DISCLAIMER: I don't own Harry Potter, nor am I affiliated in any way with J.K. Rowling.
I'm not sure if work experience happens outside the UK, but if not it's pretty self-explanatory. Students are sent off to work (without pay) for a week in order to gain skills and a knowledge of how the working world works. Assistant jobs in retail and childcare are the most common. Enjoy!
"This is ridiculous," Malfoy muttered, sitting in one of the three armchairs dotted about the office with a dour expression on his face. "There's absolutely no reason for me to go on work experience. I've already got my future sorted out."
"Pain in the arse a paying career now, then?" Hermione asked lightly, examining her nails in the dim light.
Malfoy glowered at her. "I don't need to work. My family is among the most wealthiest, respected, Pureblooded families in England." His lips curled up into a sneer. "Yours, if I understand correctly, help out Muggles with toothache."
Hermione resisted the urge to throw something at him, maybe one of the heavier books from the bookcases that lined the walls, and instead pressed her lips together and waited in silence for the manager to arrive.
"That's what I thought."
"At least my parents did something other than being born to the right people!" she snapped, looking up to glare at him. He raised a smug eyebrow and Hermione was furious at herself for rising to his taunts. She went back to her nails, murmuring, "They studied hard and worked to achieve the jobs they've got now. It's a lesson you'd do well to learn."
"It's a lesson that's boring and pointless," Malfoy corrected her, leaning back into the chair. "Much like the next month is shaping up to be."
"It's also compulsory," Hermione reminded him testily. So shut up and deal with it, she added to herself.
Despite years of defending Dumbledore's mental state, Hermione was beginning to question it herself. The decision that all fifth year students should integrate themselves into Muggle society for a month as employees didn't strike Hermione (or many other people) as one of Dumbledore's better ideas. The idea had lost any shine it may have had when lists were posted around the four common rooms informing students where they'd be working and who their partners would be. The moment Dumbledore announced that each pairing would consist of one person who'd grown up in the Muggle world and one who had not, Hermione knew there was a good chance she'd end up with a Slytherin. She hadn't so much as thought it could've been Malfoy until she wandered into the Gryffindor common room to be greeted with a grave looking Harry and Ron, who was so red in the face that he rather resembled a tomato. Her initial reaction to their expressions had been one of fear and panic; bad things descended on the trio so often that she had just assumed another trial had come to challenge them.
She had been right, just not in a way she'd expected.
"Dumbledore's mental," Ron had huffed, once Harry had delivered the partner revelation to a stunned Hermione. "Absolutely lost it. If he thinks the partners he's proposed are a good idea, the air in whatever world he's off in most of the time has seriously affected his brain."
"That would be the Wizarding world, Ron," Hermione answered, swapping a half-amused look with Harry. "This morning I made a teapot warble the chorus to The Phantom of the Opera and I seem to remember the bowl you were working on harmonising, so chances are we're all mad. Who'd you get?"
"Blaise Zabini," Harry muttered, his humoured expression draining away. "Looks like I'll be dodging curses for the next few weeks."
"Oh yeah?" Ron looked around to check they couldn't be overheard. "I got Neville. Neville. At least Blaise knows when he's sending curses your way. I won't come out of this alive."
"If it's any consolation," Harry said, clapping a hand on Ron's arm, "neither will we."
Hermione didn't know if Dumbledore had chosen the partnerships himself. If he had, she had no idea what the Headmaster was playing at. After all she, Harry and Ron had done for Hogwarts, she doubted that Dumbledore would consider pairing them up with inept or dangerous wizards a suitable reward.
"Dumbledore will have to answer to my father about this."
Malfoy's words snapped Hermione out of her reverie. She rolled her eyes and bit back a few choice words, instead looking everywhere but the insolent ferret pouting in front of her.
"Did you hear me, Granger? I said - "
"Malfoy, why are you still talking? Shut up."
Malfoy's lip curled and he shrugged. "Just trying to make conversation. Forgot you were too uncivilised to recognise an attempt at social etiquette."
"Social etiquette?" Hermione repeated, the irony of his words almost too much for her self-restraint. "You wouldn't know about social etiquette if it turned around and bit you on the - "
"Ahem."
Two pairs of eyes flicked towards the open door, one pair wide and apologetic, the other glinting with amusement. The bookstore manager, a heavy man who looked to be in his late fifties, filled the doorframe with his shabbily dressed bulk. A dark eyebrow rose towards the few wispy strands of hair that remained on his head, but he didn't look annoyed. In fact, he appeared to share Malfoy's amused expression.
