Chapter 7: Chapter 7Chapter Text
"Okay, ready?" Miles asked, slipping his goggles back on over his eyes.
"Ready," Hermione nodded, her eyes cast forward towards the small object in the middle of the messy garden.
"Three…two…one…," he flicked his wand.
The ground pulsed under her boots and a loud explosion rang out. A small plume of black smoke rose from the object, rolling upwards until it met the top of their wards where it dispersed in all directions. Miles ripped off his goggles with a grin and bounded over to the site. Hermione got out from behind her makeshift blockade and wiped the dirt off the back of her khakis. She pulled her goggles up to her forehead and grabbed the black notebook on the lawn chair next to her.
Her pen poised over the chart, she called out to Miles, "Readings?"
Miles flicked his wand again and a tape measure stretched across the lawn. He tilted his head and called back, "24.5 by 18-centimetre footprint," he flicked his wand again and a thermometer stuck itself into the centre of the brown box, "141 Celsius. Aaaand, let's see," he reached over to the decibel meter they had placed nearby. "Huh, still 120 dB," he frowned, staring down at the object.
Hermione set down the notebook after logging everything in the corresponding columns and made her way over.
Standing beside his towering form, she looked down at the fortified brown box. It was filled with gunpowder and a newly designed magical compound they created intended to silence the reaction upon explosion. Miles came up with the idea after learning about silencers on muggle guns, and they had been toying with the formula all weekend.
"Well, the footprint got smaller," Hermione noted, staring at the patch of blackened grass, "But that's not exactly helpful. Do you think we are reducing the strength of the explosion by adding more of the mixture?"
Miles was scratching at the stubble that had grown on his cheeks, his brown eyes staring down at the box in thought, "I don't think so. The temperature is staying relatively constant. We haven't changed the mass of the gunpowder."
"I don't understand how the footprint changes without changing the temperature or sonic output. It's like our mixture is creating more expansion without actually creating more expansion," she mused.
"Maybe we need to go back to the formula again," he sighed, just as his stomach grumbled loudly.
She chuckled and pushed him playfully on the shoulder, "Let's eat first. Quite sure we could use a little break anyway."
They divided and conquered on lunchmaking and Miles ate three turkey sandwiches in the time Hermione finished one. They finally got to talking about research again as the heavy meal digested a bit.
"Oh, any luck with the Animagus scent?" she asked, suddenly remembering her last visit as a cauldron hissed from the floor.
"Actually, yeah" he nodded, putting down his cup of tea and standing up to grab another journal filled with notes and scribbles. He threw in on the table and flip the pages until he found what he was looking for.
"Mmmmm, there," he flipped it around and pointed to what he was referring to. Hermione could hardly read his chicken scratch writing, but it looked like another table of measurements. They tended to work in tables and charts, so she tried to discern what she was looking at.
Miles jumped in and helped her after fifteen seconds of increased squinting efforts, "There's a distinct difference in scent between someone in their Animagus form and their human form. I had a few friends help out who are registered, and we tested it with a few different noses."
"All human?" Hermione asked, listening intently.
"No! That's the cool bit. I have a cousin who knows a werewolf, and another who used to work with a vampire. The scent differences are off the charts for them, but basically undetectable for humans as you'd expect."
"So…what's more potent?" she asked.
"Well, human form is more potent and complex, but the werewolf could still detect a known Animagus scent from half a mile away. Pretty incredible, really. The vampire could detect the Animagus from 600 metres."
Hermione furrowed her brow, "You said known scent. Can they tell it's an Animagus versus an animal without knowing beforehand?"
Miles grinned, "Yep. They said they would have known is because there was a layer of the scent that was distinctly human. 'Like sniffing perfume on a dog' the werewolf told me," he chuckled, "She said it was too unusual to be an animal."
The Raven hummed in agreement, "That's…really interesting, thanks Miles."
"No problem! Hopefully that answers your client's question," he shrugged, putting the notebook away.
"Ohhh, yes, I think they will have a much clearer picture now," she said dryly. That would definitely explain how Fleur could detect her. She wished she knew more about Veelas and their capabilities, but their secretive culture made it nearly impossible to uncover without making herself more noticeable.
Miles was too busy to notice the change in tone. He had already grabbed their silencing mixture and was heading back outside.
"Come on! I think I have an idea on this," he shouted. Hermione smiled and finished her tea in two gulps and joined him back in the sunny garden for more pyrotechnics.
