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I. am. horrible. No, truly. I uploaded chapter 3 to SU, FA, and FF, and never once thought to update you guys. I. suck. So, here goes, and with a little blurb just 'cause I'm nice.
Chapter 3: To Trust a Man
Fierce.
An inhuman amount of magic, like thousands of tiny spears badgering away merrily all round my skull, had me lurching. Sight was becoming blurry, like a black void closing in on me. Air, sparse. I felt like I would never wake up if it kept on. I wanted to cry, but couldn’t. I wanted to scream. I didn’t care if I made myself hoarse in the process. But I couldn’t, either. For one frantic moment, I knew I was dying.
I think it’s clear I’m still alive. If not for an Auror coming in to collect evidence, I would probably still writhe and wish I was dead rather than suffering that onslaught from hell.
“Miss? Miss Granger!”
A cold, clammy hand touched my cheek. Jolting, I pried my eyes open.
I was still in the research lab. Someone had dragged me as far away from that hellish spot as possible, and leaned me against the lab’s wall of bay windows. My clothes were now wrinkled and full of soot and coal.
“Wh - what happened?”
“Oh thank Merlin!” Clarke cried to my right, sounding relieved. “You gave me a fright back there. One minute you were fine, then the next you turned white and started shaking like a leaf. Blasts, I thought that was it. I kept calling but you wouldn’t respond. So Auror Buchanan moved you here.”
“I… thank you.” What else did you say to someone who saved your life? A stranger, at that.
“I’m Auror Kyle Buchanan, from the Arson division,” a deep, husky voice rumbled near my face. Only then did I focus on the man. Short black hair bound at his nape. Long chiseled face with high cheekbones. Golden-brown eyes stared back unblinkingly at me. The man exuded hard, untouchable masculinity. I wouldn’t like to be in his line of fire on a bad day.
Wriggling, I scooted out of his reach and sat up, blinking. I could feel his piercing gaze, ever moving, following me like the lion considering his next meal.
“Aurors came in this morning after workers found the place wrecked,” he announced matter-of-factly after an awkward moment. “What I can’t figure out is what you’re doing here, Miss Granger.”
It was said with such contempt and casualty that I just knew Auror Buchanan was restraining himself out of sheer curiosity. In any other case - say, if I’d been awake and he’d found me snooping through the place - it would have been a totally different story. I’d be toast by now. About to be ruthlessly crunched to crumbs. As it was, he’d found me in a dead faint and certainly not snooping in his presence. But…
Merlin’s pants, he probably thought I had something to do with the fire. He was probably just curious to know why Clarke had let in a murderer and why I’d fainted just before the killing blow! Just excitement, your Honour. Sheer bloodlust saved the poor man.
“It’s not what you think,” I blurted before thinking, then groaned inwardly. Congratulations, you’ve just completed making a sorry cliché out of yourself. “I mean, sorry, I’m Mr Clarke’s attorney.”
I was pretty sure thrusting out my hand would be ignored; I therefore refrained.
The dark Auror hadn’t moved a muscle. If anything, I would have said his face might have become grimmer.
“I was here collecting evidence,” I advanced carefully.
He arched a thick brow. “Obviously, that’s an Auror’s job. Why wasn’t it picked up this morning?”
Good question. I suspected they just hadn’t cared about a bunch of books, but that might have just been me. No, in fact, I was pretty sure that was it. And the fact that I’d had Clarke with me to say who had been working on what prior to the fire. “Perhaps they thought you’d prefer the honour?”
His lips stretched in a thin line, but that was the extent of his reply. ‘Doubt it. Bastards,’ it clearly said. He was certainly a wordly man. “Did you touch anything?”
“Nothing that couldn’t be helped.” When I was certain his eyes had just turned to dark whisky and threatened on full black, I backpedaled. “I might have stepped into some dust or other but no, no prints. Wand, that’s it.”
