A/N: Hello my shimmering moonbeams! I'm so happy you're still following this little diddy :D
For the next few weeks my goal is to update Kiss Kiss Bang Bang every Friday and The Bloody Tower every Tuesday, schedule permitting. Just a head's up for my lovelies who check in on their alert messages.
For anyone interested, below are the English translations for the German featured last chapter:
Schatz = Jewel/treasure/darling
Ich freue mich, dir Deutsche beizubringen, wunderschön. Ich werde dir auch andere Dinge beibringen. = I am happy to teach you German, beautiful. I will also teach you other things.
Sehr gut, mein Schatz! = Very good, my treasure!
Bleib hier, liebhaber. Ich werde für dich zurück sein. = Stay here, lover. I will be back for you.
You've all waited so patiently for the Tom/Mr. Green confrontation… I can't wait to hear your reactions :D
Enjoy.
Friday August 14, 1987
Tom flinched at the sound of the bathroom door opening. Light flooded the dark space from the main room, illuminating the large silhouette of a man across the shower curtain Tom hid behind.
The eight year old boy shrank further back in the stained tub, wrapping his arms around his legs and burying his face in his knees, willing himself to become invisible.
He could hear the broken static of the telly echoing off the chipped tiles, but no other movement beyond the heavy tread of boots on linoleum as the large figure approached the toilet. The faceless man groaned, flipping up the seat with a bang. Tom jolted, biting his lip.
The man had arrived not thirty minutes ago, he'd paid for the full hour but Tom didn't hear his mother. He wondered if she was asleep or passed out, and if the man would simply leave the motel after he was done peeing.
There was a long stretch of silence where Tom's heart beat was deafening, but then the steady flow of urination filled the tiny bathroom and Tom counted to twenty before the stream stemmed. The man groaned again, not bothering to flush or lower the seat. Tom was relieved to hear his footsteps head to the doorway, the silhouette shrinking in the distance.
"Oi! You hear me?"
Tom held his breath, but then realized the stranger must have been talking to his mother in the other room. He heard the sound of shifting fabric, rustling, and then a sharp, unmistakable slap of flesh.
"Hey, bitch! Wake up! We're not done yet."
Tom squeezed his eyes shut at the sound of his mother's low moan. He knew that sound, groggy, feeble and lost, he suspected she was coasting the rings of Saturn.
"Bitch, how much did you cook up? I said two fucking bags! You better pray you left enough for me."
Tom sighed into his knees, suspecting the stranger wasn't leaving any time soon.
"Fuck, did you pull from that glass? That's disgusting."
The man entered the bathroom again. Tom's heart started to race. He watched the silhouette walk to the sink and the boy cringed, his intelligent mind already leaping to what was to follow. The man turned the handles to no avail, the faucet bone dry. The sink had been broken for weeks, his mother never reported it because she was always behind rent.
The man spun around, heading for the tub.
Tom shrank so far back the hard ceramic bruised his spine. The shower curtain was torn open as the man leaned towards the lever, stopping short upon seeing Tom.
"Fuck!" he gasped, rearing back. "Jesus kid, you scared the piss outta me!"
Tom blinked with wide, terrified eyes.
"The fuck you doing hiding like that? Trying to give me a heart attack?"
Tom held his breath, body frozen, wishing to god his mother was coherent enough to hear the man shouting, to pull him from the bathroom and leave Tom to his solitude. But he knew it would be several hours before she arouse from her sleep of the dead.
Tom was on his own.
"Hey, you deaf? I said what the fuck are you doing?"
Tom swallowed lightly. "Mum told me to wait."
The man blinked, glancing at the open door, the end of the bed where only his mother's track marked ankles and dirty soles were visible. "Fucking Merope…" he muttered angrily, expression pinched. "Always holding out on me."
Tom's shoulders drew in, something in the man's tone annerviving him further. He pressed back harder, trying to pass his cells through the ceramic. The stranger glanced back to Tom and lowered to his haunches before him.
"Hey kid, your mother fucking stole from me. She cooked over half my bundle and then had the nerve to pass out before our hour was up. What do you think I should do about it, huh?"
Ton blinked. His mother's customers had spoken to him on occasion, but usually just glancing remarks. None had ever addressed him with a question, awaiting his answer with a terrifying gleam in their eyes.
"I said what the fuck should I do? Should I kill her?"
Tom's breath caught in his throat.
"Yeah, I think that's a good idea, don't you? She's a lying, thieving whore. She's stolen from me before, you know that? She already owes me from last time."
Tom's body shook with the throb of his heartbeat.
"I think she owes me a lot of fucking money she can't pay. So I should kill her, right? Teach her a lesson? Show her what happens when someone steals from me."
The silence that followed was deafening, overriding the sounds of television static and his mother's rhythmic breaths. The man tilted his head. "You love your mum?"
Tom blinked rapidly, the question eliciting a bevy of emotions within him. Did he love his mother? He knew he hated her. He wasn't sure if he loved her.
"You want her to wake up tomorrow? Cook you breakfast? Tell you bedtime stories?"
If Tom wasn't so utterly terrified he'd burst out laughing at the notion of his mother performing either domestic tasks.
"Yeah, I think you want your mummy to live, don't you? So I think you should pay off her debt instead, right? That's fair?"
Tom's breathing became shallow, instincts alert to danger.
"I think that's a bloody brilliant idea. You pay off her debt, or I stab that bitch in her black heart."
And then he was reaching for Tom, fingers curled into a claw with jagged, yellowing nails. Tom gasped, rearing back and pushing up to his feet. The man leaned forward, trapping him at the back of the tub. Adrenaline flooded Tom's small body, survival instinct roaring to life and taking possession of his four limbs, pumping lungs and racing heart.
He reached up for the grime caked shower curtain and pulled it down from the plastic hooks with all his might, swaddling arms full of the stiff fabric and shoving it into the man's face, blinding him, throwing him off balance as he fell into the side of the tub.
Tom leapt over the lip and raced for the door, bare feet silently finding purchase on the peeling linoleum. He crossed the nail ridden threshold into the main room where a queen sized bed sat at the center, a frail thin body laying across its center, a discarded spoon laying atop her center… a kaleidoscope of misery that folding in on itself over and over, fragmenting light and reflecting a distorted reality that filled every corner of the smoke hazed room.
Tom didn't bother shouting for her, she wouldn't hear him and even if she could he'd never rely on her to provide safety. He heard booming thunder behind him, a menacing shout and ground shaking footsteps, and then something hard slammed into his back, cracking against his shoulders and head and knocking him off his feet, stars appearing before his eyes.
He blinked, struggling to toss off the stiff dead weight of whatever collapsed atop him. Wood grain filled his vision and he realized it was a chair.
"Fucking little cunt!"
Suddenly the chair was gone, and then so was gravity. Tom's arm was squeezed in a vice and nearly torn from the socket as he was hauled up by the thin limb. His ears were still ringing from the glancing blow to his head, skull throbbing, balance further tipped off as he was dangled in the air.
