Note: If you need clarification on where this fic is going, read the note after the chapter, which will contain spoilers.

Chapter Nine

Hermione forced her hands to remain at the podium and not incessantly wringing her hair. She'd just delivered her proposal and put out the motion for The Care and Census of the Magical Population. And, as she had predicted, it fell flat with just three too many votes against it.

What she hadn't predicted, however, was the ire of Madame Hemlay, head of Administrative Registration, who'd had the floor for ten minutes already, listing complaint after complaint of Hermione and her methods.

"—and now, now Miss Granger wants to merge departments, to force wizards and witches under the same heading as pygmy puffs and threstals. Forgive me for stating so, Mr. Minister, but I will state once more that Miss Granger is too young, too naïve, too inexperienced—"

Hermione bit her tongue. The last time she'd thrown her experience of fighting in the frontline in the bloody War, she'd been accused of showing off. There was truly no way to win over Hemlay and the handful of heads that agreed with her.

"Granger?" Kingsley. "A response?"

Hermione took a breath. "The Ministry, as it's organized today, is no more different than when the Administrative Registration Department spent its days ostracizing the wizards and witches found in the department-created Muggleborn Registration."

"That is irrelevant," Madame Hemlay shouted, standing up. "It's irrelevant what we were forced to do under the threats of—"

"Hemlay, please sit down. Granger has the floor." Kingsley raised an eyebrow.

"Certainly, Madame Hemlay has a point. Some of the Ministry's less palatable history could not be helped in order to save lives. Some of the changes, however, were wholly preventable at an early stage, when all the signs of the impending War were in place. The reason for most people letting those all of those warning signals slide was due to the denial and, at times, yes, the whole-hearted embrace of prejudice." She paused and cleared her throat. "What I am suggesting is a big change, yes. But I believe that it could ultimately change the way we start to see one another. I accept that today is not the day, however. I thank you all for your time." Hermione returned to her seat.

"If I may, Mr. Minister." Old, cranky Lentus Wells stood. Hermione fought the urge to roll her eyes. Wells had been trying to get her kicked off as Head for nearly six months now, so yeah. This ought to be good.

Kingsley nodded. Wells began, "Since Miss Granger has joined us here as Head two years ago, she has put forth fifty-five proposals, only three of which have been approved. It would appear, to me, that Madam Hemlay's assessment may be correct: either Miss Granger is naïve or she cares not for wasting our time and Ministry funds." He set his mouth in a long, firm line. "Years ago, one had to wait a year before even having permission to speak on the floor to learn what, exactly, makes our system so effective. I believe Miss Granger would benefit from a little waiting." He paused, glancing at Hermione with a smug. "All who agree that Granger should wait at least one year before putting forth non-essential proposals?"

Hermione looked around in horror as just over half of her colleagues chanted, "Yay."

She flung her body upright. "But that is censorship, you can't just—"

"I'm merely suggesting that you have just a few more things to learn." Wells nodded at her, his face pursed in what Hermione could only assume what he thought looked like a kind expression. Beside him, Madame Hemway practically levitated with joy.

"Minister, if I may." Thomas Roland, Head of Department of International Magical Cooperation, stood. "The reason why many of Granger's ideas, many of which, might I add, are brilliant, are rarely passed is because the same handful of people vote against it. If it were me, and I'm certainly not suggesting such a thing, but especially after today, I might wonder if there were an active plan to keep Granger away from any little bit of power. The motivations of—"

Wells stood, interrupting. "You have no proof of such a—"

"As I said," Roland responded. "It's no suggestion of mine."

"Point taken, Roland." Kingsley sighed. "This tradition of allowing, or forcing a Head, as it were, to wait for a year to propose, however childish it is to bring it up now," he gave Wells a long look, "is still active in the codebooks. Motion passed." He hit his podium and Hermione felt her stomach drop with the noise. "I have to say, I am extremely disappointed that not only was Miss Granger's motion so quickly dismissed, but that most of you have chosen to silence her. This meeting is adjourned. Hemsay, Roland and Wells, please stay for a word."

