Author's Note: Thank you to everyone who has continued to read and support this fic! xoxo
Disclaimer: I do not own any part of the Harry Potter franchise.
Hermione kept close to Double-Draw as he took his horse into a run and led her up to the bluff, from where they would have a good vantage point over anyone coming into Kingswood from the east.
Her heart raced with adrenaline as she waited. His expression was stoic but for his narrowed eyes, and she was reminded that she last time she saw him he had held a dagger to her throat and a gun to her head. As soon as this was over she would leave Kingswood again, in case he remembered how angry he was.
But the time before that he had grinned at her as he kissed her, and shared the details of his life with her. She preferred that version of him, but it looked as if Double-Draw was here to stay, as far as she was concerned.
Feeling her gaze, his eyes flickered to hers, and his expression faltered for a moment. He pressed his lips together and looked away.
"For what it's worth," Hermione breathed, "I am sorry. I know you don't want to hear it."
"You're right," he snapped, "I don't."
Hermione recoiled, moving her horse away from his, but then he sighed an aggravated huff.
"I do appreciate you coming back to Kingswood to warn me," he said, and his tone was softer. "It isn't a short journey, and you didn't have to."
"I didn't really think about it, to be honest," Hermione said, her voice quiet. "I overheard them talking about you outside Sequoia Bluffs, and how you were going to be Double-Dead, and I just turned back."
"Double-Dead?" he asked, raising a brow as he snickered. "That's clever. By the way, you ought not to have gone to Sequoia anyway. The Sequoia Gang run the town, and the sheriff's been corrupted, too. You won't have much success there."
"Thanks," she murmured. "I appreciate the advice. Where would you recommend, then?"
"North," he said with a shrug. "To Falcon's Ridge, or southwest to Greendale. Straight-laced towns. Not much competition, you know."
"Thanks," Hermione repeated, making a mental note.
"Not the sort of wealth you see in Kingswood, but you'll get by," he said, his eyes scanning the road again.
"Have you had any luck with the research?" Hermione asked, almost instantly regretting it as he turned to her with a raised brow. She backtracked, saying, "Out of curiosity. Because… I'd like to hope you find it. Not because I want you to drive me out of town again with a threat to my life."
He sucked his teeth for a moment, before turning to her. "I may have found something, but it hasn't turned out yet." He frowned, adjusting his hat. "Maybe I overreacted, at the archives. With threatening to kill you and all. It wasn't my place to say you shouldn't have left that morning. I guess there was just…" He trailed off, shaking his head, "Never mind."
"What?" Hermione asked, a breath caught in her throat.
He sighed, carefully looking away from her. "I guess I liked that you understood me. And for a bit, I thought maybe you were tired of being alone, too."
"And then I stole the book and left," she whispered. He nodded sharply, still gazing away from her. She breathed, "I am tired of it, too."
His eyes flickered to meet hers, but he frowned. "It doesn't matter now. It was a bit of fun for a night, and we'll be better off going our separate ways. I won't try to drive you from Kingswood again if you want to stay, but you'll be better off in one of those other towns."
Hermione opened her mouth but closed it again. She didn't want it to have only been a bit of fun for one night, she had realized that on the journey to Sequoia – but she didn't know how to tell him as much.
"Why are they after you?" she asked instead.
"Because Skip, their filthy rotten leader, decided he didn't like me, because he wasn't as well known, and he came after me." His face was dark, eyes narrowed again as they swept the horizon. "He rode here from Sequoia for the express purpose of killing me so he could say he had done it, and –" He shrugged. "I told you the rest. Survival – trigger."
"Yeah," Hermione breathed, glancing at him.
"Obviously now they've come to seek vengeance," he said, and rolled his eyes. "Do you see why I'm sick of this? Why I can't wait to get away?"
"Yes," Hermione said, and she stopped herself from reaching out to him, at the desolation on his face.
"There just has to be more to life than trying not to get killed all the time," he muttered, shaking his head. "No matter. This is just survival again. And we're going to walk away from this, Hermione." He glanced at her, his expression pointed. "These are not nice men. Do not hesitate, because they won't. And don't for a second feel bad about ending any of their lives."
"I've killed men before," she breathed, even as she swallowed a lump in her throat. "You know – survival."
"Yeah," he muttered, a wry smile on his face. "Survival." His face was stoic again as he said, "There."
Hermione followed his gaze down to the east road, where a group of riders were traveling.
"Try not to hit the horses," he murmured as he nudged his horse forward. "They haven't done anything wrong, you know?"
Hermione's heart leapt into her heart at the sentiment. She suddenly hated, with vehemence, the fact that this man was trapped in this life because at his core, he hid a soft heart.
