Hello everybody. Yes, its conorlover again. I wasn't planning on writing anything but Marriage of Convenience, but this idea just popped into my head and was too good to resist, so I, like the glutton I am, ate it up.

A couple of warnings. The Hermione in this story is not traditional. That is, she is not an innocent little virgin who doesn't understand anything. She is a shrewd, independent woman who has her own ideas and thoughts. She is not lead around on a leash by other people. She is open to ideas that may not seem canon, like blackmail. She is capable of, and does utilise deception.

I hope you will accept her. Any queries can immediately be PM'ed to me, or sent in the form of reviews. (Yes, I am still a shameless review hussy)

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. Or Celestina Warbeck. However, I do own The American University of Magic and Golker & Galkio.

Be sure to review! (oh yes, absolutely shameless)

~conorlover~

Chapter 1

The Game

The corridor was cream. That was the first thing she noticed.

Her robes, a cross between forest green and black, were startlingly dark against the pale walls of the corridor. The dark seemed like a blot, a blemish.

Just like she was.

The door was mahogany, an expensive set carved to the point of perfection which complimented the cream. Not surprising, considering that the man she was about to meet had one of the largest inheritances in Britain. She wondered what he was doing here when there was no need for him to slave away like this.

She took a deep breath. Thoughts were unimportant now. She was here for a reason, and she would fulfill it, because she had promised somebody and because she was tired of breaking promises.

She opened the door and stepped in.

Cedric Diggory liked to believe that he had a normal life.

He was extremely rich, considering the fact that both his parents were purebloods and had the good fortune to come from families where gold was abundant. He had always been good at Quidditch, captaining his house team for a few years back at school. He was an excellent student, the pride of his house and the favorite of every teacher, excepting a select few, the most obvious of which were Snape and Umbridge. He had passed out with excellent grades and had immediately been offered a job at the Ministry, declining it to instead earn an Advanced Transfiguration degree in the States, where his current subject, Psychology, had attracted him. He had left his course midway and joined Psychology, in which he had majored at the American University of Magic, and then promptly returned to Britain, where he had spent a well-deserved summer break at his parents' mansion before joining in on an extremely prestigious post in St. Mungo's.

He went out for a healthy game of Quidditch every Saturday, dining with his parents on the way back, and reserved Sunday night for dinner and later with a special woman, who invariably changed every fortnight.

Now at twenty four, he was considered one of the most eligible bachelors in Wizarding Britain, along with one of the pioneers in his field, already amongst the topmost leaders. He was a good friend of many senior level dignitaries in the Ministry, and was considered a prime runner for the Minister of Magic in later years considering his affinity for politics.

Yes, Cedric Diggory had done very well for himself indeed. There was almost nothing to show his encounter with the now-former Dark Lord seven years ago. His life was completely normal, his patients, regular. They were textbook cases, and easily marked by tendencies earlier on in their lives. They were completely passé.

Which is why he was surprised to see the name of a former schoolmate of his on his black work ledger one morning, scheduled for 10 'o' clock on Monday morning.

Startled, he had walked into his receptionist's office, a tiny room adjacent to his own that, however, had several hear-me-not charms placed on it. He valued his clients' privacy beyond anything.

"Hannah," he had said to the blonde dozing at the desk, who had abruptly woken up. "Are you sure that you got my 10 'o' clock Monday right?"

Hannah Abbott sniffed. "Of course I did! Have you ever noticed me to make a mistake in the entire time that I've been working for you, Cedric?"

"No," he admitted. "But I'm just a little surprised. I mean, its…" He had trailed off, unable to find the right words to continue.

Hannah had sniffed again. "Fine, let me check," she had said, opening the worn ledger lying on her desk and flipping through it magically. "Monday ten 'o' clock. Hmmm… my notes say that this patient was directly referred by Healer MacMillan on the behest of the director of the Quibbler, Luna Lovegood. The name of the patient is…" she trailed off, looking at the name scribbled on the yellow page. "Oh my God. Oh my GOD."

Cedric had gestured in a frustrated manner. "I know."

Now, at 9:57 on Monday morning, he sat nervously, waiting for his patient. She had, back in school, had a habit of being extremely punctual, so he was almost sure that she wouldn't be late. He fastened his tie a bit more securely – it contrasted, and yet blended in, with his expensive Golker & Galkio suit, while perfectly accentuating his slightly-messed-up-but-its-on-purpose hair. He didn't know why he felt such a pressure to dress well – he did not know her personally, to be sure, but he had heard that expensive and well-cut clothes were to her taste, and as she held a lot of clout within the Ministry, he was hoping to find another ally in his already well-supported foothold in the Ministry.

The door started swinging open. Panicking, he shot a glance at the clock. It was 9:59! The appointment hadn't even officially started yet! And she was already here. All the blood drained out of his face. What was he thinking, dressing up like a prat? He would never be able to make a good impression on her, she was already considered an extremely hard woman to please, and yet he had the nerve –

The door swung open halfway.

Suddenly, instinct came rushing back to Cedric. This was why he had chosen psychology, because he had such an indefinable connection with it, an ability to rationalize himself and focus only on solving the other's problem. Long years of hard work spending time with his patients, patiently working out their problems, helping them find the answer had instilled a calm personality, however temporary, into Cedric. In an instant, the woman at the door was not an extremely important personage in the Wizarding World. She was just another soul who needed his help.

