A/N Hello! I'm back! I couldn't stay away. Hope you enjoy this offering.

Some notes: at the risk of giving the entire plot away, it's based on the movie classic 'Sabrina' (1954). There's no mouldy-Voldy or any dark magic bizzo; and some characters may be OOC as a result.

Let's see where this goes, shall we?

The party was in full swing. Malfoy Manor had never looked lovelier, twinkling in the soft summer evening light. Music from that most diverse of centuries – the twentieth – spilled all around – loud enough for the partygoers to dance, but not so loud that people couldn't hear what was being said about oneself.

Inside, the ballroom was heaving with all the right people. They even spilled outside on to the adjacent patio. Paper lanterns floated in the light breeze, outlining the patio and tracing an inviting path down through the meticulously-ordered gardens to the cool shores of the lake. Fairy lights winked from the trees and shrubs. The scent of jasmine from the trellises surrounding the patio lent to the intoxicating atmosphere.

The ladies looked divine in their couture gowns and designer jewellery. If you didn't own jewels that had been in your family for centuries, the only way to display your equality was to adorn yourself in unique pieces that were so expensive they were accompanied by their own security guard.

Half a dozen of these guards sat in a chamber leading off the ballroom, playing cards and making inroads into the host's father's extensive cigar range. Occasionally one should shamble to the ballroom entrance, conduct a head count of the necessary ladies and nip back to the table.

Of course, Draco Malfoy, co-Chief Executive of MZ (Malfoy-Zabini) Enterprises, had seen to it that not even the tiniest jewel could depart from its rightful setting before he was made aware of it, but the Muggle guards were not to know that.

The gentlemen had no need to gaudy themselves up or drip with diamonds. They preferred to show their wealth in subtler ways. The younger the trophy wife, the bigger her boobs, the most luscious lips jam-packed full of silicone – ah, yes, you definitely knew where you were in the pecking order. Men who were in between wives, mistresses, girlfriends, boyfriends or husbands, could brag about their prototype-only sports cars, boats or planes that could fit a good dozen horses under the bonnet. Or whatever it is that boats and planes have.

Wizard gentlemen party to the conversations would nod knowingly, then wonder to themselves what was so attractive about having a woman who looked like a doll.

Servants bearing canapes and drinks threaded their way through the heaving masses –

'We're not servants.' Harry Potter let his empty silver tray land on the marble kitchen bench with a ringing clang.

'Course not. We're MZ Enterprises employees. Who happen to be passing a few trays of food and booze around the hoi polloi. Personally, I don't think it's a bad gig.' Ron Weasley was picking over the mouth-watering amuse-bouches. 'Good eats.'

'It's demeaning!' snarled Harry. 'More to the point, it's Friday bloody night and we should be enjoying the start of our weekend, not slaving for the Malfoys and Zabinis. We do enough of that Monday through Friday.'

Hermione Granger swept in to the kitchen, looking slim in their uniform of black trousers, black shirt, black tie and a long white apron that wrapped around her tiny waist and fell almost to the floor. Her untameable hair was scraped back into a bun that glowed around her like a frizzy-haired halo. 'It's only because they've got Muggles attending the party,' she said, laying her empty tray down and carefully picking up another. 'Otherwise the Malfoys would use house-elves.'

She swatted Ron's hand as it tried to sneak past Hermione's back for few more Prosciutto Crostini with Cherries and Goat Cheese.

'You know, the only reason I'm here is because of you,' Harry grumbled as he squeezed past the throng of waiters dashing to and fro and joined Ron, nibbling on some Peppadew Peppers Stuffed with Whipped Feta. 'Hey. These are good!'

'Stop that, you two.' Hermione rolled her eyes and made an inarticulate sound when Harry shoved a Peppadew Pepper Stuffed with Whipped Feta into her mouth. 'Oh, wow.'

'I'm here for the food,' said Ron cheerfully. 'I freely admit it.'

