Characters aren't mine and belong to JK Rowling and JJ Abrams...

Julian Sark was a master of many things...killing, torture, lying, cheating, stealing, languages, sex...many, many things. He enjoyed them all, some more than others...and he was highly proficient in most things, could read people and see patterns that others missed. He never found life to be mundane, as there was always something new and interesting to be discovered. He toyed with people and their emotions...it was easy, because he never got emotionally involved with anyone or anything. Every person he met was a means to an end...blackmail, sex, death...it was different sides of the same coin and he relished in the power it gave him...

Irina had taught him from an early age to always hold your secrets close to the vest and never give anyone power over you. It was a form of weakness and if there was one thing Julian abhorred, it was weakness. In all his twenty-four years, he had never showed weakness to another living soul. Not when he was being beaten in the boys home he was left in after his mother died. Not when Irina took him in and had Khasinau train him to be a soldier, and then an assassin. Julian was the perfect picture of calm, cool, collectedness and he never faltered...it just wasn't in his nature to do so.

Sitting outside a small cafe in London, Julian was always amazed at how regular people lived their lives...they would wake up, get ready to go to work at some meaningless job that payed a mere pittance, and then return home to a spouse, 2.5 children and a picked fence...bills and obligations galore...it really seemed sad and pathetic to him and he couldn't imagine ever wanting that for himself. His life was so much simpler...no attachment, companionship for the night if he desired it, but nothing beyond that.

Irina had a job for him here in London...he was supposed to attend a gala that evening at Lord Chesterley's home, a charity auction to fund something of unimportance as far as he was concerned. But there was a contact he was supposed to make and an item to procure. Taking the final sip of his imported tea, Julian Sark got up and placed a twenty pound note on the table, and left to get ready for the evening.

When he arrived later at the Manor home owned by Lord Chesterley, he was dressed in his finest black tie tuxedo and tails. These pompous aristocrats always had to dress to the nines for these occasions. Sark inwardly rolled his eyes...if any of these tossers knew whom he really was...heir to the Romanov fortune, descended of the great Czars of Russia, they'd be fawning all over him. The thought made him shudder in repulsion.

Entering the main foyer, he was greeted by his host, who was a short, pompous man with too little hair and too much gut...his oily eyes surveying each person as they entered his home. Julian walked over and bowed formally to the man, despite his disdain for the git, it was no excuse for bad manners.

"Ah Lord Chesterley...thank you for inviting me here this evening."

"Andrew Mason...it is good to see you again. I hope the exporting business isn't keeping you too busy?"

"No, not at all. I've been traveling abroad quite a bit these days. One can never be too careful about insuring one's assets."

"Yes, yes...I heartily agree. Please enjoy yourself this evening."

Sark nodded and walked away, determined to avoid any further contact with his host. As he walked through the Manor, and greeted a few guests his eyes were constantly on the move...looking for any signs of threats, danger or enemies. Noticing his contact, by the red lapel pin shaped in a bird, Sark sauntered over and engaged in conversation about the painting the man was viewing. Once the protocols were properly exchanged and the information handed over covertly, Sark was about to leave when a stunning woman with long curly brown hair and a figure to die for was walking over by the far side of the room and talking to another gentleman with dark hair, green eyes and glasses. They seemed to be quite familiar with each other, but not in a romantic sense. The woman turned and Sark's breath hitched...delicate features, wide amber eyes and a perfectly shaped pink bow mouth captivated him momentarily. Goosebumps formed on his arms as he could've sworn he felt an aura unlike anything he'd ever felt before, radiating from the woman. She looked to be about his age, maybe a year younger...but it was the look in her eyes that captivated him. Her eyes were hardened and haunted...battle hardened as if she'd seen war and haunted by what she'd found there. Her movements were sharp, yet refined...she was a walking paradox...a predator wrapped in a beautiful package.

As the woman's eyes surveyed the room, they stopped briefly on him and dismissed him as unimportant. Well, fuck! That had never happened to him before. Women usually threw themselves at his feet, eager and willing to service him in whatever way he wished. But this woman, this siren...she'd looked at him and found him wanting...it was a bit disconcerting.

