(A/N): Hello all! Here is the long-awaited epilogue to Look What You Made Me Do. I decided to make this it's own story since it's also a sort of bridge into the next story in this series, which is Ransom's trial. I wasn't sure that I was going to write about that, but I've decided that I really want to. Not only has it been fun plotting it out, but I also think it's a good look into what the judicial system in the US is really like. Before that story starts to be punished, I'll probably have finished and posted a 'What if...' version of Look What You Made Me Do involving Blanc coming to Harlan's birthday party. I'm almost finished with that one but boy is it getting long...

I almost abandoned this story after Glass Onion came out simply because this world doesn't fit with the one in the movies. Specifically, Blanc's sexuality. I'm just going to be honest with you here, in this story world Blanc is bisexual. When I started writing this, I didn't know Blanc was gay and I hate the idea that I might be participating in any way with queer erasure. (And please don't bring up how fanfic writers make characters gay so it's fine to do it the other way around. It's not the same.) Romantic relationships aren't really going to be the main focus in stories moving forward but it's still going to be there. (Athough the main relationship shown is forever and always going to be Hermione and Marta all the way.) Hopefully this goes well but, if it doesn't, then I'll know that I need to pull away from writing any future Knives Out stories.

The characters of Dante, Bianca, and Marco are inspired by people at a restaurant that I became a regular at. It was embarrassing at first being so easily recognized at a place of business but it's also kind of nice to be adopted by the workers there.

Anyway, without further ado, thanks for reading! Enjoy!

Hermione strode confidently through the police station. She'd been there enough times over the last few months to know where she needed to go to find Lieutenant Elliot and, hopefully, Trooper Wagner.

Several officers greeted her by name as she walked past them, and Hermione did her best to acknowledge each of them even as she refused to slow down. She knew if she did, she would be stopped by someone looking for gossip.

"Hey Hermione!" Wagner called from where he was standing by Elliot's desk.

"Hello boys," she said, smiling brightly at the two men. "I see you've finally taken Marta's advice to stop working so hard."

Elliot frowned at her, leaning back in his desk chair. "What makes you say that?"

She shrugged. "You're standing still, aren't you?"

Wagner laughed while Elliot shook his head in exasperation, though he couldn't hide the smile pulling at the corners of his lips. "Marta's told you to slow down enough times now that I know you know that's not what she meant."

"Perhaps. But I, unlike you two, am no longer susceptible to her guilt trips. Living in the same house as her has given me the mental fortitude you both lack."

That got a bark of laughter out of Elliot. "You make it sound like you're being held against your will and not like you bullied her and her sister into moving in with you."

Hermione sighed. "With the press the way it was, it just made sense for us to hunker down together. Mrs. Cabrera will be joining us when she returns from visiting family, which will hopefully make the house feel a little less lonely."

Giving her a sympathetic look, Wagner asked, "You guys still set on staying at the estate?"

"For now. After all the work we put in to get the deed handed over to us, we decided we had to at least try living there. Well, that, and Marta vetoed my ideas for what else we could do with the place quickly and harshly."

Elliot shook his head. "I don't wanna know." Looking down at the bags in her hands, he changed the subject. "What have you got there?"

She looked down, reminded of her purpose for visiting them. "Gifts for the two of you. I would have wrapped them, but I didn't know if that would be an issue since we are in a police station." Hermione handed Trooper Wagner the green gift bag and gave Lieutenant Elliot the purple one.

"What are these for?" Wagner questioned, seeming unsure.

"There's not really a reason," Hermione admitted. "And these didn't cost me a thing, if that was something you were concerned about," she quickly added.

Wagner looked into his bag and then reached in to pull out a book. His eyes lit up. "Is this…?"

Hermione smiled and nodded. "Yes. Now that I finally gained control of the publishing company, we were able to move forward with Harlan's last works. That's an advanced copy of his book that will be released next month."

"Last works?" he questioned eagerly. "So he had more than one book finished?"

"Harlan had one book ready to be released when he died, one still going through the editing process, and one that he had just finished writing," Hermione listed.

"You're going to publish all of them?" Elliot asked, though he looked like he couldn't care less. "As-is?"

She hesitated. "Not exactly. The one that was still being edited should mostly be fine, but the one Harlan had just finished is still rough around the edges."

It was Trooper Wagner who caught on first and he whistled. "You're going to work on finishing his last two books? The family's not going to be happy about that."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Yes, and that's so tragic because, as you've clearly been able to see the entire time you've worked with us, their good opinion is the most important thing in the world to me."

