The Quidditch Player
A/N: I give my gratitude to "Of Quidditch Pants and Persuasion" by It's Just Not Flowing, the cornerstone of which this story was inspired by.
Chapter 1: The Quidditch Player
Hermione loved Mondays. Really, she did. She thought it to be a fresh start to the upcoming week no matter how rotten the past one was. And while many of her co-workers looked as if they rolled out of bed and somehow happened upon the Ministry, she believed professional appearances spoke volumes and helped with internal promotions. After all, she was currently a Secretary, a position she didn't mind but had every intention of vacating at the earliest opportunity to pursue a more compelling career.
Taking into her office, she set her satchel atop her desk and waved her wand at the window. The curtain parted down the middle and furled itself off to the sides, giving her a view of Place Cachée under an early sunrise. She smiled at the pink and purple clouds that were like cotton candy over Place Cachée, mentally thanking Magical Maintenance for providing her with a little piece of home. She shrugged off her rain jacket and hung it in the wardrobe before taking to her desk, tapping her wand against the topmost drawer so that it barreled open like a train on its tracks. A folder jumped out of it, opening in front of her.
However, before she could start on her work, a figure passed by her door. She waited, her eyes skirting the outside office area where cubicles were huddled together. She quickly surmised that it wasn't one of her co-workers for surely they would've greeted her with a Good Morning or a Hello as they were wont to do – office courtesies and all. No, this was someone who wasn't a Department regular. But she wondered who it was so early in the morning. She always had, at least, an hour or so to herself before everyone else started trickling in.
She heard a knock on the door next to hers. A silence followed before the knocking came again, louder this time. Hermione speculated over whether or not this person, whoever he or she was, had seen her open door when they passed by it. She gambled on the probability that the person hadn't, or else he or she would've stopped and asked if whoever they were looking for had come in yet. Then again, the office next to hers belonged to-
A third knock rattled Hermione, it being so barbaric that she wondered if this person ate his or her food with a fork and knife like a regular human being. She huffed as she planted her palms on her desk and pushed herself upwards. There was absolutely no way she was going to let this oaf disrupt her morning, especially when she it all planned out. She had a schedule to stick to, damn it!
She tiptoed to her door, poking her head around the frame. A stranger stood there, glancing down at the watch on his wrist, frowning. He then sighed and looked around at the empty cubicles. From what she could see, the black hair on his head was extremely messy, as if he woke up with it and couldn't be bothered to do anything to tidy it up. Bed head as some people called it. He also wore round-rimmed glasses, it windowing his bright green eyes. His grey T-shirt seemed to be a little tight on him, while his blue jeans hugged his bum as nicely as parents would hug their children.
"Excuse me," Hermione called out to him. "Can I help you?"
The stranger turned towards her, curious, and asked, "D'you work here?"
"Yes," she nodded.
"I was wondering when Ludo Bagman was going to come in." He took a couple of steps forward, stuffing his hands into his pockets as he did.
"He usually gets in close to nine," Hermione answered.
"You're his Secretary then?"
"Whatever you need, I'm sure I can be of assistance."
"Ludo never got back to me about the suggestion I made to him on the Quidditch Complex."
"You mean the British and Irish Quidditch League Complex?" Hermione asked for clarification.
"That's it," the stranger said and smiled.
Waving him into her office, she replied, "Unfortunately, the proposal has some complications about it." Other complications, complications that had nothing to do with the proposal itself, was the racket the butterflies in her stomach were making because the stranger was rather fanciable when he smiled at her.
"Complications?" he repeated. "What kind?"
"One primary one, actually," Hermione said, indicating for the stranger to take the seat across the desk from her. "It's due to budget concerns. Mr Bagman's request for funding was denied by the Head of the Department of Magical Games and Sports."
"Was there any reason given?" the stranger asked, seeming to be irritated upon learning of his new development.
"The Head of the Department of Magical Games and Sports didn't think it was a smart use of funds," Hermione answered. "He also claimed that nothing was wrong the current setup-,"
"Everything's wrong with the current setup," the stranger grumbled.
"-but if you ask me," she continued as if there had been no interruption, "it appears as if the Head of the Department of Magical Games and Sports isn't exactly fond of Mr Bagman."
"Not many people are."
Looking defeated, Hermione felt sorry for him because of the fact. She supposed sharing a bit of hope, no matter how small, didn't go against her job requirements. If it did, such job requirements could sod right off.
"He plans to appeal to the Senior Undersecretary to the Minister for Magic," Hermione said. "Mr Bagman, that is." The effect, as expected, was instantaneous: optimism looped the stranger's eyes, and another fanciable smiled flooded his face.
