AN: Hi all! Long time, no see! I have found inspiration for this story and my Hermione/Antonin story (which is being posted under the name In the Aftermath) on AO3. I started publishing these stories there under the same username! I decided to also go ahead and update here as well. It has been a long time; I've gotten a bit older as well lol So please enjoy! Please also feel free to follow these stories under AO3 as well! All the best!
The bar rang loud with some popular dance song, and the cigarette haze that was ever present had become mingled with sweat and alcohol.
Saturdays, despite being one of the busiest nights of the week, were Hermione's favorite days to work. Patrons entering the bar were always very interesting creatures, all with complex paths and stories that led them to that exact moment in time. These people were raw and real. As a bartender, she almost always ended up with an ear for the most intriguing stories.
Hermione scanned the crowd and was almost disappointed when she didn't see the hulking figure of Thorfinn Rowle. However, she couldn't dwell on this feeling for long, as she had a large crowd of people waiting for her to serve them.
Mixing drinks was like brewing a potion. At least, that's what Hermione equated it to. That was part of the appeal to the job. Along with the job being one that could accommodate her odd hours while attending university.
When she was younger, and much more naïve, she would have scoffed at those who wasted their talents. Who did not hold a set path of what they wished to do in the future? Looking back, Hermione wished she had been more open-minded to alternative career paths. Sometimes, when she felt particularly sorry for herself, she missed the uncertainty of the war. No one knew what was going to happen. No one truly had their lives together.
"Granger!" A voice boomed. She perked up almost immediately to see Thorfinn Rowle sauntering towards her bar. She gave an exasperated smile and gestured towards the drinks she was in the middle of preparing. Thorfinn nodded, and said nothing, taking a seat at the bar.
Once the crowd seemed to dissipate, Hermione turned her attention to Thorfinn. She ran a hand across her head to get rid of an accumulating sweat.
"Rowle," She greeted, a small smile gracing her lips. Thorfinn sent her what he likely believed to be a dazzling smile. Perhaps it was a tad dazzling. She would never tell him that though.
"I've been thinking," He started. However, Hermione scrunched her eyebrows in confusion, unable to hear half of what he said. The music, some American dance song, had begun to blast in full force. The passion and lust and excitement in the room had picked up. The bar's night was in full swing.
"What?" She shouted back, motioning towards her ears.
"I've been thinking," He said, louder this time. However, Hermione was still hard of hearing, only shaking her head in response. Understanding the problem, Rowle motioned her to come closer. Hesitantly, Hermione leaned over the bar.
"I've been thinking," Rowle stated for the third time, his face inches from her own. His warm breath smelled of spiced whiskey, which seemed fitting given his overall rugged appearance. Hermione could do nothing but blink, caught up in how close she was to the large man.
"Is thinking a new concept for you?" Hermione breathed out, her quip having less bite than usual due to the proximity to the large man. Rowle seemed to become all too aware of how close he was to her, as she noticed his eyes widen for only a second (had she not been so close to him she wouldn't have noticed) before they adopted a mischievous glint.
"Hilarious Granger, I'd appreciate that drink now," He smirked, disregarding his prior topic of conversation. Hermione rolled her eyes and pulled away from him, huffing.
"Arsehole," She muttered. Thorfinn chuckled and winked at the fuming witch. "I'm going to at least pick what you get."
Hermione turned her attention away from the blond wizard and fixed two drinks: one shot and an Old Fashioned. She glanced over her shoulder at Thorfinn, hoping he didn't see her discretely pull her wand from the hiding place in her sleeve and cast something over the shot glass.
"On the house," Hermione said, turning back to Thorfinn.
"Two? Did you poison one Sweetheart?" He asked, an eyebrow raised cautiously.
"Of course, I did. It's a part of my plan." Hermione snorted, mirth dancing in her eyes. Thorfinn shrugged his shoulders and downed the shot. The face of shock he made was almost comical.
"Fuck Granger, you could've told me my breath smelled instead of giving me toothpaste."
