After the War, many people quit being who they'd once been, in a sense. Everyone reacted in some way or other.
Hermione found herself tired with all the things that had once excited her so. Magic, connected cupboards, fidelius-protected locations... it had all been used for ill, it was as tainted as the Muggle world, yet more dangerous.
For three years following the end of the War, she retreated stealthily from the entire Wizarding World.
She'd finished her education – her personality wouldn't allow anything else – and readjusted her parents' memories so they remembered who they, and she, were. Not a word about magic was restored, however. They would be better off without it.
Contact with the boys was always uncertain at best. She refused to hook anything but her kitchen fireplace up to the Floo Network, so when she had time to talk, Harry and Ron were often on missions. The only one she spoke to regularly was Neville, via Muggle letters. He'd asked her to explain how to send them when he had a romantic interest in a Muggle girl. They'd never happened, but he still sent Hermione letters regularly.
Her little antiquarian bookshop off one of London's calmer neighborhoods was all the excitement she needed, thank you very much. She was building up quite the clientele with her thirst for knowledge.
So it was with decided unease she recognised the man who walked in through the door on a dreary autumn afternoon.
There he stood, just in through the dark wood door, beyond the rickety steps of her worn little shop.
It was so unlikely to happen that she blinked several times and pinched herself to be sure she wasn't sleeping at the counter.
Silly that, she'd never dreamed this vividly.
"Malfoy." It was an utterance of the most sincere surprise.
"Granger." He wasn't surprised by the less than welcoming atmosphere. Probably – or so she thought – having expected it.
"Uhm, come in."
He looked around. Didn't look too impressed, which made her a little angry – but considering who it was, and that he was outwardly courteous otherwise – she allowed him to be a socialite prat, but no worse than that.
"I've come with a proposal for you, Granger."
Well, he obviously wasn't paying a social call, but he wouldn't have much to offer her that could entice her, surely?
A small silence passed.
"Yes?"
He closed his eyes for a moment, but she wasn't sure if he was gathering courage, or perhaps patience for some imagined slight.
"I would like you to come work for my company."
Hah!
"How about I just tell you 'no' right now, so you can go back to whatever you were doing before you started hallucinating about the impossible?"
"I was building an empire of course," he said with bleak irony, "what did you expect?" He sounded bored, too. "I have an offer you can't refuse."
Double-Hah!
"I highly doubt that, Malfoy." She sneered a little at the thought.
People like him were what had made her leave the Wizarding World in the first place.
He looked at her posture – she'd placed her hands on her hips and tried to look as no-nonsense as possible, counteracting the hint of curiousity she felt about his "unrefusable" offer.
"All right then. Goodbye, Granger."
He was so calm, when she'd at least expected some surprise, or an additional try, if his offer was so unrefusable as he claimed.
"You know how to contact me if you change your mind."
And then he was out that door, while her brain was still playing catch-up.