I just spent three hours in line at a midnight release, waiting for a copy of Order of the Phoenix at my local Borders, but now, it's just after two, and I'm finally at home. Safe, sound, and almost ready to start in on what I hope will be the best Harry Potter book yet. I'm postponing my joy, however, to crank out this chapter (not that you all don't have more important things to read right now!)

So anyway, enjoy… you'd better, since I'm taking time out of my Harry Potter reading schedule to post this. ;)

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I awoke to the sound of screeching, and sat up immediately, glancing around to locate the virgin that was obviously being sacrificed in the near vicinity. My eyes followed my ears to the nightstand, where my wand was sitting next to a tall glass of water. With a groan, I snatched the stick roughly, and muttered a sleep-slurred "finite incantatum." Instantly the shrill shriek ceased, and I collapsed back into my mattress, pulling my covers over me, intent on getting back to sleep.

It was at this time that I first became aware that the Chuddley Cannons were having a beater practice somewhere between my temporal lobe and hippocampus. This just would not do, I thought, as I slowly pulled myself back up into a sitting position. I was also becoming aware of the fact that just about every other muscle in my body was aching. And, oh yes, the nausea.

I just love hangovers.

With a groan that touched off a thousand tiny explosions in my head, I heaved myself off the bed, and by sheer force of will propelled myself out my bedroom door, and down the hallway to my kitchen. I turned on the light, then turned it back off again almost instantly, as the light hit my eyes, and the pain nearly drove my to my knees. Instead, I stumbled forward, in the near-pitch dark, and fumbled my way over to the refrigerator.

I blinked several times as I opened it, but endured the agony of the refrigerator light. A necessary evil, since it was imperative that I retrieve the an egg and some tomato juice. Easier said than done, however, as the shells of said eggs seemed suddenly to be composed of a mixture of Teflon, and axle grease. Three of the little oval shaped bastards slipped from my uncoordinated hands and onto the floor before I managed to drag one out and make it to the counter without incident.

Thankfully, the tomato juice was much easier to grip, and a moment later I was setting it down next to the egg.

My eyesight had now adjusted to the low light levels, which meant tearing through my cupboards on a mission for tobasco, pepper, and salt wasn't as difficult as it could have been.

Now that I sat with all my ingredients assembled before me, it almost reminded me of potions class. . . except I never got piss drunk the night before a potions class, and had to brew the potion the next day with my head splitting in two. But other than that. . .

I banished all thoughts of potions from my mind, and wrinkled my brow in focus. Now came the really difficult part, separating the egg, while ignoring the pain that jolted through my head.

I sighed, then carefully, gently, cracked the egg, managing to somehow get the yolk into a glass, and the shell and white into the trash without making another mess on the linoleum. Right, now tomato juice, a dash of tobasco, some salt and pepper. It was supposed to get a lemon wedge, as well, but what can I say, a busy auror doesn't always have time to hit the grocery store every time she was low on citrus, so the wedge wouldn't be possible, but I'd always held that it was more there for a garnish anyway.

I inhaled deeply, holding the breath as I downed the odd concoction before my, and only letting it out once the initial urge to gag had passed.

Nasty business, that. But absolutely necessary. I'd learned the hangover cure from Bill, Ron's older brother, and it had never failed me.

Already, I could feel the fuzz beginning to clear from my vision, and hear the quiddich captain telling his errant team members to pack up and go home, practice inside Hermione Granger's cranium was over.

Now that I was able to think clearly again, I wondered why I'd set my alarm to go off early. It's not like I had to work today. . . work. . . today. . .

"Oh, bollocks." Suddenly wanted the searing pain of head trauma over the memory of what, indeed, I had gotten myself out of bed far too early for.

With a sound that was half grumble, half whine, I made my way down the hall and into the bathroom for a shower, before I headed to Diagon Alley.

If today was the first day of the rest of my life, I was tempted to commit suicide now, and end the vicious circle.

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"Hello?"

28 Bluderbus ln, from the outside, was a small, single story brown-brick building with Naga Hiss, attorney at law on one side, and Murray Splint, M.W. on the other. Basically just like 90 other buildings of similar description that resided in the professional district of the bustling market that was the center for wizard trade, Diagon alley.

Who could guess, by the well trimmed poplars on the sidewalk out front, and the charming Ivy that crawled over the face of the building, and twined itself around the wrought iron sign that read "Malfoy Temporary Services" that it was in such utter chaos behind its door?

