Evil Incorporated

Chapter 3

He had been trying to propose. Hermione repeated the phrase over and over to herself as she manually washed her dishes. Her wand lay on the far end of the drying rack, unused for the moment. Ron had been trying to propose. There was something calming in the physical act of washing dishes that didn't quite translate into the flick of the wand that entailed magical cleaning. Had he stuffed the ring in his pocket, or had he been only testing her amiability to the prospect of marriage? Doing the dishes after dinner had always been her chore, and once upon a time, she'd reveled in the loss of that particular task when she'd started spending summers with the Weasleys. What did a wizard proposal actually entail anyway? Doing the dishes the Muggle way seemed to help her remember her past, where she came from, as it were. Had his mother put him up to it? As it stood, 'where she came from', or the house she grew up in, currently belonged to a nice Muggle couple who moved there from just outside London.

Had he out and asked, would she have said yes? Of course she would have, and Hermione frowned at the plate she'd been half-heartedly scrubbing. If his timing had been better, and he had asked her before their big argument, before the holes in her life-plan had become glaringly obvious, she would have certainly said yes and dealt with the issue of children from inside the confines of their marriage. But she couldn't do that now, could she? The issue of children was here now, staring her right in the face and squarely in the way of her five year plan. Children were supposed to be at the very end of the five year plan, if not even further after it. Hermione had visions of herself as a late-twenties, early-thirties mom, successful in her own right and already where she wanted to be, career-wise. Ron was of course part of the picture, as her amiable and supportive husband.

But he had insisted on leaping to conclusions and putting words in her mouth and Hermione knew she was perfectly in the right at the end of the conversation. But breaking up with him, even if only temporarily? She'd been backed into a corner, she rationalized, so she'd lashed out. It was the Gryffindor thing to do; Ron would have done the same, if it hadn't been his mentality as well during the conversation. Hermione tried to recall the feeling of losing him, the one time she nearly did. Sitting in a tent with Harry, in some forest in the middle of nowhere, feeling so utterly betrayed and heartbroken she could barely speak. Was that what Ron would be feeling now? She didn't want to think about him in pain; it hurt her own heart to do so. But was that love, or guilt? Was one a part of the other, or did it simply prove her own point that she couldn't tell the difference?

Hermione sighed and set the last dish in the drying rack. Whether the breakup, or even the whole argument itself was a mistake or not, she knew she was in the right, and she knew Ron wouldn't see it that way. The Deluminator wouldn't be able to patch this one up. So the question of the hour was…what next? Pushing her palms into the countertop, Hermione suddenly, desperately missed Hogwarts. Back when problems could be solved by a little research, a quill, and a piece of parchment. She wasn't at Hogwarts anymore though, and no book she knew of was going to help her with this dilemma.

She spun around in frustration and shoved her stack of junk mail to spread out on the counter. Her own face, smiling nervously, caught her eye first. An edition of Witches Weekly, with the headline "Brightest Witch of her Age" emblazoned across the top. Hermione had thrown her own copy out, but Arthur Weasley had given her another, insisting she keep it for posterity's sake. Hermione wasn't she the expression meant what Arthur thought it meant, but gave in and kept it anyway. Picking it up, she imagined Ron in the picture behind her, and a baby in her arms. Throwing the bound newspaper down, it slid off the table and landed on the floor with a papery flutter. Most of the other junk mail followed, newspapers and flyers for events. A single starch white envelope caught her eye and she picked it up in surprise. It was postage marked with Muggle stamps, but addressed to her apartment, as opposed to the post office box she kept open for letters from her parents. Wolfram and Hart, Los Angeles USA. The name held a ring of familiarity. Frowning, she broke the seal quickly and pulled out the, obviously Muggle, paper. In typed letters on regular copy paper, it read:

Dear Miss Hermione Granger,

We at Wolfram and Hart would like to extend to you an invitation of employment at our Los Angeles office. (Hermione stopped reading in shock. They were certainly bold in their reason for writing, weren't they?) Wolfram and Hart has long been in the unsavory business of demonic counseling, of which you may be aware, despite our limited interaction with Wizarding England. However, our home office in Los Angeles has recently undergone a dramatic shift in management and direction. In short, we are trying to change both the clientele we serve and the manner in which Wolfram and Hart's previous clientele are handled. Unfortunately, this change from the inside out has left several staff vacancies, including the Head of Magical Research. (Hermione's breath hitched. Were they really offering to give her her own department?) We are aware that you are currently employed with the Ministry of Magic's Department of Regulation of Magical Creatures, and the Head of Cryptozoology is also vacant, should you choose to continue in that line of work. We heard of your recent triumph in the late war through our London office and knew you had the intelligence, determination, and sense of good that we are very much trying to instill in our new direction for the firm. (Hermione snorted good-naturedly. If nothing else, the certainly knew how to flatter.) We look forward to your response either by owl or conventional mail, and would enjoy meeting you at your earliest convenience.

Best Regards,

Charles Gunn

Head Counselor

Wolfram and Hart, Attorneys at Law

The letter fluttered to the table and Hermione slowly sat down. It sounded…American. Slightly cheesy, but in a blunt, professional way. It also sounded desperate, lending credence to their story. Offering her two different departments to pick from, taking the time to flatter her, even the very idea of offering a 20-year-old straight out of Hogwarts her own department? She glanced down at the envelope. Wolfram and Hart… Wolf, Ram, and Hart? It rang a bell somewhere in her memory.

Not that she was actually considering working for them. True, she wanted to travel, but not completely relocate, and all the way to America? They didn't have much of a Wizarding society, and, as far as she knew, didn't have a single Wizarding school in the entire country. They called Muggle post 'conventional mail' and sent her a computer typed, postage marked letter. Despite their apparently sordid past, it seemed this was a Muggle oriented company with at least some ties to the Wizarding world, if not in England. Did the Statute of Secrecy not apply in America? Hermione was willing to bet the farm that it did; the Wolfram and Hart had simply found some way around it.

Marching resolutely to her bookshelf, Hermione grabbed a spare quill and parchment on the way. Wolfram and Hart had just presented her with a challenge, if unintentionally. And while Hermione of late muddled about in personal problems and guy troubles, the old Hermione knew exactly what to do with challenges: a good amount of hard work and research.

…..

Draco straightened the clasp on his cloak and shot himself another sly look in the mirror. His mirrored self folded his arms and nodded approvingly. In his opinion, Draco was the very image of youth, power, and confidence, though the image was slightly offset by his mother continuing to fuss over him.

"Would you just look at these wrinkles in your best cloak, I'll have Kobble flogged for this mess."

Whirling around so his immaculate cloak swirled impressively, Draco sighed. "My cloak's just fine, Mother. The interview's going to go over spectacularly."

"He's just fine, Narcissa." Lucius commented quietly, straightening Draco's clasp. Draco glanced up, but saw only a vaguely distracted mask in his father's steel-gray eyes. Their gazes met for just a moment before they broke apart. Draco prayed his own fear hadn't shown. If he blew this, if he came back without a job… He couldn't think about that now. He was handsome and charming, and with any luck, the head of the firm was a woman and he wouldn't be interviewing with this Charles Gunn. With even further luck, the head would be a witch. Pureblooded, even. Maybe even amenable to a little hands-on training…

"Did you pick a song yet, dear?"

Sighing at the lost train of thought, Draco shrugged and looked at himself in the mirror again. "I'm just going to do a nursery rhyme, mother." He huffed under his breath. "No sense in making any more of a fool of myself over it."

"Oh Draco, can't you sing something more civilized?"

Lucius took his wife's arm and patted it, drawing her hands away from continually fretting over Draco's hair. "A nursery rhyme may strike the right tone of innocence, dear."

"I don't exactly know many popular songs either, mother."

"Well," Narcissa huffed, defeated. "It's time for you to be off then, isn't it? Don't want to be late."

Draco strode over to the massive fireplace, grabbing a handful of floo powder as he passed. Stepping inside, he cast one last look at his stony-faced parents, trying to drawy strength from their silence.

"Wolfram and Hart, London office."

