Disclaimer: This story utilises characters and situations created by J.K Rowling which are held under the copyright of Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and other affiliated publishing associations. This is a non-profitable venture, and as such has not violated any copyrights or trademarks.

The English Patient

Part Two

Well it was '9 am sharp' just like he had requested. And bloody nice it was of her to even bother to show up too. He hadn't offered her a contract, any monetary compensation whatsoever, come to think.

She was in a bloody rotten mood. It was so damn early. She hadn't had her coffee yet. Good job that swearing in her head didn't count towards her pact to her friends.

God. The awful pact. She had no idea what made her pledge such a terrible thing in the first place. And with Draco Malfoy around, it would be even harder to keep the drunken promise she had made to Ciara and Jane earlier that month.

It's not as though she was swearing off some terrible sin like heroin. The pact was pissing her off so much that she was rhyming in her head! Whatever or whoever had possessed her to try to stop swearing should be strung up by its/his/her ears and dragged around a gravel driveway face down and...

A loud thud disturbed her musings. Malfoy's face was smashed up against the glass door that led into the office suite. She attempted to stifle a giggle, but gave into the impulse to crack up; her shoulders shook with mirth and she rolled off of the bench and onto the floor.

"What the hell do you find so entertaining?" his voice thundered out at her, which of course only made his fish face of the moments before even funnier.

She finally managed to pull herself together, readjusting her outfit and sitting on the edge of the bench, crossing one leg over the other, as though she hadn't just had a hysterical fit.

"Granger!" his voice was incredulous. "I didn't think you would bother to..." his voice trailed off and his eyes narrowed at his near admission. "I mean...Of course you would show up. Who wouldn't show up for me?"

"Why wouldn't you think I would show up? I said I would... didn't I? Besides, you have money and as long as you can pay for me to play... I'm happy to show up almost anywhere at any time," her eyes belied any false sense of nicety he may have gained from the first half of her speech. She was clearly there for the money.

"Well," he drawled, regaining his usual arrogant air. "It is 11.00 and I believe our appointment was supposed to be at 9?"

"What the hell," she mentally slapped herself bad Hermione!, "are you talking about? I specifically chose my flight so that I would arrive at 9.00 French time! Your watch must be broken... you may want to get that fixed," she gestured at the impressive Rolex residing on his wrist.

"Well m'dear, I do believe that you calculated the time difference incorrectly. The French are 1 hour ahead of the English, not one hour behind!" he looked rather smug at triumphing over Hermione Granger for once. After all, she was the one that had held all of the answers for the duration of their school days.

She sat for a moment, apparently stunned at being wrong. She grimaced and slowly dragged the words, "sorry for keeping you waiting, Malfoy" out of her throat.

"It's quite all right. We all make mistakes sometimes!" he grinned, suddenly in excellent spirits.

She smiled back at him, a tad sourly. He was obviously revelling in her mistake. "Shall we get started then?" she asked briskly, obviously wanting to move on from her mistake.

"No, give me a moment," he murmured distractedly. He appeared to be filling out a very important piece of paperwork. "If you could just sign here...?" he indicated a hand drawn dotted line at the bottom of an official looking paper.

"What exactly is it that I'm signing?" she inquired, taking her pen out of her breast pocket.

"I'm sure you learnt how to read before you made it to Hogwarts! I suggest you exercise those tendencies. I'm not about to read it to you. If you want a bedtime story, I'm sure I can find more 'interesting' –shall we say- activities to put you to sleep," he leered at her rather... lecherously. There was clearly no other word for the look he gave her.

She began reading under her breath a bit. "...to certify that...was incorrect...Smeltinghurst Draco Malfoy," at that she exclaimed, "it's no wonder you go by Draco!" "...On the date of... What is the meaning of this mockery?" she suddenly screamed, outraged.

"It seemed rather straightforward to me..." Draco said, deliberately misunderstanding her question. "I can outline the main points of the document for you if you want."

