traumatizing, Bella.”

The waitress thought she was getting more than she bargained for by eavesdropping on the conversation.

“You’ve been letting a lot of things go, lately. What’s one more?”

The woman who was protesting drooped her head. “I don’t understand how you’re so unphased.”

“Things only matter as much as you let them.”

“That’s the pureblood in you talking. Some things do matter regardless of what we think of them, and this is one of those things.”

“Perhaps it does come with the territory to be able to ignore injustice so easily. But I bet if you try it out, things will go a lot easier for you. Stop resisting.”

“But don’t you hate the Ministry?”

“When I was younger, I had more energy to hate it. Then I realized it was made up of people just like me. Now I know it’s just a game.”

“A very costly game.”

“Sure.”

There was a long pause while they continued to play. Then the woman ceased her protesting, and the distant eyes warmed while one of her pieces moved toward the other woman’s queen. “Checkmate, babe.”

The tension broke. They laughed and carried on flirting. The waitress thought the dark-haired woman now looked very much more herself, tattooed arm swinging the liquor bottle around on the table, charcoal eyes with some new ember of delight dancing at the woman who had just beaten her. When she finally chose to stack up the clean glasses and exit the bar near them, the other woman locked eyes with her, and she knew her eavesdropping was exposed. Fear flitted in her stomach, but the woman only shook her head almost imperceptibly. The two were gone when she returned, her normal tip stacked neatly on the table.

**

Outside the shop, Bellatrix and Hermione strolled down the sidewalk toward Diagon Alley with their hands in their pockets.

“She heard us, didn’t she?” Bellatrix questioned.

“Yep.”

“You should go back and obliviate her.”

“No!” Hermione replied brusquely. “She won’t say anything. She’s trustworthy."

“How do you know that?”

“Just people sense, Bella. Not everyone has to be forced into doing the right thing. She’s all right.”

Bellatrix snorted. “You have remarkable patience for muggles.”

“Well you have no patience for anyone, so all patience is remarkable to you.”

“I’ve been patient with you.” The woman’s voice was soft; so was the expression on her face. “But I must be going. Cissy will be livid if I miss the meeting with the Greengrasses this afternoon. Also, she’s peeved that you keep brushing off Draco’s offers.”

“Can’t be tied down. Especially not to the Blacks.” Hermione joked.

“Bummer for us,” was the reply. “Thanks for meeting up, Hermione. See you again soon, I hope.” She turned away before Hermione could respond.

Hermione clenched her fists and furrowed her brow. She felt like something special was getting away, like she was losing something she desperately wanted. Unsure of what to do or say, she called out to the woman’s retreating form. “Wait, Bella.” She jogged forward. “Wait… are you doing anything tonight?”

“Not after I seduce or strongarm the Greengrasses, no.”

“Would you want to come over for dinner?” The words rushed out of Hermione’s mouth.

Bellatrix’ smile was dashing. “I can be there at 8.”

“8. Ok. All right.” On her way home, she pressed her fingers to her forehead. What am I doing?

**

Bellatrix knocked on the door at 8:10 with a bottle of wine that was quite expensive by the looks of it. Hermione stood in the doorway, blocking it with her body, visibly nervous.
“Your wards are down. I just walked right through them.”

“A little reckless, don’t you think? They could’ve blown you to pieces if they were up.”

“You forget that that’s literally happened to me before, and I was fine. Are you going to let me in or are we eating out here?”

Hermione stepped aside, cheeks aflame. Bellatrix hung a new leather jacket in the entry way and popped the cork of the wine at the counter.

“Do you ever reflect on how much you drink?”

“Criticism so early in the evening.” Bellatrix shoved a glass into her hand. “Says the bartender. Why do you keep going back to that place, by the way?”

“I own it. The previous owner borrowed a lot of money from me to keep it afloat and then just decided it was easier to offload it to me than to pay me back.”

“Fine investment you’ve got there. Dingy bar in a fish town.”

“Didn’t see you complaining about it when you were there every Tuesday night.”

“There were perks.”

