Disclaimer: Characters and settings are property of J.K. Rowling. What you don't recognize is mine. No copyright infringement is intended.
IMPORTANT AUTHOR'S NOTE: This is my new story – What It Takes. It's a D/Hr romance, and while I don't usually sail that ship, it makes for a good story. J Anyway, I just want to make it clear that this doesn't follow the storyline of my MWPP fic. That belongs to a completely separate universe, and has no connections whatsoever to this one. Just a note.
Summary: Hermione Granger had always been the brightest of the bright; the best of the best. A previous Head Girl at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Hermione had aspirations to become a Healer – the best there ever was. But things didn't turn out the way she wanted them to. Hermione becomes the "odd one out" or the magical world, solely because of her non-magical heritage. Now, Hermione, aged 22, is poor and desperate. After being kicked out of her job at the Goblin Liaison Office and getting thoroughly pissed, Hermione searches the classified section of the Daily Prophet for a new job. She finds one, but it isn't quite what she expected… Particularly when she finds out that her boss is her old school tormentor, Draco Malfoy. Now, Hermione has to work on projects that become increasingly difficult, deal with how her friends are finally seeming interested in her life again, and, most importantly, deal with the Draco Malfoy, her new boss… Does Hermione have what it takes to make it in a wizarding world where she's the odd one out?
X-X-X-X-X
Hermione sighed, shoving her brown hair from her face. It was becoming frizzy again, she noted. She recalled endless conversations with her friends – all of them telling her that her hair looked much better after she used perfected a straightening solution.
Well, perhaps perfected wasn't the word. It didn't completely straighten her hair – just made it less… frizzy-ish.
"Miss Granger?" Hermione looked up from her desk and saw her boss's snotty secretary. The woman was platinum blond (That has to be fake, thought Hermione) and icy-blue eyed. In fact, if she hadn't been a perpetual bitch with an intensely sour look on all the time, she might have been pretty.
Well, Mr. Hammond found her pretty. It was quite a rumor around their little division of the ministry that he was sleeping with his secretary, carrying on an affair with a random girl he met in a bar, and then there was that whole… already having a wife 'thing.' But so far, Mrs. Hammond was either too stupid to notice her husband's straying affections. Or perhaps she didn't care.
Goodness, if Hermione was married to Mr. Hammond, she wouldn't care. She'd be glad to get rid of the oaf, in fact.
Hermione, at twenty-two years old, was absolutely miserable. She worked in the Goblin Liaison Office. It was possibly the most boring job in the world. When she'd first been hired, she'd just needed the money, and the current Head – Cuthbert Mockridge – hadn't been a bad sort, but two years before, he'd retired and instated his second-in-command – Bertram Hammond – as the new Head. The man was a pureblooded bigot if Hermione had ever met one.
Things would have been better if she'd had her friends around her. But she didn't. Harry was a professional Quidditch player and so busy jetting around with Puddlemere United that he barely had time for any of his friends. Ron, on the other hand, was no better – as he was now an Unspeakable for the Department of Mysteries, he was always too tired to go for a drink after work. And Ginny was a beautiful researcher on the Committee of Experimental Charms. Not only was she a researcher, she was a top researcher – one of the co-heads of the Committee, in fact.
But no, not Hermione. No, Hermione wasn't like the rest of them. She was a Muggleborn witch, and that had set her back – despite her being Head Girl, despite her being the brightest student of her class, despite her being an inducted member of the Order of the Phoenix (which had nothing to do, now that Voldemort was defeated), despite her being one of the 'Special' generation, and despite her being one of famous Harry Potter's best friends, one of the wizards (and witches) who had defeated Voldemort and his followers in the final battle.
No, none of that mattered. Because Hermione didn't have a drop of wizarding blood.
When Dumbledore had been alive, Muggleborn wizards and witches had had an easier time. Hermione thought wistfully of Lily Evans-Potter, who, in her time, had been a renowned Healer until her son had been born and she'd been brutally murdered a year later. But Dumbledore had died in the Final Battle, saving Harry Potter's life, and any and all respect for Muggleborns had died with him.
Hermione had known plenty of Muggleborn wizards and witches when she'd been in school, but she'd lost touch with them over the years. She wondered where they were now, how they were doing. The only friend she ever talked to – and even then, it was infrequently – was Ginny. But Ginny was loving life and doing so well that she barely ever had time for poor, dull Hermione…
"Miss Granger!" Elsa Franks – Mr. Hammond's secretary – was sneering at her. "Mr. Hammond wants to see you in his office. Now."
What've I ever done to you? Hermione wondered tiredly, but she put her papers away, slowly and deliberately – she hid a smile when Elsa began to tap her foot impatiently. Hermione got a kick out of pissing off Elsa – it was the only thing that really made her smile anymore these days. It just seemed that nothing was funny anymore.
