Chapter Text
The knife up Narcissa's sleeve is getting uncomfortable. The metal is freezing, and the tip keeps poking her when she bends her arm. This is why she doesn’t store her knives up her sleeves, but this dress was too tight everywhere else for it to be hidden. It’s attached to her arm by two small black straps, but they aren’t the best quality- they've got to be thin so it doesn't show. It keeps sliding and pricking her when she bends her arm.
She discreetly adjusts it as she watches the man at the podium speak. This speech can’t be over fast enough. She’ll greatly enjoy this kill, she thinks, as the target kept blathering nonsense. She isn’t sure what he’s on about- energy, maybe? Her German isn’t the best, but this man’s is atrocious. The target’s name is Thomas Hart, he’s 37, British, and has light brown hair and blue eyes. He’s extremely unattractive, in Narcissa’s opinion. She’s not sure why he’s being killed, they’re never told. The fact that he’s a politician likely has something to do with it. However, she doesn’t really care. His voice is extremely irritating. No person should ever have to listen to him speak. If Narcissa succeeds, no one else will.
Of course, it’s not a question as to if she will succeed or not- she’s never failed a mission. She’s often been called the best assassin of the Death Eaters. It is true that her only competition, Bellatrix, was pulled out of the field about a year ago, however. No one has been told the real reason Bellatrix is now mentoring rather than killing, but Narcissa’s guess is she was deemed a complication- too crazy to be in the field. This idea stems from the way she seems to be taking her anger out on the trainees- it makes her glad she decided to take Regulus under her wing when she did.
“Cissa!” The boy in question hisses, and pokes her with his foot. He’s meant to be shadowing her on this mission. Technically, they aren’t supposed to be given assignments until they’re 21, after 5 years in training. He’s only 20, but Narcissa had vouched for Regulus. Training was getting too easy for him, so for the past three years, he’s been allowed to come on her missions. He’s also been given simpler hits a few times, which Narcissa had to observe. She’s technically his mentor, but they’re more like partners. They work well together, and as much as she loathes to admit it, he’s almost as good as her.
She turns to look at him, and raises an eyebrow in a silent question.
“When is it over?”
Narcissa rolls her eyes. “Learn to be patient.” she whispers.
He glares at her. “I’m bored. This was supposed to be a challenge, I don’t want to listen to this mind-numbing speech.”
“Fine. You want a challenge? Get into his hotel room.” She hisses. There’s no way he’ll actually be able to do it- Hart is some important politician from England, and he most likely has maximum security- bodyguards and all. They don’t even know what hotel he’s staying at, just that he’ll be in Germany for the next week giving more soul-sucking speeches.
Regulus grins, and immediately springs up, slipping out of the room without drawing any attention to himself. That’s something she had taught him, how to hide in plain sight. Very helpful when living with Walburga Black.
Narcissa returns her attention to the man speaking, he’s prattling on about how climate change isn’t real. She sighs, and resigns herself to listening to this nonsense for the next half hour or so, as she fantasises about driving a knife through his skull. Men are so irritating.
Eventually, he concludes his awful speech, and the crowd applauds. Narcissa very purposefully folds her hands on the table in front of her.
As he exits the room, she quickly springs up from her seat. She winds her way through the crowd, carefully avoiding bumping into a man who looks as if he’d needed some alcohol to get through the conference, and exits using the same door Hart did. She keeps track of where he goes, and follows at a distance. She’s not worried about cameras, she’d been told they would be turned off.
Narcissa’s plan is to seduce him, and stab him once they get back to his hotel room. She’ll have to find Regulus after- who knows where he’s gotten off to.
She observes from down the hall as Hart waves off his bodyguards, and she overhears the word “limo”. Assuming they’ll be waiting by the car, she keeps her eye on Hart, as he walks through a side door. She can catch a glimpse of him leaning against the opposite wall of the alley, smoking a cigarette.
She waits about three minutes before following him out. He’s positioned so she isn’t in his line of sight, looking out at the road. Luckily, the alleyway doesn’t appear to be too dirty, and Narcissa steps out into it. Hart is lighting his second cigarette, too focused to register her presence. She adjusts her dress, pulling the neckline down a bit, before waking towards him.
His head turns at the click of her high heels against the stone. As she stops- close, but still a respectful distance away from him- she sees Hart take in her form, the tight black dress and heels, the black ribbon tied into a bow in her hair. His gaze lingers on her chest.
“Oh, hello, aren’t you the man who spoke inside?” She asks, with a smile, and tilts her head a bit.
