Two Weeks Notice:
Chapter Two
-dutchtulips-
---
The next morning, Hermione had made sure to get up bright and early to Floo to Diagon Alley at the right time. She didn't know when exactly she'd be able to get in to see him, or even if she would at all, but Hermione had figured that the sooner she got to his office, the better.
A thick book filled with papers was on the crook of her arm as she glided through the streets of Diagon Alley, trying to appear more confident than she really was. Hermione had taken the time to try and look as professional as she could muster, wearing one of her nicest sets of robes, made of dark purple silk, and a pair of black velvet Mary Janes on her feet. She took several deep breaths as she walked, feeling more nervous with every step - anxiety over whether or not this venture would work, and also for another reason, one that she wasn't fully ready to admit to herself - that she would be seeing him again, that he would be seeing her again.
The high rise was now coming into view - Weasley Towers, Ltd. - erected conveniently right next to the tall, snowy white building that housed Gringotts. This was where the company's main offices were located, where Hermione knew beyond any doubt that she would find him. As she got closer to the building, there seemed to be more witches and wizards rushing about, and Hermione had to push through throngs of people to get near to the front doors of the office.
Her heart was beating a little faster now, the building seeming to attract her like magnet. Leaning against one of the two pillars flanking the entrance, Hermione pushed up her sleeve to steal a glance at her watch. Noticing it was almost noon, she smiled. Lunch, she thought. He never misses lunch. Not if he's still the same person I remember.
And too right she was, because Hermione hadn't been standing there long before the revolving entrance door spun around, and out stepped a very familiar, tall, red-haired man - the very one Hermione had been waiting to see - chatting with a bespectacled, brunette witch who was walking alongside him.
Now that her eyes were trained on him, Hermione kept her gaze firmly locked onto the man. She began following him, from a slight distance, waiting for the opportune time to approach him. As she trailed behind him, she could hear snippets of his conversation with the woman.
"Well, we have your qualifications on file, Lindsay, so thank you for coming in to the interview!" He told her cheerfully.
"No, thank you!" She replied with a giggle. "Normally job interviews are so stuffy, but you made this one fun! Thank you for seeing me today!"
"Charmed," Ron grinned, and waved as she departed.
Okay, this is the moment, Hermione thought. He's alone now. So just walk to him and do it! Swallowing back her last bit of nervousness, she clutched the book in her arm tightly and strode up to her old friend, rapping him on the shoulder.
"May I have a word, Mr. Weasley?"
The redhead turned around, and when he saw who it was standing behind him, his eyes grew as wide as saucers. "H-Hermione?"
"No, it's your long-lost twin sister!" She snapped, brushing back her flyaway hair. "Of course it's me!"
Ron looked quite speechless for a long moment, but then he at last seemed to recover. "So, what are you doing here, as if I didn't already know? You've been chaining yourself to buildings we own so that we won't tear them down! My men have had to call the Ministry on you a thousand times!" He turned around and started to walk away from her, but Hermione briskly followed him, staying on his heels.
"Well, why d'you think I've been doing all of that?" She asked rhetorically. "You've been making lousy deals, closing down places you shouldn't be just so you can extend enterprises! Now, I guess I'm not supposed to care, I'm just a small-time magical attorney," she went on, "but when you decided to fold on Flourish and Blotts, I had to do something! Eight O's on my O.W.L.s and one of the highest scores on the N.E.W.T.s in centuries, so you can bet yesterday's demonstration won't be the last from me!"
Ron finally stopped walking and turned around. Hermione expected to see a furious expression on his face, but was taken aback when she saw that he was looking at her thoughtfully, genuinely interested in what she was saying. "That is true, isn't it?" He mused, having not forgotten over the years what a sharp mind Hermione had. Right now, the most remarkable idea was crossing his brain. "Listen, come sit down with me at Florean Fortescue's, will you?"
Hermione was stunned by the request. Every response he'd been giving her so far was, quite truthfully, the exact opposite of what she'd been expecting. She knew how stubborn and hotheaded her old friend could get, but instead his mood today had been nothing but placid. "Well, o-okay," she stammered, dutifully following him across the road and into the little alfresco café.
Ron sat down casually at one of the tables, gazing almost amusedly at Hermione as she tentatively followed suit. "Would you like anything?" He asked, gesturing for a waiter.
