Snapshots

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter.

Summary Numba 1: When Hermione is assigned to Draco Malfoy's utterly impossible court case, her meticulously ordered life is about to swing sideways on a one-way ride. Not that her friends are any help. They think the change good for her. That, my friend, is BS. DHr

I shouldn't be starting a new story. I'm not sure how I feel about this one. I'll decide whether or not I want to continue after I see the feedback, heh heh. And if anyone would like to beta for me, it would be amazing. I'm a tad on the lazy side and I can't bring myself to move my cursor over to the "Beta" section of FF.

Meh bad. xP

Other than that, this is a somewhat different writing style for me, so see how you like it. I've fallen out of the DHr shipping for the past year and a half, and I wanted to try the waters again. If you notice anything wrong – grammar, plot holes, etc. – please tell me.

Also note that I know like absolutely nothing about court cases, so this won't be true to life in the least. xD If you'd like to give me a brief summary of what really happens, that would be great.

So yeah. Enjoy, and try not to jump off a building if the writing's really that bad.

------------------------x

When she was a child and beginning to discover that there was more to books than rounded pictures splashed with inconsistent bright colors, her idea of spontaneous was a "Choose-Your-Own-Adventure" story where – if the need ever arose – she could turn back a few pages and pick the left path instead of the right one in order to win the game. There was no risk factor. Somehow, even through the string of seven years of impulsive actions (some of which, in the end, saved her life) with Harry and Ron, a little part of her – no, a large part of her – still liked to keep the logical and meticulously organized community settled on score. She liked to order the usual at Everette's Sandwiches & Café where she dined every Thursday afternoon at half past one, and she liked to follow her daily routine to flawless execution from her morning ritual of "three rolls, two yawns, one stretch, and toss the covers" down to her evening habit of reading Shakespeare.

She had a mild obsession to knowing what was coming next. It was a major flaw in her personality, I suppose you could say, that she liked to know things a little too much. If she didn't have an answer, she labored needlessly to find it. She needed to know what was coming ahead. But now – now she was caught in quite a predicament, staring a neatly aligned stack of manila folders that was pressed into her arms minutes earlier by her boss. There was no possible way she could have accounted for this.

"He wanted to hire the best lawyer in this department, and, Miss Granger, that means you," Shannon said, pushing up his thickly-rimmed square glasses up on his nose. Normally, Hermione would have glowed at the compliment, but instead, she stared blankly at her supervisor with a look of disbelief. "He's paying a hefty sum, so you better work harder than normal this time. You'll find the numbers in the third folder down."

"The Malfoys?" Hermione repeated, still caught on the first words Shannon had uttered to her that day. "You mean, the Malfoys?"

The corners of his lips pulled into a tight frown. "Don't make me regret that I handed this case over to you, Miss Granger," he said curtly with a pointed look that immediately disciplined her.

"O – Of course not," Hermione hastily responded, shaking her head. "I've got it covered."

He gave her a last sharp glance before turning on his heel, disappearing behind a line of cubicles. Hermione's heart sank into the pit of her stomach as she watched him leave. She had never rejected a case before, but – Merlin, the Malfoys? They were the last people she ever wanted to work with, and given her more-than-shaky situation with the family, she'd surely lose the case. But she was known not to give up before trying, and the sudden change in behaviour would tarnish her reputation, which was not only a blow to her pride and integrity, but costly for her line of profession. And the pay – the pay would definitely to be to die for…

She would have to take it. It was a court case that the Wizarding world expected to fail anyways, she reasoned. Surely not much would be expected of her? And if, by some bizarre and belated blessing of Godric, she were to win, it would only increase her popularity. Draco Malfoy was just another client. Besides, three years had already passed since then. He surely wasn't the same obnoxious, cowardly, bullying, arrogant, prejudiced, arse-talking, immature, name-calling –

With an angry grunt, she threw the stack unceremoniously onto her desk. Working with the Malfoys! The idea was ludicrous! She'd rather serve - well, anyone else! Maybe there would be a way where she wouldn't have to deal with this at all. Thinking rationally, the idea pleased her more than her hope would allow. Perhaps, upon discovering just who his lawyer was, Malfoy would call the case off himself.

Of course. There was no use fretting just yet.

----------------x

Three mugs were slammed onto the table, the Butterbeer within sloshing dangerously close to the edges. A dribble of the golden liquid slid down the side, which she frowned at as she rotated the mug to parallel its handle to the edge of the table before lifting it and drinking.

A new waitress sauntered over before any of them had the chance to speak. Her name tag reading "Andrew" was pinned on her tight-fitted shirt in an area that drew attention to her excessive cleavage. With a roll of her eyes, Hermione said, "Where's Lauren, our usual server?"

"Lauren called in sick today, but my name is Cassie and I'll be your waitress this evening," she responded with a tilting smile at Ron and Harry – the former, who grinned back, and the latter, who looked in the opposite direction. "What'll you be having?"

