A/N: Okay, okay, so I've been dead for a couple of months. I've been suffering from a severe case of writer's block: ( Anyway, here's a long chappie. And yes, Draco Malfoy's properly in the picture now : )

Previously:

' "It is my wish that she remain at home with my wife until she chooses to get married –' Hermione sat down slowly in her seat, disbelief racing through her system. ' "—It is also my wish that she dedicates her time and effort to the maintenance of the house, and helping my wife out in whatever way possible –" ' Hermione's eyes bulged.What in the bloody name of – ' "-This would mean that she would have to resign from her job until she chooses to marry—" ' ...

Hermione perused the page. She handed it back to him, shrugging. 'The Masquerade Duel, so what?' she asked...

'The contest's in three days, Hermione,' Harry said, 'buteverythingyou need to know is in there.' ...

-DIM-WITTED HERMIONE-

It was not customary for Hermione to be dim-witted. In fact, it was unheard of. Hermione Granger? Stupid? Pah! As if!

But recently, Hermione repeatedly challenged the world-known knowledge that she was an intelligent being. The moment she walked through the door after her lovely and productive day with her two best friends, Isabelle stuck out her hand, palm-up.

Unfortunately for Hermione, the only way to get to the outhouse – short of scaling walls – was to walk through the house. She clutched her handbag tightly, knowing that there were tens of mini-books that if Isabelle knew of, she would find a way to get Hermione imprisoned.

Hermione eyed the woman's hand confusedly.

'Wand,' Isabelle demanded. Hermione's heart sank. 'Now.' Her scathingly uttered words were punctuated with a fake, sweet smile.

Hermione clenched her wand, getting angry. 'But you gave it to me before –'

Isabelle rolled her eyes. 'It is apparent that wisdom does not come with age,' she sighed, as if she was getting tired. 'Why would I let you have your wand, Hermione, hm? So that you can attempt to break the wards? So that you can Disapparate? So that you can kill me in my sleep?'

Hermione smiled thinly. 'Oh trust me, you are not worth going to Azkaban for.'

Isabelle laughed lightly. 'You really don't mind me making your life more miserable, eh? If you did, you might just choose your words carefully...'

Hermione felt her nostrils flare. Who was she to threaten her? 'I don't need a wand to feel powerful, Isabelle,' Hermione said bravely, her eyes flashing. Hating herself for it, she slapped her wand on to Isabelle's outstretched hand. Isabelle's fingers curled around the wand, narrowing her eyes, probably wondering what game Hermione was playing.

'I know I am a great witch, Isabelle,' Hermione said, glaring up at the tall woman. 'I do not need you to tell me otherwise.'

Hermione didn't give Isabelle time to say anything. With the grace of one who is seething with fury, she swept down the passage, and a few seconds later she was out of the house and in her cosy (which is the politically correct term for stuffy, cramped and tiny) outhouse.

She locked the door behind her the Muggle way – which was futile but she did it anyway. She drew her pink curtains, eyeing the edges of these curtains warily. When she was first sent – no, forced – she opened the door to find that a strawberry avalanche had taken place. The walls were pink, her bedding was pink, even the furniture was pink. And it wasn't that soft, quiet kind of pink. Oh no, not at all. It was Hello Kitty all over again.

The edges of her curtains were laced with frills of pink organza, that had sew-in flowers splattered everywhere.

Hermione had swallowed, shutting her eyes. Note to self, she had thought. Buy big sunglasses.

Isabelle had of course placed an Irremovable Paint Spell on the walls and furniture. The spell had countless advantages in the interior decorating world, but in Hermione's world? Zero. The curtains, too, were charmed to automatically repair themselves should any harm – i.e. tearing off of lace, frills, etc – come to them. This Hermione only realised when she had very angrily thrown a fit and had attempted to rip down the curtains, and tear the lace and frills off. She had smiled smugly, getting the sick satisfaction people usually do when their anger is taken out on damaging things. Her smug satisfaction was short-lived when she saw the lace and frills growing right back a minute later, and the curtains sailed out of her hands and hung themselves back up.

But magic had its flaws, she knew. So she attempted the same act every day. And every day, the curtains took longer to repair themselves – almost as if she was draining them of their magical energy.

