Chapter Six: Heated Touch

Hermione notched day sixty onto the wall, and her stomach sank. Two months. She had been here for two months. Setting down the stolen metal scrap, she stared at the lines, running her fingers along the twenty-seventh one. That was the day Loki arrived. Merlin, he had only been here for a month? The long days made it seem like an eternity.

Not that she cared how long he'd been there. He practically abandoned her, perfectly at ease on the planet. Hermione hardly saw him anymore. During the last two weeks, he wormed his way into the Grandmaster's inner circle, constantly next to that orange-haired woman. People surrounded him now at the parties, always interested to hear his next story. She wondered how many of them were true.

Hermione didn't care, though. She was finally able to do her job in peace; the guards even stopped making her fill an extra two bags now that Loki wasn't always with her. With her tasks finished quickly, there was even enough time in the afternoons to meet with Hulk and Val to train. The friendship between the three of them was something Hermione was delighted to have, though she did wish Korg could be there too. The training provided ample opportunity to learn all she could about Sakaar. Val knew the layout of the Grandmaster's tower well, and while their fists traded punches, Hermione was able to coax out some information.

The parties were business as usual. Hermione didn't mind them so much, aside from having to wear dresses that showed too much skin and deal with Topaz's nasty comments. The Grandmaster didn't usually ask much more from her than to fetch drinks now and then. Tonight's party was no different.

Sighing, Hermione glanced around the room, her eyes unwillingly landing on Loki as he laughed with the people around them. His head tilted back, long neck craning as black hair tumbled over his shoulders. Hermione swallowed thickly as she watched him, her skin prickling with the now-familiar sensation of her magic reaching for him. Suddenly, his eyes found hers, enflaming her on the spot. Heat pooled in her stomach as his bright green eyes met hers, and the intensity she found had her quickly turning away.

Good Godric, she had to stop doing that.

It was like they could sense each other. Hermione always knew when Loki was looking at her, and he always knew when she did too. It was like a sixth sense; her skin would tingle; her magic would pulsate. Their eyes caught many times over the past few nights, but still, they avoided each other.

"Three-nine-four," The Grandmaster called, waving her over with two fingers. "Fetch us a bottle of the good stuff from the cellar."

Hermione had no idea what the good stuff was, but she nodded and went to the bar. Her skin began to tingle again as her red dress swirled around her, but this time she ignored it. The last thing she wanted to do was look over at Loki and run into someone or trip and fall—which happened on more than one occasion.

"The Grandmaster has requested a bottle of 'the good stuff' from the cellar, Kellan," she told the bartender, whose name she discovered after finally introducing herself a week prior. He was a nice enough man, indentured just the same as the rest of them, though he'd been there for seven years by the time Hermione arrived. The thought of being on Sakaar for so long made her shudder.

Kellan sighed, "Damn it. It's such a pain to get down there."

"I don't mind going," Hermione said, eager to get away from the noise of the party. "If you'll just tell me where to go and what to look for."

"That would help me out a lot, thanks, Hermione." He gave her directions to the cellar, which was a locked door just outside the room to the left. "You'll be looking for a large bottle of sparkling blue liquid, Bottled Starlight. Should be towards the back."

Hermione nodded and took the offered keycard, promising not to lose it with a laugh. She weaved through the crowd on the dance floor, bumping into a man who performed the oddest dance moves. Trying not to laugh as he snaked his arms, Hermione continued on her path out the door.

The air felt several degrees cooler as she exited to the hallway. Hermione found the door, swiping the keycard over the doors locking...screen? She took a moment to inspect it. It seemed to be a computer of some type, a holographic screen overtop it to read the keycard. It reminded her of the locks at Muggle hotels.

The screen glowed green, and the door slid open, cold air blasting her delightedly. It was the first time since arriving that she felt a familiar brush of cold. Everything on Sakaar was so bloody hot.

To her surprise, the cellar was made of stone, rather than metal. However, where a cellar on Earth would more than likely be damp and dark, this one was cool, and dry, and glowed with an array of various coloured lights. Blues, greens, and oranges twinkled from the ceiling in strands, like veins of light running along the stone. The shelves held all kinds of liquids; hot pink, glowing purple, and right at the back where Kellan said, was the sparkling blue the Grandmaster wanted. True to its name, it certainly looked like Bottled Starlight.

The lights glinted off the glass, and just as Hermione reached out to grab the bottle, a voice sounded behind her, freezing her movements.

"All alone this time, Earthling."

Hermione turned to find Ulog—Spike-face—at the entrance to the cellar. Her blood turned chilled—a sense of fight or flight filling her veins. Her heart beat in her ears

"Were the bats not enough for you? That's not the only hex I can do wandless." To her surprise, her voice came out much more confident sounding than Hermione felt.