Hermione gathered her papers and took the long, less populated way into her office, nodding to her kinder colleagues as they whispered to her about how bloody stupid this was.

Clarisa stood as Hermione entered the foyer. "Miss Granger, goodness, do you look defeated. I take it that it didn't go?"

Hermione fought a fierce battle with hot tears, which she barely managed to win. "It was, quite possibly, the least successful proposal of my career."

"I'm so sorry. Is there anything you need? A cup of tea, perhaps?"

"Not at the moment, Clarisa, thank you."

She closed the door into her office and noticed Errol scarcely hanging on to the window ledge, the wind rustling his tattered feathers. "Oh!" She opened the window and Errol swooped in, collapsing at her desk. As Hermione untied the letter at his foot, she could hear the poor thing snoring.

Hermione opened the letter with her heart aflutter. If anything could make her feel better at this point, it might certainly be a message from Charlie. "Bugger," she muttered immediately, recognizing the handwriting as Molly's. She sat down and leaned back.

Dearest Hermione,

How are you, dear? It seems like ages since we've been able to catch up! I hope your proposal has gone well today; Harry's told us all about it and it just seems like a brilliant idea, so becoming of you.

I was writing because Charlie stopped by for lunch of all things a few days ago, and he seemed so distracted and bothered that, after a bit of effort on my part, I finally got him to admit that he has girl troubles. What those troubles consist of, I don't know. He'd only tell me her name (I've never heard of the name before, Rama, do you know where she is from?) and that she works with him. I've owled him twice daily to find out more, but he hasn't responded to any of my letters yet.

I know you and he have been close the last couple of months, and I was wondering if you've heard anything more about Rama. I don't mean to pry; I just worry about poor Charlie. A mother always does.

Thank you so much, dear. I do hope you have a wonderful day.

All my love,

Molly

Hermione dropped the letter on her desk and closed her eyes to breath slowly. In, one-two-three, out, one-two-three, until she could feel her body again. She turned to her filing cabinet and flung it open, reaching all the way in the back, pulling out a half-sized bottle of bubbleberry wine. Popping the cork with a wandless spell, she downed it in one gulp.

By then, Arrol had regained consciousness and sat upright on her desk, looking rather hungry. Hermione opened a drawer and threw a handful of mouse-flavored treats at the owl. She grabbed a pen and paper and continued to breathe fluidly as she wrote.

Dear Molly,

Thank you so much for your words regarding my proposal. Not only did it not pass, but the majority of my colleagues have decided to censor me from any "non-essential" proposals I may dream up for at least a full year. I'm a bit torn up about it, to be honest, as I've always known many of my colleagues were hateful tossers, I didn't realize that they, too, are cruel, pathetic pieces of shite.

I'm sorry to write that Charlie and I have never discussed anything regarding his romantic life. Our friendship has mainly consisted of talking, and at times, I have helped him stretch the hip that was recently injured. I hope you get the answers you seek soon.

I'm also sorry to write that I will not be attending this weekend's gathering, as I will be on holiday with a chap I've been seeing. His name is Brock Missouri and he's an American football player and a fantastic lover. Perhaps I will bring him to meet the family soon.

Please send my regards to George and Angelina.

With love,

Hermione

"Take that, you bloody, muscular arse," she slurred. "Let your mum tell you I'm shagging Brock, whoever the hell he might be!" She tied the letter to the owl. "Go on," she said. Arrol cocked his head at her. "Don't look at me like that. I'm perfectly fine, can't you tell?" The owl seemed to give an owlish shrug, then spread its wings and flew out the window.

She tapped her Message Quill. "Yes, Miss Granger?"

"Clarisa, you know that holiday I've been putting off for ages?"

"Yes, Miss Granger."

"Well, I'm going to take two weeks, starting in about fifteen minutes."