"I was going to say 'nose,'" Hermione told him sheepishly.
"I'm sure you were," the man replied, his tone indicating he was sure she wasn't. "Perhaps you should try cracking open a book every so often, dear, and widen your vocabulary."
An offended Hermione was about to formulate a response (an eloquent, verbose and…wordy…response) when Malfoy stood up and swept across the room.
"Funny you should say that, sir," he said, stretching out his hand in greeting, "I was just telling her the same thing. Draco Malfoy," he added with what Hermione regarded as an unnerving sense of professionalism. She could do nothing but sit and gape at his audacity. "Pleased to meet you."
"Draco?" the man repeated, pumping Malfoy's hand twice before letting go. "What an unusual name. Draconian, one might say."
An awkward silence fell upon the room as it became evident that Draco did not know the origins of his own name, that the new man had no comic ability, and that Hermione had not yet forgiven him for his earlier insult and would not bail him out with a laugh. Instead, Malfoy smiled uncertainly.
"Yes, well, many of us have unusual names at Hogwarts, as I'm sure you remember from your own time there."
Hermione stood up quickly. The course was called Muggle Relations, surely Malfoy couldn't be stupid enough to believe he would be interacting only with magical folk?
The man looked puzzled, and Hermione could feel herself becoming more tense as the seconds passed.
"Hogwarts? I don't believe I…is that the village where you're from?"
Malfoy's face drained of what little colour it had as the situation dawned on him. Distaste coloured his face anew and infected his tone with a nasty condescension.
"You mean you're a M-"
"Manager," Hermione cut across swiftly, twisting Malfoy's interrupted word into an unnatural shape. "Yes, Draco, I think this is our manager." She smiled at the new man, not daring to look in Malfoy's direction. Using his first name had not sat right in her mouth but she didn't want the manager to think worse of her than he already did. "I'm Hermione Granger. Nice to meet you."
The man returned her smile, although there was a slight edge to it, like he knew he was being kept in the dark about something. Hermione supposed interrupting Malfoy hadn't been very subtle, but it was either that or risk further questions.
"Lovely to meet you both," the man said, his eyes flicking from Draco to Hermione. "My name is Frank Turner, I'm the manager here at Turner Page and I'll be overseeing your progress over the next few weeks." He paused, looking uncomfortable. "Well, for the most part. I have a lot of meetings coming up and I may not always be around to supervise. But you both came with commendations from your teachers, and I'm sure that two sensible young people can be trusted with a few old books."
Hermione nodded eagerly, while Draco pulled an expression that suggested a naked flame would prove more trustworthy than him in this situation. Frank smiled again, decidedly more worried than when he entered the room but trying valiantly to hide it.
"You'll mainly be working on the tills - well, till, we're a rather small shop - and stacking shelves," he informed the two of them. "We recently upgraded our system but the till is easy to figure out, particularly for the younger generation. Us old 'uns need an intensive training course just to log onto the Internet!"
Draco stared blankly while Hermione managed an uncomfortable smile.
"My mum and dad aren't much better," she assured him.
This seemed to mollify Frank, who spent the next hour showing his two newest workers around his shop. His office doubled as the break room, the stockroom was more room than stock and given the smallness of the place there wasn't much selection. But it was a bookshop, and Hermione loved it instantly.
Malfoy, on the other hand, did not. While Frank was out that afternoon attending one of his meetings, Hermione experimented with the cash register. It was simple enough to figure out, and in any case Frank had gone through the basics with them. She doubted Malfoy had listened to any of it, though, and seemed more preoccupied with the concept of Muggle money. As loath as she was to help the Slytherin in any aspect of his life, Hermione had taken a liking to Frank and knew that a customer who didn't understand currency would be detrimental to business.
So she took money from the till (feeling incredibly guilty as she did, even though it was for training purposes only; she would never dream of pocketing any of it) and spread it out onto the counter next to the till. She spent twenty minutes carefully pointing out each coin and note to Malfoy and mentioning its value. Once she had finished he gave her an incredibly bored look.
"What?" he asked flatly.
"It's simple," Hermione said, her patience waning. If her co-worker was anyone else she wouldn't be counting the seconds until she could go back to the castle. "One hundred pennies to a pound. Notes range from five pounds to fifty pounds, but fifty pound notes are really rare and need to be checked in case they're fake." She lay out one of every coin and pointed to it. "One penny, two pence, five pence, ten pence, twenty pence, fifty pence, one pound, two pounds. I'm guessing you know basic mathematics?" she added waspishly.
