Author's note: This is written for the Quidditch League Fanfiction Competition (Round 6) "Lesser used genres"

Task: Write about a rarely used genre. I've used crime

Prompts used: (dialogue) "So… what exactly is that?" (Word) experience and (picture) a snow covered bench in a park.

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter

Hermione mingled with the bustling crowd as she exited the old stone building that stood impressively over the people below. She clutched her large black bag tightly as she began to make her way down the streets and away from the museum that she had just cased.

The job had been fairly simple as the object she had been asked to take was down in the vaults below the museum and would, therefore, only be missed when the staff changed around the exhibits. However, the hardest part had been getting into the vaults in the first place. It had been an experience that she would rather not repeat, as it had required even more prior planning than usual.

She had had to contact Ginny Weasley, who was Hermione's only long-time friend. She could get her hands on just about anything, and had managed to retrieve a security guard's uniform for Hermione to use. She also never asked too many questions, which was convenient in their line of work.

Hermione continued to mix with the other people on the street. The first rule of the business: hide in plain sight and act naturally as possible. Anything suspicious about your behaviour could alert others to what you were doing and who you were.

Hermione slipped out of the mass of people into a side street which was a quicker way to her apartment and would confuse any potential followers. She remerged onto a busy main street and turned quickly into her building.

Once inside, she felt the disposable mobile phone vibrate in her jacket pocket, but ignored it until she reached her front door and had stepped inside.

Placing the bag on the worn sofa, Hermione took the phone out of her pocket and looked at the screen. She bit her lip slightly as she read the message.

'Very nicely done, Miss Granger. You will make the drop tomorrow at the park to the right of your apartment. Third bench from the tower, under a tree. Our man will meet you at 9:00am. L Malfoy'

She scanned the message again, remembering each detail and then deleted the text and turned off the device. She would dispose of it as soon as she had the opportunity.

She dumped the phone on the armrest and sat down next to the bag. She sighed as she thought about what she was caught up in.

How had she become mixed up with Tom Riddle and his so-called 'Death Eaters'? They ruled the criminal world and she was just a simple thief in a world of many. Why they had singled her out was a mystery, and probably always would be one. The Lord of the criminal world was hardly likely to give away his reasons for hiring her above everyone else.

But they had offered a decent amount and she was hardly in a position to turn down a job from one of the most dangerous men in her world.

She stayed seated, and picked up a book that sat on the coffee table in front of her. She dived into the story and, for a little while, was able to forget about the unanswered questions that spun in her head.

OoOoO

The frigid winter wind blew incessantly against the pale skin of her face, leaving her cheeks flushed. Tiny snowflakes were deposited in her bushy hair as they rode on the breeze. Hermione turned her collar up to protect her neck from the worst of the chill, before burying her hands deeper in the pockets of her black trench coat.

On reaching the bench that she had been instructed to make the exchange at, the thief brushed away the icy crystals from the dark wood in order to sit down. Even without the snow, the cold seeped through her coat and chilled her bones.

She waited patiently for the other person to show. Snowflakes continued to fall around her, occasionally touching a patch of bare skin which sent shivers across her body.

Thirty-six people walked past her before someone finally took a seat on the other side of the bench from her. He unfolded a creased newspaper and began to read one of the front page articles.

Hermione snuck a quick sideways glance at her new company. The man was fairly tall, maybe about twenty years her senior with shoulder length black hair, which Hermione thought could do with a decent wash. He too was dressed in a long black coat which was wrapped tightly around him.

Hermione waited for a couple of minutes for him to make the first attempt at communicating. One thing she had learned during her time in this business was that you let the client make the initial move. That way it meant that there was less worry of her starting the exchange with an oblivious bystander.

A couple of minutes passed with nothing but the sound of the howling wind and the distant sound of traffic breaking the silence.

"Do you have it?" the stranger asked suddenly, without his gaze leaving the printed pages in front of him.

Hermione shuffled slightly on the bench before replying:

"Yes."

She glanced sideways again and watched as the man closed and folded the newspaper, tucking it into his inside pocket. He then reached for his top pocket and pulled out a sealed brown envelope which bulged outwards due to the shape of its contents.

"The amount that was agreed is all inside. It's all yours once you give me what I need," he replied. His voice had a dangerous lilt to it, though Hermione was unsure why he sounded so threatening over what was just a simple business transaction. They already had her on edge.

She quickly reached inside her own inside pocket and pulled out a tightly rolled piece of worn parchment. She had placed it inside a clear plastic bag in order to protect the aging paper from the harsh weather. She leant across the bench and handed the scroll to the man, who took it from her and quickly unrolled it.

After scanning the paper quickly, he seemed satisfied and returned it to its original condition. He passed the brown envelope to Hermione, who to it eagerly. They had settled on a large amount of money that would allow her to survive for months without taking on a job.

But one thing puzzled her. What did they want with that particular map? From what she had seen of it, there was nothing extraordinary about it and seemed quite useless unless they were going to sell it on to make a profit.

The second rule of the business was always keep yourself to yourself. Do not ask questions to the wrong people as it was more likely to end badly for you. But Hermione had always been too inquisitive for her own good, and could not help but ask questions that would undoubtedly lead to trouble.

"So… what exactly is that?" she inquired, without fully thinking through what she was saying.

The dark haired man turned to face her, eyeing her with suspicion. Hermione shuddered at the look that his cold, black eyes cast her way.

"I don't think that that is any of your business, Miss Granger, but let's just say that it is a means to an end," he said softly, as his lips curved into a malicious sneer, "but you were paid to do a job, not to ask unwanted questions."

Hermione shivered again, but it was nothing to do with the snow that continued to fall onto her.

She quickly nodded in affirmation of his comment and turned to leave. She managed around three paces before he spoke again which made her stop in her tracks.

"By the way, Miss Granger, if you ever speak a word of this… exchange to anyone, we will find you. Nobody betrays our organisation, as my boss takes betrayal rather seriously. I would hate for you to be in that position…" The rest of his threat remained unsaid, but Hermione knew exactly what he was getting at. He was sincere but his voice carried a malevolent tone which made her cringe inwardly.

Hermione stood up a little straighter and started walking again down the snowy path, without looking back at the man who still sat on the bench. She knew that these were terrible people. People who could ruin her life in an instant and there was nothing that she could do about it.

That was the third rule she had learnt from this business. Nobody ever got out of it cleanly. The people at the top made sure that they could buy your silence, or had enough dirt on you to scare you into keeping you from spilling their secrets.

Becoming ensnared with the wrong people was dangerous. It removed the hope for ever being able to do something better, to leave the underworld behind. Nobody was ever allowed to just walk away.

A/N: I hope you enjoyed this. It's very different from my usual style, but I quite enjoyed writing it. Please leave a review.