Disclaimer: Everything belongs to Ms. J. K. Rowling (with the exception of a couple minor characters of my creation).
A/N: Please R&R. I really, really hope you like this chapter. There's a little more action in this one. Now re-written!
Chapter Two – An Encounter
Hermione was initially taken aback by finding herself face to face with the only Weasley she hadn't seen in nearly eight years. She suddenly realized her mouth was perhaps hanging open a little more than it should be, but she recovered quickly. She continued to hold out her hand, and gave the best toothy smile she could muster.
"Hermione Granger, Daily Prophet. It's nice to meet you," she introduced herself in her no-nonsense, all-business voice. She worried that she sounded a bit strange and flat, but neither man gave any indication of noticing.
"Percy Weasley, International Magical Office of Law. It's nice to meet you, too. I trust you had no trouble finding the place?" he responded, shaking her hand, and giving no intimation if he either recognized or remembered her.
"None at all, thank you," she said as politely as she could, her phoney smile beginning to falter.
They all took their seats, and Finley began examining the wine list.
"I hope you don't mind, but I always prefer to start one of these business dinners with a full glass in my hand," he commented casually.
"No problem at all," Hermione uttered automatically in response. She had a sneaking suspicion that she was going to need one, too.
"So, what is your perspective on Candidate Archer's proposed changes to the Wizengamot's ruling regarding young offenders?" Hermione asked between sips of her Shiraz.
"Interesting that you ask that," replied Finley, who seemed to be taking the front line to answering Hermione's questions. "Percy and I were discussing this just the other day, weren't we?"
"Hmm? Oh, yes, we were," Percy replied. He was somewhat quieter than Hermione remembered him to be, but his partner probably had seniority over him. His manner also seemed less pompous than she recalled, but that too may have just seemed that way in comparison to his colleague.
"Yes," continued Finley. "Since the end of the War, while some of You-Know-Who's supporters still continue to be found and captured, the courts have been just too hard on underage wizards called in on relatively minor offences. While this is somewhat understandable, with many youth having been either on the side of You-Know-Who or put under the Imperius curse, it has been starting to get a bit out of control. Stints in Azkaban for minor dabblings in underage magic? Too harsh, I say! What was it that you said about Scrimgeour the other day, Perce?"
Percy put down his wine glass, looking surprised at being invited to speak. "Oh, yes, well… I had said that Scrimgeour was a fine war-time Minister, but some fresh blood may have a better perspective on the current, post-war situation of our courts."
"May I quote you on that?" Hermione asked sweetly.
"Certainly," he answered, not quite making eye contact.
"Scrimgeour was indeed an excellent Minister during the length of the war," Finley continued, not missing a beat, "A firm hand in a time of crisis! But Percy is absolutely right, the man's perspective is based on the world as it was a few years ago and as we all know, much has changed. Ah! Food's here!" he exclaimed at the sight of their waiter placing his salmon in front of him, and he rubbed his hands together eagerly. "Sorry to cut conversation mid-stream, Miss Granger, but I just can't stomach talking about work while eating. The two things just shouldn't go together, don't you agree?"
"Completely," she answered, even though she didn't. Hermione was very proud of the quality of politeness and tact she was able to keep up throughout some interviews, and this one was no exception. "And please, call me Hermione, Mr. Sheehan," she added, thinking how impressed Ambrose would be with her for, as he said, "keeping it casual" for once.
"Then, please, if we're on a first-name basis, you must call me Finn," he countered with a grin. "And Percy, of course, is just Percy. Right, mate?"
Percy merely offered an accommodating smile at his friend's remark. Finn clearly took this as consent, as he turned back to Hermione, asking, "Shall we tuck in?"
"Thank you for your time, gentleman," Hermione said outside the restaurant. She shook hands with Percy, then with Finn, who took her hand and kissed it.
"It was our pleasure, I assure you," Finn drawled, not letting go of her hand right away. "You must thank the good people at the Daily Prophet for the wonderful dinner, as well as sending us their loveliest reporter to interview us."
She smiled, and slowly took back her hand. "I will indeed. Have a good night, both of you." And with a small wave, she departed, walking down the street in hopes of quickly finding a quiet place to Disapparate.
"Well, good night, old boy," Finn said to Percy. "In what direction art thou making thy journey for this eve?"
