AN: I kid you not, Thormione is not even my favorite ship but damn it all if I didn't come up with this plunny. So I guess now I officially ship them. Lol. Anyways, I hope you guys enjoy. I am particularly proud of this first chapter, and intend to update when I can. Please review because it seriously gives me so much motivation. Thank you guys!

Warnings: No warnings for the first chapter, but smut will definitely be happening in later chapters;)


The Speakeasy was the brainchild of an American businessman who, like all Americans, believed the rest of the world must indulge in their culture. In an off street in London, he opened "The Speakeasy", a bar strictly unlike the British pubs surrounding it.

The Speakeasy was not a place of socialization and the soft nursing of an ale or beer, but rather an audacious display of American drinking culture. The owner, a Mr. Eli Jacobs, described it as being a place of being "go big or go home". The bar was a place of drinking to forget and drinking with the intent of becoming utterly shitfaced in a short amount of time. Of course, this culture only existed during the evenings, when the youth of London began to seek a thrill utterly foreign to them in the early hours of the night.

During the days, the bar was quiet. The light haze of cigarette was always present in the air, and had become the bar's signature scent. The occasional wanderer would find their way into the bar, and casually sip on their American beer. Aside from this, the bar was relatively quiet during the afternoons. This state of peace left Hermione Granger, a bartender, ample opportunity to study her university textbooks when not being asked to give the few barflies refills.

Hermione was an oddity to her coworkers, who questioned why such a bright woman would choose to work in a bar to help pay for school, when she was the type of girl who should have an internship or a research project. Of course, they never asked this to her face, as they had immediately determined that Hermione was very private about herself and her personal life. The only information they had managed to dig up from her was that she studying to become an educator to young children.

Of course, if they did discover the truth about her, they would never believe the circumstances that led to her becoming a bartender in a cheesy, second rate American bar. Even her own friends didn't believe how her life had turned out.

Four years prior, the war had come to an end. The Golden Trio had gone on their ways and pursued what was expected of them. Harry had begun training to become an auror, despite Hermione chastising him and asking him to at least give himself time to recover from the trauma from a war. Of course, this led her to become a hypocrite as she did just the same as Harry and buried herself in becoming a Medi-Witch through intensive training. Ron had chosen what Hermione later realized to be the heathiest life choice out the trio, which was helping George run the joke shop.

Her budding romantic relationship with Ron fizzled out in the weeks after the war, as the pair realized they likely kill each other if they continued down the path they were heading. That wasn't to say they didn't love each other immensely, but rather the love they had was to bright and burning to be contained in a relationship. Hermione knew she could never love Ron as a brother, but also knew she could never love him as a lover either. And so they parted ways and left their relationship the way it was meant to be, with both of them being the fiercest of friends.

Hermione had chosen to live with Harry in Grimmauld place, despite the awful coldness the building kept buried deep within its walls. In the beginning, she had tried to bring an air of lightness to the building, though her efforts remained fruitless, so after a while she stopped trying. The house was unwelcoming, and Hermione hated every moment she spent in it alone, as Harry normally arrived back from his own training at odd hours of the night.

Upon reflection, Hermione wasn't sure what made her want to become a Medi-Witch. Perhaps it stemmed from the stereotypical aspiration of muggle parents who wished their children to be physicians. Maybe it came from the fact that despite her desire to end corruption within the Ministry, she had no desire to return to a place that played background for various nightmares. However, a tiny sliver of her soul knew the truth which was simply that she wished to do something that reminded her of her parents.

Her training continued for a while: three years in fact. She was almost to the point where she would officially be certified when one day she was helping to heal a potioneer of his burns that were the result of a potion explosion when she simply walked out of St. Mungos, the sudden, cold realization hitting her that she was not happy and would never be happy being a Medi-Witch.

Her friends had worried after her mental wellbeing, though she assured them that she was fine. Begrudgingly, they believed her but continued to ask after her frequently after her apparent break. Harry in particular stressed and fussed about her when he was home, despite being exhausted from his days of training. During this stretch of time, Hermione resolved that it wasn't fair of him to devote his time to worrying over her like a mother hen, and used some of the savings her parents had left her before she had cast the memory charm to rent a flat. She also forged Muggle transcripts and decided to do what she was best at: education.

