Author's Note: Not Rowling.

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DAY TWENTY FOUR

"So today you have a meeting with the new head of Magical Games and Sports at nine, then we have a staff meeting at two, and final draft call at four, so they can get approved for tomorrow's edition," said the young man in front of her as he read the planner in his hand.

"Jonathan, didn't I have a lunch meeting with someone? The…gosh, the name escapes me…the head of the Wizengamot or something?" she asked, her eyes raking her schedule.

"Yes, you did, but Mister MacNeil had to cancel. Something about an emergency that just came up this morning," replied her assistant, everything from his concise way of speaking to the neat part of his dark blonde hair screaming how efficient and organized he was. He looked up from his papers and the hint of a smile played around his lips.

"Yes?" she asked, trying to keep the smile from her voice.

"I know Matilda is the head of the gossip column, but I've been told his 'urgent business' relates to the new secretary that has just come on as an intern for the Wizengamot," he replied, his eyes bright with the devilish sparkle she always saw in George's eyes.

"Well," she said, unsuccessfully hiding the small smirk that was playing on her lips, "I'm sure Mister MacNeil's business conquests are very important. And I'm sure Mrs. MacNeil would probably thank Matilda for the heads up." She saw understanding hit him as he grinned before quickly resuming his professional composure.

"Yes, Ms. Granger. Right away." He smiled her before heading out of her office and shutting the door quietly behind him.

Hermione smiled to herself as she watched the door close. Jonathan was her favorite person on her staff. Bright and earnest, he had applied before he had even taken his N.E.W.T.s, and once she had seen his exemplary grades, she had accepted him immediately. He was a sweetheart, always rushing around to make sure he could help anyone who needed it, and taking over for writers when they called in sick. As her assistant, he kept everything meticulously organized and had sent her home on more than one occasion when she was working much too late into the night. She went back to checking the papers on her desk and half an hour later, she heard a knock on her door. She looked up to see Jonathan opening the door, a tall man visible in the hallway a few paces behind him.

"Ms. Granger, the head of Magical Games and Sports is here to see you."

"Thank you, Jonathan. Send him in please."

A few moments later, a tall man walked in, Jonathan closing the door behind him. She stood up and smiled at him as she held out her hand. He walked forward and shook her hand firmly, smiling as he said, "Ms. Granger, it's very nice to meet you. The name's Thomas Rockwell." She gestured towards the chair on the other side of her desk and quickly surveyed him as he sat down, unbuttoning his blazer as he did so. He was quite tall, probably as tall as Ron, and had black hair that was cut short in an almost militaristic style that was nonetheless flattering. He was older than her, but probably by only a few years, like her and George. As she sat down at her desk and faced him, she noticed he had dark brown eyes that had a kind of light in them, as if he was always happy about something, even when he was not smiling.

"So, Mr. Rockwell, how can we, at the Daily Prophet, help you?" she said, interlocking her fingers and smiling at him politely.

"Well, I was told that I had to introduce myself to all the heads of the departments at the Ministry once I was given my position."

"But we are not strictly part of the Ministry," she said, somewhat confused.

A slow smile spread across his face. "No you are not, Ms. Granger," he said, cocking his head slightly to the side as he surveyed her. "But you are a very important person, not only because of the paper but for past events as well."

"Where are you going with this?" she asked, almost curtly.

"I feel public opinion is a very strong thing; it can make you or break you. I know how severely flawed the Ministry has been in the past, and as the head of a revitalized department, I hope to start on the right foot. As you are the head of one of the main sources of information, making sure my department, my teams, and myself are portrayed in the right light is quite important."

"Understandable," she replied slowly, "but why does it feel like you're apologizing for something you have yet to do?"

He grinned, as if in on a joke, before replying, "Because I've heard how tough of a critic you are, Miss Granger." Hermione noted his emphasis on the word Miss and bit the inside of her cheek. It was not something worth mentioning, but it did always irk her, as it made it feel like she was back in Hogwarts, being called on by one of the professors, instead of a successful businesswoman in charge of a whole company. "If I may ask, why couldn't you meet me yesterday for our original meeting?"

"I had family business to attend to," she said, looking down at her papers to check something. She knew she had to have him sign a few things connected to publishing rights and permission for possible future interviews of his staff or his teams.

"Ohh, husband's family?" he asked, his tone sympathetic.

"I'm not married," she muttered, still rifling through her papers, unable to find the forms she needed.

"So your boyfriend then?" he asked.

