Team: Pride of Portree
Round: Character Study: Ron Weasley
Position: Keeper
Keeper's Prompt: Write about Ron's relationship with Hermione
Word count: 3009
Beta love to: Litfreak89, Crochetaway and Story Please
Non-magical AU. Riddle is a crime lord, Hogwarts and Order of the Phoenix are two independent intelligence agencies.
The Incident at Nocturnal
Hermione Granger was no femme fatale. It wasn't due to some inherent character flaw. She'd just never trained for the role. Everyone had thought that Lavender Brown was better suited for the job. Creating the perfect look and adopting the right kind of mannerisms was as natural to her as breathing. Hermione excelled in intelligence analysis, but she was no femme fatale.
Hermione really hadn't felt confident about the mission to begin with, but Albus Dumbledore had explained in his usual soft, yet commanding manner that this was the only option they had. Obtaining of Lord Voldemort's ledger of arms dealing was vital and time sensitive, as he'd only be staying in London for a couple of weeks. Both Lavender and Parvati were halfway around the world, and the whole agency was stretched thin trying to combat the crime lord's global influence. Thus, even analysts like Hermione, who had minimal field training, were ordered out of their comfortable and safe cubicles.
It had started well enough. She'd been issued a dress and shoes from, and with her face and hair done, she almost lookedthe part. Getting access to the club had been tedious. Nocturnal, Tom Marvolo Riddle's temporary headquarters and currently the hottest haunt in London, was full, and everyone was subjected to an ID check and a pat down, but eventually, she was in.
The club itself was strange. There was a Gothic feel to the morbid yet beautifully intricate interior. Hermione found herself in awe as she gazed up at the silver skulls and ouroboros near the ceiling. The floor was a chessboard of black and white stones. The booths on the sides were filled with Victorian furniture that was draped in faux spider webs. It was all very over-the-top and ominous.
Hermione's eyes landed on the owner of the club. She had seen a couple of pictures of the arms dealer, but while they managed to adequately portray the features of the man, something was wrong. Her hairs stood up on the back of her neck and her brain began giving the signal to run. The tall, slim man with pale skin and black hair turned his attention from the statuesque brunette he'd been talking to and his dark eyes fell on Hermione. In hindsight, that was when it had all gone downhill. Riddle must have immediately suspected her because before she even had half a chance to try and woo a security guard and gain access to Riddle's quarters, she was approached and escorted up there on the man's orders.
The decor was a stark contrast to the club below. Everything was sleek and modern; still in black and white but utilizing simple geometric shapes. It was also rather impersonal, with scarcely even a potted plant in sight.
Riddle sat down behind his desk and smiled, his mouth curving, yet with no real warmth. "Good evening, Miss…?"
"Dearing. Margot Dearing," stated one of the guards who had taken her handbag.
Riddle's smile widened. "Please sit down, Miss Dearing." Before she could respond, she was roughly shoved into a chair. "So, who sent you?" Riddle asked, not even bothering to spell out the accusation itself. "The Major Crimes division? The Order of the Phoenix? Or maybe Albus Dumbledore himself, though I've heard Hogwarts has been struggling with operations lately!"
Hermione couldn't trust her voice or her expression, so she kept her teeth clenched and eyes staring forward. Something in Riddle's face changed very slightly, and Hermione's head was shoved down. It struck the table with a nasty crack, and she cried out in pain. The guard pulled her back up by the hair. A bit of blood trickled from her split lip. Riddle's smile had not wavered.
He reached out across the table and touched the injury, making Hermione flinch. "You know, I quite prefer doing this the hard way. Though, judging by your frightened expression, it'll hardly take any effort."
Before Hermione could respond, a noise came from the far corner of the room. Unable to hold her composure, she glanced that way and saw a mop of red hair. When the man looked up, she noticed how bright his blue eyes were in his freckled and bruised face.
"You really are a coward, Riddle," he said. "Does this make you feel good? Hurting and scaring a young woman? Makes you feel tough? Why don't you pick on someone your own size?" He struggled to stand up on shaky feet, and Hermione noticed that his hands were bound behind his back. Also by his appearance, it seemed that Riddle had already picked on him plenty.
Slowly Tom Riddle turned his gaze to the man. "I apologize, Mister Lewis, for being distracted by this new charming creature." He stood, walked over to the man and struck him across the face. "But don't worry; just because I've found a another plaything doesn't mean you're forgotten." Lewis fell from the force of the blow, but Riddle yanked him up by the collar. "In fact, how about you assist me in teaching her a lesson about people who steal from me?" Riddle dragged him out from the corner, threw him down on the floor, and then kicked him in the ribs.
"See, Miss Dearing, this man here, rather like you, thought it fit to take something of mine. Unlike you, he almost succeeded." He kicked the man again and then picked up a knife from the table. "I don't appreciate being stolen from, and I'm afraid that both your bosses, whoever they are, need a reminder."
