Hi everyone! I know I'm very slow on updates, but I promise updates are coming. I'm just very bad at keeping myself on a schedule lol
Hope you enjoy the drama ;P thank you to everyone reading and loving this story!
Alpha love to WordsmithMusings *kisses babes*
Chapter Seven: Ugly Jealousy
"Val," Hermione grunted as she punched the bag in front of her. "When will you be going Lost hunting again?"
Val leant against the rail of the sparring ring and watched as Hermione swung again. "In a week or two, probably, once I run out of the last of my money. Why?"
Hermione grabbed the bag to stop from swinging, her knuckles aching and chest heaving as she tried to catch her breath. She wiped sweat from her brow and unwrapped the bandages covering her hands. "Will you take me with you?"
Val doesn't need to ask why this time. Hermione had already told her about the Grandmaster's deal. "Fine, but I keep the units."
Hermione placed a hand on her hip and looked down her nose at her friend with a smirk. "Hi, indentured servant, remember? Trying to get back to Earth? What would I spend money on?"
Val barked out a laugh. "Right. Forgot that bit."
"Hulk smash!"
The sound of crunching metal moved their attention to the large green man a league away, currently bashing in a decrepit cruiser. Shards of steel and glass flew in every direction as his fists pounded into it. Hermione chuckled to herself; only Hulk could consider that a workout.
"Do you think he'd throw a match for me?" Hermione asked as she came to stand next to Val.
Val snorted. "Hulk hasn't lost a match since he appeared here fifty years ago. I don't think he would, not even for you." Her tone turned bitter. "We're all indentured to the Grandmaster in some way or another, aren't we?"
Hermione had no reply, a leaden ball forming in her stomach. They stood in silence for a few minutes and watched Hulk continue to smash things into bits of scrap.
"I hope I can find someone worthy," Hermione finally said, breaking the tension. "Or at least strong enough. I just want to get home; I've been gone for too long already."
Val walked from the sparring ring and removed the wraps from her hands. "You know time on Sakaar doesn't pass the same as Earth, right? The two months you've been here are only like two minutes on Earth or something. I've been on this planet for over thirty years, but who knows how long it's been on Asgard? Could be the opposite, could be worse. Only the Grandmaster knows how time works here."
"How do you know that?"
Val gave her a shrug and a bittersweet grin. "You learn many things when you've been here as long as I have."
Hermione didn't press further; she knew Val liked to be cryptic. But that knowledge filled her with excitement and hope. She would have only been gone from Earth for... less than an hour? Half a day? No one would miss her. She could go home and pretend like this was just a bad dream.
That thought carried Hermione's feet back to her room with a bounce in her step, a rare smile gracing her lips.
Just as she turned the corner, she spied Sorbet-head leaving Loki's room, trying to right her clothes as she walked in the opposite direction. An aching feeling settled into the pit of Hermione's stomach as she slowly approached her door, the smile wiped from her face.
Loki's door remained open as she passed it by. He sat on the edge of his bed, shirtless again, hair a mess and bed sheets thrown to the ground. It was utterly apparent to her what had just transpired in that room. Ice filled her veins as Hermione stood at the door, her mouth hanging slightly in disbelief.
Glancing up at her approach, Loki stood swiftly and walked forward, "Hermione, let me explain—"
Hermione didn't give him the chance. She disappeared behind her own door and pressed the lock, shutting it tight.
She shouldn't be jealous. She shouldn't. But she was.
Angry tears pricked the corners of her eyes before she could stop them. Crying over this was idiotic, she tried to tell herself. He wasn't worth it. He wasn't anything to her. Loki was nothing.
The overwhelming feeling of loneliness suffocated her. Here she was, a witch without her wand, on a foreign planet with... with aliens. And she was attracted to an evil god. Her magic reached for him in a way she couldn't comprehend, in a way she never felt before. And she had no way to attain answers for what she felt, no way to ask someone for help.
Even the thought of Loki made electricity course over her skin and through her curls. The feeling was so exhilarative that Hermione could see the light blue static of her magic ripple over her arms.
Calm—she had to calm down before she did something bad, like blow out her window or fry her sheets. Her magic never behaved like this; it was trained, reserved—like her. But she was none of those things in this place, and Loki only made it worse.
Taking a few steadying breaths and grounding herself, Hermione came back to her own.
She was strong. She could do this. Hermione wasn't alone; Val and Hulk were her friends. Tomorrow she would go Lost hunting with Val to find a contender, and then she would return to Earth. Maybe she could convince Hulk to help her.
"Be brave," she whispered to herself. "Be a brave Gryffindor."
The words seemed to help as she chanted them a few times, and she continued to repeat them while preparing for that night's party. The dress the Grandmaster sent this time was completely black—the deepest black Hermione had ever seen. It was completely void of any light and draped over her like a Greek gown, clasps of silver pinning it together.