I was standing in a doorway, with the door still ajar, and a breeze coming in behind me, and surveying dimly lit room with a small amount of shock. I'm not sure what I was expecting, but the tiny waiting area consisting of a beat up leather sofa, which was cracked in some places, sun bleached in others, and both in others still., and the two desks which faced the door from the other side of the room, one of which was piled so high with papers, I couldn't see if there was anyone sititng in it, and the other completely empty, save only the barest necessities in office supplies, wasn't it.

"Come in, come in," came a slightly annoyed, voice from behind one of the stacks, "and for chrissake, close the bloody door, I've just finished organizing them, and the last thing I need is to have these request forms scattered to the four corners of the earth."

"Pardon me," I replied, slightly embarrassed, and stepped all the way in, letting the door slam shut behind me. No turning back now.

Not that there had ever been any turning back.

"Pardon me," I repeated, "but are you Tracey Higgins?"

A sandy head peered out at me from behind the paper citadel he'd built. Tracy Higgins, from what I could see, was a moderately attractive man, with a straight, even nose, and dancing hazel eyes. Not as attractive as Magnus, of course, and I found myself wanting to shoot my own leg off. I was not going to think about Magnus.

"Hermione Granger, right?" he inquired, with a raise eyebrow.

I confirmed this with a nod, and he gave me a sympathetic look even as he was reaching to catch a stack of wobbly papers, and I found this morning's nausea had returned. Getting a sympathetic look from a man who is officially drowning in paperwork was a decidedly good sign that you're about to begin a really lousy day.

"That's right." I replied, as evenly as I could with the sense of impending doom creeping up on me.

He nodded, "yes… the boss called about you yesterday. . . said he was sending you down and I should give you a very. . . er. . . special assingment."

Special assignment? This did not sound good. "What is it?" I asked, anxiously and it came out as a snap, "what's my assignment?"

"Um. . . It's just. . . " He was fidgeted, and seemed to be debating something before he could spit it out. Perhaps he was trying to find a way to put it to me delicately. Finally, he threw his hands up, nearly knocking he papers to the floor, and obviously deciding there was no good way to put this. "Oh, hell. Okay, here's the deal, this comes straight down form the top. . . technically, you work for me, but I work for him, so . . . look, I'm just really sorry."

I was growling, "Get on with it," I spit out, but I really had no desire to find out what our "illustrious leader" had planned for me.

"Sapphire Stables, it's a Malfoy holding. . . they put in a request last week for a stable hand.

Shoveling shit all week. . . I may as well have agreed to Malfoy's assistant

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I threw the pitch fork, its prongs sticking easily into the dirt floor of the stables, and looked with a grim satisfaction down the row of 103 stalls that I had cleaned. Now I stood in front of stall 104, the last one, and my back was aching, and I was covered in sweat and manure, and pieces of hay. I wanted nothing more than to finish this last stall and apparate directly into my shower, where I would scrub until the scent of . . . horse was out of my hair. The clothes I was wearing were going to have to be incinerated, of course, and I paused a moment to mourn the passing of my peach silk blouse, and gray trousers as a flash of white hot anger rose up in the back of my throat. Only Draco Git Malfoy would have an ex-Hogwarts Head Girl mucking out stalls.

I could be doing so much better.

Okay, so perhaps it was a bit arrogant of me, but come on! Two weeks ago, before Malfoy's ill fated letter, I was swimming in opportunities, and now. . .

With a grunt, I hefted my pitchfork, and entered the last stall, imagining Malfoy's slimy face with each stab into the floor of the stall.

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"I'm glad their done with the renovations," I said, wearily, as I slipped into a seat at our usual table in the Leaky Cauldron.

"Yeah," Harry agreed, sliding in next to me, as Ron took the seat across from us.

"So, how was it, you wouldn't tell earlier?" Ron asked, leaning over the table.

"Yeah, 'Mione, spill!" Harry agreed, then added, "I can't believe you didn't tell me about this whole thing earlier." This last bit was more of a grumble, and I wondered if he felt left out of the loop.

I flashed him a smile, and patted his arm. "Sorry, Harry, I just thought you might be doing more important things."

Harry flushed at this, and started to sputter a reply, while Ron and I grinned at him like maniacs.

"Fair enough," he managed, after a moment, then cleared his throat, "I don't have any pressing engagements at the moment, however, aside from spending some much needed time with my best friends, so fill me in."

I proceeded to relate to him the events of the previous day, and watched the various shades of shock and indignation that played out on his face while Ron patted my hand reassuringly.

