Author's Note: Not Rowling. If there's still time by the time you read this, I'd realy appreciate a vote for my story "February Fifteenth," before the poll on the Twin Exchange forum page closes on March 1st. Thanks much!

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DAY THIRTY-SEVEN

Hermione opened the door to the flat and headed in, exhausted. Her day had been absolute chaos. First, Jonathan had been out sick with the flu, as had four other staff members. The copy editor had come to work completely out of his mind from much too much medication, determined to make it to work despite his horrible head cold, and had ended up sending a copy filled with errors to the printer, forcing Hermione to rush down and rescind the whole order just as they were about to be sent out to the public. And just to top it off, she felt as if the flu was creeping into her system. She shut the door behind her and headed to her room, letting her bag slide off her shoulder and hit the ground with a loud thunk.

"Hello Hermione," called George from somewhere in the apartment.

"Hi," she called back. She was just in the middle of unzipping her skirt when she heard a knock on the front door.

"Can you get that?" the both yelled at the same time. Hermione sighed. "I've got it," she called. She headed out of her room and to the door, zipping her skirt back up as she did so. She opened the door and, to her complete surprise, Cressida Collingsworth strode in. "Yes, please come in," Hermione muttered sarcastically as she shut the door.

Cressida turned her waiflike body, clad today in a deep, eggplant-purple wrap dress, and gave Hermione a condescending glance. "Sarcasm is so unattractive."

Hermione took a deep breath, trying to steady herself. All the reasons why she did not like her former flatmate were rushing back to her. "Cressida, why are you here?"

"Well," she drawled in a bored fashion, glancing at her long, almond-shaped nails, today covered with onyx polish, "You paid through the end of this month and since you weren't there, I decided to refund you. Merlin knows you could use the money."

"You're such a giver," replied Hermione dryly.

"Yes, I know," she replied with a minute toss of her ebony hair. She fished through the mahogany crocodile skin handbag that hung off her twig-like left arm and pulled out a small drawstring bag that jangled and clinked as she moved it. She handed it over to Hermione, who took it, rather surprised.

"Thank you, Cressida." The model shrugged in reply, her eyes scanning the apartment, her lips pursing ever so slightly. "By the way, how did you know where I live now? I never left an address with you."

"Yes, of that I am aware," Cressida replied with a self-pitying sigh. "I had to go all the way to your work and I wanted to leave it there, but they wouldn't let me so I demanded I have your new address. You could hardly expect me to make it down there a second time in order to meet you there."

"Yes, that would be exhausting, wouldn't it?"

Either missing or ignoring the sarcasm, Cressida replied with a sigh, followed by, "Well, I must be-." Her words faded away and Hermione, who hadn't been watching her, suddenly looked over, wondering why she had stopped talking.

George had just walked out from his bedroom, too busy pulling on a t-shirt over his head, his hair still damp from the shower, to notice the two women in the room. His head popped out from the shirt and he looked around, freezing when he saw Cressida, a slight frown on his face, obviously trying to place her. Hermione glanced over at Cressida and saw she was practically salivating as her eyes locked onto George's toned midriff over which he had yet to pull his shirt. Catching himself, he finished pulling on his shirt and smiled genially.

"So sorry. I didn't know we had company. I would have come out fully dressed if I had known," he joked. He walked forward and held out his hand to shake. "George Weasley."

As he talked, Cressida's manner did a complete one-eighty. Her bored, aloof demeanor was suddenly replaced with the sultry manner that Hermione knew she turned on when faced with a member of the opposite sex. Her pouty lips had now curved into a smile and her violet eyes suddenly glinted predatorily. "Cressida Collingsworth," she replied smoothly. "I wasn't informed Hermione's new flatmate was a man."

"Well, I was informed that Hermione's old flatmate was a woman," George countered jokingly. Cressida let out a tinkling laugh which made Hermione grimace.

"Cressida, weren't you just leaving?" asked Hermione pointedly.

"No," replied Cressida slowly, looking George up and down, "I don't believe I was."

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"And then I did this fabulous shoot in Moscow. The art director was fabulous, totally understood what the designer's vision was. He did try to put me in back and put that twat Zoya my spot in the front because she's Russian, but that was shot down quite quickly. Naturally, it came out stunning. I'm currently having that cover framed to hang in my kitchen."

Hermione's forehead slipped from the hand holding it and she awoke with a start. She had been dozing in and out as Cressida babbled on about her modeling career, for…Hermione checked her watch, for twenty minutes now. Hermione had already heard most of the stories, having had to deal with her for a whole year, but she thought she had escaped this mind-numbingly and disgustingly egotistical twaddle when she moved in with George. Speaking of George… Hermione looked over from her edge of the sofa to George, who sat in the armchair across from the other end of the couch, where he faced Cressida. Hermione recognized the glazed over eyes and small smile that she had always seen on Ron's face in the middle of History of Magic. She snorted, which seemed to rouse George, who blinked a few times as he came to, careful to maintain the small smile so it looked like he had been paying rapt attention all along.

"That's just fascinating. Well, I hate to cut this lovely time short," said George suddenly, shooting Cressida a handsome smile, "but Hermione and I have to head over to a friend's house in a few minutes, and he hates when we're late."

