Chapter One: Call to Arms

Hermione didn't like to think of what might have been, but sometimes it came to her when she least expected it. While she was scrubbing a stubborn stain out of one of her mistress' robes, or when she was walking two steps behind her mistress in the shops at Diagon Alley, carrying the shopping parcels and trying to wear a placent expression as other Purebloods looked her over as if she were another item in the shop.

But worst of all was when she was lying in her mistress' arms, tangled in a stolen moment of tenderness while the rest of the household slept. In those moments, the what-if's flooded her mind and made her throat heavy with hurt.

What if The Dark Lord had been defeated in the Great Wizarding War?

What if she received the same education as the Purebloods, instead of the flurry of basic spellwork and domestic charms that muggleborns learned for a life in service?

What if muggleborns were afforded the same rights as half-bloods, to go to school and seek regular professions?

What if she had been born a Pureblood?

True, there was a rumor about a boy who had the power to vanquish the Dark Lord. The Confederation for Equal Wizardry had circulated those rumors for twenty five years. The small band of fighters had gone underground when the Dark Lord took power of the Ministry, but they still appeared every two years or so, sending packets of literature and promising a better future if the population of Magical Britain would only stand up and fight!

But how was a witch with only a third-year education that consisted mainly of household cleaning charms supposed to join the resistance? Hermione had no one, save her mistress. Like the other muggleborns, she had been whisked away from her muggle parents the moment she displayed signs of magic. The Muggleborn Children's Institute where she had been raised had drilled into her that she was inferior to those of Pureblood status, with weaker magic and no aptitude for the stronger spells. Those who had more training or means had been whisked away to France, or Spain, or Germany, or the United States.

Her friends were all in similar positions. Domestic servants or factory workers scattered across Britain. She didn't know the last time she had exchanged letters with any of them. It had been at least three years, since her relationship with her mistress had crossed a line from "friendly" to "passionate."

In the dim light of her mistress' room, Hermione twisted so that she able to see her mistress' face. The Widow Lestrange was the most beautiful woman Hermione had ever seen. With smooth cheeks, finely arching brows, and lips that were constantly smirking at her when she was awake.

Hermione had come to Lestrange manor when she was fourteen. Under the careful eye of Mrs. Hawkins, the housekeeper, she had risen over the years from kitchen maid, to parlor maid, to lady's maid. Mrs. Hawkins had been the closest thing to a mother that Hermione knew. She fretted and fussed over all the maids, but she paid special attention to Hermione.

"You're staring at me again," her mistress said, eyes still closed.

Hermione felt her cheeks warm. "I was just thinking," she said slowly.

Dark eyes fluttered open, and Bellatrix smiled easily. "About what?"

"About when we first met," Hermione said, not wanting to admit to the what-ifs. If her mistress suspected she was ungrateful… Hermione swallowed.

Bellatrix snaked an arm around Hermione's waist and pulled her closer. She nuzzled Hermione's curls, and let out a contented sigh. "When you burned the cake for my birthday? And I had to serve fruit instead?"

Hermione blushed further at the mention, she had been a hopeless kitchen maid. "No, I was thinking of when you accepted me as your lady's maid."

"You were so nervous," Bellatrix teased, pressing soft kisses to Hermione's neck. "Do I still scare you?"

Hermione swallowed. "Sometimes."

"Good," there was laughter in Bellatrix's voice. "I like you as my little Mouse."

Hermione shivered, and smiled as Bellatrix pulled her even closer so that they were flush against each other.

It had been her nineteenth birthday when Mrs. Hawkins greeted her with a new uniform and whispered that Maggie, the previous lady's maid, had gotten pregnant, and had run off with one of the drivers.

"I can't serve the Mistress!" Hermione had said, "She hates me!"

"You're the only one I trust to do the job correctly, my girl," said Mrs. Hawkins severely. "You're going to give it a try, and if it doesn't work out we'll discreetly move you back to the parlour when a replacement comes."

As it turned out, Hermione liked the work. Her mistress expected her to accompany her everywhere, from the painting classes to the lectures on magical theory. Hermione liked learning, and when Bellatrix began asking her opinion on where they should go next, Hermione lost her heart to her mistress entirely.

Bellatrix traced the column of Hermione's throat with a lazy finger that made Hermione's breath catch. "I was thinking that we might go to the library today," she purred. "Maybe we could read more about the history of the druids?"

"Wh-whatever you'd like, mistress." Hermione said, finding it difficult to think.

Bellatrix's fingers traced lower, down the curve of Hermione's breasts and belly, until she teased little circles into the skin just below Hermione's belly button. "Perhaps we can have a little fun before we go," she husked.

Hermione swallowed, her mouth dry. "Y-yessss."

Bellatrix laughed throatily, and leaned down to press hot kisses against Hermione's mouth. Her fingers skimmed lower, and Hermione arched into them, begging-

There was a loud banging on the door of the bedroom. "Mistress!" Mrs. Hawkins called out. "Mistress!"

Bellatrix growled in frustration, and called "What is it Hawkins?"

"Lord Malfoy is here to see you, Mistress. He says it's urgent!"

Bellatrix frowned. "Why is he here?" She mused. She pulled away and stood, "I'll be in the parlour in ten minutes Hawkins, find him some tea in the meantime."

"Yes Mistress." There was the sound of receding footsteps.

To Hermione, Bellatrix said, "I can get dressed myself. You run along to your room."

