A/N: It's here! Chapter 26 is finally here! Wahoo!

Thank you, readers and reviewers! I'm especially grateful for your support and patience. Shout out to RayssaUchiha for your encouragements! You keep me on track!

I do hope you enjoy the chapter. I hope it's worth the wait. :)


Chapter 26: Trust No One

Hermione resists stepping back or looking at the man's offered hand. A few awkward moments tick by, and she turns around to sit at the table, unfolding her napkin and placing it on her lap. A cup of coffee pops up beside her plate, and she flinches. Unable to do much else but let out a little air, whether it be called a sigh or a freaked-out chuckle, she picks up the cup and sniffs it before taking a sip.

It's good.

It's fine.

Count to ten and then backwards.

"I don't answer by that name," she finally says

"Is it all right if he calls you 17?" asks Soo-jin, sitting down beside Hermione.

"I'm not calling you a bloody number, for God's sake," mutters Potter. He sits down on the other side of Hermione. "Your parents gave you a name—"

"Mr. Potter." Steaming piles of food such as eggs, sausage, toast, beans, and fruit begin to populate the surface of the table. Right. Okay. Fine. "If you insist on calling me anything, I want 17."

"You know?" He scoots closer to her, resting his head in his hand. He appears to be studying her. "I was a kid when I found out about the power of a name. Or even a title. When you tell me you wish to be called 17, you're telling me a lot of things."

"Harry," warns Soo-jin.

Hermione slides an egg onto her plate and butters her toast.

"I've been in criminal justice for the last ten years. A rookie would believe you still brainwashed. You forgo returning to your true name in favor for the first one you were given after you were taken from home. But I don't see it that way. The truth is, you feel unworthy. You're not. Doesn't matter what kind of wrongs or sins you've committed. You're still Hermione Granger and always will be."

Hermione bites her toast and downs her coffee which is instantly refilled. Now that she can get behind. "Call me 17."

"No, Hermione, I'm not going to do that."

This one's a tenacious asshole, isn't he? "Know that I'm going to call you whatever I want so long as you are hanging around."

His lips quirk, and his eyes narrow. "What are you going to call me?"

She reaches for the fringe over his forehead and pushes it aside. He does a decent enough job not retracting from her touch. Peculiar, his scar. Maybe she can think of something around it. "We'll find you a name yet, Harry Potter, and when we do, you might think you should've just had the balls to call me 17."

Nott snickers into his cup of tea. "Oh, aren't we in for some fun times?"

Potter pinches his nose. "Do shut up, Nott." He turns his attention then to putting food on his plate. "And, Hermione, after breakfast, you and I are going to go someplace."

"Is that right?"

"It's called Diagon Ally. It's where—"

"It's called what?"

Soo-jin pats Hermione's fork-holding hand. "I know, sweetheart. These places with our people, the names are unlike anything you can imagine. They're…comical."

"Muggles are comical," Nott murmurs behind a newspaper.

Hermione drops her fork and reaches over the table, yanking the newspaper out of Nott's hands. Daily Prophet, says the paper, and not unlike the portraits she saw before, the people in the photograph of the main headline are moving. In the photograph are two men shaking hands in front of a building with a red ribbon around it. A woman comes forward and hands a massive pair of scissors to the one of the men who snips the ribbon. Lights flash on them, like paparazzi is there.

Hermione turns the page. Matilda's profile picture for her Dear Matilda column smiles and winks at her. In the cartoon section, the comic characters move and mouth silently to one another. In the employment section, jobs disappear before her eyes and new ones replace it. Her eyes narrow further at the descriptions of what people are looking for in an employee. For a nanny job…

"Half-blood or Pureblood only," she reads aloud.

Soo-jin yanks the paper from her, gawking at paragraph. "What?"

"It's a private position, hired by a family, not a business," says Nott. "They can discriminate all they want unless Proposition 3 is amended and Proposition 112 passes because homes are private property. And it's not like your Valkyrie Vines in Oslo are so much better. A pleasant reminder to you Norway is more prejudice than here, sweetheart."

"Why do you think I'm here all the time?"

"Just apply for citizenship and move here then. Potter will hire you."

