Kiss Kiss Bang Bang

by A.Lovely.Villain

Hermione hasn't seen Tom since he disappeared from Wool's Orphanage eight years ago, taking a piece of her heart and soul with him. Now he's back, the corpse of Lucius Malfoy at his feet and honey dripping from his lips. British Intelligence Officer Harry Potter is hunting a highly skilled killer wreaking havoc across Europe, and Hermione is caught between her heart and conscience.

14. La Femme Nikita

A/N: Hello my marshmallow lucky charms! TGIUD! I'm honored you're still following this story. Thank you so much for your continued support.

So… I started another Tomione fic, because I'm a glutton for punishment and a steaming trash heap when it comes to the pairing. But this one is also Dramione, because I'm a steaming trash heap for that pairing as well, and figured I'd shovel the trash heaps into one big pile and bask in it. If you'd like to lounge in the trash with me there's plenty of room, just check out my profile page.

Anywho…

Enjoy.

---

Friday July 15, 2005

"Harry, it's me again. Christ, if you're bound and gagged then you're having a slightly more exciting evening than I am, but it's a close match. I followed La Femme Nikita to some night club down by the river. Das Magische Haus... The Magic House. Excellent. Hopefully she doesn't perform a trick and disappear. I'm stuck in the line, apparently my roguish good looks can't compete with hair gel and a mesh tank top. I'll call you when I get eyes on her again. Over and out."

Beep.

"Harry, it's me again. Christ, if you're bound and gagged then you're having a slightly more exciting evening than I am, but it's a close match-"

Beep.

"Harry, it's me again-"

Beep.

"Harry, it's me again-"

Beep.

"Harry-"

"Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't realize anyone was in here…"

Harry glanced up from his phone, blinking, dazed. He studied the woman standing in the doorway, his brain processing information at half speed. She raised a brow, taking an unsteady step back.

"I can come back later-"

"No." Harry's voice sounded strained and weak from screaming his lungs out at the club several hours earlier, followed by prolonged disuse. He cleared his throat, cringing at the raw feel.

"No," he repeated, more steady. "It's okay, come in."

She nodded, smiling timidly, and entered the room, crossing the floor to the stack of monitors beside the bed.

"And how is our patient doing?"

Harry rubbed a hand over his face, stifling a groan as he adjusted on the plastic chair. "Same as last time, at least I don't see any difference."

She glanced down at the pale figure laid out beside her, face partially obscured by a breathing tube, chest swaddled in thick bandages, arms bare and limp at his sides.

"That's a good thing. He's stable."

"He's in a coma."

"It's medically induced," she said, pressing a button on a random machine, inspecting the message on the screen, then glancing at him with sympathetic eyes.

"So he'll wake up once they take him off the drugs?"

She glanced away. "He suffered cerebral ischemia from the blood loss, the coma is meant to prevent his brain from trying to minimize blood flow further."

Harry sighed, noticing how she sidestepped his actual question. "So there's no guarantee he isn't already in a coma without the drugs?"

She opened the top shelf of a nearby cart and grabbed a few items. "You should ask his doctor for more details regarding his condition, I only know what I read on the chart so-"

"Just tell me... is he out of the woods?"

She smiled. It looked strained. "His surgery was a success, they repaired the damage to his pulmonary artery. And he's showing increased brain activity. Those are all great signs."

Harry swallowed, holding her gaze. "But will he wake up?"

She glanced to Sirius and then to Harry. "We can't know for certain, but right now it's looking positive. And with the support of his loved ones and prayer anything is-"

"Thank you."

Harry glanced away, missing the dejected look that crossed her expression as Harry cut her off. He appreciated her kind words, but he wasn't in the mood to discuss faith and prayer. He was rather at odds with god, had been for a very long time. And if he lost Sirius… well, as far as Harry was concerned, the man upstairs had a lot to answer for.

He sighed as she quickly left the room, leaving he door ajar behind her. He reached out and squeezed his mentor's hand. The flesh felt cool and clammy, the skin still a waxen yellow. The blood transfusions had helped restore it from a cool grey. Harry would never forget the image Sirius painted on the floor of the club, bloodless and limp, head lolled back and eyes closed.

He was convinced he was already dead by the time the paramedics arrived, the music cut short and dance floor cleared as the entire venue was shut down and labeled a crime scene. When they'd announced there was still a heartbeat, albeit incredibly faint, Harry had been boneless with relief. He'd somehow managed to walk to the reporting officer's car as they followed the ambulance to the hospital.

Sirius was rushed into surgery and had been touch and go for several hours. Harry had been remanded to pacing the waiting room, it looked identical to the one he'd sat in as a boy, waiting for Sirius to pick him up following his mother's death. It was surreal and fucked with his mental state even further.

But finally the surgeon had emerged, crimson blood smearing his scrubs, and had informed Harry that his godfather was still alive and finally stable. But he was still being kept unconscious to avoid overtaxing his healing artery and lung. Harry practically sprinted to his recovery room, taking station at his side ever since, only venturing out twice, to call Dumbledore and Remus. He'd talked to both men while Sirius was in surgery, when he didn't know if he'd live or die, and to his great shame Remus had been the one to comfort him.

He knew the man was falling apart inside, worried about losing his partner, but had held it together long enough to provide words of assurance to Harry. He felt guilty about that, and had been eager to share the good news with him following the surgery. Remus had burst into tears of relief and informed Harry he was waiting to board his flight to Vienna. Harry wasn't surprised that Remus was on his way, but wasn't expecting the news that Dumbledore was accompanying him. Harry wasn't certain if the senior agent was making the trip out of concern for his former Officer and friend or because of the impact on the investigation, and truthfully, he didn't want to know.

Harry decided he was better off keeping Dumbledore at a safe distance, maintaining a professional relationship and no more. He had nothing against the older man but something about the way Sirius interacted with him spoke volumes, despite the fact Sirius never told him anything directly. At the end of the day Harry trusted his mentor's judgement above all others and if there was something that Sirius didn't trust about Dumbledore, Harry figured he was better off keeping the man at arm's length.

However thoughts of the senior agent hadn't plagued Harry's mind beyond the initial phone call to inform him of the situation. He had spent the last two hours sitting vigil and listening to Sirius's voicemails from earlier that night on repeat. He had memorized each word by heart, and continued to play the messages solely to hear the voice on the other end.

He squeezed the man's limp fingers with his own.

What the hell were you thinking, tailing her by yourself?

Harry shook his head. He wasn't surprised, of course Sirius chased after the suspect alone. It was exactly the kind of thing he'd expect from him. It was exactly what Harry would have done if their positions were reversed.

And I'd be the one laid out at death's door.

Harry sighed, shaking his head, filled to the brim with guilt and anger.

But mostly anger.

It was acid burning his throat, bubbling in his gut, turning his blood toxic. He replayed the nightclub scene over and over, as many times as he listened to the voicemails, until he too could picture every detail in his mind in perfect clarity. The only part he was murky on was the most vital and significant piece of information of the night.

The woman he'd seen Sirius standing with moments before his collapse.

The lights had been flashing so brightly, the music all but deafening, and his attention had been on his godfather, sparing the female figure only a passing glance. He squeezed his eyes shut, willing his brain to recall details, height, hair color, anything-

But all he saw when he replayed the moment in his mind was a blank face and a mannequin body, fuzzy around the edges, the entire image fading to dust the moment he tried to bring it into focus.

It was useless.

He knew nothing about her, the mysterious stranger, the lethal killer…

La Femme Nikita.

That's what Sirius had called her on his last message. It stuck in Harry's brain and now he couldn't help but refer to her as Nikita in his head.

She thought she was clever, thought she was safe from his grasp. But he'd find her. He'd find out every last thing about her, from the name of her primary school to the last meal she ate before he kicked down the door of her lair.

And then he'd kill her.

He'd never felt such black bile fill his gut when thinking of another person. Not even the man who murdered Narcissa right under Harry's nose had inspired such insurmountable hatred. Harry had been intent on finding the male assassin and bringing him to justice, following the letter of the law.

He harbored no such desires where the woman was concerned. She tried to take away the most important person in Harry's life, an unforgivable crime that a lifetime in prison wouldn't remedy. No, Harry had plans for her.

Big plans.

But first, he had to find the bitch.

"Knock knock."

Harry's eyes snapped up, narrowing at the familiar face peeking through the crack in the door.

"What the hell are you doing here?"

Dawlish grinned, the look of pure delight marring his features making Harry's fists clench.

"I was in the neighborhood, thought I'd stop by and see if I can finally collect on that bet. Seems he's still a stubborn bastard, hanging on till the very end."

"Get the fuck out of here before I break your neck."

Harry's voice sounded foreign to his own ears, filled with such dark malice he couldn't recognize it. Dawlish stepped inside, holding his hands up in surrender, smile still splitting his face. "Relax, kid, I just wanted to pay my respects."

Harry's eyes narrowed. Sirius called him kid, so did Remus from time to time. He couldn't stomach hearing Dawlish refer to him in the same manner.

"You've made the obligatory visit, now leave."

Dawlish continued to ignore the threatening presence poised to spring out of the chair, merely tucking his hands into his pockets and strolling casually to the foot of the bed, head tilted as he gazed upon the body atop with cool detachment.

"Looks like shite. Really did a number on him, huh? That's what happens when old men venture into nightclubs, but Sirius could never accept that he wasn't a spry young man anymore, could he?"

That did it.

Harry leapt out of his chair and pushed Dawlish away from the bed. "I said get the fuck out!"

Dawlish blinked, brows drawn, as though shocked Harry had placed a hand on him despite his many warnings. He fell into a defensive posture, which only served to rile Harry further. He'd spent the last five hours fantasizing about killing the hitwoman responsible for this mess, he was more than happy to use Dawlish as his outlet for all the pent up aggression and rage.

Harry grabbed the man by his lapels and threw him against the wall. Dawlish's back knocked into a glove dispenser and ripped the plastic casing clear off, sending it crashing to the floor.

"Get off me you crazy fuck!"

"I told you to get out!"

Dawlish sent a knee into Harry's gut, knocking the air from his lungs, but he was able roll away from the fist that came swinging past his head just in time. He caught the arm on its follow through and twisted, making Dawlish yelp sharply and buck away. Harry rolled with him while keeping his grip on the limb, forcing it behind the man's back and shoving, pinning him face first into the wall and pressing his own weight against him.

Dawlish squawked like a bird, too outraged to form words.

"I said- Get. The. Fuck. Out." Harry breathed menacingly into his ear.

"Oh my god, what's going on here?"

Harry glanced to the door, emerald gaze landing on the nurse from earlier, her eyes and mouth wide with shock.

"I'm calling the police!"