As Ron and Harry ordered (a steak and a fish fillet, respectively), Hermione perused the menu, her brows furrowed until her eyes settled upon her normal order. "I think I'll try the ravioli with a side of boiled potatoes."

Cassie walked away with more sway in her hips than necessary. "Damn," Ron swore with a laugh, elbowing Harry, his eyes fixed upon the door where Cassie disappeared behind. "I'd give her a nine."

Hermione choked into her drink as Harry held his hands up in surrender. "Take her, mate. I've got Ginny."

"Well, if an STD factory is the type that suits your fancy," Hermione commented darkly. "You two saw her name tag, right? The one that said 'Andrew' on it?" At Ron's blank look, she shook her head. "Yeah, well, seems like she's been sneaking snogs between serving tables behind that door."

Harry cleared his throat. "Besides Ron's lack of a respectable love life," Harry interrupted loudly, redirecting the conversation, "anything new, Hermione?"

She smiled. "Yes, actually," she answered, pulling out a folder from her briefcase and sliding it to the center of the table, ignoring the shocked looks of her two closest friends. She had always responded with a "no, thank you" to this question. "I have a new client."

A pregnant pause and an arched eyebrow. "I guess we can say it's a start," Harry remarked slowly, breaking the silence, "but having a new client hardly constitutes as something new, you know."

Ron coughed. "Yeah, I mean, you get new clients every week, right?"

She disregarded both their comments as she snatched back the folder with a sniff. "Fine," she said, stuffing the folder back into her case and snapping it closed. "I guess you're not interested that Draco Malfoy hired me for a sum at half a thousand Galleons an hour."

She watched their expressionless faces that were immobilized in shock, pleased with herself. Ron was the first one to recover. "Bullshit."

Hermione laughed as she consented. "Yeah, I'm not going to get the whole lot of money. Some of it's going to be split off, but I'm getting at least a third of the pool, and that's bare minimum, so – "

Both Harry and Ron simultaneously leaned over to reach for the folder she had put away, their sudden movement making her jump. "Let me see that – "

"Malfoy? You mean the pointy-faced ferret? Hermione, I want the details – "

"That's impossible – Malfoy? Asking for you to help whatever sorry excuse he's suing for?"

"Her – mi – o – ne! I wanna see!"

"That's rich – no, no, really, that's really rich. I don't think I believe you – "

"I said, I wanna see! Gimme, gimme!"

"Let me see it, please, Hermione? I – "

Barely concealing a smile at their antics, she slapped their hands away as she pulled her briefcase toward herself, standing, but not before paying for the meal she hadn't received yet. "I'm afraid I have to prepare for an appointment after lunch," she grinned. "I'll see you two tomorrow."

As she left the door to the diner's door swinging and paid for a cinnamon roll at a stand halfway down the street, she didn't even realize that it was the first time she had ever walked out of her routine – not on schedule. Instead, she felt like laughing.

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The clock ticked in its monotonous manner, a groan against time. Her moment of delirium – or whatever that possibly could have been during lunch – had ended with her being in office twenty minutes too early with an upset stomach and a tight heart. It felt disgusting to her, missing out on lunch like that. Completely out of character. No doubt still bewildered by her newest assignment, she was sure, but it still bothered her enough to confront the Ministry mediwitch for a headache cure.

And now that she was thinking rationally, her stomach clenched in dread in prospect of the appointment. She could play the upper hand – after all, he didn't know that she was his lawyer just yet, and she could manipulate it to her advantage. Cool, calm, and collected. Cool, calm, and collected. Cool, calm, –

The office doorknob turned and opened, revealing an all too familiar face she would have rather forgotten, dressed in quality black robes that seemed to refuse to wrinkle.

– and disgusted.

She straightened the papers and barely glanced up at the incoming figure in an attempt to appear dismissive. "Hello, Mr. Malfoy. Take a seat?"

He stared at her for a moment longer, and when she looked up and raised her eyes to meet his, she saw perpetual shock scrawled across his aristocratic features. "Mr. Malfoy?" she inquired again, and the corners of his lips pulled into a frown as he seated himself across from her.

"Granger," he drawled, ignoring the courtesy of title. She scratched at her chin. "So you're the lawyer I'm going to have to put up with through this thing?" He wrinkled his nose in distaste. "To think I'll have to be working with a Mudblood."

Her heart pounded erratically inside her chest at the insult and clear prejudice. The quill in her hand snapped into two, its ink spilling across the document she'd been working on in a seeping black flood. "Immature as ever, I see," she remarked coldly. "I would recommend, considering the case you're applying for, that you refrain from such derogatory and vulgar words."

He leaned forward, folding his arms on her desk, his elbow pushing the picture frame of Harry and Ginny's wedding over an inch. An itch tugged at her collarbone. "I believe that's why I have a lawyer, Mudblood," he quipped, his lips fashioned into a smirk. "I'm surprised, Granger. Given your current position, I thought you would've figured it out by now. Then again, Nott always did say that you probably whored the professors for your grades."

