Fic: And Suddenly, Part One
Title: And Suddenly
Pairing: Harry/Hermione
Rating: R
Summary: Hermione poses as Harry's wife for her first assigment following her father's death; they're tracking a Muggle in Kong Kong selling wizarding items. While undercover, they begin to realise that perhaps they're not just pretending...
Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
Notes: Written for the hphg_ficathon; my prompt was "Hermione and Harry are Aurors and are partnered together for a case". Split into two parts due to length. My thanks to anemonerose and junesrose for their most excellent betas; between the two of them, they picked up a lot of little errors I’d made. I also want to thank cheeringcharm, rainpuddle13, msgenevieve and annearchy, who read this fic at various stages, for becoming my cheer squad and encouraging me to finish.
Hermione Granger walked as quickly as possible past her superior’s office in an attempt to remain undetected but, to her chagrin, was unsuccessful as he caught sight of her and waved her into his office.
“Hermione! Come on in.” She took a deep breath and pasted on a false smile as she entered the room to come face-to-face with Gabriel Von Dukan. “How are you doing today?” he asked her.
Hermione smoothed down her robe. “I’m fine, thank you, Gabriel. Something you wanted to talk to me about?” Hermione had the same conversation with him, day in and day out. Gabriel would try to wheedle some kind of weak emotional reaction out of her, and she would refuse to lose her composure in front of him.
“Yes, yes,” he said absentmindedly, gesturing towards the seat opposite his desk, which she took. “I wondered if you felt up to a field assignment.”
Hermione’s eyes widened slightly. “What type of assignment?”
Gabriel brushed back a lock of hair off his forehead. “I need a female agent to pose as one half of a married couple. There’s a Muggle in Hong Kong who’s selling wizard items on the black market and we’ve been liaising with the Hong Kong Ministry to try and find out who his contact in the wizarding world is. We’ve already recruited an Auror for it, one of the best we have -- and he specifically requested you as his partner.”
Hermione stared at her boss. “He asked for me? Who is it?”
“Someone you’re well acquainted with,” Gabriel said with a smile. “In fact, he’s waiting for you in your office. He’ll fill you in on the details.” His face sobered somewhat. “If you don’t feel you’re ready for this, Hermione, you don’t have to do it. Nobody would hold it against you.”
Hermione blinked rapidly; it had only been four weeks since she’d lost her beloved father, Charles, to a fatal heart attack. In all her thirty-one years of life, nothing had devastated her more than losing her father. The last month had been difficult; Hermione just tried to live each day as it came. Sometimes she had good days, some were bad, but her strength and determination not to fall apart were keeping her going. And her two best friends in the whole wide world were always there to pick her up when she stumbled.
“No, I’ll be fine, Gabriel. Thank you for giving me this assignment. I won’t let you down.”
“Of course you won’t, Hermione, but I’m not the one you need to thank.” With that, he smiled a dismissal and went back to the myriad parchments scattered on his desk.
Hermione rose out of the chair, trying not to run back to her office. Who she found there waiting for her was the last person she honestly expected, but the one person she couldn’t have been happier to spot.
“Harry!”
Her best friend looked up from where he was perched on the edge of her desk, cleaning his glasses on the bottom of his shirt. “Hey!” he said, sliding the glasses back on.
Hermione couldn’t help it; she flung herself into his arms and hugged him tightly. “I’m so glad it’s you,” she said, her voice soft.
Harry embraced her, kissing her nose as she pulled back to look at him. “I wouldn’t have anyone else as my wife,” he said, stroking her cheek gently. “Good day or bad day?”
“Okay day,” Hermione said honestly. “Better now, though. When Gabriel told me I was worried for a moment it might have been Darien.” Darien Whitehouse was someone she’d dated a few times; for Hermione, it hadn’t been anything serious, but he’d made out it that had been the grand romance of his life and she’d dumped him for no apparent reason. Hermione had thought it best under the circumstances to keep her distance.
Harry smiled. “No, not Darien. Just me. Listen, I can’t stay because I’ve got a meeting in ten, but why don’t you come over tonight and I’ll cook you dinner. We can go over everything.”
“I’d like that. You know how much I love your cooking.” Hermione did love Harry’s cooking, something he was quite good at. “What’s on the menu?”
“Shepherd’s Pie?”
“Sounds wonderful.”
Harry got up off the desk and kissed her cheek, his lips lingering for a few seconds. “I’ll see you tonight. Owl me if you need me.”
“Okay. I’ll bring the wine.” She waited until he’d disappeared out the door before dropping into her chair. Suddenly, the day didn’t look so bad after all.
~*~
Hermione was well and truly grateful to be out of the Ministry by the time she arrived on Harry’s doorstep, wine in hand. He swung the door open and greeted her with a kiss as he ushered her in.
“Dinner’s in the oven, so it won’t be long. I thought we could go over the case after dinner.”
“Sounds good to me.” She followed him into the kitchen and watched as he opened the wine and poured them each a glass.
After dinner, they moved into the lounge room to sit near the fire. “So fill me in. What exactly is this case all about?” Hermione said, settling onto the lounge and throwing a pillow on her lap.
“Okay. Here’s what we know.” Harry picked up a small gold tube and held it in the middle of his palm. With a wave of his wand, a long piece of parchment came flying out of it to hover mid-air above. “Both the British and Hong Kong Ministries have been tailing this Muggle for almost a year. His name is Stanley Chan; he was born and raised in Hong Kong. He’s fifty-five, been married for twenty-three years, four children. On the surface, he runs an antique company, buying and selling from all over the world.”
Harry paused to take a mouth full of wine and let loose another piece of parchment. “From what we’ve discovered, though, it’s just a cover. While he does have a legitimate business consortium which owns the Peninsula Hotel in Hong Kong, he’s selling things he has no business even knowing about, let alone should be in possession of.”
“Such as?” Hermione sat forward on the lounge, her curiosity piqued.
“Mostly ingredients for various potions that are illegal. Last month we tracked him selling blood from a vampire.”
Hermione was unable to stop the gasp that escaped her lips. “Where is he getting all this stuff from? Does he have a wizard in the family somewhere?”
“No,” Harry shook his head. “We traced both his and his wife’s families back for five generations. No sign that any of them, nor those they married, have a drop of magical blood.”
“So he must have a contact elsewhere, then. Any known associates in the wizarding world?”
“None whatsoever. None that we can find, anyway.”
“If this person has eluded the Ministries, then he must be someone worth finding.”
“Precisely. Problem is, we don’t know the first thing about him. We don’t even know if it is a he.”
Hermione summoned the parchment containing Stanley Chan’s details and read over it thoughtfully, absorbing all the information. “So where do we fit into this whole scenario?”
Here, Harry smiled and sat on the coffee table opposite Hermione. “We are James and Jane Evans, a wealthy British couple who are looking at purchasing one of Stanley Chan’s most expensive Muggle items up for sale -- a vase from the Ming Dynasty.”
Hermione raised her eyebrows. “James and Jane Evans?”
“Not my idea,” Harry chuckled. “The powers that be thought it would be easier for us to remember our new identities that way. Our birthdays, if asked, are the same except we were born in 1981. We met at a private Scottish boarding school where we became friends. We started dating five years ago and have been married for three.”
Hermione smiled. “That should be easy enough to remember. So we’re going to Hong Kong to meet this Stanley Chan?”
“We are. We’re leaving tomorrow night. Mr. Chan has bought us first class tickets.”
“We’re flying on a Muggle plane?”
Harry nodded. “We have to play the Muggle part perfectly so we don’t blow our cover.”
Hermione sat back on the lounge again, putting her empty glass on the table beside Harry. “How is he communicating with this contact of his, then?”
“You ask all the right questions, Auror Granger.” A third piece of parchment was released from the gold tube. “Wait for this... he’s been observed sending an owl at seven o’clock every morning without fail.”
“He’s sending owls?” Hermione couldn’t keep the disbelief out of her voice. “How is it we don’t know who this contact is, then?”
“Ah, here’s the best part.” Harry looked at her evenly. “Every owl makes it across Kowloon Bay... and then vanishes.”
“Vanishes?” Hermione’s mind started to tick over as her Auror instincts kicked in. “How can an owl just vanish?”
“We don’t know. I’ve watched the surveillance; it’s the oddest thing. It simply disappears into thin air.”
Hermione studied Harry, deep in thought. “Does it disappear in the same place?”
“Every time.”
“Hmmm,” she said, getting up and pacing his lounge room in circles. Harry watched her silently; he knew better than to disturb her when she was thinking this way. “What if--” Here she stopped, then shook her head. “No.” She continued to pace, waving her arms about as she mentally ran through various theories. “What if...” Hermione stopped pacing and looked at Harry; he could tell by the glint of excitement in her eyes that she’d thought of something. “What if there is no owl to begin with?”
Harry rubbed his hands on his thighs. “Explain.”
“Well, think about it, Harry. Why would a Muggle use one of the most obvious forms of wizarding communication which could also be intercepted? Surely his contact, whoever that is, must have realised that one of the Ministries would eventually find out about Stanley Chan and investigate him.”
“Highly plausible. Do carry on, Auror Granger.”
“Maybe the owl is a smokescreen. Maybe that’s what Stanley Chan’s contact wants us to see. There’s this old spell I once read about in which you can conjure up an image that is only visible for a small amount of time. It takes a great amount of concentration to do it and-- ” Hermione stopped talking and sat back down opposite Harry. “The person casting it has to be in the general vicinity.”