Elliot snorted, reaching into his own bag to retrieve his gift. It was also a book, but one with a different cover than Wagner's. He blinked at it for a moment before starting to laugh. "Looks like you're already taking the chance to test out your literary prowess."

Pursing her lips to hide a smile, Hermione shrugged. "I didn't want you to feel left out and I knew you wouldn't appreciate Harlan's book as much as Trooper Wagner would, so I had to find an acceptable substitute. I hope you like it."

It was a hardcover book made to look like an old-fashioned journal in red with gold lettering spelling out: Everything Wrong with Harlan Thrombey's Books. Underneath the title in smaller print was, Compiled by a still slightly bitter Hermione Granger.

"Are you actually going to publish this?" Elliot asked, thumbing through the pages.

"I have no idea," she admitted. "It's something I've been playing with since I started working with Harlan. I'd read excerpts to him whenever I thought he needed to be taken down a peg or two. I thought it'd be something you could enjoy. That, and I also thought you might appreciate being able to add something to the conversation when Trooper Wagner waxes on about how delightful Harlan's books are."

Trooper Wagner finally looked to see what Elliot had been given and made a noise of protest. "How could you have found enough mistakes to fill up an entire book? Harlan's books are amazing."

"They're also numerous, which gave me more than enough to work with." Hermione held up the last bag still hanging from her fingers. "Detective Blanc wouldn't happen to be gracing you all with his presence, would he?" She knew he was back in the city, having arrived a week early for the start of Ransom's trial.

The two officers shared a look, seeming oddly amused. "He's in the back conference room," Wagner told her. "The one we used when we were taking your statements."

Hermione narrowed her eyes. "Alright," she responded slowly. "Should I try and catch him later?"

Elliot quickly shook his head. "Nah, you can head back there." Then he muttered so softly Hermione almost missed it, "He'd probably appreciate the rescue."

That's not suspicious at all. "I'll go find him then. But I've got my eyes on you two," she warned.

Holding his hands up, Elliot joked, "Oh, believe me, we wouldn't dare mess with you."

Giving them one last glare for good measure, Hermione turned and started making her way to the large conference room tucked into the back of the police station. The door was closed when she got there, but the blinds were open, and she was able to see Blanc standing near the door and the back of a very-familiar blond woman standing between him and the exit. For a brief moment, Hermione almost turned and walked away. But she could see that Blanc's smile was strained, the corners of his bright eyes tight, and he was leaning back on his heels.

Taking a deep breath, Hermione knocked lightly on the door and opened it enough to peek her head in. "Sorry for interrupting," she told them, feeling a bit gratified at the way Blanc's face lit up at sight of her while Joni's fell as she whirled around to see who had interrupted them. "Lieutenant Elliot told me I could find you back here," Hermione told Blanc, knowing it would annoy Joni if she felt she was being ignored. "Do you have a minute?"

"Uh," Joni started but Blanc quickly spoke over her.

"Of course," he hastily answered, stepping around Joni and pulling the door fully open. "Sorry to run on you, Joni, but I asked Hermione to stop by to discuss something rather pressing. I'll ask one of the officers to walk you out."

"Oh, are you sure?" Hermione couldn't help teasing. "I can always come back later."

Blanc's eyes narrowed slightly. "No, no. I wouldn't dream of putting you out like that."

He pressed his hand firmly into the small of Hermione's back and guided her out of the doorway and down the hall without another word, and it was a challenge not to laugh at his eagerness.

"That was cruel," he murmured as soon as they were out of earshot.

"Was it?" she asked, staring up at the older man with an innocent expression. "I just thought I was being helpful. After all, it seemed as though Joni was very eager to talk to you."

Blanc shook his head, ushering her into an empty office and closing the door firmly behind them. "You got that just from staring at the back of her?"

Hermione perched herself on top of the metal desk, idly wondering whose space they were appropriating. "Actually, I got that from watching the way you were leaning away from her because you wanted as much space as possible between you but were too much of a gentleman to obviously step back."

Moving to stand in front of her, Blanc shook his head. "Still poking at the hornet's nest, I see."

"Sorry, I think I misheard you." Hermione pushed her hair behind her ear and leaned forward. "I thought you said something vaguely disapproving but I must be mistaken considering your usual methods, Detective."

Trying and failing to bite back a smile, Blanc responded, "Surely we're past the point of formalities, aren't we? My name is fine."

"Alright, Benoit," she murmured. "If you insist."

