A/N: Thanks for all the support! A reminder that my first novel FORGET ME NOT comes out this week in the US, and is already out in the UK and Germany!
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Subject: Re: re: I feel like a failure some days
Dear Nick,
Thank you for the advice. You may have given me an idea. I would hate to pivot, but it's possible I can do so for just a short amount of time while I continue to work on making my own products to sell. Maybe in the new year I'll have enough stock.
I'm sorry that the topic of my clothing store has never come up. I think I'm still stuck trying to keep strangers on the internet at a distance, when really, you are the only one I tell certain things to.
I'm taking your advice and going to check out the competition (of sorts). I've never been in this other shop, so it will be interesting to learn more about what is making them successful.
Successfully yours,
Jane
Hermione spent the next two weeks working with Neville to renovate the store. The plan was to have a grand opening in the last week of July, with plenty of time for Minerva to guide the First Year Muggle-born students to Foxglove and Belladonna on their first trip to Diagon Alley. But the problem with planning a grand opening was that it had to be grand, in a way. Which meant that everything needed to not only be ready, but it had to be perfect.
Neville had the unfortunate job of discovering the Wormites eating away the floorboards behind the old register. Replacing that floor was an extra hundred Galleons that Hermione hadn't expected to spend.
The good thing about being in the store working out all the bugs — figuratively and literally — was that Hermione got a chance to see what the foot traffic would be like for them. Many nosy witches and wizards knocked on the windows, asking questions about what kind of store this would be and when it would open. There were some who mentioned the odd proximity to the other apothecary, allowing Hermione to expound on why Foxglove and Belladonna was "much more than an apothecary," including a well-timed point to the sign in the window. But there were others who leaned in and whispered, "So glad you're here, Miss Granger. Someone needs to push that family out of Diagon Alley," with a sharp glare at Black Apothecary. "I thought the Black family was bad enough there, but now a Malfoy, too?"
The other thing that the renovations allowed was a chance to watch Malfoy's store. He maintained a heavy flow of customers on the weekends, but the weekdays were slower, as to be expected. The thing that surprised her was how happy everyone looked when leaving. Was the Malfoy charm really that good? It only reinforced her resolve to spy on Black Apothecary, and see exactly what was going right for them.
Procuring the right strand of hair for such a strange endeavor was difficult. It wasn't that Hermione was too picky about what kind of person she'd like to look like for an hour under Polyjuice. (She'd become half-cat once, for Merlin's sake.) It was more that she knew she would be dealing directly with Malfoy during that hour, and she didn't want to tip him off.
She was purposefully going to visit Black Apothecary on Luna's day off. Luna had a way of seeing through you sometimes, as if she was perpetually wearing her Spectrespecs, and Hermione couldn't chance Luna saying, "Hello, Hermione" the second she walked through the door.
She spent a few hours in Muggle London over the weekend looking for a girl about her own age. She already had a plan for it. She would be a Muggle-born who went to Ilvermorny, just moved to the U.K. She knew a rather advanced charm to change the speaker's dialect completely, including accent and even sometimes word choice.
A girl with brown hair a few shades lighter than hers had stepped in front of her in Borough Market, checking one of the stalls. She had a stray strand of hair on her jacket, and Hermione tugged it off before she even had a chance to more closely examine the girl. Now, staring at her new reflection with the disgusting taste of the potion still on her tongue, Hermione wished she had looked at her more closely.
She was uncommonly pretty. Her hair curled softly instead of wildly, her waist was trim instead of boxy, and her freckles were placed divinely instead of smattered about. Hermione wondered if this would be to her advantage in some way. Perhaps she'd distract Malfoy so much that she'd trick him into revealing even more.
Hermione cast the Dialect Charm and even tried to do something about how stunningly beautiful the Muggle girl's blue eyes were, before just letting it alone and heading out the door. She Apparated into Diagon Alley and almost took a detour to the bookstore when she saw a sign advertising a sale, before remembering she had less than an hour to get in and out of Black Apothecary.