“Which means that his contact must be in Hong Kong.” Harry grinned. “You’re just so smart. No wonder I wanted you to be my wife!”
Hermione rolled her eyes, not hiding her smile. “And here I thought it’s because you knew that nobody else would put up with all your bad habits.”
Harry clutched his chest in mock pain. “You wound me with your words, wench.”
Hermione raised her eyebrows and fixed him with her best glare. “Wench?”
“Er, witch? Wife? My very best friend in the entire world?” His eyes twinkled at her as he gave her the grin that always made her melt. Hermione couldn’t help but smile.
“Saved yourself there, Mr. Potter, but don’t think you can get out of everything with a grin.”
“Seems to work on you every time,” Harry teased.
Hermione picked up the pillow next to her and smacked his arm with it. He winced and rubbed his arm. “Baby,” she accused, rising out of her seat. “I think I’m going to head home.” Harry got up with her and pulled her into his embrace, holding her to him tightly. “Thank you for dinner,” she said as her arms snaked around his neck.
“Anything for my favourite witch,” he whispered in her ear before kissing her cheek. “Why don’t you bring your luggage straight here after work and we can get ready here?”
“Sounds like a plan. I’ll talk to you in the morning.” She kissed him goodbye and headed home, praying that this night would be different and there would be no dreams.
~*~
The next day dragged something terrible for Hermione and she was finally glad it was over. She stood once again in Harry’s kitchen as he whipped them up something light. “You’re beginning to spoil me,” she said.
“Can’t have you not eating,” Harry pointed out.
“Won’t they feed us on the plane?”
“Sure. But this is just in case whatever they feed us doesn’t agree with our palates. Remington told me Muggle plane food is horrible.”
Hermione cast him a dubious glance. “Bollocks. It was perfectly fine every time I flew when I was younger. Why would they serve horrible food?”
Harry shrugged. “I have no idea. But I’m not waiting until 11pm to be fed.”
Once they’d had an early supper, Hermione double checked her extensive list to ensure they had everything they needed. They were just about ready to go when Harry took a small velvet box out of his pocket and went over to where Hermione stood. “Left hand, please,” he said. Hermione held her left hand out as Harry took two rings out of the box. “Your wedding and engagement rings,” he explained as he slid them onto her third finger.
Hermione stared at the rather sizeable diamond Harry had placed on her finger, which was surrounded by six emeralds. “Don’t tell me that’s real.”
“It sure is. We’re supposed to be a wealthy couple, remember? It’s on loan from a jeweller in Diagon Alley. It’s been charmed so it can’t be removed from your finger until the counter spell is given. Don’t want you to lose it.” Harry brought her hand up and kissed it gently, a tender gesture that made Hermione’s eyes shimmer with tears. She looked down and noticed he’d already slipped a gold band onto his finger. An emotion she couldn’t pinpoint swept over her and she felt the sudden compulsion to hug Harry and never let him go. She settled for giving him a quick squeeze, then taking a step back and grabbing her jacket.
“Ready to go?” Harry asked her, holding out his hand.
Hermione reached out and took it. “Ready as I’ll ever be.”
They caught a Muggle taxi to Heathrow airport. Dressed for the part, Harry had donned a Muggle suit and Hermione a long skirt and elegant blouse with a jacket. They’d both cast a spell to alter their appearances, which changed their hair and eye colour and removed Harry’s scar; it had been specially written to fall away when they were alone. They’d also charmed their suitcases to be lightweight, even though they carried much more than Muggles would have been allowed, and after checking in, they headed to the first class lounge to grab a cup of tea before boarding.
Once settled on board, the flight took off without delay and they were soon airborne. Hermione settled into her chair to read a book, having given Harry the window seat. It wasn’t long before she noticed he was surreptitiously examining each of their fellow passengers in first class.
“Something wrong, James?” she said, careful not to refer to her partner by his real name. Once they’d stepped outside Harry’s house, they were no longer Harry and Hermione.
Harry’s eyes appeared to linger on one passenger in particular, who sat four seats behind them on the other side. “No, darling,” he said in a normal voice that could be heard by anyone. He put a small amount of pressure on her hand, a silent indicator that she should move closer, and Hermione leaned in as Harry did the same. “We’re being watched,” he whispered as his lips touched hers.
Any question Hermione might have had died the second she felt his lips brushing lightly against hers. Hermione knew that kissing Harry in public was going to be part of the assignment, but she wasn’t prepared for the shiver that went through her as he kissed her. He pulled away after a few moments, but stayed close. “There’s an Asian bloke sitting on the other side, four rows back. He was near us at the airport, too. Chan might have sent him to watch us.”
Hermione nodded slightly to let Harry know she’d understood, and couldn’t help but lean in for another quick kiss. Her heart was beating wildly against her chest and her skin was warm and tingly. Taking a few moments to compose herself, she settled back into her chair and then got up to use the bathroom, which gave her the opportunity to check out the suspect in question.
By the time she got back to her seat, Hermione was fully composed and back into Auror mode. “You’re right,” she said quietly, making sure they couldn’t be overheard. “His eyes followed me all the way to the bathroom and back again.”
“Maybe he just thinks you’re devastatingly sexy and couldn’t keep his eyes off you,” Harry said with a smirk.
“Ha ha. Your wit and humour astounds me, Evans.”
“I know. That’s why you married me.”
Hermione merely rolled her eyes and went back to her book, but was pleased to note that Harry’s hand somehow managed to find its way to her thigh and stayed there.
~*~
They touched down in Hong Kong in the early evening and collected their luggage before heading out to find the chauffeur they knew would be waiting for them. James and Jane Evans had been written in small, neat black writing on a piece of cardboard that their driver, wearing a crisp black suit and matching hat that made Hermione want to laugh, was holding. He bowed politely and took their bags from them, leading them out to a long, black limousine.
He drove them to the Peninsula Hotel. Not only was it owned by their host, but it was also well known in the Muggle world as one of the most luxurious in Hong Kong. Their check in had already been organised, so Harry was only required to sign a form, and then they were led to the Peninsula Suite. Hermione was trained to hide her reaction, so it wasn’t until the bellhop had left them alone that she whistled in amazement. Their suite was nothing short of spectacular; with the bedroom showcasing panoramic views of the harbour, a private balcony, conference room, two separate sitting rooms, a mini-gym, private office, three private washrooms, two separate dressing areas and a fully equipped kitchen and butler’s pantry, Hermione could safely say it was the most incredible hotel she’d ever seen, let alone stayed in.
But before she could get a word out, Harry had placed his finger against his lips, indicating for her to keep quiet, then got out his wand and cast a few spells which would search for any hidden microphones or cameras. Nothing was found, so Hermione talked with assurance they were not being overheard.
“Oh my God, Harry,” she murmured, opening doors and looking out windows. “Have you ever seen anything this marvellous?”
“Nope.” Harry flopped down onto the enormous couch, stretching out. “It is rather nice, isn’t it?”
“Nice? It’s just nice?” Hermione shook her head. “I hate to think of how much one night costs.”
“I’m sure Stanley Chan can afford it.”
“He’s paying for this?”
“In a manner of speaking. We’re staying here free of charge, Mrs. Evans. He wants us to buy this Ming vase, you know.”
“And quite badly, I’d say. How much does he want for it, anyway?”
Harry told her the exact figure had to be negotiated, but gave her a range in British pounds and then the conversion into galleons. The amount of money mentioned was large enough to make Hermione’s jaw drop. “And we’re supposed to have this much money?”
“I told you, we’re rich.”
“So it would seem.” Hermione perched herself on the edge of the couch next to Harry, gazing out the window at the view. “I wonder how Mum is.”
“You want to ring her?”
“No, it’s okay. She’ll have checked that our flight landed safely. I’ll call her tomorrow.” Hermione sighed, her thoughts drifting to her father, as they often did. She felt Harry’s hand on her back, rubbing it soothingly, and she marvelled at just how well attuned they’d become to each other. They’d been best friends for twenty years now. Twenty years. Sometimes Hermione wondered if she could ever remember her life before Harry and Ron were in it; sometimes she wondered whether she really wanted to.
She closed her eyes and relaxed, then actually moaned softly when the couch shifted under Harry’s weight as he moved to sit behind her, tucking her in between his thighs. He started at her shoulders, his fingers working magic on her tired body, then moving down her spine gently.
“Mmmmmm,” Hermione murmured. “You can stay.”
Harry laughed, moving slightly, and it made her very aware of just how closely together they were sitting. She trembled slightly as his fingers continued to dance over her skin.
“Just relax,” he whispered in her ear. She took a few deep breaths and obeyed, and found herself concentrating on nothing except how good Harry’s hands felt. When he was done, she leaned back against him as his arms went around her, and they sat together silently for a few minutes, lost in their respective thoughts.
A knock at the door interrupted them. Harry got up to answer, and in came an unfamiliar man who bowed politely and placed an enormous basket of goods on the table. “Most honourable Mr. and Mrs. Evans,” he said, bowing again. “My esteemed employer Mr. Chan bids you welcome to this beautiful city and kindly requests your presence at dinner tonight at 8pm in the Red Room.” Without waiting for a response, he bowed again and disappeared.
Hermione blinked a few times and looked at Harry. “We’ve been summoned, in the nicest possible way.”
“Yes. I was wondering how long it would take him to want to see us for himself.” Harry held his hand out. “Well then, the honourable Mrs. Evans, shall we get ready?”
