Adopted Story- This is me doing a re write so until chapter three most of this won't be my own work

Disclaimer – I don't own Harry Potter or Fifty Shades of Grey nor am I writing this

Adopted from shades of green ... most of chapter 1 is not my writing... pretty canon besides the whole dating a magical girl thing

not written for the purpose of profit.- nor do characters or premise belong to me... consider this valid for entire story

Anastasia is Fem HP attempting to escape wizarding world after final battle

Hope you enjoy x

I woke to the sound Kate's wailing in the living room. "Please God, please not this, not today!" I heard her beg. What was going on now- wasn't Kate supposed to be on her way to Seattle by now? What was she doing.

Dragging myself out of bed, I put on my pink bunny slippers and purple dressing gown and opened the door, "What's the matter?" I asked Kate, she was sat down on the sofa covered in a blanket her eyes were watering and her nose was red. She coughed and blew her nose, yet she still retained her grace and dignity, how does she do it? Even down with the flu she looks stunning, long flowing strawberry blond hair and bright green eyes.

"It took me nine months to get this interview. It will take me another six months to reschedule, and by that time all three of us will of graduated by that time. As the editor, I can't blow this off. Damn it!" She rasped furious. I felt sorry for her. A chill went down my spine followed by a feeling of foreboding, when Kate suddenly froze and looked up at me in that way only Katherine Kavanagh can, "Ana, please please please, could you do the interview for me." She begged me batting her eyelashes. I didn't know how to do an interview so I would probably screw up majorly and with such a renowned interviewee seeing me muddle through it would probably be bad for my health,

"I'm not so sure-" I said.

"Please, please I need Christian Greys interview." She continued to beg, before bursting into a fit of sneezes. Kate looked really pathetic right now, in sad way that made you want to just envelop her in a hug and comfort her. I sighed once again Kate was going to get her way.

"Fine, just let me take a quick shower and get dressed." I grumble.

"Thank you, thank you, thank you!" Kate chanted.

I turned and walked into the bathroom and took a quick shower. I turned off the water put my dressing gown back on and hurried barefoot back into my room. I took a pair of baby pink lace panties and matching bra out and put them on, I put on a pair of black jeans, a white blouse and my smoky grey waterfall cardigan and my dark brown Dragon hide jacket over that.

I walked over to the bed and pulled my wand holder out from under my pillow, the wand. Tucked safely within it's dragonhide cage and strapped it around my right thigh. Thankful it had a 'notice me not' charm woven in to the hide to keep it from the muggles wandering eyes.

I put on my favourite tan ugg boots, but they didn't do much for my small height of five foot three. I out a little gloss on my lips and a bit of mascara just enough to make my emerald green eyes pop.

Now to battle my waist length wavy coal black hair- it just won't behave. I attempt, once more, to bring it under control with the brush. I roll my eyes in exasperation and gaze at the pale, staring back at me, and give up. My only option is to restrain my wayward hair in a ponytail and hope that I look semi presentable. it would have to do, I gave my pale face a look over. I straightened out my full fringe making sure it covered the lightning bolt scar on my forehead, the rest of my scars from the war and my relatives were mostly able to be covered by glamors. The only ones that weren't were the basilisks bite, which presented itself as a silvery oval, and the line from Umbridge.

I picked up my handbag and re-entered the living room. "Thanks again for doing this for me." Kate sniffles.

"It's fine what are friends for." I answer sincerely. She gave me a glazed over smile. "You should get back to bed, the best thing for the flu is sleep, would you like some Nyquil or do you want some Tylenol?"

"Nyquil, please. Here are all the question I was going to ask and my digital recorder. Just press the record here. Make notes, I'll transcribe it all."

"I don't know anything about him," I mutter, trying to suppress the image of me making a fool of myself and the super successful business man laughing his ass off at me, while I crash and burn. A shudder runs down my spine. Snap out of it me! I've fought dragons and fifty foot snakes, I managed to keep the trauma of being attacked by giant human eating spiders to a minimum and only freak out a little when I see the household spiders. I fought and defeated a sociopath who had the tenacity of a cockroach and serious daddy issues. I can do this!

