Nighthawk

Chapter Eight

At first, Blaise thought Granger's silence was a good sign. But then he noticed the white-knuckled grip she had on the arms of her chair, and the near imperceptible tick at the corner of her left eye. Her jaw was clenched, and her eyes grew dark, caught between a glare and something akin to burning hatred. For a moment, Blaise feared for his life.

"Let me get this straight," she hissed out between gritted teeth. "You've been using me to bait a madman?"

"Ah..."

"And you and your band of merry men--"

"Unsociables," Blaise corrected, then instantly regretted it.

"Your fucking Unsociables," the use of profanities so early in the game really didn't bode well for him, "knew all along that Smith was... targeting me... and you let me figure out that fucking spell..." Her voice was straining higher, her skin turning a mottled red, and Blaise fancied he even saw a few sparks crackle through her wild hair. "Do you see these, Zabini?" she asked, pointing to her throat. "I did that. I clawed out chunks of my own flesh, and you couldn't fucking tell me what exactly those notes were? What I'd be doing to myself?"

Blaise wisely refrained from pointing out that they hadn't known exactly what they were at first. He didn't think it would help his case very much.

"I haven't been able to sleep, you bloody bastard! I haven't been able to think straight! I thought I was going crazy!" She got to her feet, leaning her palms onto the front of his desk, pushing her face dangerously close to his. He could not only see the anger, but the pain buried in her amber irises, and a wave of guilt hit him solidly in the gut.

"Granger, I--"

"I don't want to hear it, Zabini," she snarled. "I'll do whatever you want, just..." Her face crumbled just the tiniest bit before hardening again. "Just stay away from me," she ended, her voice a fierce whisper.

"You know I can't do that," he answered apologetically.

"Bring Colin in, then. I don't want to be around you."

He shook his head, wondering why he was getting a harsher rap than Colin, who had essentially been lying to her longer than he'd been. "I'm going to be here every day, as usual," he explained firmly, "and Potter will tail you at night. We have to act as normal as possible at the moment."

"Act normal," she mocked, pushing off from his desk and making her spine broomstick straight. "Fine."

Blaise let out a long breath as she stalked from his office, then buried his head in his hands. Merlin, he felt like complete crap. He couldn't decide if that had gone well or not, considering what he knew of Granger's temper, but it didn't really matter. She knew everything now. They just needed to trap Smith.

The intercom buzzed and he pressed a weary finger to it. "Yes, Alice?"

"Harry's on two for you," she said happily.

He winced at her cheerful tone, not for the first time wondering how she could be so awake so damn early without the benefit of life-giving caffeine. "Thanks."

Picking up the receiver, he clicked over to the second line. "Potter," he said, his voice clipped. "What is it?"

"I've managed to finagle two weeks vacation out of Fitz," he replied, speaking of his division's head. "He was cranky about the lack of notice, but since I've virtually worked my arse off for him for the past five years he couldn't really deny me the time."

"And after that?" Blaise demanded, knowing that Smith could very well elude them for longer than fourteen days, considering how long it'd taken them to get to their current position in the investigation.

Potter sighed audibly. "I suppose I could do with a career change, couldn't I?"

Blaise thought on it a brief moment before offering, "Wouldn't hurt to have another body on the team, Potter." The ex-Gryffindor was a genius with his wand, after all, and had more than a passing acquaintance with the dark arts. Blaise would be a fool to pass up an opportunity to have Potter as an Unsociable if the man was willing to give up his prestigious Auror status.

"I'll think about it," Potter replied after a slight hesitation.

"Fair enough." He took a sip of his coffee, grimaced at the tepid warmth, and tapped his wand against the side of the cup, using a spell to bring the black liquid back to a burning heat. "It might be best if you escorted Granger home tonight."

"So you told her?"

"Yes."

"And...?" he prompted.

"And," Blaise continued, "it wasn't pretty."

To his surprise, Potter laughed. "Didn't think it would be. She'll get over it soon enough, though, once she realizes it was all done in the interests of keeping her safe."