"I do." Slipping his hands into his jacket pockets, he leaned forward a bit as he asked, "So, what did you need to speak to me about?"

Trying to ignore how pleased she was in the difference from how he was with her now to how he was with Joni, Hermione held out a gift bag the same shade as his eyes. "I heard you were back in town for the trial and wanted to make sure I had the chance to give you this before things become busy."

Benoit took the bag with an odd expression on his face. "I'm sure I haven't done anything to warrant being given a gift from you."

It took a moment for Hermione to understand what he meant but, once she did, she sighed and reached out to take his free hand in hers. "I don't blame you for what happened with Ransom and neither does Marta. You made a miscalculation, but so did we. And we're all fine, Benoit. We all made it out relatively unscathed. So please, stop torturing yourself over this."

The blue in his eyes had taken a grayish cast to them as a wry grin played across his lips. "Have you?"

Hermione's grip on his hand tightened as she remembered the feeling of horror that had rushed through her when she turned to see Marta pinned under Ransom. "No. But fixating on how your friend could have died protecting you is different from obsessing over the fact that you didn't anticipate Ransom's out-of-character actions."

"Agree to disagree."

Pulling his hand away, Benoit reached into the bag and retrieved three books. The polite smile on his face quickly shifted to one of surprise as he actually looked at the covers.

The first was the same book she gifted Lieutenant Elliot with. The second was a book written specifically for him from Hermione and Marta titled, The Truth of Harlan Thrombey's Death from the Perspective of the Help by Watson and Adler.

"We thought you might enjoy seeing our version of the Rainbow's Arc," she told him.

He laughed, shaking his head in amusement as he set the other two books aside so he could begin flipping through the pages. "Are you really publishing something like this? I personally appreciate the creativity, but I know you were glad to finally be at a point where you wouldn't have to regularly interact with the family, and this may ruffle some feathers."

She shook her head. "No, that's just for you. For now, at least. I suppose we might change our minds in the future. But what's the good in owning two publishing companies if you can't publish books for your own amusement?"

Benoit looked up at her, eyes soft. "As you say."

Setting the black covered book aside, he grabbed the last one and paused at the sight of the moving picture on the cover. "Is this…" he started.

Hermione also looked down at the book. "Yes, it's the upcoming release from Ask Publishing. An in-depth look at the predatory publishing and journalistic practices in Wizarding Britain. Harlan's last gift to me." At the sharp look he gave her, she told him, "Look at the dedication page."

Opening the cover, Benoit flicked through the first pages until he found what he was looking for. "To a favored research assistant," he read. "Nothing can be changed of the past, but here's hoping we're able to change the future."

He sighed. "Oh, darling. I am so sorry for how troublesome of a gift this is for you."

The heart-wrenching look he gave her caused Hermione to inhale sharply. She knew that he was remembering their last discussion about the publishing companies a few months before.

Hermione picked up the last book on the shelf and threw it across the room with all the strength she could muster before sinking down into a ball on the floor. Pressing her palms against her eyes, she sobbed.

It was too much and gods, it hurt. It still hurt.

The library door creaked open and she stiffened. She didn't want Marta to see her like this, not after the fight they'd had that morning, so she'd place the strongest Silencing Charm she knew. Because Marta had a right to be upset and Hermione knew that the kind-hearted woman would release her feelings in an instant if she saw the witch's pain.

With a soft hiccup, Hermione looked up to see Blanc standing in the doorway, blue eyes shadowed with concern.

She flinched, curling up tighter into herself.

Blanc silently closed the door behind him before facing her again. Hermione didn't know what to do. She hadn't been prepared to lie to Blanc that day.

Perhaps that's why the truth came spilling out.

"I can't do this," she whispered.

He walked towards her, picking his way through the hardcover books that littered the floor, coming to a stop a meter or so away from her.

"I can't do this," Hermione repeated when it was clear Blanc wasn't going to speak. "I can't. I… it's too much. The publishing companies and the books and no one will leave me alone." A strangled, guttural sob forced its way out of her chest. "I didn't want the publishing companies and Harlan's dead so he can't tell me what I'm supposed to do now, and I don't know what to do, Blanc. I don't know what to do. And Marta's mad at me and she should be because what I did was awful and underhanded and manipulative and she's right to be mad at me, but I miss her. I… it's just so loud and I just want it to stop." She pressed her hands to her eyes again, putting enough pressure on her lids that it caused a thrumming ache. "What am I supposed to do now?"