"That won't be necessary, my dear," came a deep, steady voice from the hall. Harry blinked, frozen in a numb stupor as Dumbledore suddenly appeared in the doorway behind her. "The police have just arrived," he opened his badge and held it aloft, face placid and eyes calm, even as he gazed upon the scene across the room.

"Oh… um…" the nurse trailed off, eyes flickering from the shiny badge to Dumbledore's imposing height, then to the men still grappling in the corner.

"I'll take over from here," he continued, smiling serenely. "Thank you very much for you time, and I apologize for the inconvenience. The British Ministry will cover the expense of any damage caused to the room."

She blinked several times, nodding, looking as dazed as Harry felt. "Alright then… I'll leave you to it, I suppose. Please, call the nurse's station if you need assistance."

"Certainly."

Dumbledore inclined his head as she walked past him, sending one last worried look over her shoulder. The senior agent stepped inside and closed the door at his back, gazing over at Harry with unmistakable amusement in his eyes.

"Harry, perhaps you could be so kind as to release John from the hammerlock you have applied to his person?"

Harry blinked, having nearly forgotten he had the other man pinned beneath him. He released his hold, stepping back several paces and shaking his head in disgust, both at Dawlish's behavior and his own reaction to it. He was clearly out of sorts.

Dawlish spun around, straightening his jacket and glaring daggers. "You crazy son of a-"

"John, perhaps you could pardon Harry's conduct in light of the situation? Though I am never a proponent of physical violence, I am certain his actions were not entirely unprovoked, would you agree?"

Dawlish opened and closed his mouth like a fish for several seconds, still stewing in his anger. Harry dismissed him, turning his attention back to Sirius, wondering not for the first time whether the man could hear what happened in his surroundings, feeling a swell of satisfaction knowing he'd have enjoyed listening to Harry wrestle Dawlish into submission.

"This is unacceptable, Albus, I-"

"Certainly, I agree. But I also find your presence here a surprising turn of events. I can't help but wonder what your motivation is for visiting Sirius in the first place?"

Dawlish blinked, bristling at the change in topic. "I- I have every right to be here!"

Dumbledore smiled. "I never said otherwise. Only that I find it curious you've chosen to exercise that particular right-"

"Came to see if Sirius was still alive, wanted to rub my nose in it if he wasn't," Harry bit out angrily, retaking his seat by Sirius's side.

"That's a lie! I-"

A knock sounded at the door, loud and urgent. Dawlish fell silent, all three heads turning to watch the door open, a new face emerging.

"Remus!" Harry shot out of his chair once more, he started cutting a path towards the man on instinct but stopped short upon seeing his focus turn to the bed, expression stricken and devastating to Harry's heart.

Harry swallowed, stepping away from the bed awkwardly as Remus stepped closer, grabbing Sirius's and bringing it to his lips.

"Perhaps the three of us should allow these gentleman some privacy," Dumbledore said softly, raising a beckoning hand towards Harry, who nodded and started walking towards the open door slowly.

"Rem…" he began, voice thick and strained. He didn't know what to say, beyond the words they'd already exchanged over the phone. But he felt he needed to say something, somehow convey the deep pain and fear that they both harbored for the man laying on the bed.

Remus looked up, locking watery eyes with Harry, holding his gaze in silence for several seconds before nodding once, acknowledging the message Harry was unable to articulate. Harry nodded in return, chest seizing painfully. Dumbledore placed a hand on his shoulder and continued to guide him out of the room.

Dawlish fixed Remus with a healthy sneer but otherwise remained silent on his way into the hallway, his only saving grace, otherwise Harry wouldn't have hesitated to ram his head through the drywall. Once all three were outside Dumbledore gently shut the door, the beeping of machinery fading away, replaced by the buzz of conversation and footsteps filling the long hall.

"Well, I dare say you provided the nursing staff with hours worth of entertaining gossip," Dumbledore said with a grin.

Harry wasn't in the mood for casual banter. He pinned the senior agent with an annoyed look.

"Dawlish has no right to be here, I want him gone."

The man in question scoffed loudly at his side. "You are in my jurisdiction, Potter! I have every right to visit the victim of a crime that occured in my city!"

Harry turned to face him, raising a brow. "So you're acknowledging he was attacked? I thought you'd try to sweep it under the rug and say he tripped and fell on his own paring knife."

Dawlish scowled, shoulders tensed. "You fucking little-"

"Gentlemen, please remember where you are. There are patients on the other sides of these walls trying to recover from serious ailments. Let's take this conversation outside."

Harry swallowed, taking a step back. "I have nothing more to say to this idiot. I can't even call you an officer, the fact that you wear a badge is a travesty."

Dawlish blinked, looking genuinely perplexed. "Where the hell is this coming from? I let you onto my crime scene, let you poke around the evidence, you should be grateful I-"

"Grateful! You're willfully ignoring evidence to cover up three homicides! I don't care how high up the order is coming from, the fact that you can-"

"What are you on about?"

Harry shook his head. "Un-fucking-believable, that you can stand there and pretend-"

"Harry!"

Harry stopped mid sentence, mouth still agape as he turned his focus to Dumbledore, standing tall and authoritative, face drawn, gaze sharp. "This conversation ends here and now. If you'd like to continue then we'll step outside. The choice is yours. Make it. Now."

Harry closed his mouth and sighed, feeling a presence at his back. He looked over his shoulder and saw several nurses standing at the end of the hall, gazing upon the men with trepidation. One held a walkie in her hand, obviously debating whether to use it, probably to summon security. He gazed forward once more, ignoring Dawlish.

"Let's go outside."

Dumbledore nodded. "A very wise decision."

---

Sunday March 7, 2004

Hermione studied her reflection in the mirror.

The shadows under her eyes had deepened in color. It reminded her of the time Lavender had insisted on doing her makeup for a party Hermione was already reluctant to attend. The heavy smokey eye was dazzling and decidedly not her. She had fallen asleep on her couch before removing the dark shadow and mascara and during the night it had all migrated two inches down her face.

She had awoken to deep grey circles around her eyes and had laughed for a solid ten minutes, feeling more at ease imitating a raccoon than with the sultry smolder Lavender had painstakingly applied.

Her appearance now reminded her of that beauty mishap, only she didn't feel like laughing. She hadn't felt like laughing in a long time.

She flipped her hair to one side and shimmied the wet locks between the towel in her hands. The mirror was still fogged with the evidence of her long shower. She'd lingered beneath the hot spray much longer than it took to wash, shampoo and condition. She'd started taking longer and longer showers these days. When Victor asked her what she did in there with a cheeky wink she'd laugh and told him she used that time to unwind and clear her mind, making use of the seclusion and quiet. It was half true.

The truth was she drew out her time behind the curtain to hide. But she certainly couldn't tell that to him.

What or who she was hiding from was unclear. Some days she wanted space from Victor, from his boundless love, his utter perfection. But most of the time she was hiding from herself. Her guilt. Her shame. Her endless shortcomings.

And most of all, her reflection.

She avoided mirrors like the plague, unable to look herself in the eye for more than a few moments, acknowledge the terrible person she'd become. But she was also a glutton for punishment, knowing she deserved the pain gazing upon her likeness induced. So she wiped away the steam from the glass and took in her reflection, her self loathing building and building with each passing second.

The door to the flat opened and closed, the sound of heavy footfalls and jingling keys echoing down the hall.

"Babe?"

She closed her eyes, taking a deep breath. "In the bathroom!" she called back, fighting to keep her expression neutral.

"I passed the rental shop on the way home," he said, voice nearing.

She opened her eyes, directing all her focus to drying her hair.

"Got that movie the guys have been going on about. Supposed to be a riot."

She flipped her hair to the other side, resuming her towel work. "That's great."

She heard him down the hall and felt her heartbeat kick up a notch.

"You eat yet?"

He came to a stop outside the door, leaning on the frame, catching her eye in the mirror. She smiled. "Had some noodles for lunch. I'm still full."

He mimicked her expression, though his smile lit up his entire face, eyes sparking. "I don't know how you do that. Eat one meal a day. I'm always starving."

She shook her head. "You also burn about ten thousand calories, running around the field for hours on end. Looking through a microscope isn't quite as physically demanding."

He sighed, stepping into the bathroom and walking up behind her. She swallowed lightly, muscles tensing. He didn't notice, wrapping his arms around her waist and pulling her back against him. He dipped his head down, smelling her hair. His smile widened. "If you want to burn more calories, I am happy to help."

She rolled her eyes even as she laughed, gently pulling away, but pulling away nonetheless.

His smile fell. "Everything okay?"

She glanced up quickly, catching his eye in the mirror. "Of course."

She looked down, using the towel to mop up an invisible water stain in the sink. He reached out to touch her hip but stopped with his hand hovering in midair. Slowly he let his arm drop to his side.

"I missed you today."

She blinked rapidly, taking a slow breath in. "I missed you, too."

He watched her work in silence. The air felt thick, heavy and oppressive, it became difficult to breathe in, to see through. She wiped harder at the spotless vanity, eyes narrowed on an invisible spot, determination coursing through her. She just didn't know what she was determined to do.

"Mione…"

His voice sounded so forlorn, so dejected, it made her chest ache and her hands tremble. She kept her face averted down, pretending not to hear him, incapable of facing her own reflection and the object of her neglect so close together.

"Luv, look at me." He always made his demands sound like a request, always gave her the choice, so unlike…

She gasped, closing her eyes and dropping the towel to her feet.

"What's the matter?" He gently spun her around in the narrow room, hands lingering on her waist but not touching her otherwise, his face only centimeters away. "Please talk to me."

She shook her head, deeply ashamed. She opened her mouth but only a miserable squeak emitted. She turned red, burying her face in his chest, desperate to hide, even if that meant hiding in him.

He didn't hesitate to wrap his arms around her, rubbing soothing patterns on her back. "It's alright, luv, whatever it is, it's going to alright. Tell me what's happened, let me help you, please."

She cried, surrendering to her emotions, unable to keep them tamped down any longer. He muttered gentle sounds in her ear, holding her, waiting patiently for the storm to roll through. She hated herself more for subjecting him to such a sight, a pathetic break down.

She was a terrible person. A terrible liar. A terrible girlfriend. She didn't deserve him. She was broken, defective, incapable of a normal relationship, normal love. Healthy love. And she was destroying Victor in her attempt to pretend otherwise.

She'd had a revelation on the school campus two weeks ago, when she thought she'd spotted… Him… standing beneath that tree. Up until that point she'd thought she was finally better, finally healed and ready to move on. She was prepared to give all of herself to Victor, she desperately wanted to be the girl he thought she was.

But in the space of an instant all those hopes and dreams had been shattered beyond repair. The seed of doubt was once more planted deep in her psyche, roots sprouting down down down and wrapping around her heart, pumping toxic chemicals into her veins with every beat.