Now, though, as she was looking at these curtains, she saw the lace repair itself from yesterday's incident.

Almost there, she thought. Of course, had a properly skilled witch or wizard performed the Automatic Repairing Spell on her curtains, the repairing process should have taken a consistent time of one minute to repair itself – no matter how many times it was damaged. From this, Hermione could only assume that one of the twins had done the spell, after their mother had been so exhausted after using Irremovable Paint on the walls.

Isabelle had made it crystal clear telling Hermione that the walls couldn't be repainted either.

Hermione dropped her bag on the table, glancing over when she heard the thud. She bit her lip. She had to hide those books, and she knew the exact place to hide them.

She crawled under her bed, barely even fitting. She held her breath, not allowing the dust to float up her nostrils and mess with her sinuses. With the reduced books in one hand, she used her other hand to slide open a panel in the floor. The panel opened with a click, revealing a small space just big enough for the ten or so books she carried. She dumped them in the space, and flicked the panel shut. She crawled out backwards, relieved to smell in cool, fresh air.

Straightening up, she head over to her Barbie-like vanity mirror, in front of which she had left a black permanent marker on the table. She picked it up, and walked towards the wall closest to the door. She glanced at yesterday's entry in indelible ink, and smiled a small smile. Seeing Harry and Ron tomorrow! Can't wait : )

She uncapped the marker, and leaned in, writing:

19 September 1999

20 today! Had a lovely time with Harry and Ron! What made today memorable was watching Ron stuff his face with ice-cream for a whole hour, non-stop. It's nice to know that even if we're mature, there's still a kid living inside all of us.

She closed the cap, leaning back. Her eyes flickered over her other entries on the wall. It turned out that it was possible to write on this wall, so to take out the babyishness of this room – and to be a bit rebellious herself – she took to penning diary entries that wouldn't give too much away if anyone was to read it.

On any ordinary day, writing on her wall was the best part of her day. It was what he looked forward to. She refused to write anything depressing, but instead wrote something optimistic, reminding herself that no matter how bad your day was, there would always be one moment in it that made it a little good.

She sat down cross-legged on her bed, leaning against her pillow for support. Closing her eyes, she wondered what on earth her new plan was going to be. It was impossible to read and learn from books as small as the ones that were sitting in the panel below the bed. She opened her eyes, staring straight into her reflection staring at her sadly from across the room. How had her life ended up like this?

She had been living a successful life. She had gone through an Auror training course for one year after Hogwarts. And this year she was out in the field doing something she was passionate about. Defending people, living an honest life, earning a good salary and only very rarely killing people. But it hardly ever came to that, fortunately.

She crawled forward on her bed, shortening the distance between her and her reflection. She had had a good day – a wonderful day, even – but the only evidence of that was the pink tinge to her cheeks which was already fading. What did happiness look like? Where were the signs? How did you know where to look?

She narrowed her eyes. Isabelle could take away her wand, her house, her career, her friends...but she could never take away Hermione from her. She still had herself. But if Isabelle continued to have her way, and just trample all over her then Hermione wouldn't have Hermione anymore.

Hermione was going to do what she did best. Just not in the physical way. She was going to fight the system.

XXX

'What do you want?' Isabelle asked, not looking at Hermione as she paged through her latest edition of People magazine – the wizard-and-witch version.

Hermione smiled. Insincerely, of course. 'A job.'

Isabelle lowered her magazine to look at Hermione with narrowed her eyes. 'You already work for me.'

'I know that,' Hermione said nodding. 'But if you knew me, Isabelle – which clearly you don't, given the colour scheme of my room-'

Isabelle smirked, raising the magazine to read it again.

'-but if you knew me at all, Isabelle, you would know that I love to work. In fact, it's a hobby of mine to overwork myself.'

'Really?' Isabelle asked, her tone implying that she didn't believe the bright smile that Hermione was wearing.

Hermione nodded, opening her mouth to speak, when she was cut off by Isabelle.

Isabelle placed the magazine on the table, and folded back a corner of the table cloth, revealing the wooden surface of the table. She pointed at something, and Hermione glanced at it. 'Hermione, darling, come take a look at this coffee ring on this table,' Isabelle said, beckoning Hermione closer. 'And tell me that that isn't a sign of how much you love to work.'

