Agent Granger, CIA

CHAPTER I

"Pilot"

"Excuse me, ma'am." Knock. Knock. "Ma'am, please roll down your window!" an impatient officer demanded.

Hermione heaved an exhausted sigh and punched the roll down button on her left. "Yes, officer?" she spat. The plump policeman straightened authoritatively and clung onto his fat belt with both hands, giving her a disapproving look.

"Do you know how fast you were going back there?" he inquired. She casually brushed away a stray strand of her silky soft golden brown hair behind her ear and curiously poked her head out the window into the pleasantly cool evening air. She observed that her tires had left deep tracks in the poorly built dirt road.

"Well, I obviously wasn't going fast enough," she replied sarcastically in an upbeat tone. "You did catch up with me after all," she finished, pointing her index finger at his dirty and illegally-hideous patrol-car, which was hastily parked to cut off her path.

"Alright, that's it ma'am. Please step out of the vehicle."

"I don't have time for this," Hermione hatefully muttered to herself. She threw off her seat belt and disappeared from his restricted view. Click. Thump. The officer patted the roof of the car, hinting for her to hurry it up. She pushed the door ajar and purposefully exposed a single leg. "Ma'am, please come out of the vehicle...in whole..." Hermione was extended full length along the width of the car, arduously searching through the cluttered glove compartment. In response to the official, she punted the driver's door to the edge of its hinges with the leg still inside. At last recovering what she was seeking, she snatched it and crawled out of the car. She took the time to straighten her name brand clothes before advancing on the officer with her wand.

"Whoa. Drop your weapon on the ground, slowl--" he began cautiously, reaching for his gun with one arm while signaling her to halt with the other.

Fed up with this whole ordeal, Hermione froze him, shouting, "Insiste tempum!"

Finally rid of the annoying donut lover, she checked her prized Rolex and swore loudly. "I knew I should have apparated!" she huffed regretfully to herself.

**

"Granger! You're late AGAIN! Do you know how nervous you make me?! Of all the days to be late, honestly!" a young man scolded as he rushed up to her upon her arrival.

"I know, I know! You don't have to get all fired up about it," Hermione exclaimed as she sped walked through the building. She swung her purse off her shoulder and threw it carelessly onto the closest arm chair she sighted as she entered her spacious private office.

"You have to be at the party in five minutes!!" the man continued exasperatedly, now flipping through confidential files he had magically conjured.

"Just tell me what I need to know," Hermione instructed as she unbuckled her black leather belt and stepped behind a cabinet door.

"You're twenty-five--"

"Jordan, you do know that I am twenty-five?"

The stressed out man shouted a frustrated, "Arugh!" to hush Hermione and continued. "You're a successful psychologist working in New York City. You're name is Marie Decombas--"

"Marie what?! What kind of name is that?"

"--AND you were born in Worcester, England. You moved to America after you graduated from Oxford with honors--"

"Wow, aren't I special?" Hermione interjected again, sarcastically.

Jordan growled but resumed," Devlin Whitehorn, the successful owner of an international broom company, invited you to the party. Whitehorn is our ally and he will be there to watch over you, should things get rough--"

"Umm...if I succeed in seducing our guy tonight, I'd prefer that he not "watch over" me--"

"The man you are assigned to hunt down is the host of the party."

"Oooh, big surprise there," she laughed as she pulled off her shirt.

"Granger, this would go a lot faster if you wouldn't reply to everything I say," he informed, impatiently tapping his torn left loafer on the ground.

"Oh sorry, Jordan, go on."

He sighed as he witnessed her clothes fly over the door, some barely hanging on the edge of it, others landing with a plop on the carpet floor. "Anyway," he continued, clearing his throat. "All his parties are costume parties so that he is able to hide is identity from his enemies, who he is well aware will show up. He tends to fall for blondes with looks, attitude, and unavailability. So basically, he's a typical guy; therefore, you're gonna hate him. We don't have a picture of the man, and he goes by so many aliases that we don't know his true name; the best they could give us was a brief description and that his initials are always D.C.. He's approximately six foot two, light brown hair, has a thinly trimmed beard, and is extremely well dressed...all the time."

"You call that a description?!" Hermione asked incredulously as she climbed into her outfit.

"Well, it's the best they could do..." Jordan explained to the polished pine door staring at him. "But never mind that, just remember he's the host. We're investigating him because at the end of every month since last November he'd have a party at his mansion, like tonight, and the lady who ends up with him, well, she ends with him."

