Chapter I: The Apartment
In a pleasant little flat in London, a sound akin to that of an alley cat in heat with laryngitis woke up several neighbors as Hermione Granger took out her frustration on her poor, innocent pillow.
It wasn't her career. Oh no, that was fine. It was just her social life, for one, that sucked majorly. After a rather enjoyable little dream involving a handsome man and a date at an Italian bistro, her wish to find a guy who wouldn't be terrified of her house-elf obsession had been renewed.
But of course she didn't have time to mope, she told herself. In a mumbling frenzy that could potentially land her a spot in Azkaban, she threw on some clothes, and snatched up her overstuffed purse. With that, she bustled off to work.
Honestly, she just wanted someone to talk to right now, she thought to herself as she bustled along the London streets after another long day. Not that she would find someone like that in the Gryffon Café. It was the gathering place for the bookworms and her usual spot after work, thanks to working too hard and taking a strong liking to caffeine. She had been going there every day for the past two years; ever since she had started the National S.P.E.W. Federation during the summer after the defeat of Voldemort. To Harry and Ron, her federation was simply titled "spew." Surprisingly, it had been going quite well; she had already freed thirty elves from households similar to the Malfoy's; not a bad feat, if she did say so herself.
She bustled into the café, scattering dead leaves that had gathered inside from the day's visitors, plopped down in her usual spot, and yanked out Hogwarts: A History X, featuring Harry and all his magical conquests. She flipped to a particular page involving her…and Harry. It was strange; she never really knew how much she missed him, until she read this book. She almost felt like she was communicating with her old best friend.
She pulled her dark red sweater closer around her shoulders as a sudden gust of late fall air rushed in through the door, signaling the arrival of yet another frequenter of the Gryffon café. She turned to see if it was that mad old lady that always wanted to talk to her about hair supplies (she always wondered if she was trying to tell Hermione she wanted to do her hair), but thankfully, it was only a handsome young man in his mid twenties with light brown hair and electric blue eyes. Fighting a blush, she gave the newcomer a half smile, and then turned back to her book, and more importantly, Harry's face in the picture. His awkward smile seemed to say, "I really am embarrassed to be here…" She giggled, and was about to take another sip of her Irish breakfast tea, when all of a sudden-
"Hermione Granger? Is that you? I haven't seen you in years!" Her head snapped up to see the same young man grinning incredulously at her.
"Um… That's me…" She laughed nervously.
"Oliver, remember? Gryffindor Quidditch captain!"
She stared at him blankly for a moment, when realization suddenly struck her. Oliver Wood! How could she possibly have forgotten? She had been hanging out with those elves for far too long.
"Oliver! Yes, I do remember you…sorry…um…I'm a bit disoriented right now…" she stood up to grab his hand in a shake, when her bag fell onto the floor with a loud thump, and her many papers, books, quills, breakfast bars toppled onto the floor. If it was possible, her hair got even more frizzed with her embarrassment as she dove like a professional scuba diver to snatch up her granola-infested mess. But it was futile, Oliver's larger and rougher, more calloused hands pushed her smaller, softer ones away and he gathered the items himself.
"Yes…you are disoriented…what's with the breakfast bars?" he teased.
Her face reddened to a deeper shade of crimson. "Oh…um…well, I usually don't have time to eat breakfast at home…and these are filling, and delicious…so…um…well…" she trailed off, feeling dumber than Ron hungover. Of course the minute she saw a person (more importantly a gorgeous guy) she had known since her first year of Hogwarts, she had to become her thirteen-year-old self again. Why couldn't Hogwarts have also taught ways to deal with boys, on top of charms and all? Sometimes she needed those skills more than she needed magic. She leaned forward to hide her face, using her mess as an excuse, when Oliver's warm hand pushed hers away again.
"I'll get it, it's my fault everything spilled anyway." He bent over and within seconds her books and breakfast bars were neatly stacked on the table next to her tea and rumpled gray coat. She blushed even more.
"Thank you…. I'm so clumsy when I'm tired." She stammered, absentmindedly fixing her sweater and staring down at the floor.
"It's no problem at all, it's not every day I get to pick up a pretty girl's breakfast bars!" he joked. "I'll be right back, I need some coffee and I need it now." He walked over to the counter, leaving a tomato red Hermione at her table.
Feeling very un-Hermione, she blinked in a brainless hot-guy induced stupor. He had called her pretty? Even if he had been joking, people rarely ever called her pretty; except for her parents…of course. Of course, Ron had made futile attempts to tell her she was pretty…but…that was Ron. She had enjoyed dating him… but it still didn't quite seem right. She could never explain it to herself. Apparently, Ron felt the same way. They had dated for months without feeling awkward. Yet, all of a sudden one day, it became just so. Hermione had a feeling it did at one of the parties that oen of her former Gryffondore school-mates threw about a year ago. Ron, after getting very drunk indeed, accidentally walked into the girl's bathroom and opened the first stall he saw to none other than Luna Lovegood. Ron had already started unbottoning his pants, he had such a 'bathroom emergnecy.' Although the minute Luna saw him for al his glory, Ron burst out of the bathroom face red as the Gryffondore sweater he was wearing. From there, Ron and Hermione slowly started growing apart as boyfriend and girlfriend. So about a year ago, now, although they were still good friends, they realized they were no longer interested in each other. Ron immediately went chasing after Luna...while Hermione was left in the breeze. So here she was now, boyfriend-less, sitting on a plush chair in a café, staring after the best looking man she'd seen in a very long time, in a half-witted daze at being called pretty.
