-INTERFERENCE AND INTERVENTION-

The skin at the corner of the lips pinched together as the frown stretched across the lips. The ever-present crease between the eyebrows was...well, ever-present. It still caused the sharp eyebrows to curl ever so slightly at the ends. Other than those obvious signs of confusion, the face was devoid of any other emotion.

Before further analysis could be taken, Hermione dipped down, robbing the mirror of her image. Grimly eyeing the rusty taps, she opened one – quickly, hoping that the increased speed would minimise the god-awful whining that the rustiness created. The tap still whined, however, but she splashed the cool water on her face. Grabbing a towel, she glanced again at her image, gently rubbing the droplets off her face, noticing that she still wore signs of confusion.

Malfoy hadn't said which restaurant she'd be working at. 'Got the job,' he had said. 'Welcome aboard.' Aboard to what, though?

As Hermione changed, her mind ran the track that she had been jogging the whole of last night: Muggle restaurant owned by Draco Malfoy versus magical restaurant owned by Draco Malfoy. Heaving an unnecessary sigh, she bent to hunt for her Converse shoes. Nothing could be done about the Draco Malfoy part. She could live with that. Would live with it. Finding her shoes, she slipped them on.

Working at a magical restaurant would be like having magic itself. To be around the magic that she had been forbidden to use, to see people that she had not seen in months, to secretly meet up with her friends, to deliberately flout Isabelle's orders of staying away from magic all gave her a thrill. The kind of thrill that sung through her veins. But to be that close to magic, and not be able to use it was torturous. And Hermione knew herself to be strong, but she did not feel like over-testing her strength. And although she did not feel like believing her, Isabelle had not-so-subtly hinted that she would have spies. And Hermione didn't want to risk that either.

The Muggle restaurant had felt just as welcoming as Malfoy's other restaurant. Hermione connected well with non-magic folk – she had grown up as a Muggle, and could easily and comfortably interact with Muggles in general. And she would be following Isabelle's orders. Working in a Muggle restaurant also cut her clean off from magic, like the final straw, a final sign. She wouldn't be able to secretly meet up with friends. Non-magic would be her life until she figured out her father's fraudulent will.

Twisting the doorknob, she walked out, the bitter Autumn chill wrapping itself around her exposed neck. She pulled the collar of her jacket up, and bent her head down, her shoes silently sitting the pavement as she walked. She glanced up at the vast house behind her, her sharp eyes noticing the movement of a lace curtain slipping back into place. Hermione turned away. Isabelle must have been watching her. Hermione didn't care, though. She had left Isabelle a letter, saving herself from speaking to the witch.

In it, she had written one thing. Her decision. Two simple words.

The Ocard.

Draco glanced up as she entered his office, closing the door behind her. He waved his wand.

'You can't wear that,' he greeted disapprovingly, staring at her shoes, her jeans and her sweater.

'Good morning to you, too,' she muttered, crossing the room to stand before his desk.

'Change, Granger,' he ordered, returning to shuffle pages on his desk.

Granger narrowed her eyes. 'What is wrong with my outfit?' she tried to say evenly, but her annoyance was evident in the heavy weight of her words.

'Outfit in what language, exactly?' he smirked. He powered up his computer, tapping his foot while it slowly awoke.

'What I am wearing is bloody suitable—'

He tut-tutted her disrespectful tone. 'Now, now, Granger,' he said condescendingly. 'You work for me, remember?'

'I'll remember to kiss your feet the next time,' she snapped.

Draco looked up at her, amused. She was probably unaware that anger coloured her cheeks a soft red and brought a vicious sparkle in her eyes. It tugged at his senses; the effect was mildly alluring.

'I look forward to it,' he grinned. A beep from his computer alerted him into quickly typing his password. 'Change.'

She threw up her hands. 'Into what, Malfoy?'

His lips twitched. 'It's a wonder how you qualified as an Auror,' he mused. 'One of the best, so I've heard.'

He saw something flicker in her eyes, a brief flash of something, and then it was gone. 'Your point?'

He shrugged. 'I just thought that vigilance was one of the required skills.'

'Is it usually your habit to never get to the point?'

'I need my staff to look as tasty as the food, Granger,' he said slowly, fixing his sharp gaze on her. He expected her to flush with embarrassment, to stutter, to pop open her mouth in shock.

He obviously didn't know Granger too well.

'Are you telling me that you objectify your staff, Malfoy?' she asked thinly, anger glinting in her eyes.

'Society is very judgemental, Granger,' he said, getting over his surprise at her reaction. 'They like to be served aesthetically pleasing food by aesthetically pleasing people.'

