Chapter Four: Party Hardy
The following week found Hermione in the same position as last time, required to fill three bags and entertain an annoying god. At the very least, he filled her bags for her, which made her days exceptionally easy. It helped immensely since she was forced to stay awake until all hours of the night attending the Grandmaster.
The parties weren't too terrible, and aside from dealing with the lecherous leers from the men and Topaz's glare, they were nearly enjoyable. It was certainly better than doing manual labour from sun-up to sun-down—which was 16 hours on this hell-hole.
"Tell me about your magic," Loki demanded as he basked in the early afternoon sun from his metal chaise.
Hermione watched the way his annoyingly perfect porcelain skin glistened. Meanwhile, her skin was burnt and peeling and sweating from the heat as she thought of her answer. Despite her annoyance with him, they had begun a surprisingly comfortable companionship; Loki would meet her in the junkyard and help with her labour, and she would answer whatever questions he threw at her—though most of the answers were short and to the point.
She still kept him at arm's length, still unable to fully forgive him for New York. And then there was the thing with her magic reaching for him. Hermione hadn't used her magic around him since she hexed him, afraid of what might happen. Still, there was something there, still a sense of her being pulled toward him.
"Well, I'm a muggleborn—er, I was born from non-magical parents."
Loki perked up at that, opening his eyes and giving his full attention. "How interesting; is that common?"
Hermione shrugged, "Fairly common, yes. I went to school with loads of muggleborns. Though some of the more... elite purebloods—people born from magical parents—looked down on us."
"Is that how you got the scar?" Loki pointed to the faded mudblood scar on her forearm. "Mudblood? What does it mean?"
Hermione quickly covered it with her hand and looked away. The sun had darkened her skin and made her scars more visible. "It doesn't mean anything." She felt embarrassment bloom in her chest. Embarrassment of what the scar meant—insinuated; that she was weak. Less than.
"Shame I never knew of your magic world," he replied with a frown as he stared up at the sky, thankfully changing the subject. "I would have turned them into donkeys."
A snort left Hermione's lips before she could stop it. "I'm sure you would have loved Hogwarts. And the twins. Good Godric, you would have been a frightful trio."
Sorrow panged through Hermione as she remembered her home, her smile turning bittersweet. Forty days on this hell-hole was fast approaching. Forty days since she'd last seen her friends—Merlin, how she missed them all dearly.
Standing, Hermione quietly gathered her bags as her eyes burned. She refused to cry in front of Loki.
"Are you alright?" Loki asked from behind her, now standing too.
"I just miss home." Even she could hear the crack in her voice.
A silent beat passed between them as Hermione swung the bags onto her shoulders. They were getting easier to carry, at least. Loki said nothing, and Hermione couldn't bear to look at him. Instead, she made her way back to the doors, for once unable to meet Spike-face's glower.
Her spirits instantly lifted when she saw Korg for the first time in over a week.
"Korg!" she called, dropping the bags at the table he sat at. "Where have you been?"
"Sup Earth girl!" Korg greeted, waving his large rock arm. I've been in the arena. We got in some contenders for a fight tonight, and the GM had me show them the ropes, get them in shape."
"Who'll be fighting?" Hermione frowned. This would be the first time she'd have watched a fight with the mysterious champion.
"Oh, that'll be Doug. Too bad, just came in that one. He keeps saying he'll win, but well, we all know how that goes."
Loki stepped up next to Hermione, and she felt the hairs on her arm stand on end. It always happened when they were too close to each other, which was why she made it an absolute point to stay as far from him as possible.
Inching away, Hermione introduced Loki.
Korg waved again, "Hey! I'm Korg."
"Are you... Are you made of rock?" Loki stared at him incredulously.
"Oh yeah, but I'm still a fair fighter, don't take me for granite. Heh, get it?" A wave of silence passed as Loki continued to stare, and Korg let out an awkward cough. Hermione didn't even register the joke, too focused on keeping her distance from Loki.