She learned that day that she wasn't over Him. She would never be over Him. Because she was weak, pathetic, damaged. He'd broken her and reformed her in his image, to his own specifications, and she was incapable of remolding herself. She'd never be the girl Victor wanted, deserved. And continuing to linger in his presence was selfish and cruel.

But she didn't want to go. Didn't want to face the empty walls of her own flat, the empty walls of her own life, the crippling loneliness that followed her like a black cloud everywhere she went. Each day she told herself this was it, this was the day she'd tell Victor the truth, that she'd do the right thing and set him free. But each night she found a million reasons to justify her staying, always promising herself it was just one more day. Just one more.

But Victor was observant, a doting boyfriend. He noticed something was off with her since she returned from campus that first day. She'd skirted the issue as much as she could, making up excuses when she couldn't avoid the subject any further. Worry about class and course load was always an easy fallback, effortlessly digestible. At least up until this point.

But now she suspected Victor wasn't going to accept her old standby responses. He knew something was fundamentally wrong, and he wouldn't settle until she told him what it was. She struggled to find her breath, mind racing, trying desperately to think up some valid excuse for why she was having a melt down in the bathroom.

Her mind wouldn't cooperate, her emotions too turbulent.

Tell him the truth.

She blinked, taken aback by the sound of her own voice in her head. The traitorous thought had popped up before, several times a day actually, but never had it sounded so appealing.

She was so tired of lying. So tired of burying the root of her pain and anxiety. She wondered if releasing the knowledge would set her free.

It was worth a shot. The worst case scenario was that Victor turned her away afterwards, demanded she get out of his life, which was what she'd been meaning to do for the last two weeks, so really, what could it hurt?

She slowly leaned away from him, gazing up with wide, tearful eyes.

"I… I need to tell you something."

Victor watched her steadily, nodding slowly, sensing the magnitude of this moment.

"You can tell me anything."

The sincerity in his voice only pained her further.

"I told you about my time at the orphanage…"

He was still as a statue. She swallowed.

"And I told you about Carmen…"

She pressed a hand to his chest, feeling the steady thrum of his heartbeat beneath her fingers.

"But I didn't tell you about the boy I grew up with."

His heart rate increased. She briefly closed her eyes, taking a deep breath, opening her lids when she felt his arms tighten around her, just a fraction.

"Did…" his jaw ticked, eyes boring in her. "Did he hurt you?"

She blinked. "What? Oh. Oh! No, no it wasn't- he didn't- nothing happened. I mean, he didn't hurt me, no," she shook her head, thoughts scattering at the mere notion of Tom abusing her. "It was quite the opposite, he was my protector, he… well, he was my only friend. I didn't even start talking to Carmen until after he left."

Victor's expression softened the moment she assured him she wasn't victimized at the orphanage, but his eyes flashed as she continued to prattle on, unable to fully articulate the strange relationship she had with the jaded boy. But once the words started flowing she couldn't get them to stop. She kept her eyes fastened to the swell of Victor's adam apple as she spoke.

"We were… I guess we were friends? Sometimes it was hard to tell. He was very distant, very private, liked to be in control all the time. I was scared of him at first. But then he sort of took me under his wing, taught me things, how to survive at Wool's, how to stand up for myself against the other children, how to navigate the streets. He was… all I had for a long time. After my parents died. I was so lonely, so desperate for companionship. He became the center of my world for a long time. And then he turned eighteen and left, and I sort of… broke."

She blinked, sucking in a breath of air, finally working up the nerve to meet his gaze. His expression was unreadable, his eyes filled with some emotion she couldn't place. It made her nervous. Her heart started to race faster, her palm trembling where it still rested on his chest. He unwound one of his arms from her back and placed his large hand over hers, flattening over his heart.

"I am so sorry that happened, Hermione."

She opened her mouth but couldn't think of a response, so she merely nodded instead, fresh tears brimming.

"That must have been so very difficult, losing the one person you trusted most, especially without any family left."

She blinked, a heavy tear tracking down her cheek, falling from her jaw to his shirt, soaking into the fabric. She followed its path with her eyes, head tipping down. His hand caught beneath her chin, lifting her face back up to meet his eyes.

"I think no less of you for this. I am not upset you opened your heart to someone else. I would be more surprised had you never cared for another person before. Your heart is so big, so giving."

She shook her head rapidly, shaking free of his hand and stepping back.

"You don't understand, Victor, I loved him. I loved him with everything that I am and he destroyed me. I'm broken, truly and completely smashed to pieces. I'm not fit to be with you, with anyone. It isn't fair to you. You deserve someone who's whole, who can take care of you and give you all of herself. That isn't me, that can never be me."

He stepped forward and captured her arm in his hand, gaze sharp. "Hermione, you are not broken. You are heart broken. There is a difference. You are still you, incredibly caring and kind, brilliant and hard working, determined and stubborn, that is who you are. No person can take that away from you, and this man, this boy, certainly did no such thing. I understand that you still need time to get over him, to come to terms with what happened, but please, never tell me that you are damaged or unworthy of love. That is not true. It can't be true, because you already have my love, and I am better just for knowing you."

She trembled where she stood, watching him with tears clouding her vision. She brought her hands to her face and crumbled, losing all strength to fight. Victor caught her and pulled her into himself, falling with her, laying in heap on the bathroom floor, rocking her gently as she cried.

Hermione curled into his warmth, allowing the sea of emotion to take her under, fill her lungs with salt water and steal her breath. She tried to focus on the beating of Victor's heart beneath her ear, the feeling of his hands on her hip and back, the gently sounds he made to comfort her.

But all she could think in that moment was how desperately she wished Tom had fought for her like this, that he had loved her as Victor loved her.

---

Friday July 15, 2005

Hermione leaned down, turning the dial and shutting off the overhead spray. She gathered her hair to one side and twisted it into a rope, draining the excess water before opening the curtain and stepping free of the tub.

She gnawed at her bottom lip, filled with trepidation. Tom had disappeared yesterday afternoon to deliver their decision to Green. She hadn't seen or heard from him since. She'd gone ahead and taught her tutoring class on campus, as he'd instructed. She was so distracted she ended up dismissing the students twenty minutes early. She'd rushed home, anxious to see him, and been equal parts disappointed and fearful when he never showed.

She'd stayed awake as long as she could, pacing, twisting her hair, nerves on edge, but her exhaustion had finally won out, resulting in a restless slumber spent tossing and turning in bed.

Her sheets still smelled like him. It caused a painful stirring in her chest, and disturbing dreams that she couldn't quite recall upon waking, only the dreadful sense of foreboding they filled her with even hours later.

She wrapped a towel around her body, using her hand to wipe away the steam that formed along the mirror. She blinked, taking in her reflection. She looked beat, to put it gently. Between her sleepless night spent pacing the living room two days ago and last night's fitful slumber, she was running on fumes. Her mind wouldn't stop racing, worrying, her heart following suit.

She sighed, stepping away from the sink and opening her bathroom door, making the short trip from the bathroom to the bedroom, adjusting her towel as she went. She glanced up and then froze, a scream tearing free from her throat before she had time to process the scene in front of her.

The intruder smirked, watching her from his seated position at the foot of her bed.

"Fuck!" she yelled, running a hand over her face. "You scared the shite out of me, Tom!"

He tilted his head, eyes gleaming in the morning light filtering through her window. "You have a filthy mouth, you know that? You never used to swear."

She inhaled sharply, regulating her breathing and clutching a hand to her chest.

"I'm not used to people breaking into my flat while I'm taking a shower. Though I suppose I should just leave the door open since the locks do nothing to prevent strange men from finding their way inside, usually with my unconscious body in tow."

Tom rolled his eyes, standing. "Always so dramatic."

She swallowed thickly, forcing herself to hold her ground as he slowly approached. "You spoke with Green?"

He came to a stop not a foot in front of her, so close she could feel the warmth radiating from his body. "I did."

She did her best to ignore his hooded gaze, which drifted down to linger on her mouth.

"And?"

"And he was pleased. At least I think he was. It's impossible to tell with him."

She shook her head. "That's not what I meant. Did you get it?"

He tilted his head, eyes smoldering, frustratingly distracting. "I got it."

Her heart beat increased twofold as his hand slowly rose, tracing the line of skin peeking through just above the towel. She slapped his hand away. "Tom! This is serious!"

He smirked, stepping closer, flush against her. "I know it is."

"Then get your head out of the gutter! We need to-"

"I know exactly what we need to do."

Her thoughts scattered as his arm looped around her waist, pressing her flat against him. His hand toyed with the edge of the towel, fingertips grazing the bare skin of her hip. She blinked rapidly at the sensation, watching Tom's head dip down, his lips barely grazing hers, hovering, his next words spoken into her parted mouth.

"I rushed this the first time. I lost control. I always lose control with you."

She tried to swallow but found her throat had closed up. The hand that wasn't thrumming her side like the chords of a guitar drifted up to caress her collarbone, long deft fingers tracing the line of her necklace. His pupils widened at the glint of gold, mouth curling into a hungry grin that exposed his lengthened canines.

She closed her eyes as his fingers wrapped around the back of her neck, tangling in her damp hair, his thumb resting at her pulsepoint, gently squeezing, a possessive brand that she melted into, tipping her head back on instinct to give him better access to her throat. He didn't hesitate, mouth descending the moment her delicate flesh was exposed.

"This time I'll go slow," he whispered against her skin, teeth gently scraping, his tongue darting out to taste. "I'll try to be gentle."

The gravel in his voice sent a bolt of electricity through her center, warmth unfurling through her limbs and pooling low in her abdomen, making her thighs and sex tighten. She moaned, and the moan turned into a gasp as she was picked up, feet dangling, carried to the bed and tossed. She bounced on the matress, heart in her throat, and then narrowed her eyes on him as he drew close on perched knees.

"I'm not a ragdoll, Tom."

He smiled, and the force of it was breathtaking, literally robbing her lungs of oxygen until her vision hazed. He crawled over her body, placing hands on either side of her head as he gazed down at her.

"You don't like me manhandling you?"

His mocking tone and irritating smirk set her blood to boil. She opened her mouth to inform him that no, she didn't appreciate him tossing her about like a frisbee-

He dipped down and silenced her with a kiss, his tongue sliding against her own and scrambling the last of her coherent thoughts. While he kept her mouth busy he reached a hand between them, tugging the knot of her towel loose and slowly parting the material, leaving her laid out bare before him.

She flushed red, though it was a toss up whether she was more turned on or embarrassed. She had been a nervous wreck these last two days, since Saturday really, and was eager to release her pent up aggression. It was still so surreal that this was really happening, that Tom was here with her, touching her, making love to her.

