(A/N): Hey everyone! Hope all is well with you! My life has been a mess these past few weeks. Between moving, hurting my back, work nonsense, and some very unexpected and expensive bills, I've been feeling the strain. Hopefully things are all uphill from here xD (am I laughing? I've been practicing)

Thanks to RubiSlippers, Lost O'Fallon Girl, peachx89, AnnoyinglyGrizzly, Nessa Kane, and jocillyria for reviewing! I'm glad to hear you're loving this story and that you're all also falling in love with Slade because it's funner if we're all suffering together.

Some dialogue has been taken from Arrow S1E16.

All the hugs to Catzandbookz8 for being fine with me sending her things that will hurt her. I warn her first though, so that makes it fine, right?

Thanks for reading! Enjoy!

Slade was a monster and Hermione hated him. Him and his ridiculous bamboo sticks. If she was Harry, she'd have told Slade where he could lodge his sticks an hour ago. But she wasn't Harry, she was Hermione, and that meant that she simply tightened her grip on her piece of bamboo and ignored the stinging red mark on her arm as she readied herself for Slade's next move.

At least he hadn't gone for her face. Yet.

"Again," Slade snapped.

Hermione rolled her eyes but lifted her right hand, preparing to lash out first in yet another futile attempt to get the first hit. She hated attacking first.

As per Slade's usual pattern, he easily stopped her stick with one of his own and then struck out at her slowly enough with the other so that she could meet it. They fell into a simple, repetitive pattern of attacking and countering with their sticks. Slade always waited until Hermione was unconsciously lulled into a false sense of security, accidentally believing that she had figured out his movement pattern and the amount of force behind his blows, before striking out unexpectedly with a quick and vicious hit.

I am not falling for that again, she silently vowed to herself.

The first time was understandable since she had been a little confused after Slade had thrown two long bamboo rods at her and challenged her to last more than thirty seconds against him.

Which she had not.

The second time was also an acceptable defeat since she was still trying to adjust to the shape and feel of the bamboo after spending days fighting only hand-to-hand.

It was after the third time when Slade's stick had struck her side that Hermione finally started getting annoyed with herself. Unless she wanted to have more bruised skin than not tomorrow, then she needed to get it together. The concept wasn't that difficult, after all, and she was also able to figure out relatively quickly what exactly Slade was trying to do. It wasn't all that different from how she would duel with Harry- each trying to lull the other into a fall sense of security before striking out quickly and winning the fight in one go. Hermione usually won since she was far more patient than Harry and she was also willing to use more than just a Stunning Spell.

Honestly. That boy. He may have defeated a Dark Lord, but he was such a fool most of the time that it was hard to remember that.

Hermione allowed her body to relax slightly as she kept up with Slade, a calculated move designed to goad him in trying to get a hit. She also fell back into a more meditative state so that she was relying more on her senses than her mind.

Slade's right arm moved up just a tad higher than before and Hermione automatically raised her left arm and blocked his stick mere centimeters away from her face.

She and Slade stared at one another in surprise for a moment before he gave her that wide smile tinged with just a hint of pride that always made Hermione feel warm. It would seem that, even after years out of the classroom, she was still a teacher's pet at heart.

"Well done," he told her, and Hermione could feel herself turning red even as she beamed up at the older man. Slade was always sparing with his praise, which made every moment she had earned it special.

Stepping away from her, Slade rested one stick on his shoulder while the other hung loosely by his side. "Regretting your words yet?" he questioned.

It took a moment for Hermione to remember her comments from several days before when she'd called Slade dramatic. "If anything, I'm more confident in my assessment of you now than I was before. And I'm considering adding 'petty' to your list of attributes since you're apparently still thinking about that."

He chuckled. "What can I say- I can't help but remember when a pretty girl insults me to my face. It just stands out."

"I thought we agreed that you were the pretty one," she teased, rocking back onto her heels.

Slade rolled his eyes. "How could I forget? Since apparently two people can't both be pretty, I'll have to come up with some other word for you."

Hermione nodded with feigned solemnity. "Yes, you absolutely will. And, if you're taking suggestions, I think either 'magnificent' or 'divine' would suit your needs wonderfully."

