gold, iron, flesh, bone
"The whiskey's got me risking a fall,
but a long shot it better, than not shot at all."
“You have to lose the feather, Zabini. It’s too much. Too noticeable.” Draco reminded his travel partner as they got ready for the day.
Sighing in resignation, Blaise plucked the feather from the brim of his hat and laid it in his saddlebag with care.
“I will not apologize for having taste, and standing out.” Blaise admitted, strapping over-the shoulder-holsters on under his coat. Then he began polishing his prized weapons before slipping them into their familiar place at his side.
Theodore had been ready for half an hour. He had woken earlier than the rest of his crew, rising and bathing just after dawn. Now dressed, he began fiddling with the collar of his shirt, unbuttoning and rebuttoning it. Just needing something to do with his hands.
“I’m going to go out for a smoke,” He suggests, and both his friends take their coats off to join him. The three men, extra careful not to let the smell of tobacco cling to their outerwear. Especially so early in the day, it wouldn’t do well to be stinking of smoke and what’ll inevitably be some liquid courage.
The fresh air helped to calm his racing heart. He needed to focus, Draco and Blaise were counting on him. Not to mention the rest of the fellas back at The Manor. See, the three gentlemen were in town on behalf of their boss, a figure–head known everywhere as Old Tom. He ran an elite group of outlaws called the Death Eaters, known all throughout the south for their brutality, unwavering unity, and intelligent strategy. They were the deadliest, smoothest, smartest team of criminals the west had seen in some time.
Being young typically meant having a shorter record, so for the three cowboys that meant a lot of grunt work. Bottom of the food chain, but they did what they were told and worked well together so Old Tom gave them more freedom than he did the other young recruits.
He trusted them, implicitly.
Or so he said, time and time again before refusing to divulge any information of substance.
Old Tom had been dead set on robbing Gringotts, the bank, it didn’t matter to him when or how, so long as it got done and they made a big enough profit. They hadn’t thought to question any further, it didn’t matter why this bank. It was just another job in just another town. And before long, they’d roll through into another settlement and do another job. It wasn’t always robbing banks though, sometimes it was carrying out a hit, or derailing a train, or setting a couple fires. Whatever Old Tom needed, really.
It wasn’t the honest cowboy living Theodore expected to be making for himself, but he was well fed for the first time in ages, and scarce to admit it, he liked the excitement. He enjoyed surprising people, doing the unexpected.
Blaise liked the payoff. He liked feeling useful and working towards an achievable goal. Make a plan, carry it out, achieve whatever goal was set. He liked the routine of it. A controlled loop. He could make the plans, attempt to control the outcomes and reap the benefits.
As for Draco, well he was just doing what was expected of him. His father being one of the original Death Eaters meant he grew up knowing what his future would look like. But he was luckier than most, his mother raised him to think for himself. So he grew up wise, observant and untrusting. And all he cares to think in regards to his freedom and his future is that he wishes to travel and his current employer lets him do that, in some regards. So he supposed, there wasn’t exactly too much to complain about.
However, Draco awoke on that morning with a feeling of having swallowed lead. Feeling heavy and decidedly off, he inhaled the majority of his cigarette in three long pulls. Immediately lighting another, he ground the end of the roll with the heel of his black snakeskin boots. He, after much deliberation, decided on a pair of thick breeches covered by black fringed chaps and a white pearl-snap. A matching fringed vest hung unbuttoned as he polished off the end of his second stick, stomping it into the porch.
“Busy day ahead of us, fellas. Let’s keep our heads, yeah?” Draco addressed his crew, knowing by now, he’d be the one spearheading the heist. He loved his friends, he had been working with them since their early teens, but they weren’t the take charge kind of folk.
“Right.” Theo nodded eagerly, ready to expend some of the tension that had been brewing as the plan came to fruition and the day drew nearer. “As I said, Percy Weasley admitted he wasn’t going to close the bank early for something so frivolous. So, while everyone is at the dance, we’ll catch him by surprise just as he’s locking up.”