"Stupid shite," the man grumbled, face red and murderous. "You don't run from me. No one ever runs from me."
Tom burst to life like a live wire, sparking fury and terror with his three free limbs, kicking violently and clawing at the beast's face. The man barked in outrage, shaking Tom harder, making it feel as though his arm was severed at the spot where the large hand squeezed it, palm covering the smattering of criss cross scars marring the pale flesh.
Tom narrowed his eyes, trying to focus through the pain, strategize through the blind terror. He directed his kicks with more focus, aiming a bent foot between the man's legs and earning a satisfying Oomf! as all the air left the stranger in a sour exhale directed into Tom's face.
He dropped Tom all at once, hands cupping his crotch as though to undo damage already done. Tom had expected as much and managed to land on his feet in a low crouch, darting around the hunched figure to the door. He cringed when he saw the deadbolt fastened at the top, beyond his reach. His mother installed extra locks on the door for added security, or so she told herself, despite the fact the window had been broken so often it was hardly worth replacing and the door itself had been knocked clear off its hinges more than once.
However the top lock was exclusively for her wayward son, to keep Tom inside the room when she wanted to punish him. Tom would normally wait for her to pass out and simply push the chair to the door, unfastening it himself. But the chair was currently next to the stranger, and the stranger was quickly regaining his bearings.
Tom's mind raced, trying to figure out an escape plan, his mind going to two places- the bathroom or the front window. The front window didn't open but could be broken again, Tom could climb through. The bathroom had a door but no lock, Tom could fit through the tiny window above the tub but he wasn't tall enough to reach it without some sort of boost.
Front window it was.
He raced to his mother's bedside and grabbed the lamp, pulling harshly to rip the cord from the wall and dashed back to the window, throwing it full force at the pane, feeling a surge of triumph at the explosive sound of shattering glass. He followed the path of the lamp, leaping towards freedom, and was caught mid air.
A large hand grabbed the back of his shirt and ripped him back, clipping his wings and hauling him into a hard, foul smelling body. Tom started to scream. Not in fear, not for help, but in pure adrenaline fueled rage. He nearly choked on the black smoke billowing from deep within. The man laughed cruelly, head tipping back with malevolent mirth, his mother sighed irritably and rolled to her side, facing away from the scene unfolding next to her.
A strong arm formed an unbreakable seatbelt across Tom's chest, pinning him against the man's torso and once more lifting him off the ground. Tom kicked at the man's kneecaps, grunting with the effort, earning a harsh smack to the previously injured side of his head.
"I'm gonna kill you and your whore of a mother you fucking little- Ow! Dammit!"
Tom managed to elbow the man in the mouth, his teeth cutting into Tom's arm, but the sting of pain was worth it. He started dragging Tom past the bed and back towards the bathroom as Tom struggled with all his might to free himself. It was to no avail, he was simply no match for the man's strength. As they passed the snow filled television Tom's eyes landed on the scattered items on the dresser, desperate for any kind of weapon.
There was the one pot burner, unplugged and caked in filth, next to the coffee maker, still half full with a two day old brew, cold, black and congealing in the glass pot. There was a smattering of discarded gear but Tom didn't think he could reach any of the needles, his hands shaking too much to fumble with the tiny plastic.
He set his sights on the coffee pot, lunging forward as much as the band around his middle would allow, fingers straining, straining, just reaching their target and curling around the plastic handle. He pulled the pot free and swung it over his head and down, aiming blindly, gasping at the force of the blow. The shock radiated up his arm to his shoulder but his death grip on the handle remained.
The handle was all that survived, the glass shattering over the top of the man's head and cold coffee soaking Tom's hair, pouring in streams down his neck and back, stinging the scalp wound he didn't realize was there, mixing with caked blood and soaking his shirt.
The man yelled in pain, dropping Tom and clutching his head, wiping at his eyes. Tom didn't land gracefully this time, falling in a pile of scattered limbs, feeling stray glass shards reach up from the ash burned carpet to bite into his skin. He gasped for breath, scrambling on his hands and knees towards the wall, blinking rapidly, coffee in his eyes.
His senses were overwhelmed with the beverage, overriding the room's normal pungent odors of cigarettes and stale sex. Tom swallowed, throat tightening in his panic to run, knowing the man would kill him as soon as he recovered.
He spared a glance at his mother, still passed out on the bed, and felt a strange tug, an invisible rope pulling him towards her. He narrowed his eyes, resisting the urge and turning away, knowing it was likely the last time he'd see her alive.
He ran to the broken window, hoisting himself up to straddle the frame, jagged glass slicing into his hands, forearms, through his pants and into his thighs. Out the corner of his eye he saw the man charge for him, arms out and lungs screaming. Tom threw his leg over the side and dropped to the landing below, staggering a bit and then sprinting down the walkway, past neighbor's doors and windows, no one sparing the loud commotion a glance.
He heard the door to his mother's room crash open, heavy footsteps chasing him, echoing down the walkway. But Tom was back in his element, knew the motel like the back of his hand, the surrounding neighborhood was a map he could trace in the dark. He had enough of a head start that he reached the stairs before the man was halfway across the upper floor, Tom's short but agile legs tearing across the parking lot to the alley behind the manager's office.
Tom disappeared into the dark of night, barefoot, soaked in coffee and blood, ears filled with the sound of his panting breaths and a demon's thunderous roar.
Wednesday July 13, 2005
Tom skid to a stop before Hermione's door. He swallowed thickly upon seeing it ajar, a sliver of light pouring out into the hall. He inhaled sharply, braced for the worst, and stepped inside.
His eyes immediately fell upon her.
His heart stopped.
"Ah, Tom, my boy. You made excellent time. Please, come in, have a seat."
Tom's eyes flickered rapidly between Hermione's tear filled eyes and the metal barrel of the gun pressed to her temple. His mind raced, formulating a dozen plans at once, running through the scenarios, discarding one after the other and pulling up the next.
"Ah ah ah, I suggest you put those ideas to the side, or you'll be saying your goodbyes to Hermione much sooner than necessary."
Tom inhaled sharply, eyes moving up to lock with Green's amused, gleaming gaze. He managed to force words past the constriction in his throat. "You've been busy I see."
"What irony, I was going to say that very thing to you. Now, please have a seat so we can get the rest of our evening underway. It's terribly late and I'm quite exhausted, I imagine you're in a similar state considering the day you've had."
"I've just caught a second wind."
"Always the jester. Now sit, Hermione and I have been patiently waiting for you and it's rude to make us wait further."
Tom swallowed lightly, eyes shifting down to Hermione. She sat rigid in the upholstered chair, spine straight as a board and fists clenched at her sides. She gazed forward, head held high, though she tracked Tom's movements with her eyes and blinked rapidly through silent tears.
"Hermione, it's going to be okay. I promise." He was amazed how steady he managed to keep his voice.
She gasped lightly, no doubt the emotions she was trying to keep tamped down were boiling high within her, about to overflow the lid. He shook his head, holding up a hand as he neared the couch.
"Don't speak, luv, don't move. I'm going to take care of everything. Just stay calm and trust me."
