Shards of Nuance

Slowly but surely, Hermione began to be privy to the Black empire’s planning without committing to them in any capacity. Bellatrix would sweet talk her into staying through dinner into the evening, where drinks were taken to the lounge so that the three sisters could strategize. She was surprised that neither Narcissa nor Andromeda put up a fight; they didn’t even acknowledge her presence as unusual. The middle sister never mentioned anything about the morning she found them in bed, and it didn’t seem to Hermione that she treated her any differently. She learned about new alliances and vassalage agreements, most for a limited number of generations but a few in perpetuity. She listened in great detail to a muggle expansion proposal that seemed highly problematic involving heretofore protected wizarding land, but Andromeda’s apparent control over the situation soothed her fears. She was fascinated when Bellatrix called their house elves to weigh in on a trade deal or adjudication that would impact magical creatures. She never saw Harry or Draco at the Manor, though Narcissa spoke of her dealings with them often. She came to love – if she was allowed to use the word – watching the three sisters when they bent close together over a table inspecting a document, a sizzling something cycling from Andromeda to the others and back to her chest again. Bellatrix never ceased to give her middle sister a hard time, and only once did Andromeda react violently, throwing her to the floor like a ragdoll. The auburn-haired woman sobbed pleading apologies for a long time afterwards, and it was Bellatrix, not Narcissa as Hermione expected, who held her and rubbed her back, murmuring comforting words until her tears ended.

When Hermione spent time with Harry, Ginny, and Ron – and occasionally Luna and Neville – they never spoke about Harry’s involvement with the Black Empire, not even if they visited Grimmauld Place for supper. The Potters looked like new money and spent their wealth lavishly for their friends. Once, Ron asked her about any offers from the Blacks, to which she replied truthfully that she wasn’t doing business with Malfoy Apothecaries. Otherwise, no one had any reason to ask her about the Black family, and for that she was grateful. She hadn’t been able to explain to them why she ran away after the Death Eater trials so long ago; there was no way she could explain her relationship with Bellatrix now. She could barely explain it to herself: some combination of gentleness, patience, safety, riotous sex, unconditional acceptance, absurdity, and maybe even love.

Bellatrix Lestrange and all her baggage.

She told Hermione once that she didn’t want to talk about Azkaban. “It took too much of my life. It’s still taking my life. Most of my quiet thoughts, most of my dreams, are all about that place. I don’t want it to take up space in our relationship too.”

“Bella, it does. It probably takes space in all your relationships,” she’d whispered. Every now and then, a miserable dream that Bellatrix couldn’t wake from disturbed Hermione in the middle of the night, and no amount of consoling ended the woman’s suffering before the memory was done with her.

“I know it does. I just can’t give it any more of me. Please, leave it alone.”

She thought that maybe nothing about being with Bellatrix, or any of the Blacks for that matter, was healthy – except for the part where she felt so alive when she was with them. The thought closely resembled something Bellatrix said about the Dark Lord, so she spent a great deal of effort re-writing it in her head: On the surface, spending so much time with the Black sisters was unwise, but they were helping her heal from the war in more ways than she imagined possible. Still too similar, but that would have to do. And when had she started to refer to him as “the Dark Lord” instead of “Voldemort”?

**

One day, she saw a bedraggled Ron shucking his auror robes to step out into muggle London in the rain with his head hung low. Her friend looked miserable – a type of misery she hadn’t seen in him even during the war. She quickened her step to catch him.

“Hey, Ron!”

“’Mione,” he mumbled. She put a hand on his shoulder, but he didn’t look up.

“What’s up? What’s wrong?”

“They’re taking mum and dad’s house.”

“The Burrow? Who?” She was alarmed.

“The Burrow. All our land around it.”

She didn’t know any land around it belonged to them. “Why?”

“A muggle expansion of some sort. The Wizengamot approved it yesterday. The Ministry is forcing them to sign over the deed to the house and all the property this afternoon. They’ve barred all us kids from being there when they do it.

“What? No, they can’t do that. They wouldn’t do that. Andromeda said she wouldn’t let the motion pass.” She didn’t realize in the moment that was revealing her proximity to the Black sisters.

“The Black family seat and all the family’s vassals were on the list that signed it. Saw it myself.” He let out a single sob. “There’s not going to be anything left for us.”

“No, Ron. We’re not going to let this happen.”

“We can’t do anything about it, Hermione. They’re taking the Hogwarts grounds too. If they can take the land at Hogwarts, they can take anything. Shacklebolt hasn’t even stepped in.”

“No, no. I’m going to find Bella.”

“Bella?” Ron questioned. But Hermione was gone.

**

Hermione found Bellatrix at the Manor, flicking through a copy of a Greek tragedy so ancient it could’ve been an original. The dark-haired woman only barely looked up from it when Hermione cried out.

“The Ministry is taking the Burrow!” She was out of breath.

“Not surprising. The Weasleys owe a bit of money. They’ll just loan out some land and build a new house; it’ll be fine.”

“Ron said they’re taking all of their land. For the muggle expansion project. The one that’s supposed to annex the Hogwarts grounds.”

Bellatrix leaned forward, suddenly very interested. “All of their land?!”

“Yes, apparently they own a lot of land around the Burrow.”

“A lot!” The woman scoffed. “They own bloody half of the land between King’s Cross and Hogwarts.”

“What?” Hermione was incredulous. “The Weasley’s don’t have that kind money.”

“No, they don’t. They’re the dirt poor now, but they still have a shit ton of land in their inheritance. They were just too proud to sell it, even when they were stupidly giving everything away. Can’t say I blame them honestly. It’s pretty damn grand. But if they sell it to the Ministry, at least they’ll have some money again."

