A/N: hi guys, this is my first story, i hope you like it, please review and tell me what you think
Chapter One
Long after everyone at work had left, Hermione scratched away irately on a piece of parchment containing an overdue report to her evil supervisor, Maggie. How had she become a paper- pushing accounts clerk in the Ministry of Magic? How had she gone from muggleborn genius and famous member of the golden trio to… this?
Sighing, she gave the completed report a tap of her wand that made it fly up in the air and to Maggie's office.
Hermione packed up her small black bag with paperwork, her coat and umbrella and after making sure her tiny desk was as neat as usual, she went out of the unit she shared with three colleagues, going up the stairs and to the lift.
The silence of the deserted hallway was interrupted by the ding of the lift as it opened and the creepy voice of the magical lift guide greeted her.
'Good evening, Fifth floor, Department of Magical Finances and Accounts.'
'Ground floor, the atrium,' she said.
With a groan of metal, the doors rasped shut and the lift began to move down.
Leaning against one side, she dropped her bag and rubbed her eyes. What a long day. Luckily, only one day of this crap- hole left before the long-awaited weekend.
Ding.
'Good evening, Third floor, Department of Law Enforcement.'
The doors once more rasped open, to reveal The Draco Malfoy in a three-piece charcoal gray silk suit, hands in his pockets, suave and debonair as ever; her one-time arch-nemesis and now, Auror extraordinaire.
Suppressing an urge to sniff, she pasted a neutral expression on her face as he took an inventory of her from disheveled head to toe, the faintest of classic Malfoy smirks gracing his face. He sauntered lazily into the lift, with a commanding 'Ground floor, the Atrium.'
Suddenly, the lift felt too small to be stuck in with Malfoy. But, no matter, she told herself assuringly. The severe dislike bordering on hate she and her best friends had for this man had worn away since the yesteryears of high school. Now, all she felt for the man was indifference. Or so she tried to convince herself. She no longer had cause to dislike him; the irritating, immature teenage bully had grown up to be a much-beloved war hero and auror; having, to everyone's astonishement, diverted from the track of Death Eater to fight on Harry's side come the day of reckoning against Voldermort. No one doubted whose side he was on, after he killed his own father during the war. Lucius tried to kill his traitor of a son who, unbelievably, dared fight for the mudbloods and against the Great Lord of the Dark.
Even after Voldermort's defeat and the return of normalcy to magical England, Malfoy continued to give back to the society, graduating from the esteemed Auror training college with honors then in the following years gathering up scattered Death Eaters on the run. With his tall, lithe and muscular frame, his platinum hair, stormy gray eyes and dashing good looks, he was England's most eligible bachelor, after "Harry Potter, Boy-Who-Just-Would-Not-Die-and-Eventually-Killed-You-Know-Who". At least, if you ignored the fact that Malfoy was a womanizer. Coreen, her stunningly beautiful best friend and fellow office mate, confessed how he had cheated on her, not with one, but two different women!
Personally, Hermione could never get past the image of a bouncing ferret long enough to see the supposed "prime male specimen" every woman in this building salivated over.
Ding. 'Good evening. Ground floor, the Atrium.'
Finally. As the doors slid open, Malfoy turned to her and offering a hint of a bow, gestured towards the doors.
'After you, Ms. Granger.' To others, it would have sounded typical, but to her, it just sounded mocking. Once more trying not to sniff, with a slight incline of her head and a cool 'Thank you,' she picked up her bag and walked out of the lift, relieved to be out of Malfoy's unsettling presence.
/
When Hermione apparated to her apartment, she was greeted by Crookshanks, still alive and kicking after all the years. She walked to the bathroom and ran a hot bath. While the water ran, she went back to the kitchen and waved her wand around, muttering some cooking spells that Mrs. Weasley had showed her before … the incident.
When she judged that the food and utensils were doing well enough and didn't need any help, she grabbed a bottle of Le Lune Wine and a wineglass. After depositing this next to the tub she undressed and slid into the foamy hot water.
Mhh. It felt wonderful. As the water drew out all her tension, she closed her eyes and let her mind drift, the water soothing all her worries away.
After almost an hour, when her skin was beginning to resemble a prune's, she removed the stopper and stood, letting the water run off her body in tiny rivulets before wrapping a fluffy towel around her.
As if on cue, she heard the door bell ring. Frowning, Hermione climbed out of the bathtub. As the bell was pressed insistently again and again, she hurried, yelling 'I'm coming!'
Cursing her lack of a peephole, she called out. 'Who is it?'
'Mr. Ellis, your neighbor from across the hall.' Huh? Who? She struggled to remember him, and a vague picture of a tiny, white haired man, as reclusive as she herself was, sprang to mind. Odd, that. What could he want?
'Oh, Mr. Ellis, how may I help – '–' she cut herself short when an empty corridor stared back at her. Abruptly, she knew there was something weird going on. Turning to get her wand from the dining table, she ran into a large, solid yet invisible shape. This materialized into a huge man as the disillusionment charm on him disappeared with a pop.
Before she could react he had grabbed her and wrapped large hands around her neck. Tiny, beady black eyes that looked like they belonged on a dead person stared back at her from a thick, squashed face.
Smiling sinisterly, he said, 'may you rot in eternal slumber. It is my duty to purge our nation of your filth. Though the Great Lord of the Dark may be gone, I have taken it upon myself to see his ultimate wishes carried out, and by the time I have finished, England will be as pure and clean as the day of our ancestors. In your next life perhaps you will be worthy to hold the title of Pureblood.'
She clawed at his fingers futilely, but as she felt darkness threatening to sweep her away her long-ago hand-to-hand fight training kicked in and with all her remaining strength Hermione hit her assailant's ears with cupped hands, trying to burst his eardrums. When he loosened his hold, she grabbed his cloak and jabbed sharply at his groin with her knee; a blow that made him keel over in agony. She staggered over to her wand, but when she whirled around to confront the man, he had crawled into the hallway beyond the anti-apparition point and apparated with a loud crack.
Drawing air in wheezily, every breath fire in her throat; she went to the fireplace and threw in a pinch of floo powder.
'Department of Law Enforcement, the Ministry of Magic!' she rasped.
When she stuck her head in, she was met by a woman with a parchment sitting in front of the fireplace. 'Yes, how may I help you?' she inquired.
'Um.. hello? I think I need help. I was just attacked by a stranger in my apartment.' She rattled off her address, punctuated by bouts of coughing. Once the lady assured her they were on their way she went back to her own place, where she sat curled before the fireplace, still in her towel; her heart beating a hundred kilometers per hour..
Eventually her heart rate slowed down to normal. It was all starting to feel like a bad dream. Had a man really tried to murder her in her own home a few minutes ago?
Maybe she could give in to her aching head and just close her eyes a little until the Law Enforcement people came. Just a little…
/
Draco sat at the steel and chrome island in his state-of-the art kitchen, sipping at Firewhisky's Finest. The serial murderer he was chasing at work, a devout follower of Voldermort, continued to elude Draco's grasp despite repeated efforts by Aurors to find him and halt the killings of innocent muggleborns across England. They were already eighteen deaths too late.
A tap on his window drew his attention away from the amber liquid he held. A large tawny owl flapped there, a roll of parchment tied on one leg.
After the bird had delivered its message and flown away, he returned to his seat and broke the seal to reveal two lines scribbled within.
"I think we've got him. Another victim, only this time he didn't manage to finish the job. St. Mungo's, first floor, Ward seven. Hermione Granger."
