Enchanted

Enchanted

Chapter 2: "Coffee and Work, Should Ever the Two Mix?"

The smell of coffee floated into Hermione's nostrils, and she inhaled the wonderful drug eagerly. Coffee, must have coffee she thought savagely. Heaving herself off the plush green couch she had awoken on, Hermione sleepily trudged into the kitchen. Must've wandered out here last night she mused, yawning.

Pushing open the swinging oak doors, Hermione entered the homey kitchen of their humble abode. The sun leaked through the window, causing the oak cabinets and counter tops to sparkle. The scarlet and gold color scheme radiated too strong a light for her sensitive eyes, and she hastily put her hand up to shield them from the offensive light. Various cooking utensils were strewn everywhere. Hermione spotted Harry hovering over the oven, using his wand to flip the pancakes.

"Mornin', Herm," Harry chirped while catching another fluffy pancake with a plate, "Coffee's ready."

Harry was dressed in a red Puddlemere T-shirt and jeans, and water droplets leaked from his ebony locks, proof that he had been awake for at least an hour.

Hermione grimaced. He was definitely a morning person--and that tended to be bad on certain occasions. She remembered when it was Quidditch training for Puddlemere (summer after graduation), and Harry woke Ron and her at the ungodly hour of four the first morning of practice. Harry rushed them out the door and to the Quidditch pitch. Not two seconds after Harry had left them in the bleachers did the two doze off, each using the other as a pillow.

But this morning was definitely a good occasion. Being served breakfast was always a good thing in Hermione's book, not to mention the fact her coffee was ready and waiting. Her hand blindly searched the counter, finally bumping into a porcelain mug. She dragged the warm cup towards her. Steam rose from the top, and she closed her eyes in relief. Everything would be right in the world now. She put the hot mug to her lips, and downed the heavenly brown liquid.

Hermione opened her eyes, and everything was right again in the world. Sitting down at the table, she picked up the Daily Prophet. Skimming through the headlines, she quietly sipped her lifesaving drink.

"Where's Ron? It's almost--" Hermione was cut off as Ron burst through the door, slamming full-force into the counter. However, he appeared unfazed by the offending wooden table, and continued on his path. He reached the counter, snatched the coffee pot with both hands, and swallowed the remaining liquid in one large gulp. Using the back of his hand as a napkin, he wiped his mouth.

Harry stood shaking his head. "The both of you have a seriously unhealthy addiction."

Hermione clutched her mug close, fearing that Ron would target her precious drink next. Harry walked over, placing breakfast on the table.

Ron plopped down on a vacant seat, and began shoveling mountains of pancakes and syrup into his mouth. Hermione shot him a disgusted look.

"What?" he asked, syrup dripping from his chin.

Rolling her eyes, she picked up her napkin and shoved it in his face.

"Know what this is? A nice little tool used to clean your face when food accumulates on it. You should try using one sometime."

Ron shot her a death glare and continued inhaling his meal.

The rest of the meal was consumed in relative silence; the only sound was of Ron's monotonous gulps and munching. Hermione cleaned her plate quickly (and neatly) and took her plate to the sink. She murmured a cleaning spell. Soap and water appeared on the dish as a small rag scrubbed it. Hermione then floated a towel over, dried the plate, and put it away.

She exited the kitchen, and headed up stairs for a shower and to dress for work. She passed the grandfather clock, spotted the hand on the clock's face - it read "Better get moving or you'll be late for work"-- and took the steps three at a time.

Hermione descended the stairs not ten minutes later, and found Ron dressed for work. He wore robes of light gray, and was neat and fresh (a huge improvement from the breakfast fiasco). He held his briefcase in one hand, and appeared to be waiting on her.

"Nice to see you looking civilized, Ron," Hermione commented, lugging her own, large black briefcase off the coffee table.

"Nice to see you tamed your hair, Herm," he shot back.

Hermione knew her hair was not at its optimum appearance when she first woke, and thought it rather nasty of Ron to mention it. She touched her chestnut locks self-consciously, while sticking her tongue out at Ron maturely.

Grabbing him by the elbow, Hermione dragged Ron outside - the clock now read "GET TO WORK!" --, shouted a "Bye Harry!" over her shoulder, and Disapparated.

