Hermione Granger had secrets.

Of course she did; everyone had a few. It was completely normal and she was certain that she didn't have any more than anybody else.
They weren't big, earth-shattering secrets or the type of secret that would affect the world in any way, but normal, everyday little secrets.

Like, for example, a few random secrets off the top of her head were:

1. Her wand didn't break in a chase to catch a dark wizard. She sat on it.
2. She loved sweet sherry, the least distinguished drink in the world.
3. She didn't wear a size S robe like her boyfriend thought; she was more of an M (although, in her defence, she was planning on going on a diet when she told him that).
4. She disliked ginger hair.
5. Sometimes, when she was in the middle of passionate sex, she suddenly had the urge to laugh.
6. She lost her virginity in her boyfriend's childhood bedroom and she was more interested in the Chudley Cannons pin-up Chaser, Dominic Firewood.
7. She had already drunk the wine that her father had told her to lay down for twenty years.
8. Her mum's goldfish wasn't the same goldfish that she told Hermione to look after six months ago.
9. When her colleague, Marietta, annoyed her, she fed her exotic plant alcohol and it had never been the same.
10. She once had a weird lesbian dream about Ginny.
11. Her underwear was hurting her.
12. She had always felt a deep down conviction that there was an exciting new life waiting for her just around the corner.
13. She had no idea what the man in the grey suit was talking about.
14. She had also forgotten his name.

And she had only met him ten minutes ago.

"We believe in logistical, formative alliances," he was saying in a nasal, droning voice, "both above and below the line."
"Absolutely!" Hermione replied brightly, as though to say, "Doesn't everybody?"
What was he talking about?
What if they asked her?
Don't be stupid, Hermione, she thought. They won't suddenly demand, "What did I just say?" I'm a fellow marketing professional, aren't I? Obviously I know these things.
The important thing for her to do was to keep acting confident and business-like. She could do it. It was her big chance and she wasn't about to screw it up.

She was sitting in the offices of Ogden's headquarters in Scotland and, as she glanced at her reflection in the window, she thought she looked like a top businesswoman. Her hair was straightened, she was wearing discreet earrings like she was told to in a Witch Weekly article and she had on her smart new robes. Well, they were almost new. She had bought them from a second-hand shop in Diagon Alley and only had to fix a little hole.

She was there to represent the Magpie Corporation, which was where she worked. The meeting was to finalise a promotional arrangement between the new Magpie Favourite-Flavour alcoholic drink and Ogden's and she had flown up from London on Muggle transport especially.
When she had arrived, the Ogden's Marketing committee had started on a long, show-offy 'who's-travelled-the-most?' conversation about Portkeys and Floo powder and she thought she had bluffed pretty convincingly, except when she said she'd used an international Portkey from Ottawa to Scotland and it turned out that it wasn't possible. The truth was that the meeting was the first time she'd ever had to travel for a deal.

She'd never done a deal before, full stop. She'd been at Magpie for eleven months as a Marketing Assistant and, until then, she'd only ever been allowed to write out and copy, arrange meetings for other people, get the sandwiches and pick up her bosses' children from the childminder.
It was her big break. She had a secret hope that if she did it well, she would get promoted. The advertisement for her job had said 'possibility of promotion after one year' and on Monday she was having her yearly appraisal with her boss, Paul. She had looked up 'appraisals' in her Staff Induction Handbook and it had said that they were 'an ideal opportunity to discuss possibilities for career advancement'. Career advancement! At the thought, Hermione felt a familiar stab of longing in her chest. It would show her father that she wasn't a complete failure. And her mother. And Marietta. If she could go home and casually say, "By the way, I've been promoted to Marketing Executive..."

Hermione Granger, Marketing Executive.
Hermione Granger, Senior Vice-President (Marketing).

