The Powerful

TanninTele

Disclaimer: All rights belong to J.K. Rowling, voiding that of original content and characters.

Chapter warning: fluff and hot lesbians.

IV:

"He's actually quite cute," Narcissa mused, gently bouncing the newborn in her arms. He had one tiny hand wrapped around her thumb, and the other placed bracingly on a warm bottle. "When he's not wailing for milk."

Scorpius Zabini was an attractive child, born of Serena's son and the famously beautiful actress, Astoria Greengrass. His hair existed in charcoal cowlicks, his skin like rich chocolate. His button nose was speckled with little freckles that Narcissa took the opportunity to count when he fell asleep in her arms. There were twenty-one in total.

"Hm," Serena powdered her own freckles, blinking rapidly in the vanity mirror as concealer floated around her. Her hair was piled up in a complicated bun that seemed easy when Serena deftly twisted it up and around. Her deep purple gown was made of a smooth velvet, a leather belt constricting her already slim waist. Her stilletos were discarded by the bed, the heels sharp enough to impale someone. Narcissa had a brief, heated flashback of the time Serena had worn them to bed; with a baby in the house, it was hard to squeeze in sex between Serena's work, child-rearing and sleep. But it was well worth it.

"He must take after his other mother." Narcissa said with only the faintest bit of tiptoed around Astoria's name, both disapproving of her sabbatical to Havana.

As Scorpius suckled at the bottle's nip, Narcissa considered with smugness that Astoria was most certainly experiencing a consistent leaking in her breasts, perhaps pumping the milk every so often only to throw it away. Scorpius would always be in the back of her mind, a haunting of what might be - but Narcissa was secure in the knowledge that they were Scorpius' mothers now. A united front, protecting him from the world. Certainly, if Astoria decided to reappear in their lives, they wouldn't discourage a friendly relationship between Astoria and her son. But Narcissa was far too attached to the boy to let him go so easy.

"Perhaps. But, no, you're a good boy, aren't you, Andy?" Serena twisted in her seat, giving a fond, dark-lipped smile to her grandson. Her lashes were voluminous and her lips stained a deep purple that brought out the flecks of brown in her eyes. "Mummy was just teasing."

Out of respect to Astoria, they kept Scorpius' given name but called him 'love' and 'darling' and 'piccolo andrea' - little man - as often as possible; the latter was quickly shortened to Andy, in honor of Narcissa's late sister.

Standing with a yawn, Serena stretched her arms and padded barefoot toward them. Narcissa moved her legs so Serena could sit ar the end of the bed. Serena arched one delicate foot and carefully strapped on her heels, Scorpius blinking at his nonna, letting the nip slip from his mouth. Tsking, Narcissa pushed it back in, and he immediately continued his meal.

"Are you certain you will be safe tonight?" Narcissa asked, stretching her legs back to gently nudge Serena.

Serena peered over her shoulder, arching a thin brow. "Doubting my abilities, love?"

"I'm doubting your ability to stay awake," Narcissa said bluntly. "I'm exhausted, and I don't run a fashion industry while streamlining as a part-time assassin and a full-time mother."

"No," Serena agreed, leaning forward with a slight smirk. "But you manage Grimmauld with an iron fist - just as ludacrive as my business," she said, teasingly pressing a kiss on Narcissa's lips. Sharp nails carefully trailed down the pale, prominent cheekbones; touch tender, so not to leave a mark on that smooth, perfect skin. Scorpius, trapped between them, gave a soft protesting noise.

"All will be well, Cissa," she assured, pulling back to wetly kiss Scorpius' cheek. The boy tolerated it regally. "Take a nap, little hellion. Try not to wear your mother out, hm?"

Narcissa huffed, flipping a strand of hair from her face. "You'd best come back alive," she warned, before pausing. "And without a warrant out for your arrest."

Entirely serious, Serena nodded. "I have a reason to be careful, now. Hm, romantic entanglements are such an inconvenience, don't you think?" She teased. "Playing peekaboo is really just as scintillating as robbing a bank or assassinating a prime minister."

