Je ne sais quoi
Rating: PG for the moment
Genre: Drama
Warnings: None.
Summary: Everday life nothing. They were doomed. Doomed she said.
Chapter 1: But What Day-Mares Do
It was morning. It wasn't a work morning and it wasn't a parents' house morning. Normally this meant it was Saturday and Hermione would get up early anyway to clean her house, do grocery shopping and maybe even cook a big pot of something so she could eat it all week. It would be efficient if nothing else.
Except she overslept. She knew that as she opened her eyes and saw the light threading through her lace curtains and hitting a spot on the floor that was a lot further into her bedroom than it should have been. She yawned as she slid out of bed and into her slippers.
Hermione was none too pleased with herself at the moment.
She padded to the bathroom, grabbing the clothes she set out the night before off the chair, and grumbled under her breath. Now she'd be behind schedule. And she still had that small but respectable pile of work that she lugged home Friday night from the office.
She washed up, dressed, pinned her hair into as tidy a knot as she could manage and entered her kitchen. After the war, somehow her love for Potions transformed to include a love for cooking. In her more sarcastic moments, she blamed Snape for that extra stone or so of weight she'd put on.
The kitchen was spotless, copper pots and pans hanging off a ceiling rack above the island, dark metal knife handles gleaming from their wooden rack, marble everywhere, dark and neat. Ron claimed it was a very male kind of room. She always just rolled her eyes. After all, he never complained when she cooked for her boys.
She was a great cook if she said so herself. She flipped over the island counter-top to the wooden side and pulled out her chef's knife with a sense of satisfaction that chased away the annoyance of her late morning. As the blade slid smoothly through a potato, she mentally checked on her to-do list. A few hours' late start, but she thought she could manage everything well enough.
She moved the bowl with the potato slices and bent down to open a bottom cabinet when the Floo rang. She narrowly avoided smacking her head into the island and grabbed her wand in her left hand, waving it to allow the connection.
"Uhm Hermione... maybe that's not the best response to the situation at hand." Bright green eyes and shimmering strawberry blonde hair paired with a laughing mouth and a raised eyebrow. This was Hermione's right hand at the office and one of her favorite people in general. Just don't tell Harry and Ron.
"What, Daph?" she asked.
"The knife, my darling, the knife. Don't point that at me," Daphne replied.
A slow but heavy flush stole across Hermione's face and she set the knife down. "Sorry."
"Oh, no worries," Daphne answered breezily. "We have bigger fish to fry, as they say."
"What happened?" Hermione said quickly. Voldemort was gone, but the war left a mess and a lot of bad feelings on all the sides. The department of International Magical Cooperation got to mop up a lot of the spills.
"Oh, you know," Daphne began. "Just Etienne Zabini stirring up the Inter-Fed is all."
Hermione laid her hand on her forehead. "I suddenly have a pounding headache. What happened?"
"Well..." she drawled, "he tied himself to the front column of their quorum house and is publicly claiming the international community is infringing on pureblood rights and treating them like second class citizens." She paused as Hermione groaned. "Now personally I don't feel like a second class citizen but you know the Zabinis."
"If this was just Etienne Zabini, you wouldn't be calling me," Hermione pointed out.
"Well okay. He's being backed by WPR and they're picketing the place. With signs," Daphne admitted.
"WPR? With signs? I think I need to sit down," Hermione said.
"And I was contacted by MEOW," she added.
Hermione mechanically pulled a stool closer and plopped down. "Go ahead. Doom my weekend."
"You better come in for this one. Now. And dress extra sharp."
Before she could question Daphne, the Floo connection was cut and Hermione was left alone in her kitchen with a bowl of raw potatoes and a stone of bad feelings.
She sighed and heated a pan, tossing the potatoes in with garlic before heading back to her room to change. When Daphne said sharp, Hermione went Givenchy. She wasn't much of a clotheshorse but she loved well cut pantsuits. She picked a red one, a power color, and slid into a pair of heels. She hated heels but the status quo demanded it.
