00 00 00 00 00

Dennis walked briskly amongst the throngs of muggle pedestrians, and noticed three things in rapid succession.

His phone was buzzing. A call, not a text. Hermione had reserved calls for emergencies. As Dennis fished it from his pocket the burly middle aged muggle in front of him halted suddenly, at the cusp of Hermione's street, before patting down his worn brown jacket, and comically running back the way he had come.

After looking back to see the man's rush, Dennis halted at the curb, fishing out his mobile and noticing the black and white cat, that Hermione and Luna had adopted, laying in the middle of the road, sunning himself.

His phone began shaking, emitting four more monotone shrieks, then dying with a flash of white. Hermione's street was empty. Gone the constantly loittering travellers and local foot traffic, and now only two men stood beneath the vivid orange awning.

Dennis recognized one of them, and presumed the blonde man's identity immediately.

Hermione's tent.

Had her wards held?

Those were his last thoughts as he drew his wand from his pocket, and prepared for the cold unsettling feeling of a disillusionment charm.

- 0 - 0 -

0000

_ 0 _ 0 _ 0

The dial rang out.

Again, and again.

Around her fourth attempt, she realized she was pacing and needed to get out. She emerged from the platform stairs and still her lungs refused to cooperate. Her legs burned and her hand continued to brush past the wand in her pocket.
Hermione blended in by a muggle bus stop and clutched the shoulder bag, heaving with books and notes. But bereft of her small beaded bag, Hermione panicked for a moment, before remembering it was with Luna. The girl had taken it reverently before leaving the platform that morning, all those hours ago. Hermione let the street swim around her in a stream of traffic, and slowly started to marshal her lungs into capitulation. Still once more, she shuddered as a cold logic trickled through her thoughts.

If Dennis wasn't answering his phone, he was either delayed at Le Mecure, which was rather likely, meaning he was with Rita and would continue to Groomsbrides as scheduled.
Or he had succeed, and gotten to the apartment before Luna's text.

Either way, her position had not changed.
Hermione scowled with distaste as the face of Dumbledore in her dream that morning swam into focus.
She had sent Dennis into the fray and she couldn't be there to help him.
She had to meet with Skeeter at three, with or without Dennis.

Hermione felt the blood rush through her head and the noise of the street was suddenly under her skin. Her lungs refused to calm and her hand shook through her satchel for her wand. The grain of wood beneath her fingers turned to the cool touch of the brass deluminator as the contents of her bag shifted. She called the cold calm of logic and rationality into place, and let the busy air of Paris fill her with resolve.

00 00 00 00 00

It's a short chapter, if you're still reading this: What would you rather see?

Harry's perspective or Luna's?

Either one will be short again, I've been having a down few weeks. Trying to keep up with writing, even small increments will help, so whichever is more popular will be written next. Sorry this fic is lagging, Much love, to anyone who is reading this, I really do want to finish it before the new year.