"He did what?!" This incredulous ejaculation was issued from Ron, and he nearly spilled his drink with his vehemence.
Harry, on the other hand, dug his ear with a pinky, then cupped the hand to it. "Eh?" he asked, sounding for all the world like an old man with age induced hearing impairment.
"Oh, honestly, you two, it was just a few drinks. It's not like he drugged me."
Ron muttered a dark "I'm not convinced of that," while Harry said slightly louder, "but still. . . drinks. . . with Malfoy. . ."
"That's right, Harry, drinks, with Malfoy."
"Well," sniffed Ron, "you're certainly acting nonchalant about this whole thing."
"About what 'whole thing?'"
"I mean," he explained, "you did just tell us you went on a date with Malfoy."
I felt it absolutely necessary to redecorate the table with the drink on which I had been sipping, "I did no such thing," I sputtered.
"Well, you did say you met up with him, and he bought you a few drinks."
"I said he sent for me, and we discussed business."
"Over drinks!" Ron stated triumphantly.
"It was business!"
"Business my a--"
"Speaking of dates," Harry cut in, and note of mild desperation in his voice,
"It was not a date!" I interjected.
"How was the movie, Ron?" Harry continued, as though I hadn't spoken.
Ron, who'd opened his mouth to respond to my outburst, blinked twice, mouth still agape, seemingly startled by the sudden shift of attention to himself. "It was good," he responded, after a moment, then in the same breath he turned to me, and asked, "fine, if it wasn't a date, then what did you two talk about?"
Harry threw up his hands in defeat. "I give up!"
"I already told you, it was business."
"But, I thought he had you cleaning stables?"
"He does, the great prat!" I took a moment to ruminate on what a prat Malfoy really was, before I continued. "The whole thing was really, I dunno, odd. I mean, he wanted to lord it over me. . .my job and all, and how bloody 'all powerful' he is and pretty much just be the rotten little git we all know and . . . well, hate, but it was something else, too."
"Yeah," Ron said with a grin that let me know he was just teasing now, "he was trying to get into your knickers."
"It wasn't a date," Harry said, so I didn't have to, and I gave him a grateful pat on the hand, and Ron a death glare.
"At least someone believes me."
"Fine, fine," Ron relented at last, "back to this 'not-a-date' thing."
"Right, well, he was pretty subtle about it, I mean, for the most part, hiding behind teasing and jeers, but he was definitely probing me—not one word, Ron!—for information."
"Ron? Hey. . . Ron! Are you okay?" Harry asked nervously. Ron, for his part, looked like he was going to have a seizure right there in his chair from the effort it took to hold his tongue.
"Fine. . . just fine," he replied, but he looked and sounded like he'd taken a Fizzing Whizbee down the wrong pipe.
"Are you going to be alright?" I asked with concern.
"Well, jeeze, woman, you really need to work on your word choice," he spat out, his features finally settling back into their usual grin.
"He does have a point there," Harry said with a nod.
"Just whose side are you on, Harry Potter?"
"Jus' sayin'" he mumbled.
"Anyway," I cast a pointed glance at each in turn, and took their avoidance as a sign that it was safe to continue without interruption. "Sapphire Stables is one of the only Malfoy holdings that's loosing money. When they acquired the company, nearly twelve years ago, it was one of the heavy hitters when it came to breeding and training racing pegusi, and hippogriffs. Now you're lucky to find a Sapphire finishing in the top five. No prize money, and no one wants stud services from a fifth place looser."
"Are we talking Malfoy, or the pegusi?"
"Hardy-har, Ron," I intoned, humorlessly.
"So, what's any of this got to do with you?" Harry asked, "you're just a temp."
"Nothing, really. . . at least not as far as I can tell. . . except. . . I don' t know, I sort of got the impression that he wanted my opinion."
"Which is?"
"Well, I believe I already owled you two about finding Ms. Drowd in the process of being mauled by a Roc, right?"
The two nodded.
"What do you think my opinion is?"
"But why would he even want your opinion, 'Mione?" Ron asked, "I mean, you're brilliant and all, but, well, doesn't Malfoy hate you?"
"And here I thought he wanted to buy me drinks and look up my skirt."
"We're not ruling that out entirely," Harry said with a smile, and Ron snorted in return. Cue table-wide laughter, and general good times.
After the hilarity died down, we decided, (well, actually, I demanded, and Harry hexed Ron until he agreed,) to drop the issue of my conversation with Malfoy, and Harry and I began grilling Ron about his date in earnest.
It had gone well, apparently. So well in fact, that he was meeting Paige (I didn't know she was named Paige) again on Saturday to watch the Cannons play the Sloughs. Ron was sure that victory was within reach this time. I, for my part, was positive the Sloughs would win, but was a little concerned about whether or not they'd make the 300 point spread.
Of course, I didn't have the heart to tell Ron I'd bet against his favorite team.
Eventually the subject of my birthday was brought up, once again, but only so the boys could tell me I needn't worry, as they'd found the perfect gift for me. I hardly slept a wink that night. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw myself drowning in an ocean of Witch Weeklys, all bedecked with Malfoy's smirking face, and taglines like "Worst Boss in Britain," "World's Biggest Prat," "Pointiest Chin in Europe," and "Malfoy, the man, and the Wanker," with Harry and Ron in the background somewhere singing 'Happy Birthday to You.'
