Pray that Hell or Heaven Lets You In

As he spoke, she tried to cover her frustration by only glancing at him out of the corner of her eye, and by pressing her tongue very firmly against the roof of her mouth. That way she couldn't speak until she had properly gathered herself and could ensure she had something he wouldn't pick apart.

Hah. As if.

One day, she felt, he would just shut up for once and listen to someone else. But as soon as he finished his oh-so-clever (note sarcasm) monologue about the party, she determined that the person to make him listen would probably not be her. Perhaps she was just wasting her time.

Her tongue fell with a disapproving click and she slowly turned towards him, gaze icy and uninterested.

"Yes, the girl that was going to die long before anyone bothered to know her. Why remember someone if they don't help you ascend to whatever imagined throne you think you deserve, right? Why bother remembering a girl who was allergic to her own magic, if that means she's weak and useless and maybe a little pretty to look at, but not much else?"

Tilting her head in a particularly condescending way, she set her drink down on the counter. The more she spoke, the faster and more fierce her words became as they left her.

"No, let's talk about how you so firmly believe everyone else saw what you saw, shall we? That would be productive. Forget the fact that I'm getting everything I want and, oh, by the way - I don't need you to do it. You have no idea how Luke saved me, do you? I wager if you did, you would not have summoned me here just to play whatever foolish game you think you're winning. I'm no longer sick, and am anything but useless now. But sure, let's piss off the girl that has nothing to lose."

Katherine downed the rest of her drink and let it drop loudly onto the bar.

"Brilliant plan, Caleb. Good form," she drawled sarcastically. "I'm not putting on some show for you, you git. Not at the party, not the other night. Definitely not right now. I'm worth more to you than you could possibly realize, and that certainly does not surprise me.

"Forgettable? We'll see about that."

Shoving her glass towards him, Katherine turned and began snaking her way towards the exit.

Caleb didn't always have the good sense to appreciate just how instinctive his sense of manipulation was. It came from having the company of Camila Flint his entire life, who was perhaps the only person he would be willing to call more clever than him - and he'd never say it in front of her. Their favorite pastime growing up had been mind games as they honed their abilities to get what they wanted, and it made getting what he wanted almost second nature. It was why he often grew so tired of people. It was hard to enjoy a game of chess when you knew you were winning three moves in.

Katherine had proved more challenging, certainly, because there was no baseline for him to judge off of anymore. But simply knowing that her new confidence was untested had been all he needed to unravel her. Because he had no interest in begging her for scraps of understanding. Not when one poke at an obvious insecurity (one, in all fairness, he could fully empathize with) could incense her to release nuggets of truth that she would have otherwise withheld. He knew the catharsis of telling him off would tickle her, but he wasn't done with her yet.

She stormed off and the bartender glanced his way with a sympathetic look. It was only then that Caleb unrolled his smile, a wide, pleased thing that certainly didn't match that body language of the retreating blonde. He finished his drink, flicked a galleon towards the bartender, and turned on his heel.

He landed right outside the club, leaning against the corner of the building, a knowing smile on his face. He was barely in the edge of the light of a streetlight, almost guaranteeing that she would pass by him unless he spoke up. So as she approached, he lifted a finger to his lips and bit at the fingernail, almost bored looking in his slumped posture.

"You know," he said, rolling his eyes towards her to catch whatever look he had earned - would it be surprise, hatred, disgust? "When I really don't give a shit about someone's opinion, I hardly get defensive." He knew he was toeing the line now. Too much and he'd push her past her need to prove him wrong and she'd give up entirely.

"But you're right about a few things - I'm a big enough man to admit when someone is right, and I think it's only fair to own up to it." He pushed off the wall and pushed his hands into his pockets, ambling in a semi-circle around her, eyes casually tracing outlines in the dark, not looking at her so he could drive his point home when he wanted to. "You're right that no one really bothered with the dying girl. Especially pretentious lads like me who's leading factor in interacting with women is securing a lady who could produce an heir. It's pretty poor manners, and certainly not fair, but I'm sure you've figured out that whole trip about life not being fair anyway."

