It's been an awfully long time since I publish something here - I have tons of drafts in my computer, ideas, entire scripts, sometimes almost a screenplay of a story and, nope, I never go any further. Until now. Part of this publication is due to one of my best friends encouraging me so much; I would never have dreamt of publishing this chapter without her. The other part is a personal matter, one of my (silly) beliefs that writing is a pathway to solving your own problems, since it always reflects some aspect of what's being sorted out inside, without you have to going freaking insane to deal with it. Again, a silly concept, but I like to think of it as true.
So, pleasantries and acknowledgements: said best friend should be more than thanked, without her, I wouldn't have worked this hard on getting it done. Also, please note that I am only using J.K. Rowling's world and some of her characters - I am awarded nothing for this, except for my own satisfaction and some writing experience. Finally, I have yet another person to thank, who reviewed the earliest, crappiest version of this story (before I gender swapped the main character due to believability issues); I doubt she will read this, but if she does, I bow to her as well.
Help needed!: even though I do have a reviewer (said friend, mentioned a couple times now), I am afraid to overburden her with story discussions and corrections, since I am working way harder on this than I expected. So, if a kind soul could take part of the burden of discussing and reviewing this story, that'll be brilliant.
A note on 'Nature of My Game', for all of you frustrated that I didn't go past chapter one – I'm sorry, I truly am, but my thoughts are bigger, badder and darker for know, and I outgrew the set up for high school drama momentarily. I do hope that, when I get back to it, I can tune it to perfection, and portrait Astoria Greengrass in all her wicked, careless glory.
A note on 'Change on Life's River', which for some reason received some compliments (my fifteen year old self is pleased): that story was part of a bigger plan, a more badass one, that has tons of extra information, and revamps the world of magic quite a lot; there has been a dramatic shift for sorcerers in my mind as the idea incubated so, if I am to write more of that, expect a complete change of pace, even a change of heart, for that one.
Happy reading, folks!
Update: This first chapter is now beta-ed by the lovely and competent FireBurnsBrighter – thank you so so much!
Chapter I: Meet Richard Grant
I wake up incarcerated to a chair in a white room, with a single table and no windows. A strong man is standing right before me, a very familiar one – Ethan. As soon as he notices my conscious state, he punches me on the face. I keep my eyes closed for a bit and try to recover from the blow.
"I have to say I am pleased to finally do that. And I am going to be more than happy to see you leave for Azkaban this evening"
"What?"
Here I am, on the verge of being thrown into nobody's land among thieves, murderers and other threats to society's order, like the dangerous criminal I am – or people forced me to become; at least, that's my take on it. It wasn't always this way, though…
"Richard Grant", the sorting hat called out, making me tremble like the shy, scared little boy I was. I walked slowly, taking in the overwhelming Great Hall, very conscious of my breath, trying not to notice the whispers ('oh, dear, he has metallic teeth!', followed by giggles) or the obvious stares.
I sat in the diminished stow and put on the old fabric hat, as I've seen others before me do, extremely uncomfortable from being the centre of attention in the large, majestic room.
A little voice popped in my head, disrupting my self conscious thoughts, "My, my, you have ambition, lad!", I looked up, silently telling him how senseless his comment was; he just ignored and continued, "and guts...", and suddenly, he was quiet, for a whole, long minute. A minute where worrying thoughts duelled in my head – I was part worried that the hat got it completely wrong and part wondering what kind of things he saw to be so silent; little did I know, back in the day...
"You'll have to trust me on this, Richard", the voice reemerged, interrupting my inner dialogue, "I think you'll do better in Slytherin", the last part was shouted to the entire Great Hall. A few claps emerged, but it was hardly the elation other people faced, and my young self wondered why.
"You'll be great, trust me, kid – give it some time...", I heard the last whisper of the Sorting Hat before I took the shameful walk to the emptiest part of the Slytherin table. At the time I didn't know why the warm reception, but it didn't take me too long to figure it out. After our tour through the castle, I heard a blond boy calling out.
"Hey, mudblood!", I imagined it to be an insult, despite my lack of knowledge of the wizarding world, so I tried to ignore it, "hey, hey, I'm talking to you", he stopped in front of me, a condescending sneer across his face and two tall "bodyguards" to back him up. I raised my head to him and met his eye, "you don't belong here, so don't you dare entering the common room again, is that clear?"
"Yeah, go check Gryffindor instead, they're sure to house all kinds of freaks", a pug faced girl added and both laughed, causing the groups with them to mimic their behaviour. I found out later that this situation is typically Slytherin – a leader, Draco boy in this case, makes the joke and people just tag along; if they didn't, they'd just turn into... well, me.