Draco always hated by floo, primarily because of the mess it caused. The familiar tugging just above his navel pulled him through the network and his wand was already out to Scourgify himself by the time he stepped out the other side. Casting immediately, he looked up with his most disarming smile.

Unfortunately, no one was paying any real attention. Along the far wall of the circular room was a row of shiny metal doors, each split down the center. One opened suddenly with an odd bell-like noise and a Muggle man, carrying a small, leather bound box stepped through the doors, from an oddly small room on the other side. Paying no mind to Draco, he exited the circular room through a door on the far left, giving Draco a glimpse of a plush lobby area as the door opened.

"Draco Malfoy?"

A genteel voice brought Draco's attention back and he mentally kicked himself for being so inattentive. The owner of the voice was another Muggle man, tall with graying hair. The Muggle suit was offputting; an air of cold power surrounded the man as plainly as a poorly cast Glamour.

"Yes, thank you. I have an appointment at the Los Angeles branch, Mr…" He held out his hand trailed off expectantly. Wolfram and Hart's odd travel request was off-putting, and he hoped they didn't actually expect him to operate one of these ele-vators on his own.

"Manners, Holland Manners. Indeed, Mr. Malfoy, they informed me you'd be coming. I'm here to lead the way." The man's handshake was short and formal, and Draco was glad to follow to one of the split metal doors. A push of a button inset in the wall, and the doors slid open automatically.

"Security must be very tight, to require an internal method of transportation." Draco mused aloud as the doors closed. A slight tugging above his navel was the only thing that betrayed magical travel; the small room didn't appear to be moving otherwise. A Muggle pop song ran in the background.

"Oh yes, our clientele require a certain about of discretion as to whom we allow into the building. Especially with the recent…change in management." The slight hesitation was the only betrayal of emotion in Manners' voice or appearance.

"I've heard a bit about this new management, many seem to think it's a rather stark departure from the company's history?" It was pretty much the only information Draco could get ahold of concerning the new 'direction' of the company, but no reason at all to let the man know how little Draco actually knew.

A small, grim smile spread over Manners' face and his gaze flickered to Draco. "Oh yes, the new CEO has taken things in a very different direction than any previous heads."

Draco got the feeling of being left out of an inside joke, but was saved by the ding of the opening doors. Manners said nothing more, but extended his arm out the door, palm out. "Welcome to the Home Office, Mr. Malfoy."

"Thank you, Mr. Manners." Draco nodded cordially and stepped out. Manners did not follow and the ele-vator slid closed.

Trying to quell his nervousness, Draco looked around furtively. Both Muggles and Wizards walked openly in the lobby, as well as a few distinctly non-human creatures. A man-like creature walked across the lobby, talking animatedly into what looked like a Muggle cellular phone. His brilliant yellow suit offset his green skin tastefully. Putting the phone away in a huff, he stopped suddenly at the sight of Draco, who resisted the urge to immediately reach for his wand.

"Wait. A. Minute. I know that hair anywhere."

Resisting the urge to back away, Draco's mind flew from the prospect of being assaulted to being hit on. "I…"

"You're one of the Malfoys aren't you!" He strode cheerfully over to Draco. "I swear, I would kill for your father's hair, though I'm pretty sure it wouldn't exactly go with my complexion." He put one hand on Draco's shoulder and waved his other hand as he laughed heartily. Unsure of what to say, Draco smiled and produced something approaching a laugh. "I'm Lorne, by the by, and you must be Draco?"

"Yes, I have an-"

"Interview? Magical-Based Contracts, right? Believe you me, you'll be busy the first few months. We've got a truck-load of people we need to, uh, reevaluate." He laughed nervously, and his hand moved to his back to propel him forward, towards the lobby desk. A Muggle blonde was talking animatedly into a large Muggle phone.

Brushing up on his Muggle technology was looking more and more like a requirement for this position.

"Angel-cakes is in a meeting right now, but they should be finishing up any second now." Draco's day momentarily brightened at the prospect of being interviewed by a woman named Angel-cakes. "He'll be doing the first part of your interview, then have a little sit-down with Gunn, and then you'll have the singing portion with me." Clouds moved in over Draco's day. An interview by a man named Angel-cakes offered vastly different possibilities. Lorne snapped his fingers at the secretary. "Harmony? Sweet-cheeks?"

