Disclaimer: I'm not JK, she owns the characters and all things magical.
-Hermione Granger-
Friday morning I made my way into work early, hoping to get a head start and avoid every witch and wizard who had been so eager to stop and 'chat' yesterday morning in the Atrium. The Prophet had, as expected, published a photograph of Oliver kissing me Thursday morning with a glee that was barely contained in print. Everywhere I'd gone that day I saw the chaste kiss (in comparison to the one in the fireplace) reflected back at me and, because it was a Wizarding photograph, it was animated; honestly, a girl could develop a complex. It had certainly put me off my lunch.
Today I'd vowed to have a Prophet free day. I would get to work early, respond to any owls at the top of my in-tray (although none concerning Oliver, obviously) and I would enjoy work. It was imperative that, for once, I tried to enjoy work. Last night when I was lying awake, thinking about everything but my inability to sleep, I'd decided that half my problem was that I'd resolved to not enjoy Magical Law anymore. Because the environment could be so caustic, I'd resigned myself to it and had subconsciously chosen to be unhappy. It was, admittedly, a three-am rationalisation. That didn't stop me wanting to give it a go though so, at six in the morning, after two hours sleep, I got up and came into the office with the full intention of proving myself wrong.
The first thing I noticed after arriving was that the sun wasn't even up yet, I'd used the floo (an experience that now left me blushing) to get to the Atrium and the first window I'd paused to look through was that in the office. Magical Maintenance liked us quite a bit, thank Merlin, and weren't inclined to punish us as much as they were the other departments (something we credited to legal knowledge – the Aurors got off lightly too). Our windows usually tended to be true to time and season, though, if they were feeling generous, we were likely to get a lot more sunny days than was typical for England, especially in November. The sky was cloudless and still quite starry; MM did like to exercise their creativity by eradicating the light pollution of London so we could (if we were at work during the night) still see them. A violet and pastel blue tinge coloured the sky with only a faint stroke of pale red suggesting the coming dawn, it was beautiful in a way that made me distrustful, though I knew the sky capable of such moving sunrises I always got suspicious of magically presented ones – they never rung as true.
I turned away, chastising myself for getting so distracted by a painted sky when I'd come in early to do some work. I was still somewhat behind, my in-tray now measured in at ten inches of parchment and scrolls, and I wanted to give off a good impression this morning. Today would be a good day.
Six hours later, with the promise of a lunch break looming, I was finally getting on top of the chaos (in that I could now see the doorway over the pile rather than having my view entirely restricted). Mr Campbell had been by a few times and, though he was still quite clear in his disapproval (although what he disapproved of, I couldn't be sure), he'd also given me a tight nod and told me 'well done', in regards to the Baker case – praise that, though little, I'd take without query.
It was all going so well that, when a familiar face crossed the threshold of the office and started to approach me, I actually waved and smiled at her before it dawned on me why she was here. She'd never visited me before, she would probably never visit me again (something I didn't realise until after her motive was clear), and we hadn't even been particularly close at Hogwarts, so of course she was here for the gossip. And that was when the day fell into rapid decline.
Though I'd shared a room with Parvati Patil for six years (for being pureblood she had been able to stay on for her seventh year rather than going back after the war like I had), we had never been particularly tight friends. We'd chat in our later years if the occasion arose or if Lavender and Padma weren't around to keep her company and we'd sit next to each other at breakfast while the boys and Ginny had Quidditch practice but that really was it.
The last time I'd seen her had been two years ago, she was working at St Mungos researching alternative magical therapies, a solution offered to Ron after he'd injured himself during a Cannons match. I'd gone along for the appointment and, while Parvati and I had shared some polite conversation, that was the beginning and end of it.
Yet here she was, in the flesh, and the need for a 'legal consultation' to boot. It all seemed quite convenient.
"I'm not really sure that I'm the one who can help you, Parvati, you should go to one of the senior members…" I told her. She'd marched over and sat directly in front of me, I was actually quite sure that I was not the person to help her at all; I was a glorified skivvy and certainly not qualified to give her the legal advice she was so insistent on (although she'd yet to even hint at any actual problem).