He nodded almost imperceptibly. “Good. Now be nice and let me do my job with Mr Clarke.” His eyes glinted ferociously as he said this, sweeping the room with a calculating predatory eye. ‘Mine.’
That couldn’t have been a cheaper blow. I felt my face heat up and just couldn’t help it: The Granger temper just… exploded. “Now look here, Kyle, I have permission from Mr Clarke to question him and find out all I can about what happened -“
“You said so yourself: You can question him.” His eyes narrowed in challenge.
“Don’t you dare question my methods!”
He huffed. “So now collecting evidence falls into the questioning category? Pardon if I’ve lost my field handbook, but that certainly was never in there.”
Well, he was right, but I wouldn’t give him the pleasure of admitting it. “I was questioning him here to perhaps trigger memories when I found the investigation had obviously not been fully carried out. I merely took it upon myself to collect what I would have needed anyway.” Good save, I thought, then looked up.
A mocking, derisive smile stretched the Auror’s face. It didn’t quite reach his eyes. They were cold. “Obviously, Miss Granger, you haven’t been in the practice very long, so I’ll cut you some slack. But I’ll ask you very nicely to hand over whatever you’ve pawed through, and I won’t breathe a word.” He didn’t say what else he’d do if I didn’t hand it over. I had a general idea.
Clarke, who’d been quiet until then, glancing between the two of us as we parried back and forth, seemed to come out of a stupor. “I let her take them.”
“Thank you, Bert,” I said, never leaving Buchanan’s dangerous eyes, “but Auror Buchanan doesn’t care.”
“Bert, eh?” Something seemed to change in Buchanan’s demeanor. He didn’t exactly relax, but some of the tension seemed to leave him, replaced with… sensuality. Thick, dark lashes lowered over murky eyes, suggesting a come-hither look beneath them. I’d never met a man so dangerous and openly carnal at once. Frankly, I didn’t care to meet another. This Kyle Buchanan filled my share of them for a long, possibly eternal, while.
It was clear he thought of me as men once thought of women: There, to be used, and useless. A prize.
Jerk.
I sent him my iciest glare yet, that only served to make him laugh.
Huh. So maybe I hadn’t made myself clear. I would.
“Hermione Jane Granger. Hogwarts Prefect. Ten Outstandings, one Exceeds Expectations in O.W.L. levels. Harry Potter’s best friend, tactician, and member of the New Order of the Phoenix during the Second War against Voldemort. Oxford graduate in Law. Passed Bar three years ago. Junior Associate at Trembles & Katchersky, dealing with wizard and muggle clients alike. Need I say more?”
“No thanks.” He glared speculatively. “So it would seem you’ve enough sense to handle those items with care… Tell you what, how about we share?”
“Share?” The thought was appaling. Did he seriously expect me to willingly Duplicate ancient, priceless texts for his sharing pleasure? I heard Clarke’s sharp, outraged hiss. Jesus, that just wasn’t done!
Auror Buchanan tsk’ed irritably. “Is there a parrot in here?” He rubbed his face several times. “I’ll work with you,” he finally ground out. I thought I heard him add ‘Merlin help me’ under his breath. I certainly thought it.
Find the rest here!
This is my lenghtiest chappie yet, and I'm still exhausted. I started chap 4 a few weeks ago before posting, but I've taken an emergency (yes, emergency!) break because the damn Fine Arts department just won't leave me alone. I've to work on a video first thing tomorrow, an oral next, and the rest of the week just generally... sucks. Thankfully, I have a week off next week, during which time I'll have time to work on the bloody programming assignment, plus that vid, plus a 15-page essay that's due... God knows when, plus... whatever else will come my way. Ugh.
On the up side, I finally got back my last Art History essay with an A-. I totally rock studioli :D Plus another A- on my postcolonial art essay. I totally rock First Nations! What else do I rock? Oh... well, let's hope I rock Walter Benjamin's philosophy *gags* tomorrow. Hey, at least he's not as bad as Marx and McLuhan. They're pieces of work all right.
