Argh! The Malfoy/Granger scene was a real pain to write. . . got through it though.

Enjoy. . .

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Right away, I could see why Witch Weekly had called him 'Europe's Most Eligible Wizard.' His money. Draco Malfoy was, in my opinion, too short, too slender, and too bloody *pale* to be a 'heart throb,' and too sarcastic, too surly, and too all around nasty to be anyone's idea of charming. As far as I could see, the only thing he had to offer the young witches of Europe was a sizable fortune.

Well. . . he did have those eyes going for him. Slate gray, and intense. Arresting, seemed to be the best adjective for it. Arresting. . . Especially since, right now, he seemed intent on nailing my feet to the floor with them. I was dismayed to find that it was working.

I suppose, all things considered, this was a good thing, since it overrode my initial impulse to approach the mahogany desk, and proceed to smash Malfoy's face into it.

The tongue lashing I'd prepared for him would be much more effective were he not unconscious.

Speaking of which.

"Malfoy," I said again, managing to pronounce his name in such a way as to make it synonymous with the word 'bastard.'

"Yes, Granger, I believe we've established that," He drawled in an that almost bored tone that made my wand hand itch.

He spoke again before I could reply, which was just as well, since what I'd been about to say, derogatory comments on the marital status of his parents, and whether or not they were, in fact, human, would have just made me look childish and petty. They were true, but childish and petty.

"Well, well, it has been a while, hasn't it?" he asked.

It figures, I come here to beat him senseless because he was ruining my life, and he acts like I'm an old school-chum, just stopped by for a visit. And he was being altogether too smug. A smug Malfoy, I had learned, was a Malfoy with a plot. Of course, so was a happy Malfoy, and a melancholy Malfoy, and any other sort of Malfoy, as well. I was understandably nervous.

"Not nearly long enough," I replied warily.

One corner of his mouth quirked up into a smirk, and his eyes glittered with amusement. "When *was* the last time we saw each other, Granger?" he asked, almost absently.

He knew very well the last time we'd seen each other. The prat.

"Your father's trial, I believe."

"Ah, yes…" he said, as though he'd just remembering, then he leaned back in his chair, his smirk managing to look even more self-satisfied than before. "Dear old Dad. . . you know, he'd be sitting in this chair right now, if he hadn't been sent back to Azkaban." His voice held a note of sorrow that contrasted sharply with the look of malicious pleasure in his eyes. "Pity"

A pity? Tell me another one Malfoy. Here he had control of his father's company, and he didn't even have to wait for the geezer to die

"Indeed," I responded, "It most certainly is a pity. If only we'd been able to find enough evidence to put both Malfoy's behind bars," I finished with a wistful note in my voice.

"Please," Malfoy scoffed, "you can't find what isn't there. My record is squeaky clean, Darling."

"Suspiciously so," I agreed.

Malfoy, however, refused to be riled, and simply chuckled.

"As wonderful as it has been, catching up like this," I said, bristling slightly, "that isn't why I'm here."

"And why are you here, Granger?"

"You know very well why I'm here Malfoy," he raised one brow in an a question we both knew was unnecessary.

"Humor me."

I was ready to explode, "You think you can just throw your power around, do you? Think you can just bully people into giving you your way, is that it? Well, I've got news for you, you slimy git, you horrible prat, you pestilence upon the face of wizard kind, *I* will not be bullied!"

Did I say 'ready to explode?' what I meant was 'in the process of exploding.

"I already told you, I'm not taking the assistant job, so BACK OFF!."

Apparently, I'd just said the magic words. He leaned forward again, steepling his hands in front of his chin, and smiling a slow, triumphant smile. "Why, Ms Granger, the assistant job has already been filled."

"This isn't about the assistant job so much as it's about you being a selfish, self centered, vengeful little prat. . . " I began to rage, then his statement hit me. Like a sucker punch to the jaw. Wait a minute. "The position has been filled?" I asked, in a weak voice.

Malfoy nodded, smiling in pure pleasure. It was possibly the first honest smile I'd seen from him.

It was bloody creepy.

"But, if the position is. . . but. . . why?"

My answer came floating toward me in the neatly folded shape of a paper airplane.

I unfolded it, noticing as I did, the hardened look that had just come into Malfoy's eyes.

My own eyes scanned the paper in front of me, and as the realization of what I held hit me, I let out a groan.

"You look forward to my 'painful death,' eh?" he inquired, with a raised eyebrow.

"Bloody hell."

This wasn't about having his way. This wasn't about getting what he wanted. This was about revenge. This was about putting me in my place.

"Christ," I said in sudden exasperation, "can you just stop acting like a spoilt 12-year-old."

That damned smirk was really starting to irk me.

"But I don't wanna," he mocked, in his best nasally pre-teen-whine-imitation.