He let out a loud guffaw, literally bending over slightly in his amusement. "I'll keep that in mind," he finally gasped.

She watched him for a long moment as he slowly got his amusement under control, her mind oddly blank. It was nice, not to think.

Once Slade had straightened up, he said, "We'll have to stop for today. I need to go hunting."

Slowly refocusing her mind, Hermione asked, "What are you hoping to catch today? More fish? Perhaps a nice pheasant?"

"Thought I'd try and give myself a challenge and catch a boar," Slade told her. "It's been a while since I've eaten real meat."

Hermione hummed. "In that case, you may want to try hiding in a tree near the waterfall one klick from here. They usually stop and rest there for bit later on in the afternoon."

"What a strange and helpful thing to know," he commented dryly.

She shrugged. "It's a small island, and animals can be creatures of habit too."

"Care to join me?" he offered, and Hermione stared at him in surprise. "If we manage to catch one, there should be enough for you take some with you."

Frowning, Hermione reminded him, "I can hunt on my own you know. I'm not starving."

Slade glanced away, muttering, "Could have fooled me."

Glancing down at herself, Hermione silently admitted that she could understand Slade's concern. But, as always, there was a method to her madness. She made sure that she ate enough food to not reach dangerous levels of malnourishment and always drank plenty of water. Slade's worry was appreciated, but entirely unnecessary.

"Well, since you're well aware of my fondness for hiding in trees, I suppose I might as well join you," Hermione finally answered, giving him a small smile when he met her gaze again. "And I want to see these hunting skills you're apparently so proud of."

He grinned. "Prepared to be amazed."

"I'm impressed," Hermione told him, watching Slade tie the legs of boar he'd killed to a long stick from where she was perched on a rock. "I didn't think you'd be able to last for six hours without going stir-crazy."

"Recon is a standard task for an A.S.I.S. agent," he pointed out, finishing a knot and shifting to lift the stick across his shoulders.

"You mean that there's more spying than stabbing in your line of work? Shocking."

Slade's lips twitched but all he said was, "You are a menace."

Hermione smiled brightly at him. "That's a strange way of pronouncing 'marvelous' but I won't judge."

That got an actual grin out of the older man. "I think out of the two of us it's more surprising you lasted six hours quietly sitting in a tree. After all, I'm not the one in love with the sound of my own voice."

She laughed. "Well, we all have our flaws. I like to ramble, and you like to beat on your students. To each their own."

"At least we're self-aware," Slade shrugged.

When they were almost back to the fuselage, Hermione asked Slade if Oliver had managed to get anywhere with the broken radio.

"No," he grunted, looking annoyed. "He's still fiddling with it instead of doing something useful."

"You do realize that, if Oliver gets incredibly lucky, you may be able to radio for assistance? Or at least attempt to radio for help. Whether or not someone bothers to come is another story."

"Hope is not what's going to help any of us survive on this island," he retorted, and then paused. "What do you mean 'whether or not someone bothers to come'? Of course someone would come if we could make contact."

"Really? Because the way I see it, people know that Fyers is here, but no one cares. A.S.I.S. can't be the only agency in the world to be aware of the fact that Fyers is on Lian Yu yet no one else has come here. No other teams have been sent besides yours. And that's another thing, why did A.S.I.S. not send another team after your plane went down? If they were bothered enough about Fyers being here, why weren't they bothered by the fact that, not only is he here, but he apparently has a weapon that can shoot a plane out of the sky? How was that not concerning? And why didn't they send someone to rescue y-" Hermione cut herself off, horrified by what she was able to say. She was sure that Slade was upset enough about the fact that his agency hadn't come for him without her rubbing it in his face.

"Rescue me?" he finished calmly, much to her surprise. "It's alright, girl- I'm not mad. I know A.S.I.S. protocol, remember? After the plane went down, they would have done an aerial scan using infrared imaging to try and see if they could find either of us. But they wouldn't have been able to since, by that point, Billy and I had already been captured and taken inside Fyers camp. And the fact that Fyers has a weapon that can take down a plane like ours is why they wouldn't have sent another team. That was an expensive loss to A.S.I.S. and their budget isn't like what an American agency would have. Since it's not a weapon with enough range to take down something like a commercial aircraft, they can't justify trying to swarm the island. The only thing I'm questioning is why A.S.I.S. hasn't contacted the Chinese government- or any government, for that matter- about what's going on here. They wouldn't tolerate having a mercenary here that isn't working for them, which made me think that they might have been the ones to hire Fyers until you heard him speaking English to his employer. If they were going to outsource something to a foreigner- which they rarely do- they'd at least pick one fluent in Mandarin or Cantonese."