By the late afternoon they had made much more progress. It turns out their formula worked on plastic explosives, but not powder-based materials so they adjusted their mixture so that it was more of a paste than a liquid and viola! Mostly soundless explosions.
The sun had sunk hours ago and it was far past dinnertime now. She still had a few cases to go through tonight so she asked Miles if they could pick up where they left off next week. She was slowly cleaning up the backyard under a starless sky when Hermione felt a tugging sensation in her navel. She groaned internally. This was not good timing.
She flicked her wrist and everything shot across the lawn and onto the kitchen table. Miles was organising the charts when she strode in.
"Hey, sorry," she started, "I've got to rush, I forgot I have an early meeting tomorrow."
"No worries," he waved her off, and stood to walk her out. They often acted out the charade of coming and going through the front door considering Miles was in a Muggle neighbourhood. "Oh, here," he flicked his wand back towards the kitchen and a black notebook came flying towards them, "For the Animagus project. If you need the findings," he explained with a shrug.
"Oh, perfect. Thanks again for this, I really appreciate it. I'll see you next weekend?" she asked, already halfway out the door.
"Yep, I'll be here. See you, Jean. Don't work too hard," he said with a grin.
She rolled her eyes, "Oh, you know me. I would never."
She could hear him chuckle a little behind the closed door. Tightening her coat around her as the wind cut across her face, she hurried her pace up the street as another tug pulled at her stomach.
"Oh bloody hell, fine!" she grumbled under her breath, "Can't even have one quiet weekend."
She stopped under a broken streetlight and closed her eyes as the tugging pulled at her again, only this time she turned on the spot to follow it.
When Fleur first started in international crime, she had a few hard lessons to learn. First, there was no such thing as good and bad. She'd met muggle police chiefs who were cleared of rape charges and convicted murderers who were proven innocent after forty years. Just because your profession was one of an upstanding citizen didn't always mean you were one.
The second thing Fleur had to learn was that sometimes you had to do a little of a bad thing to get a lot of a good thing. That sounded like an excuse for bad behaviour, and it basically is, but it's just the way things are done. Everything is grey and no one is a saint no matter how much they claim to be. Except maybe Harry Potter, but he's an anomaly.
It's not like it was illegal to go undercover, but she was supposed to be doing it with the force behind her, not on her own. Desperate times, as they say. Another murder in Belgium cropped up this week and she felt like time and control were slipping through her fingers like water.
The blonde was staking out a British nightclub that often frequented the less-than-innocent magical clientele. She knew she was recognisable so she had a glamour and a passable disguise of a brunette with a short haircut. It was the thrall that was trickier to mask, but there was not much she could do about it. Fleur walked up to the sparse bar. She had thought this over at length. She didn't want to mark herself as an outsider, but sometimes being up front was the best way to navigate around these people. It could bite her in the perfect ass, but she didn't plan on staying long.
She sauntered over to the bar like she knew where she was going. The bartender caught her eye and made his way over. He was overweight and had short grey hair that shone under the pulsing lights.
He leaned over the bar when he got close enough, "What can I get you, love?"
"I'm looking for someone," she said brusquely, making sure to look at him through her eyelashes.
"Oh? Who might that be?"
"The Raven," she replied, and he straightened up quickly and looked around. Merde. A few moments passed, and Fleur was prepared to make a run for it, but he finally relaxed again. Evidently, whatever threat he suspected was not there. He leaned against the bar and met her eyes again, curiosity and wariness evident on his face.
"What's a pretty little thing like you doing looking for her? Got an ex who needs disappearing?" he jeered, but his voice was distinctly quieter.
She just smiled sweetly, letting him draw his own conclusions.
"Do you know how I can find her or not?" she asked.
"Sorry, love, I just make the drinks. I don't get mixed in all that. Ha! Mixed, get it?" he snapped his dishrag onto the table, "I'm a bartender," he looked to her expectantly. The veela just stared at him unflinchingly until he shrugged and moved on, "Anyways, you're in the right spot. I'm sure someone here can help you out," he gestured vaguely to the establishment.
Fleur bit back a snarky retort and ordered a glass of red wine instead, ignoring his advice and choosing not to look around. She'd have to assess the club a little more in detail before seeking out VIP booths and getting cosy with criminals. She'd need a backstory or at the very least a second wand for backup. The blonde was halfway through her glass when the young woman sitting two stools away spoke up.
"I know the Raven," she said with a faint accent Fleur tried to place. Maybe Portuguese? The Auror looked over to her and held back her surprise.