He tilted his head as he kicked a small pebble out of his bath, pressing on. "And you're right to suggest that not everyone noticed. In fact, you'd probably be right to say it might have only been me. Which is why it certainly is lucky that our peers are far less cleverer than they fancy themselves to be. And that my peers are more excited about catching the bad guy than dissecting the motive."

He stopped, craning his head to look upwards in the sky, wishing the stars were more visible. It'd add to the drama. "And you're right that I really do have no idea what you did to turn your luck around. I won't take that from you."

He finally looked at her, and an almost devilish grin stretched across his lips. "So now let's talk about where you're wrong."

He turned on his heel, continuing his lazy circle around her. "You might not need me to do what you want, but you certainly want me to know what you do. Last night, you offered me an invitation. There's no other word for it. And I'm a clever businessman, Katherine. Surely you'd know that a salesman doesn't take a product at face value. So, excuse me that I'm not falling over with just how impressed I am that you organized a mass party-crash."

He shrugged. "And pissing off the girl with nothing to lose? You act like that's not a good plan." He tilted his head, watching her out of the corner of his eye. "Some people like to light fires. Others like to hand gasoline to arsonists. I wouldn't knock it 'til you try it. And you should know, particularly after your little rendezvous with Romanyk, that you shouldn't trust yourself with a wager. Because I wager, if however Luke did this is just slightly less boring than what the average man might guess, I'd still be here. Playing our fun little game." Cue smirk to dig in deep.

"And I think we both know that while the show might not be the intention, you're enjoying adding a little bit of flair to this battle plan. Maybe not for me benefit specifically, but I'm enjoying it all the same."

He stopped in front of her, planting firmly and looking straight into her eyes. "And for the last, where you're wrong and my wrong have some overlap. Forgettable? Yes. Yes, indeed. But you might have missed the condition, in all your offense. Forgettable. Until. Now." He leaned back a bit, having leaned towards her for effect, robbing her ever-so-slightly of her personal space. "And you can be offended that I didn't notice the dying girl, but I think part of you gets why I didn't. I'm paying attention now, but if you want to bore me with unearned pride, I'll save myself the trouble. But if you're involved in something that does warrant this self righteousness, lay it on me, love." A wry smirk twisted at his lips, his eyes narrowing in dangerously.

"If you can surprise me, I just might worship you."

She wanted nothing more than to walk right on past him, but she knew better than to think he wouldn't follow her. Wouldn't reach out and snag her arm as she apparated away, dragging him along with her to whichever hiding spot came to mind first. So, sure, she could wait until he said whatever he was after. Even if she hated his body language, his self-assuredness and the way he undoubtedly preened at himself in the mirror each morning.

The last one was just a guess, but she had very little doubt in that regard.

The more he spoke, the more she wanted to leave. Or hex him. Or the latter and then the former. She wasn't picky. But then he stepped in front of her properly, invading her space and altering his tone just enough to make his point. And, frankly, it infuriated her. Just as he undoubtedly wanted it to. But the joke, this time, was about to be on him. Because he had no idea what she could and would do, if provoked without end.

Wetting her lips, Katherine glanced down just long enough to take a step towards him. It forced her to lift her chin a bit more when she looked back up, but that hardly bothered her. He was going to listen to her, come hell or high water, and for once he would be rattled. She could rattle the stars if she damn well pleased, and there was nothing he could do to stop her.

"Well, if you're after a surprise, perhaps it's time you knew," she returned, her voice too sweet. But that sugary coating didn't last long, as she brushed it away in favor of a sharp tongue that she didn't doubt would leave him wishing for that sweetness again.

"I was all but dead on that damn island. Then Luke showed up. I imagine you expected the savior to be Mes, but then again, so did I. In saving me, Lucas cursed us both. And I won't deign to explain that to you, as any good Death Eater puppy would surely have learned from his master by now what I mean. And when that happened, I may have been changed, but my illness was gone. In its escape, it took most of my ability to feel along with it.