Narcissa wasn't even vaguely apologetic. She looked down at Scorpius. Stomach sated, his intensely dark blue eyes began to drift shut. "Pick up some more diaper cream on your way home."

Snorting, Serena finally slipped on her other shoe. She stood and swayed toward the door, hips entrancing. "No Zabini has ever been afflicted with something as frightfully unseemly as a bum rash in generations."

"He's a baby," Narcissa reminded her, icy eyes soft and amused. "He doesn't have a choice in the manner."

Nervous beyond reason, Hermione fidgeted in the backseat of the rented limousine. An errant lock of hair fell into her eyes, and she twisted it idly between her thumb and forefinger. She met the gaze of the chauffeur in the rear view mirror.

"You look gorgeous," Tonks said eagerly, her face open, calm and devoid of any make-up beyond concealer. She had dyed her hair a sleek, unremarkable brown for the occasion. With her low-brimmed military cap, grey suit and thick fake glasses, Tonks was nearly unrecognizable. She even changed her eye color with a pair of contact lenses, murky green eyes blinking back at Hermione with a familiar determined gleam. "And you'll do absolutely fine."

Slowly, Hermione released a breath and lifted the loose curl up into her ruby hair comb. The jumpsuit matched perfectly, and Hermione paired it with a number of costume jewels that Romilda Vane had made specially for the operation.

Romilda's access to The Daily Prophet and her artsy hobbies had proved invaluable to the Death Eaters. She and Ron were, amazingly, still together. It appeared a shared trauma did wonders to their relationship skills, not to mention their eerily accurate foreplay and role-playing. An accidental butt-dial (Ron was prone to those) had Harry in a panic - was Romilda a spy, and was she holding Ron hostage in their bed . . . oh. Oh, God. Horrified, he'd swiftly hung up, and had told no one except Tonks. And then Tonks told everyone.

There were a few close calls. As the heist grew closer, Ron was away more often, ditching dates with sheepish, guilty expressions and poorly thought-out excuses. After a lost deposit on hot air ballooning, Romilda had enough.

She 'convinced' him to introduce her to Tom by withholding sex and teasing him, only to back away once he was flushed and bothered with a solemn 'you owe me.'

With an extreme case of blue balls, he snuck her into The Hog's Head - or, attempted to sneak her in. Of course, Aberforth had noticed immediately, and Tom was waiting for them at the entrance with crossed arms and murder on his mind.

Romilda, a clever woman, recorded their conversation and Tom's thinly-veiled threats, swearing that she would leak Tom's identity to the press if he didn't shut up about paperwork and let her join.

Exasperated, grudgingly impressed and used to blackmail when it came to hiring criminals, Tom believed he handled the ordeal with grace and steadfast professionalism

She was initiated within the hour, introduced to the others and her recording destroyed. Or, at least, the one copy Tom knew of.

Romilda brought in handmade friendship bracelets the next day, claiming they all would be the best of friends . . . or else.

Tom never wore his, but - after an intense conversation with the twins, Harry, Hermione and Tonks (Ron was excluded due to a conflict of interest) - decided she would assist them in stealing the Philosopher's Stone.

Hermione dragged herself from her thoughts as Tonks slammed on the brakes to avoid running a red light. Usually, Tonks would be ignoring traffic laws left and right, but Tom had warned her against drawing undue police attention.

"It's not me, I'm worried about," Hermione sighed, irritated. She wasn't even lying. Not really.

Their task force was becoming bigger and bigger, and alterations were being made at the last second. The more people involved, the more privy they were to human error. One misstep, bad timing, a forgotten cue - they could bring months worth of hard work crashing down.

Not for the first time, Hermione wondered why Tom would trust them with this. Harry, Hermione, Tonks, Ron and Romilda - they were just college students and interns.

They weren't trained. They weren't criminal masterminds. Not all of them, at least.

Hermione snuck a glance up at could understand why Tonks was an asset.

The girl was savvy and skilled, entirely in her element as she excitedly tapped her fingers on the steering wheel. She was impulsive, self-confident, beautiful - Hermione could go on for days listing Tonks' best qualities. She could understand why Tonks would fit in with the Death Eater's.

