The butler thanked the boy who ran back in direction of the city and placed the small telegram on one of the silver platter. He swiftly made his way through the numerous rooms to his master's office. He gently nocked on the slightly open door.
"Yes ?" drawled a voice inside.
The butler entered the office deferentially keeping his eyes firmly on the ground.
"Telegram sir."
He heard the sound of fabrics rubbing and saw the shadow of a hand pluck the telegram from the platter. He immediately left with an umpteenth bow.
"Sir."
Draco Malfoy did not reply. His eyes were glued on the message he had just received. His face contorted in a sneer and he angrily threw the telegram on the ground.
"Fucking incompetent..."
"What's that Draco ?"
Draco spun around to meet his father cold grey stare. He gulped. His lack of control of his impulses would not go unnoticed. It never did. His hands began sweating.
"Nothing father, I just received a telegram from Zabini."
The man, merely more than a foreigner to Draco, gave him a haughty look. "What does it say ?"
"It says that..."
Draco paused glancing once more at the message even though he had it memorized the first time around.
"Yes ?" interrupted Lucius, clearly annoyed by the pause.
"Riddle has still not retrieved the girl. It's from yesterday."
Lucius made a small noise of disinterest and sat in his son's armchair before unfolding his newspaper carefully, the ink had just been dried by one of the maids.
"Are you sure Riddle's the man for this job ?"
As soon as the question left his lips, Draco knew he should not have asked it.
"Are you... doubting me, son ?"
Draco's face twisted into a frown. "No, of course not father."
Lucius scowled, not hiding his contempt. He went back to his newspaper. Draco stiffened.
"Good. We'll find your little slave. Now go back to your wife and son, I'm sure you'd be more useful to them."
Draco's cheeks bore the color of his shame.
"This is Hermione Granger," beamed Lavender pulling on the bushy-haired woman arm to make her move forward.
Hermione sighed but complied. The old woman in front of her had her hair tightly restricted in a bun and her lips pinched. Lavender had told her she was the second in command to the chief of the 'Order of the Phoenix'. She had foolishly thought the name to be that of the brothel. Turned out it was the name of a small group fighting for justice, namely to defend those wrongly accused and chased by bounty hunters. People like her.
"I'm Minerva McGonagall, pleased to meet you."
Hermione took the extended hand with a grateful nod. Even if the woman seemed a bit uptight she might be the key to hide from Lord Voldemort and his goons. And the sheriff now. She had not had the time to warn the boys. Overall, this was a mess.
"You'll do nicely as a waitress. I presume you have an idea of how the job works ?"
The bushy-haired woman nodded. How hard could it be ?
"Good. Then off you go with Lavender, I'll see what I can do about your and your friends legal situation with Albus."
"Thank you ma'am."
"No need to thank me, you can do it later. For now focus on staying alive please."
Hermione chuckled as McGonagall left them alone. Her last comment was simultaneously horrifying and... quite amusing in its dryness. Had she so totally accepted her situation that she could laugh about it ? She shook her head and turned to Lavender who was still beaming.
"Can't believe I saved you !" she giggled excitedly.
"Not yet," sighed Hermione rolling her eyes.
However, she could not help but smile at the blonde's enthusiasm. She guessed they were friends now, or at least... colleagues. Lavender suddenly hugged her tightly. Hermione was taken aback. The affectionate gestures brought back memories of Ron and Harry. When they were still relatively safe. Or at least when the three of them were together. Tears gathered in her eyes. She tightened her hold on the blonde, sucking in her warmth and breathing in the sweet smell of her hair. The woman must have put perfume on it.
It made her feel safe. But her two best friends were not safe at all. She felt so powerless. She was in a brothel, about to become a waitress, and she could not warn them. Tears rolled on her cheeks as she bit down a sob.
"Shhh," whispered Lavender, gently patting her back.
Hermione's tears began to fall more freely. She had not cried in a long time. She had not been separated from the boys for a long time.
"I just," she gasped, "I want them to be safe !"
"I know sweetheart..."
"I want to be with them..."
Lavender hummed quietly, fingers threading through Hermione's thick short hair.
"You will, you just need to be strong for now, for you and for them."
She sniffed and nodded quietly as the tears started to dry on her cheeks. She broke the embrace and looked at Lavender. The woman smiled and delicately wiped her cheeks clean.
"There," she whispered.
Hermione nodded awkwardly. But Lavender understood she was trying to say thank you.
"Now let's go kick ass at waitressing."
Ron dug in the small can of beans with Harry's tin spoon. It was cold, but it at least made his stomach feel less empty. He eyed his friend's smoking cup of coffee. They really did not have much.
"Want a bite ?"
