Sorry it took this long. I wrote it and then erased it, then wrote it and then erased it, and then wrote it and...lost the eraser...so finally its up; thanks for the patience.

Manic Monday

The sounds of her heels, beating against the tiled floor, as she walked hurriedly towards her destination, mixed with the din of voices and sounds that otherwise filled the space between the glass panes and concrete walls.

She wanted to run, but feared it might not be proper. She was already an hour and half late, for her appointment. She had not been able to keep the ones before, postponing them again and again; she had promised herself the last would be the last time she did. But once again, she found herself caught in her work that she lost all track of time.

Just a few feet away she paused as she caught a glance at the figure seated patiently at a table outside the coffee shop, like the one in the lobby.

She smiled as she watched him, hunched over a deck of cards spread out in front of him; like an image frozen in time.

He was not the boy she had ones known, the effects of all the years were apparent; his blonde hair was longer, almost shoulder length, he was now slightly taller than her, his oval face was more distinct, especially the characteristic roman nose, and the hands that held it stronger. But for all the physical changers, he was still the shy, sensitive, boy she knew all those years, the one who had been her best and closest friend, and the one who influenced her life more in the short period they knew each other than anyone else in her life; it was as if the days had not passed, that the last they talked was but eight days ago and not eight years.

She watched him for a few seconds more, as he continued with his game of solitaire seemingly oblivious to the world around him, to the people that walked by throwing the occasional glance his way; some where just curious, as to why he was seated alone, at one of the most expensive cafes, eating or drinking nothing. She of cause knew the truth: he chose the café because it was almost always empty, quiet, and peaceful, and he had no drinks or food, because he was waiting for her to come; as he always would.

Nevertheless, she also knew that some of the glances, from women, young and old, were not so innocent. Even with his hair, which (unfortunately) reminded her of Malfroy, she had no difficulties in seeing what those girls saw; but he never seem to have the same reaction to them or at least never showed it.

Without even raising his eyes away from the cards, as she got close, he slid them back into a neat little pile, and replaced them inside one of the many jacket pockets. She again smiled, her earlier worries forgotten; she never did find out how he always knew she was there, she had even used a different and more poignant scent today.

He walked up to her, as she neared the table, taking her coat.

"I'm sorry I'm late, I had…" she started, as he helped her to her seat.

"There is no explanations needed, you are a hard worker and you love your work" he said, before she could finish.

"How was work at the Ministry of…Interior? …Justice? …Defense?" he asked with a grin as he returned to his own seat, and she just smiled. "You're a spy, working for MI6, right, and I am your cover?" She smiled again.

"Would that be a problem?"

"Anything for Queen and Country," he said, and she laughed again; she was glad to be able to laugh.

"Are you alright," he asked, and only then did she realize that her mind had again wondered away, barely a second later. She didn't answer, just nodded her head.

"Are you sure, you look exhausted."

"I am alright, promise. I just had a long day that's all!"

"You look like it. I could take you home; we could always do this another time!" he said, the look of worry intense in his face.

"No," she said a little too fast, "it was just paperwork. Besides I'm fine now, I promise." She said trying a forced smile. The thing was that she knew she might not be able to find another date, and she needed the distraction.

"You're an intern, are you not suppose to be doing coffee runs and courier work?" he asked with a grin, and again she founder her self laughing, but it was more of a guilty laugh, as her mind wondered.

The thing was that, though her usual work revolves around doing paperwork for her boss the Permanent Secretary – preparing reports, helping make recommendations and give advice when required – and though that was what she was doing then, it was not what the day had held for her.

Suddenly she was at her desk, in a far corner of the main floor space of the Department, surrounded by mountains of files, records, books and other documents that had become her life since joining the Department as an Apprentice.

She was hunched over her desk, partly obscured by the documents neatly scattered across it, trying hard to stop her mind from wondering after the call, when the door to her mentor's office opened. Her head immediately turned up from her work and towards it, just as the tall, slender frame of the Permanent Secretary Calix Windsor appeared through it

"Ms. Granger," came, the almost harmonic, tone of the Department Head, as he glided passed her; carrying himself with the same flair as a Monarch groomed from infancy.

But when she heard her name again, and again, she realised that the voice, though similar, was not that of her mentor. She snapped out to find Daemon watching her with concern.

"Are you sure you're alright?"

"Yes, just had a weird day!" she replied.

Weird, considering her life has for a long time been anything but normal, was still an appropriate way to describe the day she had. Not only had her boss called her personally, by name – and then proceeded on without another word or gesture, leaving her staring at him bemused and wondering whether he had called out her name as gift to one of his adoring fans, or had imagined it out of some unacknowledged desire – she found herself spending the day with him and Channer; his son and only person able to overshadow Calix in the eyes of the girls, who not surprisingly form the majority in the office, who worked with her.

Channer was every bit like his father: tall, slender and graceful with a thick head of blonde hair that, unlike Daemon's tousled look, was always neatly groomed and trimmed. His blue eyes, like that of his father's, was piercing and deep, unlike Daemon's light blue which burned bright and intense, sweeping, as if constantly watching and processing everything around.

He was clean cut, unlike his father, no neatly tripped moustache; and he had the same old English accent, that made cross-Atlantic girls swoon, like Daemon's, his lacked that hint that would be termed snobbish by most. He was also more accessible, more friendly and helpful, like when with a simple nod of his head he put her out of the misery his father had placed her in. He was more athletic for the simple reason that he preferred field work rather than deal with the bureaucracy of office work; therefore rarely seen in the department; also the cause of his heighten popularity.

Lost in thought of the Windsor men, she did not realise that Daemon had walked out, until she caught a glance of him out of the corner of her eye standing next to her. He was standing, holding two drinks to go and a packet; she didn't need to ask what was in either.

"Come on,"

"I don't need to go home, I'm alright!"

"No your not, and were not going home. And don't say you had a lot of paperwork; when I said you look exhausted I didn't mean physically exhausted. You are a strong girl Hermione, stronger than most girls I know, so whatever it is, whether it is coffee you delivered late, or the tea you added too much sugar to, or the Nuclear war you started in some poor third-world Country, I know its big and you need something to distract your mind from it before it drives me insane. So, no buts, your doing exactly as I say and that's final, you hear!" he said, taking her hand. She laughed, nodded, and allowed him to take here wherever he had planned.