A/N: This was originally supposed to just be a cute, fluffy piece that sort of got away from me (Hermione and her darn soapbox), so I tried to find a happy medium between both the serious side and the fluffy side. Hope it doesn't disappoint.
Drop me a line and let me know what you think.
Hermione read the letter again and tried to decide how best to handle her friends' involvement without getting them into too much trouble, especially Harry and Ron since they actually worked for the Ministry. She appreciated their willingness to help her, but suspected Luna had more to do with convincing them to help than she let on; she knew the boys too well. Even Ginny, for all her fiery desire to help fight while in school, had very happily settled into domestic bliss and was content to leave the 'righting of wrongs' to those she deemed more capable. Nowadays, she restricted her violence to browbeating; something she had inherited from Molly and was quite good at, if Harry's submissive behavior at family gatherings was any indication.
The 'boy-who-lived,' became 'the boy-who-defeated-you-know-who' after the war, and had now become 'the man-who-was-thoroughly-whipped.'
It was almost funny, in a sad, emasculating sort of way.
She had met with Luna twice since getting her friends involved, and she was already working on some of the things Hermione had asked her to look into; her 'ditzy' persona served her well when it came to fleshing out stories, as people tended to underestimate her. Even Rita Skeeter (after surprisingly little monetary incentive, a promise for exclusive rights to the story once Hermione was ready to go public and a vow to allow Hermione editing rights before going to print) had joined their motley crew.
Hermione would have never imagined she would be joining forces with Rita 'Quick Quotes' Skeeter, but if 'Looney' Lovegood could become her best friend, and Severus Snape, the dour Potion's Master and renowned "Greasy Git,' could become the man she desired most in the world … than anything was possible.
She also realized that she needed to start associating with people that didn't have idiotic monikers.
It turned out that Rita had a bone (or twelve) to pick with some of the 'pureblood hypocrites' (as she referred to Lucius and his ilk) after she was attacked and her home ransacked, following some rather blatant insinuations she wrote about the Malfoys.
In all fairness, she never actually named names, but if the shoe fit …
Rita, with the help of a few bottles of Firewhiskey (sweet Circe that woman could almost drink Hagrid under the table), had finally broken down and shared the real reason behind her self-proclaimed war against Lucius Malfoy.
Rita drunkenly told the story of Lorelei; a woman who had fallen (after much resistance, apparently) under the seductive spell of Lucius Malfoy. Lorelei was beautiful and was blessed with abundant 'assets' that Lucius found especially irresistible. Her initial refusal had proved a challenge to the pampered pureblood king; her capitulation became his obsession. But like with most things, once he got what he wanted it was no longer fun; the thrill was gone.
And so was she ... Lucius tossed her aside like yesterday's rubbish.
While Hermione empathized with the woman (although a woman would have to be blind, deaf and dumb not to recognize Lucius for the lecherous bastard he was), she was still confused about Rita's connection. Rita Skeeter was a viperous pit bull and hardly seemed the type to suddenly take up the banner for the cause of mistreated women. So what was in it for her?
It took another entire bottle of Old Ogden's Finest before Rita finally came clean ... well, clean was a relative term. Rita drunk sobbing was not a pretty sight, but it accomplished what nothing else ever had ... it proved Rita had a heart. Lorelei was Rita's long time lover (Hermione almost swallowed her tongue when she heard that bit of news). Needless to say, Rita had been livid; both at the infidelity of her partner, and at the egotistical pureblood for playing with others lives like they meant nothing. She had forgiven the former and vowed eternal revenge against the latter.
Personally, Hermione would have broken things off with her perfidious partner before going after the man who hurt her … but what did she know; she doubted many people would be willing to accept relationship advice from a twenty-eight year old virgin with a string of failed first dates.
She could almost picture her column in Witch Weekly: 'Hermione Granger; Advice to the Lovelorn.'
… 'Miss Granger, my partner has cheated on me. Should I forgive him and allow him back into my bed, or should I kick him to the proverbial curb?' … signed Betrayed in Bristol.
… Well Miss Betrayed, based on my vast experience with the opposite sex …
Yeah … not bloody likely.
It would be like the blind leading the blinder.
