(A/N): Hey everyone! To celebrate the fact that the next Knives Out movie is coming out soon, I've decided to publish this little one-shot! It's Blanc's POV from 'Look What You Made Me Do'. It only covers the events from the first two chapters. I have a vague outline for chapter three/day three but I'm hesitant to fully commit to writing it because I feel like it would basically be pretty similar to what I've already written and I'm worried it wouldn't be different enough to keep you all interested. It was really fun to get inside Blanc's head though so, despite the fact that this story is marked as complete, I might end up adding to it in the future.

I'm also working on a few other projects for this story-world that include Ransom's trial and a whole other story idea that has Hermione and Blanc as established partners that show up to solve Harlan's death together so keep an eye out for this!

Thanks for reading! Enjoy!


Hermione Granger was an enigma.

Every time Benoit Blanc thought he had her figured out, Hermione shook up the etch-a-sketch and changed the picture.

When she first stepped foot in front of him, throwing open the patio door and knocking him aside so that she could stand as a shield in front of Marta, Benoit believed he knew her role in the case. If he was Sherlock and Marta was Watson, then Hermione was clearly Moriarty, pulling strings and pressing buttons until you were following the carefully traced footprints she placed on the path just for you. He watched her toy with them with a smile on his face, amused at her fearlessness. It wasn't the first time someone had underestimated him due to his smooth Southern accent and easy-going demeanor, but it had become rarer and rarer after that article in The New Yorker damned his anonymity straight to hell.

And yet…

"I'm protective of her because she's one of the best people I know, and I know how cruel the world can be to someone that kind."

It was unexpectedly honest- surprisingly honest. But it also wasn't a secret that Benoit had prodded her into revealing unwillingly. Hermione wanted him to know from the start that Marta was hers and she wouldn't allow him to have a go at one her own.

"I don't appreciate what a stranger goes after one of my friends simply because they like seeing what happens when they start pressing buttons."

Marta, with her kind heart, seemed to be Hermione's complete opposite. Honest Marta, who felt sick at even the thought of telling a lie, didn't have the stomach to participate in Hermione's games. Benoit wondered what the kind-hearted nurse had done to inspire such loyalty in someone like Hermione Granger.

Sitting back in his chair, Benoit fiddled with his silver coin. His opinion on Hermione had changed so many times over the course of the past two days that he couldn't help feeling unsettled.

It had originally seemed as though Hermione had been setting herself up as the chess master on the opposite side of the board from him. From her opening move of accusing him of being less than a gentleman to the way she neatly laid out the secrets (the motives) that the family was desperately trying to hide from him to the way she smiled and laughed and carefully drew them in. After dealing with the self-important family, Hermione's cutting wit and judgement was a breath of fresh air. She wasn't rich like the family, she didn't view the police as lesser than her, and she had a way of making them feel as though they were actually on her side against the family instead of standing off on their own. A dangerous little ability, and, based off the glint in Hermione's large brown eyes, one she'd learned how to expertly wield.

Benoit had to constantly remind himself that nothing he thought he'd learned from his conversations with the other woman could be trusted as truth. Everything she offered was nothing more than a smokescreen diverting attention away from the Pandora's Box she'd packed away behind a curtain. Except, perhaps, for her reaction when he had pressed about Harlan.

"Harlan did as he pleased, regardless of what anyone else thought or wanted. When he made a decision, no one and nothing could change his mind, and you wouldn't know what was happening until he wanted you to. Everything was a story to Harlan, and what's a story without an interesting twist."

There was genuine anguish in her tone, along with raw anger. The pain that came from losing a loved one so abruptly and all the while unable to understand the reason why seemed to almost spill out of her. For a moment, Benoit nearly felt ashamed of what he did, ashamed of pressing on the cracks of a woman who was mourning more deeply than most anyone else in the house. But he got what he needed; Hermione was no Moriarty. Yet Benoit couldn't rule her out as a suspect then because Hermione was clearly hiding something related to Harlan's death.

