So it appears that my brain thinks it has more to say on this one. Thank you to those of you who find cynicism, snark and sarcasm amusing – any suggestions for what I should call this thing?

It was ridiculous how ornate and fussy this building was. I mean, even the employee lift she was currently riding to her doom in was panelled with carved mahogany. She was not looking forward to having to clean that, if she got the job.

If she got the job.

It hadn't escaped her attention that meeting with the CEO of the company had not been one of the twenty-eight activities listed on the interview day schedule, but she had always considered that it would be a possibility, once someone realised who she was, that Malfoy would take the opportunity to taunt and humiliate her before tossing her back on the street. Pride, however, was an expensive luxury, and Hermione Granger had exactly one month's rent remaining in her bank account. She would not be above a little dignified begging to be allowed to finish the recruitment process like all the other candidates, if it meant that she would be able to afford luxuries like food that month.

She had tried so hard, to keep her head down and blend in during the process, but hadn't been able to prevent herself from allowing just a little snark escape during the essay component. After all, she hadn't thought that they'd bother to read them! Who reads a hundred essays written by janitorial candidates in half an hour? She'd made sure that her contribution was buried within the middle of the pile.

Of course it hadn't worked. Her stomach had sunk when she had emerged from the dexterity testing centre to find Blaise Zabini waiting for her, his face impassive.

'Granger. With me.'

He'd strode off down the corridor, leaving her to scurry after him, desperately trying to read what was coming next. He had stopped outside the lifts and spun to face her.

Hermione privately and slightly hysterically wondered if Snape had given all the young Slytherins swirling lessons, as that was graceful and elegant, and totally in Snape's overdramatic style.

'You're to meet with Malfoy; he's expecting you. Just speak to one of the secretaries when you get out of the lift. Well, in you go. Don't keep Malfoy waiting.'

Leaving her here.

The lift stopped ascending so slowly, she hadn't registered that it had halted until a discreet ping signalled the doors sliding smoothly open, revealing a large, airy office with three polished and efficient secretaries at work.

Hermione suddenly felt like her sensible shoes had glued themselves to the floor of the lift, as she found herself incapable of taking the two steps required to move out into the room.

The doors slid closed.

The doors slid open again, and the closest secretary was smiling at her.

'May I help you, Miss…?'

'Yes! Um.'

She forced herself out of the lift with a lurch, stumbling slightly and landing closer to the desk than she had originally intended.

'Um. Yes. Granger. Ms Granger. I'm here to see Mr Malfoy? About the janitor position?'

'Janitor?' A look of bewilderment crossed the secretary's face, and Hermione steeled herself for the humiliation that was fast approaching.

'Mr Zabini sent me up?'

Hermione hated how uncertain she sounded, but a look of comprehension crossed the secretary's face, followed by an unexpected sympathetic grimace.

'Mr Zabini. Of course.'

She leaned across and pressed the intercom button on her desk.

'Mr Malfoy?'

'Yes?'

'A Ms Granger to see you, sir.'

'Thanks, Petra; would you bring her straight through.'

'Of course, sir. If you would follow me, Ms Granger?'

Petra rose gracefully, instantly making Hermione feel both short and dowdy, and started walking towards the door at the back of the office before half turning and adding conspiratorially 'You don't want to worry too much about Mr Zabini; his sense of humour is a bit twisted, but his heart is in the right place.'

Feeling unexpectedly vulnerable, Hermione smiled up at the taller woman.

'Thank you. I really appreciate that, er…?'

'Petra.'

'Petra. Thank you. I'm Hermione.'

'Hermione? What a lovely name.'

Petra swung open the door to an even larger office than the previous, which seemed to be surprisingly empty. Petra kept walking across the room, and Hermione, who had paused on the threshold, had to hasten after her. When they reached a second door Petra knocked then opened it, gesturing for Hermione to go through.

'Good luck!'

'Thanks'

Hermione smiled awkwardly, straightened her spine and walked hesitantly in to the room. A man who was unmistakably the Draco Malfoy she had gone to school with was rising from behind a large desk completely cluttered with papers and walking towards her. What was unsettling and confusing was that he was doing so with a smile on his face and his hand outstretched to shake.

'Granger, thank you for taking the time to see me today.'

'Um.'

Hermione looked at the outstretched hand for half a beat longer than was comfortable, before lifting her own hand to complete the courtesy.

'Only Hermione Granger would attend an interview for a janitorial position wearing a suit.'

Hermione stiffened involuntarily, but neither Malfoy's tone nor face appeared to be mocking, simply an invitation to shared humour.

'I find it best to try to give a good impression.'

At this his eyebrow did quirk upwards in a flash of amusement.

'In that suit?'

Before Hermione could feel more than a flash of the angry blush that surged up, Malfoy had turned away, heading to a more informal seating area at the side of the office.

'Would you take a seat?'

This was not proceeding according to the template Hermione had mapped out in her head, and she found it disturbing. However, one character trait that remained strong in Hermione Granger was that she absolutely hated not knowing what was going on. She took a calming breath and followed him over, perching gingerly on the edge of a far too comfortable arm chair.

