You've Got Owls!

You've Got Owls!

Ch. 2

"You've got style, that's what all the girls say-y/ satin sheets, and luxuries so fine! All your suits are custom made in London/ but I've got something that you'd really like!"

Hermione woke with a start to the intrusive whine of her wand, spewing today another crackling Madonna classic. Groggily stumbling to her feet, she clamored around the room, trying desperately to extricate herself from her bed sheets and find the obnoxious wand before one of her neighbors woke up.

"Gonna dress you up in my love! All over, all over. Gonna dress you up in my love! All over your body, from your head down to your toes..."

She spotted the slim brown wand on her desk and lunged, grabbing it. At the touch of her fingers, the spangling pop tune faded like a broken radio, and all was silence.

A bit peeved, Hermione proceeded through her tiny bedroom to the even tinier kitchenette next to her minimalist living room, and put on a pot of coffee. She grabbed her dressing gown, slung over a chair, and tied it up quickly. Out the window, the sky was bright and crisp, promising a sunny but nippy December day ahead. From her flat window, she could see the shopkeepers along Diagon Alley prepping for the busy holiday shopping day.

She got her steaming coffee and returned to her room, tripping over a loose floor tile while she did, and nearly careening into the wall. Muttering something angrily about her tiny paycheck, which resulted in a tiny flat (not to mention, practically falling apart) she made her way to the shower.

*

A dozen blocks north, in the elite residential district of Diagon Alley, someone else was just about to wake up.

Inside a large, glimmering new colonial mansion on the end of Rochester Drive, surrounded by acres of perfectly manicured emerald lawns and gated in high, wrought-iron, slept a tall, blonde man. His suite, located in the west wing of the home, was decorated with silver and green, with plush carpets, velvet coverlets, and satin curtains fringed with silver tassles. His bedside table was made of glossy chrome, and mirrors gilded every wall. A door to the left led into a large, expansive wardrobe, in which, each evening, suits of all designer brands were carefully pressed, perfumed and hung by a maid.

His curtains were drawn against the biting chill, and a servant had already been in to see that a roaring fire was present in the large, brick fire place. The man's breakfast (a neat jumble of all things expensive, healthy and gourmet) was sitting on a silver tray on the dark oak table by the bed, a pot of hot coffee (decaf, sugar and cream) nearby. He rolled over in his sleep, peacefully yawning, eyelids fluttering in innocent somnolence.

A bell rang softly from the pocket of his dressing gown, which hung next to the bed. Stretching, and muttering something unintelligible under his breath, he awoke.

"For Merlin's sake..." he grumbled, sitting up. "It cannot be morning already!" His silver eyes narrowed in their sharp slits, attempting to pierce the dim room. A hand swept out from under the sheets and grabbed the dressing gown, yanking it irritably from its hook. He snatched his wand out of the pocket, and the ringing stopped abruptly.

"Time," he called.

"It. Is. Seven. O'Clock. Master," a mechanical voice answered. He growled in bad temper and slid from his bed, cursing.

He took the pot of coffee in his hands and poured a cup. Slinging on his dressing down, he grabbed the cup and made his way to one of the huge windows swathed by curtains. Swinging the green and silver material to the side, he peered out onto the bright, shining street. He sipped his coffee delicately, watching as his neighbors gradually woke, and copies of the Daily Prophet dropped on doorsteps began to levitate and fly into open bedroom windows above. With a derisive laugh, the man allowed himself a slight sneer as one man could not seem to lift his paper, and was forced to run out into the biting cold, rubbing his bleary eyes, to fetch it.

"I'm going to take my bath," he spoke to no one in particular. "I want my best gray suit with the forest green lining waiting when I get out."

"Yes. Sir."

*

"Are you in the mood for bad news?" Vanessa asked as Hermione tumbled in on her broomstick. Huffing and gasping, the brunette wrestled herself off of it, held it at arms length and tossed it disdainfully into the closet. Whirling around, she faced her co-worker with a glare. "I take that as a no."

She grunted, and proceeded to try and remove the dirt on her robes, muttering something along the lines of, "Darn brooms...going all haywire like that..."

"Silver called a meeting of Auror heads at HQ today," Vanessa said. "The memo just arrived." Hermione turned and looked at her in disbelief.

"You're kidding me," she groaned.

"Sorry, kid," Vanessa said, shrugging. She slumped wearily against the wall, rubbing her temples.

"Eight o'clock and I've already been yelled at by my neighbors, been skipped by the Daily Prophet delivery owl (AGAIN) and beaten by my broomstick...now you're telling me I have to sit in the same room as that bastard...that prick...that insufferable git...Malfoy!" she exclaimed, spitting out the name in disgust.