School was comforting. Familiar. Despite attending a muggle university, the emotions surrounding it were the same as the ones she had felt at Hogwarts. Her classes were obviously an adjustment, as she had not attended a muggle institution in years, However, it wasn't long until she found her rhythm and was making top marks in her classes. Of course, she was a few years older than her first-year classmates, which likely helped her performance as well.

She wasn't even supposed to be working today. Wednesdays were days she typically devoted wholly to her studies in the afternoons, yet her coworker Lisa had called her with a raspy voice and practically begged Hermione to work. Of course, Hermione would have agreed even without the begging, however Lisa had a flare for the dramatics and tended to overact with every performance, whether that be serving beer or cleaning glasses.

Hermione continued to scan her textbooks, unconsciously nibbling the end of her pen in her mouth. Her thoughts were absorbed in the psychology that was associated with the education of grade school children. Thus, she missed the newest patron enter the bar. He took his seat at the counter, the same seat he took every Wednesday. When he noticed that he was essentially being ignored by the bartender, he exhaled loudly and began to obnoxiously tap his fingers against the counter.

"Sweetheart," He called out, forcefully pulling Hermione from her studies, causing her to jump in surprise.

"Sorry," She offered in return, embarrassed by her lack of awareness. "I was just-"

Her voice stopped cold as she met the hulking figure of none other than Thorfinn Rowle. He was equally as surprised, as his striking blue eyes grew wide. A sudden rush of red ran to her cheeks, and her eyes darted around the room.

"Granger? What the fuck are you doing being a bartender," He boomed, any form of subtly being nonexistent. Any nervousness she had possessed drained out of her and was replaced with red hot irritation. How dare he invade her private place. How dare he sit his arrogant arse in one of the stools and ask her what she was doing. She had yet to allow even her friends know the privilege of the exact establishment she worked, and yet here a brutish buffoon sat, ruining her sanctuary.

"Me? Shouldn't you still be under house arrest for oh, I don't know, being a Death Eater," She shot back, trying to keep her composure in tact and failing miserably.

He gave her a mischevious look and held up his right wrist revealing a pewter bracelet. Hermione recognized it from an article she had read in the Daily Prophet a few months prior that described a new Ministry tool that essentially worked as device to keep rehabilitated war criminals on a tight leash. "Got off on good behavior. Now I can travel between Rowle Rock and London."

"Good behavior," She scoffed. Though Rowle didn't particularly scare her, she wasn't all to keen on seeing him sitting across from her in the place she worked. However, the side of her with a justice fetish argued that despite his misgivings, he had served a sentence and deserved to be out in the world like anyone else.

"Why don't you get me a glass of whiskey, Granger," Rowle said, obviously enjoying the roles they were in. Hermione fumed.

"Why don't I throw you out, hm Rowle?"

Rowle smirked. "I'm sure Eli wouldn't approve of you throwing out one of his regulars, now would he?"

Hermione's shoulders slumped and she held a gob smacked expression. "You know Mr. Jacobs? The owner?"

Rowle nodded, his eyes holding an amusment, as though he were playing a poker game and held all the right cards. "I'm here almost every Wednesday and Saturday. Hell, even some Fridays."

She narrowed her eyes at his words. "I've never seen you here. I work every Saturday."

"Hm, I guessed I never noticed you," Rowle mused, picking dirt from under his fingernail. Hermione exhaled deeply from her nostrils, somewhere between being halfway insulted by his comment and not giving a damn about what Thorfinn Rowle noticed about her. "By the way, Sweetheart, could you grab me a glass of whiskey?"

Wordlessly, Hermione grabbed a glass and placed it in front of him. She grabbed the bottle of whiskey and poured him a glass, internally seething at the situation. Rowle winked at her, and took a sip of the alcohol.

While he was busy, Hermione grabbed her textbook and shoved it into the bag she kept under the counter. He peered over his glass. "What's that Granger?"

"None of your concern," She replied smartly, turning to face him. Despite the dim lights of the bar, his long, blond hair glistened and glittered. It made her sick. She gave him a hard stare, as if asking him to challenge her.

"What's with the attitude Granger," He asked, taking a sipping of his drink. "Its not like I've killed someone."