"Oh, no. No, thank you." She waited for Ron to finish his order. Once the waiter had left the table, she placed her book to the tabletop and folded her hands, attempting to maintain some professionalism, and returned the redhead's stare.
"So?" She asked expectantly. "Will you please at least consider keeping Flourish and Blotts? I'm perfectly prepared to sit here as long as I need to until we reach some kind of negotiation. Can we make a deal?"
He was still looking keenly at her. "Well, honestly, I want something else from you."
Hermione's eyebrows shot up, curious as to what he was implying. "If that is what I think it is, there's no way you're getting that. Not that easily! Not when I'm fully aware of some of your past romantic escapades..."
Ron would have laughed at that moment, but something told him it wouldn't be wise to push Hermione's buttons right now. "No, no. That would be nice," he said drolly, "but what I really need is a new chief counsel."
She stared at him, as her mind pieced together what he was requesting of her. Suddenly, "What! You want me to be your new lawyer?"
"That would be correct, Ms. Granger." He was smirking at her.
Just then, Ron's drink arrived, a tall, refreshing butterbeer. He took a long swig, and as he set the bottle to the tabletop, he noticed that Hermione was shaking her head incredulously at him. "What?" He wanted to know.
"You... you couldn't possibly want me!" She said. "These past several months I've been fighting almost every realty decision you've made! There's no way we'd get along!"
Ron shrugged good-naturedly. "Okay, then, listen. If you take the job, I promise - I'll save Flourish and Blotts. I won't let that one go under. Plus," he continued, "I'll allow you to be in charge of all of our charity efforts. Thousands of galleons at your disposal. What do you say?"
"I... I don't know, Ron," she replied, looking hesitant.
He threw back the rest of his butterbeer, and then set the empty bottle to the table. "Well, I am going to need an answer fairly quickly, so if you could owl me as soon as possible, that would be great." Ron rose from his chair and reached into his pocket, dropping several sickles to the tabletop to pay for his drink. "You can reach me direct at the Phoenix Inn, in Hogsmeade." He handed her a rotary card with the address on it.
"You live in a hotel now?" Hermione arched an eyebrow at him as she took the card.
"Well, I own the hotel and I live there," he said sheepishly. "I'd best be off now, but, uh... I'll, er, I'm prepared to start you at a comfortable salary; one hundred twenty-five thousand."
Before Hermione could reply, she heard a dull pop; he'd Disapparated. Sighing, she slumped back in her chair, staring at the words inked on the rotary card: The Phoenix Inn, 44 High Street, Hogsmeade, Scotland. Weasley Towers, Ltd.
She stared at it for another moment longer, and then silently slipped it away inside of her law book. Standing up from the table, she tucked the book underneath her arm, pushed in her chair, and left the café. Hermione needed to do some deep thinking over this, but she knew she was pressed for time. Ron wanted her to answer right away, and already she was ping-ponging between what to do.
She needed someone to talk to about it, and by chance she would have the opportunity to do just that in no time. Glancing at her watch, Hermione quickened her pace, rushing through Diagon Alley to the end of the cobbled street. There was a dead end there, a large brick wall stopping the road, and so Hermione stopped herself, fishing her wand out of her pocket and tapping the wall three times.
Slowly yet surely, the bricks began to shift aside, allowing Hermione narrow passage into a small courtyard, containing weeds and a lone dustbin. Dislodging herself from the weeds, Hermione opened the only exit door in the yard, and stepped into the warm, cozy tavern that was the Leaky Cauldron. Voices chattered throughout the bar, and it took Hermione several moments, dodging around the throngs of people, to find who she was looking for. At their favorite corner table, Harry and Ginny were sitting, talking and sipping on tea.
"Room for one more?" She asked, happy to see them.
They both looked up at the same time, and smiled. "Hermione!" Ginny said first, scooting her chair over slightly to make space for her friend, "We were wondering when you'd get here."
Hermione pulled up a chair and sat down gratefully. "Well, before we have lunch... I have some news," she told her friends. "And it's rather surprising at that."
"Really?" Harry leaned forward. "What is it?"
"Well, I finally was able to bring myself to meet with Ron today," she began, "and... well... he offered me a job as his chief counsel."
"You're kidding!" Ginny exclaimed.
"That's just what I thought when he offered!" Hermione told her. "I was arguing with him to save Flourish and Blotts, and the next thing I know, he's asking me to be his new lawyer!"