Trying not to think on it too much, Sark decided to walk around a bit more, before leaving when there was a sudden commotion coming from another part of the Manor. Before he could gather his wits, he noticed the green-eyed man and woman make for the place the sounds were coming from. There seemed to be some kind of smoke coming from the back of the Manor, so Sark headed that way. When he got there...there was some kind of security redirecting the guests to another part of the Manor. Undeterred, Sark made to move around one of the guards, when a hand gripped his shoulder. Turning around, he found himself staring into the same amber eyes he had been captivated by earlier.

"I believe we were told to head back inside." The sultry voice of the woman pointed out to him.

"We were, but I wanted to see if anyone needed help." Sark stated the lie convincingly, or so he thought. The woman just gave him a dubious look and then smirked at him...fucking smirked at him like she knew he was lying.

"I think the security detail has everything well in hand. You really should return to the party."

Sark again felt that aura of power but managed to give the woman a challenging smirk right back. "Perhaps, you're right...might I escort you back into the party, Miss?" Sark held out his arm, while the woman just stared at him in amusement.

"That's quite all right, Mr. Mason? Isn't it?" The look she was giving him, had the hairs of the back of his neck standing to attention. It was as if she knew that his real name wasn't Mason...who the fuck was this woman? "My escort should be returning shortly."

Sark loved a challenge and this woman was piquing his curiosity... "Well, far be it for me to leave a lady unattended. I'm more than happy to wait until your escort arrives."

He could see a flash of annoyance behind her gaze, but she masked it quickly and placed a bland smile on her face. "That's really not necessary, Mr. Mason, but kind of you nonetheless. I'm sure you have somewhere else you need to be?"

Challenge dropped and accepted. "No, at the moment you have my undivided attention...Miss...?"

"Wilkins..." the beautiful woman didn't hesitate in offering her name. Either it was her true name, or she was really very good at obfuscation. "Lucky me..." she murmured, which caused Julian's smirk to widen in response. He was just about to say something particularly witty, when the green-eyed man returned, looking a bit worse for wear.

"Everything alright, love?" Miss Wilkins smiled at the new arrival, who just smiled back and nodded.

"Everything's good. You ready to leave?"

The young woman nodded, almost in relief. Before she could leave however, Sark extended his hand towards the other gentleman. "Andrew Mason, I hope you don't mind but I was keeping your companion company. I do hope that everyone is alright...it seemed like a rather loud commotion."

The green-eyed man stared at him for a moment, and Sark had that feeling again...that aura of power, only this time it was much stronger...much, much stronger.

"Thank you for attending to my friend, Mr. Mason...but we really need to be going, don't we darling?"

"Of course." The amber-eyed goddess smiled widely at the other man. "Thank you for attending to me Mr. Mason and enjoy the rest of your evening."

"The pleasure was all mine, I assure you." Julian smirked, and watched as the woman's eyes darkened momentarily before they cleared. He watched, as the green-eyed man escorted Miss Wilkins from the back of the Manor into the main area. They were joined by two other men, one with red hair and freckles and another dark-skinned man. Together the four walked out of the entrance...

Sark discreetly followed them outside, watching as a Limousine picked them up and ferreted them away. Walking back into the Manor, Julian went back to the place where he was sure the commotion had been, but nothing seemed out of place. In fact, it didn't look like any disturbance had been there at all. It all seemed highly suspicious...and if Julian had learned anything from his years as a world class assassin...it was to always trust your instincts and his instincts were screaming at him that something was different about Miss Wilkins and her date. They both radiated a power that he'd never felt before. It was tangible...almost like electricity running across his skin...and he wondered just how the hell that was possible...