It made sense. Hermione didn't agree with it, but it made sense. "It would have been the same for me in regard to the Ministry of Magic in Britain if I had worked for them," she admitted, staring straight ahead. "A public showing that they're searching for me since, as a supposed war hero, my disappearance would be quickly noticed. The updates on their search for me would slowly trickle off as their investigation went nowhere until I was eventually declared 'presumed dead'. The war hit them hard, so they don't have the funds for a lengthy search, and, let's be honest, winning the war didn't instantly erase the level of corruption and ineptitude that has made up the halls of the Ministry for centuries. But, since I'm a private citizen that was rarely seen by the public before, they probably aren't even aware that I'm gone."

"So your Ministry has just written you off?" Slade demanded, sounding angry.

Even though Hermione was smirking, her tone was exhausted. "They were probably glad to get the chance to."

Slade huffed and Hermione forced herself not to look at him. "You said before that you had friends in law enforcement that were probably looking for you, back when we first met."

"Harry," Hermione sighed, heart clenching. "My brother. Wizarding Britain's hero. Yes, he's absolutely still looking for me. But even though he works for the Ministry, he's not blind to their flaws. He won't be working within the government, but outside of it. He'll be using every bit of influence he has and every contact he's ever made to find me. He won't stop until he's dead."

She was not going to cry, no matter how much it hurt.

"You think Dolohov is going to kill him."

"I know he will. He said he was going to save the best for last." Hermione rubbed her eyes, movements rough and shaky.

"Hermione," Slade murmured, and she held up a hand to stop him.

"No. I don't want to talk about this. It's not going to help and it's not going to change things."

He clearly didn't agree. "I'm not blind, Hermione. You're not sleeping. Whatever thoughts you're keeping inside your head are eating you alive."

They were near the clearing where Slade's plane was. "And haven't you heard that if you say something out loud you might speak it into existence? Telling you my fears won't make them go away, they'll just make them more real. And trust me when I say that neither of us want that right now."

Slade stopped at the edge of the clearing and turned to face her. "You trust me enough to train you so that you have a fighting chance against Dolohov, which logically means that you should believe that I have a fighting chance against Dolohov. I know just how dangerous magic users can be, but I also know that they're not more dangerous than I am. Killing people is what I do, and I'm very good at my job."

Hermione couldn't respond.

He studied her for a moment longer before sighing and turning around. "Wait here for a bit. I'm going to tell the kid that I'm back and then I'll get started on cleaning this," he shrugged his shoulders, jostling the boar. "I'll get some meat smoked for you to take back with you."

As Slade walked back to the fuselage, he reminded himself that Hermione was simply doing the best she could in a shitty situation. But knowing that did nothing to ease his annoyance because it was obvious to him that she was too blind to see the obvious- that her version of 'best' was leaving her compromised.

When he stepped into the hideout, he found Oliver exactly where he'd left him, fiddling with the wires of the broken radio.

"Hope you like barbeque," he grunted. When the kid didn't give any sign that he'd heard him, Slade snapped, "Well, don't fall over yourself thanking me for spending six hours up in a tree so you can eat."

"What?" Oliver asked absently, glancing over at Slade for a moment before returning his attention to the two wires he was carefully twisting together. "Great. I'll eat later."

Slade wasn't sure what it was he did to deserve getting stuck on this island with idiots who apparently had no idea what self-preservation was, but he definitely regretted it. "You've been at that for days. Give it a rest."

"That's because I can do this," Oliver hissed.

"Sure, kid," he retorted, turning away to head back outside so that he could start skinning the boar. "When pigs fly."

And then, because what was life without a little bit of irony, Slade heard the click and crackle of the radio turning on.

"You gotta be kidding me," he stated flatly, letting go of the stick holding the boar carcass. It fell to the floor with a thud as he turned and raced over to Oliver's side.