Ginny leaned back in her chair, still looking astonished. "So, are you going to take the job?"
"Well, I..." Hermione stammered, "That's what I was hoping you guys could help me with. Do you think I should? Some part of me feels it's a good idea, because if I do, I'll have these huge resources right at my fingertips! But at the same time... I don't know if I'll be able to work for Ron! If he hasn't changed since school, he's going to drive me batty, I know it!"
"Well, what do you want to do?" Harry inquired.
Hermione put a hand to her forehead. "I don't know..." She sighed. "But I do know that taking the job is the only way to save the bookshop. It is. And I'll also be heading up all of Ron's pro bono work, charity efforts, the whole thing. Which means saving Flourish and Blotts could be just the beginning!"
Harry and Ginny looked at each other, and then back at Hermione. "I guess that means you've already made your decision then," Ginny replied, the faintest hint of smile threatening to break the corners of her mouth. "You are going to be my brother's attorney?"
Hermione sighed again, her face impassive. "Yes. Yes, I reckon I am."
---
Two days later...
Hermione sitting in her new office on the top floor of Weasley Towers, Ltd. - just down the hall from Ron's - was feverish with her current task at hand. Upon taking the job and moving into this office, she hadn't discovered the filing to be much to her tastes all, so now she had papers and folders scattered across her desktop as she attempted to reorganize. She was so lost in her work that she hadn't immediately noticed that Ron - her new boss - had come into the room, until she glanced up and saw him leaning against the doorway.
"What's this? Hermione Granger's work space not neat and tidy?" He looked amused.
"No, it isn't!' She replied. "Whatever lawyer you had before me didn't seem to know enough of the alphabet to file properly!"
"Well, never mind that now," Ron told her, stepping further into her room, up to her desk. "I need your opinion on something."
Hermione set some scrolls she was holding to her desktop and looked up at him. "Of course. What is it?"
"Well, which do you prefer?" He inquired, reaching into his pocket and withdrawing two quills. "The eagle feather or the peacock? We're issuing new uniform quills for all of the offices."
She raised her eyebrows at the question, slightly puzzled as to why Ron was bothering her with something so trivial. "Well, I don't know... does it matter?" She shrugged, but then stopped to glance at the pens. "Okay, okay... let me see." Hermione grabbed the eagle quill and scribbled quickly on the back of one of the scrolls. Mutely she tossed it aside, took the peacock quill from Ron, and then proceeded to write with it, as well. After that, she stood up.
"Go with the eagle feather," she told him, handing both quills back. "The peacock one is a little too gaudy. Besides, it tickles your face."
"Really?" Ron mused. "You know, you're the first person I've asked today to give me that answer." Pause. "No wonder I hired you! You're amazing!"
"Oh, well spotted," she said, fighting back a smile.
---
Four weeks later...
"So, what do you think?"
Hermione looked over at Ron - his expression eager to hear her opinion - and then looked back around her boss's office. "Black?" She said incredulously.
"Black!" He repeated, almost with a flourish. And indeed it was; his office was decked out in themes of black and gray - the walls, the curtains, the furniture. "How do you like it?"
She stared back at the redhead, disbelieving. "This is what you called me in for? You pulled me away from the St. Wulfric estate reports for this? Is this really what you wanted?"
"Well... yes!" Ron admitted. "It was a choice between the black and the blue. I wanted to know what you thought."
"You honestly want to know?"
Spotting the exasperated look on her face, he nodded rather meekly. "Well... well, yes," he repeated, bracing himself for her wrath.
Hermione did indeed look as if she might explode, but instead, the bushy-haired lawyer took a deep breath and, letting it out slowly, calmly informed him, "While black signifies an aura of sophistication and convention, it also can emit extreme negativity and tumult. Not to mention it makes your office look like a funeral home. Blue, however," she stressed, "signifies peace, harmony, and intelligence. Trust me, visitors to your office would be much more relaxed if you theme in blue. Much more soothing, and easier on the eyes."
One corner of Ron's mouth turned upward. "Truly? Then that's what I'll do!" He pulled his wand from his pocket, aimed it at the room, and gave it a heavy swish and flick. Within seconds, the walls and furnishings of his office morphed from dark ebony and into a placid periwinkle blue.