Blaise shook his head, but didn't bother correcting him. None of this had been done in the interests of keeping Granger safe. If it had been, she wouldn't have been in any sort of position to perform the spell in the first place.

He honestly hadn't expected to feel as guilty as he did about it, though. Something about Granger's furious and hurt face had caused his conscience to crawl out of the depths where he'd ruthlessly buried it long ago, back before the war even started.

He couldn't afford to feel guilty in his line of work. It broke down too many of his vital defenses.

"It doesn't really matter if she forgives me, Potter. Just so long as she lets me do my job."

"Business as usual at the office, then?"

"No changes that could alarm him," Blaise agreed. "Try to get a convincing cover when you watch her place."

"I'm insulted," Potter said, obviously amused. "I'm a professional at this sort of stuff, you know."

"Potter, you stick out like a sore thumb wherever you go." He snorted. "Wear a cap or something. The scar is glaringly obvious with your hair that short."

"So... when do I get to meet the team?"

A smirk curved Blaise's lips. "When you decide if you can stomach working for an apathetic Slytherin."

"You haven't been a Slytherin for nearly a decade," Potter pointed out amiably. "And your apathy is debatable. However, I'll reserve judgment for the moment."

"Is that a yes?" Blaise persisted.

"Give me a few days."

He'd already decided, though. Blaise could hear it in his voice.

******

Two nights later found Blaise on the cracked and weed-ridden sidewalk in front of Granger's building. She'd been predictably standoffish at the office, but hadn't made anymore pointed remarks about not wanting him there, nor did her behavior specifically indicate it, despite the chilliness surrounding her.

She was polite, collaborated with him when needed, gave Colin a smile when he stopped by the past afternoon, and if Alice noticed anything amiss between them, she didn't comment.

If Granger wasn't strictly acting normal, it was a close to it as Blaise was likely to get. He wasn't going to bother complaining.

The car across the street was a beat up pinto, rusty brown, fender-less, with bald tires and a bad smell. It had to be Potter's.

Blaise strode over and opened the passenger door, unceremoniously sliding onto the torn vinyl seat. "Sweet ride."

Potter glanced over at him, a cup of coffee halfway to his lips. "It's my official stakeout car," he replied good-naturedly.

The ex-Slytherin quirked a skeptical brow.

"All right," Potter confessed, "it was all Arthur could offer me at the moment. I didn't fancy standing in an alley all night."

It was dark in the interior, a streetlamp throwing cold light through the windshield, barely reaching beyond the dash. A couple of rumpled food wrappers were stuffed onto the floor under Blaise's feet, and three empty coffee cups were stacked in one of the cup holders. Potter had taken his advice, ditched his specs, and a hideous purple and white wool cap was pulled down low over his forehead, earflaps giving him a slightly ridiculous air. "Any movement?" he asked, turning to gaze up at the lighted window of Granger's flat.

"Not in the past hour or so." Potter sighed and settled lower in the seat. "Anything new from the rest of your team?"

"Bufford's lying low," he replied absently.

"I don't know whether to be thankful or not. I could use the downtime, but..."

"But," Blaise said, completely in accordance with Potter, "you can't wait for Smith to make a wrong move so you can beat him into a bloody pulp."

"Er... something like that," he agreed with a lop-sided smile.

Shifting, Blaise pulled a small, round device out of his coat pocket and held it up to the light. "Stopped by to give you this."

Potter took it from him, rolling it between his fingers, and lifted a quizzical brow. "What is it?"

"Direct link to Headquarters," Blaise explained. "It's a charmed two-way of sorts that fits in your ear." Draco had just finished tweaking the final spells for the communication links the day before, and was eager to try them out. "Your contact is Bunny, and the device is voice activated."

"Bunny?"

An indignant voice almost immediately crackled out of the tiny speaker in Potter's hand. "Which one of you fucks is calling me Bunny?"

Blaise grinned. His voice was disguised, of course, since he didn't want to take any chances with the ex-Gryffindor until he made up his mind for definite about joining the team, but there wasn't any mistaking Draco's usual acerbic words.