Hands wrapped around her wrists, exerting the faintest of pressures until she let her hands fall from her face. Blanc was kneeling down in front of her and, when she met his gaze, his thumbs softly stroked against the fragile skin of her wrists still resting in his large callused hands.

She was suddenly overtaken with shame at the mess she'd made of the library, of Harlan's books. Hermione knew she must look so childish to Blanc right then, tossing things around the room as she threw a tantrum about being given such an incredible and generous gift.

Forcing herself to her feet, Hermione uselessly attempted to pull her wrists away from Blanc. "I'm sorry," she gasped. "I'm sorry. I'm… I'm fine. I'm-"

"Oh, my dear girl," Blanc sighed as he tugged her forward. She fell against his chest and his arms wrapped around her as he held her tightly against him.

For a moment, Hermione was frozen, and then the warmth emanating from the detective and the now-familiar aroma of cigar smoke invaded her senses and she automatically relaxed, burying her face in his chest as she started to cry again.

"I knew the family wasn't going to take things well but I didn't expect for Walt to put up such a fight and I know I said I was ready and willing to have him thrown in jail for embezzlement but that was before," she rambled through her tears and Blanc began running a soothing hand up and down her back. "I was hoping to avoid all this, but he won't just roll over and do what I want him to do. And MACUSA is up in arms about the publishing company and now other wizarding communities are following suit and I have to fight them and the Thrombey's while also shielding Marta and her family from the press and I feel like I'm failing."

"You're not failing," he told her, tone soothing. "You're not. You're doing your best in a tough situation and I, for one, am in awe of how much strength you've shown."

Hermione shuddered, pressing closer to Blanc. She was just… "I'm tired," she admitted.

"I know, darling. I know."

She didn't know how long they stayed like that, Blanc easily supporting her weight while Hermione completely broke down. If he was uncomfortable with the situation, he never showed it.

When her tears finally stopped, Hermione knew she should pull away but felt too drained to move. "I'm sorry," she told him again.

"There's no need to be," he reassured her again. "It's alright to ask for help, Hermione. And I'm happy to assist if ever you need me."

Hermione's mind was blank by that point, so she just quietly breathed in the aroma of cigars and laundry detergent that she now associated with Blanc. She honestly wasn't sure if she could support her own weight at that point, which is why she didn't try to pull away. Her stillness had nothing to do with the fact that it was a relief to have someone solid enough to hold her up then.

Just when she thought her emotions were finally settling, a new wave hit her. "I threw Harlan's books," she told him, starting to shake a bit again.

Blanc's hand came up to cup the back of her neck, giving a comforting but firm squeeze. "Breathe, Hermione," he instructed. "Deep breaths now. Don't worry about the books- I've seen piles of Harlan's books stashed around the house, so I personally think it's fine if a few of them are used for anger management purposes."

A half-laugh, half-sob escaped her. "I'm just so angry, Blanc. And I'm tired of being angry. Especially since I know Harlan didn't mean for this to happen. I know he meant to sign over the publishing company to me before he died but he obviously didn't get the chance. But that doesn't change the storm that broke over my head when news got out."

He stiffened against her. "How do you know he meant to hand Blood Like Wine over to you?" he asked cautiously. "I thought he told you he was giving everything to Marta."

Hermione shook her head, the fabric of his jacket scraping against her skin. "He had two publishing companies. One in your world, and one in mine. No one knew who owned the one from my world until Harlan died and his will went into effect. Wanetta told me his will was just a precaution- he meant to hand it over to me in person after his birthday. But then Ransom killed him and now everyone knows I own the company."

Inhaling deeply, Blanc muttered. "I see."

Shouting from out in the hall broke through the silence in the room and Hermione groaned. She knew that voice. Based on the thunderous look on Blanc's face when she finally stepped away from him, he did too.

"Someone must have told them that we were here to prepare the list of Harlan's physical assets," she stated dully. Waving sluggishly towards the door, Hermione started, "I should-"

"You should stay here," he stated firmly, wrapping a hand around her elbow and leading her to one of the only comfortable chairs in the room, tucked away by the window near the piano. "I'll deal with the Thrombey's."

She sank down onto the chair in silence, easily allowing Blanc to get his way. If he wanted to tangle with the family then Hermione would happily let him.

Blanc stormed out of the room, leaving the door cracked behind him.