'It is covered by a tablecloth,' Hermione pointed out, feeling her patience slip away. She will not lose this.

'Irrelevant,' Isabelle said sharply. 'The point is that you abandoned getting rid of it.'

'You and I both know that I worked on removing that coffee ring for a whole day, Isabelle,' Hermione said in a barely controlled voice. Isabelle was being deliberately annoying. 'Besides,' she continued in an offhand tone bordering on impatient, 'if you really cared, you would have easily removed it by magic.'

Isabelle tilted her head. 'Go on, Hermione. Go on being clever and cheeky.'

Hermione sighed. She looked at the chair next to Isabelle. 'May I...?' she asked, gesturing towards the chair. It sickened her that she had to ask permission to sit in a chair she used to previously sit frequently in.

'Of course not,' Isabelle snapped.

Hermione fought the urge to raise her eyebrows or roll her eyes. The woman's dramatics were turning out to be...well, dramatic.

'I want a job, Isabelle,' she stated, clenching her hands in tight fists behind her back.

Isabelle opened her magazine again. 'No.'

Hermione refused to give up. She chose her words carefully. 'What have I done to you? What have I done to live the life of a person on house arrest?'

'Existed,' Isabelle said simply. She leaned forward. 'I don't like you, Hermione – ' Surprise, surprise, Hermione thought. '-In fact, you're a pain in the bloody arse.'

Hermione saw a way out. 'Well, if I annoy you so much, wouldn't you like it better if I weren't here?'

Isabelle smiled coldly. 'You know what I think, Hermione? I think you would like it better if you weren't here.'

Hermione took in a deep breath. How dim-witted could people possibly be? Isabelle was carrying on as if it was a huge secret that Hermione hated it there and wanted out. Wasn't it obvious? 'No normal person would prefer being cooped up in the house day and night.'

'Let me hear your proposition, then,' Isabelle said suddenly, folding her magazine away, and crossing her arms.

Hermione eyed her hesitantly. Why the sudden change of heart in Isabelle?

'I just want to be away from home,' she said, mentally scoffing at the word 'home'. Clearing her throat, she continued, 'For just a few hours each day.'

Isabelle stared at her. Hermione stared back.

The staring contest went on for the longest minute Hermione had ever experienced.

'Fine.'

Hermione maintained her cool. 'Thank you,' she said.

Isabelle smiled, holding up a hand. 'Before you get too excited, there are a few...conditions,' she said.

Hermione swallowed a groan. She waited.

'You'll work in Muggle London.'

Hermione nodded. Away from magic, she got it.

'You'll work in a restaurant.'

Hermione hesitated before nodding. Restaurant? What did restaurants have anything to do with this?

'You'll work the six to ten shift –'

Hermione nodded. That was reasonable.

'-in the morning.'

Hermione's eyes widened. 'What! Isabelle, which restaurant is open at six in the morning?'

Isabelle smirked. 'You'll find one.'

Hermione breathed in slowly, twiddling with her thumbs behind her back. 'Anymore conditions?'

'That's it.'

Hermione nodded, turning to leave.

'Oh, and of course, I'll be watching you.'

'You have spies in Muggle London at six in the morning?' Hermione asked, not believing it for a second.

'Maybe,' Isabelle said casually. 'I'll leave it to you to test whether I'm right or wrong.'

Hermione smiled thinly. 'Thank you for making this allowance.'

'Go find employment, Hermione.'

'Now? It's eight,' Hermione said, frowning as she looked at her watch.

'Well, let's hope they're not closing up then,' Isabelle said lightly, turning back to her magazine. She took a sip of her coffee and made a face. She held out the mug to Hermione. 'One minute in the micro.'

Hermione took the mug in her hands, holding it tighter than was necessary. She brought it back a minute or so later, and Isabelle took it. 'Ah, thank you.'

'I'll be going, then,' Hermione said, turning to go.

'One more thing,' Isabelle called out. This time, Hermione didn't turn around.

'Yes?' she asked over her shoulder.