Anyway, g'night, hope you didn't think I was dead, and oh, look at that, I've updated my university portfolio with my more recent work and mini-essays. Lookit!
Chapter 3: To Trust a Man
Fierce.
An inhuman amount of magic, like thousands of tiny spears badgering away merrily all round my skull, had me lurching. Sight was becoming blurry, like a black void closing in on me. Air, sparse. I felt like I would never wake up if it kept on. I wanted to cry, but couldn’t. I wanted to scream. I didn’t care if I made myself hoarse in the process. But I couldn’t, either. For one frantic moment, I knew I was dying.
I think it’s clear I’m still alive. If not for an Auror coming in to collect evidence, I would probably still writhe and wish I was dead rather than suffering that onslaught from hell.
“Miss? Miss Granger!”
A cold, clammy hand touched my cheek. Jolting, I pried my eyes open.
I was still in the research lab. Someone had dragged me as far away from that hellish spot as possible, and leaned me against the lab’s wall of bay windows. My clothes were now wrinkled and full of soot and coal.
“Wh - what happened?”
“Oh thank Merlin!” Clarke cried to my right, sounding relieved. “You gave me a fright back there. One minute you were fine, then the next you turned white and started shaking like a leaf. Blasts, I thought that was it. I kept calling but you wouldn’t respond. So Auror Buchanan moved you here.”
“I… thank you.” What else did you say to someone who saved your life? A stranger, at that.
“I’m Auror Kyle Buchanan, from the Arson division,” a deep, husky voice rumbled near my face. Only then did I focus on the man. Short black hair bound at his nape. Long chiseled face with high cheekbones. Golden-brown eyes stared back unblinkingly at me. The man exuded hard, untouchable masculinity. I wouldn’t like to be in his line of fire on a bad day.
Wriggling, I scooted out of his reach and sat up, blinking. I could feel his piercing gaze, ever moving, following me like the lion considering his next meal.
“Aurors came in this morning after workers found the place wrecked,” he announced matter-of-factly after an awkward moment. “What I can’t figure out is what you’re doing here, Miss Granger.”
It was said with such contempt and casualty that I just knew Auror Buchanan was restraining himself out of sheer curiosity. In any other case - say, if I’d been awake and he’d found me snooping through the place - it would have been a totally different story. I’d be toast by now. About to be ruthlessly crunched to crumbs. As it was, he’d found me in a dead faint and certainly not snooping in his presence. But…
Merlin’s pants, he probably thought I had something to do with the fire. He was probably just curious to know why Clarke had let in a murderer and why I’d fainted just before the killing blow! Just excitement, your Honour. Sheer bloodlust saved the poor man.
“It’s not what you think,” I blurted before thinking, then groaned inwardly. Congratulations, you’ve just completed making a sorry cliché out of yourself. “I mean, sorry, I’m Mr Clarke’s attorney.”
I was pretty sure thrusting out my hand would be ignored; I therefore refrained.
The dark Auror hadn’t moved a muscle. If anything, I would have said his face might have become grimmer.
“I was here collecting evidence,” I advanced carefully.
He arched a thick brow. “Obviously, that’s an Auror’s job. Why wasn’t it picked up this morning?”
Good question. I suspected they just hadn’t cared about a bunch of books, but that might have just been me. No, in fact, I was pretty sure that was it. And the fact that I’d had Clarke with me to say who had been working on what prior to the fire. “Perhaps they thought you’d prefer the honour?”
His lips stretched in a thin line, but that was the extent of his reply. ‘Doubt it. Bastards,’ it clearly said. He was certainly a wordly man. “Did you touch anything?”
“Nothing that couldn’t be helped.” When I was certain his eyes had just turned to dark whisky and threatened on full black, I backpedaled. “I might have stepped into some dust or other but no, no prints. Wand, that’s it.”
He nodded almost imperceptibly. “Good. Now be nice and let me do my job with Mr Clarke.” His eyes glinted ferociously as he said this, sweeping the room with a calculating predatory eye. ‘Mine.’
