Disclaimer: Characters and settings are property of J.K. Rowling. What you don't recognize is mine. No copyright infringement is intended.
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" of 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 finally seem interested in her life again, and, most importantly, deal with the Draco Malfoy, her new boss… Does Hermione have what it takesto make it in a wizarding world where she's the odd one out?
X-X-X-X-X
Hermione hummed to herself as she pulled on a pair of faded jeans the next morning. She'd spent the rest of yesterday (after her lunch with Malfoy) researching, and had brought some books home (with his permission) and worked well into the night. True, she had shadows under her eyes and her hair could have done with a cutting, but Hermione didn't care. She had a job that would – hopefully – remain steady, and she was actually going shopping. True, it would be for potions ingredients, but it was certainly better than working in the Goblin Liaison Office. Shrugging into her black robes, Hermione apparated from her flat, straight to MCC.
To her surprise, Malfoy met her in the lobby, scowling. "What's the matter with you?" Hermione asked cheerfully. With things looking up for her already, she was feeling much better.
"Your 'escort' had to cancel on me. Which means I have to go."
"Oh." Hermione was rapidly deflating. She blinked. "Well, that can't be that bad, can it?" she asked slowly.
He gave her an annoyed look. "Give me a break, Granger! I don't want to be seen with you!"
"You were, yesterday at lunch."
"That was different! You were my employee, then! This makes it look like we're – I dunno, dating, or something, which is definitely not-"
"We'll just have to correct any mistaken ideas, then won't we?" Then, to his shock (and irritation) she linked her arm with his and began dragging him towards the door.
"Hey!" he yelled, loudly enough that the people in the lobby turned and stared. "If we have to go together, only one of us can be the leader, and that one has to be me!"
X-X-X-X-X
Malfoy drummed his fingers against countertop as Hermione browsed the rare ingredients' shelves of Cetearyl's Apothecary. "She's not my girlfriend," he told the girl behind the counter. She glanced up from her magazine – Witch Weekly, Malfoy noted with a grimace – and nodded in disinterest. "Really, she's not," he insisted. "She works for me. At Medical Charm Corporation. Heard of us?" The witch wasn't listening to him – she turned a page, and Malfoy saw, with some disgust, that a very startled looking picture of Harry Potter, leaving a locker room with a towel wrapped around his waist, was taking up two pages. "How can you read that trash?"
"It's not trash!" she said shrilly. "Look at this! LOOK at this! You can't just get footage like this of Harry Potter anywhere, you know!"
"Why would you want a picture of a speccy git almost in the nude, anyway?"
She gave him a huffy look and stormed off to the other end of the counter, still reading her magazine, occasionally shooting him disgruntled looks. Hermione came up behind him, her arms laden with bottles and packets. "What's up with her?" she asked, catching sight of the girl.
"Forget it. How much does all this cost?"
"About seventy galleons total."
"SEVENTY!?"
"Well, they're rare! What did you expect, anyway?"
He grabbed a jar from her arms and stared at it. "'Ashwinder Eggs'?" he read off the label incredulously. "This stuff is like fifteen galleons a pound!"
"Well, it's an absolutely vital element to the potion," snapped Hermione. "You told me to let you know what I needed, and I need that."
"Can't you replace it with something else?"
"No!" At least, not without around seventy more hours of intensive research…
"Why the hell not?" he snapped.
"Because I need to do thorough research to figure out what I can replace it with, that's why!" she snapped back at him.
"Lobalug Poison?" he demanded, inspecting the vials and jars that she placed on the counter. "What the hell, Granger? Are you trying to render me poor?"
Hermione slammed a vial down on the counter. "Listen, Malfoy," she said tightly. "I need access to very nearly every single ingredient possible. And for your information, Lobalug poison is my substitute for Basilisk venom, which you could only find in Knockturn Alley at exorbitant prices! I told you that I wanted to make a potion that could be manufactured more easily, and as it just so happens, Basilisk venom is not all that easy to get!"
"And what happens if your bloody Lobalug poison doesn't work, eh?" he snarled savagely.
"Then I'm going to bloody drag you down to Knockturn Alley to find Basilisk venom every week so that we can stock your bloody pharmacy, that's what!" she yelled at him.
"Draco, what are you doing?" asked a simpering voice. A pair of arms slid around Malfoy's waist, and he whirled to face Pansy Parkinson. A strained smile lit his face.