“I am. Thomas Hart. Who might you be?” He asks with a slight smirk, and takes a drag of his cigarette.
“Mia Woodward”, she says, and holds out her hand for him to shake.
He takes it, and grasping it tightly, shakes. “Pleased to meet you, Mia.”
Narcissa smiles, and withdraws her hand. “I hate to ask, but would you mind lending me a cigarette?”
He puts his back to his lips, and reaches for the carton. He pulls one out, but instead of reaching out he beckons her closer. After a moment's hesitation, Narcissa obliges, and takes a couple steps toward him. He finally passes it over, and she realises his intention as he inclines his head.
Narcissa places the cigarette between her lips, and Hart leans forward to touch the tips of them together. The moment hers catches a spark, she takes a step back.
Holding the cigarette between two fingers, she releases a puff of smoke, and addresses the man in front of her again.
“I must say, I found your speech to be lovely. You clearly know a lot about the topic.” She says. In all honesty, she’s not quite sure what the topic was.
He smirks, and responds, “I’m glad such a beautiful woman enjoyed it. Tell me, what was the best part?”
Shit. Well, that’s awkward.
She takes another drag of her cigarette, thinking of a response that isn’t ’the ending’.
“Well, the best part may have been you yourself. I was entranced.” She finally responds with a shy smile.
Hart grins, and Narcissa can feel the pieces falling into place. He’s already caught in her web- there’s no escaping now. And who would want to get away from her? Not Hart, who’s looking her up and down, taking in her body like she’s no more than her flesh.
“Is that so, love?” He asks, with that stupid smirk. She wants to wipe it off his face- and not in a kiss-it-off-his-face way, more like a rip-his-face-off-of-his-head way.
She nods, and takes a step towards him, tilting her head up. She lets the cigarette fall to the ground, and crushes it under her shoe.
“You are quite entrancing yourself.” He says, and reaches a hand out to tilt her chin up. “I don’t suppose you have a boyfriend?”
“No” She breathes out, her lips parting ever so slightly.
“Perfect.” He says, and then he smashes their lips together. Hart tastes like smoke, and not in a good way. He grabs her hips roughly, and pulls her closer.
It’s for the mission, for the mission, for the mission-
Breaking the kiss, Hart pants out, “Why don’t we take this back to my hotel room? It’s close enough to walk.” He’s still close enough to make Narcissa want to throw up, but she’ll take what she can get. She remembers the bodyguards waiting at the limo, but if he’s forgotten, she certainly isn’t going to remind him.
She nods eagerly, and he slides his hand into hers, pulling her along the sidewalk. His palm is sweaty, and he grips her hand far too tightly. In her heels, it’s slightly difficult to keep up with his pace- he seems quite eager.
Vaguely, Narcissa wonders when the last time he slept with someone was. By his appearance, as well as general demeanor, she judges it to have been quite a long time ago, if ever. Unfortunately for Hart, his enthusiasm won’t bode him well.
The hotel he’s staying at is fairly expensive, Narcissa observes as they arrive, although nothing compared to her own. When Narcissa travels, the company always provides hotels of the best quality- she's certain the higher ups have connections in the hospitality industry. Her target clearly does not, indicated by the clear 4-star faux grandeur of the place.
Hart pulls them straight through the lobby, and directly towards the elevator. Once in it, he kisses her again, this time pushing her up against the wall. One of his hands snakes up her torso and grabs her chest, and she has to make a conscious effort not to recoil.
“You’re so beautiful,” He murmurs against her lips. The empty words only serve to make Narcissa’s skin crawl even more. Who is this man, to touch her so boldly, so publicly? He doesn’t know a thing about her. She so desperately wants to get away- from his sweaty palms, his too-hot breath- but she can’t. Narcissa has gotten this far, and she knows she has to complete her mission.
She pulls away as the doors open, and he leads her to his room, an arm around her waist. They step inside, and he immediately slams the door shut, and pulls her closer to him.
He kisses her again, and starts leading her to the bed. He sits on the edge, and she straddles him. He starts kissing her neck, and as he’s distracted, she slips the knife out of her sleeve.
Narcissa deftly flips it so it’s pointed towards him, and before Hart has a moment to register what she’s doing, she shoves it into his chest.
He makes a strangled noise as she twists it, and his eyes flicker up to meet hers, shocked. She withdraws the knife, and he flops back, dead before his body hits the bed.
