Chapter Three: Weapons Finder
The days were long. Much longer than Earth days, but they still passed by in a blur of metal—only aiding the oppressiveness Hermione felt. She kept a scratched tally on her bedroom wall, and this morning found number 27 being etched into it with a small piece of steel.
Staring at the lines made Hermione feel hopeless. Twenty-seven days. A month . It was much too long. She had to figure out a way to get out of here. Hermione had broached the subject with Val numerous times, but she shut down each attempt immediately after the words were uttered.
"It's too risky." Val had said the first time Hermione asked.
"But I—"
"Slaves don't leave Sakaar, witch." Val had levelled her with a look, though the Lioness in Hermione dared to give it right back. "There's only one way out unless you get an official pass from the Grandmaster and they open the shield surrounding Sakaar. And that way out is impossible to go through. You'd have to be an ace pilot and absolutely mental."
With those words, Hermione had enacted her first phase of the plan: gain the Grandmaster's trust.
It was easy enough; all she had to do was keep her mood amiable. Make him laugh on occasion. Agree with whatever he said. Compliment him. It only took all of two weeks before Hermione had him eating out of her palm.
Sighing, Hermione prepared for the day. She dressed in her new uniform—thanks to her closeness with the Grandmaster—and pulled her hair into a bun. Val had been kind enough to get her a comb, so she at least didn't have to deal with tangled hair, but the string from her cloak was still all she managed to tie it with.
The Meal Hall was boisterous as she entered, groups of people huddled together, speaking odd languages she didn't know. Somehow, Hermione had managed to avoid most of the surly-looking ones, at the advice of Val to keep her head low and eyes down.
The line for food was short that morning, and Hermione only grabbed some type of power bar and a bottle of water before heading down to the Underground. The routine usually went that Hermione grabbed a small breakfast, went to the Underground, and exited to the vast junkyard through the small, guarded door. Today was no different.
"Don't forget we can track you, Earthling." the spike-faced guard hissed at her as she walked towards the piles of scrap.
"I'm well-aware; you tell me every morning," Hermione mumbled to herself, slinging her canvas bag over her shoulder.
Her job as a weapon's finder was nothing short of boring. The only thing her duties entailed was to pick through the mounds of trash and find items to be used as weapons for the contender arena. Not that the weapons mattered, apparently the Grandmaster's champion could kill with one blow.
Finding a very sharp looking spike, Hermione pocketed it into her bag, careful not to touch the point. She'd spend a few hours out here, fill up her bag, and return. Then she would join Korg back in the Underground and help build weapons.
That stupid Kronan, as she came to discover his race, tried to stage an uprising for her. Of course, he failed. The only ones that showed up were his mother and her boyfriend, but he still did that for her. Though he said the oddest jokes, Hermione couldn't help the companionship she felt for him almost instantly. Korg took her under his wing when she first arrived, and if it weren't for him, Hermione probably would have been eaten by one of the many Sakaarian slaves.
Hermione was just lucky she was close enough to the Grandmaster to convince him Korg wasn't strong enough to go against his champion. That the fight would be boring and over much too quickly for it to be worthwhile. Instead, she managed to have Korg sentenced as a contender, but only to do small fights at the beginning to get the crowd "hot and ready" as the Grandmaster put it.
And then Korg had the gall to thank her for saving his life. As if he hadn't just given up his freedom to try and save her .
Stupid Kronans.
Hermione continued her day in the same manner as the others—duly and without much purpose aside from collection. She ducked back into the building after her bag was filled, finding Korg and handing over her collection for the day.
"Oh look, another spike," Korg said, inspecting the pointed end. "Now I can finish that fork. D'ya think it could fend off three vampires at once?"
Hermione smirked as she busied herself with tying rope around a metal pole. "Maybe if they were huddled together."
An hour passed with surprising ease, Hermione's mind busy with building weapons. She wondered what would happen if all the slaves were to grab one and turn on the guards. The throbbing in her neck gave her the answer: electrocuted until they foamed at the mouth.
"Three-nine-four!" A gruff voice called.
Hermione turned to find that spike-faced guard from earlier staring daggers at her. She made her way over to him, arms crossed and defence at the ready. "Yes?"
He shoved a bag into her chest, knocking some of the wind from her lungs at the force. "Make another run."
"But I only make one run a day—"
He held up the Obedience Disk fob, thumb hovering over the button. "And I'm telling you to make another."
Hermione snapped her jaw shut and swung the bag over the shoulder, stomping through the door and straight to the mounds of rubbish. Anger coursed through her veins, and she dug through the scrap with frustration. When she figured out how to get her wand back, that guard was the first on her list to hex into oblivion.