“Then we get in, get our money, get out.” Draco nodded, summing up the part of the plan that actually gets difficult.
“Well, a little more goes into it than that. But yes. In theory, it should be real simple.” Blaise admitted, still annoyed, his friend refuses to acknowledge all the ways their strategy could derail.
“Great. No time like the present, fellas.” Draco encouraged as they saddled their horses for the day.
Draco was taking extra care of his horse, Salazar. He had the horse since he was a young boy, and though he was getting up there in age, he was a dependable Hanoverian with impressive speed.
Blaise often alternated the horses he rode, and for this particular trip away he was riding his chocolate quarter horse, Allegro. The tall beast huffed indignantly while Blaise put his foot in the stirrups.
Theodore’s horse still remained housed at The Burrow, he planned to stop by on their way into town, showing his face in a routine way would help dissuade suspicion later. It was just like every other morning.
------
It was the first day Hermione truly felt like she couldn’t control her classroom but she couldn’t even find it in herself to be frustrated with her students. It was finally Friday, Hogwarts was holding a shindig to kick off the start of the traveling fair which opened the following morning. The town had been abuzz for days and Hermione was equally excited. She had put loads of effort into planning the event and was eager to see it through.
The end of the school day couldn’t come fast enough, and it had Hermione, for the first time in her teaching career, skipping her end of day duties and rushing home. Well, rushing to The Burrow. She had promised Ginny they could get ready together, and Hermione was grateful as wrangling her curls really was a two person job.
Ginny’s old bedroom was one of the highest rooms in the house; as it was one of the last things added to the maze-like home. It was a physical manifestation of a younger Ginny. Sketches of horses her brother, Percy, drew for her over the years adorned the walls. Medals and ribbons from the riding competitions she had won had begun to occupy a corner of her bookshelf. Luna, years ago, had strung together countless corks and acorns into a chain of sorts, telling Ginny it would ward off spirits. It hung across Ginny’s headboard, and a fresh one was strung together when the pair had gotten married and moved in the Potter Cottage.
The two women sat in front of her slightly warped mirror and attempted to control Hermione's hair into an elaborate braid. Ginny was working surprisingly quickly, Hermione was rather impressed, and told her friend just that.
“Thanks, I've been practicing on Crook's tail.” Ginny explained and tied the end of the braid with a thin white ribbon.
“Somehow, that doesn’t feel like a compliment, Ginny.” Hermione laughed but was ultimately grateful for the time her friend had invested for her sake. Taking a step back, Ginny allowed Hermione to get a better look at the finished product, noticing the way her expression changed.
“You hate it.” Ginny whined, and reached for the ribbon to untie the braid but Hermione swatted her hands away.
“No, it’s beautiful, Gin. It just took me a second to recognize myself.” Hermione explained, unable to remember the last time her hair had been so tightly styled. “Leave it like this, please.”
“Perfect. I know Ronald will love it.” Ginny grinned and began brushing her own hair. She needn’t style it much, because she was set on letting it fall freely down her back. She was still insistent on wearing her hat, after all.
Hermione muttered in agreement and began dressing herself. Unable to reach, she asked Ginny to fasten the last buttons on her dress. Her friend smoothed the lace on the cuffs of her purple sleeves and smiled fondly.
“This colour looks so lovely on you, Mione.” She gushed, having been the one to pick out the fabric at Minnie’s the week prior. Luckily for them, Ginny was good friends with Madame Parkinson, who, for a small fee, had sewn a dress for each of them.
Hermione was wearing a half sleeve lavender dress, with an underlayer of lace that peaked from the bottom of the skirt, nearly kissing the floor. She had forgone the corset, much to the madame’s behest.
Ginny had ordered a stiff light green skirt to be constructed. She had a lovely white fringed blouse she wished to pair with it, and truthfully, she looked more herself than Hermione thought possible. Choosing to wear a tan hat and matching boots, Ginny was completely ready for the evening to unfold.
Squeezing her feet into the boots Miss Lovegood had loaned her, impractical white leather with a dramatic pointed toe, Hermione too deemed herself ready to depart and enjoy her evening.