"Hey, Pans, not now, eh? I'm trying to deal with an annoying little thorn in my arse." Hermione made a huffing noise, and he turned back to her with a cold expression. "I am not buying all this stuff, Granger."
"Then you're not going to get any potion, either!"
"Draco," whined Pansy loudly. "Why are you here with the Mudblood?"
Hermione's hands clenched into fists. "Look, Pansy, I'll talk to you another time," said Malfoy. He definitely sounded annoyed, now.
"But Draco-"
He silenced her with a kiss. Pansy's fingers entwined themselves in his hair. Hermione glanced away for a few minutes, but when neither made any motion to stop, she cleared her throat very loudly. They ignored her. "Oh, for heaven's sake!" she snapped. "Get a room, you two!" They stopped and glowered at her. Hermione scowled at Malfoy. "I have bloody research to do, you know. For you, I might add."
Looking irritated, Malfoy shoved a bag into her hands. "There. A hundred galleons. Seventy on this shit, and thirty more for whatever the hell you want. Go squander it all on hideous dress robes if you want. I don't care. Just go away." Scowling, Hermione pushed them out of her way, paid the girl at the counter, and stomped out the door.
X-X-X-X-X
Hermione pushed her hair from her face, aware that it was once more becoming frizzy. Well, I've got thirty new galleons that I have not yet spent. I was going to save it up, but maybe I'll go buy some Potion… She snorted. Or better yet, maybe I'll invent a better one…
Hermione surveyed the table before her. It was filled with parchments – the potions ingredients lay in several large shopping bags nearby – that held all of her notes from the past few days. Surprisingly, she hadn't seen Malfoy since the episode in Cetearyl's Apothecary, which was not something she was at all sad about.
Hermione rubbed her eyes. She'd been working for quite a long time, and had yet to yield more results past the necessity of ground-up Ashwinder eggs, Basilisk venom that could hopefully be replaced with Lobalug poison, or one of the other five poisons she'd bought. She had already determined that she'd very carefully have to make a perfect recreation of the potion Helga Hufflepuff used – in a small quantity, so that it was less expensive – and then research all the possible ways to "tweak" it so that it was cheaper and easier to manufacture.
Sighing, Hermione looked at the notes that she'd carefully scripted out in the last few hours. "Well, that rules out doxy venom," she said tiredly, crossing it off the list. Thankfully, she hadn't bought any – if she needed some, she'd ask one of the Weasley Twins. They were bound to have some stores. It occurred to Hermione that asking the Twins for ideas would be a very sensible idea, actually…
"What does?" Hermione looked up; Malfoy was lounging in her doorway again. Thankfully, we're not at my apartment, so he doesn't need to make up some ridiculous excuse for Mrs. Jones, thought Hermione, her cheeks flaming.
"Doxy venom. It's not powerful enough to be in the potion."
"What have you got, so far?"
"Ground-up Ashwinder eggs and Basilisk venom." Malfoy stared; she sighed. "Sorry, but I can't do any better. I'm working on it."
He moved into the room, and took out his wand, drawing up a squishy armchair which he at once occupied. Hermione, who had either stood or sat on an uncomfortable wooden stool all day, watched enviously. "Look, Granger, I wanted to check up on how you're doing, but I also wanted to talk to you." He shifted a bit uncomfortably; Hermione's eyebrows shot up. "To clarify bout what happened in the apothecary," he added.
Hermione very much wished she had a chair to sit in, so she could lean back and survey him, as if she didn't care. But she didn't, so she settled with clearing a space on her table and propping her chin up in her right hand. "Okay. Go ahead, clarify away."
"Pansy and I had an arranged marriage," he said, without preamble. "When our fathers were imprisoned after the Dark Lord's defeat, it sort of… evaporated. At least, it did as far as I'm concerned. She's still rich; I'm still rich. She still wants to marry, but… well, let's say the feeling's not mutual."
"It isn't?" Hermione's voice was scathing.
"Well, come on. I haven't exactly got any other prospects, you know. All the other girls from Slytherin give way to Pansy, which sort of puts me at a disadvantage." He grinned. "No matter how much they all want me, they won't touch me, even if I pursue them, because Pansy will kill them. So I figure I may as well go along with it."