"Huh. So I go to the fiesta tonight, identify the man who is a perverted physco-killer, and pray to return alive," she confirmed as she stepped out from behind the door and gently shut it.

Jordan's jaw dropped, his mind having already disregarded her sarcastic response. She looked absolutely stunning. She had uncurled her hair, magicked it blonde, to fit her new personality, and pinned it all in a tight neat bun on the top of her head with a decorative chopstick. She wore an eye-catching but not too distracting diamond necklace, followed by a sleeveless, strapless black dress with knee high slits. Her dress definitely complimented the hour glass figure beneath.

"So? How do I look?" she asked nervously, smoothing out her garment.

Jordan closed his mouth and smiled weakly. "I'd definitely choose to shag you if I were him."

Hermione laughed and threw him a friendly glare. "If I hadn't known you for as long as I do, you'd be in intense pain right now," she joked playfully, smiling at him. He smiled back with a soft chuckle. She took in a deep breath. "Alright, I'll be off then; if I run into any trouble, I'll e-wand you." She waved a hand, ready to depart, but Jordan stopped her.

"Hermione?" he said quietly. She raised her eyebrows, prompting him to proceed. "I..." he began, but quickly changed his mind and told her instead, "Be careful, okay?".

Hermione nodded, slightly disappointed, and disappeared.

**

Jordan sat alone in the silent darkness on Hermione's paper-littered desk, already awaiting her safe return. He constantly worried too much about her, but without his worry she'd have been an absolute wreck. Ever since her last year at Hogwarts she'd gone through a complete change; no longer was she the good girl who always scored top marks and kept an outstanding reputation among the adults; she became distant and cold to everyone around her, and whenever possible, she would randomly cause trouble and start fights in the middle of class; the only thing that seemed to stay the same was her grades, she was always number one. Harry's death at the end of sixth year greatly contributed to her altered behavior, but what hit her hardest was when Ron decided that they shouldn't be together after Harry's death; he didn't even give her a reason why. She and Ron had always been perfect soul mates, and Jordan knew that, but back then he was just another kid in the background; unseen, unknown. It wasn't until she moved to the Americas that he saw her again. He suspected she wanted to escape the memories of her past, and he was right. He sighed aloud, pitying Hermione.

An unanticipated express owl soared into the room and dropped a petite yellow sheet of parchment on his bowed head. He shook the paper off his lightly spiked black hair and caught it as the air floated it down. He snorted amusedly as he read the letter. It was the ministry...again...

~To: Miss Hermione Granger > The U.S.A. > Washington > CIA Headquarters > Special Investigations

From: M.O.M. > Department of Magical Law Enforcement > Improper Use of Magic Office

Date: 31 January 2006

Concerning:

For the tenth time this year, Miss Granger, you have unjustly performed magic on or in the sight of a Muggle citizen. Our team has already been to the crime scene and fixed the problem with a memory charm. Your fine for repeated infractions of the law is 5 galleons, and your car has been confiscated as further punishment. We have put you under suspension, again, and we are disabling your wand, again, for forty-eight hours. If you do not learn to control your irresponsible urges, we will have to force you to break your wand in two. Please remember, you only have three more chances before we must strip you of your rights as a witch. Thank you, and have a great day!~

**

Hermione plunged into a damp alley in California that was poorly lit by a malfunctioning street light, desperately hanging onto its wooden pole with three fragile wires.

"Great," she muttered miserably to herself, clambering out of an unpleasant puddle of watered-down mud and pulling off her high heels. This is why she hated long distance apparating; you always get close, but you never hit bulls eye. Sighing, she retrieved her wand from under her dress and tried to conjure a map.

"Postulo Mandatum!" Hermione demanded repeatedly, each time flicking the useless wand harder, but nothing happened. "AUGH! YOU STUPID PIECE OF CRAP!" she hollered exhaustively, throwing the stick out of frustration at the brick wall. Realizing what she just did, she frantically waddled as fast as her dress would allow to her beloved wand and lovingly repossessed it. She surveyed her murky environment, and coming to the conclusion that nothing could be done, she squatted against the building, lost and helpless.

Her heavy eyes were prepared to shut when Jordan unexpectedly materialized out of thin air.

