A/N: This is my first entry for the QLFC (respective notes at the end)! I hope you'll enjoy it. And don't forget to review!

Btw, this is most certainly AU. ;)

At What Price

Hermione knew a lot of things could go wrong in a heist. She mentally berated herself that they hadn't accounted for the weather when planning it. Slate-coloured clouds gathered above her, bringing storm and thunder with them. Flowing sheets of water crashed down on the earth like bullets and hit Hermione, soaking her in seconds.

Their time window for the heist for the Dark Object was narrow. She had to be inside the house in a few minutes, or there wouldn't be enough time to crack the curses safeguarding it.

The lashing downpour was so thick that Hermione could barely see the Manor that stood out against the darkening sky – even with the superior eagle eyes that she possessed in her Animagus form. A violent gust of wind nearly drove her off course and she had to use all the power in her wings to readjust the entrance angle. The tempest toyed with her, driving her first in one then the other direction, almost pushing her against windows and roofs.

The eagle surmounted the shield spells around the Manor without a problem. It would have detected any human being or magical objects, like brooms, but it was easily fooled by animals – or humans posing as such. With the grace natural of its kind, the eagle landed on the roof of the Eastern tower.

It was a little ironic to Hermione that her Animagus form was a bird, even though she'd been a little afraid of heights as a teenager. Well, not anymore. Shifting back to her human form, she crouched behind the battlements and set to open the trapdoor that led inside the house.

"Status report," cracked Malfoy's voice through her in-ear headset that she had charmed to work just like a Muggle device would.

At first, she had refused to work together with Draco Malfoy, but he was not only an expert in Alchemy and Potions, but also in Dark Objects and cursed family heirlooms. Plus he knew his way around in these kinds of houses. He could scout them out for her, so he had revealed himself to be a valuable asset.

"Almost in," she replied, her voice clipped. With a swish of her wand, she'd broken the weak enchantments that protected the roof. "Done. Are you ready for this?"

"Yes," came the monosyllabic reply. "The coast is clear. Enter now!"

Hermione rolled her eyes. She hated it when he bossed her around. She'd burglised countless houses and secured lots of valuable and dangerous objects before she'd met him. She was able to do it just fine on her own. However, he had saved her ass in one of her previous missions as Special Auror in M.L.E., and she had consequently recruited him as her informant.

With utmost care, Hermione opened the trapdoor and slipped through it silently. As soon as her eyes were accustomed to the darkness, she could make out the small round box room occupying the top of the tower. There was nothing of interest here, which was why the wards weren't as strong as on the other towers. But only an insider could have known this.

"I'm in," she whispered. "Proceeding to dungeons now."

"Copy that," he replied. Then, after a pause; "Be careful."

Hermione flinched. She tried to keep their relationship professional, neutral, and such a remark overstepped her invisible boundaries because it implied that he cared. But Malfoy didn't care about anyone other than himself.

That wasn't the only reason, though, why she was keeping him at arm's length, and she knew it. It was because she liked him, even though she shouldn't. She was married, for Merlin's sake!

Well, not anymore, she reminded herself, but then quickly pushed the distracting thoughts away.

Homenum revelio, she cast silently, but nothing happened. Malfoy's intel seemed solid. No one was at home.

She had memorised the blueprints of the old Manor and navigated easily through the quiescent house. Outside, the thunderstorm was still raging, lightning flashing over the sky every now and then, illuminating the otherwise sombre rooms.

Without many difficulties, she disabled the tripwire hexes and various alarms set throughout the Manor. It was tedious work, but it didn't pose a problem. A glance at her watch told her she had thirty minutes left to complete her mission: stealing the Tyrving sword, re-enabling all enchantments, and getting out without disturbing anything.

The object she was ordered to obtain was an old magic sword, known for its role in Norse magic. It had been cursed from the day of its forging, and was considered one of the most dangerous objects in the Wizarding World. Its powers were almost as renowned and feared as those of the Elder Wand. It was believed to have gone missing in the previous century, but suddenly it had resurfaced. She and Malfoy had received anonymous intel about a sale going down soon, and she had to find the weapon before it could fall into the wrong hands.

"How's it going, Granger?" Malfoy's voice interrupted her thoughts. "Talk to me."

"Almost at the dungeons," she breathed.

"Hurry up, then."

Hermione rolled her eyes again. Now came the hardest part before the dungeons. The entrance hall. There was a checkered pattern on the floor, and stepping on the wrong slab would cause an alarm to go off, but the right pattern opened the secret door to the dungeons. Taking a deep breath, she braced herself. Then, she jumped.

