Hey, please review, I hope you enjoy; this world is not mine, but the plot is.

THE JOKE'S ON HER

She looked into the small cabinet mirror of the bathroom of her tiny flat critically. But what she saw wasn't her reflection at all.

She could still see the bright and shining faces of her classmates, could see the bright colors of the Hogwarts graduation robes. Could remember the relief she felt at finally being allowed out of the Infirmary. She felt the cool breeze breathing down her neck as she gave the valedictorian address to the sea of grinning, proud parents. And she recalled thinking that it was all over, and now her real life could begin.

At Hogwarts, she had been the bookworm, the obnoxious over-achiever. In life, she hoped to accomplish something more than that. She had accepted a job with a research company, although Dumbledore had cautioned her against accepting her first offer, and so quickly. But it had seemed like much too good of an opportunity to pass up. She admitted that it was not a high position within the hierarchy of the office, but she was sure that there would be ample opportunities for her to climb the ladder and was content to wait. Two years later, she was still waiting. Still hoping to fulfill her dream.

After graduation, most of the class went their separate ways, to meet only by chance in Diagon Alley or at the semi-annual Class Reunions, which she never attended. She and Harry and Ron had promised to stay in close touch, and they had managed it fairly well, considering the jet-set life Harry led as a player for England's Quidditch team, and the traveling that Ron had to do to sell franchises of Wheasley's Wizard Wheezes, which was in great demand internationally. He also investigated new ideas for his enterprising twin siblings, and the business was as much his as theirs. When her friends had told her what they planned to do after Hogwarts, she was astounded.

"But Ron, you'll always be thinking that maybe you should have struck out on your own, and if the entire thing flops, what will you do? And Harry- do you really want to find yourself stuck in some pathetic Ministry job when you're done being the famous Quidditch Seeker?" she had berated her two best friends.

"'Mione, I have no intention of turning out like Bagman. I know that I'm not as smart as you, but I got far more than just passable OWLS and I'm pretty sure that I can be accepted as an Auror when I've had enough at Quidditch playing. Just because we defeated Voldemort earlier this year, just a month ago, if you recall, doesn't mean that there aren't lots of pockets of Dark activity that need to be monitored and cleaned out. And Ron-" Harry was cut off by his best friend, no longer a too-gangly, too-red-haired kid.

Ron Weasley had grown up, and like Harry, he had grown up well. Even though they were just like brothers to her, Hermione had to admit that.

"Ron can make his own decisions thanks ever so, 'Mione. And what about you? At least Harry and I both like our jobs and the people we'll be working with. You, on the other hand…."

"I'm sure that with time I'll come to like the people at the department. They'll just take a little time to get used to," Hermione snapped defensively.

"Hermione, you're going to be the only person there under the age of forty. You said so yourself. Why don't you just wait a little bit? I know that someone else is going to be damned eager to snatch you up, you just took this offer too soon, is all," Harry said practically, trying to sooth her feelings.

"No, I've made my decisions and obviously you two have made yours. We'll just have to see who made the better ones." Hermione had grown away from that over-eager girl who always had to be right, but sometimes….

Now, as she looked into the mirror that was still a bit foggy from her shower (and had never been very good quality to begin with) she had to face the reality that she was wrong. Her life had been steadily going down the tubes for two years, and she no longer felt that there was much left to save. There was no way out. Already, there was no way to distinguish her from her colleagues, all of whom were at least thirty years older than herself. Every morning she pulled her hair back into a severe bun, set her thick glasses on her nose (she had continually forgotten to buy contacts, so now she didn't even bother with what had been habit since before Hogwarts), and went to work in sensible pumps and whatever conservative outfit in muted colors she pulled out of her meager, shabby wardrobe. She had worked in the same industrial fluorescent light lit basement research room, and she had never even had a conversation with her bosses on the higher floor. There had never been any plans for her to move up and make better use of her not inconsiderable brainpower. Their employment division had simply been looking for cheap labor, and after two years of the overtime doing endlessly tedious work, she didn't have the energy to do anything else.

Once a month she got to see Harry and Ron. Those days were both the highlights and downfalls of her month, because as much as she still loved her best friends, it was painful to hear them chatting eagerly about their jobs, and their lives. They had practically stopped asking what was new in her life, because she always gave the same answer: nothing. The joke was on her.