"Believe it or not, Malfoy, marriage is not restricted to house."
"What, inter-house marrying? Give me a break, Granger; it's just not done."
"That's ridiculous! Look at Percy Weasley and Penelope Clearwater!"
"All right, fine. I concede that they're from different houses… but seriously, Granger, it's not like Weasley could get anybody else."
"That's a horrible thing to say!" said Hermione angrily, and shooting him a deeply disgusted look, she returned to her parchment. "Anyway," she continued furiously, without looking up from where she was pretending to take notes but was actually writing I hate Draco Malfoy, "it's not like you have to explain yourself to me. I personally don't care about you and Pansy, so I don't see why you'd want to 'clarify' what happened in the apothecary. Because I don't care."
"Don't you?" Malfoy's voice was soft; he'd moved closer. She could almost feel his breath on her ear.
"No, I don't," she snapped, her head jerking up – she found herself staring into his gray eyes, which were about an inch away from her own. She scowled. "You're invading my personal space," she told him, in the driest tone she could manage.
He sighed. "Granger, you truly are hopeless." He pulled back. "Did you know you have freckles across your nose? Because I never noticed that."
Hermione ignored his comment. "If you have nothing else to say, it would be helpful if you left," she told him, her tone icy. "I have a lot of work to do."
"Yes, I know," said Malfoy, with a smirk. "I'm your boss, aren't I?" Hermione ignored him, checking something in a book. "You do realize, of course, that's it's just past midnight."
"I know that."
"So why are you still here? Your day is officially over at six o'clock, you know. Come to think of it," he added slowly, "have you ever punched out before eleven?"
"No. For the past two days, I've been here until twelve."
"Well, it's past twelve now."
"Didn't I just tell you that I already knew that?"
"I don't pay you overtime, you know."
"I really don't care."
"So why are you still here?"
"Because I have work to do!"
"All right, well, we all have work to do. That doesn't explain why you extend your work hours about six hours over."
She finally looked up and glared at him again. "Malfoy, you're hindering my progress. I am here working as long as I feel is necessary because I want to get this done. I have no interest in making your company any richer than it is," she continued at his disbelieving look. "I want to help the Wizarding World." Taking a deep breath, she added, "It was the reason I wanted to be a Healer in the first place."
He gave her a puzzled look. "I never knew that."
"Malfoy, you never knew me." She looked away. "You still don't."
"Our ad did say that we'd train you to be a licensed Healer," he began slowly. Then it dawned. "No wonder you applied for the job."
"I needed a job anyway," pointed out Hermione quietly. But they both knew he was right. "Anyway, it doesn't really matter. I can't be a Healer."
Malfoy's eyes narrowed. "The ad wasn't lying. We can train you to-"
"Do you honestly think that I would have waited this long to apply for a training program to become a Healer, if I really wanted to be one? And, don't you think I would have applied at St. Mungo's?"
She could hear him draw a breath. "They rejected you."
"Damn straight they did. Apparently, 'certain circumstances' was the problem." She shrugged. "I don't fit the bill because I'm Muggleborn. There's very little I can do to change that, I'm afraid. It stopped bothering me a long time ago."
"That's a lie."
Hermione didn't say anything. She flipped a couple of pages in the book, and then, without looking up, asked, "You know, this is a very good library, but it's not detailed enough for what I need. What I need is old manuscripts – I suppose the public library in Diagon Alley would service." She closed the book and rubbed the back of her hand across her eyes. "What I really want, though, is the Hogwarts Library."
"Hogwarts?"
"Yes. I know school isn't in session, and is technically not open, but I figure that Professor D- I mean, Professor McGonagall would be all right with me doing a bit of research. I'd need her permission, since she's the Headmistress and all," added Hermione unnecessarily, more to herself than Malfoy. "And I could ask Snape for help, too. But I'd need you to give me the go-ahead." Malfoy was silent for a long time. "Malfoy?" She glanced up; he was watching her. His gaze was rather disconcerting, and she looked away first.
"You can go, if you need to. Would three days suffice?"
"Three, four maximum, I think. I could send Calliope if I needed more time, but I doubt I will." A ghost of a smile flickered across Hermione's face. "After all, it's only Hogwarts legend that I've read the entire library, isn't it?" Malfoy shrugged.
