Chapter 10
Severus found himself sitting once again across the desk from Minerva McGonagall, a cup of tea gently steaming in front of him. "Thank you again for the use of your floo," he said. "I don't think she would have lasted the walk to the gates, and I certainly didn't want to send her disapparating in that state. Who knows how much of her would have made it to the Burrow?"
"What put her so out of sorts?" Minerva asked, taking a sip of her own teacup.
"I led her through the process of creating a mental shield," he answered. "It went... surprisingly well."
He was still processing the impressive amount of skill that the girl had shown him. It took him a shocking amount of force to break through her defenses, force he hadn't expected to have to use. The fact that it was her first attempt proved to him more than anything that there was truth in what others said about her- she was strong indeed. If he were any other man, it might have intimidated him.
Minerva was watching, waiting for him to elaborate. He shifted in his seat and reached for his teacup. "She created a functional shield that I could not immediately break through. That type of power comes at a cost; her physical exertion was spent after that." He took a sip and looked at her. "It is an almost unheard of feat for someone's first attempt. I am not the least surprised she is exhausted."
He knew when he said it he was asking for trouble. Minerva's eyes grew wide and a smile broke across her face, hearing him praise her precious prodigy. "My, Severus," she said smugly, "those are fine words for an insufferable know-it-all. You're impressed!"
His eyes narrowed as he looked down his nose at her. "She's shown talent beyond reciting someone else's words. Natural talent, at that. If I had seen any of that when I was teaching her, I would not be so surprised."
"You were blinded by your hatred for Harry," she replied dismissively. "You would have seen her worth had you not been so keen on making his and his friend's lives miserable."
"Potter had nothing to do with it," he grumbled. "All I ever saw in her was an incessant need to prove herself and a blatant disregard for doing as she was told." He tapped his fingers against his leg restlessly before adding, "She's different now. She cares less about proving her worth and more about what's important. She's stopped caring about what the world sees in her."
"Maturity brings out the best in us," she said wistfully. "She's what, nearly nineteen now? With all she's gone through, she's had to grow up so quickly. They all have."
"Yes, well, it's refreshing." He looked to the side, studying the shelves that lined the walls. "I almost don't regret agreeing to teach her."
His companion was oddly quiet at that. He swung his head around quick enough to see her studying him carefully over her square glasses. "What?!" he snapped, his defenses rising.
She tutted at him as a small smile crossed her face. "You aren't as scary as you try to be, you know."
"Tell that to your students," he muttered, annoyed. "Are you quite done memorizing this moment? Yes, Miss Granger impressed me tonight. Stop gawking."
Her laughter did nothing to make him feel better. "I'm sorry, Severus," she tittered. "It's just nice to hear such kind words from you for once." She must have sensed his finality with this conversation, as she changed the subject abruptly. "Did you go, then?"
Sighing, he straightened in his seat. This, as unpleasant as it was, was a preferred topic choice over the last. "Yes, I went. She spoke to me." Pulling out the file from his robes, miniaturized for travel, he reversed the charm and handed them over. "They're heading to Wales, apparently."
"Wales?" Minerva adjusted her spectacles and studied the map. "Why Wales?"
He held his arms out and shrugged. "Your guess is as good as mine. She said that was the plan assuming they were victorious."
"We'll have to alert Kingsley," she muttered. "You had no wind of this?" He shook his head.
"Unfortunately the Dark Lord kept his plans close to his chest in the end. It is possible he trusted others with the information. However, I doubt they'd speak with me as Narcissa did."
"Why did she speak with you, Severus?" Minerva looked up at him with a serious expression. "Did you offer your help with Draco?"
"I did." He sighed, growing tired. It seemed he loved to give himself obligations. "That'll be another thing to discuss with Kingsley."
"I do hope it goes well," she said quietly, looking down at the files absentmindedly. "That boy deserves a second chance."
"You and your penchant for lost Slytherins," he muttered. "We don't all get a redemption arc, you know."
"I see the good in those that deserve it," she smiled at him. "Now off with you- I have work to do and now so do you."
"Don't remind me," he sighed heavily as he rose from the chair, taking the files from her again.
"Have a good night, Severus," she called after him as he walked through the office doors. He simply raised a hand in a silent farewell, the staircase already carrying him down.
Hermione had gone straight to bed when she returned to the Burrow, stumbling up the stairs and almost rolling on top of Crookshanks in her attempt to get under the covers. She hadn't remembered falling asleep.
When she woke, it was to one of the worst migraines she had ever had the pleasure of experiencing.