Hermione was still panting, half in fear half in arousal, but she dutifully rolled off the bed and pulled on her nightgown. She padded barefoot into her mistress' sitting room and then into the little bedroom she had called her own for six years. She had tried to brighten it up with photographs of magical creatures, the kind she had read about in school. The unicorns and phoenixes romped cheerfully above an iron bed, her nightstand with a stack of books and her wand, and the bureau with its chipped mirror.

Hermione knew she would be unable to sleep now, so she changed into the black dress that was her uniform, and smoothed an apron over it. She tucked her hair into a knot at the base of her skull and stepped into her shoes.

Mrs. Hawkins was in the kitchen, a single candle before her on the long table that the staff used for meals. She arched a brow at Hermione and said, "I see she's kept you up too late."

Mrs. Hawkins was the only one who knew about Hermione's relationship with their mistress. She did not approve, mainly because it was dangerous for Hermione if they were caught.

Hermione sat beside her, "Do you know why he's here?"

Mrs. Hawkins sighed. "He said he had urgent news from the Dark Lord. Though why they didn't call her with the mark... " She shook her head, and stood to rummage around in the cupboards. She returned a moment later with a soft piece of bread and some apple preserves. "Eat, you may need to pack for the mistress if she is called away."

Hermione pricked up, "Called away?"

"In the days of the war, the mistress and Lord Lestrange were called away all the time," Mrs. Jenkins said. "They'd traipse off at all hours of the day and night and come back covered in who knows what." She shuddered, "I hope it's not come to that again. But there are rumors… Eat, my girl, eat."

Hermione spread some of the preserves on her bread and took a bite. "What kind of rumors?"

"The C.E.W. is active again in the North. They raided one of the Muggleborn Children's Institutes and kidnapped all the children." Mrs. Hawkins clucked. "Poor dears. I don't know what they're planning to do with them."

Hermione swallowed. "Surely they wouldn't hurt them," she said. "They're all for equality."

"Well, I hope none of those children get the wrong idea from being with the resistance," Mrs. Hawkins said, sniffing. "There was a group of lads that got it in their mind that they should be able to go to the same school as the half-bloods and purebloods, and they staged a protest." Mrs. Hawkins shuddered, "The whole lot of them had their wands snapped and their memories wiped. Some say they even received the kiss!"

Hermione gaped at her, "Surely that's a rumor too," she said. "The Dark Lord wouldn't send a bunch of boys to the dementors just for asking for the same education. He," she swallowed, remembering the teachings that had been drilled into her as a child, "He looks out for us. He knows we aren't strong enough, so he's set up the institutions as a way to care for us and ensure we have futures!"

Something close to pity entered Mrs. Hawkins' eyes. "Yes," she said gently. "Well, it was different in my day, of course. Everyone just went to Hogwarts."

Hermione felt a flash of envy and tamped it down. Like the other muggleborns of her generation, she had gone to a muggleborn academy instead of Hogwarts.

There was a soft chime, and Mrs. Hawkins stood. "Go back to your rooms now, my girl. The mistress may have need of you."

Sure enough, Hermione had scarcely entered the sitting room when Bellatrix appeared. Her mistress was flushed, her eyes round with excitement, and she crossed to where Hermione was standing and seized her hands.

"He's summoned me," she said breathlessly.

Hermione's heart lurched, though she did not know why. "Who?"

"The Dark Lord! There have been three battles in the north, where the rebels are. The Dark Lord wants me to lead the hunt to flush them out and end this C.E.W. nonsense forever!"

Hermione bit her lip, "So you'll be gone during the days?"

Bellatrix shook her head. "This is too important to waste valuable energy on apparating. I need to be up there, where I can supervise properly day and night."

"You're leaving the manor?" Hermione felt her stomach sink. She could not imagine the manor without her mistress in it.

At this, the excitement in Bellatrix's eyes dimmed. "For a time, yes. You don't understand how important this is. If we can squash the resistance before they build up an actual army we can secure the future of magical Britain once and for all!"

Hermione dropped her gaze to the collar of Bellatrix's robes. There was a loose thread there that she should have noticed and fixed. If she focused on that, maybe she could swallow down the tears that threatened to rise.

Soft hands cradled her chin and forced her gaze upwards. "I won't ask you to join me," Bellatrix said softly. "It will be a hard life, we might spend hours or days in the field. I would like to have you at my side, to make it-" she swallowed, "... easier. But I won't pull you away from the safety of the Manor. You're protected here, and I can't ask you to risk your safety for me."

Hope swelled in Hermione's chest. "You want me with you?"

"Of course I want you with me," Bellatrix's gaze was warm, and made Hermione feel as if she'd just downed a warm butterbeer. "You're my lucky little witch."

There were times when Hermione wondered if her mistress felt half the way she did about their relationship. It kept her up some nights, staring into her candle and wondering if she was merely a distraction for her mistress to ease away her boredom with.

Then there were moments like this, where she felt wonderful and important.

"Of course I'll come," she said. "I wouldn't want you to be up there alone."

Bellatrix grinned a dazzling smile, and Hermione felt herself melt.

"Well, we'd better go to Diagon Alley. We leave tomorrow morning and there's so much we need to prepare!" Bellatrix leaned forward and kissed Hermione on the forehead. "Fetch the floo powder, Granger!"

Feeling dazed, Hermione ran to comply.

A/N: So this universe has been rattling around inside my brain for a few months, and I'm finally putting it down on paper. If you're interested in seeing it continue please let me know!