"And today, I show up at 'Malfoy Temporary Services' and find out that he's got me cleaning out stables for the next week and a half, and after that, I'm filling in for a Dragon Keeper whose going on vacation. A bloody DRAGON KEEPER! I'm going to be burned to a crisp!"

Harry nodded, and gave me a pensive look. "Well," he said, "I can't say that I didn't see it coming. I had my suspicions when you told us that your job offers had slacked off, but I can't say I'd actually believed that even Malfoy would be so petty."

"Tell me about it," I mumbled, resting my head on the table, and only perking back up again when our first round was delivered to our table by a cute little witch who flirted shamelessly with Ron whenever we came here.

"Er, thanks," said the redhead, uncomfortably, as she handed him his drink, and allowed her hand to linger on his a little longer than was seemly, finally pulling away after meeting his eyes with a lusty look.

I may well have had my own problems to deal with, but that didn't mean I didn't have time to devote to my friends as well. As the waitress retreated, I gave Ron a sly smile, and nudged Harry with my elbow. "Ya see that?" I asked him.

He nodded, and echoed my grin. "I most certainly did! My, my, Ron, it appears that you have an admirer."

Ron turned a startling shade of scarlet. "Shut up!" he snapped, "I do not."

"Oh, come on, Ron, she was practically ready to jump in your lap," Harry said, his grin broadening.

"You think so?" Ron, said, with a tinge of interest, and he cast a casual glance toward the girl.

"Absolutely! And you know what? You should go for it," I wrinkled my nose at him, "It's been an awfully long time since you've had a decent shag, after all."

Ron, if it was possible, turned even redder, and looked like he was ready to climb under the table and hide. This of course, caused Harry to snort in barely contained laughter, and I could only follow suit. After a moment, we were all laughing, like every time we all got together, and some how, my problems just seemed so much smaller.

That's what friends were for

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I was curled up on my couch, pointedly ignoring the cigarette burn as I turned the pages of my favorite translation of Dante's inferno, a residual smile from my get together with Harry and Ron playing across my lips. It was a good evening, and I was bound and determined not to ruin it by thinking of either of the annoying gits that had been ruining my life lately. I was getting drowsy, and content, and I could feel my eyelids slipping down despite my interest in the words I was reading.

It was at this moment, that I heard a tapping at my window. Warily, I left my seat, and approached the glass pane. A glance through it revealed strange bird, not an owl I'd ever seen. Actually, not an owl at all, but a fine, swift flying falcon. I pried the window up, and the raptor swooped in, circled the room, and came to land on my outstretched arm, digging it's talons into my skin, headless of the pain it caused. Only one wizard I knew would use a bird such as this as a messenger. Malfoy.

My suspicions were confirmed when it dropped the piece of paper, folded and sealed with the Malfoy crest, it was holding in its beak into my hand, and gave a sharp cry.

"Perhaps you could perch elsewhere?" I asked, "it's difficult to break this seal with one hand.:

The bird instantly launched itself from me arm, and settled on the back of the couch. I tried not to wince as it's talons tore the fabric, I was going to buy a new one soon, after all.

With a sigh, I threw myself back down into the cushions, ignoring the piercing eyes that read over my shoulder.

Granger,

I must admit, I'm more than a little curious how your fist day on the job went. I trust you are happy with the assignment you've been given, I thought it was a stroke of genius, myself. Imagine, me with Hermione Granger at the mercy of my whims. The idea has it's appeal. Feel free to send a reply back with Omen.

Oh, I'm going to have fun with you, Granger.

D. L. M.

"Omen?" I said, and, and the falcon flapped it's wings, "that must be you," I said to it. "You really are a magnificent animal," I told it, and it seemed to puff with pride. It was quite beautiful, but there was a reason most messenger birds were owls. Raptors were notoriously hard to control.

I sighed, so much for not thinking about annoying gits tonight. I ripped a small piece of paper from Malfoy's letter, and placed it in Omen's waiting beak, after scribbling my two word reply. Sod off.

"Scratch his eyes out for me, eh?" I asked, as Omen took to the air.

Despite the fact that it was physically impossible, I got the distinct impression that the beast was smirking at that.

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Ah. . . now off to read Order of the Phoenix. Any mistakes in this chapter I attribute to sleep deprivation, I was up until 4:45 writing the bulk of this, and even though I went back over it before posting, it is inevitable that I missed some things. If anyone actually reads this, It would be a great help if you pointed these out to me, so I can correct them. Also, feel free to give any other feedback. . . or insane amounts of praise. . . whatever.

Thanks for reading,

ARBITRARY