She was terrified it was all a dream she would wake from at any moment. The fear spurred her to wrap her arms around his neck, pulling him down to lay flush against her. His weight felt glorious, absolute and grounding, he kept her tethered to reality, to this moment.

A small voice in the back of her mind whispered that this was a bad idea, that they should be talking things through instead, sorting out the mess their lives had become. But she didn't want to talk, didn't want to be rational. That could all wait, just for a little while. Right now, she just wanted to lose herself for a few blessed moments. She wanted to get lost in him.

She gasped into his mouth when he grasped her hips and flipped them over. She blinked, gazing down at him with wide eyes, taking in this new perspective.

His pupils had swallowed the grey of his iris, a black hole at the center of the cosmos that pulled her in, she felt herself tumble over the event horizon, sinking into him fully, losing herself to his heat. She raked her blunt nails over his chest, clawing at his shirt. He let his hands fall away from her back to assist her in stripping his outer layers.

She bit her lip as she tugged his boxers down, his semi erect cock springing free, tapping against her stomach. She tentatively wrapped a hand around his length, stroking once, twice experimentally. She had done this once with Victor, and had been mortified the entire time, terrified of hurting or displeasing him despite his many assurances.

But of course, everything was vastly different with Tom. She felt her confidence build as he made low groans in his throat, dark eyes watching her movements with sharp focus, his adam's apple bobbing as he swallowed thickly. She was spurred on by the rapid lengthening of his cock, the rhythmic glide of velvet over steel, reaching scalding temperatures beneath her palm.

His hands had been gripping her bare thighs, fingertips leaving deep impressions in the flesh. But suddenly a hand released her and darted to her core. His long, deft fingers easily found her slit, a finger sliding inside, testing her readiness, earning a kittenish mewl from her parted lips, further staining her cheeks with embarrassment. His eyes latched onto her, and he certainly didn't look amused. He looked hungry, intent clear in his fathomless black eyes.

He reached up and grabbed her hips, tugging her forward, her long damp hair swaying, tickling her back. Then his hands slid up to her waist, fingers splayed possessively, pulling her even closer, higher, aligning her in position.

"Guide me in."

It sounded like there were rocks in his throat. She swallowed, doing as commanded, gasping as he lowered her with his steel grip, bruising her flesh. But all external sensations were overridden by the feeling of being stretched so suddenly, so fully, feeling her tight walls clamp around him, a steady pulse rhythmically drumming in her core, though she couldn't determine who's it was. Perhaps it was both of theirs, their hearts syncing, uniting, just like their bodies.

He guided her movements for the first few strokes, eyes fastened to where they were joined, the only sounds in the room the steady slap of flesh and her short gasps. He slid his hands up, cupping her breasts, thumbs grazing their rigid peaks.

"Lean forward, put your hands on my chest."

She blinked, mindlessly following instruction, and gasped anew, the angle allowing him to sink deeper, his strokes hitting a new spot within her that made stars appear behind her lids. The current position lasted for another handful of heartbeats before he was once more flipping them over. She swallowed heavily, eyes wide as she peered up at him, her brow creasing as he pulled out, rearing back.

She was bereft of his warmth, reaching a hand out, he grabbed her extended wrist and in a maneuver that was fitting a martial arts film, deftly flipped her onto her stomach. She blinked, her chin hitting the soft mattress, her eyes narrowed in confusion and outrage. But before she could utter her protests he was leaning over, sliding an arm beneath her stomach and pulling her back. Another hand grasped her damp locks and tugged, tipping her head back and making her moan on instinct.

He pulled harder, the iron band at her waist drawing her back at the same time, lifting her torso off the mattress and standing her on her knees facing the top of the bed, her back flush against his heaving chest. She felt his warm breath at her ear, her head tipped back, exposing the long column of her throat.

"Grab the headboard."

She blinked, mouth opening. He silenced her by releasing her hair and sliding a hand around her neck, fingers reaching up until his thumb slid past her lips, over her bottom teeth, pressing against her tongue. She instinctively closed her lips around the thick digit, sucking gently.

"That's a good girl. Now grab the headboard. No matter what happens, don't let go."

She squeezed her eyes shut, a fresh flood of liquid warmth drenching her center, muscles clenching. She reached out blindly, hands finding purchase against the wood backing and curling over the top, and then he was once more driving into her.

She felt her eyes roll back behind her closed lids, his thumb still in her mouth, his remaining fingers keeping her chin tilted back, exposing her neck for his mouth to devour from behind. His other arm adjusted, lowering, his hand roaming until he found her core, manipulating her clit while his hips kept their ruthless pace from behind. She grasped the headboard with all she had, but her sweaty palms made her grip slip, one hand falling away.

He instantly released her mouth and throat, his hand covering hers and sliding it back into place, his fingers curling around hers, keeping them pinned to the wood.

"Don't let go, Hermione. If you let go, I'll lose control."

Her eyes snapped open and she swallowed desperately, feeling a flush of heat steal over her chest. She was deeply aroused and deeply outraged, both feelings battling for dominance within her. How dare he dictate her every move? She was his partner, not his fuck toy. If he wanted to control her every limb he could get a blow up doll!

She narrowed her eyes, moaning low when a bolt of electricity stole through her womb as Tom continued to work her sensitive bundle of nerves. She bit her bottom lip as she watched his hand fall away from hers, returning to wrap around her neck, fingers gently curling possessively around her pulsepoint. And she purposely let go of the headboard, both hands dropping to the mattress beneath their gyrating bodies.

She heard an animalistic growl right behind her ear, his movements stopping all at once.

"Fuck. I was hoping you'd do that."

She barely had time to process his words before her hips were roughly seized and pulled back into his, his thrusts deep and relentless, knocking the air from her lungs and causing her to lose strength in her arms, elbows giving way and dropping her chest into the mattress. She turned her face to side so she could breathe, gasping for breath as he pounded into her again and again and again, the heat building and coiling within her and finally snapping.

As she careened into orgasm she squeezed her eyes shut, relishing the euphoria, relishing his sounds, his loss of control, their momentary oasis from the chaos and insanity that awaited them on the other side.

---

Harry charged ahead of the other two men on his rush to exit the hospital's oppressive walls. He sucked in the outside air upon reaching the pavement. It was mostly filled with smoke exhaust from a passing car, but at least it didn't smell like sterilized surfaces.

He spun angrily on his heel, watching the other two men exit the building, Dumbledore at a casual stroll and Dawlish with shoulders and fists tight.

"Now listen here, Potter-"

"Shut your mouth!"

Dumbledore cleared his throat, stepping closer to the men circling each other like birds of prey. "Gentlemen, is this really necessary?"

"I don't know what his fucking problem is! I gave him free reign of my crime scene and showed him private security tapes, he should be on his knees thanking me!"

Harry reeled with the man's audacity. "Are you insane? Or just a master bullshiter? I know about the autopsy report!"

Dawlish blinked, looking dumbfounded for an entire two seconds before his scowl reappeared. "I have no idea what you're talking about, you stupid-"

"Yaxley's official cause of death is a heart attack and his two guards were mysteriously absent from the crime scene, as well as a perpetrator? He killed himself? A cheesecloth cover story that blatantly overlooks three brutal homicides? Ring any bells?"

Yaxley opened and closed his mouth, brows drawn. "What are you on about?"

Harry scoffed, tossing his back in disbelief, glancing at Dumbledore with expectant eyes. "You can't seriously believe this cogger?"

The Senior Agent tilted his head, studying both men carefully. "I'm afraid I'm unfamiliar with that particular term, Harry, but perhaps you can elaborate on this supposed autopsy report, and how you came about getting your hands on it?"

Harry blinked, flushing with fresh anger. "There's nothing supposed about it! It's all in the bloody report-"

"And you've seen this report in person?"

"Impossible!" Dawlish interjected, eyes narrowed. "I haven't even seen the report!"

Harry glanced over to the other officer, brow raised. "You expect me to believe that?"

"Perhaps you can tell us how you came into possession of it, Harry."

Harry blinked, wetting his lips. "I can't."

Now Dawlish was the one to scoff, tossing his head back in a mirror image of Harry's previous outburst. "What a surprise!"

Harry glared daggers at the man. "I trust my source!"

"I'm sure you do, Potter. I'm sure you trust all the voices in your head."

Harry rolled his eyes, opening his mouth to retaliate when Dumbledore stepped bodily between the two men. "I think it best if we end this discussion here, before we draw any unwanted attention. John, perhaps it is time to take your leave. I appreciate your assistance from this morning and consider our ledgers clear."

Dawlish was still shaking his head, eyes pinned on Harry, but he reluctantly took a step back. "I'll be seeing you around, Albus. And I strongly suggest you cut this idiot loose. He's a liability if I've ever seen one, and I've worked personally with Sirius."

Harry's blood boiled at the mention of his godfather and he took a threatening step closer, only for Dumbledore's tall, lean frame to take over his line of vision. He blinked, gazing up into sky blue eyes and an arched silver brow, watching him expectantly. Harry swallowed and stepped back, taking a deep breath and desperately trying to rein in his emotions. Dawlish sent him one last scathing look and turned on his heel, heading down the sidewalk, shoulders drawn.

"Come now, Harry." Dumbledore placed a hand on his shoulder, giving it a light squeeze. "Let's take a stroll around the block, allow Remus some more time upstairs."

Harry's body was still rigid in its defiance, his outrage, but he forced himself to swallow and nod, reluctantly falling into step beside him as they began a leisurely pace around the hospital.

"Now, care to elaborate on this autopsy report that has you so worked up?"

Harry wet his lips, feeling torn on how much to tell Dumbledore. He knew it was a ridiculous hesitation, the man was his boss, his financial backer, had as much desire to catch the perpetrators as Harry did.

But he couldn't shake the feeling that the man was hiding something, knew more than he was letting on. It made Harry distrustful of him, and he desperately wished he had Sirius's counsel on the matter.

Sirius never told me to keep what Karkaroff told us a secret from Dumbledore.

But Sirius doesn't know about the thumbdrive…

He let out a slow breath, deciding to walk the middle ground for the time being. Certain information wasn't as pertinent as others, at least in Harry's mind. The autopsy report was in the hands of at least two governments, and Dumbledore could easily secure his own copy with his connections.

But only two people in the world knew that Harry possessed the information Yaxley and a Russian agent were killed over.

He wasn't ready to make Dumbledore the third.

"I can't reveal my source, he believes his life is in danger and was very reluctant to tell us anything. We swore to secrecy." It was a version of the truth, he just hoped his steady delivery of the information wouldn't set off any alarm bells in the Senior Agent's head. "You'll have to read over the report yourself to validate his claims. I'd like to see it as well, to ensure our information was sound. But I believed him, and I'm fairly good at reading others. He had nothing to gain by telling us, other than ensuring we finish the investigation his government is lax to do."