"That's a Mint shot. It's a favorite of mine," Hermione laughed. Mint liqueur wasn't everyone's cup of tea, but in an odd way it reminded her of her parents; the burning mint was reminiscent of a childhood spent in the dentist's office (with a nice burn after taste just so she could quickly remember how badly thinking of her childhood stung)
"To think I thought we really could be friends. That might be deal breaker." Thorfinn remarked, taking a sip from his whiskey glass. Hermione only grinned and turned to her other customers.
The night progressed the way most Saturdays did. Hermione tended her section of the bar, making the occasional small talk with Thorfinn when she had a chance. Sometimes she would look over while making a drink to see Thorfinn talking to various beautiful women, leaving Hermione with a slight twinge of envy. The envy didn't last long though, because as soon as Thorfinn smiled at the girls, they would immediately feign an excuse of having to leave.
As the night began to wind down, Hermione leaned against the bar, amused as Thorfinn struck out once again.
"What the fuck," He muttered. Hermione began to giggle, finally deciding that maybe enough was enough. She grabbed a spoon and handed it to him.
"Maybe you have something one your face." She asked innocently. Thorfinn snatched the spoon from her hand and began to examine his features. He opened his mouth and looked at the spoon.
"What the fuck is happening tonight, Granger," He questioned. Hermione could only laugh harder.
Thorfinn's teeth were mint green. Not that he knew that was the current source of his misfortune.
"I've always loved a good mint shot," She said, barely able to speak through the laughs. Under the bar, she flicked her wand to remove the spell. Feeling the smallest tinge of pity (terribly small, virtually non-existent) she began to poor him another glass of whiskey.
"Oh, you're gonna pay Granger," Thorfinn said, eyes narrowed. As much as he wanted to be mad at the witch, he couldn't. His ego was left slightly less bruised knowing that he hadn't lost his charm but instead the victim of a Gryffindor prank.
Hermione snorted and handed him the glass of whiskey, "I'd like to see you try."
Thorfinn shrugged, a suspiciously innocent look taking over his features. "Are you sure you didn't charm my teeth because you had some hint of jealousy?"
Hermione sputtered. "And just what, Thorfinn Rowle, do I have to be jealous of?"
"My attention, or lack thereof." He replied, giving her a wink. Hermione felt her face flush involuntarily. There was absolutely no way there was any merit to his claim (even though only a few hours before she had felt a certain green-eyed monster flair up in her subconscious. Rowle did not need to know that though.).
"You give yourself too much credit, Rowle," She replied, rolling her eyes and turning towards another customer who was awaiting service. Thorfinn chuckled, taking a sip of his whiskey.
"If you say so, Sweetheart." He answered, pulling muggle money from his pocket and laying it on the counter. He could see her watching him out of the corner of her eyes, failing at an attempt at subtlety. He winked at her and watched a flush blossom on her check. "Have a good night, Granger."
He downed the glass of whiskey and made his way out of the bar and into the cool night air.
The next morning, Thorfinn was awoken by the incessant banging of an owl beak on his window. The sun was shining, too bright in Thorfinn's opinion. His head was pounding (courtesy of Granger and her ever plenty supply of whiskey). He huffed and threw the comforter over his head.
The owl increased its efforts in being utterly annoying.
"Fuck," He groaned, jumping up from the bed and making his way towards the window clad in only in pajama bottoms and his hair in a wild mane around his head.
He opened the window and was met with the judgmental eyes of an owl who held a ministry letter in its beak. Thorfinn took the letter from the owl's mouth.
"Any reason you had to deliver this bright and early on a Sunday?" He grumbled, tearing into the letter. The owl squawked and pecked him hard on hand.
"Fuck, piss-off bird," Thorfinn exclaimed, making a "shoo-ing" motion with his hands. The owl glared at him (could owls glare?) and flew away from the window.
Thorfinn rubbed at the place on his hand the bird pecked at him and sighed. He opened the letter and frowned.
