A/N: Finally! Chapter 30 is here! Wahoo! Hope you enjoy!
Thank you, readers, reviewers, and followers! I appreciate your support. Reviewers, I so much appreciate your feedback. Readers and followers, I appreciate you loyalty and sticking with me through this.
Again, I want to give a shout out to RayssaUchiha again. I dedicate this chapter to you!
R&R, please! Let me know how I'm fairing! Feel free to point out errors. I'm still working on editing this chapter and others. Helpful and polite feedback is most certainly welcome and appreciated.
Chapter 30: The War Drums Sound
Hermione contemplates letting Potter drown himself because Lupin isn't wrong. No one here has her best interest in mind. Not even Lupin himself, the most practical person she's met so far. With that in mind, though, Remus likely won't teach her anymore if Potter's dead, and Snape might find it more prudent to kill her and be done with it. Soo-jin can't use her as a weapon if she's dead. The idea of being put out of her own goddamned misery has appeal, but where's the dignity in that? Let HYDRA and Soo-jin win? She can't let that happen.
"Oh, Potter," she murmurs, shaking her head before diving into the water, grabbing him. She kicks off the bottom of the pool and uses the momentum to throw him out of the water. He hits the stone with a wet thump. He's not conscious. He doesn't sputter or cough, so he must've inhaled the moment he submerged to hurry things along.
As Hermione starts her compressions on his chest, and blowing air into his lungs. Potter vomits water and bile, tasting of strong coffee, into her mouth like a good boy. She spits and keeps on going until he sounds like he's hacking up a lung. She turns him over on his side and pats his arm.
"Deep breaths. You're fine."
He shakes his head, choking out a, "Fuck you." He bangs his forehead against the concrete. "Jesus! Why did you save me?"
"Why were you trying to kill yourself?"
"Because she's dead!" He rolls onto his front, pounding his fists. If Hermione were a more emotionally in-tuned being, her chest might tighten, and she'd have difficultly swallowing because this man is truly devastated. The kind of turmoil that's so great, he'd rather die than live a second longer knowing "Ginny" is gone.
But Hermione isn't that type of person. She understands love and loss concerning herself, but she needs to relearn how to apply that to others. It'll be a slow process. She's just barely relearning the basics of right and wrong, having always been fed that yeah, this particular action may sound wrong and even look wrong, but it's for the greater good and a brighter future. Hail fucking HYDRA.
"Oh. Well, in that case," Hermione gestures to the pool. "Drown away."
Potter glares at her, eyes bloodshot. He gets himself into a sitting position and bends his legs, hanging his arms off them, his head shaking. "I can't be here. Her mum. She doesn't know yet. How am I going to face her, Hermione? What am I going to tell her parents?"
This isn't something Hermione can help him with, so she asks, "Who's the crying kid?"
"Isabella. Her daughter. You saw her in Diagon Alley. I wasn't…" Potter chokes on his words and manages to get to his feet, like he realized something. "Nott's her godfather. She came running through his office Floo in hysterics. She saw..." He covers his mouth and closes his eyes. "I'm certain she saw her parents murdered."
"Do you think it's Soo-jin?"
"I don't know what to bloody think right now—"
"Well, is Ginny Pureblood?"
"Yeah, but it's Ginny," he says like she understands and then cares to elaborate at her blank stare. "Everyone loves Ginny—"
"Obviously someone didn't. If you go on to say her smile brightened the room—"
"It did," he provides miserably. "She so was beautiful. And smart and strong and incredibly sexy—"
"Maybe it was her husband because he found out you two were fucking."
Her accusation doesn't rile him. He stares up at the stained-glass creatures on the windows who weep along with him, strangely enough. "No, he's dead, too."
"Murder-suicide. A classic tale."
"The investigation is fresh. That'll probably be pitched, but I think whoever did it was trying to kill Isabella, too. Her dad wouldn't do that."
"So Soo-jin."
"It doesn't make sense. Soo-jin likes Ginny. They're friends—"
"You flew me to London on goddamned broom last night announcing to me and your closest buddies that Soo-jin's a murderous lunatic and out there killing Purebloods?"