Taking a deep breath, Hermione tugged open the door to Malfoy's store, noting with annoyance that his door didn't stick and moan like hers did.
First lesson: Find an Anti-Rust Charm.
She stopped at the threshold, finding exactly what she expected from a shop owned by Draco Malfoy, but also some surprises.
The walls were a black wainscoting, casting a bleak darkness all throughout the wide single room. But there were also plants in every corner, every shelf, every spare space. A cursory glance told her that some were important for potion-making, and their leaves could be trimmed right from the stem and sold, but there were also just decorative ones. The sconces cast a soft amber over the space, and there was a melody playing softly. There was only one other person in the store — an older woman with an aristocratic posture. She was near the windows, looking over several jars.
Hermione had never been inside Black Apothecary. When McGonagall had taken her into Diagon Alley the month before Hogwarts started, she'd steered her to Olde Apothecary with its creaky floors and chipped wooden counters. It was very friendly and homey, but also ill-designed and with little cohesion. She'd seen the Black Apothecary storefront an hour later and asked McGonagall about it. Minerva had said, "Yes, it's another one." She'd sniffed. "You'll do better to patronize the Olde Apothecary instead. They are much more welcoming."
So, even though Hermione had always seen glances through the windows of Black Apothecary, she had never expected just how—how cheery it really was. She was hesitant to think it, but the experience of walking into Black Apothecary was the precise experience she hoped her own clientele would have at Foxglove and Belladonna. Warm and subtle.
And before she could shake herself for that thought, the blond head she'd been ignoring lifted, and Draco Malfoy's eyes landed on her. He was seated behind the register to the left on a tall stool. She thought she was prepared for this encounter, but seeing him in the service industry almost humbled him. He wasn't peacocking throughout the shop. He was calmly waiting for a customer — waiting because he was in need of a customer. The older woman looked like she was simply browsing. He wasn't above anyone else who stepped through these doors, and he knew it.
Nothing made that clearer than seeing his eyes soften and his lips curve into a pleasant smile she'd never seen on him before.
"Welcome," he said warmly.
Hermione almost turned and ran.
She cleared her throat. "Hey, yeah," her vocal charm said in an American accent. She leaned into it and said, "Wow, this store is really cute."
Hermione thought she sounded like an idiot, but Malfoy's smile widened. "Thank you. I tried to make it less dreary when I took over."
She pushed her unfamiliar hair over her shoulder and said, "No way, are you the owner?"
"I am. It was my grandfather's and his grandfather's before that." Malfoy stood and came around the counter. "Draco," he said, extending his hand.
Hermione bit down on her tongue to keep her laugh in her throat. She stepped forward and slipped her hand into his. His skin was warm, and he had callouses from Quidditch, but his hand was still soft. She hated to admit it, but he was really quite handsome when he wasn't scowling at her. She wondered if he refrained from giving his last name to keep the knowing look from crossing strangers' faces, or if he thought his first name alone was enough for even Americans to recognize him.
She hesitated before choosing her standard alias. "Jane. Good to meet you."
Something flickered behind his eyes, and he held onto her hand for a moment too long. She'd given herself away somehow. She just knew she had. Malfoy stared at her like he could see under her skin.
She dropped his hand. He blinked.
"What brings you in today, Jane?"
There was a calculation to his words, like he was interrogating her. Hermione smiled brightly at him and decided to keep up the ruse. She could be misreading his face and his voice. There was no reason that he would think she was Hermione Granger in disguise.
"I'm refilling my ingredients. I didn't take much with me from the States."
"You recently came to London, then?" he asked.
"Yeah." She shifted her purse on her shoulder. "Just last week."
There was something about those words that worked on him. Any suspicion he had, disappeared.
"We have some standard ingredient sets, mainly directed to those just starting Hogwarts." He led her toward the far wall of the store. "I assume you went to Ilvermorny?" he said, conversationally.