Dear Mr. Thorfinn Rowle,
Your appeal to the Wizengamot has been denied. By Ministry decree under law 13,754 subsection 5: The house seat to the Wizengamot will fall to the oldest heir in the event of death, incarceration, or other unspecified acts of nature that prevent the current seat holder from resuming their post. In the event of the oldest heir being ineligible to hold the seat due to death, incarceration, parole, or other unspecified acts of nature, the family seat will fall to the next in line. If there is no other heir in line to the family seat, the seat will fall to the first heir pending Wizengamot and Minister approval.
Kiernan Rowle will be eligible for the Rowle Family seat in the Wizengamot after successful completion of the Hogwarts curriculum and subsequent graduation from school. You have been denied as heir to the Rowle family seat due to:
Incompletion of your parole sentence Another heir available to take over the seat upon graduationBest Regards,
Undersecretary to the Minister for Magic, Jane Williams
Thorfinn stared at the letter in his hand, rage building the longer he held the damned thing. He ripped it in half and threw it to the floor.
"Fuck," He muttered as he sat on the end of his bed resting his head in his hands. He knew he needed to send a letter to Kiernan to let him know they appeal had been denied but he didn't want to right now.
The spring half of school had just started and Thor knew how easily Kiernan became stressed by school. He didn't want to add any additional burden. Kiernan was a good kid, much better than Thor had ever been. Kiernan had been sorted into Hufflepuff and had flourished under the kindness of his hosuemates. While Thor had no doubt that Kiernan would be a great representative of the Rowle Family, that was a lot of responsibility to place on the shoulders of a 16-year-old kid (one who much preferred to spend hours in the garden than dare step inside a ministry chamber).
Thor sighed and fell back into bed, closing his eyes to sleep off his Granger-induced hangover.
The next few days passed slowly. He spent most of his time at the bakery dodging Aunt Della, who knew a ministry answer about the appeal would be coming any day now.
Della had been everything Thor needed after being released from the war. His father had died during his imprisonment and his mother had taken his father's death badly. She sometimes felt more like a ghost than a person. Thor had also felt great shame in those early days, as his mother had been in the dark at his extent of involvement in the war effort until after the war was over. Of course, the Rowle family had its own prejudices being an old pureblood family, and did give financial contributions to the war effort (it was expected of them in their societal circles after all). Yet, the news of Thor taking a dark mark had been a shock to the family.
He didn't believe in blood supremacy, not really. And yet as a young Slytherin surrounded by certain ideals of traditionalism, Thor had found himself sucked into the "glory" he could one day earn if he rose in the ranks. Thank the gods he was a terrible subordinate. He quickly learned that the organization he joined and pledged his life to did not live up to his values or expectations at all.
And that's where he found Della. He had just been released and too ashamed to face his mother and 12-year-old Kiernan at the time. He had known his father had a squib sister who was seen as the "shame" of the family by his grandfather. He had known that she had assimilated into the muggle world with ease. And he was desperate.
He showed up on the steps of the bakery, as though he were a kitten thrown out into the streets. She had seen him out the door and let him in.
"You look just like your father," She had stated, handing him an apron and hair tie to pull his mane out of his face. He followed her like a lost puppy through the bakery.
"Rowles take care of their own," She had muttered though the words unspoken were not lost on Thorfinn. Unlike how they didn't take care of me.
And that was that.
It was a Wednesday afternoon and Thorfinn found himself icing a cake. The cake was a simple vanilla with a heavy almond flavor mixed in and topped with a plain buttercream. He found the act of icing a cake to be calming. In the beginning, when Della had found his baking talents lacking, Thor hated icing anything. He was impatient and the process required a steady, skilled hand (which he did not possess). It took years of foul arguments and curses for him to finally come to a truce with the icing piping bag. He was in the middle of pipetting a swirl tip on the top of the cake when the front doorbell rang and a mop of curly hair entered the bakery.
Granger stood in the entryway, a somewhat bashful expression on her face. She was dressed for the cool January weather complete with a large black overcoat, a red scarf, and bright purple gloves. He cheeks were flushed from the cold and her eyes were wide when she spotted him.