Potter, however, hadn't any clue that the blond was still alive and thus merely stared at the piece curiously. "Doesn't like the handle that much, does he?"

"Brilliant, Potter," the voice spat.

He turned confused eyes on Blaise. "Someone I know, then?"

"Who doesn't know the bloody Boy-Who-Hacked-Voldie-to-Pieces-and-Then-Refused-to-Kick it-as-Well?"

"Another Slytherin," Potter stated flatly.

"Ten points to Gryffindor!" Draco cracked.

Potter scowled over at Blaise. "Can I have another contact?"

"Yes, can he?"

"Stuff it, Bunny," Blaise replied. "You're stuck with each other." When Potter opened his mouth to complain, he cut him off. "Bunny is Headquarters, Potter. I work with a very small, trusted team."

"Stop calling me fucking Bunny," Draco shouted.

Potter's eyes gleamed in the dim light. "A small, trusted team that you want me to be a part of?"

"What? Are you fucking crazy, Blaise?"

Blaise rolled his eyes.

"Foul-mouthed bugger, isn't he?" Potter commented lightly.

"Yes," Blaise agreed. "And yes, I'd like you to be part of my small, trusted team. Jesus, Potter, you're either incredibly dense or you're gleefully waiting for me to beg, which I assure you will never happen."

Potter chuckled and shrugged. "Just making sure I understood you."

"Blaise, you bloody idiot," the blond cried, his voice vibrating with reverb as he got steadily louder. "I'm not working with Potter for fucking forever."

"You let your underlings talk to you like that?" the ex-Gryffindor asked, head cocked.

"Underlings? Underlings? I'm not a sodding underling, Potter!"

The Auror flinched. "How do you turn him off?" His eyes widened in sudden panic. "I can turn him off, right?"

"Relax, Potter," Blaise said dryly. "Just say 'over' and the link will close."

"Over," he bit out hastily, and Draco was thankfully cut off mid rant.

"Now tuck it in your left ear and leave it there," Blaise instructed sternly. "It's charmed to stay in place, but if you take it out and forget to put it back in, there's nothing we can do. So don't touch it."

"Aye, aye, Boss."

Blaise sighed, sinking back into the seat, and glanced up at the darkened flat. He knew Potter had gone over the apartment the night before, locking and warding the windows and doors, placing signature spells on the Floo so only certain specified people were allowed through. Still, he couldn't help but worry about the woman. Half the danger was already buried deep inside her body, slowing detaching her soul.

"She's really rather wonderful," Potter murmured beside him.

He turned to find the ex-Gryffindor's eyes locked on the flat windows as well. "What?"

"Hermione." He blinked and shifted his gaze to Blaise again. "She's the best thing that ever happened to Ron and me. I don't think I've bothered to tell her that enough."

"Don't get all sappy on me now, Potter," Blaise said warily. He didn't relish having a heart-to-heart with the man.

Potter closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the vinyl. "Sometimes," he said softly, ignoring Blaise's admonishment, "after the war had just ended, I'd wake up to find her sitting by my bed." He smiled a small, almost secret smile. "Just sitting there, watching me. And whenever I asked her what she was doing, she'd always say she was simply... making sure."

"Making sure?" Blaise asked, curious.

"Making sure," he went on, nodding slightly. "I never asked her what she meant by it," he rolled his head towards Blaise and his eyes cracked open, slits shining in the lamplight, "but I always fancied she was making sure I woke up. Making sure someone was there when I opened my eyes. Sometimes. Sometimes I'd live for those moments. When the moonlight spilled across her face, making it bone-white and china-doll perfect. And she'd always smile at me. A fond, wide, startlingly motherly smile."

The young hero had been subdued, Blaise had known, after he'd defeated the Dark Lord. For the first time, though, the ex-Slytherin suspected the boy's quietness in the latter part of their sixth year had been born of painful memories rather than the lull after an adrenaline rush, a theory that had been commonly bandied about at the time. He stared at Potter speculatively, wondering why the man was telling him something that was obviously extremely personal.