Dumbledore watched Harry carefully as he spoke, setting his nerves on edge. The man tipped his head, studying him at an angle. "Can you tell me which government you're referring to?"

Hary bit his tongue.

Damn.

Of course he couldn't get anything past the experienced Agent.

He glanced up, shaking his head. "I'm afraid doing that would make my source's identity too easy to discern."

Dumbledore's mouth tipped up at the corner. "The Russians then."

Harry's jaw ticked.

Fuck.

Dumbledore revealed a full on smile. "And if I remember correctly, Sirius once worked closely with an Operative by the name of Igor Karkaroff. Who happens to hold a position at the Embassy of the Russian Federation here in Vienna. What a small world."

Harry sighed, looking ahead. "I'm sorry. I was trying to honor my promise."

Dumbledore's smile faded but his eyes continued to dazzle in the light. "I respect your commitment to your sources, Harry. But I fail to see how revealing their name to me would put them in any danger. Unless, of course, you have reason to doubt my intentions."

Harry swallowed, focusing on the pavement below their feet.

"Ah. I see."

Harry's chest tightened, breath evading him. "It's not that…" He couldn't find the words to continue, every lie sounding hollow to his own ears.

"It's quite alright. A suspicious nature is the cornerstone of all skilled operatives. I myself have been guilty of considering everyone around me a suspect at one time or another. But this is no normal investigation, Harry. You are no longer a member of the Ministry. You are leading a small team that exists because I am funding it via the Ministry. Which means I must remain in the know of everything that is going on at all times so this investigation stays above board. If we get into murky legal waters our final case will hold no power, and we risk sabotaging our entire mission ourselves. Do you understand?"

Harry nodded. Of course he understood. It all made perfect sense.

He just couldn't shake the anxious feeling he had when he thought about the man.

It was inexplicable, intangible, unfounded. But it didn't make it any less real.

"I understand, Sir. And I apologize if I caused any offense. Let me tell you everything that happened yesterday…"

And so he did. He told Dumbledore about their visit to the crime scene, the missing photo frame, the positive identity match he made with the security tapes, the mysterious missing footage that Dawlish was so quick to brush off. He mentioned their meeting with Karkaroff in the pub, the doctored autopsy reports that both the Austrian and Russian governments were quick to accept, hiding any link to collusion.

He described their visit to the morgue, discovering the hair stick, followed by Sirius's voicemails later in the evening describing La Femme Nikita, the mysterious woman who tried and failed to murder him in the club. He breezed over his discovery of Sirius's bleeding, broken body, unable to relive the events so soon after they transpired.

He left out his dinner with Yaxley. He made no mention of the thumbdrive.

Dumbledore nodded along slowly as Harry spoke, waiting a few heavy beats after he finished recalling his tail before speaking. Then asked the question Harry knew was coming, and had prepared for in his mind as he recounted earlier events.

"And why were Sirius and you separated last night? Why take different trains?"

"Sirius was on the hunt for a bakery that made sachertorte, one of Remus's favorites. The bakery he went to years ago was demolished. He also planned to pop in for a drink at a local pub, someplace he'd been to in the past. He wanted me to come along, but I wanted to stay at the hotel to process and record everything we'd learned from that morning on."

Dumbledore's eyes held him steady. "So you were at the hotel when you received Sirius's calls?"

Harry knew precisely where this trap led.

"Yes. I was in the shower when they came through. I didn't realize I had missed calls until my phone beeped after his second voicemail."

It was a battle to retain his stoic expression, the intensity of Dumbledore's gaze a heat seeking missile drilling a hole through his skull. But he rallied all his calm and composure and kept his casual pace unaffected by his nerves.

After a short eternity Dumbledore nodded, though his eyes held a knowing glint that grated at Harry. He wondered if the man knew the truth, saw right through Harry's bullshite lies, or perhaps had other conacts throughout Vienna who somehow knew the truth about Harry's whereabouts when Sirius was attacked.

Harry felt like a blindfolded pawn on a massive chess board, unable to see the other pieces on the board, unable to discern his own position. He only felt the cold hand wrap around his neck and lift, moving him to a new space that felt no different that the previous one he stood upon. There was no end in sight, no strategy to be had, he was at the mercy of an unseen force that called all the shots and left him completely in the dark.

Finally, the disembodied hand released him, dropping him onto a new square where he was made to wait until it was once more his turn to move.

"I am very sorry about, Sirius, Harry. I meant to express so earlier but I thought it best to keep our phone conversations limited."

Harry blinked, nodding mutely.

"I hear he is stable, showing positive signs of improvement."

Harry cleared his throat, scrambling to find his voice. "I haven't spoken to the doctor yet. The surgeon told me the operation on his heart was successful, they want to monitor him for 24 hours before making air transfer to London."

"That's positive news. They would never risk Sirius making the journey if he was truly at risk for-"

"We'll have to wait and see."

He couldn't bear to hear his godfather's name and death to be uttered in the same sentence. Suddenly he felt a hand on his shoulder, stopping him in his tracks. He peered up, face carefully masked of all emotion.

"Harry, I assure you, Sirius is a survivor. You would be too young to recall, but he's had many rough scraps before, and always pulled through. Before you were born he and your father were known for their rather reckless natures, your mother always providing the voice of reason. But I dare say she was the bravest of them all, keeping them in line as she did. The three of them together were unstoppable. The man he is now is no different than the boy he was then, and I have no doubt in my mind he will come through this on the other side excited to show off his battle wounds."

Harry smirked, able to envision the man doing just that. Sirius would pull the gauze aside, exposing the long scar of his surgery, and proudly regail it as "Yet another woman's failed attempt at my heart."

Dumbledore nodded, stepping back and releasing Harry from his grasp. "Why don't we head back up and see how he's doing?"

Harry tipped his head in agreement and turned around, starting their trek back to the entrance. He slipped his hands in his pockets, absentmindedly tracing the shape of the thumbdrive concealed within.

---

Hermione blinked tiredly, laid out on her stomach, naked except for the sheet covering her lower half. Tom was beside her on his back, arm bent beneath his head, features supremely relaxed and sated.

She tentatively reached out a hand and traced her fingers along his arm. He tilted his head to the side, locking gazes, looking far too smug. She rolled her eyes even as she smiled, continuing her idle caress. He captured her hand with his, bringing it to his mouth, lips pressing gently to her fingertips, warm breath racing along her skin, creating a pleasant tingle along her nerve endings.

She studied his features with hooded eyes, trying to slip into a cocoon of contentment but finding it impossible. Her mind had been blessedly blank in the long minutes following their mutual release, muscles lax and limbs pliant. But once the fire faded from her veins she felt the dark cloud claim her once more, thoughts tempestuous and dread overwhelming.

He watched her in turn, gaze bright and amused.

"What?"

He smiled, lips still skimming her fingers.

"Nothing."

She narrowed her eyes. "Tom."

He hummed low in his throat. "Hermione."

"What's so funny?"

"You."

She blinked. "Why am I funny?"

"You're always worrying about something, even post bliss."

She bit her bottom lip, eyes averting away, a crease appearing between her brows.

"It's not you, luv." He released her hand to run the pad of his thumb across her mouth, tugging her lip free. "Obviously I didn't do a good enough job fucking your brains out."

She fought a smile and failed, shaking her head. But her expression quickly fell.

"Tom…" she swallowed, biting her lip once more. His fingers grazed along her cheek, prompting her to look at him.

"What?"

She closed her eyes as she asked the question that was burning inside of her. "Were there others?"

Her lids were still closed so she missed his stricken look. By the time they snapped open his face was once more carefully masked. "Other what?"

She shifted nervously on the bed. "Other… women."

His expression remained completely blank, giving away the answer. She swallowed once more, fighting back a cringe. She didn't expect him to be celibate during their separation, she certainly hadn't been, rather she was mortified of her own question.

"That was… pretend I didn't ask." She began to draw away, feeling foolish, and his arm clamped around her waist, pulling her flush against him.

"Hermione," his voice was low, deep, soothing to her abashed nerves. "There were others… but nothing like this. No one like you."

She blinked, heart pounding a staccato rhythm within her chest. "What do you mean?"

He held his gaze steady on her mouth. "You know what I mean."

She released a slow breath.

But I want to hear you say it…

She swallowed slowly, glancing away, chest seizing.

"There's something I need to tell you."

His eyes narrowed a fraction, lips pressing into a thin line, making her lose her nerve, mouth going dry. His hand stroked down the line of her back, resting in the dip of her waist, a gentle coaxing pet, though his expression was still guarded. She swallowed thickly, taking a deep breath and forcing her gaze to meet his.

"I… I was in a relationship for about a year and a half."

He didn't blink, didn't seem to breathe. His voice was low and steady as he asked without preamble. "Were you in love?"

She felt a surge of emotion wash over her without warning. Her throat closed up, eyes welling. She turned her face away before her face crumpled, mortified, devastated by her reaction.

His arm flexed around her, chest contracting as he sucked in a sharp breath. She desperately willed herself to calm down, to wear the same mask of neutrality as Tom. He was silent at her side, further annerving her, trapped as she was by her own thoughts.

Several moments passed before she was able to face him once more. She searched her mind for the words but couldn't find the right ones to express what she was feeling in that moment, lying beside the man who evaded her for years while thinking about the man who gave all of himself without reserve. Guilt, despair, shame, those were the most easily identifiable.

Yet she somehow managed to open her mouth and utter, "I tried to be."

She sounded as utterly miserable as she felt. Tom watched her for several beats, his heart thumping steadily against her chest pressed so tightly to his.

"What stopped you?"

She searched his fatholess gaze.

"You did."

His expression was unreadable, making her terribly self conscious. But his hand continued to caress her waist, giving her the strength to hold his gaze.

"I was still so hung up on you. I tried so hard to let you go, to move on. But I never could manage it. Not fully. I felt so… so broken. Ruined for any other man. And yet I stayed with him for all that time. Knowing I could never give him the relationship he deserved. I was just so tired of being alone. I thought being with him would help me move on. But I think it somehow made it worse. The constant comparisons I drew, even subconsciously. But it wasn't right. I should have been honest with him. I should have let him go. I'm such a selfish person."

His fingertips dug into her soft flesh, hands flexing. "We're all selfish, Hermione. It's a part of human nature. But you're not malicious. You didn't intend to hurt anyone."

"Does it make a difference? I still-"

"Yes. It makes a difference."

Her lips pressed together, lungs slowly deflating. Tom's eyes gleamed in the sunlight.

"Was he the only one?"

She blinked, still reeling from her confession, his words slow to process.

"Yes."

She felt the thrum of his heart kick up a notch. "He was your first?"