"Oh come on," Vanessa smiled. "It can't be that bad. He is, after all, pretty hot." Hermione fixed her with a look of utter horror.

"Malfoy? Hot? Ferret Boy?" she gasped. Then, with a huff of resignation, she whirled around and stormed off to the owl room.

"Ferret boy?" Vanessa said, clearly confused.

Inside, she picked out an owl and took the carefully concealed letter from her robes. Addressing it carefully to "London577" she tied the letter onto the owl's leg an sent it off. With a wistful smile, she remembered her letter-friend, and his abrupt but beautiful gift. He was an Auror - maybe he would be at the meeting...

*

"Good morning sir," the secretary chirped as Draco apparated into his office.

"Hello Gretchen," he said between gritted teeth.

"Mr. O'Toy called, sir, and Ms. Silver called a meeting at headquarters..." Draco stopped in mid-step, clutching his coffee and paper.

"Silver? Meeting?" he asked, rolling his eyes heavenward. "You're kidding me."

"Sorry, sir..."

"That's it...I hardly get enough sleep, then my dumb house elf burns my best suit while ironing, stock dropped...and now you're telling me I have to sit in the same room with that puff-headed....that nosy...that know-it-all...Granger?" he exclaimed, spitting out the name with horrific contempt.

"I'm afraid so, sir."

"Right," he nodded, looking down at his coffee. Then, as if waking from a deep sleep, he thrust the paper at her. "Call Chris, ask him what the hell is happening to the stock, give Hilary a ring and get O'Toy on Line Five for me..."

"Yes sir." Then, looking back at his cup, he tipped his head back and guzzled the entire contents. He blinked twice at the empty cup.

"Meanwhile, I'm going to get more coffee."

*

"Well, good luck," Vanessa said. Hermione grinned weakly, gripping her wand. Her image wavered slightly, and in a moment she was gone.

She opened her eyes and watched as the conference room of Auror HQ materialized before her. The room was empty, except for a long table scattered with several dozen chairs. Breathing deeply in the familiar smell of old parchments, she smiled, pleased to have the room to herself before the others arrived. She picked out a seat close to Silver's chair and began arranging her papers for the meeting.

She was interrupted by a faint humming. Looking up, she saw her old enemy appear before her. For a moment, he didn't see her, too busy arranging his expensive velvet cloak and dusting off a few tell-tale snowflakes to notice the other occupant of the room. He wore a pained grimace and his slender fingers found a twig on the cloak, which he picked off with disdain and tossed it to the side. Then, running his hands through his hair in a strange moment of nervousness, he looked up. Immediately, his gray eyes hardened.

"Granger," he growled.

"Malfoy," she returned. He shook his shoulders as if brushing away a fly and swept across the room, towards the other side of the table.

"I assume your little hole-in-the-wall of a firm is paying the bills, is it?" he asked nonchalantly, but not without a vocal barb, as he sat down and began rifling through his own papers.

"For your information, our firm - mine and Vanessa's - is doing quite well, thank you," she returned coldly. He laughed with harsh severity.

"Ah, Vanessa...I never did understand the way her mind worked...why such a gifted woman would want to join you is..."

"Kindly excuse me, Malfoy," she said rigidly, rising, eyes boiling with cold anger, "from your incessant immaturity. I feel a sudden desire to powder my nose."

*

"I hate him! I hate hate hate hate him!" she exclaimed, kicking at the doors of the women's rest room stalls angrily. "Ooh, he makes me so mad!"

"Ms. Granger?"

Hermione spun around to see a tall, bronze-skinned woman enter the room, her black hair tied in a tight knot at the nape of her neck. She grinned, baring a large, red-lipped mouth full of white teeth, eyes glittering with laughter.

"Was I interrupting anything?"

"Oh, Ms. Silver!" Hermione exclaimed in embarassment. "I...I..."

"Don't worry, Hermione, I understand completely." The other woman turned towards the sink and began washing her hands.

"I guess I should go back to the conference room," Hermione said hurriedly, rushing towards the door.

"Actually, I was wondering if I could have a word with you...before the meeting, that is," Ms. Silver said, looking around the room. Hermione shifted nervously, but remained in place.

"Why, sure...what about?"

"I stopped by your office the other day, Ms. Granger," she began, wiping her hands dry. "And I was pleasantly surprised by the amount of work you had done with so little funds...it was very alarming, in fact. With such a lack of money, you are pulling off a very proffessional, organized firm, Hermione. I'm proud."

"Well, Mya, I learned from the best..."