"All right, then. Keep me updated on how you do. I'll tell Anne – you know, the secretary in the lob-"
"I know who she is."
"Right, well, I'll tell her not to expect you, as you won't be coming in." He turned to leave, throwing over his shoulder, "Good luck."
"Thanks," she said. She looked across her table – strewn with crumpled up parchments, sheets of notes, and books. Slowly, very slowly, she began to clean up. If she were to travel to Hogwarts the next day, she'd need her sleep.
X-X-X-X-X
Hermione took a deep breath, and pushed the double doors open. "Ooh, we have an old student returning," said one of the gargoyles. "That's uncommon."
Ignoring them, Hermione stepped into the hall, pulling her old school trunk behind her. Calliope was settled on her shoulder; Crookshanks trotted by her feet. Snape was the first to find her, standing there, gazing around the familiar hall of Hogwarts with a slightly wistful look about her features. "Miss Granger," he began, in a rather indifferent tone. It seemed to snap her from her daydream, and she stared at him. "What brings you back to our halls of learning?"
"I needed to use the Hogwarts library," she explained quietly. "And I'd like to have a word with you. I was on my way to see Professor – well, Headmistress, I suppose – McGonagall, to ask her permission. I just wanted to stop, and… remember."
Snape nodded, hiding his confusion well. "I see. Well, as it turns out, the Headmistress it not here at the moment. She is at the Ministry of Magic." Hermione bit her lip.
"Might I speak with the Deputy Headmaster, then?"
"You already are."
Hermione's eyes widened a bit, but she did not comment. "I see. Would it be all right if-"
"Come to my office, Miss Granger, and we'll discuss this over a cup of tea." Hermione nodded, and began dragging her trunk. Snape gave her a scornful look. He took out his wand. "Wingardium Leviosa." Hermione flushed as Snape strode ahead of her, leading the way to his dungeon office.
X-X-X-X-X
"Thank you, Professor," murmured Hermione politely as a teacup was set before her. It then occurred to her that Snape was no longer her professor – in fact, she should not treat him as a superior, lest she be treated as an inferior. She would be on an equal status with this man. She sat up straighter.
"Now, then," said Snape, surveying her with a bit of distaste in his eyes. "I will ask again. What brings you to Hogwarts? Looking in the library is not an answer," he told her fiercely. "There are plenty of libraries elsewhere."
"I didn't want to go to the public library at Diagon Alley. It's always crowded."
"Bollocks." Hermione started; she was quite certain that she'd never heard that come from Snape's mouth. "The library is very nearly always empty. If people want books, they buy them. And if they have to go to a library, they go, check the book out, and leave. Nobody stays there for extensive research, as I imagine you would. Besides, if you were that desperate for solitude in a library – which I imagine you must be, if you've traveled all the way to Scotland to a school that you no longer attend, during the summer – you could have gone in the middle of the night. The library is constantly open, and judging by your appearance, you do not seem to have slept in quite a while."
Hermione's mouth opened a few times, and she said at last, "I didn't know all that about the library. And anyway, I wanted to come back to Hogwarts. It's familiar to me."
"And that's the only reason to come back?"
Hermione refused to look at him. "These walls have always welcomed me, been friendly to me. No matter what people said to me, I always could look around and think: I'm at Hogwarts. I'm safe here. I came in here, this morning, and I looked around. And you know what? I still think those things."
"You came here to feel safe." It was more of a statement than a question.
"That's right." Her voice was quiet. "Being a spy all those years… didn't you ever feel, that coming back to Hogwarts, to Dumbledore… didn't you ever find that it was safer than anything else?"
In a matter of moments, Snape was out of his chair, had rounded his desk, and had pulled his sleeve up. The Dark Mark was still there, an ugly, black reminder of who he'd been in the past. "Do you see this?" he asked her harshly. "This is the sort of thing that never goes away. When I returned to Hogwarts, I found a bed waiting to take me away to unconsciousness. That was the only time I was truly safe, Miss Granger. And even then, this could wake me up. It did not matter where I went. I could have gone to another continent, and it would still not matter. This mark could always reach me. Always." He sat down again. "I do not expect you to understand that. You have never born the Dark Mark, and you never will." He lifted his cup. "Consider yourself fortunate for that." And he took a sip of his tea.