Not that she didn't feel Lucius deserved some comeuppance for his disgusting behavior towards Rita's fickle lover (not to mention his blatant disregard for his own marriage vows) but she had bigger fish to fry. However, if it got Rita squarely in her corner, than she could commiserate till she was bloody blue in the face, especially if it convinced Rita to share her dirt. She doubted Lucius Malfoy even spared a thought for the consequences of his actions, nor did he give one whit if he hurt someone as long as he selfishly sated his own desires.
Her conscience was clear.
Well, mostly clear.
While Rita would never be someone Hermione trusted completely (or even consider a friend), she couldn't deny that the woman had a right to her anger, and she had actually mellowed quite a bit since the war. Turns out even lying slags can develop a sense of moral outrage when the heart is involved and things hit too close to home. Either way, Hermione refused to look a gift Hippogriff in the mouth, and she willingly got into bed with the enemy … figuratively speaking.
Even if she did play for the other team, Rita would most definitely not be her type. Even she had to draw the line somewhere … and Rita Skeeter, naked and amorous, was just simply … uucckk … regardless of what goodies she brought to the game.
Again, figuratively speaking only … she had no desire to see any of Rita's 'goodies.'
Why did her mind constantly come round to sex all the time lately?
She knew what it was, and she almost sighed in satisfaction as she covertly appraised the delectable bit of man meat sitting across the table from her. She laughed internally at her characterization of a man who, despite the improvements to his looks, would never be called handsome, much less delectable by conventional standards … but he had a certain something that made Hermione's insides clench and her stomach quiver in anticipation.
She was convinced he had cast a spell on her … a lust spell, or a 'I want to jump across the table and lick you right now' spell. It was just so … disconcerting, to suddenly have her well-ordered and focused mind turn to mushy mush at just the thought of him.
Especially his hands … he had really, really nice hands. Hands that she just knew could do amazing things to her secret places. Not to mention his lips … sweet Circe don't get her started on his lips … the way that man kissed should be illegal, or at least it should only be legal for him to kiss her.
She thought that was more than fair.
But back to Rita … yes … focus.
Rita had been gathering evidence for a while in the hopes of being able to find a way to use the information to bring about some payback for what Lorelei (and by extension, Rita) had suffered at the hands of the sanctimonious arse and his cronies. She had jumped at the opportunity to join the team when Hermione had briefly outlined what she had planned (after first getting a secrecy vow), and Rita had consented to share her already impressive blackmail files.
So now she had two very tenacious and crafty nifflers on the scent. If there was dirt to be found, Luna or Rita would find it.
Those bastards would never even know what hit them.
Hermione had compiled a file on every member of the Wizengamot, Hogwarts Board of Governors, the senior members in the Ministry, and even suspected corrupt members in the ICW, kept under very heavy wards, and coded with her own personal security spells. While most of the files detailed fairly incriminating evidence of laws broken or bent, suspected payoffs and bribes taken or paid out correlating with votes cast on major issues, the rest of the files contained items of a more personal nature, and while not Azkaban worthy, the contents, if revealed, would be potentially embarrassing all the same.
The last bastion she needed to overcome was the hidden and mysterious world of goblin banking.
It had absolutely amazed her when she first learned that there was only one bank that handled all the financial dealings for the entire British wizarding community … the world actually, as branches of Gringotts were located throughout the globe. Talk about a monopoly.
The goblins had been less than pleased with her and the boys after the fiasco with the dragon, but once she started receiving royalties from her first book, she had approached Ragnok, the Goblin Chieftain and Gringotts President, about making reparations. One could say that she wanted to do the right thing and pay her debt, but in reality, she was tired of being snubbed and sneered at when she entered the bank; and if she were being honest, it was quite unnerving to have the short, but admittedly fierce, creatures angry at her.
After paying a hefty penalty, providing a replacement dragon with the help of Charlie, and vowing to never again attempt to break into the bank (even if the world was ending) she had settled into a respectable working relationship with the goblins.
It also helped that she was now earning quite a bit of money and had passed along some extremely profitable investment tips based on her own Arithmancy calculations. She had nearly tripled her holdings in the eight years since the 'truce' had been declared, and as a result, made the goblins a hefty profit as well.
She had discovered that little tidbit quite by accident one day when she was at a standstill on her second book. Tired, frustrated and eager for a distraction, she began playing around with some numbers and the business section of the Daily Telegraph (some people watched the telly or listened to music when bored, she read or did Arithmancy predictions) and made the startling realization that stock fluctuations could be predicted … for the most part, if she added a runic variable in the same place every time.