Spike-face grinned, holding up an Obedience Disk fob. "Not so fast, slave. Don't try anything funny or I'll electrocute you until you foam at the mouth."

He walked forward, his scent of metal and sweat filling her nose. Hermione pressed her back against the shelf, her heart hammering in her throat. Looking around the room, she tried to find something to use; somewhere to go.

Stall. She had to stall. "The Grandmaster will wonder what's taking so long."

"You think I give a shit about that bastard?" Ulog spat, now standing directly in front of her. "He doesn't give a shit about anyone, least of all you."

Hermione ran her fingers on the shelf behind her, fingers gripping the neck of a bottle as Ulog leant down, inhaling her scent. The spikes on his face pressed into her skin, and she shut her eyes tightly, silently pulling the bottle free from the shelf. Just as she began to raise it, Spike-face's body heat disappeared.

Hermione opened her eyes and found herself alone.

The cold of the cellar, which had been so pleasant before, suddenly chilled her to the bone. Where had Spike-face gone? Wanting to get out of there as quickly as possible and surprisingly wishing for a crowded room, Hermione grabbed a decanter of Bottled Starlight and strode to the stairs.

As she neared the exit, she caught a whiff of a familiar scent—leather and spearmint. Loki. Loki had been there. Was he the reason Spike-face had disappeared?

Her heels on the stone echoed as she ascended, and once she exited, she noticed the card swipe stayed green. Was that how Spike-face was able to get down there? Shouldn't it have locked behind her? Hermione swiped the card over the screen, and it beeped twice before turning back to red. She glared at it—what an idiotic piece of technology.

The warmth of the room and mass of bodies for once calmed her as she stepped back into the room. She silently returned the keycard to Kellan and made her way back to the Grandmaster.

"About time! I was starting to worry you had up and disappeared on me, Three-nine-four. Wouldn't want to have to send someone to go after you!" The group of people around the Grandmaster laughed, and Hermione forced a smile onto her face as she prepared the drinks with shaking hands.

She popped the cork, a puff of silver smoke coming with it. Hermione took a calming deep breath as she poured it into glasses, and watched transfixed as shimmers like starlight swirled in the dark blue liquid. It was thick like paint, and Hermione itched to dip her fingers in it to discover its properties. It almost looked like a potion; she couldn't believe this was just alcohol.

"From the planet Sovereign," he said as Hermione handed glasses to his guests. Sorbet-head was there as well, and she took a cup with her stupid dainty fingers. Hermione looked behind her for Loki and was surprised to find him missing.

"I was baffled it wasn't gold liquid," The Grandmaster continued. "All their stuff is gold, it's a little...well, it's a bit much."

Laughter sounded around him, and Hermione suddenly became hyper-aware of a presence beside her. She looked to her left to find Loki directly next to her, his scent filling her nose, and her magic tingled on the top of her skin.

"Ghastly stuff," he whispered to her. "Looks pretty, but it tastes like metal."

"I'm sure that's why he likes it," Hermione replied before she could stop herself.

The smile Loki gave her had her stomach doing all kinds of aerobatics. The corners curled upward, and something twinkled in his eyes that had her diverting her gaze to the arena. The sound of cheers and shouts reminded her that the match began, and she tried to put all her focus onto that. She leant closer to the window, and Loki did too, his body blocking her out from the rest of the room.

"Are you alright?" His voice dropped to a lower mutter so only she could hear.

Glancing to Loki from the corner of her eye, Hermione arched her brow and smirked. "I knew that was you. I could smell—" Catching herself, she felt a blush bloom on her cheeks at her almost admission of knowing what he smelled like. She snapped her eyes back to the arena in the hopes Loki hadn't seen her fumble. "What did you do to him?"

Loki shrugged and bent closer to her. "Don't worry about him." His breath ghosted her ear and Hermione's skin broke out in goosebumps. "He just might find himself buried beneath pounds of rubbish somewhere in the landfill when he wakes up. If he wakes up."

Hermione didn't care what Loki had done to Ulog; the arse deserved whatever he had coming. Instead, curiosity spiked through her. Loki could Disapparate? Well, she was sure what he did wasn't quite the same. But still, that was very intriguing. She wondered how far he could travel that way, or if he was limited.

Hulk entered the arena, and Hermione tried to ignore the heat of Loki's body as he stood next to her. She sneakily glanced at him again and watched as a smirk curled his lips once more.

Another question nagged at her thoughts.

"Why did you help me?"

The smirk dropped from his lips, "I may have done some terrible things in my time, but I'm not a total monster. I wouldn't have let him hurt you."