Hermione's brows drew in, she'd just answered that question…

Then she realized exactly what he meant, and the thought ruffled her.

"Yes, he was my first and only. Until you." She bit out, trying to pull away, his arm an unyielding beam at her back. "Why don't you tell me about all the partners you've been with, assuming you kept track."

To her great frustration Tom merely smirked, unaffected by her ire. "Hermione."

She stopped her struggles upon hearing her name but still held rigid in his grasp. He sighed in frustration and pulled her back into his chest, earning her glare.

"I thought we agreed you wouldn't manhandle me."

"I don't recall ever agreeing to such a thing. I quite enjoy it. You seemed to take great pleasure in it as well."

She felt a blush stain her cheeks, try as she might to act unaffected by his comment. His eyes tracked the flood of color blossoming across her chest and neck. He dipped his head low and pressed his lips to the base of her throat, not kissing, not nipping, merely a lingering touch. She swallowed, feeling the movement against his mouth.

"Tom-"

"I want to show you something." He said abruptly, rendering her mute. He drew his head back, face resting so close to hers their noses nearly touched. She blinked.

"Will it require clothing?"

He flashed his silver grin. "Unfortunately. And shoes, as well as an overnight bag."

She raised a brow. "Taking a holiday, are we?"

His smile fell, gaze intensifying. "Someday soon. But for now, we're going to the place where I'll be most able to protect you."

Curiosity burned bright within her, she curled her hands against his chest. "Where?"

"Hm," he leaned in, kissing her on the mouth, whispering against her lips. "Get dressed, and you'll see."

---

Bella was having a wonderful dream.

She had long since harnessed the skill of lucid dreaming, after many years of being plagued by nerve rattling nightmares, when sleep had been synonymous with reliving her past, and her greatest fears and worst memories were paraded behind her lids night after night.

But now she loved her dreams, because she always knew when she was unconscious and could alter the setting and tone at her heart's whim.

She hated waking up.

She especially hated being forcefully woken by cold water crashing over her head.

She gagged and sputtered, jolting awake violently, fingers curling around the handle of the blade beneath her pillow and arm striking out. She gasped in pain when a large hand caught her forearm, twisting it back while another hand grasped her wrist, pushing on her tendon until her fingers went lax, the knife falling with a dull clink on the floor.

"That was pitiful, Bella. You didn't even hear me come in. What's wrong with your right hand?"

She blinked, face drenched, eye makeup running and stinging her eyes, blurring her vision so only the man's silhouette was discernible against the morning sunlight. But she'd recognize his voice anywhere. Even in her dreams.

"It's sprained."

"Hm. And how did that happen?"

She pulled her arm from his grasp, wiping at her eyes. "I jammed it in the turnstile at the metro."

"Did you now?"

"Bloody hazards, the lot of 'em. Should sue and make millions. What do you think?"

Green took a deep breath, pacing to the foot of the bed.

"I think you should tell your friend goodbye, before she hears something she can't unhear."

Bella glanced at the lump in the comforter beside her. A bare arm was peaking out, a delicate hand with the fingers curled in, a gentle beckoning motion. Bella smiled, recalling the night before. She leaned down, pulling the blankets aside and gazing at the face beneath.

"Wake up, turtle dove," she cooed, placing her lips at the girl's ear. Her bedmate moaned, rolling onto her back and rubbing a hand over her eyes.

"What time is it?" she murmured, eyes still closed.

"Time to depart."

Upon hearing the distinctly male voice the girl's eyes snapped open as she jolted into a sitting position, mouth agape. Green smiled, though his eyes were cold and still fixed upon Bella.

"Please get dressed and say your goodbyes."

The girl didn't move, still looking shell shocked by his sudden appearance. Bella leaned down and placed her lips to the girl's bare shoulder, gaining her attention.

"Sorry, luv. Dad's so strict. Never let's me have any fun."

The girl blinked. "He's your father?"

Bella laughed. "Worse. He's my boss."

The girl's head swiveled comically between the room's two other occupants before she asked tentatively. "What kind of work do you do?"

Bella leaned in and pecked her on the lips. "I kill people."

"That's enough, Bella. Tell your guest farewell and get dressed."

Bella rolled her eyes and then winked. "It's not you, I promise, he acts this way with all my friends. Better listen to what he says though. Sorry about your underwear, you won't be able to salvage those."

Green sighed, shaking his head and spinning around as Bella stood from the bed in her birthday suit, leaning over and fishing for her discarded clothes without shame. She smirked in Green's direction, enjoying any bit of fun she could have at his expense.

The girl scrambled to get dressed as well, her long limbs making her appear more doe like than ever in the light of day. Bella had enjoyed playing with her, it distracted from her throbbing wrist.

A few minutes later she was walking her playmate to the door of the hotel room, giving her one last, long, lingering kiss before swatting her playfully on the arse, wolf whistling as she walked down the hall, laughing when Green yanked her back inside and slammed the door.

"Very funny," he snapped, eyes narrowed. "Do you have any idea the mess you've caused?"

She blinked innocently, tilting her head. "What do you-"

"No games. I'm not in the mood. I just got off a two hour flight and a thirty minute cab ride, I've wasted enough of my morning on you. Now cut the shite and sit down."

She blinked, shoulders drawn. Green never cursed, unless he was very incensed. She'd only heard him mutter Fuck once, and it was moments before executing a man. It had been a spectacular sight to witness, the moment she fell utterly in love with him. But she didn't enjoy being on the receiving end of his ire.

She slowly made her way back to the rumpled bed and perched on the end, legs crossed, bare feet just touching the floor. He sat in the upholstered chair in the corner and leaned in, resting his forearms on his knees, pinning her with a severe gaze.

"Do you have any idea what you've done?"

She started to roll her eyes.

"Don't you dare roll your eyes at me!" His vehement outburst made her snap her gaze back to his. "Tell me what part of my instructions were unclear. Tell me!"

She chewed the inside of her cheek, tucking her hands beneath her thighs like an errant child. He sighed deeply, shaking his head.

"I understand your destructive nature, Bella. I'm one of the few who do. One of the few who knows the extent of your past. So I've made many allowances for you, exceptions I make for no one else, not even Tom. But you've broken my trust for the final time."

Her eyes narrowed upon hearing the golden boy's name from his lips.

"Are you seriously pretending that you don't make countless allowances for Tom? The only reason you reappeared in my life was so you could stalk his girlfriend! And did you kill her?"

Green narrowed his eyes, sitting back in the chair. Bella smiled cruelly. "Of course not. Because that would have upset precious Tommy. And god forbid you lose his undying love. Meanwhile, if I had some side piece I was running around with I'd wake up with their head in my bed!"

Green raised a brow. "Don't be melodramatic, Bella. You know full and well I abhor unnecessary gore. If your lover were to end up decapitated we both know it would be by your hand."

She scoffed, shaking her head. "That's not the point!"

"I know what point you're trying to make. I favor Tom, and that frustrates you. You want to gain my attention, so you purposely violate my orders so I am forced to come here and deal with you personally. Correct?"

She glared, crossing her arms. "Why bother asking questions when you already know the answers?"

"Because the answers provided are just as telling."

"I hate being psychoanalyzed."

"How strange, most people enjoy it."

She looked away, staring at a blank spot on the wall in front of her. She heard him shift in his seat. "Let me see your wrist."

She furrowed her brows. "No."

"Bella."

The warning contained within her name was chilling, even to her. She wet her lips and held her injured arm aloft, still refusing to meet his piercing gaze. She blinked, keeping her face neutral as his warm hands gently encased her smaller one, deft fingers bending the appendage in either direction, then rotating it around in a slow circle. She fought back a cringe, biting her tongue so sharply she tasted copper on the back of her throat.

"Always so stubborn, refusing to show any weakness."

She released a slow breath as he bent her wrist back sharply once more, watching her face closely. Then he released her from his grip, drawing back in his chair.

"The ligaments are sprained, I also detect a fractured metacarpal, minor though. Should heal within a few weeks."

"Awesome."

"Do you have nothing else to say to me?"

She continued to gaze forward.

"Perhaps you don't fully realize the damage you've caused. Please, allow me to illustrate it for you. I sent you here to determine whether the Ministry has despatched a private investigational team to look into Yaxley's murder. If they have, it means they've linked it to the Malfoy assassinations. If they've linked it, it means they're going to a burden moving forward. The best course of action is to throw them off our scent, lead them astray, disappear into the night."

He leaned forward slowly, leveling her with such an intense stare she felt it sizzle through her skin even as her eyes remained carefully averted.

"So naturally, you take it upon yourself to stab one of the lead investigators in the chest. Thus ensuring they continue to pursue us until they've tapped every possible resource. Tell me, Bella, how many resources do you think the Ministry possesses?"

She narrowed her eyes. "They're led by a bunch of fat, idiotic cocks."

"Is that so? Is the man who followed you into the club last night a fat, idiotic cock? Is that why you decided to make such a spectacle?"

Her lips formed a thin line.

"I didn't think so. No, I think he showed a rather adept and keen investigational aptitude, which is why you decided to have so much fun with him. He's alive, you know. And once he wakes up they'll have both your and Tom's faces. Superb work, darling. Just fantastic."

Her head whipped around, making eye contact at last. "There's no way."

"That he's alive or that he saw your face?"

"I stabbed him in the aorta!"

"Did you now?"

She blinked, eyes drifting, cradling her wrist to her chest, running through the events of last night in her mind, certain her aim was true.

Perhaps I got a touch careless...

She looked back to her handler and clamped her mouth shut at the knowing glint in his pale eyes.

"That's what I thought."

Her jaw ticked as she bit back a scathing response.

Bloody hell, how does Tommy put up with him on the daily?

"I see you're not as jealous of Tom as you were an hour ago."

"I hate it when you do that."

"Then I suggest you learn to mask your thoughts a bit better, my dear. Now, I have to devote the rest of my day to cleaning up the colossal mess you've made. And you are going to be a well behaved operative for the duration of this mission, or you'll suffer consequences far beyond your wildest dreams."

She licked her lips, dark brow raising. "You'd be surprised, my dreams can get pretty wild. I was having a rather spectacular one before you upturned a bottled water on my head."

He laughed low in his throat, eyes humorless as he watched her. "I would never threaten you with something as benign as death or torture, Bella. I know you far too well for that."

She fixed him with a smug expression, which quickly melted away with his next words.

"I know the greatest punishment would be to banish you from the organization entirely. Throw you back into the outside world without a backwards glance. How would you like that, luv? I don't have to kill you to kill you."

She blinked, swallowing past the obstruction in her throat. He tilted his head, eyes no longer seeing her as much as they saw through her.

