This is a birthday gift for 4fanci - I hope you enjoy it!

Chapter 1

Enchanted Encounters

-oOo-

Hermione brushed past the shelf bulging with well-thumbed issues of The Adventures of Martin Miggs, the Mad Muggle. She wasn't exactly sure what she was looking for in the bewilderingly large bookshop – just like Hogwarts, the inside didn't match the outside – but wizarding misconceptions about the people they shared a country with was unlikely to cut the mustard.

The next shelf had a pink sign with Enchanted Encounters in curly writing on top. This was more like it, Hermione decided and pulled out a book at random. The Wayward Warlock by Fifi LaFolle had a witch embracing a wizard almost twice her size on the cover, gazing adoringly into his eyes.

Promising, at least for those who preferred not to engage their brain. Hermione opened a page at random.

Ermengardia's breath quickened, and she clutched her wand closely to her chest. "I can't, Urban – I'm not worthy of you! Your prospects..."

"Damn my prospects!" he growled, advancing on her until she could no longer escape his manly embrace.

Back on the shelf it went.

Unwilling to give up just yet, Hermione's hand hovered between The Sorceress and The Rake and The Potion of Love before she spotted Araminta's Adventure.

The enormity of what she had done finally appeared to Araminta.

"I'm ruined!" she sobbed. "I've destroyed my reputation, no decent wizard will ever marry me now!"

Her aunt did not reply; she only patted her unfortunate niece's shoulder, in mute understanding of her poor chances of contracting a decent marriage after her escapade.

Hermione flicked to the end, giving Fifi LaFolle the benefit of the doubt despite her misgivings.

"Oh," Araminta panted, confused and still a little afraid. "Is that what it's supposed to feel like?"

"No, my little one," Cornelius said tenderly, a smile at her simplicity hover around his masculine mouth. "This is only the beginning. I will show the proper way to be husband and wife –"

"Oh, for goodness sake!" Hermione put the book back on the shelf, not bothering to waste her time on the other four-hundred volumes surrounding it. Comfort reading was one thing; rotting one's brain cells with sexist tripe was quite another.

Maybe something slightly more cerebral was in order. She spotted the travel section by the large bay window at the back and brightened up. Escaping England while staying firmly within the realm of the real world might be exactly what she needed.

Identical, barely read copies of Break with a Banshee took up the first shelf and a half. Gadding with Ghouls and Marauding with Monsters followed, and Hermione didn't bother bending down to confirm if the theme continued. Year with the Yeti dominated the second shelf. She wondered if Lockhart was still in St Mungo's. It had been a few years since her last visit.

A kind person would buy a few copies (they would surely be cheap) and bring along for him to sign, spreading some badly needed joy on the Janus Thickey Ward. Hermione made a mental note to mention it to Neville the next time she saw him.

At the moment, Hermione possessed all the milk of human kindness of a badly injured Hippogriff.

Earlier, Harry and Ron had valiantly tried to comfort her, but the supreme efforts required to keep "I told you so" unuttered rather spoilt the effect. Ginny had taken pity on her, buying her an ice cream and sitting with her outside Fortescue's in companionable silence. The passers-by had ruined the peace, however, and Hermione had stalked off in search of solitude.

She had entered the little bookshop on an impulse, curious what a competitor to the behemoth Flourish and Blotts would be like. They had little to fear from Grumwell's; the shop specialised in used books, and their selection appeared to be more of the hard-to-sell than hard-to-find variety.

Still, there was no one else in there, and that suited Hermione just fine. During two decades of reading she still hadn't managed to leave a bookshop empty-handed, so she was reasonably confident she would find something if she kept looking.

Unfogging the Future by Cassandra Vablatsky was unlikely to be it, however. Quickly putting it back on the shelf she retreated to the other side of the room, blessedly free from Divination, Astrology and other make-believe disciplines.

The cheerful yellow sign proclaiming she was in the Self-Help and Psychology section suggested Hermione had been slightly too optimistic.

Then again, maybe it was a sign. Maybe she had been wrong this whole time, and the crushing defeat this morning was Fate's way of showing her she needed to change her ways. Hermione was no stranger to the school of hard knocks, and at least her recent humiliation would be a bit more bearable if there was a purpose to it.

Selecting a book at random, she almost dropped Feel The Fear And Do It Anyway – Quidditch For Acrophobiacs before putting it back where it belonged, right next to Spontaneous Magic – A Guide For Anxious Parents. One had to draw the line somewhere, and happily flying in the air on an enchanted piece of wood – for fun – did it for Hermione.

Still, the title was disturbingly apt. Perhaps she should give this another go. She closed her eyes and grabbed a book at random. Slowly opening her eyes again, she stared down at the volume Fate had guided her to. Hermione didn't even need to open The Road Less Travelled – Witches Who Embrace Sexual Magic to know it did not hold the answers she was looking for.