Moving into Ginny's room had its pluses- it allowed her to sleep uninterrupted when Ron and Harry were in and out at odd hours, there was more space for a larger cot for her and Crooks, and Ginny didn't snore. It did have a downside, however, and as Hermione turned away from the large window, sunlight pouring in and filling her corner of the room with bright afternoon light, she began to miss the tiny windows in Ron's room dearly.
Oh gods, I feel like my head is splitting in two. Throwing her blanket over said head to block out the light, she concentrated on her breathing and tried to relax the tense muscles of her neck. She felt every beat of her heart in her skull and an ache behind her eye grew until she felt like she was going to be sick. The sounds from the open window echoed painfully in her ears and she threw her arm out from under the blanket, grabbing wildly for her wand. When her fingers found it, she jabbed it at the noise with a little too much force, and the window slammed shut.
"Ow..." she moaned as she cradled her throbbing head in her hands.
She wasn't sure how much time passed. It could have been two hours as easily as it could have been twenty minutes. But when her door cracked open and Ron peeked in, she snapped, "Get me something for this bloody migraine!"
Later, sitting in the kitchen with a mug of peppermint tea and a twinge of pain still teasing the edges of her mind, she apologized to Ron for her dramatics.
"So, what have I missed?" she asked, turning to Harry as well.
The boys gave each other an awkward look before turning back to her. "What have we missed?" asked Harry instead. "You were out for almost a whole day. What happened?"
Hermione studied her drink. "I'm not sure, actually." Looking up at Harry, she asked, "How did your shield training go for you?"
"My what?" he asked.
"Your shield? He didn't walk you through the imagery?" Hermione asked, confused. She knew their lessons were different, but...
"I don't know what you're talking about, honestly." Harry furrowed his brow, trying to remember. "My lessons with him were mostly just... him telling me to close my mind."
"I wonder why our lessons are so different." She rubbed her temple, the act of thinking irritating her sore head.
"I reckon he just didn't try very hard at it cause it was Harry," said Ron. At Hermione's glare he added, "I'm not trying to be mean here. Snape and Harry hated each other. He probably only did as much as Dumbledore made him."
"Even so," she muttered. "I guess I can always ask him about it."
"So you think it was the training that wiped you out?" asked Harry.
She sighed, rubbing her eyes gently. "It was definitely the training. I'll tell you about it later. What's new in your world? It feels like we haven't talked all week."
Ron looked over at Harry in a sort of nervous excitement. "You wanna tell her?"
At her suspicious look, Harry grinned. "It isn't like last time," he laughed. "I asked Ron if he wanted to move into Grimmauld Place with me after you and Ginny went off to Hogwarts."
"I said yes, of course-"
"-and we're going to start cleaning it out tomorrow. Make it more of a home and less of a hideout. We were thinking..."
"Would you live with us after Hogwarts?" Ron finished, looking at her hopefully.
Her eyes wide, Hermione could only stare as her two friends waited eagerly. After taking a few moments to absorb this request, a smile broke out over her face. "I don't know what 'after Hogwarts' is going to look like for me," she started. "I might have my parents back by then. They will want me with them, I'm sure... but if not, then I'd love to, of course I would!"
The three beamed at each other across the table, and Hermione experienced a sense of optimism towards the future she hadn't felt in a long while. She welcomed it gladly.
The next morning, Hermione and Ginny roused bleary eyed Ron and Harry and the four of them went off to 12 Grimmauld Place, prepared for a long day of hard work.
"Right, Harry." Hermione turned to him as they approached the shabby house. "Do you have a game plan?"
"A what?"
She rolled her eyes, unsurprised that he hadn't thought that far ahead yet. "Do you have any idea what you want to do with the house? Where do we start? What are your end goals?"
"Oh!" he exclaimed as he took hold of the handle. "Erm... I guess I haven't really thought about... it..."
Harry's words faded as he opened the front door and they entered the very dark, very destroyed foyer. They all froze in the doorway; their bodies blocking the light outside, Hermione silently lit her wand, and the savage destruction came suddenly into harsh, blinding focus.
The once-great entrance room was now strewn with broken bits of furniture, items shattered across the torn, stained carpet at their feet. Dust, dirt, and other debris covered every surface, and the crumbled chandelier and shattered lamps crunched under their shoes as they maneuvered through the mess. The staircase was covered in sharp pieces of the railing, and the mounted house elf heads had fallen from their wall and now littered the steps and space around them. An eerie silence filled the home.