“The Ministry isn’t letting them sell it. They’re just taking it. I saw Ron leaving Diagon Alley and he looked like shit.”

“I guess they don’t have any protective agreements strong enough to have leverage in the Ministry anymore. But Andy said she’d take care of it; she said the counter-proposal would pass.”

“Ron said her signature was on the motion to pass the original proposal and seize the land.”

Bellatrix focused her gaze on Hermione sharply. “The hell? When’s this happening?”

“Probably right now. I’m going to go to the Ministry. Can you – will you help?”

Bellatrix disappeared long enough to find a robe emblazoned with an intimidating Black family crest on the back. Hermione apparated them to Diagon Alley, causing quite a stir as people crowded and craned their necks to catch a glimpse of Bellatrix Lestrange on the tail of the golden war hero. Security in the Ministry was unsure how to respond to them. They received “Ms. Granger, um, Mrs. Lestrange. Um, excuse me…,” several times over, but Hermione pushed on until she found the conference room where she suspected the Weasleys would be.

When she burst through the door, she froze, suddenly aware that she had no plan. A frog-ish man perched at the large redwood desk, pen in hand, inspecting a document. Mr. and Mrs. Weasley sat with their shoulders cowed front of him.

“See, you’ll initial here, here, and here and sign here. Truly sorry, Arthur, the Weasley parcel was one of the more impressive Sacred 28 inheritances. Shame to see it go,” he was saying, truly not sorry about what was happening. “Hello? Is that Ms. Granger?”

Hermione took that as her cue to march straight to the desk, ignoring Mrs. Weasley’s exasperated but defeated sigh. (“Hermione, what are you doing here?”) Instead of responding to Mrs. Weasley, she stuck a finger in the man’s face. “You can’t bloody do this. You can’t take a family’s home from them without warning.”

“I’m afraid we have to, Ms. Granger. The treaty with muggle Britain requires it.”

“Bullshit. You at least have to pay them what it’s worth.”

“I’m sorry, Ms. Granger. The Wizengamot hasn’t approved the funds. They’ve decided it’s for the greater good of the wizarding world and requires immediate action. Several specialized auror teams have been deployed to seize the property if there is forceful protest.

“What the bloody hell is this?” She raged on, unaware of Bellatrix sliding into an empty chair next to Mr. Weasley.

“Arthur.” Bellatrix thrust a slip of paper into his hand. “Sign this.”

“Be-Bellatrix.” His voice was hoarse. Mrs. Weasley looked at her as if seeing a ghost, which was reasonable given their last meeting at Battle of Hogwarts.

“Hurry the fuck up.”

“Wha-what is this?”

“It’s one of the old contracts.” Molly observed quietly.

Bellatrix nodded. “It’s a bill of sale and an agreement of administration and non-seizure that will disrupt the current deed transfer. The Black family pays you the entire worth of your property – which, if you don’t recall, is a lot of fucking money. We own your land, but we agree to not take, sell, or alter it without your consent. The Weasleys are deputy landholders and managers.”

“What? Why would you do this?”

“Fucking sign it if you want to keep your inheritance. The money will show up in your account tonight.”

“Arthur,” his wife interrupted his hesitation. “It might be better than losing everything right now.” He looked at her incredulously, so she added, “Isn’t it better to be beholden to another one of the old families than to be at the mercy of the Ministry?”

He scribbled his signature, and Bellatrix stood triumphantly just as Hermione’s desperate voice indicated she was losing her argument with the frog man.

“Parkinson!” Bellatrix’ voice boomed. “This deal is over.”

“Mrs. Lestrange. I’m unsure what your business could be here.” The waver in his voice did not match his words.

She slapped the signed document down on the table. “The Black family has recently come into ownership of the Weasley property.”

“But that’s not a deed, Mrs. Lestrange.”

“If you’ll look closely, Parkinson, this is a document type that long predates the use of the deed and is charmed to withstand destruction, forgery, and annulments attempted without the Heads of family. Since it is tied directly to the family magic itself, it far surpasses that deed in authenticity and power. It’s complete with Mr. Weasley’s magical signature as well as my own which is endowed with the full force of the House of Black. But since the muggles especially find some pitiful significance in a deed, you’ll hand it over to me at once as well.”

“Mrs. Lestrange, this is all very impressive, but the Ministry doesn’t recognize you as the official liaison for negotiations with the Black family.” He reached to inspect the document anyway.

Bellatrix waited for him to yelp from the pain that sizzled his fingertips when he touched the paper before pinning both of his arms to the table, a small knife curled in one hand. Hermione made a mental note to check if the goblin knife she’d had for the better part of five years after the fateful day at Malfoy Manor was still in her nightstand.

“I am the Black family head, elected by generations of blood inheritance that can only be changed by rituals that no one in all of Britain, much less the Ministry, has any idea how to execute. Everything the House does gets approved by me before it is put into action. Now you’re going to take your warrant back to whichever peon you report to, and you’re going to inform the Wizengamot that the head of the Black family is very interested in cooperating with them to build their pet muggle project in another, more suitable tract of Black land – or you can experience how talented I am with a knife, which is at least as talented as I was with a wand.”

The man gulped. “But it has to run through the Weasley property to connect with the rest of its proposed route.”

She placed another slip of paper on the table, and he jumped. “This, you can see, is payment to the Ministry twice the value of the entire rest of the land being annexed for the project and a guarantee to negotiate potential Ministry revenue from the property itself. Plus, there’s a hefty tip for you. I am confident you will be fired immediately if your supervisor finds out you refused to receive a check of this amount on her behalf.”

The man only nodded. She snatched the deed from his hands and dropped it into Mr. Weasley’s lap without looking at him as she sauntered out the door.

“Congratulations, Arthur. You’re the richest Weasley that’s ever lived.”