Harry, too, was charming, sly and one of the loyalist men she knew; in a heartbeat, he would put his life on the line for those he , Tom was head over heels for him, protective as hell, but able to maintain a healthy relationship despite Tom's more . . . illegal past times.

Tonight, Harry was remaining with Tom at The Hog's Head, running reconnaissance and manipulating matters from behind the scenes. He was useful.

Without Harry, Hermione wouldn't be here, in this dress, and Tonks wouldn't have found her 'one true calling' (as she'd waxed poetically one night.)

That made her wonder. Without Hermione, would this all have still been possible? The simple, uncomplicated answer was yes.

She wasn't necessary. Despite her vast storage of knowledge, she wasn't omniscient. Hermione wasn't a great actress, she had a moral compass that was almost debilitating at times, and she certainly wasn't a good shot. Only a short while ago, she shot her first bullet, lodging it into the left testicle of Fenrir Greyback. While hilarious and wildly praised by her peers, even that was a fluke. She'd been aiming for his leg, to slow him down, and had flinched upwards right before pulling the trigger. She had nightmares of that bullet missing Greyback and hitting Tonks instead, both girls dying a brutal death at the filthy hands of a cannibal.

Tom had an entire arsenal of trained assassins, thieves and chaotic good troublemakers at his disposal.

Why her?

Even without Hermione, Serena Zabini could've been convinced to go undercover alone. Tonks would have no entanglements holding her back. Ron and Romilda probably would have never have been dragged into this mess -

And Hermione would be alone.

She'd be just a librarian assistant, high-strung, insecure, lonely. She wouldn't have Harry as a confidant, Tonks as a - as a whatever they were.

Hermione swallowed tightly, pulse thrumming wickedly in memory of their shared kisses, their late nights together, curled up in Hermione's bed. If Hermione never met Tonks, she'd still be deeply in the closet, repressed, depressed and missing out on something wonderful.

Almost as if reading her thoughts, Tonks gave Hermione a quick smile in the mirror, pulling up in front of Grimmauld Place. "We're here," she sang. She sent a quick text to her Aunt Narcissa. "Serena will be out soon. Best cleanse your mind of all those self-doubting thoughts now before 'the games begin'," she quoted, snickering.

Oh, God. It really was happening.

Hermione leaned her forehead against Tonks' seat, taking several frantic breaths. She felt a bit queasy. The rational side of her conscience slowly began to seep in, providing steadfast reassurance, encouraging her to place her head between her knees as she swallowed back bile.

It was no good wondering her use, her necessity when, clearly, something about her made Hermione worthwhile - to Tom, to Harry, to Tonks.

She didn't know what, yet, but she supposed . . . Hermione nodded to herself, resolute.

She supposed that tonight, she'd find out.

"Wicked," is all Hermione heard, before she looked up and saw Madam Zabini swaggering out the front door.

Serena was god-like in shimmering velvet, her hair extensions plaited in a gorgeous up-do that revealed razor-sharp cheekbones.

If Hermione wasn't sure of her sexuality before, she was now. Jealously, she glanced at Tonks, who watched Serena in much the same manner of awe. Hermione felt a pang in her chest and nearly folded in on herself, when Tonks glanced back with a playful smile; the smile Hermione had fallen in love with. Tonks shrugged a slim shoulder. "She's like . . . Beyoncé," she said. "But you look way hotter."

Pleased, Hermione's cheeks flushed the color of her jumpsuit. With a click of the rear left door, Serena slipped into the limosine, smooth legs slotting into the small space. Hermione moved over diligently and gave her a shy smile.

"Hello, girls," Serena said smoothly, removing a pocket mirror from her grey hand-bag. She prodded at her lipstick with the pad of her finger, fixing a non-existent smudge. "My apologies. I was saying goodbye to Narcissa and - well, it got a bit . . . heated," she winked at Tonks. "You two understand."

Hermione gasped, affronted. "You told her about us?"

"I bragged to nearly everyone on my contact list," Tonks said unabashedly. "Hermione. Don't give me that look. You're certainly worth gloating about."