They reappeared in front of a massive building, constructed of magical steel and concrete, which towered at least ten stories over its neighbors. Hermione and Ron dashed to the door, pausing briefly to mutter the password over the magic keypad, and raced inside.

Yelling "See you at lunch!" in unison, they took off in opposite directions. Hermione weaved through the stream of witches and wizards in the hallways, skidding to a halt at her department door. The words Department of Magical Aliment Researching gleamed at her from the shiny plaque set at eyelevel on the oak door. Pushing open the door, she stepped inside.

Looking around, she spotted none of her subordinates (It would look very bad if the head of the department showed up late) and breathed a sigh of relief. Setting her briefcase on the table, she straightened out her periwinkle blue robes, and walked around to her high-backed black leather chair. She sat down, and spun to face the window.

She gazed out the glass pane, watching the busy people on the streets below. Witches and wizards of all shapes, sizes and colors (Hermione could make out a wizard wearing neon green robes) rushed on the cobblestone paths, continuing on with their hectic lives.

"Glad to see you've made it Hermione," a feminine voice with an American accent teased, causing Hermione to jump. She spun around to meet the face of an attractive witch. The blonde wore her hair at chin-length, in a chic, sleek look. Her sky-blue eyes twinkled mischievously, as she leaned on Hermione's desk.

"Elizabeth Ashton, don't you dare sneak up on me! I'll hex you into next week for that!"

Elizabeth giggled, winking. "Sure ya will, Hermione. You said the exact same thing last time I did that. No use wasting your breath on baseless threats."

Hermione rolled her eyes, laughing.

"Sure thing, Lizzie."

Hermione loved Elizabeth; from the first nerve-wrecking day working in the department, the fun-loving eccentric witch was there to bring Hermione out of her fits of hysteria and calm her down when she was on raw nerves. Elizabeth reminded her of Ron. Both had outgoing personalities, thought they were God's gift to the opposite sex, and possessed the ability to turn any boring situation into fun. In Hermione's opinion, the two would get on well together.

"Come'on, boss, everyone's waiting."

Hermione nodded, swiping her thoughts clean, and followed Elizabeth into the adjoining room. Inside, gathered around a long table, was a small group of wizards and witches. Two elderly wizards chatted quietly, three witches gossiping about the latest article from Witch Weekly, and one young wizard sat quietly, reading a piece of parchment.

Elizabeth cleared her throat, and everyone turned their attentions to the head of the table. She took her seat to the right of Hermione, who sat in the head chair. Hermione smiled at everyone, and gracefully took her seat. Glancing to Elizabeth, she opened her briefcase, and pulled out a sheet of parchment. Carefully examining the paper, she looked up at her employees.

"Good morning, ladies and gentlemen. I believe we have a few topics to discuss."

The employees nodded in unison.

"Mr. McCormick and Mr.Alberts, any progress in the labs?"

The two elderly men exchanged glances. One bald man shifted uncomfortably in his seat, while the other, with wispy gray hair, twiddled his thumbs.

"Tests 100 and 101 failed, Ms.Granger."

Hermione frowned. "I see. Any thoughts as to why?"

The bald man nodded. "Mr. Alberts and I believe the formula contains errors. Again." He shot the three witches across the table a disapproving glance. "We cannot conduct proper experiments without the correct formula."

"They are trial formulas, Mr. McCormick!" one brunette witch in her mid-thirties exclaimed, slamming her fist on the table. "That is why tests must be conducted! To find the errors!" Her two companions nodded their heads vigorously.

"The tests would proceed much more quickly if you took the time to check them, Ms. Whitestone!"

"How dare you! Insinuating we do incompetent work! You, Mr. McCormick, are a pompous--"

"That is quite enough!" Hermione cut in, stopping the quarrel before it raged out of control. "We will not resort to immature name-calling, Ms.Whitestone."

The brunette and her friends huffed, turning their noses up.

"And you, Mr. McCormick, I expected a better approach to this problem than playing the blame game."

The two elders folded their arms indignantly.

"Now, everyone is well aware this project is in its trial stage, and everything is pure theory. Errors are bound to occur, and should be handled professionally. Please, there is no need for these petty arguments. The only thing they accomplish is slowing down our progress. Now, let's proceed."

Hermione glanced around the table. Everyone appeared speechless. She smiled triumphantly.

