When the Bell Tolls - Dramione

6.

4:32am

The raw, strong energy of magic. She has lived in recognition of it for more than half her life, has felt it pounding through her body like electricity, or wrapped around her in warmth, coldness, or pain. It's as much a part of her as the beat of her heart, and when it's as calm as it should be, she barely notices that it's there. So she doesn't understand why one burst of it pressing to her skin is being so difficult to erase the feel of.

He could have let it hit her. Who knows what the spells were, but it wouldn't have been his problem. Unless he had thought it would be. That must have been it. He must have thought it would have some sort of negative impact on him if he didn't do it.

Or something. Or something.

Hermione's fingers drum across the closed folder, and she glances down at her watch. Her eyes stray to her briefcase again, and she bites the inside of her cheek as she reaches for it. She stands, opening it on her desk, and digs through a fold of papers. Three, five, six, and she pulls it out, unfolding it as she walks around her desk. She puts the paper against the wall, casting a quick Sticking Charm, and then walks back.

She slides into the curved indent of her bum in the cushion, and her shoulder blades hit the back of the chair. Her teeth run over her bottom lip, again, again, and she watches the tiny dot move around a small room on the map marked Level Eight.

10:00pm

Hermione feels the material of her trousers under her fingertips, the tiny bumps and the stitching, the heat of her skin rising through. Malfoy has finally moved his stare from her and to the floor, and he stands as still as a statue. The only sound in the room is a summer breeze ruffling the leaves on the trees outside.

"Are you hungry?" 

"No."

She gives a nod, and turns her attention to the flicker of candles around the

room. She wanted to leave him in Azkaban tonight, but he has to be out in case something happens that they need him for. There's nothing to do in the house except stand there. No books, magazines, or anything entertaining. She should have brought the article for him to read, like she had thought of doing, so at least she could have the pretense of reading the rest of the paper again.

"The positive of this situation is that there is little chance the higher circle doesn't know what you're up to now. I know it's preferable for them to have heard about it from the underground - which they might have - but this might give them a push to contact--"

"They'll doubt my abilities to lead, my choice in recruits, and think I'm too sloppy and unlearned for any real position among them. They're more likely to contact me out of curiosity, revenge, or because we're putting the Ministry onto the revival we're not truly a part of."

"Then you will prove them wrong." She crosses her arms, tracking a drop of wax as it slips from the column of a candle and falls to the floor. "They'll think you had enough ambition and dedication to the cause to start something, and will know you weren't afraid to torture Muggles and curse Aurors. The fact that the Aurors found out who you are...you can say you didn't care, because you knew you would get away."

"Carelessness works in no one's favor."

"The fact that you didn't know the Aurors would show is good, too. It gives a higher unlikelihood that you're working for the Ministry, because they came after the group, and you couldn't have known that they scan for high, concentrated use of Dark magic in the Muggle world. As far as some of the group getting caught..."

"They were expendable, low rank, and would have had to be dealt with before any serious plan took shape."

Hermione tilts her head, watching him pluck a piece of lint from his chest. "They would accept that?"