Hermione smiled and allowed Harry to pull her off the couch. They went into the master bedroom, where their suitcases had been left, and cast a few quick charms that unpacked their suitcases for them and hung all their clothes up neatly. Once that was done, they both showered, each taking one of the bathrooms, and dressed. Harry donned an elegant tuxedo, complete with bow tie, that Hermione didn’t mind privately admitting made him look incredibly sexy. She, in turn, wore one of the designer dresses she’d brought along for formal occasions; she picked the dusty rose one. It was a sleeveless A-line made of expensive French silk, with dozens of tiny diamonds embroidered on the bottom. It was a truly beautiful dress and Hermione felt lucky to be wearing it.
“I feel like a princess,” she admitted, coming out of her dressing room. Gold Manolo Blahniks and a matching gold handbag completed her ensemble.
Harry took her in and let out a low whistle. “You look like a queen,” he said softly. Hermione smiled at him and watched as he rummaged through the bag he’d taken on the plane. “You’re missing something, though. A few things, actually.”
“I am?”
He didn’t answer, taking out a tiny blue box and placing it on the bed. Waving his hand over it, Hermione stared at it as it grew bigger. Opening the lid, Harry took out the most beautiful necklace Hermione had seen. It was what appeared to be a large pink sapphire, surrounded by the diamonds that made up the chain.
“Wow,” Hermione said. “What is that, a sapphire?”
“A pink diamond, actually. More rare and expensive than the sapphires. Turn around.” Hermione did so, thankful she’d pulled her hair up into a French roll, and let Harry put the necklace on her. She touched the big diamond delicately.
“It’s gorgeous.”
“And these go with it.” He handed her a pair of drop earrings that matched the necklace, and she put them on.
“I’d better be careful with all this jewellery,” Hermione said, frowning thoughtfully.
“It can’t be taken off you, not without the releasing spell. Anyone who tries to remove it will have their fingers burnt.”
“Ouch.”
“Besides, anyone who tries to touch you anyway will incur the wrath of a jealous husband.” Harry grinned at her, the grin that made her heart flip-flop, and she grinned back.
“Jealous husband?”
“Most definitely.” He held his arm out to her and she placed her hand on his elbow. “Who wouldn’t be jealous with such a beautiful wife?”
His laugh could have been heard two floors down as Hermione hit him with her handbag.
~*~
They found the Red Room and entered precisely at 8pm. Hermione was beginning to realise that everything about this hotel was grand; the Red Room, which could hardly be touted as having been imaginatively titled given that all the décor and furnishings were red, was no exception. Harry and Hermione took in the scene carefully, analysing it as their Auror training had taught them. There were approximately twenty tables in all, each sitting four people. About half the tables were currently occupied; Hermione assessed that many of the attendees were likely henchmen of Chan’s. She wondered if his wizarding contact was here, possibly in disguise, but all of the people in the room bar them were Asian and nobody appeared to stand out.
Stanley Chan was not hard to spot, so they made their way over to where he was seated. “Mr. Evans,” he said, rising from his chair and holding out his hand. “I am honoured to finally make your acquaintance.”
Harry shook his hand firmly, maintaining eye contact. “The honour is mine, Mr. Chan. May I present my wife Jane?”
Hermione held out her hand for Chan to shake, but he surprised her by kissing it instead. “Mrs. Evans, you look exquisite,” he complimented her. Releasing Hermione’s hand, he turned slightly to his left and gestured to the delicate woman who sat there. “This is my wife, Ling.”
“How do you do, Mrs. Chan,” Hermione said politely. Mrs. Chan did not acknowledge Hermione in any way, and both Harry and Hermione looked at their host curiously.
“Forgive her lack of response,” he said smoothly. “She is what you call shy around people she doesn’t know well. Please, come and join me for dinner.”
Harry and Hermione sat down at the table, and after Harry surreptitiously made sure their food was edible and hadn’t been laced with anything, they enjoyed a sumptuous smorgasbord of food, with no less than seven courses brought out. Harry and Chan talked incessantly all the way through the meal; Hermione could tell by the careful questioning that Chan was trying to glean as much information about them as he could. Harry was giving only as much information as he wanted Chan to have, and Hermione was pleased that Harry had taken the lead; however, she was slightly annoyed by Chan’s apparent dismissal of her. After his initial greeting, he hadn’t so much as looked at her.
“Perhaps you and your lovely wife would join us for a dance?” Hermione groaned internally; now that dinner was over, she was so full she could barely move. However, Stanley had already pulled his obviously reluctant wife to her feet and had led her to the small dance floor that served at the room’s centrepiece, so Harry and Hermione followed suit.
She felt a tad self-conscious at first because it didn’t look as if anyone else was going to join them, but after the two couples had spun around the floor a few times, others joined them, although Hermione felt they were more for background than anything else.
Harry took advantage of their proximity to talk to Hermione quietly, making sure to draw her close so they wouldn’t be overheard. “First impressions?” he said in her ear.
Hermione shifted her head, outwardly appearing to be snuggling closer to her husband, making their dance a little more intimate, but in reality positioning herself so she could whisper to Harry and keep an eye on Chan’s goons. “He’s clever,” Hermione admitted. “He was asking some good questions in order to find out as much as he could without making it obvious.”
“I thought you’d pick that up,” Harry said with a smile. Noticing Chan’s eyes were on them, he kissed her cheek softly. “We’re being very carefully observed by at least five people in this room.”
“I noticed that too.” Hermione pulled back and placed her arms around Harry’s neck, putting on a grand show of playing the happy wife. Their faces were so close they were almost touching, and Harry kissed her as he slid his arms around her waist. She broke out in goosebumps from the feel of his lips on hers, and she felt an inexplicable sense of loss when he pulled away.
“Cold?” he asked.
“No,” Hermione said, not elaborating. She looked directly at Chan and smiled at him when she saw, unsurprisingly, that his gaze was already upon her. “It’s creepy how he keeps staring at us,” she told Harry. Harry merely grunted in response, and kept a tight hold on her as they danced slowly. Hermione rested her head on Harry’s shoulder and closed her eyes for a moment, letting her guard down and allowing herself to feel safe in his arms.
~*~
Chan let them retire to their suite around eleven, and they removed jackets, shoes and jewellery. Harry went over to the windows that made up one side of the lounge room wall and stared out at the city, awash with bright lights. After a few moments, he opened the doors that led to their private balcony and went outside, unmindful of the cold night air that blew around him. Hermione shivered and slipped on his jacket, going out to join him. She leaned on the balcony railing next to him.
“We have a big fat nothing so far, don’t we?”
Harry glanced sideways at her and nodded. “So far. I was trying to get him to somehow slip up about the wizarding stuff he sells, but he was much too clever for that.”
“I wondered if perhaps his contact was there tonight, using a potion to disguise himself.”
“I thought of that too, but didn’t sense anything out of the ordinary.”
They both sighed and went back to staring at the night, wondering where to go from here. Suddenly, something occurred to Hermione and she kicked herself mentally for not having thought of it previously.
“Harry, what if Chan doesn’t know who his contact is?”
Harry merely raised an eyebrow at her; he was used to her coming out with some rather strange statements. “How can he not know who his contact is?”
“No, I mean obviously he knows who it is, in a sense. He communicates with this person on a regular basis and knows how to get in touch with him, assuming it is a him. But what if he doesn’t actually know anything about this wizard? It’s possible that this person is keeping a low profile so if Chan was to get caught, he couldn’t implicate the wizard in any of it because he doesn’t know anything about him!”
Harry stared at her, processing her train of thought. “You think the contact has been deliberately vague with Chan to avoid capture? Chan doesn’t strike me as the kind of man who would do business with somebody and not know every detail there was to know about him.”
“He could be feeding Chan anything. But think about it, Harry. Chan is selling what a Muggle would perceive to be some pretty unusual items. He has no way to authenticate them. He has no way of knowing where they came from. So what makes us so sure that he’s even aware of who he’s really dealing with? He’s already taking big risks by selling this stuff; and for that matter, does he even know who he’s selling it to? And why him? Why Stanley Chan? Why would a wizard use a Muggle as a middle man to broker deals?”
“Because obviously this wizard knows he cannot risk being identified. He’s gaining the items for sale illegally and is aware of the penalties for selling said items, which is why he’s shifting it all to a Muggle. What’s the worst that could happen to Chan? He’d be Obliviated. A wizard would be arrested and tried. That’s why he’s using a Muggle, and from what we know of Chan, he already had a wide underground of contacts before he started selling the wizarding items. He’s been selling illegally on the black market for years.” Harry paused, his face a picture of thought. “Chan must know he’s selling to wizards; what would a Muggle want with powdered unicorn horn or vampire’s blood? They’re meaningless to Muggles; and besides, Muggles don’t really think unicorns and vampires exist anyway. It’s possible Chan just thinks the items are fake, but is making a nice wad of tax-free cash for moving it so he takes the money and does what he’s told.”
“Still, I think it’s possible Chan knows nothing about this contact of his, other than how to contact him. He could be getting the items by owl.”
“It’s very possible, Hermione.” Harry took her hand in his and, upon feeling how cold she was, rubbed it. “But we need more information. I think we’re going to have to start digging around quietly and see what we turn up.”
Hermione nodded. “You want to nose around tonight?”
“No,” Harry said thoughtfully. “Let’s leave it until tomorrow; I want to spend a little more time with Chan. We have an appointment at 2pm to see this Ming vase he wants us to buy. We can go for a walk tomorrow night.” He brushed a stray hair off her face. “Besides, you look beat. I know I could do with some sleep.”