"Oh, I suppose you're right," she replied, making a show of seeming contrite. "I just thought it would be so good for us to see each other again. It's been so long since we last saw each other."
I tried to not let suspicion colour my voice, but I couldn't really help it. "Yes, it has," I said, not wanting to give her an inch.
"So, what's new with you?" she asked, her nonchalance barely masking the eagerness in her eyes – she was here for gossip.
"Oh nothing much," I replied, my smile fixed now, I wanted to get back to work and then lunch. "Still working here," I added pointedly.
"And dating Oliver Wood?" she added not even feigning insouciance anymore.
"Yes," I said tersely, "and dating Oliver Wood."
She smiled with satisfaction, "how's he?"
"Pardon?"
"How is he? It's been so long since I last saw him," her face was wistful and I couldn't help but feel confused, though I hadn't spent much time (none at all in fact) in Oliver's circle of friends, I had been fairly sure she wasn't a part of it.
"When did you last see him?" I asked, trying not to sound too suspicious.
Her eyes darted shiftily and she refused to make eye contact with me, "oh, at a Quidditch match a few months ago…"
I stared at her frankly, "to talk to, Parvati?"
"Oh, no, I suppose I haven't spoken to him since…" she pauses trying to think. "Since he accidentally broke my Gobstones set in the charms corridor and offered to replace them." She says with an expression of sheer pride, clearly she was amazed that she had remembered (as was I).
I made a show of exasperation, "that was in second year, Parvati!"
"Oh my, hasn't time flown!" She sounded so surprised it was comical.
"Do you even have a legal problem?" I asked, giving up and cutting to the chase. She was wasting my time and any minute now Mr Campbell would-
"Granger!" I heard him yell and cringed, too late. "You're not taking personal time during work are you?"
"No, sir," if I could talk myself out of this it would be a miracle, I was already on thin ice with him. "Ms Patil came to me with a legal problem…"
"Oh, did she? Well why didn't you forward her to one of the senior members?" He asked, latching on to the knowledge that I would be in the wrong on two counts now, I really wasn't qualified to talk to Parvati about her problems when there were more able senior members – it was a very backwards system as it nearly entirely denied me experience.
"Well, I tried, sir," I told him making my voice as insistent and forceful as I dared.
"…and instead you chose to have a personal conversation on my time," he continued, his contempt for me hardly disguised on his face. "Ms Patil, if you'd follow me for some proper legal advice, I'm sure I could help you much better anyways." He raised an arm to lead her away as she gathered her things looking sheepish. She could either fabricate a better 'legal problem' or land me even more in the dragon dung, and, as she followed him to his office, I was fairly sure I'd just end up in more trouble either way.
-Oliver Wood-
Her message had been simple, sent by an owl with no instruction to stick around for an answer, "Jealous Duck, 8pm. H x". Her brash tone left me thinking it would be best to assume the worst so, at 19:50, I made my way to the pub where we'd first got to know one another and chose a table in the corner, prepared to settle in for the duration.
Two hours later she was slurring and slumped across the table, "you know what I hate? Oliver, you know what I hate?"
Oh, sweet Merlin, I thought to myself with a sigh, this was a test of our 'relationship' without a doubt and an angry emotional drunk Hermione Granger was not to be scoffed at. "No, Hermione, what do you hate?" I asked with insurmountable patience.
"I hate my boss, Oliver!" she told me loudly. "He's a prick! He hates me and I hate him and I hate his silly, stupid, stuck up job!" the 's's were blending together and one of the neighbouring tables was staring.
Trying very hard not to roll my eyes I asked the question I knew she would knock back immediately but had played on my mind ever since I met her, "I know, Hermione. Why don't you quit it?"
She looked at me aghast, "I can't quit, Oliver Wood!"
"And why not? You hate it, he hates you, you're the brightest witch of our age, remember? Do something more worthwhile, something you enjoy if you're so brassed off with it."
"Like what?" she scoffed, "what else could I do?"
"Anything! Anything you wanted to, Hermione. You could become an Auror, go to an independent law firm, study something else…"I trailed off, having drunk enough that even I was struggling to come up with options for her. "Merlin, you could even start your own newspaper if you put your mind to it!" Admittedly I was clutching at straws but I truly believed she could do anything she wanted and she needed to know that.
