For Jess and Lynn, who wanted some Hooch action. I'm not going to reveal the pairing. You'll find that out on the last two words of the ficlet.
Title: The Ends Justify The Means Author: katling Pairing/Character: Xiomara Hooch/??? Rating: R Warning: Character Death (Yes, you heard me.) Word Count: 505 Summary: Xiomara finds that patience gets you what you want.
Xiomara slowly stretched her arms up above her head, her expression sated and satisfied. She slid one hand under her pillow and lowered the other one to slowly card through the sweat-soaked hair of the man collapsed on top of her. She slowly withdrew her hand from under the pillow, revealing the knife that she had hidden there earlier. It was tiny knife, barely the length of her hand, the blade short and slim and extremely sharp.
She slowly lowered the hand with knife and in a abrupt move, she wrapped her legs around the man’s waist, grabbed his hair tightly then slashed through his carotid artery with the knife. She dropped the knife on the bed and wrapped her arm around the man’s shoulders as he struggled. She ignored the blood that flowed and spurted from the wound and held onto the man tightly, not allowing him to move, not allowing him to reach for the wand on the bedside table, not allowing him to do anything other than die.
Finally he went still but Xiomara didn’t let go. She held onto him for several minutes until she could no longer feel his heart thumping against her own and then she held onto him a little longer. Nearly fifteen minutes passed before she finally released her grasp. Longer than she needed to, she knew that but she wanted to be sure.
She reached out and plucked her wand from the bedside table, levitating the corpse off her. She rolled out of the bed and walked into the bathroom, not sparing the dead man a second glance. She started the shower and put her wand down on the counter next to the sink. She waited until the water was hot enough then climbed into the shower. As she cleaned off the blood, sweat and semen, she felt as though she was being reborn, as though she was washing away more than just the fluids of this encounter.
She had cast aside friends and a job, distanced herself from all she knew for this. And now, finally, after nearly six months she had succeeded. She was done.
She stepped out of the shower and dried herself off then walked back out into the bedroom. She pulled her clothes back on and now she turned and looked at the corpse on the bed. For months he’d been gloating; he knew her history, he knew her hatred for the Death Eaters and he’d been smug and gloating over having drawn her under his influence. How her skin had crawled every time he’d touched her, every time he’d taken her. But she’d been willing to put up with far worse to achieve her aims.
She stared at him for a moment longer then headed for the door. She didn’t bother cleaning up; she didn’t care if the Aurors found out who had done this. As far as she was concerned, if they hadn’t arrested Potter for killing Voldemort, they had no cause to arrest her for killing Rodolphus Lestrange.