"Yeah. It was a difficult transition, totally." She ran her eyes over the ingredient sets, waiting to see if he took the bait.
"You were Muggle-born, then. No-Maj?"
The older woman near the window coughed, and Hermione caught her shaking her head. Malfoy's eyes slid to the woman, before coming back to Hermione.
"Yeah. My parents are state employees. We didn't have any wizards or witches in the family!"
Malfoy's lips turned upwards in what might have been a friendly smile. She wasn't sure. She'd never seen it before.
"Well, we have all the basics here." Malfoy led her to the ingredients lining the walls. "Spine of Lionfish, bat spleens, bezoars. We have African sea salt here, but I'd actually recommend Himalayan sea salt if you brew the Draught of Living Death often."
Hermione was surprised. She would give the same recommendation. "Why is that?" she tested him.
"Higher potency," he said. "And you can use half as much for the same effect. It's also a catch-all for any sea salt, so you'll be saving money in the long term by switching over."
She stared at him. He wasn't bragging, but he was happy to share the information. In school, he would have scoffed at her, looking down his nose as he explained why his ways were superior. Hermione wondered if Luna was right — if he really had changed. Or if it was "Jane" that was bringing about this pleasant conversation.
"Wow, I didn't know that," she said, listening to Jane's American voice twist her own inflections into something incredibly vapid.
The older woman at the front muttered, "Of course not." Her nose was in the air and her brow was arched in familiar pure-blood superiority.
"Mrs. Thornbury," Malfoy said, moving toward her. "Did you decide on which leaves and stems you would like cut? Can I assist you?"
He left Hermione's side, and she watched him from the corner of her eye as he took the older woman to the register. Hermione found a hook on the wall with small tote bags emblazoned with the Black Apothecary logo, meant for customers to fill, much like the plastic bags at the grocers.
Efficient, she thought. It was a far better organization system than she saw at Olde Apothecary, where newt eyes and salamander tongues were simply floated over to the register, passing far too closely to other customers when the shop was busy.
She filled the tote with just a few things that someone would need if they were away from home for a bit.
Malfoy and the older woman were speaking softly to each other, but just then, Hermione heard, "Your grandfather knew how to run a tidy shop, Draco. He wouldn't have encouraged this."
Hermione turned over her shoulder. The woman's eyes were on her like she was an urchin stealing apples from a street cart. Malfoy's ears were pink.
"I'm afraid it's time for you to go, Mrs. Thornbury," Malfoy's cold voice said.
The older woman sputtered. Hermione's brows jumped up her forehead.
"Excuse me?"
"All customers are welcome here. I've made that perfectly clear."
Mrs. Thornbury narrowed her eyes at him. "Cygnus would be so ashamed to see his store so polluted."
"Cygnus is dead," Malfoy snapped. He extended the tote bag with her purchases in her direction. "Good day. Please consider visiting Olde Apothecary the next time you are low on supplies."
Hermione felt her mouth fall open, a perfect mirror of Mrs. Thornbury's own face.
"Well, I never!" Snatching up her purchases, Mrs. Thornbury stormed out, slamming the door behind her.
Hermione spun back to the Shrivelfigs, selecting a few to occupy her hands. A heat had stolen up her cheeks. It wasn't that she was embarrassed — she had experienced far worse prejudice in her life, mostly at the hands of the man whose eyes she refused to meet just now — but it was perplexing to be so thrown off course.
He's not all that bad, you know… I think his attitudes have changed.
Isn't that what Luna had said? And even though Hermione had just seen it first-hand, she still felt like there was an ulterior motive at play. There had to be.
"Apologies," Malfoy's deep voice hummed from behind her. "I hope you aren't uncomfortable."
Maybe he thought a potential customer was made to feel uncomfortable, and that was worth the change of heart.
Hermione turned around. "Oh, I get it. Some people are stuck in their ways."