Descending the porch steps, the two women were greeted by their dates, who had been patiently waiting on the rickety swing.
Harry sporting dark brown pants and white pearl-snap, with a bowtie in the same light green as Ginny’s skirt. If anyone else attempted such direct matching, it would look like a costumed talent act, but the pair managed such indifference that they pulled it off.
Ron had decided to wear the pants and vest to a grey suit, paired with a pale blue button-down. He had opted against a tie or jacket, and had tucked a kerchief in his pocket. Hermione had embroidered it for him as a gift last christmas. It had a faintly purple border as she had run out of white thread and settled for the palest lilac.
“Good evening, gentlemen.” Hermione smiled lightly at her dear companions. With the assistance of Ron and his slightly-sweaty hand, she was helped into the awaiting carriage and it wasn’t long before the two couples were eagerly riding into town.
Twice, while on the short ride down the road, Ron’s hand had landed on Hermione’s knee. She had frozen immediately, unsure if he even noticed, unsure of how she was supposed to react. So, the first time she merely adjusted her skirts, and in doing so inadvertently brushed his hand away. The second time however, she smiled tightly before grasping his large hand with her own. Moving it so they, instead, sat there with their fingers entwined.
However, upon their arrival, Ron’s excitement got the better of him and he released Hermione’s hand and was quickly out of the carriage and onto the ground below, eagerly awaiting the rest of his group. Hermione was waiting for a bit of assistance as she did not commonly wear skirts this full, nor did she wear such tight pointy boots. Luckily, the sheriff was a tad more observant and hopped out of the carriage, arm extended for his wife and then for his friend, respectfully.
Whatever Hermione had been thinking upon her arrival had been wiped from her brain the moment she entered the hall in front of her. It was still early and there were not many people milling around yet, so they were free to look around. Their plan had worked perfectly. The blue fabrics laid from beam to beam, creating a flowing backdrop for the hundreds of tiny paper stars. The shadows from the angled mirrors danced across the ceiling. Combined, it made for a seemingly bewitched night sky, glinting and swirling atop the large hall.
She heard a sharp gasp as Ginny followed her in three steps behind.
“Oh, it’s just like we pictured it.” She cooed, excited for the night's initial success. The ladies had taken their concept and ran with it, hoping for the best and their work had seemingly paid off tenfold.
“You’ve really outdone yourself, Gin.” Harry praised his wife, not at all surprised by the talent displayed before him.
“It was a team effort. Especially since Mione had those poor kids working for days on all those stars.” Ginny dramatized what was surely the children begging to swap their typical geometry lesson for a few hours of paper folding. She earned a good natured chuckle from the group, and began leading them further into the hall, toward the temporary bar the twins had built.
------
The last of the sun had dipped below the horizon as the three conspirators pulled thin silver masks over their faces. The image of an ornate, eerie skull sliding into place. The moniker synonymous with the frightening band of outlaws currently terrorizing a majority of the west, The Death Eaters. They had righted their black hats, the shadows cast further obscuring their appearance.
With practiced ease, they slipped their right hands into their coats, experienced fingers cocking the hammer of their Colts instantly. The bell above the door chiming only once as they strode menacingly into the town treasury.
Blaise hung back just inside the doorway, attempting to keep watch through the slightly frosted window panes. They had agreed Draco would do the talking, as Theodore had already met the red-haired man they were currently holding at gunpoint. He had been interrupted just as he was sliding the last bills into the safe, its metal door still swung wide open.
“Perfect timing, eh fellas?” Draco laughed darkly, noting the luck of their night thus far. The streets had been veritably empty for the past half hour, what with everyone gathering at the townhall.
“I want that safe emptied. You have one minute or my friend here starts shooting.” He demanded, his voice taking on a deep, indifferent lilt. “Cash. Gold. Diamonds. Whatever’s in there.”
He threw in the last suggestion with intention. Old Tom told him of the precious jewels and gemstones the judge possessed but he couldn't be so obvious as to request them outright.