Black, black, white. Pause. Black, white. Pause. White, white, white. Pause. Black, white, black.

Hermione held her breath when she leapt on the last stone slab. No alarm went off. Grinning, she tapped the wall with her wand and the stone door, perfectly concealed within the wall, swung open without a sound.

"Twenty-five minutes, Granger," Malfoy reminded her as she hastened down the stairs, disabling the hexes as she went along.

She didn't acknowledge that with an answer, instead focused on the curses protecting the door to the vault.

"As soon as the door's opened, you'll have exactly three minutes and thirty seconds of oxygen to find the sword, grab it, and run. If you stay longer than four minutes, the temperature alarm will go off," he added, as if she didn't know that already. Biting down on her lip in concentration, she lifted the last warding spell and reached for the door.

"Bugger!" she cursed as her fingers connected with the metal. Fierce pain licked at her hand where the door had burned her.

"What's wrong?" Malfoy asked instantly, but she didn't reply. Wrapping a conjured towel around her hand, she tried again. This time she was able to open the door.

"Come on, Granger. Talk to me," Malfoy demanded. "Your silence scares me."

"Stop nagging," Hermione snapped. "I'm in the vault. Now shut up."

Malfoy didn't reply and she was grateful for it.

"Lumos." Lighting the tip of her wand, she stepped inside the stone vault. The air here was cool and strangely clean, the temperature and oxygen levels were constantly monitored to ensure the longevity of the objects inside. She saw a diamond necklace that had belonged to Elizabeth I; a painting by Rembrandt, carefully protected by various spells; boxes with gems and precious metals. No sword.

"It's not here," she gasped. "Are you sure Davies hasn't moved it yet?"

"Yes, I'm bloody sure," Malfoy cursed. "Have you tried summoning it?"

"You know just as well as I do that Accio won't work," Hermione replied stiffly, knowing that she was wasting valuable oxygen with the reply. It has to be a concealment charm, she thought. Methodically, she worked herself through the room, trying every spell she knew.

"One minute, Granger, and you're out of oxygen," Draco said.

She knew that. But she hadn't found the sword yet. Maybe it wasn't hidden with magic. Or maybe … Her eyes wandered to the Rembrandt. What was a Pureblood fanatic doing with a Muggle painting?

Her watch beeped once. "Thirty seconds," Draco said at the same time.

She already felt a little dizzy from the thin air, but she still disabled the enchantments around the painting easily.

Her watched beeped again. Twice. Twenty seconds.

Nothing. The painting was a painting and nothing else. Cursing silently, she set to re-engage the spell when something caught her eye. The painting was Rembrandt's The Conspiracy of Claudius Civilis. Weren't there supposed to be three swords on it? Three, not four ... She narrowed her eyes.

Yes! That must be it! The sword. It had been hidden inside the painting.

Beep, beep, beep. Ten seconds remained.

She took a gulping breath, mindful it might be her last, and tried to think of a spell that might extract the sword from the painting. She came up empty. Damn!

"Hermione, you'll be out of air in five, four, three –"

She took a last deep breath.

"Two, one. GET OUT!" Malfoy ordered. But she needed that sword! She couldn't leave it here!

Her thoughts raced, but the lack of air made it hard to concentrate. Taking a split-second decision, she aimed her wand at the painting and said silently, Reducio!
The painting shrank before her eyes, smaller and smaller, until she was able to pick it up.

"Hermione!" Malfoy bellowed. "The alarm –"

Hermione grabbed the painting, not caring that pain spiked through her hand, and raced out of the vault. Her lungs were constricting painfully, and there were dark spots before her eyes. Not caring about the damage she'd do to herself, she threw herself against the door, and it fell shut with a satisfying click. Not a moment too late. Had she stayed inside the vault a few seconds longer, an alarm would have gone off, trapping her inside. She'd have died of suffocation, painfully and slowly.

Blissful oxygen filled her lungs, and she paused, gasping. Pain raged up and down her right side from where the door had burned her. Her eyes filled with involuntary tears.

"Granger! Granger, for Merlin's sake, answer me!" Malfoy practically screamed into her ear. "Please, don't be dead!"

"I'm – I'm alive," she croaked.

He let out a breath of relief, then continued yelling at her. "Get out, dammit! Davies will be back soon!"

Hell, she knew that. That didn't mean her arm hurt any less. Gripping the painting tightly, she sprinted up the stairs, setting up the curses in the process. Silently, she slipped through the door into the entrance hall.

A glance at her watch told Hermione that it had taken her slightly longer than she'd anticipated. But she wanted this job to be done perfectly. In and out like a ghost. Gritting her teeth, she jumped back over the stone slabs to where she'd started.