"I'm going," said Hermione, not looking at the impatient Elsa. She finished filing away her folders and stood up. She walking to Mr. Hammond's office and shut the door quickly behind her, thus preventing Elsa from watching. (She thought she heard a squeal of outrage, but she might have imagined it.)
"Hermione!" Mr. Hammond smiled at her, but it was an insincere smile. Hermione felt a shiver of nervousness run up her spine, like someone was drawing a cold finger up her back. "Sit down, please!"
She sat, crossing her legs and neatly folding her hands in her lap. "Mr. Hammond, what can I do for you?"
He continued to smile at her, getting up from behind his desk and walking around. "Hermione, you've done excellent work. This report on Goblin Rebellions in the 1400s and how they set back wizard-goblin relations was fascinating."
Really? Hermione thought cynically. That's odd. I fell asleep while writing it. The only thing more boring that I can imagine is… well… Percy's cauldron bottom report. No, I take that back. My report was definitely more boring.
"You've done excellent work." He was sitting on a couch, now; he patted the seat beside him. "Come and talk with me over here. It's much more comfortable. Would you like some wine?"
Hermione felt a feeling of foreboding, and sought desperately for an excuse to get her out of the suddenly stuff-office. But Mr. Hammond didn't give her the chance to say anything.
"I want to discuss your promotion. I think it's time we upgraded you to, say… my personal assistant?" He smiled again at her. Hermione sat down with some trepidation.
"Thank you, Mr. Hammond," she added, taking the wine glass he offered but not tasting it. "And… well, don't you think Elsa is far more qualified to be your assistant?"
"No," replied Mr. Hammond. "I want you." Hermione froze. "…To be my assistant," he continued, setting aside his wine glass after gulping its contents. He took the glass for Hermione's hand, as well. "But the question is, do you deserve it? How far will you go to prove you deserve it?" Hermione felt a hot hand on her knee, and jerked away.
"You're hitting on me!" she said angrily, standing up.
He smirked up at her. "You want that promotion, don't you? Tell you what. I'll even pay you extra for your… services."
Hermione didn't want to hear any more. She stormed to the door and yanked it open; Elsa fell in. She had clearly been attempted to eavesdrop, her ear pressed tightly to the door. "I'm leaving," said Hermione, her lower lip trembling. It'd been a trying day for her, and things were only getting worse. She was going to become hysterical, soon.
"I wouldn't, if I were you," said Mr. Hammond with a frown. "You need that promotion. Don't tell me you have the money to get by. Your job pays shit and you're a Mudblood. If you walk out that door, you'll never find another job. And you can kiss this one goodbye."
Hermione blew him a mocking kiss and stormed out the door.
X-X-X-X-X
Hermione had barely made it into her kitchen before she burst into tears. She looked around her slightly dilapidated apartment miserably. Her life was crashing down around her; she was now unemployed, fairly poor, rather desperate, and extremely hysterical.
The only good side to this is that I don't have to wake up at five in the morning anymore. She peered out the window and saw witches and wizards going by on the streets of Diagon Alley below, bustling here and there and finishing their evening shopping. Hermione never had time for that, and now that she did have time, she didn't have the money.
She took several deep, calming breaths, and went into the bathroom, scrubbing her face. Her stomach was growling, but she ignored it. When she had scrubbed off all her makeup and tears, she snatched up her purse, determined to do what she knew all of her male friends would do in a situation like this (although, granted, it was rather rare for a male to be hit on by an ugly, fat boss while working a minimum wage job).
She was going to get completely and utterly pissed.
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"Can I have another, Tom?" asked Hermione, not removing her face from her arms. She heard a sigh, and looked up miserably. Hermione had a very low alcohol tolerance, and after several Firewhiskies (she couldn't remember the exact number anymore) she'd found herself feeling completely miserable and, on top of that, the room was spinning very fast.
"I think you've had enough, Hermione," said Tom firmly. "You need help gettin' back to your room?"
"No, thanks," said Hermione, pulling herself off of the barstool. She rummaged around in her purse – where the devil was her wallet? "How much do I owe you?"
"Not a Knut. Just go home and rest. You look terrible."
Hermione took his advice and went home. At her apartment door (Number 32), she rifled around through her purse, searching for her key, before bursting into tears again. She leaned against the door, sobbing silently. It was late; most people were asleep, and it was unlikely that anybody would hear her.
She sank miserably to the floor, still sobbing. Her life was ruined.
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A soft hand touched Hermione's shoulder. She jumped, surprised – her landlady, Mrs. Jones, was staring down at her. "How long have you been out here, love? You look awful."
"I feel awful," groaned Hermione, pressing a hand to her forehead. She felt hot and had the worst headache she'd ever had in her life. "I think I got drunk," she added helpfully.