Korg left out an awkward cough. "Granite... Sorry rock jokes, I'm a slave, so I have a lot of free time."
Hermione pressed her lips together to stop the smile at Loki's confused face. "Well, I'm glad to know you're alright, Korg. I was worried about you, but unfortunately, I can't stay. I have to go get ready for the party." She couldn't stop the rolling of her eyes.
"Oh, no way, you got invited to the party?" Korg asked with surprise.
Hermione grimaced, "Yes, I've been bestowed the great honour of attending the Grandmaster at parties."
Saying a short goodbye to Korg and a promise to spend more time together tomorrow, she and Loki headed back to their rooms. An electric silence stretched between them as they walked, and Hermione made it a point to keep her arms crossed and to stay as close to the wall as possible.
When she reached her room, she slipped inside without even mumbling goodbye, heart racing as she leant against the now shut door. She was only able to lament on her thrumming pulse for a moment before a box on her bed caught her curiosity.
It was made of pretty orange metal, the silk ribbon around it a turquoise blue. Opening it revealed a pile of vibrant fabric, some makeup, and a note.
The party is going to be big tonight, dress nice. -GM
An hour later found Hermione dressed in scraps of rainbow fabric that barely managed to cover her breasts and fell to the floor in sheer curtains. A female attendant with a matching disk in her neck—who refused to say one word to Hermione—had come to her room moments after opening the box to do her makeup and hair. She slathered Hermione in sweetly scented lotion that had healed her abused skin instantly, though it did nothing to her scars. Then the woman expertly arranged her face and hair.
Hermione stared at herself in disbelief in the mirror. Her honey eyes were done up like tie-dye, her lips a bright pink that clashed against her, now-healed, mahogany skin.
It was startling. She felt like a rainbow peacock.
Adjusting the dress to try and cover more of herself, Hermione slipped on the strappy heels the box contained. Would the Grandmaster be cross if she wore her boots with the dress? Or if she didn't wear the damned dress at all?
She knew the answer instantly: yes. And she would pay for it.
Her curled hair was artfully arranged to lay on her back, and she pulled some of it forward, hoping the length and volume would help hide her a little. But nothing seemed to work, and with a resigned sigh, Hermione gave up and exited her room.
Loki leant against the wall across from her door, an ornate curved dagger spinning between his fingers. As he took in the sight of her, the movement of the blade stopped, his eyes widening. Hermione tried to hide beneath her crossed arms, cheeks flaming as a smirk curled his lips.
"Well. I didn't know that was beneath those baggy clothes."
"It's not like I chose to wear this! And where the bloody hell did you find that?" she asked, pointing to the dagger as it spun in his hand again.
"Oh, this?" Loki held his palm flat, the blade glinting in the fluorescent light. Before Hermione could even get a good look at it, it disappeared in a puff of black smoke. "Magic."
With a sharp glare, Hermione stalked down the hallway toward the lifts, heels clicking on the metal while Loki followed close behind. He wore his leathers, as he did every day, and they still looked just as immaculate as when she first saw him. She wondered if he had multiple pairs or if they stayed clean by his powers.
"Don't be upset," Loki said, sidling up next to her. "I'd hate for you to ruin your makeup. You look quite nice."
Hermione met his gaze with a glare but was surprised to find him completely serious. A tingle shot down her spine as her bare arm brushed against the rough material of his armour as they stepped into the elevator. She realised with a start how close they were and moved toward the wall. The frown she saw from the corner of her eye was surely from the fact that he didn't receive a compliment in return.
She adjusted her dress again, still failing to cover any more of her skin. A small wave of cool air brushed over her, pulling the fabric expertly across her breasts and sticking in place. It wasn't much, but it certainly made Hermione feel less exposed. She glanced over to Loki—who was pointedly looking at the lift door—and muttered a rushed 'thank you.' Loki gave her a clipped nod in return. She still couldn't figure him out; sometimes, he was sarcastic and snarky, quips ready at the tip of his tongue. And other times, he was quiet and reserved, like he had too many thoughts on his mind but lacked the confidence to say them. It was dizzying to keep up with.