"When's he going to do that?"
"Next week," she answered. "He's actually put me in charge of the revised proposal." She tried not to sound too haughty when she said this, but she considered the revised proposal to be a huge opportunity to advance her career within the Ministry. Of course, that would be wholly dependent on whether or not the motion was passed.
"What's wrong with the original draft?"
"Funding," Hermione said simply. "The previous bid for the British and Irish Quidditch League Complex would use up a majority of the budget allocated to the Department of Magical Games and Sports. The Senior Undersecretary would reject the project if he saw how much it would cost the Department."
"Is there any way around that?" the stranger asked, resting his ankle on top of his knee.
"The financing would have to come from somewhere else," she said, trying not to stare at the stranger's black socks – her Achilles' heel if there was any. "Or, if that's not possible, the budget for the British and Irish Quidditch League Complex would have to be severely diminished."
"But the space needed only works with how much money was requested," he countered.
"I understand that, however, it's just not practical. Funding for the Department is distributed between its divisions equally. It would be improper for the British and Irish Quidditch League Headquarters to take any necessary money from the Ludicrous Patents Office or the Official Gobstones Club to use for our own personal gain."
"What if they loaned the money out? They could be paid back with interest, right?"
"Excuse you, but we are not a bank," Hermione said, wanting to kick the stranger in the shins for being so obtuse.
He scowled at the floor, drumming his fingers against his leg as if it was a minefield of pressure points. After a minute, he said to himself, "I suppose I could put in a good amount. Wood could as well. I'll have to ask the rest of the team to see if they're willing to match-,"
"I beg your pardon," she interrupted, "but are you suggesting you're going to pay for the British and Irish Quidditch League Complex with your own money?"
"Mine and a few others," he nodded.
Hermione felt like laughing, but managed to hold it in. "I suppose you have one of the bigger accounts at Gringotts?"
"Pretty sure they're all the same size," he said, completely missing the sarcasm.
Hermione tried again, though this time jailed the irony. "I mean, do you honestly think that you're going to be able to pay for the entire British and Irish Quidditch League Complex by yourself? It costs a shedload!"
The stranger only shrugged, "You make a lot playing Quidditch."
This made Hermione pause. A curious thing too as very little baffled her into complete silence. Yet, this stranger's admission surely did, and quite easily on top of that. Scrutinizing him more directly, she now saw more of him than upon her first inspection: his shoulders were wide and his biceps were like their own mountain range; he had a clearly defined chest that stretched down to a flat stomach; and his narrow hips were a gateway to his long legs. To put it simply, he looked good – very good, in fact – and she tried to keep from drooling. Even though she thought it to be shallow to judge someone based solely on their outward appearance (Books not looks! she used to tell herself at school), this was a particularly special scenario.
"You're a Quidditch player?" she asked.
He hilled a brow at her, "I thought you knew?"
"And how was I supposed to know that?"
"Everyone here does," he said. "I mean, this is the British and Irish Quidditch League Headquarters."
"I'm well aware of where we are, thank you," Hermione snapped at him. She didn't at all appreciate how belittled she felt. "It isn't an obligation to be a fan of Quidditch to work here."
"I'd imagine anyone who wasn't a fan of Quidditch and did happen to work here would find it a bit dull."
As a small smile wormed its way across Hermione's face, one that didn't come close to reaching her eyes, she said, "Contrary to that absurd belief, I enjoy the work I do very much."
"So you're not a fan of Quidditch?" the stranger asked, looking genuinely surprised.
"If you must know," she huffed, "I'm not much into flying, and thus, not a fan of Quidditch in the slightest."
The stranger's eyes grew wide, "Not a fan of Quidditch?!" He then shook his head as if trying to clear Hermione's seemingly nonsensical acknowledgement that had cobwebbed inside it.
Hermione pursed her lips at him, annoyed beyond belief that this stranger was playing her like a fool just because she didn't like Quidditch – and that of flying. She hadn't been around Quidditch players often enough to conclude if they were brilliant and masters in the art of flying, or if they were brainless, one-eyed trolls who could barely string together coherent enough sentences for polite conversation. She thought the stranger across from her was more of the latter. As it was, he was apt to believe that the other divisions in the Department of Magical Games and Sports would be more than willing to lend their money out, and that they could be paid back with interest. What an asinine thought to have!
"Yes, well, isn't it a shame that we don't all like Quidditch," Hermione said dryly.
"Flying too," he pointed out.
"I have a perpetual fear of heights!" she said shrilly. She was getting agitated and it wasn't even seven in the morning. If she kept this up, she'd have to bow out of work early which would only increase how much she'd have to get done tomorrow.