"'Old boy', 'thou', who the bloody hell are you kidding now, Finn?" Percy rolled his eyes at his co-worker. "The girl's gone, and Moira's not here anyway, so can't you drop the bastard act now?"
Finn chuckled, "Right, mate. Sorry, it's just so much fun!" He bounced on his toes a bit, looking very chuffed with himself. "But seriously, where are you off to now? Fancy a pint?"
"Actually," Percy paused. "I think I left my wallet back up in the restaurant. And… then I guess I'm just going to head home. See you in the office tomorrow?"
"Cheers, man. Have a good night then!" Finn casually strolled away, in the opposite direction that Hermione had headed.
Percy watched and waited impatiently for some distance to have come between himself and Finn, and then he sprinted the other way.
Finn turned around to see his co-worker running off.
"Ah," he said, raising his eyebrows. "Cherchez la femme."
"Hermione! Hermione, please just wait a moment!"
Hermione heard the speeding footsteps, then her name being called from several feet away. She pretended she didn't hear, and sped up. 'I didn't want to get into this! I can't just Disapparate here; there are too many people around. I've just got to hope I can get away, that I'm faster than him, or that he just gives up before he catches up with –' Her thought was interrupted when a large hand landed on her shoulder. She spun around, a look of sheer rage already displayed on her face.
"You really have some gall, Percy Weasley!" she said in the loudest voice she could use without attracting attention.
"I know," Percy answered. "I deserve whatever you're going to say to me, please, go right ahead."
"I don't need your permission to 'please, go right ahead'," she mimicked in an unkind, simpering voice. "You have some nerve! Pretending you don't even know me, barely looking me in the eye all night, only to come chasing after me the minute your smarmy little friend's back is turned? You're pathetic, despicable! I have faced Death Eaters by the dozen, but I will not deal with you! Your behaviour to Harry and to your own family has just been completely reprehensible! So why face me? Surely you must know I hate you! What do you want?"
He opened his mouth to answer but she held her hand up, stopping him. She was becoming a fury, a powerful force not to be reckoned with. Her petite, five foot four frame somehow seemed to tower over all six feet two inches of Percy, who was completely dumbstruck and almost cowering faced with the diminutive but livid woman in front of him.
"Don't even tell me what you want. You have no right to want anything, to talk to me, look at me, be around me! When the Death Eaters killed my parents –" tears were springing to her eyes. 'You will not let him see you cry!' she thought to herself, but it was to no avail – "When the Death Eaters killed my parents, the Weasleys took me in, and tried to be a surrogate family to me! I've never had a brother or sister, suddenly I had no one, and they treated me like I was one of their own! Meanwhile, you were lucky enough to be part of a wonderful, big, caring family, who by some miracle somehow all managed to survive the Dark War, and yet you just cut them all from your life as though they were worth nothing, as though they were dirt under your feet! Well, they're worth a lot more than you could ever hope to be, Percy Weasley! You have no right to face me at all! You abandoned them all, when they needed everyone to be together. Your mother still needs you, but let me tell you, nobody else wants you. Do you know Molly doesn't even know for sure if you're alive or dead, because the twins broke your hand off her clock, and Arthur won't talk about you?"
Percy's eyes seemed to darken just slightly at that remark. "I –" he began, but Hermione continued.
"You have no right to follow me! I'm practically a part of that family, too! And Harry's my best friend! When you cut them out of your life, I'm part of the package! I can't even begin to presume what you'd have to say to me! You're nothing but a grovelling, wretched, spineless lackey, who let his completely misguided sense of self-importance rip out the hearts of the people who cared about you. So just sod off home, and live your contented, smug little life. Get out of my face, and enjoy your posh little Ministry job. Go back to your perfect little home, where you can fucking die for all I care! And why are you wasting your time following around someone who hates your guts when I imagine Penelope's waiting for you, wondering when you'll be home –"
"Penelope's not with me any more," he finally gathered the courage to mutter, albeit rather quietly.
"Ha! Really? Good for her! I guess she found herself a brain and walked out on you, I suppose, because she couldn't have had one and stayed with a slimy drip like you. Or was it perhaps that she didn't hobnob with the right members of the Ministry, and you, being the miserable, stuck-up git that you are, told your own girlfriend to go f–"
"Hermione," Percy interrupted, immediately unable to hold his tongue for a minute longer. "Penelope's dead."