"I'm not an idiot," he answered, annoyed.
"Could've fooled me." Hermione noticed Malfoy about to retaliate and cut him off once again. "Anyway, the notes are distinguishable by their colour. Plus they've got a number in the corner indicating their worth."
Malfoy picked up a five pound notes and shook it. It hung limply and he sneered at it.
"This currency is ridiculous. There's so many coins and pieces of paper to remember." He glanced up as a bell that hung above the front door jangled. "Customer."
"You take it," Hermione said, standing back and indicating the till. She ignored the excitement at her first customer, choosing instead the opportunity to put Malfoy in his place. "You think you're so much better than Muggles, you should be able to figure out their technology pretty easily."
He glowered at her before taking his place behind the counter. The customer browsed for awhile, which gave Draco a few moments to inwardly panic. Granger hadn't been through how the 'till' worked yet. Or if she had, he hadn't listened. The Muggle Manager had briefly explained…commuters? - no, that wasn't right. Or was it? Stupid Muggles - but he wasn't sure how to operate one. What he was sure of, though, was that he wouldn't let the Mudblood know that he was struggling. How hard could it be?
The customer, a middle-aged man in a dark suit, approached the till with a smile.
"Hello, can you tell me if you have a book in stock please?"
Draco's eyes flicked from the man's expectant expression to the brightly lit commuter in front of him.
"Yes?" he guessed.
"Great," the man said, "it's called Wish for the Night. I can't see it on any of the shelves, so…"
"So I'll…take a look for you," Draco said, looking at the screen uncertainly.
There were plenty of book advertisements scattered about on it, but none matched the title he had to find. He reached up and prodded the screen, which rippled slightly underneath his finger. Other than that, there was no response.
"I don't think the computer's touch screen," Granger said from behind him, and he didn't have to look at her to know that she found this immensely satisfying.
"Neither do I," he answered, but only because he had no idea what touch screen meant. At least now he knew the name of the damn thing. "It doesn't seem to be-"
Granger brushed past him and reached for a circular bit of plastic on what looked like a long, thick piece of grey string. She shuffled it about and pressed the indented top, which responded with a clicking noise. Draco stepped back as she wordlessly slid out a panel with letters, numbers, punctuation marks and other symbols on it. Gathering that this was the 'key board' Frank had mentioned before, he pushed her out of the way.
"I can do it," he declared, realising too late that he had probably sounded like a petulant child. But oh well, better a petulant child than a clueless idiot.
Now all he had to do was type in the name of the book, and he'd…wait a moment.
"Why are the letters not in alphabetical order?" he demanded, searching frantically for the W button and getting nowhere. "Whose bright idea was that?"
"He's new to technology," Hermione told the bemused customer with a sweet smile. "A little slow on the uptake, bless him."
He shot her a dark look before going back to the keyboard. He found the W key and, feeling triumphant, pressed it. His victorious smile fell when 'wwwwwwwwwwwww' appeared instead.
"This thing is broken," he muttered, trying again only to be punished with seven more Ws.
"It isn't," Hermione insisted. "You're just pressing the key for too long. It needs to be swift, like this."
She deleted his mess and typed out the book title, without a typo or repeated letter, effortlessly. It seemed to him that her delicate fingers barely brushed the keys, but her gentleness was rewarded with compliance.
"Sorry, we're out of stock at the moment," she told the customer after scanning the screen that appeared, an apologetic smile at the ready. "I'm sure if you try again in a couple of weeks, we'll have the book in."
The customer nodded, thanked them both and left them alone at the desk.
"Goodbye!" Hermione called after him. "It really isn't that difficult," she added to Draco after a moment.
"You're only saying that because you grew up with the damn things."
"Muggle technology got the best of you?" she asked, allowing herself a small smirk as she clicked her way back to the main screen.
"No," he snapped back. "It's just irritating that they're a few hundred years behind civilization and invent stupid, unworkable machines to compensate for it!"
"They're not behind civilization, they're Muggles. There's a difference."
"The difference being that they're inferior," he said, as though his tone ended the discussion. It didn't.
"So we're better than Muggles just because we have magic?" Hermione asked heatedly.
"Some of us are better than Muggles," Malfoy said, emphasizing the first three words.