'You seem to be eating your weight in it.'

'You need to look at the bigger picture,' Hermione said earnestly. Ignoring their eye-rolls, she continued 'If the invited Muggles are pleased with what they see, they'll invest in MZ, and that will take the company into markets we've never dreamed of… which will ultimately mean bigger salaries for us.'

'Wake me when it happens,' yawned Harry.

'Anyway, I'm going to swap with one of the drinks waiters. Try not to guzzle all the food before it's gone, you greedy pigs.'

'Hey!' Ron looked up from a half-demolished platter of Prawn Cocktail with a Trio of Dipping Sauces. 'I resent that.'

'Hermione.' Harry grabbed her arm before she took off. 'Don't spend all night watching him, huh?' He smiled gently to show he meant no harm.

'I don't know what you're talking about.' She stuck her nose up in the air and flounced off.

'You're wasting your time, mate,' Ron commented around a mouthful of Shrimp with Wasabi Mayonnaise. 'She's been in love with the prat for years.' Suddenly he shrieked. 'Shit! These are hot!' He dashed around the kitchen until he found the sink, turned the faucet on full and shoved his head underneath it.

No more Friday nights tarted up as a waiter, watching Ron stick his head in the sink, thought Harry fervently. This is my promise to myself.

'Hello, Mrs Malfoy!' Hermione said breezily as she passed Narcissa in one of the Manor's many hallways.

'Oh, hello,' Narcissa replied. 'Oh dear, I 've forgotten your name. Now, don't tell me… you're named for a character in Greek mythology… ah! Athena! Am I right?'

'Nearly, Mrs Malfoy. It's Hermione.'

'Oh, of course! Such an unusual name in this day and age, I don't know why I keep forgetting it.' Narcissa pouted. 'Please forgive an old lady, dear.'

'Old? What utter rubbish, Mrs Malfoy!' Hermione said stoutly. 'You look young enough to be Mr Malfoy junior's sister.'

'Oh, my dear!' Narcissa giggled. 'Actually, I'm trying to track down my husband. 'You haven't seen him, have you?'

Hermione supressed a shiver. Mr Malfoy senior was an odd sod.

'No, I haven't, I'm afraid. 'He's not in the kitchen. I was just there.'

'Oh, well, I suppose I shall make another round,' Narcissa sighed. She swept off, looking like grace and delicacy itself in her moss green strapless gown.

Hermione followed, but the sight of smoke unfurling beneath a closet door stopped her. Heart in her mouth, she wrenched the door open, only to behold the spectacle of Lucius Malfoy, standing amongst a forest of winter coats, puffing away on a cigar.

'I told my wife I quit three months ago.'

'Oh,' said Hermione, nonplussed. 'Shall I shut the door, then?'

'Would you?'

She shut the closet door and made her way to the ballroom.

Just inside the gigantic entry doors, he caught up with her. 'All right, Hermione?' Blaise asked, bestowing on her a smile and a cheeky wink. 'You're doing an excellent job, tonight.'

Hermione beamed, cheeks bright pink. 'Thanks, Blaise!'

They parted ways – Blaise to dive into the throng of the Great and the Good, while Hermione floated on cloud nine to the bar.

Neville Longbottom was one of the bar staff, filling dozens of glasses of Pol Roger Sir Winston Churchill from an enormous ice bath.

'Hey, Hermione!' Neville arranged the glasses on a silver platter and pushed it to her. 'Thanks for coming, we're flat out here.'

'Happy to help,' Hermione dimpled. 'It's always fun being where the action is.' She collected her tray and went on her rounds. Her tray was bare well before she got halfway around the ballroom.

She served drinks for another half hour, wending her way around the enormous room, looking for someone in particular.

Scooting back to the bar, Hermione handed her tray over to Neville. 'Neville,' she said, trying to sound nonchalant, 'have you seen Blaise recently?'

Neville looked unhappy. 'Well, yes…'

Hermione prodded him. 'Come on, you can tell me.'