"Mmm." Potter sips his tea. "Better not."

"What does that mean?" asks Hermione.

"What does what mean?" asks Nott.

"Half-blood. Pureblood." The table quiets. "And what's a Mudblood?"

Soo-jin reopens the paper. "That vile word wouldn't be in here, would it?"

"Where did you hear that word?" Potter pins his gaze on Nott who rolls his eyes and steals back his paper.

"Fuck you, Potter."

"I didn't. One of those…portraits upstairs that move mouthed it at me."

"We won't worry about that right now, I guess," says Potter. "You have so much to learn about this community. About yourself and what you're capable of. Hermione, you don't even know half of what you can do."

"I can do a lot." He has no idea what she can do.

"You could do more." He leans towards her. "Finish up your breakfast. I want to show you something."

Much to Soo-jin's concern, he takes her outside to the gardens. Hermione pauses at the expanse of the land and then looks back at the house behind her. Who are these people? Why are these people?

After being confined inside for days, the sun feels nice, but the air is humid and overwhelmingly thick. Already her tinier hairs are sticking to the back of her neck. Clouds, fluffy and grayish-white cluster together. The grass is green and lush, and a robin hovers over a bird bath not far from the maze.

Yeah, she hasn't left England which is a small comfort.

"I hate mazes." Potter grimaces at the perfectly manicured and landscaped work of art that is the maze. "Care to join me in case I get lost?"

"We can stay here on the patio. It might rain anyway."

From inside his sleeve, Harry withdraws a thin and polished piece of wood. "When I was eleven years old, I got this. It helps me control and channel my magic. It's a wand. You likely don't need one. But this…" He gestures at her with his stick. "Energy you have. The power you were born with. It's magic. Real magic. Do you understand what that makes you?"

Hermione stares at the wand. When she doesn't answer, Harry flicks his wrist and a surge of grayish-pink energy shoots out from the tip. Suddenly, her feet are not on the cement but hovering a good six-inches above it.

"Can you do this?" he asks.

"I'm floating."

"Can you do this?" he repeats.

"I've…yes, I think so." She hasn't done it to another person, but when she was young, she made things float.

Harry flicks his wrist again, and she's stable on the concrete. "Do it to me."

"Excuse me?"

"I'm curious. See if you can make me float."

Her brows arch, and she extends her hand and then snaps it back. What if she hurts him by accident? She's been using what little power the bracelet allowed as a weapon for so long, even contemplating about using it for something so simple as trying to make a man float a few inches above the ground terrifies her.

A potted plant on the cobbled wall draws her attention, and she focuses on that instead. A subtle warm fizz tickles her veins, an addictive feeling she's been without because of the bracelet and even with the room she got transported into. Her fingers wiggle a little, and the potted plant lifts a few inches.

And then shatters apart, ceramic shards and soil flinging several feet in all directions. A chunk of pot nick's Potter's ear, and he curses under his breath.

"Jesus Christ. It's simple lifting magic. That's all. Eleven-year-olds know how to do this."

She lets out a frustrated sigh. Her micro skills are poor. She's been walking so long, she's forgotten how to crawl. Stomping up to the debris, she touches the fallen soil with one hand and flicks her wrist with the other. The shards return and assemble themselves, molding together. The soil and plants repot itself, and the orchid is looking good as new. She touches a petal and changes the flower into a yellow rose. She puts the pot back on the wall.

"Twelve-year-old kids can do that. A mild improvement, I guess. I'll give you extra points for figuring out how to mend things. Half a point for changing the flower. Besides pots, what else can you mend?"

She shrugs.

"Can you heal?"

Hermione looks at him over her shoulder. Is he serious? "Is it possible?" She can cover up scars and wounds, but not heal them.

"Yes. I can teach you. Or, er, I know someone who can. You need schooling." His eyes linger on the pot. "Desperately."

Hermione opens her mouth and then snaps it shut. No. No, she doesn't need a teacher. She doesn't need to be here. Wherever here is. She needs to leave. As dandy as it that more are out there like her, she can't stay. Motive or no motive, when it comes to Soo-jin, Hermione can't be indulging her or herself. A second she wastes, is a second longer for HYDRA.

