A/N: Thanks everyone for clicking on the story link.
This fiction was actually my first full length story written back in 2010 and '11, when I was in Medical School. I never had the time or courage to publish it online; so I kept it among my books and almost forgot about it when I recently, came across the yellowed pages of my first fiction. I sat, reread it and smiled. Then I decided to share it with my readers.
Everyone please note that this is an AU story set in Switzerland. Draco, Hermione and all the characters that you will be reading are not wizards and witches; they are plain Muggles. Unlike, The Poisoned Apple, there is no connection with reality about anything that I write here. It's a story based on complete imagination. Here I experiment with characters; their boundaries, goodness and dark pasts.
Also, the characters might appear slightly OOC. That's because they were written that way.
I hope everyone will enjoy it.
This chapter is rated: T.
Disclaimer: The copyright to Harry Potter characters belong to J. K. Rowling. Any other characters are purely work of fiction and any resemblances are co-incidental.
Chapter 1: Prologue.
Draco's phone, in silent mode, kept buzzing. The name on the screen read 'Theo'.
It ended. A short message of 'Eight missed calls' appeared on the screen before it blacked out. The owner of the cell phone was concentrating on the screen of the laptop he was staring unblinkingly at. The picture of a middle aged man was plastered on it.
Someone knocked on the door insistently. Draco ignored it. After ten seconds, the knob turned soundlessly and a tall man in white apron slipped in.
"What's wrong, Draco?" he asked the man sitting behind the spacious desk, "I have been calling you for eternity." He slumped on a seat and picked up the neglected cell phone. "Eight missed calls." He read out with a reproachful look.
The silent man was silent than ever as his gaze intensified.
"Reckon you can hide from me?" he muttered with a very smug look before closing the tab and turning off the laptop.
"Theo, is my proxy ready?" he looked up and asked.
"Tonight?" Theo blinked incredulously.
"Yes." Draco joined his fingers and gave Theo a very calm look. "It can't be delayed anymore. I am sure that you understand the risks."
Theo stared at Draco for fraction of a second before fumbling inside his pocket for his cell phone. "Yeah, right. I am arranging it." he said with a curt nod of understandment.
Draco left his seat and went to the window. His office was vast but the blinds were drawn, obscuring the place into a cave of darkness and light. He parted the gap between two blinds with one slender finger and looked through it. It was already dark outside. The traffic appeared like many stars of a milky way, slowly moving and circling on the crowded streets below.
"It's done." Came Theo's confirmation. Draco stared at the traffic for a fraction of a second before leaving it be.
"Tell him to come here after nine o' clock." Draco said, collecting his cell phone and locking his laptop in a drawer, "And he'll not…"
"Do the operations." Theo finished the rest of the sentence, "I know. Don't nag."
Draco gave Theo a very disdainful look. "Draco Malfoy doesn't nag." He said coolly before throwing his apron over his shoulder and leaving for the door.
"What are you taking? Bus or car?" Theo asked from behind.
"Metro." Draco smirked and closed the door behind him with a snap.
•••••
Hermione Granger adjusted the heavy bag on her shoulder and came out from the library building.
She checked her watch. Nine thirty. It was pretty late. The hostel gate closes sharp at ten.
She decided to pick herself a small sandwich or whatever she could get on her way to the metro. There wasn't enough time to have an elaborate supper. While studying in the library, she had forgotten about time; as she always did.
Geneva, Switzerland. The city and its people were new to her. But Hermione Granger, Dr. Hermione Granger, was not the kind who'd sit back in her home while her friends and classmates pursued their careers in higher studies.
She passed by a small but cozy looking café and bought herself a sandwich and a roll. It didn't cost her more than it would in England. She didn't buy coffee, as most would have. She had in her room a large jar of coffee that her mother gave her. There was no point in wasting scholarship money after takeaway coffee.
Hermione started for the metro again. She had noticed how most people in Geneva, unlike Britain, liked to travel by trams and trolleybuses. She, on the other hand, preferred the subway. She liked London Underground and metro in Geneva was less crowded than its British counterpart, a feat that she appreciated immensely. Besides, the nearest metro station was just twenty minutes walking distance from the library she studied in every day. It was both economically and physically convenient for her. She could walk, exercise her body after hours of long reading, keep herself fit and take a look around the new city while walking.