Techno music filled the hall as they were deposited to the Grandmasters rooms, high-class socialites mingling on every surface. Hermione weaved through them expertly, heading towards the centre of the viewing room to find the Grandmaster while Loki went to do whatever it was he did. The Grandmaster was surrounded by his inner circle, and anyone else that wanted to gain a spot on it. She squeezed her way through the crowd to his left shoulder and arched a brow at Topaz's glare from his right.
"Ah! Three-nine-four, perfect timing. And look at you! What a vision. My friends and I could use some drinks, fetch us a round of Green Punch, would you?" The Grandmaster waved her off, and Hermione frowned as she turned back to the crowd and made her way to the bar. Already the errand girl.
She told the pink-haired bartender the order and waited as he made the disgusting concoction. She had no idea what was in it, but it certainly involved quite a number of liquids and got everyone completely pissed. After a moment, he handed her a tray with a doughnut-shaped glass pitcher full of neon green liquid and glasses that resembled champagne flutes but were made out of steel. Hermione thanked him and headed back towards the Grandmaster, mumbling a small sticking charm to the tray to keep the glasses from falling as she navigated the crowd. At least she could manage basic magic without her wand.
The Grandmaster took the offered drink while he continued speaking to a woman beside him with hair the colour of the sun and piercings covering her face. He must think her extremely attractive with all that metal. Hermione snorted to herself at the joke.
She set the tray on the table in front of her, and when she bent over, felt a hand placed firmly on the swell of her arse, giving it a squeeze. Whipping around, face heated in rage and shock, Hermione stared right into the black eyes of Spike-face. His hand was still outstretched, and a lecherous grin split his face as she stared at him in disbelief.
"You clean up nice—for an Earthling."
Hermione opened and closed her mouth twice as an iced fury swam through her veins. Before she even knew what she was doing, she lifted her hand at Spike-face, throwing a Bat-Bogey hex to hit him squarely in the nose. She had never tried it wandless, she didn't even know if it would work, but her anger outweighed her logic.
It worked. Thank you, Ginny, you fucking brilliant witch.
The first black bat caused him to scream, the second, the people around them, and the third found the room hushed in terror-filled silence save for the loud screeches of the bats. Even the music stopped.
The smug grin only spread on her face for a moment before sharp pain slid down her neck, her body convulsing in electrical currents—wave after wave of pain cascaded over her body until it vanished as suddenly as it began. Hermione tried to take deep breaths as her stomach rolled with nausea, limbs twitching with the after-effects of the Obedience Disk.
Muffled voices began to gain their full volume. "What are you doing? Did I tell you to do that?" The Grandmaster's normally monotone voice was laced with a tinge of irritation.
Topaz stayed silent for a moment before answering. "...No."
"Then why did you?"
"She used magic on Ulog."
"Well yeah, he grabbed her butt without her permission. I hope whatever the hell she did to him hurts. God, Topaz. We really need to work on your people skills." The Grandmaster snapped his fingers at someone in the crowd. "Um... oh—what's his name? Lucas? Loogie?"
"Loki, Grandmaster." Hermione heard his smooth voice nearby in the crowd. She didn't dare search for him; the room still spun from where she twitched on the floor. This felt too surreal, too much like the Malfoy Manor. Hermione wanted to vomit.
"Ah, Loki! Right, right. Take Three-nine-four to that couch over there, and someone get her some water, for crying out loud."
The music resumed at his words, vibrating the floor. Strong arms that smelled of leather and spearmint lifted her, cradling her against a warm chest. The scent washed away a bit of the nausea, and something comforting wrapped around her like the warmth of a fire. It caressed her, instantly calming the twitching of her muscles. The pain from the electricity dulled to a throb in her neck.
She was set atop a hard couch, but the scent and feeling stayed wrapped around her and pushed away more of the nausea. Daring to open her eyes, Hermione squinted against the bright colours of the room. Loki crouched next to her, a look of concern furrowing his brow. His fingers brushed against the back of her hand, causing a tingle to shoot up her arm. Hermione sat up instantly, and put much-needed space between them. Her head swam, and a headache began to throb behind her eyes. Loki curled his hand into a fist.
