I groaned softly as I settled back at my desk reaching down surreptitiously to message one of my sore calves.
"Tired already, Ms. Granger?" my boss asked me briskly on her way by with yet another cup of tea.
"Of course not, Madam Black," I said quickly.
I signed heavily while rolling my eyes only after I was sure she was already back through her office door, and her door was shut firmly behind her. It wasn't my fault everything in the Ministry was spread out over seven floors, nor was it my idea of a good time being Narcissa Black's glorified errand girl.
I had been her assistant for almost a year now. After finishing up my final year at Hogwarts, I decided to take a break from the wizarding world to attend university. I was accepted into Oxford after some tweaking to my Hogwarts's transcript, courtesy of McGonagall. I graduated with honors after three years, and after much deliberation - and pressure from Harry and Ron - I decided to return to the wizarding world. After applying for several higher up jobs at the Ministry, it was clear to me that the wizarding world was not as impressed with my degree as muggle employers might be. After a jarring mental adjustment, I set my sights lower and submitted my resume to be an assistant to the newly appointed Deputy Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. Imagine my surprise that the new Deputy Head was none other than Narcissa Black.
After she and Draco were pardoned with the help of Harry's testament, Mrs. Malfoy went to work at the Ministry. Mr. Malfoy was not so lucky, and was sentenced to life in Azkaban as well as being heavily fined. It is widely known that shortly after his arrival to Azkaban, Mr. Malfoy was presented with the divorce papers.
Newly divorced Madam Black's tarnished reputation didn't stay that way for long. Like the snake she is, she slithered her way back into the new regime's good graces. It only took a year after the war for her to drop her Death Eater husband, change her name back to Black – which held much more prestige without quite as many negative connotations as the Malfoy name – and begin working for the Department of Magical Law Enforcement as a counselor, the wizarding equivalent of a lawyer.
Madam Black quickly made her own reputation after she stepped out her ex-husband's dark shadow. She handled all the litigation for the high society pureblood families – mostly divorces and the like. She was said to be quite the imposing figure when she appeared in front of the Wizengamont. Although she was nearing her late forties, she was still striking in her perfectly tailored high-fashion robes. She is still tall, thin, with long white-blond hair, cold and cunning pale blue eyes, and her high cheekbones coupled with her haughty expression made for the perfect image of a ruthless, blood-sucking counselor. Outside of the courtroom, she had even taken to wearing muggle clothes in – what I thought – an attempt to further redeem herself after her actions in the war. Of course her muggle clothes made her look as though she would be right at home in a magazine spread – Gucci, Armani, and the like – even if she mostly stuck to business jackets and skirts. When she was feeling particularly intimidating and like she needed to make her staff wet themselves, she could even be seen wearing a pant suit.
After solidifying her reputation as a counselor, and by the time I had started, she had recently been promoted to the Deputy Head of the Department. She was replacing one of the good ole boys that finally retired. Dempster Wiggleswade had a laisse faire approach to running his department; he had been there so long that no one questioned his work ethic. His underlings picked up the slack running the day to day duties in the office, and he was free to do whatever it is that old, rich men do. When Madam Black came in, her new employees were in for a rude awakening. She saw and approved everything – she had her hand in every project. Not only did she run the day to day office duties and consult on cases, she handpicked at least one case a month to handle on her own to "stay fresh". The Department did a complete turnaround within six months after she took the reins.
Madam Black had an office full of employees under her, but I didn't interact with much of anyone but her. As her assistant, she was my main focus. Apparently, before I was hired, she went through assistants like one might have gum – chewing them up and spitting them out once they had lost their flavor.
Despite my initial misgivings about working for my former school nemesis's mother and the ex-wife of a prominent Death Eater, Madam Black and I had a cordial working relationship. She was quiet and secretive about her private life – always composed with a cold smile. She didn't treat me like an actual slave, but we didn't have any social interaction besides the polite, empty work platitudes exchanged when appropriate. She kept everyone at arm's length, but I couldn't help but feel that she was even more distant with me. I may have been sensitive, but I thought it seemed like she might still be uncomfortable with my blood-status; however, she was a surprisingly good boss despite her ice queen attitude. When she asked me to fetch her tea, it was only because she couldn't get it herself. She was always stuck in meetings, conferences, or Floo calls, so it happened quite often. I got all her dietary preferences down quickly to avoid awkward confrontations. We weren't friends by any stretch of the imagination, but we had a mutually satisfying work relationship.