"Congratulations. Would you like a gold star?" She questioned. Thorfinn smirked into his glass and nodded his head.

"Nice. What was it they called you in the Prophet? Brightest Witch?"

Despite hating the title once it had been bestowed to her by the awful writers of the Prophet, she preened under the apparent insult he threw.

"Better than being known as a brutish git who got hit by a memory charm by a little girl."

"Damn Granger, that was a bit below the belt," He replied, shaking his head. He took a final sip of his whiskey until the glass was empty, and pulled some money from his pocket to leave on the counter.

"You've wounded me Granger. I supposed I'll have to endure your verbal besting Saturday when I see you," He said, winking at her. Hermione looked at him with a displeased expression on her face, and the feeling of a rock in her stomach. He only laughed at her, and left the bar.

The rest of her shift passed slowly, and Hermione couldn't help but revisit the conversation she had with Rowle. She hated the way she had silently enjoyed the verbal battle she held with him. However, she also hated his little quips, and they way they had managed to get under her skin. If she saw him again Saturday it would be much too soon, and she was silently praying Lisa would be well by Saturday so that perhaps she could miss work if only just to avoid him.

Hermione left work and walked down the London streets to make her way to Grimmauld Place. Despite no longer living there, Hermione always had dinner with Harry, Ron, Ginny, and George every Wednesday as it was the only day that fit into their schedule for them to all meet. Of course, they didn't cook dinner, but instead would rotate turns on who would order take-out from some of the various restaurants in the Wizarding World. Fortunately, it wasn't Hermione's turn, as she would have totally forgotten.

She entered Grimmauld Place and was immediately engulfed in hug from a semi-sweaty Ginny. Hermione wrinkled her nose. "Just get finished with practice?"

"Of course not," Ginny laughed. "This is my natural scent."

"Funny you weren't born a boy since you smell like one," Ron jested, coming up behind Ginny to greet Hermione. Ginny scrunched her nose up at her brother, and turned on her heel towards the kitchen, but not before she gave him a hard thwack on the arm.

"Ow," Ron exclaimed, rubbing his wounded arm. Hermione gave him a pitying smile.

"How was work?" She asked, walking with him towards the kitchen.

"A little slow, but that's to be expected in January since school just started back and all. George and I have been working on a new product though, so that's exciting."

"Oh really? What kind?"

"It's part of the WonderWitch collection," George replied, popping up behind Hermione and Ron. Hermione jumped and gripped at her heart. Ron jumped as well, though he still laughed at Hermione's reaction.

"Damnit George," Hermione squeaked, though the adrenaline and utter terror she had felt was worth it to see the expression on George's face. He wore a grin, and the lines around his eyes had crinkled into something that mimicked happiness. In the past few weeks, he had become more like his old self than they had witnessed before the war.

"Sorry Mione," He laughed. He reached into his pocket and revealed a small purple vial. He handed it to Hermione, who grasped the vial and opened it cautiously. She took a sniff, however was unable to find any sort of odor.

"What is it?"

"We haven't really come up for a name yet. You're supposed to drink it and be able to tell who finds you attractive with colors," Ron said, glancing over at George for affirmation.

"Yeah but I wouldn't be drinking it yet, Love," George said, plucking the bottle from Hermione's hands. "It's still in the works. I took some the other day and could only tell which dogs found me irresistible."

Hermione giggled and could only conjure the image of George being followed by a horde of dogs who all had heart eyes for him.

"Woof," Ginny barked from the kitchen. George laughed and shook his head.

"You'll pay for that Gin," He yelled, running into the kitchen. Ron and Hermione followed him and was met with the sight of Ginny and George locked into a wrestling match with Harry looking at the pair of siblings with amusement in his eyes.

"My money's on Ginny," He stated, bolstering his girlfriend's confidence. Ginny laughed and proceeded to put the many hours of quidditch training to use. In almost no time at all, George was pinned down to the kitchen table.

"Uncle," George cried, ready to escape the embarrassment that was losing to his younger sister in a wrestling match. Ginny laughed in the sadistic way only a sibling could at her brother's discomfort. She finally released him and was given a victory kiss by Harry.

"Damn Harry I don't know how you put up with this one," George said, pointing at Ginny. Ginny stuck her tongue out at her brother and Harry only winked in response. Ron's face grew green at what Harry seemed to imply.