The neon sign of the metro station came into view. Hermione sighed and adjusted the leather strap of her heavy bag before taking the stairs.
Inside, she bought a ticket and walked slowly towards the platform. It was almost empty except for her and a few other passengers. There was still seven minutes before the train she would be taking arrived. Hermione took a seat and eased her shoulder of the sagging weight of the bag. She noticed that her scarf was hanging loose from around her neck. She straightened it and tied knot in the middle. She checked her watch. Three more minutes to go.
When the train arrived, Hermione stood up, heaved her bag on her shoulder and chose the compartment standing just before her. Its door stood open, as if welcoming her on board.
She walked in. Like the platform, she has just left behind, the compartment was also deserted except for her. Hermione chose a corner seat and was about to place her bum on it when another man, with a wild look, almost jumped into the compartment.
The next thing he did was grabbing the edge of the steel doors and trying to close them manually in die hard desperation.
Hermione blinked. What was the man doing? What was wrong?
"Er…Mr…" were the only words that could leave her mouth before another man kicked the wild looking man aside and jumped on board. One look at him and Hermione was under the seat she was planning to seat on, with her heavy bag.
The only door that could take her out was closed now and the train started moving. Under the shelter of rows of seats and behind her bag, Hermione cringed when the man landed on the floor with a loud thud. From the corner of her eyes, she saw that the first man tried to sit up and got kicked straight on his chest.
"I don't think so." The second man hissed. It was a deep voice and full of such malice that her hairs stood on their ends. It sounded even deeper as the words echoed across the empty compartment.
Hermione recoiled under the seat. What was hell was going on? Was it some sort of gang fight or just thugs fighting amongst themselves for bigger share of money?
"Pleeeaassseeee…." The first man pleaded to him like a wounded dog, "…forgive…me…have…mercy…"
"Have mercy?" the second man's voice sounded highly amused, as if it was good joke. "On you?" He took out a revolver and with well practiced hands, started to attach the silencer to it.
Hermione tried to gulp but her throat was too dry. She clamped her mouth to prevent the screaming that was threatening to burst out any moment. In fact, not even her breathing sound should reach the ears of that man.
The second man, still holding the wounded man under his right foot, lowered his body and for the first time, Hermione got a better view of his face.
It was ugly. His hair was a mixture of grays and blacks. The eyebrows were sagging over hollowed eyes which were burning. There was a deep cut on his left cheek. To Hermione, he looked like a perfect right hand man of famous English Pirate, Blackbeard. He loomed over his victim with one foot still on his chest, seemingly determined to crush his breastbone under his weight.
"You know, what," the pirate balanced his loaded revolver on his right thigh and tapped thoughtfully on his chin, "I think I am having a change of mind, now. I'll have mercy on you."
The first man looked relieved. "Merci, merci…" he started but the pirate cut in.
"I have only five minutes to finish you off." He said coldly, checking his watch, "I thought, I'd beat the hell out of you before sending you to a nice trip to After World but now…" he picked his revolver and placed his right index on the trigger, "I think it's better if I give you a quick death." he said and without warning, pushed the nozzle into the first man's half-open mouth.
"Au revoir." He said with a charming smile.
There was a small click and Hermione, instinctively, closed her eyes.
There was no bang of bullet hitting the metal floor of the train but Hermione knew in her heart the man was dead now. Sure enough, when she opened her eyes, the man's face came into view, blood slowly drooling from a corner of his mouth, his eyes wide in fear but lifeless.
The pirate man was humming now, wiping the mouth of the silencer in the dead man's clothes as if it was as normal was watering a begonia. He was so calm and relaxed that Hermione suspected he didn't even realize what he has just done: killed a man in a moving metro.
He stood up, kicked neglectfully on the face of the dead man with his heavy boot. He checked his watch again and looked around the compartment.