'Great. So the starting salary is 30,000 galleons, but we can renegotiate after six months if I'm satisfied with your performance…'

'Thirty th!'

'There's also an apartment directly below mine that you will be expected to live in; I work long hours, and I need you on call to sort out any mess at any time I call.'

'Wh..?'

'I'll also need you to start straight away; right this minute if possible. Does that work for you?'

'Whoa, whoa, whoa! You. You pay your janitors 30,000 galleons?!'

'Janitors? … Fucking Zabini. Granger, I apologise for my employee's inappropriate sense of humour. I'm not offering you the janitor position, I'm offering you my Executive Assistant post.'

'Executive. Assistant?'

'That's right.'

'Not, a janitor?'

'If you're really keen to practice your cleaning charms, your office next door might need freshening up; it's been empty for a few months… Seriously though, Granger, it's your brain I need. Zabini was supposed to have briefed you on all of this, the wanker. You would essentially be my right hand, prepping for deals, making sure the paperwork is watertight, troubleshooting any problems. I work hard and I expect a lot, but the pay and benefits are excellent. What do you say?'

It wasn't often that Hermione Granger found herself lost for words. She had come here expecting to beg for a minimum wage job with a side of added humiliation, but instead she was being treated like a human and given a frankly attractive opportunity.

'If I say, yes, is Voldemort going to burst through that door doing a cancan?'

Malfoy threw back his head with a bark of surprised laughter.

'That's the door to my private washroom, and it was totally Voldie-free that last time I checked. I'm not the kid I was at school. I don't think any of us are.'

Hermione took a deep breath.

'Ok'

'Ok?'

'Ok.'

'Awesome.'

With a flick of his wand, the paperwork gathered itself up neatly from Malfoy's desk and sailed through to the next room, arranging itself on the desk there.

'We're meeting with Poppleton in four hours to sign a merger with their company; there's something wrong with this paperwork, but I just can't put my finger on it. Find it. We're also going to have to do something about that suit. And probably the shoes as well.'

'Hey, look, just what is wrong with my suit?'

'Apart from the fact that it doesn't fit you? It's off the rack. Poppleton will see at a glance and write you off. I need you to be taken seriously.'

Malfoy strode over to his desk and picked up the phone handset, dialling quickly.

'E? It's Malfoy. Malfoy Industries?' with a sigh 'It's Draco.'

There was a delighted shriek down the phone that made Hermione jump and Malfoy wince.

'E, I need a favour. A rush job. Yes. For a meeting in just under four hours.'

There was a sudden pop, and the smallest house elf Hermione had ever seen was standing on top of Malfoy's desk, dressed in a stylish black dress, high heels, and enormous round glasses.

'Draco, darling! My word, you've gotten fat. You come with a challenge, eh? I was surprised to get your call.'

'Hi E; this is Granger, my new executive assistant. We have an important meeting in less than four hours. Is there anything you can do about the suit?'

The tiny elf turned to look at Hermione, then popped across the room, landing close to her feet and walking critically round her, tugging and flicking at the suit.

'This is a horrible suit. Darling, you can't be seen in this, I won't allow it. If you were a janitor, maybe, but for this?'

'But -'

'Don't look back, darling. It distracts from the now. You need a new suit. This much is certain.'

'A new suit? In less than four hours? How am I going to find a new suit in that time?'

'You can't! It's impossible! I'm far too busy. So ask me now, before I again become sane.'

'Wait… You want to make me a suit?'

'You push too hard, darling! But I accept.'

With a snap of her fingers, a notepad and quill appeared in E's hands, and tape-measure began to whizz around Hermione, taking measurements.

'It will be bold. It will be stylish. Muggle design of course.'

Malfoy, who had re-seated himself at his desk, and appeared to be struggling to contain his laughter at the horrified expression on Hermione's face, interjected at this point.

'You don't think something slightly more traditional? Poppleton is old-fashioned; maybe a suit with an open robe over it?'

E span like lightening, and threw the notebook at Malfoy's forehead.

'No robes! They are outmoded and horrible! Also, you are sitting on your broom, your robes get caught in a jet turbine. No robes!'

Snapping for a new notebook, E span back to her work.

'The figure is good, if a little skinny…but the underwear is also horrible, darling. How will your clothes look good if you aren't supported properly?'

Hermione looked helplessly across to Malfoy, who was no longer making any attempt to hide his laughter.

'Malfoy? Help?'

'You got elves interested in clothing, Granger – reap the whirlwind!'

'But!'

Then E was ushering Hermione through the office door to her desk.

'Good. Run along now and do your work, darling, your suit will be ready in time for your meeting.'

Malfoy walked over, knelt down and solemnly hugged the tiny elf.

'You're the best of the best, E.'

'Yes, I know, darling.'

The revenge of all the elves Hermione tormented with bad knitting is visited upon her…

Obviously, I no more own The Incredibles than I do Harry Potter…