With the pistol pressing against the banker's distinguishable hair, the squirrely man nodded once and began filling the dark bag he was provided.
Blaise, still keeping watch over the dimly lit street before him, cleared his throat twice signaling their need for urgency.
The two other men understood instantly and reminded the trembling man to hurry. As Percy passed the nearly overflowing bag to the outlaws in front of him, with his other hand, he attempted to reach under the counter for the gun he knew was hidden beneath.
“Be smart.” Draco harshly advised the banker, tapping the barrel of his gun twice against the man's temple for emphasis.
Having secured their loot, the outlaws took a retreating step backwards. Blaise trained both his pistols on Percy, providing cover as the others retreated back into the doorway. Nodding once in farewell, he slammed the heavy oak door behind him and began running into the short alley to his left. Managing merely four strides before a single gunshot rang out into the otherwise silent evening, Blaise flinched. The shot was immediately followed by a profane curse from further into the dark. Unable to distinguish who exactly had exclaimed in pain, he picked up his pace and reached the rest of his crew seconds later.
With blood dripping down his left arm, the finely dressed criminal hopped into the saddle off his horse. As he reached for the reins and urged the dark beast into a run, Draco began breathing deeply through his nose attempting to stifle the groan that escaped his full lips a second later. It wasn’t the first time the young outlaw had been shot but the wound made it impossibly hard to ride his horse.
Theo knew it was Draco that had been hit as he heard his close friend stumble twice beside him. He was rather impressed that Draco had remained on his feet and managed to execute the next step of the plan, the escape.
Attempting to form some semblance of a plan, Theodore began filtering through where he could possibly direct them to safety and came up empty before remembering his encounter the night before.
Surely, with their history Pansy would at the very least hear them out.
“Nope. Absolutely not.” Pansy only had to glance at Theo and the mask that was now hanging from his necks before she came to a decision. “I want nothing to do with this.”
“Please, Pans.” Theo begged, and as if on cue, Draco groaned in pain from atop his horse. The extent of his condition was hidden in the darkness, steps behind Theodore’s horse, Duke.
Pansy squinted, attempting to get a better look at the wounded rider and instantly recognized the distinguishable Malfoy hair that had come loose from his bandana. Silently praying it was the family’s young heir and not the intolerable patriarch. A name formed on her lips, as she whispered, “Draco?”
The outlaw groaned again in confirmation and Pansy let out a gasp. Her painted face twisted into a grimace, followed immediately by an exclamation to the almighty.
“Fine. Get inside before you’re seen.” She moved away from the door in a gesture to welcome them into the dimly lit hallway behind her. Theodore helped Draco from the saddle of his loyal gelding and inside the saloon, following closely behind the madame.
With the swipe of her arm, Pansy had cleared empty tankards from the table as if she was merely serving a table and not prepping to inspect a gunshot.
“Put him there.” She directed tersely, walking behind the bar for the medical kit they had on hand for emergencies. She used those precious seconds to compose herself. Sure, it had been months since she had last seen any of the familiar men standing before her but now was not the time for emotions. She had a debt to repay.
—-----
The celebration had been a hit from the moment the guests walked through the large doors. Sirius and his bandmates were in full swing. Two guitarists played a quick familiar tune, with their scarred drummer, Remus, providing a beat perfect for the overly familiar dances they had memorized.
Hermione had expected to catch a glimpse of Mister Teddy and his friends milling around, as she was eager to meet them, but she had yet to see the cowboy. There was quite the turn out of folks in attendance, so she expected to cross paths with the gentlemen eventually.
Hermione was seated at the end of an empty bench next to Ron. The majority of people their age were on the dance floor, but Ronald, as deputy, refused to embarrass himself in such a way. Instead, he was having a discussion with Bill’s son.
“I dunno, Samuel, go ask your maw.” He directed his young nephew, who took off in the direction of the blonde woman a few tables away.
“I don’t know how Fleur does it,” Hermione chuckled, noticing the apparent ease at which the young mother wrangled her two unruly children. “I love my students, but in small doses. I could not imagine having my hands full like that.”