Hermione didn’t bother to argue, because she was exhausted after the flight, the meal and the dancing. She allowed Harry to lead her back into the suite, then grabbed her pyjamas and went into the bathroom to change and get ready for bed.
Harry was lying on his stomach on the bed in the master bedroom, rifling through the ubiquitous folder of information hotels left in every room, when Hermione came out. “Find anything interesting?”
“Room service is hideously expensive. But I guess that’s to be expected, given this is a five star hotel.”
Hermione climbed onto the bed next to him and stretched out, resting her head on the quilt and closing her eyes. She stifled a yawn and sighed, her body beginning to relax in anticipation of sleep. She felt Harry reach over and play with her hair gently, but she didn’t open her eyes, choosing instead to just enjoy his touch.
“You want me to sleep in one of the other bedrooms?” His voice was low and quiet. He was leaving it up to her; if she wanted to sleep alone, she could, but if she wanted him to stay, he would. Sometimes Hermione was amazed at just how considerate Harry could be, given his upbringing; he knew without having to be told that she may not want to sleep alone in a strange city.
“No,” she said, taking his hand in hers. “Stay.”
That’s all she had to say.
~*~
When she woke the next morning, Hermione was a little disoriented; she knew she wasn’t sleeping in her bed, and there was something lovely and warm wrapped around her. She blinked a few times, lying still while she shook the fogginess of sleep off, and took stock of her surroundings. Of course. She was in Hong Kong on assignment, posing as Harry’s wife to trap the Muggle selling wizarding items. And it was Harry that was wrapped around her; at some stage during their sleep, he’d spooned up behind her, his arm draped over her.
Hermione was reluctant to move. Not only was it the first night she’d been able to sleep through without dreaming, it had been quite awhile since she’d woken in someone’s arms, and even longer since that someone had been a person she truly loved. And love Harry she did, of that there was no question. She’d loved him a very long time. Shifting carefully in his arms so as not to wake him, Hermione turned over so she could gaze upon his sleeping form. Content just to look upon him, Hermione wondered if perhaps the love she felt for him was changing, shifting into something deeper.
Unable to resist, she slowly raised her hand and gently caressed the features of his face, her fingertips running over his forehead and eyes, cheeks, nose, jaw and mouth. When she reached his mouth, his lips pursed slightly to kiss her fingers, and Hermione went to draw back, realising she’d woken him, but Harry held her fingers up and kissed them again.
“Good morning,” he said, giving her a slow, downright sexy smile. Hermione couldn’t help but smile back, then raise herself to lean over him and kiss him gently. She slid out of bed and into a robe before she was tempted to do anything further, then went and showered, taking her time and enjoying the hot water.
Harry had breakfast waiting for her when she came into the dining room; it had obviously been brought up by room service and he’d kept it warm with a simple heating charm. Harry was dressed and clean shaven, his wet hair combed back neatly.
“What’s on the menu?” Harry lifted up the various silver lids off the trays and Hermione was presented with a sample of every breakfast food she could ever have named, and a few she wouldn’t have thought of. “You know who’d kill to be here right now, don’t you?”
“Ron,” they said simultaneously, laughing.
~*~
After a leisurely breakfast, they had a few hours to kill before their appointment, so they decided to go for a wander around the city. They’d agreed to wait until after dark before snooping around and Harry wanted to see if they were still being trailed.
Which, as it turned out, they were. Two tall, burly henchmen followed them as they wound their way through various shops and markets. Harry laced his fingers through Hermione’s, not wanting to lose her in the crowd. He could never have anticipated the effect waking up next to Hermione would have on him; they’d certainly shared a bed before, but there had never been such closeness or ease about it. It was almost as if they slept together every night. He glanced over at her as she perused a stall of scarves and handbags and, not for the first time, considered just how beautiful Hermione Granger really was. Harry realised he was so lucky to have her in his life; he didn’t know what he’d do without her. He brought their joint hands up to his lips and kissed the back of her hand affectionately.
She smiled at him and picked up a scarf with her free hand. “Do you think Mum would like this?”
“Sure. You going to buy it for her?”
“I think I might.” She let go of his hand to dig out some dollars, then paid for the scarf and tucked it safely in her bag. Once she was done, Hermione took hold of Harry’s hand again and they continued on.
After grabbing a small lunch and making note that the two goons Chan had assigned to follow them were still in sight, they made their way back to the hotel to prepare for their meeting with Chan. They dressed in appropriate attire for a Muggle business meeting and were shown into Chan’s office at precisely two o’clock. Like the hotel, the office was adorned with expensive knickknacks; the floor was made of Italian marble, which Hermione knew was not cheap.
As they came into the room, they saw he wasn’t alone; they were introduced to Mr. White, an associate of his. Hermione was instantly suspicious about this “associate”; there was something about him that seemed... familiar. He wasn’t Asian like Chan and his cronies, and spoke with no discernable accent. It seemed to be a blend of several, which made Hermione think he was purposely hiding his true accent. But there was nothing extraordinary about his appearance; brown hair, brown eyes. No marks or scars visible. She looked at Harry and smiled, her eyes relaying what her mouth couldn’t in the present situation, and he came over to kiss her, whispering a muted, “I know” against her temple. He, too, had picked up whatever it was about this mysterious Mr. White.
“Let’s get down to business, shall we?” Chan said, spreading his arms wide. “Mr. White, the vase if you please.” Mr. White went over to the glass table that was deliberately placed near the lounge on the right, and opened a tall, long case. Very carefully, he pulled out the Ming vase. It was worth an absolute fortune, something Mr. White was obviously aware of as he carried it over to the desk, placing it in front of Harry. “Here she is, James,” Chan said smoothly, calling Harry by his assumed first name in order to create an air of familiarity and seal the deal. “Isn’t she beautiful?”
Harry didn’t answer, instead standing to pick up the vase. He turned it over and over, examining it carefully. Hermione didn’t miss the subtle waving of his hand over the base of it, although she wasn’t sure exactly what it was that Harry was checking for. Instead, she merely sat quietly and tried to stop herself staring at Mr. White. Her brain was telling her she knew this man, had met him before, but she couldn’t, for the life of her, think how and why.
“This is a very nice piece,” Harry said. He looked at up Chan, smiled, and dropped the vase onto the floor, watching calmly as it shattered into dozens of pieces. The other three occupants of the room gasped out loud; Hermione rose out of her seat and placed her hand on Harry’s arm.
She opened her mouth to say Harry’s name, but caught herself in time. “James!” she hissed. “What on earth are you doing?” Her eyes widened at her partner, but he refused to meet her gaze.
“Please don’t worry yourself, Mrs. Evans,” Chan said. “Your husband has an extremely good eye.”
Hermione’s eyes flicked to Chan. “Would somebody please tell me what is going on?”
“It was a fake,” Harry said. “But it’s a good question, darling. I think I’d like to know what’s going on, too.”
“I had to make sure you were legitimately interested in making a deal, Mr. Evans,” Chan said. “You didn’t bring an appraiser with you, so I assumed you were somewhat of an expert yourself.”
“Given that you’ve delved quite deeply into the backgrounds of both myself and my wife, Mr. Chan, you would already know that. Now stop wasting my time. Either you have a Ming vase you wish to sell or you don’t. Which is it?”
Chan narrowed his eyes at Harry, then nodded once without moving. Mr. White went over to a large painting of a Chan ancestor that hung on the wall behind the desk and removed it, revealing a rather large, black safe behind it. He put in the combination to open it and the heavy door swung open. Inside was the real Ming vase, which Mr. White handled with even more care than the previous one.
Once again, Harry picked up the vase. Hermione held her breath as he studied it; then, apparently satisfied, he placed it on the desk in front of him. “It’s perfect. How much do you want for it?”
Chan grinned widely, and Hermione tried not to grimace at the almost grotesque way his face contorted. “Let’s negotiate a price, shall we?” He indicated towards the seats in front of him, and they sat back down while Harry and Chan nutted out a price agreeable to them both. Once the deal was done, they shook hands.
“I’ll have my solicitor draw up the contract for the sale, which I’ll get to you as soon as possible.”
“Wonderful. I’ll go speak to our bank now to organise the transfer of the money, which will take seventy two hours to come through.”
Chan nodded. “I do hope you plan to stay in Hong Kong until the transaction is complete so you can continue to enjoy my hospitality.”
Hermione realised what it was about Chan that bothered her; he was too slick. She would have been perfectly happy to head back to London that night, but knew they had to stay until they had more information.
“When you have the time, there is another matter I would like to discuss with you,” Harry said. Chan raised his eyebrows in interest. “Privately,” Harry clarified, glancing at Mr. White.
Chan looked at them blankly, his face betraying nothing. “Of course. I am a very busy man, you understand, Mr. Evans, but for you, I will make an exception. How about the day after tomorrow at five o’clock? You can then both join me for dinner as my esteemed guests.”
“We’d like that.”
No, we wouldn’t, Hermione added silently under her breath. It was obvious they were being dismissed when Chan got out of his seat and Mr. White stepped forward, so they took leave from the office. Chan made a deliberate show of kissing Hermione’s hand, which she wiped on the back of her skirt once they shut the door. “If he slobbers on my hand one more time, I’m going to do something very bad to him.”
Harry laughed and placed his arm around her shoulder. “Do you want me to shoot him death glares if he comes near you again?”
“If it means he won’t touch me, yes.” She hit the button to summon the lift and waited until it arrived.