"The questions will see you through. Go. It's a long drive. I don't want you to be late. Take my car. Wait! You can drive right?" Kate asked puffy red rimmed eyes wide. I gave her a look of mock offence,

"Of course I can drive what do you take me for." I put my hand over my chest and huff. Thank you Andromeda, the one who reminded me that if I was going to live in the Muggle world, it would be best to get a Muggle driving licence for appearance sakes. "Okay I'm off, go back to bed Kate, there's some leftover soup from yesterday, heat it up later." I stare at her fondly. Only Kate would ever be able to make me do this kind of thing.

"I will. Good look and thanks, Ana as usual, you're a lifesaver." Gathering my handbag, I smile wryly at her, then I head out the door to the car. I can't believe I let Kate talk me into this. Then again I didn't put up much of a fight and I felt sorry for her she'd been itching to do this interview for so long only to get ill on the day of it, the irony. How could I not help her. She'll make a wonderful journalist one day. She's articulate, strong, a grand master in the art of persuasion, argumentative, beautiful- and she's one of my dearest, dearest friends.

The roads are clear as I set off from Vancouver, Washington, toward Interstate 5. it's still early and I don't have to be in Seattle until two this afternoon. Kate has lent me her sporty Mercedes CLK. It's too bad I've never been to Seattle, I would of Apparated straight there in an instant, but—I haven't so it's impossible. Anyway the Merc is a joy to drive and I can admire the scenery. I put my foot down a little more and I love the feeling as the car speeds up, reminding me of when I used to fly around on my broomstick.

My final destination is the headquarters of Mr. Grey's global enterprise. It's a huge twenty-story office building, all curved glass and steel, an architect's utilitarian fantasy, with GREY HOUSE written discreetly in steel over the front doors. It's a muggle creation that puts all magically created building to shame, since the magical community is still one hundred years behind the rest of the world. I imagine the muggle world one hundred years from now- all holograms and flying cars and then the magical world just moving on from horse and carriage to three wheeler cars.

It's a quarter to two when I arrive, and I thank Merlin that I'm not not late as I walk into the enormous-and slightly intimidating-glass, steel, and white sandstone lobby. Behind the solid sandstone desk, a very attractive, groomed, platinum blond young woman smiles pleasantly at me. She's wearing the sharpest charcoal suit jacket and white shirt I have ever seen. She looks immaculate, and I can't help but think that she's the female version of Draco. I try to keep the smile off my face.

"I'm here to see Mr. Grey. Anastasia Steele for Katherine Kavanagh." Ana had adopted the last name Steele when she had fled from briton, it was probably one of the most mundane names she could think of and it helped that she had finally gotten rid of her glasses and was able to retain a semi-healthy weight, though her childhood of malnourishment would be clear to anyone who could recognize the signs.

"Excuse me one moment, Miss Steele." She arches her eyebrow as I clear my throat in an attempt to keep my face in neutral, but boy does she remind me of Draco when she arched her eyebrow, and I think that I'll send a letter to him informing him that I met his female counterpart. I tuck one of the escaped tendrils of my hair behind my ear as I try to imagine what his reaction would be.

"Miss Kavanagh is expected. Please sign in here, Miss Steele. You'll want the last elevator on the right, press for the twentieth floor." She smiles kindly at me, looking amused for some reason, as I sign in. I look down at what I'm wearing and I suddenly feel very underdressed. She hands me the security pass that has "visitor" very firmly stamped on the front. I can't help but smirk. It's obvious that I'm just visiting. I stick out like a sore thumb amongst these sharply dressed individuals, the feeling of being inadequate rises, I inwardly sigh.

Thanking her, I walk over to where the elevators are walking past two security men who are both far more smartly dressed than I am in their well-cut black suits. The elevator whisks me at terminal velocity to the twentieth floor. The doors slide open, and I find myself in another large lobby-again all glass, steel, and white sandstone. There's another desk of sandstone and another Draco look alike, this time dressed impeccably in black and white, who rises to greet me.

"Miss Steele, could you wait here please?" She to an area decorated with white leather chairs. Behind the leather chairs is a spacious glass-walled meeting room with equally spacious dark wood table and a least twenty matching chairs around it. Beyond that, there is a floor-to-ceiling window with a view of the Seattle skyline that looks out through the city toward the sound. It's a stunning vista, and for a moment I'm paralysed by the view. Wow. I take a seat and hunt for the question in my backpack, and give them a quick once over. I'm crying on the inside how am I supposed to interview someone I don't know anything about, I curse Kate for not giving me a crash course in Christian Grey. I don't even know how old he is, he could be ninety or thirty-five for all I know.