Green smirked. "I've been waiting twelve long years to hear you interact with your hidden gem and I must admit, it does not disappoint."
Tom scowled at the man once more. "You should be pointing that gun at me, I'm your greatest threat."
"Yes, and she's your greatest treasure. I have the gun pointed in the right direction, I assure you. Oh, and speaking of firearms, please place your weapon on the table and slide it over before you sit down."
Tom stopped short, posture stiff. "I left Vienna is quite a hurry. No bags, no weapons."
Green smiled. "Yes, I'm sure you did. I can only imagine how quickly you ran to cab stand after disembarking from the plane. However I know you made a pit stop along the way, that little storage locker you keep at Heathrow? Sound familiar?"
His fangs descended at the dark look that crossed Tom's eyes. "I thought so. Put the weapons down, Tom. Don't make me wait."
Tom's jaw ticked, eyes murderous, fingers curling into fists as his side. A heavy beat of silence passed, Hermione's quickened breath the only sound in the room. And then Tom slowly reached behind him, hand sliding beneath his jacket, only to emerge with his Smith & Wesson held tightly, pointed to the floor.
All three sets of eyes locked onto the weapon, each held an intense emotion unique to their owner. Finally Tom gazed up, watching his handler as carefully as the man watched him as he made his way to the coffee table and set the glock down, sliding it across the wood to rest before Hermione's bare knees.
"Excellent. Now, the rest of it."
Tom swayed on his feet with the force of his rage.
"Come now," Green pressed the barrel deeper into her temple, she squeezed her eyes shut and Tom saw red. "We don't have all night."
Tom reached back into his jacket and removed a curved hunting blade from the inner lining, tossing it on the table with a dull thunk. He reached into the other side and pulled out his subcompact beretta, placing it down with more care.
He straightened, locking eyes with Green once more. His handler raised a grey brow, the corner of his mouth curving upward, the knowing glint in his eye making Tom's blood pressure rise.
Tom leaned over and pulled a small switchblade from beneath his sock, tossing it up to the table before pulling up his other pant leg, removing a sleek dagger with a S-curved blade that glinted in the light. He slid it into the pile of weapons before once more standing tall.
Green sighed, tipping his chin to gesture at Tom's middle. Tom's eye twitched, teeth grinding together as he reached into his pockets, one hand extracting two hypodermic needles filled with a clear liquid and the other pulled out a-
Hermione gasped, pressing back in the chair, forgetting the gun at her temple as she eyed the grenade Tom placed at the center of her table.
She blinked, opened and closed her mouth, emitting no sound. Then she looked up at Tom with wide eyes. He held her gaze for a moment before shrugging lightly. "I like to be prepared."
Green chuckled. "Yes, always the forward thinker, aren't you? I've said many of times that you think things through far too much. If only you could learn to be a bit more impulsive."
Tom's fists tightened anew at the amusement marring Green's face. "I've always done what you've asked of me. Now is no different. I'm defenseless. Now let her go."
"Funny, I don't remember making that agreement. The only arrangement I'm aware of is the one that includes me having sole control of this situation, which I can only maintain by keeping this gun pointed at the lovely Ms. Granger's head. Now, take a seat and keep your hands where I can see them. I know I don't need to waste more time telling you something as cliché as what will happen if you act out of turn, so we'll skip that part and get right to the exciting bits."
Tom held his breath as he lowered himself onto the couch, directly in front of Hermione. He held her gaze, trying to convey a message of reassurance with his eyes alone. He would figure a way out of this, but he needed her to remain calm. If she tried anything then shite would surely hit the fan. Tom was fast, but he couldn't outpace a bullet.
"That's a good boy."
Tom's look of reassurance turned to homicidal longings as he gazed up, lips pressed to a thin line.
"Hermione, dear, would you be so kind as to place Tom's little toys at my feet."
She jolted, glancing up with raised brows.
"It's quite alright, my dear, just avoid touching the business ends and you'll be just fine."
She turned around and reached forward with shaking hands, her palms hovering over the pile, indecision on her face.
"The warning I gave Tom goes for you as well. But you're far more reasonable, I think you know you're much more likely to injure yourself than me if you try to wield anything. Now, start with the guns."
She swallowed heavily, eyes darting up to Tom. He nodded once, eyes flickering to the larger glock. "The safety's on, only touch the-"
"I remember," she spoke suddenly, fingers curling around the grip. Tom blinked, racing thoughts stuttering on a faded frame, a long ago memory of a time long forgotten.
That's right. I showed her how to shoot. She was bloody terrified of pulling the trigger. She started to cry after but tried to hide it from me.
He was pulled from his musings as he watched her lean over and place the weapon at Green's feet, repeating the motion with the beretta and then going for the knives. Her eyes caught the reflection of the longer blade, his chest seized at the image she painted. But then the weapon was discarded at his handler's feet and only the syringes and narrow metal cylinder remained. He knew which items she'd grab first.
She studiously avoided peering at the grenade, and once the needles were on the ground she spun forward and placed her hands on her knees.
"I can't touch that."
Green smirked. "It's not explosive, dear. As much as Tom would love to see me blown to bits he'd never risk your pretty neck. It's a non-lethal stunner. But I assure you, pulling the clip will not save you from a bullet to the brain. Now please, put it with the others."
She sighed deeply, slowly leaning forward and carefully picking up the device with both hands, holding her breath as she lowered it to the ground.
"Perfect. Now that that's done I think we can all breathe easier."
Hermione looked to be on the verge of hyperventilating.
"Enough games!" Tom snarled, the gun at her temple grating his nerves. "Tell us what you want."
Green removed the barrel from her head but kept it pointed in her direction as he walked behind her chair and took a seat in the one beside it, catty corner from Tom.
"Such anger. Surely you didn't think you could keep her hidden from me forever?"
Tom glared. "What do you want, Green? Why are you doing this?"
Green's amusement faded, eyes intense. "I want the same thing as always, Tom. For you to succeed. Surely you see the insurmountable problem you've created by bringing your childhood sweetheart into the web we live upon? How did you intend to keep her hidden from the spiders?"
Tom drew shallow breaths, muscles tensed. There was no point in beating around the bush. Green would see through the lies anyway.
"I didn't intend to bring her in. I intended to leave."
Green watched him in silence for several heavy beats, then smiled sardonically. "Yes, I thought as much. Tell me, where did you plan on running to? What corner of the earth do you think is sacred from our reach?"
Tom tipped his chin up, looking down his nose at the man but remaining silent. Green chuckled, shaking his head. "Always running around looking for things to destroy. It was only a matter of time before you turned that destructive nature inward. Luckily I'm stepping in before you did something you'd regret."
Tom blinked, then released a sharp bark of laughter. "Too late for that. I regret ever agreeing to speak with you that night ten years ago. More so, I regret not reporting you to the authorities when I was at Wool's."
Green waved a hand. "You're judgement is clouded at the moment. We both know if I didn't step in you'd be dead or in prison by now. At least you have a semblance of a life you can ruin with poor decisions. I gave that to you."