"No," Silver laughed. "I taught you how to catch dark wizards, not how to run a firm. You are very efficient - you certainly do a thorough job. You could be a very valuable asset to our war against the dark." Hermione's hands were sweating now.

"Could be?" she asked. Silver's almond eyes flickered with brief regret.

"Hermione, I want to be honest with you. You are a very resourceful witch, and have done wonderful things. However...your firm is just not helping enough." She put up her hand to stop her from speaking. "Now, I know you've done everything you can. You need more funds. But it would be too expensive. The Ministry is in a tight place these days...we...we need to close the gap fast on the dark forces, or it'll never be done."

"You need to get rid of baggage," Hermione said, her tone stiff.

"That's what it comes down to," Silver said, with a sad shrug. "I'm sorry, Hermione...but...I hate to be the one to tell you this...but the Ministry is considering cutting your funds." She stood stock still.

"What?" she gasped.

"The Ministry..."

"What about my employees? What about me?" she exclaimed.

"You would go to other firms, where they would be more useful. And you, Hermione, you could go to one of our bigger firms, and act as a consultant...many, many firms would love to have you on their staff. I've been fielding requests all week."

"Who, exactly?" she asked, becoming suspicious.

"Well, one who has paid particular attention to you is Dragon Enterprises..."

Silver's voice faded into the back of Hermione's mind. She felt slow, clammy dread spreading over her body. Her mind was spinning with disbelief. How could this have happened? How could all this have just slipped past her, right under her nose? After all her hard work, petitioning and campaigning and planning with Vanessa, all the long hours sacrificed to keep the firm afloat, all the time spent keeping a good face on for the Ministry...how could that have failed? She remembered the first time she had come home to her parents after becoming an Auror, how proud they had been, and then when she told them she had gotten grants from the ministry to start her own firm! Her parents, who were entrepreneurs themselves, had been beside themselves with excitement! Even after her mother was diagnosed with breast cancer, she was constantly visiting Hermione, doing anything she could to help Vanessa and her put the business together. Blinking back tears, she remembered the long hours they had spent in the little rented space, sprucing it up, painting, setting up cubicles, finding owls cheap, finding anything cheap...

She remembered flea market shopping with her mother for desks and filing cabinets. She remembered coming back to office after her first raid (saturated with dragon spit, her work robes torn and soiled and hair half burnt off, but successful!) to find her mother waiting there for her, to offer a comforting embrace and congratulations.

"Wait...back track...who?" Hermione asked abruptly. Silver blinked and narrowed her eyes in confusion.

"Dragon Enterprises..." she repeated, slower this time.

Hermione thought the world might be ending.

"You're kidding me," she laughed humorlessly.

"No, Hermione. Draco is quite keen to have you on his staff, actually, he may be an insufferable prat but he knows a good Auror when he sees one..."

"Draco doesn't want me because I'm a good Auror!" Hermione exclaimed furiously, head reeling. "He just wants me on his payroll so he can pretend I'm inferior to him!"

"Hermione," Ms. Silver soothed her, "Draco is no longer a little boy. He's grown up, into quite the graceful young man, actually. I think you should put your schoolgirl grudges behind you and look at this as the great opportunity it really is!"

"These are not schoolgirl grudges, Ms. Silver, in all due respect," Hermione hissed. "He...he tried to kill my friends...multiple times!" Ms. Silver's leveling gaze shot right into her eyes.

"Hermione, I know you two have a messy past together, but try to realize that together, you and Draco could be a wonderful team! With his connections and your brains, you could shorten the war! That would mean less fear, less deaths...and isn't that really what counts? Isn't that what we're here for?" she asked. Hermione took a deep breath.

"You're right, Ms. Silver," she said resignedly. "It just feels like I'm compromising my self dignity. You have no idea how hard I've worked on this firm." Mya smiled a warm, pleasant smile.

"I know, Hermione, which is why I think you could do such wonders for Dragon Enterprises. However, the Ministry hasn't even made its decision yet, so there's no need to make any decisions now," she replied softly. Hermione looked at Mya's gentle, comforting face and felt herself relax a bit. Calm down, girl, she thought to herself, composure, remember? Calm, calm.

"Well, thank you for the heads up. I'll try to keep your words in mind if any decisions need to be made," she heard herself saying in a steady voice. Good job, she thought, thank her and keep your head.

"Anytime, Ms. Granger," she smiled. "I'll see you at the conference in a few minutes?"

"Yes," she answered, "Yes, I think I'll be right there, thank you."

*

Draco got back to his office after dark with a throbbing headache, feeling like he had just run a mental marathon. That Granger, he thought furiously, she never lets up, does she? He sighed wearily. Though she was a Mudblood, she was smart, and clever as hell...she kept him on his toes all throughout the meeting.