"Blimey," whispered Ron, the only one seemingly capable of speech. "What happened?"
"It's obvious, isn't it?" responded Hermione just as quietly. "Grimmauld Place was compromised. Death Eaters must have broken in, looking for information. When they found none..."
"They took their anger out on the house," finished Ginny, kicking the debris at her feet.
"Well Hermione," managed Harry as he swallowed, taking in his broken shamble of a home, "to answer your question, I guess that my game plan is to start from scratch."
Ginny reached out to rub his arm as Ron stepped carefully through the wreckage to examine the other rooms. Hermione, ever mindful of a task at hand, started to comprise a plan of action to move forward. "We can repair some of it," she told Harry, bending down to turn over a fallen portrait. "If you were attached to anything in particular, that is."
Harry looked down at his feet, pushing bits of wood and glass around to expose the ruined carpet below. "I didn't want to keep a lot," he said, muted, "but I kind of thought I'd have a choice in the matter."
She nodded, letting the painting fall as she stood back up. "I'm sure we'll find something," she said quietly, more to herself than to Harry, who was rubbing his neck in agitation.
Ron returned from exploring the dining room and kitchen below, shaking his head; the damage seemed to have spread throughout the house. Harry's face turned a sickly pale and he grimaced.
"It's a big project, but we'll get it done." Ginny took Harry's hand, and he turned to her with a grateful smile. "It isn't the worst we've been through, after all."
"They did you one favor, mate," said Ron, staring at a large portrait on the wall, framed by thick curtains. "Look."
With careful steps so as not to fall, the three moved closer to the portrait of Walburga Black, once as loud as she was impertinent, and Hermione heard Ginny gasp as her wandlight hit the frame. The well-hated depiction of the Black family matron was in ruins; the canvas had been torn, burned, and otherwise completely destroyed beyond repair. Walburga was nowhere to be found.
"How-" Harry's words stopped as he reached up, lifting a fold of the canvas in shock. "How did they-"
"How did they manage to shut her up?" guessed Ron. "Just thank your lucky stars they did. It might be the only blessing you find in here."
Harry stared at the portrait for a moment longer before nodding slowly. "I should write the Death Eaters a thank you note," he joked softly, a small lopsided grin on his face.
Hermione turned her head away from the portrait and looked at her friends. "Right," she said in her best get-things-done tone. "Let's look around and get a good idea of what we're working with. I think we should make it a goal to clean out at least one room per visit. Once the place is gutted, we can start to replace the necessities." She looked around her at the destruction that surrounded them, and gave them an uneasy look. "It's a lot more work than we were expecting, but we still have a month and a half before Ginny and I leave. I bet we can get it done by then."
Her words seemed to give Harry the confidence boost he needed. "Yeah, you're right, Hermione." His small smile grew until it almost reached his eyes. "We can do this. One room at a time."
Ginny stepped towards the stairs, picking up a mounted house elf head. "First order of business: getting rid of these monstrosities." Harry laughed, and the rest of his despair seemed to melt away.
The four of them, with great sighs of trepidation, turned to ascend the staircase, to see what damage awaited them there.
That evening, after an entire day of cataloging and cleaning, Hermione found herself once again in front of the castle gates, and once again she was not alone.
"Good evening, sir," she greeted as she approached Snape cautiously. If he doesn't say anything I'm just going to keep walking, she thought to herself as she remembered their latest meeting at the gates. Hell, there's a chance I'm going to keep walking if he does say something.
Snape, however, nodded and returned the greeting. "Good evening, Miss Granger." He seemed in a pleasant mood today, which was a stark but enjoyable contrast to a few days ago. "Shall we?"
At her agreement, they walked onto the grounds of Hogwarts together. She tried to ignore her pressing need to ask why he was at the gate again. Was he once again returning from somewhere, or had he been waiting for her this time? It wasn't her business, she kept telling herself. The silence was driving her mad, though, and her need to break it, to say something, grew unbearable the longer they went without speaking.
"So, how are you tonight?" she asked, and mentally kicked herself for her awkward delivery.
He didn't seem to mind, as he replied, "I am as well as can be, I suppose. And yourself?"
It didn't matter that he didn't look at her when he spoke. The fact he responded at all brought a smile to her face. "Oh, I'm all right," she said casually. "A bit tired. It's been a busy day."
"What does a busy day look like for a student over summer?" he asked her, glancing her way. "You have no hero business to attend to, for once. I would think it would be nice to relax."