Tom couldn't tamp down the explosion of anger. "You gave me a gun and a living target. A lifetime of killing. Nothing else."
Green sighed, unaffected by his charge's rising ire. "I gave you an invaluable skill set and the tools to perform, which has led you around the world and given you great wealth. I gave you a purpose, and while at the moment you may claim to abhor that purpose we both know that deep down you thrive on having such power and control."
"Control? I have control over nothing!"
"Do calm down, Tom. I've had enough of your hysterics to last a lifetime. And I don't know how we once more drifted to the subject of your life when Hermione's hangs in the balance."
Tom's mouth clamped shut, entire body tense and ready to spring, though he didn't know in which direction. If he leaped for Green he may fire the gun, if he leaped for Hermione he'd never reach her in time.
"Bloody hell, can you not sit still and listen for even a few minutes? What am I saying, of course you can't. Very well, I'll try and shorten my proposal to thirty seconds."
Tom blinked, defensive posture easing. Hermione glanced at him with questioning eyes. He was certain they mirrored his own.
Proposal?
"Yes, proposal."
Tom leaned back, expression hard and filled with trepidation. He knew this couldn't be good, and considering the situation they were currently in, that was really saying something.
"Let's see, how can I put this most precisely? You want out, correct?"
Tom narrowed his eyes.
"That was rhetorical, of course. You've already made you opinion on the matter quite known. And it just so happens I have the ability to let you out. Scot free. No strings attached."
Tom tensed. He didn't believe that for a moment.
"Of course you don't believe me. No one ever gets out, you say. No one ever walks away. But allow me to play devil's advocate for a moment, if you will. Despite your many misgivings over the years, have I ever done anything to put you in harm's way? Have I ever demonstrated anything but concern for your well being?"
Tom blinked.
"Exactly. I've proven time and time again that I only have your best interests at heart. So why would I set you on the path to destruction now, all of a sudden?"
Tom's gaze slowly cut in Hermione's direction. She was watching the exchange with wide eyes, posture stiff and arms crossed protectively across her middle.
"Yes, she does certainly present an interesting variable. But I gain nothing by killing her. I would only lose you. Alas, if I allow you children to run wild with your own devices I lose you yet again. You're clever Tom, but you'd never be able to pull off the daring escape you've been romanticizing in your mind. You'd always be looking over your shoulder, her shoulder, and eventually, the past would catch up to you. If there's one guarantee in life beyond death, it's that no man can outrun his past."
Tom watched his handler carefully. "I don't understand. Why would you let me go?"
Green leaned back, crossing his legs and effecting a comfortable posture. "The way I see it, you're already gone. You'll be discontent staying, which will lead to sloppy work and eventual death, or you'll attempt your own daring exit, which will lead to immediate death. And as we've already established, I have no interest in attending your funeral. So it seems I have little choice but to offer my assistance."
Tom swallowed, eyes darting back to Hermione, locking gazes. Her message was clear.
Don't trust him.
He tipped his chin.
I don't.
He looked back to Green, brow raised. "I appreciate the selfless offer, but pardon my hesitation to accept. I have a hard time believing you're willing to let me go, no strings attached, as you say."
Green chuckled, shaking his head and resting the gun on his thigh, still aimed at Hermione.
"Oh, I apologize for the confusion. I meant there were no obligations after your release. Of course the release itself will cost you."
And there it is.
Tom leaned back, crossing his legs and imitating the casual air of the man across from him.
"I see. You need something from me."
Green smirked, cocking his head. "Actually, you need something from me. However if I'm going to offer my services then naturally I'll expect something in return, quid pro quo, if you will."
The muscle in Tom's jaw ticked, braced for impact. "And what exactly do you have in mind?"
Green shrugged lightly, face a study in calm.
"I need you to complete three final missions. Three final targets. And then you're done. For good."
Tom watched him with a calculated gaze. It was too easy. Too simple.
"And what's the catch?"
Green's smile split his face in half, teeth gleaming as brightly as his eyes.
"The catch, my dear boy, is that Hermione has to help."
Monday February 12, 1990
Harry carefully pulled another box off the top of the pile and lowered it to the ground, sneezing in the wake of the dust cloud it stirred.
He straightened his glasses, peering at the familiar handwriting along the flap with such a strong ache of longing it stole his breath away. He ran his hands along the messy cursive, throat tight. The muffled sound of footsteps from the floor below shook him from his stupor and he sighed, opening the lid to study the contents.
His heart lurched in his chest upon seeing the items. He knew what the box contained, but it always felt like he was discovering the treasures for the first time. He reached in and pulled out a pale blue baby blanket, neatly folded and soft from years of wear. It smelled like fabric softener and a hint of perfume. Her perfume. Beside it was a very familiar looking teddy bear, missing one eye, the nose dented and chewed, the pale stomach faded and stained. Beneath the bear sat a large book, a photo album.
He sucked in a breath and carefully maneuvered it free, opening the cover with great care, as though the binding would crumble and the pages would turn to ash at the slightest provocation. He blinked several times when he saw the photos on the first page, willing the tears at bay. His parents looked so young, so happy, so alive.
They held a tiny infant in their arms in each frame, sometimes posing for the camera, others were more intimate, candid moments. His father feeding Harry ice cream in front of the telly, his mother holding his chubby arms aloft while he tried to balance on his feet for the first time.
The photos were filled with smiles, laughter, love. He got lost in the pages, turning one after the other until he was met with the empty white of the back cover. He sighed, pulling out of the reverie to gaze at his surroundings, remembering where he was.
His aunt's attic.
He closed the album and carefully placed it back inside the box, one of the few he insisted on bringing with him to the Dursley's, the rest were kept in Sirius's basement.
Today was the six month anniversary of his mother's death, six month and one day of his father's. He'd been a resident in the Dursley household for roughly five of those months, Remus and Sirius reluctantly relinquished possession of him after the courts set down their ruling, granting Harry's blood relatives custody.
Custody that they didn't want. Of course they didn't let the judge know that. His Aunt put on a good show for the courts, crying over the loss of her beloved sister, begging them to release Harry into their care, where he could be raised the way his parents intended. Nevermind she hadn't seen Harry in person for years, avoiding Lily and her husband like the plague she considered them to be.
But they were a financially comfortable plague that built up a considerable savings and left that wealth to their only child, money that could be accessed every month to assist with Harry's upkeep until he reached majority. Vernon had recently lost yet another job, because of bearacratic bullshite according to him, but Harry suspected it had far more to do with the man's surly attitude and short fuse. The Dursley's had fallen on hard times and low and behold a wealthy, estranged nephew fell into their lap. They weren't keen to let him go.
Immediately after the funerals Sirius had taken off work as long as he could, finally accepting an assignment that would keep him local based, but the judge didn't deem either him or Remus a more viable option for raising Harry than his own family, especially since the Dursley's had a child Harry's age. What a great idea it was to allow the boys to grow up together, becoming as close as brothers.
