A/N: Thanks for all the wonderful reviews : )

-STARS-

'Sir.'

'Morning, Mr Malfoy.'

'Mr Malfoy.'

Draco nodded at all the people whom he passed. Unlike his other restaurant, he couldn't have floating candles hanging in the air. He couldn't have music that didn't come from a source like a radio or CD player. He couldn't have a magical door that appeared out of nowhere. But that is where the dissimilarities stopped. This place was the exact same replica of the original restaurant. It still had a homey atmosphere that buzzed with the constant ebb and flow of the customers, no matter the time. It still had the same warm colours that made you feel relieved just by looking at it. Its floor was lined with the same plush material as the other restaurant.

Draco stopped at the reception desk, letting the corner of his lip curl up into a half-smirk as he looked at the girl at the reception desk.

'Morning Arietta,' he murmured, deliberately lowering his voice. He concealed his amusement when she reacted predictably.

The papers in her hand jerked as she gave a small jump of surprise. She shot him a look of nervousness, bending down to retrieve the papers she'd dropped. As she came up, she hit her head on the underside of the desk. Her face was a delicate blush of red when she finally stood up to greet him. 'M-mr Malfoy,' she said, looking down, still blushing madly.

All the while, Draco maintained his half-smirk. 'And how are you today?' he asked, leaning in slightly.

His gaze dropped to her throat, where he saw, rather than heard, her gulp. Sometimes, women made it too easy.

'F-fine,' Arietta said, deciding to sit down. She looked at him, uncertain whether she should have sat down or not. He was the boss after all.

'Mm hm,' Draco said, his hand reaching over the desk. He saw her stiffen, her eyes darting to where his hand was going. She let out a breath when he picked up the book on her table. All the while he kept his eyes on her. Noticing this, she decided to find other things to occupy her attention. Like the pen on her table.

He leafed through the book, his gaze settling on the last page. Nodding to himself, he closed the book. 'Good,' he said.

And then he did something that would make her want to run outside for a blast of fresh air.

He smiled.

With teeth.

His hand grazing hers as he put the book back, he murmured, 'Thank you.'

Her eyes were round as bludgers now, and she bobbed her head, probably unsure why he was thanking her.

He leaned away, straightening, drawing his suit jacket tighter around himself. 'Arietta,' he said, and she looked at him, her eyes still wide.

She tilted her head in question. 'Yes, Mr Malfoy?'

Well at least she wasn't stuttering anymore.

He looked at the door. 'A woman is going to come here in a few minutes,' he informed her, still looking at the door. 'Medium height, horrible hair, ridiculous taste in clothes...'

'Her name, Sir?' Arietta asked.

He turned, unleashing the full force of his gaze on her. 'Hermione Granger.'

'Hermione Granger,' Arietta repeated, bending down to make a note of it.

'Yes, Hermione Granger,' Draco said. 'Send her to my office, please.'

'Of course, Mr Malfoy,' Arietta said, this time offering him a smile laced with shyness.

Draco merely walked away. Arietta was beautiful, there was no doubt about that. Being half-Italian, it was difficult for any straight man to resist her quiet charm. She never tied her hair back – it always hung in ebony black, soft curls around her face. She carried her height well, seeming to not know that when she walked away, men stared at her long legs.

She was also a Muggle.

This didn't deter Draco, though. He had dated many Muggle girls, earning frowns from his father, and confused looks from his mother. He had been rebellious after the war, deliberately trying to annoy his family with a Muggle-loving lifestyle. He had borrowed a healthy sum of money from his father, and when asked he had told him that he was planning on opening a restaurant.

Which he did. The Ocard. His father had been glad that Draco's sullen looks were being replaced by looks of determination and seriousness after consulting with many people about his new business venture. It was good for him. But when Draco announced one evening at the supper table that he was starting interviews for new Muggle staff, and would his father like to help?, he was surprised when his father's look of shock was quickly replaced by one of only mild annoyance.

After a while, Draco learned that having a Muggle restaurant hadn't annoyed anyone really, so with his large profit from The Ocard, he opened Dragon's Head.