~*~
Go on to part two here.
Pairing: Harry/Hermione
Rating: R
Summary: Hermione poses as Harry's wife for her first assigment following her father's death; they're tracking a Muggle in Kong Kong selling wizarding items. While undercover, they begin to realise that perhaps they're not just pretending...
Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
Notes: Written for the hphg_ficathon; my prompt was "Hermione and Harry are Aurors and are partnered together for a case". Split into two parts due to length. My thanks to anemonerose and junesrose for their most excellent betas; between the two of them, they picked up a lot of little errors I’d made. I also want to thank cheeringcharm, rainpuddle13, msgenevieve and annearchy, who read this fic at various stages, for becoming my cheer squad and encouraging me to finish.
Hermione Granger walked as quickly as possible past her superior’s office in an attempt to remain undetected but, to her chagrin, was unsuccessful as he caught sight of her and waved her into his office.
“Hermione! Come on in.” She took a deep breath and pasted on a false smile as she entered the room to come face-to-face with Gabriel Von Dukan. “How are you doing today?” he asked her.
Hermione smoothed down her robe. “I’m fine, thank you, Gabriel. Something you wanted to talk to me about?” Hermione had the same conversation with him, day in and day out. Gabriel would try to wheedle some kind of weak emotional reaction out of her, and she would refuse to lose her composure in front of him.
“Yes, yes,” he said absentmindedly, gesturing towards the seat opposite his desk, which she took. “I wondered if you felt up to a field assignment.”
Hermione’s eyes widened slightly. “What type of assignment?”
Gabriel brushed back a lock of hair off his forehead. “I need a female agent to pose as one half of a married couple. There’s a Muggle in Hong Kong who’s selling wizard items on the black market and we’ve been liaising with the Hong Kong Ministry to try and find out who his contact in the wizarding world is. We’ve already recruited an Auror for it, one of the best we have -- and he specifically requested you as his partner.”
Hermione stared at her boss. “He asked for me? Who is it?”
“Someone you’re well acquainted with,” Gabriel said with a smile. “In fact, he’s waiting for you in your office. He’ll fill you in on the details.” His face sobered somewhat. “If you don’t feel you’re ready for this, Hermione, you don’t have to do it. Nobody would hold it against you.”
Hermione blinked rapidly; it had only been four weeks since she’d lost her beloved father, Charles, to a fatal heart attack. In all her thirty-one years of life, nothing had devastated her more than losing her father. The last month had been difficult; Hermione just tried to live each day as it came. Sometimes she had good days, some were bad, but her strength and determination not to fall apart were keeping her going. And her two best friends in the whole wide world were always there to pick her up when she stumbled.
“No, I’ll be fine, Gabriel. Thank you for giving me this assignment. I won’t let you down.”
“Of course you won’t, Hermione, but I’m not the one you need to thank.” With that, he smiled a dismissal and went back to the myriad parchments scattered on his desk.
Hermione rose out of the chair, trying not to run back to her office. Who she found there waiting for her was the last person she honestly expected, but the one person she couldn’t have been happier to spot.
“Harry!”
Her best friend looked up from where he was perched on the edge of her desk, cleaning his glasses on the bottom of his shirt. “Hey!” he said, sliding the glasses back on.
Hermione couldn’t help it; she flung herself into his arms and hugged him tightly. “I’m so glad it’s you,” she said, her voice soft.
Harry embraced her, kissing her nose as she pulled back to look at him. “I wouldn’t have anyone else as my wife,” he said, stroking her cheek gently. “Good day or bad day?”
“Okay day,” Hermione said honestly. “Better now, though. When Gabriel told me I was worried for a moment it might have been Darien.” Darien Whitehouse was someone she’d dated a few times; for Hermione, it hadn’t been anything serious, but he’d made out it that had been the grand romance of his life and she’d dumped him for no apparent reason. Hermione had thought it best under the circumstances to keep her distance.
Harry smiled. “No, not Darien. Just me. Listen, I can’t stay because I’ve got a meeting in ten, but why don’t you come over tonight and I’ll cook you dinner. We can go over everything.”
“I’d like that. You know how much I love your cooking.” Hermione did love Harry’s cooking, something he was quite good at. “What’s on the menu?”
“Shepherd’s Pie?”
“Sounds wonderful.”
Harry got up off the desk and kissed her cheek, his lips lingering for a few seconds. “I’ll see you tonight. Owl me if you need me.”
“Okay. I’ll bring the wine.” She waited until he’d disappeared out the door before dropping into her chair. Suddenly, the day didn’t look so bad after all.
~*~
Hermione was well and truly grateful to be out of the Ministry by the time she arrived on Harry’s doorstep, wine in hand. He swung the door open and greeted her with a kiss as he ushered her in.
“Dinner’s in the oven, so it won’t be long. I thought we could go over the case after dinner.”
“Sounds good to me.” She followed him into the kitchen and watched as he opened the wine and poured them each a glass.
After dinner, they moved into the lounge room to sit near the fire. “So fill me in. What exactly is this case all about?” Hermione said, settling onto the lounge and throwing a pillow on her lap.
“Okay. Here’s what we know.” Harry picked up a small gold tube and held it in the middle of his palm. With a wave of his wand, a long piece of parchment came flying out of it to hover mid-air above. “Both the British and Hong Kong Ministries have been tailing this Muggle for almost a year. His name is Stanley Chan; he was born and raised in Hong Kong. He’s fifty-five, been married for twenty-three years, four children. On the surface, he runs an antique company, buying and selling from all over the world.”
Harry paused to take a mouth full of wine and let loose another piece of parchment. “From what we’ve discovered, though, it’s just a cover. While he does have a legitimate business consortium which owns the Peninsula Hotel in Hong Kong, he’s selling things he has no business even knowing about, let alone should be in possession of.”
“Such as?” Hermione sat forward on the lounge, her curiosity piqued.
“Mostly ingredients for various potions that are illegal. Last month we tracked him selling blood from a vampire.”
Hermione was unable to stop the gasp that escaped her lips. “Where is he getting all this stuff from? Does he have a wizard in the family somewhere?”
“No,” Harry shook his head. “We traced both his and his wife’s families back for five generations. No sign that any of them, nor those they married, have a drop of magical blood.”
“So he must have a contact elsewhere, then. Any known associates in the wizarding world?”
“None whatsoever. None that we can find, anyway.”
“If this person has eluded the Ministries, then he must be someone worth finding.”
“Precisely. Problem is, we don’t know the first thing about him. We don’t even know if it is a he.”
Hermione summoned the parchment containing Stanley Chan’s details and read over it thoughtfully, absorbing all the information. “So where do we fit into this whole scenario?”
Here, Harry smiled and sat on the coffee table opposite Hermione. “We are James and Jane Evans, a wealthy British couple who are looking at purchasing one of Stanley Chan’s most expensive Muggle items up for sale -- a vase from the Ming Dynasty.”
Hermione raised her eyebrows. “James and Jane Evans?”
“Not my idea,” Harry chuckled. “The powers that be thought it would be easier for us to remember our new identities that way. Our birthdays, if asked, are the same except we were born in 1981. We met at a private Scottish boarding school where we became friends. We started dating five years ago and have been married for three.”
Hermione smiled. “That should be easy enough to remember. So we’re going to Hong Kong to meet this Stanley Chan?”
“We are. We’re leaving tomorrow night. Mr. Chan has bought us first class tickets.”
“We’re flying on a Muggle plane?”
Harry nodded. “We have to play the Muggle part perfectly so we don’t blow our cover.”
Hermione sat back on the lounge again, putting her empty glass on the table beside Harry. “How is he communicating with this contact of his, then?”
“You ask all the right questions, Auror Granger.” A third piece of parchment was released from the gold tube. “Wait for this... he’s been observed sending an owl at seven o’clock every morning without fail.”
“He’s sending owls?” Hermione couldn’t keep the disbelief out of her voice. “How is it we don’t know who this contact is, then?”
“Ah, here’s the best part.” Harry looked at her evenly. “Every owl makes it across Kowloon Bay... and then vanishes.”
“Vanishes?” Hermione’s mind started to tick over as her Auror instincts kicked in. “How can an owl just vanish?”
“We don’t know. I’ve watched the surveillance; it’s the oddest thing. It simply disappears into thin air.”
Hermione studied Harry, deep in thought. “Does it disappear in the same place?”
“Every time.”
“Hmmm,” she said, getting up and pacing his lounge room in circles. Harry watched her silently; he knew better than to disturb her when she was thinking this way. “What if--” Here she stopped, then shook her head. “No.” She continued to pace, waving her arms about as she mentally ran through various theories. “What if...” Hermione stopped pacing and looked at Harry; he could tell by the glint of excitement in her eyes that she’d thought of something. “What if there is no owl to begin with?”
Harry rubbed his hands on his thighs. “Explain.”
“Well, think about it, Harry. Why would a Muggle use one of the most obvious forms of wizarding communication which could also be intercepted? Surely his contact, whoever that is, must have realised that one of the Ministries would eventually find out about Stanley Chan and investigate him.”
“Highly plausible. Do carry on, Auror Granger.”
“Maybe the owl is a smokescreen. Maybe that’s what Stanley Chan’s contact wants us to see. There’s this old spell I once read about in which you can conjure up an image that is only visible for a small amount of time. It takes a great amount of concentration to do it and-- ” Hermione stopped talking and sat back down opposite Harry. “The person casting it has to be in the general vicinity.”