As long as everything went well. Paul had said that the deal was done and dusted and that all she had to do was nod and shake their hands and even she would be able to manage it. So far, it was going smoothly. So she didn't listen to about ninety percent of what they were saying, but she nodded a lot and smiled.
"Rebranding... analysis... cost effective..."
The man in the grey suit was still droning on about something. As casually as possible, Hermione extended her hand and inched his business card towards her so she could read it.
Doug Hamilton. That was easy to remember. Doug. Dug. She could picture a shovel. Together with a ham. Which... which looked ill... and...
She could just write it down.
Hermione hastily scrawled 'rebranding' and 'Doug Hamilton' on her parchment and gave an awkward wriggle. Her knickers were really uncomfortable. Granted, G-strings were never that comfortable at the best of times in her opinion, but hers were particularly bad. It could have been because they were a size too small.
Ron had bought them for her, and had told the Lingerie Assistant that she wore robe size small. Whereupon she told him that Hermione must be a size extra-small in knickers.
Frankly, Hermione thought that the assistant was being mean. She must have known that Hermione was lying.
It was Christmas morning, and she and Ron were exchanging presents, and she unwrapped a pair of gorgeous pale pink silk knickers. Size extra-small. They were so posh that they had anti-alteration charms in place. She had two options:

A: Confess the truth. "Actually, these are too small, I'm more of a small or a medium," or...
B: Shoe-horn herself into them.

Actually, it was fine. The red marks on Hermione's hips were hardly visible afterwards. It only meant that she had to alter the labels on all of her underwear so that Ron wouldn't realise.
Since then, Hermione had hardly ever worn that particular set of underwear, but every so often she saw them looking so nice and expensive in the drawer and thought, Oh come on, they're not that tight, and she would somehow squeeze herself into them, which is what she had done that morning. She had even decided that she must have lost weight, because they hadn't felt too bad.
She was such a deluded idiot.