The woman looked up in surprise and whispered something into the phone before dropping it back into it's holder on the desk. "Uh, yea Lorne?"

"Yea, Draco Malfoy's here? How's the Boss-Man's meeting going?"

"Um, they're supposed to be done here any minute." Throwing her hands up, and shrugged and turned to Draco, waving suddenly. "Hi, I'm Harmony. I'm Angel's personal assistant. Do you want a drink or anything while they're finishing up?"

This whole event was turning out to be far from the standard of professionalism Draco had envisioned, green man/demon aside. "No, thank you. Is there a waiting room or-"

At that moment a pair of side doors flew open and a procession of black robed, gray scaled creatures trudged out. On either side of the head demon were two men, also regrettably in Muggle clothing.

"So if you have any questions about the new terms, feel free to call or stop by." A dark-skinned man on the left, smartly dressed for a Muggle, handed the head demon a thin folder.

"Yea…" The man on the right, very pale and more casually dressed, heaved out the word as though a verbal sigh. "Just try to work on that whole…eating babies…thing."

The two men paused as the procession crossed the lobby and filed into the empty ele-vator.

"Um, Angel? Boss?" Harmony gave a little wave to get their attention. While being named 'Angel' still wasn't exactly masculine, Draco heaved an internal sigh that the man wasn't actually named Angel-cakes. "You're 3 o'clock's here?" She pointed indiscreetly with both hands at Draco.

The casually dressed man, Angel, looked around for a clock. "Oh, yea, did we run that late? Sorry if you've been waiting …" He stepped forward and Draco tried not to skip up to him. Finally, getting down to business.

"No, not at all. Pleased to meet you." They shook hands formally, and Draco got the sudden impression that this Angel was a lot stronger than he looked. Probably had to be, running about with a name like Angel.

"So I guess we should, uh, talk in my office?" Angel shoved his hands in his pockets, clearly uncomfortable. Draco kept a mask of cordiality up, but inwardly sighed. Even if he got this job, it was looking like he'd be rather alone in the intellectual department. Following Angel through a pair of double doors off to the side of the lobby, he noted with bemused interest that the man opened both doors as he entered. Harmony scurried behind and shut them behind the pair, Draco nodded to her, Lorne, and what was presumably Charles Gunn as they closed.

The office was tasteful, though as unfortunately Muggle as the rest of the place, despite a few magical artifacts mixed in with the knickknacks along the wall behind the massive desk. The two men took seats on opposite sides of the desk, where a slightly uncomfortable silence fell. Angel sat awkwardly in the plush office chair, as though unused to it.

Deciding to break the ice himself and get it over with, Draco cleared his threat behind a hand. "Thank you for meeting with me, I was very excited to receive your letter. Wolfram and Hart is a very well respected firm." The usual banalities, but they needed to be said. There was time enough to turn on the charm, but he needed to know where Angel stood. Or at least if he was gay.

"Well respected? I guess in some circles…" A look of bafflement and incredulity passed over Angel's face and he ran a hand through his hair. "Look, I'm not really all that good at this whole formal interview thing, so I'm just going to be straight with you." Draco held back a laugh. How American. "You don't really seem like the same kid I read about in your file-" Draco inwardly cursed. They had a whole file on him? "But to be honest, I don't like you." Angel leaned back and folded his arms over his chest. "I think you're the kind of person we're trying to edge out of Wolfram and Hart, and I think you picked the way wrong side on that little war you guys had over there. That whole pure blood, mud blood thing? Yea." Angel's eyes narrowed and Draco felt the hairs rise on the back of his neck as his voice lowered. "Trust me, blood's blood and you all taste the same."