"She'll be fine, Potter," Blaise found himself saying.

"I know," he said fiercely, snapping his head up and straightening in his seat. He sent Blaise a sidelong glance. "I don't suppose I have to warn you away from her?"

"Warn me...?" Blaise trailed off, a frown pulling at his lips. "What?"

"I know you know," Potter responded cryptically.

"Know what? You're not making any sense."

"Oh, come off it, Zabini. She never could hide her feelings for you," Potter commented, shaking his head. "She's been in love with you since sixth year."

"In..." He choked on a breathy laugh. "In love with me?"

Potter's eyes widened in mild panic. "Shit. You didn't know, did you? Merlin, I mucked that up… you can't tell her I said anything, all right?" He fiddled nervously with the ends of his earflaps, then demanded incredulously, "How could you not have known?"

"You're delusional, Potter," Blaise bit out. Love? "She's always had an infatuation with me, yes, but love?" He forced a chuckle past his lips. Love never entered into the strange dynamic he and Granger had between them. Love was absurd.

"Forget I said anything," Potter breathed, a hint of frustration lacing his voice. "Just… don't toy with her."

"I'm doing my job, Potter," he said coldly. "None of this is personal."

"Which is exactly why you can't fuck around with her," Potter said, tight and calm. "She's not--" He cut off as an alarm sounded in the car. "A ward's been breached." Yanking out his wand, he passed it through the air and murmured a low spell, then let out a slow breath. "Just Alice. Opened a window in the kitchen for a moment."

Blaise nodded and they dropped into a heavy, awkward silence.

"Listen," Potter said finally, breaking the tension. "If you hurt her I'm going to have to kill you."

Blaise would have laughed, but from Potter's tone he surmised the man was being perfectly serious. It was slightly worrying, having one of the most powerful wizards alive threaten you, even if he was a goodhearted Gryffindor.

He dipped his head slightly in acknowledgement, then reached for the door handle. "Check in at least once a day with Headquarters no matter what," he said in parting, getting out of the car. He slammed the door shut without bothering to wait for the other man's response.

Walking back across the street, he turned down the alley next to Granger's building and Apparated home.

******

Cat started yowling as soon as Blaise cracked open his flat door, demanding, as usual, to be fed, and fed well.

The unabashedly lone ex-Slytherin had never wanted a feline, had definitely not wanted any sort of pet or companion. But Cat, a mangy alley tom that, in a fit of unoriginality, followed him home one night, wouldn't take no for an answer. He'd slipped past him into the apartment, settled down imperiously on his favorite armchair by the hearth, and refused to leave.

The tabby tangled about his legs as Blaise made his way to the kitchen, rifling through the Owl Post. "Move it, fluff-ball," he growled, half-heartedly shoving him out of the way with a boot.

Cat let out a strangled meow and made a beeline for his food dish, tail twitching expectantly, and Blaise sighed resignedly. The beast was proving to be a bottomless pit with no manners, who often begged for table scraps. It was almost like living with a miniature Goyle.

After filling his bowl with kibble, he tore open a missive from Severus, hoping the man had some promising news for him.

Mr. Zabini,

I'm sure you have a perfectly good reason for requesting a draught that would counteract the effects of a Soul Displacement spell, and I'm equally sure you are not at all willing to divulge it. Give me until the end of the week. It will take a few days to brew.

As to your inquiry about my health, I am quite well, thank you, but in danger of strangling that Irish whelp, Finnigan, and his oafish companion. You should be pleased to know, though, that Slytherin thoroughly trounced Gryffindor in last week's Quidditch match, despite the use of the wunderkind Weasley as Seeker. Although fast, the girl is untried and reckless on her broom, and was certainly no match for Darby Flint.

I suggest you make arrangements to visit over the weekend. I'll not send the potion by Owl.

S. Snape

Chucking the note onto the low coffee table, Blaise settled into an armchair in front of the fire, rubbing a hand across the back of his neck. He was lucky the Potions Master was good about not pressing for details. Whenever he met with the man, Blaise got the clear impression that his old professor wasn't overly fond of him, but as of yet he'd never refused his requests, no matter how odd.

