Last chapter for the day...heh...
Thankfully, none of Hydra's friends or family judged her for her lapse of judgement the night of Blaise's Ball. She didn't know what changed their minds; be it the guilty way she held herself or the black tear tracks on her face. Perhaps it was because Tom had found Vega and Hermes and brought them to her on the balcony.
All she knew was that they gave her no pity and that something had changed that night.
No longer did her family try to destroy Tom in the Ministry. No longer was her father planning horrific pranks to put him through. All of the attention of the Black and Potter Estates had switched to Historia and the Nott family.
She wasn't too sure what was happening on that front since she was so busy finishing preparations for work—traveling the world to get visas from other Ministries and Magical Conclaves—but from what she caught at the one family dinner she had been able to attend since the Ball, they were pulling all support from the Nott's newest bill.
Life continued in a whirlwind of travel, and then it was the night before she was to report to the ICWA for the first time.
Hydra stared into the flames and let her mind wander from subject to subject, each one more confusing and worrying than the last—each one always drifting back to Tom.
A figure sat on the sofa next to her. "You look like you're contemplating throwing yourself into the flames," Abraxas commented lightly as he threw his arm over her shoulders.
"That thought was fifteen subjects ago."
"What changed your mind?"
"I wondered what I'd feel like if Tom threw himself into the flames."
"And?"
She shrugged. "Didn't like the way it made me feel so I changed the subject."
Abraxas laughed. "That's . . . surprisingly a lot like you."
"Should I be insulted?"
"No," Hermes said from the doorway. He leaned against the frame and smiled at her. "Are you excited?"
She shrugged. "I guess."
He stepped into the room and squeezed between her and Abraxas. She laughed as Hermes threw his arm over her shoulders and elbowed Abraxas in the gut when he did the same to Hermes. "What do you mean, I guess?" he mocked lightly. He turned to Abraxas. "I swear to all that is holy if you don't stop touching me, you're dead."
Abraxas tugged on one of the loose curls that had escaped Hermes ponytail. Hermes did try and bite the older man, but he was too fast—which was good when one considered his profession of wrestling with dangerous animals most days. "Oh, darling, don't be like that. You're breaking my heart over here."
Hermes landed a fist into Abraxas' groin. The Malfoy Heir whimpered before he rolled off the couch. "I told you," Hermes grumbled. Abraxas began to crawl out of the room. He turned to Hydra. "Now you. Answer me before I do something rash."
Hydra laughed. "I'm not as excited as I was when I got the job because the prep the last few weeks has kind of taken the rosy tint that I had of the job away."
Her brother scoffed. "No, it hasn't. You've just been prepping to be able to work there. It's an international organization, Hyde. You have to be able to go into every Ministry's jurisdiction to do your job." She shrugged a shoulder. "Hydra, you're the youngest Curser they've hired in centuries. Not only are you going to be breaking Curses, but you're also going to be placing them. You could even be a Warder if the situation is tough because of your inability to stop learning."
"Hey!" she cut in, "you have that too!"
"Yes, I will admit that. But surely, you're excited when you think about it like that."
She shrugged, he poked her side, and she giggled. "Alright, fine. Yes, I'm excited to start."
"Good. Because the bastard and I got you a present."
"Wow, you and Abraxas working together? If I hadn't just seen you wipe out his ability to have children, I'd think the world was coming to an end."
"I didn't hit him that hard," Hermes grumbled.
"What did you get me?" she asked in a weak attempt to distract him.
He perked up slightly. "It's in the other room, but you have to close your eyes and keep them closed, alright?"
She groaned and sat up to release him. She rolled her eyes. "Fine." She closed them and he left the room. He came back a few minutes later, his footsteps more hesitant. "Hermes? What's wrong? Can I open my eyes yet?"
"No! Don't you dare!" Abraxas shouted from wherever he was.
She groaned again and kept them closed. Hermes breathed deeply before he knelt in front of her, and while she desperately wanted to open her eyes—
He kissed her.
She recoiled and opened her eyes. She froze when she saw Tom knelt in front of her.
He smiled at her and ran his fingers through her loose hair. "I've missed you," he murmured. He ran a hand along her jaw and cupped the side of her neck.
. . . give in to him . . . let him woo you . . .