Hermione looked at him now, directly into his eyes. "I didn't come here for a lecture, sir," she said, her voice soft. His eyebrows rose, almost imperceptibly. "I came here to use the library and ask for your help."
"Then ask for it, Miss Granger."
Hermione took a deep breath. "I work for Draco Malfoy now, at Medical Charms Corporation. I am in the process of researching the Ignis Geluque Potion." Snape's eyebrows shot straight up, this time, but he said nothing. "I needed a large library than I had, and I had hoped that you might have some ideas of your own."
"What have you discovered so far?" His tone was businesslike.
"Ground Ashwinder eggs and Basilisk venom. I've only been working for a few days, so far." Her voice was quiet.
"I may have some texts that would be helpful to you." Snape's voice was indifferent. "You may set up in my classroom, if you wish. I might be able to help you."
Hermione nodded. "Thank you, sir."
"I'll have a room set up for you in the guest wing. For now, leave your things here and go to the library. I will meet you there."
"Yes, sir." She left.
X-X-X-X-X
Hermione rubbed her eyes. Snape had not yet come to get her, although it'd been at least six or seven hours. Hermione didn't own a watch, and her eyes were far too tired to see what the clock said. Thus, she had no idea what time it was.
Predictably, Snape walked in at that moment, holding a very ancient-looking, very heavy book. He slammed it down on the table beside Hermione. Thankfully, Irma Pince, the hawkish librarian, was not there to be reproving. "Here," said Snape curtly. "Fire and Ice, by Blake Aldridge. It is traditionally an old book on Battle Magic – 12th Century, I believe – but it does have some Restorative Spells and Potions within. The words 'fire and ice,' as you can expect, come up many times, and thus I have not performed a thorough search of this book." His eyes were stern. "Be careful with this. There are very few copies left in the world, and none of them exist in Diagon Alley – you'd have to venture into Knockturn Alley to find a copy, and even then, you'd have to be a Malfoy or a Black to afford it." He sneered. "I've placed a translation charm on it so that it would be in modern-day English, rather than old. You need not thank me."
A tiny smile crept onto Hermione's face. "Thank you, sir." He harrumphed, and strode out. "I will see what I can find amongst my own store cupboard that may help in your search." And he was gone.
Sighing, Hermione pulled the book towards her, and checked the back – no index. The book was not a spell book, however – it was a history book, and thus each new chapter was a new chapter in history. Hermione sighed. She'd have to scan the book, page by page.
X-X-X-X-X
Three days later, Hermione was not even a third through the book. And still, she'd found close to nothing, and neither had Snape. Or if he had, he hadn't sought her out and told her. With a sigh, Hermione ripped the corner off of one of her parchment and scribbled:
Malfoy–
I'm not getting very far with the search, but Professor Snape has found a book that he thinks might help. I'm writing to warn you that I'll be two days late – there are a few more things I want to get done, and then I'll just see if I can get back by then.
-Hermione
She sent it off with Calliope, and was about to peruse the book again, before a thought occurred to her. She'd done nothing but read this blasted book since she'd got to Hogwarts, and Hermione found that the reason for this was so that she could stay longer. After all, even if she finished the book, there were millions more in the Hogwarts library. She wanted to stay at Hogwarts, where it was nice and comfortable. When McGonagall had arrived back from the Ministry the day after Hermione had come, she'd assigned a house-elf to Hermione, so that she never had to leave the library but to sleep and shower. Seeing as Madam Pince wasn't there, McGonagall had graciously allowed her to eat in the library.
"The best of luck in your research, Hermione," she'd said with a warm smile. "And I'm so glad you've finally found something you enjoy doing. Let me know if I can help in any way."
Hermione sighed, and closed the book carefully. This was getting her nowhere, and like it or not, she did have to go back to London at some point. Gently tucking the book into her old school bag, Hermione quietly headed towards the Potions dungeon.
"Sir?" she asked timidly, so softly that nobody could hear unless listening carefully, as she pushed the door open. To her amazement, four tiny cauldrons were set up, and Professor Snape was pouring a bit of blue liquid from a vial into the one furthest from her. From what she could see, the brew turned orange and began to emit noxious fumes. Coughing, Snape hissed, "Evanesco!" and it disappeared. He wrote something on some parchment attached to a clipboard, and then Hermione cleared her throat loudly and he looked up.
"Miss Granger. I was wondering when I'd be seeing you. You have to return to London, yes?"