Hermione hunkered down under the seat and wished desperately that she could vanish. She almost gagged herself to make her as silent as a dead.
Satisfied with his scrutiny, the man whistled lightly and turned fully on her direction. For a fleeting moment, Hermione thought, he had found her hiding under the seat but no. He simply, kicked the dead man and sent him flying under a seat and slumped on another one. Next he shoved his revolver inside his jacket pocket and took out what looked like a brand new copy of the Vogue. He opened and disappeared behind the colourful pages.
There was no sound in the empty compartment as the train shuttled towards its destination. Unable to see what the killer was doing, Hermione strained her ears. Only a faint scratching sound reached her ears.
'What was he doing?' she thought desperately. 'Was he really reading? Or was it a stunt to hide his face? Has he seen her? Was he planning to ambush and kill her too? Was he mad? Why did he kill that man? In a metro nonetheless?' thousands of such questions crowded inside her head.
The killer was whistling as he placed one long leg over the other, looking very comfortable. Hermione didn't move an inch. She just wanted it to be over.
Soon, with great relief, she noticed the train was slowing down. In her fear, she had forgotten about the time. How very strange that when in peril, even a minute seems to drag to ten and while in hurry, it just flashes past carelessly.
Seemingly realizing that the train was about to stop, the killer closed the Vogue and Hermione, having nothing else to do and staring at him, almost choked.
It was a completely different man. The one she had seen killing the man who was now lying under the seats was as ugly as a pig. This one was completely opposite. Not an angel though but quite gentlemanly indeed.
His almost shoulder length silvery blonde hair was glistening as he stowed the magazine inside his black jacket and stood up. His eyes were cold and grey. The features were pointed and he was pretty pale. He was quite tall and slender. There was an aura of great disdain about him as he walked past Hermione, without any sign that he knew about a dead body or any killing at all.
It took Hermione a whole minute to recover from her shock. She heard the inter-compartment door open and close. The killer had decided to leave the compartment but not the train. Why he did so was an enigma to Hermione. He could have done that as soon as he finished the killing and yet he waited, whiled away his time in reading a magazine and removing his disguise before deciding to move on with whatever damned plan he had.
She peeked out from her hideout, taking care not to glance at the dead body. Being a doctor, dead bodies were not new to her. But this was different. A man had been murdered just before her eyes and she couldn't possibly, no matter how much she tried, make herself to look at it.
The train had slowed down to the point of stopping. Hermione made sure that there was no one in the compartment before coming out from under the seats. Slowly she walked on all fours towards the nearest door. She was going to get the hell out this place as soon as the train stopped.
She was almost behind the glass covered door when the metro train stopped finally and all the doors opened automatically. Breathing deeply, Hermione crawled into the platform, with her back towards the door.
She was almost out when something stopped her.
Her scarf. It was holding her back.
Wondering if the ends got caught somewhere, Hermione carefully turned and froze.
The cold grey eyes of the blond man were staring at her behind the revolver muzzle that was pointed directly on her face. She could see the tiny hole in its center, her heart stopping its beating as she waited for a bullet to come out and finish her life story. Flashes of memories played before her eyes. Her parents. Her friends. Her home. Her country. Her dreams. Was it all going to end? Here? A damn Swiss metro platform of all places? Was death like this? Sudden and cruel?
But it never came. Instead, the dead look on the grey eyes turned into something more lifelike: Amazement.
Hermione didn't know how long they both stared at each other. Then the door suddenly closed.
Hermione, still frozen, felt a strong pull around her neck. Looking down she saw that her scarf was caught between the doors and had gone inside the train that was leaving now.
Realizing that she was just a second from throttling to death, Hermione frantically scrambled for the knot. Damn it! Who told her tie that knot? Now she was going to be dragged alongside the train by it and die.
She tried to stand up but her knees were too weak for it. She tried to release the scarf but it was too strong for her. The loop around her neck was tightening when with audible reaping sound the scarf tore and she fell back on the platform, landing on her back.
She watched as the train disappeared into the dark tunnel.
The grey eyed man was still staring at her in amazement, his revolver in mid air.