Chapter 4: Soaked

Maybe you don't like your job, maybe you didn't get enough sleep, well nobody likes their job, nobody got enough sleep. Maybe you just had the worst day of your life, but you know, there's no escape, there's no excuse, so just suck up and be nice.- Ani Difranco

"DRACO MALFOY!"

Draco winced when the tip of his quill snapped at the jolt of his arm thanks to the untimely announcement accompanied by a thunderous slam of the door.

He sighed and said, "Granger, I know you are a masochistic perfectionist in everything you do but I really do not need progress reports four times a day. Which is why I wonder you are yelling like a banshee in my office without my permission, and-" he paused when his eyes landed on a very angry and very wet Hermione Granger standing by his door. "And why are you dripping all over my carpet?"

"It's been raining," she replied almost laboriously, as if she was talking around a mouth of marbles.

"And you found it amusing to stand in the rain then wet my carpet?"

"No," she spat, her teeth grinding. "I've been waiting for a car to pick me up outside my studio so I wouldn't have to walk all the way. But apparently, Marie forgot to ask you to arrange that because she was having a meeting of very high intellectual value with you. It must have been highly engrossing since Lindsay couldn't get your attention even when she was banging on your door. Which, of course, resulted in me hauling my 254-pound luggage from my studio to your office. On foot. And don't even ask why I didn't apparate."

Draco cleared his throat, secretly feeling a a bit threatened by the look Granger was giving him. "Yes, it was a very important meeting. We were discussing the Warner case, if you know what I mean."

"Of course, the purchase was wrapped up two weeks ago," replied Granger snappily. "But considering her cerebral capacity, I suppose Marie needs the hindsight."

"If you knew Marie has such limited cerebral capacity, why did you ask her for a favour in the first place?" asked Draco, pretending to tidy up his paperwork.

"Because your other secretary is up to her eyesballs doing all the work for your other secretary," she answered, crossing her arms. Draco noticed that her black t-shirt was clinging to her body in a way that Granger wouldn't have allowed. Prude.

"Are you ganging up on me with Lindsay already?"

"I don't 'gang up' on anyone," she protested. "I'm just stating the facts that you find so convenient to overlook."

Draco gave her a look. "I didn't know you were such a militant feminist, Granger. You were always hanging around with Potty and Weasel."

"I'm not militant," she shot back, reaching up to push a wet strand of hair that had fallen over her eyes. "I'm just speaking out for Lindsay. It's unfair that she has to work so hard when all Marie does is curling her eyelashes."

He snorted. "Granger, you've only been here for less than eight hours. How the hell would you know?"

"I said Lindsay told me!"

"Ha, and you deny you're ganging up on me?"

"That's not ganging up on you! There's something called conversation!"

"Yes, which is something we cannot carry out like civilised people," said Draco solemnly.

"Well, that's your fault," glowered Granger.

"How mature of you, Granger," observed Draco.

"And it's really mature of you to call people names," she snorted. Her eyes softened a tad as she continued. "I can't see why you still have a grudge against Harry and Ron. You worked together in the Order, for Merlin's sake."

Draco arced an eyebrow. "Well, so did we. But did things change between us?"

"It's different," she said quickly.

"How so?"

The glare returned abruptly as the fact that they had not been yelling at each other in the last five seconds sank in.

"Don't you change the topic, Draco Malfoy," she snapped.

"Fine, what were we talking about?" he asked, leaning back on his chair. "Actually, I forget why I am letting you talk at all when I have much more improtant things to do."

"Because you've made a mistake and you know it."

Draco sat up straight at that. "I beg your pardon, Granger. Malfoys don't make mistakes. The word isn't in our vocabulary."

"Oh please, your entire life was a mistake."

Draco didn't even realise how hard that hit him until he found himself on his feet and in five strides crossed the room, glaring down at her.

"You take that back, Granger," he growled venomously in her face.

It was obvious that she wasn't going to back down without a fight. "You- you- Malfoy, it's not my fault that you're choosing to take it the wrong way."

"Which way should I take then?" he snapped.

"I was referring to Marie!" she protested. "The stupid decision of hiring her, okay? Merlin, how sensitive can you get?"

Draco knew what precisely she was referring to, thanks very much.

"Yeah, right. You're a horrible liar, Granger," he seethed.

"I'm not lying!" she exclaimed, turning beet red. "I really was talking about Marie!"

If she was that adament, he'd to play along. "So what's next, Granger? A lecture on how to choose a secretary?"

"Will you stop making fun of me for one moment?"

He snorted at that. "I did not make fun of you. I insulted you."

"That won't be a first," she muttered darkly, turning her face away.

Only then did he notice that he was standing way too close. Putting on a cool smirk, he took a step back from her thoroughly soaked frame, and then the words somehow spilt out of his lips without taking the route through his brain.

