"I'm sorry," The room's temperature dropped five degrees. The man at the doorway tightened his fists and gulped, his face turned reflexively to one side preparing for a blow.

"Why is it when I ask you to get me the fucking money, it's suddenly as difficult as slaying a Hungarian horntail?"

She would kill him; really, she should. But it would be the third man for the year and bodies add up. They leave a trail. She could use someone else's wand, but magic was traceable. People had memories plucked from their minds all the time now by the Auror office.

"I didn't start making magical opium to get wizards high for fun!" Hermione stood slowly. Her blood was molten lava, pumping so hot through her head she could feel her scalp warm. She knew she was making the room colder, her wand tip was frosted. It was a byproduct of her anger, body injecting itself with adrenaline that fueled her anger, anger that fuelled her unconscious use of magic to cool herself down. It never worked. She walked around her desk and approached the man. The four men in the room wilted against the walls trying to disappear so they weren't targeted.

"I'm s-sorry," the man stuttered, his knees practically knocking together as he half slumped to the floor. Hermione towered over him and she loved the power coursing through her being. It was apart from her magic; it was fear. "Please, Baron." Hermione didn't quite like that nickname, but it worked. It was masculine, threw the trail off her. She zipped his mouth shut and he gave a muffled cry.

"You're telling me," Hermione said slowly and lifted her wand delicately, the man rose until his toes trailed along the carpet and he twitched, his arms restrained invisibly; she turned and his shoes dragged scratchily on the carpet as she returned to her desk. "That we have finally moved to overseas distribution of the product, and our bank accounts are frozen? "

She knew he couldn't say anything, but she wanted him to try. He was crying. Pathetic little whimpers just barely audible through his sealed lips and Hermione wondered how he got the position in the first place. She thought she hired harder men than this. Hermione really shouldn't kill him. She glanced at the men of the room, all in various stages of feigned ignorance at the spectacle happening before them.

Hermione wanted to fuck someone and none of them would do. She was stressed, her body wound so tight she could feel her coherent thoughts slipping away. Her last sub wasn't very good at being submissive. He didn't follow her instructions. He ended up dead.

After that, it was increasingly more difficult to get a complying sub, not because she couldn't pick from the crowd, but because screening them, and expecting them to meet her needs left her so dissatisfied she was guaranteed to leave a trail and blow her cover.

Fucktoy Ron had long lost his gauge on reality when he became so hooked on her opium, his family had him committed to St Mungo's. Since then, the hospital opened an entire wing to deal with drug addiction. Hermione would care, except she knew it was being bought by the same hospital for their own stocks and being redistributed under a shadow she placed in their midst as a dealer. She still made the profit, it didn't matter.

The man whimpered before her and her eyes snapped back to focus. She could feel herself thrumming in want of relief, she leaned against her desk and sighed. The table was cold, it soothed her flesh where it curved around the hard edge. The man crumpled to the floor at her feet and he gasped for breath, sputtering spittle on her ankles. She sucked her teeth in disgust and flicked her wand to clean it; everyone in the room flinched.

"I need a new launderer." Hermione stated plainly. The man at her feet was shaking visibly now and she could hear his stifled sobs, almost like someone had cast a half-assed silencing charm to shut him up. She put the tip of her boot to his chin and lifted it so he could look at her. She loved that look, he was small and she was large. But this wasn't the pleasure she wanted.

She tutted disapprovingly. "Now, now. I'm not going to kill you." She promised she wouldn't kill anymore this year, she needed to keep that promise. The man's eyes were bright with tears, his cheeks flooded and shiny, the steady drip thudded softly on the carpet.

There was one man she had avoided all this time. One man whose name was a whisper like her Baron . Silver Eyes. People thought he got his name from the sheer amount of Sickles he laundered, but Hermione knew the truth. Because she knew him.

"Bring me Draco Malfoy." His name was a puff of white in the chilly room. She looked back to the snivelling man at her feet. "Obliviate him. He no longer works for me."