That couldn’t have been a cheaper blow. I felt my face heat up and just couldn’t help it: The Granger temper just… exploded. “Now look here, Kyle, I have permission from Mr Clarke to question him and find out all I can about what happened -“
“You said so yourself: You can question him.” His eyes narrowed in challenge.
“Don’t you dare question my methods!”
He huffed. “So now collecting evidence falls into the questioning category? Pardon if I’ve lost my field handbook, but that certainly was never in there.”
Well, he was right, but I wouldn’t give him the pleasure of admitting it. “I was questioning him here to perhaps trigger memories when I found the investigation had obviously not been fully carried out. I merely took it upon myself to collect what I would have needed anyway.” Good save, I thought, then looked up.
A mocking, derisive smile stretched the Auror’s face. It didn’t quite reach his eyes. They were cold. “Obviously, Miss Granger, you haven’t been in the practice very long, so I’ll cut you some slack. But I’ll ask you very nicely to hand over whatever you’ve pawed through, and I won’t breathe a word.” He didn’t say what else he’d do if I didn’t hand it over. I had a general idea.
Clarke, who’d been quiet until then, glancing between the two of us as we parried back and forth, seemed to come out of a stupor. “I let her take them.”
“Thank you, Bert,” I said, never leaving Buchanan’s dangerous eyes, “but Auror Buchanan doesn’t care.”
“Bert, eh?” Something seemed to change in Buchanan’s demeanor. He didn’t exactly relax, but some of the tension seemed to leave him, replaced with… sensuality. Thick, dark lashes lowered over murky eyes, suggesting a come-hither look beneath them. I’d never met a man so dangerous and openly carnal at once. Frankly, I didn’t care to meet another. This Kyle Buchanan filled my share of them for a long, possibly eternal, while.
It was clear he thought of me as men once thought of women: There, to be used, and useless. A prize.
Jerk.
I sent him my iciest glare yet, that only served to make him laugh.
Huh. So maybe I hadn’t made myself clear. I would.
“Hermione Jane Granger. Hogwarts Prefect. Ten Outstandings, one Exceeds Expectations in O.W.L. levels. Harry Potter’s best friend, tactician, and member of the New Order of the Phoenix during the Second War against Voldemort. Oxford graduate in Law. Passed Bar three years ago. Junior Associate at Trembles & Katchersky, dealing with wizard and muggle clients alike. Need I say more?”
“No thanks.” He glared speculatively. “So it would seem you’ve enough sense to handle those items with care… Tell you what, how about we share?”
“Share?” The thought was appaling. Did he seriously expect me to willingly Duplicate ancient, priceless texts for his sharing pleasure? I heard Clarke’s sharp, outraged hiss. Jesus, that just wasn’t done!
Auror Buchanan tsk’ed irritably. “Is there a parrot in here?” He rubbed his face several times. “I’ll work with you,” he finally ground out. I thought I heard him add ‘Merlin help me’ under his breath. I certainly thought it.
Find the rest here!
This is my lenghtiest chappie yet, and I'm still exhausted. I started chap 4 a few weeks ago before posting, but I've taken an emergency (yes, emergency!) break because the damn Fine Arts department just won't leave me alone. I've to work on a video first thing tomorrow, an oral next, and the rest of the week just generally... sucks. Thankfully, I have a week off next week, during which time I'll have time to work on the bloody programming assignment, plus that vid, plus a 15-page essay that's due... God knows when, plus... whatever else will come my way. Ugh.
On the up side, I finally got back my last Art History essay with an A-. I totally rock studioli :D Plus another A- on my postcolonial art essay. I totally rock First Nations! What else do I rock? Oh... well, let's hope I rock Walter Benjamin's philosophy *gags* tomorrow. Hey, at least he's not as bad as Marx and McLuhan. They're pieces of work all right.
Anyway, g'night, hope you didn't think I was dead, and oh, look at that, I've updated my university portfolio with my more recent work and mini-essays. Lookit!