By the time she managed to fill her bag, the sun was already beginning to set, casting an orange glow on the metal heaps. Hermione sighed and tossed the bag to the ground, settling on some type of large door. It was cold, but she didn't care, just thankful to be able to rest a moment. Closing her eyes, she took a deep breath of metallic tinged air and allowed herself a small moment of peace.
It lasted all of thirty seconds before the sound of a deep yell, followed by something crashing into a nearby pile, had her jolting up. The reaction to brandish her wand had her fingers clenching into a fist. Instead, she grabbed a pipe from her bag and held it like a Beater's bat, inching her way to whatever the hell just fell from the sky.
Just before she could reach the mound, a man popped up from the rubbish, sweeping his jet black hair back and patting off his green and black leather... armour?
Her foot kicked a can, the sound echoing and making her heart race as the man turned to her. Her breath stuttered.
He was the most beautiful man she had ever seen.
His features were sharp, blue eyes bright and startling, though Hermione could see a darkness in them even from this distance. She was both terrified and mesmerised, and her mouth open and closed multiple times as she tried to find words.
"Hello," he greeted in a perfect posh-English accent. "Where are we?"
Hermione felt the sudden need to make sure her bun was still in place and brush the dirt from her trousers.
"S-Sakaar." she managed to stutter out.
"Sakaar..." He trailed off, looking around them in confusion. "I've never heard of this planet." He descended from atop the mound and towards her. A banana peel stuck to the top of his shoe, and he pulled it off with a scrunched face.
Hermione couldn't help the smile that curled her lips as she watched him.
His piercing eyes met hers, and he stood straight, adjusting his leather vest. "Loki, God of Mischief." he gave a small bow, fist over his heart.
"Wait," Hermione blinked at him. "Loki... as in—the Loki that destroyed half of New York City?"
Loki winced, "Technically, it was the Chitauri."
All amusement and attraction she felt for him instantly disappeared—it was like she was looking at a different person. She had seen the aftermath of that battle firsthand, having been sent to New York to assist the MACUSA with clean up and repair. They had lost many good witches and wizards—more than even the Battle of Hogwarts.
Pointing the pipe at him, Hermione felt her magic reach out to wrap around the metal. Before she could stop it, it continued out and ghosted over Loki, reaching out in a way she never saw it do before.
Loki stared at her wide-eyed, obviously able to feel what the hell just happened. "What—"
"You don't get to ask questions," Hermione interjected, brow furrowed. "I'm taking you to the Grandmaster.
"Prisoner Three-nine-four! Such a joy to see you. What have you brought me?" The dark eyes of the Grandmaster peered down at her and Loki from his chair.
Just as Hermione was about to give the Grandmaster his name, Loki gave a flourished bow and a wide smile. "My name is Loki Laufeyson, Grandmaster. I am at your disposal."
Grandmaster sat back, a satisfied smirk on his face. "What good manners. Now that's how you give an introduction. Do you fight, Loki Laufeyson?"
Loki's evident fake smile stayed on his face as he stood straight. "Unfortunately not, I usually leave the fighting up to my brother."
Displeasure crossed the Grandmaster's face, "Well, that's disappointing. It's been a while since I've had anyone strong enough to go against my champion."
Loki bowed again, about to open his mouth to kiss the Grandmaster's arse even more but he was interrupted.
"Fine." The Grandmaster stood and walked towards them. "You can stay; I like your look. I could use some interesting company, these socialites of my high-class are so boring ."
He smiled at both Hermione and Loki, and a beat of awkward silence passed. Internally, Hermione fumed—she had expected Loki to become a slave too, but instead, in a matter of a few words, he managed to worm his way to high-class.
"He won't be a PWJ too, Grandmaster?"
"Oh, no. He'll still be a PWJ, but a pretty one to entertain my guests."
Loki stared at the Grandmaster, "But surely I could serve you better if I was—"
"A PWJ? I like your thinking." The Grandmaster smirked at Loki and Hermione triumphed. He turned to eye Hermione up and down, his smile falling. "Three-nine-four, dear, you look tired, are you sleeping okay? Do you not like your room? Topaz, have we given her a good room?"
Topaz scoffed, "She's a slave, why would she have a good room?"
The Grandmaster waved his hand, "Oh, you know I don't like that word! Why do you have a problem with PWJ? Three-nine-four uses it just fine."
"Sorry, 'she's a 'prisoner with a job', why would she have a good room?" Topaz rolled her eyes behind him.
"She's got magic, and she's my favourite PWJ, so she should have a good room," The Grandmaster said, snapping his fingers. "Change it; I don't care, give her something nice, maybe something with a view."
Topaz grunted and shot a glare at Hermione, who gave it right back.