"Ginny isn't like those kind of Purebloods—"
"You said it yourself that non-influential ones were being offed—"
"She wouldn't kill Ginny. I know that—"
"We're prepared to consider Soo-jin isn't alone. She may've not killed her—"
"—it'd be idiotic. Her father's the Minister of Magic."
"So she is influential. She's Pureblood, the daughter of the Minister, having an affair, is apparently beautiful, smart, sexy, and likely rich. Jesus Christ, who wouldn't want to kill this woman? She might as have had a target on her ass that said assassinate me."
Potter drops his head for a second. "God, you're awful." He stands up and takes his wand out, swirls it over his own person, instantly drying himself.
"What's the spell for that?" she asks.
He ignores her and stalks off, disappearing around the archway. Hermione waves her hand over herself, imagining herself dry. It works, but if she knew the spell, she may not have to concentrate so hard.
Throwing on her clothes, she runs after him, the crying growing louder. The portraits, albeit silenced, cover their ears. She reaches Potter when he enters Nott's study where there are Nott, Isabella in his arms, the man called Dean from the meeting last night, and a young woman Hermione doesn't recognize.
"Sorry," announces Potter, further entering the room. "I…I uh…needed a minute."
Hardly any of that was heard because of Isabella's screaming. The girl is simultaneously climbing Nott and bunching herself in a ball. Like she's trying to disappear into her dirty nightdress while burrowing herself deeper into his chest. For the sake of her, Hermione notices he's forcing himself to be the calm and steady one. He's not trying to drown himself at the news of what happened to his friends.
"Perhaps a Calming Draught for her," suggest the woman.
"She's saw her parents die. She's allowed to scream as loud and as long as she likes, Bell," replies Nott, coldly. His Adam's apple bobs, the only giveaway of his internal agony. Hermione brushes against her mind. The tentacles of his emotions are sharp, hot, and rigid. His anger outweighs his sadness.
"The sooner she relaxes, the sooner we can get her memories of what happened," explains Dean. "You know this, mate. Of course, she's allowed to be upset. But these moments are vital. It's still fresh in her. The longer we wait for her to tire herself, the hazier it'll be—"
A white, wispy dog-shape float-runs passed Hermione, making her flinch just a little, and goes further into the room to stop in front of Potter.
"Harry, please come. It's an emergency. Come to my mother's."
Hermione narrows her eyes, unsure whether the see-through floating wolf thing was talking or if words were just radiating from it. She also wonders what the hell it is as the shape flounces away out of sight, back where it came from, she guesses.
"Jesus, Tonks." Potter runs a hand through his hair.
"Don't you dare leave, Potter," hisses Nott.
"She's too early to have gone into labor," sighs Potter. "Dean, go check in on Andy's house, would you? Katie, go back to Zabini's and work with the rest of the team. Scour the entire property. Interrogate all the elves and the portraits. If we don't even have at least one fucking suspect by dawn, then I'm sacking everyone!"
The woman called Bell stiffens and then relaxes, her dark eyes softening."I won't do Ginny wrong. I promise."
"Thanks, and Dean?" he turns to him. "Be quick. I'll want you back at the Zabini's, too."
"Yeah, mate. No problem." He disappears in a gulf of green flames at the hearth of the fireplace, and the women Bell follows behind. That…will definitely take time to get used to.
"I hate to do this." Potter takes out his wand. "We either need to force down a draught or Stun her."
"She'll tire herself out eventually—"
"The longer—"
"Bullocks! How is she going to forget? It's burned in her memory for the rest of her—"
"Her mind isn't fully developed. The memory is at risk of being hazy or even exaggerated—"
The two fight over the sobbing. Isabella's crying grates on Hermione's nerves. It's up there in the top five worst sounds in the world. There's something about the sound of a hysterical child that makes a person's skin crawl.
Without an ounce of guilt, Hermione slips into the little girl's mind, skating along on her neurons to prod at certain parts of her hypothalamus. Her cries quiet, and her tiny form begins to relax. Hermione takes advantage of the last few seconds of her conscious state and plows gently as she can through the last hour, carefully retreating once she's seen enough. By then, Isabella's eyes are closed and her breathing evens out.
"See. What'd I tell you?" Nott drapes her on his sofa like she's a faulty bomb. "Potter, push in The Year of the Great Filth Invasion. Behind my desk."