The attendant, who still refused to speak to her, took extra care of her hair and makeup. Hermione startled when she glanced at herself in the large mirror once she was done. Her curls piled high on her head, a black and silver headpiece woven between them. Dark smokey shadow framed her eyes, but her lips were painted deep red. She looked...
Intimidating. Powerful.
It helped her channel her earlier words, and Hermione reeled when she thought about how makeup and clothes could do that. She had never thought of that type of thing before, had never thought that something so simple like doing one's makeup could make them feel invincible.
Discovering her shoes tonight were flat sandals had her grinning in relief. Tonight's outfit was the first one to make her feel this way—Hermione couldn't wait to rub it in Loki's face.
Pressing the button to unlock her door, disappointment thrummed through her at finding Loki missing. He always escorted her to the parties. Hermione knocked on his door lightly, waited a few moments, and walked alone to the Grandmaster's quarters when no answer came.
That ache returned to her chest as she entered the lift. It continued to spread through her as she walked towards the music, her skirts flowing around her like pooling ink. People even moved out of her way for once as she weaved through them.
Hermione's treacherous eyes searched for him before she could stop herself.
Loki was in his usual spot, Sorbet-head draped on his arm and surrounded by other high-class. They all laughed merrily at something Loki said, and the ache turned to a knife twisting in her chest.
"Three-nine-four! My, look at you. What a vision." The Grandmaster greeted her as she walked to his chair. People she had never seen before surrounded him, donning dark blue jackets with odd glowing red bars over the shoulders. They varied in race, some human-looking and some... not.
The Grandmaster noticed her wandering eyes. "These are my guests—Ravagers. Ah! So exciting." He looked around for a moment. "Stakar! Yeah, hey, c'mere." An older man, possibly mid-fifties, came to stand beside the Grandmaster. "Hey , has anyone told you your name sounds like Sakaar? How weird! Maybe that's why I like you so much."
The Grandmaster laughed, as did the group surrounding them, though most of it sounded fake. Stakar didn't, but he seemed to be entertained, if his lopsided grin was any indication.
He seemed... nice. Hopefully.
"Three-nine-four, this is Stakar. He leads this little band of Ravagers."
Stakar placed a fist to his chest and gave her a small bow, his smile widening.
"You'll be entertaining him tonight. Give him our finest Sakaar welcome."
Hermione's eyes went wide in surprise. She had never entertained anyone before. "Oh—"
"C'mon, GM." Stakar said with a laugh, waving his hand. "She doesn't want to hang out with an old crone like me."
The Grandmaster arched a brow at Hermione, his mood suddenly serious. "Is that true?"
The implication hung heavily in the air. Hermione already knew she didn't have a choice in the matter. "Of course not, Grandmaster. I would be more than happy to entertain your guest."
"Great!" The Grandmaster clapped his hands together and returned to his jovial state. "Make him feel right at home. Whatever he wants."
The suggestion settled like a leaden ball in her stomach as Hermione walked forward robotically and took the arm Stakar offered her, his grin never leaving his face. She forced a mirrored smile, trying not to jump from his grasp. Would he make her do those things?
"That man always gets what he wants, doesn't he?" He mumbled in her ear.
"Yes," Hermione replied simply.
"What's your name? Your real name, not that assigned number bullshit."
Hermione couldn't help but smirk at Stakar's bluntness. "Hermione."
"Well, Hermione. My name is Stakar Ogord. I run this little band of Ravagers, as the GM seemed to so plainly put it." He let out a light chuckle as he led her to a nearby sofa. Gesturing for her to sit, he waited until she was comfortable before sitting next to her.
"What do Ravagers do, exactly?" Hermione couldn't help her curiosity. No one had been this kind or open with her.
Stakar seemed to ponder for a moment, "Smuggle, steal, bounty hunt; you name it, we do it."
A genuine laugh bubbled in Hermione's chest, "So you're space pirates?"
"I suppose we are, yes." Stakar laughed with her. "I take it, since you aren't familiar with Ravagers, that you're not from around these parts?"
"Is it that obvious?" Hermione gave him a gentle smile, which he returned. She felt surprisingly comfortable with him. Stakar had been nothing but hospitable, and he made her feel human again. "So, do you smuggle for the Grandmaster, then?"
"Here and there," Stakar replied. "He pays well, though I don't quite agree with his... morals."
"I see," Hermione stated, and they fell into an awkward silence.
A sudden lick of fire trailed down her neck, and Hermione looked across the room to find bright green eyes on her. Loki stared at her with a downward tilt to his mouth, still surrounded by whoever he could charm.
Hermione averted her gaze back to Stakar. Let Loki look—she no longer cared.