Julian left quickly after that, getting the information Irina required to her quickly and then settling in for the night. Irina had no other jobs for him for the next few weeks, so Sark decided to stay in London for a bit. Making a quick call to a trusted associate, Julian asked the man to get any background information her could find on a Miss Wilkins...approximate age 23. Five foot six, long brown curly hair, amber eyes...telling his contact it wasn't much, Julian was nonetheless convinced he'd have something substantial in a few days.

When a few days turned into a week-and-a-half and his contact still had no information on anyone with that name that matched that description, that little voice in the back of Julian's head whispered the truth of what he'd subconsciously known that night...Wilkins wasn't her real name. He'd never gotten the name of the green-eyed man either, so Julian was left at square one.

Walking around London had always been one of his favorite things to do, and today was no exception. It had been nearly two weeks since the gala, and Sark's thoughts hadn't strayed from the images his mind kept conjuring of the beautiful woman he'd met there. Amber eyes haunted his waking thoughts and invaded his dreams at night. It hadn't become an obsession at this point, but Julian was beginning to wonder if his thoughts weren't headed in that direction.

Walking into a little known bookstore, Julian perused the shelves looking for something to occupy his mind for the evening when he heard a voice coming from the back of the shop...it wasn't just any voice however, but her voice. He'd bet his substantial inheritance on it...so he slowly walked into the back of the shop...and there stood the object of his near obsession, dressed casually in tight black jeans and a soft pink buttoned up blouse with heeled black boots and a grey pea coat hanging off her arm. Underneath the coat, Sark could make out a small beaded bag, clutched in her hand.

Clearing his throat, he smirked when Miss Wilkins looked up and her eyes widened comically at seeing him standing before her. She shut her book and smiled awkwardly as he moved forward and bowed politely. "Miss Wilkins...isn't it?" Sark said her faux name with just the right amount of inflection, but to her credit she didn't flinch, she only smirked and nodded politely, before returning the volley. "Ah, Mr. Mason...wasn't it?"

Sark smiled genuinely and nodded once. "I believe I was never privy to your given name at the party..."

"No you weren't." Amber eyes watched him with amusement, giving nothing away.

Sark chuckled and smiled widely. "Well, perhaps we might start over?" Extending his hand, Sark stated softly, "Andrew Mason, at your service."

The amused chuckle from the woman across from him, sent shivers down his back. Extending her own hand, she shook his firmly. "Mia Wilkins."

Sark's eyebrow rose mockingly, but the woman, Mia...just shook her head at him in return. Deciding to take a chance, and see where it went, Julian stepped a bit closer and stated lowly, "If your name is Mia Wilkins, then my name is Andrew Mason." The words came out sarcastically, and again, to her credit...Mia didn't flinch...she just gave him a contemplative look.

"Are we playing some sort of game here, Mr. Mason?"

"Would you like it to be?" Sark challenged roughly, causing Mia to shiver noticeably at the tone of his voice.

"I'm not sure...Mr. Sark...I don't think you could handle any of the games I might send your way."

The woman's voice had gone cold, but it was nothing compared to the shocked look on Julian's face. How the fuck did she know who he was?

Moving in closer, Sark tried to intimidate, but this woman only smirked wider at him...as if she wasn't scared of him at all. "It would seem you have me at an unfair disadvantage Miss Wilkins."

"And you don't like that, do you, Mr. Julian Sark."

At the mention of his given name, Sark's playfulness disappeared in an instant and he moved into Mia's personal space, crowding her body with his. His voice lowered dangerously and with anyone else, they'd be frightened of the power Mr. Sark wielded, but this woman...she was only more amused by his show of dominance. "I don't know whom you are...but I assure you, I don't take kindly to such taunts."

"Hmmmm...I didn't realize using your name was a taunt. Now, if I'd used your actual given name...Julian Lazeray...well...". Her voice faded away as Julian's eyes widened before he moved to grab the woman. In a flash he was on his back, on the floor as hardened amber eyes stared down at him from above. This woman looked like a Valkyrie with her curls flowing and her eyes blazing in warning. "I'm sure your not used to anyone getting the better of you. Trust me when I tell you, I understand those feelings...however, it's not wise to anger me, Mr. Sark."