Resisting the urge to swallow, Draco held his ground and met Angel's eyes. He forced his hands to appear at ease, keeping them from instinctively clenching at the chair arm. It was probably for the best to ignore the blood tasting comment; some people had weird tastes. "'My side' in the war was not my choice. But with the war over, all of England, myself included, are trying to move forward past such archaic ideas." Angel was obviously a man of emotion, tugging at the heartstrings seemed Draco's best bet for the moment. "Second chances are hard to come by for people like me, who wound up on the 'wrong side' as it were." Draco allowed his eyes to unfocus, hopefully giving the impression that he was lost in his own emotion. "When it's all said and done, the public's more interested in punishment than redemption." Pulling his focus back to Angel, he lowered his head slightly, a submissive inquiry. "Though you must have already guessed that if you got your information on me from the newspapers; it's all they talk about." Even better, cast doubt on the integrity of their information on him. "That's why I'm here, Mr…Angel. My last name prevents me from getting even the most menial of employment in Wizarding England."

Angel sighed, and looked away for a moment. "Public opinion isn't really a concern here. Change is." Looking back at Draco, Angel dropped his arms to fold his hands across his stomach. "Look, I don't like you, and I'm still not going to trust you. But, you've got the creds-" He briefly flipped open a file on his desk and Draco resisted the urge to lean forward to see what was in it. "And Gunn thinks you're a perfect fit." Sighing again, he stood, Draco practically jumping up. "But just know, I'll be watching you. You step out of line, or try and bring that war over here? You're done." They clasped hands, less an actual shaking of hands and more of a chance for Angel to drive the point home with a tight squeeze. Draco fought to keep the pain out of his eyes as he inwardly danced for joy. He had the recommendation of the Head Counselor before they even formally met, and the CEO was acting as though he already had a position to be watching suspiciously. He followed Angel to the door and tried not to believe the impossible, that his first interview might have actually gone well.

…..

Hard as it was to believe, Hermione felt like her old self again. Sliding the book to the top of the growing stack, she returned to her full parchment page of notes, as well as the owled letter she'd received from Wolfram and Hart's London office, confirming most of what she'd found. There wasn't much to find in the first place, just enough to confirm Mr. Gunn's reference to their 'sordid past', which appeared to be a massive understatement, if anything. The place was old, older than any Wizarding society she'd come across, and involved in things much darker, far more on the fringe of the Wizarding world.

But they were turning around, it seemed, if the message from London was any indicator. The sheer level of resources that Wolfram and Hart must have access to, being as old as it was, the texts, the artifacts, the history, the very thought of it spun Hermione's mind. It certainly was admirable, trying to change such a massive power from the inside. They had the same goals as she did, in fact, they had more noble goals than most of England after the war. According to London, they weren't putting all their old clients on chopping blocks, they were using their power to reevaluate their contracts and put pressure on the dark places to change and use their influence to force change in places that didn't want it. She and the new Wolfram and Hart seemed kindred spirits, only they fought their battles from courtrooms and board rooms instead of from dark forests and hiding places.

America wasn't exactly all that great, and it certainly was far from everything she knew… Not that she was considering taking the job, of course. But it couldn't hurt to meet them, at least?

…..

A/N: Tada! I know it's been a while, and as much as I'd like to promise that the next chapter will be out right away, I know better than to make such a promise. I will finish it though! I have the entire story mapped out, so it's not an issue of figuring out what to do next, it's an issue of finding time to write it all down. It is going to be another chapter or two before the lovely couple meet up, but the whole romance thing is really a journey, isn't it?

Extra warning for future chapters: Mind the rating kiddies, Spike's popping in at some point and we all know what a family-friendly mouth he's got on him.

Anon: Glad you liked it! The crew will be going through several Angel events, a lot of them from Season 5. I can't squeeze everything in there, but I hope I don't disappoint!

Constant Comment Tea: Thanks for another wonderful review! I tried to go more in-depth on Hermione (and Draco too, I suppose) so their reasonings are more clear and realistic. And added horizontal lines for legibility, though I absolutely could not figure out how to get horizontal breaks to actually show up on the site, so these are my weird looking ones.

Lizziebug: Thanks! When I first got the idea, I figured it would have been done before, but I hadn't seen any stories with this premise. Most seem to involve the reverse: The Angel gang packs up and goes to England where some inter-genre romance occurs.

Thanks everyone for reading, and as always, constructive criticism is always loved and welcomed!