Potter goes behind the desk, studying the shelves. "Which edition?"
"The seventh."
Shoving in the book, the entire section retracts and slides behind it's neighboring set of shelves, revealing a what looks like a hokey, Romantic bird bath.
"What is that?" she asks.
"It's called a Pensieve," supplies Nott. He loosens his tie and folds up his sleeves right below his elbows. "Get the memory, Potter. You're better at extracting them. Reckon you won't let me have the first go, would you?"
Just then, Dean's head appears in the hearth of the fireplace. "I know you've got a lot on your plate tonight, Harry, but you're going to want to come over now. It's Teddy. Teddy Tonks. He's alive, mate. And he's here."
The opportunity to be alone with Nott arrives. Both hands of the grandfather clock are on the twelve, and Potter's not back yet with the memory. Which is fine. Whatever. She knows who killed Ginny and her husband.
To say she and Nott have been waiting in awkward silence for him to return would be a lie. They've talked, low and quiet as to not stir Isabella. Apparently, Nott didn't always work for Potter. He lost his initial gig by getting caught up in Soo-jin and her extracurricular activities that involved tracking down Hermione and got demoted. Like, big time. Since the demotion, his wedding was called off, and his trust in Soo-jin diminished. She's hiding something, he's certain. He tells her she's been slagging about with Potter, and he's sure she's got another lover in Norway. Nott believes she's been sleeping with other men since the beginning of their relationship.
Hermione thinks he's bringing this up to her because he has no one to comfort him. He has no one immediate or true to him right now, and Soo-jin's absence makes this situation even more unbearable for him. It's a betrayal she's gone. It's a betrayal she's entertaining men who aren't him. He has no clue where her true fidelity lies. Regardless, with the evening he's had, a solid weight of resentment settles heavy inside him. Soo-jin's not there to even be a friend, and he hates her for it. He needs someone to hold him, rub his back, and tell him it's going to be okay, and the woman he once wanted to marry isn't here. She's never here. She's always gone, and Nott has to stay behind, suffering alone while keeping an eye on their pet project.
"I'm gong to tell you a couple of things, but you're not going to like them," she says
He waves his hands at her. "I challenge you to make my evening worse."
Hermione goes on to tell him the truth about Soo-jin. About her heritage, a little bit about her time in Sokovia, and the real reason why she's spent more than a decade tracking down Hermione. She explains Soo-jin's true loyalty. Her ambition to better the world through sporadic and scattered mass genocide. But keep in mind, Hermione's not divulging anything to Nott because she thinks he deserves to know. Telling him the truth may present her an opportunity. A deal.
His hurt, anger, and indignation ripen at the news. Absolutely perfect for her. She sits down across from him at the desk and gives him a few minutes to stew before putting her hand over one of his clenched fists. "I have a proposition for you."
He shirks her hand, looking at it with distaste, pulling out a handkerchief from his pocket and wiping where she touched. "Even I can't lie and say you're not pretty, but if anything, Soo-jin's betrayal on top of your sins…the lot of you filth are abominable. You're blood-thirsty apes. Undeserving and unrefined and unworthy for the gift you happened to be born with. Soo-jin and these others you talk about want so badly to be equal and say they're just like anyone else, yet they murder. And you…you're a prime example of everything wrong with those fucking Muggles."
She throws him a pitying look. "I'm not proposing we kill time by having sex"
In the last two hours with everything that's happened, she knows she has no worth to him at this point. She doesn't know the details, but his family made a bad name for themselves. He's not an…Auror—whatever the hell that is—because he has genuine interest in making people safe. He got demoted from a high-ranking position in this world's ministry and could've quit but decided to take up Potter's sympathetic job offer. It was to improve his own image. At the beginning, he got involved with Soo-jin for various reasons, none of them for love. One of them being because she was a highly beloved "Muggle-Born" and public figure here in England. Not so much back home, but she had some pull with highly influential folk apparently. And for someone like Nott who wants nothing more to get in society's good graces, she fit his tastes. Plus, she's beautiful, brilliant, ambitious, and harbored an incredible tale she and him could sell to the press, gaining for more than just money.