Her nose began to burn. "I've missed you, too." She hesitantly wrapped her arms around his shoulders and hugged him. He breathed a sigh of relief against her neck before he wrapped his arms tight around her waist and nearly pulled her off the couch. She looked at the doorway and saw Hermes and Abraxas grinning at them. She smiled back. "Thank you."
They smiled before they walked away, arguing between themselves.
She buried her face into Tom's neck and pressed a soft kiss to his skin. He shuttered against her and held her tighter. "Why are you here?" she asked softly.
He let her go and stood. She mourned the loss of his touch before he sat down next to her and pulled her back into his arms. He growled softly and lifted her onto his lap, so she sat across it. "Granger-Black and Abraxas came to my home and told me you start work tomorrow and that due to your schedule, you wouldn't be seen by the public for a while." She rested her head against his shoulder as he shrugged. "Since those seem to be the only times we meet, I agreed when they invited me over. Honestly, the way Abraxas glared at me, I don't think I really had a choice."
She laughed and began to play with his fingers. "How long are you staying?"
"Until you leave for work."
She glanced at the portkey on her left wrist which now had a clock installed on it. It was set to the time zone of her current job location, which was ICWA Headquarters—which was in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean. It was a little after 3 PM there, and she didn't report until midnight.
Why midnight? She had no idea. All she knew was that she had to leave at 5 AM her time to get there on time and that food would be provided. "I leave at five in the morning. Are you sure you want to stay that long? Won't you be missed?" Acid ate at her throat.
Tom tilted her face up and kissed her softly. "Darling, I live alone, remember? Well . . . mostly alone. I live with my snake, Nagini. She's the only one who's going to miss me. I'll get an earful tomorrow—" Her heart stuttered in her chest as her fangs began to ache. "—but it'll be fine as long as I spend the time with you, my princess."
She pulled away from him and stared. "You speak Parseltongue?" she demanded.
He smiled and stroked her cheek. "Yes, darling. I am depicted as a snake on both of our Soulmarks."
So was she.
She felt like screaming.
"No," she started, "I don't believe you," she hissed.
His eyes dilated. "Say that again," he hissed back. His hand curled into the hair at the base of her head. He tilted her head back to bare her neck.
He pressed a kiss to the column of her throat as she laughed. "I thought I was the only one left. I didn't think anyone else could speak it here in Britain," she whispered.
He laughed and peppered kisses up her neck to her mouth. "Oh, my darling Hydra. I'm sure that the two of us are the only ones who can speak it."
He kissed her again, and she gave into him, completely and eagerly. She wasn't willing to fight him tonight of all nights—she likely wouldn't fight him ever again after this (. . . let him woo you . . .). Unlike every other kiss they had shared—where it was either soft and full of begging and longing or hard, full of want, need, and desire so strong it nearly killed her—the kiss was full of love and pure adoration.
She didn't love Tom. She knew that just as she knew who she was. She knew what love was—familial love, friendly love, romantic love. What she felt for Tom, wasn't love. There was so much pain whenever she thought about him for the feelings she had for him to be love. But . . . despite that, she knew she cared about him. Deeply.
What she felt for Tom was so foreign, so different, she couldn't even begin to name it. Maybe one day, when—if he broke off the engagement with Historia, she'd be able to figure it out, but for now . . . for now they were just feelings. Feelings that happened to be so all-consuming, she didn't want to fight him anymore because they were as lovely as they were painful.
Her hand curled around his neck as his tongue did something sinful—something that made her eyes roll into the back of her head—as her other hand began to semi-unconsciously undo the buttons of his shirt. He growled softly, pulled away, and bit at her neck while he tugged at her shirt until it came out from where she had tucked it into her pants and had access to her Soulmark. He splayed his hands on it as she straddled his lap.
She moaned softly when he bit her neck hard, and his canines—which she now suspected to be his fangs from his Parseltongue heritage—nearly pierced her skin.
She pulled away and pushed herself to her knees so she could hover over him. Something hot curled in her stomach at the dominance the position gave her. She kissed him again, not allowing him to take control like he usually did. His grip was almost painful as a deep groan filled her mouth and he jerked under her.
She pulled away and rested her forehead against his. "Did you know," she started, breathless, "that you can control the length of your fangs?"
He looked at her confused. She laughed and kissed him again before she placed her hands on his bare shoulders. She pulled away from him and shook her head until her hair hung around them in a curtain of privacy.
Her family was unaware of her fangs, and she wanted to keep it that way for as long as possible.