"Granger!" he called out, running over to where she was cradling herself. "Hermione, what the hell are you doing here?! You're LATE for the part--"

"Would you forget the damn job for a second Alex?!" she retorted vociferously, on the verge of tears. "Do you have any idea how scared I was just now..."

Jordan moved his jaw, but nothing came out. She turned her back to him to hide her tears. He sighed and stuffed his icy hands inside the warmth of his coat pockets. "Well, you could have just returned to the office..."

Hermione laughed morosely. "You know what? Forget it," she replied quietly. "You're right, I should have returned instead of sitting here idly, all alone." She picked up her shoes and stalked off, without looking back at him again.

"Hermione, wait," Jordan requested in a flummoxed tone, chasing after her. He eventually caught her by her right shoulder at the end of the alleyway. She shrugged his unwelcome hand off and broke into a sprint; knowing that his bad ankle would never allow him to keep up. He called after her like a fading broken record, but she refused to stop. The cold stone road ended shortly after the alley did, and her bare feet were welcomed by the soft green field beyond. When her lungs and legs ultimately gave out, she stumbled weakly onto the cool earth. Not caring about the state her hair or dress on the grass, she lay there silently, catching her breath while observing the bright stars shinning down on her from above.

"Beautiful aren't they?" a gentle voice commented from behind. She bounced up, alarmed, and whirled around to see who was there. A tall and handsomely built man dressed in all white stood before her eyes. He had light brown hair that was carefully combed back behind his head, using a frugal amount of gel. His cheekbones were adorable, but a distracting little box of facial hair bordered his upper lip down to his sharp chin.

"Sorry, didn't mean to scare you," the man apologized with a charming yet contrite smile. He held a half emptied wine glass in his right hand and reached out to her with his left. "Drake Cardon, nice to meet you."

Hermione shook his surprisingly warm hand and focused her eyes on a decorative face mask resting just underneath his beard. She must have been staring because he looked down to see what amused her so. He chortled. "This is my costume; required for my party back there," he explained, pulling the mask off for her to see. Hermione's mouth parted slightly as she took the cheap piece of plastic and pieced the puzzle together. "I came out for a breather; no one is usually out this far on my lawn..."

"Oh, I was lost," she quickly recovered, handing his costume back to him. "I'm actually headed for the party..."

"Really?" Drake asked with badly disguised enthusiasm. "May I escort you then?" he offered, holding out his left arm. Hermione blushed and linked her right arm gracefully into his.

**

The Cardon mansion was the Versailles of all American mansions. Grand, extravagant, and a pure flaunt of power and wealth, the outer appearance barely scraped its true worth. Ancient in age, but vogue in style; this beauty was a paradise in which angels came and never left again. Coated delicately by a thin layer of pearly white paint from head to toe, the festive lights beaming from within danced merrily on its lap. Neatly trimmed pine trees welcomed the guest on parallel sides of the walkway leading to the first of many polished marble steps.

Four magnificent colonnades stationed themselves on either side of the monumental entrance. The hand-carved curly maple doors were held open by men in expensive tuxedos, courteously inviting them inside. Hundreds of people were everywhere; dancing, talking, eating, and drinking. Everyone had their own business and most didn't notice the new couple arrive.

From the centre of the dome, shielding the interior from unpleasant fits of nature, hung a diamond chandelier that shone like the sun and gave life to all its aurora reached. Like a highway linking states together, a sturdy mahogany staircase circled through the mansion. Hermione and Drake were but two steps into this ecstasy when a fine looking, but rather stubby young man came bustling through the crowded entrance, calling out with open arms.

"Ahh, Drake!" he practically shouted, but to the receivers, his voice was simply an alto among several deafening basses. "I see you have found my Marie!"

"Marie?" the host repeated, seemingly perplexed.

"Yes, the pulchritudinous lady you have in your arms," the other man replied with a merry chuckle.

"Oh!" Drake exclaimed, turning to Hermione. "Pardon me, she never allowed me her name; I picked her up a little way down there," he said, pointing outside. "I didn't know she had a partner tonight...least of all you, Whitehorn."

Whitehorn, Hermione thought excitedly to herself. Devlin Whitehorn; he's an ally...invited me here tonight. She beamed at him and disconnected herself from Drake. "Sorry to keep you waiting, Devlin."

"Oh it's no problem," he casually excused with a wave of his hand. Drake placed his now vacant arm behind his back and bowed kindly to the two of them.

"Well, now that the lady has found her gent, I can confidently leave her be," he said chivalrously.