Hermione gasped as he bent down and raised the blade to harm the man that had just drawn on himself all the ire directed at her. "I'm afraid this'll hurt quite a bit," Riddle said with cruel glee in his voice. Hermione wanted to look away but forced herself not to. She owed her saviour at least that much.
The phone rang. Instantly, Riddle stood up, placed the knife on the table, and then picked up the receiver. Hermione exhaled sharply. The call was short. She could only make out a few monosyllabic answers on Riddle's part. Finally, he slammed the receiver down. Hermione noticed he was frowning. Riddle turned to face her and the man on the floor and when he spoke, his voice seemed to have lost some of the glee. "I apologize; something came up. But rest assured that I'll be back to finish this conversation!" With that, he walked out, motioning the guards to follow.
For a few minutes, there was silence in the room. The only things Hermione could hear were the ticking of the clock and the heavy breathing from the man on the floor. Her mind was racing. Unfortunately, it was mainly racing around the fact that she was going to die. She tried to breathe slowly to calm herself.
"Oi! Oi, lady!" Hermione's eyes snapped open, and she saw the man, Mister Lewis, struggling up on his knees, scrambling trying to get the knife from the table. "A little help here?"
"Help?" she repeated, confused about what the man wanted from her.
"Untie me?"
Hermione opened her mouth to reply that she couldn't, then realized nothing was actually stopping her. She rushed over to the man. Her hands were shaking badly, but knots she could handle. Knots were puzzles. She pulled at the rope and freed Mister Lewis.
"Thanks. Now, we need to get out of here. There's only one guard at the door. That's the easy part. Afterwards, we might need to fight. Do you have any weapons?"
Hermione shook her head. They had taken her knock-out spray, and she hadn't brought a firearm, knowing the club had a "no weapons" policy. "Take the knife then." He grabbed something from Riddle's desk and a vase from the corner of a shelf. "Let's go."
Hermione moved to follow when she remembered her mission. "Wait, I was supposed to get something–"
"The ledger. I have it." He patted a pocket. "Let's go!"
Hermione recognized Rabastan Lestrange as the man guarding the door and wasn't at all surprised when Lewis easily got the drop on him. Or, more accurately, dropped the vase on his head. They dashed down the hallway. Lewis took the lead and Hermione followed, wondering why exactly she was blindly putting her trust in this man. In front of her, she heard footsteps, and Lewis made a sharp turn. He grabbed her hand and pulled her with him. She stumbled and threw off her high-heeled shoes. Other footsteps were coming from the left, and there were no doors to duck behind.
Before Hermione could think up a solution, Lewis's hands grabbed her. She thought she heard her companion whisper, "I'm sorry about this," then she was tilted back gently, and the redhead placed a kiss on her lips. Her first instinct was to struggle, but she fought it as she heard footsteps come closer. Someone stopped by the pair, then headed off into the distance.
The man broke the kiss, and Hermione felt a slight twinge of disappointment. She hadn't even realized when she had started kissing him back. Maybe it was due to the fear coursing through her, but it hadn't felt half bad. Too soon, he pulled her up again, and this time his face seemed as red as his hair. "I'm sorry about that," he mumbled, then coughed and glanced around the now empty hallway and grinned in such a boyish manner that Hermione thought she needed her head checked because her heart actually skipped a beat. "I can't believe that worked! Let's go!"
This time, however, she shook her head. "No. We can't outrun them, and we can't kiss every time someone runs past us," even though, deep inside, a voice was telling her that that was, in fact, a wholly valid option. "We have to outsmart them. We need a distraction!"
The man examined her for a second, then nodded. "You're right. But what kind? If we could get our hands on some weapons, we would stand a chance, but I don't even know where the armory is."
"I do!" exclaimed Hermione. That was the one thing about this hare-brained mission she had had control over. She had studied every single map and document they had on the club. If their source inside Riddle's operation was trustworthy, she knew the club better than the back of her hand. She bit her lip and tried to picture the map, then nodded. "And more importantly, I know where the security room is. Riddle's paranoid. He has a lockdown option for the club. If we can trigger it in certain parts, we control the hallways the guards can get into! Let's go!"
She made a sharp left turn and surprisingly the man followed without question. Hermione raced up the stairs and pushed open the door in front of her. Behind it stood a guard. She struck the man hard in the face and while he was momentarily distracted, Lewis delivered another blow. They pushed past the man and dashed forward to another door. Hermione Granger might not have been a femme fatale, but she was a woman of action. She pushed through two more doors and punched another guard leaving him to be finished off by Lewis.
By the door of the security room, she paused. This time, Lewis motioned for her to stand out of the way. He'd taken a gun from one of the guards, and on his count, Hermione yanked the door open for him to storm in.
"Don't move, or I'll shoot!" he exclaimed at the man smoking a cigarette and examining the monitors. The tall, black-haired man turned slightly and Hermione recognized him as Snape, one of Riddle's henchmen. Interestingly, the man sneered when his eyes fell on Hermione, a reaction he had not had to Mister Lewis.