She opened her mouth and curled her upper lip away from her teeth. With barely a thought spared, her canines began to elongate. They grew longer and sharper until the tips were needle-point thin.
At their full length, her fangs were an inch long, and unlike fully matured male Pareselmouths, she didn't have venom—which she considered a good thing since she had read that growing venom sacs came with intense hormones.
Tom stared at her wide-eyed. He hesitantly reached a hand up and ran his thumb along her right fang. She held as still as she possibly could in their current position so she wouldn't hurt him, but he seemed to want that, because he drug his thumb along the tip of her fang and cut the entire pad of it. She shivered at the sensation and tightened her hold on him as her back arched against her will. Blood filled her mouth, but unlike normal injuries that cause blood to be in the mouth, blood drawn by her fangs tasted sweet and was almost addicting.
She retracted her fangs to half-length and pulled his thumb into her mouth. Her saliva healed the cut as she ran her tongue along it.
She had tested what her saliva could and couldn't heal when she discovered its healing properties in fourth year. It could only heal injuries made by her fangs—which was useful whenever she lost control of her emotions and cut herself—or injuries caused by serpents.
Tom pressed his thumb against her tongue and pushed it down as he slowly pulled it out of her mouth. It scraped against her bottom teeth. He brushed her hair behind her ear and ran his thumb along her bottom lip. "That was quite possibly the sexiest thing that I have ever seen," he bluntly stated.
She flushed and smiled shyly. "Surely it's not," she said with a soft laugh. Her tongue licked nervously at her right fang.
He lurched under her before he buried his fingers deep in her hair and captured her lips in a painful clash of fangs and tongue that stole her breath away. He grasped her hip in one hand, her waist in the other, and picked her up and laid her out on the couch before he crawled on top of her. Before she could grow embarrassed or self-conscious about their position, he continued to kiss her, bite her, and wreck her with his mouth.
The kiss was blood.
The kiss was pain.
The kiss was everything that it had never been before as his knees came to rest on either side of hers and one arm curled under her neck while his free hand cupped her face. He pressed his body fully against hers, crushing her, but not, and shifted his hand to hold her neck.
A high-pitched whine left her throat.
He pulled away, no space between them, and looked at her with blown eyes. His mouth was covered in blood, and she was sure hers was too. The loose grip around her neck tightened. "You are the most beautiful woman that I have ever met, Hydra." He ran his fingers through her hair and kissed her again. "You are everything," he whispered before he began to devour her soul once more.
Their kiss was broken by giggles and offended grumbles.
She looked around Tom to see her family standing in front of the floo. Abraxas and Hermes were beyond pleased with themselves—they also had the rest of her family in between the two of them—her mother and Uncle Remus looked happy, while her father and younger brothers looked ready to kill.
"You two need to go to your room—" Were they not murderous towards Tom? "—and you missy, need to get some sleep," her father commanded. "It needs to be sooner rather than later," he urged when neither she nor Tom moved. "Fine. We got an official request from the Ex from Hell and his Demonic Sister asking to see you before work tomorrow. We'll intercept, but it'll only work if you two aren't seen," he whined as he waved a letter.
"Wait—who?" Tom asked.
"Theo and Historia," she answered flippantly.
The men in her family harbored an unnatural hatred for Theo, and everyone despised Historia after she—
Hydra nodded and pushed Tom off of her. He grabbed his shirt from where it had been trapped between two cushions and the two left the room as the floo chimed. She grabbed Tom's hand and the two ran through the house to the back stairs, far away from the floo.
They were laughing softly as they came to a stop at the bottom of the stairs. "That was close," she gasped. She began to walk up the steps, but on the second step, Tom grabbed her hand and turned her around.
He pressed his lips to hers in a gentle, loving kiss. She sighed and wrapped her arms around his neck. He pushed her against the wall and held onto her hips as he ran his tongue along her bottom lip. Her tongue met his and she was lost to a world of pleasure as his hands slowly lifted her shirt.
Their stomachs pressed together, and she pulled away with a gasp at the zing of coarse magic that coursed through her at the contact. He smiled wickedly at her and pressed his knee between her thighs and kissed her again. Their skin touched once more, and again, magic filled her veins.
"What—why?" she demanded when he pulled away again.
"The Bond, most likely," he panted. His fingers ran circles along her hips, and more tingly magic filled her.
