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riddleredcoats · 5 years

Note

Prompt: Bellamort and Anti-Tomione where Bella and Tom torture and kill Hermione together.

Anon, I’m so sorry for the delay, but I wasn’t sure how to do this prompt. But I did manage to come up with something… different?... I hope you like it anyway.

So, I really like Hermione (xd) and couldn’t bear to make this anti-Hermione, which I’m not even sure was what you wanted anon, but still there it is. The torture is also mostly emotional torture and even might not even be really be called torture? I mean Bella and Tom hurt her, but it’s kinda unintentional?

Also, this a Mafia AU because *shrug*, also ‘Mafia’ AU, since everything I know about the Mafia is from Godfather, the Simpsons and some shallow research.

Also posted on AO3

Some slang.

Boss – self explanatory

Consigliere – an advisor to the Boss, most decision are run through this guy

Underboss – right bellow Boss.

Boss, Consigliere, and Underboss run a particular Crime Family and are referred to as the Administration.

Capo – short for caporegime mid-level boss who leads a crew of soldiers

Soldier – is the low of the low in hierarchy.

The one you least expect.

New York in 1929 was a bustling city, skyscrapers ripped across the Manhattan skyline, smoke rose from cars, trains and buses alike while the waters of the Hudson ran black and dirty from the freighters. The city, grey and watery during the day shifted at night, to a minefield of jazz clubs and theatres and cabarets in which downtown New York City could rival the Paris as the City of Lights.

When Hermione Granger had first arrived in the city a staggering 15 years-ago, at the ripe age of eleven from a little county in Georgia, the differences from her quiet hometown threatened to overwhelm her and wrestle her to the ground. Still, the sheer vibrancy of the city guaranteed amazement at every corner, something that Hermione couldn’t help but acclimate to, easily. Her want of answers and sense of adventure couldn’t help but make it so, and so, to her, the city had welcomed her with open arms.

Getting up every morning – or really, middle of the night, seeing as she got up at 3:30AM – was a challenge, especially in wintery days where the warmth of the bed would be replaced by the cold, rarefied, smoke-filled air of her studio apartment. Nonetheless, work was waiting for her.

Walking lazily to the kitchen, she made sure to turn on the gas to make her first cup of coffee, making sure to turn off every other appliance or light in the house since the gas and the light fixtures couldn’t stand to work at the same time. Rising off an old but reliable percolator – making sure to, of course, first let the water of the tap run for a while to get rid of the runny, brown water that always came in the morning – and then adding a filter and a spot of coffee to the old percolator, Hermione finished off the preparations for her breakfast by suspending a bit of the hard butter over the stove so it would be easier to spread on her hard bread. She ate mechanically, occasionally listening to the sounds of people coming home from a night out.

After breakfast she walked to her bedroom and tied her bushy, brown, curly hair back into a ponytail, the humidity of the City making her hair even more frizzly than it already was. She donned her beige suit and with a last check of the buckles in her heels was out the door to the dewy-foggy morning, making sure to bring her umbrella.

“Hey, Granger!” A man came up to her; Ronald Weasley, resident good boy from the scarce Scottish family that had moved into Harlem about 20 years or so ago, living in a predominantly black neighbourhood would be a big change for almost any white family, but the Weasleys… Well, the Weasley had Molly who, with a swift and caring ease, warmed her way into the Community; and so, her six sons and one daughter had been one of the few white families growing alongside the black ones in Harlem.

“Hello, Ronald. I see you had an interesting evening.” Hermione knew that the disapproving tone in her voice was very noticeable, but then again so was Ron’s wobbling walk indicating of a night abusing one of the cities many illegal speakeasies.

“’Mione! Don’t be like that!” He screamed, laughing all the while, and his happiness was infectious. Hermione let out a small laugh too. He twirled around her, “It such a fantastic day.”

“Ron,” she said, laughing, “It’s raining! And the skies are grey!”

“And yet,” Ron said, his ginger hair falling flat against his freckled face, framing his attractive blue eyes pleasingly, he came closer to her, holding on to her and twirling her around while she giggled at the drunkenness much as she loathed to do so, “It is fantastic!”

He made sure to make her stop twirling and grabbed her carefully, looking into her with his slightly hazy blue eyes. Hermione, despite herself, felt her heart catch in her throat at the naked emotion that was lodged in those eyes. Ron seemed to come back to himself and take a step back, giving her personal space back. He chuckled a little, and rubbed his neck as he flushed red.

“I-I gotta go.” He said quickly and stumbling, he turned fast and almost ran into a lamppost such was his rush, Hermione barely had time to say goodbye as Ron was already turning the corner to his house.

Hermione shook off the awkward and charged exchange, even as it lingered in the back of her mind, and quickly rushed herself to the subway stop. If she delayed any longer she’d be late for work, and that simply wouldn’t do, she had never been late, not once in her life and wasn’t about to start now. As the subway arrived and Hermione got in, along with the rest of the sludge of New Yorkers ready for another day at work, she got thinking about the job that she had fought tooth and nails for.

