HELP WANTED:
Like books?
Going to be free this holiday?
Don't want to be spotted pining for your ex-significant other?
Why not sign up for a job at Flourish & Blotts!
Ask poster for more details.
x
Grinning to herself as she took down the piece of paper from behind the shop's window, Hermione once again thanked Merlin that she hadn't been too late to get herself an interview for the exclusive position. Rumour had it that Gilderoy Lockhart himself was going to be stopping by again this year for a book signing. In which case… in which case… she would be the one assisting him!
Hermione let out a small, involuntary squeal from her build-up of too-happy emotions, which she quickly covered up with a cough. How immature. She composed herself, and gleefully crushed the poster into a nice little ball, flicking it into the trash can. It shouted angrily at her whilst it was airborne ("I DO NOT BELONG IN THE TRASH AFTER HAVING TO ENDURE CROWDS OF GIGGLING CHILDREN ASKING ME WHAT A SIGNIFICANT OTHER IS!"), but Hermione paid no mind.
It was her first day, and she was working at Floursh & Blotts.
"Granger? Granger!" a voice called from behind the door of the office.
"Huh – oh, Mr Ponneth?" she said sheepishly, as she pushed open the door.
Harry Ponneth ("Pon-NUHTH, not pon-NEHTH," he insisted) was the assistant manager, with his son, Harry Ponneth Jr., acting as his assistant. Hermione had never seen the manager, though of course, she was incredibly interested. But, she tried to keep questions and queries to a minimum, since she was more interested in keeping her new job.
"About time," huffed the man, as he unconsciously tried to hide his growing bald spot by shaking his head. Hermione stifled a giggle. "I need you to rearrange some of the books – near the display and the ones in the corner by the clock. You know which one I'm talking about?"
She nodded, with a sinking feeling. "Of course, Mr Ponneth."
"There's a new shipment of Ultide's Guide to Magical Mushrooms: Volume I to V, and we have to make space for it on the shelves," explained Mr Ponneth, "so I want you to clear off the ones nearest to the window, and shift those books into that space, then move the cleared ones to the place near the corner – but not into it, mind you. Put some older books there. Have you got all that? And it's a recipe book, so make sure you categorise it properly."
"Yes, sir," Hermione said glumly.
He noticed her expression, and opened his mouth to say something, but decided against it, instead giving her an empathetic smile. "Manager says someone's got to do it, and I've things to finish here," he said apologetically. Hermione appreciated the sympathy, but the irony that it was still her having to crawl into that cobweb-filled, dust congregation area was biting her in the arse. She left the room with a wry smile.
x
After three long hours, sweating despite the chilly weather and receiving pitying looks from visitors, Hermione was finally finished with clearing and re-stocking the display area with Ultide's Guides (that contained…curious recipes like 'The Big Mushy' and 'Musing Mushrooms' and all had a funny, fungus-like smell to them that made her head feel light).
She heaved another cardboard box full of mouldy books – and one that was flapping under the weight of all the others, as if intent on making her drop it on her own foot – cursing the Ministry for making that stupid underage magic law while she struggled to navigate through the many shelves and to the corner she so dreaded.
Hermione scowled in disgust at a spider that scuttled away from her, brushing back few tangles of hair that had escaped her messy ponytail away from her sweaty forehead. She was positive her face would be black with dust, but didn't want to risk looking.
The corner smelt like wet, old muffins, and looked even worse. The only sound you could hear was the ticking grandfathers' clock and occasional angry book, the sounds and noises of the street dimmed by being so deep in, and muffled by the numerous pages. It would have been a nice place to read, she supposed, if it weren't for the fact that the only space to sit in was the same place where discarded bookmarks were kept (why was there even a box for old bookmarks in the first place?), and the lighting consisted of an overhanging lamp, which was somehow filled with dead bugs.
No longer caring about dirt, she plonked herself down in an awkward position leaning against the box, and proceeded to tackle the challenge of the haphazard books on the bottom shelf, coughing every shove or so. Her monotone task continued for another ten minutes, until the sound of crashing books filled the quiet shop, followed by a few yells. She groaned inwardly, knowing that Mr Ponneth would definitely put her in charge of the happy job of clearing up the books.
"I don't know what bloody corner he's spouting about," snapped a chillingly familiar voice.
"Draco, language!" came an equally clipped, but more elegant reply.
