Author's Note: Hey everyone! Thanks so much for taking a chance on this crazy fic :) I hope you continue to enjoy!
Disclaimer: I do not own any part of the Harry Potter franchise.
Hermione huffed a sigh of frustration as the last room of an old shack turned up empty. The few coins she had managed to scrounge up were hardly worth her while but she pocketed them all the same.
They had been thorough when this shack had been abandoned.
It was the first time she had found something before Double-Draw in weeks. She hadn't even seen him in nearly a week. It was as if he had stolen her book and gone into hiding. The nervous feeling in the pit of her stomach suggested he had.
As if he knew she were coming for him with a loaded gun.
He was better at self-preservation than anyone she had ever met.
She kicked the toe of her boot into the tall grasses out the back door of the shack. Her eyes fell on a large copper still some distance away. Raising a brow she made her way over to it. Even the barrels were empty, having been drained of their moonshine.
She couldn't catch a damn break. She was down to her last few silvers and a handful of coppers, and she couldn't even –
Her eyes landed on a few glass growlers sitting on the ground beneath the still, filled with moonshine, that she had initially overlooked.
Finally, something had gone her way.
She hauled the growlers away from the still and collapsed into the grass, her back against the hard wall of the shack, wincing at the initial taste of the hooch.
But it was better than nothing, and at this point, she was willing to take it.
Hermione stared up at the setting sun to see Double-Draw blinking down at her.
"What on earth are you doing?" he asked, one brow raised beneath his stetson. "Where did you find all this?"
"I beat you here," Hermione said, her eyes half-lidded. She waved a hand vaguely in the direction of the still. "Found them. Over there. Must have been abandoned."
"You're drunk," he said, his lips twitching.
"I hate you," she hissed, eyes narrowing as she remembered he had been hiding from her. Her hand fumbled for her pistol, and he snickered, swiping the growler from her hand.
Hermione's eyes widened as she realized his other hand was holding a cocked pistol to her temple. She hadn't seen him draw.
"Bad idea," he hissed, kicking her hand free from her holster with the toe of his boot, then stowed his own pistol. He took a long swig from the bottle then stared at the moonshine for a moment. "Also a bad idea, though marginally better than attempting to shoot me while inebriated."
"Give me back my book," she growled, snatching the bottle back from him.
"I don't have it here," he said, removing his pack and taking up a spot against the wall beside her.
"So you admit you stole it," she said, scowling.
"Of course I stole it. Fascinating, isn't it? That the founders' treasure was never recovered." His lips twitched into a smirk again as he cracked open one of the other growlers and took a long swig.
"I hate you," Hermione moaned again. "You could have had the rest of the town, but you can't let me just have one thing."
He snorted. "You already know how I feel about that. Not to mention this one thing could potentially be a greater hit than anything I've ever found in Kingswood."
"If you really wanted to work together, you wouldn't have stolen the book," she countered. "That isn't how you build trust, you know."
"It isn't about trust," he said, taking another drink. "It's about putting our differences aside and working towards a common goal, for as long as it takes to achieve, and then going our separate ways, both far richer for it."
"If I can't trust you, I can't believe you wouldn't try to steal my share from me," she threw back at him, with a kick to his foot for good measure, outstretched beside hers. Her spurs clinked with his.
"Oh, come on," he scoffed. "There is honour among thieves, you know."
"You just held your gun to my head," she deadpanned.
"Only because you were going to do something stupid and get yourself killed," he said, leaning his head back against the wall. "And for the record, I don't need your help finding the treasure. As a gesture of good faith, I was going to let you in on it, but I'd be better off claiming it all for myself." He paused, his grey eyes meeting hers. "Much like you intended to do."
"I don't owe you anything," she said, hackles raised in defense.
"I owe you less than nothing," he snickered. "In fact, I probably owe you a bullet."
Hermione just glared at him, taking a swig of her moonshine. Her head was spinning, and she wished he hadn't shown up. She reasonably should have expected it, but she had been so frustrated she hadn't considered the consequences.
Now here she was, drunk, with her number one rival – a notorious outlaw – who wouldn't hesitate to kill her. She had gone from careful to sloppy and she couldn't even think well enough to formulate a plan.