The woman was stunning. She had skin the colour of a smooth espresso and long, silky jet-black hair that tumbled in gentle waves down her back. Her tight cream dress accentuated her feminine curves, and a manicured hand glittering with obscenely large diamond rings and luxurious bracelets was twirling a glass toothpick around the olive in her martini. Her eyes were so black when she finally met Fleur's gaze that the blonde couldn't see her pupils.
"What do you want with her?" she asked, her white teeth flashing in contrast to her smooth skin in the low lighting.
"I don't think that's any of your business," the veela replied immediately, but the back of her neck prickled with the possibility of actually getting somewhere.
The woman chuckled, and the silkiness of it made her want to shiver in discomfort, "I suppose that's true. Just be careful. She's…different," she said. Fleur frowned, but then schooled her face again. She was trying to get a read this woman but was having some difficulty, despite her openness. Her tone felt…off, somehow.
"'Ow so?" she questioned carefully.
The woman shrugged half-heartedly but Fleur noted she spoke with no hesitation in a dull voice this time, "She can be everywhere and nowhere," she explained, "She makes you feel watched—all the time—even when you know she probably isn't. She is gifted, but also frustratingly down-to-earth. She's…dangerous, but charming; captivating, if you get a real glimpse at her." She sighed like a woman in heartbreak and the veela felt something acrid in her chest spreading.
Fleur cleared her throat, "You sound like you know her well," she tried to say it lightly, but her tongue felt heavy in her mouth. She took another sip of wine.
"I had a glimpse or two a few years ago," the woman said shortly, but the veela felt like that wasn't the entire story, "Then again," she continued, "Maybe I haven't, who knows? That's part of the allure I suppose," she said dryly, taking a sip of her own drink. Her eyes were focused on the stem of her glass, as if the blonde wasn't even there.
"Now you make it sound like you're in love," Fleur replied with a wry smile. The woman looked over at her again.
"Love, hm?" she chuckled smoothly again, and her eyebrows pulled together before she let out another short huff of a laugh, "Não. Não é possível," Fleur frowned, but picked up the meaning after a moment. The woman let out a deep sigh and continued, "I had a little phase where I wanted more, but who knows what that means. It doesn't matter anyway. No one can be in love with the Raven," she said matter-of-factly, but her voice sounded far away. Her eyes were watching some movie that Fleur couldn't see.
"Why not?"
"Because the Raven is no one," she said confidently now, coming back to reality, "It's like being with a mirror, or a boggart," she took another swig of her drink, "In my culture, we have many demons, and my small village believed greatly in their power. When I was six or so, another boy told me the besta-fura would come for me in the night. This was not a nice threat you see. Cuca is the demon for children who misbehave, and we heard that all the time, but besta-fura? Well, I cried and cried, determined I could not go home, or I would put my family at risk too," she smiled sadly at the memory.
Fleur nodded, silently urging her to continue.
"There was an elder woman named Giovanna who lived on the outskirts of the village, and mainly kept to herself after her children moved away. She found me and asked me what happened. When I told her she just let out this big, bellied laugh and told me to follow her. We walked to the woods, and she told me that besta-fura is a legend just as much as la Cuca," she paused to take another sip and rubbed her lips together before continuing quietly.
"She said that the true devil walks amongst us, and that I would never know him any differently from Giovanna herself if I came across him. The devil would look like me, talk like me, and know all my secrets and desires. The devil would be whatever it needs to be for me to trade my skin for sex and sin, she said. Now, I was young and I nodded along and ran off back home. I was just happy that I wouldn't be responsible for the besta-fura killing my family, but I never forgot what Giovanna said. I didn't really think much of it, but there are some people you meet that just…they can see too much. And you fall for them, and then what? You don't realise you sold half your soul until it's already gone," her voice trailed off, and her eyes were looking at something not there once again.
The veela's brows came together.
"So…you think…the Raven is the devil?" Fleur asked slowly, disbelief lacing her voice.
The woman let out a short laugh, her eyes gleaming in the light as she looked over at the blonde, "Não, minha querida, it's just a story. I am saying that I don't know if what I saw was really her. She's dangerous. She makes you see what you want to see, and by the end, you have no idea if it was your own fantasy filling in the gaps or reality. That is why she's so deadly."
Fleur frowned, and the woman finished her drink and popped the olive into her mouth before standing. She fished a sickle out her purse and left it on the bar before putting on her coat.
"You don't need to find her. She'll find you. She probably already knows you're looking."