"I don't need a bloody lecture from anyone. The least of all from you, Granger," he sneered. He was actually surprised to hear his own voice, it could've frozen the Amazon in five seconds flat. "In case you haven't noticed, I own the biggest business in wizarding London and perhaps in all London, and you, are at my mercy. I would be nicer to me if I were you."

The tension was as thick as blood as they just stood there, glaring at each other so hard as if they were trying to suck the living daylight out of each other by the sheer force they were radiating through their eyes.

Hermione didn't notice that she was heaving in anger until the sound of her panting reached her ears. She was literally bristling. She wouldn't be surprised if she managed to dry herself just by being mad at Malfoy. Sweet Merlin, why, why, why did she sign the contract? He was a slave-driver, a playboy, a thoroughly bad person- and he looked so good in his suit.

Damn.

She should have just sold her soul to the devil.

Malfoy broke eye contact first and commented lightly, "By the way, you're still dripping all over my carpet."

She shook herself out of her trance and retorted, "You can only blame yourself for your incompetency in hiring a secretary like Marie."

"Now, now, Granger, what did we just discuss about attitudes?"

"We discussed nothing," huffed Hermione. "You threatened me."

"That wouldn't have been necessary if you weren't acting like a wailing banshee."

"I did not act like a banshee!" she said through clenched teeth, crossing her arms. "You were acting like a complete ferr-"

"I really am not in the mood for any more ridiculous comments on my resemblence to an ugly animal. I'm anything but ugly," said Malfoy wryly, and sauntered back to his desk while smoothing out his tie. "Now get the hell out of my face."

"Oh no, Malfoy, I'm not done talking."

He turned around and shot her a bored look, leaning on his two hands pressed palms down on the desk. "I'm done listening."

Hermione ignored him and bent down to pick up the roll of fabric she had deposited on the carpet after her entrance as a fuming volcano, and walked towards his desk at which he had seated himself comfortably.

"This," she informed him, "is a very special fabric imported from Indonesia, 100 percent organic. It is woven from three different variations of the cotton plant in a factory in the poorest region of the country. Everything is done by hand, from threading to weaving to dying. The fabric is very delicate and shrinks when it is wet, so it can only be dry-washed and has to be handled very carefully-"

"Granger, I suggest you bore someone else with your Indonesian fabric trivia," deadpanned Malfoy, opening a file labelled "Watts Telecommunications" and pretended to start reading. "I, unlike you, am a very busy entrepreneur."

Ignoring him, she continued, "The weavers who work in the factory are single women who all have families to support."

She stopped and waited for some kind of response, but he simply leafed through his files as if she were nonexistent.

"They work fifteen hours a day just to feed their children," she tried again.

He looked up and stared at her.

Hermione placed a hand on her hip. "You don't get it, do you?"

Malfoy blinked. "Is there anything to 'get' at all?"

"This," Hermione shook the roll in front of his face, "is the sweat and blood of those women."

"So?" asked Malfoy.

Hermione emitted a sound that was somewhere between a strangled groan and a frustrated shriek.

"Those underprivileged women spend thirty-three hours on just one roll of fabric. One!" She put one finger up to emphasize her point. "Do you have any idea how much fabric you just wasted? Washed down the drain, literally?"

Malfoy drawled offhandedly. "No. So sue me. Or better yet, why don't you go pioneer another one of those stupid societies you're so fond of? You can call it F.A.B.R.I.C. Federation Against Berserk Ruining of Indonesian Cloth. Or W.A.S.T.E.D. War Against Stupid and Terribly Emotional Designers. Actually, I'm planning on join the latter. There really should be laws to protect us innocent citizens from the wrath of radical vegan designers-"

Whack!

"Ow! What in Merlin's name are you do-" whack! "Auugh! You bit-" whack! "Stop! Are you m-" whack! "GRANGER!"

She yelped when Malfoy grabbed the other end of the roll and pulled with more force than she thought his slender frame would've possibly mustered, and was unceremoniously hauled onto his mahogany desk, face down, while still hanging on for dear life.

"Let go, Malfoy!" shrieked Hermione, thoroughly embarrassed to be half-sprawled on his desk in a most unelegant position.

With a grunt, Malfoy wrestled the weapon from Hermione's grip and, in a tangle of her own limbs, she tumbled off the table and onto the plush carpet with a shrill screech, bringing half of the desk's paperwork and a few ornate vases down with her, which shattered when they hit each other in mid-air.

Meanwhile, a few metres away, Blaise Zabini stepped out of the lift just in time to hear a terrible crash from behind the doors of Malfoy's office and a womanly voice screaming his name.

"What did he do this time?" he asked like a distressed father. "Did he break another of her 400-galleons-manicured nails?"

"That happened an hour ago," reported Lindsay. "Marie is already at her manicurist."

"So you're telling me there's someone else other than me and Marie who can get Malfoy's knickers in such a twist?" Blaise faked a mortified look.

"Yes," answered the secretary, making it very clear that she did not find it funny.