He shouldn’t have been so shocked. The men always are, especially the rich ones. They think they’re invulnerable, sitting up in their ivory towers surrounded by bodyguards and stone walls. No matter how much this type likes to think it, no one is invulnerable.
Narcissa looks down at her hands. The blood is splattered over them, like a crimson pair of gloves. It’s not a jarring sight- she’s often more surprised to see clean, pale skin when she looks down. She can always feel the ever-running blood, slowly trickling down them, to matter how many times she tries to scrub them clean.
You should feel guilty.
No. Narcissa can’t think about that now. Not the person who said those words. And she’s not guilty, not really. She’s done what she had to do to survive. Sometimes, that’s making sure other people don’t. Narcissa sides off the dead man’s lap, and rubs her palms down the sides of her dress, needing the blood off as soon as possible. She then begins wiping the blood off the knife with her sleeve. She’ll have to get rid of the dress, she can’t afford to carry a trace of his DNA. Now she’ll have to find where Regulus has gone-
Her train of thought is interrupted by the closet door bursting open. Narcissa’s gaze snaps onto it, already flipping the dagger around, when out steps Regulus.
“Thank god, I thought I was going to have to watch you fuck him.” The boy mutters, coming to stand in the center of the room. “I don’t suppose you’ve brought a change of clothes with you?” He asks, gesturing at the bloodstained dress.
She just stares back at him. Regulus actually found the hotel room. He found it, and hid in the man’s closet to kill him. Oh, and in under an hour too.
Narcissa doesn’t let her surprise show, and her expression quickly goes back to normal as she resumes wiping the blood from the blade. “Obviously I wasn’t going to, I have standards. I was planning to shower, then steal some of his clothes.”
“Be warned, the man’s fashion sense was about as good as his public speaking ability.” He says, and Narcissa hears the small smirk in his voice. He’d obviously caught her astonishment.
She walks over to the closet, and surveys her options. When she turns back around, she sees the room is empty, Regulus having made his exit without a trace, just as she’d taught him. If she’s honest, he’s extremely good at this, despite his youth, and the thought that she trained him brings a small smile to her face.
Eventually, she selects the plainest things she can find, a pair of jeans which she grabs a belt to hold up, and a bright yellow hoodie, with some word on it she doesn’t recognize. Probably something to do with sports. She grimaces, but desperate times call for desperate measures.
Glancing back at the dead body, Narcissa hesitates. This is clearly a murder, and not her best work. There could have been several witnesses, but there’s nothing that can be done now. She just needs to shower and get out of here before someone comes looking for him.
The bathroom is quite nice, actually, all shining marble. There’s a walk-in shower, and a large bathtub. Narcissa would quite like a bath, and her gaze lingers on it, but there’s no time.
As she sets the stolen clothes down on the counter, she catches a glimpse of herself in the mirror. Her hands are no longer bloody, but are still tinted pink. Her black dress doesn’t show the red, but some of the fabric is darker from the dampness. But the blood is visible on her skin, and the way it splatters up her neck paints a brutal picture. There’s a small dot of it sitting high on her cheekbone, and a bit has made its way into her hair. Narcissa locks eyes with her reflection, grey meeting grey, and sighs.
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Having showered as quickly as possible, Narcissa takes the elevator down to the lobby, and exits the hotel. She isn’t worried about being caught on the cameras in the hotel, she’ll be back in France by tomorrow. Even if the low quality cameras can somehow identify her, the organisation can make anything go away.
Narcissa walks back to the hotel where she and Regulus are staying as fast as she can, not wanting anyone to see her in these clothes. It’s good Regulus is already gone, he’d have never let it go if he saw her in bright yellow. She checks in under her fake name, and goes up to her room to start packing.
She changes into a turtleneck, trousers, and a trench coat, all in black, and puts on a pair of sunglasses- always better to have your face obscured. As she exits her room, Regulus is waiting outside.
“What are you thinking for dinner?” He asks. It’s half past 5, a bit earlier than normal, but they have to get going soon.
“There’s a cafe that’s open all night nearby.” Narcissa responds, having scoped out the area earlier.
She leads the way, and Regulus follows her down the stairs, through the lobby, and out onto the busy street. Their suitcases have been sent ahead of them to the airport, as Narcissa had arranged. They use private airports in order to avoid weapons detection, as well as witnesses. The only thing they are given by the organisation before each mission is a large sum of the country’s currency, all in cash. They’re meant to use it to buy clothes, food, and whatever else they deem necessary- their hotel is already paid for.