"Couldn't get enough of me, Granger?" Rowle joked, putting down the piping bag. Granger rolled her eyes and walked towards the counter, removing her bright purple gloves as she walked.
"You give yourself too much credit Rowle," She tsked, though a small smile graced her lips. "I actually was hoping I could buy a dessert to take to dinner tonight."
"Dinner?" He asked, raising an eyebrow. She began looking at the various desserts in the display case, biting her lip in thought.
"I have a weekly dinner with my friends every Wednesday where we get takeaway. It was my turn to buy this week." She replied, eyes still scanning the counter.
"And you plan to only feed your friends dessert?"
She rolled her eyes. "Of course not. I just enjoyed the bread so much I decided I wanted to try something else. I also wanted to thank your aunt for that if she's in today?"
"Della," He yelled to the back. Della emerged from the kitchen; flour was flung all around her in her typical fashion.
"Thorfinn Rowle you best be almost done icing that cake —Oh Ms. Granger what a pleasant surprise!" Della exclaimed, a smile gracing her features.
"Ms. Della, I just wanted to say thank you again for the bread from last week. It was wonderful."
"Of course, dear! It was so nice of you to stop by again today! I hope Thor wasn't giving you too much trouble," Della said cheekily, winking at Granger.
Granger flushed an even deeper red, indicating to Thorfinn that the redness of her cheeks was in fact not from the frigid January air.
"You're not giving me enough credit, Della."
"I give you too much credit, Thor," She replied, giving him a play swat on the back of the head.
Granger watched the scene with amusement, her arms folded in front of her. "No trouble at all, in fact, Thorfinn was just helping me find a dessert to take to a dinner I'm going to tonight."
Thorfinn. She called him Thorfinn (without Rowle attached to it and said in an obstinate tone). While he knew it was more for Della's benefit than his own, it made him feel something weird about Granger. Hermione? Hermione Granger. Ugh.
"Well, whenever Thor finishes up with that cake feel free to take it on the house."
Hermione shook her head. "Absolutely not, I will be paying for it this time."
She reached into her pocket, already pulling out muggle money in wads. Della turned towards him, eyebrow raised.
"You heard the girl, get back to work on the cake," Della ordered him, though her tone was good-natured. "It was good to see you again, Ms. Granger. Behave Thor."
"Likewise," Granger replied as Della made her way to the back.
"Behave?" Granger asked, an eyebrow raised.
He shrugged his shoulders. "I might have a knack for getting into trouble, especially with witches."
"Just finish the cake, Rowle."
He chucked and resumed piping the cake. "What friends are you seeing tonight?"
"While its not necessarily any of your business, its just Ginny, Harry, Ron, and George. We try and meet up at least once a week."
"Ah yes, the golden group."
She narrowed her eyes. "What's that supposed to mean."
"Oh nothing, nothing," He replied, putting the finishing touches on the cake. He grabbed a cake box and began the perilous task of packing the cake while not ruining the icing. "How would they appreciate knowing they're eating a cake made by a Death Eater?"
He was baiting her, trying to rile her up. Why? Who the fuck knows.
And yet, she didn't take it. "Honestly Rowle, they probably wouldn't believe that to be the truth anyways. Former Death Eater doesn't exactly scream "Cake Decorator" and
"Bread Baker"."
"I won't argue with you there, Granger. Best you not tell anyone about this, it would ruin my reputation."
"Yeah, I'm sure this," She said, gesturing around the shop, "Would be the thing to ruin your reputation."
He grinned and closed the cake box. She pushed the money towards him and grabbed the cake. "Have a good night, Rowle."
"You too, Granger." He replied. She was almost out the door when he remembered. "Don't apparate with that cake, it won't hold up well on travel."
She turned back towards him and smiled. "Noted. See you later Rowle."
Della seemed to have been listening for the front door bell to ring. She emerged from the kitchen with an air of mischief.
"It was very nice of her to come in, huh Thor?"
"Uh-huh," He replied, cleaning up his icing tools.
"She's very pretty."
"Uh-huh."
Della rolled her eyes and let out an exasperated sigh and left him to clean up his mess.