"Excuse me," she could hear him loudly interjecting before his voice fell and his words became indiscernible for a moment and then growing louder once again. "… treated them like shit to steal back a fortune that you lost, and they deserve! You're a pack of vultures at the feast! Knives out, beaks bloody! Well, I, for one, say that enough is enough! The only reason you are here making a nuisance of yourselves is because you know that the court won't be ruling in your favor and you're finally realizing that you won't be getting bailed out. Not this time. Not anymore. You are going to leave now, before Trooper Wagner and his men have you charged with harassment."

Marta suddenly appeared in the room, looking as pale and tired as Hermione felt. The other woman froze at the sight of her, and Hermione could see her taking in the dried tear tracks on her face and the way she was still shaking slightly. She closed her eyes, suddenly unwilling to have to see how Marta was going to react at the sight of her. The sounds of Blanc's and the Thrombey's voices faded into a soft, indistinct buzz.

Arms suddenly wrapped around Hermione again, though these were smaller and thinner than Blanc's. "I'm not going to leave," Marta whispered in her ear and Hermione flinched. "I'm not," her friend repeated firmly. "I am upset with you, but I am not going to leave you. We're still in this together, and that means neither of us are alone. Okay?"

"Please don't look at me like that," Hermione whispered, almost reaching out to him but stopping herself. "I told you, Harlan planned on giving me the publishing company before he died. This book… I don't want to look at this book as a burden when it was made out of love. Harlan loved me. I know that. And he was outraged by how the media crucified me in the past. I can feel it with every line in this book. This was made with the best intentions."

Benoit sighed. "I know you believe that Marta is the better out of the two of you, but I want you to remember something very important: your heart is just as kind. I am in awe of how fully and deeply you love those you have allowed in. You are far more generous than many others would be in your position."

Hermione blushed, looking down at her lap. "I know for a fact that are several people out there who would disagree with that," she deflected. "All of which are named 'Thrombey'."

Fingers pressed gently against her jaw, tilting her face back up so she met Benoit's eyes again. "Life is far too short to waste your time giving to people who only know how to take. And after the way that family has treated you, only a masochist would continue to willingly interact with them."

Leaning into his hand, she murmured, "A man usually takes me to dinner first before he begins offering suggestions about my sexual preferences."

His lips quirked upwards. "An activity I'd dearly love to do with you. However, I believe it would be prudent for us to wait to be seen out together until after Mr. Drysdale's trial is concluded. His lawyer would be elated to try and claim a bias in my work on the case due to being romantically entangled with a suspect."

She reached out and started playing with his suspenders, slipping her fingers between the stretchy fabric and his dress shirt. "They'd have to have proof to claim such a thing and I, for one, am very good at not getting caught. Are you?"

Benoit's eyes narrowed. "We're in a police station," he reminded her.

"I put a privacy charm on the window," Hermione informed him.

His hand fell from her face to capture the one resting against his abdomen. Carefully uncurling her fingers from his suspenders, Benoit lifted her hand to his lips, barely brushing them across her fingertips. "In that case, do you know of somewhere we can have dinner that might provide a similar amount of privacy?"

She beamed up at him. "It just so happens that I do. Would you like to drive again, or shall I take us there?"

A wry smile pulled at his lips. "I believe it'd be best if we took my car."

"This seems like a strange place for a restaurant," Benoit commented as they strode down the cobblestone street.

Hermione laughed. "There's no such thing as a strange place for a restaurant. Especially a magical one."

Reaching out to grab his wrist, she gently towed Benoit into an alleyway that was hidden from any non-magical eyes. As she'd expected, he put up some resistance to the movement as the charms tried to convince him to turn away but, once Benoit had passed through them, he visibly relaxed.

"That was interesting," he told Hermione, blinking rapidly a few times.

"If you say so," she shrugged, leading him towards a plain metal door.

Benoit glanced around in confusion. "This isn't an actual magical area, is it?"

She shook her head. "The real magical community in this part of the country is in Salem, not Boston. There are just a few magical shops here in the historical part of Boston."

"I see," he hummed, and Hermione was about to question just what it was he saw when the door opened and a couple was escorted out by a dark haired man wearing black pants and a white dress shirt.

"Hermione!" he called when he spotted her, a wide grin spreading across his face.

"Marco!" she returned with the same amount of cheer, allowing the younger man to sweep her into a tight hug and giggling as he spun her around.

"It's been too long, mi amore," he declared once he released her. "Where have you been?"

She wrinkled her nose. "I thought we'd agreed you stop with the over-the-top Italian stereotypes. I told you once and I'll tell you again: you can't pull it off without a Mario mustache."