'That is a load of –'

'But it's true,' he said, lifting up a shoulder in a careless half-shrug. With a few clicks, he opened up his company's spreadsheets, and charts, jotting down his observations on a page he had near. Her next words caused him to pause.

'I'm not aesthetically pleasing, Malfoy,' she said, raising an eyebrow.

She didn't say it with self-pity, Draco noted. She said it in a matter-of-fact tone, as if it was something she believed in. He mentally shook his head. Ignorance.

'In that outfit, yes,' Draco said. He pointed at the stool beside the door. 'Uniform.' A neatly folded two-piece uniform sat on the stool.

'Where is the point in wearing a fancy uniform if I'm working the breakfast hours?' Granger muttered, but picked up the uniform, letting it fall open.

Draco snapped open a file, sliding his page of graph interpretations into a sleeve, and popped the file back in place. Draco sighed. Whichever feminist idiot said that men could not multitask was...well, an idiot. In the space of fifteen minutes he had held a delightful conversation with the entertaining Granger and prepared for his afternoon meeting with the board. Oh yeah, he was that good.

'Uh, Malfoy?'

Draco looked up, and didn't even try to hold back his grin. Granger had the uniform dangling between her thumb and forefinger, holding it as if it were a dead animal. No, Draco mentally disagreed with himself. Knowing Granger, she would probably have cradled a dead animal. Either way, she was looking at the uniform with barely concealed repulsion.

'Where's the rest of it?' she asked, biting her lip.

Nervous, Draco thought. An emotion he was seeing for the first time after a long time on her face.

'You're looking at it,' he smiled. Granger was obviously not used to wearing short items of clothing. She was a jeans girl.

Well, that was about to change.

Her fingers trailed over the garment. Not as a caress, but in surprise. She held up the uniform against herself, and frowned. 'It barely covers my – Stop grinning like that!' She exclaimed, shaking the uniform in his direction.

'You have to admit, Granger, it's pretty hilarious,' Draco said. He gestured at her. 'I mean, all this time you were putting up such a brave front, and now you're scared of a little uniform. Hilarious,' he repeated.

'Little being the operative word,' she muttered, probably thinking her words were too soft for Draco to hear. He smiled devilishly in response.

'So you admit that you are scared of it,' he pressed, deliberately annoying her.

'Please,' she said, sticking her chin out. 'I was just wondering about the cold,' was her feeble excuse.

Draco got up from his chair, stretched, and began to manoeuvre himself around his desk. 'Of course,' he humoured her. 'Because the central heating in this place has nothing on the Autumn cold.'

He came to stand beside her, slightly peeved that he did not have a significant height advantage over her. Her head was in line with her shoulders. He shrugged it off; inconspicuously drawing his wand out of his pocket. He noticed the brief appraisal that Granger gave his suit. He waited for the slight widening of her eyes as she took in his handsomeness, perhaps her lips will part just a little, and maybe...Hang on. He didn't see any...admiration in her eyes. In fact, was that a...did she just frown? Impossible. Nothing about him was unappealing. He shrugged that off, too. It didn't bother him that Granger didn't find him appealing.

Ridiculous, Hermione thought. She would be an idiot to not notice that Draco Malfoy was good-looking. Dangerously good-looking, she mentally added, frowning. But to wear a damn suit? Granted, he was the boss, but a suit! When her eyes lastly rested on his face, she saw him looking at her rather intensely. She rolled the discomfort off her shoulders. She would not let Malfoy interfere with her comfort zone.

But still...'Why are you standing so close?' she snapped. Her hand automatically fisted the uniform. She hated it.

'Is it bothering you?' he asked, stepping closer just to annoy her. Hermione held her ground.

'I am sure that this is a breach of policy between employer and employee,' Hermione remarked.

A soft laugh fell from his lips, and Hermione's ears pricked at the sound. Her mind tightly squeezed into itself as she tried to recall when was the last time she had heard Malfoy laugh, or even smile the number of times he had over the past two days. It was disturbing.

'I would never sexually harass you, Granger,' he smirked.

Rather than feeling insulted, Hermione was irritated. 'Use my name and the word 'sexually' in the same sentence one more time...'she trailed off, the threat clear.

'You'd do what, exactly?' he asked, arching a perfectly sculpted eyebrow. 'Still no wand?'

'Fists and feet can accomplish the same job,' she said, smiling sweetly.

He took another step towards her. She held her breath, reining her temper in. She inwardly winced as she felt the brush of his suit jacket against her. 'But,' he murmured, 'you cannot use fists and feet to prevent this.'