“Well, I’m sure your husband will have a different opinion on that.” Ronald joked absentmindedly, obviously forgetting just what sort of company he was currently keeping. Hermione had, that evening, noticed a bit of a pattern when it came to Ron’s jokes after a few drinks, especially when in the company of his friends.
“Well, I’m sure my imaginary husband, whoever he may be,” She emphasized, and Ron immediately caught her meaning. She did not have the same intentions as he did. “Will accept my decision, as I would be the one carrying the imaginary child.”
“Mione, I-” Ron began but was silenced by Hermione rising to her feet.
“And given how you won’t even ask me to dance, I don’t think it appropriate for you to be commenting on such personal things.” Hermione fumed, she knew she was being slightly irrational but she was fed-up with Ron’s behavior that night. He had made such a deal of asking her to the event, just the two of them. And here he was, wasting the night away as if she was another one of his friends from the ranch.
“I’m not going and making a fool of myself. Why don’t you go find Mister Teddy ,” Ronald sneered, his jealousy toward the newcomer’s practically instant friendship clear as day. “And see if he’ll dance with you.”
“Maybe I will.” Hermione stated with the stomp of her too tight boot. Which was clearly not the response Ron was hoping for. The bearded man stood immediately and side stepped a nearby couple as he stormed towards the front door.
Irritation scrunching her features into something resembling a sad scowl, she headed toward the makeshift bar where she planned to order a drink and then inquire as to the location of her friends.
“Oh Miss. Granger,” Her path was eventually blocked by a petite blonde. “Your aura is muddy, that simply won't do. I have just the cure.”
Miss Lovegood walked right up to the volunteer manning the bar and whispered in his ear, intentionally ordering out of Hermione’s earshot.
“Drink up.” The pendant covered woman insisted, her many necklaces swaying as she leaned back and tipped her glass of amber liquid into her mouth, a smile on her face.
Accepting the free refreshment, she too knocked her head back and in one swallow, emptied the contents of her small glass. She was rewarded with a pleasant warm feeling filling her gut and the faint taste of smoke on her tongue.
“Firewhiskey.” Luna whispered, catching the question before it left Hermione’s mouth. “Unfortunately that was the last of my limited supply here at the hall. I have another bottle back at Wrackspurts, if someone feels like popping over.”
“Someone being me? Real subtle, Miss Lovegood, but I could use the air so you’ve got yourself a deal.” Hermione picked up on her friend's no-so-smooth attempt at convincing her to run the errand. She appreciated the faint fuzzy feeling in her head the firewhiskey provided, so she agreed to make a trip over to the saloon.
Once she was out of earshot of the band, she immediately noticed the uneasy silence that coursed through the streets of Hogwarts. Picking up her pace slightly, she did not feel like lingering, there was something eerie about the town being so quiet.
Wrackspurts had a higher-than-usual number of horses tied to the front of the property. Hermione chalked the increase in equine up to the influx of guests staying at the saloon while the fair was in town.
Knowing the front door would be locked, the young lady circled around to the back of the establishment and approached its rear door. Just as she raised her hand to knock, the door swung open with a creak and Hermione was nearly knocked over by a tall man deep in conversation with whoever was behind him.
Draco was in the middle of another pointless argument with Theo. He had merely observed that his blood wouldn’t have stained his shirt had he chosen his typical all-black attire and the other cowboy had begun ranting about boring fashion choices. Headed to fetch a fresh shirt from the saddlebag strapped to his horse, Draco swung the door open wide with his usable arm and ran straight into the same young woman from the night before.
It was an automatic reaction, the way he extended his arm to catch her. To stop her from getting hurt. Which did nothing to help Hermione, as he immediately doubled over in pain from pulling at the fresh stitches Pansy had just tied. Luckily for Draco, the bullet had passed clean through his shoulder and she hadn’t needed to use the intimidating iron forceps she had placed on the table, just in case . Pansy had years worth of experience patching up the cowboys she was currently helping.
