Nearly 30 minutes later, Hermione swung the door to her small office open wide, relishing in the loud thud which echoed as it met the hard wood wall.

"How do they expect us to conduct business?" she asked the empty room. "Looks more like the Janus Thickly Ward on double pudding day then a government office." The last bit she muttered under her breath.

Swinging her briefcase, she allowed it to land on her desk with a smack before removing her robes and tossing them onto a chair in the corner. Merlin, was she in a bad mood! But running the gauntlet that was now the Ministry would put anyone in a bad mood.

She sat down behind her desk and immediately reached into her drawer for a potion to keep her growing headache at bay. As she leaned forward, searching deeper for the vile she knew was there, but was somehow evading her, the collar of her blouse gaped, allowing the pendant beneath to dangle away from her chest.

"Granger," the deep sugary drawl of her name startled her, and she straightened too quickly, almost falling out of her chair as her eyes shot to her doorway. That's when she felt it, as her shirt again drew taut against her body, pulling the charmed necklace back flush against her chest.

IT WAS HOT!

She gasped, and she reached up to tug at the offending object. As her slender fingers wrapped around it, she could feel the heat radiating outward through the thin fabric of her blouse. On instinct, she pulled, attempting to rip it from her neck, but only succeeding in jerking her own head forward.

"You alright there, Granger?" Their eyes locked.

No! Not him. Godric, anyone but him.

He must have noticed the panic in her expression, because it was then that the tall Slytherin began to truly take in the sight of her, eyes finally landing on her hand clutching at her chest. Realization dawned on him, and he stepped fully into her office.

"Breathe, Granger. Just Breathe." His voice was calm and low. His hands out, palms down and flat as he stepped slowly toward her, reminding her of someone approaching a hippogriff for the first time.

She stood up, knocking her chair over with the backs of her knees. He froze.

"It's ok, Granger. It's not me. I'm not your match."

Her head cocked to the side. "W-what?"

"That's what's happening here, right? Your pendant, it's growing hotter?"

"Yes! But-"

"Mine's not," he offered, cutting her off mid thought.

"It burns!" She cried out.

"Does it? Does it really? Or are you just panicking?" He was moving toward her again, quicker, but still just as cautiously. He walked around her desk, and she summoned all of her Gryffindor courage to keep her feet in place. She wouldn't run. Even if THIS WIZARD was her fate.

He reached out his hand, and slowly pried her fingers loose. The necklace fell back against her skin, and she realized he was right. It was warmer, definitely warmer, but it wasn't red hot. It didn't burn.

Still holding her hand, he turned it over, palm up, as he reached under his robes and pulled on his own silver chain, revealing its pendant. Pulling her hand toward him, he gingerly dangled it over her hand, finally letting it drop into her waiting palm.

She breathed in a shuttered breath. It was cold; Ice cold. She closed her fingers around it, relishing in the feel of it. Tears of relief fell down her face, before she realized she was pulling on the necklace, forcing the wizard's neck at an odd angle.

"S-Sorry," she offered, letting go and withdrawing her hand.

He pulled a monogramed handkerchief from his pocket and handed it to her before walking back around the desk and toward her doorway.

"I'll try not to be terribly offended that the idea of marrying me sends you into such a state." That practiced drawl was back. How she hated it. So holier-than-thou.

Hermione was overcome with embarrassment; at allowing this man to see her in such a weak state as well as for being so insensitive at the prospect of him being her match.

"I didn't mean to-"

He held up a hand, turning to look at her over his broad shoulder, a playful smirk on his face. "I'm only joking. Besides, you're not really my type either."

Relieved at his word and the relaxed expression on his face, Hermione breathed easy, even allowing a small smile to grace her lips.

"I know. I'm not rich OR married. Isn't that your type?"

He laughed. "What can I say? I have expensive taste and I like a challenge," he paused, "but not quite as much of a challenge as I image you would be."

"Challenge?" she quipped. "More like impossible for the likes of you."

This was good. This was familiar. This was how their interactions usually went.

"Don't lie to yourself, Granger. If it hadn't been for this impossible law, you would have eventually fallen for my charms and landed in my bed."

She rolled her eyes, not even dignifying that ridiculous idea with a response as he walked through the door and turned the corner.

"Wait!" She called out suddenly, and his head appeared again in her doorway.

"Change your mind already?" he purred, waggling his eyebrows at her.

"What did you want, Zabini?" she huffed.

"Besides you in my bed?" She narrowed her gaze on him. Hands moving to her hips as she channeled her inner Molly Weasley. "I'm leaving." He said flatly.

"Forever?" she asked hopefully.

Rolling his head, as if it took extraordinary effort, he stepped back fully in her doorway.

"That depends entirely on how attractive she is."

"Who?"

"The future Mrs. Zabini, of course. I'll be travelling for a while."

She dropped her arms, the pieces finally clicking together in her mind. His pendant had been cold. That means his "Magical Match" was in another country. Her face fell, an expression of understanding and pity that the dark-skinned Slytherin did not appreciate.

"Don't you dare, Granger. I'm not one of your poor house elves. I'll do my duty. I'll go find my wife, wherever she may be. And I'll marry her. But don't you think for a second I won't console every attractive witch I encounter along the way." Just like that, Hermione no longer felt for Blaise Zabini.

He smirked at the disgusted look on her face. "I don't pity you. I pity your future wife."

As she turned to pick up her abandoned chair, she could hear his deep laughter as he disappeared down the hallway and toward the lifts.

A few minutes later, the increased heat on her chest faded to the now familiar warmth, reminding her of her own "Magical Match."