Please don't let them find it, please don't let them find it, please don't let them –
"Is this it, dear?"
Of course they found it, she thought bitterly. Then, please don't let them see me, please don't let them see me, please don't let them see –
"AAAUGH! MOTHER! GHOST!"
"Shut up, Malfoy!" Hermione said curtly.
"Granger?" he asked, looking like his pale skin was glowing like those glow-in-the-dark stars she had had so much trouble getting off her ceiling. He had no right to call her a ghost. "You look like shit," he said happily.
"What's going on here?" Narcissa asked, also turning into the corner, which was now getting quite busy, for a section of a bookshop. "Oh my, it's you?"
Hermione bristled, and stood up. "Yes, it's me," she replied dryly.
"We may have to have second thoughts," said Narcissa, turning to her son and completely ignoring Hermione now that she knew she was there.
"Thank Merlin!"
"We'll discuss it at home. Now come along, away from this horrid Flourish & Plots," she said, warranting no further conversation, as she turned on her heel and quickly made her way away from the place for fear of contamination by Other Things.
"What are you doing here?" asked Hermione, suspiciously.
"None of your business," Draco snapped back sourly. "I'm getting a book, obviously. Or did you not register that that's what bookshops are for?" he said anyway.
"I work here, so it is my business," she retorted.
"Just get me my sodding book."
"Yes, because you've told me in such detail what is it that you want."
He scowled further. "That," he said sharply, pointing at a book in a fashion she thought was rather random.
"Fine," she replied, just as brusque, grabbing it roughly and shoving it into his hands. He turned around without a word and walked away.
x
The next day promised a better day at work, what with Mr Ponneth's assurances that there were no more new books coming in, and she would be free to roam the shop and help customers on their learning journeys as they came. Hermione entered the shop at nine o'clock sharp, smiling at the tinkling of the little bell, and approached the desk where Ponneth Jr. sat with an air of self-importance. "I'm here for work!" she declared professionally, it being the first time she had said it.
"Yeah, whatever."
"I'm going to go… do my duty!"
"Yeah, whatever."
"And serve customers with a smile!"
"Yeah, whatever."
"And eat Ultide's mushrooms!"
"Yeah, whatever."
"Sod off," she sneered.
"What did you say?" he asked, looking up from his newspaper sharply.
"Socks… off. It's good for your feet!" she said, smiling brightly.
"Right, whatever."
She stomped off to the textbook section of the store.
x
Hermione had been hit by books thrice, scared from behind a shelf twice, and trodden on five times, by the time it was twelve. She had also been praised seven times, 'wow'-ed at twelve times, and thanked countless numbers of times. It was time for her well-deserved lunch, and she proudly walked out of the entrance and to the coffee shop, where she ordered a coffee and a sandwich. Munching on her small meal, her eyes caught sight of a lanky figure. Who was, unfortunately, blond and not red-headed. Along with his equally lanky mother. Walking into… Flourish & Blotts. Again.
She finished off her lunch quickly, downing the burning coffee in one go (and regretting it), hurrying back to Flourish & Blotts, curious despite herself. Inside, the little bell tinkled, but she heard no reaction. Hermione took a tentative step forward; no hexes were cast. A good sign. She took another step; no fires or anything. She took a third –
Ting, ting.
Hermione watched as Narcissa Malfoy's elegant coattails disappeared out of sight. She exhaled, both annoyed but relieved that the woman had just swept passed her without acknowledging her. "It's a good thing that demon lady's gone now, isn't it?" she said with a smile, seeing Ponneth Jr.'s pale, sickly face.
"Yes… yes, very good. Good. Indeed," he muttered in reply.
"I'll be going back to work, then."
"Yes… yes, of course. Course? Indeed…"
Mentally shaking her head, Hermione decided that today, she would read up on this curious creature called a Nitwickle. Most people doubted their existence, but naturally, there was much material on it available, courtesy of the Quibbler.
Ting, ting.
She had barely sat down, but Hermione didn't mind. Customers! She quickly put the book back in its place, and literally scampered to the door. There was no one there, so she looked left, then right, then up. Odd. With a puzzled expression, she turned around to return to that adorable diagram of a Nitwickle.
Ting, ting.