"We should—my room—go?"
He laughed and kissed her neck, just below her ear. "Lead the way."
She grabbed his hand and twined their fingers together before she led him up the stairs.
"You know," he started, "your father seems much more pleasant at home than he does at the Ministry."
"What do you mean?"
He tried to put his shirt on, but she stole it from him and held it up to her nose, unaware of the look he gave her. "He's just . . . intimidating there. It hasn't helped that recently he's been opposing every bill that Theodore proposes or shows great interest in."
"Really? I knew they were pulling support from a bill, but I had no idea."
He ran a hand down her back and pulled her into his side. "It's not your fault. But yes, that's what happens. Typically, whenever he proposes a bill it either gets passed or put under revision because he has a way with words. Most of the Light families ask him to propose their bills, but the last two that he's proposed, Lord Black has found legitimate problems on them. Not only that, in the last meeting, he brought up seven past bills that Theodore created, and pointed out all of the problems they've created in society and has demanded that they be rectified or removed completely."
Hydra pushed open the door to her bedroom. She laughed at Tom's shock of the door just appearing under her hand. "Isn't that how the Wizengamot's supposed to work? Creating new problems and then fixing them?" she asked softly as her door closed behind them.
He pressed her against it and kissed her deeply. "It is," he answered after kissing her for who-knows how long. "But, it's difficult to explain."
She held his hands. "I'm willing to listen if you want."
He sighed. "Lord Black is so powerful it's terrifying. The moment he demanded that those bills be looked at, it started a domino effect. The Malfoy, Zabini, Greengrass, Parkinson, Smith, Crabbe, Goyal, Tauris, and Nightingale Estates all demanded that they be looked at as well. Then that started another domino effect where all of the Dark and Neutral families want them looked at, and even a portion of the Light families want them looked at." He released her hands and ran his fingers through her hair. "This crap is so useless and complicated, it's almost like there's some innate sense you high-born are all born with."
She ran a hand over his cheek and summoned the men's night clothes that were left on her bed. She handed them to him and sent him behind the changing screen. "What happened to those two new bills?"
"They were rejected due to the flaws that your father had found." He came out from behind the screen, wearing only the pants, and hugged her. She pressed her face against his chest and her right hand against his Soulmark. He began to relax as she gritted her teeth against the pain—it hurt worse to touch it than she remembered.
"Why does this upset you so much?"
He ran his fingers through her hair. "It feels like there's something that I need to know, but no one will tell me. On top of that, I'm worried what will happen to the Nott family if people stop supporting them."
She tilted her head up and kissed his chest, just below his clavicle. "I'm sure nothing bad will happen. The Notts are strong. They always have been, and they probably always will be." She pulled away from him and pulled out a dark cotton nightgown from her dresser. It would be warm, but she wasn't willing to wear what she usually wore to bed around Tom. "Historia and her father have especially been strong."
H snorted. "Did you just compliment Historia? I thought you hated her."
She grumbled as she stepped behind the changing screen and began to strip. "I do hate her. I dream about her death often, actually. But, despite my severe hatred, I can respect some qualities she has. Like, not knowing when to give up."
(—no! Please, stop—)
She pulled her hair out of the nightgown and moved to her dressing table and began to brush her hair from the ends up.
Tom came to stand behind her. Her eyes fell on the scar on his forearm. "That sounds like there's a story behind that statement."
Far too many.
"When I was a third year, she a seventh year, we got into a duel. I won, but she refused to give up until I knocked her out."
His eyebrows raised. "You got into a duel?"
"Oh, yeah. It happens all of the time in Ravenclaw."
He took the brush from her and began to gently brush her hair, copying the movements she had been doing. "I've never done this before, so tell me if I'm doing it wrong, okay?" She nodded and closed her eyes. "In Slytherin, there's a hierarchy. It changes often, and by show of power." She winced when he caught a tangle, and he apologized under his breath.
"I know," she said simply. "Vega told me about it. Said it changes about every three months, right?"
"Yes. The only time that I can think of someone staying in power for longer than three months was when I claimed it and held it from fourth year until I graduated."
She smiled and resisted the urge to lean back into him. "Impressive. Vega held it for the latter half of sixth year and the entirety of seventh year."
He hummed softly. "Does Ravenclaw have a hierarchy?"