Neville sighed. 'He came over a couple of minutes ago to grab a bottle of champagne and some glasses. I saw him heading towards the gazebo.' He looked at Hermione sadly. 'He was with Astoria Greengrass.'

'Oh.' Hermione tried to pick up the tray but her hands seemed to be shaking for some reason. 'Well.' She took a breath and hoisted up the glass-filled tray. Neville rescued it before the entire thing crashed and the bar became awash in broken glass and Pol Roger Sir Winston Churchill.

Neville handed Hermione an empty tray. 'Why don't you collect the empty glasses?' he asked kindly.

Her cheeks flushing hotly, Hermione nodded and slunk off.

She returned to the bar, collected the tray, and slunk off again.

It was a bit cooler out on the patio, Hermione considered as she collected up glasses with dregs of Pol Roger and cigarette butts, ringed with lipsticks of all the colours of the rainbow. There'll be a nice breeze at the gazebo, too. She'll need to borrow his jacket. Of course.

Maybe Neville was wrong? thought Hermione hopefully. Maybe he went there to chat with some colleagues in a place that's a bit quieter and more private. Yeah. That's probably right.

She added a few more glasses to the tray.

No harm in looking. Is there? Besides, there might be glasses to collect.

Hermione made her way furtively to the Malfoy's gazebo. It was perched on the shore of the lake, surrounded by willows (the non-whomping variety) and creeping roses. The perfect place to romance a young woman – er, talk shop with some cronies.

Oh, Blaise. When are you going to stop wasting your time with empty-headed society misses with more money than sense and notice me? I'm smart, and keenly interested in the business, and I'll love you until the end of time. Just as I have since I met you at school.

But there was always someone else.

Nearly there. Hermione crept around a spreading willow that offered plenty of cover and a good spot for spying into the gazebo.

She peered hopefully through the leaves and…

… wished she could bleach her eyes.

For there, just inside the beautiful gazebo, stood Astoria Greengrass, resplendent in her vintage Chanel, leaning against one of the gazebo beams and making all sorts of odd noises while Blaise Zabini, Hermione's Blaise Zabini, knelt before Astoria's long, long legs, his face buried amongst the Parisian fabric, while he –

Oh, my Godric Gryffindor.

Of course he wants empty-headed society misses with more money than sense. Beautiful, sophisticated ones that smoke and drink and let men have forms of sex with them shortly after they've been introduced. Why would gorgeous, sophisticated Blaise Zabini, with two marriages to chalk up to experience by the time he was twenty-three, even look at a virginal bookworm with hair so bushy it should be tended to by gardeners instead of hairdressers?

Hermione slid down from her perch in the tree, despondent and desolate. The noise and cheer of Malfoy Manor taunted her. The thought of returning to her prior life was unbearable.

Biting her lip to stifle the tears welling from her broken heart, she stumbled through the gardens until she reached the lake's boat ramp. There, she sat down on the shingled shore, wrapped her arms around her knees, and sobbed.

Draco Malfoy stood at the vast Manor entrance, farewelling the last of the guests. All in all, a good evening's investment, he thought. Even though it was left up to him to do most of the schmoozing, since Father seemed hell-bent on avoiding Mother for some reason, and bloody Blaise disappeared halfway through the evening, probably with yet another piece of fluff. Still. Some good deals had been brokered, and it looked like MZ Enterprises were about to launch themselves into the Muggle market. The possibilities were endless.

Heading back inside, he saw Neville, Harry and Ron gathering their things together before heading home.

'Hey,' he said, ambling over. 'Thanks for helping out tonight.' It was always awkward talking about compensation to people you went to school with, so he didn't let them know they'd be paid well for their time.

'No worries,' said Ron cheerfully. 'I like these functions. Pop me down for more.'

Harry glared at him before turning to Draco. 'Malfoy, have you seen Hermione? Neville saw her head outside to clear glasses, but that was over two hours ago.'