Dudley was an unholy menace and despised Harry more than his Aunt and Uncle did. He didn't appreciate having his only child status messed with, even though his parents spared no affection for the new addition, but Dudley didn't see it that way. Sharing a room with the boy had become so unbearable Harry had taken it upon himself to move to the dark, drafty, attic. He'd gladly face a few rats up here to avoid the vermin residing downstairs.
Harry didn't know why his Aunt despised her own flesh and blood so much. He'd never had the opportunity to see her and his mother interact outside of a handful of family functions in his youth. Those events eventually tapered off after his grandparents died, leaving their daughters no reason to force the matter for appearances sake.
He'd overheard his mother talking about it once or twice with his father, she sounded regretful and upset over the estrangement, wishing things could be different. He thought he recalled his mother saying she wished Petunia would get over the past, let bygones be bygones, making him suspect something occured between them in their younger years, before Harry was born. But whenever he asked about her sister hurt would flood her features. Harry couldn't bear to see his mother in distress and would always drop the subject.
But now, given the situation he found himself in, he wish he had pushed the matter more, just to have any sort of clue as to why he was enemy number one with his Aunt and her family. He knew Petunia would never tell him, at least not the truth, so he supposed the secret died with his mother.
"Boy! Get down here!"
Harry cringed.
"I know you can hear me! You have five seconds to get your arse downstairs!"
Harry sighed, sliding the box away and taking to his feet, silently moving across the floor. He'd quickly learned which beams made noise to avoid drawing attention from downstairs. He opened the hatch and kicked the ladder free, letting it slide open and click into place. He was halfway down the rungs when he was yanked off by a meaty hand around his arm, causing him to yelp and land with a stumble.
"Boy! You've been messing with my trophies again? I told you to stay away from them!"
Harry blinked, trying to jerk free of the strong grip on his arm to no avail.
"I didn't touch your stupid trophies!"
Vernon's red face began to turn purple, beady eyes narrowed to slits.
"How dare you speak to me like that! In my own house!"
"Vernon?" called a feminine voice from downstairs, making Harry cringe anew. He hated his aunt even more than his uncle. She had his mother's same auburn hair and treated her nephew as she would a pebble in her shoe. It was too much to bear.
"Not now, Petunia! I'm talking to the bloody nuisance!"
"Do try and keep your voice down, the neighbors just walked by the front-"
"I'll talk as loud as I want to in my own goddamn house! Now shut up!"
The downstairs fell silent once more. Harry regained his uncle's full, undivided rage.
"Now listen here, boy. I shined those trophies myself just the other day and I know exactly what direction they were all facing. I set it up as a trap, see? And low and behold I walk by this morning and find my two League trophies facing the wrong way, covered in smudges! What do you have to say about that?"
Harry tugged his trapped arm. "I'd say you have a bit too much time on your hands."
A growl reverberated through the barrel chest, rumbling free from thin lips and a bushy mustache. "Smart arse little bastard! Those parents of yours taught you no manners whatsoever! But what else is to be expected of a drug addict and an alcoholic? You've got a mix of the worst genes you could possibly inherit! I just hope we're free of you before you start thieving!"
Harry blinked, taken aback by the statement, how completely ludicrous it was on every level. He wasn't even sure where to start his protests, which led to a heavy beat of silence where Vernon's eyes turned bright with victory.
"That's right, boy. Didn't know your parents were both lushes? Hid behind those fancy government jobs and acted so high and mighty, but behind closed doors we all know what was really going on!"
Now the words rushed to Harry so fast he didn't know how to staunch the flow. "Are you daft? I lived behind those closed doors for twelve years, I think I'd know if my parents were alcoholics or addicts! They didn't even have a liquor cabinet! You on the other hand stash bottles in every room!"
Vernon drew his hand back and Harry cowered instinctively, unable to run, resigned to taking the blow to the side of the head just as he'd taken the last three. But the hit didn't come, instead he was jerked roughly forward, eyes popping open in fear and anger as Vernon held him aloft. They were eye level, the steam of Vernon's sour breath fogging the lenses of Harry's glasses, saturating the world in a hazy fog with each panting breath.
"You stupid little shite! I own a beautiful home, have a beautiful wife and brilliant child, I have everything a man could ever want! And what do you have? You have nothing! No one! Because you're an awful burden that no one wants to be pinned with! Your own mother killed herself to escape you-"
Harry thrashed wildly. "Liar! Take it back! Take it back! She didn't kill herself!"
"She overdosed, the same thing!"
"She didn't overdose! Liar! Her heart gave out!"
"And why do you think her heart stopped? That doesn't just happen to young women without cause."
Harry aimed a knee at Vernon's middle, earning a satisfying gasp of pain as he was finally released. Harry landed deftly on his feet and backed up so fast he tripped over the extended ladder at his back, falling to his bum. But he hardly registered the pain, still livid with indignation. He could handle insults aimed at him, his appearance, his situation, but he couldn't stomach the hateful things they said about his parents.
"She just got word about dad! She went into cardiac arrest and fell and hit her head on the table! She never took any drugs! She was a good mum, a good person, unlike you and your awful wife!"
"You son of a-"
"Dad! Can I have twenty quid?"
The new voice emanating from downstairs drew both their attention, giving Harry a momentary reprieve from the hulking figure poised above him, mid lean with his hands extended forward like meaty claws, ready to grab him once more.
Harry quickly scrambled backwards like a crab, jumping to his feet and running for the bathroom just as Vernon regained his bearings, charging after him with thunderous footfalls. Harry managed to slam the door and push in the lock a second before the door shook violently on it's frame, hinges rattling.
"Open the door this instant! You little shite! You don't lock me out in my own bloody house! Open this door or I'm breaking it down! Open it!"
Harry backed up slowly, limbs trembling. He'd seen his uncle work himself into a state before, but never a violent rage like this, never where Harry legitimately feared for his life. He panted lightly, nerves frazzled, glancing about for a weapon or escape route. His eyes fell on the window above the toilet. It was small but it opened, and Harry was just skinny enough to squeeze through if he maneuvered carefully enough.
Harry leapt onto the toilet lid, carefully stepping onto the back of the tank. The door shook violently again and again, creaking beneath the weight of pounding fists as Harry slid the window open. He'd blocked out most of his uncle's screams and threats but his ears perked up at the softer voice that was now in the hall, approaching.
"Vernon! What are you doing?"
"Stay out of this! That bloody twit has insulted me for the last time!"
"Please, luv, just calm down for a-"
"Don't tell me what to do! Someone has to teach that boy a lesson and by god it is going to be me!"
"I understand but maybe we should- ah!"
Harry's head swiveled around in shock at the sharp slapping sound immediately followed by a feminine shriek.
"How many times do I have to fucking say it? Stay back, Tuney, or I swear I'll break both your necks! Now go back downstairs and stay there!"
Harry faced the window as he heard his aunt's soft footsteps recede, followed by the rattle of the knob. "I know you can hear me, boy. There's nowhere to go. Come out this instant and I'll only punish you once. Drag this out any further and I'll make it last all night."