Grabbing the microphone, Slade asked, "Can you clean this up?" There was a lot of static coming out of the radio, drowning out the exact words of the voices they could hear.

"I don't know," the kid answered, a wide smile spreading across his face as he let out a small, disbelieving laugh. "I don't know. I don't know how I got this far."

A man's voice suddenly came out of the speaker's crystal clear. "Continue approach. We're 6-3 Heavy."

Slade grinned, lifting the microphone to his lips. "Mayday, mayday, mayday. This is Wedgetail 325." And then he hesitated for just a moment before continuing, "Pilot and passengers down."

Passengers. Plural. Because Hermione was coming with them off the island if he had to fucking drag her.

If Dolohov was close enough to try and attack them the moment they left then great, Slade wouldn't mind ending this sooner rather than later. And if it took him a while to get to their location from whatever hole he was hiding in, then they'd get to see just how skilled he was fighting on Slade's home field, on his terms.

"Of course, 6-3 Heavy, cleared to land," a woman responded, and Slade frowned. "Runway 2-7 right, wind 2-6-0 degrees, 10 knots."

"I repeat," Slade tried again. "Pilot and passengers down on the island of Lian Yu. Request immediate rescue."

"Clear to land, runway 27 right," the first man echoed, and Slade slammed the microphone down onto the shelf holding the radio.

"Damn!" he swore. "They can't hear us, and we can't call out. We're still trapped."

The brief look he got of Oliver's face as he turns on his heel to storm out of the fuselage showed him how disappointed and upset the kid was. If Slade thought he could speak without his voice continuing to sound as pissed as he felt, then he might have tried to say something but, since he couldn't, he settled for picking up the boar again and leaving.

Automatically making his way back towards where Hermione was standing, she surprised him by leaving the safety of the trees to meet him part way. "What's wrong?" she demanded.

He glanced back over his shoulder to make sure that Oliver wasn't following him. "Nothing," he grunted.

"Really? Because your face says otherwise."

Gritting his teeth, Slade hissed, "Kid got the radio working."

Hermione waited for him to continue but when he didn't, she prodded, "And what about that is so bad?"

"Can't make any outgoing calls. We can hear them, but they can't hear us. It was a waste of fucking time."

She stared at him for a moment before sighing in exasperation, eyes falling closed as she pinched the bridge of her nose. "A waste of time? You think Oliver getting the radio to work to the point that you can tune into different frequencies is a waste of time? Really?"

It was times like these when Slade honestly couldn't understand why Dolohov would want to play games instead of outright killing Hermione because Christ was she a pain in the ass. "What good is a two-way radio when one of the ways doesn't fucking work?!" he growled, dropping the boar and stepping forward to tower over Hermione.

Placing her hands on her hips, Hermione leaned forward so she was only inches from Slade's face. "Well, I don't know, Slade. I can't imagine what possible good it would do you to have a radio that can allow you to eavesdrop on conversations taking place nearby. It's not like there's anyone on this godforsaken island who is using radios to communicate, is there?"

It took a moment for things to click. "Fyers."

Hermione rolled her eyes, muttering about what an idiot he was before speaking at a normal volume again. "You may not be able to call out and get someone to come to the island for a rescue- which is probably a good thing considering that, if Fyers has a weapon that can shoot a plane out of the sky he likely has one that can also sink a boat- but you'll be able to hear when any deliveries are scheduled and where on the island they'll be arriving. I'm assuming that if you can fly a plane then you can also handle a boat, though perhaps I'm overestimating your abilities the same way I overestimated your intelligence."

Slade rolled his eyes, his anger disappearing. "Keep using that tone with me and I may just be forced to take you over my knee."

One eyebrow rose and Hermione smirked. "As much fun as it would be to see you try, you should really get around to skinning and cooking that boar before it has the chance to begin going bad and then take a look at the radio. The sooner you can find a way off the island, the sooner you can find a way to deal with Fyers."

"And Dolohov," he added softly, and Hermione flinched.

"No!" she snapped, reaching out to wrap her fingers tightly around his arm. "No, Slade, you can't. I told you before- once you get off this island you need to forget about me. I don't want you trying to stop Dolohov. I don't need you to go after Dolohov. I can look after myself."