Fleur's eyes narrowed at that, "'Ow does she know that?"
The woman shrugged as she buttoned her coat up, "No idea. She just does. Good luck," she said, and then she left.
Fleur watched her back as she left the club, her mind buzzing. The barman came back. She ordered a martini for herself, thinking she needed something a little stronger than wine before she tried to dissect whatever the hell all that meant and why her heart was still pumping sour jealousy into her veins.
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Another week and she was still running in circles. Dead-end after dead-end was putting her in a foul mood. Her boss at the Ministry was still annoyingly confident she could figure this out and find the Raven. Fleur had told him she was looking for a female with impressive magical and concealment abilities but hadn't mentioned the fact that she knew who it was. She wasn't sure how she was going to get out of that one forever.
It was as difficult as expected to track her down. A few nights at the dodgy club in London gave her some insight into the types of business deals that were being hashed there, but she was still nowhere closer to locating the woman. Rambourg was pushing her to keep going on her own though, even when she admitted she was at a standstill on the one lead she had.
After the first night, Fleur backtracked and went back to the boring rule book. She requested backup, and she sat through four nights of "undercover" in which a team was outside waiting just in case something went down, but it was no use. Nothing happened and everyone at the establishment had the same sort of vague answer:
"If you want to find her and she wants to find you, she will."
Fleur at least had an idea of how that worked now, but she couldn't exactly be certain without completely scaring the brunette off again. It was putting her on edge. Everything in her logical brain was telling her Hermione was dangerous and not to be trusted. Based on the whispers she heard at the club, the Raven was a well-paid and well-respected Jane-of-all-trades, and master-of-all. It seemed that there wasn't a job she couldn't do well, but she was picky about what she chose, evidently. Fleur hadn't been able to inquire about why without setting off alarms.
Her gut was telling her there was more to this story, but she acknowledged her heart could be overshadowing that feeling more than anything. She wanted to be wrong. She wanted this all to be some sick joke that everyone seemed to be in on. She wanted to wake up from this ridiculous nightmare and find herself alone in her flat with no clue as to where and what the younger witch was doing with her days. She wished she had never seen her at that café in Nice. She wished her life hadn't been upturned by a genius with the most incredible honey eyes. She wished…she just wished she could talk to her.
Fleur gave up on her spiralling thoughts to focus on her surroundings again. She was meeting someone tonight regarding the case. This was another information-gathering meeting, however this time her boss had set it up for her with someone he knew to have multiple contacts in the business. Some big wig detective from Belgium who did an undercover stint a few years ago and could help her put some faces to certain names. She was told to look decent, so Fleur was in some smart trousers, a cashmere turtleneck, and black boots. Her hair was down and curled slightly, and she had hastily thrown on a splash of make-up. Even in her mostly casual attire, she felt she was overdressed.
The restaurant was completely empty except for a few kitchen staff, which she thought was strange considering it was nearly seven o'clock on a Friday. Then again, considering the décor perhaps that wasn't all that surprising. Fleur looked around at the empty restaurant, taking in the gaudy chandelier and outdated wallpaper since she had nothing else to look at. The red carpet was worn and discoloured from constant foot traffic. A tank in the corner held a few little stripey blue fish that were idly swimming in circles. A basket of bread and a carafe of water was placed at the centre of her table. She eyed the paper napkins distrustfully and chewed on the inside of her cheek. Rambourg was going to get an earful from her next time she saw him, and she was picking the restaurants from now on.
Apparently, her dinner companion had no sense of etiquette, either, for they were nearly twenty minutes late. She told herself she'd give them ten more minutes before she'd give up and call it a night. The leftover curry and bottle of wine chilling in her fridge were practically calling her name by this point.
With a sigh, she unstopped the carafe and poured herself a glass just as she saw a pair of shoes enter her peripheral vision. They came to stand next to her as she finished pouring, and she was about to tell the man off for being so late when coffee and sandalwood filled her senses. Her breath caught in her throat as she looked up.
Hermione was looking down with a devilish smirk, holding her hands behind her back. She was dressed in tailored grey cigarette pants, white sneakers, and a leather jacket. Her hair was in a bun with a few wisps framing her sun-kissed face. With a wry smile, she moved one hand from behind her back, presenting a single pink rose. The rose was being slowly spun between her thumb and index finger as she shyly looked at the still-stunned blonde.