He shook his head, not even looking at the probably better food one of the men had just offered him. With Harry, they had decided that the best strategy would be to avoid making any acquaintances so that no one would remember them. So it was only logical to refuse any exchange. Even if it was of desirable food.
When the smell of fresh ham reached his nostrils, he began to regret ever agreeing to that strategy.
"Oi ! The two new ones !"
The redhead raised his head instantly forgetting the ham's heady smell. One of the men was looking at him, his old tan skin splitting with the breadth of his beam. His grey eyes were unusually cold. Ron nodded in acknowledgment and noticed Harry mirroring his gesture from the corner of his eye. They had to tread very carefully so as to leave as little memories of them to those men. Moreover, the man's odd eyes were familiar to Ron, tickling the edge of his consciousness. What he was sure of was that this old man had an aura of danger.
"Ya were on the road fo' some time, ai ?"
"Yeah," muttered Harry.
"Ya got stories to share ? We'd like it."
They looked at each other, Ron's eyes clearly showing his inner panic. Harry raised one of his eyebrows and his best friend's lower lip twitched. They had to tell something.
"Well," began the raven-haired man, "we got in a fight in a few saloons but apart from that not much to tell. Usual traveling stuff."
The men hummed in agreement. Ron's shoulders sagged in relied.
"C'me on. Not a little w'man ya trav'lin' with ?"
Even Harry visibly tensed. They could not know they travelled with a woman. After all, they were sought as the golden trio. They had to appear not to match the description of the golden trio, as much as possible. They did not know the precision of said description. For all they knew it could be detail-free as well as the contrary. It was like a game of chess. One had to tread carefully before analyzing the other's moves. Ron had learned chess back in the East. And he was rather good at it.
"Got my wife back in Virginia," said Ron gruffly, "I'm goin' back soon as I got gold."
Some of the men nodded with understanding and the old man seemed satisfied enough as he went back to eating his loaf of bread. The questioning was over. Harry and Ron let out a breath of relief. They really were paranoiac.
They turned their eyes back to their pitiful portions of food. The work was hard. It was not enough to keep them from feeling hungry. Harry's stomach growled making him wince.
"Just askin' question cause I saw this wanted poster on the sheriff office about two slaves and a white man, stealers, nasty bastards, fleeing from the East."
Ron's head snapped back up. The old man was looking at him coldly. If the redhead had not already been covered in sweat, he would certainly be then. His face had turned to a pasty white.
"Thought it odd that ya two arrived same time this did."
Harry forced out a nervous chuckle. "Just a coincidence I assure you, the poster probably comes before the stealers themselves."
"Ya black. Ya white. What tells us ther' ain't a black whore with ya too ?"
Ron's knuckles turned white as he gripped the can tighter. He tried not to let it show. But the man had insulted Hermione. Harry, noticing that his friend's control could snap any second smiled calmly at the gold digger, though he himself could not ignore the anger slowly poisoning his veins. But getting into a fight would lead nowhere good, of that he was certain.
"Me. I tell you. We ain't no stealers. We just gold diggers, like all of you."
The man gave him a suspicious look. "Yeah."
Harry nodded sharply before turning to Ron who had visibly paled in anger.
"Pull it together," he whispered furiously, squeezing his friend's knee.
They turned fearfully to the old man as he inhaled as though to start ranting.
"Oi gentlemen."
All the gold diggers looked up to the man in a suit who had just emerged from the little forest. Ron and Harry felt little to no relief. He was smiling dangerously, viciously. He appeared as dirty as all of them except for his suit that was immaculate. Even though Hermione had repeated to them, time and again, that a book should never be judged based on its cover, Harry and Ron could not help but feel like the man was inherently vile. It was stickier like oil. In a way, this man made them shiver in a way Voldemort could never dream to achieve.
"Sheriff," welcomed the old man, throwing an accusatory glance at Ron and Harry.
They stiffened. The presence of the sheriff was not a good sign.
"Just wanted to tell you that should any new gold digger show up, don't accept them. Three fugitives are suspected to be in our city and we shall not let them walk around freely. We all abide by the law."
The men nodded in harmony, some of them glancing at the two friends without trying to conceal their growing suspicion. Surprisingly, the old man said nothing, simply stared at them with a small smirk.
"Well, I'll leave you to it. Come to me shall you have any useful information. Good day."
"We sure will si'," loudly stated the old gold digger as the sheriff left as abruptly as he had arrived.
"Fuck," muttered Harry.
Lavender had led her back to the small dormitory where she had opened the wardrobe adjoining her bed. She had taken several pieces of fabric, or rather dresses out of it.
Hermione's eyes widened. If she had thought those to only be pieces of fabric, it was because of how short the front of the dresses was.
"Lavender ! I cannot wear that !"