Julian's eyes narrowed, but he could feel that same aura of power surrounding the woman. He could fucking taste it and his body responded instinctively, and before he knew what he was doing, he was standing up and grabbing a handful of curls, as his lips crashed onto the perfect pink ones that had taunted his dreams for the better part of two weeks.

What he hadn't expected was the response he got to his violent kiss. Instead of the pain he'd expected, all he received was pleasure. Those sinful lips opened under his onslaught and a breathy moan erupted from them, leaving him hard as fucking granite. Soft hands were gripping his hair tightly, and nails were scratching his scalp with just the right amount of pain, causing him to groan into the kiss. The control Julian Sark was so famous for, was completely nonexistent as he pushed Mia's lush, curvy body into the bookshelf and both hands grabbed a handful of her luscious arse...which he squeezed...hard...causing another breathy moan to erupt from that perfectly formed pink mouth.

When air became a necessary requirement, Julian broke away, looking down into a very flushed, but surprisingly calm face of one Mia Wilkins. Her smirk rivaled his own, and he was again stunned by just how in control this woman was. Who the fuck was she?

"I should probably be incensed that you decided to take such liberties with me, Mr. Sark..."

"And are you?" Julian smirked back in kind, trying to win back some of his hard fought control.

"I haven't decided yet. But I really should be going...so if you'll excuse me."

Mia Wilkins had managed somehow during the kiss, to maneuver him so his back was in the opposite direction and she had free reign to leave. Walking swiftly, she moved towards the front of the store, but not before a firm hand gripped her arm and heated electric blue eyes stopped her in her tracks. "I would prefer if we could perhaps extend this conversation, Miss Wilkins."

The laugh that bubbled out of her mouth should of made him angry, but Julian found himself smirking at the genuineness of the sound. "I'm sure you would."

Pouting playfully, Sark quipped easily, "I'm sure I could make it worth your time."

The laugh now was easy and free, and Julian actually felt himself smiling in response. "I don't doubt that Mr. Sark. Am I really supposed to trust you? Do you think I'm that naive?"

Julian shrugged. "Shall we parlay, my Lady?"

"A detente? Hhmmm...it is intriguing. What do I get for my troubles?"

Sark leant forward and whispered in his most seductive voice. "I give you my word the only pain I'll inflict will be entirely consensual, and the pleasure will be beyond your wildest dreams. You're free to leave in the morning...and I won't harm a hair on your beautiful head."

Mia blushed prettily and bit her lip in contemplation. "So one night? And you'll let me go...no questions asked? I find that very hard to believe."

Sark just shrugged. "I am a man of my word, Miss Wilkins."

Mia smiled widely. "It's Hermione...Julian...Hermione Granger."

Julian's smile could've lit up the entire city of London. "Very well, Hermione Granger...I give you my word."

Suddenly, that feeling of something washed over Julian, but before he could question it, Hermione placed her hand in his.

"One night."

Julian nodded and together they walked back to his townhouse. Both talked about commonalities they shared in art and literature. Julian was clearly impressed with how well read Hermione Granger appeared to be. Classical, modern, historical...she was highly educated. She spoke six languages to his twelve, had traveled extensively and had a passion for learning. When he asked what she had been doing at the gala under an assumed name, she smirked and rolled her eyes...telling him plainly not to ask questions he wasn't prepared to answer honestly himself. He laughed loudly at her chastisement and nodded in an unspoken agreement.

When they finally reached his home, he led her into his inner sanctum and watched with appreciative eyes how she took in everything. From his serene paintings by Gerhard Richter, to some of his more garish offerings by Francis Bacon...Hermione seemed captivated by everything she saw. Looking over her shoulder, she smiled, "Your collection is impressive."

Sark smirked. "It's not the only thing I have that's impressive."

Hermione laughed again, this time playfully. "Oh, is that so?"

Moving into her space, Julian smirked wickedly. "Oh, most definitely Miss Granger. Perhaps you might allow me to show you just how impressive?"