Unfortunately, there was no true antidote to Soul Displacement. The potion Severus brewed would dispel the painful symptoms Granger was exhibiting, but it couldn't stall or reverse the spell. There was really only one way to end it, beyond death, and Blaise had a feeling the witch wouldn't care for the solution at all. He wasn't, therefore, all that excited about explaining it to her.

Cat leapt onto his lap and butted his head against his chin, meowing plaintively. "Finished already?" he asked, digging his fingers into the tom's scruff with one hand and sweeping his other roughly over the feline's sleek back. The tabby cat purred, shifting to rub against his chest, and Blaise smiled and sank down farther in the comfortably stuffed chair. His eyelids fell shut, body suddenly awash in exhaustion, the events of the past few days curiously having drained him of emotional as well as physical energy.

Just as he cracked his mouth in a wide yawn, contemplating dragging his body towards the bedroom, the hearth flared to life and Millicent stepped into the room.

"You're still awake." She seemed slightly disappointed, as if she would've relished shaking him from his sleep. Millicent had a notable malicious streak.

He yawned again. "Barely."

She sat down opposite him, and pushed her fringe back off her face. "Draco's in a snit."

"I know," Blaise smirked.

"I hate when Draco's in a snit."

"No you don't," Blaise countered blithely. "You love it."

"True," Millie conceded, lips quirked. She stared at him speculatively for a moment, then said, "He mentioned that you've asked Potter to join up. Were you planning on running that by us at any point in time?"

"You can't deny it's a smart move."

"Of course I can." She leaned forward and placed her elbows on her knees. "Blaise, have you thought about what new blood could do to damage our operation? And not just anyone's blood, but Potter's? He and Draco would be at each other's throats."

Blaise pinched the top of his nose, grimacing as a pulsing headache started at the back of his eyes. He really was in no mood to discuss this with her.

"We get along perfect as we are," Millicent continued.

"I agree," Blaise said on a sigh. "Ultimately, though, it comes down to what I feel is best, Millie." It was the equivalent to 'my word is law,' without the harsh bluntness.

Millicent got the gist, though, and her mouth tightened. "I see."

Damn it. He didn't need the witch unduly upset, so he straightened in his seat and sent her what he hoped was a placating smile. "Look, Millie, let's just see how Potter gets along, all right? I promise if there's any trouble at all, I'll think about rescinding the offer."

"I'm not stupid, Blaise," she said with narrowed eyes, seeing right through his pleasant front, "but I'll hold you to that promise."

"Of course," he murmured dryly. Although he'd only promised to think about rescinding it. He'd be hard pressed to turn Potter away, even if he and Draco butted heads constantly. When it came down to it, they were each too much of a professional to let petty rivals get in the way of their work.

Millicent had her own beef with the dark-haired ex-Gryffindor, he knew; an unrequited crush that had ended quite badly when Potter had refused a dance offered by the witch at the leaving ball.

Judging from Potter's expression at the time, Blaise suspected the rejection had been born of gut-level surprise and deep-seated suspicion, rather than any disgust and disdain. Millicent had always been the 'torture the one you love' sort of girl, and Potter reacted horribly to any kind of overt attention, be it good or bad. Both of them, really, could be classified as more than a little socially backwards.

Satisfied that she'd made her point, Millicent left to relieve Colin of his Bufford-watching duty, and Blaise got to his feet with a sigh, Cat still nestled in his arms.

"We," he stated firmly, "are going to bed." He let out a short, dry laugh. Merlin, Potter and Millicent were socially challenged? He was talking to a damn cat. Absently, he wondered if it wasn't time to get a bit of a life outside work. Maybe a date was in order, once the Smith business was put behind them.

For some inexplicable reason, an image of Granger, blushing and flustered and sweetly frustrated came to mind, but he brushed it aside. The witch was more of a nuisance, a hassle, than anything else. And she currently hated his guts.