She tested her theory for almost a year before sharing her stock picks with her account manager, and he, in turn, watched her for almost six months with increasing awe, before finally passing along her suggestions to the rest of the bank. Ragnok had been very pleased with her 'innate ability' (she wasn't stupid enough to disclose how she was doing it) and had proposed an arrangement. He would give her a higher interest rate on her money and an unspecified favor at a later date, and she would share her 'intuitive investment choices.'
Goblins took money, and the making of it, very seriously.
But now it was time to call in her favor, she needed to trace the money. She needed physical proof of payouts and bribes before approaching Kingsley with her suspicions, and the goblins were the only ones that could provide it. She would, however, offer an additional incentive for Ragnok's cooperation.
She planned to encourage Kingsley to create an addendum that allowed the Ministry to assign a substantial penalty to 'any person found complicit in any measures intended to be prejudicial to good order and fair treatment of all persons regardless of blood status, birth, or house affiliation' … or something to that effect (she would leave the actual wording of the laws to the experts). The gist being that the 'substantial penalties' could be in either monetary form, which the goblins would benefit from in the form of interest, or with family heirlooms, many of which were crafted by goblins who still felt (erroneously in her opinion) they deserved to have them returned.
Either way it was a win-win for the shrewd creatures. She just needed to dust off her Slytherin tactics before approaching Ragnok.
Oh, who was she kidding, she was about as subtle as a Hagrid's three-headed dog. She would have to convince Severus to go with her.
As she was putting together the dossiers, she had a sudden, almost debilitating, attack of conscience as she contemplated what she intended to do. Some of the information she had on these wizards was very damning and could not only ruin political aspirations, standing in the community, and personal finances, but marriages and family relationships as well.
Did she have the right to destroy people's lives just to forward her own agenda? Is that what she was doing?
She spent almost an entire day ensconced in her rooms having second thoughts about her plan, and doubting herself and her intentions.
Was she any better than they were? Was she forcing her opinions and beliefs on others against their will?
Ultimately, she had come to the conclusion that what they were attempting to do to muggleborns, and to a lesser degree, halfbloods … what they had done to muggleborns for longer than she had been alive, needed to stop. Everyone, regardless of blood, deserved a chance to succeed or fail based on their own merits, and if she didn't do something to stop the injustices plaguing her world, then she would be just as guilty as those actually perpetrating the actual deeds.
As her father always said: 'if you aren't part of the solution, you are part of the problem.'
All she could do was be true to herself and act as her own conscience and inner moral compass dictated, anything else would mean sacrificing her own values and self-respect. She may not be very worldly when it came to sex, men, or relationships, but she knew when something was wrong. Maybe it was just her innate Gryffindor tendencies making themselves known, but she could no more sit back and not get involved than she could suddenly take up a career in professional Quidditch.
In other words … when hell froze over.
Of course, that didn't mean she wasn't concerned and a bit hesitant.
Hermione knew in her heart she was doing the right thing, but it didn't make her feel any better; if the information she had collected was released to the public, innocent people could potentially be hurt. Would that make her any better than Dumbledore, the master manipulator? Or even Voldemort?
The question that remained, however, was simple. If she didn't do it, than who would? Or even more telling, who could?
Suddenly Hermione felt a bit like how Harry must have felt all those years ago, knowing she had to do something, knowing it was (she cringed inside as she thought of the words the headmaster had chanted like a mantra for two decades) for 'the greater good,' even if it was going to hurt some people in the end. She took a small amount of comfort in that at least no one would die as a result of her actions (or at least she hoped not). She truly didn't know how Dumbledore slept at night knowing his plans had resulted in numerous deaths and 'acceptable losses,' even if in the end his plan had succeeded and Voldemort was vanquished.
She supposed he would have felt vindicated and used that to justify his actions somehow.
She still didn't buy it.
The most damage her plan would cause would be some heavy fines, possibly a few jail sentences, and maybe a divorce or two. If it meant making the world a better place for her honorary nieces and nephews (and dare she hope, maybe even her own children someday), then the risk was worth it. Besides, they had made their bed (so to speak) and now must lay in it.
Far too many of snakeface's supporters had weaseled out of punishment after the end of the war. That they were up to their old tricks again simply solidified her belief that they deserved what was coming to them. The arrogant sense of entitlement that permeated Britain's wizarding community had to be curtailed before any more damage was done. Memories of Umbitch and her 'Muggleborn Registration Act' caused Hermione to shudder in revulsion, and helped solidify her belief that she was doing the right thing.