And yet…

He'd managed to catch her in moment yesterday, a moment where Hermione thought herself to be all alone.

"Please tell me you've got something for me."

Her tone was light yet faintly strained, but her air was strangely fragile.

By the end of the conversation, Benoit had watched Hermione Granger break right before his eyes.

He knew that it had something to do with Harlan. Knew that the idea she was discussing with Erin (another researcher? a source? a friend?) that came to a 'him' was likely related to Harlan's death because why wouldn't she dismiss them if it had to do with one of his books? And he could see that whatever Erin had told Hermione was not a surprise but a heartbreaking confirmation.

Her words said she was fine, but her eyes and shoulders showed that it was taking everything she had to stay standing and Benoit almost jumped to his feet to try and help her. But he didn't because Hermione Granger didn't need his help, remaining upright until she'd ended the call and only then sinking down onto the freezing cold bricks that provided a small measure of security to the sides of the steps.

Benoit had taken the chance to study Hermione while her guard was down. The weight of this- of Harlan- was crushing her, but he could tell that she would never share her burden because she wouldn't want it halved. People who had lost too much clung to whatever they could scrape together afterwards and would hold onto it until it killed them because at least it meant it was theirs till the bitter end.

"I found myself entranced from the very first sentence. 'A screaming comes across the sky. It has happened before, but there is nothing to compare it to now.'. It spoke to me."

The more he learned, the more Benoit understood why that sentence would speak to Hermione.

"Who, if I screamed, would hear me among the angelic orders?"

He couldn't help wondering if anyone had heard Hermione's screams during the war. Because Benoit may not be magical, but he had brushed up against the world enough to recognize the name and scar of Harry Potter. Harry Potter, who had fought a monster as a teenager with his two friends by his side, one of whom was a witch that disappeared not long after the war ended.

"For Beauty is nothing but the beginning of Terror that we're still just able to bear, and why we adore it is because it serenely disdains to destroy us."

Benoit wondered how many noticed the way Hermione threw her heartbreak down at the feet of others, mocking those who couldn't spot it and daring those who could to cut themselves on those razer-sharp shards of truth.

Silver glinted in the light of the lamp as Benoit twisted the coin between his fingers.

The shift from yesterday's-Hermione to today's-Hermione was almost jarring.

What Benoit had expected when Hermione and Marta arrived that morning to assist him was unknown even to him, but he knew he didn't expect a Hermione missing the weight of worry from yesterday and ready to continue their game. She kept Marta close with a threaded arm and tangled fingers, but the urgency from the day before was missing. He suspected the call from the previous night had played a part in that, but he couldn't be sure yet.

Hermione's fierce love for Marta was entrancing, but the way the old guard brightened at the sight of the brunette struck Benoit more. Fran had been everything genial when introducing them to Mr. Proofoc, but it was clear they weren't close. Same with Marta. Which made sense to Benoit since both women likely remained close to the house and to their employer, Harlan. One could have assumed that Hermione would be the same, but she clearly wasn't. There was a relationship there and Benoit wanted to know how it was built. What made Hermione approach the guard who stayed separate from the home?

She was so hesitant. When he held out a hand to help her up after she'd knelt down to greet the dogs that had raced to her and Marta, it took a few heartbeats for Hermione to accept the help. Though, whether or not that was because he was a stranger or because he was a detective remained unseen. Benoit refused to consider that her hesitation might stem from the fact that she'd deemed him a subpar gentleman.

Could he really blame her for her distance knowing what little he did of her past? When Benoit closed his eyes, he saw the way she flinched back from him when he turned the corner after Potter's arrival behind his lids. The panicked pain was plain to see on her face for only a moment before she managed to wrestle her mask back on. They'd stood there silently studying one another until meek Marta took on the mantle of protector as smoothly as Hermione had donned it the day before.