"Not in the physical sense, mind you." She inched closer, just to taunt him; even if he would tell himself he wasn't intrigued. "No, I've become very good at making lists in my head. One of them is the list of emotions I can be bothered to feel these days, and I'm afraid that list is dreadfully short. Currently, I feel only two things. Anger, and Desire."

That would send his mind spinning, she imagined. Hardly the sort of behavior she had exhibited before, as a meek little Ravenclaw who, actually, wasn't sure if she wanted to be embraced or ignored. The former so she could feel halfway human and the latter so she could just die off already without complication or fuss.

She didn't feel human anymore.

"Right now," she continued, drawing out her words and layering both the dark tone and the narrowed eyes that would tell him this whole speech of hers was a threat above all else. "I am angry. At you. And the only thing I desire is to be free. Of you. So I recommend, Caleb, that you reconsider your game plan next time you think it would be clever and amusing to talk down to me, or to wallow in whatever self-confidence you bathe yourself with each morning. You see, the other list I have going right now?

"It's a list of plans that need to be seen through. Like getting Mesut off my back. Like amassing the wealth I need to take what I want. Like making the Order pay for what they've done. It would behoove you, Flint, to keep your name off of my list. Because the more you talk," she stepped forward again, nearly flush against him as she glared openly, "the higher I want to rank you. And then, who knows? Maybe people might forget you instead. As I'm sure you've gathered, Guilt is not something I'm bothered by anymore.

"I used to think you could be useful," Katherine explained, tone suddenly softer and full of overdramatic disappointment. "It's almost a shame, really. Someone with such a handsome face should surely get some use out of it. I almost thought you would want to help. I realize now that I shouldn't presume that you have any real sense in that head of yours. Unless you plan on altering that, I suggest that you leave."

There was a reason that Caleb's best work was done with his sister to balance him out.

In the end, he always knew when to cut his losses and lay down his pride, but the age and naivete of the Avery girl had goaded him into a place where he was struggling to back down. He had been playing this game for years, and she had only just drawn her cards and was treating them like a full house before she even knew the rules. Normally, he wouldn't care. That brand of confidence often spelled its own doom, which she must have realized at the pub.

But he did care. And he wasn't sure that it was because of Mesut's favor, either, nor because of her past as the Dying Girl. No, he cared because he was finally interested. She had him on the hook. But time spent bathing in her accomplishments took time from the next one - and Merlin, if he didn't want to know what was next. Someone who was easily impressed with themselves gave him no thrills, not when there were people too busy burning the world down to pause to enjoy their reflections in the flames.

And as much as she would claim to not care his opinion, to be without any sort of hope for his approval... he knew otherwise. Even if it wasn't because of him, she still could not deny that she wanted someone to notice and be impressed. She could have kept playing the game of the Dying Girl if she truly wanted anonymity to accomplish her goals. But she had hinted at her plans, she had told him to watch, she had hexed him so he would turn to look at her.

She wasn't hearing him correctly. He wanted to take her up on the offer. He was ready to step beyond watching.

He tilted his head as he wet his lips. "You might want to make another list. People in the position to help you tick off some of those tasks. Influence over Mesut, wealth, knowledge about The Order of the Phoenix. Like it or not, but the one person who knows that you're not a frail little squib-of-a-thing has access to all of those things.

He shrugged, pushing his hands into his pockets as he pushed past her, angling back towards the club. He paused though, turning around, and he reached up to rub his chin. "Kit," he said, hoping she'd turn to look at him. "You might think I'm being a self-righteous ass, daring to condescend to tell you that you have caught my interest. You can get mad about it, or you could take it for what it is. A compliment." His face was smirk and smile free, an uncharacteristic seriousness in his face, the sparkle of mischief gone. He cleared his throat and looked away, turning back towards the club. As he walked away, he called one last line back to her. "Sorry to have wasted your time."