'We can't leave without her,' Neville said. 'We gave her a lift in.'

'I don't recall that I have seen her,' said Draco thoughtfully. 'I'll look around the grounds. No need for you to stay, though. The property will resume its magic soon, and she can use the Floo.'

On the one hand, Harry was reluctant to abandon Hermione at Malfoy Manor, but on the other hand he wanted to get home to cuddle Ginny before she turned in for the night, offering him only a cold shoulder as his reward for being away all evening. 'Thanks, much appreciated. Let's go, guys.'

Nodding their goodbyes, they filed out the door and climbed into a horror of a clapped-out Toyota Corolla. It coughed and shook down the long driveway into obscurity.

I think I did Miss Granger a favour, thought Draco watching the car with an alarmed eye.

Draco eventually found her, down by the lake. She made a small, pitiful figure, hunched over herself, staring at the concentric rings forms by the stones she tossed into the water.

He sat down beside her. 'Hello.'

'Hello, Malfoy,' she mumbled.

'Um, your friends were looking for you.'

'They can keep looking.'

Draco furrowed his brow. He'd had some interactions with her at Hogwarts and at MZ Enterprises, where she was Head of Research and Development, but he always recalled Miss Granger to be a happy whirl of constant activity and chatter. The Miss Granger sitting next to him, withdrawn and morose, was not a Miss Granger he was familiar with.

And he had a reasonable idea why.

'Miss Granger' –

'What's wrong with me?' she cried, whirling on him. 'Why doesn't he even see me? Over twelve bloody years I've been in love with him, watching from the sidelines while he chases floozy after floozy!' Even worse, everyone knows except him!' Tears started to fall again.

Draco preferred a quiet, orderly life. Hysterical lovelorn ladies were Blaise's cup of tea. Still, he couldn't help but feel sorry for her.

'Miss Granger,' he began again, removing his spectacles and polishing them with his undone tie, 'as much as I respect Blaise as a businessman and enjoy his friendship, he is an utter wanker when it comes to women. Pardon my frankness.'

Hermione snivelled.

Draco thought of Harry and his friends. 'I imagine I'm not the first person to say this, but you are infinitely too good for him. Perhaps it's time to let that boat sail, and see what else lies around the corner. If you'll pardon me mixing my metaphors.'

Hermione nodded bravely. 'That's good advice, Malfoy.' She tried on a smile, but it quickly slid off. 'B-b-but I w-w-want him so m-m-much!' she wailed, and she flung herself into Draco's surprised arms.

He patted her back awkwardly and soothed her with rhythmic 'there, theres,' since that was all he could come up with.

At length, Hermione disentangled herself and pulled away, embarrassed. 'Sorry, Malfoy,' she mumbled. 'It won't happen again. You were very sweet, though. You'll make someone a wonderful husband one day, I'm sure.'

Sweet? Draco could not recall a Malfoy ever being called 'sweet' before. As for husband? Hardly. Who has time, these days?

They sat watching the moonlight dance on the water for a little while. Then Draco did what he did best – he had an idea.

'You know, I think a change of scene would do you good,' he mused. 'How about Paris?'

Hermione blew her nose. 'What about Paris?'

'I believe I have one of your proposals sitting on my desk, discussing the amalgamation of magic into certain food products that would heighten the emotional experience of the person eating them. And a milder version for Muggles.'

Hermione looked down at her hands. 'Oh, yes. It was an idea I formed when I accidentally splashed some Beguiling Bubbles onto a cupcake.'

'I think the idea shows a great deal of promise.'

Hermione looked up at him, and he was pleased to see that her eyes were filling with hope, instead of misery. 'You do?'

'Obviously the project needs to be thoroughly scoped and researched before production can begin. I know someone in Paris who would be an ideal mentor for this project. Actually, you know him, too.'

She quirked her head. 'Who is it?'

Draco smirked. 'Severus Snape.'