"I'm going in then," he told her. She shrugged and returned her attention to her laptop.

After patting off some imaginary dust from his shoulder, Blaise winked at Lindsay (who shot him a look that told him to stop dallying and get in there) then pushed the doors open in a flourish-

-and was rooted to the floor when something that looked like a pole sailed through the air and only missed him by a mere inch.

"Who do you think you are to talk like that?"

Blaise's eyes snapped to the woman who was yelling at Malfoy like Pansy often yelled at himself. She looked vaguely familiar. The brown hair and the pale skin. Wait, was she soaked to the skin?

"You're still the selfish, spoiled brat who thinks the world revolves around you!" she continued at an admirable vocal level.

"At least I'm not still playing superhero, Granger," snickered a very flushed Malfoy from across the room by the bookshelf.

Ah! Hermione Granger. Of course.

Blaise smiled. He contented himself with closing the doors with a quiet click and leant back to watch the game.

Meanwhile Granger had crossed her arms defensively and said, "I never said I'm out to save the world."

"Of course you're not. You just happen to have an obsession with societies with disgusting names like SPEW-"

"It's S.P.E.W.," she bit out.

"Exactly." Malfoy spread his arms out as if making a point. "Get real, Granger. You can't even save yourself."

Blaise perked up. What? Hermione Granger couldn't save herself?

"Besides you are such a sissy like- ZABINI!"

Shit.

Blaise winced, but promptly pasted on a wide smile and said, "Malfoy! Glad you noticed me standing there mate. And that you think I'm a sissy." He swung to his right and gave Granger his most charming smile. "Miss Granger! So good to have you here at Malfoy International. We need brains like yours, we really do."

"Zabini, what the hell are you doing in here?" snapped Malfoy, very ungraciously, in his opinion.

"Well I heard some pretty ominous sounds in here, I thought there might be trouble of some sort," he explained, surveying the room which was disarranged, to say the least. "I guess I was right, wasn't I?"

Malfoy nodded at Hermione and started cleaning up with a few muttered charms. "She's all the trouble."

Blaise watched her eyes widen in fury as she gasped, "I beg your pardon, who are you calling trouble?"

Malfoy obviously did not know how the saying "hell hath no fury like a woman scorned" went, or he simply had a death wish, because he went on harshly.

"I'm sorry, did I call you a 'she'? My mistake!"

Blaise nearly slapped him for saying that to a lady (because he was a very chivalrous man, unlike Malfoy), but Hermione beat him to it. Or would've, if he hadn't stepped in and held her back.

"Now, now, Miss Granger, calm down," he said soothingly, patting her back, which was rising and falling rapidly. "Malfoy's just trying to get a rise out of you. Now take a deeeep breath-"

"What are you, Zabini, her midwife?" sneered Malfoy, furiously thrusting misplaced papers back onto his table.

Blaise laughed good-naturedly. "You seriously need anger management classes, mate, that's all I can say."

"No objections to that," he heard Granger murmur as she freed herself from his grasp.

"Believe me, she needs them more than I do," returned Malfoy, easing into his chair.

When Hermione stood up again she had a bag on each shoulder and clutching one to her stomach.

"I want my cloth back, Malfoy," she said frostily.

Blaise looked on as Malfoy picked up the pole that nearly hit him and tossed it from hand to hand.

"And get whacked like a fly?" he snorted. "Thanks, but no thanks, Granger. Get out of my office. Now."

She made a disgusted noise but said nothing, then simply slammed the door close behind her so hard that a few books fell from their rightful places.

"No wonder you have a new woman on your arm every twenty minutes," commented Blaise.

Malfoy barked a humourless laugh. "Please. Hermione Granger? A woman? Try female troll. An insane female troll at that."

"So what was that about?" he asked, grabbing one of the chairs that was miles away from where it should be and pushed it back to its place, sitting down.

"Zabini?"

"Yeah?"

"Will you just drop it?"

"That bad, huh?"

Malfoy only glared at him.

Blaise grinned. "I'll drop it if you tell me what Miss Granger's doing for the company."

"I'll do neither," replied Malfoy firmly.

"Then I guess I can't invite you to our housewarming dinner this weekend," lamented Blaise.

Malfoy sighed deeply. "Just get out, Zabini."

"Worn you out, hasn't she?" he asked cheeikly, eyeing his loose tie and disheveled hair.

Blaise made a run for it before Malfoy's quill stand hit him a second time that day.

Edited 28 May 2012

I'm back! Sorry for taking so long to update, I've been very busy but I'm glad I've finally typed this up. Thanks for the amazing reviews guys, they really push me on to write better and longer chapters. The statistics are amazing, thanks to everyone who added this story to their favourites and alerts! I really appreciate it. I hope this chapter was worth the wait. I've written it three times to get it right. The next update might take a while because I have other projects right now, but of course, I'll update as soon as I can, no worries!