He nodded. His eyes were a clear grey. "Unfortunately, the previous owner was also stuck in his ways. I've tried to make changes."
She didn't know what to say to that. "Cool, yeah," the Dialect Charm dictated for her. "Some people suck."
Hermione wanted to vanish on the spot, but Malfoy laughed. His eyes crinkled and his lips parted so wide, she could see his bicuspids.
"They do. Suck," he said.
Hermione felt her skin tingling with something… unpleasant, maybe. She decided to pry a bit.
"It's cool you're so progressive, considering your family's opinions."
She regretted it immediately. It was a loaded statement, implying so much more than "Jane" would know.
Malfoy's eyes flickered. "Ah, so you've heard about my family."
Hermione was going to be found out. She needed to get out of the shop quickly. She tried to misdirect him. "Yeah, I mean, there's not that many 'Dracos' in the U.S., but like…yeah we knew who you were at Ilvermorny." And then, "A lot of girls knew who you were."
Her stomach dropped. She felt her cheeks catch fire.
There was something wrong with the Dialect Charm. It was taking certain liberties with her intentions. A lot of girls knew who you were had not been the message she had wanted to convey, but the charm had taken the idea and made it rather American. Girls in the States were much more forward, and apparently that's exactly what the Dialect Charm was helping her to be.
Hermione did everything in her power to act as if she'd meant to openly flirt with Draco Malfoy. His lips twitched. And his eyes fell to her mouth so quickly, she thought she imagined it.
Again, she regretted taking "Jane's" hair. What reason did she have to be such an attractive girl for this mission? It was not her objective at all.
"Good to know," Malfoy said softly, voice low and deep.
Hermione cleared her throat. "So, like, Himalayan salt. Is it good in the Botrusberth potion too?" She knew the answer. She wanted to know if he knew the answer.
"Ah," he said. "That would be possibly the one exception. African sea salt would be best in a Botrusberth." He slipped his hands into his pockets. "That's quite a specific potion. Did you take the advanced classes at school?"
"I did," she said. "I don't have much time for brewing these days, but I loved it."
"Me as well. I'd have loved to teach or maybe brew for St Mungo's, if I didn't have the shop."
Hermione blinked at him. "You have to have a license or something over here, right?"
"Yes. It took me a few years, but I have it."
She stared at him. Draco Malfoy was a licensed potioneer? Why hadn't she known? He would have popped up on the list when she was searching it, but that was last year.
"When did you get it?" she asked, a bit too sharply. "What program did you take?"
He didn't seem to notice her strange interest. Instead, he took her tote bag, offering to begin ringing her up. "End of last year. It's a work from home program with monthly check-ins."
That was her exact program. She bristled. She followed him to the register and watched his hands sort the items.
"It's a four-year program, but I was able to squeeze it into two years." Malfoy finished adding up the numbers, and took her extended seven Galleons. "But I had a lot of time on my hands right after the war. I suppose if the girls at Ilvermorny really had heard of me," he said with a cheeky grin, "then perhaps you already knew that."
He was flirting with her… about his time in Azkaban and subsequent parole. Hermione was completely flustered. And she was still upset to learn that he'd completed her very same program, also in record time.
"That's very impressive," she said, and unfortunately "Jane" decided to say it suggestively. She added a smile.
Malfoy tilted his head at her, and his tongue wet his lips. "How long do you plan to be in London, Jane?"
Hermione swallowed. Oh, Merlin.
"Just a month. I'm visiting family," she said quickly.
He let his eyes linger on her for a moment too long before saying, "That's a shame. I hope you'll come back soon."
In for a penny, in for a pound. "I know I will," she said, allowing Jane's American accent to twist around the words seductively.
"And if there's anything else you need," he said, offering her the bag and slipping a business card across the counter to her. "Ingredients or anything else." His voice was dripping with promise. It was enough to flush her cheeks with color.
"I'll keep you in mind," she said, matching his tone.
