I am sitting on the edge of my bed while pondering the day that's coming to an end. It's my birthday. The first birthday I celebrated in ages – the last time was before Ron died. It was a small party. To be honest it can't even be called a party.

My parents came by and we ate some cake. Anthy made it, so it was a really good cake, but still, no party. I don't feel it anymore, the need to get loud and rowdy. Did I ever? Maybe I did, for a while, when Ron and Harry were still alive and we thought the world was a place were the good guys won and the bad guys could only scream in frustration at their plans being foiled. Harry killed a bloody big basilisk, for gods sake. Before the war. Before Dumbledore died. Before... they died.

Ginny came by, too. She didn't actually enter the house, because, well, she is here as well and will likely be until one of us finally dies. It should bother me as well. We should have killed each other when we had the chance. But I think the last one went by unused in that cave, a lifetime ago. I don't blame Ginny. My... nemesis? jailer? lover? partner? killed a significant part of her family. A mother and two of her brothers, and that kind of thing tends to stand between people.

I know what manner of grudge that produces. The only reason I don't think like that anymore is that I hated her so much my hate just burned out when I had too much time to think. When I was forced to consider what I had done, would have done and had ultimately become. A mirror image of her, just with another agenda. We killed pure-bloods for being pure-bloods and I cannot hide from that knowledge because I gave the orders myself. They weren't for us and therefore had to be against us. The problem with being intelligent is that there's a limit as to how much hypocrisy you can hide from yourself.

I thought I was doing the right thing, that the end justified the means, except it didn't. We didn't even win to establish our own tyranny of open-mindedness. Every time I look in the mirror I can't shake the feeling that all the deaths we suffered were for nothing. I hated her for that, but I can't, not anymore. Instead I hate what I have become and I take that out on her. Not that she doesn't deserve it. And to be fair, she does seem to get off on it. It's still mind boggling, even after almost a year.

To try and rip myself away from my thoughts I take a look over my presents. Pictures, mostly, to make up for lost time. A few books.

Bella got me a pair of bracers and a wooden box. The bracers are made of walnut, just like her wand. I guess she gave them to me in hopes they would help with my wandless spells. They do. Marginally. Wizard bone and flesh is not the best conductor there is, as our ancestors discovered long ago. Maybe I should become a shepherd. Hermione Jean Granger going Merlin. Right. The big staffs of old are not the most impressive tools when looked at from a modern perspective. Intimidating, sure, but unimpressive nonetheless. And I wouldn't want to make the Australian wizarding community nervous. They know exactly who we are.

It astonishes me how much I cling to my magic. I really should be able to just let it go due to being Muggleborn , but I can't. Magic has become a core element of my existence and I feel crippled while my wand is sealed in a box that always hangs from my belt. At first it was a matter of vengeance. If I tried hard enough I would be able to break free, finally kill Bella (in her sleep, if need be) and rid the world of its last great evil. As if that was even possible.

But then, when she freed me and just... gave herself over to me, it wasn't what I wanted. I wanted something like that duel in the caves. The heroine emerging, finally victorious after great ordeals. But she just stood there and did nothing. She looked so tired and sad in that moment it made me stop for a moment. I shouldn't have. It was the moment I realized that we didn't fight to win anymore, but to annihilate the opposing party and decide who was right by looking at the last one standing.

It all came crashing down. The anger at Bella taking back the name Black, as if that could take any of her sins away, the rage because Aurors protected her from me. Hatred because Aurors protected bloody Bellatrix Lestrange, as if she was worth protecting, as if she needed protecting. Everything just... imploded. She could have destroyed me in that moment by simple standing there, but she didn't. She fought me. She gave me an enemy when I needed one.

And day after day, week after week, she whittled down my anger and hatred, an ounce at a time. I still didn't trust her. But when we came to Australia I learned another thing about my warden. She is scary attentive when she wants to be. She knew there was something in Australia. It wasn't by chance she brought us here. She faked being asleep but then didn't stop me from taking her wand. She just asked me to come back.

It was that moment of unconditional trust with no questions asked, that finally broke me. I went into hiding for a few hours to cry my eyes out before I attempted to undo the mind altering magic on my parents. I came back. And I brought her to meet my parents. Fortunately it was a lot less awkward than it could have been. I think I have more luck than I deserve.

The moment she told me she loves me still lingers in my heart. It wasn't completely unexpected, but still came as a surprise. Yes, we had done stuff, but you can do a lot without ever falling in love. Me being able to just accept that scared me, but I knew that if I wanted to have a chance to figure this out I couldn't push her away. Bella is Bella. She would have closed all doors for good otherwise, I think. Especially now, after her assets have been taken as reparation and she lives off of little more than pride. That woman could go down Diagon Alley covered in nothing but honey with her head held high and no one daring to look twice at her. Okay, that's not pride but fear. I could probably do the same thing. Bad picture, anyway. I should behave myself.

We live together for a year now. A little help from old friends allowed us to by an old farm building. I write under a pen name for some magazines, and Bella decided to start a bar here on the outskirts of the desert. The last chance to go on a binge before the outback. Somehow barkeeper was never among all the things I thought I might become. Yet it bothers me less then I would have thought when I help her out. Our clientele is mainly comprised of shady characters, but between Bella and myself there are no problems. Maybe I secretly wish we had a vicious bar fight at least once so I could legitimately fear for my live.