"I told Malfoy to give it two more days."
"Have you found anything?"
"Not yet. Professor…"
"Take it."
Hermione stopped where she was, her mouth halfway open. "I beg your pardon?" she said at last.
"The book. Fire and Ice. Take it. That's what you came to ask me, isn't it?" Hermione gaped at him like a fish, her mouth all the way open now. "Stop gaping like an unattractive fish," said Snape scathingly. "You came here, to ask me if you could take the book back to London so that you might actually search the Hogwarts library rather than simply sitting there and reading it. The answer is yes. You may take it. But be careful with it," he added in a warning tone. "I've already told you, it's an old and ancient book."
"I… er… thank you, sir."
He nodded. "I've discovered very little, but for the fact that the potion you are searching for must be blue. A pale blue, almost white." He glowered at the now-empty cauldron. "My first attempt was black, and now I have orange. I'm nowhere closer than I was before."
"Thank you, sir."
"You've already said that, Miss Granger."
"No… thank you. For helping me. You didn't have to."
"You asked me to, didn't you?"
"Yes, but you could have said no."
Snape turned to her. "Believe it or not, Miss Granger, I do have some respect for you – grudging, but it is there – and I do realize that you are doing thing to help wizardkind, not to make money. I admire that."
"Thank you," she said again, and then added, "Although the money is an added bonus. Sir, I feel I should pay you for your-"
"Miss Granger, this is what I enjoy." He gestured to the steaming cauldrons around him. "That is payment enough. I suggest you return to the library and continue your search."
Hermione nodded and left again.
X-X-X-X-X
Two days later, Hermione stopped on the front steps of Hogwarts, hand at ready to shut the door, when a voice called after her. "Miss Granger!" Professor Snape caught up with her, not looking remotely out of breath, despite his run. He pressed a package into her hands. "This may prove useful. It's an account of what I did during the past five days."
"Oh – thank you, Professor."
The smile he gave her was wry; Hermione started. She didn't think that she'd ever seen him smile! "I doubt it will aid you in your research of what ingredients are necessary, but it may tell you what not to use."
"Thank you, Professor." Impulsively, she hugged him. He stiffened, and Hermione quickly pulled away, ignoring the bright red splotches that appeared in his cheeks. "Thanks again!" She quickly levitated her trunk off, before she could embarrass herself further.
It took Hermione almost three hours to return to London, outside the Leaky Cauldron. When at last she did, and had entered the tiny pub – which was full, as it was lunch hour – she heard a rustling noise and a soft mewing. Frowning, Hermione looked down at her satchel. It was partially opened – surely she hadn't left it like that?
Hermione took a seat and opened the bag, and saw, to her shock, a mass of something that was furry and black. An ear popped up, then another, followed by a tail with a pair of bright yellow eyes. Hermione stared. "Where the bloody hell did you come from?"
"Meow."
"Hullo, Hermione, can I get you something?" Hermione turned and stared up at the kindly barkeeper, Tom. "New pet, eh?"
"Er… you might say that, I suppose…"
"Can I get you something?"
"I… er… a glass of pumpkin juice would be nice."
He gave her a kindly smile. "No alcohol?"
Hermione made a face. "I've had my fill of that, thanks." He laughed, and hobbled off. Hermione shook her head, and returned to her immediate problem. "What am I going to do with you?"
"Meow."
Hermione barely managed to stifle a giggle and she stroked the kitten's fluffy head. "I'll bet Crookshanks won't like having another cat about – well, we'll see. If worst comes to worst, maybe Ginny will take you. Or Ron." She paused. "No, Ron hates cats. Maybe Harry…?" She had a mental image, suddenly, of this cat sauntering out onto the Quidditch pitch and mewing plaintively. "Erk! No, not Harry. Well, don't you worry. We'll find somebody…"
By the time Hermione stood outside her flat, she'd discovered that her new pet was female and named her, for lack of a better name, Hecate. With a sigh, she opened her flat and let the kitten jump from her arms. Her bandy-legged cat, Crookshanks, entered the living room and meowed indignantly at the sight of another cat. "Don't worry, Crookshanks," Hermione said soothingly, and flopped on her threadbare couch. "No one will ever replace you in my heart." Raising her wand, she turned on the Wireless to a song by some ridiculous boy band with very little talent but who were – at least, according to Ginny, who'd attended their concert (with backstage passes, no less) – very cute. As they warbled off their latest hit – "You're Eyes Are Like Blueberry Jelly Beans" – Hermione closed her eyes. A mewing sound reached her ears.