That night I waited until late hours and sneaked through the wall in the dungeons, despite the warning from my colleagues – guts, right, Mr. Sorting Hat? –, and into my designated bed.
"You clearly didn't take us seriously", I opened my eyes to find Draco staring back at me, "you heard me, mudblood, you don't belong here, you don't have the right to put your paws in this room – Salazar Slytherin said it himself", With my eyes fully opened, I sat down in bed and I looked back at him, my brain more occupied with important tasks, like remembering where I put my robes and figuring out what time it was, than actually listening.
"What?", I said reflexively.
"You don't have the right to sleep here, you filthy muggle", and he pushed me, causing my head to smack painfully against the wall, "Oh, Merlin, your teeth are really ugly! People were right! Look at that, Blaise", and the other boy giggled, while the Draco chuckled; I pressed my lips together forcefully and concentrated. I needed to get out of there, so I took the first, opportunity - when they faced each other to burst out laughing again- and ran like hell.
"Mudblood! So nice to see you", Draco smirked as I made my way to the lunch table.
"Hi, Draco", I took a seat and lowered my head, gobbling my food – nothing good could come out that smirk.
"Draco told me you have the prettiest smile", I closed my eyes, but -unfortunately- it didn't shield me from the giggles, "don't be shy, show it to us", Pansy added
"What is it about his smile?", a boy near Pansy wondered aloud.
"It's metallic and ugly!"
"Metallic? How?", a girl besides Pansy said.
I felt my eyes filling with tears, so I got up in a hurry, spilling my plate all over my robes making my colleagues break out in laughter. I gasped in surprise, exposing my teeth for a brief moment.
"Look, Daph, I told you!", and my eyes met the Daphne girl's green ones – she was a blonde, all dolled up, including a green headband to complete the portrait contrasting with the very carefully brushed blonde locks. It's kind of amazing how clearly I remember that useless, pitiful moment of my life, when Daphne was just part of the choir of laughter Draco conducted; as if, in the back of my mind, I knew exactly how important she'd be. After registering the moment, I just fled to the nearest place I could be alone, which turned out to be the library. I sat on the farthest table and muffled my crying, the Sorting Hat's words, "you'll be great, trust me, kid", ringing over and over in my head. The situation repeated itself over the years, but I eventually became a tough snake like the rest of them.
"Oh, Merlin, someone used Furunculus on your face again, Grant!", Pansy, Daphne and Blaise responded with laughs, like the good pack they were.
"And I see your boyfriend came on your hair again, Malfoy – someone has to tell you that's not very stylish", he grabbed his wand and bared his teeth; the laughs ceased, too, like always.
"You filthy..."
"Mudblood? Wow, you're on a creative streak today", I got my own wand, "Piss off, Malfoy, I'm not in the mood for your wit and charms", and I turned to go, very attentive to any movement... ah, there it is!
"Anteoculatia!"
"Protego!", the only spell I actually need in here, "better luck next time, blondie", and I disappeared through the wall.
By my last year, I was sick and tired of all that. I received all the hexes on the book – on all of the books, actually; was called all names possible and was mocked for every little flaw I dreamt of having. So much for greatness from the Slytherin house, Mr. Sorting Hat! The only thing I actually took from the dreadful place was a profound hatred for all things pureblood, so I fled from the wizarding world, especially with the war threat growing.
With no muggle education, the best I could get was a bartender job in muggle London, working from Sunday to Sunday, earning a glass of milk and a piece of bread a day. It was very likeable, though.
"Richard, darling, fetch me a martini, will you? I have lots to tell!"
"Rich! How are you doing, fella? Can you give your old chap a beer? I deserve it for an awesome lacrosse game! You see, we won..."
"The usual, Richard; I had a tough day, my boss..."
"Honey, we're celebrating! I've been promoted, Rich! Get a vodka for you and one for me, the best one you have!"
It was 'round midnight, as Monk would play, and the bar was pleasantly crowded, full of recurring customers. Then, a brunette I never saw before sat down at the bar. She was a very elegant cougar, in her early thirties – not that it mattered, though, since all attention was on her blue dress and her dangerous eyes.
"Can you bring me the wine chart, please?", she sat across from me. From all of my years of bartending, I learnt one very important thing: going for the kill. It was reflex, and became a part of me; there was an amazing satisfaction in spotting an attractive woman and just knowing she'd be part of my list of conquests very soon, no matter how special she thought she was. The more special she thought she was, the better the hunt.