In the beginning of his rebellious streak, he had also made a huge point of dating Muggle girls. All beautiful, all intelligent, and all Muggle to the core. He couldn't bring them home, because the Manor was magically locked against Muggles, but he did invite them all to lunch with his parents. Every one of the girls received a tight-lipped, overly polite response from Lucius Malfoy, but nothing angry or cold.

Frustrated, Draco gave up, realising that his parents honestly didn't care whom he dated.

He also realised that Muggle girls were not that bad after all. And some of them were awfully good snoggers as well.

Sighing, he rested his legs on his table. Arietta was very nice, agreed. But so were all the girls he hired. Nice to toy with, nice to charm. But zero spark.

There was a tentative knock on his door. Draco looked up at the clock. 3.30am.

He breathed in deeply, rubbing his hands together. He was ready for Round Two.

'Enter.'

The door opened, and he raised his eyebrows. Granger was standing at his door, her hair plastered flat against her head, dripping mugs of water from the ends onto his carpet. Draco's gaze swept over her clothes, and he felt his lips curl up in amusement. She was wearing a white t-shirt, and he could see right through it.

Deciding to be a gentleman, he averted his gaze to her face, and noticed the pleasant, professional smile dropping clean off her face, as she saw him.

'You!' she seethed, marching into the room and shutting the door behind her with a bang.

She could be really dramatic. He grinned. 'Yip. Me,' he said, crossing his arms over his chest.

She could be really entertaining as well. 'You are despicable!' she cried, throwing her hands up into the air.

'Oh really?' he asked, enjoying annoying her. 'What have I done now?'

'I cannot believe you would stoop to such low levels!' Her nostrils were flaring unattractively. Honestly, did she know nothing about class?

'Uh huh.'

'You actually came over here and traded places with the manager!' she accused, now coming dangerously close to his desk. Dangerous, because she was still dripping water. And water was very bad for uncharmed wood.

His eyebrows drew together. Now she had lost him. 'Granger, what are you—'

'How much did you pay him?' she asked, her tone demanding an immediate answer. Her eyes widened as another thought crossed her mind. Lowering her voice, she asked, 'Or did you place the Imperius Curse on him?'

He stood up now, rolling his eyes.

'Granger—'

But he was cut off again. 'And these are Muggles, Malfoy!' she exclaimed in a furious whisper.

She was close enough to his desk for him to reach over and grip her wet arms. He felt her go rigid beneath his touch, but he ignored it. He bent his head to look her square in the face. 'Shut. Up.'

She opened her mouth to say something else.

He cocked an eyebrow. 'I said shut up, Granger. Honestly, your voice gives me a headache.'

It didn't. He actually loved an annoyed Granger.

Absolutely hilarious.

Her hands came up to push his hands off. Draco immediately wiped his hands on his pants. She was extremely wet.

'Don't touch me, Malfoy,' she bit out. She prodded him in the chest. 'I want you to explain why you're impersonating the manager of this lovely restaurant.'

'You think this restaurant is lovely?' he asked, smirking and ignoring her persistent prodding. Granger had no idea, but she had just, in the history of their acquaintance, complimented him.

'Avoiding the accusation is always the first sign of guilt,' she said, her eyes flashing. 'Why. Are. You. Impersonating. The. Manager?' she repeated, this time punctuating every word with an increasingly harder prod.

Now he was irritated. Yes, he had an extremely high tolerance of pain – given his other line of work – but, in that line of work, his body, particularly his chest, had not been accustomed to unrelenting prodding in the same spot.He looked down at her finger pointedly. 'Don't make me restrain you, Granger,' he said softly, lifting his lips up into a smirk.

Her eyes narrowed. 'Oh? I'd like to see you try, Malfoy,' she hissed.

Draco shrugged. He sat down, simultaneously responding to her challenge with a slight flick of the wrist. He grinned when he saw her in his guest seat, a long piece of dark blue ribbon wound around her, binding her to the chair.