She applied a small bit of make-up, sighed as she gulped down her underdone breakfast - who had time to let the potatoes finish cooking? - and Apparated into the office.
Her secretary appeared to be in tears, various associates were rushing back and forth and Daphne was nowhere in sight.
"Marlene," Hermione said in the kind of tone she used with skittish horses, "where's Ms. Greengrass?"
Gulping and hiccuping, Marlene wiped her face with a wad of tissues. "In your office," she stuttered. "With..." and she broke down into incoherence again.
Hermione approached the door as she used to do with every Death Eater abode they once cleaned out, cautiously with her hand near her wand. She opened the door to Daphne in her chair and a blond wizard sprawled in the other one. Daphne's voice was low and pleasant, but the undertone was as close as the calm witch ever got to death threats.
"Hello," said Hermione and the wizard turned.
Malfoy.
"Ms, Granger," he said with every appearance of civility.
"Hermione," Daphne began as she vacated the seat and conjured another one. "You remember Draco Malfoy. He's with the MCA, the Malfoy Consulting Agency, and they're representing the WPR."
Well. This would be the big news then.
Hermione shut the door and took her chair. She used a long moment to study Malfoy. He looked much the same, though he certainly grew into his features a bit. Still looked like a ferret, she decided.
"Mr. Malfoy," and she almost choked over that, "what can we do for you?"
"I'm glad you asked," he replied with a smile that had nothing to do with amusement and everything with I'm-the-big-bad-and-I-will-eat-you. "The Wizards for Pureblood Rights feel justly that as a sector of the wizarding society after the war they have been treated more poorly than the halfblood and muggleborn wizards. My agency intends to help rectify this injustice. We want to make the general public aware of this travesty. We would also like to solicit the cooperation of the Ministry in this endeavor." He paused, clearly enjoying the shocked silence his words produced. "However at the moment, and this is why I'm here instead of with the Minister, our main priority is Etienne Zabini. We want to ensure that the IFW does not intend to seek vengeance on him for exercising his obligation to voice the truth."
"Mr. Malfoy, Mr. Zabini is interrupting their sessions and causing a public disturbance. If the IFW chose to have him arrested there is nothing we can do," Hermione replied tightly.
"Oh I doubt that," he said. "The British Ministry is widely respected in the international community and if you want to see justice succeed I am sure that you could accomplish it."
Hermione looked at Daphne who twitched her nose ever so slightly.
"Well, Mr. Malfoy, I promise to look into it," Hermione said with a false smile.
"Excellent. I'm glad we can see eye-to-eye on this," he said and stood up. "I'll be in touch." He offered her his hand.
Hermione froze. Something here wasn't adding up. She stared at the appendage held steadily in the air in front of her. It was pale and well kept, a neat manicure capping long, blunt fingers. He wore the Malfoy signet on his ring finger and his index was wrapped in a silver orobourus. It was somehow fitting.
Daphne coughed slightly.
Hermione struggled to hold back the embarrassed flush as she took his hand with her own and pumped it firmly. He smirked and then lifted her fingers to his lips, the contact lasting barely a second, then spun around, his robes flying up a la Snape, and walked out.
Hermione stared at her fingers. "I think I may have to dip my hand in boiling water now," she said matter of factly.
Daphne got up to shut the door and then turned a glare on her. "What's wrong with you?"
"Uh, that was Malfoy," Hermione replied as she dug around for a napkin to wipe her hand.
"Yeah I know." The blonde huffed and plopped into a chair. "I thought I was through with that crowd. I only see Millie occasionally but the Malfoy-Parkinson clique is one I've stayed away from starting with year one at Hogwarts. Dammit." She swung a small foot at the desk, kicking the leg of it lightly. "Malfoy's supposed to be Parkinson's headache."
"Well, I guess he's ours now," Hermione concluded.
They looked at each other with resignation then, without discussing it, got up to leave.
This day definitely needed coffee.