"Sure can, ma'm", I eyed her a bit, cocky lady – just my type – and I decided to gamble, "but I'm under the impression I can choose a lovely wine for you"
"Really?", she seemed quite amused, and smirked in an I'm-too-good-for-you fashion, raising the stakes for the chase and my own amusement.
"Yes, I have a Cabernet Sauvignon, blended with Syrah, Grand Reserve, 2011, from Chile – quite something, in my opinion", and I showed her the bottle, "have a glass, if you don't like it, it's on me"
"Deal", she stained the glass with her red lipstick, never breaking her eye contact; from that moment on, I knew she was something else.
Eight years later, I walked into the office of the same woman, whose name, Amanda Barton, became not only known to me, but to the entire wizarding world: she topped the most wanted list on more than twenty countries and made top ten in all the remaining ones – a remarkable achievement, maintained for several years. Yes, Amanda Barton was never, ever caught. See? My gut feeling was right, she was something else entirely: the criminal mastermind of the wizarding world, an international fugitive, and my boss.
"Richard, honey, I have a new job for you – a challenge", Amanda smiled adorably and twisted a long strand of hair with her finger.
"Is that so?", I smirked a tad, taking in my boss' charm – eight years and she looked even more beautiful, fancy that! I took a seat in the leather chair and leant back, putting my feet on the desk in mock defiance.
"I love that suit on you, by the way, makes you look like the home-wrecker you are", then she tossed a couple of files on the table, "although I must say your manners don't match it at all"
"Of course you do, Amanda, sweetheart", I skimmed over the files, "you always love my suits; and my manners", I eyed her provocatively, then the first page drew my attention, "Daphne Greengrass? Is that your great challenge?"
"Yes", there it was, the confident stare competition that says, 'I'm dead serious'; I called it bollocks, of course.
"I'm hurt of how low you must think of me", my very husky tone caused her to grin.
"I never, sweetheart; you know you're the only employee who I took home"
"To bind me and offer me a job"
"Yes, and that's how good you are; I preferred this to a very promising lay", I opened my mouth to flirt back, but she continued with business – typical Amanda, "Daphne has an interesting profile for a woman of her age and status. For starters, she has a sister, Astoria, but you must know that already"
"I do. I met Astoria back at school, she's quite something"
"Astoria has more affairs than pairs of shoes, with both men and women- though the latter is far more frequent. Summing up, a shame to the Greengrass family. That doubles the responsibility on Daphne's shoulders of keeping the image. Add that to her single status..."
"She's single? That's strange, I recall her being beautiful; she was dating Draco Malfoy when I last saw her", I looked through the pictures again – the girl hadn't aged a day.
"Yes and yes. She's never been married. I have yet to find out why – I first suspected it having something to do with her being a workaholic, but that's not much of a reason, given Hermione Granger's married"
"I'd be a workaholic too, if I was married to that", Amanda chuckled.
"About Draco, they broke off four years ago and right after that, she was promoted to her current position in the Ministry – the motive for the split up is unknown, even for my best sources. I spent some time trying to extract some information from her; nearly impossible, the girl doesn't go out at all- only for work, and a date or two", I raised an eyebrow, "I know that makes your job pretty much impossible, so I forged a better situation: you have an interview on Tuesday for the butler position in Greengrass Manor – you only have to look sharp and say the right things – you have one shot", I narrowed my eyes and sneered.
"Roger that, Ms. Barton"
"Now, onto you. Your name, from now on, is James Bailey. I prepared a stock of your medicine, daily polyjuice included".
I would then spend the week extracting my memories and crafting new ones, to convincingly become James Bailey.
I started the preparations immediately: I took my first polyjuice of the week and looked myself in the mirror. I was also curious about the looks Amanda chose for me this time; not worried, though, I knew she had quite the taste in men. I stared at the mirror to my reflection: thick eyebrows, falling over my squinted black eyes, with a nicely proportional nose, a well shaped, marked mouth and framed by a prominent jaw line and slightly wavy locks, styled to perfection – classic male beauty. I smiled cockily at my reflection... no, wait. Gapped front teeth, really?
"I knew you wouldn't like the teeth", Amanda appeared behind me, "but it looks adorable on you", I eyed her in annoyance. I was used to having perfectly aligned teeth and would flash my smile to punctuate the most daring flirts – the same smile that cost me years of mockery to fix was now one of my most powerful assets; at least, when I was between jobs, since I was never allowed to keep my appearance, or my name, while working.