She struggled, glaring at him. 'I am going to murder you, you hateful piece of –'

Draco twirled his wand through his fingers. 'You know, I think that I am bloody lucky that our world isn't so magical that a mere look could kill someone,' he said lightly. 'Don't make me Silencio you either,' he warned. He wouldn't, because then there'd be no fun as she wouldn't be able to voice her annoyance or anger.

'Unbind me, Malfoy,' she ordered, and he could see how tightly her fists were bundling the edges of her t-shirt into tight balls.

He bent forward over his table, and she tried to lean away unsuccessfully. 'No,' he said simply. 'You're much more fun this way.'

'Why, you insolent—'

'You know what seriously concerns me, though, Granger?' he asked, tapping his chin with the end of his wand.

'Do enlighten me,' she angrily muttered, glaring at him, still trying to wriggle her way out of the magically bound ribbon.

He slid his gaze to her, raising an eyebrow. 'Back in school, you were always on your guard.'

'Your point?' she said scathingly, her eyes an icy brown. Slytherin's balls, if the girl narrowed her eyes any further, she'd surely go squint.

'My point, Granger, is that you could have easily countered my...' he trailed off, trying to find the appropriate word.

'Attack,' Granger snarled.

Draco stared at her amusedly. 'Do I infuriate you that much, Granger, that you have to lower yourself to animal-like behaviour? First you growl, now you snarl...'

'Let me out, Malfoy, or so help me...' she threatened.

Draco would've exercised more restraint when he was arguing with Granger, had he known that she had her wand on her person. But it seemed that she didn't. His theory was confirmed when he tried a small Accio charm and nothing happened. An angry Granger was indeed a fun one, but an angry Granger also had a vast vault of curses at the front of her mind, ready on her tongue.

'I am the manager here, Granger,' he stated, watching her reaction. She rolled her eyes, and was about to open her mouth, when he said, sighing, 'Why do we have to spell things out for you? And I mean that quite literally,' he added.

He waved his wand in the air, his name spelling itself out in letters of floating silver fire.

He flicked his wand, and the letters rearranged themselves.

The entire time, he watched her. Her face slipped from the arrogance it had earlier, to one of mild disbelief, and then finally to one of utter mortification.

Cleverly, she kept quiet, although Draco could swear she was muttering, 'Oh shit' quietly to herself over and over, as she looked into her lap.

'I don't know what your obsession is with twenty-four hour restaurants in Muggle London, Granger, but let me assure you that I own the only permanently open restaurants here.'

When she looked up, he was surprised to find a look of resignation sporting her features. She sighed. 'Please take the ribbon off,' she said quietly. Draco did not like the sudden change in tone or attitude.

She looked defeated.

His smirk fell off his face, but he did as she requested. Without looking back, she left his office, leaving Draco feeling downright bewildered. After a while, he passed the entire thing off as a desperate woman who was looking for a job and just couldn't find one.

Yes, that was all it was.

She was just desperate.

A second later, he jumped out of his seat. Another question assaulted his mind: why in the name of Salazar's beard would Hermione Granger be so desperate? Why would she not carry her wand?

Or more importantly, why was she looking for a job in bloody waitressing when she was one of the most qualified Aurors in wizarding history?

XXX

He knows, Hermione thought, as she angrily walked away from the warmth of The Ocard, away from the laughing face of Draco Malfoy. He knew that she didn't have a wand. She bent her head against the rain, attempting to shield her face from the relentlessness.

Because it was so cold, she immediately felt the presence of warm tears on her face, and she blinked her eyes angrily, trying to get rid of them. After a while, she gave up, knowing that if anybody who passed her – that is, anybody who would be walking about at this hour – would just assume that it was raindrops that fell down her cheeks.

She stared up at the sky, searching for a star, any exceptionally bright star.

'When good people die, they become stars,' she remembered her father telling her.

The six-year-old Hermione had looked up at the sky, which was adorned with thousands of blinking stars – God's flashlights, so she had been told. 'But there are so many,' she had breathed in an awed whisper to her father. 'How will I know which one is Granddad?'