"Yes. I think Hufflepuff is the only one without a true hierarchy. In Ravenclaw, the Head Raven is Head Boy or Head Girl. If both happen to be Ravenclaws, they have to share the power. After them it's Quidditch Captain—I was Head Raven in sixth year. After that the prefects are in charge, oldest to youngest, and then everyone else is equal. Obviously, the younger years have less say, but their opinions can still affect how the inner-House is run."
"Wait—where do the duels come into play?"
She laughed deeply. He finished brushing her hair and she quickly tied it into a braid. She spun on the seat to face him and grinned. "Someone learned a new spell and wants to test it out. Multiple duels happen every day, to the point that if there hasn't been a duel by the end of the day, someone will start a duel. There are so many Wards around the Common Room to protect the furniture it's ridiculous." She stood and grabbed his hand and led him over to her bed.
"What about the students? Are there Wards to protect them?" They climbed into her bed and snuggled close. He tried to wrap his left arm around her while he was propped up on his right, but she grabbed it and held it between the two of them. She ran her fingers along the horrible scar before she pressed a gentle kiss to the raised flesh. He shuttered against her before he grabbed her chin and kissed her. When he pulled away, he wrapped his arm around her and continued to press kisses to her skin.
"What were we talking about?" she asked softly.
He laughed. "Wards protecting students in Ravenclaw."
"Oh, right. There aren't any. Shield charms are the first spells that Ravenclaws master in their first year."
He scoffed and ran his hand along her side. "That explains why you lot are so smart. You have to learn to protect yourself."
She wheezed at that. "You have—no—idea!" she choked out between howls of laughter. "There was this one time . . ."
The next two hours, until they both fell asleep, they told each other stories from their days at Hogwarts and from their childhoods. Some stories had them laughing until their stomachs hurt, and other had tears in their eyes.
"Can I tell you something?" she murmured, half asleep.
"O' course."
"I'm scared of pools of water. Bathtubs are okay, because I can see the bottom of the tub, but lakes, rivers, oceans—anything deep and dark makes my skin crawl."
"Why?"
"I . . . was pushed into the Black Lake when I was 13. I . . . panicked and forgot how to swim. I nearly drowned . . . the squid saved me." It wasn't even a fraction of the story, but it hurt too much to tell it. "Even being around dark water makes me squirm unless I'm with someone I trust."
Tom pressed a sleepy kiss against her forehead. "I'll protect you, love. Nothing will hurt you."
She fell asleep against him, peace in her soul.
-|}(){|-
When Hydra woke up to her internal alarm at four, Tom was still with her. One arm was under her neck and wrapped up and over her shoulders while his other arm was draped over her side and back. His chin rested on top of her head where she had curled into him, and the hair on the back of her head moved lightly with each even exhale.
She resisted the urge to wrap around him like a squid and carefully slid out of his hold. She thought she had been successful at not waking him when his hand grabbed hers just as she was about to stand. "Do you really have to get up now?" he groggily asked.
She groaned. "Trust me, I want nothing more than to stay in bed with you, especially if you keep speaking with that voice," she said softly. She crawled back to him and kissed him gently. "But I have to shower for work."
He growled low in his chest. "Can I at least stay here? It's comfortable."
She laughed softly and kissed him again. "You said you'd stay until I left. I'd be very disappointed if you left without saying goodbye." He smiled tiredly at her and kissed the palm of her hand before he finally allowed her to leave.
At 4:30—the fastest shower in the world when dealing with the monstrosity of that which was Potter hair—she was wrapped in two towels, one for her hair and one for her body. She peaked out of the bathroom to see if Tom was asleep and decided that his still form with his head semi-covered by his arm meant that he was asleep. If he wasn't . . . well . . . dammit.
Another glance at her watch told her that she didn't have time to contemplate Tom's consciousness. She sighed, tiptoed out of the bathroom, turned the light off with a flick of her hand, and quickly made her way to her closet where she pulled out her uniform and began to dress in the dark.
It was perhaps the first and only time she regretted giving her old room—which was larger and had a walk-in closet—to Hermes.
First to be struggled on underneath the towel was a pair of high-waisted underwear made of black dragon skin that went down to her midthigh in some muggle shorts kind of fashion. She stumbled and caught herself as a rush of magic hit her. She grabbed onto the towel with one hand and clothing in her closet with the other.
