Evil Incorporated

I do not own these characters, nor do I profit in any way from this story.

Chapter 2

The fire snapped and grumbled, devouring the steady flow of parchment slipped into its flames. Narcissa's wine glass clinked against the table, the only other sound in the room. Draco's eyes moved slowly between the fire and the sheets of parchment he haltingly dropped in. Rejection letters, all of them, mostly from the Ministry of Magic, though a few other private companies had taken the time to add their own variations of 'not at this time' and 'we regret to inform you' and 'circumstances being what they are'. He hadn't meant specifically to keep them all, he had simply never gotten around to throwing them all away. Except for the first few, before he'd started to realize that the Malfoy name had become a ball and chain around his family's ankle. The first few had still been a shock, each going up in a blaze of Incendio.

Another sheet of parchment fluttered into the fire. But that was before the American letter. That single letter had spurred Draco to eliminate the evidence of his past rejections, though there was nothing he could do if the company simply decided to owl the Ministry and others themselves. The letter was strange; he suspected it had been written by some kind of magic. The letters were too regular, straight, and small to have been written by hand. The parchment was perfectly cut and unblemished, but very thin. But it was an acceptance letter nonetheless, asking for an interview at his earliest convenience in their home office of Los Angeles, USA. His joy was inevitably tainted with suspicion, and though he dismissed the letter's oddities as an American thing, his father practically snorted in disdain when Draco showed him.

"Of all places to go…" Lucius had ground out, scanning the paper. Draco lounged in the leather chair opposite his father's desk, watching his father's reaction. He had seemed conflicted, and it was painfully obvious he thought very little of Wolfram and Hart, the mysterious law firm. Draco had read up on what little information he could get on the firm when he received the letter, half-believing it was a joke. They apparently had offices all over the world, including one in London. He inquired to that office, but they had curtly informed him of a dramatic change in management in their home office in Los Angeles, resulting in many new job openings. The firm as a whole dealt with the Wizarding world only on occasion, but he knew better than to assume they were a Muggle-oriented company, if his father's investment was anything to go by.

Draco's mother heaved a sigh and he looked up, casually tossing the last of the parchment into the fire. "Why America…" She mourned dramatically, leaning her head on one hand. "It's such a dreadful place."

His father didn't look up from his folder of papers. "They're giving him a job, Narcissa. Not only that, an entire department to run."

"But they're Americans!" His mother protested bitterly, eyes closing in disgust. "There's hardly any respectable families in the entire country; who's he going to socialize with? Muggles?" She threw up her hands and huffed derisively.

"I'll be head of Magical-Based Contracts, mother. They're hardly going to expect me to interact with Muggles." Draco tried to be soothing and turned back to the fire. He wasn't exactly excited to be going into such uncivilized society himself, but he would have plenty of chances to network outside the scope of Wizarding England, bringing back respectability to the Malfoy name. Even if it had to be through an American-based company.

"Wolfram and Hart deals with far more clientele than Wizards and Muggles." His father said suddenly, snapping the folder closed and tossing it tiredly to the table beside him. "Though the Dark Lord never touched America, there are several similarly…less than scrupulous people keeping powerful ties with the firm. They have very tight security when it comes to whom they deal with." Draco turned in surprise and found himself meeting his father's steely glare. "Going to America may be a last resort, but it will still work in our favor. But no matter who they get involved with, you will show nothing but respect, Draco."

"Because we're such upstanding citizens now, right?" Draco snapped his gaze back to the fire. Twenty one years old, about to head up his own department, and his father still insisted on treating him like a schoolboy. As though Draco didn't know his own legacy was on the line if their family didn't start churning out respectability.

"Don't get mouthy, young man." His mother scolded irritably, her wine glass clinking off her rings as she picked it up again. "Your father's connections got you that job and-"

"I intend to make the most of it." Draco finished flatly, well-aware of his mother's recent mantra of making the most out of every situation.

She did not retort, as he anticipated, but only sighed despondently. Instead his father's tired voice filled the pregnant silence. "We all must do what is best for the family name."

Draco tilted his head away from the fire, but his father was not looking at him. His own eyes were set on the blaze, unfocused. The flickering orange light caught the iron band visible below the hem of his robes. Draco turned away, shoving his hands into his pockets and finally moving away from the fire. From the flickering shadows, he followed his mother's gaze up to the family portrait above the mantle. It had been painted when he was still a boy, started just before the Dark Lord's first fall, and finished a few years after. The painted version of him smirked jauntily, chin jutting defiantly. His painted mother brushed invisible dust from his shoulder and his father twitched a smile as he glanced down.

"After all we did to keep this family together…" Narcissa sighed, tears evident in her voice. "It seems as though we're destined to be separated."