However, every time Narcissa and Regulus are given this money, they take out an amount they deem “change”, to be given back, and split the remainder in half, which they silently pocket. This means they have to steal all of their supplies for the mission, which isn’t necessarily difficult, just unprofessional. It’s risky, and if they slip up, it can draw attention to them.
Narcissa knows this, and she knows Regulus does as well. If the organisation ever found out about what they’ve been doing, they’d be in major trouble. It’s an act of rebellion, after all, stealing from their providers. Death Eaters are provided with all of the necessities, including housing, and the finest clothes, jewellery, and books money can buy. Of course, the downside to this is that they aren’t paid.
Narcissa does have a trust fund from her family, but it’s controlled by her father, Cygnus. She believes Regulus has one as well, but he evidently doesn’t have access to it. Bellatrix has access to hers, which she’s extremely fond of reminding them. She also likes to brag about her husband, Rodolphus’ money, and all of her freedom since marrying him. Narcissa is less bothered by this, as she knows how much Bella really despises him.
They arrive at the restaurant, and slip inside. It’s crowded, and extremely loud. Not Narcissa’s favourite setting, but good for what they want to accomplish.
She surveys the menu for a moment before giving Regulus her order. “Croissant and coffee. Black.”
“Sometimes I feel like these ‘tests’ are just you making me do all the dirty work.” He mutters in reply, but still starts weaving his way through the crowd, and into the kitchens.
Narcissa is absolutely making him do all of the dirty work. He’s technically her trainee, after all.
She finds a table near the window to sit at, and watches the people passing by. It’s a bad habit, but she likes to imagine what their lives are like. What hers might have been like. There’s a woman walking past, talking animatedly to a man she’s holding hands with. He’s carrying several bags, presumably hers, and looking at her with unbridled fondness. At another restaurant across the street is a group of friends, sitting at a table outside. They’re laughing, and two of them embrace. They share their food amongst themselves, and seem to be having a lovely time. Crossing the street are two girls who look very similar- sisters, most likely.
Narcissa feels something ugly turning in her stomach, and she looks away. This is why she shouldn’t get caught up in fantasies. She has a job to do.
A cup being set down in front of her interrupts her train of thought. Regulus sits in the other chair, and gestures to the croissants in front of them. A glance at the clock tells Narcissa it’s been ten minutes. She gives Regulus a slight nod in approval, and takes a sip of her coffee. The caffeine seems to knock some sense back into her, and Narcissa regains control of her thoughts. Another mission complete, she reminds herself, no matter how insignificant it’s starting to seem. It’s not like she has any other options. She’s good at this, and she’s making her family proud.
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Alice Fortescue is a good detective. She knows she is. At only 26, she’s secured quite a good position in the CIA. She’d started off as a police detective, but had been recruited after only a year working. Now she’s been at the CIA for nearly two years, and she’s earned herself a very good reputation amongst her co-workers. But no matter how many times she tells herself this, Alice is nervous.
Last Friday, McGonagall, the department head, had handed her a file, and told her to take it home and look it over. It was a case, one that Alice was meant to lead. McGonagall had told her she’d meet her team on Monday- today. So, as she enters the office, she’s a bit nervous. Despite her good standing in the agency, she’s young enough that she doubted she’d be leading a team any time soon. Especially this sort of a team.
Alice had spent her entire weekend reading over the case again and again and again. She’d expected it to be something simple- several leads, low-risk- McGonagall’s idea of a test. A way to judge Alice’s ability to lead a team. In other words, some busy work that the higher-ups couldn’t be bothered with.
However, upon opening the file, she discovered just how wrong she’d been. The file detailed a string of deaths and disappearances across the globe, all unsolved. They went back well over fifty years, with countless deaths over the decades. There were several other documents detailing the political implications of these deaths- how they’d subtly benefited the deceased's opposition. There were several profiles included; the people who could have benefitted from these deaths. However, they weren’t listed as suspects. Instead, the theory stated that what they were really searching for was the organization behind this. They’re estimated to have anywhere from five to fifty assassins- active or inactive.
So, Alice’s nerves are rather heightened as she enters the briefing room. There isn’t anyone there when she arrives, so she waits for McGonagall to show up.
Only a few minutes later, she strides through the door. “Agent Fortescue.” She says, with a nod in greeting. “I assume you read over the case?”
McGonagall has a thick Scottish accent and a stern voice. Alice feels a bit like a highschooler again, being asked if she’d done her homework.