The uncertainty is gnawing away at my calm and collected mind, and my nerves resurface, making me fidget. I've never been comfortable with one-on-one interviews, not since the delightful Dolores Umbridge and her detentions with the blood quill. The scar on my right hand that read I shall not tell lies was still there as clear as the day it was made. I pulled my sleeve down over my hand and rubbed it, I still remembered the pain vividly.

Since that time I've preferred my own company, sitting down in front of the fire of the common rooms in the dorms of Hogwarts with a classic British novel- I'd thank Granger for introducing me to the wonderful books, but her and Weasley had been all for me joining the Ministry as their puppet poster girl, and had even backed the bill proposing that important political figures should be required to reside in Britain exclusively and marry a british citizen with at least matching magical status if not wealthy.

Get it together, Potter. Judging from the building, which is too clinical and modern, I guess Grey is in his forties: fit, tanned, and fair-haired to match the rest of the personnel. Another elegant, flawlessly dressed Draco doppelgänger comes out of a large door to the right. What was with all these immaculate blonds? It's like a Malfoy spawning factory. Taking a deep breath, I hold in the urge to snigger and stand up.

"Miss Steele?" Doppelgänger mark three asked.

"Yes," I respond, but my voice catches in my throat, my nerves are really starting to annoy me, I try to calm down and clear my throat. "Yes," There now I don't sound weird.

"Mr Grey will see you in a moment. May I take your jacket?"

"Oh, yes please." I take off my jacket, my accent sounding thick and smooth against her own.

"Have you been offered any refreshment?"

"Um—no." Oh dear Draco doppelgänger No'2 is in trouble.

Doppelgänger No'3 frowns at the young woman at the desk.

"Would you like tea, coffee, water?" she asks turning her attention back to me.

"A cup of tea please. Thank you," I murmur.

"Olivia, please fetch Miss Steele a cup of tea." Her voice is stern. Olivia scoots up and scurries to a door on the other side of the foyer. "My apologies, Miss Steele, Olivia is our new intern. Please be seated. Mr Grey will be another five minutes."

Olivia returns with a white tea cup and saucer. " Here you go, Miss Steele. Would you like any milk or sugar." Olivia asks.

I immediately nod, and she sets down two dishes containing the sweetener and cream. I absolutely refuse to feel guilty as the blonds look at me dubiously with how much I had added to the tea, their skinny, toned figures probably didn't even remember what sugar tasted like. I indulge in the sweet drink, I can barely keep weight on my body as it is, so no way am I going to decline in order for the other women to feel superior.

Doppelgänger No'3 marches over to the large desk, her heels clicking and echoing on the sandstone floor. Maybe Mr. Grey insists on all his female employees being blonde. I'm wondering idly if that's legal in the USA, when the office door opens and a tall, elegantly dressed, attractive African American man with short dreads exits. Oh my I'm definitely wearing the wrong clothes.

He turns and says through the door, "Golf this week, Grey?"

I don't hear the reply. He turns, sees me, and smiles, his dark eyes crinkling at the corners. From out the corner of my eye I see Olivia jump up and call the elevator. She seems to have the art of jumping out of her seat down. She's even more nervous than me! "Good afternoon, ladies," he says as he leaves through the sliding door.

"Mr. Grey will see you now, Miss Steele. Do go through," Draco's doppelgänger no'3 says. I stand rather shakily, trying to suppress the nerves. Gathering the questions and my handbag, the cup of tea now long forgotten, I make my way to the partially open door. "You don't need to knock—just go in." She smiles kindly.

I push open the door with confidence, I take a step into the room and my feet decide to tango. I tripped and went flying head-first into the office.

Double crap—me and my stupid two left feet! I'm on my hands and knees in doorway to Mr. Grey's office, and then gentle hands are around me, helping me to stand. I feel the heat rush to my face, I am so embarrassed, damn my clumsiness. Where's the grace I used to have on broom gone to—I could use it right about now.

I steel myself and glance up. Merlin—he's so young, "Miss Kavanagh." he extends a long-fingered hand to me once I'm standing on my feet again. "I'm Christian Grey. Are you alright? Would you like to sit?" So young—and good looking, really good looking. He's tall dressed in a fine gray suit, white shirt, and a black tie with unruly dark copper- coloured hair and intense, bright gray eyes that regard me shrewdly. It takes me a moment to come to my senses.