After a last scowl at herself, Hermione mechanically pulled on her clothes, did her hair, and walked the block and a half to her building. The lobby she entered upon opening the dark tinted glass doors was decorated very posh and muggle, because the company couldn't afford the expensive muggle-repellant charms, and it saved having to call for a Ministry Obliviate every time one ,wandered in. Hermione walked listlessly to what appeared to be an elevator, stepped in called out the name of her division, and was deposited on the scratchy carpeting in an ungraceful heap. As she had been every day for the past two years.

Rather than get up and brush herself off and begin yet another day that was the same as the day before, she stayed seated. What was the point? She didn't want to do this. She had no social life to speak of, her friends had been growing steadily away from her… She was barely 20 years old with a completely dead-end job. She couldn't even cry, because she had done this to herself. She had been so lost in her thoughts that she hadn't heard the quasi-elevator ding. Someone tripped over her and she winced, expecting them to land hard. With her luck, it would be a new client. Their secretary, anyway. That was what her department did; they took orders from overworked secretaries, researched the topics and turned the work back to them. And it was never anything interesting, just things like cauldron-width throughout history and such.

The thump never came, and Hermione looked up to see who it was that was so graceful. Her jaw almost dropped. Since the defeat of Voldemort, after a year of tyranny and anti-Muggle supremacy, many wizards had begun to adopt Muggle wear to prove that Voldemort was never coming back. Then there were some, like this gorgeous creature, who just looked damn good in it. Tight but not disgustingly so black jeans, a black cashmere sweater and a black leather jacket were topped off with a slick black queue. And between them was the face of a man who was no doubt wondering why the hell she was sitting on the floor gawking at him.

She blushed deep red and tried to get up, too embarrassed to see the hand he held out to help her. She flushed even deeper as she heard a rip in her ugly, frumpy skirt. It was on just one side, making her outfit look lopsided and even more ridiculous than it already was. What the hell was she going to do now? They weren't supposed to use unnecessary magic so she rfarely brought her wand, and transfiguring her skirt would certainly be categorized as such anyways. But her vanity prevented her from looking like this, so she leaned down and carefully ripped the other side. She had to admit that from what she could see as she awkwardly craned her head down to look at herself, it vastly improved her look. She now appeared almost her actual age. Well, she would if it weren't for her equally frumpy hairstyle, make-up, and, sadly enough, demeanor. She became suddenly aware of the stranger standing just a few feet away, looking at her with an expression of amusement.

"I-I'm so sorry. I can never, it was the elevator, I…" Am the biggest dumbass in the world, she completed to herself. And obviously totally incoherent and incompetent as well. She had already been spoken to sharply twice this week about a lack of attention to her work, and she was treading on thin ice. And it was Wendsday!

"Don't worry about it." The voice was so familiar, velvet and chocolate and something that sent shivers down her back. Hermione inhaled sharply, pressed her lips together, and, with a slight and jerky nod, beat a hasty retreat to her miniscule cubicle. Or so she attempted. Apparently the man wanted something else.

"Excuse me, Ma'am?" he inquired politely. Ma'am? Hermione almost burst into tears. She was old and horrible.

"Uh, yes? Can I help you with anything? Perhaps I can direct you to the correct area of the building? These are the Research rooms…" Her voice trailed off as she registered the lack of confusion on the man's face. So he was in the right place then.

"No, this is correct. I am in need of some research which I find myself unable to do."
'Well, that's what we're here for. May I inquire as to the subject?" She hid her near collapsing frame of mind under the false helpful and chirpy tone the secretaries upstairs used.

"It involves the Dark Arts and Potions. I am actually looking for someone specifically. Hermione Granger? She was Head Girl of Hogwart's School of Witchcraft and Wizardry two years ago, with the class of Potter, was one of those instrumental in the downfall of Voldemort-." Hermione's mouth had fallen open, but at the last bit her mind began to race, ridding itself of at least a modicum of its usual lethargy. Very few people even now spoke Voldemort's name, she and Harry and Ron notwithstanding, of course.

"I am…Hermione Granger." Her voice was soft and unsure, such a contrast to the

obnoxious and bold voice that had formerly rung out across the seats in her days as a student. This was certainly not an improvement. Hermione did notice that this was the first time that the man had actually shown some facial expression. His eyes widened just barely in surprise.

"Ah. Then, shall we go to your office?" He gestured elegantly for her to lead the way, but Hermione did not miss the fact that he still hadn't given her his name.