Their last interaction came flooding back to the veela and Fleur's look of surprise quickly transformed into one of anger. Hermione raised her hands when she saw her expression change, "Woah, woah, hold on. I come in peace," she said, and gestured to the other chair, "May I join you for a moment? It seems your date has not arrived yet."
"It's not a date," Fleur said through her teeth, "'Ow do you keep finding me?"
Hermione grinned again but didn't answer. Instead, she unzipped her jacket before pulling out the chair and sitting down, perfectly at ease. She wordlessly picked up the carafe and poured herself a glass of water before sticking the rose in the half-empty bottle to decorate their table.
A lengthy pause encompassed them as Fleur regarded her new guest with suspicion and her guest regarded her with unveiled curiosity.
"You've been looking for me," she finally said, reaching forward and grabbing a piece of bread from the wire basket. Fleur watched her spread a little butter on it before taking a small bite. She swallowed, and blue eyes narrowed.
"You know why," she replied angrily. Hermione hummed and nodded, chewing on another bite of bread.
She finally swallowed again before taking a small sip of water, "That I do…" she trailed off with a frown, looking into the glass with a confused look on her face. Fleur scoffed.
"You're the Raven," the veela said firmly, leaning forward, and amber eyes looked up from her glass in surprise. Fleur could feel them roaming over her face, her hair, and finally landing on her lips before she met her eyes again. She refrained from squirming in her seat at the steady gaze.
Hermione smiled serenely, setting down the bread roll and shaking out the white napkin set out.
"You work quickly, I'll give you that, but I'm not the person you should be looking for," she explained. Fleur continued to glare. She knew this already, but something about Hermione telling her how to do her own job was rubbing her in all the wrong ways. Like she couldn't figure it out for herself? Who the hell does she think she is telling her who she should or shouldn't be looking for? As if she'd listen to her anyway! She is a criminal! Fleur could feel her temper start to rise and her pulse quicken. She schooled her features, much like she was used to doing in the interrogation room.
She leaned forward and spoke in a dangerously low voice, "I am 'aving a 'ard time believing anything coming out of your mouth right now," she spat. Her hands were starting to shake and she clenched them into fists under the table. Goddess, this woman could get under her skin so easily.
Hermione grimaced slightly and met her eyes sincerely, "Well, that's what I am here to rectify, sort of. And, to apologise. For last time…I—I didn't expect things to get so out of control. I'm sorry."
Icy blue eyes hardened even more, distrust evident in her closed-off body language, "You are not forgiven."
She let out a long breath, "Right, well I suppose that is to be expected."
"You—"
"What do you know about the Raven?" she interrupted, wiping her mouth gently with the napkin.
Fleur narrowed her eyes at the movement. The arrogance of it all, and that fucking smirk still stretched across her lips as she waited for a response. The blonde lifted both hands to count off on her fingers as she spoke, "I know she's a powerful witch. I know she has a taboo on her name. I know she's an unknown contract operative with a unique set of skills used for very illegal activities. I know she is nearly impossible to find in both the muggle and magical communities. I know she is the top suspect for the connection of thirteen murders across Europe, and I know it's you, 'Ermione," the blonde reported hotly, her voice shaking with anger as she tried to keep her volume down.
Hermione leaned back into her chair and continued to observe her silently. Her index finger was delicately stroking the groove along the length of her glass. The veela was breathing heavily through her nose, trying not to lose her shit and flip the table over. She didn't want to have another screaming—and likely physical—altercation again in the middle of a restaurant, regardless of how few patrons were present. She needed to get to the bottom of Hermione's involvement, and she knew that meant keeping her here and keeping her talking, but the Gryffindor's comfort was unsettling her.
"Who told you I had a taboo on the name?" she finally asked.
The veela scoffed, "No one told me. It's the only logical way you can keep up with new clients without giving yourself away."
Hermione furrowed her brow slightly, "Go on," she urged.
Fleur rolled her eyes, but played along, "No one knows how to reach you, but somehow you know where to find them whenever they need you? Either you 'ave a million lookouts, or you 'ave an illegal taboo set at certain locations. Considering your…preference for working alone, it wasn't 'ard to figure out," she reasoned.
Hermione was looking at her with a glint in her amber eyes.
"See, you say that, but you're the only person who seems to have figured it out," she chuckled to herself, "I'm impressed," she admitted, leaning back in her chair, one side of her mouth lifting up in a smile.
A hot blush started to creep across her cheeks, but the veela stamped it down. She refused to be flustered by a simple comment from the estranged woman who held her heart for so long. She glared, her anger coming back when she remembered that this was not normal and Hermione had vanished off the face of the earth for five fucking years.