"Um. Actually—" I mutter. No way is this guy over the age of thirty-five, if he is then I'm Merlin's long lost sister. In a daze, I placed my hand in his and we shake. As our fingers touch, I feel an odd exhilarating shiver run through me and my magic quivers. I withdraw my hand hastily, embarrassed. Must be my nerves that caused the reaction. I blink rapidly, my eyelids matching my heart rate. "Miss Kavanagh is indisposed, so she sent me. I hope you don't mind, Mr. Grey."

"And you are?" His voice is warm, possibly amused, but it's difficult to tell from his impassive expression. He looks mildly interested, but above all, polite.

"Anastasia Steele. I'm studying English literature with Kate, um … Katherine … um … Miss Kavanagh, at WSU Vancouver."

"I see," he says simply. I think I see a ghost of a smile in his expression, but I'm not sure. "Would you like to sit?" He waves me towards an L-shaped white leather sofa. His office is huge, way too big for just one man. In front of the floor-to-ceiling windows, there's a modern dark wood desk that six people could eat comfortably eat around. It matches the coffee table by the sofa. Everything else is white—ceiling, floors, and walls, except for the wall by the door, where a mosaic of small paintings hang, around thirty-six of them from what I could see arranged in a square. They are a series of exquisite mundane, forgotten objects painted in such precise detail that they look like photographs. Displayed together, they are breathtaking.

"A local artist. Trouton," says Grey when he catches me looking at them.

"They're lovely. Beauty within the otherwise overlooked," I murmur, distracted both by him and the beautiful paintings. He cocks his head to one side and regards me intently.

"I couldn't agree more, Miss Steele," he replies, his voice soft, and for some reason my face floods again with heat and I find myself blushing. Apart from the paintings the office is cold, clean and clinical. And a wonder if it's a reflection of the personality of the stunning man who sinks with grace into one of the white leather chairs opposite me. I shake my head and silently scold myself, I don't know anything about this man, so I should be making assumptions about his personality. I retrieve Kate's questions from my handbag. Next I set up the digital recorder, today just isn't my day and my butter fingers drop the recorder twice on the coffee table.

Mr. Grey says nothing, waiting patiently—I hope—as I become increasingly embarrassed and clumsy. I pluck the courage to look up at him, he's watching me, one hand relaxed on his lap and the other cupping his chin and trailing his long index finger across his lips. I think he's trying to suppress a smile.

"S-sorry," I stutter. "I'm not used to this."

"Take all the time you need, Miss Steele," he says.

"Do you mind if I record your answers?"

"After you've taken so much trouble to set up the recorder, you ask me now?" I blink stupidly at him and look down at the recorder on my lap, I open my mouth to apologise. I close it and flush when I figure out that he's teasing me—I hope he's just teasing me. I think he takes pity on me because he relents. "No, I don't mind." I clear my throat,

"Did Kate, I mean, Miss Kavanagh, explain what the interview was for?"

"Yes. To appear in the graduation issue of the student newspaper as I shall be conferring the degrees at this years graduation ceremony."

Whoa! How come I haven't heard anything about this, I'm temporarily preoccupied by the thought that someone not much older than me—well not that much older maybe six years or so, and okay mega-successful, but still—is going to present me with my degree. I frown, dragging my wandering mind back to reality and the task at hand.

"Good." I swallow nervously. "I have some questions, Mr. Grey." I instantly regret saying that, of course I have questions I'm interviewing the man! I smooth a stray lock of hair behind my ear, hoping he hadn't noticed.

"I thought you might," he deadpans. He noticed! Of course he noticed my subconscious snarked at me. And he's laughing. My cheeks heat, I'm making such a fool of myself today, scraping together what little dignity I have left. I sit up and square my shoulders in an attempt to look taller and more intimidating. That's right! Anastasia channel your inner Mcgonagall. Pressing the start button on the recorder, I try to look professional.

"You're very young to have amassed such an empire. To what do you owe your success?" I glance up at him. His smile is rueful, but he looks vaguely disappointed.

"Business is all about people, Miss Steele, and I'm very good at judging people. I know how they tick, what makes them flourish, what doesn't, what inspires them, and how to incentivize them. I employ an exceptional team, and I reward them well." He pauses and fixes me with his gray stare, "My belief is that to achieve success in any scheme, one has to make oneself master of that scheme. Know it inside and out, know every detail. I work hard, very hard to do that. I make decisions based on logic and facts. I have a natural gut instinct that can spot and nurture a good solid idea and good people. The bottom line is It's always down to good people."