Nodding once, Julian lowered his lips onto hers. The instant their lips touched, that feeling of electricity and power was back full force, and Julian groaned, deepening the kiss instantly and feeling his body coil in response...kissing Hermione was like nothing he'd ever experienced. The feeling, energy and essence of her mouth, her touch and her smell were doing things to his senses that completely overwhelmed him. When he lifted her up into his arms, she moaned and wrapped her long legs around his waist...

Julian didn't waste any time getting Hermione to his bedroom...once the door was closed, he had her pinned to the back of it...his body pressed tightly into hers, allowing her to feel every hard inch of him as he ground himself between her spread thighs, taking in her whimpers and mewls greedily. Clothes...they had too many of them on, a fact that frustrated Julian greatly. Moving over towards the bed, he continued to kiss, nip, pull and suck on those perfectly formed lips. When he reached the bed, his knee hit the edge and he gently, but purposefully, placed Hermione on the soft duvet underneath them.

Determined fingers were unbuttoning his shirt, and sharp nails were scorching a path down his torso...Julian hissed in pleasure as he literally felt tiny electric shocks pulsating down towards his groin. His cock was harder than he'd ever remembered it being in his life. It was throbbing with an overwhelming intensity and when Hermione's fingernail dragged along the surface of his trousers, tracing the outline of his very substantial erection...Julian groaned...fucking groaned like an fucking addled schoolboy copping his first feel from a woman.

Trying to shake his head (the other one) clear for a moment, Julian lifted his face and was met with amber eyes that were blown with lust, a swollen mouth that begged to be kissed and flushed cheeks that were stained pink...luscious curls were draped over his pillow and the smell of vanilla and jasmine wafted between them...making Julian drool with desire.

Utilizing his hands...hands that had maimed and killed so many people...Julian methodically unbuttoned Hermione's blouse and pulled it away from her torso, breathing in when he saw a thin white scar that bisected her torso, running from her shoulder, between her breasts and down to her opposite hip. He also noticed a slightly raised scar bisecting her throat just above her collar bones. She was watching him with an intensity that should've made him wary, but he was enthralled by the slightly raised flesh. Running a single finger down the length of the scars, blue eyes met amber with a questioning look. Hermione just smirked and shook her head, obviously not interested in pillow talk...or explaining how the fuck she had a thirteen inch scar bisecting down her torso. The woman was becoming more intriguing by the minute.

Renewing his exploration of her body with vigor, Julian was further intrigued when he noticed smaller faint scars littered on her body. A feeling of possessiveness washed over him. What the fuck happened to her? But it wasn't until he removed her blouse completely, and he saw the raised scaring on her right arm that a hiss was forced from his mouth. This time the scar was shaped in the formation of a word, and when he looked closer...the word mudblood stared back at him.

Amber eyes were watching his reactions closely, but for once in Julian's life he simply couldn't form words. His prodigious mind suddenly realized that Hermione...his Hermione...had been tortured at some point in her life. The how's, who's and wherefore's were secondary to the why...why had she been tortured? Lifting up her arm, his blue eyes made contact with her amber ones as he gently kissed each letter in succession, and the wariness of Hermione's gaze softened slightly, as a wry sort of smile twisted onto those succulent lips.

From that moment on, their joining was a succession of flurried, frenzied activity. Clothes were removed, lips and hands were everywhere...and when he finally thrusted home, her quim was made to measure...for him...and him alone. These thoughts were completely foreign to him, just like the feelings were...but bloody hell, she was fucking perfect, as her nails scraped along his back and blood was drawn. He groaned, growled and hissed as each electric sensation built upon itself, as he pounded into her tight, wet heat...her sounds were the fucking sexiest thing he'd ever heard in his life, and when her back arched and she screamed out his name in ecstasy...well...the electric fire that shot through his body like a current, literally pulled his own orgasm straight from him...Julian came with a shout...a fucking shout...as he collapsed into waiting arms, that cradled his body and petted him soothingly.