His fingers brushed the back of her hand from where it hung at her side, and a thrill shot through her at the contact. Their magic locked together in a curled embrace that heated her insides, and Hermione bit her lip to keep the whimper it elicited contained.

The heat of Loki's body pressed against her arm, his hard leather armour digging into her skin. More shouts from closer to the window reminded her they weren't alone, and Hermione moved to put some distance between them. It wouldn't do her good to be seen like that with him.

She tried to push away her disappointment as her magic broke from his like the snap of a rope.

Loki stared at her. "What is that?" His voice shook. "Why do our powers—"

"Three-nine-four!" The Grandmaster called from where he sat at the front of the room. "Where is my attendant?"

Hermione hurriedly approached him, chastising herself as she pressed through the crowd. She had been so distracted by Loki that she hadn't even realised the Grandmaster and his entourage moved to his seat at the window.

"I'm so sorry, Grandmaster," she said as she approached, grabbing the Bottled Starlight and quickly refilling his raised glass.

"You always know just what I need, three-nine-four." The Grandmaster waved her off and Hermione blew out a silent breath of relief.

The last thing she needed was to anger him. She still had no idea what would happen to her if the Grandmaster suddenly no longer wanted her around. Would she go back to being a weapon's finder full-time? Or would she be killed? Neither of those options would help her get home, so she needed to make sure she played her part well.

Standing at the Grandmaster's side, Hermione couldn't seem to focus on the match below. Her skin burned with the feeling that Loki was watching, and her magic still hummed delightedly in her veins. A quick glance over her shoulder, however, caused her stomach to drop in dejection.

Loki was no longer there.

The rest of the party passed by in a blur. The Grandmaster stayed much later than he normally did, and didn't dismiss Hermione until nearly two hours after the match finished. Her legs ached from having to stand for so long, and from the training Val had given her earlier that day.

The comfort of her bed called to her as she trudged to the lift to descend to the slave quarters. Each bump of the large metal compartment made her muscles scream in agony, and she pressed her back to the cool metal wall, shutting her eyes. Images of Loki swam behind them without warning, and she snapped them open quickly.

"Stop it, brain. Please," she pleaded to herself.

The lift came to a jolting stop, and Hermione was reminded of the Ministries lifts. A pang of longing rang through her at the memory. She wondered how Harry and Ron were; if they missed her as much as she missed them.

The walk to her room seemed to stretch on for miles, but eventually, she made it to her now-familiar door. She glanced at Loki's. She hadn't seen him in the dwindled crowd after the match, but Hermione supposed he must have left when she returned to the Grandmaster's side.

Her hand unconsciously began to reach for his door before she snatched it back to her chest. No. No, she needed to go to her room and go to bed.

Her door opened soundlessly and she stepped through it, her feet aching in her silver heels. Kicking them off, Hermione flopped onto the bed, not even bothering to take off her makeup. She was sure red lipstick and white face paint smeared across her face.

The dress she wore tonight felt unbearably tight around her middle, and the incessant need to be rid of it overcame her. With a sigh, Hermione sat up to unzip the monstrosity from her skin. Once undressed, she laid back down now completely bare, the warm air grazing across her exposed skin. It made her recall how warm Loki had been, how his magic had electrified her skin—

With a grunted groan, Hermione forced her thoughts to stop. "It's just because there isn't anyone else here with magic," she told herself. "Like calls to like."

She didn't actually know if that was true, but it helped her rationalise why she was so drawn to him. It still didn't explain why her magic swelled with his, or why tonight both of their magics mixed. And she still had so many questions about how he even knew she went to the wine cellar...

Hermione sat up suddenly, channelling all her remaining energy to walk to the bathroom to scrub away the remaining makeup. The shower began to spurt out hot water after a minute, and Hermione climbed into the stall with leaden legs. The warmth cascaded over her, and she closed her eyes to let it run over her face.

Sighing, she quickly scrubbed away the face paint and washed. Hermione forced her brain to focus on the menial tasks, and not on anything else.

It didn't last very long.

As Hermione scrubbed at her arm, flashes of how Loki's leather felt against her skin echoed through her thoughts. She dropped her head to her hands and groaned. Too many questions lingered from tonight, with no answers—and no way for her to get any. Loki seemed just as confused as her at the party, but maybe if they figured it out together...

Quickly stepping from the shower she dressed in an oversized, barely-clean shirt and a pair of cotton-like shorts that seemed more like cut apart trousers. Once dressed, Hermione paced about the room and made the hasty decision to see if Loki was awake. Just a quick knock on the door. If no answer came after ten seconds she would go back to her room and figure out some way to ignore it all.

The sound of her knuckles on his metal door echoed around her, heart beating in time with the seconds she counted, bare feet cold on the ground.

