A man with a rather handsome blonde mustache contemplated a newspaper from his perch on a park bench as the early-morning sun cast its first shadows down the length of Mabry Street, glistening off the layer of frost that had settled. A steaming cup of coffee sat beside him, but if you had been watching him for a while, you might have wondered why it appeared untouched, and how exactly it was still steaming even after several hours in this cold. If you had really, really been paying attention, you might've also wondered if it was just your imagination, or if that picture on the front of his newspaper had actually moved.
It was just his luck that the woman who happened to teeter past him in precariously tall high heels had done neither.
"No, I thought she had given me 'till Wednesday? Uh huh… Well I suppose I can have it in today by five, winter nail colors aren't exactly a riveting subject," she was saying in an oddly captivating accent. The man peered at her retreating form through comically thick spectacles, taking a moment to admire her backside and the long curtain of dark hair that she tossed over her shoulder as she adjusted the cell phone in her hand.
He sat up a little straighter, though, when she stepped into the street and crossed over to the building on the opposite side. He reached into his pocket and murmured something, and suddenly he could hear her speaking as clearly as if she stood next to him.
"Maura, I have to go but I'll see you in a bit. What? No I'm not… okay, maybe… Of course we're not getting back together, I'm just checking in on his cousin before I head to the office. Mmhmm. Bye!" She clicked the phone shut and stuffed it in her handbag, and he could see that in her other hand she was carrying a takeout bag from the bistro a few blocks down the road. She approached the front of the building and pressed the buzzer for unit Nine.
"Liam?"
No answer.
"Liam, I know you're home. You're never anywhere else at this bloody hour."
Still nothing. She stomped her foot in frustration and buzzed again. "Liam, you selfish bastard, I brought Hermione breakfast because I sincerely doubt you're courteous enough to give her a proper one. Now let me in!"
At the mention of that name, the mustached, spectacled man gripped his newspaper so hard it nearly tore right down the middle.
The woman, whose identity he was now very keen on discovering, muttered something to herself about egotistical, boneheaded exes and raised her hand to press the buzzer once more. But instead she hesitated, clenched her fist, and turned on her heel to storm down the sidewalk, lamenting aloud the amount of calories in the egg sandwich she wasn't about to let go to waste.
The man scribbled something on a spare bit of parchment he had fished from his jacket. His signature was almost illegible, but there aren't very many "Moonys" in the world, so he didn't bother himself about it. Again, if you had been paying any attention to him at all, you might have thought it odd that he appeared to have made a small paper airplane that spiraled upwards and disappeared into thin air, but luckily nobody was. He adjusted the brim of his hat, grabbed his coffee, and started casually down the road after the sound of clicking stilettos.
"How is it possible that nobody in this classroom can give me even one of the uses of the Plangentine in 16th-century potion-making?" Professor Slughorn clutched his massive belly and raised an eyebrow at his thoroughly uninterested pupils.
Draco Malfoy sat back in his chair and stretched casually, thoughts wandering to the lunch menu for that day. Slughorn grew excited and mistook the gesture for a hand-raise. "Yes, Mr. Malfoy?"
Draco cocked an eyebrow curiously. "What? Oh. I was just—"
But at that precise moment, a light rapping on the chamber door caused everyone to jump. Slughorn shuffled over and hesitantly opened it, letting a small parchment airplane zoom into the room. He snatched it from the air and fumbled with it for a moment, eyebrows shooting towards his receding hairline as he scanned the note.
"It would appear…" he mumbled, re-reading the note and clearing his throat. "It would appear that Professor Snape has been urgently called out of class and that I am to supervise the remainder of the examination his First-Years are taking. I suppose you're all in luck then, looks like we'll be ending this early—"
The shuffling of bags and the scraping of chairs drowned out the rest of Slughorn's sentence. The students didn't waste any time making sure they were far out of earshot before he could yell any last-minute homework assignments after them.
Draco was the only one who lingered, resting his elbow on the doorframe casually and inspecting his fingernails. "Professor," he ventured in his politest voice once the room had emptied, "is everything alright with Professor Snape?"
Slughorn retrieved his cloak from a hook behind his desk and began ushering Draco out the door. "I'm sure everything's fine, dear boy, nothing to worry about. Now if you'll excuse me, I have to make sure some eleven-year-olds don't kill each other…" He waved his wand behind them and the lock on the door clicked, before giving Draco a curt nod and waddling off in the direction of the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom.
Once the sound of footsteps had receded, Draco stuffed his hands in his pockets and headed the way Slughorn had gone. What could have been so important that Snape would be called away in the middle of an exam? He left the dungeons and headed up a staircase lost in thought, ignoring Pansy calling him from the entrance to the Great Hall.
Suddenly Draco fell into the banister as a disheveled-looking McGonagall shoved past him up the stairs, apologizing profusely. He wasn't sure had never seen the hag move so quickly. What the…?
Several students had also taken notice and were murmuring to each other. He took the steps two at a time through the path she had created behind her and ducked around a suit of armor on the landing, pretending he had dropped one of his textbooks. He had a clear view as Snape strode purposefully around another corner and nodded to the Head of Gryffindor, and they matched each other's pace as they disappeared in the direction of the Headmaster's office.
Shit. He was going to lose them. He slung his bag back over his shoulder and followed them down the corridor leading to the Headmaster's office, ducking behind another suit of armor as they came to the stone gargoyle. He brushed the wand in his pocket with his fingers and wished he was more adept at eavesdropping charms as he cast one on the gargoyle, then dashed to the broom closet on the opposite wall. "Alohomora."