"Would you like a drink?" Hermione asked. "I would be happy to fetch you something."
Stakar held up a hand and stood. "Please, allow me."
He took her hand from her lap and softly kissed her knuckles. Hermione smiled at him; she felt nothing from the kiss, but she suspected he meant it simply as a polite gesture.
Left alone, Hermione couldn't help but let her eyes wander back towards Loki.
He was gone.
Glancing around the room, Hermione searched for him but couldn't place his unique head of inky black hair. Sorbet-head was gone too, and a wave of jealousy washed over her. No doubt they were back in his rooms, doing what they had been earlier.
Stakar returned after a moment with drinks in hand. Hermione sipped it tentatively; she hadn't yet drank anything from this place besides water. A rush of flavour exploded on her tongue like she ate a handful of perfectly ripened blueberries at once.
Her shocked face made Stakar laugh. "Good, eh?"
Hermione smiled and nodded, taking another sip of her drink. They fell into easy conversation, Stakar telling her all kinds of stories.
"...And then we had to kick him from the Ravager guild. It was sad, but child trafficking goes against the code."
"Oh, that poor child," Hermione frowned. "Trafficking is against the law where I'm from, too, so I commend you on your decision."
Stakar sighed and shook his head, "He broke our hearts... But enough about that, where is it that you're from?"
Hermione chewed on her lower lip, weighing whether to share the truth or lie. "Earth."
With raised eyebrows, Stakar bent lower to her, his voice becoming a whisper. "How did an Earthian land on Sakaar, of all places?"
Hermione hesitated. She liked Stakar, but could she trust him? His dark eyes watched her as he waited for her answer. They gazed at her kindly, and Hermione decided. She told him what happened all those weeks ago on Earth, how she was sucked into some kind of rainbow light and spat out onto Sakaar. How she became the Grandmaster's slave, and the deal he made with her. Maybe he could help her. Maybe he could sneak her off the planet.
Stakar whistled low, "I knew the GM indentured people, but I didn't realise it was so extensive."
"Would you..." Hermione started, scooting closer and lowering her voice. "Would you take me with you? When you leave?"
Stakar suddenly looked extremely uncomfortable. He shifted in his seat and opened his mouth several times in an attempt to find words.
He wouldn't help her. She'd been wrong to trust him.
Moving farther from him, Hermione stared at her feet. Recalling everything she'd been through had caused all the hurt she'd stuffed away to bubble to the surface. A lump formed in her throat, and she willed away the tears that threatened to fall—she couldn't cry here.
"Excuse me; I hate to interrupt."
In surprise, Hermione looked up to find Loki stood before them. A forced smirk pulled his lips upward as his piercing eyes flitted between her and Stakar. Something tightened in her stomach, like a rope pulled straight, waiting to snap under the strain. Then he noticed the tears, and though the smirk stayed, his gaze hardened.
Stakar sat back against the cushion. "And yet you did."
Loki's smirk strained; Hermione recognised the tightening of his lips and the slight narrowing of his eyes. He didn't like Stakar, and that intrigued Hermione greatly. It certainly pulled her focus away from her own feelings.
"Loki Laufeyson, god of mischief, at your service," Loki gave a small bow. He waited for Stakar's introduction, yet the man remained silent as he looked at Loki.
Hermione chewed on her bottom lip, unsure of what to do. It was obvious there was some silent testosterone-filled battle waging between the two of them. She stayed silent as they stared at each other, and after a moment, Loki straightened, his smirk gone.
"Well, please excuse me. I find your conversation rather... lacking."
Then he left, walking towards the couch across the room and back into the company of Sorbet-head. Hermione frowned as his arm circled behind her, his body instantly leaning into hers. The tightening in her stomach turned sour.
Stakar chuckled beside her. "He likes you."
Hermione turned back to him, ignoring the way Sorbet-head leant into Loki's chest like they were extremely familiar with each other. "What?"
"He comes to interrupt us, has nothing important to say, and then instantly makes a point of throwing himself over that woman? It's obvious."
"He couldn't possibly." Hermione's brows furrowed. "We're not even friends,"
Stakar laughed, "In my experience, you don't need to be friends to feel what he's feeling. You're a gorgeous girl, Hermione. Any man would be an idiot not to see it."
Despite herself, Hermione felt a faint blush heat her cheeks. She glanced at Loki again, her blush deepening when she found his eyes on her. The tightening worsened.
She and Stakar fell back into conversation, though much more reserved. He asked her about her life on Earth, and she told him as much as she could without giving too much away. No one else needed to know about her abilities.
Before she knew it, the party began to end, the crowd dwindling. Astonishingly, Loki had stayed even though Sorbet-head left nearly an hour ago—which Hermione only knew because the woman had made an obvious show of trying to take Loki with her. He still sat on the settee across the room, though now he was alone and constantly watching her.
