Chapter 1

No one ever told her that working as a private doctor's secretary was this much work. There always seemed to be paperwork to be done, and while a little paperwork never hurt anybody, this was one hell of a stressful part-time job.

Hermione ran her fingers through her hair, trying to force some stray curls to stay put behind her ear. She inwardly cursed as the same lock kept falling into her eyes. Her hair was currently at its prettiest, not so curly or frizzy at it had been when she was still in Hogwarts. In fact, it had straightened out a great deal to the point that it almost crossed the barrier between curly and wavy.

Almost. Sometimes she thought that the smoothness brought along by her conditioner was at fault for her new dilemma concerning that one stray lock that never stayed in place.

She looked up at the wall clock situated to the right side of the examining room door. If she could have, she probably would have tried to will the hands to skip the next four minutes and just rush on to 7 o'clock. It had been a long, tiring, 12-hour day, and she wanted to get off work as soon as she could.

She had always wanted a career in medicine. After Hogwarts, she entered the two-year program that instructs witches and wizards on how to be proper Healers, and then spent another half year as an intern at St. Mungo's. The final examination for their licensure was to be held on August, and she had six months to herself.

Her first week after graduation from the program had been spent at home, reading and re-reading the books which covered the topics needed for the licensure, but in time she grew tired of her monotonous life. It had been one of the most spontaneous moments of her life, but Hermione found herself two days into the second week sitting in the same sitting room she was now in, being interviewed by a family friend for a part-time job.

Sometimes she cursed her inability to stay idle for a long time. She found that it often got her into trouble. Now, because of her impatience and spontaneity, she was spending at least ten hours of her day acting as a secretary and an assistant to Dr. Dirk Emerson, their Muggle family friend.

Oh, she loved playing assistant. It would always give her pleasure to see patients walking out of the clinic either healed or on the way to it. At times, it tortured her that she could not perform magic to help ease their physical pains, so she made sure to make up for it by lending a hand all the time.

It was the paperwork that did her in every day. She did, after all, sign up to be secretary. The bodily assistance she gave was purely voluntary, and she refused to receive any pay for her extra work. It was the mountains of paperwork that had to be accomplished which made her eyebrows furrow every night when the day was about to end.

Finally, after what seemed like forever, the four minutes she was waiting for came to an end, and a short alarm emanated from the clock. At about the same time, the door to the examining room opened, and Dr. Emerson came out accompanying an old lady who had come to the clinic asking for a cure to her back pains.

Hermione at once stood up and held the old woman's arm to help her across the room. "How are you feeling now, Mrs. Plympton?" she asked kindly, smiling at the lady.

The corners of Mrs. Plympton's eyes crinkled and she pat the hand that Hermione had on her arm and smiled good-naturedly. "Quite all right, dear. Dr. Emerson has done a little reflexology on me, and my back doesn't hurt quite as much as it did when I first came in."

"That's wonderful, Mrs. Plympton," Hermione replied, genuinely happy that the lady was feeling better. "Let me put that prescription you're holding into your purse. We wouldn't want you to lose it accidentally." She reached for the slip of paper and stuffed it neatly into Mrs. Plympton's purse.

"Thank you, dear. As always," the old lady replied. "Would you mind very much if I asked you to hail a cab for me?"

Hermione opened the door and led her out. "Of course not. Here, let me help you…" He voice trailed away as they moved further down the corridor, and Dr. Emerson could only smile as he turned to his table.

Hermione's arrival at his clinic was a real blessing. Not only was she good with the patients, she was also a hard worker. Sometimes he had to force her to step out of his clinic just so that she would go home to rest. He knew she held a particular loathing for the stack of papers that was perpetually present on his table, but her sense of duty always came first, and she would finish what she had started even if it already took her personal time.

At that moment, the said girl returned to the clinic and walked to his table. "Good work today, Dr. Emerson," she said, smiling tiredly. She had been up late for the past days, and the lack of sleep was taking its toll on her.