Hermione Granger was a damn fine detective of the New York City police; she was hardworking, she was tenacious, she was ambitious, she was smart as a whip, but most of all, Hermione Granger longed for the days when the Mafia would stop running her city to the ground.

Ever since the end of the Great War, things in the city had only gotten from bad to worse for everyone, it seemed, except for the Mafia, who now had a steady and much desired product to sell. The temporary ban of alcohol production during the War as an effort to avoid grain shortage was mostly viewed as essential, but then the War had ended, a half-of-a-generation of men came home and the so-called Prohibition Law remained in effect, increasing the demand of bootleg alcohol, speakeasies and gang violence who maintained control of the first two demands of the people.

While Hermione found the Prohibition Law more harmful than good, it was the law of the land and she had to enforce it, no matter how she wished to indulge with the others. If for no other reason than to stop the rise in Mafia crime that threatened to almost sink the city to ground; dead politicians, corrupt cops, blackmail, torture, shakedowns and a culture of fear permeated the air of the city like the smoke of the factories in the East side. It had to stop, or it would suffocate them all.

Hermione sighed as the subway arrived at her station and rushed to leave the carriage she was on, breathing the polluted, but not stale, air of the city. She still had a half-an-hour walk to the Police Station and as she dodged the incoming people that rushed to catch the transport, she sighed as she started walking along the blocks, hearing the occasional curse as some driver or another got frustrated with traffic.

Turning the final corner of her route, Hermione sighed with relief as she entered the precinct, a cold and humid building, at 4:45 AM on the dot. Hermione cursed at the cold but was glad that at least it wasn’t raining inside. Well, not in most places in the station, that is; the building was old enough that some roofing was missing. Hermione made sure to greet the doorman, a fellow policeman who nodded politely at her as she made her way to the stairs.

Reaching the third-floor, Hermione smiled as the usual chit chat rumbled from inside the room. She pushed the door open and the smell of third-grade, terrible coffee entered her nostrils, the earthy smell was the only thing about the beverage that was passable, but every single detective in the squad used and abused of the swill that Chief Shacklebolt insisted in calling coffee. Walking over to the old oak desk she shared with her partner – budget cuts were the real devil – she laid her purse and her umbrella down.

Her partner – already on his side of the desk smiled at her – and just he was about to say ‘Good Morning’ as he usually did, she beat him to the punch.

“I saw your brother-in-law today.” Hermione said as a form of greeting.

The grin on Harry Potter’s face was unmistakably smug. The man that had welcomed her into the force with big, open arms and never, for once second stopped doubting her abilities and their friendship was also a smug little shit that drove her insane.

“Oh? How’s Ron?” Asked, said partner, his wild jet-black curls falling over his face and catching on the wire of his round glasses that made his big, striking green eyes more prominent on his face already blessed with a big nose that went swimmingly with his large lips and stunning dark complexion.

“Don’t give me that! He was slurring, wobbling around and hugging lampposts. You’re wearing last night’s clothes and smell suspiciously of mint… You went to a speakeasy again, didn’t you?”

Harry’s green-eyes looked terrified at her and then all around them and then he started making wild gestures with his hands, telling her to shut up “Shhh!” Harry looked desperately around, “Hermione, please, it was just a drink and a bit of dance.”

“Alcohol selling establishments are against the law, Harry! Something we are meant to enforce, not indulge!”

“Christ.” Harry sighed, “I’m sorry, Hermione, you’re right. But this time it was a special occasion…”

“Oh, really?” She asked, sarcasm in her voice, “Was it like last week, you went there because Ronald just happened to not have fallen on his face working at the docks that day.”

“To be fair, for him, that is a miracle.” Hermione had to agree, Ronald Weasley was a gangly walking disaster, “But no, Hermione, that isn’t it.” Hermione took note of her partner’s soft tone, awed reverence in his voice. She looked on as he turned to look in her eyes, his emerald-green and filled with happy tears, “Ginny is pregnant… I’m going to be a dad!”

“Harry!” She nearly screamed, and her lecture was immediately forgotten in favour of holding her partner – and closest friend – close to her as they hugged, truly happy for him, “This is great news! Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I’m sorry!” He said, rubbing his neck sheepishly, “We found out yesterday, and you were already gone.”

Hermione winced, knowing how little Harry would approve of why she left early, “I had a date last night,” Harry was already groaning, she knew that he had been trying to set her up with Ron, and that he liked her date as far as he could throw him, “with Tom.” She confirmed, to his frustration.

“You know I don’t trust him, ‘Mione.” Harry said, his hand rubbing a odd lightning-shaped scar on his forehead, “There is something wrong with that guy, more than the fact that he is almost old enough to be your father.”

“We’ve been together 9 months, Harry! And he’s 36, it’s not exactly ancient!” Hermione said with a smile on her lips, Harry’s care for her always warmed her heart, “Besides, he is smart and upstanding and makes me feel important and doesn’t care that I cancel our date thirty minutes after they were supposed to be starting. Also,” she said with a lecherous smile, “he is very sexy.”