"Maybe you're just lucky." I blurted out, this isn't on Kate's list—but he's so arrogant. His eyes flare momentarily in surprise.

"I don't subscribe to luck or chance, Miss Steele. The harder I work the more luck I seem to have. It really is all about having the right people on your team and directing their energies accordingly. I think it was Harvey Firestone who said, "The growth and development of people is the highest calling of leadership."

"You sound a bit controlling there Mr. Grey." The words are out of my mouth before I can stop them. He reminds me so much of what Granger was like during exam month at Hogwarts.

"Oh, I exercise control in all things, Miss Steele," he says without a trace of humour in his smile. I look at him, and he holds my gaze steadily, impassive. I feel scolded for some reason, my heartbeat quickens and my face flushes—again. Why does he have such an unnerving effect on me? Perhaps it's his overwhelming good looks? The way his eyes blaze at me? The way he strokes his index finger against his lower lip? I wish he'd stop doing that. "Besides, immense power is acquired by assuring yourself in your secret reveries that you were born to control things," he continues, his voice soft. An image of Voldemort comes to mind, he probably told himself the same thing every morning.

"Do you feel that you have immense power?" I follow Kate's questions, still stuck a bit in the past.

"I employ over forty thousand people, Miss Steele. That gives me a certain sense of responsibility—power, if you will. If I were to decide I was no longer interested in the telecommunications business and sell, twenty thousand people would struggle to make their mortgage payments after a month or so." My mouth drops open in shock, I am staggered by his lack of humility.

"Don't you have a board to answer to." I snark, disgusted. What an utter Egomaniac!

"I own my own company. I don't have to answer to a board." he raises an eyebrow at me. I would of known this if I'd had the time to do some research on him, but Merlin, he's arrogant. I get back on track.

"And do you have any interests outside your work?"

"I have varied interests, Miss Steele." A ghost of a smile touches his lips. "Very varied." And for some reason, his heated steady gaze sends a toe curling shiver down my spine. His eyes are alight with some wicked thought.

"But if you work so hard, what do you do to chill out?"

"Chill out?" He smiles, revealing perfect white teeth. My breath hitches. He really is beautiful. No one should be this good-looking. "Well, to 'chill out,' as you put it—I sail, I fly, I indulge in various physical pursuits." He shifts in his chair. "I'm a very wealthy man, Miss Steele, and I have expensive and absorbing hobbies." I glance down quickly at Kate's questions, wanting to shift to the newt subject.

"You invest in manufacturing. Why, specifically?" I ask. Why is he making me so uncomfortable?

"I like to build things. I like to know how things work: what makes things tick, how to construct and deconstruct, and I have a love of ships. What can I say?"

"That sounds like your heart talking rather than logic and facts." His mouth quirks up, and he stares appraisingly at me.

"Possibly, though there are people who'd say I don't have a heart."

"That's odd, why would people say that about you."

"Because they know me so well." His lip curls in a wry smile.

"Would your friends say you're easy to get to know?" And I regret the question as soon as I say it, me and my runaway mouth. It's not a question on the list Kate gave me.

"I'm a very private person, Miss Steele. I go along way to protect my privacy. I don't give interviews often …"

"Why did you agree to do this one?"

"Because I'm a benefactor of the university, and for all intents purposes, I couldn't get Miss Kavanagh off my back. She badgered and badgered my PR people, and I admire that kind of tenacity." I chuckle mentally at the image of Kate one the phone with the PR people ordering them to get her an interview with Mr. Grey. Her tenacity is the reason I'm sat here fidgeting under his penetrating gaze, when I should be studying for my exams.

"You also invest in farming technologies. Why are you interested in that area?"

"We can't eat money, Miss Steele, and there are too many people on this planet who don't have enough to eat." I flinch, a small flash of my childhood, stuck under the stairs. Locked in, and stomach growling with hunger as I heard the sounds of knives and forks hitting plates and laughing coming from just outside. I shake my head shooing the flashback away, not noticing the keen interest and concern that briefly flashed over the business man's face.

"That sounds very philanthropic. Is it something you feel passionately about? Feeding the world's poor?" the last bit came out a little sharper then I meant it to. He shrugs noncommittally.

"It's a shrewd business," he murmurs, though I think he's being disingenuous. It doesn't make sense—feeding the world's poor? It's a really nice idea, really nice. But I can't see how it would benefit him financially, I can only see the virtue of the ideal. I glance a the next question, confused by his attitude.

