OUR BELOVED ASSASSIN // t.s daughter ((1))

6

Silence. That's what she hears. She thought she's supposed to be in a concert, but she doesn't hear any screaming from the fans -- or from herself -- or One Direction singing.

Uncomfortable. That's what she feels when she tries to move to get in a better position in her seat. Her back is in total pain.

White. That's what she sees beyond her eyelids as she tries to open her eyes after a deep sleep.

What's happening? Where am I? Hermione asks herself behind her mind.

Hermione wakes up with a single light above her head that shines like a spotlight on her. She has been put on a wooden, hard chair, that hurts her back. Her strands of hair sticks on her sweaty-oiled face and she wants to push them off her face so bad, but her hands are tight behind her backs, voiding her from moving. They are incredibly tight. Whatever type of rope they use, it surely burns her skin.

She slowly opens her eyes and wander around the metal-smell, windowless, empty room and notices it's only occupied with a desk and it's located in front of her. Although it's lack of lights, but she's trained to see things in the dark and sees a door standing a few feet beside the desk. It's sealed with metal bar, but if she could find anything, she thinks she can open it. Screw whoever kidnaps her.

With blurry eyes, she sees a black shadow sitting behind the desk in front of her and begins focusing. The shadow is tall, its body is lean, there's no trace of spiky hair on his head -- or not even hair. Hermione blinks her eyes, wanting to be sure her eyes aren't playing tricks on her, but as the shadows move, she feels her heart racing. Is there a ghost here? She thought.

The dark-brown-haired girl opens her mouth to say something to acknowledge whatever creature she's seeing that she's awake, but the shadow beats her first.

"Did you have a good sleep?" the shadow asks. It's a male voice, clear and raspy.

"What am I doing here?" Hermione ignores the shadow's question. Her voice breaks. Her throat is sore. She's dehydrated and feels dirty.

The shadow slowly stands up and calls, "Light!" to no one in particular while stepping away from his desk. Hermione looks up at the flickering light in surprise as if she'd never seen one before. Then, cautiously, her eyes directs her to the shadow that stands in front of her. Dark-skinned man with an eye patch? Who doesn't know the director? She never counters one before, only sees him on one of the many faces on Aaron's slide shows. But now that she sees him face to face, it shivers her.

"How are you, Miss Hermione? How's your sleep?" Nick Fury politely but sarcastically asks.

"What do you want from me?" Hermione asks innocently. She knows how to play a good game with him.

"Easy," Fury says. "I ask you question and you answer."

"I don't think you catch the right person," Hermione tells the director while shifting her hands. She winces in the process.

"No, I don't think so." Fury studies Hermione's expresionless face. After frustrated for not being able to read Hermione's emotion, he begins questioning. "So, who are you working with?" Fury inquires as he leans his bums against the desk. His palms planted on it, supporting his body weight. "What did you do at the concert?"

Hermione narrows her eyes at Fury, annoyed with all the questions he asks. This guy has professionals to do a research for her personal details before they captured her. They must have plans and reasons why they want her to be here and what they want from her, but why bother ask with whom she's working with and all?