Serena watched them, eyes soft. "Ah, the honeymoon stages. Adorable. Don't worry, even when the shiny veneer begins to wear off, and you vegin to bicker every ten seconds, the make-up sex will still be amazing."

"We already bicker every ten seconds," Hermione grumbled, crossing her arms.

"Hm. I suppose I know how the sex is, then."

Putting the car into drive, Tonks smirked at Hermione's clear outrage. She changed the subject, taking pity. "How's the baby? You know, Cousin Tonks is always available to babysit." Hermione snorted quietly from the backseat. Tonks made an affronted noise. "What? I'm great with kids."

Serena leaned her head back. "Narcissa and I might just take you up on that. Parenting is different than it was twenty years ago. Its apparently frowned upon now to dope your baby with rum to get a good night's sleep."

The scary part was, Hermione wasn't sure if she was joking. But as Serena eased herself into conversation, complaining and cracking sardonic jokes, Hermione had a stark epiphany.

Despite her deadly passions and intimidating beauty, Serena Zabini was no goddess. She was passionate, loyal and courageous beyond belief, but she wasn't infallible. She was fucking exhausted - that much they could tell, even behind her copious makeup. In the dim light of the car, her fingers stained with lipstick, a spare eyelash on her cheek, she was just . . . human.

As was Tom, as were the twins, as were Harry, Tonks and Hermione. They were smart, determined, and frankly greedy humans, willing to do whatever it took to get the job done.

As Tonks cracked a joke and Serena bit out a muffled snicker, Hermione felt herself relax.

They'd be just fine.

When they reached the heavily patrolled exhibit, showcased in the outskirts of London city, Tonks told them to get their game faces on.

The building was an architectural masterpiece amidst skyscrapers, affixed with a large garden and a driveway for guests to be dropped off at the door. It was a ballroom for the elite, and Hermione felt out of place, just in the drive.

"Fashionably late, eh?" a security guard, peering out of a booth, gave Tonks a quick once-over, glaring.

"Terribly sorry," Tonks put on a demurring, deeply thick Irish accent. "There was an incident on the way here," she lied. "We're her now." The less information, the better.

He took their invites through the open window and inspected them shrewdly with a small torchlight.

"Do hurry up," Serena drawled from beside Tonks, thrumming her nails against her knee. It was astoundingly easy for her to play the part of a rich bitch. "I'm famished.

Watching her movements carefully, Hermione mimicked her pompous expression, leaning boredly against the window.

The guard gave a thin smile, handing the card back. "Enjoy the exhibit," he said sarcastically, clapping the car's roof. Tonks slowly pulled through the gardens, the setting sun casting a gorgeous gleam across the bubbling fountains and pure-white, early blooming lilac bushes.

She drove slowly down the drive, reaching a large set of doors, intricately carved. A sign reading Magic is Might in sparkling golden font directed them inside.

"Good luck," Tonks said mildly, unlocking the doors. She watched carefully as her passengers ascended the marble steps. The skirt of Hermione's train rippled behind her, and the girl waved an idle hand behind her, lips pressed in an expression Tonks recognized - it was the expression Hermione wore moments before pulling the trigger, castrating Greyback. She was fucking ready to raise some hell.

Tonks blew her a kiss.

Fighting proud tears, she sidled around the corner of the building. Tonks parked beside a large rubbish bin; the only thing even vaguely unclean about the entire building. Releasing the brake shift, Tonks brought down the small overhead mirror and removed the military cap from her head.

Her hair fell in a sheen of dark hair, extended and straight, much unlike her usual short, pink waves. She rather liked the new look. Tossing the cap aside, she opened the glove compartment and removed a thick, heavy tool belt, a black ski mask, and of course, a gun. Just to be safe.

She'd almost gone with a fanny pack, but Harry found the idea horrifying and couldn't bare to watch her attempt to buy one at an old woman's garage sale. 'A tool belt would be just as effective!' he had told her, green eyes wide with the very idea of a fashion faux pas. Tonks only smiled mysteriously at him, infuriating him more at her seeming lack of fashion sense.

Please, Tonks thought, stepping out of the car. She checked her reflection in the glossy limousine exterior. In the all-black suit, clunky tool belt and all, she looked damn hot.