"Do you have a philosophy? If so what is it?"

"I don't have a philosophy as such. Maybe a guiding principle—Carnegie's: 'A man who acquires the ability to take full possession of his own mind. May take possession of anything else to which he is justly entitled.' I'm very singular, driven. I like control—of myself and those around me."

"So you want to possess things, are you aware if your desire for control is a compulsion?" Mega control issues!

"I want to deserve to possess them, but yes, bottom line, I do, and as far as I know it isn't a compulsion." I'm shocked he could say something like that do nonchalantly.

"You sound like the ultimate consumer."

"I am." He smiles, but the smile doesn't touch his eyes. Again, this is at odds with someone who wants to feed the world, so I get the feeling that we're talking about something else, but I can't for the life of me figure out what it is. I swallow hard. The temperature in the room is rising—no that's probably just me. I just want this interview to be over already. Surely Kate has enough material now, I glance at the next question.

"You were adopted. How much do you think that's shaped the way you are?" Oh so now we're on to the personal questions. I stare at him, hoping he's not offended. His brow furrows.

"I have no way of knowing." That piques my interest.

"How old were you when you were adopted?"

"That's a matter of public record, Miss Steele." His tone is stern. Crap. Of course—if I'd known I was going to be doing this, I would have done some researching. I clear my throat, flustered. I move on quickly.

"You've had to sacrifice family life for your work."

"That's not a question." His tone is sharp.

"Sorry." I squirm; He's made me feel like an errant child. I try again. "Have you had to sacrifice family life for work?"

"I have a family. I have a brother and a sister two loving parents. I'm not interested in extending my family beyond that."

"Are you gay, Mr. Grey." I immediately blanche after reading it out loud, and I look back down at the question trying to will the paper to burst into flames—or me I'm not quite sure at this point. He inhales sharply, and I cringe, mortified. Crap. Why didn't I just skip this question, there's no way he's gay anyway. It would be a devastating loss to womankind if he is. How can I tell him I'm just reading the questions? Damn you Kate and your nerves of steel and nosey curiosity, I can't believe she was going to ask that question—I can't believe I said it!

"No Anastasia, I'm not." He raises his eyebrows, a cool gleam in his eyes. He does not look pleased—of course he doesn't you just questioned his sexuality no one likes that—my subconscious scolded me.

"I apologize. It's, um … written here." It's the first time he's said my name. My heartbeat has accelerated, and my cheeks are heating up again. Nervously, I tuck my loosened hair behind my ear. He cocks his head to one side.

"These aren't your own questions?" The blood drains from my face.

"Errr … no. Kate—Miss Kavanagh—she compiled the questions."

"Are you also on the student paper?" Oh no. I have absolutely nothing to do with the student paper. It's Kate's extracurricular activity, not mine. My face is aflame.

"No she's my roommate." He rubs his chin in quiet deliberation, his gray eyes appraising me. Shit, I haven't got a clue what he's thinking.

"Did you volunteer to do this interview?" he asks, his voice deadly quiet. I get the sudden feeling that our positions have switched—and now I'm the one getting grilled. His eyes burn into me, and I find myself answering with the truth.

"I was drafted. She's not feeling well." My voice is weak and apologetic. I hope I didn't just get Kate in trouble.

"That explains a great deal." There's a knock at the door, and doppelgänger No'3 enters the room.

"Mr. Grey, forgive me for interrupting, but your next meeting is in two minutes."

"We're not finished here, Andrea. Please cancel my next meeting." He says not even looking in her direction. Andrea hesitates, gaping at him. She appears lost. This time he turns his head slowly to face her and raises an eyebrow. Her face flushes a scarlet red. Oh, thank Merlin. It's not just me.

"Very well, Mr. Grey," she mutters, giving me a quick glance. She then exits. He frowns, and turns his attention back to me.

"Where were we, Miss Steele?" So we're back to the formalities now.

"Please, don't let me keep you from anything." Yes, I can finally get away from his penetrating gaze.

"I want to know about you. I think that's only fair." His eyes are alight with curiosity. And with that comment, I'm reeled back in. He places his elbows on the arms of the chair and steepled his fingers in front of his mouth. What a very distracting manoeuvre. I swallow, he fights dirty.

"There's not much to know." I've never been very good at lying straight out. I do better with giving minimal information and letting assumptions form from there.