Harry made a face, scrunching his nose, “Gross.” But laughed easily, after, “But you know what you’re doing, ‘Mione. But come on, we’re almost late.”

“Oh, and where are we going?”

Harry turned serious and Hermione immediately straightened her back in anticipation for what was to come, her partner was usually either jovial or irritable, never both at the same time, his perchance for mood swings was negligible, but he seemed to be oscillating today, and Hermione figured that if not for Ginny’s pregnancy Harry would be absolutely impossible to put up with.

“You wanted to meet my informant?” Hermione nodded and moved already to her side of the desk, picking up her discarded coat, “Good, then. Let’s go.”

“Has he given you any decent information?” Hermione asked as she put on her coat, ready to brace the rain again.

“He’s young,” Harry admitted as he too put on his coat, “He mostly confirmed intel, which honestly is as good as it gets.”

Hermione hummed distractingly. Yes, Hermione supposed, getting confirmation from another source usually went a long way to make sure that the intel was acted upon. Hermione’s own sources were more volatile and required a lot more of careful handling, since the intel was usually good enough to take down at least one crew under the purview of a Capo, and sometimes even managing to snag the Capo themselves. So, Hermione had to check and double check every detail.

“But,” Harry said, drawing her attention back to him as he led her out of the precinct, “he said that today he would give me something more substantial.”

“Good.”

Harry and Hermione got in the car and drove off in the direction of the docks, all the while shifting between work talk and talk about Ginny who was apparently entering her second trimester in a week or so. As they drove off, the sun – which had yet to rise – started picking through the horizon

Reaching a shady-looking warehouse in the middle of nowhere didn’t exactly raise Hermione’s hopes that this meeting would go well. But, as soon as Harry parked the car, hidden – of course – behind some sort of construction site, they entered the deteriorating warehouse. Careful not to trigger any alarms, and to check corners where they could.

Once they figured the building was clear, Harry yelled out, “Hey, kid, you in here?”

A rattling sound, silence and then a stage whisper, “Would you be quiet? Do you want to get us all killed?” A figure stepped out of the shadows and Hermione gasped.

“Harry, he’s like fourteen! He’s not young, he’s a kid!” Hermione yelled at her partner.

“Sixteen!” The kid yelled, glaring defiantly at her.

“Oh, yes, that makes it all better.” She deadpanned.

“Hermione…” Harry started, a rueful tone to his voice, as if he knew that she would be even madder once she knew the whole story, “This is Draco Malfoy.”

Hermione couldn’t hold back the gasp. Draco Malfoy, heir to the Malfoy Crime Family. Hermione looked at the skinny, tall kid with a long thin nose, intense blue-grey eyes with a slick top and thick sides blond hair and an expensive suit that probably cost more than her apartment complex.

Before she could say another word, voices ran out, rough and low and at Draco’s look of panic Hermione knew that the boy had been followed. Hermione and Harry cursed, and grabbing Draco by his shirt dragged him to a nearby office space and made sure to hide with him behind a desk.

The voices grew louder and louder as they entered the warehouse and Hermione counted at least 4 people.

“Spread out and find them!” The voice, accented and tilting towards French, seemed to fill the expanse of the warehouse, the voice of Rodolphus Lestrange, Boss to the Lestrange Crime Family, she had heard him testify, once, “Gaunt will get here soon enough, and I’d rather have them in hand.”

Hermione and Harry exchanged surprised but determined looks. ‘Gaunt’ was the name of the Boss of the Slytherin Crime Family, the oldest crime family in New York City; they had stopped operating a few decades back but about 10 years ago they started wreaking havoc again in the city and re-establishing old supply lines and having more politicians in his pocket than out of it, but no one had even ever gotten a good look at the Boss, creating a mist of mystery and fear around him. Hermione and Harry didn’t have to do more than exchange looks; a glimpse at Gaunt was enough for them to risk their lives.

Draco, sat between them, was trembling and Hermione was stuck with the sudden realization that Draco knew who Gaunt was. Hermione silently looked at Harry, tilting her head asking a question she was sure her partner would understand, Harry shook his head telling that leaving this hiding spot would not be a good idea.

Still, they had to do something.

Hermione was running scenarios in her head when the door to the office space opened. Draco whimpered loudly enough for whoever had opened the door to ear. Without much thinking, Hermione shot out of cover and fired her gun directly at the man’s chest. BANG! Hermione’s brain took a fraction of a second to reassert itself after the gunshot left her ears ringing, and a plan – clumsy as it – was formed in her mind

“Run, Harry! Run!” At his shocked look she yelled again, “One of us has to make it. Go! You too, kid.”

They didn’t need anything more from her and took off running, Harry and Draco to the left and she to the right. They had a shot with only four people of the Mafia and with this much ground to cover they might make it.

“Hey, look there they are!” one of the men shouted, “Wait, is that Malfoy’s kid?”