For a few long moments, Julian Sark literally couldn't move a muscle. He'd just had the strongest orgasm of his life...and fuck it all...but if someone were to come in at this precise moment, he sincerely doubted he'd be able to defend himself. The thought made him a bit uneasy...but not enough to move away from the blissful feeling of being in this woman's arms.

When he finally got his body under a bit more control, Julian lifted his head and smirked at the beautiful woman lying beneath him. He went to say something, but Hermione just placed her fingers over his lips and gently shook her head. Nodding once, understanding that the time for talk would come later...Julian gently kissed the goddess beneath him and their dance started all over again. For the rest of the night, he showed Hermione Granger just how skilled he was at giving pleasure. He'd lost count how many times he made her come with his hands, mouth and cock buried deep inside her. All he knew for certain was there was no fucking way one night with this woman would ever be enough.

In the morning when he awoke, it was to an empty bed. The sheets next to him were cold and the room smelled a bit sterile...the smells of sex, vanilla and jasmine from the night before were barely discernible...almost as if their rendezvous never happened. Grabbing his shirt and trousers, Julian went into his living area and kitchen, but there were no signs of life anywhere. He tried not to growl in frustration because she had told him pointedly it was only for one night. The problem was, Julian Sark was now invested. He needed to know who this woman was and what had happened to her. Picking up his cellphone he called a few contacts, gave them the name and told them they had 48 hours to find something or he'd shoot first and ask questions later.

Hermione Granger...aka Mia Wilkins...had disappeared from his townhouse over a week ago. Julian Sark's contacts were wide and varied, but even so...none of the men he'd ordered to find information had come back with anything substantial. Oh, there was a record of a Hermione Granger, born September 19,1979 near Oxford. Her parents had both been Dentists in London...they'd had a thriving practice and were firmly ensconced in the upper echelons of English Society...until the early summer of 1997. Helen and Richard Granger, had all but disappeared...left their home and dental practice...and supposedly vanished without a trace. A year later, their home and practice were sold, by their daughter...who then, also vanished without a trace in late 1998. That was four years ago, and no one had seen nor heard from Hermione Granger since that time.

Julian had told his contacts to dig deeper. He knew there was something he was missing, because people just didn't vanish into thin air, not without a good reason. There was always a record, always a trace of information. It was another week before one of his contacts had come back with something substantial. A Monica and Wendell Wilkins had shown up in Australia, shortly after the Grangers had disappeared from England. Old surveillance photos matched the description of the Dentists, yet Monica and Wendell had seemingly not only left their home and profession behind, but also their daughter. According to his sources, Monica and Wendell had died in some sort of freak accident shortly after moving to Australia. Julian now held a photo of their final resting place in a small church cemetery, just outside of Sydney.

The scenarios that were invading Julian's mind simply didn't add up. Hermione Granger was seventeen when her parents disappeared, but she obviously didn't go with them. There was no record of a Hermione Granger attending any school in London or anywhere in the British Isles after the age of eleven. She might have been privately tutored...Julian considered the possibility. But even so, she would've taken her A levels at some point in 1998...yet there was no record of any exam scores with her name on them.

So, why would her parents have left so hastily? And why didn't she go with them? How had they died? Was someone after them, or her...or both? Was it that same someone or someone's who'd carved those scars into her skin? And if so...why? All the financial records Julian had procured told a story of two wealthy Dentists who were both only children. Both coming from wealthy families...no financial abnormalities, nothing to indicate any illegal dealings at all. None of it made any sense to the assassin. Julian was even more frustrated than before.

When Irina finally called and told him to fly to Los Angeles, Julian was both relieved and irritated at having to go. Irina expected nothing less than perfection from him, and Julian had never allowed anything to distract him before, but he was definitely distracted by the thoughts running through his head. Packing a bag, he headed for the private airport he favored just outside of London, where his jet would be waiting for him. Driving through the streets of London, Julian's thoughts drifted to amber eyes and a perfectly formed mouth...wondering if he would ever see Hermione Granger again.