She just needed to make sure that if this blew up in their faces that she, and she alone, took the fall. She would not let her friends pay the price for her failure to properly plan. She did have a few contingency plans in place, however, her home in Canada being one of them. Severus, Neville and Luna were the only ones who knew its location, and the only ones that could get access to her wards.
She knew Harry and Ginny still had Godric's Hollow under the Fidelius Charm, and Luna had a home in Brazil that the Ministry was unaware of; she obviously wasn't the only one who felt a need to have a private place away from the spotlight and 'Big Brother' as it were. She just needed to make sure Ron and his family had a place to go if needed, and that Severus knew he was welcome here.
Severus.
She surreptitiously glanced across the table at her … guest? boyfriend? lover? She wasn't sure what to call him as none of the titles seemed to fit what they were. He was definitely more than a friend, but they were not yet lovers, and she was still undecided when that particular bridge would be crossed.
Things with Severus had moved along more slowly than she would like, truth be told, but after her mini breakdown last week over breakfast, she could hardly blame him for trying to make her feel more comfortable around him, even if it meant taking baby steps in the intimacy department.
He had tried his best to ease her fears about his size despite the embarrassment of both parties at having such a frank discussion about such a sensitive subject. Hermione had never considered herself a prude before and had never shied away from crass jokes of a sexual nature with either the boys or Ginny, but for some reason, talking about things like penis size,' vaginal lubrication, and masturbation over tea, simply made her want to crawl into bed and bury her face under the covers until she grew a backbone … or thicker skin.
Neither of which could happen fast enough.
She wanted him, of that she had no doubt. The question remained, however, was what did she intend to do about it? She could sit back and let things continue to progress slowly as they had been this past week, and maybe in a few months time they might actually have progressed to actual skin on skin contact. Or she could just swallow her pride (and her anxiety) and make the first move. Pain be damned!
Of course, that brought her forcefully back to her fears again. Irrational as they may be, they were still very valid in her mind and they didn't seem to be fading away. Her feelings for the man sitting across from her where such a confusing mix that even she had a hard time keeping them straight.
She cared for him, of this she had no doubt. They seemed to be connected somehow; she felt it in varying degrees of intensity every time they touched, and the week spent getting to know each other had only solidified that belief. But every time she felt like giving in and inviting him to 'make her a woman' in every sense of the word, that ridiculous image of the enormous penis on wheels would fritter though her mind, and she would be plagued with cold feel.
Maybe she just needed some liquid courage the first time through, like when she had to be immunized before starting primary school. Her mum had given her some medicine to ease her anxiety (she had been absolutely terrified of needles), as a result, she had been a bit loopy and barely even felt the prick of the needle. Maybe the same rules would apply to his … prick, as it were.
Of course, he might not be as amenable to exploring her proposed solution. Severus had always been an honorable man, even when he was a Death Eater. But maybe if she explained … no, he still wouldn't do it. He would say that he would feel like he was taking advantage of her.
But if he had her permission, did that make it okay?
She could see the conversation now. 'Severus, I want you to ravish me while I'm too pissed to see straight' … 'Okay Hermione luv, whatever you want.'
She snorted into the cold dregs of her coffee cup and blushed slightly when she noticed Severus had looked up from what he was reading to gaze at her inquiringly.
Yep. She was mental.
ooOoo
"Alright there?" he asked distractedly, one eyebrow raised. He was engrossed in the pages before him and was trying to refrain from making a snarky comment at the interruption. The new and improved Severus Snape didn't snap and snark near as much as the old one … or at least that's what he told himself every time he felt an acerbic comment aching to burst forth. He had developed a habit of biting his tongue when the overwhelming urge to spew vitriol came upon him, which was still more often than he was comfortable with.
Hermione seemed to shift about nervously and he wondered what was on her mind. She had been surprisingly good company in the week he had been a guest in her home, a fact which, had he been asked even five years ago, he would have deemed improbable. But it was true. It was nice to know he could tolerate more than ten minutes in the same room with the woman he loved. He had met very few women he could say the same about.
Not loving per se (except in the physical sense), but being in the same room with.
