A/N: Short filler chapter just to let y'all know I'm back.

Disclaimer: DUH!

Mister Flint

"Have you got your gear?"

It was the first time she'd spoken to him the entire morning.

Flint grinned snarkily at her and retorted, "What do you take me for?"

"Do you really want to know?" Katie glared at him.

She'd been overseeing the expedition gear and double-checking the "essentials." Though, granted, there weren't many essentials witches or wizards generally needed. Disapparition was a handy thing and so was conjuring and calling. Katie didn't take the luxuries for granted though, there were some parts of the jungle and the desert where Apparition was tricky. It was hard to locate a specific place when everything looked exactly the same and the last thing she needed was Flint to end up in Cambodia… On second thought, she wouldn't mind all that much but she had to bloody pretend for a month that she didn't.

"Don't you think we should at least be semi-civil?" Flint drawled. He zipped up his knapsack and slung it over his shoulder.

"No point," she responded flatly.

Katie had noted he'd dressed sensibly today. The sun was unbearable at times in Africa.

Just then a bright flash of light exploded before her eyes.

Katie blinked rapidly, trying to focus on the faces swimming infront of her when her mind lurched: news reporters! What in the world were they doing here? At least five different people began hounding her with questions about the reservations and her opinions of Flint's generous donations when the smarmy prat deflected the attention onto himself. Apparently, being rich and an ex-Deatheater was all the rage. Katie had grown accustomed to the reporters when the reservations had first begun, but after that, she'd receded back into her usual life and they had left her alone. They were disconcerting. She hated them. 

She watched as Flint expertly handled the tiny mob of overeager dirt-mongers. He'd somehow managed to direct them elsewhere before he returned to the supplies table to finish packing his equipment.

"Are we Apparating with all this stuff somewhere?" Flint asked blandly. It was a little heavy to carry.

"No. I do things the old fashioned way. We're going to rough it out," Katie answered curtly.

"Never can make anything easy for me, can you, Bell?" Flint smirked.

"Only returning a favor." She snapped. With that, she slung on the rest of her provisions and walked away.

Flint was not an idiot.

Just because his playboy, rich-and-evil, mommy's-prat news reports appearance painted him out to be nothing more than a name didn't mean that he was. He knew better than anyone that Katie blamed him for Wood's death. He didn't totally disagree with her either. In many ways, he was as responsible for Wood's death as he was for his own path in life. He wished it didn't have to be that way though.

He looked up and saw Katie's slim figure disappear into a nearby tent. She was talking rapidly in a Medicine-Man tongue he'd never heard spoken before and gesturing wildly to a small, fisherman like native. She was all light and beauty and everything he'd never have.

It was sick.

If his parents could see him now… But what the hell did he care? His parents never gave two shits about him. All they wanted was a big name, a bigger bank account, and the winning ticket. Dumbledore. Voldemort. Dumbledore. Voldemort. Whoever was on top, whoever was in the lead… It was all a big power game to them and he'd been a pawn. Do this. Do that. This way. That way. And he'd been sick of it.

Flint was sick of it all. Everything his parents had done was reflected on his life. They'd really fucked him up. He hadn't been born with a decent chance in the world, not with decent people at least, the people that mattered. And he was tired of being labeled something he wasn't. He used to get a rise out of it, knowing they were all wrong, brainless idiots for thinking so. He used to think it was amusing to manipulate people and abuse his façade as a Deatheater; it surprised people to know he wasn't. They never expected it. And when they didn't expect anything, he had the upper hand. But that had been when he'd been younger. Now, in many ways, all he wanted was redemption.

Now he was going to find it, finish this… With a particular, antsy little ex-Miss Wood.

"We're taking a boat down the river right down into Zuwanga."

Katie had resurfaced next to him.

Flint noted the two feet diameter she kept.

"Fine," Flint said.

"Load the gear," she said. She began commandeering the native hire-hands around her and in less than half an hour everything was stowed away and set.

One month.

He had a month to settle this with Katie and then maybe both of them could get on with their lives.

It wasn't about the money or the reservation, to her it might be, but not to him. For him, it was something deeper, something more important. Zuwanga was just another cover for him, another game. Katie was the purpose. Whatever damage he'd inflicted on her, whatever pain that he had caused, everything had to be fixed. Thank Merlin Gilberton was an idiot. Flint had seen his golden opportunity as the reservation began to flounder. He could step in and save the day. He grinned wryly at the thought. A Flint save the day? No. Maybe. Didn't hurt to dream though, did it?

He almost snorted out loud. Who was he kidding? Sometimes dreaming hurt more than reality because then you woke up.

"What are you waiting for? Let's go!"

He heard Katie's impatient shouting before snapping around to look at her.

Her blue eyes flashed in irritation and he stepped off the dock and onto the boat. She gave him a scathing look before untying the ropes keeping them in place. She shoved off with the help of some men on the wooden dock and tapped the engine with her wand. It roared to life and the tiny, but comfortable, boat lurched forward along the murky waters of the Congo.

One month.