She paused and slowly raised her head, her lips parted in confusion. "No, not that either." She watched as a look of triumph flickered over his features before his normal, easy smile was back.

"Well, I shouldn't pry," he said, his tone apologetic as he watched her carefully.

"No, that's actually my job, being a reporter and all," she replied wryly. He chuckled and took the papers and quill she handed him, signing the pages with a flourish before handing them back. She set them in a green filing folder, which flew out the door and to Jonathan's desk a moment later, the door closing with a snap behind it. He stood up, as did she, re-buttoning his jacket as he did so. "It was nice to meet you, Mr. Rockwell," she said courteously. She held out her hand and he shook it, but kept a hold on her hand when she tried to pull away.

"It was very nice to meet you, Ms. Granger." He paused and his tongue flicked out, wetting his lips quickly before he continued. "Do you have any plans for lunch today, Ms. Granger?"

"Indeed I do," she said, smiling through her lie. "Why do you ask?" She bit the inside of her cheek, knowing exactly why he was asking her this.

"No reason," he said softly, his brown eyes raking her face before finally letting go of her hand. He walked to the door and flashed her a charming smile as he turned before walking out. "If you're ever free, let me know."

The brushed glass door closed with a click and she watched his silhouette shrink and then fade as he left, her lips pursed as she thought.

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DAY TWENTY SIX

Hermione walked in to the flat, letting her bag slide off her shoulder and drop to the floor with a noisy thunk before she shook off her coat and hung it on the coat rack.

"Hermione, is that you?" called George from another room of the flat.

"Nope, it's your brother Charlie walking in through the front door," she replied sarcastically.

She heard a bark of laughter before George appeared, walking out, wearing only his shorts again, this time a shade of blue that reminded Hermione of the sky on a warm spring day. In his hands he held three shirts, four pairs of trousers hanging off his arms. "Help me, will you?"

"You're twenty-two, George. I'm sure you can put on your own clothes," she joked as she walked to the kitchen and poured herself a glass of water.

"Help me pick out what to wear," he commanded, pouting slightly.

"Why? Where are you going?"

"Out, of course! It's Friday night."

"Oh, silly me. How could I have forgotten?" replied Hermione in a voice of false shock.

"What are your plans?" he asked as he followed her into the sitting room, dumping all of his clothes on his armchair as he did so.

"I'll probably just make some dinner and then read one of my new books."

"Hermione!" he cried exasperatedly. "You read all day at work. Why, in the name of Merlin, do you want to do more of it when you get home?"

"Because I love it, George, as you very well know. There is nothing wrong with loving reading." He sat down next to her and held the sides of her head between his strong hands, looking at her intently. "Umm…why are you holding my head, George?"

"Because you need a break."

"And holding my head will help?"

"No. It won't. But it got your attention," he said matter-of-factly before letting her go. "Come with me tonight!"

"No," she said immediately.

"Come on!" he cajoled, his blue eyes wide and begging, like a puppy's. "You can be my wingman!"

"What?" she laughed. "Your wingman?"

"Well, my anti-wingman, really," he said, grinning as he explained. "Yeah, you can come with me and make sure I don't take anyone home, which would upset you."

"George, I could not care less about who you sleep with. I just don't like being the one to get rid of them."

"But if I don't being anyone home, there's no one to get rid of in the morning!" He leaned towards her, smiling hopefully.

"Why do I have to be there? Can't you just make sure you don't take someone home?"

He grinned at her and raised his right eyebrow. "Sometimes it's really not up to me, Hermione. Apparently, I'm just irresistible." She snorted. "It's true. You are just freakishly immune to my charm."

She rolled her eyes and pushed him away, her cold hand contrasting with his warm bare chest, making him laugh. "You are so full of yourself."

"And you're terribly boring. Yes, we know the basics," he said, laughing as he avoided her hand, which had shot out to swat him. "Come on, Hermione. I'll even make you a deal. I'll stay in next Friday and do whatever you want to do. Anything." He winked.

Hermione laughed. "Well, I can assure you it would not be anything close to what you usually spend your Friday nights doing." He laughed. "Fine," she said with a sigh. "I'll come with you. Let me go get changed."

He beamed and got up at the same time she did. "Excellent!" Hermione glanced at the pile of clothes on the chair and walked over, picking out a hunter green shirt and some dark khaki trousers. She threw them to George and laughed as they hit him in the face. "Thank you!" he called, his voice muffled by the clothes.

"You're welcome," she called back as she headed to her room. George watched her leave, a bright smile on his face.