A story such as hers splashed on the newspaper or in a book would have the masses sing him praise. Forget he's a bigot and so caught up in his own self-interest, he hadn't noticed he was sleeping with a terrorist; people would be in awe of him and his effort of finding this monstrous, brainwashed witch who'd been wronged by Muggles.
Hermione doesn't know this culture or society, but she figures people, magical or not, love a sob-story. They love drama. They love cookie-cutter stories and with the help of a money-hungry reporter, hers could be sawed into one. Poor little Muggle-Born girl, thrown into an asylum by her parents and then trafficked and sold into a terrorist organization where she was tortured and exploited. Potter, another gem of this place, is personally seeing she gets the teaching and rehabilitation she needs as to overcome what those nasty, murderous Muggles did to her.
In the space of an hour, Nott no longer sees her as his golden ticket. His best friend is dead, and his ex-fiancée is helping rid the world of his people. The same people that share his ideations and status. His self-interest dwindles, and his instinct for self-perseveration surprisingly doesn't outweigh the needs and wants of the tiny human slumbering on his couch. He'll do anything to protect her from the same fate that befell her parents.
"What are you proposing then?"
"Aside from removing my brand and killing Soo-jin—"
"She's not all madness. She's nothing more than one single fucking witch a part of it all. I'll take care of that fucking whore soon enough." He pulls out a silver case from his drawer behind the desk and fishes out a cigarette. He fails to light the cigarette with his lighter, so Hermione takes pity on him and leans over the desk, touching the end of the stick, igniting it.
"Smoke?" he offers the case.
He lights her a cigarette with the tip of his, and she takes it. The inhale makes her eyes sting a bit, but her shoulders relax. Unfiltered and unapologetic in the taste. It takes her back to Moscow, rooming with Natalia, way before Barton had the nerve to sense her underlying desire to be a good person. The rare occasions she and Nat wouldn't be working but at "home" together where they'd smoke and flirt, and Nat would get a little drunk on vodka martinis and Hermione would pretend she would, too. They'd fool around sometimes, and by morning, the apartment would smell of Sobranies, vodka, and sex.
"First of all, I'm sorry about your friend," she says to Nott, scratching her bottom lip with her thumb. "You two must've been close."
"Don't pretend you give a shit or pull a farce that your soul isn't anything but damned. You're not sorry. How could you be. You feel nothing. You leveled that property in Kabul—"
She cuts him off by rolling her eyes. "Kabul wasn't even my worst. And you're right. I'm not sorry about your friend. I'm not even sorry that little girl will never see her parents again. And I'm not sorry about what happened in Kabul. I had a mission. It was saving someone I was close to because believe it or not, I can feel."
"When you choose to, I suppose."
She dips her chin in consideration. "Perhaps that's something we have in common, you and I." Taking a drag of her cigarette, she says, "Now back to the proposition. I know exactly who killed your friend. It wasn't Soo-jin. That'd be too fucking convenient, wouldn't it? I will tell you, but you have to do something for me in return."
"How could you—"
"Your folk call it…Occlumency according to those books in your library. We just call it mind-reading. Telepathy. I peeked inside her head a little. I was gentle."
His eyes narrow. "You know all of four people since you got here. Unless you can draw me a face, I doubt you can give me shit."
She shrugs. "I only know the first name. Should I tell you what I want now, or do you want to think about it? Just so you know, my offer expires the moment Potter returns. We don't need him complicating things. Your rage and my skills are enough."
"You don't have to convince me you're good at killing people."
"Let me convince you then, that I'm fairly good at not getting caught. The bodies you found in the Middle East are just a handful in comparison. The quicker you agree, Nott, the quicker your friend's killer meets his own sticky end."
He stomps out his cigarette in the ashtray. "What is that you want?"
She smiles brilliantly. "An outing."
London
Her curls are piled atop of her head and stuffed in a cloche hat. Nott's glasses sit on the bridge of her nose. The man follows her closely into London's Internet City café. She scoots herself behind a screen, lowers the glasses to the tip of her nose, and promptly creates a brand-new Google account. She skips passed all the bullshit that's asked of her, so she can send an encrypted message in to Everett Ross. She can't risk sending anything to Nat or Steve whose private servers are under constant surveillance by HYDRA.
How all is lost. How you dance, race, abbreviate.