Mrs. Jones shook her head. "All right then, love. You sit there, and we'll get you inside." Hermione nodded numbly as the woman went through her purse, finally extracting a key and inserting it into the lock. She pushed the door open and surveyed the living room. "You should furnish this room a little bit better. It could be very nice, you know."
"I can't," moaned Hermione. "I don't have the money, and I just lost my job. I can't afford anything."
"It can't be all that bad," she said, smoothening Hermione's hair. "Still, let's get you inside. You need to lie down." She helped Hermione into the apartment, into the bedroom. Hermione flopped on the bed, and Mrs. Jones covered her with a thin blanket that was made in Gryffindor colors. The colors were faded, now. "Just have a nice lie-in, dear," continued Mrs. Jones in a soothing voice. "I'll send up some hangover remedies."
"I don't think I can afford those, either."
"That's quite all right; they're on me." She flipped a switch off. "Rest, dear." And she shut the door. Hermione was out in moments.
X-X-X-X-X
When Hermione awoke next, the clock beside her bed read two in the afternoon. "I haven't slept this late in years," she grumbled, but she got out of bed. She went into the bathroom, quickly stripping down before getting under a cold shower. It made her feel better, but the ache in her head didn't go away.
When she stumbled into her kitchen, wiping her bleary eyes and wrapped in a once-fluffy pink bathrobe, she saw a thin glass bottle with a note and a key next to it.
Hermione, love – here are your hangover remedies. Don't worry about the cost; you just feel better.
Hermione silently thanked Mrs. Jones, gulping it down. She remembered, somewhere, in the back of her mind, Professor Snape's voice: "If you ever administer a hangover remedy, remember this – be certain to take food with it, or one will begin to hallucinate." He'd pursed his lips. "Granted, when I look at who I'm teaching, I suppose the lot of you hallucinating would be an improvement." The Slytherins had laughed; the Gryffindors had scowled.
Hermione reached into a cabinet and drew out a box of cereal, simply sticking her hand in and eating it dry. An owl swooped through her window – she paid it (I wonder how many Knuts I have let? Hermione wondered anxiously) and slit open the letter. Her heart jumped into her throat.
Dear Hermione,
How've you been? It's been ages since we talked. I really miss you. I hope things are going well for you.
I've got such great news! At the Committee, we're working on something that will help to reverse the condition of people like Neville's parents – you know, people who've had their brains addled by magic? Well, guess what? We've actually made progress! Well, sort of. Mr. and Mrs. Longbottom are talking, again, but it's kind of nonsense and twaddle most of the time and they have really short term memories. And they don't recognize anybody or remember anything, or even each other. But it's a start, right?
Hey, maybe we can get together, you know? Go to one of those fashionable restaurants in the really upscale areas of Diagon Alley. I can actually afford them now!
Can't wait to hear from you,
GinnyAngrily, Hermione threw aside Ginny's letter. It'd been months since she'd last gotten one, and that one only served to make her feel worse. Wonderful bloody Ginny was having a wonderful bloody life while dating wonderful blood Harry. She didn't really care about bloody Hermione. Part of Hermione knew that she was being unfair to Ginny, but she couldn't help it. Ginny's life was seeming to perfect, and Hermione's was such a wreck.
Listen to her – 'I can actually afford them now!' Well, guess what, Gin? I can't!
Sighing and trying to get a hold of her emotions, she pulled the Daily Prophet towards herself and flipped to the classified section, searching for jobs. She might as well start at once – she needed the cash. She perused for a while, until one caught her eye: Healers needed at St. Mungo's.
She stared, her vision becoming blurry with tears again. Since her sixth year, she'd dreamed of becoming a Healer. She's passed her N.E.W.T.'s with flying colors; she'd aced the prerequisite exams she'd need to enter her training. But she'd been rejected, anyway.
Dear Miss Granger,
We are deeply regretful to inform you that we cannot accept you into our Training Program for Healers. Certain circumstances prevent our taking you on; we offer our regrets and wish you luck in whatever profession you decide to take on.
Sincerely,
The St. Mungo's Board for TraineesHermione rubbed her eyes. That had been ages ago, and she'd ceased crying over it. Turning the page of the classified section, something else caught her eye.
MCC: Medical Charms Corps.
We need you desperately! Jobs Available of All Sorts!
Will Hire All, So Long as All Applicants are Qualified!
Apply to D.M.
Hermione went on to read the list of requirement, and smiled when she realized she met all of them. It said nothing about family history of any sort, at the end, in tiny notations, just below the address of the building, were the following words: Trainee Program: Learn to become a real Healer while on the job! We accept all.
Hermione's heart soared. Perhaps there was still a chance…
X-X-X-X-X
A/N: Well, there it is! I hope people like it; it was just an idea I had. No worries, I'll still be continuing my MWPP fic, and if you haven't checked it out, go read it, it's my pride and joy! (Okay, not really, but I worked hard on it, so if you have time, go take a look!) Reviews are really appreciated! Peaches