"That will not be necessary," she smiled, her teeth clenched tightly in a sham of a smile. "Because this little document will never find its way into the files with all of its other signed, sealed and delivered brothers."

"Why ever not?" he asked, furrowing his brow, looking a tad bemused.

"Because it is not an accurate representation of the situation!" she exclaimed loudly.

"Again, at the risk of parroting myself; why ever not?" he asked, a smirk slowly finding its way onto her face in light of her obvious preoccupation and indignation.

"Because it fails to take into account that I beat you in every single subject for seven years straight and that I was correct about everything for every one of those seven years!" she bit out.

"Now, now Granger. It's okay. I promise you'll be fine. The first time anyone screws up can be a little daunting, but if you do more of it, I'm sure you will prevail in the face of this adversary!" he advised brightly.

"You sound like a bloody self-help guru," she growled.

"No need to result to petty insults. It wasn't me that was wrong you know," he rebuked her with a sad shake of his head. "If it makes you feel any better, I'm sure that I've been wrong on one or two occasions myself."

She snorted at this tiding, rather derisively.

"If you need me to pay to send you to get outside help..." he offered, gently patting her on the head. "I hope you haven't been too terribly traumatized by this highly irregular- I'm sure- occurrence.

"Right then. If we're done with this sham of a meeting, I'm afraid I have more important things to do back in London."

"You can't mean that you're leaving already?" he asked, a paragon of concern and compassion. "But we haven't even had our tea party yet!"

"Thanks, but no thanks," she said shortly. "Whenever you're ready to drop the patronizing act, give me a ring."

"Act? Whatever are you talking about?" he inquired, the picture of an angel reincarnated. "I can't say that I take your meaning."

"I'm sure you don't. Such semantic subtleties lie beyond your grasp of the English language," she collected her laptop case and walked over to the roped off apparition spot.

"Granger! Do Floo me if you think you want to take on this job ok? I need to do something about it quickly," he flashed her a charming grin. "I may die if you don't Floo me!"

"I can only hope, Malfoy! I'll call you when I come up with a decision," she said more seriously. "I don't do Floo anymore, remember?"

"Then I shall have to get one installed for you in your apartment."

"I never said I wanted a Floo!" she exclaimed, a little indignant at his forwardness. She turned around and began to stride off.

"Hey! You forgot to sign this contract!" he quirked an eyebrow at her, extending the dratted piece of paper and a Mont Blanc.

"No?" he asked, as she raised her hand to flag down a taxi. "But this is a once in a lifetime opportunity for me!"

"I suppose not," he said as she suddenly disappeared from his office. "Too bad," he remarked complacently, "it'll never happen again. It's like hooking up with Naomi or Christy or Cindy," he mused. "A once in a lifetime occurrence that no one would believe even if you told them."

She fumed after she got back to her office. How dare that little, rotten, mean, scumbag, doodoohead!? And he expected her to help him now? "Hah!" she expelled a snort worthy of McGonnagall.

"Have you a cold, Ms. Granger?" Jacobsen inquired, poking his head 'round into her cubicle.

Recalling the rude comments he had made about her ability to work, she replied appropriately. "I have no cold, Mr. Jacobsen, but I'm sure that if you don't remove your head from the interior of my cubicle within 10 seconds, I will rip it off and stuff it into an obscure orifice somewhere on your body."

"Jeez, someone's PMS-ing this morning! Whew!" he exclaimed. "My girlfriend says that a Midol really helps," he whispered confidentially. "Maybe you should try it. Or try that thing with a hot water bottle, she says its pretty good as well."

"Mr. Jacobsen, with all due respect, if you keep prancing around with such detailed advice about problems of such a decidedly 'female' nature, people may begin to question what you have in those tailored slacks," she peered sarcastically at the front of his trousers.

"Thanks for the advice, Ms. Ball Breaker," he said, clearly choosing to take her comment in a jocular fashion.