She cursed even before she felt the gentle prod of his wand. A second later, she felt the light fabric of the uniform caress – no, attack, she corrected – her skin. She braced herself for the cold air to bite at her legs and her arms, but – nothing. She clenched her teeth. 'You horrible –'

She was cut off as his large hands gripped her shoulders, pushing her back a few paces. She slapped his hands away, her insides squirming as he took his time to look her up and down.

The sleek black mini skirt fitted her curves nicely, he observed. Elegant, not cheap. He tried to look at her legs with a critical eye, but couldn't help but notice that they were not the pale colour that a lot of British women had. A golden kind of pale. Toned with a soft shadow of muscle. His gaze slid up to the shirt. A semi-sheer, long-sleeved white wrap blouse almost masked the soft swell of her breasts. Almost. Again, elegant, not cheap. Critical, Malfoy, he reminded himself.

The outfit fit well. Not aesthetically pleasing, his arse.

'Done?' came her biting comment.

He glanced at her face, blinking away any signs of his thoughts. Her mouth had straightened into a thin line; her eyes spat fire. Ignoring her annoyance, he said, 'Heels, hair in a high pony.'

'Why don't I just work in the evening, Malfoy? This outfit is over-the-top for a six to ten hour shift in the damn morning.'

Draco tilted his head. 'Would that make you more comfortable?'

She narrowed her eyes. 'No, but it would be a hell lot better than this.'

Draco rolled his eyes. 'Dramatic, Granger. But fine, work in the evening.'

'What?'

'I said work in the evening. But I'm warning you,' he said, throwing in a smirk, 'it will mean make-up.'

'You are easily despisable, you know that?'

'There's no such word as 'despisable', do you know that?'

'What, are you the vocabulary police now?'

'Granger, when the hell do you want to work?'

She shook her head. 'Forget it. I have to work the six to ten in the morning shift.'

'Then why the hell did you ask to work in the evening?' Draco asked, annoyed because she was confusing him.

'Sarcasm, Malfoy. I trust you're not immune to it, since you dish it out so frequently yourself.'

Draco ran his tongue over his teeth as his mind picked up on something. 'Hang on, what do you mean 'have to work the six to ten hour shift'?'

He saw her eyes widen fractionally, and she licked her lips. 'I meant want to.'

Draco looked at her. 'Uh huh. And why is that?'

'Personal preferences,' Granger said, starting to turn away. He grabbed her arm, pulling her back to face him.

'What aren't you telling me, Granger?' he demanded.

'Let go, Malfoy,' Granger said, glaring at him.

'Tell me what 'have to' means first,' he insisted, gripping tight enough not to hurt her, tight enough to keep her there.

'Mature, aren't you.'

'I told you I'd find out your story, Granger.'

'There is no story, you idiot. Let. Me. Go.'

'The hell there's a story,' Draco snapped. He didn't know why, but the woman was getting under his skin. 'Tell me.'

'What makes you think there's a story? Huh?' she asked, poking his chest.

'You have no wand, you aren't an Auror anymore, you've been off the pages of The Prophet, you're begging for work as a damn waitress...Should I really continue?'

'What are you doing managing restaurants, Malfoy? Skills like that, you should've been a private detective.'

Draco let her go, cursing. Granger staggered back a few paces. He ran a hand through his hair. He knew Granger was holding back on information. She didn't trust him, he understood that. But the whole goddamned thing made no sense! There was something.

Rubbing a hand wearily across his brow, he looked up at her. She had her arms crossed over her chest, totally unaware of what effect that had on the size of her chest. He internally groaned. Looking at hr face instead, he said, 'Answer me this, Granger – and you owe it to me to be honest – do you want or need this job?'

'Both.'

'Damn it, Granger. It can't be both.'

'Take it or leave it, pal.'

Draco took a deep breath. 'Another one: are you being forced?'

'I wouldn't want it if I was being forced,' she said, dodging a direct answer.

Definitely something. 'What are you running from?' he murmured. He wasn't asking her directly, more thinking out aloud. But it seemed to trigger a response in Granger. It looked like she was refusing to look away from him, but in the instant he voiced the question, a hard layer passed over her features. Curiosity piqued, he stared at her. 'You're running from something,' he said softly. He slowly reached a hand out, laid it gently on her cheek. A comforting gesture.