"Clearly you can't." Slade lifted his hand and brushed his thumb gently over the puffy skin under Hermione's right eye. "Lie to yourself all you want, Hermione, but you can't lie to me."

Hermione stiffened but didn't move away and Slade could see in her eyes that she was torn between pulling away and leaning in close. He dropped his hand, making the decision for her, because he had only been touching her to prove a point.

"You can either stick around here or come back in a few hours," he told her, tone broking no arguments.

"Fine," Hermione responded, expression going blank.

Hermione left the clearing and wandered around in the forest for an hour or so before slipping on the Invisibility Cloak and returning. She would have stayed away longer in order to give herself more time to get her head on straight, but something kept her from straying too far. It wouldn't take long for Slade to clean the boar and begin the cooking process- which would take several hours at a minimum- and Hermione wanted to make sure the radio was working enough for Slade to tune into Fyers frequency.

Slade needed to get off Lian Yu. He needed to get home.

When he'd mentioned Dolohov, Hermione couldn't help the wave of fear that tore through her. Slade engaging with the former Death Eater was the last thing she wanted. But after taking some time to fully consider things, she'd realized that the likelihood of Slade actually trying to find and kill Dolohov once he got off Lian Yu was slim to none. Slade was practical enough to understand just how dangerous that task would be and, more importantly, he was a father desperately missing his son. He'd only mentioned Joe a handful of times, but Hermione had been able to tell how much he loved his son. If Slade made it home to him, Hermione highly doubted that he would be willing to leave him again for any length of time, and there was no chance he would let Joe accompany him. Which meant that Slade's talk of finding Dolohov was just that- talk.

By the time she'd returned to the clearing, Hermione could see smoke faintly curling through the air above the plane. Making her way through the field, she stepped into the fuselage and almost groaned at the smell of cooking meat that filled the space.

After glancing around to make sure that Oliver wasn't in the plane, Hermione asked Slade, "Doesn't it bother you that all of your things are going to smell like roasted boar because you keep cooking things in here instead of outside?"

Slade didn't look away from the radio. "Having a fire pit inside the fuselage means that we can have fires at night without having to worry about someone spotting it and makes it harder to spot the smoke during the day."

"You rarely cook during the day and when you do it's usually too foggy outside for anyone keeping an eye out to see the smoke," Hermione stated, walking over to sit on the cot closest to Slade. "Not that it matters because, despite Fyers claims that he's trying to find you, I don't think he actually cares to."

"It's too foggy now," he corrected her. "But, when winter ends, it'll clear up and Fyers will be able to find us if we're not careful about things like the smoke from our fires."

"So? Are you worried that if you start cooking things outside in the winter, you'll forget all of your reasons for not doing so in the summer once the time comes?"

"No, I'm worried the kid will."

"It's nice you think he'll last till summer," she teased, and Slade's lips twitched.

"He's managed to last this long, hasn't he?"

Hermione rolled her eyes, shifting to pull her knees up close to her chest and shifting the cloak to ensure she was fully covered. "If by that you mean he managed to bounce between Yao Fei, Fyers, and you without dying then yes, he's lasted this long. But I highly doubt that has anything to do with his survival skills."

A particularly loud burst of feedback sounded through the cabin and Slade and Hermione both winced.

"I don't suppose you have any idea what frequency Fyers is operating on, do you?" Slade asked.

"Sorry," she answered, not even trying to sound apologetic. "I tend to avoid all the electronics in his camp out of fear of my magic interfering with their equipment and raising suspicion."

Slade paused, turning to give her a suspicious look. "Is that likely to happen here?"

Since he couldn't actually see her expression, Hermione didn't try and stop the way her lips automatically twisted into a grimace. "It's possible, but unlikely. I can usually tell when my magic is trying to get loose and find somewhere safe to hide until it settles down."

Sighing, he went back to fiddling with the radio. "It's not good for you to go so long without being able to use your magic, is it?"

"Magic is energy," she murmured, picking at the hem of her pants. "I'm used to regularly expending that energy. Now that I'm not, my magical core is desperately trying to expel as much excess magic as it can before it overfills."

"Can that actually happen?"