'Astina needs help getting ready for her date with Harry Potter,' Isabelle said, and Hermione immediately understood what she meant.

Clenching her teeth, she replied, 'I'll see to it that she gets ready.'

Not waiting for Isabelle to respond, she walked out of the dining hall and up the stairs to the twins' shared room.

She stopped at the door, wrinkling her nose. 'What is that smell?'

'The poor use of magic,' Sabina answered from somewhere to Hermione's right. Hermione looked at her, noticing that she was already in bed, the blanket pulled right up to her chin as she sipped from her mug of hot chocolate as she perused her People magazine.

Hermione raised an eyebrow. 'Your magazine is upside down,' she commented.

Sabina looked up sharply. 'Oh, um,' she said, quickly trying to flip the magazine right way up.

Hermione glimpsed a shocking sight. 'Are you hiding a...a book behind that magazine of yours?' she asked Sabina, walking forward a bit just to see if it was true.

Sabina raised her eyebrows, pulling her "magazine" closer to her chest, attempting to look innocent. 'I'm sorry? Hermione, honestly, I –'

Hermione shook her head, deciding that she wasn't interested. 'Forget it,' she said, and looked around the room. 'Where is Astina? I'm actually in a bit of a rush.'

As if on cue, Astina walked out of the bathroom. Hermione's eyes stung from the overuse of perfume; her nose scrunched up, and she edged away, deciding to lean against the doorframe, than be anywhere near Astina.

Astina twirled around. 'And? How do I look?' she asked, smiling.

Hermione smiled, but not because she thought that Astina looked appealing. Her step-sisters were pretty, but they weren't as pretty as they made themselves out to be. To her, Astina looked like any other normal girl going out on a date. No, Hermione smiled because she realised that there was nothing for her to do. Astina was already ready. She was even carrying a matching handbag.

Astina cleared her throat delicately, not liking that no one was responding to her question. 'Sab?'

Sabina didn't look up.

'Sab?' Astina asked in a louder voice.

Sabina looked up, giving Astina the once-over. 'Alright, I suppose,' she said, shrugging.

Hermione winced, knowing what was coming.

'YOU SUPPOSE?' Astina screamed. Hermione mentally counted to ten.

'Yip,' Sabina said returning to her magazine.

Astina was literally breathing fire. 'Fine,' she said, her nostrils flaring indelicately. 'I can take it. What is it that you don't like about my outfit?'

Sabina looked up again, sighing. Hermione could tell it was all an act, and yet Astina – Sabina's sister of eighteen years – couldn't. 'I like it,' she said, in a tone that clearly indicated otherwise.

Astina pursed her lips. 'Stop lying to me.'

Sabina took a deep breath. 'You read the magazines, too, Tina. You know what clothes Harry likes on a woman.'

'Exactly. Which is why I'm wearing his favourite colour,' Astina said, motioning towards her dress.

'Powder-blue is not his favourite colour.'

'But that's what it says in the Potty About Potter magazine!'

'I personally know that it's bright pink,' Sabina said.

'Bright pink? Bright pink! How would you know that?'

'He whispered it into my ear last night,' Sabina said, allowing herself a small smile.

Astina looked horrified. She whirled on Hermione, who was patiently waiting for the two to just stop. 'Hermione! You know Transfiguration well!' she yelled, sounding agitated.

Hermione raised her eyebrows, surprised at Astina's sudden outburst. 'Yes...'

'Well!' Astina exclaimed, looking pained. 'Change the colour of this dress to bright pink!'

Hermione bit back an insult. 'That's not Transfiguration, Astina,' she said slowly. 'That's a simple Colour-changing Sp—'

'I don't care what it is! Just do it!' she yelled, shoving her wand into Hermione's hand.

Hermione gasped softly. She held the wand a bit tighter, looking up at Astina hesitantly. 'I'm not allowed using wands in this house, Astina,' she said in a levelled tone.

'She's right,' Sabina said.

'I don't care,' Astina snapped. 'You're the only one in this room who can do the spell, Hermione! So would you bloody well do it! I'm running late!'

Her words reminded Hermione of her own dilemma, and she looked at the time. Shit. 20h20.