Memories that he would have never known if not for those blasted biographies, flooded Draco's mind. His mother's Unbreakable Vow with Severus Snape, his father pleading with the Dark Lord to go find Draco during the final battle, his mother asking one breathless question of Harry Potter that changed their position in the war. In the months that followed the end of the war, he had seen more of his parents than perhaps his entire previous life, as though he would disappear if they parted again.

"No." Draco's eyes were still on the painted, younger version of him. A boy not yet touched by the darkness that dragged their family to the ground. His own chin stuck out defiantly and he strutted to the space between their chairs. "We're Malfoys. We don't fall like this." Not looking at either of his parents, he trusted his voice to feign bravado he didn't entirely feel. His parents were Slytherin to the core, they'd know his fear the moment he looked at them. "With any luck, father will be out in a year's time, and by then I'll have charmed every client at Wolfram and Hart, and mother will have certainly won over the whole of England by that time. We Malfoys are nothing if not adaptable." He threw his younger image a confident smirk.

"Oh my baby boy!" Suddenly his mother's arms were around him and he breathed in the smell of her expensive shampoo. He felt better, as though his little speech had fooled even himself.

"Well said, Draco." His father said stiffly as he stood, but Draco could hear the pride, even if the rest of the world wouldn't. Lucius clapped his hands once, and their house elf appeared with a crack. "Champagne, Kobble. We must celebrate Draco's interview."

Press the dough into the pan, being sure to cover the pan up to the top. Done. Fill with meat mixture, leaving a quarter of an inch at the top. Done. Cut the remaining dough into a circular shape and place on top of the pan. Done. Gently pinch the dough together around the edge. Done. Place in center of oven. Done. Bake at medium heat for 15-20 minutes, or until crust is golden brown and flaky.

Hermione nervously checked the little glass window in the enchanted metal box the Weasleys called an oven. The shepherd's pie hovered in the exact center, with the dragon's breath flickering flames below it at precisely medium heat, according to the century-old instructions. Molly had been far too amused at that, Hermione dragging out the instructions for their family oven. Hermione wasn't taking any chances on this one. The instructions were relatively specific, compared to some of the others she'd tried, those ones most often ending in burnt or undercooked disasters.

It reminded her far too much of Potions, a class that always ruined her perfect score of grades. The whole class could be improved simply by more specific instructions for Potion-making, and Hermione had, in occasional fits of academic pique, half a mind to go back and rewrite the whole series of textbooks. And any recipe she could get her hands on, for that matter.

She cast a ward on the door to keep the heat from escaping and peeked in. The crust was indeed golden brown and flaky, but was it golden brown and flaky enough? She stared at the small pie, willing it to reveal its secrets to her. Just how much was it cooked? Was it still cold in the middle, or was it about to curl up and burn? She slammed the door shut. Another minute wouldn't hurt. She paced the length of the kitchen twice, biting her thumb before whipping open the door again. The fire went out immediately, and she levitated the pie to the cooling rack. It was still golden brown, not burnt. It might have still been undercooked though. Continuing to glare at the pie, defying the meat mixture to have the nerve to be undercooked, she started violently when Molly swept into the kitchen, humming cheerfully.

"Well, that certainly doesn't look burnt, dear, perhaps you've gotten the hang of it?" Her tone, like much of her remarks about Hermione's cooking, was a variety of hopeful bordering on desperate.

"I hope so…" Hermione continued to glare at the pie, suspicious.

"It'll be cool in just a few moments, we can try it then." Molly levitated a basket of laundry out the window and Hermione watched with mild interest at the clothes hung themselves out to dry. Whether the clothes themselves were enchanted, or this was some type of housekeeping magic Hermione never learned, she didn't know. Surprisingly, surprising to Molly at least, Hermione didn't quite have the passion for learning household magic as she did, well, everything else. The fine points of enchanting a dinner table to set itself, automatically folding clothes, and the higher-level cleaning spells simply weren't high on her things to do list.

"Sometimes I wonder if I'll ever get the hang of it." Hermione had meant the statement as a joking aside to dispel her thoughts, but it came out dull and tired.

"Oh, don't you worry about it dear, I learned so much the year I had Bill…" She absently magicked the laundry basket back in the window and out into the laundry room.

A choking laugh escaped Hermione and she attempted to cover it with a discreet clearing of her throat. Molly's half-truth didn't fool Hermione; it had been commented by several members of the family that Molly Weasley seemed to have been born knowing how to take charge of a large family. "I do think…" Hermione began delicately. "That it'll be quite a while before I settle down to have children. Not that there's anything wrong with it!" She added hastily, shaking her hands at a smiling Molly.