He saw her lips quiver, and the harsh confusion drew his brows together. The broken girl he'd seen the night before – or early that morning, he supposed – was hiding in the depths of her eyes right now. 'Granger –'

'Stop interfering, Malfoy,' she said quietly, the harshness, anger, annoyance all gone from her voice. She had not been prepared for Malfoy's intimate nature. It was friends who comforted – not former arch nemeses. Suddenly, she wished for Harry or Ron. They understood, at least.

Malfoy let his hand fall away from her cheek. Slipping it into his pocket, he regarded her. 'You know I'll find out.'

Hermione chose not to reply.

'I'm a lawyer, Granger. It's my job to suss out the truth from people...Or attain it from other sources.'

Nobody else knows, she thought, but wouldn't tell him that.

'How is it that you own and actively manage two restaurants and practise law?' she asked, the question sitting on the fringes of her mind since she found out he owned two highly successful restaurants.

'You need to work on your subtlety at changing the subject,' Malfoy commented. His easy grin was gone, and Hermione found she preferred that over the pensive expression he wore now.

They stood in silence for a few seconds. Malfoy looked at her, and Hermione knew he was trying to arrive at a possible solution. After a while, he nodded. 'Fine. Work the six to ten hour shift. You can wear pants, and black flats. Hair still in a high pony.' His tone turned all businesslike, as was evident in the abruptness of his short sentences, and the serious, almost blank expression on his face. He flicked his wand, transfiguring the skirt to long black pants that were equally smart. A tiny part of Hermione relaxed as she saw the offensive skirt disappear.

Malfoy's gaze dropped to her feet. 'Size seven? Eight?'

'Seven and a half,' she said slowly, wondering what he was planning to do. 'Please don't transfigure my Converse –'

He flicked his wand, and a pair of simple black pumps landed neatly on the floor. Bending down, he used his wand to tap first the pumps and then her shoes, a second later, they swapped places.

He straightened up, tucking his wand away.

'Thank you,' Hermione found herself saying. She shouldn't have felt touched, but she wasn't an ungrateful person. Whether she wanted to admit it or not, Malfoy had done a lot for her.

He pointed at her hair, which was hanging loose around her shoulders. 'I'm sure you don't need a wand for that.'

'What?' Hermione asked, still lost in her thoughts about Malfoy. She touched a hand to her hair. 'Oh, right. No, I don't.' She started pulling her hair up into a pony, holding it in place with a band that had been around her wrist.

He nodded. Glancing at the clock, he muttered, 'Your shift started ten minutes ago. Go.'

Hermione nodded, unsure of all that had taken place in the past half an hour in his tidy office. She walked to the door, and as she was about to open the door, she turned. 'Thanks.' Before he could say anything – and she was pretty sure he wouldn't have, even if she stayed to wait for a reply – she left, clicking the door closed.

Inside the office, Draco stared at the door she had just left through. Hermione Granger was a puzzle. And there were so many pieces that were missing, he couldn't put it together. First she berated him for interfering, and then she was thanking him for...Draco first thought she was thanking him for transfiguring the (sexy) skirt into (still sexy) pants, but it probably went deeper than that.

Maybe a part of her wanted him to interfere. Keeping everything inside was disastrous. He knew that. He had been down that road. People needed to talk. And if they didn't want to talk, he would just intervene. Because that's how the world worked.

She balanced the tray on her right hand, kept her back straight, and smiled with ease as she walked down to table 8, handing the customers their orders. She had a few easy words with the customers, and with gentle grace, rose up and walked back. Easy as pie. She even had the gentle sway to her hips as she walked. She walked straight to the other woman by the counter.

Glancing at the woman, she said, 'And that's how it's done.'

Hermione frowned. The woman – Jodi – smiled warmly. 'I promise – it's not that hard. Okay, see that table there?'

Unfortunately for Hermione, Jodi pointed to the furthest table away from them. 'Table 41,' Hermione said, nodding.

'Take their order to them.' Jodi led Hermione through a pair of swinging doors to the kitchen. Hermione followed hesitantly behind her. Jodi walked with such confidence. Jodi rapped her knuckles on kitchen counter. 'Dan! Order number 132!'

A mumbled response came from inside, and a sweaty face appeared. A round belly that a baby would have fun bouncing on was the first thing that Hermione noticed. The man – Dan, Hermione presumed – had a warm smile. 'Order up!' his voice boomed. He slid a tray forward, stopping briefly to look at Hermione. 'Well, looky here!' he exclaimed in that loud voice of his.

'Hi,' Hermione responded, responding automatically to his smile.

'Dan, Hermione, Hermione, Dan,' Jodi introduced. 'Dan's the best chef in town,' she told Hermione, winking. 'And it's Hermione's first day on the job, Dan.'