“Which means that his contact must be in Hong Kong.” Harry grinned. “You’re just so smart. No wonder I wanted you to be my wife!”
Hermione rolled her eyes, not hiding her smile. “And here I thought it’s because you knew that nobody else would put up with all your bad habits.”
Harry clutched his chest in mock pain. “You wound me with your words, wench.”
Hermione raised her eyebrows and fixed him with her best glare. “Wench?”
“Er, witch? Wife? My very best friend in the entire world?” His eyes twinkled at her as he gave her the grin that always made her melt. Hermione couldn’t help but smile.
“Saved yourself there, Mr. Potter, but don’t think you can get out of everything with a grin.”
“Seems to work on you every time,” Harry teased.
Hermione picked up the pillow next to her and smacked his arm with it. He winced and rubbed his arm. “Baby,” she accused, rising out of her seat. “I think I’m going to head home.” Harry got up with her and pulled her into his embrace, holding her to him tightly. “Thank you for dinner,” she said as her arms snaked around his neck.
“Anything for my favourite witch,” he whispered in her ear before kissing her cheek. “Why don’t you bring your luggage straight here after work and we can get ready here?”
“Sounds like a plan. I’ll talk to you in the morning.” She kissed him goodbye and headed home, praying that this night would be different and there would be no dreams.
~*~
The next day dragged something terrible for Hermione and she was finally glad it was over. She stood once again in Harry’s kitchen as he whipped them up something light. “You’re beginning to spoil me,” she said.
“Can’t have you not eating,” Harry pointed out.
“Won’t they feed us on the plane?”
“Sure. But this is just in case whatever they feed us doesn’t agree with our palates. Remington told me Muggle plane food is horrible.”
Hermione cast him a dubious glance. “Bollocks. It was perfectly fine every time I flew when I was younger. Why would they serve horrible food?”
Harry shrugged. “I have no idea. But I’m not waiting until 11pm to be fed.”
Once they’d had an early supper, Hermione double checked her extensive list to ensure they had everything they needed. They were just about ready to go when Harry took a small velvet box out of his pocket and went over to where Hermione stood. “Left hand, please,” he said. Hermione held her left hand out as Harry took two rings out of the box. “Your wedding and engagement rings,” he explained as he slid them onto her third finger.
Hermione stared at the rather sizeable diamond Harry had placed on her finger, which was surrounded by six emeralds. “Don’t tell me that’s real.”
“It sure is. We’re supposed to be a wealthy couple, remember? It’s on loan from a jeweller in Diagon Alley. It’s been charmed so it can’t be removed from your finger until the counter spell is given. Don’t want you to lose it.” Harry brought her hand up and kissed it gently, a tender gesture that made Hermione’s eyes shimmer with tears. She looked down and noticed he’d already slipped a gold band onto his finger. An emotion she couldn’t pinpoint swept over her and she felt the sudden compulsion to hug Harry and never let him go. She settled for giving him a quick squeeze, then taking a step back and grabbing her jacket.
“Ready to go?” Harry asked her, holding out his hand.
Hermione reached out and took it. “Ready as I’ll ever be.”
They caught a Muggle taxi to Heathrow airport. Dressed for the part, Harry had donned a Muggle suit and Hermione a long skirt and elegant blouse with a jacket. They’d both cast a spell to alter their appearances, which changed their hair and eye colour and removed Harry’s scar; it had been specially written to fall away when they were alone. They’d also charmed their suitcases to be lightweight, even though they carried much more than Muggles would have been allowed, and after checking in, they headed to the first class lounge to grab a cup of tea before boarding.
Once settled on board, the flight took off without delay and they were soon airborne. Hermione settled into her chair to read a book, having given Harry the window seat. It wasn’t long before she noticed he was surreptitiously examining each of their fellow passengers in first class.
“Something wrong, James?” she said, careful not to refer to her partner by his real name. Once they’d stepped outside Harry’s house, they were no longer Harry and Hermione.
Harry’s eyes appeared to linger on one passenger in particular, who sat four seats behind them on the other side. “No, darling,” he said in a normal voice that could be heard by anyone. He put a small amount of pressure on her hand, a silent indicator that she should move closer, and Hermione leaned in as Harry did the same. “We’re being watched,” he whispered as his lips touched hers.
Any question Hermione might have had died the second she felt his lips brushing lightly against hers. Hermione knew that kissing Harry in public was going to be part of the assignment, but she wasn’t prepared for the shiver that went through her as he kissed her. He pulled away after a few moments, but stayed close. “There’s an Asian bloke sitting on the other side, four rows back. He was near us at the airport, too. Chan might have sent him to watch us.”
Hermione nodded slightly to let Harry know she’d understood, and couldn’t help but lean in for another quick kiss. Her heart was beating wildly against her chest and her skin was warm and tingly. Taking a few moments to compose herself, she settled back into her chair and then got up to use the bathroom, which gave her the opportunity to check out the suspect in question.
By the time she got back to her seat, Hermione was fully composed and back into Auror mode. “You’re right,” she said quietly, making sure they couldn’t be overheard. “His eyes followed me all the way to the bathroom and back again.”
“Maybe he just thinks you’re devastatingly sexy and couldn’t keep his eyes off you,” Harry said with a smirk.
“Ha ha. Your wit and humour astounds me, Evans.”
“I know. That’s why you married me.”
Hermione merely rolled her eyes and went back to her book, but was pleased to note that Harry’s hand somehow managed to find its way to her thigh and stayed there.
~*~
They touched down in Hong Kong in the early evening and collected their luggage before heading out to find the chauffeur they knew would be waiting for them. James and Jane Evans had been written in small, neat black writing on a piece of cardboard that their driver, wearing a crisp black suit and matching hat that made Hermione want to laugh, was holding. He bowed politely and took their bags from them, leading them out to a long, black limousine.
He drove them to the Peninsula Hotel. Not only was it owned by their host, but it was also well known in the Muggle world as one of the most luxurious in Hong Kong. Their check in had already been organised, so Harry was only required to sign a form, and then they were led to the Peninsula Suite. Hermione was trained to hide her reaction, so it wasn’t until the bellhop had left them alone that she whistled in amazement. Their suite was nothing short of spectacular; with the bedroom showcasing panoramic views of the harbour, a private balcony, conference room, two separate sitting rooms, a mini-gym, private office, three private washrooms, two separate dressing areas and a fully equipped kitchen and butler’s pantry, Hermione could safely say it was the most incredible hotel she’d ever seen, let alone stayed in.
But before she could get a word out, Harry had placed his finger against his lips, indicating for her to keep quiet, then got out his wand and cast a few spells which would search for any hidden microphones or cameras. Nothing was found, so Hermione talked with assurance they were not being overheard.
“Oh my God, Harry,” she murmured, opening doors and looking out windows. “Have you ever seen anything this marvellous?”
“Nope.” Harry flopped down onto the enormous couch, stretching out. “It is rather nice, isn’t it?”
“Nice? It’s just nice?” Hermione shook her head. “I hate to think of how much one night costs.”
“I’m sure Stanley Chan can afford it.”
“He’s paying for this?”
“In a manner of speaking. We’re staying here free of charge, Mrs. Evans. He wants us to buy this Ming vase, you know.”
“And quite badly, I’d say. How much does he want for it, anyway?”
Harry told her the exact figure had to be negotiated, but gave her a range in British pounds and then the conversion into galleons. The amount of money mentioned was large enough to make Hermione’s jaw drop. “And we’re supposed to have this much money?”
“I told you, we’re rich.”
“So it would seem.” Hermione perched herself on the edge of the couch next to Harry, gazing out the window at the view. “I wonder how Mum is.”
“You want to ring her?”
“No, it’s okay. She’ll have checked that our flight landed safely. I’ll call her tomorrow.” Hermione sighed, her thoughts drifting to her father, as they often did. She felt Harry’s hand on her back, rubbing it soothingly, and she marvelled at just how well attuned they’d become to each other. They’d been best friends for twenty years now. Twenty years. Sometimes Hermione wondered if she could ever remember her life before Harry and Ron were in it; sometimes she wondered whether she really wanted to.
She closed her eyes and relaxed, then actually moaned softly when the couch shifted under Harry’s weight as he moved to sit behind her, tucking her in between his thighs. He started at her shoulders, his fingers working magic on her tired body, then moving down her spine gently.
“Mmmmmm,” Hermione murmured. “You can stay.”
Harry laughed, moving slightly, and it made her very aware of just how closely together they were sitting. She trembled slightly as his fingers continued to dance over her skin.
“Just relax,” he whispered in her ear. She took a few deep breaths and obeyed, and found herself concentrating on nothing except how good Harry’s hands felt. When he was done, she leaned back against him as his arms went around her, and they sat together silently for a few minutes, lost in their respective thoughts.
A knock at the door interrupted them. Harry got up to answer, and in came an unfamiliar man who bowed politely and placed an enormous basket of goods on the table. “Most honourable Mr. and Mrs. Evans,” he said, bowing again. “My esteemed employer Mr. Chan bids you welcome to this beautiful city and kindly requests your presence at dinner tonight at 8pm in the Red Room.” Without waiting for a response, he bowed again and disappeared.
Hermione blinked a few times and looked at Harry. “We’ve been summoned, in the nicest possible way.”
“Yes. I was wondering how long it would take him to want to see us for himself.” Harry held his hand out. “Well then, the honourable Mrs. Evans, shall we get ready?”