Hermione chose to ignore this. She'd get her revenge soon enough when Malfoy realised he didn't know the first thing about the Muggle world. He'd have to ask for her help if he wanted to avoid being humiliated by every customer who approached him, and she didn't intend to be humble about it at all.
"What are you grinning about?" Draco asked her sharply. As a rule, he didn't trust girls who smiled to themselves; it usually ended in something bad happening.
"Just thinking about something funny," Granger answered in a light tone that reinforced the idea that he couldn't trust her.
"Weasley's latest Potions test scores?" he guessed, scanning the key board to try and memorise where the letters were. "They were quite amusing. Unintentional humour is always the best, wouldn't you say?"
He'd been aiming to annoy, to insult, to hurt. But his aim had been wide of the mark.
"You mean sort of like how Slytherin get flattened in everything they do when they're up against Gryffindor?" Granger asked innocently. "Yes, I suppose that is quite amusing." While he was trying to think of a suitable comeback, she smiled. "I'm going on my break. Try not to blow anything up."
This snarky, throwaway comment left Draco deeply troubled. He had no doubt that, if such a thing were possible, it would happen to him. He had absolutely no idea how these machines worked but they seemed strange enough that, if one spontaneously combusted, he wouldn't be all that surprised.
Hermione was about ready to tear her hair out. For the last two hours she had been trying to teach her stubborn partner about how to search for books, and the for the last two hours she'd been getting the same response: a haughty eyebrow raised and a look that clearly said I'm too good for this.
"We're getting graded on this," she reminded him, dragging the mouse so that the cursor followed back up to the top of the screen. She highlighted the deliberately nonsensical words that Malfoy had typed and hit the delete button a little more violently than was necessary. "And maybe you don't care about that, but I certainly do. So buck up your ideas."
Malfoy leant against the desk behind her, flicking idly through a book that had been left on the side.
"If you care about something, that's all the more reason for me to do absolutely nothing about it. At all." He glanced up. "Besides, remember the conversation we had before, about me already having a future and thus rendering all of this," he gestured around the shop, "redundant?"
You're redundant, Hermione answered back silently as she typed out a few of her favourite titles. She was pleased to see that the bookshop was well-stocked with Miss. Austen's works, as well as the Bronte sisters' novels, and was in the middle of thinking she would rather take her chances on the Yorkshire moors than be stuck here with Malfoy when the boy in question shifted behind her. She jumped, not previously realising how close he was.
"Calm down," he said, torn between amusement and disgust as he peered over her shoulder. "We haven't had a customer in an hour, why are you looking for books? Oh right," he plundered on, not waiting for a response as his tone veered further towards disgust, "I forgot, you're Hermione Granger, bookworm extraordinaire. This place is probably paradise for you. Well, I'm glad you're enjoying yourself, because-"
"Malfoy," Hermione interrupted calmly, tearing her eyes away from the screen in front of her to turn to face him. He took a step back, uncomfortable with their close proximity. "Do you know why I beat you in every single thing we both attempt?" She smiled at him, a truly disconcerting gesture. "It's because I read."
Malfoy scoffed. "Right. Because -" he glanced at the screen again "- Wuthering Heights has all the answers to the Potions tests."
"No, that's Pride and Prejudice. Wuthering Heights is my study guide for Transfiguration."
The shop door opened, and Hermione turned to face the new customer. The customer looked up, gave Hermione an awkward smile and disappeared behind a bookshelf. Hermione reminded herself that she didn't enjoy being stared at while she shopped either, and looked back to Malfoy.
"I'm not just talking about fiction," she continued as if there had been no interruption. "I read everything I can, because spells are all very well and good but when it comes down to it it's knowledge that's the real power."
She left to attend to the customer, leaving Draco scowling after her. He felt as though he had been reprimanded but he wasn't sure what for. He didn't have to spend all his time with his nose in a book to be clever, he told himself as he firmly deleted Granger's search results. He knew how to cast defence spells and attack spells (mainly the latter) and that was the only thing that mattered if he ever found himself in a fight. Reciting the twelve uses of dragon's blood would be of no use in a real battle. No, knowledge was no power at all. Threats and fear and influence were the only currency that the wizarding world elite traded in.
It was only when he realised he was still pressing the backspace button that he considered how much Granger's condescending lecture had gotten under his skin. He ignored her until the Muggle Manager made a reappearance, thanking them for their hard day's work and chattering about how thrilled he was to be working with such dedicated young something or others. Draco had stopped listening after awhile. He stood back and watched as Granger and the Muggle Manager closed up the shop, pulling down metal grates from the front windows with a terrible rattling sound and turning off all the lights.