"...unfortunately, since rebranding... major rethink... feel we need to be considering alternative synergies..."
Up until then, Hermione had just been sitting and nodding, thinking that the business-meeting lark was really easy, but Doug's voice was starting to impinge on her consciousness. What was he saying?
"... two products diverging... becoming incompatible..."
What was that about incompatible? What was that about a major rethink? Hermione suddenly felt a jolt of alarm. Maybe it wasn't just waffle. Maybe he was actually saying something. She used to be good at listening to speeches. What happened?
"We appreciate the functional and synergetic partnership that Magpie and Ogden's have enjoyed in the past," Doug was saying, "but you'll agree that clearly we're going in different directions."
Different directions? Is that what he had been talking about for all of that time?
Hermione's stomach gave an anxious lurch. Was he trying to pull out of the deal?
"Excuse me, Doug," she said in her most relaxed voice. "Obviously I was following what you were saying earlier." She gave a friendly, we're-all-professionals-together smile. "But if you could just... um, recap the situation for all of our benefits...?"
Doug and the other man exchanged glances.
"We're a little unhappy about your brand values," said Doug.
"My brand values?" Hermione echoed in panic.
"The brand values of the product," he said, giving Hermione an odd look. "As I've been explaining, we here at Ogden's are going through a rebranding process at the moment and we see our new image very much as a caring, family company, as the new logo demonstrates. We feel that Magpie, with its emphasis on new gadgets, alcoholic beverages and Pepper-Up potion snacks are simply too modern and aggressive."
"Aggressive?" Hermione stared at him, bewildered. "But... it's a drink."
It made no sense. Ogden's was a beer belly-creating Whiskey company. Favourite Flavour was a fun, albeit slightly alcoholic drink. How could it be too aggressive?
"The values it espouses." Doug gestured to the marketing brochures on the table. "Elitism. Masculinity. The slogan. Frankly, it seems a little dated. It's 2004." He shrugged. "We just don't think a joint initiative will be possible."
It couldn't be happening. He couldn't be pulling out. Everyone at the office would think it was Hermione's fault. They would think she messed it up and that she was completely rubbish at everything.
Hermione's heart was thumping and her face was hot. She couldn't let it happen. But what could she say? She hadn't prepared anything. Paul had said that it was all set up and all she had to do was shake their hands.
"We'll certainly discuss it again before we make a decision," Doug was saying. He gave Hermione a brief smile. "And, as I say, we would like to continue links with Magpie, so this has been a useful meeting in any case."
He was pushing the chair back.
She couldn't let it slip away! She had to try and win them round. She had to try and close the deal.
"Wait!" Hermione heard herself say. "Just... wait a moment. I have a few points to make."
What was she talking about? She had no points to make.
There was a sample bottle of Favourite-Flavour sitting on the desk and Hermione grabbed it for inspiration. Playing for time, she stood up, walked to the centre of the room and raised the bottle high into the air so everyone could see it.
"Favourite-Flavour is... an alcoholic beverage."
She stopped and there was a polite silence. Her face prickled.
"It... um... It is very..."
What am I doing? Come on, Hermione. Think!
"Since the launch of the Magpie Corporation in 1999, Magpie products have been a byword for energy, excitement and fun," Hermione said fluently.
That was the standard marketing blurb for Magpie Corporation. She had written it out so many times that she could recite it in her sleep.
"Magpie products are a marketing phenomenon," she continued. "The Magpie character is one of the most widely recognised in the Wizarding world, whilst the classic slogan has made it into our dictionaries. We are now offering Ogden's an exclusive opportunity to join with this premium, world-famous brand."
Her confidence growing, she started to stride around the room, gesturing with the bottle.
"By buying an Ogden's-endorsed Magpie product, the consumer is signalling that he will settle for nothing but the best." She hit the bottle sharply with her other hand. "He expects the best from his Magpie product, he expects the best from his Ogden's product, he expects the best from himself."
If Paul could see her now, he would give her a promotion on the spot!
Hermione walked over to the desk and looked Doug Hamilton in the eye. "When the Magpie consumer opens this bottle, he is making a choice which tells the world who he is. I'm asking Ogden's to make that choice."
As Hermione finished speaking, she planted the bottle firmly in the middle of the desk, reached for her wand and, with a cool smile, tapped the bottle top with it.

It was like a volcano erupting.

Fizzy alcohol exploded in a whoosh out of the bottle, landing on the desk, drenching the parchment and quills in lurid pink liquid and splattering all over Doug Hamilton's shirt.
"Fuck!" Hermione gasped. "I mean, I'm so sorry..."
"Shit!" Doug said irritably, standing up and retrieving his wand from his pocket. "Will this come off with Scourgify?"
"Er..." Hermione grabbed the bottle helplessly. "I don't know. Try Evanesco?"
"I'll do it," said the other man, who leapt to his feet.
There was a silence as the mess was cleaned up magically, apart from the sound of fizzy drink dripping slowly into the floor.
Hermione stared at Doug Hamilton, her face hot and blood throbbing through her ears.
"Please," she said, clearing her husky throat, "don't tell my boss."

After all of that, Hermione had messed it up.
As she dragged her heels across the concourse at Edinburgh airport, she felt completely dejected. Doug Hamilton had been quite sweet in the end. He had said he was sure the stains on his robe would come out and promised he wouldn't tell Paul what had happened. However, he didn't change his mind about the deal.

Her first big meeting, her first big chance... and that was what happened. She felt like giving up on the whole thing. She felt like Floo calling the office and saying, "That's it, I'm never coming back again and by the way, it was me who stole the pumpkin pasties every Monday."
But she couldn't. It was her fourth career in almost five years. It had to work. She also owed Harry four hundred galleons.
"So, what can I get you?" an Australian man asked and Hermione looked up dazedly. She had arrived at the airport with an hour to go and had headed straight for the bar.
"Erm..." Her mind had gone blank. "Er... white wine. No, actually, a vodka and tonic. Thanks."
As he moved away, Hermione slumped in her stool. An Air Hostess with a French plait came and sat down two stools away from her. She smiled at Hermione and Hermione smiled weakly in return.