Her father had knelt behind her, and pointed over her shoulder up into the sky. 'Just look for the brightest star, sweetheart. That's him.'

Hermione had lost so many good people in her life, that she wasn't able to track all the brightest stars in the sky. And when she did find them, she couldn't identify the person behind the star. But right now, she would settle for any bright star. Any one of them would do. She just needed to know that they were there, right above her – so clear to the eye, but so very far out of reach.

But Hermione couldn't see passed the cold sheet of rain that slanted before her, blurring the sky. Stubbornly, she narrowed her eyes, as if her very determination would part the rain from her view, drawing a tunnel into the sky. After five minutes of simply staring, she gave up. Her eyes sore, she dipped her head down, and resumed walking. Maybe it was a sign. She wouldn't be able to find a job, as she had just blown both her chances. Maybe she'd be stuck to a Cinderella-like life.

Be careful what you wish for...you just might get it all.

As a child, she had read all of the fairy tales. And just like every other normal Muggle girl, her favourite part had been the ending when Prince Charming in some way or the other, married the girl. The girl became a princess, and they all lived happily ever after. And every time she read the ending over and over and over again, she had wished that she would get have a life exactly like that.

And what she got was Cinderella's life instead. Pre-happy ending.

Even though it was difficult to hear the sound of her breathing above the noise of the pelting rain, she couldn't mistake the fairly distinguishable sound of a person Apparating. Pop! Right in front of her. Holding a black umbrella.

She stumbled, not wanting to crash into the person. She sighed when she saw who she was looking at. She hoped he couldn't see her tears. And if he did, she hoped he wouldn't comment.

But if Malfoy noticed anything, he didn't say anything. Wordlessly, he held his umbrella above her, and she felt the instant relief of being protected from the rain. She didn't say thank you, and he didn't say anything. He merely stood there, searching her face. Carefully, she masked her expression, erasing the pain written on her face.

'Apparating in the middle of Muggle London, Malfoy?' she asked, the fight having left her.

'Why do you want to be a waitress, Granger?' he asked earnestly, and he had to raise his voice just to be heard above the rain. He raised his voice, but any of the mirth he had displayed earlier was gone. His face was a picture of seriousness, and the corners of his lips were pulled down in a small frown. He moved closer to her, and Hermione cringed. She relaxed when she realised he was just placing her under his umbrella. She closed her eyes for a moment, relieved that she wasn't a victim to the rain anymore.

That was oddly thoughtful.

She looked up into his eyes, a surprisingly warm shade of mercurial grey, and asked, 'Why do you care?'

Why did he care? He had blatantly declined her services, and although he no longer sneered at her or mocked his blood status, Hermione knew to keep a safe distance from him, and be wary. She wondered whether her answer would have any beneficial impact on Malfoy. Because she knew that the Malfoys always did something in order to get something in return. If they acted nice, it was for purely selfish reasons.

Malfoy stepped in closer, bending his head down. 'Sorry?' he asked, tilting his head so that he could hear her better.

'You better be,' Hermione muttered, thinking of the ribbon incident from earlier. In a louder voice, she repeated her question, 'Why do you care?'

She drew in her arms tighter around herself, the cold nibbling at her skin. His eyes dropped to her arms and he looked around. Hermione copied him, but all she could see around them was a blur of blues, greys and blacks. Grabbing her arm, he said, 'Hold on.'

'Hold –' she started to say, but was cut off by a sharp pulling sensation behind her navel. She closed her eyes. As uncomfortable Disapparating was, she had really missed the feeling. The last time she had Disapparated was...was...

She felt her feet hit solid ground, and she looked around. Raising her eyebrows in surprise, she asked, 'Honeydukes cellar?'

She could still hear the rain outside, but the cellar had a contrastingly warmth to it. She breathed. Squinting her eyes, she swivelled her head, attempting to make out the dull outlines of the objects scattered around her on the floor. The smallest of smiles moved her lips as she recognised the familiar boxes stacked messily atop each other, and the wooden crates next to them.