The message itself is sloppy, and her username is too obvious, but she hasn't time to be cleverly obscure. Nott is allowing her this on the promise of being quick. She takes a picture from Google images of a patriotic eagle and manipulates it to an artist's rendition of the mythical hydra. When Ross opens the email, he'll see an eagle bleed into the hydra.
She adds one more thing.
O philosophical mind, O mind of paper, I need a squirrel finishing his mild dash, across the highway, rushing up his green ungoverned hillside
"That's enough," hisses Nott. "If we want to get this all done before Potter get's back, we have to go now."
She presses send and barely allows Nott to grab her elbow and drag her out of the café.
Across the Atlantic, in Virginia, Everett Ross splashes water on his face and gets ready to shave. In the bedroom, his girlfriend is supposed to be asleep. Instead, she's quietly scrolling through his emails and text messages. A new email pops up on his personal Google account.
*Laura opens up the email and smirks. It does take her a few minutes to decrypt the message and locate where it was sent from. Even so, Ross is just finishing up his shave and getting ready for his shower. Abegglen must've been pressed for time. Sloppy, indeed. She forwards the message and information to Sitwell.
She hasn't left London and without a doubt will be contacting MI-6 ASAP and setting up a walk-in. Be quick.
-LB
Brown puts back the phone and gets herself comfortable, pretending to be asleep for when Ross comes in, kisses her on the forehead, and tells her he's heading in early. Like always, she'll plead with him to stay a little longer. She'll fix him breakfast, blow him, a 'please just stay'. He never does, leaving her to feed the goldfish and walk the dog before she needs to get ready for work.
The moment they step out into the open air, Hermione says, "Dennis."
"What?" asks Nott.
"The man who killed your friends. Dennis is his name."
"No. No, he couldn't have-"
She takes advantage of his shocked state and slams her foot down on his instep, thrusting her elbow into his lower gut and then taking off in a run. She runs across streets and ducks into alleyways until she feels comfortable to throw herself into a phone booth. She picks up the phone, dials, and waits for the line to connect.
"Satin n' Silk is closed and will reopen at 8 o'clock—"
"Stirred, not shaken," interrupts Hermione.
"Very well. Your call is being connected."
After a few moments, "This better be bloody well good to be calling me at this hour!"
"I need to arrange a rendezvous. I'm a walk-in."
"From where?"
Hermione hesitates, unable to say HYDRA. She doesn't know this woman on the phone. Her loyalties. There are multiple HYDRA members in agencies across the world. She can't say HYDRA. She can't say S.H.I.E.L.D, either.
"From where?" the woman repeats.
"Bolshoi Theatre," she whispers, flinching. Something's hit the glass of the phone booth. Hermione's eyes narrow and then widen when seeing an arrow-like thing suctioned to the surface, lights flashing and quiet beeping coming from it. She drops the phone and bails, breaking the glass and rolling onto the sidewalk. The phone booth explodes, the momentum powerful enough to lift and throw her several feet. The vehicles on the road crash into each other from the distraction. Her raincoat is on fire. She shirks it and takes off running. There are cuts on her hands and glass in her hair, but there are worse things.
Barton is after her.
S.H.I.E.L.D. likely gave him shoot-to-kill orders. This isn't about bringing her in. HYDRA wouldn't risk that. They wouldn't risk her getting the chance to tell the truth. They didn't send one of S.H.I.E.L.D.'s top assassins to chat her up, and if he was briefed about her encounter with Steve and what happened in Russia, then he'll know to keep his distance from her if he can help it.
The hairs on the back of her neck stand on end. In her peripheral, she sees quick movement. She ducks and rolls, not being able to prevent the tip of the arrow slicing her from the corner of her mouth to the top of her ear. Blood spills down her face onto her clothes, and the arrow embeds itself into the building beside her. The few people around her are running towards the crashed vehicles, making sure those inside are all right
She stands to run and disappear anywhere else that isn't here but is slammed into by Nott. His body maneuvers hers into the nearby alleyway, and they appear back inside his office, Isabella still asleep on the couch. The elf, Lilo, is placing a blanket on her. He acknowledges Nott with a nod and then leaves the room
Hermione falls onto all fours, heart pounding and ears ringing from the bomb. She squeezes her eyes closed and then beats her fist on the floor, cracking a plank of polished wood. She was so fucking close, and they were so quick to find her. Obviously, HYDRA would have someone stationed here. London is her last known location to them. They found her so quickly because…the email. They're monitoring Ross's accounts because of course they are. He and Hermione worked together, and he's CIA. Sitwell's not a complete idiot. He and Pierce would know she'd seek him out. She did just that right before she disappeared. That phone got left behind.