'Why don't you ask your mother, Astina?' she asked quickly, knowing that if she was caught with a wand, Isabelle would make her life a living hell. Even more so.

'Because she's on the other side of the bloody house!' Astina yelled. Hermione looked over at Sabina who looked as if she was reading, but Hermione could see that she was smiling at her sister's behaviour.

Hermione, not wanting to go deaf, decided to use the wand. She pretended to put on a thinking face, whilst in the meantime, she magically probed the wards on the outside of the house, feling the wand vibrate slightly due to Hermione using it. What spells was Isabelle using? Hermione picked up two, maybe three spells that were used to create the wards, but knew that if she tried to counter any of them – even subtly – Isabelle would find out. She looked at Astina who was tapping her foot impatiently.

Rolling her eyes, she flicked the wand wordlessly, and a second later, Astina was wearing a bright pink dress. Astina looked down at the dress, and then at Hermione. She snatched her wand back, stuck her nose in the air and stalked out of the room.

Hermione was at the door when she heard Sabina say, 'Idiot. His favourite colour is green. Everyone knows that. Bright pink? Seriously?'

Hermione shook her head, and left the room, the house, and finally she was out on the street, looking for a job.

Xxx

It was now 23h30, and she hadn't come across a single restaurant or cafe that was open 24 hours a day. The streets were almost empty, it was freezing and Hermione had no idea where she was going.

A rumbling in the sky jolted her. Great. A storm. She didn't even have an umbrella on her.

A couple minutes later, when she was still wandering around aimlessly, the skies broke open. Cursing, she raised her hands above her head and ran to the nearest shelter, which was right next to a closed flower shop. She blinked away the rain that had fallen into her eyes, and looked venomously at the pouring rain. Why now?

She looked around her, noticing that there wasn't a open shop in sight, and only a few shifty-looking people were walking down the street. Well, anyone who was walking around at this hour probably looked shifty.

She leaned against the wall, felt something sharp prod her and stood bolt upright. She turned around, noticing for the first time that a pointed fading-gold handle had appeared in the wall. She bent down, trying to get a closer look of the handle. I'm sure it wasn't there before...I would've noticed it. At the tip of the handle was an engraving of a dragon's head. Odd.

Slowly, she inched her hand forward toward the handle, knowing that if this was a movie, the scary music would've started to play. But as soon as she touched it, a warm feeling tingled up her arm, which starkly contrasting the freezing cold weather the rest of her body was being abused by.

As soon as she touched the handle, a door began to gradually materialise in front of her. Her eyes widened in hesitant excitement, and her heartbeat picked up its pace. This is magic! She looked over her shoulder, noticing that there wasn't anyone in the street now. She turned the handle, and pushed. The door slid soundlessly open.

Warm light and laughter were the first two things that arrested her senses. She quickly hopped in and shut the door open, noticing that as soon as her touch left it, the door disappeared. She was nearly knocked over by someone carrying a tray of glasses that smelled of Butterbeer. Hermione smiled, taking a step backwards, surveying the spacious room around her. Round wooden tables were scattered around the restaurant, each topped with a candle feature. A bar stretched down the length of the room, and she saw one of the barmen (there were 4) juggling four glasses filled with alcohol – probably charmed to not spill. Waiters and waitresses were dressed in red and white and black. Soft music sailed through the air, mixing with the whispers and laughter of the people in the restaurant.

The warm, light atmosphere in the restaurant was infectious. She walked up to the young-looking man at the welcoming table.

'Hello,' she said softly.

The man looked up. He had wonderfully blue eyes that contrasted beautifully with his brown hair that seemed to be deliberately tousled. 'Good evening, ma'am,' he said, smiling. Ah, dimples, too. 'Table for one?'

Hermione smiled. 'No, thank you,' she said. 'I was wondering if I could speak to your manager?'

The waiter looked hesitant, probably wondering if this was a customer filing a complaint.

'Please,' she added, wondering if her last chance was slipping away from her.

He regarded her for a moment, and then smiled again. 'Not a problem.' Taking out his wand, he said, 'Let me just notify him.'

He flicked his wand, a patronus of a six-winged bird appearing. With another flick of his wand, the patronus was off, disappearing.