"Well, Hermione," Stakar said as he stood. "It has been a pleasure to know you." He took Hermione's hand to help her stand and pressed another gentle kiss to her knuckles.
Hermione gave him a warm smile. "Thank you for everything. This was the best party I've been to."
"I wish there was something I could do to help you get home, but angering the GM wouldn't be in the best of interest for either of us."
"It's alright," Hermione replied, though her voice wavered. "I understand."
They said their goodbyes, Stakar returning to his men, and Hermione to her room. Just as she walked out the door, a pair of familiar footsteps came up beside her.
"Did you have an enjoyable night?"
Hermione huffed, "I could ask you the same thing."
"He was vile."
Hermione stopped walking and twisted, her black skirts swirling around her with momentum. She glared up at Loki. "Stakar was perfectly agreeable, much nicer than anyone else has been to me! And you certainly have no right to suggest anything is vile when you drape yourself over that woman!"
"That man was about as agreeable as—as—" Loki cut himself off with a huff as he stalked to the lifts, jabbing the call button with so much force Hermione was surprised it hadn't shattered.
"What?" Hermione hissed as she caught up to him, "As agreeable as what?"
Loki rounded on her, his finger still pointed and shaking with anger in the air. "As agreeable as a Mummudrai!"
A wicked smile curled his lips at Hermione's confused expression, and her confusion quickly turned to rage; he knew she wouldn't understand the comparison. Magic rippled across her skin, and when Loki's eyes widened, Hermione's reigns broke. With a quick shove, she pushed Loki into the newly arrived lift, the doors closing instantly as they began their descent. Her hand tingled from where she touched him, and that only added fuel to her fire.
"Why can you feel my magic?!" Hermione yelled, her voice wavering with frustration as angry tears filled her eyes. "Why can I feel yours?!"
Loki pressed his back against the elevator wall, "I—I don't know..."
"You have to know something!" Even Hermione could hear the desperation in her voice, the slight crack as her anger drained from her. She couldn't go on like this. She couldn't stand to be around him anymore. It was too much.
Pushing from the wall, Loki stood before her and stretched to his full height—which, without her heels, was nearly a foot overhead. "You have to understand; where I come from, magic is in everything. It's not like Midgard, where it's two separate worlds. My mother—" He stopped and looked to the ground beside him with a clenched jaw. "My mother always said there is importance in everyone we meet. I used to think her foolish and whimsical; the beliefs of a woman raised by witches. I never believed her—until now."
His hand reached out to lightly grip her arm, and the temperature of the small compartment doubled. Hermione could feel their magic combine, as it had so many times previously. A small sigh left her lips involuntarily, and she snapped her jaw shut as Loki's eyes flashed back to hers.
"Your mother was raised by witches?" Hermione clung to that statement in an attempt to change the subject. Anything than admit she was drawn to him, anything then let the heat in his eyes and touch consume her. "Like Frigga?" She recalled the name of that woman Val had mentioned all those weeks ago.
With her question, the icy chill of the metal returned. Loki recoiled, his hand dropped from its grasp, and his magic retreated to him. Hermione staggered at the sudden shift, her body feeling empty as her magic reeled.
"How do you—" Loki's eyes laced with sadness and hurt before being replaced by a frigid wrath. "You witches," He sneered. "Nothing is real to you, is it? None of you can feel love—least of all for me."
Hermione only stared at him, her heart racing as he spat the words like a foul taste in his mouth. How had this conversation turned? What had Loki been through to make his hate for witches so palpable? It churned her stomach, reminding her of the hate she experienced throughout her childhood and even adulthood for her blood. A phantom burn seared her arm where Mudblood was forever scarred.
When the lift opened to their floor, Hermione rushed out. She barely heard her shoes clicking on the ground as she ran, barely heard the edge of her dress rip as it snagged on a protruding screw. The need to be off the planet, away from him, was staggering.
And yet, as her bedroom door closed and she tried to catch her breath, a larger part of her reached for him. Wanted him.
It terrified her.
As Hermione stared at herself, hair a mess and makeup smeared, she thought of his words. Love. Of course she didn't love him; she barely knew him. And she certainly had felt love at one point! She loved her friends and her parents; had loved Ron once upon a time, though nothing came of it. But Hermione didn't think Loki meant her entirely; it seemed he was dealing with his own demons.
New questions mingled with the old. His mother was Frigga, and Val knew of her. Did she also know who Loki was? As far as Hermione was aware, they had yet to meet. But surely Val must have heard of his arrival by now?
A headache formed behind her eyes as she scrubbed her face clean. Too many questions—so few answers.
And Hermione knew tomorrow would bring just the same.