*
*
*
Something was up. I could tell it the moment I apparated in to Sapphire Stables the next morning. Usually, the whole place was abuzz with activity this early in the morning. Trainers and stable hands leading young Pegusi fillies and colts to the training oval to warm up while hippogriffs were learning to take the saddle, and far overhead, the shrill screams of giant birds could be heard drifting down to earth as Roc riders urged their steeds to greater and greater heights. Today, however, all I heard was the faint whicker of Pegasi in their stables, the smacking of heels on wood where other stable hands were perched on fences, and the hushed whispers of huddled trainers. Judging by the nervous glances that were being sent my direction, it wasn't too hard to guess that it had something to do with me, which meant one of two things. Either, a) the story about Drowsy and the Roc had broken, or b) the effects of my talk with Malfoy had finally taken place.
I seriously doubted Drowsy would go around bragging about her incompetence.
Great, just great. . . that stupid prat would go and make things all uncomfortable for me with only another three days left here. Couldn't just wait till I was out of the picture, could he?
I sighed in anger as I made my way to the equine stables, silence ahead of me, and whispers following in my wake.
I was shocked when I entered the stables and saw Drowsy standing with her back to me. I hadn't seen her since the night of the roc attack. . . the night I'd spoken with Malfoy. . . and frankly, I was stunned to see her here now.
She turned to me, and by the look on her face, she wasn't happy to see me at all.
"Well, look who it is. . . been wondering when you'd show up. . . wondering if you had the guts to show up at all." She bit out, "Miss Granger, your services here are no longer required."
"My. . . what?"
"Another stable hand has been located to take up the position permanently, thanks to you" she said, with bitterness, then she approached me. I reflexively reached for my wand, and blushed when she only held out a roll of parchment to me.
"The Boss," she sneered this out, "told me to give this to you"
"Oh," I managed, and took the parchment from her. This whole thing was bloody awkward. "Listen, I'm—"
"What?" she asked, "you're what? Sorry? I don't think so, Miss Granger, you've gotten me demoted, you meddling little bitch! That's what you are. . . Malfoy's watchdog. Run on back to your master now."
There was only one other person who had ever looked at me with the hatred that was reflected in her eyes. He signs my paychecks.
*
*
*
Granger,
My office. 12:30. Don't be late.
D. L. Malfoy
Well, I supposed, this would certainly make it easier to wring the life from him for putting me in the middle of the whole Sapphire Stables fiasco.
*
*
*
It was the same receptionist, I noticed with some dismay, who'd been manning the front desk the first time I'd stormed the Malfoy citadel. She recognized me as well, apparently, since her eyes went first wide with surprise, then narrowed in suspicion as I approached the desk. We didn't, I think, get off on the right foot the last time. Imagine that.
"Good afternoon. . ." I glanced at the plaque on her desk "Darla."
She gave me a snort, which, for the sake of improving employee relationships, I ignored.
"'Afternoon," she returned tightly.
"Erg. . . hey, listen, about last time. . ."
"Name?" she asked, ignoring my attempts at explanation.
"Oh, yes, well, it's Granger, Hermione Granger." She made a notation. "Anyway, I just wanted to appolog—"
"Business?" she cut in.
I was beginning to get annoyed. How was I supposed to apologize, when she kept cutting me off?
"I have a meeting with Mr. Malfoy."
She regarded me with a cocked eyebrow, "is he expecting you?"
"Yes, actually," I returned, with an indignant sniff, "you can check, if you like."
She did, pulling out a clipboard, and going over it. "Granger. . . Granger. . ." she mumbled to her self, "ah, yes, here it is. Hermione Granger, 12:30." She looked up, with a bright smile, all seemingly forgiven now that I was using proper channels. "a bit early, aren't you? It's only a quarter after."
"Yes, well, I like to be prompt."
Darla nodded in apparent approval, and I decided to press my issue. "So. . . may I go up now?"
Darla actually blushed at this, "Oh, no! absolutely not! Mr. Malfoy is, um, in a meeting, and isn't to be disturbed, but you can feel free to wait down here." She gestured to a corner, where three comfy-looking chairs, and one sofa had been placed around a coffee table. "We have magazines. . . do you read Witch Weekly?"
*
*
*
I declined the offer of Witch Weeklys as graciously as I could, and opted instead to spend the next thirteen minutes perusing the file I'd put together on Ridgeback Ranch, where I would be doing my next tour of service. I was beginning to wonder if I was doomed to spend the rest of my days working with livestock. Then I came across the incident reports for the last year, and my focus switched to wondering exactly how long 'the rest of my days' was likely to last.
Not long, by the look of things.
108 casualties in the last year alone. That was 45 broken ribs, 16 dislocated shoulders, fourteen broken ankles, twelve broken legs, nine broken ribs, six slipped disks, four concussions, two eaten digits, and one broken jaw (though even I had to admit the incident that resulted in the broken jaw was just sheer stupidity on the part of the Dragon Keeper.)