"Nope, we're drawing a line there. Who's hungry?"

The motley crew grabbed the take-out that George had picked up from the Leaky Cauldron, and began to eat. When everyone was absorbed in their meals, Hermione looked around the room at each of her friends and felt a pang in her chest at the scene before her.

Sometimes, she wished it were like this every day. In this moment, they were simply a group of twenty-somethings who all appeared lost in the path of life. These were the days Hermione craved. Because when they all gathered together, she didn't feel like such a failure. It was rich, coming from her: the girl who exceeded expectations and held so much ambition and promise. Yet, she knew when she left this gathering of friends she would become someone who had no clue what was going on her life.

It terrified her. She knew if she were to look at Boggart now, it would have evolved from childish fear she had of making less than excellent marks. No, her boggart now would be herself drifting in a boat with no clue where she would make land.

Every person at the table before her had some sort of direction. Ginny was playing professional quidditch. Harry was an auror for the Ministry. He had been in a relationship with Ginny for a while, and though Hermione knew that Harry would allow Ginny and himself the time to get adjusted in their careers before he proposed, there was still a plan set in place for their future.

Ron and George owned the joke shop and were successful entrepreneurs. They had even been talking of expanding to hold another store somewhere else in Britain.

Yet, here Hermione sat: a university student with pieces of a dream and a bartender in the evenings. In her eyes, she felt like her life was going nowhere.

That was why she loved Wednesday nights so much because the gang was all gathered together and put at a standstill. It was almost as though their successful lives were put on pause, along with their careers, just for one night a week, giving Hermione a chance to breathe.

"You'll never guess who I saw today while I was at work," She said once everyone looked as though they had finished eating.

"Who?" Ron said, still munching on some chips.

"Thorfinn Rowle."

"The big Viking? I thought he was still on house arrest," George said, his eyebrows raised in mild surprise.

"No, he's been allowed to leave his manor and travel London, though he has to be kept tracked," Harry supplied, knowledgeable on all former Death Eaters.

"He said something about good behavior," Hermione said. Ron scrunched his nose.

"Good behavior my arse," He muttered.

Harry shrugged his shoulders. "The Ministry's trying to rehabilitate former Death Eaters who, quite frankly, were shit at being Death Eaters. There's some concern that the wizarding population had been on a sharp decrease since the war so they're hoping that putting them back into society might help those numbers."

Ginny gave a look of disgust. "Well I guess if big, brutish, and stupid is your type. Kind of odd he was at a muggle bar though."

Hermione snorted, nodding with Ginny's words. She pitied the witch who determined Rowle was the man of her dreams.

"I'm not really surprised. Most rehabilitated Death Eaters tend to stay away from Diagon Alley." Harry offered.

"Well what did he say? Did he bother you?" George asked, brotherly concern swimming in his eyes. Hermione smiled at his expression.

"Not really, besides him being an irritating git. But I think that's his personality."

The rest of the group laughed.

"Speaking of work Hermione, when are you going to let us come visit you?" Ginny pried, curious. Ever since Hermione had gotten a job the muggle bar, Ginny had pestered her about letting her visit and experience the muggle night life.

"Let me see," Hermione thought out loud, grabbing a glass of water. "Today's Wednesday, so never."

Ginny scowled, and pursued her lips. "One-day Granger. And you know what, we will make a girl's night out of it."

Hermione smiled, though internally she was nervous. Nervous that one-day Ginny would visit the bar, and realize just how low on the totem pole Hermione had sunk her life. "Maybe one-day."

The rest of the night was spent with in the same manner, with various topics of jest coming up. If everyone in the group didn't have work or other obligations the next day, it was very likely each of them would have left in a happy drunk disarray that could only be found when it the company of friends. Hermione could have even fixed the drinks with her acquired skills. Yet, they each had some form of obligation, and the night was ended too soon and too sober for Hermione's taste.

When she left Grimmauld and made it back to her flat, she removed her jumper and greeted her favorite bottle of wine like an old friend. She needed something to get her through the rest of her textbook and the night without crashing. After all, sleep was for the weak and if she had to sacrifice a few hours of study time to spend with her friends, it was all worth it.