"It's not a problem, Mr. or should I say Ms. Jacobsen," she smiled up at him from her desk. "Have a nice day," she said sunnily, waving at him and swivelling around in her chair to turn on her computer.

"This is shit!" she exclaimed an hour later, after attempting to begin a proposal for the 43rd time. "'With the funds allotted to this capital venture...' No, that's not quite right either! Why can't I think this morning?" she asked rhetorically.

She attempted several more starts to her proposal, her attempts culminating in her banging her head repeatedly on her keyboard, until she was quite sure, an enter shaped indentation found its way onto her forehead.

It was time for a fortification break, she decided, grabbing up her coat and purse and marching to the bank of lifts. She pressed the button repeatedly; obviously she was of the school that believed that if they pressed a button hard and quickly enough, the lift would come sooner.

It finally arrived with a ding, and she stepped in; relieved. She leant against the railing in exhausted silence, grateful that she didn't know anyone in the elevator, thus necessitating polite small chatter. She didn't even think that she had enough brain cells left to exchange mindless remarks about the weather in England(rainy) or the chance Osama Bin Laden would turn into a woven cotton wearing, Vegan, anti-war hippie (not if pigs flew out of his arse).

She worried her lip between her teeth as the lift made its slow descent, stopping at the 30th floor, the 29th floor and the 28th floor, much to her annoyance. It proceeded to stop at every single floor- excepting, strangely enough, the 17th floor and the 8th floor. She hated it when those messenger people got into the lift with her.

When they finally made it to the ground floor, a good 5 minutes later, she was in dire need of a caffeine I.V., so she made her way to Starbucks, ordering a triple shot latte, skim milk, extra hot.

She was almost shaking when she picked up her latte, and she breathed in its fragrant aroma while sitting in a squashy armchair, her fattening, flaky pastry sitting on the low table in front of her.

She leant back into the chair with a loud sigh, taking a gulp of her latte. After drinking almost half of the venti latte, she felt well enough to begin to contemplate the horrors of her situation.

One Mr. Smeltinghurst (she would be damned if she would ever let him live that one down) Draco Malfoy had offered to buy anywhere from a few weeks to a few months of her time, doing what she did best. However, she hated the man's guts. But, if she didn't help him, she ran the risk of dying as well.

She really did hate the smug bastard. She picked at the Danish in front of her and gulped down the rest of her drink for fortification. She supposed that she would have to take the 'job' as it were with Malfoy. There was nothing for it.

He was a little bit worried that she wouldn't take the bait. But the facts added up; of course she would help him... right? The situation fairly smacked of something Hermione Granger would fix. He was a desolate, – well spiritually desolate- dying, spiritually- although certainly not materially- impoverished man with an unknown, debilitating disease. Of course she would help him- it was in her little Gryffindor goodie good nature to help such hopeless cases as he.

And to compound the agreement, naturally, she too was infected with this debilitating disease that she would carry for the rest of her life if his case was not cured.

How could she pass this opportunity up? Just think of the headlines: Hermione Granger: Muggleborn Magical Malady Marvel, or perhaps; Discoverer of Debilitating Disease. How he loved the wonders of alliteration!

He had no idea what exactly he would do if she rejected his suit. He had no idea at all. He cradled his hands in his head, leaning heavily on his desk.

"Hey Malfoy!" suddenly a voice sounded from his fireplace. "Do light up! I need to talk to you."

The voice sounded increasingly familiar. In fact it sounded rather like... well, rather like her! He did a little happy dance, shaking his butt around the room, waving his arms over his hips and of course performing the patented Ricky Martin hip swivel. Too bad Draco didn't rhyme with 'Pelvis' because he was sure he would be rivalling that Elvis muggle man for the title if it did!

He jigged over to the fireplace and lit it rather enthusiastically. "Hello there! Whatever can I do for you?" he asked, halting his celebratory dance at the dismal expression on Hermione's face.