She looks out at the maze and the outskirts of it. There's got to be a way out.

"Don't run." Harry's got his stick held up. "If you run, I have to stop you."

She cocks her head, clocking his face and then his stick again. "You think you can."

"I know I ca—"

She disappears and reappears inches from him, grabbing the wrist holding the stick. "You're right. I'm not going to run. You're going to escort me out of here. Understood?"

He's fighting it. His eyes soften, but he's pushing against her power with his own. She squeezes his wrist harder and channels a surge of energy into him. A few moments later, he's hers. Those green eyes glaze over. His hand relaxes, and she lets go of his wrist.

"Get me back to London."

His head turns away from her, and he's vacantly staring through the glass doors. "We…have to go by Floo."

For the love of God! "By what?"

"The fireplace." He gestures to the outside fireplace not far from them. "I'll show you."

There's a stone dish hanging from an iron hook secured to the cobble of the fireplace. Inside, a powdery substance. Potter takes a pinch and steps inside the hearth.

"Do exactly as I do and say what I say." He throws the powder down and says, "Leaky Cauldron."

Green flames consume him, and he's gone. Hermione stumbles back a few feet and then launches herself close to the hearth where he stood.

What. The. Fuck?

Gaping at the emptiness of the hearth, her hands hesitantly hover over the powder and then retracts when the glass doors open. Soo-jin steps out asking, "Where did Harry go?"

"Uh," noises Hermione, gesturing to the fireplace.

Soo-jin breaths long and slow. "That is not an appropriate way to get you to Diagon Alley for the first time. Did he even explain to you how it works before taking off?"

"…maybe…?"

Soo-jin rolls her eyes and goes up to the fireplace. "Now, yes, this is a fireplace. It can be used for warmth, but usually we just go with magic to keep us comfortable. So we call it Floo. Ef el oh oh. It's a network, and most households and establishments are hooked up to the Floo via fireplace. This is your main source of transportation. Getting around from place to place. There are other ways, but this is the safest. Harry took the Floo to Diagon Alley, and he's going to show up in the Leaky Cauldron. It's the only current Floo Diagon Alley has."

Hermione stares.

Soo-jin chuckles nervously. "Listen to me going off like a mad hatter. This must seem like a crazy dream to you, 17. I'm sorry." She shakes her head. "I don't know what I was thinking. Sending Potter to take you to Diagon Alley? I thought you'd trust him more than me. He's likeable, and your introduction into the community would be better coming from him. He's popular and respected—"

Hermione boldly steps into the hearth. "I…stand right here?"

Soo-jin bobs her head and gathers a speck of powder, and smiles when Hermione offers her palm. "I'll take a step back, but I'll be right behind you—"

"That won't be necessary—"

"It's not a problem. Now throw it at your feet and say your destination."

"Leaking Cauldron?"

"Yes. Keep your elbows tucked in."

Hermione nods and chucks the powder at her feet. "Leaky Cauldron!"


Her feet hit the hearth, and her knees buckle, not because of the landing. She was unsure on how exactly she'd reappear at this Leaky Cauldron place. She falls forward and ends up on all fours. Her senses go on high-alert given how vulnerable her position is. She's hacking like cat ridding itself of a hairball, and there are people near. She knows they are staring at her before even looking at them. When she lifts her head, she does her best in masking how badly her surroundings have startled her.

The scent of a salty fried goods, breakfast, tea, coffee, and beer assault her. Familiar smells anyone would find in London at any restaurant or pub at this time in the morning. What they wouldn't find are the people dwelling in such a place. Half of the people are dressed like they came off the streets of modern London, and they all look to be around her age or younger. The others are adorned in garments of various eras but depending on the age group. A busty, middle-aged woman is wearing a flapper's dress unhappily matched with a pink velvet cloak. A man in his forties is dressed like a gangster from the 50s, hat and an unlit cigarette included. Bales tattooed on his left wrist. Behind him is a very ordinary "No Smoking" sign next to "This is a WAND-FREE zone."

And there's no ignoring the mop cleaning the floor behind the bar as an old man serves up chips to customers.