She laughed. "Yes, I suppose it would seem that way. But if I'm not doing something I feel lost. It's why I'm so grateful for the task force, and these lessons, sir." She met his eyes briefly as he looked her way once more.
"You like keeping busy." He said it like he understood her. "When you work as hard as you have for so long, it's difficult to slow down. Just take care not to overdo it."
"I'll be careful," she assured him.
A silence fell between the two as they walked down the path. She could see the whomping willow in the distance, stretching its large branches to the sky as the sunset shone on its leaves. The castle was close. A thought crept into her head.
"Sir?" she asked hesitantly. He raised his eyebrow as he looked over at her from the corner of his eye, giving her permission to continue. "Is that why you agreed to teach me? To keep busy?"
Her question seemed to surprise him. He looked up at the castle, pondering a moment before answering. "Yes and no. A part of me does wish to keep busy. These last few years have been..." he shook his head. "It's hard to slow down when you never stopped."
For once, a palpable understanding crossed between the two of them, and she took comfort in the feeling. The end of the war was an abrupt full stop, and filling the void it left behind had been difficult. She wasn't offended at all at the idea that he was using her to fill his own void; after all, hadn't she done the same with him? "What about the other part?"
He sighed. "I seem to have found myself in a very charitable mindset as of late," he muttered. "I fear I've forgotten how to tell people no."
As she watched him, she sensed a sudden rise in discomfort in the man; his shoulders grew tense and he turned his head away from her, his hair falling forward to block his face. He's said too much, she realized. He's opened up to me more than he wanted to. Hurrying to find a change in subject, she said the first thing that popped into her head. "Grimmauld Place was vandalized, did you know? I was with Harry and the others all day; it's going to take a good amount of work to clean up. We've only just managed the foyer."
Though he was silent she knew that he had heard her. After a moment, he sighed again as he ran his hands through his hair, exposing his face once more. "I did know that," he replied softly, and she heard the regret in his voice, saw it in the tightness of his lips. She wondered if he had been there when it happened. She wondered if he had partaken. She wondered-
"I wasn't there." He didn't look at her, but his answer was firm, and she wondered if he could sense her train of thought. "I had no desire to revisit the place. I told them there was nothing there worth our time."
"I'm sorry," she whispered, fearing his discomfort was worse than before. "I didn't mean to-"
"It's of no consequence, Miss Granger."
She waited, but he didn't say anything else. Grabbing at one last chance of redeeming the conversation, she said, "I don't think Harry minds. Once the shock wore off, I think he realized how little he liked of the house. Now he has a guilt-free reason to start over, and I think he's relieved." After a pause, in which she thought she felt- but may have imagined- the tension fading from between them, she added, "and the destruction of Walburga Black's portrait would put a smile on anyone's face, so we owe someone thanks for that."
She was relieved when she heard a light snort from him, a faint upturn of his lips gracing his face. "Indeed," he replied, and she felt uplifted. Perhaps she hadn't muddled up the conversation as badly as she had feared. "The crowning achievement of the entire war; destroying a blood-purist's portrait."
"Well," she joked, "she was a pretty nasty piece of work. A bit intense for both sides, I'm sure." He made a noise of agreement and grew quiet, the slightest smile still on his lips.
Feeling like she pushed him far enough with her inane chattering, she walked alongside him in comfortable silence as they climbed the front steps and descended down into the dungeon.
When they were situated in their usual chairs in the dueling club, she pulled out her notes. At his questioning look she explained, "You told me to gather my questions."
"Of course." He exhaled, leaning back and propping his elbow on the armrest, chin on his hand. She was momentarily put off by his casual posture, but when he said, "Go on, then," she started in on her list.
"Why did I sleep for almost a full day after our session?"
"The mental strain of maintaining a shield against any kind of attack is exhausting. You depleted your energy stores, concentrating it all on keeping me out. It being your first attempt, you are as yet unfamiliar with the mechanics of it all- you will learn how to only pull forth the energy you need going forward. Next question."
Hermione blinked at his quick moving on. "Was the migraine I woke up with a reaction to the shield?"
"Most likely. I can't say with complete certainty, but we are exercising your mind. It will struggle to keep up at first." He shifted to resting his head on his other hand. "Next."
He isn't allowing me time to ask additional questions, she realized with annoyance. She found her next question. "Do I have to imagine locking the door every time?"
"No; once you get used to the feeling of locking the key with your magic, you will be able to do it with just your magic- no key necessary. The imagery is there only to lead you to your goal until you can find it without a guide. Next."