At this still early stage in my career, I tried to work hard and keep my head down. Since Kingsley's tenor as Minister, he had been working on keeping corruption out of the Ministry. Although I'm not exactly shy, I tried my best to fly under the radar – notwithstanding my status as Harry Potter's brainy friend – something my mental health appreciated. Despite no longer trekking through forests and the wilderness, I never gained back the baby fat I lost during those months of forced fasting. Very slim from head to toe, my bushy hair had calmed somewhat, but still could be defined as messy curls. My hazel eyes were the same, and despite being almost twenty-three, I still had a light smattering of freckles across my nose. Although my looks had greatly improved from the wild-haired, buck-toothed first year, I seemed to only attract the attention from nerdy, skinny guys when I was in college, or after I had transitioned back into the wizarding world, frightfully old men. The fact I hadn't dated men since the disaster with Ron right after the war made for a quiet couple of years in the romance department. I figured out that I was attracted to women about halfway through my sophomore year at university. I got really "close" to my roommate, and it played out exactly how you would think it would. After dating a few more women in the following years, it pretty much cemented things for me. I came out not long after my revelation. My parents seemed unsurprised, Harry and Ginny were supportive, and Ron and Molly were relieved that the reason Ron and I didn't work out were all my fault. Coming out helped relieve any lingering tension I had with the Weasleys after Ron, and George gave me some very helpful advice: "A bird can be every bit of an asshole that a man can be. I speak from experience." I hear you, George.
So far, I had kept my sexual preferences out of the media, so it wasn't well known in the wizarding world I was gay. I wasn't exactly hiding my sexuality, but more that I was hiding my love life in general. The last thing I needed was a repeat of the disaster that was Rita Skeeter in my fourth year. Madam Black on the other hand, seemed to always be in the society pages with a different escort at one of the many social events the purebloods had. I privately thought she had the media in her back pocket. Several of her cases always had a conveniently timed article that would surface before they decided the verdict in her favor – husbands and wives cheating, gambling, potion abuse or something of the like. It only helped her nearly perfect court record.
Although her life seemed like an open book to the Prophet readers, with me, it was heavily implied that our personal lives were not to be discussed. Not that I would try to giggle over boys with Narcissa Black anyway. My time in her employment so far only consisted entirely of variations of the exchanged I just mentioned – a comment that was just barely polite followed by a generic response from me. Other than that, we strictly talked about work.
"Ms. Granger?"
I looked up from my paperwork when she called my name – wincing again at my aching feet and ankles – to see what she needed.
She looked up briefly when I walked through her office door, but quickly went back to her work. Her desk was covered in rolls of parchment, heavy law tomes, and interoffice memos.
"Ms. Granger," she said again, not pausing her pursuit of the work scattered about her desk, "I can't find the appraisal for the Nott case. They were supposed to owl a copy by today."
I nodded before I realized she wasn't looking at me. "They're filed, I'll get them," I hastened to reply after nodding like an idiot. I moved to the corner of her spacious office where the files were kept and shuffled through a drawer until I found the right one. This wasn't unusual – Madam Black was clearly brilliant, excellent at managing the office, and downright frightening arguing cases in front of the Wizengamont; however, she had very little patience for paperwork. I tried to introduce her to electronic copies that I kept so that she could find what she needed at the touch of a button. Saying she was unreceptive to the muggle technology would be an understatement. She looked at me as though I suggested she should take one of Hagrid's Blast-Ended Skrewts on a walk around a muggle park. Despite her reaction, she allowed me to keep my own electronic copies in case something happened to the originals.
It's funny, looking back – we'd never discussed that, but I'd just sort of did it that way without thinking. It had already come in handy once after a disgruntled member of an opposing counsel "accidentally" set the whole case file aflame after a particularly long, drawn out mediation. Madam Black had managed to win most of his wealth for her client, his ex-wife. My electronic copies – kept on my laptop – saved the case. In hindsight, I probably should have picked up on something then.
I pulled out the scroll she needed and placed it on her desk. She finally looked up from her work when the Floo sounded. She moved to the fireplace to take the call, and I trailed behind her with the correct scroll in hand after I observed the identity of the caller in the flames. I stood off to the side of the hearth out of sight.
They exchanged a brief greeting before the caller asked for the appraisals.
"Yes," Madam Black said to the flames, "I've got them right here." I held them up – still out of sight – so she could read them.
"Yes, you were saying about the land holdings?" She glanced at me, and nodded, unrolling the scroll to the section she needed. Another thing I always did without being asked.
I stayed for the rest of the call, unrolling when she needed and even silently summoning a different scroll as I followed the conversation – I had gotten good at it. Finally, she ended the call and rolled her eyes.