Nott pays her no mind as she abuses and bleeds on his floor. He paces and massages his chin, shaking his head. He's talking, but she can't hear the words. She could read his lips but what's the point? There's no point to anything. Her email got intercepted, and she's still branded and bound to Soo-jin.
Potter finds her this way when coming through the hearth. Already ashen and disoriented, he grabs Nott by the lapels of his shirt, bellowing, "What the hell did you do to her?"
His words sound like he's shouting them into a barrel far away from her. Sighing, she brings her arm up to her face, her sleeve catching the downpour. Nott gently places his hands on Potter's. "It's been a hell of night for all of us, and I won't be responsible for my actions if you don't get your hands off me."
Potter releases him and goes to her, crouching down to pull her hair from her face. "Move your arm. Let's see the damage."
She shows him, he sucks in a breath. "That's going to scar something fierce if we don't get that taken care of." He looks to Nott. "Know any healers taking patients at this time of night?"
"We've got more to worry about than her pretty face. She told me...Potter, she said it was Creevey who killed Blaise and Ginny."
"I know."
"You know."
"I know." He shoots Nott a furious, impatient glare. "But there's nothing I can do about it right now, and neither can you. What we can do is clean up this mess and fix her face."
Nott storms to the fireplace, disappearing in a bloom of green flames, only to return five minutes later with the pale, blond man from Madam Malkin's. He's in a night-robe and has slippers on his feet. He's got a small black, leather satchel thrown across his torso. His eyes are bloodshot, but his hair is perfectly set for a two o'clock in the morning house-visit.
Potter lets out a pained sound at the sight of him. "Whatever. You'll do."
Malfoy pauses when seeing Isabella asleep on the couch. "Is everything all right, mate?"
Nott rubs his eyes. "No, but we'll talk about it soon enough. I've got a bleeding woman you need to take care of."
"Which you failed to say how she got this way," hisses Potter.
"Why don't you ask her? It's not like her tongue got chopped off."
Malfoy offers her his hand, and she shows him how bloody they are. He joins her on the floor and opens his satchel, putting on a pair of gloves. "Don't move your face. I'm going to congeal the flow." He waves his wand at her, and the slash instantly hardens. Malfoy carefully uses gauze and a mint-green ointment from a vial to clean up the blood from her face and neck.
"Is the wound from a curse?" he asks, throwing Potter an accusatory side-glance.
"From an arrow," she says stiffly, careful not to move her mouth to much. The slightest tug of muscle would rip the newly formed scab right open.
Malfoy's brows arch and throws a questioning look at the other two men. "Interesting."
Potter looks to Nott who shrugs. "Look, I'm hearing this for the first time. I literally found her this way when she tried to ditch me in Muggle London."
"Muggle London?" balks Potter. He badly finger-combs his hair. "Jesus, you left the kid? To do what?"
"You left Isabella?" asks Malfoy to Nott. He looks at the child again. "Why is she here, anyway? Where's Blaise? What the hell is going on?"
"You leave Scorpius with Mipsy all the bloody time," Nott justifies.
"I feel like I'm in a bad play," mutters Hermione. She snaps her fingers in front of Malfoy's face, getting his attention, and then points to her face. "Fix this, please. If I'm ever going to score a lay again based off my personality alone, I'm in serious shit."
Malfoy lets out strangled chuckle, throwing her a strange look. "Your eyes alone could stop a bloke dead in his tracks. Um..." His cheeks pink, and he shakes his head. The arrogance and poise he played while Malkin's is long gone. "Sorry. It's 17, right? Sorry, that wasn't appropriate. I'm going to...just," he soaks a cotton swap with the contents of another vial, this liquid a clear-brown. "A little essence of dittany."