That was it. The last straw. I felt whatever stopping power his eyes had on me dissipate, and lunged forward, drawing my wand. And immediately turned beet red, and stumble to a stop a foot from leaping his desk as he regarded me with a smirk and a raised eyebrow.

You see, I'd been in such a hurry to confront Malfoy, that I'd not bothered to change out of my interview clothes. It was a nice suit, easily the nicest I owned. Tailor made, and quite flattering. I rarely wore it, however, since the jacket had no wand pocket. The tailor had assured me that to put one in would ruin the line of the suit. I couldn't, of course, go without my wand. Thank Auror training for that one. The solution : a concealed wand-holster, strapped to my thigh. The problem: any attempt to reach my wand resulted in showing an unseemly amount of my legs.

Fat lot of good that thigh holster did me. I was now too embarrassed to utter a single curse.

"If you're trying to get me to change my mind about the assistant job, Granger, I've already told you, it's been filled," he said, his voice bland, but his eyes sparking with amusement.

God, did any two of his features ever agree on an emotion?

It took a moment before I trusted myself to speak through the jumbled anger, and mortification I was feeling.

"What, exactly, are you playing at Malfoy?" I said, voicing concerns that had been growing in the back of my mind, a looming dark thought. This isn't over. He's not finished with me yet. "And don't you dare play innocent with me, you came out sinning, and we both know that. We also both know that you're the reason I'm not already employed."

"It occurs to me that , though I can no longer offer you the assistant position, I do have one opening I think would be just *perfect* for you."

"If not the assistant job, Malfoy, then what?"

A deft flick of his wrist, and a white card appeared between his thumb and index finger. A wizard Malfoy may be, but that little trick of his hadn't used any magic. Just fast hands. A seeker's reflexes?

I took the card he proffered, and read:

28 Blunderbus ln, London

That was in Diagon Alley, I remembered.

I raised my eyes to his, and once again, found myself transfixed.

"Be there, tomorrow, 8:30 a.m. sharp. You'll meet a Tracy Higgins, and he'll give you this weeks assignment."

"Assignment?"

"Yes, Granger, you are now an employee of Malfoy International, Temporary Services."

I believe it's possible that my jaw actually made contact with the floor.

"Now," he continued smoothly, as I could only stutter in reply, "I believe we're finished here." He punctuated this statement by hitting a button on his desk, and a moment later, one of the bookshelves swung inward to reveal a hidden door, with a leggy blonde standing in it.

The new assistant, I surmised, and sniffed. I harbored serious doubts about the possibility that she was hired for her typing abilities rather than her plunging neckline, and too-short skirt. I felt a twinge of something. . . no, not jealousy. . . not exactly anyway. It was more like. . . being insulted. This was supposed to be *my* job, after all. Seeing it handed over to a woman who was obviously only there as eye-candy was like a physical slap.

"Draco," she said, in a low, husky, near-seductive voice. Oh perfect, not only was she on a first name basis with her employer of less than one week, she had come into the office, obviously expecting to find him alone, and had immediately began to purr at him. "You calle. . ." at this point, she noticed me in the room and her voiced dropped several degrees, from steamy sex-kitten, to cold shoulder. "Oh, I'm sorry, sir, I didn't know you were in a meeting."

"No need to apologize, Jean. Actually, Ms. Granger was just leaving."

Wait. . . was I? Oh I don't think so Malfoy, I'm not through with you yet!

"But," I began, before he cut me off.

"I'm afraid I really must insist. I have loads of work," at the word 'work,' he cast a pointed glance to Jean, and she seemed to puff up a bit with pride, "that I need to be doing."

Jean seemed all too eager to have me out of the room, though why she would *want* to be alone with Malfoy was beyond me. She stepped up and, before I realized what she was doing, grabbed my arm to lead me out the door.

No one, and I mean no one manhandles Hermione Granger, and that goes for sex-pot assistants, as well. At her touch, I wrung my arm from her grasp so violently, that I could feel the pop in my shoulder, followed by a shooting pain, which I ignored.

"Listen, Bimbo, If you want to keep that hand, I suggest you not bring it near me. I've a good idea where it's been. Touch me again, and they'll never find the pieces to have it re-attached."

Jean cradled the threatened arm to her chest, a soft whimper issuing from her lips, and shot Malfoy an 'are you going to let her talk to me like that' look.

"Come now, Granger,"

"Don't you 'come now, Granger,' *me*, Draco Malfoy," I said, turning my anger onto him, "I haven't agreed to anything, and WE ARE NOT THROUGH!" .

"Are you quite finished?" he asked, with a casual tone that made me want to feed him his own unmentionables.

I nodded, and pulled back with a mild blush, embarrassed by my loss of control.