"Idiot," she muttered. She shook her head, looking at the large, ornate clock on her desk. "I've got a meeting in just a few minutes – make sure I'm not disturbed."
"No problem, Madam Black," I assured her. I rolled up the scroll, and placed it back into the filing cabinet. I slipped out of the office and closed the door behind me.
The was also fairly common. A few times a week, clients, perspective clients, the higher ups – sometimes even the Minister – came by for meetings and conferences. This time, however, it was a mediation between two of the major pureblood families in the midst of a nasty divorce. The Head of the Department sat in on mediations this big, and since it involved two of the pureblood families, the press was there too. The wizarding legal system baffled me with its lack of common sense and disregard for privacy, but I was starting to get used to it. These mediations were important without the media circus, so they only added to the pressure. Thus, especially after a Floo call like the one she just finished talking to the annoying opposing counselor, she'd take a few minutes to relax and compose herself before the meeting, so she could freeze out anyone who dare oppose her. In other words, make herself look so frighteningly competent and ruthless that the opposition would wilt and have no choice but to agree to her terms – and she could keep her ice queen reputation as the best.
Believe you me, it worked – I had sat in on a few of those meetings myself. I'd be surprised if she didn't get promoted to Department Head soon enough.
I went back to my desk, and sank gratefully back down in my chair – a large, comfortable leather piece. Only the best for a Black. I actually appreciated it after all the years I spent hunched awkwardly over some book or another.
These quiet times that Madam Black spent before meetings were even more private than she normally was. She blocked her Floo, and I was meant to stop all memos and people from going into her office. Because we were underground, there were only charmed windows and a windowless door, so I never knew what she did to compose herself before a meeting.
No doubt, had I thought about it, I might have guessed. One of my college mates became a surgeon – according to him, it is much more common that most people thought. Madam Black did the same thing that many muggle and wizard high-profile professionals – surgeons, pilots, performers, quidditch players – did when they needed to be steady and relaxed. She got herself off. The surge of endorphins and other positive mood-affecting things that orgasms create are more effective for calm and focus than any potion or muggle medicine could ever be.
So, this particular day was the day that the inevitable finally happened. A faulty latch on her office door, of all things, changed my life. I heard a slight click, and saw her door inch open, as happens with latches that don't quite fit right anymore. My desk sits just outside her door in our little wing of the floor, so I saw it immediately. Without thinking, I got up to close the door again, and, quite by accident – I swear – glanced in through the two-inch-wide crack of open doorway.
My composed, oh-so-private ice queen boss had her chair swiveled sideways and leaned back, one of her long legs up on the desk, and her hand under her skirt. Her head was thrown back, her eyes closed, and her lips slightly parted. If it hadn't been for the visible movement of her hand between her legs – and the death grip her other hand had on the arm of her chair – I might have thought that she was asleep.
Now, before anyone judges me prematurely, I did exactly what any good assistant would do. I set a world record for the slowest, quietest closing of a door in the history of mankind, and crept back to my desk where I sat perfectly still, waiting to see if I woke up. If it hadn't been for my eyes being open wide enough to roll out of my head if I'd so much as sneezed, no one walking by would think anything odd had just happened.
Two minutes later, Madam Black left her office and went to the mediation meeting – head to toe calm and confident. Fortunately for me, she didn't look at me as she went – I hadn't managed to get my eyes back to their normal size yet. After a lot of thought, I realized nothing had changed. She obviously hadn't seen me, and nobody else had to know. I could pretend it hadn't happened.
All right, so I was naïve.
The days when Madam Black had meetings took on a whole different perspective for me. She'd close her door for her private time a little before that day's meeting, and I'd suddenly find myself totally incapable of concentrating on anything. I carefully kept from thinking about what she was doing – if I thought about it, I pictured it, and that certainly didn't help.
For the most part, it wasn't even that I was aroused by the whole idea – mostly, I was confused. I'd certainly never felt any attraction for Madam Black. I thought she was pretty, of course, but given her history of being straight and her icy, pureblood attitude – not to mention she was my boss – I'd never looked at her through that particular lens. Slowly, over the weeks that followed, I found ways to excuse thinking about it. I mean, like any single girl, I needed my relaxation too, and since I hadn't had a relationship in a couple of years I could certainly be forgiven if my mind happened to fix on the only sex-related thing to happen to me in a while. If what I saw happened to pop into my head when I was taking care of myself – usually near the end – that's only natural because my brain was just seeking any clear image to focus on. This made perfect sense to me, and I resolved not to feel badly about it.