"You, too, Hermione," the doctor replied. "You look like hell. Go home and rest." Hermione looked uncertainly at the papers on the table, and he laughed. "You've done enough for the day. I think you deserve some well-earned rest. Why don't you go on home and sleep? Your eye bags are getting to be quite noticeable."

Hermione gave him a weary but thankful smile. "I think I will. I'll make up for my hasty departure tomorrow," she said as she walked to the small cabinet beside the table to grab her bag.

"You are tired," Dirk Emerson said amusedly. "Tomorrow's a Saturday, Hermione. Clinic is closed on weekends, remember?" He led the girl to the door, handing her the umbrella she had left on the hook by the door, just in case it rained. "Run along. I want you to get plenty of rest in the next two days. I don't want you collapsing during work on Monday."

"Ha ha," she said. "I will, I promise. Good night, doctor." With a final wave, she walked out of the clinic, ready to hail a cab home to her flat.

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Hermione stifled a yawn as she walked into Cecconi's. She had fallen asleep as soon as she got into her room, and when she finally woke up to make herself some late dinner, she discovered there was nothing at all in her fridge. She had no choice but to eat out. It was a good thing that it was almost 10:30 in the evening. There weren't as many people in the restaurant as there would have been at 8.

She walked over to the bar and nodded to the bartender, signaling for one Apple Martini. She and the bartender, a man named Pablo who was ten years her senior, had been friends for almost five years now. She always made it a point to visit Cecconi's when in Muggle London because it provided a perfect place for her type of relaxation, and Pablo had taken a liking to her. She always made interesting conversation.

"An order of roast chicken salad, Pablo, please," she added as she climbed onto a seat. She had always been fond of salads.

"Sure thing, Hermione," Pablo replied with a hint of Italian accent. He placed her Martini glass in front of her and turned his back to prepare the salad. It gave Hermione a bit of idle time, and she used that time to think over what she would be doing that weekend.

A visit to the spa is in order, I think, she thought to herself. I haven't been tending to my nails lately since I always seem to fall asleep just as soon as my feet touch the bedroom floor. My nail polish is chipping.

And a nice, long, zen massage would be absolutely lovely, too, she thought as she reached behind her neck to massage a sore spot.

Pablo returned a few minutes later, carrying her plate of salad, with extra dressing on a separate saucer. She always overdid the dressing, and if she could have her way she would have put enough dressing to drown the rest of the dish. "So," Pablo said as he placed the plate in front of her and handed her a salad fork. "You look like you just came from a trip to hell, 'Mione."

Hermione gave him a wan smile. "I think my insomnia's come for a little attack this week, Pablo. I haven't gotten a decent wink of sleep in four days. The overtime at work is really getting to me now, I think." She gave a small laugh before sticking her fork into her leafy greens.

Pablo reached out to pat her shoulder. "Eat up to regain your strength. I'm half afraid you'll fall off your own feet."

Hermione laughed. "Oh, heavens," she said. "I'm not that weak. I'm just sleepy. If I had any choice, I wouldn't have stepped out of the house, but I didn't have any food left at home." She stabbed a piece of chicken with the fork and put it in her mouth. "Delectable, Pablo," she commented. "As usual."

The bartender humbly bowed, but his eyes sparkled with pride at the comment. "Only the best for my favorite girl." At that moment, another customer signaled to Pablo, and he excused himself from Hermione's company.

She smiled and returned to picking at her salad, slightly grateful for the semi-silence. The first bite of her salad had fed her hunger, and in no time at all she had already finished her late dinner. Pushing the plate from her, she took a sip of her Apple Martini.

"I find it hard to believe that a lady such as you is drinking alone at this time of the night."

The martini glass froze halfway from her lips as she was about to put it down, and one eyebrow twitched as she tried to convince herself that the voice she had just heard did not belong to the person she thought it did. She slowly whirled to face the man who had talked to her, and inwardly groaned when she saw that she had not been wrong.

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A/N: First chapter! Tell me what you guys think. :)