Hermione smiled and allowed Harry to pull her off the couch. They went into the master bedroom, where their suitcases had been left, and cast a few quick charms that unpacked their suitcases for them and hung all their clothes up neatly. Once that was done, they both showered, each taking one of the bathrooms, and dressed. Harry donned an elegant tuxedo, complete with bow tie, that Hermione didn’t mind privately admitting made him look incredibly sexy. She, in turn, wore one of the designer dresses she’d brought along for formal occasions; she picked the dusty rose one. It was a sleeveless A-line made of expensive French silk, with dozens of tiny diamonds embroidered on the bottom. It was a truly beautiful dress and Hermione felt lucky to be wearing it.
“I feel like a princess,” she admitted, coming out of her dressing room. Gold Manolo Blahniks and a matching gold handbag completed her ensemble.
Harry took her in and let out a low whistle. “You look like a queen,” he said softly. Hermione smiled at him and watched as he rummaged through the bag he’d taken on the plane. “You’re missing something, though. A few things, actually.”
“I am?”
He didn’t answer, taking out a tiny blue box and placing it on the bed. Waving his hand over it, Hermione stared at it as it grew bigger. Opening the lid, Harry took out the most beautiful necklace Hermione had seen. It was what appeared to be a large pink sapphire, surrounded by the diamonds that made up the chain.
“Wow,” Hermione said. “What is that, a sapphire?”
“A pink diamond, actually. More rare and expensive than the sapphires. Turn around.” Hermione did so, thankful she’d pulled her hair up into a French roll, and let Harry put the necklace on her. She touched the big diamond delicately.
“It’s gorgeous.”
“And these go with it.” He handed her a pair of drop earrings that matched the necklace, and she put them on.
“I’d better be careful with all this jewellery,” Hermione said, frowning thoughtfully.
“It can’t be taken off you, not without the releasing spell. Anyone who tries to remove it will have their fingers burnt.”
“Ouch.”
“Besides, anyone who tries to touch you anyway will incur the wrath of a jealous husband.” Harry grinned at her, the grin that made her heart flip-flop, and she grinned back.
“Jealous husband?”
“Most definitely.” He held his arm out to her and she placed her hand on his elbow. “Who wouldn’t be jealous with such a beautiful wife?”
His laugh could have been heard two floors down as Hermione hit him with her handbag.
~*~
They found the Red Room and entered precisely at 8pm. Hermione was beginning to realise that everything about this hotel was grand; the Red Room, which could hardly be touted as having been imaginatively titled given that all the décor and furnishings were red, was no exception. Harry and Hermione took in the scene carefully, analysing it as their Auror training had taught them. There were approximately twenty tables in all, each sitting four people. About half the tables were currently occupied; Hermione assessed that many of the attendees were likely henchmen of Chan’s. She wondered if his wizarding contact was here, possibly in disguise, but all of the people in the room bar them were Asian and nobody appeared to stand out.
Stanley Chan was not hard to spot, so they made their way over to where he was seated. “Mr. Evans,” he said, rising from his chair and holding out his hand. “I am honoured to finally make your acquaintance.”
Harry shook his hand firmly, maintaining eye contact. “The honour is mine, Mr. Chan. May I present my wife Jane?”
Hermione held out her hand for Chan to shake, but he surprised her by kissing it instead. “Mrs. Evans, you look exquisite,” he complimented her. Releasing Hermione’s hand, he turned slightly to his left and gestured to the delicate woman who sat there. “This is my wife, Ling.”
“How do you do, Mrs. Chan,” Hermione said politely. Mrs. Chan did not acknowledge Hermione in any way, and both Harry and Hermione looked at their host curiously.
“Forgive her lack of response,” he said smoothly. “She is what you call shy around people she doesn’t know well. Please, come and join me for dinner.”
Harry and Hermione sat down at the table, and after Harry surreptitiously made sure their food was edible and hadn’t been laced with anything, they enjoyed a sumptuous smorgasbord of food, with no less than seven courses brought out. Harry and Chan talked incessantly all the way through the meal; Hermione could tell by the careful questioning that Chan was trying to glean as much information about them as he could. Harry was giving only as much information as he wanted Chan to have, and Hermione was pleased that Harry had taken the lead; however, she was slightly annoyed by Chan’s apparent dismissal of her. After his initial greeting, he hadn’t so much as looked at her.
“Perhaps you and your lovely wife would join us for a dance?” Hermione groaned internally; now that dinner was over, she was so full she could barely move. However, Stanley had already pulled his obviously reluctant wife to her feet and had led her to the small dance floor that served at the room’s centrepiece, so Harry and Hermione followed suit.
She felt a tad self-conscious at first because it didn’t look as if anyone else was going to join them, but after the two couples had spun around the floor a few times, others joined them, although Hermione felt they were more for background than anything else.
Harry took advantage of their proximity to talk to Hermione quietly, making sure to draw her close so they wouldn’t be overheard. “First impressions?” he said in her ear.
Hermione shifted her head, outwardly appearing to be snuggling closer to her husband, making their dance a little more intimate, but in reality positioning herself so she could whisper to Harry and keep an eye on Chan’s goons. “He’s clever,” Hermione admitted. “He was asking some good questions in order to find out as much as he could without making it obvious.”
“I thought you’d pick that up,” Harry said with a smile. Noticing Chan’s eyes were on them, he kissed her cheek softly. “We’re being very carefully observed by at least five people in this room.”
“I noticed that too.” Hermione pulled back and placed her arms around Harry’s neck, putting on a grand show of playing the happy wife. Their faces were so close they were almost touching, and Harry kissed her as he slid his arms around her waist. She broke out in goosebumps from the feel of his lips on hers, and she felt an inexplicable sense of loss when he pulled away.
“Cold?” he asked.
“No,” Hermione said, not elaborating. She looked directly at Chan and smiled at him when she saw, unsurprisingly, that his gaze was already upon her. “It’s creepy how he keeps staring at us,” she told Harry. Harry merely grunted in response, and kept a tight hold on her as they danced slowly. Hermione rested her head on Harry’s shoulder and closed her eyes for a moment, letting her guard down and allowing herself to feel safe in his arms.
~*~
Chan let them retire to their suite around eleven, and they removed jackets, shoes and jewellery. Harry went over to the windows that made up one side of the lounge room wall and stared out at the city, awash with bright lights. After a few moments, he opened the doors that led to their private balcony and went outside, unmindful of the cold night air that blew around him. Hermione shivered and slipped on his jacket, going out to join him. She leaned on the balcony railing next to him.
“We have a big fat nothing so far, don’t we?”
Harry glanced sideways at her and nodded. “So far. I was trying to get him to somehow slip up about the wizarding stuff he sells, but he was much too clever for that.”
“I wondered if perhaps his contact was there tonight, using a potion to disguise himself.”
“I thought of that too, but didn’t sense anything out of the ordinary.”
They both sighed and went back to staring at the night, wondering where to go from here. Suddenly, something occurred to Hermione and she kicked herself mentally for not having thought of it previously.
“Harry, what if Chan doesn’t know who his contact is?”
Harry merely raised an eyebrow at her; he was used to her coming out with some rather strange statements. “How can he not know who his contact is?”
“No, I mean obviously he knows who it is, in a sense. He communicates with this person on a regular basis and knows how to get in touch with him, assuming it is a him. But what if he doesn’t actually know anything about this wizard? It’s possible that this person is keeping a low profile so if Chan was to get caught, he couldn’t implicate the wizard in any of it because he doesn’t know anything about him!”
Harry stared at her, processing her train of thought. “You think the contact has been deliberately vague with Chan to avoid capture? Chan doesn’t strike me as the kind of man who would do business with somebody and not know every detail there was to know about him.”
“He could be feeding Chan anything. But think about it, Harry. Chan is selling what a Muggle would perceive to be some pretty unusual items. He has no way to authenticate them. He has no way of knowing where they came from. So what makes us so sure that he’s even aware of who he’s really dealing with? He’s already taking big risks by selling this stuff; and for that matter, does he even know who he’s selling it to? And why him? Why Stanley Chan? Why would a wizard use a Muggle as a middle man to broker deals?”
“Because obviously this wizard knows he cannot risk being identified. He’s gaining the items for sale illegally and is aware of the penalties for selling said items, which is why he’s shifting it all to a Muggle. What’s the worst that could happen to Chan? He’d be Obliviated. A wizard would be arrested and tried. That’s why he’s using a Muggle, and from what we know of Chan, he already had a wide underground of contacts before he started selling the wizarding items. He’s been selling illegally on the black market for years.” Harry paused, his face a picture of thought. “Chan must know he’s selling to wizards; what would a Muggle want with powdered unicorn horn or vampire’s blood? They’re meaningless to Muggles; and besides, Muggles don’t really think unicorns and vampires exist anyway. It’s possible Chan just thinks the items are fake, but is making a nice wad of tax-free cash for moving it so he takes the money and does what he’s told.”
“Still, I think it’s possible Chan knows nothing about this contact of his, other than how to contact him. He could be getting the items by owl.”
“It’s very possible, Hermione.” Harry took her hand in his and, upon feeling how cold she was, rubbed it. “But we need more information. I think we’re going to have to start digging around quietly and see what we turn up.”
Hermione nodded. “You want to nose around tonight?”
“No,” Harry said thoughtfully. “Let’s leave it until tomorrow; I want to spend a little more time with Chan. We have an appointment at 2pm to see this Ming vase he wants us to buy. We can go for a walk tomorrow night.” He brushed a stray hair off her face. “Besides, you look beat. I know I could do with some sleep.”