Hermione squeaked in shock, then covered her mouth and took a deep breath and told herself she was being silly, then turned around with a bright smile on her face to greet… no one. Even more puzzled now, and perhaps slightly annoyed, she wondered if there was something wrong with the bell. But it wasn't magical in the slightest (except for the magical string that tied it to the door knob), and it looked all right…
Ting, ting!
Hermione whipped around, huge grin plastered on face, and, as she'd suspected, there was no one there. "Yes?!" she asked, loudly and angrily. "May I help you?!"
Then, she heard a snicker.
Slowly, she turned around, fuming.
And sure enough, there was Malfoy, walking out from behind a bookshelf, smirk in place.
"What," she asked, low and menacing (and very, very annoyed), "are you doing here?"
He smiled mockingly at her, baring all his teeth.
"Granger, is that really how you should treat a fellow co-worker?"
x
"How could you let him work in Flourish & Blotts?!"
"I'd much rather not be here."
"I assure you that it's in the best of interests, Granger!"
"Who is our bloody manager, anyway?!"
"Right, whatever."
"There was nothing I could do to stop Narcissa!"
"You're twenty-one, Ponneth, expand your vocabulary."
"Whose idea is this, anyway? It's not funny!"
"You haven't got a right to call mother by her first name."
"He's going to ruin everything!"
"Now, I think that's going a little too far! You are both at the same level of authority!"
"What did you do, anyway? Decide not to turn up for your mother's tea party or something and piss her off?"
"Bloody moron, of course not."
"I don't see why you can't work with him!"
"You've got to be kidding me! He's Malfoy!"
"This is just Flourish & Bloots."
"IT'S FLOURISH & BLOTTS!" Hermione and Mr Ponneth yelled at the same time.
x
"Line them up properly!" hissed Hermione.
"Who cares? It's not like people walk in here and go, 'why, what pleasantly lined up books they've got here! Shall we buy one?', do they?" he snapped in reply.
"It's called working."
"It's called being stupid."
x
"Help me get that cup of coffee."
"No."
"You agreed to just now!" Hermione spluttered.
"Well, I'm disagreeing now, aren't I?"
"Piss off, Malfoy."
"Go to hell."
x
"You want… a book… on how to make you… pretty," Hermione repeated uneasily.
"Yep!" the little girl replied. "I'm not so, you see, but you are, miss, so I guess that you'd be able to help me find one!"
"Re–really, what makes you think that?"
"Well, see, if you're pretty, then you'd be able to make me pretty!"
"I'm not too sure about that," Hermione said gently.
"No, no, it's true!" the pint-sized witch insisted. "And we've even got the same hair colour, see?"
He decided that this would be the optimal time to 'help' Hermione. "Can't argue with logic like hair colour," Draco said seriously.
Hermione threw him an exasperated look. "Well, I'm really sorry, but we don't have books like that," she said.
"But – but… you're pretty! You have to have books like that!"
"I'm quite sure we don't… where's your mommy?"
"But mommy said… waaaah!"
"No, no! I mean, yes! Yes, we have them!" said Hermione, flustered.
"We do?" Draco asked, widening his eyes in mock surprise. Granger glared at him while she tried to comfort the girl.
"Shhh, shh, look – here's one!" she cried, grabbing the nearest purple and pink book she could see.
The girl tried to read it, taking the book cocking her head, "For… wee-zah... oh, wizards! For wizards… one-zero-one ways to en… un… enhan… enhankay… you-err se… seeeeh…"
Hermione's eye widened in horror, and she quickly yanked For Wizards: 101 Ways to Enhance Your Sex Appeal! out of her hands.
"The pretty book! Give me the pretty book!" the girl stormed angrily.
"I – here's a prettier book!"
The girl went very quiet, and stared up at Hermione, who shifted her weight from one foot to the other. "You're lying!"
"No, no, I'm not!"
"YOU'RE LYING!" she screamed, "MOMMY!"
They watched as the girl ran out of the shop, across the street, and grabbed the attention of a woman, pointing angrily in Hermione's direction.
"Tsk, and you were supposed to make her pretty," Draco drawled.
"It's not funny."
"You're mean, Granger."
x
"Malfoy! Granger!"
"What now?" Hermione groaned.
Draco wanted to disagree with her just to annoy her, but realised that he couldn't. What now, indeed.
x
"GRANGER! HOW DO YOU GET THIS BOOK TO SHUT?!"