Feeling irritated and awkward, Hermione threw her hat to the ground beside her, adjusting her curls.
Double-Draw's gaze flickered to rest on her hair, and then her face. He stared for long enough that Hermione felt her cheeks heat up, until he said, "You have the most insane hair I have ever seen."
"Right, well," she retorted. "Yours looks like the sun."
"I know," he said with a shrug. "My father's was the same colour."
She hadn't heard him mention anything personal, other than the fact that he wanted to leave Kingswood, and she wrinkled her nose at him.
"Does your family live here?" she asked, expecting a derisive stare or silence.
Double-Draw took a swig from his growler and said, "My parents are dead. They died when I was twelve I think. I came to Kingswood when I was sixteen."
"You've been alone since you were twelve?" Hermione asked, eyes wide. She felt a twinge of something in her stomach as she stared at him.
"Something like that," he said with a shrug. "I didn't really have a choice. No one wanted to give a kid work so I just did what I had to do in order to survive and didn't look back. Coming here gave me another start."
"Yeah," she murmured, staring hard into a spot on the ground.
"What about you?" he asked, not looking at her. "When did you parents die?"
"How did you –" her eyes swung to him. He merely shrugged again, his brows flickering. "I was ten. Thieves broke into our house and killed my parents. I was in the yard." Her brow furrowed as she released a sigh. "I went to live with my uncle for a few years but he didn't want me around, so I stole his horse and left."
She snickered as Double-Draw laughed. He tossed his hat to the ground by his boots and ran a hand through his hair.
"Been on my own since. After my parents, I learned to look out for myself, so I wouldn't have to rely on anyone," she muttered, taking another drink of moonshine. "So I could protect myself."
He stared at her for another long, tense moment, but said nothing. The last flickers of light from the setting sun danced across his face, brilliant facets of orange and blue.
His eyes swept to the bottle hanging from her hand, and he smirked. "Drink up."
"I don't want to get drunk with you," she scoffed, even as she took another sip.
"Too late," he snickered. "It'll be fun. We ought to have some fun, don't you think? Just for a minute. All this competition grows tiresome."
"You said it," Hermione grumbled under her breath. "You aren't nearly as drunk as me."
He pursed his lips, then tilted his head back and took a long swig of the hooch, making a face when he looked at her again.
"It isn't good, is it?" he asked, staring at the bottle with distaste.
"No," Hermione said with a shrug. "But someone's trying to make sure I don't find any money, so it's better than nothing."
His head lolled sideways along the wall of the shack. "I've told you, if you work with me, we'll find more and I'll leave you alone."
Hermione didn't respond, trying to think of all the reasons she had been refusing to work with him. Especially since he had stolen her book. Maybe she would have to shelve her pride after all – just until they located the founders' treasure.
She swayed a little where she sat, and said, "I'll get back to you."
"You can let me know when you're sober," Double-Draw said, an amused smile on his face. He hesitated for a moment, holding up a finger. "I'm almost drunk. We ought to race our horses."
"That sounds like a bad idea," Hermione murmured, groaning at the thought of standing.
He sagged against the wall. "You're probably right." He stared at the moon for a moment, the silver of it reflecting on his hair, and Hermione was momentarily transfixed. "Do you ever get lonely?"
She blinked, her tongue darting out to moisten her lips. "Lonely? I guess sometimes."
His expression was serious, his brow furrowed as he elaborated. "You know, we aren't meant to be on our own. Especially not for so long."
Hermione chanced a furtive glance in his direction. He was still staring at the moon, taking a long pull of his moonshine.
"I suppose I'm used to it by now," she responded. Her eyes landed on the stubble of his jaw, the worn bandana around his throat.
"Yeah," he said, frowning. "Same. Sometimes I figure I'm just not meant to have other people in my life. Not really. I know people, around town, and some people are afraid of me, but not really. I don't get along with other people."
Hermione scrunched her face up, turning to look at him. "How many people have you killed?"
He stared at her for a long moment, his lips pressed into a grimace. Then he shook his head, averting his gaze. "I don't know. I've lost count."