"Is something wrong?" he asked. "Can you not help me?" he panicked, running a hand through his hair a couple of times, worriedly. He looked worried as well; otherwise she felt sure that he would never risk his perfect coif like that.

"No actually, I rather think I can help you. Or, I'd like to try at any rate. I'm not so sure it'll do any good, but I'll do the best that I can," she said, a rather resigned expression on her face.

"Really?" Draco asked, delighted. He leant forward to hug her, enthusiastically, jerking back when he realized that she was only an apparition in his fireplace.

"Yes really," she said, more confident that she had made the correct decision.

"Fabulous."

"Well, this isn't exactly a social call, Malfoy. I need some samples of your hair and a couple of skin and urine," at that she shuddered, "samples. If you go over to whoever your mediwitch is, I'm sure they'll get you sorted. You can have them sent over by messenger and I'll try to get a look at them tonight, see if I can figure out what's what, ey?" she said.

"Will do," Draco saluted her, fingers crisp on his eyebrow. "I don't know how I can repay you, honestly."

"Oh, well," she flushed a bit. "If, and that's a big if, mind you. If I'm successful, I'm sure we can work something out."

"Even if you're not successful," he exclaimed earnestly. "I'm sure I can have several million galleons placed in your Gringotts account, very discreetly too."

"That's...That's quite aright, Malfoy. No need to do anything like that," she said, waving her hand dismissively in front of her face.

"If you'd rather have it in muggle money, I can do that too," he said, scrunching his eyebrow. "Let's see... the conversion rate is currently at Å´15 to £1."

"Seriously Malfoy, don't worry about that yet," she said, gnawing on her lip.

"I see you decided to get yourself a Floo," he twisted his pale face into his approximation of a smile.

"I didn't 'get' a Floo," she said sweetly. "I'm using one at Gringotts. I wanted to check the exchange rate. Anyway, I must be off."

"I can't thank you enough, Hermione," he said. "And I'm shocked that you think I would short change you!" he smirked. "I would never cheat a lady, and besides," he added, slightly under his breath, "it's not like I can't afford it."

"Well, by then," she said lamely. "I'll be in touch later in the week." She had a mildly disturbed look on her face.

They had both disconnected before he realized that he had called her Hermione, not just in his thoughts but to her face. It was most disconcerting.

She was on 'the horn' as her Dad used to call it when she was at Muggle Primary. Ciara and Jane were both dying to hear the details about her meeting with her old school 'friend', whom they had both seen in her annuals.

They thought that he was rather sexy with his brilliant teeth and that little cross bite, and that white blonde hair, and that bad boy sneer. She spent the better part of an hour trying to convince them that the teeth had no noticeable sexy cross bite and that his hair made him look like an albino.

Of course they didn't believe her, but they all made plans to go out to a party the following evening. "You'll be seeing Peter tomorrow night, you know," Jane remarked.

"Oh, yes. You should definitely make an effort," Ciara said. "Make him see exactly what he's missing out on."

"I couldn't give two farthings about what Peter thinks about me now," she remarked airily, although she made a mental note to check whether any of her male friends would be free to escort her- just to show him that she was most definitely, absolutely, positively over him.

And of course, she had been awfully busy lately. It would be nice to catch up with them too.

"You know," Jane began, practically reading her mind as always, "You should invite someone, just to catch up. I'll bet there's someone you haven't seen in a while."

"You mean she should make Peter jealous," Ciara stated, ever the blunt one in the group. "I think it's a fabulous idea darling! Go for it."

"I'll think about it," Hermione allowed.

They hung up, soon after; Hermione professing her need for sleep. She had had a very hard day, she claimed.

The following day, exactly an hour before she was due to meet Jane and Ciara for someone or other's little soiree, she was literally poking around in Draco Malfoy's pee. It wasn't the most pleasant of tasks, she was sure.

