Hey, we're both here this time- anything you want to say 1 1/2?
Wheeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!
Anything... intelligent?
Uhhh... I like sugar cubes? A LOT!
That's what I thought... Here's the chapter.
They walked silently down the long corridor. The man who had saved her from an early grave was still cloaked and just as mysterious as before.
"Thank you Mr..." she trailed off, realizing she had no proper way to address him.
He halted before the door, pulling a long, sleek wand from his cloak. "That will do." waving his wand once, the large wooden door slid open easily.
"Mister?" she said, unsure. It just sounded so... to put it bluntly - lame.
"That's what I said," he snarled, "What are you... a parrot?"
She sighed overdramatically. "No, I'm just the brightest mind Hogwarts has produced in years! Member of the dreaded Order of the Phoenix. And, what was that last one?" she said mockingly. " Oh yes! Right hand girl of the late Harry Potter. That is what you said...correct?"
She found the tip of his wand suddenly lodged into her neck. "Don't push your luck, Granger." he snarled. "Just because I saved you this time, doesn't mean I will always be that generous... understand?"
'I don't know, maybe if you lodge the wand even further into my throat. That'll help me understand... bastard.'
She nodded. "Good." he said, removing the wand. He stepped through the doorway, obviously expecting her to follow.
"I suppose you have some kind of twisted ulterior motive?" she said, still testing the water. " Would you care to go off on a long, utterly boring monolog about it? The silence is killing me."
"If you keep this up," he threatened. "You'll wish the silence had killed you."
'Such a friendly man. I think we'll be great friends!'
He shot a glare back at her, daring her to try something funny as they stepped into another, larger room.
'Or maybe not.'
"Hmm." she mused aloud. "You've done some remodeling since the last time I was here. I'd say you've added a touch more doom and just a tidbit despair... good show! I like it!"
His hand smacked against her cheek, leaving a large red handprint. "This isn't a game, Miss Granger." he spat her name out, like it left a bad taste in his mouth. "We aren't some morally righteous knitting group like your precious Order. We won't tolerate your cheek, and we won't hesitate to kill you."
They were deep within the Department of Mysteries now, when he turned off of the main passage way, into a smaller corridor of stone. She could hear water dripping somewhere in the background, but it was too dark to see where. The only light came from damp torches, that if not made of magic, would have rotted away years ago.
He stopped abruptly. It took her a moment to realize that they were standing in front a small, wooden door. She could see the hallway continuing stretch on endlessly in either direction, though neither showed an easy escape. 'So much for that idea.' she thought glumly, wishing that she wasn't always right.
The room beyond the door was small, dingy, with barely enough room to pace back-and-forth. It kind of reminded her of Mr. Weasley's small home office...gone dungeon.
"This is where you'll be working. Your predecessor was a bit...sloppy, I'm afraid." he stated blandly. "Come to think, so was his death."
She felt some of the color drain out of her face. "What a pleasant thought." she said, shivering slightly and suddenly thankful for her coat.
"If you want to avoid meeting the same fate," he warned. "I'd suggest keeping your wits about you... and your troublesome tongue in check."
She nodded, deciding to employ the advice about keep quiet right then. No time like the present...right? He turned to walk away, leaving her decidedly alone in the large, empty room.
"What exactly...am I supposed to do?" She asked cautiously, wanting to avoid angering him yet again...
He turned back. "You can worry about that later. For now, clean this place up!" He left the room, closing the door behind him with a slam.
'Look at me! I'm so tough, I just call myself 'Mister'. I think I'm so cool, but really I'm just hiding my low self-esteem and my secret love of dolls behind my big, flow-y cloak of evil!' Hermione thought sarcastically as she paced (best as she could, anyway,) around the small desk. 'Bloody git.'
Now that she was left alone in the room, she could appreciate how dirty it truly was. How many forests had been slaughtered for all of the paper scattered upon every available surface.
She grabbed a sheet of said numerous papers, and clicked on the old fashioned lamp.
The yellowed paper was covered in thick, scrawling handwriting- none of which made any sense at all. Throwing it aside, she sank down into the nearby desk chair. For lack of anything better to do, she began to sort the papers into two piles- legible and non-legible. Unfortunately the latter was growing much faster than it's counterpart.
She sighed. At this rate, it was going to be a long night.
He walked slowly, his footsteps echoing loudly off of the stone walls. The sound of the creaking door echoed as well, he wasn't surprised. Everything echoed in this empty, god forsaken place.
His escort left him in front of a small door. He slowly opened it and stepped in side. It swung shut behind him with an ominous click of the locking tumblers. Needless to say, he wouldn't be leaving anytime soon. But he was not alone.
She lay face down- at least, judging by all the long hair, he assumed and sincerely hoped that it was a girl- between two large stacks of paper. The one on the left tipping dangerously to the side.
He cleared his throat loudly. She jumped. Her eyes were wide, obviously shocked at being awakened. A single piece of paper stuck to the side of her cheek.
"Who's there?" she asked groggily, pulling the sheet away from her face. Finally she saw him, leaning against the doorway nonchalantly. She blinked rapidly, once, twice, three times. "Draco?"
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