There came a muffled cough, and a polite pounding noise. Rolling her eyes, Tonks checked to insure no one was watching.

Tonks had methodically timed their late arrival, to insure everyone else had arrived and the security guards were lax. However, that security guard gave the impression of being the sort to tase Tonks at even the smallest perceived misdeed. Thankfully, the car was hidden out of sight and in the shadows, but even the walls had eyes.

Glancing up at a security camera tucked discretely into the corner, Tonks gave it a thumb's up. From a distant vehicle, George faithfully switched off the camera and at least two others in her vicinity. The blinking red light halted, and Tonks swooped around back of the car, throwing open the trunk.

She looked Colin Creevey up and down. The kid, weedy, blonde and pimple-faced, was curled up comfortably with a superman pillow beneath his head, an open bag of crisps in his lap and his phone illuminating his greasy face. For Colin to agree to this, all she had to do was pay him half in advance and set up a wifi hotspot, and he was golden.

"Who was that girl with you?" he asked around a mouthful of crisps, having been privy to most their conversations, due to the poor soundproofing of the interior walls. "I watched her walk away through the keyhole - she has quite the sway to her hips," he said lecherously.

In the past, she may have agreed and cracked a euphemismistic joke about how those hips certainly didn't lie . . . but Hermione was hers now. And Tonks wasn't one to share.

Glaring, she helped the boy climb from the luggage compartment. He brushed the salt off his clothing, a nearly-identical suit to hers, except his was wrinkled and stained. "Curiosity kills the cat, Creevey. She could shoot your balls in."

His eyes lit up. "Oh! So she's the one who shot Greyback in the cobblers? Wow."

"Yeah, she's also my girlfriend," she scowled, bringing the ski mask over her head. She hoped it made her look intimidating, but the kid only seemed amused.

"You look like you make a hobby of raiding convenience stores. Hey, to finish the ensemble, just put your hand in your pocket to pretend you're armed - " he proceeded to mimic the action, saying 'pew, pew!'.

Tonks yanked the 9 mm pistol from her waistband and cocked it, the sound echoing. "This look fake to you?" she waved it in his face, the boy's mouth falling open.

"Well," Colin composed himself, safe in the knowledge the gun wasn't really meant for him. "That works too."

Getting the hint his company wasn't wanted, he held his hand out for his payment. Tonks forked over nearly a hundred pounds - stolen, of course. Licking his pointer finger, though it was greasy enough from the crisps, he counted them out. "Alright," he hummed, pleased. "Thanks for this, and thank your girlfriend for me. That son of a bitch she shot killed my dad and mauled my baby brother."

"Your dad, a child pornographer," Tonks reminded him, frank and unamused.

He palmed the cash, shrugging uncomfortably, looking pointedly at the gun she'd reholstered. "We all have our faults."

Tonks released a sharp-toothed smile, not ready to fight him on this right now. Little idiot still needed to grow up quite a bit. "I guess I'll see him in hell, then. Go," she gestured to the car. "Get out of here, before they get suspicious. You're a good kid," she added. "I hope this doesn't kick-start your life of crime."

Walking backwards, Colin saluted her. Hopping in front of the limo, he whistled, fondling the polished, leather bound steering wheel. "Sweet ride."

"Lucky for you. It's yours for the next three hours," Tonks said over her shoulder, approaching the brick wall of the Magic is Might exhibition. "Bring it back by midnight, Cinderella."

"Hey!"

Ignoring him, Tonks lifted a hand to her bluetooth, flicking the little switch to turn it on. "Bubblegum Bitch, in position," she, using a loose brick as a hand-hold. Good thing she was an expert at recreational rock climbing. Wow. So very fortunate.

Quietly, Hermione chimed in, tone hushed. "Shakespeare and The Black Widow in transit. We're entering the exhibit."

"Er, I'm here as well," Ron said awkwardly. "With George - sorry, sorry - 'The Holy Ghost," he said, irritated. "And 'The Love Doctor', too . . . and, um, well. I know I should've gone before, but I kind of have to pee."

Six feet in the air, dangling from a window sill, Tonks groaned.

To be continued . . .