"Every young woman says that before she's married, dear. And you and Ron make such a perfect couple…" She turned, busying herself unconvincingly with the tablecloth. "I would so adore having you as part of the family…"

Hermione's face, unseen by Molly, blanched. Married? Children? "I think it's rather early to be talking about marriage and children, don't you think?" Her voice came a bit squeakier than she intended, but Molly didn't seem to notice.

"Don't be ridiculous, dear, I had Bill when I was only a year older than you. Arthur and I married right out of Hogwarts, you know, a lot of young couples do. "

"I know, but that's just…" Hermione struggled to find the right, inoffensive words for her sudden, crushing, reluctance. "It's just not where I want to be right now. I mean, I'm still working my way up in the department at work, helping Harry with his charity work, and-"

A flurry of red hair and knitted jumpers burst through the door as Ron and Arthur Weasley burst in, deep in robust conversation about Quidditch. Harry followed soon after, offering Molly a wave from around the pair.

"I'm telling you dad, the Cannons've really got a shot this year, I mean with Beckistov gone back to Romania, the Holyhead Harpies haven't got a chance-"

"Ron, dear!" Molly cut above the conversation, and the room went silent, all eyes immediately going to the shepherd's pie on the counter. "Hermione just finished her pie, would you like a piece?"

Ron opened his mouth, trying unsuccessfully to mask his sudden loss of appetite, but his father and Harry beat him to it.

"Well, time to go see about that garden, I've let it go on far too long, you know-"

"Oh yes, Mr. Weasley, I'll just help you with that, those gnomes can be pretty bite-y sometimes-"

And the pair were gone, as if Vanished. Ron looked at Hermione, trying to paste a smile over what appeared to be terror. "Right then, Hermione, about that pie. I'm…" He swallowed heavily. "Starved."

Later, Hermione took her frustrations out on the few things she had left at the Burrow, for the occasions when she stayed over. Books, spare clothing, and a toothbrush found themselves stashed inside her beaded bag with a little more force than was strictly necessary.

The pie had been woefully undercooked. Ron had never been a very good liar, and his facial expressions often gave him away when his words said otherwise. But Hermione just plastered a grin on her face, one far more convincing than any of Ron's, made the first self-depreciating yet hopeful remark that came to mind, and had hid in the spare bedroom ever since. The thought of continuing her attempts at cooking in perpetuity inside the confines of a marriage made the situation much harder to stomach. As it was, she only had to endure her failures when she visited the Burrow, and only then when Molly got it into her mind to pressure her into it. Hermione had no intention of learning to cook on her own, not when she still had yet to finish reading the latest edition of Hogwarts: A History, on top of putting in extra hours at work, and learning the extensive proper greeting etiquette for the mountain trolls of Greece. The book was for her own enjoyment, the trolls were an issue she would be dealing with at work, as they were being blamed for several livestock disappearances and violence against the nearby clans were starting to mount.

Secretly, she hoped she'd be on of the few to be relocated to the region to work in person with the trolls and local townsfolk. Life had become stagnant, though she refused to give any more force to the thought, lest it get out of control. Maybe that was why she loved Hogwarts: A History so much; stories of powerful witches and wizards doing great things for the wizarding world, with little or no mention of the mundanities of their lives afterwards.

She slipped her spare copy of Moste Potente Potions into her bag when a knock on her door interrupted her thoughts. The knock was heavy and irregular, probably Ron. "Come in…" She called cordially. It was never good to appear to be brooding in front of Ron; he always assumed the worst and started trying to 'strengthen their relationship'. Unfortunately, he still failed to grasp how much Hermione wasn't into quidditch, and dragging her along to games and practices wasn't exactly the best way to win her over.

"Hey, Hermione." Her guess was confirmed and Ron slumped into the room.

"Hey Ron." Dispelling her thoughts, she put him at ease with a quick peck on the cheek, before going back to sorting her own things out of the guest bedroom array.

Obviously relieved, he sprawled over the edge of the bed, hands behind his head. "What're you doing up here? You not staying tonight?"

"No, I have to get to work early in the morning, so I want a good night's sleep." She left the indelicate matter of their intimacies unsaid; he'd learned the hard way not to press her when she'd already said no, and the fact that their 'intimacies' were anything but sweet and intimate made the act of saying no considerably easier on her part.

Heaving a disappointed sigh, Ron let the matter drop. "So, uh… that pie seemed a lot better this time?"

Hermione snorted and shoved a pair of socks into her bag. "You were always a horrible liar Ron; that pie was atrocious."

Ron snorted laughed, obviously relieved of having to keep up the lie. "Don't worry about it. Mum says all the time how you'll get the hang of it once you…you know, have a family too."