She followed slowly, keeping at his flank and slightly back, recognizing him as the leader.
"When they pass the ridge," he breathed, leaning in close, "we'll come up behind and catch them off guard." His eyes scanned the group of riders. "Eight. So they picked up a few en route."
"Eight," Hermione repeated, swallowing. "Four each."
"You wish," he muttered, glancing at her with a grin. Then he snapped, "Now!" and spurred his horse into motion.
She followed his charge down the bluff, and watched as, with a quick flourish she thought had to have been barely visible to the naked eye, he drew his pistols, and he was firing while she was still gaping, one shot after another, and Hermione spurred after him, drawing her own pistol.
Half the riders were already down by the time she caught up and began firing, but it was as if she had never seen a man fire a gun before. His two pistols worked in tandem, and one shot had barely exploded from the barrel before the next was cocked and flying.
She huffed a breath, cursing to herself as she caught the bandit nearest her trying to flee from Double-Draw's relentless firepower, and he fell sprawling to the ground.
The last bandit, turning with wide eyes back to the east road, spurred his horse onward as he fled.
She heard Double-Draw exhale loudly and he slipped his pistols into their holsters with a quick, fluid motion, and from somewhere within his pack he yanked out a Winchester rifle. In one shot the man was down.
Hermione stared, frozen, at the carnage for a moment, giving him a sidelong glance as he matter-of-factly stowed the rifle. He hopped down from his horse, rummaging in the coat pockets of the bandits nearest him.
The whole ambush had lasted less than two minutes.
Hermione glanced at him again, swallowing.
"You were saying," he finally said, "you didn't think I could take on five of them?"
"Right," she choked.
He pocketed a small sack of coins, and then tossed her another. "I think that was seven and you took out one. Am I right?"
"Yes," she said, feeling a flush creep to her face. Not that she relished taking lives, but he had made her look like an amateur.
"And do you still want to see which of us would win in a draw?" he asked, even as he carried about his task. He looked up at her as he pocketed another bag of coin. "I'm not trying to be facetious. It's simply a skill I've spent many, many years working on developing."
"No," Hermione said, as she followed suit and relieved the two bandits nearest her of their money. It felt odd, having scraped by for so long, to suddenly have money again. "I'm surprised you're letting me have any of this."
"Why not?" he asked, raising an eyebrow. "That scenario looks a lot different if I don't know about it in advance, you know." He waved a hand at the bandit who had fled. "You can go get that one."
With a look of consternation, Hermione mounted her horse and rode out to the bandit that had fled, pocketed his money, and rode back.
The horses were milling about without their riders, and a few of them had already run away.
She dismounted by his side again, opening her mouth to say something she hadn't yet thought of. But he clapped his hands together.
"We'd better go before the sheriff gets here," he said. "Thanks again for your help. I wish you luck, wherever you go."
"Thanks," Hermione said absently, her gaze flickering to his. "I'll probably find somewhere to hole up for the night and leave in the morning. Good luck with the treasure."
She wanted to ask whether he would reconsider his offer. But he nodded and tipped his hat, and as she took a step in his direction he was already mounting his horse. He glanced back, his grey eyes warm as they met hers, and yanked his bandana up.
Then with a kick, his horse flew into action, and he was gone.
Draco spent the remainder of the evening far away from Kingswood, keeping his horse nearby, as he continued his search for the well near the cache that he hoped held the founder's treasure.
The sheriff and his men would have found the downed bandits, and Draco didn't want to be anywhere nearby when that investigation began. But when it grew too dark, he ventured to the abandoned distillery shack, his gaze landing on one of the two remaining growlers of moonshine.
And a part of him wished he had company as he broke into the bottle, gazing absently at the moon. He set aside the last growler, saving it just in case he ever saw her again.
The following morning Draco went east again, scouring for any signs of the well. He kept his horse at a trot, stopping frequently to give the beast water in the scorching sun.
Exhausted, he finally gave up, marking the ground he had covered on a survey map of the area that had been in Hermione's stack of research.
He bought himself a cold ale in the saloon, absently slipping into a bar stool beside a man who frequently kept him updated on the events and happenings in Kingswood.
"They arrested the shooter they figure is responsible for the deaths of those bandits out east by the bluff," the man said without preamble.
"Good," Draco said with a disinterested flicker of his brows as he took a swig of his ale. "Who was responsible?"
The man snorted. "You mean who the sheriff thinks it was. Me, I don't think she woulda been capable of somethin' like that."
"She?" Draco asked, glancing briefly at his informant.