Breathing heavily, he crouched among cleaning supplies and listened.
"… and there must be news of her whereabouts," Snape was saying.
"I just pray that it's good," McGonagall wheezed as the staircase rumbled upward. "After a month, I don't think I could take much more of this. My heart goes out to the poor girl, Merlin only knows what she's been put through."
"I'm sure Miss Granger can handle herself…." Snape's voice faded, and Draco realized the charm had already worn off.
He sat, shocked, in the dark for a minute, letting the information sink in.
Merlin and Thor... no wonder Potter has been in such a foul state since term began. Hermione hasn't been with her family.
Golden Girl has been missing all this time.
Hermione felt giddy as her shoes scuffed the carpet runner at the foot of the Grimmauld Place staircase. Now that she had gotten word to Dumbledore and the others, she felt much more secure about her situation with Leo. At the very least, if she were killed, she wouldn't forever be on a Muggle Missing Persons list, and her parents could have some closure.
She wrinkled her nose. Well, that wasn't very optimistic, but it was a start.
Hermione realized that she had paused in the entryway of the kitchen. The countertops were spotless and the chairs all neatly pushed in, and hand-stitched towels were draped over the oven door's handle. It was clear Molly had been here, although how long ago Hermione couldn't guess. Not long enough for the counters to collect any dust, she noticed. Although Kreacher did say nobody had been by in several days.
She began to open cabinets and drawers, noting that all the dishes were washed and stacked perfectly. A tall pantry held what must have been several weeks' worth of food. Hermione smiled. Jackpot.
About twenty minutes later, a creak of the floorboards caused her to whip around, brandishing a skillet. Leo, eyebrows raised at the sandwiches sizzling in the pan, was slightly worse for wear. The amusement in his eyes was fleeting, and he looked gaunt and disheveled. But his voice was still sardonic. "You cooked?"
"Well…" Hermione lowered her gaze to the meager grilled cheese sandwiches whose edges were a tad burnt. "I'm not exactly MasterChef material, but I…." she trailed off, realizing the reference to the Muggle TV show would be lost on him.
To her surprise though, the corner of his lip quirked. She had forgotten how long he'd lived in the company of Muggles as well. It was an odd sort of thing for them to have in common, but she would take anything she could get from him. She hastily attempted to save the conversation. "Are you hungry?"
He hesitated, his arms crossed in a way that suggested he was very much otherwise. But he pushed his weight off the doorjamb he was leaning on and, after several tries, found a plate in one of the cabinets. He levitated the grilled cheese from the skillet and they ate in silence.
Hermione couldn't take her eyes off him. Something must have happened to him upstairs, because he was staring blankly at the wall behind her as he chewed the burnt sandwich mechanically and without complaint. No, not at the wall… through it.
She was desperate to break the unnerving silence. "Is everything—"
"Everything's fine," Leo snapped at her, pounding the table with his fist and standing up so quickly that he knocked his chair over. "Just fucking fine." He stomped out of the room.
Hermione glared at his retreating form as she gulped down the last bite of sandwich. The dishes crashed into the sink with a flick of her wand and she strode angrily after him. "You're ever so welcome for the bloody breakfast, you bastard!"
She followed the sound of his footsteps through the corridor, slightly favoring her ankle, through the double doors of a large drawing room. The heavy curtains completely obscured what would have been the early-morning sun, so all she could make out of Leo was a tall shadow. She opened her mouth to say something else to the insolent asshole, but something in his stance stopped her.
"Hermione, who is this?"
As her eyes began to adjust to the dim light, she saw was he was looking at. His gaze was fixed on the massive silk tapestry of the Black Family Tree, on the burnt hole where Sirius's face would have been woven into the elegant fixture.
Before she could realize it, her hand had gently found its way to Leo's jacket sleeve. But he didn't flinch away, and she couldn't recall exactly what it was that she was supposed to be angry about, anyway. "Well, when Sirius ran away, I suppose that was your grandmother's way of disowning him…"
"No, not Sirius. Her." He stepped closer and brushed a long finger over Bellatrix Lestrange's face, causing Hermione to shudder involuntarily. Her reaction drew a quizzical glance from Leo.
"That's… she's the one that killed Sirius, Leo. His cousin Bellatrix."
He was silent for a long moment. His finger was still resting on her golden name, and it started to tremble. He made a fist and let the hand fall to his side. His face was indecipherable.
And then, Hermione nearly had a heart attack. The poor bloke had begun to laugh.
It was a sinister, dark chuckle, one that made her shrink away from him as if he had just informed her he had some sort of deadly disease. It was a laugh that removed all doubt, if there existed any, that Leo Black had ever been a Death Eater. "There's poetry in this irony."
"How?" Hermione said uncertainly as Leo closed the distance between them.
He reached into the pocket of his leather jacket and fished out an envelope. "I knew she looked familiar because I met her once or twice in my experience under the Dark Lord, but she seems familiar for another reason as well." He opened up the wrinkled envelope, and pulled out three slips of paper. Two of them were identical, and they were tickets to something. Hermione made out the words New Years' and Masquerade Ball before Leo shoved the third slip of paper under her nose. It was a moving photo of Bellatrix looking over her shoulder, ascending the steps to Gringott's.
"Hermione, it's probably time I told you something," Leo said, and she was pretty sure she already knew what he was going to say. Cold dread pooled in the pit of her stomach.
"I sometimes work as a hit man, for Muggles and Wizards alike."
Hermione's eyes widened, and his attempt to stifle his sinister laughter was futile.
"It looks like I've been assigned to kill my dear old dad's own killer."