"Oh, come now Miss Steele. By your accent I assume your British." I nod my head. "Ahhh, I thought so." He smiles triumphantly. So arrogant. "What brings you all the way to America?" the curiosity in his eyes shines.

"Just felt like a change in scenery." I shrugged it off. He seemed to have taken the hint not to pry and his question shifted.

"What are your plans after you graduate?" I shrug again, thrown by his interest. Move to Seattle with Kate, find a job, try and keep the British ministry from forcing me back into the fold, maybe apply to the american ministry for political asylum. I haven't really thought beyond my finals, this whole going to Muggle school was just a way for me to decide my own path for a change. I never expected to live to see the age of twenty-one, so I'm really just going with the flow, and doing what feels right for me.

"I haven't made any plans, Mr. Grey. I just need to get through my final exams." Which I should be studying for right right now, rather than sitting in your palatial, swanky, sterile office, feeling like I'm coming undone, under your penetrating gaze.

"We run an excellent internship program here," He says quietly. I raised my eyebrows in surprise. Is he offering me a job?

"Oh, I'll bear that in mind," I murmur, shocked. "Though I'm not so sure I match the style of the place," crap! Me and my damn mouth.

"Why do you say that?" He tilts his head to one side, intrigued, a hint of a smile playing on his lips. He seriously can't see the pattern, maybe I should add shockingly oblivious to the list right between—egomaniac, and arrogant git.

"Your kidding right?" I'm clumsy, scruffy. Oh and not to mention all the way down south on the hair colour graph. If he hadn't noticed I'm-NOT BLONDE!

"No I'm not," he murmurs. His gaze is intense, all humour gone, and strange muscles deep in my belly clench suddenly. I tear my eyes away from his scrutiny and stare blindly down at my knotted fingers. What's his problem? I need to go—now. I lean forward to retrieve the recorder.

"Would you like me to show you around?" He asks.

"I'm sure you're far too busy, Mr. Grey, and I do have a long drive."

"You're driving back to Vancouver?" He sounds surprised, anxious even. I'd like to apperate all the way home, but technology and magic, doesn't mix well with each other, and I don't want to cause any damage to Kate's car. He glances out the window. It's begun to rain. "Well, you'd better drive carefully." Hi tone is stern, authoritative. I resist the urge to stick my tongue out at him. Why does he care anyway? "Did you get everything you need?" he adds.

"Yes, sir." I reply, packing the recorder into my backpack. His eyes narrow, speculatively. "Thank you for the interview Mr. Grey, Kate really appreciated this, she'd been talking about it non stop for months."

"The pleasure's all mine," he says, lips slightly quirked, polite as ever. As I stand up, he also stands and holds out his hand. "Until we meet again, Miss Steele." And it sounds like a challenge, or a threat, I'm not too sure which. I frown. When exactly will we meet again? I shake his hand once more, astounded that my magic quivers when we touch. It must be my shot nerves.

"Mr. Grey." I nod at him. Moving with lithe athletic grace to the door, he opens it wide.

"Just ensuring you make it through the door, Miss Steele." He gives me a small smile. Obviously, he's referring to my earlier less-than-elegant entry into his office. I flush.

"That's very considerate of you, Mr. Grey." my voice deadpans, and his smile widens. Yes, yes laugh it up while you can, because this will be the last time you see me, I glower inwardly, walking into the foyer. I'm surprised when he follows me out the door. Andrea and Olivia both look up, equally surprised.

"Did you have a coat?" Grey asks.

"A—leather jacket." I stop myself from saying dragonhide, just in the nick of time. Can't be blowing the 'Stature of Secrecy' to someone I've just met. Olivia leaps up and retrieves my jacket, which Grey takes from her before she can hand it to me. He holds it up and, feeling incredibly self-conscious, I shrug it on. Grey places his hands for a moment on my shoulders. My magic surges at the contact, and I let out a small whimper escapes me, but it's quiet enough that I'm not sure he heard it. If he notices my reaction, he gives nothing away.

His long index finger presses the button summoning the elevator, and we stand waiting—awkwardly on my part, coolly self-possessed on his. The doors open, and I hurry in, desperate to get out of here. I really need to leave. When I turn to look at him, he's gazing at me and leaning against the doorway besides the elevator with one hand on the wall. He really is very, very good-looking. It's unnerving.

"Anastasia." he says as a farewell.

"Christian," I reply. And the door finally closes.