Hermione can't process everything she's witnessing before a someone steps into her view. Not Harry Potter. A tall, lean boyishly handsome man shows him her hand. He's one of the ones that's dressed somewhat normally. But maybe too business-casual for such a place.

"Are you all right there, Miss?"

She ignores his hand and gets up, brushing off the ash from her jeans and then stopping because what's the point? She doesn't care what she looks like. She cares about getting to London. Where's Potter? Her eyes dart around.

"Neville," says the man who still hasn't put his hand away, "and before I ask who you're looking for, you'll need to present your wand and check it into me or Tom."

Her eyes slide back to him. "I'm looking for the man who probably came before me. Black hair. Green eyes. A little dazed."

His brows shoot up and mouths the word American before saying, "Around here, all you have to say is Harry."

"Where is Harry Potter, then?"

"Just Harry." He smiles good-naturedly "Went to the loo."

How's that even possible? She didn't give that jack-ass leeway.

The man called Neville eyes her, not necessarily checking her out but assessing her. "You a friend of Harry's?"

"Where's your bathroom?"

He points his thumb to the stairs. "The one down here is out of order. There's one upstairs, but your wand. I need to see it."

She pauses before answering, telling herself to be careful.

Don't let him think you're different.

Lie, and don't over sell it.

"He's showing me where I can buy one. Mine got damaged, and I'm not from here." She grins. "Obviously."

"Are you an Auror?"

Hermione opens her mouth, but then Soo-jin appears at the hearth. Her feet land gracefully, and there's not a speck of ash on her. Neville's forehead wrinkles, his lips turn down. He looks from Hermione to Soo-jin to upstairs.

"Is everything all right?"

Soo-jin brandishes her stick. "Where's Harry?"

"Upstairs loo."

She hands the stick over to him. "Don't bother stashing it. She," she nudges her head at Hermione, "and I will be back in a few, and I can vouch for her. She got herself in a spot of trouble. She's wandless at the moment, poor thing."

Hermione denies herself the pleasure in sighing frustratedly and climbs the stairs behind Soo-jin. She wants to run, but she has no direction. When they're out of earshot, she says, "I can't stay here. Don't you get it?"

Soo-jin smiles while running her fingers along the banister. "You should've seen this place before the war. Disgusting. Dust and rotted wood everywhere. These stairs creaked like hag farts. Halls smelled like them, too. Neville really helped Tom out during the Rebuild. Neville is a professor but helps manage during summers. He's a good enough sort."

"I need to get back, Soo-jin." Hermione stops on one of the steps. "Take me back, or I'll go back down and slit Neville's throat and anyone else's who makes a fuss."

"That'd be a sight." Soo-jin turns around and stares down at her. "You'll probably succeed with Neville and few others before Bales takes out his spare, illegally-owned wand he keeps next to his prick and slices off your hands and feet from your body and coaxes you to eat them because he's an imaginative sort."

"If anyone's imaginative—"

"Get this straight, 17. There's no going back." She goes down one step. "I didn't want to say it in so many words. I didn't want you to feel like a prisoner in case you'd lash out. Harry and I capture dark witches and wizards, and that is what you are. Our methods of processing you are not by protocol. We're breaking a lot of rules not putting you in penitentiary while you await trial—"

"I don't need you to do me any fucking favors—"

"Yes, you do. Forget London. Forget everything and everybody you knew. They're not your people. HYDRA isn't your problem anymore." Soo-jin gestures to down stairs. "These will be your people. They would have been if you hadn't been taken as a child."

Hermione grabs Soo-jin's hand. "Take me to London."

Soo-jin's body visibly shudders, her eyes unfocused but not glazed. Her free, shaking hand darts behind her at the small of her back and reveals to Hermione another stick she held on her person. Her wrist jerks, and then Soo-jin relaxes and gasps in a breath.

Her head shakes, features darkening. "I can't have you doing that again."

Soo-jin's quick, and their hands are still together. The woman points the tip at Hermione's wrist and a series of marks, maybe sigils, appear along her forearm and burns into Hermione's skin. It stings for only a second and then fades leaving behind unblemished skin.