She did turn, though she made no move to respond or step towards him. Compliment or no, he had a presumed superiority about him that made her want to tear into him somehow, which would only prove counterproductive. So she waited, following him with her eyes until he walked back inside and disappeared from view. A part of her liked the idea that he might think she would come back in as well, eventually. But she could not picture him actively looking for her. So her decision to leave would likely go unnoticed, if nothing else. And Katherine doubted he expected something else.

She didn't even wait twenty-four hours before following up. And likely not in the way he would have wished, given he claimed he'd been trying to compliment her. Not a great job of it, but that hardly mattered to her. Instead, an owl arrived at his window around lunchtime the next day. It wasn't signed, but who else could it really have been from?


Flint,

Besides myself, only two people know what you now do. And that makes it two against one if things turn sour - childhood friendships or not. Your attempted compliments would perhaps be taken more positively if they were not thrown amidst insults, affected grandeur and a desire to outwit rather than to outlast.

If anybody finds out about what I told you, Caleb, you won't be the only one to suffer. You know exactly who will pay for it. And it's a shame, really, considering she's always seemed fairly lovely. For a family so full of pride and arrogance, I find I keep using the word 'shame' when speaking about you.

How curious.

Perhaps she took it as him being sincerely shaken by the threat, or perhaps it was an insult to take two days to respond, as though he wasn't worried about leaving her waiting. But when the owl finally delivered his response, it was two slips of paper, neither one quite the response she probably hoped for or expected.

The first was a check, for quite a handsome sum at that, written out to her and her alone. The memo read 'List Item No. 2' in neat, tidy handwriting.

The second was a folded piece of paper. On the inside, it read, in a silvery ink purchased just to double down on the fact that he knew a secret:

Investors never tell the masses when a stock is about to go up.

P.S. I hope you realize that she could take us both out without so much as scuffing her heels. If you insist on doing this all alone, you'll need to develop a stronger judge of character. Then again, you don't have to do it alone.

I should shred this, you know.


The letter, unsurprisingly, didn't stop there.


As it were, I'm too invested to do so, and a bit too selfish to really feel bad about keeping it. Or cashing it.

You're not one for subtlety, I see. But neither am I. Like the seal?


It was, of course, a unicorn-shaped bit of wax from a mould she had gone out of her way to get that afternoon. She would throw it away later, in favor of something less noticeable and unusual; something she could use without anyone thinking to trace it back to her. While he could play games and wait a while before responding, she didn't bother. She might have forgotten to reply at all, had she done so.


P.S. I don't doubt that she could, if she had reason to believe she needed to. Don't worry, though. I have no reason to 'take her out,' as you'd put it. She isn't someone who ought to be scared of me. Yet, at least.

P.P.S. Let's say I wasn't doing it alone. While an ally would be nice, surely you know by now that those who are truly in control have people working for them, not with them. How can I set the world on fire when the only person poking his nose in is a preening, prancing pureblood with too much money and too few f*cks to give? Why would you even bother? It would seem that you're trying to compensate for something, though I doubt that men like being told as much.

Caleb was growing bored with the letters already. She wanted to whip the sword of a tongue of hers around, but he had made it abundantly clear that he was not trying to antagonize her without cause. He wanted to see what she intended to do to the world, and by focusing her efforts on trying to convince him that he wasn't the magnificent specimen that he knew he was by merit of his breeding, she was distracting herself from the real work to be done. She might have all the potential for amazing things, but she was wasting it with words.

And, after awhile, even pretty words got boring.

He didn't need her to believe his confidence was well founded. He didn't need her to think he was impressive. He knew exactly what he was capable of and how that measured up against the wizards alongside him. No matter how highly she thought of herself, she wouldn't accomplish much on her own. She needed someone to keep the Ministry off of her, as well as her brothers and the Order. If she didn't see his potential, it only meant that she would soon be in Azkaban and old news.

Maybe it was his old age, but he was getting sentimental, wanted her to have a chance to accomplish her dreams. So, he decided to be the mature one and lead by example.