Hermione took her bag, eager to leave before this escalated too far. But there was one more thing she had hoped to gather intel on.
"Oh, is there a new shop going in across the street," she said, pointing to the Foxglove and Belladonna storefront. The official sign had just gone up yesterday. "'Much more than an apothecary,'" she read.
Malfoy sighed dramatically. "Yes. Some healthy competition."
"Are you, like, going to be alright?" Hermione said. "Business is good?"
He waved his hand. "Very good. Nothing to worry about. If anyone should worry, it's her."
"Oh? Why's that?"
"She's completely out of her depths," Malfoy said simply. "She mistakes consumerism with activism. Most people just need a convenient place to buy things, not to learn things. And besides," he said, leaning his elbows on the counter. "Her store is opening in three weeks and I haven't heard a thing about it in the papers. She has no idea what she's doing."
Hermione bit down on her tongue and pressed her lips into a smile. "Well, it sounds like she's pretty brave to try something new."
Malfoy shrugged. "Time will tell. I'm not worried."
"Glad to hear it. See you later," she said. And she blamed it on the charm when her voice added, "Draco."
She smirked at him as she left, already drafting a press release to the Prophet in her head, and planning exactly how she'd take down Draco Malfoy and Black Apothecary.
Subject: Proper Flirting
Dear Jane,
When was the last time you were properly pursued? I found myself completely caught off guard by a woman today. It was thrilling. I wanted to talk to her for hours and hours.
It has been so long since the last time I truly flirted with someone. I felt rusty.
But even though I really enjoyed this woman, honestly Jane, I was distracted with thoughts of you. Forgive my forwardness. I don't wish to make you uncomfortable, so please tell me to not speak of this again if that's what you want.
I feel like our conversations on email are the closest I've gotten to proper flirting in months. I just wanted to know if you felt the same.
Properly yours,
Nick
Hermione stared at the words, heart beating fast. She'd gone on a whirlwind of emotions while reading the email.
Nick was talking about a woman, which was so unheard of for them. He'd tell her funny stories about bad dates he'd gone on, sure. But he'd never waxed poetic about someone.
But then, before the jealousy could really rise in her, she'd melted like butter. He did think they were flirting over email. She was elated. She wasn't sure she'd ever have a real relationship with Nick, but it made her heart skip to hear that he reciprocated.
She began to respond.
Subject: Re: Proper Flirting
Dear Nick,
Funny you should ask, I was pursued just today by someone I wanted nothing to do with. It certainly was proper flirting. He was a master. But I don't like him at all.
Not the way I like you.
I do consider our emails to be the closest thing I've had to flirting — enjoyable flirting. Because I do enjoy it.
At the risk of sounding too forward myself — Don't worry. You can speak of this again.
Forwardly yours,
Jane
Hermione was blushing by the time the email left her outbox. Was she truly encouraging this from a man she didn't know? But she did know Nick. She knew him quite well. She knew his favorite books and his favorite foods. She knew he was a "try anything once" type of person, and how that led to hilarious results. And she knew that she liked him. Most of all.
She turned off her computer, and went to dress for the Daily Prophet gala she was attending that evening. Harry was on a case that would keep him away overnight, so Ginny had asked Hermione to accompany her.
"It's not really that big of a deal," Ginny said, as they approached the front door. "I'm just glad to be invited."
"It sounds like it's a great honor to be on the list for things like this!" Hermione said. She saw how Ginny kept fussing with her handbag. "I'm sure the editors at the Prophet consider you to be one of their star writers."
Ginny waved away the compliment, and Hermione pinched her side.
When the door opened for them, Ginny was immediately whisked away into conversation. Hermione was fine being alone. She was usually the one trying to extricate herself from strangers at these things.
She had just spotted the table with a delicious spread of hors d'oeuvres when a flash of blond hair caught her eye.