"Jeez, do you have somewhere to be?" she muttered under her breath as she flipped through her notes, and was surprised when she heard a small huff of a laugh come from him. Best to ignore that, she thought as she found her next question. "Why are my compartmentalization habits such a benefit? This one seems a bit obvious now that I look at it, actually."
He picked his head up. "Explain it to me then."
Scrunching her face in a combination of a pout and concentrated look- I should have just let him answer it- she said, "Because what are we doing if not trying to put some of our thoughts and feelings in a box? I've always been able to put aside one thought for another, and the only difference here is that there's a barrier between them now."
He seemed pleased. "Next."
Rolling her eyes, she asked, "Why are emotions so tightly wound together? Why are they so difficult to separate?"
"We'll be getting into that more in depth later, but to give you a summary..." he sat up straighter and continued, "you rarely ever feel just one emotion at a time. When you experience happiness, you're usually also amused, or expressing love, or perhaps maybe it's a melancholy sort of happiness. Emotions are complicated, and so separating them is as well." He paused, his lips forming a slight smirk, before he said, "Next."
She stopped the question that formed in her mind before it came out; there would be time later. "Why are my lessons and Harry's so different? Why didn't he have to imagine any protective shield?"
This question seemed to throw him. His eyes narrowed slightly as he answered. "Potter was a different sort of student," he told her. "We've been over this."
"But I don't understand how you can teach this so differently. Is it that broad of a subject?"
"More so." He cleared his throat, tension spreading to his shoulders again. "Potter had proven to be able to shake off the Imperius curse, an... impressive... feat for a child." She heard how much it hurt him to say that, and had to fight back the urge to roll her eyes again. "It is possible to use that same idea and force someone from your mind. Since there was evidence he would be able to do so, that is the route I took."
"I guess that makes sense." she tugged on her lip as she considered it. "You'd be using great willpower, like the book said. You know, you've never given him enough credit," she added as an afterthought, ignoring the glare he gave her when she said it. "He's a strong wizard. A bit thick-headed at times-"
"I do not come here to discuss Potter, Miss Granger. Ask your next question."
"He doesn't hate you, you know."
"I'm well aware of his abrupt change of heart. Ask your next question."
"I don't have any more questions!" she snapped. "You know, it would be nice to not have to de-thorn you every time I mentioned Harry. You taught him this, too. It's only natural the topic would come up."
She realized a bit late that she may have overstepped. Snape's hand was gripping the armrest a bit too tightly and his nostrils flared as he attempted to glare a hole through her head. "I would be careful, Granger. My patience only goes so far."
A glare of her own directed at the man in front of her, Hermione exhaled. "Fine. But I was only curious about the teaching methods. I wasn't implying anything." She bent to put her notebook away, and when she straightened, he seemed calmer- marginally.
"So... what's next?" she asked when it was clear he wasn't going to move on any time soon.
"Now," he said, "we work on separating your emotions." He stood, and motioned for her to do the same. Walking over to a nearby blackboard, he asked her, "What emotions are you experiencing right now?"
She laughed, a breathy huff, as she stepped closer. "You don't want to know."
"I don't need to ask to know that you're annoyed with me." He looked at her with eyes that showed her his annoyance matched her own. "Describe it to me."
He was in such a good mood, she lamented before concentrating on what she felt. "I am annoyed. I'm frustrated. I'm angry." She looked at him, figuring if she was going to stand in front of a firing squad, she might as well look her shooter in the eye, and continued, "I feel like you purposely read too deeply into what I say sometimes, especially when Harry is involved, and misunderstand my point. I feel..."
"That's enough."
She halted her train of thought, and watched as he turned to the blackboard. Taking a piece of chalk in his long fingers, he wrote three words on the board: Annoyed. Frustrated. Angry.
"Of the three here," he said, brushing his hands off as he turned to her, "which do you feel the strongest?"
She closed her eyes, focusing on her emotions. "I'm not actually that angry, I suppose. Or annoyed. I'm mostly frustrated." Opening her eyes, she shrugged. "I should know what to expect when I bring certain topics up. I just don't like the response I know I'm going to receive."
He nodded once, sharply, and disregarded her complaint as he moved on. "Pay attention to how that frustration feels. What is it doing to your thought process? How is it affecting you physically?"