"Of course, Miss Granger. You know, you have a full two months of accrued holiday time, if you need any more than that…"

Hermione was about to refuse, on the grounds of all the work she had, but as she looked around, she realized that Mr. Wells was right. Everything she contributed to the Ministry was pretty much worthless. If she did take as much as two months off, the department would literally function exactly the same.

"You know, Clarisa, I may take a bit more. I'll let you know soon."

"Of course, Miss Granger. I will clear your schedule immediately."

Hermione muttered to herself as she packed her bag. "Bloody work and bloody men. Especially bloody, stupid men."

Her Message Quill rang. "Miss Granger, you have a visitor."

"Clarisa, if it's Mr. Dradle, would you kindly tell him to piss off?"

"Oh, my. No, no it's not Mr. Dradle. In fact, a Mr. Malfoy is in the waiting room."

"Oh." Hermione furrowed her brow. She wasn't in a mood to see that git, either. "Tell Mr. Malfoy that he needs to make an appointment. Well after my holiday."

"Yes." Clarisa then whispered, "And may I add, Miss Granger, that Mr. Malfoy, too, has a fascinating form."

"Thank you, Clarisa," Hermione said in a dull tone.

"Of course."

XXX

Hermione left all her paperwork and correspondence spread across her desk. For at least the next two weeks, she didn't want to even think of work. A tiny wave of excitement startled her as she realized, for the first time since graduation, she had more than ten hours of unscheduled time ahead of her. But then she remembered about Rana, whose hair likely didn't resemble a dried sea urchin upon encountering humidity of any sort, and who, furthermore, was probably shagging Charlie right then atop a rumbling dragon. And Hermione's mood, once again, plummeted.

"Granger."

She nearly jumped out of her skin, then rolled her eyes. "What do you want, Malfoy? Because I've had a rather absurdly foul day and frankly, seeing you is doing it no favors."

He leaned against the wall, right over the button she needed to press to open the lift, wearing, in the manner typical to him, dress robes that were way too formal for the occasion of a Ministry visit. He regarded her with an unreadable expression, and said, "I heard about the proposal."

"If you're here to tell me 'I told you so,' then you can just sod off, Malfoy. Now, please move. You're in my bloody way."

"That's a lot of distress you're slinging about, Granger. Perhaps it's time for something new."

"I've no idea what you're suggesting, Malfoy, but I'm perfectly fine with my methods of stress management."

He examined the back of his hand and said, "Ah, yes. I suppose you have your gentleman friend to help."

"Not bloody likely," Hermione muttered, low so he wouldn't hear, but he seemed to perk up immediately as though he had. She refrained from face-palming as he handed her a forest green folder. The front of it contained the Malfoy Apothecary logo, an ouroboros with an old-script 'M' in the middle, all etched in gold.

"What the hell is this?"

"Just read it, Granger. And get back to me after your holiday."

She took a deep sigh as he pressed the button for the lift. He turned again. "Oh, and Granger?" She glared at him as a response.

"If you need any help with stress management," he'd walked over to her and stood only a foot or so away. He let his eyes drop down her body and he snapped them back up. "I could be of assistance."

She narrowed his eyes. Was this snake actually hitting on her? Or just making her think he was?

His next response left no room for error. "I tend to work late at the Apothecary most nights. But I'm usually home in my flat by eight. At your request, I would allow you floo access anytime you like."

Her lips parted in shock as he nodded. "Good day, Granger." Then he stepped in the lift and the doors closed over his smirk.

XXX

Somewhat-spoiler-note: So the drama begins this chapter! Oh, this wasn't as much of a fun one to write, but every story needs its conflict. If you need reassurances, there's no Dramione ahead, as Malfoy is around for plot purposes, plus he's such a great character to write (sorry to disappoint some of you, and myself, as wouldn't it be so much fun to see where that goes, if you're inspired, please, go for it and let me know!), AND there is a happy ending for our two leads. Oh, and there are plenty of lemons ahead, for those who are here for the smut.