Draco Malfoy was standing next to the senior editor of the Daily Prophet, engaging him in what looked like a serious conversation. The editor was prompting Malfoy to answer questions, all of which Malfoy responded to with passionate yet subtle replies.
Hermione had a sneaking suspicion as to what they were discussing and as to what Draco Malfoy was doing at the party to begin with. She moved closer, standing behind a large potted plant and starting to pick at the table of food.
"...hundreds of years. It's highly unlikely that one pesky new storefront could affect us," Malfoy was saying. "If anything could cause a decrease in business, it's my new policy on customer discrimination. Black Apothecary is very welcome to all types of witches and wizards, and any negative commentary from other customers is completely prohibited."
Hermione pressed her lips together. She hated that he was preaching a new mission statement to the senior editor of the Prophet almost as much as the fact that he wasn't lying about it. She'd seen it firsthand earlier that day.
"Fascinating, yes," the editor said. His name was Gardner, she remembered. "And do you think your new policy is widely known? Will it be difficult to let on that there's been a change?"
"Possibly," Malfoy said. "What I've learned from all my experiences making the wrong choices is that actions do indeed speak louder than words. Customers will have to see it for themselves, if only they could get into the store."
"Yes, I see. Have you met Matthews? I think he'd be the perfect one to write up a column on Black Apothecary—"
Hermione couldn't let that happen. Malfoy could kill Foxglove and Belladonna with one well-worded interview. She stepped forward around the plant and said, "Mr. Gardner. A pleasure seeing you." She extended her hand and ignored Malfoy entirely. "You must remember when you sat down with Harry Potter, Ron Weasley, and I at the one-year anniversary of the final battle. That was an excellent article."
Mr. Gardner had that same star-struck look in his eyes that he'd had that day. Take that, Malfoy.
"Miss Hermione Granger! I didn't know you'd be here! What a delightful surprise. Can I get you something to drink?"
"I'd love a glass, thank you," she said with a simpering grin. "I can't wait to catch up!"
Mr. Gardner zoomed to the kitchen, and Hermione turned her batting lashes on Malfoy. He was scowling so deeply she thought his mouth would drip right off his face.
"Well, that would have been a very interesting and informative interview," she said. "What a shame Mr. Gardner didn't get a chance to follow through on that introduction for you."
She turned away from him and grabbed a small plate for the hors d'oeuvres. A shadow fell over her shoulder.
"It's no matter. Black Apothecary has been around for hundreds of years. We don't need new publicity. We aren't attempting to be much else than an apothecary."
She frowned at the weaponization of her slogan. "Oh, that's lovely then. Foxglove and Belladonna doesn't need much publicity either." She lifted her head and smiled confidently at him. "We have me." His lips twisted. "It's quite easy to get support for your endeavors when you're a war hero. You'll have to try it sometime."
With a fake smile, she turned to the food. She scooped some lettuce leaves onto her plate, looking for a dressing.
"What… That is a garnish, not a salad," Malfoy sneered from her left. She ignored him. "You can't just take all the garnish."
She met his gaze, and with a haughty look, scooped up all of the lettuce leaves.
She could tell she was sinning against his pure-blooded ways. She grabbed a fork and began eating the lettuce plain, staring down his disgusted expression.
"Why in god's name does owning a business interest you, Granger?" he asked, filling his own plate. "Shouldn't you be knitting scarves for house-elves or giving dragons pedicures. I thought you were someone who wanted to make the world a better place."
"Foxglove and Belladonna will make the world a better place. I want to create a community of learning and tolerance. We will be teaching classes and helping people become better potioneers. And we will be available for all Muggle-borns and Squibs."
Malfoy scoffed. "Squibs? You mean to teach them the exactly fourteen potions one could brew without magic?"