She had introduced him to the young research assistants she had working with her, but he rarely saw them as they kept to themselves for the most part, except for brief forays into the kitchen or dining room where they were both engrossed in her current project … well, their current project.
He had embraced the cause with both hands (figuratively speaking). He was still holding back from embracing her cause' he doubted his willpower when it came to stopping. And he had promised her they would take things slowly. He didn't have to like it, but a promise was a promise.
It didn't help that she wore the most alluring clothes imaginable (the woman could make even shorts and a t-shirt look sexy) and the way she filled out a dressing gown should be outlawed. He had walked around the past week in such an extreme state of arousal that it was almost painful at times, and she seemed blissfully unaware of his predicament. Which, in hindsight, was probably a good thing, but it did put a strain on his otherwise mellow mood … not to mention his trousers.
He would have to figure out a way to ease her fears (and try to rein in his primal chest pounding at the cause of her fears, or rather, the size of the cause of her fears) ... Merlin, he sounded like a hormonal teen ... and try harder not to be flattered. But Merlin's pants, he was a man after all; her irrational fear about his organ aside, how could he not be proud that she thought him well endowed?
Wouldn't that be like complimenting a woman's cooking or something?
Somehow he didn't think complementing her breast size would be the same because he doubted women identified with their breasts the same way men did with their little men … or not-so-little men as the case may be.
Bloody hell. He needed either a very long hot one or a very short cold one ... shower, not anything else. He had a hot, long one for her though ...
And que the sophomoric humor, he thought in disgust.
It was all Hermione's fault ... she was making him insane.
All in all though, he was enjoying getting to know the woman behind the brains, and was very pleased to discover that she, in no way shape or form, resembled her eleven year old self, which relieved him much more than he wanted to admit. He had done many things he regretted in his life, but one thing he could say in all honesty was that he had never, in all his years of teaching, lusted after a student; just the thought turned his stomach.
Not that he hadn't had the odd Slytherin (both male and female) attempt to entice him into accepting sexual favors for better grades; but he always made sure they understood that wasn't up for discussion. Then he would assign them to gutting flobberworms since they were so eager to get their hands dirty, so to speak.
And he could honestly say he had never dabbled in the pool of available nubile flesh … very few other professors could say the same thing. Even Filius had boasted a fling or two over the years. Frankly, he never saw the attraction. Firm flesh aside, he much preferred a real woman with a real woman's curves, and a real women's intellect and maturity to an insipid giggling teenager any day of the week.
A woman just like Hermione, now that she was no longer a teenager.
She was most definitely all woman.
He just needed to figure out a way to convince her that he wouldn't hurt her.
OoOoo
She blushed as Severus addressed her, unsure if she should tell him what she had been thinking about or just forget the idea ever crossed her mind, but she hadn't been in Gryffindor for nothing, Even if she wasn't brave enough to actually do the deed, she could, at the very least, suggest a more comfortable alternative.
She cleared her throat self-consciously, "I was just thinking," she squeaked out before taking a quick drink to clear the boulder sized constriction in her throat, "I was wondering if maybe some Firewhiskey might help our situation some?" she looked into his eyes, hoping he understood what she meant without her having to actually come out and say it.
"Firewhiskey?" he asked in evident confusion.
Okay, maybe not.
"Yes, Firewhiskey," she said in exasperation; at herself, not Severus. She was the coward after all, not him. "Firewhiskey. To help take the edge off."
He looked perplexed for a moment, but she say the exact moment when it 'clicked,' and then he just looked irritated.
"You want to be drunk when we make love the first time?" he seemed truly annoyed by the very idea, and she couldn't help but wonder if she was a degenerate for even suggesting it. Surely men didn't mind drunk trysts though … she was fairly certain Ron had bragged quite a few times of drunken fumblings at various pubs, and she knew Harry and Ginny weren't exactly angels when it came to bedroom games. (she knew only because Ginny insisted on sharing every deviant detail until Hermione finally begged her to cease on pain of death). She grudgingly complied, but not before she had let slip how they had gotten pissed a few times and had a few semi public shags.
She wondered if Rita had photos of the golden couple in flagrante delicto.
But that was veering off the subject at hand, and no matter how much she would dearly love to veer off the subject, she would never lose her virtue at this rate.
Merlin that sounded horrible. Losing her virtue. It was like she became a scarlet woman or something once the deed was done.