Hermione glanced down at herself; he had wrapped his cloak around her, the green fabric covering her half-naked body. A wave of embarrassment rolled her stomach as she wondered what people saw while she writhed on the floor. The dress couldn't have covered much.
"I didn't need your help." Hermione weakly bit out once the pounding in her head lessened.
Loki's sharp eyes raged with Hellfire, but his composure remained the ever-calm god. "Really? Because from the looks of it, without me, you would still be on the floor and in pain."
Hermione couldn't stop the narrowing of her eyes or the purse of her lips. "You took my pain away?"
Loki flexed his fingers but didn't reach out for her. Hermione felt ashamed at wishing he would. "I couldn't stand to see you—to see that. I may be the god of mischief, but even I have principles."
Hermione swallowed the lump in her throat. Over his shoulder, she spied the familiar face of Val at the bar. She had to get away. Being near Loki only made her want to crawl out of her skin, and she was trying to avoid having a panic attack. "I have to go."
Standing on shaky legs, Hermione unwrapped the cloak, her now exposed skin breaking out in goosebumps, and left Loki kneeling on the floor. Val swayed where she stood, indicating to Hermione she was well-passed drunk. But that was how Val was most days; alcohol seemed to always be in plentiful supply around her.
"Hermey-nice get up." Val greeted with slurred speech, raising the bottle she was currently drinking from. "Shouldn't you be attending to the Gran'master?"
Hermione touched the disk in her neck, the skin and muscle still twitching beneath it. "I was given a short break."
A knowing look passed over Val's face as she took another swig of the green liquid. Hermione narrowed her eyes as the bottle nearly emptied.
"Must you always be drunk?"
Val finished off the bottle and ordered another. "You should try it sometime, witch. Maybe you'd have fun."
Grabbing the offered bottle from the bartender, Val left the party to get drunk alone—as usual. Hermione frowned at the crowded door. She cared about Val, and though she refused to speak about it, Hermione knew something traumatic had happened to cause her to be like this. The bartender offered her a cup of room temperature water—the best a PWJ like her could get. Hermione gratefully chugged it down regardless.
Muffled cheers began to echo in the room, and out of curiosity, Hermione slowly walked towards the large glass window, her legs still a bit shaky. The stadium was packed full of Sakaarians and slaves, all excited and ready for the match. Hermione found her spot again at the Grandmaster's side with a well-aimed glare for Topaz as the fighting began. Topaz only replied with a smug smirk, her hand tapping against the fob on her hip.
Turning her gaze away with frustration, Hermione looked at the match below. She didn't particularly condone fighting for sport, and this was about as vile as it got, but she had to admit that they certainly made it entertaining.
The arena centre had at least ten different races of people, and since he wasn't hard to spot, she instantly found Korg amongst them. He currently fought against some type of lizard person, green scales and sharp talons lashing out. A pang of anxiety coursed through her for her friend, but Korg made quick work of knocking him out with a few punches of his rock-made hands.
Breathing a sigh of relief, Hermione watched the other fights with hidden disgust. Five dead, then ten. So much death for nothing but some cheers. Hermione's heart panged for those forced to do this. This place was horrid.
Once the opening fights ended, she fetched another round of drinks for the Grandmaster. The pain in her neck had subsided, and she was even beginning to feel energised. Was this from Loki's magic?
As she approached the bar, Hermione felt the hairs on the back of her neck stand. She looked around the room and found bright blue eyes on her.
Loki sat on the couch where she had been earlier, now surrounded by socialites of varying degrees of otherworldly. That beautiful woman from earlier with the bright orange hair sat to his left, her purple-painted mouth speaking to him about Merlin knows what. Lip rings clacked together as she spoke.