"And a partridge in a pear tree," I added tonelessly. At least there were no fatalities.
"What was that?" Darla called out from behind her desk.
"Oh, nothing. . . hey, is it time for me to head up yet?"
"12:28. . . I suppose it'll take you at least two minutes to get there. Alright, head on up."
With a relieved sigh (I was really tired of reading about Dragon Keeping injuries) I shrunk my folder, (deflato!) and shoved it into my back pocket. I made a mental note to give Charlie Weasley a ring, and see if he had any tips for me. You know, something that would keep me alive and intact.
"Public lift's on the left," Darla called out to me, and I flashed her a sly smile as I hit the up button, and disappeared into the velvet lined confines.
It was slower going this time, as the lift kept stopping to pick up, and drop off other passengers. I knew that I was almost there, however, when I found myself alone once again.
Sure enough, at the next stop, the doors slid open to reveal Malfoy's outer office, where his assistant was sitting at her desk.
"Hello, Miss, what's your business here?"
I was tired of being asked that question, so I just ignored it, and brushed past the raven-haired witch. I also ignored her cries of "hey," and "you can't go in there!" I fact, my hand was already on the M that split down the middle to form the handles on the double doors that lead to Malfoy's inner office, and turning one half before one very interesting fact registered.
5. . . 4. . . 3. . . 2. . . 1. . . !
Raven. Haired. Witch.
I took three very large steps backward until I was even with the desk, and gaped at the girl sitting behind it. She was short and curvaceous, so much so, that I truly wondered how she remained upright.
"I. . . Who. . . What?"
"Ah, Granger, you're late." Malfoy's smooth tones assaulted my ears, and I turned to give him a sharp look.
"Well, if you hadn't been in a meeting, your receptionist would have sent me up twenty minutes ago."
"I see you've met Kiki."
"New assistant? Do you change them like socks?" I felt the adrenaline begin to pump into my veins, and an electric thrill that was becoming steadily familiar. I was about to lay into Malfoy.
"Perhaps," he said, his gaze slipping from mine, to his new assistant, and back again pointedly, "we should continue this in my office?"
I followed him in, and slammed the door with a fury that would have knocked every book off the shelf if they hadn't been magiked to resist such shocks.
"Well, what happened to Jean, did you get bored?" I shot out instantly.
"I didn't ask you here to discuss my choice in my assistants."
"I think your choice in assistants is pretty obvious, you lecherous, you perverted. . ."
"I didn't want to discuss that either."
"Well, then you shouldn't have scheduled my meeting to conflict with your shag-time."
He chuckled, "awfully blunt, aren't you?"
"Awfully vile, aren't you," I returned.
"Mmm. . . Well, I try."
"What did happen to Jean?"
"My god, woman, you won't rest until I give you an answer, will you?"
I raised one eyebrow in reply.
"Fine," he said, resignedly "if you must know. . .she got a little too clingy. Jean was terribly possessive. It was starting to interfere with her work"
"You've got to be kidding me, Jean actually did work?" I looked him up and down, "well, other than the obvious."
"Shut it, Granger." He said, with a touch of the old loathing creeping back in. It was sort of a comfort, it put some distance between us. Distance I felt was necessary to keep myself from throttling him for being such a pig.
"I asked you here," he continued, after a moment, "because I wanted to thank you, and to give you this," he swept his hand to indicate a box on his desk, and I regarded him with apprehension. "well, go on, it won't bite. . . It's just some protective gear. . . dragon hide. . . figured you wouldn't have any laying around, but you're certainly going to need it for your next assignment."
"Um," I wasn't sure what to say, except, "thank you."
"Don't mention it, Granger," he grinned, devilishly, "and I mean that. Now, I have to cut this short, I'm meeting with the head of my American operations I about," he glanced at his watch, "twelve minutes, and I need to go over my notes once more."
"In that case, Malfoy," I said, and reached up on instinct, pressing my fingers into his cheek, and wiping the corner of his mouth with my thumb, before pulling it away, and holding it in his shocked face to display the color my digit had picked up. "You might want to do something about this lipstick."
His gaze locked with mine, and for a moment, he just stared, too shocked to say anything. Hell, even I was shocked by my actions. I'd actually placed my hands on him. After a moment he shook his head, and cleared his throat, "yeah, I suppose I should."
I nodded, grabbed the box off his desk, and left.
"Our boss," I told Darla on the way out, "is a real asshole."
I like to think I heard her snicker in response.
I might have paid more attention if my fingertips weren't still tingling
*
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*
Ah!!! Well, this was the hardest chapter to write since the first Malfoy/Granger confrontation, and I have no doubts that I'll read this later, and feel the need to revise, but for now, I can't find any major faults. Hopefully you guys will be kind enough to help me out with that one.
So, we've had our first real 'moment' where to go from here. . . I'm thinking the next chapter will have Hermione in leather (well, dragonhide, but anyway) and an implied erotic dream. . . but no guarantees.
Oh, and thanks to chic… no, I hadn't hear of the exact conversions… If you could, I'd love to know where to find them… is two galleons a better quantity? I'm shooting for the ten dollar range.