“WHO CARES?” Roared another, “JUST FUCKING GRAB HIM! I GOT THE GIRL!”

Another shot ran out. BANG! Hermione took off running even as she heard someone getting closer behind her. And, then another shot. BANG! A cry – young and high-pitched – Draco. A thud as bodies fell to ground. Harry yelling. Another shot. BANG! Hermione panted as she felt the man chasing her, getting ever closer to her. She forgot Harry, whose voice she could still hear, yelling and pained. She forgot Draco, whose panicking sobs, still echoed in the warehouse. She forgot everything and just focused on getting out there alive. If just one of them made it, it would be enough.

But it wasn’t meant to be. A grunt from behind and Hermione shrieked in surprise as she was tackled to the floor. “Got you bitch!” The man yelled as he pinned her to the ground, Hermione tried to fight him off. The man on top of her growled, grabbed her more firmly to haul her off the ground and push her towards the centre of the warehouse.

Harry was already kneeling, bleeding heavily from a wound on his leg, but he continued resisting even as chains rattled with his fury. Draco, however, was unharmed but in the same position, kneeling and chained to the floor, and yet, he didn’t try to resist; the boy seemed resigned to his fate.

There were two men remaining, not counting Rodolphus, one was standing guard behind the Boss and the other was leading her to where Harry and Draco were, to force her to kneel and be chainedbesides them.

Hermione cried out as her knees hit the pavement, hard, and as the soldier behind her chained her to the floor, she turned to look at where the Boss of the Lestrange Family was kneeling, taking the hand of a wounded man and closing the dying man’s eyes, then bowing down to say a prayer over the now-dead man. So, she had managed to hit one; she hoped whoever it had been was someone important like the Underboss or the Consigliere. Hell, Hermione would settle for a Capo.

Hermione felt the men that had dragged her here, search for her gun and handling it to the other remaining guard who put it atop a nearby table alongside what Hermione guesses was Harry’s own gun. Hermione sighed, as she found herself weapon-less and plan-less.

“You killed our Capo with that gun, Detective.” The soldier snarled in behind her back, seemingly hearing her thoughts, and Hermione smirked in victory, which earned her backhanded slap that threw her to the ground, “Enjoy being smug while you can, you aren’t going to live for long.”

Rodolphus rose from paying his respects to the Capo, with a heavy sigh, “Augustus, enough. We’ll get our revenge.”

Before either of them could say anything else, the sound of rhythmic steps echoed in the warehouse and the silence that followed was heavy with anticipation. Had someone come and save them? No. It was unlikely, no one knew where they were. But whoever had come in was powerful, revered, easy to see by the way the two-remaining soldiers straightened.

“Gaunt.” Rodolphus said in greeting, dashing Hermione’s hopes. Still, at least she’d die knowing who the infamous and mysterious Boss was.

“Told you this was a bad idea.” Hermione stifled a gasp at the distinctive drawl. Hermione felt the soldier behind her tighten his hand over mouth and grip her tighter.

That voice… That croon-y voice that had sang her praises over dinner, whispered carelessly in her ear, led her into a nearby bed… That voice. That was the voice of the man she was seeing, Tom Riddle. Hermione tried to squirm out of the soldier’s hold, to see the face of the man for herself, to maybe see him being coerced into helping… To beg him to tell her they were lying and that he wasn’t the Boss of the newest – and yet, oldest – and most efficient crime family the city had ever seen.

Hermione finally, carefully as to not draw attention, twisted enough to see the man she had been sleeping with for the past 9 months and yes, there he was. Tall, taller than most certainly, and handsome with his well-maintained black hair shining in the light of sun coming through the windows, looking as if he was dreadfully calm and completely at ease to be in this grim place.

Hermione watched as the face that had become familiar to her, come fully into her field of vision and couldn’t help but flinch at the high-cheekbones she had ran her hands along, a pair of piercing blue eyes that bored into her, the thin lips that when stretched into a smile managed to make her catch her breath, the elegant nose and the long neck that matched the rest of his long and thin, although deceptively muscular, body. Dressed in a three-piece black suit, completed with a matching black tie, he looked ready for one of their dates. God. Bile rose in her throat and Hermione had to hold herself steady not to break down.

“You came alone?” Asked Rodolphus, more curious than suspicious.

Tom hummed disinterested, and repeated again, “I told you this was a bad idea.”

“I know. I know.” Rodolphus growled, “But this bitch and that fucker have been killing off my men for a year and a half now, I’m not going to let that stand.” Rodolphus this time, sighed, “I probably should have listened to you, but we do have her now.”

“Yes, you should have.” Tom agreed, easily, “That’s why you made me Consigliere.”

Hermione bit her lip to not gasp aloud, although Harry wasn’t so lucky and received a club in the head for his outburst. For Gaunt – a head of a Crime Family himself – to be made into a Consigliere, the most trusted person in the Administration, it was unheard of. Whatever Tom had done to endear himself to the Lestrange, it must have been something big.