She breathed for a few moments before she decided to try and function. She released the towel and clothing and quickly pulled a fitted bra over her head. The black dragon skin bra writhed against her skin for a moment before it comfortably cupped her breasts, and she fell to the ground as she pulled the hem of it the rest of the way down. The bra covered her from the hollow of her throat to the waistband of the underwear and the entirety of her upper back.
She shook the towel off her head and placed her head between her knees. She breathed for a while before she groped around for the pants. It was made of the same material as her Training Uniform—some magic-proof black material that moved like water. She guessed it was made out of a mix of Acromantula silk and dragon hair to get it that way. She slipped her feet into the pants and got them halfway up her legs before she fell back on the floor.
When Chadwick said that the training uniform was nothing compared to the actual uniform, he hadn't been joking.
Fingers ran through her hair. "Need help?" Tom asked softly.
She groaned and got the pants three more inches up before she started to cry. "I can't do this, Tom," she whined. "If I can't even get dressed," she slurred, "how am I supposed to work?
He lifted her into his lap and pulled her pants up while he did so. The fabric writhed against her skin for a moment before it began to cling to her in an obscene way—she'd get used to it. Tight clothes always took getting used to.
"You have 6 months of training before you start doing any real work, remember?" he murmured into her ear. She weakly nodded. "Now, you're going to breathe. Just breathe darling. Focus on me."
She laughed weakly and nuzzled his neck. "Love, you're part of the problem." He kissed her neck, and her back arched. "No more of that," she gasped. He pouted but pulled away. "Can you . . . help me with my shirt?"
"Of course, darling."
He moved her off of his lap and stood. She put her head between her knees once more and counted her breathing. Tom knelt next to her once more and ran his hand down her back. "I'm so weak," she whispered.
"No. You're not. You are the strongest woman I've ever met, Hydra. You'll just have to go through some adjustment. It's normal and natural."
It took a moment, but she was able to lift her head and take the shirt—a sleeveless turtleneck—from his hands. She got her head through the neck before her body became limp once more and she flopped back against the floor. "Tom," she whined. "I can't feel my body."
He straddled her hips and sat her up. One arm stayed propped on her back while the other slowly dressed her. "I'm so proud of you, darling." He ran his hands through her hair as he pulled it out of her shirt. "When you're ready, I grabbed the rest of your uniform."
"You demonic saint," she groaned.
He laughed. "Don't say such things."
"Why not?"
"Because I have the urge to show you exactly how arousing your outfit is. Saying things like that . . . makes me want to show you how 'demonic' I can be."
She squirmed in his hold. "No thanks. I can barely breathe as is, I don't need you torturing me." She breathed for a moment. "Can you get me the gloves?"
"Are you sure?"
"I'll be late if I wait any longer. I need to finish getting dressed."
He kissed her hair and sat next to her. He pulled her onto his lap and slid her right glove on. It covered her entire arm and fused with the shirt so there was no exposed skin. She blacked out for a moment while it was fusing, but when she opened her eyes, the left glove was on, and the portkey was somehow on top of the glove. His fingers were laced with hers, and he rocked them slowly from side to side.
"You're amazing," she murmured.
"You're amazing."
She laughed. "I think I'd be struggling just as much even if you weren't here. This uniform is so much more sensitive than my other one that they failed me on prepping for this."
"Doesn't change my opinion. You're amazing, Hydra."
"Sock me."
He grabbed her thigh and pulled her leg towards him. He rolled a black sock—made of the same material as her pants, shirt, and gloves—onto her foot. The sock and pants fused together, and she nearly blacked out again. She was aware enough to feel Tom's hands on her as he carefully dressed her. She was aware of how he ran his hands up her legs, over the sides of her thighs, and to her hips where he pulled her closer to him. A hand ran up her torso to lightly grip her neck while another hand wrapped around her waist.
"Boo's," she slurred.
"No, you need to become more aware before we continue any further. I don't want to risk Straining you."
She groaned but curled into his arms. "Time?"
"Doesn't matter. Rest, princess." He whispered sweet nothings in her ear between coaching her breathing and sending her focus to different parts of the room—mainly the floor that her feet rested upon, but it still worked.
"Can we do boots now?" she asked exasperated.
He laughed and helped her stand. She walked over to a box that Bixby had placed on top of a trunk and lifted the lid. Inside two thigh-high boots with a small, wedged heel—barely half an inch—rested on top of a jacket. All the items were made of dull gray dragon skin and pulsed with magic.