"As for Mr Loki here, give him the room next door. Hermione can show him the ropes."
Topaz continued her glare, ignoring the Grandmaster.
He snapped a few times at Topaz's face. "Helloo, what am I talking to a wall here? Make it happen."
"Fine," Topaz grumbled out.
She tapped on her see-through screen a few times and swept down the platform, shouldering Hermione and continuing out the room. Fire laced Hermione's eyes as she followed Topaz, Loki close behind.
"So, you have magic?" Loki whispered into her ear, causing a jolt to trace down her spine as his breath ghosted across her skin.
"No."
Loki hummed. "But the Grandmaster said you did—"
"He's delusional." Hermione bit back, keeping her voice low so Topaz wouldn't hear them. "He enslaves people and forces them to fight for fun. I wouldn't trust anything that man said if my life depended on it—which it does."
Before Loki could say anything else, Topaz stopped in front of two doors. "Rooms." Then she left, glaring at Hermione as she passed her.
Hermione stepped up to the right door, and it opened in a rush of air. It was certainly larger than her last one, and a quick inspection found the bed a bit softer and her water able to run hot. Even the view was undoubtedly better, looking out over the city and arena instead of rubbish.
She turned to find Loki leaning against the door frame, arms crossed as he watched her.
"Be ready tomorrow," she said, walking up to him. "You cost me a lot of time."
Loki smirked and stepped back from the doorway. "I'll be waiting, Three-nine-four."
"Hermione. My name is Hermione."
"Hermione." Loki tested her name on his tongue, and the sound of it sent an involuntary shiver through her body. No, this man was a monster, a trickster and evil. She wasn't supposed to enjoy the way his mouth said her name.
With a quick push of the button, her door slid shut in his face. The bed squeaked beneath her as she sat atop it, falling over with a huff. Having Loki here could only spell trouble, how had he managed to even end up on Sakaar in the first place?
A growl from her stomach reminded her the only thing she had to eat today was a power bar, and with a sigh, she sat up. Exiting her room, Hermione thanked Merlin Loki's door was shut, and she quickly headed in the direction of the Meal Hall.
It was mostly empty, the hour later than dinner, but Hermione managed to grab some food leftover and retreated hastily back to her room. Being so alone made her skin crawl—like at any moment, something would pop out and try to attack her. If only she had her wand.
Loki's door was still shut as she returned, and her breath finally let loose once her door closed behind her. She would eat, shower, and promptly pass out; her body was always at the edge of extreme fatigue since arriving on Sakaar.
Hermione only hoped Loki wouldn't make it any worse for her.
Her day was already starting out shit. Loki wasn't awake when she was supposed to be leaving, causing Hermione to be ten minutes later to the Meal Hall than she should be. Then, when they grabbed food, Loki made it a point to loudly insult the quality. The cooks, with their large tusked mouths and pig-like snouts, had tossed them both out with no food.
And of course, the guards in the Underground gave her nothing but hardship. "Three bags today," spike-face told her. "One to make up for yesterday and another because you're late."
They had glared at Loki like he was a pebble in their shoe, but the apparent lack of an Obedience Disk, and the fact he had never been assigned as a weapons finder, kept their jeers silent.
"You don't have to come out here with me," Hermione stated as she walked through the doors. "You can go do whatever the high-class does during the day. I'm sure there's a more acceptable Meal Hall somewhere with food that would meet your standards."
Loki dusted off his leather sleeves. "I find your company much more enjoyable. Plus, I have some questions."
Hermione rolled her eyes as they entered the landfill. She began to rummage through the metal scraps while Loki conjured pipes and metal sheets into a chaise lounge, looking every bit relaxed as if he were at a spa retreat.
The force in which she shoved a sharp steel rod tore her bag.
"Oh, for Merlin's saggy bollocks," she mumbled angrily.
A laugh left Loki's lips, and she glared daggers at his serene face. His stupidly perfect lips curled upward, dark eyelashes fluttered against his cheekbones from where they were closed.
"Do you plan to help me?" Hermione growled.
Loki arched a brow and laced his fingers together, placing them on his chest. "No, I don't do hard labour."
"Not even with your magic?"
Loki slid open an eye to glance at her, "Especially not with my powers ."
Hermione huffed, "Why are you even here? How the hell did you end up on Sakaar?"
"I could ask you the same thing, Earthling."
Hermione bristled, "You know I'm from Earth?"
"It's about as obvious as your hatred for Topaz." Loki chuckled and adjusted on the chaise. "Let's play a game; I ask a question, and you answer truthfully, and I suppose I can use my powers to help you."
Hermione huffed in annoyance but agreed, sitting down on a muffler next to Loki.