The door swung wide open. She stood in the doorway, coolly composed, brown eyes narrowed into slits, sleek brown hair held in a manner of authority and grace, chin held high.

He smiled and stood up. "Welcome, Mrs. Weasley."

It was odd how he had feared her approach at first.

Not that she wasn't intimidating. She was physically petite, but her strong, unwavering gaze and determined posture made up for it. She wasn't a classic beauty, but her heart-shaped face showed a strange kind of spiritual and mental strength that made her incomparably attractive. There was something in those eyes which showed the pain she had been through and the strength with which she had erased it, rising up from the ashes to become resplendent. Like a phoenix.

But it was so obvious that she was here not for intimidating him, but because of something else. Her eyes gazed at him, and he had the queerest feeling that she didn't want to be here, but she was.

He shook it off and offered the plate of macaroons that Hannah had just placed in front of them, backing out with a curious stare. He had wondered if she would acknowledge Hannah – they were in the same year, just in different houses – but she had glanced at the girl once and then continued her probing glance into him.

Her stare was so intense he almost wondered if she was performing Legimency on him.

She shook her head slightly, saying "No, thank you," in a clear, bell-like voice. It was the first thing she had said since entering his office. "I am trying to avoid carbohydrates right now, and I am afraid this would be an indulgence."

He nodded. It was time. "So, Mrs. Weasley, why have you decided to come here?"

She cut him off. "I did not decide to come here. It was simply a promise made to someone else. I have no wish whatsoever to be here. I do not see the point."

He nodded again. So she was of the type who believed that counseling was absolutely useless. Never mind. She had not told him her problem yet. He would extract it out of her. He had seen these kinds of patients before. The trick was to start with mundane problems, such as why didn't they believe in counseling. He would make another question based on their answer. Gradually, the patient would become so comfortable in his presence that he would spill his innermost thoughts. "Tell me, why are you reluctant to come here?"

"I do not see the point. It is nigh impossible to spill one's thoughts to a stranger. If one abstains from their closest friends, then what chance does a stranger have? And this ploy won't work on me, Mr. Diggory. I have read about this in books. The Webster solution, isn't it? Start with small things, gradually increasing the level, making the victim open his heart to you. I'm afraid you will find me of a higher standard than that."

He smiled grimly. She had seen straight through it. Never mind – the ploy had brought one thing to the forefront. She thought of herself as the 'victim' here. And there was always one other solution. He suspected she would see through anything he tried, but this one was so straightforward, there was nothing to hide. "I see. Clever, Mrs. Weasley. This is the first time anyone has seen through this strategy under my watch. I suspect you will see through any ploy I throw at you. So we are stuck here without a solution. We are going to meet here every Monday and discuss mundane things over a cup of tea and macaroons for an hour, and at the end pleasant say out goodbyes and part, I richer and you poorer. I could do this, but it will make me feel slight boredom, not to mention that I would feel guilty about ripping you off. So I have a plan. Let us play a game."

Her eyebrows touched the ceiling. "A game?"

"Yes, a game. It is one of my personal favourites. It is called Quid Pro Quo."

"Quid Pro Quo? Something for something? What do you mean, Mr. Diggory?"

"The rules of the game are simple. I share a piece of my life, pertaining solely to me, with you. It has to be a little known fact. You are free to ask me questions on that topic, but it is up to me whether to answer them or not. Then, as payment, you are to share your own piece of information. Again, the same rules apply. Then the same cycle begins again. This way, we go one sharing covert bits of information with each other."

She looked intrigued. "And pray tell, Mr. Diggory, just why would I be induced to play such a game?"

He was unabashed. "Because something tells me that sitting in a room for an hour discussing nothing but Celestina Warbeck's latest love song is not your ideal pass time."

She laughed. "And because you are a shameless hussy."

"Absolutely. Anything for learning the secrets of a pretty lady like you, Mrs. Weasley."

She glanced up at the clock. He saw with a pang of disappointment that surprised him, that it was already eleven. "I am intrigued. I wonder what secrets a handsome young psychologist can possibly have?" she said, standing up to get her coat.

"I assure you, Mrs. Weasley, I will reveal to you the full horrors of how I single handedly made the Crumpled-Horned Snorcack extinct," he said, standing up.

She let out a peel of laughter. "I am not sure Luna would appreciate that," she said, stepping outside. "I hope to see you next week, Mr. Diggory." And with that, she stepped out of his line of sight, neatly leaving the door open. He sighed and looked down at his desk. Whew.

"And one more thing," she said, stepping back into sight. He started, jerking his head up to see her smiling at him. "Mrs. Weasley makes me sound like my mother-in-law. While she is perfectly lovely, I do adore to visualize myself as a twenty-two year old instead of a middle aged matron, so it would be perfect if you called me Hermione instead."

And then she walked out, this time closing the door.

Cedric Diggory collapsed onto his chair, burying his head in his hands and letting out a sigh of exhaustion.

Just what had he gotten himself into?

This is my very first attempt at writing Harry Potter fanfiction. How was it? Hopefully not deserving rotten tomatoes (ducks head just in case). Please review and tell me how you liked it.

~conorlover~