“We’ve got to stop meeting like this.” Draco joked between deep, shaking breaths. Regaining his composure slowly, he backed away from Hermione a step.
“Y’alright?” Hermione noticed the bloody shirt in his hand and the bandages around his shoulder. It was then that Hermione fully clued in to just how dressed the man before her was. Or undressed for that matter.
He was wearing black square toed boots, with dark chaps on his legs and impressively intricate tattoos covering his bare chest and arms. His left arm bore more ink than pale skin which continued to his pectoral, and she was definitely staring.
“Ah, I had a bit of an accident. But, don’t worry about me, darlin’. We’ve got to work on keeping you upright.” He spoke with a perfect looseness, Hermione observed. Never revealing much of anything.
“You’re the man from yesterday.” She stated, the fuzzy feeling in her head dulled slightly. She had become acutely aware of how close they were still standing. She could feel the heat radiating off his body.
“By golly, when I said ‘sweep a girl off her feet’, this isn't what I had in mind, Draco.” Theodore teased as he approached the pair, having been witness to the whole interaction a mere five steps behind his trusted friend.
Hermione could now put a name to the shadowed face from the day prior. Not that he had been on her mind enough to warrant needing a name, anyways.
Obviously.
“Mister Teddy, you know this gentleman?” Hermione inquired, her interest in the stranger suddenly piqued.
“Oh, Mister Teddy and I go way back.” Draco laughed at the ridiculous nickname his friend was using. While also noting the level of propriety she maintained, despite being loaded for bears. “You’ll have to forgive my current appearance, Miss-?”
“Granger.” Hermione introduced herself as she bent down to pick up the hat that had fallen from his head. Taking a moment to brush the dirt from its felt, she returned the hat to its owner, “The dust here does sum’ awful to y’alls black clothes.”
“You, Miss Granger, have been a delight as always." Theo laughed, as she inadvertently proven the point he was attempting to make. But we must get Draco here, a clean shirt and straight off to the fair so we don’t miss all the festivities.” Theodore rustled through Salazaar’s saddlebags until he pulled free a rolled up shirt.
“I’ll go grab that Firewhiskey,” Hermione remembered her real reason for being at Wrackspurts and headed into the building the cowboys had just left. What were they doing here, anyways? Pointing to Draco, she ordered, “You, get dressed.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Draco tipped his hat toward the now-blushing woman. “If you insist.”
She had about thirty seconds for the colour to dissipate from her flushed face before she came across another stranger in the otherwise empty bar. He was stood at the edge of the bar, luckily fully dressed, as if he was waiting for something. The only light in the expansive room was coming from a pair of flickering lanterns that sat among a pile of blood soaked rags on the long countertop.
Hermione squinted to make out the strangers face and was greeted by a pair of dark eyes and high cheekbones. His black hair was shaved down close to his skin which was a rich brown. What where these blood-covered folks doing here while everyone else was away at the dance?
“Who are you?!” Hermione demanded. “And, what the blazes is going on here?”
“You sort of answered that question for yourself there, doll.” The well-dressed man in front of her laughed to himself. Hermione didn’t understand the joke so she just kept glaring at him. He smiled broadly at her, “Apologies, miss. I’m Blaise. Don’t be alarmed, I’m a friend of Madame Parkinsons.”
“We aren’t friends, Blaise. I haven’t so much as laid eyes on you in ages.” Pansy corrected, emerging from the shadows that lead deeper into the saloon.
“Distance does not quell a friendship such as ours, Pansy-dear.” Blaise joked, it was almost freaky how easily the group had fallen back into their old dynamic. As if no time had passed. As if nothing happened.
“Yeah, yeah. Y’all are just lucky I’m always fashionably late to parties. But, now we’re bordering on late late, so let’s hussle, Granger." Pansy, always surprisingly intuitive, guessed as to Hermione’s reason’s for stopping in during a time such as this. "Luna’s Firewhiskey is behind the bar on the left.”
Hermione nodded gratefully and soon the trio exited the saloon, Firewhiskey in hand to join the pair of deliquents out front.