A tall, black-haired woman slipped from the shadows, wearing a wine red dress under her gray business jacket.

"Hey, babe," she spoke, her sultry voice smoldering in the dark room. "How did the meeting go?"

"Hello Blaise," he said distractedly, shrugging her off. He felt her hands on his shoulders and jumped involuntarily. "Look, I'm really stressed..." She gave him a pout.

"I thought we were going to go to your house tonight..." she said.

"I...I changed my plans. My father asked me to see him in London. You know I can't say no to him..." Draco said, hoping it sounded convincing.

"Hm," she murmured, putting her hands on her slender hips. "I guess later, then." He nodded and turned towards the door. "Wait," she called, taking a parchment out of her pocket and holding it out to him. "Parkinson left another memo for you." He took it and unfolded it, snickering when he saw the familiar words.

GET GRANGER

"What is this, like the hundredth?" he asked, smiling with tight lips. "Why doesn't she understand that I can't work with that brat?"

"She may be a brat, but she's the best Auror in the entire Ministry...besides you, of course," Blaise said, raising her eyebrows.

"Is that so?" Draco asked. "Who died and made you Silver?"

"Be serious, Draco. If you ask enough, Silver will hand her over to you. She wants the war to end that much! And think of the success of the firm, okay? Granger could really raise our stock..."

"You don't understand!" Draco exclaimed.

"What? She'll be working for you, Drake...like a servant! Isn't that what you'd like?" she asked. Draco narrowed his eyes silkily and fixed his girlfriend with a glare.

"Granger is not like that, Blaise," he said through gritted teeth. "Sure, I'd go for Potter or Weasley as my servants any day, they're just a bunch of dunderheads, but Granger is smart. She's clever. We've upped the ante. I can't fight her like an inferior anymore - I have to fight her like a equal if I want to stay ahead." Blaise looked shocked.

"You...respect her!" she spat. Draco shrugged, looking bored.

"I have to go, Father's waiting," he said, folding the memo and disapparating.

*

Outside of The Leaky Cauldron, Draco got into his sleek black Rolls and headed to the Thames. Since his father wasn't really in town, there would be no point in going to the city house. He really didn't like the city house anyhow - it reminded him too much of Malfoy Manor, and the terrible years he had spent there as a child.

He headed instead to the river marina, where he kept his yacht, the Dragon. It was peaceful and quiet there, and he liked to relax on the river sometimes when life got too stressful or memories became too strong.

He parked his Rolls and made his way down the docks to his private hangar, where Dragon sat placidly on the gently waving tide. He climbed inside, unlocked the cabin, and in a few minutes the entire, monstrous yacht was alight with lamps, the fireplace roaring, Bette Middler playing on the stereo system and a grill cheese sizzling on the cooktop. Draco pulled a book out of the shelf - Great Expectations, by Charles Dickens - and began to read, sipping his wine, while his dinner cooked. Every once in a while he would sing a few bars with the diva herself before going to check on the sandwich.

After dinner, he put the book away and looked around. He didn't feel tired, just terribly lonely. Suddenly, he remembered something.

Taking out a parchment and quill, he began to write a letter.

Dear HG,

I was ecstatic to find your reply. I'm glad you liked the rose. It will certainly last a while (it's something I picked up during my travels). Yes, I do agree, waking up to Madonna's "Dress You Up In My Love" is rather annoying. Personally, I have my wand ring to wake me up. It's rather soft, but I don't sleep very heavily anymore. In fact, I never really have. I had a bit of a rocky childhood - it's a bit unexplainable, but often I find it hard to get to sleep. If you would like the spell, though, I could send it to you.

The Christmas season - well, it's never had very much affect on me. See, my family is very stringent on Muggle holidays. We never really celebrated any. My father kind of frowned on Muggles. It does, though, give a nice warm touch to the long winter. I know that looking out my window at Diagon Alley and seeing all those lights and people from afar is a bit pleasant. Though shopping is an absolute nightmare, and I can't see why one would want to do it!

Christmas is rather confusing, and I have a touch of disdain for it. This guy claimed he was god, so we all believe him? I mean, really, how many people have you heard of who claim to be god - and should we believe them? He healed people and raised people from the dead - big deal. I've seen dark wizards who could do that stuff in a snap. Seems to me like he was just a dark wizard who had a religious complex. But any reason to stay up late and get presents, right?

I was never very close with my family, and as a child, when I went to Hogwarts, I had to see them this time of the year. I usually didn't like that very much. But enough about my childhood...

Program your wand to play a Cher song. They're always nice.

Looking forward to your next letter!

Sincerely,

London577

*