"The only way to overcome your fear of flying is to keep at it," the stranger offered.
"I don't have any need to fly. I'm more than content to keep my feet firmly planted on the ground."
"Suit yourself," he replied offhandedly.
His indifference on the matter had Hermione itching to break his glasses. She would love to see him trying to fly around a Quidditch pitch without them.
"Anyway, do you have anything else to bother me about?" she asked him none too nicely. "I'm rather busy."
"So early in the morning, are you?" he said, making a point to look at his watch.
"I'm an early riser."
"So am I," he responded.
"I know," Hermione said. "Why else would you be here if it wasn't to distract me from my work?"
"I'm not sure if you remember, but I didn't come here to see you specifically. I came for Ludo. And I think you're undervaluing the idea for the Quidditch Complex…something that bothers me."
"I'm not undervaluing anything!" she said angrily, her hands balling into fists. "I just find your visit to be completely irrational!"
"How?"
Before she answered, Hermione forced herself to take deep, calming breaths. The last thing she needed was to have a shouting match with a stranger so early in the morning. Because she noticed that he, too, was riled up as his voice had risen considerably.
"You could've sent your inquiry with the Owl Post. I would've gotten back to you before the end of the day."
Though his jaw was tense – she could see that it was – the stranger seemed to let out a breath he'd been holding in. Hermione assumed that he had had his own calming mechanisms to employ under heated situations.
"I was up anyway," he let out, leaning against the back of his chair. "Quidditch practice," he added as an explanation.
"At this time?"
"Four," he corrected. "We go for a couple of hours until six. I have to be back by eight."
"Why so early?" she asked.
"Because of the Quidditch World Cup," he replied. "Besides, there's only one pitch for the thirteen teams in the British and Irish Quidditch League. It's mad trying to schedule practice when every team needs to practice too. This is why we need individual pitches for each of us. That way, there isn't any fuss over who gets to use the pitch for however long they need to."
"Listen, I know the problems the British and Irish Quidditch League have. I mean, I read the proposal half a dozen times already. The only setback it faces is funding. That and the fact that Mr Bagman isn't well-liked by the Head of the Department of Magical Games and Sports, but that's an entirely different matter altogether. If it means anything to you, I'd give the approval, no questions asked."
"And why's that?" the stranger asked. "I thought you didn't like Quidditch."
"I don't," Hermione confirmed, "but I do like practically. And for thirteen teams to share one place to practice isn't exactly reasonable."
The stranger nodded in agreement and any resentment she felt towards him melted away like ice on a hot day. It was like they had found some common ground between them, a place where judging one another and their ideas wasn't part of their unspoken treaty. Perhaps they found a way to turn the corner, so to speak, and had an understanding about each other that wasn't there minutes prior. And a subtle nod of his head was all it took.
"So…you're on the English National Quidditch team?" she asked.
"And Puddlemere United of the British and Irish Quidditch League," he answered.
Looking at him skeptically, she said, "You're not the Seeker by any chance, are you?"
"How d'you know about the Seeker position?"
"Honestly, just because I don't like Quidditch doesn't mean I'm completely oblivious to it!" she rolled her eyes. "I went to a school full of boys who talked about Quidditch constantly!"
"Hogwarts, right?"
Hermione opened her mouth to answer, but then realized that she hadn't yet introduced herself to the stranger in front of her…and that he hadn't done the same with her. It was very unlike Hermione to withhold an introduction with someone she hadn't met, and didn't understand why it slipped her mind that morning. She ran upon two possibilities of what may have hindered their accommodation: she didn't expect their conversation to last as long as it did, or to put it simply, the opportunity didn't present itself. In her opinion, the first possibility was just as likely as the second.
"I didn't go to Hogwarts," she said.
"Were you taught at home then?"
"No…I studied at Beauxbatons in France."
"So you're French?" he asked.
"I guess you could say that," Hermione laughed, suddenly feeling rather shy. "But I'm from here originally. London, to be exact."
"London's a big place," the stranger held out his arms as if to show her just how big it was.
"West Brompton," she told him. "My parents moved back during the summer though kept their flat in Paris so they could take a holiday there whenever they wanted."
"West Brompton is pretty close to here, isn't it? A couple of miles away, right?"
"It's nearby," Hermione said.
"D'you still live with your parents?"
"No. I don't even live in London. It's much too busy for me."
"Where'd you settle down?"
"A village in West Country…Godric's Hollow."
The stranger's mouth dropped open as he stared at her, his hands gripping the arms of the chair tightly.
"You having a go at me?"
She sniffed, "I assure you I'm not because I haven't any reason to." To be honest, Hermione couldn't help but feel a little offended that the stranger thought she'd have time for such comedy.