But our customers know about the enchanted wand box I carry with me. It really helps to keep the peace. We have become something like neutral ground and we even get the adventurous offspring of well situated families who want to feel like they do something forbidden without actually breaking the law.

My eyes fall on another box, the box Bella gave me today as a gift. I have never seen her so nervous. Not when she came to me unarmed, not when she confessed her love.

The box is a question. I know Bella trusts me, how else could she give herself over to me so easily, and in giving me this box she asks whether I trust her as well or not. She never explained what to do with the contents of the box. She didn't have to. And I have the same question she does: Do I trust her?

We are both exiles from home, where everyone not on our side is afraid one of us might start another war. We are both killers. We have both been insane at some point. I am afraid that she is only the easy way out for me. Someone who by now knows me better than anyone else and that is more or less bound to me. I'm reasonably sure she really loves me, despite me having a considerable part in killing Voldemort and most people she might have liked.

Bella is surprisingly honest with her feelings, especially now that we have truly lived together for some time. If I am to fully accept her it has to be real and not just me going along. She understands that as well as I do. So she gave me the box.

Surely the ministry wouldn't be adamant about only her being allowed to guard me. Seeing how I went for a year in public without maiming anyone and how my wand is still secure and out of my reach. So, going different paths is a real option by now.

I try to imagine it. Me, packing my things and walking out of the door, while Bella stays behind and watches me go. No doubt her face would be pure stone, not showing any emotion. She hates to be vulnerable, with one notable exception. That exception being me. I would loose that, most likely forever. Never again hear her snicker at a morbid joke of one of our guests. Never hear her scream again. Never again admire the fact that wizards and witches are far more resistant to the effects of age then muggles.

If I choose this route we will become strangers, a disaster waiting to happen, the both of us.

I bite into my fist to stifle a sob. No, I won't loose her because I am afraid of myself. She looked past everything I am and I have done, I owe her to do the same. And what I see there is someone I want to be around. We are hardly the same people we were during the war. I shouldn't judge her as such. I mustn't continue to live in the past or it will destroy us both. If I ever tell my grandchildren about the whole thing they will think I have gone senile.

Taking a deep breath I stand up and go downstairs with the box in my hands.

When I enter the taproom I see her sitting at the bar with a glass of firewhiskey before her. The bottle is not far away. I stop dead.

"How many have you had already?", I ask with a disapproving voice. She looks up with unnaturally round eyes.

"None. I wanted to have steady hands in case you...", she shrugs and I hide a smile. I can't really fault her for being afraid how I would choose. In one year I never once made clear where we stand. How, if I didn't know myself?

"That's good then." I place the box in front of her. It contains a scalpel and a tiny bottle of a healing potion that, going by the color, consists mostly of dittany. "Would you do the honors?"

The smile she offers me is worth all the hours of self-doubt. I sit down in front of her and place my arm on the counter. A quick shaking of my head stops her from taking her wand. She grabs the scalpel and looks at me.

"Are you sure you don't want to be stupefied?"

"Yes. I need to be aware."

"At least let me numb the arm", she pleads. I shake my head again. Bella sighs unhappy and begins to cut carefully. She traces the raw writing on my arm and leaves bleeding really is no way to be tender with a blade and she needs to cut more then when she tortured me. I try to stay quiet, but there is only so much pain I can suppress completely. She throws me worried glances but doesn't let it get to her. Who would have thought that being jaded by war can be a good thing sometimes?

After she is done Bella kisses away one of my tears and applies the potion. Half on my wounds, the other half for me to drink. My arm begins to crawl like a colony of ants, but I don't let it show. Instead I bring myself to smile.

"I love you, you know?"

"I know.", she replies after five seconds of silence and looks to the side to hide her face. It makes me laugh.

"Of course you knew. It's why you have been on edge the whole evening."

"Well, I couldn't know whether you would know", she mumbles. "We should go to bed. It was a long day and your arm needs rest."

"You know...", I begin later, when we lie in dark, "I will probably want kids one day."

She chuckles. "Oh dear. That must be like being adopted by Cruella and Morgana. I'm sure child services will be delighted to help us."

I can't help myself but giggle at the thought. Also, I notice she has been catching up on rather insignificant muggle fiction.

"Then maybe we should let a few years pass by. We are at the other side of the world, you know?"

She turns to look directly at me and her eyes are tiny reflections in the night.

"We raised a lot of attention, in case you have forgotten. But just maybe we will be boring in a few years."

"Even if not. With you at my side I would stand up to the world if it came at us.", I promise her. She kisses me.

"Let's hope that won't be necessary. I've had enough of war."

"Meh... if push comes to shove we can always employ Muggle science to have a child ourselves."

"Maybe. But you really should sleep now. Your arm needs rest."

I smile while closing my eyes. And for the first time in ages Rons dead eyes don't stare at me from the darkness.

So I lied and the story wasn't as complete as I thought it was. It is now. I kind of like the setting of the ongoing guerilla war between the Order and the Death Eaters, so maybe I will do something with it at some point in the future. But don't hold your breath.