'First place I thought of.'

She turned to look at him curiously, to find that he was looking right back at her. Into her, it seemed. She shifted uncomfortably, not liking this new serious Malfoy. He had his arms crossed over his chest in a position she had previously dubbed as arrogance, but now she couldn't find any traces of arrogance in his face. The smirk was replaced with a pair of lips pulled into a straight line. The teasing eyes replaced with a calculating gaze.

Hermione looked away. She preferred the other Malfoy. The annoying one. At least with that one, she knew how to respond – how to react. She didn't have to think before reacting. She just did. But now she had absolutely no idea what to do. She didn't like the fact that he knew something was off with her.

The problem with being taken out of the rain, is that you immediately felt cold. She started to shiver, pulling her arms tighter around herself. He pulled out his wand, waving it over her body. She stiffened, afraid that he might be cursing her. A second later she realised that he had siphoned all the rain off her skin and clothes. She looked down at her now dry hands, and then looked back at him.

'Thanks,' she muttered reluctantly.

'Why do you want to be a waitress, Granger?' he asked quietly.

'And I asked why –'

'It's not important knowing whether I care or not,' he interrupted. 'What is important is why would a girl who is incredibly skilled in the line of defence want to be a waitress?'

Hermione stuck her chin out. 'Extra money,' she lied.

'Oh really?' Malfoy asked, looking irksomely disbelieving.

Hermione nodded, staring right back at him.

'Ministry not paying you enough these days?' he asked, tilting his head. 'Because from what I hear, Aurors are the second highest paid labourers in the wizarding world.'

'After, what, restaurant owners?' she asked sarcastically. She crossed the room, turning her back on him as she looked out of the rain-sleeked window.

'Which brings us back to...' he prompted.

'What I don't understand,' Hermione muttered, 'is why, after refusing to employ me twice, you would follow me out into the rain, and then Disapparate us into the cellar of Honeydukes, and then go on to ask me stupid, pointless questions.'

She still had her back turned on him, so she couldn't see his reaction. But she did hear him take a deep breath.

'I want to know why, Granger,' he said after a moment's pause.

Hermione turned around, lifting an eyebrow. 'And just because Draco Malfoy wants an answer, he must get one?' she spat.

The distance she had placed between them cast him further into the shadows. She couldn't see his face, or much of his body. But from the dull moonlight coming through the only (dirty) window in the cellar, she saw him uncross his arms.

'Actually, Miss Know-It-All,' he said dryly, 'wanting to know why a person wants to work at my restaurant forms one of the key questions in an interview.'

Hermione leaned her head against the window, closing her eyes. She was tired of arguing with him. 'I am not at liberty to say, Malfoy,' she said wearily.

It was true. Isabelle had made it quite clear that if Hermione told anybody about her situation, she would have hell to pay for it. She had already broken this rule by telling Ron and Harry about her predicament, but who was Malfoy to her? He certainly wasn't a friend. And she had just ruined her chances of making him an employer. Ergo, she had no reason to confide – confide! – in him. She was looking for solutions, not condescension.

'Bound by contract?' he asked.

Hermione hesitated. 'Something like that.'

'Does your contract also state that you can't have a wand?'

Hermione nodded slowly. 'Yes.' Why was she even answering his questions? Shut up, Hermione.

He was quiet for a minute, and Hermione was relieved by the silence. Malfoy was too perceptive for his own good. Had he always been like this?

Suddenly, Hermione realised that Malfoy had known all this time that she was without a wand – in other words, defenceless.

'Why aren't you using it against me?' Hermione asked, suspiciously.

'What?'

'I don't have my wand. Why aren't you...' she trailed off, the implication clear.

'I already did, Granger,' he said, sounding amused.

Hermione's eyes widened. What had he done to her? Why hadn't she noticed? Had he altered her mind? Had he cast an Immobility Spell on her? She moved her foot.

It moved.

'What did you do?' she murmured, testing her body. Her fingers could move, her feet could move, she could talk, she could think...