Six, seven, eight—

The door slid open, and Hermione nearly gasped out loud at the sight before her.

Oh, sweet mother of Merlin. Loki wore nothing save for a pair of loose grey pants, his chiselled torso completely exposed. Lean muscle rippled as he leant against the doorframe, biceps flexing as he crossed his arms. Hermione forced her eyes back up, swallowing thickly at the smirk on his face.

"I-I'm sorry if I woke you," she stuttered out. "I just...erm." Her brain raced to catch up, and she asked the first question she could think of. "How did you know Ulog followed me to the cellar?"

Loki arched a brow, "That's what you came to ask me? Shame."

Hermione tried to discern his meaning, but couldn't think of what else she would have come to ask him.

"I saw you go down and he followed not even a moment later. It seemed obvious something bad would happen." Loki shrugged.

"Why were you watching me?" Hermione asked with confusion. "I figured you were too busy with sorbet-head. You both seemed quite comfortable."

Loki chuckled, "Again you mention her. It seems like you're the one watching me. Are you quite certain you're not jealous?"

Mischief played in his eyes as he stared at her. Hermione glared. "I just hate that you seem content to stay here forever. A month ago all you could think about was leaving, or have you forgotten?"

The mischief left his eyes, and though Hermione should have been celebrating that, it instead caused a pit to settle in her stomach.

"I enjoy it here," Loki told her simply. "The people like me, unlike back home."

"You're still a slave. You'll only be liked until it's inconvenient or until you anger the wrong person, and then what?" Hermione whispered. "Then what'll become of you?"

Loki looked to the floor. "I have a plan."

Hermione swallowed and stepped forward without thought. Only a small space separated them now, and the air became electrified at their closeness. "Be careful. The Grandmaster... he's not... He's not good."

Loki's sharp eyes snapped up to meet hers instantly and he pushed up from the door frame, grabbing Hermione's wrist and yanking her into his room. The door slid shut behind him and Hermione pressed back against it as Loki rose to his full height to look down at her. He dropped her wrist as if she'd burned him. "Has he hurt you?"

The intensity of his gaze had her breath quickening.

"No—no. Nothing like that. He... he's made me an offer." Hermione felt the words tumbling from her lips before she could stop herself. For some reason, she felt safe with Loki—felt that she could trust him, though in the back of her mind she knew she shouldn't.

"What kind of offer?" Loki's eyes narrowed.

Hermione couldn't meet his gaze anymore. Instead, she glanced about his room; it looked much the same as hers, and she realised with a start that their beds were on the same wall—they only slept a thin slab of metal apart.

"Hermione." Loki's tone had her eyes flicking back to his.

"If I can find a champion to defeat Hulk, I can go home. But..." Hermione's stomach rolled. "If I lose, I become his... bedroom attendant."

Loki's hands flexed into fists at his side. "Why the Hel would you make a deal like that?"

"I have to get back home—I didn't have a choice! Who else is going to help me? You?"

Her words seemed to hit home as Loki flinched.

"I could help you." Loki told her, "I could help you get home."

Hermione felt herself questioning everything at once. Why would he help her, when he wanted to stay? "Why? Why would you do that for me?"

Loki reached up a hand towards her face, second-guessing himself for a moment before closing the distance and wrapping a curl around his finger. Hermione's magic swelled in her chest as shivers racked her body from head to toe. The slightest graze of his knuckle set her skin ablaze, and she tried not to whimper at the contact.

"Why can I feel your magic?" Loki whispered instead of answering her question. "Why is it when I touch you, my skin feels like it's being burned by a million suns?"

Hermione swallowed and shook her head. She didn't trust her voice to reply.

Loki leant closer to her, and their magic swirled together again. Hermione could feel the shift, could feel the way it reached for him, though her physical arms remained at her sides. The metal of his door dug into her back.

When his fingers gently touched her cheek, she sucked in a breath. The sharp sound seemed to break whatever trance they were both in. Loki stood straight, taking a large step backwards, and Hermione tried to quiet her pounding heart. The rhythmic thumping echoed in her ears.

They stared at one another in awkward silence, their magic reaching for one another again. Hermione was suddenly aware of just how alone they were. "What is happening?" Hermione whispered. The desire to know everything consumed her, though she knew Loki had as few answers as her.

He looked at her with heated eyes, like liquid malachite—her favourite stone. "I don't know."

Not knowing what else to do, Hermione retreated from his room, Loki's gaze burning into her skin the entire time as she entered her own door.

Even now, ten minutes later, she could feel him through the wall—could feel his magic, and heat, and touch. Her cheek still burned where his fingers grazed, her wrist still carried the pressure of his hand wrapped around it. Tremours racked through her stomach.

She should have just stayed in her room. There was no possibility of sleep now.