"Pretty young thing," the man said. "New in town. Sheriff figures it was her cause she been gone and came back right about the same time. Figured the timing was suspicious like."
"The sheriff is insane," Draco scoffed. "What a ridiculous lack of proof. No way she took out eight bandits."
"Unless she had help," the man said, his face amused as he looked at Draco.
Draco took a long pull of his ale. His head was spinning. "I know who you mean, but I've never met the woman. I wasn't even in Kingswood yesterday."
"Okay," the man said, nodding. "I'll be sure to remember that. In case anyone comes askin'."
"Good," Draco muttered, slamming the last of his drink as he tore from the saloon.
"You can't hold me like this," Hermione snarled at the sheriff as he picked through the assorted weapons they had taken from her. "I didn't do anything you're accusing me of, and you have no proof anyways!"
Sheriff Potter merely smiled, picking up one of her daggers. She hoped he sliced himself on it.
"An awful lot of weapons for a well-meaning, law-abiding citizen," the sheriff mused. "And your Colt certainly seems to have been used."
"It was given to me like that," Hermione hissed. "I didn't kill those bandits!"
"Your return to town was highly suspect," Potter continued as if he were completely ignoring her. "The day you come back, a gang of bandits are slain. It's all very interesting."
"As if one person could kill that many bandits," she scoffed. "And even if I could, why? I have no motive!"
"We will determine your motive," Sheriff Potter said, his tone entitled and infuriatingly calm.
Hermione wanted to reach through the bars and strangle him. She couldn't believe this. She had simply been minding her own business, intending to visit the saloon for an ale before finding somewhere to spend the night.
The only stroke of luck was that she had consolidated the small money sacks from the bandits into her own pouch and tossed the rest, so it didn't look as if she had robbed multiple people.
But being grabbed in the middle of the street, for a crime she – mostly – didn't commit was preposterous!
And the worst part was that the only person she knew in this whole blasted town was pacing the desert looking for something he would likely never find.
The sheriff spun on the balls of his feet, turning to face her. "You say you didn't slaughter eight people."
"No, I didn't," she grit through her teeth, clutching the bars with angry white knuckles.
"I don't suppose, then, you know who did." Hermione narrowed her eyes at his cheesy grin, wishing she could smack it from his face.
"Of course I don't know," she said, rolling her eyes. "I mean it: you have the wrong person. And I sincerely question the powers that put you in a position of authority in this town."
Potter's obnoxious smile faltered for a moment. He stepped away and spoke to one of his constables and Hermione wished she could burn a hole through his skull with her eyes.
Making sure no one was looking in her direction, Hermione checked the dagger she knew they had missed – the one sheathed to her leg beneath a pocket in her trousers that had a false bottom. The feel of the cold handle was reassuring in her hand.
The sheriff bustled back over and she quickly removed her hand from the weapon, collapsing against the wall of the cell.
She would bide her time, for now… and then Sheriff Potter would regret throwing her in this cage.
Draco cursed under his breath as he lay flat on the roof of the house across the street from the Kingswood jail.
It was definitely Hermione they had taken, and he smirked to himself at the fuss she seemed to be making. She was definitely a firecracker. He would have given Potter hell too if it had been him.
He refocused his binoculars as she moved out of view of the window he was using as his vantage point into the jail. Settling back on the roof, Draco pondered his options as he chewed a piece of cured meat.
He could leave her to her own devices and hope Potter would eventually realize it couldn't have been her and release her. But if he didn't – if he was trying to prove a point – she could end up stuck in there, and Draco didn't trust any of the prison guards to leave her alone. A shiver ran down his spine at the thought of what any of them could do to her, given she had been clearly disarmed.
He was itching to return to the desert, and continue his hunt for the storage cache.
But she had ridden all the way back from Sequoia just to warn him about the bandits, and it was technically his fault she was in there. Had she not done that, had he still been angry with her, he would have left her to rot.
But he owed her this.
It would be a simple matter of strategizing. Perhaps some bribery or blackmail – but Draco hoped it wouldn't have to come to that. He wanted to keep his nose out of the situation as much as possible, and if he started poking about and involving other people, he would be putting himself in the spotlight.
It would be swiping the keys from a guard during the shift change, or slipping her something she could use to break herself out.
Draco focused the binoculars through the barred window again. He could see her weapons still laid out on the table in the office outside of her cell. One gun, four daggers.
Draco blinked, staring closer. Their night together in the grass had been heavily influenced by moonshine, but Draco thought she'd had more. Four daggers.
Hermione was standing again, idly glancing through the window as if she were bored.
She'd had five blades that night.
"Good girl," Draco whispered to himself as he stared at her through the binoculars.