If Benoit had any doubts about how the strength of Marta's attachment to Hermione compared to Hermione's with her, they were instantly laid to rest. The kind-hearted nurse may not be one to stand up for herself, but her courage would always rise to the occasion when a loved one was in need of it.

When Hermione stepped out with Potter and Fell, Benoit almost followed after them. Marta had stopped him with a firm hand to his arm.

"Don't," she'd advised. "Hermione can handle this herself."

"She shouldn't have to." Benoit had responded but he hadn't meant to. Regardless of his own feelings towards the two women, he still hadn't been able to conclusively rule them out as suspects. Which meant that he needed to maintain his distance.

"No, she shouldn't," Marta had sighed. "But she will. She always does."

Even several hours later, Benoit was still struck by how sad Marta sounded.

He had shrugged off her hand and walked outside to circle the house one last time, trying again to find another way upstairs without being seen. And he'd finally found the trellis and the trick window. Proof that there was another way up to Harlan's study that completely bypassed the creaky stairs.

A way both Hermione and Marta were clearly aware of. Much like they knew of the path leading up to the house.

Flipping the coin in the air, Benoit allowed his thoughts to drift from the too-knowing woman and her kindhearted friend to consider the only other truly memorable individual in the remaining Thrombey family- Hugh Ransom Drysdale.

Hermione hated him.

Benoit wasn't sure if she simply wasn't bothering to hide her loathing or if it was just too strong to be tucked away, but her feelings towards Linda's son were clear to see to those who bothered to look.

"So, did he tell you to call him Ransom or Hugh?"

Ransom or Hugh. Equal or lesser. Quite the case of black and white thinking.

CSI KFC and Gorgeous.

The truth of Ransom's disinheritance had been shown to the family and Hermione's shoulders had slumped. Not in surprise or upset, but in hopeless resignation. Was it the subject itself that made her react that way, or was there something else at play?

Hermione had made sure to keep one eye on Ransom whenever they were in the same room. Even as she spoke to Marta while the family had settled into the library for the will reading, she'd watched him with a hardened steadiness that had set Benoit on edge.

"Is everything okay?"

"Yes, it's fine," Hermione's tone was one of reassurance, but Benoit couldn't help doubting its honesty. Nothing about any of this seemed fine. "They've left, and I highly doubt they'll be returning anytime soon."

"Why was Harry here at all? Shouldn't he be back in Britain?"

It was clear that Marta wasn't fond of Potter. Was that because of something that Hermione had told her? Was Potter the reason she'd left Britain?

"He said he's here for some sort of training partnership."

"And you believe him?"

"Yes. Only because I would have been informed of his presence earlier if he was in the country for non-work-related reasons."

His mind wouldn't stop churning even as he requested that the family stay close by until the case was closed and the lawyer began going over the will.

"Wow, yeah, not too complex at all. This'll be quick. 'I, Harlan Thrombey, being of sound mind and body' yada, yada, yada… 'I hereby direct that all my assets, both liquid and otherwise, I leave in their entirety to Marta Cabrera'."

Benoit had said only the day before that Hermione and Marta had no motive. One sentence turned that belief on its head because if there was one thing he knew beyond any reasonable doubt, Hermione would do anything for her friend.

If he hadn't turned to look at the women, Benoit would have missed it. Missed the way Marta had straightened and gapped at Mr. Stevens. Missed the way Hermione stared at Ransom with a clenched jaw. Missed the way the brunette's head snapped forward in shock that turned to horror as the lawyer continued.

"My entire ownership of Blood Like Wine publishing I leave in its entirety to Hermione Granger. The copyright of its catalog likewise I leave in its entirety to Hermione Granger."

"What did you say?"

Benoit couldn't help ruminating on how strange it was that the only time he could truly tell when Hermione's emotions weren't genuine was when he was faced with ones that were. Her panic was real. She truly hadn't known that Harlan had left her anything, even though she knew that Marta had been. Had Harlan only told her of Marta's inheritance?