"I was hoping I wouldn't have to do that so soon, but I wanted you to be smart and not be so insistent on running back to get yourself killed. I also," she pauses and looks away, "didn't realize you could use force. I should've realized, though. I remember what you did to animals at the facility. You would've gone on and graduated to human beings."

"What did you do?" Hermione she rubs her fingers along her forearm. And how was she able fight her off?

Soo-jin turns and climbs the rest of the staircase. "Follow me. And when we go back down, don't breathe a word to Neville about my second wand, understand?"

"Understood." Her voice and mouth form the words before her brain even registers. Her feet rise and take each step, and she attempts to stop them. She tries to still herself and clenches her hand on the banister. Her vision becomes dizzy, nausea hits her, and her head begins to throb.

No!

She wants to scream, but a bitter laugh comes out instead. She gives in to Soo-jin's order and reaches the top of the steps. "I knew it."

"Knew what?" She raps on the bathroom door. "Harry, are you in there?"

"You didn't go through all this trouble to help me."

In the movies and books, Soo-jin would fold and tell Hermione of her grand plan. The real reason behind everything. But this is life. No matter how sharp of a curve she took into Absurd Land, reality is reality. Soo-jin only quirked her lips and said, "Keep that little enchantment I did on your wrist between us girls, all right? Harry wouldn't take kindly to it."

Hermione grabs Soo-jin's arm and then takes back her hand instantly. Burn blisters and welts appear on her palm and fingers. They don't disappear.

The bathroom door opens, and Potter hobbles out, eyes glazed over and looking like he wants to fly out of his skin. "I'm trying?" he says.

Soo-jin tilts her head back. "For God's sake, you did it to him, too." She waves her stick in front of Potter's face. The gloss recedes from his eyes, and he's able to stand normally.

"All's well, Harry. 17 is very sorry for what she did and won't do it again. Tell him you won't do it again, 17."

"I won't do it again." Hermione considers throwing herself down the stairs. She searches for a feasible weapon, but everything vibrates with similar energy to her own. Her surroundings feel protected. Like she could hammer at the planks of wood beneath her feet for hours, and nothing would come of it.

"She used the Imperius, Soo-jin. On me. I can't overlook that. Imagine how many people she's done that to."

"I understand you're angry, but I'm here now, and I gave her a good talking to. If you still want to do something about it this afternoon, fine. But give her another chance. We know what the Muggles did to her, and what they've made her do. This is a new place. She wants to be free. Her survival instincts kicked in. She meant no harm."

Hermione watches as Soo-jin's fingers touch Potter's. Her pointer finger caresses the back of his hand. Her voice had been soft, and her eyes are wide. "We don't have to send her off to Azkaban this second when we both knew she was yet housebroken. There were bound to be hiccups today. Let's hope this is the most unfortunate one."

Potter heaves a sigh, head dropping, and Hermione loses all respect for him. If she had any to begin with. Why are men such idiots? She would've respected him more if he killed her or sent her way. People who hesitate get killed, and Soo-jin's got him all tangled in her web, and he probably has been trapped for years without realizing it.

What kind of web are you spinning anyway, Soo-jin?

Potter and Nott are obvious victims, and Hermione admits to herself she got trapped, too. But Soo-jin's been out and free from HYDRA for twenty years. How many victims has she feasted on? How many more is she currently sucking dry?

"Also." Soo-jin straightens Harry's collar. "You did amazing fighting off the curse. 17's powerful. I'm impressed. Maybe you can train me a little, too."

In that moment, Hermione wishes she would've killed Soo-jin when they were eleven. It's not because of how she's manipulating Potter like he's her bitch but because the woman reminds her of Natalia. Hermione misses her more than anything and watching this twat use similar antics in winning over people makes her sick.

Potter pushes her hand away eventually. "Maybe. Now let's get out of here. I feel naked without my wand."

Soo-jin has a holster beneath her blouse in the back, and Hermione carefully watches her stick it through the buckled loops. "You really should consider applying for a second. It's not like they'd give you the runaround."

"I've felt out wands before. They don't feel right." He scratches the back of his head, sheepish.

"Try again. We'll both go. I've been debating an Ollivander."

"And give up a Gregorivich? I'd like to see that."