"Why are you even 'ere? Shouldn't you be 'alfway across the world by now, 'iding away again?" she asked bitterly.
"Shouldn't you be arresting me?"
Blue eyes glared again, and Hermione chuckled softly, "You're smart, Fleur. You know it isn't me."
"I don't know that, actually," she bit back petulantly, "I don't know you, 'Ermione. You made damn sure of that. For all I know you could want to kill me."
A flash of something that looked like hurt crossed the brunette's face, but that couldn't be right. Hermione didn't care. She never had and she never will. Fleur took a deep breath to collect herself as rage filled her once again.
A few moments of awkward silence filled the space between them. She could hear silverware clattering in the kitchen and the hum of the fish tank in the corner. The veela sighed and lifted her glass just as the brunette took another swallow of her own drink, only this time her brown eyes widened, and she slammed the glass back down as her other hand reached for her.
"Don't!" she said abruptly. Her fingers twitched and Fleur felt the glass slip out of her hand as she went to tilt it towards her mouth. The glass was hovering in front of her face for a moment before it slowly lowered back onto the table. The blonde had murder in her eyes and a string of curses on her tongue when she looked back at the Raven, but she was already out of her chair and her lips were next to her ear.
"There's a lethal dose of hemlock extract in that water. Who were you meeting here?" she whispered quickly and quietly.
Fleur's eyes widened and shot around at the empty restaurant instinctively. Poison? What the…? She looked towards the carafe, and the pink rose that was just placed there was already wilting and drooping over the side of the rim.
Hermione was so close she could feel her breath move her hair. Her hand was resting on her shoulder lightly and it was making her skin buzz. The veela's mind was racing. Should she respond to that? What if she planned this somehow? She leaned back and looked at her, but Hermione's eyes were trained on the skeleton staff in the kitchen. She looked…pretty livid, and Fleur could tell she was just as surprised as she was.
"'Ow do you know that?" she asked. If that were true the brunette could be dead within a few hours, and she looked alarmingly unperturbed having drunk it herself. The phone rang in the restaurant and the brunette stiffened as a man in a chef's uniform swung out of the kitchen door and answered.
"Mithridatism," Hermione answered quietly, still not taking her eyes off the staff, "Who were you meeting?" she repeated. The man was speaking in hushed tones and glanced over to their table.
"Sais pas," Fleur finally said quietly, looking between the brunette and the chef in confusion, "My boss set up the meeting. I never got a name."
Hermione looked down briefly at blue eyes and seemed to be thinking something over before she held her hand out with her palm up. She looked back to the man on the phone, her other hand in a fist at her side.
"Do you trust me, Fleur?" she asked. The man hung up the phone and walked back through the swinging kitchen doors.
The veela looked down at her offered hand before gazing back up at her. Trust. Trust. Do I trust her? She had no idea what she's been doing the past five years, but she knew she wasn't visiting the local orphanage every day. Then again, something was happening here that she didn't quite understand, but the back of her neck was prickling like it did when her gut was telling her that something wasn't right. Fleur didn't think she wanted to hurt her, but trust was another thing entirely.
"I don't think I should," she said, her voice soft.
"Probably not," Hermione admitted, "but we're not safe here." Her eyes looked to be begging her, "Please…I—I need to explain some things to you. I need to—I... Merlin, we don't have time. We need to get out of here," she said, her hand coming a little closer.
Fleur sighed. She didn't exactly have many other options. Just as she was about to reach up the kitchen doors swung open again. In a split second the veela moved unthinkingly. She jumped from her chair and wrapped her arms around the brunette's waist, forcing them to the ground just as an explosion rocked through the restaurant.
Glass and dishware shattered and flew everywhere as her body landed on top of another. When the clinking of broken glass stopped and the room quieted again, the blonde cautiously opened her eyes. The table they were at was swept far across the room from the force. The fish tank was blown apart and water was pouring onto the carpet. Her ears were ringing, but she could still hear a deep voice yelling in the background. With a groan, she shifted and looked to her left towards the kitchen. There was a blurry shape of someone in white coming closer. Glass was cracking beneath their shoes. Her eyes tried to focus on the person advancing, but there was a hazy film in the way. She could just make out the tell-tale blue iridescence of a shield charm engulfing them in a protective bubble before she felt a pull in her stomach as the most wanted woman in Europe apparated them to an unknown location.