'Ah, good luck,' he said gravely.

Jodi swatted his arm. 'Don't scare her, Dan.' Shaking her head, she led Hermione out of the kitchen, back through the swinging doors. 'He's like our den father around here,' Jodi told her, affection clear in her voice.

'He seems nice,' Hermione said.

Jodi held out the tray for Hermione to take. Hermione looked at it, clearing her throat nervously. If she had to fall, there would be a lot of scrambled egg on the floor.

'It doesn't bite,' Jodi said, hiding a laugh.

Hermione cautiously accepted the tray, immediately feeling its weight. 'Ridiculous,' she muttered to herself.

She tried to mimic Jodi's movements from her last delivery, but knew she wasn't perfecting it. She was putting all her weight into supporting the tray. So much for casual elegance.

'Back straight!' Jodi whisper-screamed from behind her. In an attempt to follow Jodi's advice, Hermione lost her balance, stumbling forward. The plates casually glided off her tray, and Hermione squeezed her eyes shut, bracing herself for the crash.

'Uh, thank you,' came a soft reply. Hermione opened her eyes, and found herself looking at two surprised faces. She looked around for signs of food on the floor, her body, but instead found the two plates in front of their respective eaters. She straightened.

'Um, you're welcome,' she smiled, walking away from Table 41, a frown creasing her features. She pulled up at Jodi.

Jodi beamed. 'Not bad for your first try!'

Hermione smiled.

'We'll practice later in the bathroom,' Jodi promised, rushing off to escort the next customers in.

Noticing that no one else needed attending to, Hermione walked back to Malfoy's office.

She opened the door, forgetting to knock. Malfoy looked up, irritation passing over his features. He had a phone cradled between his ear and shoulder.

'I'll call you back...yes...okay, thank you.' He hung up, turning his icy gaze towards her. 'Knock much?'

'Do you use magic in this restaurant?' Hermione asked quickly, after closing the door behind her.

'Frequently,' he replied. 'Why?'

'I don't mean in the confines of your office, Malfoy,' Hermione said, walking towards his desk. 'What you're doing is not right. People will notice,' she hissed.

'Really,' he said, leaning back in his chair, and crossing his arms over his chest.

'Right now, I was delivering a couple their food, and I stumbled, badly, which resulted in their plates slipping off the tray, ready to fall on the ground, when it just casually slipped onto the table in front of them!'

Malfoy had the nerve to smirk. 'You stumbled?'

'Were you even listening to me?' Hermione asked. 'I said that—'

'I heard what you said, Granger,' Malfoy replied, his calm tone contrasting with her hysteric one. 'Yes, I do use magic in this restaurant, to improve the efficiency and service delivery. This restaurant is well-known for its efficiency and service-delivery.'

'Well, bravo for you, Malfoy, but someone could have –'

'No one would have noticed, Granger,' he said. 'You might have surprised your customers, but they wouldn't have suspected a thing. You were standing close enough to the table for the plates to just...slip off. Had you been standing further away, I can assure you that your plates would not have floated off.'

'But to the ordinary Muggle, plates can't just slip off trays, and conveniently land on –'

'Can Muggles see the Knight Bus, Granger?' he interrupted.

'No, but –'

'Then you have your answer.'

'This is diff –'

'It's the same principle, Granger.'

'Hardly—'

Draco looked up. 'Same. Principle.' He took a sip of his coffee. 'Dismissed.' He saw her raise both her eyebrows. 'And yes,' he said, 'I can dismiss you. Close the door on your way out, will you?'

Draco watched her take a breath, and leave his room. He eyed the back of her. The pants were definitely as sexy as the skirt.

When his door clicked shut, he picked up the phone, pushing the redial button.

'Good morning, Mr Hemming, please.' Draco waited a beat. 'Thank you.' A stupid melody fit for elevator music wafted through, forcing Draco to listen to it. Muggle operators at the Ministry were hell to put up with. Precisely seven seconds later, it stopped, the crisp voice of Mr Hemming cutting through.

'Mr James,' Hemming greeted.

'Ah, sorry about that,' Draco apologised, responding to the pseudonym.

'Not a problem, Mr James,' Hemming said, and Draco heard some papers being shuffled in the background. 'Where were we?'

Draco smiled. 'I believe I was asking about a woman from your department.' He took a sip of his coffee. 'Hermione Granger. When, exactly, did she hand in her resignation?'

-to be continued-

A/N: The original 'uniform' can be seen on my profile page.

Also, sorry about the really later update. I've been writing my end of year exams : /