"And I told you that I'm Luigi all the way!" Marco looked behind Hermione and gave Benoit an incredibly obvious onceover. "And who is this?"

Hermione looked at Benoit, immediately regretting her choices. "This is Benoit Blanc," she said, clearly reluctant.

Marco lit up. "Really?"

"I will green shell you," Hermione hissed at him, aware of Benoit's interested gaze on her back.

Visibly shaking with laughter, Marco told Benoit, "Sorry, it's just exciting to meet the man who was such big news a few months ago. You helped cause quite the scandal."

"That was all Hermione," Benoit said with a wave of his hand.

"Well, Hermione is good at causing scandals."

"Everyone needs a talent," Hermione stated blandly. "Marta has her ability to induce guilt with just a look, I cause scandals everywhere I go. I'm sure one day you'll manage to find a talent too, Marco."

"You mean besides getting on your nerves?"

She shrugged. "Most people do, so I wouldn't be too pleased with yourself about that."

The metal door opened again and a dark-haired woman wearing a similar outfit to Marco popped out. "Marco!" his sister, Bianca, chided. "What the hell is taking you so long?" Then she noticed Hermione and her face lit up. "Hermione!"

Hermione sighed as Bianca mimicked her brother's greeting from moments before. "You people and your incessant need to hug me," she grumbled. "This is why I usually get takeout."

"Oh please," Bianca snorted, stepping back but keeping hold of Hermione by her shoulders. "You get takeout because you hate being in the public eye and you feel like you're imposing whenever we give you a private room even though we've told you a million times that it's fine."

"In that case, I'm sure you'll be thrilled to know I'm here to have dinner and I would love you to the moon and back if I got a private room."

Bianca glanced over at Benoit. "Finally bringing your man to meet the family? Papa will be thrilled."

Hermione also looked back at her companion. "I've made a terrible mistake."

Benoit smile was bright and genuine. "It's lovely to meet more friends of Hermione's."

Marco chuckled. "Let's see if you still feel that way after you run the gauntlet."

"At least I can guarantee the food will be good," Hermione offered. "Better than our last meal together."

Hermione leaned her head against the window, staring blankly down at the lights flashing on the street below her.

She had survived six years of hell at Hogwarts, an actual war, and the bureaucratic nightmare that came after it. Yet, for some reason, this felt so much heavier than all of that and she didn't know why.

Blanc's gaze kept flicking from whatever he was doing in her kitchen to her and Hermione could feel how concerned he was. She appreciated how he had stepped in to deal with the Thrombey's for her back at the house, and for volunteering to drive her home so that Marta didn't have to, but she couldn't bring herself to say it to him out of fear of him trying to start a conversation about the why of it all.

"He's really gone, isn't he?" she asked abruptly, and the noise from the kitchen suddenly stopped.

It was all suddenly very real. Hermione knew the stages of grief better than she did the back of her hand by this point. And this was the stage she hated the most.

Harlan was never going to whine about what a frail old man he was to bully them into getting his way. He was never going to sneak a bit of alcohol into their drinks when Marta and Fran were distracted. He was never going to puzzle out a plot point in front of her and she was never again going to hear that catch in his voice when it all came together.

He was never going to tug lightly on one of her curls when she's spent too long bent over a book. He was never going to help her create a grisly murder scene in each room of that extravagant dollhouse right before Walt was supposed to drop by just to see the horror on Donna's face.

He was never going to get the chance to meet Blanc. To meet the detective he had so admired but who had never come to visit until after Harlan had passed.

"I'm afraid he is," Blanc stated softly, walking over to her and placing a hand on her shoulder. "And I'm truly sorry for your loss."

"I watched him die," Hermione stated blankly. She hadn't even told Marta, though she was sure the nurse was aware, but something made her want to confess her sins to the older man. "He told us the plan, shoved us out the door, and that was when I figured it out. Five minutes. Harlan would have shown symptoms within five minutes of the overdose and it had been almost ten minutes at that point, and he was perfectly fine. No symptoms. No sweats, no disorientation. I opened the door, Harlan had his knife to his throat, and I froze. I couldn't move. And then he told me, "Do what I say, and everything's going to be okay, Hermione. I promise." Harlan slit his throat and I closed the door before Marta could see."

Moving to kneel in front of her, Blanc took Hermione's hands in his. "I'm so sorry, darling."