Hermione exhaled a long breath and took a swig from her growler.
Double-Draw turned his head to her, fidgeting with one of the twin holsters at his sides.
"Sometimes I try to tell myself I have a choice, that it doesn't need to be this way. But then I'm staring down his barrel, and it's him or me. And if I hesitate, it'll be me." He frowned, shaking his head. "And I'm a scumbag, but that guy, he's got a rotten soul, you know? The kind of man that would take advantage of a woman for fun."
Hermione felt a shiver creep down her spine. She didn't know how to respond to that.
He went on, staring at the moon again. "Does that mean I have more of a right to live? Nah, but all I've known since I was twelve years old was how to survive. And that means I pull the trigger."
Hermione figured she knew a few too many things about survival, too. "You must really be lonely to be telling me all this."
"Maybe it's the hooch." He snickered and swirled the moonshine in his bottle, peering through the narrow opening.
"Don't you think I'll use it against you?" An absent smile came to her lips as she traced a pattern on her own leg with a fingertip.
"No. Because I'd kill you if I had to, if it was me and you, and one of us was going to die." He was staring at her with a stern expression again. "I won't be happy about it. I'm never happy about it. But like I said, it's only about surviving. It isn't personal. It's just all I know."
"How do you know it will be any different when you leave? That it won't be the same bullshit in another town." It was the one thing that had lingered in her mind since he had said it, and since Hermione realized she had nowhere she really wanted to go next. Nowhere she wanted to end up.
"I don't know. But I have to believe there's more out there." His lips pressed together, his jaw clenched.
"When you head off into the sunset," Hermione said, her words soft, as she gestured west with a nod of her head.
"Yes," he said, shaking his head gently. "I can't help but think, sometimes – what if it's about more than just surviving? What if it's about writing my own story, one day?"
"We're outlaws. We don't get to write the story." Hermione ran her tongue along her teeth and pursed her lips, the handle of her growler dangling loose from her fingers. "But if anyone could change that, it'll be you, I suspect."
He glanced at her. "Should I write you in?"
"Not if I'm dead. Not if you run me out of town."
Double-Draw smirked, his eyelids heavy, his grey eyes hot on her skin in the cool night air. "You know my terms. I've got your book now. How do you know I haven't already figured it out?"
"Because you wouldn't be here drinking with me."
"Unless that's what I wanted you to think," he mused. "Maybe I knew you would be here tonight, so I came here to give back your book, because I've already got the treasure. Maybe it's why I allowed you to beat me here."
Hermione blinked, his words swirling around her foggy brain. "You're lying. You said you didn't have the book with you."
"Maybe I'm lying now," he drawled, "maybe I was lying then."
"And you wonder why I don't trust you," Hermione said, her eyes narrowed.
"You're right not to trust me," he said, flashing her a tight smile.
"What it," she whispered, her eyes flickering to his, "I already found the treasure."
He laughed out loud, the moonshine swishing around in his growler as he threw his head back.
"Come on, Hermione," he snickered, and she blinked at the way her name rolled off his tongue, "you aren't drinking in celebration tonight, that much was obvious when I walked out here."
"What if that's what I wanted you to –"
"What if," he interrupted, rolling his eyes, "I kissed you."
She froze, her mouth open mid-sentence, and his gaze darted to her lips. His grey eyes sparkled with the light of the moon as they swept to hers, his expression intent.
"Is that an actual question or a hypothetical scenario?" she asked, unable to tear her eyes from his.
"An actual question," he murmured, his face drifting closer to hers. "Like, would you hit me, or draw your gun or –"
"You'll have to figure that out on your own, Triple-D," she breathed, swallowing.
"Don't call me Triple-D," he growled, a muscle in his jaw twitching.
"What am I supposed to call you then?" Hermione asked, her gaze landing on his mouth as he spoke.
"Literally anything else." He rolled his eyes. His free hand came up to untie the bandana around her throat. "Double-Draw… you can call me Draco, if you like."
Hermione set her growler down, fidgeting with the cap with one hand. Her other rose and entwined in his bandana, giving it a slight tug. "Okay, Draco."