“Ah, Hermione,” Tom finally addressed her, with the charm and smooth he always had, but the bastard made sure to keep himself away from approaching her, “I’m sorry to say you won’t be able to make our date tomorrow.”

“Fuck you!” It wasn’t her gave into her anger and made that outburst, but Harry who was seething in place, kneeling as she was, on the other side of Draco, “Fuck you! How dare you? How could you?”

“Augustus, please, gag him.” The soldier behind them did as Tom asked, even as Harry raged about him. Tom then turned his blue eyes towards Draco, “He is your nephew, is he not?” Asked Tom, pointing towards the kid between Hermione and Harry.

“My wife’s.” Rodolphus drawled out, immense anger about him.

Despite herself, Hermione felt a chill run through her spine, and she saw Harry do the same.

Rodolphus Lestrange’s wife… Bellatrix Lestrange, merely dubbed ‘The Woman’ since she seemed to be involved in every major crime family in one capacity or another although of course there was no proof, was a chill-inducing person. Originally coming from the Black Crime Family, where her father had been the Boss and had only had two girls for heirs, everyone thought the family finished, but much worse had happened…The Boss’s daughters had each married into distinct crime families, Narcissa to the Malfoys and Bellatrix to the Lestranges, effectively bolstering each family with men and supply routes.

That seemed to be the end of it, the Black Family was through after having been absorbed by the others. But then reports of the old Black trading posts, M.O.’s and business fronts roaring to life, putting the family on the map again…All clues led to Bellatrix being the mastermind behind the new life in her old family’s old grounds, although no proof was ever found. Even more concerning, the Gaunts and the Blacks seemed to be coordinating.

And, instead of having to wrangle with the four crime families squabbling amongst themselves, the city had to start wrangling and negotiating with three strong ones.

“Your wife’s…” Tom repeated, blue eyes analysing seemingly every part of the scene, he gestured again towards Draco, “Is he the traitor?”

“It appears so.” The cold, calculating tone of Rodolphus voice didn’t spring much hope that Draco would live to see the day.

“Uncle! NO!” Draco yelled, before the soldier behind them gagged him. The boy’s blue eyes – warmer than Tom’s, but much colder than Ron’s were at the thought Hermione shook her head, Ron didn’t belong here in this desolate place and Tom didn’t deserve to be in her head any longer – were wide and teary, pleading for mercy from a man that had none to give.

“Shut up, boy, you’ve caused enough trouble. My damn wife will have my head.” Rodolphus grumbled, as he took a drag of his cigarette.

“That’s what you get for making Bellatrix your Underboss,” Tom chuckled, even as he refused Rodolphus offer of a cigarette, “Too much power. Although, she does wield it well.”

It was then that the sound of high heels, reached their ears, the click-clack of the shoes on the pavement drowning out every sound in the desolate warehouse. It was as if the mere mention of her name had been enough to summon her. Hermione scarcely had to turn to see the woman that had arrived, her present was felt with no need to accentuate it by her image or her voice. Still, having read but descriptions of her, Hermione couldn’t help but be curious about The Woman’s appearance.

She turned to her side and the first thing she noticed was the deep, black hair styled into a high bun with curls on the side settling nicely into the beaded headband which despite looking like the rest of the country seem to shine with unparalleled rival. A long-beaded necklace adorned her long and elegant neck, while her golden earring dropped to almost hit her slender shoulder. Her dress – a sleeveless evening dress, meaning she probably came right off one of her speakeasies – was deep black accentuating her figure, and came to rest bellow her knee with a waist drop lined with beads to match her headband, and it gave off a silky quality to it. On her feet, the heels, high and black and T-strapped completed her outfit. To the casual observer The Woman blended in with the other high-class women, if only to attract attention for her exceptional beauty, but there was a hint of something dangerous in her walk, something that Hermione knew would be the end of them.

“Auntie!” Draco, shaking himself out of the gag, yelled from between them. Hermione and Harry looked over Draco’s head, hoping against hope that at least the police’s source would still make it out even if they wouldn’t, “They are-…”

Before Draco could finish, Bellatrix snapped her finger and the soldier near Lestrange shot at his Boss, once and then twice. Rodolphus Lestrange fell to floor, grunting and moaning in pain as the bullets that entered his kneecap and abdomen in a way that wounded him but didn’t kill him… yet. Hermione doubted by the way Bellatrix was acting that Rodolphus would last the night.

“Bella!” The man groaned and yelled, twisting on the floor, blood sputtering out with the effort. A grim sign on all accounts. By the time the dawn was through, New York City’s two most profitable boroughs would be under new management.

“Oh, shut him up, Theo.” Bellatrix waved the man off. Hermione watched as the large man that had been beside Rodolphus all morning, put a cloth in Rodolphus’ mouth effectively shutting him up. It seemed that the woman wanted him to suffer… Or to hear why she had done what she’d done.