"Mister Cardon," Hermione addressed, putting a hand in the air to stop him from leaving. "Thank you for your kindness..."

Drake bowed lowly again, and flashed a dazzling grin before he was devoured by the crowd.

**

"Where have you been Miss Granger?!" Whitehorn immediately questioned, tugging her towards an abandoned corner by the grand staircase. His cheery and careless self seemed to have left with Drake. "Jordan told me you were apparating--"

"Whoa...wait...you know about magic?" Hermione whispered loudly.

Devlin rolled his eyes and pushed her into the shadows. "Miss Granger...what did Jordan tell you?!"

"He said you were the owner of a successful broom compan...oh."

"Yes, 'oh' would be correct. I am the founder of the Nimbus racing brooms. But to the Muggles I'm just a very lucky man who made it big in an impossible trade."

"I see...well, I got lost on my way here; I think MOM cut off my magic...again," she sighed gloomily.

"Cut off your magic?" Whitehorn echoed with panic. "Hermione, you're just another federal agent if you can't...well you know..."

"Don't insult me, Devlin," Hermione scoffed. "I'm not a dimwit! I was the top student of my graduating class for heavens sake, I think I can get through one case without the aid of witchcraft."

Whitehorn exhaled in resignation. "Okay, if you're that confident in your own abilities, I'll allow you to proceed, but once something goes wrong, I'm pulling you out. You hear me?"

Hermione nodded thankfully and returned to the ball.

**

She found herself alone by the endless table of refreshments when Drake ran into her again.

"Miss...Marie," he greeted amicably, setting down his glass.

"Decombas. Marie Decombas," Hermione replied, this time offering her hand. Cardon grinned and placed her hand in his.

"Shall we dance, Miss Decombas?"

Hermione stuttered, taken by surprise, but didn't hesitate to follow him to the middle of the floor. He moved like a swan on water when he danced, yet made it seem so effortless. His feet would softly brush the marble beneath, but never put any pressure on it; dancing with him felt like flying. She had trouble keeping up, but his talent hid her lack thereof. When the music ended, the manor exploded with applause and cheering. Drake raised her arm in the air and brought the both of them into a respective bow, something he seemed to be very accustomed to. Hermione could feel her face burn with embarrassment and exhaustion. She heard him whisper that she was a great dancer but that only turned her scarlet, knowing he was merely being considerate.

He led her out onto the balcony after the dance, where his private table was prepared. His mansion overlooked a captivating view of the Californian mountains. The radiant full moon lighting up the night sky made the calm mood all the more romantic. Drake waited patiently by the table as Hermione enjoyed the scenery. He kindly pulled a chair out for her when she decided to join him. Taking her seat, she unfolded her cloth napkin and neatly placed it over her lap.

**

The four course candlelit dinner was amazing, or maybe it was just being in the presence of Drake that made it so. He made everything seem perfect; relaxing and pleasurable. Hermione was puzzled at how such a good-hearted man could possibly be a vicious murderer, but she didn't let that put her guard down. It was near midnight when he accompanied her back inside.

"I'm sorry to have parted you with Devlin for so long," he said, breaking their comfortable silence.

"It's fine. He's not really my date per se, just an accompaniment. I wouldn't be surprised if he already left..."

Drake nodded understandingly. "Well, I don't see him anywhere," he replied, looking around his home. "The night is young; would you like to join me for a walk in the garden before I must let you go?"

Hermione giggled at his old school ways, but gladly agreed. The garden was hidden in his backyard; which was approximately the size of two football fields stacked side to side. A cool breeze carrying various fragrances from the flowers within welcomed them. Drake removed his outer jacket and warmly covered Hermione's exposed shoulders. They leisurely walked through the garden, with Drake introducing and explaining what each plant was and whether or not they had any uses. Hermione had never seen so many different colors of mother nature at once; it was indescribable.

The further on the trail went, the weirder the plants became. Some of them looked like diseased limbs clawing their way out of the dirt, one even appeared to jump out at them, which greatly unnerved Hermione. Drake claimed that the wind made it move and took her protectively by the arm, but she was beginning to suspect him.

The only source of light out in his backyard was the moon and the stars, but even they were quickly disappearing behind dark clouds and towering trees. Hermione was positive that she could scream at the top of her lungs right now and not be heard by anyone or anything; this innocent stroll in the garden was growing increasingly dangerous by the second, and she couldn't risk continuing without the backup of magic. She stopped walking and gave Drake a gentle tug on the arm.