His eyes met hers, his chin lowered, and he traced the curve of her jaw with his fingertips. He murmured, "Okay," before his lips met hers with crushing, desirous force.
Frozen, Hermione forgot to do anything for the briefest of moments and then she was kissing him back with a sort of desperation, her fingers slipping clumsily on the buttons of his vest and shirt. She felt his growler bounce off her back as his free hand grasped a handful of her hair, and she swiped the bottle, setting it aside with hers.
With a low hum in his throat, he tilted her head, and his teeth grazed her jaw as he planted a trail of kisses along her throat, his fingers fumbling with her shirt. A whimper slipped from her mouth as his lips and tongue made their way down her collarbone and chest, and his hand caught hers as she reached to remove his holster.
He pulled away, kissing her again, smirking against her lips as he muttered, "Careful." He met her gaze with amusement as he removed his twin pistols, setting them far out of the way, and proceeded to divest himself of six assorted knives and daggers, toeing off his boots.
Hermione snickered, and removed her own plentiful weapons and spurred boots.
"Someone was going to get hurt," he chuckled, kissing her again, shoving her down into the grass and following to rest above her.
The heat from his body was overwhelming, and Hermione found herself delirious as she grabbed him by the collar, shoving his shirt from his shoulders, and he was atop her again, his fingers playing with the clasp of her trousers.
The warmth of his bare chest met the flesh of her stomach, his hands and mouth playing about the lace of her bra. He gave a tug to her pants, cursing against her skin when he had to look down at what he was doing.
Hermione giggled and he grinned, staring down at her, biting his lower lip. Finally he dragged the tight trousers from her legs, and Hermione might have felt cold and exposed in the night air, in a bed of grass, if not for the abundance of moonshine coursing heavily through her bloodstream.
"This doesn't mean we're working together," she muttered against his lips as she drew him in again, one hand working with his trousers. He shifted to oblige her, ridding himself of the last of his clothing.
"Definitely not," he responded, biting down on her earlobe as his hand slipped inside her underwear, his other removing her bra and tossing it aside.
His eyes were hot on her flesh as he stared down at her, dragging her underwear down along one leg, and then the other.
"Competition's off for the night, remember," he breathed, catching one of her nipples gently between his teeth, peaked in the night air.
"Right," she gasped, arching into him, and the sensation of his hands and mouth on her was nearly enough to send her over the edge, his fingers slipping between her legs again.
Then he pushed himself into her, and Hermione's eyes rolled back as she cried out, her hands clutching his bare back as he began to move. Draco stared down at her, his grey eyes intense, and he kissed her again, his tongue catching hers.
Hermione groaned and bit down on his lower lip, wrapping her legs around his waist, and he cursed under his breath as he plunged steadily into her. Hermione gasped at the angle, her hands entwining in his hair, her breathing harsh and blood pounding in her ears as her heart raced.
He muttered something against her skin, his face buried into her neck as he continued to slam into her, relentless, his skin flushed, and Hermione was gripped in the throes of passion, her eyes meeting his.
He offered her a slow smirk, then rolled, so she was atop him, and Hermione sunk down onto the length of him, her eyes fluttering shut as he groaned.
His fingers gripped her hips with bruising strength as she moved slowly up and down, her hands clutching his shoulders. Tossing her hair back, she bent to kiss him again, adrenaline and desire coursing through her as he dug one hand into her hair, his other hand guiding her to escalate.
His hips pulsed upwards into hers, and Hermione felt herself slipping toward that glorious peak, her vision blurring, and as he thrust into her she came undone, crying out, burying her face in his shoulder.
Moments later he found his own release, groaning her name, and his hand trailed across the skin of her back as she collapsed into him, her breathing slowly returning to normal.
Finally she eased off of him, slipping her underwear and bra back on, suddenly aware of the grass and dirt surrounding them, and he donned his own shorts, staring at her.
Sitting up, he took a long pull from his growler and winced at the taste. He had a thin sheen of sweat glistening at his temples.
Hermione smirked, sitting alongside him. "That was fun."
"Yes it was," he replied, nudging her in the shoulder. He pressed a soft kiss to her cheek, and Hermione felt her stomach flip unexpectedly. She wrapped her hand around the neck of his growler, took a sip, and handed it back to him.