She sputtered. Fourteen was precisely correct. "Yes, I do. Fourteen is better than nothing. Think of how nice it would be to be a part of this society in any way you can. As an outsider myself—"
"Oh, here we go," Malfoy said, laughing. "Yes, please, Granger. Tell us all about being an outsider. Tell us what it's like to have the senior editor of the Prophet mix you a drink the second you walk into a room—"
"I earned Mr. Gardner's respect. I wasn't born with it," she hissed. "My stores will make Muggle-borns and Squibs feel welcome in their communities—"
His eyes snapped up to her. "Stores? You… You're going to franchise?"
She straightened, brushing imaginary lint off her robes. "Yes. That's the plan."
His eyes darkened. "Let me get this straight. You say you want to serve these communities — that you'll improve them — but you will be shutting down centuries old shops and family businesses in the process?"
She felt heat rush into her cheeks. That wasn't it at all.
"You've severely misinterpreted my business. Again. There is always space for more businesses with these ideals—"
"Where to next?" he snarled. "Hogsmeade? Will you put Mrs. Seymour out of business? The woman whose son ran to the castle as soon as he heard the explosions. The mother of the man who gave his life for Potter's war—"
"Well, I'm certainly glad the owners of Black Apothecary are still around. I wonder why that is."
Hermione was fuming with rage. She was standing so close to him, she could feel his breath puff across her forehead.
"Hermione!" Ginny's too chipper voice rang out next to her. Ginny looped her arm through hers, and tried to direct her away. "Mr. Gardner wanted me to give you this drink. I think we're done discussing business with Malfoy, yes?"
Malfoy ignored Ginny's presence altogether. "You are underestimating a very important part in this scheme, Granger."
"And what is that?"
"The Malfoy name is still respected by many. The Black name by even more. You are an outsider still to many people who shop in Diagon Alley. There will be thousands of witches and wizards who won't want a single thing you've touched—"
"How dare—"
"Malfoy, that's enough," Ginny said.
He continued, "And you know where they will buy their potion supplies? Me. Because I am a trusted name. A known commodity."
Hermione's mouth moved faster than her mind, and even without the Dialect Charm, she was able to find "Jane's" nasal twang. "Yes, everyone knows Draco Malfoy. All the girls at Ilvermorny know your name."
Malfoy blinked at her, words finally leaving him. Hermione didn't even care that she'd given herself up. It was delicious to see his cheeks blush.
"You…" Malfoy snapped his jaw shut. Hermione smirked.
Ginny was completely confused, but she managed to say, "Well, shall we? Hermione?"
Malfoy stepped forward, finding his rage again. "You came in to spy on me?"
"Not at all," Hermione said cheerily. "I just was interested in your new discrimination policy. Actions do speak louder than words. You did handle the situation with Mrs. Thornbury well, I have to compliment you. It was a welcome change to see you stand up for a Muggle-born, Malfoy, but… was Thornbury one of those thousands of customers? The ones who will never set foot in my shop?" She tapped her chin playfully. "Hm. I do wonder how you'll manage to keep the shop open if you turn away all of your trusted clientele."
She'd rendered him speechless again. She was ready to go with Ginny, but suddenly, Malfoy's face changed. As if he'd found an angle to exploit.
"You must be so concerned, Granger," he said. "Resorting to flirting with me to get information?" He tutted.
"Concerned? No. But I have to say it was so very disconcerting to see the full force of Draco Malfoy's attraction turned in my direction. I needed a shower when I got home."
"A cold one, I presume. You were gagging for it. I could hardly get you out of my shop, you were so hot for me."
Hermione's jaw dropped.
"Alright!" Ginny finally cut in again. "I think we've had enough! Hermione and I will be going to the other side of the room."
Hermione allowed herself to be dragged. She held tight to her plate of lettuce, listening to her teeth grind in her mouth.
"Merlin, Hermione," Ginny said. "What did I miss?"
Hermione glanced over her shoulder in Malfoy's direction. He was watching them walk away with a shrewd look of scheming on his face.
"I'm taking him down, Ginny," Hermione said. "I'll have Black Apothecary closed by the end of the year, mark my words. I just need your help in the newspapers."