Hermione rolled her eyes. They sat awkwardly across from each other to eat. Though not big by any standard, she felt like the table placed great distance between them, especially compared to the tiny booth where they played wizard’s chess that afternoon. She sipped her wine only enough to calm her nerves and to be able to compliment it. For some reason, it made her even more anxious that Bellatrix barely touched her own drink.

“How did it go with the Greengrasses?”

“Hold up. Hermione Granger asking about Black family business? Did Draco break through to you in the few short hours that have passed since this afternoon? Or was it Harry?”

It was odd, but pleasing, to hear the woman refer to her friend by his first name. “I’m just interested. Just like everyone else. I can’t go anywhere in Diagon Alley or any other wizarding community without hearing something about you lot.”

Bellatrix waved her hand dismissively. “Cissy seems intent on some sort of dynasty, and Andy of course takes everything so damn seriously.”

“And you?”

The woman smirked while chewing. She took a sip of wine and said, “It’s just amusing to exert so much power over people like the Greengrasses.”

“Are you really seducing them?”

“Want a play-by-play?” This made Hermione grimace, but Bellatrix mercifully continued in a different direction. “Relax, Hermione. I’m not shagging anyone for money or trade deals or even politics. No, we made a legitimate agreement with the Greengrasses that they felt was a fair compromise but leaves us ample room to take proper advantage of their resources at a later date.”

“Proper advantage.” Hermione scoffed.

Bellatrix had her elbow on her table and pointed her fork over Hermione’s shoulder at the window. “Look, fireworks.”

They left their meal at the table. “Must be a holiday. Or a big football game,” said Hermione as she opened the glass door. It was warm so they stepped out onto the window-sized ledge with a railing that the apartment had advertised as a balcony. The two of them standing side by side filled the space.

“I never expected to spend so much time in the muggle world,” said Bellatrix, resting both arms on the railing.

“How do you feel about it?”

“Lucky, I think.”

Hermione chuckled. “Has anyone ever figured you out?”

“Not many have tried. Or I pretended they didn’t. Maybe Andy.”

Bellatrix straightened and turned toward Hermione who realized too late that she was already facing the woman. Moonlight filled charcoal eyes to the brim and illuminated the intricate curls cascading around her face, neck, and shoulders. The shadows on her strong jaw and pronounced collarbones flickered as green, blue, orange, purple, red flashed from the explosions in the sky. When Hermione stole a glance at the woman’s mouth, she knew the inevitable had come. The lips, full and bright, parted slightly with careful inhaling and exhaling.

“Are you going to do it?” Bellatrix’ voice was husky.

Hermione trembled as they moved closer to each other. Then her mouth was pressed against the dark-haired witch’s in a slow, searching kiss. Their lips slid against each other, tugging softly with hints of tongue and teeth here and there. Hermione placed a hand on the woman’s chest and pulled her in deeper with a fist clenched in her shirt before pushing her away again. Neither of them moved. Their chests heaved while fireworks and merry cheers continued in the distance.

“I have been waiting a long time for that.”

Hearing that statement in that husky voice made Hermione let out a short, breathy laugh. “Then why didn’t you do something about it?”

“I knew you didn’t want me to.”

“You think you know everything. You don’t know what I want and don’t want.”

Bellatrix was suddenly in her ear, one hand gently trapping her head and neck against those full lips tickling her skin. “Then please enlighten me about what you want, Hermione.”

It was too much to resist. She seized the woman’s waist and pulled her back inside the building. They stumbled past the table with the full wine glasses, kissing at full tilt. Bellatrix kept advancing, pushing her backwards while Hermione unzipped that damn black hoody and tugged it off the woman’s shoulders and arms. They stopped only when Hermione’s back collided with the closed bedroom door. She was out of breath and overwhelmed by the dark hair surrounding her as well as the lips and tongue dancing up her neck. Bellatrix’ hands were planted firmly on the doorframe on either side of her, holding her in place.

Hermione shuddered under the woman’s body pressing against her. “So help me if I find out this is just a ploy to get me to work for the Black family empire.”

“So help me when Cissy finds out it’s not.” That husky voice purred in her ear.

Hermione fumbled with the door handle behind her back, barely catching herself when it crashed open away from her. She grasped the woman by a handful of curls and fell backwards onto her bed underneath the dark witch.