“You’re late.” Tom said, smirking, remarkably calm in the face of one of his conspirators being under a hostile takeover… Hermione then deduced that Tom had already known about the coup then, which boded badly for everyone. Two of the major three Crime Families plotting together was never good, but when the wife – who was also the Underboss – of one conspired with the Boss - who also a Consigliere to said first family – of the other, to seemingly have the wife take over… It was a hot mess of a disaster.

Worse still, it seemed, because Bellatrix bypassed everyone and walked towards Tom, pulling him down by his neck, kissing him soundly on the mouth. Hermione was unable to tear her eyes from the passionate display as Tom’s icy facade seemed to thaw enough to grasp the woman closer to him, his hands firmly on her waist and her hair.

Hermione heard Rodolphus let out one last muffled, pained yell over the cloth in his mouth and she knew it had nothing to do with the gunshot wounds… It was the betrayal of seeing his wife in the arms of another. A pain, Hermione was agonized to find, that she shared; her heart seemed shattered in two, more so than when she found out he was the so-called ‘Gaunt’.

Bellatrix and Tom separated, begrudgingly, although they remained in each other’s personal space and exchanged whispered words. Bellatrix then, finally, turned towards them; her eyes travelling the three of them kneeling. Hermione watched as The Woman caressed Tom’s arm before walking over to them. The soldier behind Hermione and Draco tightened the grip on their shoulders as Bellatrix drew nearer, making sure that no one would jump The Woman when she got too close.

“Well, yes, Narcissa was bugging me about Draco, again.” The Woman answered Tom and as she got closer still, Hermione found she had striking grey eyes which were currently fixed on Draco. Hermione watched as she took Draco’s chin in her hand lifted his face up, making him look at her, “Now, now, Draco… Your mama says I should leave you alone, and let you go your own way, but apparently your own way involves the police, a wire and selling your family out…” Draco was trembling, “How shameful.”

“Auntie…” Draco tried, his voice coming out steady, chin still in Bellatrix’s hands, even if therein laid a hint of fear, “… They are saying I sold you out, but I didn’t! I mean, you wanted these Detectives here, right?”

Bellatrix snarled, and shoved off Draco’s head away from her, “You should leave the lying for those able to lie, boy.” With that, Bellatrix took a step back, the look in her eyes undecipherable, but Draco seemed to know it well.

“No, Auntie!” Draco was crying, tears running down his face unabashed now, his age showing as he pleaded with his aunt for his life, “I’ll change, I swear. I’ll never-,” Before Draco could finish making empty promises a loud ‘BANG!’ echoed in the desolate warehouse, and the only thing that left Draco’s mouth was a surprised sob as his body fell to the ground, lifeless.

Hermione looked behind her and saw the soldier that had been holding Draco and her looking at the lifeless body as surprised as she was. Hermione knew that Bellatrix hadn’t done it, having been looking at her the whole time, that left… No, God, no. Turning her eyes to Tom, she found him hand still raised with her police issue gun smoking in his hand. Bile rose in her throat, not so much for the smell of blood although it was potent, but more for the cruel act that a man she had admired just committed.

“So that was a gun in your pocket,” Bellatrix sighed, shaking her head, disappointed, “And here I thought you were happy to see me.”

Hermione shook her head, disgusted by Bellatrix’s heartless reaction to the death of her nephew, traitor or no. Family first seemed to be the one Mafia motto that Hermione could get behind, and yet, here was The Woman, committing most foul sin against kin. Hermione didn’t dare look at Harry, for she knew that her partner was seething, the energy coming off of him was almost overwhelming.

Tom chuckled, a sound she had heard a dozen times but had never rang as true as it did this time, “We can talk about it later.” He said, his tone full of promise, as he put her gun back on the table where it had been before.

The Woman smiled back, “I can’t wait.”

Hermione felt more than saw the soldier behind her shaking, and Hermione couldn’t be sure, but she felt that he disapproved of the couple, their little affair and their coup. Maybe she and Harry could exploit this, but not when Harry wouldn’t even look at her, his furious gaze still fixed on Draco’s lifeless body.

“Congratulations on your wife’s pregnancy, Detective.” Bellatrix Lestrange said as one of her husband’s – or just hers, now? – soldier, Theo, bought over a chair for her to sit on. Hermione felt more than saw Harry tremble beside her, her partner terrified by the fact that the woman knew of his new family. When Harry said nothing, and kept his head lowered, with a snap of Bellatrix fingers the soldier behind them pulled her and Harry’s heads up by their hair so they might look at Bellatrix in the eyes, “Mister Potter, I said ‘Congratulations’.”

When the pain of having her hair pulled and her head yanked up subsided, Hermione saw Bellatrix sitting on that same chair, looking like a queen on a throne. Hermione felt Harry stiffen himself, unwilling to show fear in the presence of The Woman.

“Thank you, Bellatrix.” The eyes of Tom and the two-remain soldiers narrowed at Harry for his use of The Woman’s name, “But you can go fuck yourself with your congratulations.” The man behind Harry and herself growled at the detective. Hermione felt her heart catch in her throat… Harry was as good as dead.