"Pardon me, Ms. Granger?" a handsome wizard (who bore a remarkable resemblance to Harry, sans glasses, dirty-blonde locks instead of ebony, and hazel eyes instead of emerald) interrupted.

Well, almost everyone. It was Thomas Shields, the twenty-two-year-old wizard every witch in the Ministry was after. He had a well built stature in addition to his boy-next-door smile and flawless features. He was quite the flirt, but Hermione found him to be kind and polite, part of his alluring charm.

"Yes, Mr. Shields?"

"I think I have found something." He pushed his chair back, and made his way towards Hermione, a very thick folder in hand.

Hermione accepted the folder, and opened it, reading its contents. Five minutes passed in complete silence.

"I'm impressed, Mr. Shields. This is extraordinary. Everyone, I think we just might have it."

"Well, Ms. Granger, I remembered your notes from last week, and I had a hunch. So I followed it, and came up with this."

"Good work. Here's the plan, everyone..."

The teams split up. Mr. McCormick and Mr. Alberts headed to the lab, Ms. Whitestone and her subordinates left for the opposite room. Elizabeth and Thomas followed Hermione back to her office.

"Well, you know what this means. More research. Yay," Elizabeth deadpanned, plopping down on her chair.

"Oh, quit your complaining Lizzie. You love it just as much as I do." Hermione said, still reading Thomas's report.

"I don't think there is anyone in the entire world who loves researching as much as you, Hermione."

"I'd have to agree with her, Ms. Granger," Thomas smiled, winking at Hermione.

Hermione blushed, and stuck her nose deeper in the folder. With one hand, she motioned towards another adjoining room.

"Library time," she announced, walking into the room. Elizabeth and Thomas trailed behind.

The Department's library was, to sum it up, excessive. Any book dealing on any topic could be found on one of the dusty shelves. It reminded Hermione of the beloved library back at Hogwarts. The room was dimly lit with lanterns scattered between rows of shelves. Hermione stopped at one bookcase. Trailing her delicate finger along the spines, she finally reached what she was in search of, and snatched the volume out of its cozy spot.

She slid into a seat, opened the book, and began leafing through its pages. Elizabeth and Thomas set off to opposite ends of the library, both returning shortly after with books of their own.

They continued in this pattern for quite some time, only briefly pausing their arduous labor to retrieve another volume; the scratching of their quills against the parchment and the crinkling of the turning pages the only testament to life within the library.

Elizabeth let out a groan, pushing her work away from her. Hermione and Thomas looked up at the same time, eyes meeting briefly, before they turned their attentions to Elizabeth.

"Something the matter, Lizzie?" Hermione asked, arching an inquisitive brow.

"Just frustrated, I guess. Can't find a darn thing. Are you sure we have every book ever written by witch, wizard or Muggle alike? If we do, than the world is in considerable peril of idiocy."

Hermione stifled a giggle, hiding her face behind the volume she was currently flipping through. Elizabeth snorted, and the two witches broke into a fit of giggles, earning quizzical looks from Thomas.

"Should I bother to ask?"

Hermione and Elizabeth exchanged looks, more pearls of laughter erupting. The poor wizard sat completely bewildered and utterly confused. They found this amusing as well, and Elizabeth fell out of her chair.

"Lizzie! You alright?" Hermione choked out between snickers.

Grabbing the edge of the table, Elizabeth heaved herself into an upright position, and shot Hermione a glare. Then, she did an emotional 360 and grinned.

"Peachy-keen, jelly bean."

"You did not just use the phrase 'Peachy-keen, jelly-bean.' That's just wrong." Hermione frowned, slightly disturbed.

Elizabeth shrugged her shoulders. "Must be my lack of caffeine."

"Must. Let's go raid the break room. You coming, Mr. Shields?"

"Thomas. Please. I suppose. I wonder what would happen if I refused?"

Elizabeth widened her eyes. "Refuse coffee? Hermione, I think the man's lost it!"

Hermione walked over to Thomas. She took the book out of his hands, shut it, and smiled sickeningly sweetly at him.

"Thomas, I am going to pretend I didn't hear that, and you are joining us for coffee."