She didn't know how other people could manage their careers. Like Harry. He had always known that he wanted to be an Auror, so he became an Auror. Hermione had left Hogwarts (after repeating her seventh year) with no clue. Her first job was at the Ministry in 1999, in a small department, trying to start S.P.E.W again, but she couldn't find anyone besides Ron, Ginny and Harry who were interested. So, after six months, in April 2000, she announced that she was changing careers and she was going to be an Auror instead. It had felt like such a fantastic moment, like she was in a film. Harry had loaned her money for the training and she was going to launch into a new career which was going to be the start of her new life.

Except it didn't quite happen like that.

Even after the war, Hermione hated fighting. She'd try and avoid conflict and would shy away from using harmful jinxes. After a few short months, she was told she wasn't cut out for being an Auror.

Her third career was in the Wizengamot, which she started in October 2000. She found it dull. She would also find it hard to leave her personal experience of the war out of her professional life, which led to disagreements and a mutual decision to leave just seven months later.

Hermione heaved a heavy sigh, and stared dolefully at her reflection in the mirror behind the bar. As well as everything else, her hair, which she had carefully controlled with serum and Muggle hair straighteners as well as a Glamour charm, had gone frizzy.

Meanwhile, Hermione got into more and more debt and started temping and applying for jobs - both Muggle and Wizarding. Eventually, in March 2003, eleven months ago, she had started work as a Marketing Assistant for the Magpie Corporation.

The barman placed a vodka and tonic in front of her and gave her a quizzical look. "Cheer up!" he said. "It can't be that bad!"
"Thanks," Hermione replied gratefully, and took a sip. It made her feel slightly better. She was just taking a second sip when her mobile began to ring. The only people who called her on her mobile were her parents, her grandfather, Harry and occasionally Ginny.
"Hi," Hermione greeted after pressing the green button.
"Hiya Hermione!" came Ginny's voice. "Only me. So, how did it go?"
Ginny and Harry were living with her and was the best girl-friend she could possibly wish for.
"It was a disaster," Hermione replied miserably.
"What happened? Didn't you get the deal?"
"Not only did I not get the deal, I drenched the Marketing Director of Ogden's in alcohol." Along the bar, Hermione felt the Air Hostess looking at her.

"Oh dear." She could almost feel Ginny trying to think of something positive to say. "Well, at least you got their attention," she said at last. "They won't forget you in a hurry."
"I suppose," Hermione said morosely. "Did I have any post?"
"Erm... Ron owled from the Ministry to see how you got on. He was really sweet for once; he said he didn't want to call you in case he disturbed you."
Hermione ignored the fact that Ron couldn't use a phone. "Really?"
For the first time that day, she felt a lift in spirits.
Ron. Her boyfriend. Her lovely, thoughtful boyfriend.
"He's such a girl sometimes," Ginny was saying. "He said he was all tied up in a big Auror meeting all afternoon, but he's cancelled his Quidditch game especially, so did you want to go out for dinner tonight?"
"Oh," Hermione said, with a flicker of pleasure. "Oh, well, that'll be nice. Thanks, Gin."
She hung up and took another sip of Vodka, feeling a little cheerier.
Her boyfriend.
And not just any boyfriend. A tall, funny, successful boyfriend, whom Witch Weekly had called 'number four' in the 'most influential people under thirty' list.

Hermione sat nursing her vodka, allowing thoughts of Ron to roll around her brain and comfort her. The way his ginger hair shone in the sunshine and the way he was always positive. And the way he tried to use a computer without her asking. It wasn't his fault it blew up. And the way he... he...
Her mind had gone blank. That was ridiculous; there were so many wonderful things about Ron. From his... long limbs and his broad shoulders. To the way he looked after her when she had the flu. How many boyfriends did that?
She was lucky, she really was.
She put the phone away, ran her fingers through her hair and glanced at the clock behind the bar. Forty minutes. Not long to go. Nerves were starting to creep over her like insects and she took a deep gulp of vodka, draining her glass.
It'll be fine, Hermione reassured herself. I'll be fine. I'm not frightened.