"Certainly, Mr..?" She implied his filling in with his name, but he simply stared at her until she began to move towards her little box nervously, shifting under the gaze as she had when her formidable Potions Master had fixed his unyielding focus upon her. But at least he had challenged her mind, which was surely and not so slowly rotting away along with the papers and old people in this basement. Her friends might have cherished the hope that this assignment would be different, interesting, but she knew better.

Probably a referencing of the various word groups and their origins and such. When they reached the opening to her bleak, blank "office" she realized that he would barely fit. Well, there was nothing for it. He walked in dubiously and squeezed himself into one of the two plastic chairs which she'd managed to fit in. She was a very small person, so it hadn't proven too much a problem, but she was now finding it quite difficult to find a place where she could sit without crowding the client.

Speaking of whom, his eyes briefly scanned the walls and registered the lack of any personal touches. This was the one area of which the company could be occasionally yielding, and the others had small photos or magnets or at least a calendar up. Her's had none of these things. Originally, it had been purposeless since she planned on moving out immediately, and then she had not the energy, and now? Now she had nothing to put up. Snapping back from the past, she found the man's gaze on her again. It was decidedly unnerving. Clearing her throat, she attempted to maintain a professional manner.

"Sir, I, uh, think that you were about to speak of what work you…um, want researched, please? If you could?" She spoke not as an expert, but as someone to whom this was the last resort. She was shy and unconfident and practically trembling with nervousness, and not even because he was hot!

"This is Miss. Hermione Granger?" The man's voice was incredulous.

"Ye-yes. Sir." He shook his head quickly as though to rid it of something.

"Fine. I need an in-depth coverage of the Unforgivable Potions and how they relate to the Unforgivable Curses and in what way they were used to engineer the downfall of Voldemort." Hermione was dying to know why this man needed this information, some of which was only in her power to tell, but Company Policy ensured her immediate dismissal if she asked.

"Of course sir. By, um…when? Would you like it? And..how much?"

"Monday, if that would be all right. And as many feet as it takes to cover the topics which I have stated." He made to leave and Hermione almost gasped, having practically forgotten one of the most important rules. The secretaries all knew it so it wasn't necessary to ask, but apparently this man did not. She gathered her courage as he stopped awkwardly, rather impatient.

"S-sir… I need a down, um, payment? Of just a Galleon." The man's brows arched inward in frustration and Hermione shrank back from him in fear. He noticed and quickly smoothed out his face.

"It isn't a problem, it's just that I don't have any money on me and I haven't got the time to go back and get some, what with my errands today." He finished and seemed to be musing on a course of action.

"I'm so, uh, sorry, sir. But I can't begin the research…until…-." He cut her off rather than listen to her painfully indecisive apology.

"There's no way that the report can be done by Monday morning if I gave you the payment tomorrow, is there? Mind you, I still need all the detail and precision."

"Of course there is, sir. That would be fine." She would have to work around the clock all weekend, but it wasn't as though she had anything better to do. Or anything at all. The man flashed her a melting smile.

"Tomorrow, then." And he ducked out the doorway. A moment later she heard the doors of the wizard elevator open, and then heard them woosh closed.

Hermione turned as she heard a hissing sound emanating from her desk. Oh no, no, no. Not again. There was an envelope that was rapidly turning orange on her desk. It was her assignment for the day, and if it wasn't opened by a specified times, as had happened twice this week already, it would begin to whistle and she would be reprimanded. She rushed to it and tore it open to read how she would occupy her time today. Oh, of course. How thrilling. She was to prepare a 30 page research document on the various species of gillyweed. Nothing more than perfect detail on their various and minute differences and similarities of feature, and habitation- not even anything on their purposes, which might actually be remotely interesting. She smiled ironically, thinking how surprised her classmates would be if they discovered that there were actually things that Hermione Granger found 'boring'. Then she pushed her glasses back up her nose and set about her work.

***

Hermione bit back a sigh and began to explain patiently, that she had not broken the rules.

"Sir, this is not something that anyone else could have done. I am the only one who has a working knowledge of the ways in which Dark Arts Potions were used in Volde- You-Know-Who's defeat." She hastily amended the name when her employer began to blanch.

"But you know the rules, Miss. Granger. They must be observed. When a junior such as yourself gets an assignment, she must first pass it off to higher levels. Only if no one else has taken it may you accept it. And I'm sure that someone else would like to do this." His whiny voice was just what one would expect to issue from the weedy, greasy looking man with his stiff and too-small bargain basement clothing.