"You're not getting out of here alive!" Snape stated, seemingly unconcerned about the gun aimed at his head.
"We'll see about that. And you are going to help us!" Lewis replied hotly.
"I don't see how I can help you." Snape sent Hermione a look that made her slightly uncomfortable.
She took a breath. "You are going to cut off all of the club except for Exit 1-A," she replied calmly.
Snape took a long drag on the cigarette. "No, I won't," he remarked coolly.
Lewis's face reddened, and he stuck the gun closer to Snape's head. "Yes, you will," he said angrily.
"No, I won't. I can't. Someone has to push the lever on the inside to keep the door open during lockdown, or they'll all close. One of Riddle's safety measures." He sneered again. "As I said, you won't get out of here alive. At least not both of you!"
"Then you'll get us another way out, Snape," hissed the redhead, "Cause neither of us is getting left behind."
Hermione tuned out Snape's reply. Her mind was already working trying to figure out another way, but there was none. Not if they wanted to risk having to fight their way through the club and she knew that that would be their doom. She found it almost sweet how her companion was arguing so they'd both get out alive, but this wasn't within Snape's power to grant. It took her only a few seconds to make up her mind. The man had the ledger, and even though Hermione didn't know who he was working for, this way there was at least a chance it would be used to take down Riddle.
"I'll hold the door open, and you'll run. We have to be quick about it, but we'll manage!"
Lewis looked up. "No," he shook his head, "I won't let you–"
Hermione arched an eyebrow, feelings of noble sacrifices quickly turning to irritation. "Let me? You won't let me? Listen, buddy, you don't even know the layout of this place. You won't get to that lever fast enough. And one of us has to make sure Snape here actually follows through with the lockdown. After that, if my intel is correct, you'll have three minutes until they reboot the system to get the hell out."
"I won't leave you–"
"This isn't about you or me. I didn't dress up like a damn peacock for both of us to fail. You have a better chance, so you'll run for it!"
Lewis seemed startled by the outburst while Hermione could have sworn she heard Snape chuckle very quietly. When she turned her head though, he was his usual sour self, so maybe she had imagined it.
"We don't have time to argue. I'm going," Hermione stated. "Make sure Snape doesn't screw us on the lockdown!"
Her irritation and spontaneous burst of courage gave her enough strength to run through the rest of the club faster than she'd ever run before. She found the emergency lever with ease, turned, nodded at the camera, then pushed it down.
Ten seconds later the sirens blasted, and she heard running in the distance. Hermione held her breath, but no one was coming her way. She counted out seconds, and then her heart jumped to her throat when she saw Lewis come running. She tried to smile as he went past–
He grabbed her, and her hand came off the lever. She wanted to shriek. She saw the door falling shut, but momentum was dragging her forward. All she could think about was getting crushed under the door and cursing Mister Lewis. Then he dived, dragging her with him. Her knees scraped the floor, and they hurtled towards freedom in a mass of limbs.
The door slammed shut, and Hermione could feel it crushing her. She tried to struggle but couldn't. After a second she opened her eyes. It was not, in fact, the door, but Lewis's leg wrapped around her. She pulled away sharply, and the man struggled to his feet. "I can't believe that worked," he muttered, his voice filled with far too much surprise. Hermione could have slapped him. "What the hell was that? You could have gotten us both killed!"
"But I didn't!" the man answered with a grin. Then, seeing the fury on Hermione's face, he had the good sense to look at least a bit apologetic. "I'm sorry. I just didn't want to leave you to be killed." Then after a second he added with a hint of pride: "And it worked, didn't it?"
Hermione wanted to be furious with him but found that she really couldn't. The man had risked his life and his mission for her and...and well, damn it, there was something in that boy's smile. It made her almost forget she didn't even know where his allegiances lay. "So now what?" she asked after a second.
Lewis hesitated. Then he reached into his pocket and pulled out the small leather-bound notebook. "Take it to Dumbledore. He'll have more use for it than the Order. It was going to be a joint operation anyway, before Lavender fell through…"
Hermione opened her mouth to object that she wasn't from Hogwarts, but Lewis shook his head. "I know, who you are, Hermione Granger. I recognized you from a meeting. The one with the loveliest hair." The last part he added with a cheeky smile. "Take it to Dumbledore," he repeated. "I have to go now."
For a few seconds Hermione just stood there, the notebook in her hand, unsure of what had just happened. Then she realized he was walking away and called out: "Wait!" She wasn't sure if it was the adrenaline pumping through her veins, the blow to her head, or something about the way the man smiled, but she was feeling something she couldn't exactly describe, and she knew it was connected to him. "I don't even know if I'll see you again. At least give me your name!"
The man stopped and glanced back at her, the cheeky grin on his face again. "The name's Weasley. Ronald Weasley."