“Mm-hmm,” Bellatrix nodded, looking disinterested, when the beautiful women snapped her finger again, but this time said, “Rookwood!” Hermione had barely time to close her eyes when the pistol behind Harry fired directly into her partner’s chest. Hermione bit her lip, willing the tears in her eyes not to fall. Oh, Harry… I’m so, so sorry.

“Why?” Hermione asked, tears clouding her voice despite her best efforts, “Why did you…?”

“Why did I kill him?” Bellatrix interrupted, baffled, eyebrow lifting in confusion, “I think it’s rather obvious, Detective. He was in my speakeasy last night even as he arrests those who visit those places frequently, flipped my nephew, and shot at my men.” She then turned to Tom, a pout to her lips, “Bloody hell, Tom, you told me she was smart…”

"She is, Bella.” Tom’s voice, as it had done all evening, stabbed at her heart. The kiss hadn’t helped… But the way he said the woman’s nickname, the same nickname the woman’s husband had uttered before he died was like pouring salt in a wound.

“Well, darling, I’m not seeing much of it, I admit.”

“I meant,” Hermione tried again, voice more-or-less steady, interrupting the banter that was sure to ensue, “Why do all of this?”

“Well, Detective, I thought it was obvious.”

The first thought that came over was that Bellatrix had wanted to be with Tom and her husband was simply in the way. But thinking about it, it became clear. The way that the Black and Gaunt family seemed to be operating, the way that Lestrange was organizing his businesses… It was more than a crime of passion perpetuated by lust. It was a business deal.

“You wanted your husband’s power, almost as much as you wanted him.” Hermione gestured towards Tom.

“Hmm… rather easy a question, Detective, you don’t get any points for this one either I’m afraid.”

“And how?” Hermione asked, ignoring The Woman’s goading, but unable to stop her curiosity from sprawling, “How did you…?”

“Taking over my husband’s men took me a while longer than I care to admit,” the woman spoke, her hands running over her silky dress, taking special care to remove any piece of lint from the where the slit ended at her hip, “Of course, I do have to thank you for continuing to make use of the information we passed to you and continuing to kill my husband’s loyal men.”

“W-What?” Hermione stumbled and before she could blink, both Bellatrix and Tom pointed their guns at the two remaining soldiers and shot at them, hitting the two targets square in the chest. The men’s eyes were already glassing over before they hit the ground.

The issued ‘BANG!’ echoed in the warehouse and rang in Hermione’s ears, the sound seemingly much louder than it had any right to be. Hermione closed her eyes tightly, both against the ringing in her head and the knowledge that she’d be next. When no other shot ran out, and she found herself still breathing, Hermione opened her eyes to look at the two-remaining people in the room.

“W-Why?” She asked again, but now significantly more confused.

“Again with the questions.” Bellatrix sighed, as she cleaned the weapon in her hand and laid it besides Harry, clearly making it look that there had been a shootout between him and the soldiers, “Blindingly obvious answer again, too, Detective Granger. You are disappointing me…”

Hermione thought back to the way the soldier behind her had been shaking and realized that the question was a dumb one, indeed.

“These men still followed your husband,” Hermione said, “Or rather, they didn’t follow you enough.”

“Yes, good.” Bellatrix said as she retook her seat in the chair, “Of course, there is the issue of loose ends. We couldn’t just let them know about the specifics of Rodolphus death, not after selling out so many of Rodolphus’ men, most of which these two had been comrades with. They’d never accept me and Tom as the new heads. Loyalty is important, after all.”

“But why go through all this trouble?” Hermione asked, again, “You could have killed him more easily at home.”

“Well, you can’t just kill a Mafia head, Detective.” Bellatrix explained, as if to a baby, “We needed a motive, someone to blame it on. We started this several years ago, I admit, but then, this one here,” she pointed to her side, towards Tom, “got me pregnant and plans got delayed, some of the men switched from my control to my husband’s and vice versa. It was a mess.”

The girl she had seen in the company of Lestrange’s men in various photographs… The dark-haired little girl with pigtails and pretty red dress was the heiress to the Lestrange Crime Family – or was the Black Crime Family resurrected once more? – but more than that, she was Tom’s. Tom’s. He had a daughter and a… wife, or maybe a comare, when this was over?... out there while he had been screwing with her head.

“We could have done something after Del was born, but…”

“It was too risky,” Tom said, certain, pursing his lips and wincing as he did so, “We had to make sure that people would respect Bellatrix, that no question of Delphie’s parentage would be put in question. She’ll always be a Lestrange.” He seemed aggravated by the thought of his daughter having another man’s name, “But at least she’s safe.”

“And we’ll tell her, eventually,” Bellatrix said, nonchalantly, “Although I’m sure she’ll be elated to live with her uncle Tom, for now.”