"Oh," said Cressida, her tone light and airy. "Well, I'd hate to impose." She smiled sweetly, and Hermione resisted the strong urge to make a derisive noise. They all stood and headed towards the front door.

"It was very nice meeting you, Cressida," said George politely, holding out his hand for her to shake.

Cressida smiled seductively and, with a quick flick of her head, tossed her dark hair ever so slightly so it showed more of her swan-like neck. "It was wonderful to meet you, George." She shook his hand, her hand lingering in his for a beat more than necessary. George smiled at her and headed back towards his room, leaving Hermione and Cressida alone once again. She turned and, as if flipping a switch, she shifted back to her usual self. "How in the world does someone that handsome deal with you on a regular basis?"

Rather taken aback by such a blunt comment, it took Hermione a moment to collect herself. "Thank you for bringing the money, Cressida. I appreciate it."

"Yes," she replied in her normal, bored drawl as she walked to the front door. She opened it and began to walk out but as she walked through the doorframe, Hermione following her, she turned. "He's single, right?" she asked, her perfectly sculpted eyebrows raising expectantly.

"He's gay," Hermione replied shortly before shutting the door in the woman's face.

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DAY THIRTY-NINE

"Miss Granger?"

Hermione looked up from the papers scattered across her desk, her quill between her teeth, her hair sticking out at odd angles from the bun she had tied it up in agitatedly a little while earlier. "Huh?"

"Miss Granger?"

It was Jonathan, waiting just outside her door. "Oh, come in." The door opened and he stepped in before closing the door behind him quietly. "Sorry, Jonathan. I'm a bit off this week."

He smiled at her before walking over to her shelf, on which a mug and a pitcher of water stood. He neatly poured some water and tapped the mug with his wand. It began to steam and he dropped a teabag into it before walking over and setting it on her desk. "I've noticed," he said kindly. She smiled thankfully and carefully swirled her cup, making sure the tea was steeping. "I figured I'd come in to prepare you." Her eyes moved from the delicate swirls the steam was making to his face, where his blue-gray eyes watched her almost worriedly.

"Prepare me for what?" she replied warily.

"Mr. Rockwell is coming up to see you."

Hermione let out and aggravated sigh. "Why? Why on earth does he keep pestering me?" She saw Jonathan's eyes flick down, as if he was uncomfortable with the topic. "Scrap that. We both know why," she muttered, as Jonathan mutely nodded his head. "So what's the excuse this time?"

He referred to the planner he kept with him at all times. "This time it's about the coverage of the scandal with the Wimbourne Wasps."

"Lovely," replied Hermione sarcastically. "Well, send him in when he gets here."

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"So you see," Thomas Rockwell said smoothly from the chair on the other side of her desk, "We need to try and keep the press coverage down."

"Mister Rockwell, it is my reporters' duties to find the truth, regardless of the coach's or your want to keep this matter under wraps," she said in her most official tone.

"But this is a highly sensitive matter, one that should remain as out of the public eye as possible, due to any problems it might create for the teams and for the players themselves."

"This is utterly ridiculous. Why are you, the Head of Magical Games and Sports talking to me about this? This is an issue for the players involved, or at least their coaches and press advisors."

"Well, this is a touchy subject as it involves two of England's top-ranking teams, who are strong rivals, and-"

"And is therefore the jurisdiction of the teams themselves-"

"Jurisdiction is not yours to decide, Miss Granger," said Thomas, cutting her off, his tone just edging into anger. He grit his teeth and his jaw, across which a slight shadow of stubble was visible, became even more angular and defined.

"And what I publish is not yours to decide," said Hermione acidly. "Maybe Jack Alfray should have kept it in his trousers and not cheated on his wife with the beater for the Appleby Arrows. Then we wouldn't have this problem."

"Do you have a problem with me, Miss Granger?" Thomas shot back.

Hermione smiled wryly. "I have a problem with you trying to tell me how to do my job."

"Then why won't you go to lunch with me?" he asked quickly, his dark eyes focused on hers as he leaned forward slightly in his chair, towards her.

Her eyebrows shot up, taken aback for only a moment before she resumed an emotionless expression. "Because I don't fancy arguing constantly and ruining a perfectly good meal. We've had this discussion before, Mister Rockwell."

"No, we haven't. You've given me crap excuses every time I bring it up." A hint of a smirk played around his lips as he waited for a response.

"I don't date people I work with," she replied evenly. "Plus, I'm seeing someone."

He snorted. "Seeing someone."

"Is that supposed to be amusing?" she snapped.

"It's nothing serious. You've only been on a date or two. You're not invested yet. He's just a scapegoat." He was definitely smirking now. Hermione was taken aback and her lips parted in shock, not sure what to say to this unexpected yet completely true statement. He smiled, his perfect white teeth gleaming as the sunlight pouring through her windows rested on his face. "You'll come around." He stood and sauntered slightly as he walked to the door. He opened it and turned to face her, his dark eyes gleaming as they surveyed her. "And next time I expect a better excuse, Hermione, being a writer and all."

He smirked and winked before walking out, the door closing with a snap behind him.