"I'm going to die."
"I won't allow that."
"The boots and jacket were the most magic sensitive articles of clothing on my Training Uniform—I can feel their magic, and I'm not even touching them."
"Start focusing on your breathing now," he instructed.
She lifted a boot out of the box, and a thick piece of folded parchment fell to the floor. Tom stooped to pick it up. "What does it say?"
He handed it to her.
Hydra,
No one else is to touch these until after you've worn them for the first time.
I look forward to meeting you.
Clarrissé Strongheim
Director of the ICWA
She groaned. "You can't touch these," she grumbled.
Tom pressed a kiss to her head. "Then I'll support you as best I can."
She balanced on her right foot and slid her left foot into the boot. It was far too large, but once her foot settled on the ground, the boot tightened to squeeze her leg. It ended midthigh, just an inch over the hem of the underwear so her entire left leg was encased in dragon skin. The color shifted to a bright, vibrant blue—the Curser signification.
She felt like she was punched in the chest and stomach with a bolder as she tipped forward, her breath completely gone. Tom grabbed her hips and held her up as she struggled to remember basic body functions.
Eventually she reached for the other boot and stumbled into it. She blacked out for a moment, the magic too much to handle before everything suddenly lessened. She still felt like she was being crushed from every which way, but everything was suddenly bearable. She was able to stand on her own two feet and feel like a not-failure of a witch.
"Okay?" Tom asked.
"Yeah, yeah. Everything's good." Her breathing was still labored, and her stomach hurt, but she was good.
She glanced at her watch and cursed softly. She was late. She grabbed the cropped jacket and shrugged it on, and it too, turned into a vibrant blue. She turned to Tom and hugged him.
"Bad idea," she groaned when she turned into a metaphorical puddle of goop.
Tom just laughed and kissed her. Her back arched as a high moan escaped her lips, and she lost all control of her fangs. They caught on his bottom lip as he pulled away. "You're boosting my ego here," he teased.
"Oops." He laughed deeply. "By the way, you're going to get thrown into the hallway once I leave if you don't leave now."
He smiled. "Worth it." He kissed her again and licked at her right fang. "I think I love these," he muttered before he licked the left one and forced her into a deep kiss that had her mind spinning.
She pulled away from him and stepped back. "I have to go to work. I'm late."
"Only by five minutes."
"I'm still late!" she cried out. She smiled at him as she activated her portkey. "Thanks, Tom."
"Of course, princess."
Hydra landed on her back in the middle of a group of people.
Cheers echoed around her as Chadwick, Jensen, and Skye approached her. The three lifted her up and held her between them. "I told you she'd react the same as other hires!" Chadwick cheered. "Pay up, suckers."
"Wait—you knew this would happen?" she hissed.
"I warned you."
"That warning wasn't sufficient you bastard!" He stepped back; his hands raised.
Deep laughter was her only warning before she was ripped from Chadwick. She was turned to face a man with dark skin and long hair in dreads. "Well met, little Speaker, well met."
"You—what—I give up."
"Oh, don't give up now," a voice started. The room fell silent. "You have so much potential it would be a waste." A beautiful woman stopped in front of her and held out her hand. It was smooth and cool to the touch, almost like stone, as Hydra shook it. The woman's hair was long and straight. The color was originally a deep brown, but now had streaks of white through it—it almost reminded Hydra of a waterfall. Her makeup was bold, glittery, and made her eyes look like a feline's—the elongated pupil surrounded by pink helped lend to that imagery. "As for expecting you to be late, they all expected you to be hours late, not minutes."
"Is that . . . good? That I got here only slightly late?"
"Oh, yes. It shows you have power, Hydra Black." The woman released her hand. "It's a pleasure to finally meet you."
"You too . . ."
"Ah, forgive me. How rude. Clarrissé Strongheim, Director of the ICWA."
Cheers, louder than when she arrived, started up when a crest formed over the left flap of her jacket.
"Welcome to the family," Chadwick whispered in her ear.
Hydra looked around the room. Tears welled in her eyes as Chadwick rubbed her shoulder.
Was every member there to greet her?
Clarrissé stood on her other side and leaned in close.
"Yes."
Clarrissé is pronounces claire-is-SAY
It's a weird ending, but I wrote all of this as one thing and then split it into chapters before the second rewrite, and I decided to split it here for some reason.
Hope you liked it :)