The blonde shrugged taking out more dresses and throwing them on the bed. "Course you can."
She turned to look sternly at Hermione, putting her fists on her hips. "This is about survival. Would you rather be hanged or show a little skin ? It's only calves !"
The bushy-haired woman sighed throwing her hands in the air. She had no idea. She just knew she did not want to go back from where they had come from.
"Alright I guess..."
"Great. You can pick between those dresses. And no red."
Hermione gave her a puzzled look. "Why no red ?"
"You've been wearing this red shirt ever since you've arrived. I'm sick of it."
"It has been three days."
"I'm sensitive to color. And it's the color of blood. Now pick."
She threw the blonde an annoyed look. She liked red. It was their favorite color to all three of them... She noticed that the dresses still in the wardrobe were of that color. She almost chuckled. Lavender never intended for her to even be able to pick red. She began to rummage through the dresses, incomplete in her opinion. Finally she singled one out, a black one.
"That should not draw attention..."
Lavender snorted. "Your shoulders will also be naked with that one."
Hermione's nose scrunched up. Still holding the dress she glanced at the other clothes spread on the bed. The colors were too flashy or her cleavage would be much too exposed. She'd rather have naked shoulders thank you very much.
"If I can show my legs, I can show my shoulders."
"I see you've began to understand the logic," smirked Lavender putting back, without much care, the dresses in the wardrobe.
Hermione stuck her tongue out playfully as she examined the dress more closely. She had been wrong in her first observation, the underskirt, which was, to her dismay, much too visible, was of a dark shade of green and not black. She shrugged. It would still do the job nicely.
Quickly she took off her old shirt and pants and, with Lavender's help, slipped into the black dress. She shivered. Her calves, shoulders and her neck were exposed. The front of the dress was knee-length when the back reached her ankles. It made no sense to her. Although she guessed it made dancing or other activities, easier.
She pulled on the frills of the small sleeves which purpose was lost on her as they began below her shoulders.
"We have to do something with your hair now. And put make-up on you."
Hermione frowned. "Wait, make-up ?"
"You're in a brothel. You can't blend in if you do not have at least red lipstick and some black around your eyes. Trust me."
Hermione nodded softly, eyebrows still furrowed, as Lavender pushed her on the bed and went to look for her make-up tools. She did not have much of a choice anyway. More and more, living in San Francisco proved to be nothing like they had imagined. Freedom kept evading their grasp.
"So your men are looking for them ?"
Lestrange nodded with a vicious smirk. "They are, I even went around town myself to tell people to come if they saw something suspicious."
Tom nodded, trying to hide his contempt for the man. Incompetent, vile, ... He was used to working with this type of scum even if he tried to avoid it.
"Keep me updated."
"Sure thing !"
Tom tilted his head before leaving the sheriff office, joining his men who had been waiting for him in the dusty bustling street.
"Where we going now boss ?"
Tom sighed. Mulciber, as most of his men, had been spending most of his time at the brothel. He was eager to go back. Tom usually did not go with them. He had no trouble finding a willing woman outside of a brothel.
However, he had not forgotten the Pagosa Springs mishap. His men could have doubted him. Some of them probably still did. He needed to regain their trust. He had started doing it by murdering the loony of the town. Now he needed to crouch down to their level, before rising to his natural position again, as their superior.
"Brothel ?" he asked, already bored and annoyed.
His men immediately began smiling and whispering excitingly.
"Yeah !" yelled Mulciber and Nott.
Tom smirked. He might torture them later for forcing him to go to a brothel. Once he would be sure to have secured their respect. Would it not strengthen it after all ? Trust based on mutual interest and then fear based on his true persona, Lord Voldemort. The perfect chemical reaction to achieve undying loyalty.
Thinking about what he could do to them to secure said loyalty, he followed his men in the main street. His contempt only rose as he noticed they had no hesitation in regard to the direction of the brothel. They were mere victims of their more primal instincts. It was with a sigh that he entered the building on their trail.
They all sat at a large round table. He glanced around. As sinful and dirty as one might expect a brothel to be. He frowned. Mulciber raised his hand to call one of the waitresses. Tom did not even made a move to acknowledge her presence. He was above such people.
"Hello, I'm Padma, what do you want to drink ?"
"Coffee," he answered coldly, looking out of the window.
Of course, his men ordered alcohol. Because they needed to be even more stupid. He restrained himself in order not to sigh with open contempt. He needed their trust.
"Sweetheart !"
He openly scowled as one of the whores, a blonde dull one, approached Nott with a simperingly sweet smile. He saw several others making their way over to them. There was no more avoiding it. A girl with curly brown hair made his way over him. Her hair was simultaneously tempting and not enough. Disgust rose in his throat, burning him like vitriol.