Hermione didn’t bother to argue, because she was exhausted after the flight, the meal and the dancing. She allowed Harry to lead her back into the suite, then grabbed her pyjamas and went into the bathroom to change and get ready for bed.
Harry was lying on his stomach on the bed in the master bedroom, rifling through the ubiquitous folder of information hotels left in every room, when Hermione came out. “Find anything interesting?”
“Room service is hideously expensive. But I guess that’s to be expected, given this is a five star hotel.”
Hermione climbed onto the bed next to him and stretched out, resting her head on the quilt and closing her eyes. She stifled a yawn and sighed, her body beginning to relax in anticipation of sleep. She felt Harry reach over and play with her hair gently, but she didn’t open her eyes, choosing instead to just enjoy his touch.
“You want me to sleep in one of the other bedrooms?” His voice was low and quiet. He was leaving it up to her; if she wanted to sleep alone, she could, but if she wanted him to stay, he would. Sometimes Hermione was amazed at just how considerate Harry could be, given his upbringing; he knew without having to be told that she may not want to sleep alone in a strange city.
“No,” she said, taking his hand in hers. “Stay.”
That’s all she had to say.
~*~
When she woke the next morning, Hermione was a little disoriented; she knew she wasn’t sleeping in her bed, and there was something lovely and warm wrapped around her. She blinked a few times, lying still while she shook the fogginess of sleep off, and took stock of her surroundings. Of course. She was in Hong Kong on assignment, posing as Harry’s wife to trap the Muggle selling wizarding items. And it was Harry that was wrapped around her; at some stage during their sleep, he’d spooned up behind her, his arm draped over her.
Hermione was reluctant to move. Not only was it the first night she’d been able to sleep through without dreaming, it had been quite awhile since she’d woken in someone’s arms, and even longer since that someone had been a person she truly loved. And love Harry she did, of that there was no question. She’d loved him a very long time. Shifting carefully in his arms so as not to wake him, Hermione turned over so she could gaze upon his sleeping form. Content just to look upon him, Hermione wondered if perhaps the love she felt for him was changing, shifting into something deeper.
Unable to resist, she slowly raised her hand and gently caressed the features of his face, her fingertips running over his forehead and eyes, cheeks, nose, jaw and mouth. When she reached his mouth, his lips pursed slightly to kiss her fingers, and Hermione went to draw back, realising she’d woken him, but Harry held her fingers up and kissed them again.
“Good morning,” he said, giving her a slow, downright sexy smile. Hermione couldn’t help but smile back, then raise herself to lean over him and kiss him gently. She slid out of bed and into a robe before she was tempted to do anything further, then went and showered, taking her time and enjoying the hot water.
Harry had breakfast waiting for her when she came into the dining room; it had obviously been brought up by room service and he’d kept it warm with a simple heating charm. Harry was dressed and clean shaven, his wet hair combed back neatly.
“What’s on the menu?” Harry lifted up the various silver lids off the trays and Hermione was presented with a sample of every breakfast food she could ever have named, and a few she wouldn’t have thought of. “You know who’d kill to be here right now, don’t you?”
“Ron,” they said simultaneously, laughing.
~*~
After a leisurely breakfast, they had a few hours to kill before their appointment, so they decided to go for a wander around the city. They’d agreed to wait until after dark before snooping around and Harry wanted to see if they were still being trailed.
Which, as it turned out, they were. Two tall, burly henchmen followed them as they wound their way through various shops and markets. Harry laced his fingers through Hermione’s, not wanting to lose her in the crowd. He could never have anticipated the effect waking up next to Hermione would have on him; they’d certainly shared a bed before, but there had never been such closeness or ease about it. It was almost as if they slept together every night. He glanced over at her as she perused a stall of scarves and handbags and, not for the first time, considered just how beautiful Hermione Granger really was. Harry realised he was so lucky to have her in his life; he didn’t know what he’d do without her. He brought their joint hands up to his lips and kissed the back of her hand affectionately.
She smiled at him and picked up a scarf with her free hand. “Do you think Mum would like this?”
“Sure. You going to buy it for her?”
“I think I might.” She let go of his hand to dig out some dollars, then paid for the scarf and tucked it safely in her bag. Once she was done, Hermione took hold of Harry’s hand again and they continued on.
After grabbing a small lunch and making note that the two goons Chan had assigned to follow them were still in sight, they made their way back to the hotel to prepare for their meeting with Chan. They dressed in appropriate attire for a Muggle business meeting and were shown into Chan’s office at precisely two o’clock. Like the hotel, the office was adorned with expensive knickknacks; the floor was made of Italian marble, which Hermione knew was not cheap.
As they came into the room, they saw he wasn’t alone; they were introduced to Mr. White, an associate of his. Hermione was instantly suspicious about this “associate”; there was something about him that seemed... familiar. He wasn’t Asian like Chan and his cronies, and spoke with no discernable accent. It seemed to be a blend of several, which made Hermione think he was purposely hiding his true accent. But there was nothing extraordinary about his appearance; brown hair, brown eyes. No marks or scars visible. She looked at Harry and smiled, her eyes relaying what her mouth couldn’t in the present situation, and he came over to kiss her, whispering a muted, “I know” against her temple. He, too, had picked up whatever it was about this mysterious Mr. White.
“Let’s get down to business, shall we?” Chan said, spreading his arms wide. “Mr. White, the vase if you please.” Mr. White went over to the glass table that was deliberately placed near the lounge on the right, and opened a tall, long case. Very carefully, he pulled out the Ming vase. It was worth an absolute fortune, something Mr. White was obviously aware of as he carried it over to the desk, placing it in front of Harry. “Here she is, James,” Chan said smoothly, calling Harry by his assumed first name in order to create an air of familiarity and seal the deal. “Isn’t she beautiful?”
Harry didn’t answer, instead standing to pick up the vase. He turned it over and over, examining it carefully. Hermione didn’t miss the subtle waving of his hand over the base of it, although she wasn’t sure exactly what it was that Harry was checking for. Instead, she merely sat quietly and tried to stop herself staring at Mr. White. Her brain was telling her she knew this man, had met him before, but she couldn’t, for the life of her, think how and why.
“This is a very nice piece,” Harry said. He looked at up Chan, smiled, and dropped the vase onto the floor, watching calmly as it shattered into dozens of pieces. The other three occupants of the room gasped out loud; Hermione rose out of her seat and placed her hand on Harry’s arm.
She opened her mouth to say Harry’s name, but caught herself in time. “James!” she hissed. “What on earth are you doing?” Her eyes widened at her partner, but he refused to meet her gaze.
“Please don’t worry yourself, Mrs. Evans,” Chan said. “Your husband has an extremely good eye.”
Hermione’s eyes flicked to Chan. “Would somebody please tell me what is going on?”
“It was a fake,” Harry said. “But it’s a good question, darling. I think I’d like to know what’s going on, too.”
“I had to make sure you were legitimately interested in making a deal, Mr. Evans,” Chan said. “You didn’t bring an appraiser with you, so I assumed you were somewhat of an expert yourself.”
“Given that you’ve delved quite deeply into the backgrounds of both myself and my wife, Mr. Chan, you would already know that. Now stop wasting my time. Either you have a Ming vase you wish to sell or you don’t. Which is it?”
Chan narrowed his eyes at Harry, then nodded once without moving. Mr. White went over to a large painting of a Chan ancestor that hung on the wall behind the desk and removed it, revealing a rather large, black safe behind it. He put in the combination to open it and the heavy door swung open. Inside was the real Ming vase, which Mr. White handled with even more care than the previous one.
Once again, Harry picked up the vase. Hermione held her breath as he studied it; then, apparently satisfied, he placed it on the desk in front of him. “It’s perfect. How much do you want for it?”
Chan grinned widely, and Hermione tried not to grimace at the almost grotesque way his face contorted. “Let’s negotiate a price, shall we?” He indicated towards the seats in front of him, and they sat back down while Harry and Chan nutted out a price agreeable to them both. Once the deal was done, they shook hands.
“I’ll have my solicitor draw up the contract for the sale, which I’ll get to you as soon as possible.”
“Wonderful. I’ll go speak to our bank now to organise the transfer of the money, which will take seventy two hours to come through.”
Chan nodded. “I do hope you plan to stay in Hong Kong until the transaction is complete so you can continue to enjoy my hospitality.”
Hermione realised what it was about Chan that bothered her; he was too slick. She would have been perfectly happy to head back to London that night, but knew they had to stay until they had more information.
“When you have the time, there is another matter I would like to discuss with you,” Harry said. Chan raised his eyebrows in interest. “Privately,” Harry clarified, glancing at Mr. White.
Chan looked at them blankly, his face betraying nothing. “Of course. I am a very busy man, you understand, Mr. Evans, but for you, I will make an exception. How about the day after tomorrow at five o’clock? You can then both join me for dinner as my esteemed guests.”
“We’d like that.”
No, we wouldn’t, Hermione added silently under her breath. It was obvious they were being dismissed when Chan got out of his seat and Mr. White stepped forward, so they took leave from the office. Chan made a deliberate show of kissing Hermione’s hand, which she wiped on the back of her skirt once they shut the door. “If he slobbers on my hand one more time, I’m going to do something very bad to him.”
Harry laughed and placed his arm around her shoulder. “Do you want me to shoot him death glares if he comes near you again?”
“If it means he won’t touch me, yes.” She hit the button to summon the lift and waited until it arrived.
~*~
Go on to part two here.