She opened her eyes; Hecate sat on her chest, mewing loudly at her. "Oy, you want food," she groaned. She started up, and stopped. Raising her wand, the refrigerator slammed open, the milk went flying out, hit the wall, and spilled. Hermione groaned. "You get out of practice…" Both Hecate and Crookshanks mewed their thanks and leapt to the tiled kitchen floor, lapping up the spilled milk. "Well, at least you're not bothering me anymore…"
"Hoot." Hermione groaned, and twisted. Calliope had landed on the windowsill, hooting loudly, a parchment tied to her feet. Rubbing her back, Hermione stood and went to the window.
"From Malfoy, I'll bet," she grumbled. "Barely even home – haven't even had lunch yet – and he owls me straight away. Honestly, couldn't he cut me some slack?" She sighed. "Who am I kidding? It's Malfoy. Of course he's not going to cut me some slack."
She petted Calliope's head – "There are some treats in the cupboard, and I'll get them for you in a moment" – and slit open the envelope, managing to give herself a paper cut in the process. Sucking on a finger, she collapsed once more on the sofa and read Malfoy's note.
Granger –
If Calliope's got to you by now, it means you're home. Good. I don't know what time it is, but I'll give you the rest of the day off. If you're lucky, it's mid-morning and you have plenty of time to yourself. If you're not, it's night and you can get a few hours of sleep before coming into work.
I have some news for you, which I will give you in person when you get to your lab. I hope you had some luck while researching the whatchamacallit potion at Hogwarts. Is Snape as unpleasant to you as ever? Funny, he always liked me…
Anyway, I'll see you in the office promptly at eight. I hope, for your sake, that you've got some good news. Because I've got plenty of news – some good, and some bad. At least, for me.
Regards to your cat,
- Malfoy
Hermione stared at the letter. "Did he really write regards to my cat?" Hermione wondered, and looked to Crookshanks, who had finished his milk and appeared to be settling in for a nap on the kitchen counter, right next to the (empty) fruit basket. "Malfoy sends his regards to you, Crookshanks," she said. Her cat rolled over and fell asleep.
Shaking her head, Hermione turned the Wireless off – at the moment, they were interviewing the co-heads of the Nimbus Racing Broom Company, who had just brought the Nimbus 4000 into the field. Hermione smiled a bit; Harry would probably have that broom within a few days. His Nimbus 3900 was probably getting a bit rusty by now – Harry was always getting the top-of-the-line brooms. Whenever a new one came out, he was sure to have it.
Hermione stretched, and headed for the refrigerator. She paused by the spilled milk, and pulled out her wand. "Evanesco," she muttered, and it disappeared. There was a grimy list about six weeks old attached to the fridge. Sighing, she picked up her decrepit self-inking quill and scribbled, in the tiny space at the bottom, "Milk." Then she set about making herself some lunch.
X-X-X-X-X
A/N: Ahh, a nice long chapter. I'm very proud of this, if I do say so myself. And no, Hermione is not going to have a relationship with Snape, not ever. This is strictly a D/Hr fic. He's just there to be… well, helpful. I also picture him as a sort of warped father-figure to Draco… And there actually IS a reason that I gave Hermione another cat. But you'll have to wait to find out what it is!
I don't intend this to be a super long fic, so don't be TOO surprised if it moves, well… fast. Like, really fast. I mean, we'll see a span of a couple of days, and, all of a sudden, it'll be two months later or something. I'm not really good at doing really academic and scholarly fics, because they involved too much work and research into Latin and stuff like that – at least, I think so. So I'm trying to avoid a load of academic, scholarly sort of crap in here. We'll see how it goes.
Anyway, I hope you guys like this chapter! I mean, come on – every girl needs competition. I don't exactly count Pansy Parkinson as competition for Hermione, but… you get the idea. Anyway, Draco seems almost friendly in this chapter, doesn't he? Don't worry, he's still quite the egotistical prat. "Regards to your cat." I'm sorry. I don't know where that came from. But I think it's cute.
Anyway, leave a review!
XOXO
Peaches