Oliver's return brought her out of her reverie, and she blushed yet again.
"So, how about you and your breakfast bars come over and sit with a lonely guy like me?" Oliver grinned and winked. Hermione scowled.
"My breakfast bars have better things to do than be insulted by you!" She folded her arms across her chest. Oliver laughed.
"But I'm willing to bet you don't at five in the evening." He pulled out a chair at a smaller table for two in the corner and motioned to the chair. "Well?"
"Oh, I, well… okay, but just this once!" She warned, plopping down in the chair. Oliver grinned again and pushed her chair in, and then took his seat across from her. As he gazed into her eyes in a very non-friendly and very hot-date-in-Italian-bistro way, Hermione was once again very aware of the high temperature of the room. She tugged at a brown curl, looking down at the table and pretending to examine the grain.
"So, Hermione, what have you been up to all these years? Ruling the muggle world? Heading the Ministry of Magic?" He gulped down his coffee and Hermione watched where his collared shirt was not fully buttoned up, hinting at his chest. Goodness, now she was just acting silly like Lavender or someone. She blushed more and shook her head, her curls swishing in front of her face.
"Actually… I've been working on a project regarding the freedom of House Elves…It's called S.P.E.W." She looked down again, resigned to what she knew would happen: he'd think it was weird, banter on with her for a few minutes more, and then make up some obviously fake excuse and leave in a hurry, where she'd sit and miss Harry and Ron.
Rather anticlimactically, Oliver finished off his coffee.
"That's… really, well, interesting. I'm sure your work is important." He said slowly. Hermione gawked.
"Y-you really mean it?"
"Uh, sure." He picked at his croissant. Hermione cackled, feeling a bit like what she imagined being high would feel like. He wasn't terrified of her house elves, or her hair! Wonders never ceased.
"You're practically the only person that thinks so! Harry always teases me about it, and nowadays Ron just avoids the subject completely! …Er, sorry about that little outburst." She sank deeper in her chair in embarrassment. Oliver grinned through a mouthful of croissant. There was an awkward silence in which Oliver's knee brushed Hermione's.
"So, um, what are you doing now?"
"Well, I just got into the Chudley Cannons. But the pay isn't good, so until it is, I'll be working as a Quidditch journalist for the Daily Prophet on the side."
Hermione felt a different kind of heat spreading through her body this time. Forcing herself to swallow her angry words about the newspaper that had caused Harry so much shame over the years, she smiled and forced out an "Oh, that's simply incredible!" and Oliver grinned again. Her heart just melted at that stupid boyish grin. It sort of… well, it reminded her of Harry, come to think of it. Boyish, slightly embarrassed… Crap, he was talking! What was he saying?
"So, do you want to tell me more about this 'S.P.E.W.' at the Leaky Cauldron on Saturday evening?" He asked casually with more grace than she could have mustered doing the same action even if she'd been tranquilized.
Hermione thought her heart would explode. Someone had asked her out on a date-incredible! And, it wasn't just because she might've looked pretty, it was actually for her work, and life. He thought she had a life! It was incredible! Dreamy happiness spread across her face for so long, Oliver actually had to call her name out for her to snap back to reality. She reddened.
"Yes, sure. And you can tell me more about-" she inhaled at what she was about to say, bracing herself for what she considered blasphemy: "the prophet."
Hermione just couldn't believe herself. She was going to have to be interested in this stupid Newspaper of theirs.
"Cool. See you 'round 8:00. That's when I get off work...I'm just on my break now. So, I'll see you then." For one last time, he grinned brightly at her, and picked up his briefcase, and strolled out into the crisp, autumn evening. Hermione was in shock. Eight o' clock? Eight o' clock? What did he think this was, a sex date? No, it was not. It was a first date. First date!Yet…she couldn't just look like she would at day time. She pulled out her make-up mirror, and gazed at her very frizzy hair. She shook her head in annoyance. Why did her hair have to tell her feelings? Every time she got embarrassed, or frustrated in any way, her hair got frizzy. The only way that it would stay curly under the masses of gel she put on each morning, was to stay calm. Usually, it worked…sort of. Even the magical gel she used didn't even calm it. She had finally decided that her hair let her know what she was feeling…like Harry's scar let them all know what Voldemort's feelings were…only hers were much more personal.
So. Date. Tomorrow night. With a soon-to-be Quidditch star.
What on earth was she going to do about that hair?!