Hello! Warmest greetings, and Happy New Year to you all. I cannot believe it has been exactly three years since I thought I had left FanFiction for good, never to write again. But alas, your passion has a funny way of coming back to you. It was on a trip back to the city that I work in, that I got the inspiration for this story. I will be putting them up in short chapters ... There is nothing truly concrete about this story as yet (but you know how the story writes itself, in the end), and it's more like a fresh start into what I hope to be frequent writing and uploading of new stories. Anyhow, I hope you enjoy.

Hermione had always been about organisation – to-do lists, charts, planners, memos, post-its coded in colour and such – and so, it had come as a surprise that she had never indulged in a New Year's resolutions list at all. Like, ever. In her now-27 years of living.

And so it came to her, during one of her drab morning commutes to the Ministry that she would have at it. No pressure, really, she told herself. She had never bought into the whole New Year, New Me tripe, but she suddenly felt like she needed this. As guidance. As a pointer in life, so to speak.

From now on, her life isn't just going to be merely about work anymore, she decided, and no more taking off from work just to anxiously and stressfully think about work on an island or a different country.

So then, one day after the New Year's, the 2nd of January, she had come back to a relatively empty office with no one but her overbearing boss as company. With absolutely nothing to do (she had finished up her work way before she took off for Christmas and New Year's, efficient as she is – or rather, in a purposeful attempt to make way for more work and anxiety after she comes back), she penned down 9 very basic things for her to try. She had yet to think about the 10th one, but she was sure it was going to come to her when the time is right.

One. Learn to say no.

Saying no was something Hermione had always had difficulty with. It somehow had never registered in her vocabulary, or her personality – and multiple times she began to think she was becoming a pushover. Which was something she did not quite like. It was perhaps, one of the reasons why a lot of work got handed to her instead of the other 50 strong people at the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. Yes, she was fighting to take over. Yes, she had goals. But no, it was bad for her mind and body, and her social life suffered. It was time to say no.

"Oh, ah!" her boss, Ilyssa Fyfe – a short, stout lady with dirty blonde hair and button features with smudged eyeliner and fuschia lipstick – exclaims and jumps up at her seat, the second her foot passes the threshold to her office at Level 4. "Miss Granger! Would you come here for a minute, please?"

Inwardly rolling her eyes but plastering the most relaxed smile she could possibly muster, on she walks towards her boss' desk.

"Yes Miss Fyfe?" she asked, voice higher in pitch than usual, as she unfurls her scarf from her neck.

"Well, I was wondering … there is this huge project that we would like you to take over …" Fyfe begins, and Hermione immediately interjects.
"Who is we?" she asks, fighting the urge to narrow her eyes.
"Ah, well, um, does that matter?" Fyfe laughs furtively, looking here and there, pretending to sift through papers that looked nowhere near important. She finally glances up at Hermione, who by this time, is sporting an impassive expression. Then, she folds. "Oh, alright! This was the department's decision. Mine, and the rest of your colleagues. Of course, this was backed up by the Minister. He has nothing but absolute faith in you."

This time, Hermione really has trouble fighting the urge to roll her eyes.

"Of course, you all do," Hermione replies, smiling sarcastically.

"Honestly, it's good for you, Miss Granger. Think of what it would look like on your resume, should you choose to venture out – by all means, please do not, that was just a joke, I hope you're not ever thinking of leaving us!" Fyfe says in a rush. "But as I've said, you are the most capable employer I have ever had the pleasure of working with, and as such, we can always trust you and rely on you to get things done."

Hermione waits, and Fyfe glances at her once more before continuing.

"I'm not entirely sure if you've heard but we are doing some … spring cleaning of the entire Ministry. While everyone's surely busy keeping their own, you have a far greater, important task at hand," Fyfe says, and finally sits.

Hermione thinks she is presumptuous, she hasn't even said yes yet.

"We need someone to properly catalogue, record and write a report on our department's findings since year 1888. Since the establishment of our department," Fyfe says gravely, lacing her fingers together and squeezing at a random intervals.

"You want someone to study all the records we've had, refurbish them and write a lengthy report on all findings for the last …" Hermione pauses, and calculates, "130 years?"