Thomas cocked his head to the side, a small smile playing on his lips. Hermione gulped, noticing how irresistible he now appeared. A lock of his dirty-blonde hair had fallen into his eyes, and Hermione fought the sudden urge to brush it away. His hazel eyes sparkled, and she wondered what the handsome wizard was planning. Thomas captured Hermione's left hand in his own, and lightly ran a finger over it. Hermione shivered, waves of delight washing over her body.

"Alright," he whispered, placing a kiss on her hand, "If you insist."

Suddenly, there was a loud banging on the door. Hermione and Thomas sprang apart. Hermione raced to the heavy oak door, and flung it open, grateful for the distraction. However, after discovering the savior was an angry Ron, who stood arms folded across his chest, Hermione found herself wishing she had an over zealous wizard to deal with in place of her upset best friend.

"H-hi Ron. Wh-what are you doing here?" Hermione stuttered, leaning against the door, her body still shaky from her encounter just moments before.

"What am I doing here? Did it slip your mind? The Hermione Granger forgot something?"

"Forgot what? It's only--" she broke off, spotting the time on the wall. Her mouth formed a small "o" and she looked down at her feet.

"I'm sorry Ron. We just got lost in our research--"

Hermione could hear Elizabeth giggling behind her, and groaned.

"We'll meet you in the break room in five." Hermione declared, promptly shutting the door in Ron's face, spun around, grabbed Elizabeth by the arm, and dragged the blonde witch to her office, leaving Thomas in her wake.

Once Hermione closed the door, she released Elizabeth, who wasted no time in opening her mouth.

"Someone's got the hots for Herm!" Elizabeth squealed, clutching her friend excitedly.

"Really, Lizzie, that's...pp-preposterous!" Hermione stuttered.

"No it's not. I saw everything! Thomas had his hands all over--"

"Enough Lizzie!" Hermione cried, throwing her hands up in the air. Elizabeth stopped, slightly taken aback.

A small period of silence befell the two friends, and each stood, evaluating the earlier events.

"So, what do we do now?" Elizabeth inquired.

Hermione sighed, remembering she had a fired-up red-head to deal with. Running a hand through her tangle of curls and smoothing out her robes, she shot her friend a glare and proceeded to the break room. Elizabeth smirked, rubbing her hands together, formulating a plan as she followed her boss.

Ron was there, and handed each witch a cup of coffee as they entered. Both gulped the liquid rather quickly. Rejuvenated, Hermione sunk blissfully into a chair. Thomas stood silently in a corner. And was it just Hermione's imagination, or every time Ron glared at the hazel-eyed wizard, did Thomas seemed to shudder?

Hermione set her coffee down, and buried her face in her arms. What in the name of Merlin was going on? Why were wizards (that had paid her no attention before) suddenly interested in her? First Malfoy--she let out an involuntary shudder at the remembrance of last night's fiasco--and now Thomas.

Nothing made sense now. Hermione and illogical happenings did not mix, and she wanted more than anything for these events to be explained. Her musings were interrupted however, by a warm hand on her shoulder.

"You alright, Herm?" She turned to face the worried face of Ron.

She nodded mutely. "Just a little tired, that's all."

Ron backed away, but she knew he was not convinced that lack of sleep was the culprit. He mumbled a good-bye, and left. The three remaining Ministry employees finished their drinks, and returned to work.

Several hours later, Hermione looked up at the clock on the wall. It read "Time to go home!" She motioned to the others, and they nodded. Minutes later, the research area was void of ink bottles, quills, parchment, and books.

"Well, I believe that's everything for today. I'll just lock up--"

"No! I mean, I can do it, you and Thomas head on out. See ya tomorrow!" Elizabeth interrupted. She snatched their cloaks, throwing them to their respective owners, and shoved Hermione and Thomas out the door, slamming it shut behind them.

Hermione stared at the door, tugging on the knob; it was locked, so she banged.

"Lizzie, I need my brief--"

The door flung open, a black leather briefcase sailed through it, and was slammed again. Hermione bent down, scooping up her possession, and threw a quizzical glance at the door. Great Wizards, what was Lizzie up to?

Before she had time to ponder the answer, Thomas bent down beside her.

"Everything alright?" he asked, offering his hand. As she stared at his palm, realization hit her like a charging hippogriff. That conniving little witch...