Hermione shook her head. "I could have saved him. I could have stopped him. If I was just a little quicker-"

"This was not your fault," Blanc interrupted. "None of it was. Don't drive yourself crazy thinking about what you could or should have done differently. Harlan's death does not fall onto your shoulders."

Looking into ice-blue eyes, Hermione asked, "Then whose does it? Ransom switched the medicines, but Marta switched them back. Marta only read the labels on the medicines after she'd given Harlan his first dosage. I realized the naloxone was missing but was too slow to put the pieces together. Harlan decided to slit his own throat rather than allow us to call for help. So, tell me, whose shoulders should be bearing the burden?

Blanc was quiet for a minute. "I don't think it really matters what I think, does it, Hermione? I wish it did. I wish I could tell you who's to blame and you be able to let go of your guilt. But I can't take away that burden for you. What I can do is sit with you and be there for you tonight while we feast on the greatest grilled cheeses this side of the Mississippi."

Her lips pulled into a honest smile. "Grilled cheese… that was Harlan's favorite comfort meal. One of mine too, now. I always have the ingredients on hand."

"Harlan had good taste. And I'd love to hear more about him while we eat if you're up for it."

"Outstanding as always, Fabio," Hermione praised.

"I'm glad to hear that," the older man snorted. "Considering how slowly you ate this time, I was worried the food wasn't up to your standards."

She rolled her eyes. "How would you know how quickly I usually eat? I generally get my meals to go."

"Ah, but you've joined our family for dinner several times before and the speed at which you finished your plate has always been fast."

"That's because Bianca was there," Hermione grumbled. "With her, if you don't eat quickly, then you don't eat at all."

Benoit watched their banter with bright eyes. "Pardon me, but I thought your name was Dante."

"It is," the owner told him. "But when I first met my favorite customer, I made the mistake of calling her by the wrong name so now she does the same to me."

"And despite what he might say," Hermione chimed in, "Leonardo enjoys our little game."

"Miss Elizabeth is right."

"Pride and Prejudice?" Benoit asked, as Dante set a plate of cannoli in front of each of them.

"Stereotypically British name," she clarified, snatching up a cannolo and taking a bite with little finesse. Hermione didn't bother trying to be neat because Dante's cannoli were too delicious to be delicate with.

"I'll grab a few things for you to take home with you, Alice" Dante announced. "I know the trial is next week and you'll be busy preparing for it."

Hermione knew better than to try to argue. She may be stubborn, but she hadn't won a single argument so far against the man and Hermione didn't want Benoit to watch her lose another one. "You are far too kind to me."

Dante waved his hand in the air. "Nonsense. If we could attend the trial with you we would, but I know that's not what you want. Once it's over and that verme is sent to prison, we will have a celebratory dinner."

"I'd like that," she said, glancing at Benoit. "I'm sure Marta will enjoy seeing you all again."

Once Dante left the room, Benoit said, "It seems like you have a good support system here."

Shrugging, Hermione told him, "Marta told me I had to make other friends. Which is incredibly unfair because she didn't have to."

"Perhaps she knew that if you befriended others, she could become friends with them as well. Less work for her."

She considered that for a few seconds. "I think it's more likely that Marta wanted me to have allies here in Boston in case MACUSA came calling again. She was very unhappy about my original deal with them."

Benoit sat back in his chair. "Are they still causing issues?"

"Less so now that they found out what book was being published next. In my opinion, they're waiting to see what the fallout in Britain is going to be. As am I."

"Nothing to do but wait and see what kind of storm awaits us so we can weather through it as best we can," he sighed, taking a bite of cannolo.

"Both of us have experience with that, don't we?" Hermione murmured.

"Indeed, we do."

He was staring at her and Hermione could feel her cheeks flushing. "Are you sure this is a storm you want to go through?"

Taking Hermione's free hand in his, Benoit firmly stated, "I am. However, I would understand if you weren't. You have had to deal with a number of changes the last few months. It would be understandable if you wished to take time to adjust."

Forcing herself to hold his gaze, Hermione told him, "This is one change that I wouldn't mind introducing to my life."

He squeezed her hand. "After the trial?"

Hermione frowned. "You really want us to wait?"

"I want to do this right," Benoit corrected. "Not hide ourselves away in fear of being found out. Even for a week."

"I really thought that when I convinced you to go out to dinner with me, I'd talked you out of waiting." Hermione leaned slightly closer, wishing she and Benoit hadn't been seated across from one another at the table. "You do know that, even once the trial is over, I won't want our relationship to be a spectacle for the public to gawk at, don't you?"