"A newspaper?" she asked with a laugh.
"Yep! A new Prophet, put them in their place, challenge them, give them a competition, force them to report the truth if they want to keep up with you."
"You know what I think, Oliver?" she asked, eyes sparkling with mirth.
"No, Hermione, what do you think?" I replied, smiling at her clear happiness (though how much of it was caused by inebriation, I wasn't sure).
"I think you're drunk!" she told me with smug satisfaction.
"You're one to talk, sweetheart."
Saturday morning came with a hefty hangover and a strain in my back, I squirmed around trying to stretch out before I realised I wasn't at home in bed. Feck. I opened my eyes with trepidation, not entirely sure I wanted to know where I'd ended up, if I were in Hermione's bed and it was this uncomfortable then we'd need to have words. It turned out I was curled up and cramped on her fabric sofa, and though it was wide, it wasn't particularly long which certainly explained the pain in my back. I groaned wearily, why on earth was the overhead light on so early? Why was the world carrying on? Didn't they know it hurt?
"Morning!" Hermione sung at me from her kitchen table, questionably chipper.
"Morning," I groaned in response, "why the bloody hell are you so awake? You drunk more than me," I didn't begrudge her lack of hangover at all. Not one bit.
"A lot of coffee and motivation," she explained. "I have too much to do to allow myself to be held back this morning by a silly hangover."
I squinted at her, only now noticing the mass of parchment surrounding her, "what's motivated you then?" I asked, curious now and trying to subtly sniff out the location of the coffee pot – unlike someone I couldn't abate a hangover with sheer force of will.
"You! Oliver, you motivated me, last night!" she said brightly, leaving my somewhat stunned.
"Crumbs, what did I do last night then? Was it good for me too? And why am I on the sofa if it was…"
She shot me an amused look, "and I thought I drank more than you, Christ, Oliver. We came back, you (very chivalrously) offered to kip on the couch, though I think you were scared I'd puke again more than anything… Anyway, last night, you told me to quit my job-"
"I've been saying that for weeks, hardly new," I interrupted with an exasperated sigh.
"-and start a newspaper. So I am. That's what I'm going to do," she was very matter of fact and smiling, smiling more than I'd ever seen her smile.
"What?" I asked, floored by her answer.
"You told me to start my own newspaper," she explained patiently, waiting for me to catch up.
I strained to think back to the previous evening, "did I?"
"Yeah, I dismissed it at first, of course, but then this morning I was thinking and, actually, it seems quite smart, well done."
"Okay, firstly, less patronising, please," only when she looked abashed I continued, "secondly, a newspaper? I didn't think journalism was your thing?" I asked hesitantly, not wanting to discourage her, but at the same time unsure she'd thought it through entirely.
"It's not," she conceded, "but an editorial role would be, and I think the need for an alternative daily is enough that it outweighs any aversion I have to journalism."
"We do need an alternative, everyone curses the Prophet but does nothing to stop buying it – other than the wireless it's our only source of news."
"Exactly and I think it's time to change that!"
"Perfect, need me to do anything?" though mentally begging her to say no and let me go back to sleep, I didn't want to discourage her and, when I was less hungover, helping seemed a good idea.
"Have any journo contacts looking for a job away from the Prophet?" She asked hopefully.
"There are probably a few I can owl, test the waters…" I admitted, trying not to sound too hesitant.
"You could do that then," I must've blanched because her face suddenly turned sympathetic. "After you have coffee and the bacon sandwich warming in the oven."
"Bless you, Hermione Granger." I told her before getting up and setting to work, bacon sandwich in hand.
A.N. Okay, so, there's a one-shot called Gobstones that accompanies this that I've added to An Aerial Approach, it's the incident with the Gobstones set that is certainly not a must read but there if you're interested. I wanted the opportunity to write a more rounded Parvati, less gossip hungry and I was interested in the dynamic she'd have had with Padma… This would have been updated a few days ago but our internet is still down and Starbucks (in the UK) has now decided to block . The horror. Ta for all the feedback and everything, as always it's lovely to receive and a massive cheer up at the moment.