"What's the matter?" he asked, not stopping, or turning around to look at her.

"Drake, let's head back," she requested timidly, now being half dragged by him. But he still didn't comply.

"I want to show you something," he replied, speeding up. "Just around the corner here--"

Hermione forcefully shook her arm in attempts to break it out of his, but his grip proved to be too strong.

"Drake, I'm serious!" she began to shout, but an oddly familiar plant caught her eye, and she turned her head for a better look. Dittany? This can't be possible, she thought to herself. Dittany is a magical plant...and is that fluxweed over there?! Her heart raced as she passed rows and rows of herbs for magical potions, medicines, and poisons. She felt warm wet tears fill her cold, dried out eyes as they began to reduce speed near fatal bushes of hellebore and converite. Somewhere along the road, Drake had slipped on a pair of black leather gloves unnoticed, and now with a protected hand, he reached into a mound of converite and picked one out for Hermione.

"See?" he whispered as he exhibited it to her.

Converite was a very beautiful flower, it appeared like a rose, but had soft blue petals and a milky white center. A single touch of this treasure could paralyze its victim for life. Hermione shook her tear stained face and tried to pull away from it, but Drake kept insisting her to take it. His face no longer bore the kindness and compassion it had just an hour before; it was now plastered with a maniacal grin and two dark and abnormal eyes.

"Why are you doing this Drake?!" she sobbed as her trembling body dropped onto the brick path.

"Doing what?" he asked innocently, waving the converite in the air. "I just want to give you a flower..."

He continued with his act and pretended to smell the plant. Hermione bit her moist bottom lip as she made a final decision that this situation called for desperate actions. She launched her right leg up with all her might and hit him squarely between the legs. His insane smile instantly faded and transformed into an illustration of pure agony. He released the converite and her arm to cup his groin protectively as he weakly collapsed down beside her. She sighed, relieved that at least for now, she was safe, and faded into a welcoming unconsciousness as a feather light object landed on her leg.

**

Resting on a hard mattress and fluffy pillow, Hermione opened her tired eyes and carefully took in her surroundings. There was a large window on her right that looked out onto busy men and women rushing through a crowded hallway. An equally huge door stood on the far side of the window. To her left was a completely white wall that desperately needed repainting. She knew where she was now; once again, she had landed herself in the private hospital wing of the CIA Headquarters.

She heard the metal knob creak on the door and turned her head to see who it was.

"That was good work, Granger," Jordan applauded as he entered her hospital room with a dozen of freshly cut white roses. She tried to smile, but at the time it seemed like too much effort. "You still shouldn't have sent Whitehorn away though. That was stupid of you. Good thing he found you when he did. If that converite petal had touched you directly, I don't know what would have happened. Thankfully, your pantyhose managed to prevent its full effect." He smiled down at her pale and clueless expression. He bent in and kissed her gently on the forehead. "Get well. I'll see you back at the office. One hour!"

**

Just like Jordan had planned, Hermione was up and bouncing around before the nurses and doctors would have liked, but they knew better than keeping her; she always managed to escape them in the end; so they stopped trying to pretend like they could do anything about it. She burst into her office with two glasses and a new bottle of champagne. Jordan was waiting expectantly with his feet up on her desk.

"So...did you have any problems getting away from the healers?" he asked as his swung his legs to the ground and walked over to her.

"HA!" she laughed loudly. "As if they'd dare! I even snagged this from the basement," she added, boasting the alcohol in her hand. Jordan chuckled and accepted a cup from her. They both took a seat on her cozy arm chair and popped the bottle of bubbly. They made a toast to her success and drank 'til they were drunk and fast asleep on each other.

~*~*~

Citations: (Just thought I should give my HP encyclopedias some credit)

I found the specific M.O.M. department that deals with Hermione's situation at www.mugglenet.com

I calculated Hermione's birthday assuming she was born 19 September 1980 according to:

www.hp-lexicon.org (also where I found dittany, fluxweed, and hellebore)

I learned that the Nimbus company owner was Devlin Whitehorn from www.jkrowling.com.

Since I didn't know what Hermione's wand was made out of, I just picked mahogany.

I invented "Postulo Mandatum" from my own knowledge of Latin, it means "I demand a map".

Alex is Agent Jordan's first name...yes, Jordan is his last name.

~*~