"I live in Godric's Hollow," he said. "I have for the past several years now." He then shook his head, "But I've never seen you before."
"It's probably because I moved there at the beginning of the month. I live in the northeastern corner." Hermione wasn't sure why she was telling a complete stranger this, especially one that lived in the exact same village as her. For all she knew, the stranger could be a madman – a possible escapee from Bethlem Royal Hospital. The odds weren't in favor of him being a total loony, but still, one could never be too sure. "Where are you in the village?"
"All the way west," he said. "A good distance from you."
"Godric's Hollow hasn't always been as big as it is, has it?"
"It's expanded recently. Not sure if I like it though."
"I do," Hermione said, elbowing her desk so that she could rest her chin atop her fingers. "It's quiet. I prefer it to London any day of the week."
"Sure, but it was quieter before."
She shrugged, "It doesn't bother me. I mean, there is such a thing as a village being too small."
The stranger seesawed his head side to side as if trying to decide if he agreed with the sentiment or not. As he did this, Hermione saw a scar shaped like a lightning bolt that zigzagged down his forehead. This, then, answered the question of who the stranger was.
"Why Godric's Hollow?" he asked. "It seems a bit random if you ask me."
"It's not!" Hermione defended. "There's so much history there!"
"And you like history?"
"Yes," she nodded vigorously.
"You would've done well in History of Magic."
"As a matter of fact, I did do well in History of Magic." The stranger looked confused. "They offer it at Beauxbatons," Hermione explained quickly. "But Godric's Hollow is where the Peverells were born and buried, where Bowman Wright forged the first Golden Snitch in the Middle Ages, and where Albus Dumbledore once lived – and where he met Gellert Grindelwald."
"Are you sure you're not a fan of Quidditch?" the stranger looked amused. "How else would you know of Bowman Wright? Hell, I bet you half of the English National Quidditch team doesn't even know who he is!"
"Once again," Hermione said, smiling despite herself, "I don't like Quidditch."
"What is it then?"
"I read a lot," she shrugged.
"And you read about everyone who lived in Godric's Hollow?"
"More about history of Godric's Hollow itself, including the Peverells, Bowman Wright, and Gellert Grindelwald. As for Albus Dumbledore, Madame Maxime had an earful to say about him when she got back from Hogwarts after the Triwizard Tournament."
"You weren't at Hogwarts for it, were you?"
"I was too young to enter, not that I wanted to."
"How old were you?"
After a brief pause: "Almost a year older than you."
As realization dawned upon the stranger's face like the sun looming over the horizon, he asked, "You know who I am?"
"I didn't at first," Hermione said, wiping her hands across her desk as if it had crumbs on it, "but it eventually came to me."
"And when was that?" he continued, uncrossing his ankle from his knee. Instead, he decided to lean forward and stare at her. When he did this, she grew very warm.
"You told me that you played Seeker for the English National Quidditch team, so that narrowed it down. Then you said Wood's name, and that cut the list down further because you don't seem like the type of person to refer to yourself in the third person. But the most telling was this," and she traced the lightning bolt-shaped scar down her own forehead to mirror his.
"I should've known," he said. Reaching over the desk with his hand outstretched, he introduced himself as, "Harry Potter, Seeker for the English National Quidditch team and Seeker for Puddlemere United."
Gently shaking it, she said, "Hermione Granger, Mr Bagman's Secretary."
Her hand fit in his like a glove and she quite liked the feel of it. That was why she inwardly frowned when he let go.
"It's nice to finally meet you," he replied.
"Finally?"
"We've only been talking a good part of the morning and I didn't even know your name for most of it."
"We got distracted," Hermione laughed, eyeing the clock on the opposite wall. "But now that you do know my name, you mind clearing out?"
"Hang on," he said. "Are you kicking me out of your office?"
Hermione might've imagined it, but he seemed disappointed. "Yes," she admitted. "I'm sorry, but I have a schedule to keep with Mr Bagman. I can't afford to fall behind."
"You have a lot to do?"
"Always," she sighed. "Sometimes there aren't enough hours in the day to keep up with everything that's required of me."
"I know the feeling," he acknowledged, and Hermione didn't have to ask him for clarification, especially with the Quidditch World Cup only a month away.
"You know, because I'm in charge of revising the proposal for the British and Irish Quidditch League Complex, I'll try to do all that I can to think of a way we could fund the project."
"Can you come up with something?" he asked.
"I'll try my best," she said.
"Will that be enough?"
Hermione shrugged, "We'll find out soon enough, won't we?"
A/N: I hope you enjoyed. Thanks for reading.