"Is it true you have magic?"
Rolling her eyes, Hermione sent a few blue sparks from the tips of her fingertips to zap him pointedly on the arse. Loki jolted from the chaise and stared at her with shock. "So you do have magic! You're a witch, then?"
Hermione nodded her head, and Loki continued to stare at her with an odd look of amazement. He settled back onto the chaise and asked his next question.
"How do I get off Sakaar?"
Hermione repeated the same thing Val told her. "It's impossible unless you get an official pass from the Grandmaster, or can fly through the Devil's Anus."
"I'm sorry—the what?"
"The Devil's Anus, yes I know, it's a silly name. It's a wormhole at the edge of the landfill over the water. I've been told you would need a strong ship and an ace pilot."
Loki seemed to muse on her answer as he reclined further, tucking an arm behind his head. A minute passed and frustration coursed through Hermione.
"Well? I've answered three questions now. It's your turn."
Loki glanced to her, his eyes twinkling with something she recognised as amusement. "Do you always say everything with such passion? It must be exhausting."
Hermione pursed her lips and glared down her nose at him. After a moment, he sighed and waved his hand, a green glow covering the mounds of rubbish around them. Multiple items were pulled from the piles, filling all three of her bags instantly.
"Satisfied?" Loki asked, glancing down at his nails and picking invisible dirt from them.
"Immensely, thank you," Hermione said. She stood and gathered the bags, heading back in the direction of the Underground.
"Leaving so soon?"
"The less time I have to be out here, the better."
Hermione stalked to the door, a self-satisfied smirk curling her lips at the surprised face of Spike-face. The clanging sound of metal filled her ears as she tossed the bags to the ground, turning to find Loki standing nearby. He cocked an eyebrow as she frowned at him.
"Three-nine-four," a blue reptilian-like guard called out. "Up to the throne room, Grandmaster wants to see you."
Apprehension filled her stomach as Loki's arched brows furrowed. What had happened in the span of a day to warrant another meeting with the Grandmaster? Swallowing thickly, she followed after the reptilian guard, leaving Loki in the Underground.
They stepped into the ramshackle elevator—the same one that had brought her here all those weeks ago. It was a short distance to the throne room from the lift, and her heart rate quickened as their steps brought them nearer.
The Grandmaster lounged on his chair, female attendants giggling from where they sat at his feet. Topaz stood behind him, rolling her eyes. He glanced at Hermione with a large smile as she approached, and he stood from the chair and stretched out his back.
"Three-nine-four! Listen, so I had a thought." Techno music began to play in the next room over, and the melodic beats carried gently through the air. The Grandmaster swung his hips a little in time with the music. "You did so well yesterday bringing me that Loogi guy. You know, he came to last night's party and just seemed to fit right in."
That explained why he hadn't tried to talk to Hermione again. And why he woke up late.
The Grandmaster closed his eyes for a minute and danced a bit more as the tempo of the music picked up. "Anyways, I've heard through the grapevine that you do so well as a weapons finder, and I'm curious if you'd feel up for a promotion."
"A promotion?" Hermione asked.
"So here's what I'm thinking," The Grandmaster stopped dancing and snapped at the female attendants. Hermione knew they're just as much a slave as she is, but she couldn't help the crinkle of her nose at the obscene scraps of fabric they called dresses. They came on either side of him, wrapping their hands around his arms. Hermione could see the way the blonde on the right forced her smile.
"These are my personal attendants, and while I enjoy their company dearly, I find myself missing someone a bit more... interesting at the parties—sorry girls."
They both forcibly giggled, but Hermione's blood ran cold. She wouldn't have to do the same things these girls did, would she?
"So," The Grandmaster continued. "You'll do your weapons finder duties during the day, and at night you'll be my personal attendant at the parties. Fetching drinks, entertaining my companions, that sort of thing."
He stared at Hermione expectantly, and her jaw clamped tightly—she knew there was no denying the Grandmaster. But her heart rate equalled out with the realisation she would basically just be a glorified waitress and not his bedroom companion.
An idea formed to make this work more in her favour. "Fine. But I want a flashier title."
The Grandmaster tapped his chin thoughtfully. "Okay, what've you got?"
"Manager of food provisions."
With a grin, The Grandmaster snaps his fingers. "Done. See? I knew I always liked this girl. Finally, someone understands my love for showmanship. Three-Four-Nine: Manager of Food Provisions, perfect. Topaz, make a note."
Hermione gave Topaz a smug grin over the Grandmaster's shoulder, and Topaz grunted, aiming a glare in her direction.
The Grandmaster turned back to his chair, attendants following close behind. As he returned to his seat, he shot Hermione an expectant look. "I'll see you tonight then."