Every word they speak and the way they say them to each other, Hermione files away. She studies their body languages and compares it to the people downstairs. She scrutinizes the oddities they say, picking them apart to see if she can make sense of them and how they may relate to this place.

Wands. A word coming up often, and she's seen both Potter's and Soo-jin's. Sticks really don't do justice to them. They're not broken bits from trees but elegantly and intricately polished pieces of wood. Thinking about it, Hermione can feel an energy from them. A pulse. An uncomfortable pulse. Neither wands of Soo-jin and Harry radiate comfortable vibrations towards her.

As the three of them descend the stairs, Hermione tries again to break through whatever Soo-jin did to her. The sharp headache returns as does the nausea. Her legs become heavy, and her equilibrium tilts. She almost makes a dramatic scene by toppling over the banister, and she would've landed on person playing a flute to his seemingly dead frog.

She stops fighting and inhales deep, to both stead herself and to sooth her frustration. She reminds herself to treat this like a deep cover mission. Something she hasn't done in years and didn't enjoy, but it was an ass-saving skill, especially in the long run. God, she doesn't want this gig to be the long run.

London can't be that far, can it?

As she follows Soo-jin and Potter to the back of pub, the entrance door opens, and two customers come in, ordering coffee and a pint. Their coming allows Hermione sees three seconds of Charring Cross Road from the open door. Soo-jin grabs her wounded hand, squeezing. "Come along, 17."

"Nothing for you out there anymore," says Potter. His words further confirm what he knows about Hermione and what he even thinks he knows about Soo-jin. What exactly has she told him and Nott about HYDRA? At first, she was ninety percent positive Soo-jin told Nott almost everything. Thinking about it now, of course she wouldn't have. She would've told them enough. Hermione believed Soo-jin when saying how verbal she was about her situation while growing up. Surprise, surprise. No one believed her. Special little girls and boys being snatched from their mommies and daddies and thrown into a top-secret facility by fucking Nazis. Anyone reasonable would've thought her insane or attention-hungry. So Soo-jin grew up and learned what not say, but clearly developed a knack of knowing just what to say and to who.

Hermione wants to shout at Potter. Explain to him where Soo-jin really came from and the seriousness of it but stops herself. Because how well does she know Potter? She doesn't. Sure, he's a pawn in Soo-jin's game, but he could be at a table studying the board, wondering what move his opponent could possibly make next and how he can counter it efficiently.

His opponent could very well be Hermione, and she's just seeing this now. It didn't help she forced him, and the possibility of getting enough of his cooperation let alone sympathy is a joke. On top of that, he's blissfully ignorant when it comes to Soo-jin manipulating him. Hermione considers he's letting himself be ensnared for reasons only known to him. Even if his reason is to get laid and get laid only.

Everyone has an agenda. No matter how base.

A voice sounding too much like Madam B's instructs Hermione to steer Potter away from Soo-jin and persuade his attention onto her. Get his empathy. Make him want her. Desire her. Want to help her. Nat's voice interjects. Her ex-lover tells her Nott is her ticket. He's not calling the shots, that's for damned sure. Potter holds more sway in Soo-jin's decision-making than him. Still, he's got the resources supporting Soo-jin in whatever way she deems necessary and if Hermione can coax him to cut her off while getting information, all the better. The odds are favorable in him knowing Soo-jin better than Potter.

Even as she thinks about seducing Nott, Hermione wants to bang her head against the brick wall Harry's tapping his wand on. She hates this and thinks maybe she should've killed herself when she had the chance. If she still feels this way by tonight, Hermione might even try throwing herself from the owlery. If she can't be free and HYDRA still thrives, then what's the point?

Pathetic, Madam B tells her.

Yes, agrees Natalia.

Even as a hole appears in the perfectly ordinary brick wall, Hermione barely registers it because Nat's reminding her what will happen if HYDRA isn't taken down

Relax. You have four years. You've got time. Learn the rules. Play the game. Win it. Then come home and end this one. You're in foreign territory now. This could be your hardest assignment yet. Remember your training.

Hermione manages to see passed the gaping archway of what had been a solid brick wall not five seconds ago and no amount of training could've prepared her for this.

"Welcome to Diagon Alley," says Soo-jin.

To be Continued...