"Hi," she whispered as she closed in on him.
He only nodded.
"Not one to talk ?" she chuckled, "that's alright hon'."
He tensed as she sat on his lap. He pushed her abruptly and rose from his chair. The sickly sweet and heady scent of her perfume overwhelmed him transforming his disgust in hatred. How he hated perfume. Too flowery. Not coppery enough.
"I'll be right back."
His men did not hear him as engrossed as they were in talking to the luscious women luring them in the more private rooms for money.
He went for the closest door and exited the suffocating building. He came out in what he supposed was the back street of the brothel. Sighing, he leaned on the wall and breathed in the fresh air. The smell of warm earth was familiar. It was comforting.
Rationally, he had to go back inside, it would help his men trust him again. But how he hated brothels. Whores were useless. Just like the men who enjoyed their company. Shallow puppets.
He closed his eyes just as the door opened again. No one came out anyway. Fresh air would not hurt the main room.
"I'm fine Lavender."
He stiffened. He knew this voice.
"You have to go in there Hermione. You're supposed to work. Remember what McGonagall said."
Hermione Granger. He felt an impish smirk spread his lips. He silently hid behind the corner. She had to be alone for him to act. He felt a fire setting ablaze his veins that no alcohol could create, only one thing could : the thrill of the chase.
This detour by the brothel was turning out to be the one movement to allow him to capture his prey. His instincts never failed him.
"I just need a minute of fresh air. I'll be back in a moment."
"Alright."
The door closed. He was tensed. Like a crouching lion or a coiled snake, waiting the best moment to strike and take down their prey. The dust of the ground scrunched under steps. He heard the faint sound of her leaning where he had leaned followed by a sigh. He took a risk and peeked around the corner.
There she was. Dressed in a black and green dress, his two favorite colors, a packaged present for him to pluck and rip open. Quite literally. He frowned as he noticed the color of her lips. They were bloody. Or appeared to be so.
He remembered the taste of her blood.
Fuck he needed to have her.
He tensed in preparation for the strike. She sighed again and pressed her hands against her face. He almost laughed. She was blinding herself to his assault. This was almost too delightful.
As she made to move her hands, he lunged, wrapping one arm around her waist blocking her arms and a hand on her mouth in a practiced move. His hand vibrated with her shriek. He laughed contentedly. He buried his nose in her hair effectively destroying the barely there hairdo. He chuckled in relief inhaling the heavy scent of earth. He could also smell perfume but he ignored it. It did not fit her.
"It's good to have you back darling."
For once, she did not freeze and started to struggle in his grasp. He only smirked. They both knew it was useless. As he felt her lips moving against his palm he moved his hand to her throat effectively avoiding her trying to bite him.
"You'll have to do better than that."
She shivered. He tightened his hold around her neck, deliciously naked, making her inhale sharply. He put his chin on her shoulder. The skin that met his was burning. She was feverish. He loved to have so much control over such a fragile body. It felt right.
"I can do that," she whispered.
He frowned. What could she do ? Abruptly she threw her head against his. As the move was sideways it had little to no effect on him. But he had not expected it. His hold on her arms and neck lessened slightly, giving her space to turn to face him and punch him in the throat.
That proved to be much more effective.
Tom fell to the ground trying to regain his breath, panting raggedly. His prey, because she should make no mistake, she was still his prey, turned towards the door. He grabbed her wrist harshly. As she cried out he twisted it slightly. He felt a now familiar fire consume him as he thought of the marks she would soon bear. His marks.
"Help !"
Tom breathed in slowly and deeply, by degrees it felt easier. He smirked smugly at her. As he pulled on her arm to stand up he felt confident enough in his voice to talk.
"Who do you think will come ?"
His voice was hoarse. She glared at him, her black eyes sending shivers down his spine. She winced as he once again strengthened his hold on her. How delightful it was to see shining tears gather in her eyes.
"I've got the sheriff, therefore the whole town. You got your whore."
"Fuck you !"
She made to kick him in the legs but he swiftly pushed her against the wall, trapping her between his arms. He was used to recovering from wounds quickly.
"You're not escaping me this time," he whispered, burying his face in her hair and eliciting a shiver from her.
As she struggled again he moved back to see her eyes. She spat in his face. He only laughed.
"Still as feisty I see..."
"Stop laughing and let me go !" she groaned trying to escape his hold.
He pressed closer to her. "I'm sorry darling, you're just too much of a delight not to laugh. I'm sure you'll prove as delightful when I do what I've dreamed of doing to you for a long time."
Her eyes widened. He felt glorious. She was not scared or afraid. What he could see in her eyes, on her face, was much more primal. Hermione Granger was finally truly terrified of him, yielding in front of her superior predator. It was thrilling. He felt lethal.