The cool, almost calculating way in which his uncle now spoke sent chills down Harry's spine. He quickly hoisted himself into the frame and thread his bony arms through, grasping the shingles. He was on the second floor but luckily the roof was flat enough in spots to navigate by foot until he reached the side terrace. He's already scaled out the second floor windows a handful of times, though this was his first trip through this particular exit.
"I said open the fucking door!"
And the rage fueled Neanderthal was back. His voice became muffled as Harry slid through, pausing to work his shoulders and chest past, finally breathing a sigh of relief when he fully emerged.
To his shock the deafening sound of splintering wood sounded behind him, he spun around and watched Vernon crash through the door, a gaping hole where the knob should be. He stormed in and gazed around madly, his face an overripe plum with malice written in every line. His eyes fastened to the open window and locked with Harry's terrified emerald gaze.
"You fucking leech!" He charged for the window and Harry sprung to his feet, narrowly outstepping the grasping hand that shot out, desperately grabbing for his ankle. He held his arms out for balance and kept his eyes avered down, eyeing the shingles with trepidation, quickly cutting a path across the house.
"He's on the bloody roof! Dudley, get outside and watch him!" And then the grasping hand disappeared and the sound of thunder receded as his uncle no doubt made a beeline downstairs.
Harry's heart was in his throat as he finally reached his destination, limbs shaking so badly he could barely keep his grasp on the cross hatched terrace, ivy poking him in the face as he scaled down, leaping the last few feet with raw adrenaline surging through his veins.
The back door crashed open nearly as loudly as the bathroom door had, eliciting a yelp of fear he couldn't contain.
"Dad! Dad he's getting away! He's heading for the fence!"
"Get him!"
Harry heard the sound of pounding footsteps behind him, barely discernible over the blood rushing through his ears. He had no fear of Dudley catching him, the overweight boy only expended physical energy when he walked to the bathroom after playing hours of video games.
But the second set of charging footsteps flooded his nervous system with unbridled terror. Vernon may have been overweight as well, but he was tall, and his long legs would make short work of the backyard.
Harry leapt as he reached the fence, hands grasping the tops of the posts as he hoisted himself up. The fence rocked suddenly, once, hard, as Vernon rammed into it, either unable to check his momentum or trying to knock Harry down, which he was nearly successful in doing. Harry clutched the top of the posts for dear life, trainers battling to find purchase against the wood as he pulled himself higher.
"Get down here!"
He felt fingers graze his ankle, fingertips catching the back of his shoe and pulling hard. Harry pulled his leg up at the same time, straddling the fence and releasing his foot from the trainer. Vernon gazed at the grass stained shoe in his hand with a dumbfounded expression before barking in anger and tossing it over his shoulder. But whatever expression he wore next was lost to Harry as he hopped over the side, landing in a crouch in the neighbor's garden.
He knew his uncle wouldn't cause a scene out in the open, he was too obsessed with image to risk the neighbor's knowing the truth about what happened in his home. Still, Harry wasted no time cutting across the strange backyard, hopping their fence in turn until he landed on the hard sidewalk.
He took off full speed ahead, no destination in mind, one shoe on his feet and hellfire at his back.
Thursday July 14, 2005
"You're having a spot of luck is all, don't get too comfortable."
Harry laughed, keeping pace behind his former mentor as they ascended the spiral staircase.
"A spot of luck? More like kicking your arse."
"Please! Chelsea beat a 10-man Uni, after a bloody draw at the League! I would hardly call that bragging rights."
"Oh come on, old man, they were already in the lead! You know I hear a lot of whining and complaining, sounds about right coming from a United fan."
"Now listen here you smarmy ingrate-"
"Don't hate me because your team's for shite this year."
Sirius shook his fist before Harry's face even as a wide grin split his own.
"Cheeky little bastard."
"I assure you nothing about me is little." Harry winked and Sirius tossed his head back with a bark of laughter.
Harry chuckled alongside as they made their way to the top floor, pausing before the blood red door. Harry started to fish the keys from his pocket but stopped short, glancing at Sirius.
"Who am I kidding? Ten to one odds Luna's already inside."
Sirius smirked. "Fifty to one Nev scalds himself with coffee when she says good morning to him."
Harry shook his head but couldn't suppress a smirk. "Leave off. He's finally enjoying his work, I don't want to make him feel uncomfortable."
"I think it's a bit too late for that, can't be comfortable pitching a tent every time a bird glances at you."
"Like you would know about that."
Sirius laughed again, cut short by a new voice, muffled behind the door.
"I think it prudent to inform you gentlemen that sound travels quite well through this rather inept barrier."
Harry felt the blood drain from his face upon recognizing the deep baritone. Sirius laughed harder.
"Wanker!" Harry hissed, punching him in the arm as he threw his own weight against the door, pushing it open.
He was relieved to see only Dumbledore inside. Harry wasn't sure he could survive the embarrassment had the subjects of their amusement overheard them. He was positive Neville wouldn't.
"Good morning, Sir."
Dumbledore smirked. "Good morning, Harry. Sirius."
Sirius tipped his head in acknowledgement but otherwise said nothing as he casually strode to his desk. Harry had noticed a strange tension between the two men since starting this project. He had yet to broach the subject with Sirius but he suspected it was lingering bitterness for the way Harry was dismissed from the Ministry, despite the fact Dumbledore was only the messenger.
"What brings you by today, Sir?"
Dumbledore put his hands in his pockets as he casually studied the sketch pinned to the center of the evidence wall. Harry felt himself pale a second time in as many minutes.
"I meant to tell you, I believe I saw his face. Luna drew up the sketch. Things got a bit hectic yesterday."
Dumbledore turned around and smiled, eyes gleaming. "No worries, I understand you had your hands quite full with Draco Malfoy."
Sirius glanced up. "Let me guess, you have spies working in his office?"
Harry glanced at him with raised brows, the heat in his voice unmistakable.
"Not quite," Dumbledore didn't seem phased by the scathing tone. "I have one planted in yours. And it seems she's arriving now."
His smile widened as the door was pushed open yet again, Luna entering with far more grace than Harry had ever managed to maintain when wrestling it open. Harry glanced back to Dumbledore, wondering how the man knew it was Luna and not Neville outside.
"Good morning everyone."
"Hello, Luna," Harry tried to keep the skepticism from his voice, but she noticed Sirius's close examination of her and stopped short, glancing between them until her eyes landed on Dumbledore.
"You've told them."
Harry blinked, unconsciously taking a step back from her. Her face betrayed a flash of hurt before it melted away to her usual calm and serene expression.
"I did, but I think I should expound on the explanation to alleviate any misgivings the team may have."
"We should wait for Neville then. He was on the carriage beside mine, I tried to wait for him outside the station but he must have taken an alternative route to get here. He should be arriving any moment."
As if on cue the sound of footsteps sounded on the landing below, approaching at a steady rate. Harry suspected Neville was quite aware of Luna's presence on the trip over. He probably hid behind the barrier until she left, too shy to walk with her.
The room was filled with a tense and heavy silence as Neville finally entered. He glanced at all the unmoving bodies in the room, stiff as mannequins, and raised a brow. "Um… good morning?"