Hermione turned away and collected the drinks, ignoring the tingle she felt as she walked back to the Grandmaster. Why Loki kept looking at her was beyond comprehension. Perhaps he was still worried for her after being electrocuted. But that was silly. Why would he be concerned about her? Hermione was no one to him.
As soon as the drinks were poured, Hermione stood again behind the white couch at the Grandmaster's shoulder, more people crowding in around her. The main event was about to begin, and Hermione would be lying if she said she wasn't a little curious who this exalted Champion was.
The giant holographic face of the Grandmaster appeared above the arena, and the whole stadium hushed, the techno music fading to a dull beat.
"And now, my beautiful Sakaarians, I give you, my Champion! The one and only—Hulk!"
Cheers erupted louder than ever, the sound vibrating the floor beneath Hermione's aching feet. Hulk? Why did that name sound familiar?
A roar sounded overtop it all, and before Hermione had time to muse further on the name, her question was answered. An expansive green figure smashed through the metal door in the arena below, letting out another, louder roar as he met the centre of it.
Hulk.
The Incredible Fucking Hulk was his champion.
"Oh good, Godric..." Hermione mumbled to herself, hands resting on the back of the couch and gripping the white leather tightly.
How had he ended up here, of all places? Oh, the Avengers must miss him terribly. Was that why Loki was here? Did he know?
The other metal door across the arena opened, a muscled man of basic stature—aside from his four arms and pink skin—sauntered in. That must be Doug. A wooden club dangled from his hand as he walked further into the circle. Hermione felt sorry for him; this was not a fair fight.
Hulk stalked towards him, and Doug brandished the club, ready to strike.
The fight barely lasted seconds.
Hulk swung with a wide fist, and Doug smashed into the now closed, metal door. A beat of silence washed over the crowd before it transformed into screaming cheers. The people around her cheered too, but the only thing Hermione saw was the broken body of Doug carried off while Hulk flexed his muscles. She was supposed to find someone to fight him? How was she ever going to get off this planet?
Her eyes couldn't help but trail back towards Loki, and she was surprised to see his face ashen; she figured he would be celebrating like the rest of them. Loki found her gaze instantly like he knew she was looking, and he quickly stood, weaving through the packed room towards the exit. She had to follow him.
"Grandmaster, do you still need me? I—I'm a bit woozy from earlier," Hermione muttered in his ear.
In dismissal, the Grandmaster waved his hand, too busy celebrating Hulk's victory. She took it as her cue to leave.
Hermione rushed after Loki, damning the heels she wore for slowing her pace. She spied his black tresses turning down the hall. Bending, she slipped off the heels to race after him, her tired feet slapping on the cold metal floors.
"Loki!" She called once she went around the corner. Loki stopped halfway down the next hallway, turning to her, his face even paler than before.
"That was—Hulk." she rushed out, trying to catch her breath.
"I'm aware." Loki's voice was clipped and strained, his hands flexing at his sides.
Hermione could feel the tension roll off of him, could feel his powers and magic flare with anger. The overwhelming urge to soothe him took her over. "Hey, relax, it's okay—"
"Alright for you! The Avengers—Hulk and Banner, they—" Loki groaned and leant against the nearby wall, sighing as he looked up at the ceiling. His hands rubbed his face, and he suddenly looked like he hadn't slept in years.
"Banner?"
Loki's eyes turned sad as they looked at her. "Bruce Banner."
Hermione's confusion didn't lessen. "Bruce Banner, the theoretical physicist?"
"Of course, you know who he is," Loki bit out a humourless laugh. "He's Hulk."
Hermione blinked at him, placing her free hand on her throat. "Hulk? Is... Bruce Banner?"
Loki pressed off the wall and continued to walk down the hall, Hermione following close behind. Once they reached the lift to take them back to the slave quarters, Loki finally spoke again. "He's quite strong. I don't—I don't know how he got on this planet, but if he's here, I certainly won't be."
"And how do you plan to get off Sakaar?"
"As you said," Loki looked at her from the corner of his eye, and Hermione found some of the familiar mischief returned. "Find a good pilot and a ship."