"Good," he said, in a tone that was now anything but casual. He was now cool, commanding, and obviously in control. I got the uneasy feeling that this was some sort of game he'd been playing (probably because it was) and now playtime was over. "In that case, I'd advise you to re-think your last statement. You are no longer in school, Granger, your test scores are meaningless here, and there is no Head Girl in this company. . . there is a Head Boy, however, and you'd do well to remember who that is."

I gulped, then glared back at him, feeling intimidated, and not wanting to admit it. Even to myself.

"Now, Granger," he said, evenly, enunciating every word "this conversation is over." A smile wry smile tugged at the corner of his mouth as he continued, "unless, that is, you want to end up destitute." His smile darkened several shades to wicked, "I can make it happen, Granger."

I tried to form a good reply, really I did, but I was too busy shivering. Something about the way he said my name. I decided it was distinctly unpleasant. A spider asking a fly to tea.

Welcome to my parlor. . .

I did manage an enraged foot-stomp, however, just before I turned on my heel and stormed out of the room, nearly knocking Jean down as I passed her in the doorway.

"8:30, tomorrow morning, Granger. . . don't forget," I heard him call after me.

I might have heard him chuckling as well, but it was drowned out by my own frustrated scream.

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"So, what's got your knickers so twisted, you couldn't even tell me about it over the floo?"

It took me a few minutes to run that statement through the section of my brain that handles things like voice recognition, and then formulate a reply. What can I say, I wasn't at my best.

"You're late," I said, unable to lift my head off the counter to look at Ron as he slid into the seat next to me. Hm. . . he was wearing his brown shoes. Directly from work, then.

"Started without me, I see," he said, lifting my head from where it was nestled amid half a dozen empty glasses. "Now, then," he said, angling my face so I could look him in the eye, "what's wrong?"

I stiffened slightly at the sight of him, sobered by the freshly blackened eye I was looking into. A quick glance at the rest of him revealed bandages peeking out from underneath his robes, as well. "Jesus, Ron! What's happened to you?"

He winced, and grumbled something under his breath.

"What was that?"

"I said Fred and George!" he sighed in exasperation. "Right after you flooed, I was helping them unload some crates, when George decides it would be a good idea to break open a box of giggle powder all over me."

"Giggle powder?" I questioned.

He nodded, "laughed so hard, I bloody well bruised my ribs, didn't I?"

"And the black eye?"

"Fred. . . I jumped him by mistake, after the powder wore off, and he socked me one. Oh it was bloody awful, 'Mione." He ended in a near whine, and I couldn't help but chuckle.

He just gave me a dark scowl.

"I'm sorry, Ron. It's just. . ."

His features softened, "yeah, I know." He gave me a grin then, "hey, at least it's gotten you laughing, now maybe you can tell me what had you down."

"I suppose it's only fair," I mused. But how to put this. . . "Ron, you are about to be sharing cocktails with the newest employee of Malfoy International."

Ron gaped for all of about twenty seconds. It would have been longer, but the bartender happened along, and Ron took the opportunity to grab him by the lapels to demand a drink.

Twenty minutes later, with Ron two rounds down, and myself even more inebriated, I had filled Ron in on every detail of my truly miserable day, from the disastrous Douglas and Darcy interview to the moment five minutes before he walked in, when my head hit the counter.

"Merlin, that's just awful," he said sympathetically, after a moment.

"Tell me about it…"

"Hey, why didn't you call Harry about this? Not that I don't appreciate the favoritism, or anything," he grinned momentarily, "but you look like you need all the moral support you can get."

"Ron," I said, "it's Wednesday," as if that was all the answer he needed.

"Wednesday? So what, you think Harry wouldn't come to the aid of a friend, just because it's a Wednesday?"

"Ron, you know he and Cho are, um, trying. . . " I trailed off meaningfully.

"Trying wha- oh. . . "

I nodded, "Wednesday, or actually, the first Wednesday of the month (like today) is her most. . . receptive time."

Ron gulped.

"I didn't want to disturb anything."

"I should say not," Ron agreed, a look of discomfort on his face. After a moment he broke into a grin. "Could you imagine the look on his face if you interrupted their 'quality time' together? He'd probably look like he'd just eaten a flobberworm." Ron did a little impression, and I giggled.

That's why I loved Ron, even when I was having the worst day of my life, he could still make me smile.

The worst day of my life.

I groaned, as the weight of my predicament came crashing down on me once again.

"Oh god, Ron what am I going to do?" Now, I love Ron, but I think the fact that I was asking him for advice is an accurate indication of my level desperation. Or my level of intoxication. Whichever.

"I reckon," he said, with uncharacteristic seriousness, "that you should call the Knight bus, and sleep it off, so you can make it to 28 Blunderbus ln tomorrow."

I was afraid he was going to say something like that.

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Alright. . . I know I promised a revised chapter one with this, but what can I say. . . I'm just a lazy bastard. I'll get around to it. Anyway, just let me know what you think about this, and where I should make improvements when I edit.

Thanx much

ARBITRARY