15. She was scared of flying.

She had never told anyone that. Mainly because most people she encountered wouldn't know what an aeroplane was. It wasn't like she couldn't get on a plane, it was just... all things being equal, she would prefer to be on the ground.
She knew you had less chance of a plane crash than a car crash and all the other completely non-reassuring facts about flying, but she still didn't like it. Maybe she should have another vodka.

By the time her flight was called, Hermione had drunk two more vodkas and was feeling a lot more positive about the meeting. Ginny was right, at least she had made a lasting impression.
As she strode towards the gate, clutching her briefcase, she almost started to feel like a confident businesswoman again. A couple of Muggles smiled at her as they passed, and Hermione smiled broadly back, feeling a warm glow of friendliness. The world felt better.
She reached the entrance to the plane and, there at the door taking boarding passes was the Air Hostess with the French plait who was sitting at the bar.
"Hello again," Hermione slurred, smiling. "What a coincidence!"
The Air Hostess stared at her.
"Hi, erm..."
"What?"
Why did she look embarrassed?
"Sorry, it's just... did you know that...?" She gestured awkwardly to Hermione's front.
"What is it?" Hermione asked pleasantly. She looked down and froze, aghast.
Somehow her silky blouse had unbuttoned as she had been walking along, exposing three buttons worth of bra and flesh. Her pink lacy bra. The one that had gone bobbly with age.
That was why people were staring at her. Not because the world was a nice place, but because she was pink bobbly bra woman.
"Thanks," Hermione muttered, doing up the buttons with fumbling fingers, her face hot with humiliation.
"It hasn't been your day, has it?" the Air Hostess said sympathetically, holding out a hand for Hermione's boarding pass. "Sorry. I couldn't help overhearing earlier."
"That's all right." Hermione raised a half-smile. "No, it hasn't been the best day of my life." There was a short silence where the Air Hostess studied the boarding pass.
"Tell you what," she said in a low voice. "Would you like an on-board upgrade?"
"A what?" Hermione stared blankly at her.
"Come on. You deserve a break."
"Really? But... can you just upgrade people like that?"
"If there are spare seats, we can. We use our discretion. Plus, this flight is so short." She gave Hermione a conspiring smile. "Don't tell anyone, okay?"
She led Hermione to the front section of the plane and gestured to a wide, comfortable seat. She had never been upgraded before and couldn't quite believe that she was allowed to be there.
"Is this First Class?" Hermione whispered, taking in the luxurious atmosphere. A man in a suit was looking out of the window to her right, and two elderly women in the corner were plugging themselves into headsets.
"Business Class. There's no First Class on this flight." She lifted her voice to normal volume. "Is everything okay for you?"
"It's perfect! Thanks very much."
"No problem." She smiled again and walked away and Hermione pushed her briefcase under the seat in front.
It really was lovely. Big wide seats, footrests. It was going to be a completely pleasurable experience from start to finish. She reached for her seatbelt and buckled it nonchalantly, trying to ignore the flutters of apprehension in her stomach.
"Would you like some champagne?"
It was the Air Hostess, beaming down at her.
"That would be great," Hermione said. "Thanks!"
"And for you, sir? Some champagne?"
The man in the seat next to Hermione's hadn't even looked up yet. He was wearing an all-black suit and was still staring at something outside. As he turned to answer, Hermione saw grey eyes, blonde hair, stubble and a deep frown etched on his forehead.
"No. Just a brandy. Thanks."
His voice was dry, a little posh and all too familiar to Hermione... who did that voice belong to?
No. No, it couldn't be.
Hermione stared at the man again.
It was.
It was Draco Malfoy.