“Yes, I did.” Alice says, and internally debates asking why she’s been chosen as the head of the team. But she doesn’t want to come off as scared, or not up to the challenge. Nervous as she may be, Alice is desperate to prove herself. And this- well, this is her big chance. She won’t screw it up.
“Good. Now, come with me, and we’ll meet your team.”
Alice hurries to keep up with the other woman’s brisk pace, as she leads them through several different halls. Eventually, they stop at the door to a private office. McGonagall takes a keycard out of her pocket, and slides it into the door’s scanner.
“You’ll be given one of these, of course.” She says with a backwards glance, and then she’s opening the door.
Alice follows her into the office, where there are four other people already present. Her gaze first lands on Frank Longbottom, and she instantly feels a bit less nervous. She grins, and when their eyes meet, he does as well, giving her a small wave. Frank and her were both hired at the same time, and have worked on several cases together. He’s one of her closest friends, and Alice is glad they’ll be working together.
Sitting next to Frank is a man she doesn’t know. He’s plump, with dark blonde hair and blue eyes. There’s a light dusting of freckles across his face, and he looks to be quite young. He seems slightly nervous, fidgeting with his hands on top of the table.
At another desk is a woman who Alice vaguely recognizes, Agent Bones, she thinks, the female one. Both her and her twin brother, Edgar, work here. She’s got shoulder length honey-blonde hair, and is wearing glasses, behind which are large hazel eyes. Her expression is serious, and her gaze is trained on McGonagall as she takes a sip from a cup of coffee.
The final person is another woman, this one a stranger to Alice. She’s leaning against the far wall of the room, looking bored. She’s around Alice’s height, but with brown skin and curly black hair. She’s got a black septum ring and is wearing docs- she looks very cool, to be honest. This woman reminds Alice a bit of Sirius, one of her neighbors. They have a similar laid-back attitude about them, and Sirius shares the habit of wearing docs in the workplace.
“Agent Fortescue, meet your team.” McGonagall says, “Agent Longbottom, who you know, will be acting as the Executive Protective Agent of this team.” She then gestures to the man beside him that Alice doesn’t know. “Mr. Peter Pettigrew is an intern, but he has already shown great competence in the cyber operations field, and therefore he will be acting as a Cyber Targerter.”
Ah, so he’s an intern. Alice will have to ask James and Sirius if they know him. She doesn’t doubt Peter is competent enough to be on this team, otherwise McGonagall wouldn’t have assigned him to it.
“This is Agent Amelia Bones, the Targeting Technical Analyst.” McGonagall says, gesturing towards the blonde woman. “And finally, this is Agent Emma Vanity, who is a Political Analyst.” she says, with a nod to the woman in the back.
Then, McGonagall turns to Alice, clearly expecting her to make her own introduction.
Clearing her throat, Alice begins, “It’s nice to meet everyone. I’m Agent Alice Fortescue, and I’m a Paramilitary Operations Officer. Agent McGonagall has assigned me to be the head of this team.”
Looking satisfied, McGonagall turns back to face everyone. “You were all given the weekend to go over the case file. Are there any questions before I leave you to it?”
“I have one.” Says Vanity, coming to stand in the middle of the room. “To be honest, none of us have the most experience. Why aren’t more experienced agents working on such a major case?”
Alice is quite eager to hear McGonagall’s answer, and it seems everyone else feels the same. They’ve all perked up, and all five pairs of eyes are trained on her.
The older woman clears her throat, and begins. “To be perfectly candid, this case is vital to our national security. However, I would not have created this team if I didn’t believe the five of you could not make progress on it.” She pauses for a beat, then continues. “I’ve been privately researching this case for quite a while. I believe that in this situation, youthful minds will be of more use. Due to the political nature of the case, I believe that some of the more experienced agents may have a difficult time… staying neutral.” She finishes dryly, and Alice hears Frank huff out a laugh.
It’s true that some of the older agents and officers have their prejudices, and this case can’t be affected by that. McGonagall believes that this group isn’t as ‘stuck in their ways’ Alice concludes.
“Well, we won’t let you down.” Alice says, with determination in her voice. There’s nothing she loves more than a challenge, and this case is certainly her largest one yet. For a moment, she thinks she sees the ghost of a smile on McGonagall’s face.
The woman nods. “Well then, I’ll leave you to it. Good luck, Agent Fortescue.”
And with that, McGonagall exits, leaving Alice in charge. She can feel all four gazes sliding onto her, and she clears her throat.
“Okay everyone, let’s start by going over the case file as a group, so we have an understanding of the current available information.”
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