Hermione nearly snapped the quill in her hand. As much as she didn't like the thought of Molly discussing her family plans with Ron, there was a slightly bigger problem with that conversation. "Ron, you do realize I have no intention of having children any time soon?" True to her Gryffindor heart, Hermione rarely danced around the situation, especially with Ron. Dancing around usually led to misunderstanding later down the road, resulting in way more confusion than Hermione had the patience to deal with.

"Well, yea, but you know, sometime? With your parents gone and all that, I figured you want to…you know…" Unable to broach the subject, Ron's voice stammered off and he flushed, looking away.

Putting down her bag, Hermione moved into his line of sight and fixed him with a level stare. "There's quite a few things I want to do yet, Ronald Weasley, and I'd rather leave starting a family until I've gotten somewhere in life."

"But you have gotten somewhere!" Ron bolted up, holding his hands out pleadingly. "We defeated You-Know-Who, we won the war! We saved all of England, probably the whole world from him! You can't get much more 'somewhere' than that!"

"I'm twenty years old, Ron, I'm not ready to settle down yet!" She cried in exasperation. "I want to go places, do something important in my own right! I want a little excitement before I start thinking about getting tied down!" She immediately regretted her choice of words, but held back an apology. Better to have it all out in the open at least.

"Tied down? Is that what you call having a family? And excitement?" Ron was flabbergasted, and turned a particular shade of crimson. "How much excitement do you need for one lifetime? We fought in a war, Hermione, a real war. People are…d-dead." He looked away, jaw clenched.

"I'm not saying that the war wasn't enough Ron, why can't you understand…" Despite herself, she felt guilty that he'd jumped to that conclusion. "We were working towards something good and great all that time together. Peace cost so very much in the end, but…" She hugged herself and looked away. "But there's so much good left to be done in the world, and I want to be a part of that. It's a goal to work towards, another battle to be won."

"But you can do that with a family, Hermione, we can, you know…have a family." Ron flushed again and looked away, kicking his feet.

"Ron, I can't work sixty hours a week with a family depending on me to come home and make dinner. I can't, I can't travel with a family on the way."

Flustered, Ron stood suddenly. "So, what? You don't ever want to have a family? Just going to keep slaving away in an office every day for-" He quieted suddenly and looked at her, horror and suspicion creeping into his face. "Travel? Where are you going? Why didn't you say something, what, were you just going to up and leave?"

"Ronald, I'd do no such thing, and you know it!" Hermione yelled, on the verge of tears. "I'm not exactly hopping a broom tonight, but yes, I would like to travel sometime in the near future. And I never said that I wouldn't ever like to have a family, so stop putting words in my mouth!"

"Why are you so bloody eager to abandon everybody!" Ron burst out, fists clenched.

His outburst forced Hermione back, and she looked away. She wanted him to understand, to support her as they had all supported each other in the war. "Ronald, it's very clear," She swallowed heavily. "That we want different things out of life. I know you want a big family, and that you want to finally settle down after all that's happened." She spared him a glance as he fumed silently, arms crossed. "But that's not what I want right now. It seems we're at an impasse."

"A what-"

"An impasse." She continued impatiently. "There's no way we can resolve this. Maybe someday…" She tried not to feel satisfaction in the way his face went from red to pasty white with one word. "Someday we'll be able to work things out. But in the meantime, I think it's best if we took a break." Ron sputtered incoherently, and Hermione tried to continue over him. "That way, we can both analyze what we want out of life, and we can both be at a place we're happy with when it comes time to settle down."

"So you're just going to give up? Just like that?"

"I'm not giving up, stop putting words in my mouth! I said we need a break-"

"And what makes you think I'll just wait around for you, huh?" He puffed up nervously.

Despite seeing his obvious bluff, Hermione tried not to feel as though she'd been struck. True, Ron's goals for life weren't what she had in mind for her own, but she, like everyone else, had assumed they'd eventually end up together. "Then that's your decision, Ron." Grabbing the stack of junk mail that she had, at one time or another brought with her to the Burrow, she stuffed it into her bag, keeping her back to Ron. "Tell everyone I said bye."

"Hermione, wait-"

Hermione wanted to cry suddenly, but knew if she stayed she'd be fighting the entire family on top of Ron. Taking a shuddering breath and closing her beaded bag, she Apparated home.

A/N: Tada! Anyone who's read my other fics knows that the sheer length of this chapter is a mini-victory for me, and it's something I intend to work on with this fic. A great big thank you to my first two reviewers, my anonymous friend and Constant Comment Tea. I hope this chapter's a lot more enjoyable, especially being in the present. A few of the Angel crew will definitely be in the next chapter, for those anticipating their grand entrance. As always, read and review; I especially enjoy constructive criticism, this being my first foray into the HP and Angel universes.