"It's ironic," he continued, tone light and jovial, as though he hadn't just threatened her. "Your greatest fear is Tom's greatest desire. How fascinating that my children are so alike and yet so different."

He withdrew from his inner musings, gaze alert once more. "Get your things together. You're returning to London with me, so I can ensure you can't do any further damage."

He took to his feet, towering above her. "And fret not, little one." He smiled, grin wicked and breathtaking to her eyes. "You're going to help me clean this up."

---

Harry sighed deeply, sitting back in the upholstered chair in his hotel room, head tipping back to gaze absently at the ceiling.

Visiting hours at the hospital were over, but the staff had acquiest and set up a cot for Remus to remain in the room. The man had been adamant about staying and ensuring he was on site should Sirius's condition change over night. Harry would have done the same, but wanted to allow the men some privacy.

He glanced to the desk beside him, where the silver thumb drive sat dead center. He chewed on the inside of his cheek, considering the last few hours, his decision to keep its existence a secret from Dumbledore. That choice would most likely come back to bite him in the arse, but he stood by it, at least until he could determine what was on it.

Speaking of which…

He blinked, sitting up and fishing his phone from his pocket. He stared at it for several long beats before flipping it open and dialing.

It rang three times before the voice came on the other end, sounding a bit breathless and shocked.

"Harry?"

"Hey, Nev."

"I didn't think you'd- I mean, is everything- um," he stopped short, awkwardly clearing his throat. "How are you? How is Sirius?"

Harry rubbed absently at his face. "He's stable, being transferred back to London tomorrow afternoon. I take it Dumbledore informed you and Luna what happened?"

"Um, yeah, I mean, he told us there was an accident, he said he'd call us first thing tomorrow with more information."

"It wasn't an accident. He was stabbed by one of the assassins we're hunting."

There was a long pause.

"Assassins? Wait, there's more than one?"

Harry took off his glasses, rubbing at his eyes. Fuck he was tired.

"Yes, at least two. Though we also suspect there's a third who acted as lookout here in Vienna. I'll explain it all when I'm back. My flight leaves early in the morning."

"Oh, I thought you'd fly over with Sirius."

"Remus is here, there's only room for one in the plane besides the emergency crew. I'll head over first so I can attend the Malfoy funeral, then head over to Mungo's and oversee Sirius's transfer."

"Okay… so... you're still continuing the investigation?"

Harry blinked. "Of course I am. Why wouldn't I?"

He heard shuffling on the other end of the line.

"Um, I just figured with what happened, I mean, nevermind."

Harry leaned forward. "It's alright, Nev. I understand. But I can't stop now. Especially now. I'd like for you and Luna to meet me at the office tomorrow evening, if you don't mind telling her. I need to download you on everything that's happened and discuss next steps."

"Absolutely."

"How are interviews coming along?"

"Great! I mean, we haven't found a lead. But Luna's brilliant at asking questions, she catches all types of details…"

Harry couldn't help but grin. "That's good, Nev."

"We met with one of the managers at the catering place and she gave us a list of everyone on staff that night. We're about one third of the way through, though a couple people still have to call us back."

Harry glanced to the side, the thumb drive glaring at him, the pulsing thrum in his temples amplifying.

"Nev, I know it's late, but do you mind doing a screen share with me?"

"Sure."

Harry wasted no time, crossing the room to grab his laptop off the side table and bringing it back to the desk. "Listen, Nev. What I'm about to show you, no one can know about it. I don't want you mentioning it to Dumbledore or Luna. Not yet."

There was a heavy beat of silence before Neville responded. "Okay, sure, I can do that."

Harry booted his computer and picked up the thumb drive with anxious fingers, a second wind coming over him as eagerness set in. He plugged it into the side and swallowed heavily as the new folder appeared in the top right corner of the screen.

He opened it just as the screen flickered, an alert message informing him that Neville had logged in for a viewing session. Harry's breath came out in a slow breeze as dozens more folders appeared within the first. They were labeled with seemingly random number and letter sequences.

He opened the first and raised his brow at the numerous image files within. He opened one at random and blinked, an enlarged photocopy of some type of financial document. He didn't understand the first thing about it.

"You seeing all this, Nev?"

"Yeah. What is it?"

"I was hoping you'd be able to tell me."

"You're using an external drive?"

"I am."

"Hm. I can copy the contents over to my server, look through everything."

Harry wet his lips, clutching the phone tighter. "You can do that?"

Neville laughed, light and airy. "Please, Harry."

"Sorry, Nev, I forgot who I was speaking to. Will it be a secure transfer?"

"I'll encrypt everything and decode it on my end. Should take about twenty minutes given the size. Is there anything in particular you're looking for?"

Harry squinted, recalling Karkaroff's earlier words. "There should be highlighted documents hiding somewhere in here. If you could give those a glance I'd appreciate it."

"I'll go through it all tonight."

"You don't have to do that, it's already late-"

"I don't mind, really. I want to. Luna's taken the brunt of the interviewing and I want to contribute."

Harry leaned back in his chair. "You contribute plenty."

Neville cleared his throat awkwardly. "Thanks. But I want to help. I'll find the highlighted documents and have them ready for you when we meet tomorrow."

Harry gazed back at the screen, square light reflecting off his lenses. "That'll be great."

There was a long pause, filled only by the hum of the computer and the echo of Neville's mouse clicks.

"Err, Harry?"

"Hm?"

"I'm really sorry about Sirius."

Harry nodded, eyes affixed to the jumble of documents and images scattered before him on the screen.

"So am I. But I promise you, I'm going to find them. Every last one of them. And I'm going to make them pay."

---

Hermione tried her best to quell her questions as Tom led her through the city, her overnight back over his shoulder, her hand firmly encapsulated by his. But she could hardly enjoy the sensation, plagued as she was with curiosity and an ever growing sense of panic.

They took a cab across town to Chelsea, dropped off near the station and walking the rest of the way. She glanced about the posh neighborhood they entered, wondering for the millionth time where they were heading. Everytime she tried to ask Tom shushed her, continuing their brisk walk forward. They came to a large, modern brownstone, luscious rose bushes blooming along the front. Her eyes widened as they started up the steps, realization dawning.

Tom glanced about in either direction before he faced forward once more, punching a code into the keypad beside the double doors. There was a beep and the sound of locks clicking, and then they were entering the lobby, a security desk coming into view first, an elderly officer sitting behind it, smiling pleasantly in greeting.

"Welcome home, Mister Gaunt. Fine weather we're having!"

Tom nodded his head in acknowledgement, the corner of his mouth turning up. "Yes it is, Mr. Finnbar, hopefully you have a chance to enjoy it in person before it's gone."

The older man chuckled, returning his focus to whatever was spread out on the desk. Hermione opened and closed her mouth like a fish, blinking first at the Officer and then at Tom, who merely glanced forward as he led her across the marble floors and to the lifts.

Once they were safely enclosed inside she pinned him with a narrowed gaze. "Mr. Gaunt?"

"At your service."

"Why are you using her name? You told me you hated that name."

"Trust me, I do. But I could hardly use my real name, nor the pseudonym I use on missions."

"Why not make up a new one?"

"It's easier to remember this way. Also, I'm a glutton for punishment, as you well know."

She opened her mouth to respond when the doors opened. The car glided so smoothly she hardly felt its movement. She glanced at the buttons on the wall. They were at the top level. Tom pulled her hand and she fell into step behind him, down a short hall to the sole door on the floor, glossy black. He let go of her to draw his keys from his jacket, sliding them into the modern lock and opening the door. He stood back, tipping his head, indicating for her to walk ahead.

She hovered at the threshold, eyes wide as she stared upon the elegant entryway.

"Tom… what is this place?"

He leaned casually against the hallway, expression just as smug as it was post coital. "I'll give you three guesses, even though we're both aware you already know the answer. Now get inside."

She blinked, stepping through the doorway in a numb stupor, head swiveling in each direction as she glanced over everything. There was a large mirror on the wall over a shiny wood entry table, adorned with well polished knick knacks. The bright wood floors led down a narrow path to the large living room, adorned with modern furniture and more frivolous decor, but what caught her attention above all else was the bank of floor to ceiling windows composing the back wall, revealing a breathtaking view of London and the Thames.

She didn't even realize she'd crossed the room to stand before them, her shocked reflection staring back at her with wide eyes. Tom dropped her bag to the floor behind her, closing and locking the door, the sound of several deadbolts sliding into place. She spun around to face him, brows drawn when she noticed the back of the front door was composed of metal. He followed her curious stare.

"Bullet proof," he supplied by way of explanation, slowly walking to her with his hands in his pockets. "As are the windows, so feel free to gaze away."

She shook her head, eyes still wide. "You… live here?"

His face conveyed an air of indifference but his eyes shone brightly with a hidden emotion, one she recognized easily. Pride.

"I do."

She released a slow breath, facing the city view once more. Of all the things she'd learned about Tom since their recent reunion- including the fact that he was a trained assassin- his home was he most shocking yet.

Perhaps it was because she always knew Tom to have a penchant for violence, so deep down his chosen career path hadn't been as much of a surprise as a dissapointment. But for as long as she knew him, he'd always had an obsession with wealth, disdain for privilege, and now he lived like those he abhorred most. She always knew he'd become a success one day, be able to afford fine things, as children and teens they stayed up late countless nights talking about all the things they'd buy, all the places they'd travel.

But now it was real. Tom had actually fulfilled all those flippant fantasies. He'd become wealthy, successful.

By killing people.

The realization stole her breath, made her dizzy. She felt lightheaded, tipping to the side. Tom caught her, brows drawn. "Hermione?"

"I'm fine," she said weakly, unaware her face was white as a sheet.

She gasped as he knelt down, sweeping her into his arms and walking her to the couch, laying her down gently. "Wait here. I'll get you some water."

She nodded, too overwhelmed to argue. The setting sun at her back cast long shadows over the room. She swallowed, rubbing a hand over face to try and regain her bearings. She listened to Tom rummage around through the kitchen before his steady tread neared, setting a glass before her. She glanced up, caught in his intense gaze.

"Are you alright?"

She nodded slowly. "Yes. I just… this is all so much."

He watched her for several moments before asking, almost tentatively. "What do you think?"

Hermione blinked, at a loss for words. What did she think? She thought this was all insanity. A fever dream. Nothing seemed real anymore. Not even her own life. Surely she was dead, or lying in a coma somewhere, the last week a vivid hallucination of a broken fragile mind.

But the moment reminded her of something else, a time long ago, when Tom first revealed his finished motor bike to her eager eyes, acting nonchalant about the whole thing but she could tell he was intensely pleased with himself. She inhaled deeply, reaching for the glass in front of her.

"It's lovely, Tom."