"Would you like a cup of coffee, Nev?"
"Enough Sirius," Harry snapped, turning his attention back to the Senior Agent at the wall. "You have Luna reporting into you?"
He heard her shift behind him but couldn't see her. Dumbledore shook his head. "She reports into you, Harry. You are the lead on this investigation. However I know you are quite busy and may find providing regular updates a bit burdensome."
He tucked his hands into his pockets. "Up until now I've received all my reports from Luna, as the sole researcher it was obviously a natural decision. However I failed to provide her an alternative directive after the three of you joined the team. Last night she called to ask whether she should continue providing me updates directly or shift the responsibility. I told her we'd leave the decision up to you. However while we were on the phone we chatted about yesterday's breakthroughs. Quite an amazing feet, I'd say, capturing the killer's likeness on the first day of the investigation."
Harry blinked, a mixture of reactions taking hold. Then suddenly Draco's voice filtered into his mind.
You never know if or when your current donor will cut you off, or become too controlling, dictating your every move by tightening the purse strings…
Harry cleared his throat, attempting to override the foreign voice in his head.
This is still Dumbledore's investigation. Of course he'd want updates. And he's leaving the decision of who provides them up to me. That's reasonable.
Don't be naive, Potter.
Harry's brow drew together. That was new. He was quite certain Draco never uttered those last words during dinner.
Oh great. The rich git has wormed his way into my subconscious now. Fan-fucking-tastic.
Harry wet his lips and pulled out of his mind. "I think it's more efficient if I provide you the updates from now on. I apologize for not thinking to do so sooner." He spun around, smiling at Luna. "Thank you for taking over last night, Luna, I appreciate it."
She smiled widely, relief evident in her blue eyes. "Of course, Harry. I should have informed you of the previous reporting structure yesterday, it slipped my mind."
Harry believed her, he was certain she didn't possess a malicious or devious bone in her body. "Like I said, it's not a problem." He looked to Dumbledore. "Moving forward I'll provide you daily reports."
Dumbledore nodded, smile still affixed to the lower half of his face but his eyes glowing with a piercing intensity. Harry felt his spine straighten. "That's not why you're here."
It wasn't a question. He felt some invisible shift in the air, a silent warning. Dumbledore tipped his head in confirmation.
"Last night there was another killing."
Harry jolted. "If fits the M.O.?"
"A high powered businessman and his two bodyguards, though I think it safe to say they were collateral damage. All three methods of homicide were rather unique, flashy if you will. One guard had his carotid artery severed, another was poisoned with a powerful toxin, and the suspected target was asphyxiated."
Harry blinked. One of these things was not like the other. Sirius spoke up from his desk. "Strangulation sounds a bit mundane compared to the others, no?"
Dumbledore kept his eyes on Harry as he spoke. "He wasn't strangled. He was choked with a sex toy. He was bound to a four post bed and his body showed several signs of trauma. There was also toy paraphernalia inside him when the paramedics arrived on scene."
Ah, that sounded more like it.
"Where did this occur?"
"Vienna."
"We have to go there," Harry couldn't help the eager note in his voice. His mind was racing, his heart as well. His eyes drifted past Dumbledore to the sketch on the wall. "We have to leave as soon as possible, while the evidence is still fresh."
Dumbledore smirked. "My thoughts exactly. Who would you like to bring?"
Harry didn't miss a beat. "Everyone."
Dumbledore chuckled. "Don't you need someone to remain behind and man the fort, continue the London based investigation in your absence?"
Harry blinked. "Oh, yeah, I suppose-"
"Er, Harry?"
All head's swiveled to Neville, who turned bright red under the attention. "Um… I was just going to volunteer to stay behind. I have everything set up here anyway, if you need any research support I'll have more resources at my disposal."
Harry nodded. "Good idea, Nev." He looked to the blonde still standing in the middle of the room. "Luna, would you mind staying behind as well, work with Nev on getting through the Club list?"
She tipped her head. "Certainly."
Harry's eyes landed on his remaining team member, who was smirking like a fool.
"Guess that means it's you and me kid?"
Harry nodded. "Better call Rem."
Sirius was already holding his cell, standing and heading for the door. "Way ahead of you. He'll want me to bring back those chocolate torte things no doubt."
As Sirius slipped out of the office Dumbledore stepped forward, catching Harry's attention once more. Out of the corner of his eye he noticed Luna walk to Neville's desk, leaning down to murmur something to him. Harry got the impression she was distracting the nervous man on their behalf.
"Harry," Dumbledore began in a low voice, prompting him to lean in. "I realize the majority of your career has been focused within our Government. I must warn you that there will be a different set of protocols and red tape to deal with in Austria."
Harry furrowed his brows. "They won't let me see the body?"
"Not that. I'll call ahead to my contacts and permit you entry. I'm referring to the response to the killing itself. The victim was Corban Yaxley, an international financial advisor and British national. He had many high power clients throughout the world, including within the Austrian government. There may be opposing interests at play."
Harry shook his head. "I don't understand what that has to do with finding the killer. Unless you suspect one of his client's orchestrated the murder?"
Dumbledore's eyes held an inner light that was impossible to look away from. "There was a separate investigation being launched against Yaxley, suspecting him of selling confidential information to the Russians. He was privy to a great many secrets given the nature of his work, knowing where money was coming from and where it was going. He was likely to have had as many powerful enemies as allies, and it can be quite difficult discerning one from the other. I want you to be on your guard the entire time you're there, trust no one apart from Sirius and your own instincts, do you understand?"
Harry took a deep breath, the weight of the warning falling upon his shoulders like a lead cloak. He nodded. "Trust no one. Got it."
Hermione stared out of her window with a dull gaze. She watched the street slowly awaken, pedestrians cutting paths to their cars or the local cafe, desperate for their morning boost of caffeine.
The air was murky. It seeped in through the gaps in the sill and filled the room with fog. She breathed it in and felt the smoke permeate her lungs. It traveled through her ears and filled her head, slowing her thoughts and clouding her vision.
She'd been wearing a hole into her rug for hours. After Green left she and Tom lapsed into a momentary stupor. In the quiet she first took stock of his bruised face and busted lip. She'd been so preoccupied with being drugged and kidnapped and held at gunpoint that she'd somehow missed the minor injuries to his face.
She'd ushered him to her bathroom and tended the wounds, and then noticed how utterly exhausted he looked. She allowed him use of her bed but was too wound up to lie beside him. She instead took to pacing her living room, thoughts in a tangle, emotions raging within her, making her borderline hysterical and yet strangely separated from her body.
She replayed the night's events over and over in her mind until she could see the scene playing out before her on the furniture even now, could feel the cold bite of metal pressing into her temple, the unwavering and menacing presence at her back, a chilling voice discussing the merit of taking her life as though deciding what entrée to start with.
She recalled the absurd conversation that followed. She remembered her heart lurching in her chest at Green's bizarre statement, breaking her from the numb stupor that had set in as the men continued their discussion as though she wasn't in the room.