Benoit nodded. "True but choosing not to show your relationship to the world has a different feeling to having to hide it away out of fear. The second has too much shame, which is the furthest feeling I want to have when I'm with you."

She rolled her eyes, even as warmth filled her. "You just had to be reasonable and respectable, didn't you?"

He gave a surprisingly boyish smile. "Just trying to prove myself to be a gentleman to you after my fumbling when we first met."

"You want to be a gentleman?" Hermione teased. "Really? That's disappointing."

"And why's that?"

"Well, because I've heard that they prefer blondes of course. And that's never been a good color on me."

Benoit drove her back to Harlan's estate, constantly checking the rearview mirror to see if they were being followed. On Hermione's part, she simply sat in the passenger seat, waiting for them to reach the mansion so she could make her move.

"I see you were finally able to upgrade the houses security," Benoit commented after they were stopped by the guards at the front gate.

Hermione smirked. "If I weren't in the vehicle, they would have searched your car before allowing you through. That's all just for show though. The grounds are warded, the dogs are still roaming freely, and the house will soon be full of people who would honestly be thrilled right now by someone stupid enough to attempt to break in."

Once Benoit had made it to the top of the hill and placed the car in park, he faced Hermione. "The calvary is coming then?"

"They will descend this weekend," she confirmed, still thrilled at the development. "Harry and Ron both had children recently so I wasn't sure they'd be able to make it but Harry's mother-in-law is looking after the girls so he and Ginny can come and Ron's wife, Parvati, all but threatened to kick him out of the house."

Benoit's brows furrowed. "And how are things with Mr. Potter?"

She could feel her smile turning into something softer due to fondness. "He's doing well. Much better than before. When I last saw him, Harry was working through some unexpected developments and it caused him to react… inappropriately. But he realized that he needed help and he got it and I am incredibly proud of him for doing so."

Hermione allowed Benoit to study her to his heart's content in silence, memorizing how the shadows from the illumination of the porch light played on the angles of his face. "I'm glad," Benoit murmured, the corners of his lips upturning at odds with stillness of his eyes that were more water-under-ice than clear morning sky. "Good friends are hard to come by."

"For some, but I personally feel like I have a good collection going. I did have to buy a few of them second hand so they're a little dented around the edges but I really wanted them."

His laugh filled the car and Hermione unbuckled her seatbelt. Seemingly taking her action to mean she was preparing to exit the vehicle, Benoit glanced down to find the button to unlock the car doors.

As soon as she heard the click, Hermione reached out to grab Benoit's tie and carefully dragged him towards her- making sure not to accidentally strangle the man since that was not the mood she was going for- as she surged forward. Their lips met, and she made a pleased noise that her little move hadn't backfired spectacularly. Benoit was still for a heartbeat but sprang into action at the sound, hand tunneling into her hair and curls wrapped around his fingers the same way she'd wrapped his tie around hers.

Benoit's lips were soft and warm and so very careful despite the strength of his grip on her. Hermione didn't try and tease him into turning the kiss into something deeper, content with just this and her free hand rested on the back of his neck. Her nails scratched against the base of his scalp and Benoit groaned, his grip automatically tightening in her hair and pulling her lips away from his.

"Hermione," he whispered, nose rubbing against hers. "You live to surprise me."

She smiled, leaning in to press one last kiss against his lips before slipping away. "Just wanted to make sure you remember why I'm worth the wait."

"That is never something you need worry about," Benoit responded, rolling down the passenger side window as Hermione hopped out of the car and shut the door behind her.

Turning back to the car, Hermione rested her forearms on the window ledge and propped her chin atop them. "It's hard not to considering how we met." A hint of worry colored her voice. "I don't want to be Adler in this story, Benoit."

His gaze was steady and warm. "Then you'll be relieved to hear that I've found myself disliking the notion of being Sherlock in recent months."

And just like that, her fears were gone. "I always thought you were more Poirot myself."

Hermione pulled away from the car, letting her arms fall to her sides. "See you at the courthouse, Benoit."

"One week," he confirmed, a charming smile crossing his face. "And afterwards, we'll have to arrange a time for me to get my jacket back."

Walking backwards towards the house, Hermione laughed. "Whatever are you talking about, Detective Blanc? I already returned your jacket. You'll have to ask for something else back the next time we meet." Then she turned on her heel and vanished into the house.

Later, when Benoit arrived back at his hotel, he smiled at the sight of a gray coat resting neatly on the bed where he was positive his fedora once had.

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