He raised a brown, obviously expecting more from her. She sipped slowly at the water for an excuse to break his gaze, unable to bare the flash of disappointment in his eyes. But she couldn't bring herself to shower him with false praise, either. That's what his minions were for. She only offered him blatant honesty, whether he enjoyed hearing it or not. And she couldn't muster excitement for the beautiful, modern flat when she knew it was financed by blood money.

Tom moved beside her, and she thought perhaps he was about to say more, attempt to coax more of a response from her, but instead he back away, crossing the room to turn on lights. The room appeared even larger now, the far walls of the connecting dining room illuminated, large, colorful artwork adorning the walls, fine upholstered seating surrounding a glossy table that looked unused.

She set the glass down, blinking when she realized Tom had set a coaster beneath it. The minor addition made the scenery more obscene. She remembered Tom breaking bottles behind tires, knuckles perpetually bruised and swollen from fights, dirt marring his face after sneaking into the dorms long after curfew, reeking of cigarette smoke. The raw, gritty boy of her past now owned a posh flat in one of the city's richest neighborhoods, owned fine expensive furniture and used coasters.

She shook her head.

"I'm going to change, feel free to explore all you want." His voice sounded flat, no doubt he was still simmering with disappointment over her lackluster reaction. She nodded mutely, eyes fixed to the large flat screen mounted to the opposite wall as his footsteps receded down the hall.

Once she was certain she was alone she slowly took to her feet, spinning in a circle, gazing upon the opulence surrounding her with a sense of detachment. She made her way to the kitchen, gazing about the expensive appliances with resigned amusement. She was certain he bought them for appearances sake, because they were costly and therefore belonged in his home. She couldn't imagine him in the kitchen, making pasta by hand or whipping frosting.

She was pulled from her musings when a knock sounded at the door.

Hermione froze, muscles tense, head snapping to the side as she gazed upon the entryway with wide eyes. She swallowed, terrified, and then snapped out of her daze as a second knock sounded, no more urgent than the first.

She took off at a sprint down the hall, passing three closed doors before reaching the one at the end, half open with light streaming out.

"Tom!" she whispered sharply, peering inside.

"I heard it."

She reared back, gasping as he emerged from the room with a gun. "Stay in the bedroom. Don't come out unless I tell you."

She blinked. "But-"

His head whipped around, eyes narrowed. "Hermione. Do as I say. Now."

She nodded quickly, nearly falling over as she stumbled back, retreating into the large bedroom, closing the door. She placed her hands on the wood, trembling, then quietly opened it ajar, placing her ear at the opening, straining to listen.

She heard Tom's footsteps as he crossed the living room, stopping at a distance, no doubt at the door. There was a long pause, she wondered if it had a peephole, she didn't recall seeing one. Then the sound of heavy locks echoed down the hall, four in total, followed by the sound of the knob turning.

She heard Tom's deep murmur, catching only a hand full of words, not enough to piece together the message, but his tone conveyed great disdain.

That could only mean one thing.

She carefully opened the bedroom door the rest of the way, stepping outside. She placed a hand to the wall as she crept on her tiptoes towards the living room, pausing before the entrance, still concealed.

"-said you wouldn't be making any more housecalls."

"And I meant it," came the all too familiar baritone, flooding her system with adrenaline, causing her hands to curl into claws at her side. "This is hardly a housecall. I've come to deliver your next mission. I figured what better time to do so than when Hermione's here."

She closed her eyes, willing herself to disappear. Of course. Of course he knew she was here.

"You can tell her to come in, no point hovering in the hallway when we're already well acquainted."

Her eyes snapped open, muscles tensed to spring, to run.

Run to where?

She released a breath, glancing futilely back to the bedroom, head snapping back around at the sound of Tom's voice.

"You don't need to talk to her. I'll relay all the information she needs. You'll deal with me and only me."

Yes. I don't want to see him again.

"I'm afraid that will hardly due. After all, this is meant to be an equal partnership. And she's determinedly strong, is she not? At least that's what you told me this morning. Well, now is her time to shine."

Hermione bit her lip, heart fit to burst. Her thoughts raced.

What am I doing, hiding like this? He already knows I'm here. I'm only making myself look foolish and terrified.

Never let them know you're afraid. Even when you're scared shiteless, keep it hidden. Their greatest power lies in their ability to incite fear. Don't let them have the satisfaction.

The latter was whispered into her mind in Tom's youthful voice. His first lesson for her among many, after she'd agreed to undergo his tuteleg and learn to stand up for herself against the schoolyard bullies.

Hermione drew her shoulders back, taking a steadying breath that was far too shaky for her liking, and slowly emerging from her hiding spot.

Tom's head whipped around, eyes narrowed, expression livid. Green merely smiled, looking far too pleased with himself.

"Ah, Hermione. How lovely to see you again."

She grit her teeth, willing her heart to slow it's rapid thrum, forcing her feet to work, to bring her further into the room.

"Mr. Green. I can't say the feeling is mutual."

He chuckled lowly, nodding. "Yes, I don't blame you, given the circumstances of our first meeting. However I am excited we'll be working together over the foreseeable future. I have a feeling we'll develop as interesting of a relationship as the one I share with Tom."

Upon hearing his name Tom stepped away from the man, backing up towards Hermione, as though he were using his entire person as a shield.

"Say what you came to say and get out."

Green shook his head. "Of all the things I've taught you, I was never able to instill any manners."

Tom stopped a few feet ahead of her, blocking most of her body from the man's view. The gesture was chivalrous but did little to comfort her. From what little time she'd spent with Tom's handler she'd derived he wasn't a physically violent person, at least that wasn't his greatest weapon. He preferred to disable his enemy with his mind, and had a subversive ability to do so.

She wet her lips, watching the man carefully. "Maybe we should all take a seat?"

The suggestion couldn't have elicited more opposite reactions from the men before her. Tom spun around, brow raised comically high, mouth open but no sound emitting, as though he couldn't even think up a response. Green in contrast rocked back on his heels with a beaming smile, looking absolutely delighted, and made his way to the chair in front of the couch.

"That's a fantastic idea, Hermione. I appreciate your ability to remain polite and civil despite your unease. It's a pleasant change in pace," his eyes latched onto Tom, "considering the normal company I keep."

Tom sighed in resignation, shoulders tense and gun protruding from his waistband. Her eyes lingered on it but then snapped away.

No, killing Green wouldn't accomplish anything but forfeiting their lives immediately after. Beyond that, she harbored her doubts Tom would even be capable of taking the man's life by his own hand, despite his many promises to do so. His anger towards Green felt similar to his anger towards his mother, all consuming yet hollow, easily blown apart by his fundamental attachment. She suspected there was a twisted codependency at work, which wouldn't surprise her given Tom's young age of recruitment.

Which is why he needed her help cutting the ties.

She stepped forward, placing a hand on Tom's shoulder, gaining his attention. "Let's just get this over with," she whispered, loud enough for Green to hear as he took a seat, looking comfortably at home.

Tom held her gaze for a long moment before nodding slowly, placing a hand at the small of her back and guiding her to the couch, then pressing a palm to her hip to halt her movements, directing her to sit at the farthest corner from the man watching them both with idle amusement.

She sat down and he followed suit, sandwiching her between the cushioned armrest and his hard body. She felt claustrophobic, unable to breath properly. She clutched the fabric, fingernails digging in, willing her mind to remain calm.

Tom rested his forearms on his knees, body tensed as though braced for impact. He kept his narrowed focus on the man sitting casually across from them. Finally the heavy silence was broken by Green's cheery baritone.

"Well, I hate to interrupt your evening any more than necessary. I'll get right to it then."

Tom's fingers curled into loose fists between his knees.

"You're next target is local," he continued, reaching into his coat and withdrawing a heavy piece of cardstock. He slid it across the table to Tom, who merely gazed down upon it, brow raised. "At least, they will be this weekend. You'll complete the mission Sunday."

Tom blinked, eyes snapping upward. "Sunday? You're joking."

"How often do I joke?"

Tom's jaw ticked. "That's not nearly enough time to get Hermione up and running."

"It's not nearly enough time to plot against me, you mean."

Hermione drew back on the couch a tiny fraction, but she might as well of screamed her intentions with a megaphone for the attention it drew. Green looked to her sharply, predatory grin in place.

"Oh yes, I can only imagine all the plotting and planning going on within these walls. I am very sorry to put a time limit on your strategizing. But I must admit I'm looking dreadfully forward to what the two of you come up with. You especially, Hermione."

She swallowed thickly, pressing back into the cushions. His pale gaze cut to Tom. "Especially when you'll be joined by two others."

Tom blinked, spine rigid. "What?"

Green chuckled. "Oh yes, you didn't think I'd trust you to see the mission through if it was just you and Hermione, did you? Perhaps you'll be more inclined to follow the rules when surrounded by witnesses."

Tom drew in a sharp breath, nostrils flaring. "I assume it's Bella and Reg?"

Green tilted his head. "You're half right. But I'll leave the identity of your team a pleasant surprise. Same with your target. I can't have you doing something foolish before hand to undermine the mission, can I?"

Hermione's mind reeled.

Shite.

This would certainly throw a massive wrench in her plan. She scrambled through possible scenarios of how they could still execute it, but with at least two other people hovering about, watching their every move, it would be near impossible.

And they had practically no time to figure something else out.

It felt hopeless. Impossible.

Nothing is impossible. You'll think of something.

You have to.

She pulled out of her thoughts when she felt his cold gaze upon her once more, lethal smile still in place. "As I said, I look forward to seeing what you come up with."

She bit her tongue on retort, though she wasn't certain what she would have said.

Tom spoke instead, anger barely tamped in his voice. "How can I plan for a mission when I have no idea who the target is?"

Green glanced to the paper on the table. "I've written down the address of where to go on Sunday morning. You'll meet the other two. One will have the identity of your target and the other their location. Keeps the playing field a bit more even, in case you get any smart ideas. Though with Hermione in tow, I'm sure you'll keep your violent urges to a minimum."

Tom glared. "I'm finding it a touch difficult at the moment."

Green laughed to himself, slowly taking to his feet, buttoning his suit jacket. "Yes, yes, you want to dismember me piece by piece while I'm still cognizant. I'm quite aware. Perhaps Hermione can inspire a bit more creativity in you, especially with her chemistry background."

Hermione wrapped a hand around Tom's arm, as much an anchor for him as herself. Green's eyes tracked the movement, smile fading at the corners, eyes alight, then the expression melted away and his mask of pleasant indifference took its place.

"I suggest you spend less time plotting my demise and more time preparing Hermione for what's to come. This target won't be easy."

Tom glared up at him. "And why is that?"

Green's smile showed fangs, dripping venom all over the glossy hardwood. "Because this person knows all about you, Tom. And most importantly, he'll know you're coming."