"Do you want me to describe that as well?" At his confirmation, she paused to collect her thoughts before saying, "Mentally, I have a hard time focusing on anything other than the thing I'm struggling with. In this case, it's the feeling that I can't openly express myself, but sometimes it's a problem I can't figure out or, well, my magic failing. It's an irrational thought process that plays on a loop in my head, focusing more on the problem and less on finding the solutions I need to fix it. I know that I will be able to talk myself through it later, if I allow myself to calm down, but knowing that doesn't do any good when I'm feeling helpless." He seemed to accept that response, so she continued. "Physically, it winds me up. I grow tense, and I want to lash out- to hit something or shout or otherwise get this energy out of me. Oftentimes a shout and a fist to the desk relieves the tension."
"I imagine in the company you keep, you must feel this frustration quite frequently," he commented, and when she opened her mouth to retort, he raised an eyebrow.
"You're taunting me," she accused, and her eyes grew wide as his lips lifted into a slight, sideways smile.
"I'm trying to keep your frustration to the forefront of your mind."
"Oh, is that all?" Her disbelief at his unexpected playfulness painted her words with sarcasm, and a responding smirk crossed her face. "Yes, I'm familiar with the feeling of frustration, not because of the company I keep, though I will admit they don't do themselves any favors. But I thought you didn't come here to talk about them?"
"Too true- let's move on." He picked the chalk back up, and with a wave of his hand the board cleared. "We will continue this practice of breaking down different emotions to their core feelings for the remainder of the lesson. In between this session and the next, I want you to continue to do so in different situations. By the time we next meet, you should be able to separate the few you wished to lock away without accidentally locking the rest with them. Now-" he turned to the blackboard again- "let's discuss fear."
The session went on for another hour, an hour of near-philosophical discussion of the complexity of one's emotional range, before he called it quits and sent her off, now mentally exhausted as well as physically. Sleep was sure to come easily to her that night.
"You wanted to see us, sir?"
Carden Vayne looked up from his parchments to see Antonin Dolohov standing in the doorway, his two companions lurking behind him. In a surprising turn of events, the three had not taken an absurdly long time to answer his summons. Carden set down his quill and stood to invite them into his study.
"Good day, gentlemen. Please, take a seat by the fire. I thank you for meeting with me so quickly."
A long couch and two chairs framed the area in front of the fireplace, and once they were all seated, Carden clasped his hands with a snap and said, "I believe I have the perfect task for you three." He paused, piquing their curiosity, and continued, "When we first spoke, you expressed frustration in our certain... loose end."
Antonin perked up. "You mean Snape?"
"I do indeed." Carden leaned over and picked up a newspaper from a low table sitting between them, handing it over to the men. The front cover featured a flashing photo of a familiar black-clad figure moving through a crowd of reporters, the headline above reading "Former Death Eater Severus Snape Proved Innocent".
"So you think he's a risk?" asked the youngest, Julien.
"Yes, I do," he responded. "He knows who you three are, which is threat enough. But he could also know more than you or I are aware when it pertains to the late Dark Lord and his plans. If he were to go to the ministry with this knowledge he could potentially thwart any progress we could make in the future."
Carden, of course, didn't believe a word of what he was saying. He didn't see Severus Snape as a threat in the slightest. There was nothing that man could tell the ministry that would thwart what he had planned. All he needed was to convince these three idiots that he valued their efforts- that he was sending them back to deal with a serious threat to their cause- and to get them out of his hair.
For the first time since introductions a few days before, Walden MacNair spoke up. "What would you have us do, sir?" His voice was monotonous and coarse, his eyes holding an edge. This man, Carden could see, was dangerous in his own way. He held vindication close to his heart, making him an unreliable liability. This was a shame, because he was sure the man was capable of being of great service when not hungry for retribution.
He nodded and gestured to the newspaper. "I would have you return to England, find this man, and take care of him."
Antonin handed the paper back to Carden. "Do we have specific instructions from you, sir, or is it up to our discretion?"
He could tell these men were anxious to get their revenge. Good. It would be easy to get rid of them after all. "You three know better than I what to expect. All I care about is that he's dealt with quietly." He stood, and the others rose with him. "Well, my friends," he said as he clapped his hands again, "you're welcome to stay the night, and I would be honored to see you off tomorrow. Is there anything I can get prepared for you?"
The three men declined any assistance, shook his hand, and left his office. The door clicked shut, and Carden dropped his grin.
If everything went according to plan, these men could be of use to him after all. He returned to his desk, picked up his quill, and continued his letter.
A/N: I hope this chapter has answered some questions the last one may have left you with! Leave a review if you feel up for it, I'd love to hear what you think so far. See you next week!