"Where are –"

"Almost done," Hermione interrupted him. "At the stairs."

Sweat dripped down her brow as she ran up the stairs, taking two at a time. Malfoy was right. She had five minutes to reach the door and set the warding again before Davies was back. The pain in her arm was almost unbearable. Much worse than the blisters she'd suffered at Gringotts years ago; she, and Harry, and Ron. The thought hurt in a way that had nothing to do with physical pain. Ron. He'd handed her the divorce papers this morning, seemingly out of the blue. She knew their relationship, their passion, had died long ago, but she was still holding onto him as if her life depended on it. She loved him, and yet … it wasn't enough. At least, not for him.

He hated her irregular hours, the secrets she couldn't share, her mysterious injuries. He thought she cheated on him. And he didn't even know that she was working with Malfoy. Apparently, that had been enough for Ron to give up years of marriage, to cancel them as if they'd never existed.

Divorce. Hermione hated the sound of it.

But she'd given in, knowing there was nothing left to fight for. It was over. So, she'd signed the bloody papers and left for work, as if it had been any other day.

"Granger. Davies is approaching," Malfoy suddenly warned her.

"Damn," she muttered. "Almost outside." She hurried up the last set of stairs into the box room, locking it behind her. The painting was heavy and she was breathing hard. With a spell, she opened the trap door. Putting as many waterproofing enchantments over the painting that she knew, she climbed up and out into the rain.

"He's here. Granger, hurry!" Malfoy said, his voice almost panicked. The patter of the raindrops was so loud in her ears, she almost didn't hear him.

The door clanked shut beneath her and she instantly replaced the warding on it. "Done," she said, peering over the battlements at the grounds of the Manor. A car had stopped before the main entrance and a tall, bald man was exiting it. That had been close. Another second and he might have checked the warding.

The rain was so thick, it would be impossible for Davies to see her against the night sky. Ignoring the excruciating pain in her arm, Hermione transformed back into her eagle form, grabbed the painting with her claws, and took to the sky.

The storm transformed the rain into rock-hard water that hit her like hail. It was impossible for her to fly in a straight line, even if her arm had been unhurt. But her arm was hurt. She was barely able to support her own weight, and with the painting, she was helpless against the violent gusts of wind.

Nearly passing out from pain and exhaustion, she fought her way through the outside wards towards the cottage she and Malfoy had set up. Her feathers were soaked and sticky. Her breath came out in ragged gasps, and even her eagle eyes couldn't penetrate the rain. Where was the bloody cottage?

A few painful beats of wings later, she saw it. A light glowing like a beacon of hope in this apocalyptic thunderstorm. She steered towards it. The painting was slipping through her wet claws, but she was almost there.

Unable to brake, she crashed to the ground, head-on. She felt her consciousness slipping. With her last strength, she transformed back, grabbed the painting, and crawled towards the entrance. This hadn't worked out the way she'd planned. Not at all. Maybe she'd been too distracted. Ron had snuck into her mind at the oddest moments, and a sadness had engulfed her that had taken her breath away. Grief for a love lost.

"Malfoy," she whimpered into the headset.

At least, she'd secured the sword. She'd done her job.

Suddenly, the door was ripped open, and a blond man leapt outside. She pushed the painting into his arms. It mustn't get wet! It's an invaluable piece of art! she thought, panic-stricken.

But Malfoy didn't care. He tossed it inside the house, then reached for her. "Hermione." His hands wrapped around her waist, hoisting her to her feet and dragging her inside.

The warmth hit her like a punch in the face. The adrenaline was slowly leaving her body and exhaustion took over.

"Bloody hell, your arm!" Malfoy cursed, depositing her on a chair.

"I'm – I'm okay," she slurred. "The painting … the painting …"

"The damn painting is fine, Granger. I'm more worried about you!" Malfoy growled. She looked up into his grey eyes, searching for sincerity. Did he mean it? Did he care for her? Or was it just words?

"Let me look at that," he said, turning towards her burned side. She didn't dare to even glance at it. "Sorry, this might sting a little," Malfoy warned, and suddenly, pure agony erupted in her arm. She cried out.

But finally, the pain overwhelmed her, and everything went black.

*Written for the QLFC, Season 6, Round One. Team: The Wigtown Wanderers*

Position: Chaser 3

Position Prompt: Write about a theme you've never written before

Optional Prompts: (dialogue) "Your silence scares me."; (setting) thunderstorm; (word) divorce

Word Count: 2,628

Betas: DinoDina, Aya Diefair, and CUtopia