"I'll see you tomorrow!" Frank called cheerfully as the two teenagers exited into the dark street outside.
In the dim yellow light coming from the streetlamps overhead, Hermione squinted for a sign of the portkey that would take them back to the castle. They had been informed just before they had left Hogwarts that morning that their portkey would take the form of a broken pen, and while Hermione appreciated this quick and easy transportation system back home she wished the portkey was something a little larger than a pen. It was difficult to see in the gloom, and -
"Got it," Malfoy said, nodding just to Hermione's right. "Maybe next time you should borrow Potter's glasses."
She glowered at him, too tired to do anything more.
It wasn't until she reached the Gryffindor common room that Hermione felt herself relax. She had parted ways with Malfoy with barely an insult, the knowledge that they would be seeing far too much of each other in the coming weeks weighing heavily on both of them.
"Laboro," Hermione told the portrait of the Fat Lady, who swung open in compliance.
She climbed wearily in, heading for the chairs by the fire and slumping into the nearest one. There were a few Gryffindors milling around, the ones from her year swapping stories of their first days. Hermione was content to sit and listen, shifting in her seat only when she saw Harry approaching a few minutes later with a face like thunder.
"You too?" Hermione asked, giving a sympathetic smile as Harry thumped down onto his chair.
"Voldemort better hurry up with whatever his newest plan to kill me is, because I am not dealing with Blaise Zabini for the next month," he huffed. "The portkey took us to some café in Manchester this morning. We alternate between cooking and serving, meaning that Zabini doesn't even need magic to try and attack me because we're surrounded by sharp cutlery all day."
"I suppose the worst thing Malfoy can do to me is give me a series of paper cuts," Hermione mused in an attempt to cheer her friend up. "That, or frustrate me to death. You should have seen how he reacted to our manager -"
She was interrupted by the portrait hole opening and slamming shut. All heads swivelled to the entrance in time to see a paint-splattered Ron practically drag himself over to his friends, followed by Neville who was apologising profusely.
"Swear I didn't know that happened Ron you have to believe me I never would've suggested it if I'd known you believe me right Ron? Don't you?"
Neville paused for breath long enough for Ron to wave his brightly decorated hand in the other boy's general direction.
"Don't worry about it mate, could've happened to anyone."
Neville's worried expression melted away to one of relief. "Oh, good. I was worried…" he trailed off and shook his head. "See you tomorrow!"
He bounded up the stairs to his dormitory and out of sight.
The moment he was sure Neville had gone, Ron slumped further down in his chair. "That couldn't have happened to anyone but Neville."
Hermione gave Harry a concerned glance, but he was too busy taking in Ron's new appearance. Bits of paint were flicked like oddly-coloured freckles over Ron's arms and face and the occasional green or yellow blob had settled itself onto his clothing.
"Decorating job?" Harry guessed.
"Childcare," Ron groaned, cradling his head in his hands. "Nursery kids somewhere in Sheffield. Fifteen of them. Sixteen, including Neville. Who, by the way, told the kids to wave their paintbrushes about so that they don't get any splodges of paint on their work. Guess who was standing in front of them when Neville gave the order."
"Well…it worked," Hermione said, struggling to keep a straight face as she gestured towards Ron. Harry tried and failed to stifle a smirk.
"That's right, laugh it up," Ron answered, his voice muffled by his fingers. "Tomorrow we're playing with glue and glitter. No doubt Neville will accidentally do something to make sure I spend the rest of my days looking like a fairy." He lifted his head up quickly. "The prison sentence is less if the murder is justifiable, right?"
Hermione thought back to Malfoy's smug demeanour, his insults and his arrogance and considered the prospect of spending the next thirty days with him. The smile slid off her face.
"I really, really hope so," she replied.
A/N:
Hello, hope you enjoyed. Not sure if this is just a oneshot yet, obviously there are things that could be expanded on in future chapters if people show an interest but mainly I wanted to write about Draco's struggles with technology.
Readers of 'Don't Trust Me,' the story is unfortunately on hiatus until further notice. I've written this as an attempt to get back into updating but I'm having serious writer's block with DTM.
Apologies for any inaccuracies, it's been awhile since I've written HP fanfic. Also, the fic is set in the modern day because…well, it's just easier than researching 90s technology (:
Reviews are appreciated (:
Thanks for reading!
- Momo