Her fingers were tapping loudly against the table in rapid succession in an effort to restrain herself. "Goes to show that the IQ of the whole of Slytherin put together barely rivals – "

" – Lockhart's?" he finished for her, a smug look on his face. "What a low blow. At least I wasn't the one who was half in love with a twit twice my age."

The audacity - ! Her face flushed a dark red – no doubt the offspring of anger and embarrassment – as she said coldly, "I believe we have a situation to discuss." He muted, but damn that cocky look he sauntered in his very essence! Even through silence, he was aggravating. "This is a big claim you have here. You do realize the only reason that you are free of Azkaban's confinements right now results from you having been a minor, and you never having actually killed?"

"And me having been threat with the lives of my family?" he added, his tone surprisingly light for the subject. She'd expected him to be – oh, she didn't know… defensive? Cold and reserved? His character as a coward was hardly lost in her memory. "Yes."

She cleared her throat and gave him a look that would have shamed most anyone else. "Your father, on the other hand, knew very well what he was doing – and he actually killed, Malfoy." All pretenses of formality were dropped. "Same said for your mother."

He stared at her. Unfeeling grey eyes that were remarkably still, freezing her inside. "I'll raise the pay with an additional 200 galleons per hour," he said. "I want this case to be won."

Without another word, he stood and left, none of the major points Hermione needed to discuss with him covered. She was left gaping at the door that swung shut behind him.

----------------------------x

A slam and a huff resounded through the flat, her briefcase and overcoat thrown aside onto the couch. An insatiable stitch tugged at her side until she grabbed the overcoat and hung it in the closet (green hanger, third coat to the right) and dropped the suitcase next to her desk in the study.

"God, that bloody – Ginny!" Hermione stood shocked, staring at the petite redhead that lazed on her sofa. "What are you doing here?"

The younger girl snapped the book in her hands shut, tossing it aside on the coffee table, its left corner touching the lamp. "Thank god you're back," she beamed. "Do you know how boring that book was? How can you stand making a living off of that stuff?"

Hermione sniffed as she picked the book up and returned it to its proper place. "Back to my original question. What are you doing here?"

She gestured around vaguely. "Oh, just heard some rumors about one Mr. Malfoy, a court case, and you walking out of lunch?" she grinned. The one thing that always fascinated Hermione was how Ginny's eyes never dulled – there was always some sort of emotion sparking through.

"Don't remind me," Hermione groaned, throwing herself down beside Ginny. "It's all Malfoy's fault. As per usual."

"I heard you curse on the way in," she commented conversationally. "Still the arrogant heir?"

"And the case is bloody impossible," she scoffed. "Really – what was he thinking? Free both Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy from Azkaban?" She thought of the blond git that dominated her office mere hours ago. All that passed was name-calling and a pay raise, though she wasn't complaining about the latter portion. "And he's no help at all. He gives me nothing, and expects me to win it for him." Another scoff. "Just like him to want a victory served to him on a bloody diamond-encrusted gold platter without lifting a finger. Why not? Just give me all the work! And make fun of me all the while, go on!"

"I'm sorry 'bout the git, but – " Ginny's arms flailed about. " – you walked out of lunch! You never walk out of lunch!"

"I know, and my hunger's paying for it. Not to mention I've been having this horrible itch all day just thinking about it – "

She shook her head vigorously. "No, no, Hermione, you're missing the point. You haven't broken your routine since your life stabilized after the war."

"Well," Hermione pointed out, "I'm not exactly up for another war, am I?" She stood and walked briskly to her desk, Ginny close behind. "I like order."

The redhead sighed as she pulled up a chair beside her friend. "Yes, we all like to live in what's familiar, but that's not fun!" With a determined look on her face, she said, "Me and Ron and Harry – "

"Harry, Ron, and I," the automatic correction came.

A roll of the eyes. "Yeah, whatever. Me and Ron and Harry were talking, and we think that this case works."

Hermione frowned. "What do you mean, works?"

"Well," Ginny began, fishing for the right words. "Even though we hate his guts and we'd rather see the Malfoys in Azkaban, we think it's good for you." Her voice strengthened, her tone defensive against argument. "I mean, the way you're living right now – it's not healthy. And this case is an opportunity for some sort of change in your life – "

Hermione threw the suitcase down on her desk hard, the thud reverberating. "Exactly," she said crisply, "why I hate it."

"It's been three years of living like this, Hermione," Ginny said. "I mean, I get you've had more than a lifetime's share of thrill in your life already – but that doesn't mean you need to account for everything that goes on in the world."

"No, I just need to account for everything that happens to me."

Ginny stared. "You can't possibly enjoy living like this." When Hermione never responded, she grabbed her jacket. "I'm Flooing back to the Burrow, but just so you know, we're not going to let you back out of this one."

Not that she would back out anyways. Hermione Granger was known for carrying things through, and change was not something she looked forward to.