"You're right!" He exclaimed, pleased as he glanced around the room. "That looks loads better. Thank you, Hermione."
"No problem, Ron," she told him, turning smoothly on her heel and exiting the office. "No problem at all."
---
Another two months after that...
"Hermione? Hermione! Where are you, woman?"
It was one o'clock in the morning in Hermione's townhouse, and until a few minutes ago, she'd been fast asleep. A sudden, impatient voice had startled her awake, and she bolted upright in her bed. "Whozzair?" She mumbled groggily.
The voice shouted for her again. "Hermione, are you here?"
Growing more awake now, she made an indignant noise in her throat as she climbed out of bed. "Hold on, I'm coming," she called back, as loudly as she could muster, and padded out of her bedroom. Crossing the hallway and stepping into her study, she saw exactly what she had been expecting - her boss's head, sitting atop her fireplace's grate, the yellow flames of the blaze licking at his ears.
Kneeling down at the hearth, Hermione stared, disgruntled, at him. "Ron, it's one AM! What in the name of Merlin do you want?"
Momentarily, Ron smirked. "Nice nightgown," he commented, noticing the slinky, pink spaghetti-strap nightdress Hermione was wearing. But before she could hurl an offended remark back at him, he hurriedly began to explain his reason for calling. "I've misplaced the schedule you laid out for me for Monday! I've got all of those meetings you sketched out for me and I've completely lost the itinerary! I know I put it in my satchel before I left the office tonight, but now it's gone!"
Hermione wearily rubbed at her eyes. "That's because you didn't put it in your bag," she sighed. "I put it on your desk as you were leaving so that you wouldn't misplace it, as you so often do with the schedules I give you! Why else d'you think I refuse to let you take most of those things home? Because they always mysteriously disappear!"
Ron looked taken aback at his friend's outburst. "Stars, Hermione, there's no need to get so huffy!"
"Yes there is!" She exclaimed, pounding her fist against the hearth. "It's the middle of the night and you're Flooing me up about papers you know perfectly well you never lost!" She paused for a moment to compose herself. "Now... is there anything else you request of me? Because I have to get up early tomorrow to attend a wedding."
"Ah, yes! About that!" Ron suddenly said. "What do you think I ought to wear? I picked up these great new dress robes from Madame Malkin's just yesterday, dark scarlet and one hundred percent velvet -"
"Er, Ron? Didn't you and Harry already decide on your wardrobe? You are his best man, in case you've forgotten."
"Oh! Well, of course I didn't!" He exclaimed. "So, er, anyway... since you've raised the topic - you're maid of honor! What do you plan on wearing?"
Hermione shook her head ruefully, though she was biting back an amused smile. "Good night, Ron," she told him, then rose from the hearth and left the room.
---
It was a beautiful Saturday afternoon in the Burrow orchard, under which a pulpit and several chairs had been erected. Nearly every seat was filled by Weasley relatives and friends of the family, looking on happily. Standing in front of the crowd, at the pulpit, was a vicar, and next to him, Harry Potter himself. He was wearing black dress robes, red-and-gold striped tie, and a white rose on his lapel, waiting anxiously for his bride to arrive. Indeed, after three months since their engagement, Harry and Ginny's wedding day had come.
Ron, encased in an ensemble that matched Harry's, was standing behind his best friend at the altar, also looking rather antsy, as well. Along with Harry, he kept stealing looks down the aisle, at times attempting to mentally will his sister - and also his attorney - to appear. He didn't understand why, fully, that he was wanting Hermione back in his sight. Almost more than Ginny, and she was his sister - the bride, after all! He sighed and shifted his weight to the other foot, not knowing what else to do.
After several minutes, all fell quiet as the bridal party started its walk down the aisle. The bridesmaids were first, followed just behind by the maid of honor herself, Hermione, who was clad in a very attractive, gold silk gown. As she stepped up the pulpit and took her place on the opposite of the altar, Ron met eyes with her and grinned.
Glancing up the aisle again, Ron saw his sister walking towards them, her eyes shining as they stared at Harry. Ginny looked stunning in her flowing white wedding gown, its long, lacy train drifting behind her. At the moment her feet touched the pulpit and took Harry's arm, it was then that Ron felt something flat fall on top of his head and down his front. He was able to grab it before it fell to the ground, however, and realized right away, after looking up, that an owl had dropped a letter on his head. He quickly tore into the envelope and scanned the message within.