She'd been panicked while staring at Mr. Stevens, but she'd been horrified when she'd looked back at Ransom. Why?

He'd known that Hermione and Marta were at the center of this whole affair. But how did Ransom play into this story? What was his role?

When the family had shifted their focus from Mr. Stevens to the two women, Benoit found himself automatically moving to shield Hermione from their gaze. He could still feel the phantom grip of Hermione's hand on his arm and the way she'd gazed up at him with wide, confused eyes before taking his advice and running from the house with Marta in tow.

Without allowing himself to think too much about his actions, Benoit dialed the number Lieutenant Elliott had given him earlier. Even though he knew that it was highly likely Hermione would ignore a call from a number she did not recognize, he felt he had to try.

"Hello?"

"Miss Granger," Benoit greeted, doing his best to hide his surprise.

"Detective Blanc." She didn't sound thrilled that he had called, but neither was she overly hostile. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

He could hear a microwaving beeping in the background and wondered if she was making dinner.

"I just wanted to check in and make sure you and Miss Cabrera were alright."

"Trying to change my opinion on your gentlemanly ways?" she questioned dryly, but it felt less antagonistic than it might have before and more like simple teasing.

Benoit chuckled. "No, though I suppose that would be an unexpected bonus."

"I suppose it would. And yes, Marta and I are fine. She's at home with her family and I am safe and sound in my apartment."

She didn't sound fine though. She sounded as though she'd like nothing more than to curl up in bed and sleep for days. And who could really blame her?

"Did the family ever release poor Alan from their clutches or is he still at the house?" she asked.

"Mr. Stevens was sent on his way; we departed at the same time."

'Yes, departed does sound much fancier than 'kicked out once the Thrombey's realized you were of no help to them'," she responded cynically. Then, after a pause, offered, "Meg called. She wants us to give up the inheritance because we weren't Harlan's family."

He hummed, unsurprised. Benoit had guessed the family would try something like that based on the arguments taking place as he left the house. "I've found that family of choice is always stronger than family of blood."

"I said something similar to Marta. I told Meg about Joni's thievery and that Harlan cut them off before he died. I doubt it will keep her from helping the family try and bully us, but at least she'll have to face the fact that her actions are done out of nothing more than pure greed."

"Sounds like you and Miss Cabrera don't plan on letting the Thrombey's have their way," Benoit couldn't resist prodding, not sure what had changed in the hours since they'd last seen each other, but grateful for the opening all the same.

Hermione sighed. "I knew Harlan was going to make Marta the sole inheritor of his estate. He told me months ago, and I thought it was brilliant. Marta deserves the world, and she's one of the only people I know who would never let gaining so much wealth change who she is. Harlan said he was telling me because he wanted to make sure there was at least one person in her corner when it all came out. Now I wonder if he was just wanting to see how I would react. If it was just a test. His way of checking if it would be safe to give me anything."

"Money makes a fool out of the best of men at times," he told her, chest aching in sympathy to brokenness of her tone. It always hurt to wonder if a trust given was one unreturned. "Seems to me like Harlan was just trying his best to make sure his fortune didn't continue ruining people after he was gone. That the people who ended up with it were strong enough to handle it."

"And instead, it ended up with me," she snorted. "I'm not a good person, Blanc. I can't be after everything I've seen, done. After everything I've learned. I'm a horrible person and I'm a horrible friend."

"Oh, I would say I've seen enough to contradict that claim," Benoit countered.

Hermione ignored him. "His legacy would be much safer if it was solely in Marta's hands and not in mine. Because at this moment, I am sorely tempted to sell the rights of all of Harlan's books to the shittiest, made-for-TV production companies so that his worst nightmare is brought to life."

He barely kept himself from hooting in amusement at her creatively cruel notion of revenge. "From what I know, I believe that would be a more terrifying prospect to Walter than to Harlan. He might just be impressed at you managing such a creative form of revenge."