On the bright side, she could go back to treating Divination with the contempt it deserved.

Hermione sighed. The biography section, boasting no less than three editions of The Life and Lies of Albus Dumbledore did not appeal to her. Nor did Harry Potter and The Order of the Phoenix, the third volume in the recently-published work delving into Harry's life and the second war. Living through it once had been quite enough, thank you very much.

Right next to it sat a battered copy of He Flew Like a Madman by Kennilworthy Whisp. Hermione couldn't believe her eyes.

Ron had gone on and on about it. Apparently it described the Quidditch secrets of someone called "Dangerous" Dai Llewellyn, whoever that was, and it was impossible to find a copy. And here it was, right in front of her.

Hermione may be a failure in most other aspects of her life, but at least she could get Ron a Christmas present that would finally put an end to his complaints about the homework planner in fourth year. Pity they weren't going out any longer – she would have got much more mileage out of it as his girlfriend. Then again, it was much nicer being friends with Ron than constantly fighting and making up.

Out of nowhere, while Hermione had been ruminating about Ron, a pale hand had appeared, stretching out to grab He Flew Like a Madman right in front of her.

"Oh no, you don't!" Her own hand shot out, seizing the book at the same time as her unknown rival.

"Let go, I had it first!" There was a pull in the direction of a set of flowing black robes. Hermione was too busy pulling back to lift her head to see who they belonged to.

"Like fuck you did, I was here way before you!" Hermione dug her feet in and tugged, to no avail.

"Since when do you care enough about Quidditch to manhandle books, Granger?" The voice was amused and horribly familiar.

"Malfoy." Hermione sighed. "Just when I thought today couldn't get any worse."

"Granger, Granger." Malfoy tsk-ed and shook his head. "I'm disappointed in you. One would have hoped a war heroine would be able to see beyond petty school rivalries. It's what, seven years ago?"

"It's not – You really don't know, do you?"

"Know what?"

"Never mind." She grinned; suddenly things were looking brighter.

"What's going on, Granger? Why are you smiling? Don't think I'm giving up this book to you," he warned her. "I've been looking for it since I was fifteen."

"And you can keep on looking. That copy is mine." She strengthened her grip. Fortunately the cover was leather and well worn, so getting a good hold was easy.

Malfoy noticed what she was doing and countered by weighing back on his heels. Hermione's knuckles turned white with effort, but she refused to relent. There was always the option of taking out her wand, but he would inevitably respond in kind and Hermione didn't want their stand-off to descend into a duel.

"Possession is nine tenths of the law, you know." He attempted to shift towards the front of the shop, but Hermione clung on like a limpet.

"Then you've got 45% at the moment, versus my 55%."

"Come on, Granger. "I saw it first" didn't work in the playground, either."

"I was standing in front of the bloody bookcase when you barged in!"

"There you go with the swearing again. What has you so riled up?"

"Mind your own business, Malfoy." She didn't hold out much hope, though – why would he change the habit of a lifetime?

"I didn't think I'd be faced with a mystery when I Portkeyed back from Cannes this morning."

Hermione checked but failed to see any evidence his pale skin had been exposed to anything harsher than moonlight recently. "Didn't scrimp on the sunscreen charms, did you?"

"Protecting one's skin from direct sunlight is recommended by both Muggle and wizarding health care professionals," he said primly.

"Did you even go outside?" Her voice quivered slightly, imagining Malfoy hiding in a dark room smothering himself with sunscreen, cowering from any daylight slipping through the cracks.

"Only mad dogs and Englishmen stay in the sun at midday. It's perfectly possible to have a civilised holiday in the shade." He pulled a little at the book, to test her grip. She pulled back.

"I'm sure you did. One wouldn't want one's complexion to suffer," Hermione agreed.

"Are you making fun of me?" he asked suspiciously.

"I don't need to, you're making such a good job of it yourself."

Malfoy opened his mouth, but seemed to realise he was beaten. He changed the subject instead."I'll find out what's ailing you pretty soon, you know. Really, Granger – if this is what you've been reduced to, things must be desperate."

"Nice try, Malfoy. I'm not letting go of the book. Not that it's any of your business, but it's for Ron." She shifted her hand a little – it had started aching a few minutes ago.

"Ah, the Weasley Wonder. I thought you'd split up?" He looked disappointed – presumably it hadn't occurred to him Hermione might occasionally give a book away, rather than hoarding them all to herself.

"We did. We're still friends, though, and Ron has also been looking for this book for ages. He'll be so pleased I've found it." Hermione smiled – imagining Ron's surprise made today almost bearable.

"You didn't, though. Strictly speaking I found it." Malfoy managed to sound very reasonable as he rained on her parade, which only made her more annoyed.

"Behind my outstretched hand, you mean."

"The air is free." The corner of his mouth twitched, and Hermione couldn't stop herself from laughing at his playground defence. They seemed to be stuck.

The second and last chapter will be posted next week.