He used his connections with the Avery brothers and the Aurors to find the perfect time, twenty minutes before she would be arriving home, and during a time in which the bulk of the force were otherwise employed.

That's when he lit her neighbor's house on fire.

It was one hell of a note.

The irony of it all was that Katherine was late. Not horribly so, but late enough that the witches and wizards living around her had come out en mass to try and help. Katherine had landed right in front of her house, which wasn't ideal. Not if she wanted to disappear without helping or to simply walk in her house and eye the chaos from a window. People were fairly distracted, though, so she waited for the right opportunity before slipping inside and setting up a ward so the fire couldn't spread to her own place.

Coming to the conclusion was as easy as blinking, given her last letter and his whole commentary about arsonists and gasoline. In truth, it gave her an idea that she thought he could at least see the connection to. If she was right, he might even appreciate it.

Katherine didn't send anything to him until the end of the week. Saturday, actually. She had spent the week keeping an eye on someone, memorizing their schedule and determining the best time for her to summon Caleb in return. And this time, she doubted she would have to say very much for him to get the point.

Equally, she didn't think it mattered what she said. Neither were getting what they wanted, it seemed. Aside from that whole cash thing. She'd not been upset about that. Regardless, he didn't care if she agreed, that much was clear. But he also seemed unable to agree with her own determination of her self-worth. That, she felt, was still subject to change. And, if she were being honest, he still had a chance of convincing her in return. Only time would tell, it seemed.

But she wasn't interested in waiting anymore. So she sent him one last note, though it was really hard to call it that. It was a picture, with an address written on the back. One he would undoubtedly recognize. The street, at the least, would let him in on the plan.

So she sent the moving photo and made her way to the bench across from her target. Theirs, if she was right about his curiosity. Sinking onto the wooden slats, Katherine conjured up a book for show if any of the Muggles living on the street happened to pass by. It was late enough that they likely wouldn't believe her, so she flicked her wand towards the burnt-out street lamp behind her. That could be done away with later, but the pretense was necessary for the time being.

She just had to wait for Caleb to arrive and for the wards around the building to flicker. She wondered if the man causing it knew that it occurred. Katherine doubted it. But then, she had done her homework. She didn't have long, now, so she leaned back and opened the book full of random words and unintelligible sentences. Her wand was tucked underneath her thigh, easily accessible whenever necessary.

As she tucked a section of hair behind her ear, she smirked.

Caleb was working late. He had left the office and was working from the study in his high-end flat, an enchanted ledger book opened, and reading glasses on his nose. The glasses, in truth, were more of aesthetic thing, but they too were enchanted to adjust with the lighting. He reached up and rubbed his lips, his forehead pursing as the gears ground their way through the facts and the figures, trying to decide what to do about a particular stock he had taken on through a friend's convincing - some friend.

A tapping at his window was a welcome distraction, and he stood, abandoning his glasses, and stretching out his limbs before he crossed to the window, opening it. Neither he nor the owl were particularly interested in each other, and he shooed it away as soon as he had unburdened the bird. He pushed a hand through his hair and strode back towards the desk, tilting his head as he looked at the picture. A pleased smile, mingled with curiosity, touched at his lips and he flung himself into his leather chair, leaning back as his eyes soaked in the image, pleased with the connotations, almost happy to realize... they had a bit of an inside joke going.

He turned the photograph over and his eyebrows flinched inwardly, confusion pulling his lips downward. It didn't last long, and he sighed, reaching up to run a hand across his features, exhaustion tugging at him. And yet, when his hand dropped, there was the ghost of a smirk on his lips. He was tired. He wanted to make her wait. He didn't know if it was a trap, or if he'd compromise his job.

But he knew he was going.

There was a crack that accompanied his appearance and he caught sight of a blonde head of hair. His gait was casual and ambling, and he dropped into the bench next to her. After all their speeches, it didn't seem right to ruin this quiet, peaceful moment with their usual snark or bickering. His voice held no trace of self righteousness or importance, just interest. "What's the plan?"