"Yes! See, I knew you were quick about your wits! Clearly the brightest witch of our age!" Fyfe says, fisting the air triumphantly. Although triumphant about what, Hermione isn't sure.

"Well, Miss Fyfe, I am truly honoured to be considered to undertake this …" Hermione trails, and sighs out the following word, "Important task … but I must say –"

"Oh, we also need it by end of the first quarter of the year," Fyfe adds, sipping her coffee, effectively staining her two front teeth with pink pigments as she smiles at Hermione again.

"That's quite a short timeframe, don't you think?"

"Exactly. Which brings us to the matter of why we decided to go for you as I've mentioned. You're the fastest –"

But Hermione doesn't listen. The gears in her brain are turning feverishly. Calculations, thoughts, implications of saying yes to this job on top of her already busy line-up, possible social and mental ramifications.

" – most reliable –"

Clearly nobody even bothered to take this up and it was down to her.

" – everyone agrees, you do every single job wonderfully –"

That would mean longer hours at work, longer nights at work and possibly weekends at work just doing all this re-archiving.

" – you'd be helping us all out. There is no budget to hire an external archiver –"

At what cost?

" – so you are the only one – "

"No," Hermione finally responds.

And then there is pin drop silence. Fyfe looks at her in shock – nearly scandalised, even – and clears her throat.

"I - I beg your pardon?" Fyfe asks sweetly, as if she didn't hear Hermione correctly.

"No, Miss Fyfe, I am unable to take this job," Hermione sniffs, stopping herself from apologising for something that is her absolute right. "I am not up to it."
"B-but Miss Granger … Hermione," her look softens, "You're quite adept at multitasking and organising, I am sure you would be –"

"Unable to take this on," Hermione finishes, her voice slightly louder than Fyfe's. "Taking this job would mean that I would have to sacrifice a substantial amount of my personal time – which is starting to show bad repercussions on my person. So I am thinking for myself, and in turn, for the betterment of the company. If I am, as the company says, an asset to it and the Ministry as a whole, they would at least respect that."

Fyfe still has that scandalised look on her face, mouth opening and closing as if fish out of water. It is a natural reaction Hermione expected. This was, after all, the first time she said said no. The old Hermione would have jumped at the chance to prove herself, to be the number one. But that was 2017 Hermione. 2018 Hermione would not, and can not stand for this shit.

"So, no, Miss Fyfe. I cannot do it. I already have a lot on my plate, as you know, because you're the one who assigns them to me," Hermione nods, "If the Ministry has no budget then perhaps it can consider hiring those who have very minimal tasks. If I may suggest, Brothaigh and MacGille would spare enough time to do it, between them loafing around at the cafeteria or going out for a fag at least 50 times a day."

Fyfe swallows.

"I hope you understand," Hermione smiles sweetly, finally the triumphant one. "Is that all?"
"V-very well," Fyfe nods slowly, "That is all. Thank you, Miss Granger."
"No, thank you, Miss Fyfe," Hermione says, enunciating the words very carefully, "For understanding."

Hermione turns around, finally unable to keep the glee in and grins.

Off she walks down the hallway, towards the ladies'.
Here, she catches sight of one Mr Draco Malfoy, fantastically black robes swishing dramatically behind him, seemingly too busy to look up from his papers even as he walks on, nearly crashing into her.

"Well, hello, Malfoy!" she greets, still grinning, "Happy New Year to you!"

Malfoy pauses, raises a blond eyebrow at her and tucks his papers beneath his armpit.

"Well, well, well," he drawls, though a slight smile was playing at his thin lips, "Someone's in a cheerful mood. Had a good holiday, I presume?"

"Something like that," Hermione grins harder – still giddy at her simple victory. She was normally civil around Malfoy, putting their past behind, but never one to actually greet and wish him merriments.

"Alright, what gives?" Malfoy cocks his head to one side and narrows his eyes, "What has got into you? Did work finally get to your mind? I hear you're quite the overachiever."

"Not anymore," she shrugs, "Well, as of just now, no."

Malfoy begins to look increasingly confused.

"You have a good day, Malfoy," she says to him, finally, and clutches the knob of the ladies' room.

"Thanks?" Malfoy replies, and Hermione disappears into the loo.

New Year's Resolution Number One – check.