"But sir, it isn't possible for anyone else to-." Hermione was cut off rudely, although her tone had been at its most reasonable.

"None of your lip, Granger. You are a selfish and impertinent bint and your pay will be docked for refusing to follow the rules. You have already been warned twice this week. You've also probably almost lost us this account with your incompetent handling of the situation yesterday- it is hardly conceivable that anyone would want you to research something when they could have one of our accomplished employees-." Hermione, pressed against the door of the elevator, where she had been immediately besieged by her boss, suddenly fell back as they opened. She was, amazingly enough, caught easily and set back on her feet as her savior began to speak.

"Hm, and yet its true. Miss. Granger is the only person in this entire organization," and here, although Hermione couldn't see it, the man from the previous day raked a dismissive gaze over the much smaller man," who has any amount of intelligence. She will be the person who researches this case and to hell with any of your other…fine researchers. There is no argument over this." The biting sarcasm clearly overwhelmed Mr. Gavin, but he made a weak attempt to rally.

"Yes, well…who are you? To say that?" As the gentleman, dressed again in casually perfect muggle clothing, stepped around Hermione, Gavin cringed. The patron kept going until he was directly in front of her boss, menacingly towering over him.

"Who am I?" he asked with quiet deadliness. "Who am I?" The man shook his head slowly and a small smile blossomed upon his lips. He flicked a card and a coin into Mr. Gavin's shaking palm and turned to Hermione.

"I'll send someone over for it on Monday morning." He waited for her nod, then exited the basement.

Bereft of the presence the man had, Hermione's boss turned over the business card in his hand. Hermione already knew what it would say.

S.S. Snape

Headmaster of Hogwarts:

School Of Witchcraft and Wizardry

So read the elegant black script. Dumbledore had retired after Hermione's last year, eager to enjoy some of life's little pleasures, like being a tester for Weasley's Whizard Wheezes. He seemed to actually like being turned into a random animal at random times or finding himself floating in a candy bubble high above the ground. Or so Ron told her. He had turned the school over to Professor Snape, Minerva McGonagall having died so nobly for the Cause right before the final battle. If Harry's words were to be believed, the castle was running in peak condition. Hermione, Harry, and Ron had gotten to know their stern Potions Master much better after their fourth year, when they all began working for the Cause. He had proved invaluable in the defeat of Voldemort, and had truly gained the wizarding world's thanks. No one had voiced dissension against his inheritance of the position of Headmaster, and neither his intelligence, magical capability, nor administrative powers had so far proved problematic. However, Hermione had been unable to attend either Dumledore's Retiring Party (although he was now Governor of the Board) or Snape's Initiation Party. In fact, she realized that she had not seen any of her old classmates or teachers save Harry, Ron, and Sirius (who had become their DADA professor using a Confoozlement charm in their fifth year). So when her teacher had waltzed in, she had had no reserves in thinking how hot he was. Now, she just wanted to crawl somewhere and hide.

She had just proven to the one teacher she had never gotten real approval from how stupid and pathetic she really was. The compliments she had just received had not made their way into her consciousness. She had no life, she had a dead-end job, and although she had known this in her heart for sometime, and had even begun to admit as much to herself on a daily basis, the absolute certainty crashed in on her in one fell swoop and she felt like a cannon ball had been launched through her stomach.

She turned woodenly to her employer, unable to show any facial expression for fear that she would crack.

"Sir, if I may begin this assignment?" She kept her voice respectful with some difficulty. The man looked like he was about to wilt.

"Granger, if you mess this one up you will be out on your butt with no job and no references before you can say 'homeless'. And don't worry, we all know the nature of our glorious Headmaster- you will screw up." The man turned a malicious smile to her and walked away leaving Hermione floored. The worst part was that he was right. It wasn't even as though Professor Snape had ever liked anything she did in school, and she had no doubt that her talents had actually decreased since she took this fruitless and unchallenging job. Well, there was nothing for it but to try her best. Hermione Granger had nothing left but her determination, so she was just going to have to make sure that that was all she needed.

***

Buried up to her neck in books, Hermione Granger was in her element. The Head Librarian of the International Library of Magick, the English branch, had been ecstatic to see her after the last two years. They had struck up something of a friendship, since Hermione had been in so often conducting research for her various 7th year projects and personal interests. However, Hermione's job had lately no need of the fine extents of the National Library, so Hermione hadn't seen Mr. Alberterryfink lately. Or "Alby" as she had jokingly nicknamed him. Almost as old as Dumledore, and certainly as batty, he never failed to make her laugh, and was always helpful in her work, even when she wished to be left alone and try something herself.