How come women were said to lose something … their innocence, their virtue, their maidenhood, their purity … and yet for men, the very same act held more positive connotations? They become men, they gain their manhood, they prove their virility.
Just another example of the nuances of living in a male dominated society.
Poppycock!
"I don't mean drunk exactly," she said, her voice reflecting her uncertainty, "I just meant to help ease my anxiety some. I mean, now this fear of the unknown has become almost bigger than …" she stopped, horrified at what she had almost said. "Well, it has just become ridiculous if you must know, and I thought maybe the alcohol would help relax me enough so that I can enjoy it."
Her voice trailed off as she tried to gauge his reaction to her suggestion, but he had adopted his signature 'blank' expression, making it impossible for her to tell what he was thinking.
"I just know that if I can get over the initial ..." she paused, "... discomfort, than the rest of the experience would be more pleasant."
"Pleasant?" he asked incredulously, "You think it would be pleasant? Why in the bloody hell are you even bothering if that is the best you are hoping for?" he asked looking supremely insulted.
"I didn't mean to insult you, and I apologize if I have," she added hurriedly, "What we've done so far has been brilliant, I never knew it could be like that, which is why I want to try it this way. I'm just afraid I'll be so tense the first time that it won't be good for either of us."
He looked pole-axed, "You have never even …" he seemed to search for the right word, but she cut him off.
"No! I have gone farther with you than with anyone else." She wasn't proud of the fact, but she decided that honesty was important if they planned to take the next step. "I always seem to repel men," she admitted self deprecatingly, "I think my intellect scared them off, and I'm not the sort for a one-off with some bloke I barely know, much less trust."
She hesitated and took a deep breath before speaking, hoping her absolute sincerity was clear, "I know this whole thing is beyond bizarre, I'm a twenty-eight year old virgin with four published books under my belt, but little to no experience when it comes to men. The longer I let my fear control me, the worse it will get. All I'm suggesting is that a few shots beforehand might be just what we need to get over this hurdle," she said, "Does that make sense?"
He didn't answer right away; he seemed to be having an internal debate, one that she obviously wasn't privy to. She waited patiently for him to finally speak.
Well … mostly patiently.
And then waited some more.
Bloody hell, how long did it take to decide if he wanted to shag her or not?
Okay, maybe she wasn't so patient.
"Oooookaaaay," he seemed to stretch the word out into five syllables; his hesitation obvious. "It just sort of feels like I would be taking advantage of you," he said quietly.
"But you won't be if I'm asking you to. It's not like you are doing it without my consent … trust me when I tell you, you have my whole-hearted consent," she finally added sheepishly, "Unless this whole thing is just more trouble than it's worth, we can just forget it if you want."
She held her breath, hoping he would say yes. She knew she was utterly pathetic, practically begging for him to ravish her on the one hand, yet on the other, absolutely terrified of the actual logistics of the act itself.
Quite the dichotomy.
She was a mess, and it would serve her right if he turned her down flat and walked out the door never to return, leaving her a lonely old maid with twenty cats, frizzy grey hair, and a house overrun by books. It would be the books that would eventually kill her, she was convinced of it. One day, after she hadn't been heard from in a week or so, they would come looking for her and find her buried under the very books she loved so much …
And que sad music …
She snorted in disgust as her inner whiny drama queen had a pity party, and almost missed his answer.
"I can't say I quite understand your fear, but I do care for you and I want very much to be with you, so I will do whatever will make you more comfortable. Tonight then?" He asked before flashing her a small smile and reaching across the table to give her hand a reassuring squeeze.
Her answering smile was so bright it seemed to take him by surprise. He leaned over and gave her a chaste, but tender kiss, before sitting back down to finish reading.
"Now woman, if you want me to have this finished sometime this week, leave me alone." His words, though seemingly harsh, were offset by the mischievous twinkle in his eyes.
She laughed softly and tried to turn her thoughts back to her own reading material, swallowing her nervousness down, and getting back to work. No sense dwelling on something that was still hours away.
So, what was she reading again? Her report from Rita … right.
Rita's most recent report contained some very incriminating material on a few high-ranking members of the ICW. She had no plans to use the information herself unless they gave her problems when she approached the ICW next month, but she would make sure the Deputy, Chairman Tung, had the information for a private takeover if he deemed it necessary.
She had her hands full enough as it was in her own backyard, she couldn't take on the world's problems as well.
Yet.
She would save that for next year.