"Think of a magical core as a chalice," Hermione suggested, automatically falling back into the comfort that was knowledge. "The chalice has my magic being poured into it at a slow and steady rate. Every time I use magic, the chalice empties some and how much disappears depends on much energy a spell takes. Since I'm not purposefully using any magic, my magical core is still being filled, but isn't being emptied at all. Too much of a good thing can still be unhealthy; having too much magic is just as dangerous as having too little. In order to keep my core from being overloaded and possibly breaking, my magic will sometimes find a way to release itself on its own. Without a spell to direct it, that magic is little more than energy being radiated off of me, energy that can negatively interact with different electronics. At this point, I always have a low-level of energy escaping me, but it's small enough to not negatively affect things like communication devices. But on some days, that amount of energy escaping me is so large that no electronics are safe. Fortunately, I can tell when that happens and take the proper precautions. It's better to be safe than sorry though, which is why, when I'm spying on Fyers, I get close enough to eavesdrop but still say a safe distance from his things."

"Makes sense," Slade said.

"I was actually doing research into magical cores before everything," she told him, voice brightening. "There's a group of magic users in China that are considered experts in core magic and have been researching and experimenting with them for thousands of years. Some of their members are known for practicing an art that involves using no magic for weeks at a time in order to fill their core to the brim and then casting intensive, complex spells that would kill many other magic users if they tried to use them. But it doesn't kill them because of how full their cores are, it just drains them and, as long as they end the spell before they run out of magic, they're perfectly fine. That sect of magic users is said to have created some of China's greatest wonders, though their records and knowledge are so well-guarded that no one knows for sure what all they're responsible for. They're kept entirely separate from the Chinese Ministry of Magic, despite the Ministry's attempts for centuries to gain control of them. They do work with the Ministry of course, but on their terms."

Slade's lips twitched. "So, they basically do what you did with the British Ministry?"

That brought Hermione's mood crashing back down. "No, because the Chinese Ministry actually values and respects what that magical sect can do. The British Ministry only wanted me in the beginning so they could parade me around as their token muggleborn. As soon as it was confirmed that Dolohov was after me, they used it as a justification to keep me as far away as possible. If it wasn't for the fact that they were desperate to keep Harry, they would have completely abandoned me years ago."

Before Slade could respond, Oliver came storming back into the fuselage.

"Check on the meat before you sit down," Slade instructed him when he saw that Oliver was making his way over to join him, likely to try and sit down where Hermione was seated.

Oliver rolled his eyes but headed over to the fire and turned the stick the meat was tied to. "It's almost done," he announced, slouching down onto a crate.

Slade grunted, slowly turning a dial.

Looking over at him, Oliver complained, "If they can't hear us, then what's the point of messing with the radio?"

"Just wait," Slade ordered, holding up a hand. "You still might have done us some good."

After another minute of indistinct radio chatter, a clear British voice rang out. "0500 hours from my mark. Final deployment is five by five."

Oliver jumped up, running over to stand beside Slade. "That's Fyers!"

Slade grinned. "I'm tuned into the soldier's frequency."

Another male voice responded to Fyers. "Scylla is en route. ETA 0600 hours at the Southwest Bay."

"I'll call you when Scylla is in my possession," Fyers responded. "Fyers out."

Slade glanced over at Hermione, and she knew he was remembering her informing him that Fyers was having something delivered to the island via boat. The shipment must have been delayed if it was just arriving to Lian Yu.

"Who was Fyers talking to?" Oliver asked.

"I don't know," Slade answered, standing up and walking over to the fire. Grabbing a nearby bucket of water, he doused the flames. "Sounds like he was talking to someone off this island, maybe his benefactor. More importantly, who or what is Scylla?"

"The Scylla and Charybdis," Oliver told him, and Hermione refused to believe that the only book the kid had ever read was 'The Odyssey'. It just wasn't possible. "It's 'The Odyssey', from one of the four nightmare chapters. Scylla was a monster."

Sliding his swords into the sheathes on his back, Slade growled, "I want to meet this monster." Striding towards the exit, he paused in the doorway and glanced over at where a still-invisible Hermione was sitting. "Am I going alone?"

Hermione silently sighed as Oliver grabbed a nearby knife, trailing after the two men as they made their way across the field and towards where the Southwest Bay was located.

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