'Aren't you forgetting something?' he asked, that same edge of mild amusement lifting his voice. She heard a swish of something moving against air, and a moment later, something soft fell at her feet. She bent down, picking it up.

The ribbon. But it was a much smaller piece of ribbon than before. The kind a schoolgirl would use to tie her hair with.

Irritation flicked at her senses at the recall. 'I want to go, Malfoy,' she said. 'I want to go now.'

She heard light footsteps fall against the wooden surface. Suddenly, his face came into view. 'I have no idea what your story is, Granger, or why the hell you want to work in a restaurant,' he murmured. 'But you seem to be...desperate,' the corner of his lip moved up into a half-smirk.

Hermione felt her eyes flash angrily, but she bit her next retort. It sounded as if Malfoy was giving her chance.

'And I quite like helping out desperate women,' he added, this time releasing the full force of his devilish grin.

Hermione couldn't help it. 'You are sick, Malfoy, to think that I—'

Malfoy nodded. 'Got the job. Welcome aboard.'

Hermione stopped mid tirade. 'What's the catch?' she asked apprehensively, but still angry at his earlier insinuation.

Malfoy shrugged. 'No catch.'

'I hope you're not pitying me, Malfoy,' she said, pointing at him.

'Why would I pity you, Granger?' he asked, folding his arms across his chest and leaned his shoulder against the wall next to him – coincidentally the same wall she was leaning against. 'No, I just want to use this opportunity to find out your story.'

'My story,' Hermione repeated, not liking where this was going.

'Your story,' he said, nodding.

'Forget it,' she said, standing up and moving away from him. The last thing she needed was having Malfoy know her story, as he put it. He could use it against her. Get her into trouble with Isabelle. Draco Malfoy was capable of doing anything. 'I don't want to work for you.'

'Ah, you might not want to, my dear Granger, but you need to,' he said, smirking. 'I'm not going to force you to work for me.'

'I'll...think about it,' she hedged. She didn't want to work for Malfoy.

He tut-tutted. 'Ah, I'm afraid you won't be able to think about it,' he said. 'I'm not doing you a favour, Granger, which you want time to consider. Decide now. My doors won't always be open.'

Hermione weighed her options. On the one hand, working for Malfoy could be a nightmare. She would have to refer to him as 'Sir' or 'Mr Malfoy', immediately feeling inferior to him. He would probably make her life hell. But on the other hand, Isabelle dealt a worse hand than he did. She wanted freedom. And at least, if she was a waiter, she would be interacting with different people every day. And...waiters and waitresses didn't meet with the manager all the time, did they?

'Tick tock, tick tock,' Malfoy said.

'I...' she said, trailing off. Was she doing the right thing?

She nodded to herself. Why was she even considering this? Yes, it was Malfoy, but she would give anything to get away from Isabelle and the twins.

'Fine.'

'Fine?'

'Yes, fine, Malfoy,' she said.

He walked towards her. 'That's Sir to you, Granger,' he remarked, wearing that horrible smirk again.

She rolled her eyes. 'Drop me off at the corner of my street, Malfoy,' she said. 'I live on –'

She felt the familiar feeling of Disapparition, and when she opened her eyes, she was on her street. She had forgotten about the rain, which continued to fall, fall, fall.

She felt his hands grip her arms, unexpectedly gently. She looked up.

'It's Sir,' he muttered, disappearing with a pop.

She turned to walk down her street, shaking her head. To say she was surprised at the day's turn of events was an understatement. She hadn't old Malfoy that she would be working the six to ten in the morning slot. She looked at her watch. She would be having less than two hours of sleep before she would have to leave for work. Work!

It was Malfoy, but it was also work. Something Hermione was deeply passionate about. She had never done waitressing in her life, but it didn't look too challenging. She could do it.

She glanced down at her hand, noticing that her hand was still fisted around a piece of material. Pausing in her step, she opened her hand, the blue piece of ribbon jumping open. She closed her hand again, locking the ribbon inside. Looking up at the sky, which wasn't that heavy with rain as before, she could see the stars. Bright, shining stars.

-to be continued-