Immediately, her scab begins to crack and flake off. An attractive sight, no doubt, but she can feel the baby soft skin, plump and fresh. When she goes to touch her cheek, Malfoy's already tending to her temple and ear. Unfortunately, she can still feel the deep divot, but she can show a little patience. The man and his bag of goodies clearly aren't finished.
The finishing touch is a rich, fungus-smelling cream that Malfoy rubs deep into the tissue of her face and ear. It's uncomfortable and awkward as hell, she's about to tell him to fuck off and let her do this part herself. Give her the cream and she can apply it, but then he's finished and he's packing up his empty little bottles as well as removing his gloves. He clears his throat and without looking at her, he says, "Your face is now unevenly freckled. Spending an afternoon out in the sun should help things along. Any phantom pains?"
Moving the muscles of her cheek and pinching her upper ear, she tells him no.
Amazing. Absolutely amazing. Yeah, she heals fast, and technology and medicine are improving everyday, but five minutes ago, she was bleeding profusely and was planning on being disfigured.
Malfoy takes one more thing out of his Mary Poppin's bag, offering it to her. "As a precaution," he says. "Blood-Replenishing potion."
"Uh...thanks," she replies. "Do I, like,...app-"
"You drink it, Hermione," interrupts Potter. "You know that."
"How would she kn-" Nott gets interrupted by Potter elbowing him.
"So 17 isn't your name," says Malfoy, smirking and offering his hand again. "Hermione. Is your mother's name Helen?"
She chuckles mirthlessly, not taking his hand. "It was. And it's 17." She gets to her feet. "Thank you."
Malfoy stands. "You know, the Congealing Charm is fairly standard. I'm surprised you didn't cast one on yourself." He shoots a peeved expression at both Nott and Potter. "Or they could've helped, at least. They teach first-year Auror recruits that spell."
"Men are helpless." She eyes him carefully. "Most are, anyway. And my wand broke in London. Getting a new one will be the first thing I do tomorrow. If you'll excuse me, I think I'll-"
"Stay!" shout Nott and Potter in unison.
"I've got to feed Cat."
"Cat?" asks Potter, frowning.
"Yeah," she says slowly. "The cat you bought me."
"You named it Cat?" he says in revulsion.
"I thought it was terribly appropriate. What else would I have named it? Shark? Bear? Goose?"
"Am I still needed...?" Malfoy gestures to the fireplace.
"Yes," says Nott.
"No," says Potter.
Jesus, it's going to be a long night.
Clint scours the alley where he saw Milas disappear. He returns to the street and back to the alley. He looks up the sides of the building, and scratches the back of his head. He hit her. He knows he did. There's blood on the ground, but she's gone. Disappeared into thin air. Some man collided into her, Clint saw that much, and they both disappeared.
His eyes...they must be playing tricks on him. That and he hasn't had more than twenty minutes of sleep at a time since Abegglen's betrayal.
"Well, shit," he murmurs, getting out his phone and dialing Hill.
"Is it done?"
"If it makes you feel better, I hit her. Bad news is, she's gone. I don't know what the hell happened, but she disappeared. Like literally. Into nothing. Her and some guy. Didn't get a good look at his face. Caucasian and brown-haired. That's all I got for you."
"I was hoping you'd get this taken care of. According to Fury, Nat's making plans. It scares me, but it might not be such a bad idea."
"Maybe I'll join her."
"Fury knew you'd say that, and he's not giving you his blessing."
"C'mon, Maria."
"She's on forced LOA. Fury won't be able to stop what she does with that free time once she's healed enough to go looking for her." She sighs. "Maybe she should have this, Clint. Yeah, it would've been great if you got Abegglen, but in reality, I think this one belongs to Nat."
Clint looks down at the blood, frowning. "What if she doesn't find her?"
"She can't hide forever."
"Yeah, she can," he counters. "I only caught Nat because she wanted to be caught. People like them. If Abegglen does pop up on the radar again, I doubt it'll be here. Twice in a week. She won't risk it again. She'll go deep."
Clint ends the call and gives the blood spatters one last look before throwing his hood over his shoulder. He jumps onto a garbage bin and scales the side of the building, pulling off his own disappearing act.
To be Continued...
A/N: *Not to be confused with Laura Barton. Laura Brown is listed as a HYDRA agent on Marvel comic's HYDRA member list.