"You may be right about that. But Marta would take me out before Walt could if I tried to do that."

Benoit shook his head, a smile playing on his lips. He wondered if Marta knew just how tightly wrapped she had Hermione around one of her careful fingers. "I hope you don't mind my prying but how did you and Miss Cabrera become friends? You seem to have quite the bond."

She went silent for a moment, and Benoit worried that he'd pushed too much too soon. Then- "She lied for me. She lied to get me out of a conversation with the family because she could tell I was about to lose my temper. I followed her into the bathroom when she started throwing up and she told me about how she's ill when she's dishonest. Marta made herself sick to help me, a complete stranger. How could I not want to be friends with someone that good?"

It took only a moment- a single incident to form a forever bond with Hermione Granger.

"Yes, Miss Cabrera has quite the kind heart."

Hermione let out a soft hiss. "Yes, but she's also a manipulative little brat."

He smiled, pleased to realize the answer to his question. "Does that comment have something to do with why you're so willing to engage with me right now?"

"You catch on quick. Marta made me promise to play nice with the other children. She seems to think being a tad more open would do me some good."

"And you disagree," he stated, wondering why exactly Marta would encourage Hermione to open up to him. Clearly, she didn't view him as an enemy if she wanted her friend to engage with him more. But still…

"I'm not a fan of most people," Hermione told him bluntly. "Also, being more open means allowing others to see. And they might not like what they find."

He wondered how many instances it had taken for Hermione to learn that lesson. "Miss Cabrera said you were a war hero. I have to imagine that came at a cost."

"One you've likely paid yourself considering some of your past cases," she promptly returned before falling silent. Benoit waited patiently, sensing that Hermione was struggling to find the words to something. Eventually, she admitted, "This is really uncomfortable for me. Especially since, in your case, this conversation is happening in a professional kind of capacity. Though I will admit, it's a tad easier to talk to you over the phone than face-to-face."

"It can be tiring picking and choosing your words," Benoit said, having experienced the tongue-tying sensation many a time before.

"It is, but it's almost second-nature for me at this point. I'm so used to verbally sparring with government officials that it's what I fall back on when dealing with anyone who's not a friend."

Benoit wondered if Hermione was trying to ensure he remembered that they weren't friends, or if she was just stating what was a simple fact in her world. If it was the first, then it was unnecessary because he was doing a good enough job keeping that fact in mind on his own. If it was the second, then Potter's appearance earlier that afternoon may have more implications than he'd thought. Perhaps the Thrombey's weren't the only weavers trying to catch Hermione in a web.

She'd been so honest in their conversation, that he decided to do the same with her, even if it was only in a small way. "The portrait of your character is one I'm having a devil of a time sketching."

"A thousand words is a heavy weight to place on something as fragile as a picture. It probably doesn't help that you started this off with a Sherlock metaphor. Trying to fit us into the mold of already-conceptualized characters is a fruitless task."

He chuckled. "Perhaps. But you must admit, Miss Cabrera does make a fine Watson."

"She does, but are you a good Sherlock?"

"I guess we'll see," he offered lightly. (He wasn't. He knew he wasn't. But did she?)

Hermione inhaled sharply, as though his words had given her a shock. Before he could ask, she said, "I guess we will. Goodnight, Detective Blanc."

"Goodnight, Miss Granger," Benoit returned, slightly disappointed that she'd put an end to their discussion but knowing that it was a necessary evil. He had a feeling the following day was going to be a doozy, and he'd need his rest if he wanted to keep up with both the plotting Thrombey's and with whatever schemes Hermione and Marta would be putting into play.

Benoit hoped that Hermione didn't end up deciding upon the morrow to slam shut the door that Marta had encouraged her to crack open between them. Harlan's death may have been what brought him there, but Hermione Granger was a mystery of her own and he hated to leave any he encountered unsolved.


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