The Proposal

Chapter 2

"Thanks for the coffee, Dean! That is just what I needed right now," sighed Hermione, as she inhaled the aroma coming from the cup.

Dean laughed. "Busy day at work, then?"

Hermione looked at him. "You have no idea," she said, and took a sip.

Suddenly, a memo whizzed through the open door and hit Dean on the back of the head. Rubbing the sore patch as he opened the letter, he said, "Stupid interns. They just send these things off without any thought, don't think of where it's going to land... oh no. Not again! I thought we'd dealt with this once and for all!" He looked at Hermione with a worried glance.

"What's up?"

"Ah, you, um, might not want to know..."

"Go on, tell me—you work in the Magical Beast Department, right? It can't be that bad."

"Actually, you're probably the last person I'd mention this to," said a very uncomfortable Dean.

"Just tell me."

"It's your funeral," he muttered. "Okay, so, someone's been selling these, kind of... drug... type, things, to house-elves," he said slowly, looking carefully at Hermione's reaction.

He backed away towards the door, sensing that she was going to explode at any moment. "What?" There it was.

"It's not that serious!" he cried. "They just, well, it makes... funny things, kind of, happen... to them."

"Like what?" She stood to her meagre height, hands on her hips, as she glared pointedly at him.

"Well, some of them sprout rhubarb from their ears, others start doing back flips, you know, just cheap tricks. Well, we had this problem a few months ago, and we thought we'd stopped it, but, evidently not." Dean's voice had lowered to a bare whisper by the time he'd finished speaking.

Hermione was now flaming. Her hair was crackling with energy in its frazzled state and if looks could kill, Dean would have been a pile of ash right now.

"I knew it," said Dean quickly, backing out of the door. "I knew I shouldn't have told you, I warned you... I'll fix it!" he said, and began to sprint down the corridor as Hermione began to advance towards the stricken Head of Department. As soon as he was gone, she slammed the door to vent her feelings. Sitting back down she reached for her coffee and drained it all in one go. Then she shook herself and got back to work.

Hermione glanced at her watch—and then at the big clock on the wall, just to make sure it was accurate. Come on,she thought, justanother 5 minutes and then I am OUT OF HERE! Although she had loved her essay-writing at Hogwarts, Auror paperwork was entirely different—that is, it was boring. Hermione decided that, with five minutes to go, it was time to dawdle.

She was just about to pack her things away when there was a knock on the door. Frowning slightly, and with another agitated glance at the clock, Hermione called, "Come in."

The door opened, and she gasped. Because, absurd as it may sound, she couldn't see anyone. No, that was because all she could see was a floating stack of papers! Hermione couldn't believe it.

"Those … those aren't for me, are they, Harry?" she asked tentatively (she knew it was Harry because no one could miss the mess that was his hair).

"Afraid so, Hermione," said Harry apologetically as he placed the pile on her desk.

"But … but … I can't!" exploded Hermione. "I have to go and meet Ron, and … and … I have things to pick up from Diagon Alley! You can't expect me to remain here for the whole afternoon, can you?"

Harry looked at the floor, trying to avoid eye contact. "Didn't you get an owl? Ron says he can't make the date, sorry. He says he'll make it up to you later. Diagon Alley can wait until this evening, and, as to whether I can expect you to remain here for the afternoon, the answer is yes, because I am your boss and unfortunately these papers came in at the last minute. You can have a whole day off tomorrow, I've fixed it with Dean. So, I'm sorry, Hermione, but you'll just have to stick it out. See you later."

With that rather longer-than-intended speech, Harry walked out of the door, shutting it gently behind him. He stood outside and leant against the wall, breathing a sigh of relief and wiping his forehead, thankful that he got away so freely. With a quick glance at Hermione's office door, he scuttled away down the corridor, not wanting to be around for the explosion that was sure to come.

Back in the office, Hermione just stared at the pile. But she wasn't really focused on the task ahead of her. She was more troubled by the fact that Ron hadn't bothered to owl her to say he couldn't come.

Maybe it got lost? said the little voice in her head. But Hermione pushed that away. Owls never get lost. Unless it's Errol. Hermione nodded slightly. True. But, Ron doesn't use Errol. He has his own owl now. Frowning, and absent-mindedly picking up the first paper from the desk, she spent the rest of the afternoon pondering Ron and the missing excuse. She would undoubtedly be spending the rest of her free time looking into the house-elf matter, whether Dean liked it or not.