Looking up, Granger ran over to where he was, and wrestled the book onto the floor, where she whacked it quickly once in the middle, hard. It stopped moving, and started purring instead.
"That's creepy."
"Yeah, it is."
x
"Oh, so now you want to get me coffee."
"Yes, in fact, I do."
"Why?"
"Just thought I'd be nice to the less fortunate."
Hermione raised an eyebrow. "You've spiked it."
"Damn. Stop being smart."
x
"Granger?" Draco asked again, holding the odd object in his hand. He wasn't sure what it was, but it was definitely something she would want to see. It was a small box that spat out different colours of slips of paper, depending on what you asked it. Well, that was what he thought, anyway.
For instance, "are boxes better than cylinders?" would get you a green slip, while "don't you think that paper is a little unimpressive?" would get you many red slips.
Whatever it was, it was definitely amusing, since when asked, "what the hell are you, anyway?" it had a tendency to get upset and spew rainbow-coloured confetti at the asker. He was hoping she would ask it that. Where was she? He heard voices, somewhere over there…
"This place is huge," said the Weasel.
"We can't have already searched everywhere."
"Sorry, Hermione, I really do think we have…"
Great. The Golden Trio. He scowled angrily, annoyed at having even wanted to show someone who held such company something he'd found.
x
Lunchtime found Hermione and Draco leaned against one of the shelves nearer to the back of the shop, Hogwarts: A History and Quidditch: A History between them.
Hermione put a fry in her mouth, put her packet of fries down, and picked up her book again. Malfoy made a choking sound. She glanced over at him, but saw him eating just as she was, and so returned to her reading.
She picked up another fry. Malfoy choked. That was strange, he didn't seem to be having many problems with his food…
She tried it again, and slowly raised another fry to her lips –
There it was!
Trying her hardest not to smirk, Hermione deliberately took another fry.
Finally, Malfoy snapped.
"Bloody hell Granger! Don't get oil on that book! I know you don't like Quidditch, but Merlin!"
"We do know magic, don't we?"
"Yes – but –" his voice was oddly strangled, "it's a matter – matter of principle."
"Principles, huh? Who knew you had them?" she asked, taking another fry.
He all but cringed.
x
"Malfoy, what do you say when people ask you to recommend books?"
"I don't."
"Yes, but, what do you say?"
"I tell them I don't read."
"… well, I tell them it's impossible for me to find a book for them since I hardly know them, much less what they would enjoy! It's completely unreasonable to have such high expectations when it comes to personal satisfaction! If you're looking for something to make you feel good you should be searching for it yourself, how can someone – much less a stranger – possibly have got you figured out to the point that they can find something that would suit you, considering that everyone is so complex. How unbelievably unrealistic and I honestly think it's could be a reflection of how they see others and themselves which just does not bode well for any of us in this generation, does it?!"
"I reckon you should stop after the first line." Draco said, feigning boredom. "Absolutely no one would listen to you about how self-entitled they are, or what idiosyncratic standards they hold for –"
Wait. This is showing I listened to it all.
"– ehm, yeah. Stop after the first line," he stopped awkwardly, and then threw in an insult just for good measure.
Hermione, always the sharp one, had noticed exactly what he had done, and appreciated both his attention and his effort to remain nonchalant for his ego. "Fine," she said, sighing dramatically. And then threw in an insult, just for good measure.
x
As she led the family around the corner, Malfoy looked up with a very sheepish look on his face, and quickly stashed Magic and Fish – How to Raise the Perfect Magical Aquarium back into its place.
x
The pair had been talking about cooking, when Hermione mentioned Jamie Oliver. Draco wanted to understand this reference, thus forcing Hermione to explain the concept behind a show such as 'The Naked Chef'. ("NO! He's not really naked!"
After quite a bit of elaboration on 'television', 'celebrity chef', and 'channels', Draco was still incredibly confused. "So… you watch a man… cooking… for an hour."
"Yes, but, well, he teaches you how to."
"What if you've got a question?"
"He… you can't really ask him, so… you've got to go on the net, I suppose. And you could ask there."
"How would using a net help? You're not fishing are you?"
"I mean the Internet. Net is short for Internet. You know, websites, forums, that sort of thing."
Malfoy blinked owlishly at her.
Hermione sighed.
"The Internet is like this massive…"
That day, Malfoy learnt much about Muggles.