Memories, on the other hand, were a much more complicated issue as they were a risk to the scheme itself. Many of the people I 'worked with' were powerful witches, or had some powerful sidekicks that could competently check minds for suspicious information –, but could prove useful for most of the jobs because, supporting popular belief, women act similarly in many situations, especially in comparison to their own social circle. Because of that, I was allowed to keep my memories in a box only accessible to me; any attempt to break in would destroy the contents – not the best situation, but certainly preferable to being sent to Azkaban.
I would lock those in my room and only open it after assuring all access to my room and mind was impossible – both spells were tuned to perfection, since my life depended on them. Then I would strategise and, finally, lock them away again for good.
For the rest of the week, Amanda put me through Mr. Bailey's memories, a half-blooded wizard, twenty five years old, born in Liverpool, but French in heart, since he supposedly went to Beauxbatons Academy and lived in France most of his life. A heartbreaker too, I might add; dated the top three prettiest girls in his school, at the same time; was only discovered after school has ended – he then moved to Switzerland, and recently, because of his numerous affairs in Geneva, he was forced to flee a couple of angry husbands and moved to London, seeking a fresh start and a job.
"What the bloody hell were you thinking when you created these memories?", I motioned to stand up after we were done with the first session of memories, but Amanda, who was behind me, forced me back to my seat pushing with both hands on my shoulders.
"They suit you, darling"
"They won't convince Daphne I'm the person for the job, Amanda!", I shot back at her, seeing she moved to my side, one hand still on my shoulder.
"Time of month, is it James?", she teased, lifting my chin slightly with two fingers, then tracking my jaw line.
"That's chauvinist, you know?", I saw through the full body mirror in front of us that she smiled in reply and motioned her hand to the side idly, her mannerism that meant 'back to business'.
"Those memories have the sole purpose of convincing whoever reads your mind that you're a desirable young guy – you know women are, sometimes they need a little push for action, and implied competition can do the trick"
"Of course I know that!", I felt a mild irritation towards her obvious remark – I was a professional, after all, and I used that countless times.
"Darling, you can't show it explicitly this time. Remember, in her house, you're the butler, any flirt towards other people means you lose your job. However, you're allowed to be this way in your personal life; that's none of her business", she smirked, pleased and positioned herself directly in front of me, "I see I successfully confronted every clever reply you might have. You look adorable when you pout, by the way", she purred, bending so our eyes were levelled, her index finger tracing my lips; then, she kissed me lightly, leaving traces of her lipstick on my mouth, "I envy Daphne, you look so handsome", she caressed my thigh slowly. I tried to focus on my breath, to avoid the reaction from my body to her teasing, which continued as she planted a trail of kisses down my neck.
"You're so good at this", she caressed my crotch, trying to feel how well I resisted to the minutes of torture, "if I didn't know better, I'd say you're gay. Or maybe I'm losing my touch", I pulled her towards me, making her fall seated on my lap.
"I assure you, you aren't", and I enthusiastically kissed her: my boss, the most dangerous woman in the wizarding world. To my surprise she kissed me back fully, and even let out a moan when I pulled her closer, followed by a satisfied smile when she felt what she was waiting for.
"My, my, James, aren't you bold today? Too bad my policies didn't change", she said while I kissed her on the neck, making me think her self control was nothing short of amazing. She freed herself gently from my grip and stood up, "As your boss, I'm afraid I have to punish you for your misbehaviour – I promise to make it useful, though", she got her wand and bound my hands at the back of the chair and she created a couple of illusions, all sex scenes. I sighed in disbelief - this was cruel, even for her, "I would try to make the most out of it, if I were you – think of it as extra resistance training", and she left.
The next day I was exhausted, but Amanda didn't pity me – instead, she put me through another memories sequence, my previous work experiences, which included a watch salesman in Geneva; a hotel guest relations staff in Paris, which was my longest job; a cook, also in Paris; and a housekeeper and butler in a French castle in Lorraine. Now I was, indeed, perfect for the job.
Besides my resistance training, which happened hourly in the week, Amanda made sure I could do all my assigned tasks, and we started talking in French. I sharpened my cooking and learnt to make a bed in half a minute. By the end of the week, I was making coffee as an Italian, cooking as a French, behaving like English royalty and standing still like a soldier – I'd never felt so ready.
Author PS: I am completely lazy nowadays to rummage through fanfiction archive, read an entire haystack of bad stories until I finally find a favourite worthy needle, so if any of you can send me recommendations of great stories you came across (or even wrote, if you're modest like myself!), I am much obliged. Also, please tell me what you think, it is the sole reason I publish my stories; I will, of course, take every feedback into account.