"You look different," she observed. "Like this."
He smirked, leaning back on his hands in the grass behind him. "You mean because I'm almost nude."
"Less… Double-Draw, more Draco," she commented, trailing her fingers along the skin of his abdomen.
One of his hands came to the back of her neck, drawing idly across the top of her spine as he swept her hair to the side. "You've obviously realized by now Double-Draw isn't all they say he is."
Her eyes swept to his, a wry smile creeping across her face. "I knew from the moment I met you that Double-Draw wasn't all they say he is."
His eyes widened in offense, his arms coming around her waist and throwing her back into the grass. His grey eyes were glazed with the liquor as he stared down at her, but something fluttered in Hermione's chest as she stared back.
She breathed, "I think I prefer Draco."
He swallowed, his lips parting. "I do, too."
He grinned, swiping up his growler and drizzling moonshine into the line of her cleavage. Hermione gasped at the cold liquid, but found herself giggling as he dove in, his tongue lapping the alcohol from her skin.
She dug her hands into his hair, smiling to herself as her eyes slipped shut.
Hermione stirred awake to the sun high in the sky. She blinked wildly, turning to see the sleeping face of Double-Draw, so close she could feel the soft exhales of his breath.
The majority of her clothing was tossed in a careless heap, her pistol and knives stacked in a pile with his. She blinked again, her eyes landing on the empty growlers laid in the grass, and her head started pounding.
Shifting away from Double-Draw as the night came back to her in flashes and snippets of carnal delirium, she dropped her spinning head back into the grass, dragging her shirt and pants towards her.
Wiggling about in the grass, she managed to dress herself without the need to stand, fearing how her stomach might react.
Her eyes flickered to the man in the grass beside her, and landed on his peaceful expression for a long moment.
Although much of the night was a blur, she recalled the things he had said, about how he wished for a better life. She hoped one day he would find it.
She also remembered him saying their competition was only off for the night, and no matter what else had occurred between them, she suspected he would hold to that. And despite the pleasant memories swimming through her foggy brain, Hermione knew she couldn't trust him.
If he was going after the founders' treasure, she didn't believe he would share.
Not with how badly he wanted to get out of Kingswood.
Rising carefully to her feet, her head spinning, Hermione slipped her holster around her waist, stowing the daggers in her boots and sheathed out of sight. She tied her bandana around her throat and dragged it up across her face, to protect against the dust on the ride back.
Lastly she slipped on her hat and boots, slinging her pack across her back.
She stared at Double-Draw, still out cold. Her gaze swept to the pile of his weapons and a breath caught in her throat.
He would come after her, if she stole his guns, and he would kill her with his bare hands. But it would give her an advantage, finally, if she could stay away from him.
But he knew Kingswood so well – it was as if he had a network of shortcuts he used to stay steadily ahead of her. He would find her.
She glanced to his bag, propped against the wall of the shack, and her heart sped up.
If he had her book –
Slipping carefully around him, she crouched beside his bag, sliding a dagger into one hand as the other slipped in, deftly searching his pack. Her heart dropped with disappointment at the lack of any signs of a soft, leather spine, and she turned to leave. But then she stilled, and walked back over, keeping a careful eye to be sure he wasn't stirring.
She reached into his bag again, her fingers slipping around the edge of the lining, and as they reached the back, her fingers slid through into a hidden compartment.
Clenching her dagger tightly, she reached further in, smiling as she touched soft leather.
She extricated the book, as carefully as she could manage despite the pounding in her head and quickly made her way back around him. When she reached the far edge of the shack, she glanced back at him, allowing her eyes to linger for a moment longer on the way his soft blond hair fell in his face.
She recalled the way he had kissed her and her stomach twisted in on itself; she suspected it had nothing to do with the moonshine.
This would be her answer, then, to whether or not she would work with him to find the treasure. It would be the first and last time they would get along.
Thinking of his words about survival, and the need to look after oneself, Hermione tucked the book into her own bag and slipped around the shack to where her horse was tied up with his. She sheathed her dagger, mounted her horse, and left for Kingswood.