She had carefully distilled it so that only the minerals and wastes were left. She set up a wet slide and slid it under her microscope. Surprisingly, she found nothing to indicate that Malfoy was not of the human race, although his actions and mannerisms often marked him as such a being.

In fact, from the sample, all that she saw was that he was in perfect health. She realized that the situation carried rather more gravity that she had originally believed. If some of the toxins weren't coming out in his waste... then they must all be stockpiling in his bloodstream.

She placed the sample under her fume hood. She was not equipped to look at his sample in her little home lab. It was rather frustrating not to have state of the art equipment at her fingertips as she had during her college days. Damned frustrating.

She decided to call Malfoy about her need for a larger lab. Surprisingly he picked up, after about sixteen rings- not that she counted petty things like that of course... She jumped, a bit startled at the sound of his voice in her ear, and dropped the phone.

"Sorry there, didn't mean to frighten you right out of your wits," he said, after she had managed to pick up the phone and untangle the cord. "I've arranged for you to use one of the labs at the Institute."

"How ever did you manage that?" she asked, curious as what swayed the managers into letting an 'outsider' use a state of the art laboratory at their incredibly elite, prestigious institution.

"Easy really when you know how to manipulate," Malfoy shone his fingernails on the edge of his cotton shirt. "I bought the whole wing for you."

"Excuse me?" Hermione asked, quite certain that her hearing faculties were failing her at an early age.

"I bought you the whole wing. You should have no problem using it now," he said happily. "And I will be better all the more soon."

"Er...I really don't know what to say, Malfoy. Thanks," she said, gesticulating inadequately.

"How about, 'Oh baby I want to shag you sore!'?" he asked, dropping his voice in a – oh she would never admit it if they tried to torture it out of her with Veritaserum- sexy manner.

"Oh in your dreams," she responded dryly.

"Believe me, you are."

"I'm what?" she asked, a bit confused.

"Are you tired?" he asked; a sudden change of topic to her mind.

"Why, so you can go and invite me to sleep over at your place?" she asked sarcastically.

"Actually I hadn't thought of that one, but no. You must be tired-" he insisted, "you've been running in and out of my fantasies all day."

"Honestly, Malfoy. You men really need to think of some new lines. I can't say that I've ever heard a more original one."

"Are you hungry?" he asked, as though he was asking her to tell him the real meaning of life.

She thought that he must have gone barmy what with all of the sudden changes in conversational topics. She then realized that it must be a side affect of his disease. "I'm a little peckish," she admitted.

"Good. Can I buy you dinner somewhere nice?" he asked. "Just to talk about our contract so to speak," he back-pedalled after an abrupt silence.

"Damn!" she exploded suddenly.

"Sorry! Sorry! I didn't mean anything by it. Honestly, you would think that no one had ever bought you dinner before. Come to think of it," he remarked conversationally, "no one probably ever has!"

"Now that's a bit mean, Malfoy. I'm running late," she said hurriedly. "And I was so busy with your stupid pee that I forgot to get myself a date!"

"As if you could, even if you tried!" he smirked at her. "Where about are you going?"

"A friend of a friend is having a party and my ex-, no I really can't show up alone. Sorry I don't know where my mind is," she stuttered, not wanting him to hear her weakness.

"Ohh, I get it," he smirked slyly. "Shall I come with you then?"

"I er, yeah sure," she said, secretly relieved that she wouldn't have to ask him anywhere.

"I'll Floo over in a few minutes. Is this... smart casual?" he inquired.

"I think it's more smart than casual really," she answered. "I'm sure we'll find plenty of time to talk about business matter so the evening won't be a total bust."

"No evening with you could ever be a total bust or even a slight disappointment," he said so softly that if she hadn't been listening closely, she would have missed it.

He hung up the phone abruptly, and she stood frozen for a moment, dial tone ringing in her ear. She looked at her watch casually, then shocked at her lateness began to scurry around the house getting ready for the party.