He looked up at Hermione, after reading the letter, and it was then he realized everyone at the altar was staring at him - Harry and Ginny, incredulously. A curious expression however, was creasing Hermione's face.
"Oh, God, oh, Harry, Gin, I'm so sorry! Please continue," Ron told them, and without another word, grabbed Hermione's arm and pulled her off the pulpit and out of the orchard with him, quickly up to the house.
"Ron! Ron, what on Earth! How could you pull us out of the wedding like that! Have you lost your -"
"I forgot to cancel my date to the Ministry's annual ball this evening!" He cried as he dragged Hermione through the back door and into the Burrow kitchen. "It starts in twenty minutes, and they're hoping for me to make an appearance! You've got to help me pick out what I should wear!"
She couldn't believe it. She just simply couldn't. But she didn't have much time to protest, as Ron had already dived across the room and took a pinch of Floo powder from his mother's flower pot. He quickly flung it into the flames of the kitchen fireplace, then, still with a tight grip on her elbow, Ron pulled Hermione over the grate with him, and they were off in a blur of color.
The next thing Hermione knew, she had toppled forward out of the fireplace, and onto the floor of Ron's penthouse apartment at the Phoenix Inn. Ron had already rushed out ahead of her, in the direction of his bedroom.
Hurriedly she got to her feet, straightening the skirts of her now-wrinkled gown, and stomped after him, her exasperation boiling inside of her. Reaching the doorway of his spacious bedroom, where he was standing in front of his open closet and rummaging through it, Hermione screeched, "Ronald Bilius Weasley!"
He whirled around with a start. "What is it?"
"How could you possibly consider this an emergency!" She exclaimed, marching across the room towards him. "Did I not explain to you what constitutes as an emergency?" Not waiting for his reply, she rattled off, "You yanked us out of Harry and Ginny's wedding - our two closest friends on the planet - because you don't want to be late to a stupid Ministry party! That you're not even required to attend! If our entire office building had just exploded, that would be an emergency! If you were in mortal peril, that would be an emergency! Neither of those things have happened!" Hermione began pacing up and down the floor. "Just like you weren't dying the time you barged in on my Healer's appointment to ask what napkin rings to use at the St. Wulfric luncheon, just like you weren't dying when you Flooed me at 3 AM last week to complain about the cover photo of you in Witch Weekly!"
"Well, if it's any consolation, I will be dead eventually," Ron said facetiously. "But tonight I'm representing the entire Weasley Towers organization! And that includes you too, you know!"
Hermione sighed, crossing her arms. "... Not anymore, Ron."
Just about to grab his turquoise dress robes, he stopped completely at her words. "What are you talking about?" He asked quietly, turning around.
"I mean just what I mean," she replied, grabbing the matching blue tie to his robes and handing it to him. "I helped you get the paper back on the Budleigh Babberton estate, you gave me Flourish and Blotts. Let's just call it quits, okay? Because I really... I just can't take it anymore."
Still staring at her, Ron sank down into the chair next to his closet, almost as if in slow motion. For a long minute, he didn't speak; he only gazed at her. When he was finally able to recover his voice, he stammered, "Well, I... you... you... I think you're being... ungrateful."
Hermione's eyes widened. "Ungrateful?" She repeated. "How in the world could you call me that? The only thing I've wanted from you is for you to finally allow me to do my job!"
"What does that mean?" He shot back. "I do! You're the best bloody lawyer I've ever had!"
"Well, thank you for the compliment," Hermione said sarcastically. "But you do drive me so batty it makes me regret taking this job sometimes! You're constantly at my hip, and you treat me more like a secretary than you do your attorney!"
Ron got to his feet to face her. "But you are my attorney! I need you!" He protested. "And, you know, before I hired you I was capable of making all sorts of decisions by myself! But now I'm addicted, I have to know what you think!"
"Well, half the time I think you're the biggest prat in the universe!" She replied hotly. "Now, I'm going to go back to Harry and Ginny's wedding. I don't care what you do, you can decide for yourself, because I'm not doing it anymore. Please consider this my two weeks' notice." And with a spin of her skirts, Hermione left the room.
Ron watched her depart, feeling dumbfounded. Slumping back into his chair, the bundle of clothing still in his arms, he whispered belatedly, "Please don't go."
---
To be continued...