“In a few months.” Tom said, tempering Bellatrix’s apparent speedy plans, “We have to wait for everyone to adapt, although I’m sure people will push us to act sooner rather than later, we’ve planted the image of us together for too long. People have expectations.” Bellatrix hummed in agreement, Hermione watched as Tom tightened his grip on her shoulder, and said, smirking at The Woman seating on the chair, “Have a few siblings for Delphie, maybe.”

“Oh, shut up.” Bellatrix said, and Hermione could hear the smile she wasn’t able to hide.

“That wasn’t a ‘no’.”

Bellatrix hummed, as she caressed the hand on her shoulder, “I’ll think about it.”

As Hermione turned from the loving display, part of her longed to beg Tom for her life, longed to say to him that he could have her whatever way he wanted if that was his wish or that she could disappear forever and never step foot in this wretched city again… But she knew, whatever he had had with her was fake. Looking him looking at Bellatrix with a softness in his gaze that was uncharacteristic of him… He had never looked at her that way, not even when faking to be in love with her.

But even as part of her begged her to plead for her life, the bigger part of her wrestled to rebel, to shout in their faces that they would be caught and brought to justice… But she knew the likelihood of that was unlikely, Hermione knew that the police were as much in the pocket of the Mafia as the politicians were. Odds were that Bellatrix and Tom would get away with this, scot free. Still, another question plagued her mind.

“How are you planning to contain this? Two detectives, an heir to one of the Crime Families, a Boss to another, a capo, and couple of prominent soldiers. All dead.” Hermione said, contemplating, “The two of you escaping, and then taking over is a very big coincidence.”

“Well, the public story will be that Rodolphus was at the warehouse to make an appraisal of the place to invest, Draco came along with him to learn the trade and got caught in shootout between the police and known Mafia members, then a gas pipe burst and the building went in flames.” Tom explained, “Rather amateur-ish but decent enough for the newspapers.”

“As for our families, something more elaborate,” Bellatrix continued from Tom, “It is well-known that you have been a thorn in our side for quite some time, Detective, something that Tom and I engineered, of course, by giving you intel to arrest many of our least loyal, more problematic members. The meeting that took place here was, of course, spread about the families relaying the intent of catching you, your partner and your ‘informant’.”

“We’ll pin it on Augustus, he has some connections with a former lover in the police,” Tom then, took over for Bellatrix, gesturing to the dead man behind Hermione, “So you arrive and you, your partner, and Augustus overpowered Rodolphus, killing him and that’s when Bellatrix and I ran. Then Draco, ah, we didn’t plan Draco,” He said chuckling, faintly, “He was never meant to come. Still, some cover will have to be made, about him coming here with Rodolphus and dying as a hero by sacrificing himself, injured after the shootout, to set off the explosives.” He snorted, “Worked out rather well, that.”

“Cissa will buy it, if only because it makes her son a hero.” Bellatrix explained, “Of course, we always planned on having him killed. Stupid boy was always too clever for his own good and far too close with Rodolphus,” Bellatrix ‘tsk’ed, disapprovingly, “something that will, at least, work in our favour for him being here.”

“So, Draco was always going to die then?” She tried, one last time, to make the people in front of her show some sort of emotion, some sort of remorse for the life they led. Hermione should have saved her breath, because Bellatrix only chuckled.

“I admit, I had hoped that he wasn’t stupid enough to come here today, and that he would give up on the foolish idea of becoming an informant and convince him that he had a bright future if he kept his mouth shut, but it is as it is… But don’t concern yourself with my nephew, Detective, because everyone here but the two of us,” long fingers on elegant hands pointed to herself and to Tom with a commanding ease, “will die today. No loose ends. That includes you.”

Hermione shook her head, helplessly, there was nothing left to be done. She lowered her head, indicating that her questions were over, that she was, if not ready, resigned enough to her fate. She heard Bellatrix chuckle softly, almost pityingly at her and couldn’t find it in herself to care.

“You want to do the honours?” Bellatrix asked softly, and the part of Hermione that couldn’t help but care for the man that had been her lover for 9-months was comforted by the fact that Tom, if nothing else, had someone to care for him.

“You do it,” Tom said, carelessly, as he fiddled with a lighter in his hand, “I still have to set up the explosive. Besides, I know you’re dying to.” He finished with a smirk on his lips. Seemed like he didn’t have the same consideration for her, but Hermione wasn’t surprised, couldn’t bring herself to care, she was numb, her fate decided.

Hermione heard the heels clicking on the ground as Bellatrix got close and had to fight off the chill that enveloped her body as Bellatrix tipped her head up, hand on her chin, to make her look in the calculating grey eyes, and a cruel elated smile of the blood-red lips belonging to the woman that would end her life.

As she felt the barrel of the gun against her temple, a thought ran through her head that she couldn’t stop; she wished she could have, even just once, felt the taste of smiling lips on hers, of worker’s hands on her body, of running her hands over the ginger locks of a man so good and so nice and so uproarious as Ronald Weasley.

With that thought in her head, she barely felt the gun discharge into her head.

#bellamort #fanfic #mine #anti-tomione kinda?#not too much just Tom being Tom #Character Death #mafia AU

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