"The catch, my dear boy, is that Hermione has to help."
She blinked, rearing back in her seat and looking between the two men in rapid succession. Green was poised as ever, but Tom looked as incredulous as she felt.
"Excuse me?"
"You heard me, Tom."
He shook his head. "Impossible. What you said makes no sense."
Green's predatory grin remained and his piercing gaze shifted to her, pinning her in place as effectively as the gun.
"Doesn't it? Always such a reactionary child, this one, unable to think past short term gratification."
Hermione drew in a sharp inhale, squirming beneath his studious examination. Green sighed and looked back to Tom.
"You see, Tom, you've put us all in an untenable position. Hermione knows too much thanks to your short sighted yearnings. She is a threat to the organization. So I must ensure her silence. I can do that one of three ways. Kill, threaten, or implicate. Which also lends you three possible choices."
He smiled again, eyes lethal.
"The first, and most simple mind you, is that I threaten Miss Granger. But not with her own life, no. It will be much more effective if she knows your life is at stake, which it will be if word gets out that you've exposed our organization to an outsider. So to maintain her continued silence I must keep you tightly within our folds. That means you're in for life, Tom. And you'll never be able to communicate with Hermione ever again. We'll simply rewind the clock and go back to the way things were before you stupidly threw them into chaos. Except you'll be much more behaved, knowing that I know about her."
Hermione's breathing was shallow, eyes darting to Tom. But he wasn't looking at her, instead watching his handler with narrowed eyes.
"I see neither of you are quick to jump on that one so allow me to propose the other two. The second, and slightly less simple option, is I kill Hermione. You would of course still be free to leave the organization if you so desire. But I suspect you'll be more keen on killing me in turn. This will lead to one or both of our demises and for that reason it stands as my least favored choice."
He sighed deeply, trading the gun to his other hand as he continued to aim the weapon almost as an afterthought.
"The third and final option is to implicate her far enough to make going to the authorities as unappealing to her as it is for the rest of us. At that point the two of you are free to leave, travel the world and take adorable photos kissing beneath the sunset and drawing hearts in the sand. I really couldn't care less, as long as I know you'll be keeping an eye on her, ensuring she doesn't play the martyr and bring us all down with her. And I know what a keen survival instinct you possess, Tom. If anyone can guarantee her continued silence, it's you."
Her head was reeling. She clutched the armrests like a vice. Tom was frustratingly silent, so still he didn't seem to be breathing. Green's focus once more shifted to her, a smirk playing at the corner of his lips.
"Decisions, decisions."
She blinked, opening her mouth but not knowing what to say.
Tom beat her to it.
"I'll stay. Just let her go."
She looked at him with wide eyes, jaw snapping shut, teeth clinking together. Green glanced back as well, head tipping thoughtfully.
"Is that so? You wouldn't like to discuss it first?"
Tom's face pinched with irritation, muscles tensing.
"There's nothing to discuss."
"Do you feel the same way, Hermione?"
"Don't talk to her. Don't even look at her. Just let her go. I said I'll stay and you know I honor my word."
Green laughed once, sharply. "You eventually get around to honoring your word, yes. But it's the choices you make during the interim that tend to leave me on edge."
Tom's fists clenched at his sides. "You gave us three options and we picked one."
"You picked one. I have yet to hear what dear Hermione has to say on the matter."
"I told you not to-"
"Do we have to decide now?"
Both men's heads snapped to the side to stare at her. Her voice sounded weak from disuse but she swallowed and cleared her throat, trying again.
"Can we talk about it… in private?"
Tom's eyes drilled holes into the side of her head so she kept her focus on Green, whose gaze was only slightly less intense at the moment. He grinned.
"Very sensible. I can see how well you balance each other."
She continued to hold his stare in silence, nails digging into the upholstery.
"Very well. I'll give you one day. I'll expect an answer by tomorrow evening." He turned to face Tom once more. "And if you try anything clever during that time then I'll be choosing the least attractive option for us all, do I make myself clear?"
Tom remained silent, rage barely tamped down, so Hermione wet her lips and spoke on his behalf.
"We understand."
Green nodded, eyes still fastened to Tom. "Thank you, Hermione."
From the corner of her eye she saw Tom jerk in his seat but he managed to settle down as Green stood before them, gun still aloft.
"Well, it's been an interesting day followed by an even more exciting evening. Wouldn't you say?"
Neither Tom or Hermione spoke. Green laughed. "Quite right."
He slowly made his way towards the exit, still facing them and pointing the gun squarely at her chest. "I'll leave you to your privacy." He opened the door and paused in the frame. "Oh, and Hermione?"
She sucked in a sharp breath, eyes darting from the gun to his eyes.
He winked.
"It was lovely to meet you."
Back in the present Hermione blinked out of her stupor, tearing her tired gaze away from the living room and facing the window once more. More cars darted along the road, more smoke filled the sky from neighboring factories. People went about their daily lives, their daily business, blind to her turmoil.
She shifted as she heard a noise in the bedroom, crossing her arms over her chest and staring resolutely out the glass. Tom was awake.
Tom…
She'd been equal parts trapped in reliving last night as well as the last fifteen years of her life, a messy montage of scenes in varying clarity and focus. Tom had been the center of her world for so long, her only companion, and then he'd crushed her all at once, so completely, leaving her heart torn and bleeding for years to come.
She'd finally managed to pick up the pieces and sew the wound shut, building a new life and finding enjoyment in her hard work and success, at last feeling hopeful for the future, only for Tom to return and rip the rug out from under her, tipping everything into… what had Green said?
Oh, that's right...
Chaos.
The word aptly described Tom. Everywhere he went he incited chaos and pandemonium, bringing some with him and taking some home to tuck beneath his pillow at night. He was a destructive force that held the fate of her life in the palm of his hand, simply a word uttered from his lips could be the difference between her living to see another sunrise.
It wasn't fair.
It wasn't fair that all this time later he still had so much control over her. She didn't ask for this. For his return. For any of it. She had been happy. She was a great student with a bright future, she was so much better off without him.
I can still have it all back.
We'll tell Green we want to set things back the way they were before. I'm better off without Tom in my life. I see that now. I'll say goodbye this morning and tell him to deliver our answer to that psycho.
I can have everything back the way it was.
She heard footsteps down the hall and in the glass she saw Tom's reflection as he stepped into the room. He wore the same dark, tailored clothes from last night, wrinkled and hair slightly mussed. But his eyes were sharp, focused, holding her gaze in the window pane. She swallowed, heart beating faster, skin flushed.
She felt her eyes swell with tears as every assertion she'd just made crumbled to dust in her hands, blowing away with each quickened breath.
I hate him.
I hate him I hate him I hate him-
Fuck.
I love him.
She blinked, wiping at the corners of her eyes and trying to rein in her emotions before slowly turning to face him.
His stormy eyes held her in a steady silence but his stiff posture and clenched hands hinted at an inner battle raging within his heart and mind as well. She swallowed past the tightening in her throat and drew her shoulders back, expression determined as she spoke.
"I've made my decision."