"Hermione, dear. It's almost lunchtime. Do you want me to have something brought over from that little Indian place you were so fond of? Did you remember to cross-reference the-." Alby smiled as he was distractedly cut off. The academician at work, and Hermione was one of the finest he had ever seen. As good as the other one who had been in here so often, although he had to admit, on reflection, that that one hadn't been in much in the past two years either. He almost sighed, thinking how people changed. Hermione had turned from a sparkling and energetic ball into a small, tightly wound knot of confusion and self-hatred. He had sensed it radiating off her when she Portkeyed in. He had also seen the grim perseverance that was set in her deep brown eyes, which no longer held that exciting youthful glimmer. He just hoped that it was not gone forever.

"Yes please, Alby. Some chicken Tandoori and, oh, some picnic balls. And some coconut ice cream, too, if you would. But as to the cross-referencing, of course I did. I haven't been away that long!" She looked up and gave a small laugh, not really seeing the odd expression on the Head Librarian's face.

They were so similar it was uncanny, he thought. Well, seeing as how she would be firmly ensconced in the library until it closed for the day or she had found all the information she needed, he would just go and order that lunch. Might as well get himself some as well. She liked it mild, while he himself wouldn't eat anything less than mouth-burning hot. He did, however, think how true it was that for most people, two years was long enough to forget the fine points of a difficult skill. But not Hermione Granger.

***

Alby was woken from a brief after lunch nap, as Hermione had had no need of him and things were usually very slow in the afternoon…or any other time, for that matter. The figure before him was the same as the person he had been ruminating on before, and he was just as happy to see him as he had been on the appearance of Hermione. Today was shaping up to be a great day, regardless of the sleet beating down on the roof from the bleak sky outside.

"It's been so long!" The man smiled shyly and Alby found himself peering closely at him over his thick spectacles. Utterly useless, as a simple charm took care of eye problems, but he liked the look they gave him. But back to what he was looking at; something he had always hoped but never really believed he would see again. He saw the boy of his sixth year. The improved version, that is. Now the man carried himself with total confidence, yet not arrogance, and his features were indelibly marked by the events of the past twenty years, but the burden was lifted off his shoulders. Only to be replaced, Alby knew, by an even greater one, yet the secrecy, the diversion, was gone, and he was out of the dungeons.

"It has. And for that…my apologies. You are aware, I am sure, of the changes that have occurred at Hogwarts." The voice was deep and sonorous and rather dramatic seeing as how Alby had known him since he was a boy. But then, it wasn't affected, it was simply how the boy…man, was. And man he was, from the looks of him. Alby gave him an once-over, making sure the man saw exactly what he was doing.

He smiled and held out his arms encased in black leather and spun around casually. "An improvement, Alby? In so short a time…" His voice trailed off as he was reminded of what he had come here to do. He really hated to, he honestly didn't have the time, but it certainly didn't look as though Granger was going to be able to get the research job done. He didn't actually have the time to stand here and chat with his friend. He should be buried in books by now. He really wondered what the hell had happened to what Albus had claimed was Hogwart's most brilliant student since himself in the few years since graduation. She really looked a mess.

"What can I do for you? Anything particular that you want to look into, or do you want me to suggest some light reading?" The man's tone was humorous, as he knew well the inundation of work that he was thrown into from the time he woke up to the time he finally got around to bed.

"Yes, I really wish I was able to stick around and chat, but I have a great deal to do, and of course, never enough time to do it in. I wanted to hire someone else for this research, as my position does not give me time for spare projects of my own, and I have not yet scraped up the courage to ask my predecessor how he managed it all. Unfortunately, the candidate I asked was a mess, looked as though she wasn't capable of lifting a pen to scratch in a request card, let alone do the sort of rigorous work I need and thought her capable of. Lost all of her competence. Sad, really. Almost pathetic, as everyone had such high hopes for her." He remembered someone else who had made the wrong choice right after graduation, but he really couldn't compare such a monumental screw-up of his life that had been with Granger's little fit of depression and current incompetence.

"Have I, Professor?" He had been facing the information desk where Alby had been sleeping, his back to the rest of the library, but he had no trouble figuring out who's voice that was. After all, it had issued from the Gryffindor side of his Potions classroom for seven years.