Disclaimer: Not mine.
Hermione Granger smoothed her pencil skirt that settled just a couple of inches above her knee to show her disapproval of the 'system', and entered the pub with a deliberate step on top of her stilettos; red ones actually, as they were one of the few subtle, yet clear, ways to make a woman stand out in the dreary background that was the end of the twentieth century in the Wizarding society. She adjusted her hat over her fashionably combed curls, and stepped into the hallway of the Hearts and Blues.
Beyond the hallway, the room was softly lit with mood lights coming from bohemian candelabra. At the counter, a bartender and a barmaid, both dressed in a sexy mockery of tuxedos, kept the patrons' thirst satiated with all kinds of beverages, some of which were displayed on the shelves. The walls were completely covered in leopard-print and, in a corner, there was a Renascence statue of Venus and Mars. The purple drapery hiding the stage floated lightly, before twitching and sliding open, revealing a quartet of four men, each with a strings instrument.
Hermione found an empty table, after tearing her gaze away from the scantily dressed musicians and sat down; she took some files out of her briefcase and spread them in front of her. A lustful goddess of a barmaid supplied her with a pink drink. "Thank you," Hermione said with a smile. The woman winked, and moved over to the next table.
After a moment of blinking in embarrassment, Hermione shrugged and returned her attention to the numerous work offerings she had had since her NEWTs. All of them implied research and secrecy – and ultimate boredom to be sure – but what had actually annoyed her was the easy way in which they all assumed she was nothing but an awkward bookworm.
Unfortunately, Hermione needed a job.
She had no home, no steady source of income and no short-term objectives. She was not worried, though. Oh, no. Because, after all, the world was her shell. And she would change it, someday. Someday, her name would be associated with the liberation of the house-elves or the social recognition of werewolves or vampires. Yes, it would, she decided while taking a sip of her drink.
The low notes of the cello sounded in the background, soon followed by the grand piano and the violin.
Hermione loved jazz. It made her mind clear and her heart ready to burst with warmness. Which was why she drew her wand and casted Incendio on several of those letters. It took her roughly five minutes more before she decided to torch the Unspeakables' proposition as well.
Of course, this left her only with Harry's suggestion that she worked with him in the chain of Orphanages he was building for Squibs and war orphans and similar outcasts. Harry was so ready to love a bunch of children that it made her heart ache. He was a bit like her, although she had only come to understand that recently. He would never really fit in, but tried to make the world fit his point of view instead of conforming himself to it.
It had been no real surprise when the two of them left the Weasleys wing and jumped into the abyss of the adult life. Which meant that, in the end, they really only had each other.
Unlike Hermione, though, Harry was living Hermione's life. He was actually doing it, changing the world and getting recognition for something he was doing on his own. He was growing up, making new friends and settling the score with old enemies . . .
"Granger?" Hermione blinked at the unfamiliar voice and looked behind her to see a blond man, dressed in a pinstriped grey suit and a purple shirt, slightly open at the neck. His hair was combed into soft waves falling to his face, a face that was twisted into a somewhat familiar sneer. "What the devil are you doing here?"
"Excuse me, do I know you?" she asked politely.
The blond man flushed and his eyes narrowed in irritation. "I'm Malfoy, you stupid woman!"
Hermione felt her eyes widened and she momentarily forgot that she wasn't supposed to like this man, so striking and comforting his presence was. It was familiar and exciting and made her want to do dosomething with herself, be it punch him in the nose to erase that priggish scowl or buy him a drink. "Malfoy? What are you doing here?"
Malfoy pursed his lips. "I asked first."
Hermione looked briefly away, because of the weight of the thoughts Malfoy's question had brought up, before looking at him determinedly. "None of your business," she replied calmly. Malfoy's face became tight, his jaw locked, and Hermione rolled her eyes at the usual ADD display. "Take a breath or you might blow a vessel there."
"Humph. I was just being polite." Malfoy crossed his arms and all but sulked.
Hermione felt some childish satisfaction at annoying Malfoy like the old days, but then she realised that it was hardly a mature course of action, and gestured towards the cushioned chair in front of hers. "Take a seat if you want."
To her surprise Malfoy did, and even called the waitress. "Two dry martinis, please." He then turned to Hermione. "So, what is it that you do these days?" he asked nonchalantly, picking some inexistent linen from his arm.
Hermione shrugged. "Not much." It was true, sadly.
"What? The brain of the Golden Trio was left in the rain?" Hermione gave him a look. "I imagine that the numerous offers you've had might be somewhat lacking after getting the world ridden off the Dark Lord." Hermione was shocked into silence at the accurate piece of wisdom. "I'd imagined that Potter would have recruited you to that little saint-project of his. He sure didn't waste any time recruiting Pansy, Greg and Snape."
And obviously Malfoy felt left out. Just like her. "Of course Harry did, but." She shrugged, not sure how to explain. The waitress came along then and place two glasses on the table, accepting Malfoy's tip without a word.
Malfoy had a funny expression on his face, part caution and part disbelief. "I don't suppose you'd want to work with me? I've had this idea . . ."
Hermione froze with her glass midway to her mouth. "What?"
"Fair trials for Death Eaters," he said in guise of explanation. "Not everyone can have Harry Potter testifying for them, and Theo Nott is in serious trouble. I don't say they're all innocent—hell, even I am not innocent, but they deserve to be tried fairly. There are a lot of stories behind what we did and people should see us for the people we are. I want—" He paused and took a breath, face flushed and eyes bright with something Hermione saw daily in Harry.
Except that, unlike with Harry, Hermione actually wanted to help him and be a part of it. He might actually need her, and she knew nobody else would take him on his offer. Besides, she believed in fairness above all. So, ignoring the echo of her mother's voice telling her to be careful, she said, "If I accept the job, you'll have to change your organisation's agenda to fit some of my needs."
Malfoy looked embarrassed. "There isn't actually an organisation. Yet. I was thinking that maybe you could help me set one up."
Hermione felt her face heat up with contentment. "Like a partnership."
"Yes," Malfoy agreed meekly. Hermione couldn't help the tiny smile that graced her lips, and she looked up to see Malfoy staring at her, a similar smile on his face. "Do you accept it?" He obviously knew the answer.
Hermione grinned. "Of course. I have a thing for hopeless causes."
Malfoy snorted. "I couldn't tell from your obsession with Saint Potter's quest." Hermione giggled. "So, now that the business is settled," he hesitated, "do you dance?"
THE END