Hermione returned her gaze to him, noticing that he was staring at her rather intently. She shifted uncomfortably under his gaze. She was about to open her mouth to ask him something, when he stuck his hand out from behind his desk. 'Alex,' he said, smiling again.

Hermione took his hand, shaking it, 'Hermione.'

He stopped shaking her hand, his smile faltering. 'Hermione? Hermione Granger?'

Hermione drew her eyebrows together. 'Unfortunately,' she said, giving a half-hearted grin. His mouth dropped into an O. 'Am I in trouble?'

He grasped her hand more tightly. 'Wow, in the flesh, huh?' he said, now grinning himself.

Hermione nodded slowly. The hype of the war died down a couple of months ago. Sure, people still greeted her, and her pictures used to appear in the papers, but it had been a while since she had been greeted with such enthusiasm.

'Thank you,' she said, smiling. 'It was time Voldemort was defeated, don't you think?'

He let go of her hand now. He crossed his arms over his chest, looking at her intently. 'Voldemort? I'm not talking about him,' he said.

Hermione raised an eyebrow. 'Oh?'

'I mean, yeah, it's bloody amazing that he's dead, but I was talking about that murder case of yours!'

Hermione tilted her head. 'Sorry?'

He gave a sheepish smile. 'I actually have an obsession with murder cases. I like to solve them. And what you did with Rufus Lorky's case was absolutely brilliant. And you handled that one all by yourself! Brilliant,' he said, sounding awed.

Comprehension dawned upon Hermione. 'Oh! Murder case number 50—'

'-59,' Alex finished off, grinning. 'I know.'

'But how? All of that information's classified,' she said, narrowing her eyes, suddenly suspicious of the handsome Alex.

His smile faltered. He held up his hands. 'I hope you're not thinking I'm some criminal, or anything, Hermione!' he said, sounding worried.

Hermione bit the inside of her lip. She didn't like the way he said her name – as if they had been friends for a long time. She took a step backwards. 'Then?'

'I'm actually an intern in the Criminal and Defence Department,' he said quickly, hoping to erase any shadow of doubt she had about him. 'All the old cases from the Auror Unit is passed down to us.'

'Ah,' Hermione said, looking away, wondering if the manager had received Alex's message.

'So tell me something—' Alex began, but was cut off by a sharp voice.

'You're supposed to be assisting the customers, Alex – not harassing them.'

Hermione knew that voice. She knew it well.

She turned to the person who owned the voice, and narrowed her eyes. 'You have no right to tell him what his job is, Malfoy,' she said scathingly.

'Er, Hermione...' Alex was saying.

She turned to him, holding up a finger. 'No, Alex, just give me a second. You don't understand this man.' Alex licked his lips nervously.

'For your information,' she began, glaring up at him, 'Alex was being perfectly nice.'

'He was not paying attention to any of the other customers, Granger,' Malfoy said, crossing his arms. This action made him look even more condescending, added to his traditional smirk.

'I am so sorry, Mr Malfoy, sir,' Alex said quickly, abruptly turning to address the other customers.

Hermione shook her head incredulously. 'You have no right to go around bullying the staff at this restaurant, Malfoy,' she snapped, placing a hand on her hip.

'And why not?' Malfoy asked, sounding...amused? Was that amusement in his voice?

Hermione clenched her teeth. 'Why not? Why not? Malfoy! What a stupid question!'

Malfoy looked around them, noticing that a few people were looking their way. He gave them a smile, and turned back to face her, the smile immediately dropping. 'I'd appreciate if you stop creating a scene, Granger,' he said quietly, his grey eyes glinting.

Hermione raised an eyebrow challengingly. 'You'd appreciate it?'

The customers at the desk cleared, and Alex came back to their side. 'Mr Malfoy, sir, I am so sorry about earlier—'

Malfoy looked at him sharply.

Alex nodded. 'Okay, sir, shutting up right now.'

Hermione poked Malfoy in the chest. 'Who do you think you are, ordering Alex around?'

Malfoy looked down at her finger which was still poking him. He lifted his hand, picking hr finger off him as if it were a piece of flint. 'The manager, Granger. I understand you wanted to speak to me?'