Accepting the offered help, Thomas pulled her up, and they weaved their way, hand in hand, through the mass of magical folk leaving for their homes. Once they had escaped the building, Hermione spotted Ron. He raised an eyebrow at their joined hands, and she quickly relinquished contact.

"Bye Thomas!" she called, waving as she ran over to Ron.

"Bye Hermione!" and with that, he Disapparated.

"Well, you were quite friendly with that bloke" Ron growled protectively. Hermione sighed, sensing the oncoming interrogation.

"He works in my department. He's a friend. Case closed." With a huff, Hermione Apparated home.

"Witches," Ron muttered, and followed suit.

The two found Harry lounging on the couch, immersed in Quidditch Through the Ages. Since there was a match yesterday, Harry had today off from Quidditch training. Ron rolled his eyes, and dumped his briefcase on Harry's stomach.

"OW! What'd you do that for?" Harry cried, pushing the boulder of leather off. He sat up, rubbing his stomach gingerly.

"You should be out, on a date or something, not sitting here, turning into a Hermione clone!"

"Hermione clone! Ronald Weasley, what are you playing at?" Hermione demanded, hands planted firmly on her hips.

"This!" he cried, picking up the book. "He's picked up another annoying habit of yours! Re-reading a book several times! Once is one too many as it is! You've corrupted him!"

"Corrupted him! I'll corrupt you!" Hermione snatched the text from Ron's hands, and proceeded in chasing the red-head around the living room, swatting at him with the heavy volume. Harry sat in amusement, enjoying the show.

Once the two tired of their game of chase, the trio sat down to a fairly uneventful dinner (with the exception of Hermione's comments on Ron's lack of table manners). After the dishes were washed, dried and put away, the men decided to chat about Quidditch. Hermione excused herself, claiming a need for fresh air and some exercise.

Hermione stepped into the crisp winter air, pulling her baby blue cloak tighter around her. The cloak had been a Christmas gift from Harry last year, and it was her favorite. The cloak was woven out of the softest materials, and magicked to keep the wearer warm in up to fifty below temperatures. The spell magically adjusted the warmth to the temperature the wearer was in.

Hermione strolled around the block, sifting through the many thoughts that cluttered her mind. Today at the office was, to say the least, interesting. Why had Thomas come on so strong? Perhaps Lizzie was right, she thought, maybe he does like me... Hermione drifted to the previous night's events, and found herself thinking about Draco. And what was with him? He was doing a remarkable impression of Dr. Jekyll and Mr.Hyde. First, he was so kind, almost...compassionate. He was charming, with his compliments and manner. Then, he transformed back into the vicious Malfoy from Hogwarts. But then, his exit, when he said it wouldn't be the last time I saw him...What did he mean by that, and, more importantly, why did I hope that it would be true? What was it about him that has me so curious?

Smack! Hermione had run right into a warm, solid object that felt surprisingly...human? Her eyes shot up to clash with a steel gaze.

Speak of the devil, she mused silently.

He held his hand to her, and it was then she realized she was sitting on the cold, cobblestone path she had been walking moments before. Swallowing her pride, she accepted his offer and he lifted her to her feet.

"So, we meet again Hermione." His smooth voice encircled her, sending goose bumps up her arms.

Hermione tilted her head to the side, surveying his appearance. He wore an expensive black cloak, trimmed in silver, over a black turtle neck and gray slacks. His hair fell the same as last night's, into his eyes. Hermione gulped. He looked good. Very good. Irresistibly good.

"Malfoy," she choked out, praying her voice did not betray her nervousness.

Draco smirked, and stepped closer. She could feel the warmth of his breath as he spoke.

"What is such a beautiful woman doing out late at night unaccompanied?"

Hermione shivered, but not from the chilly weather.

"What I do late at night is none of your concern, Malfoy," Hermione bit out haughtily, trying to regain some authority.

"What might you be doing at night that isn't suitable for polite conversation, Hermione? Hmm?"

Hermione flushed scarlet, outraged by his statement.

"You disgusting pig! How dare you make such horrible presumptions!"

Hermione side-stepped the blonde, and broke into a run to escape. Draco had other ideas, however, and caught her by the wrist. He spun Hermione around, trapping her in his embrace. Hermione's eyes widened in fear.

"What do you think you're doing?" she demanded, struggling in his grip.

His face softened, and he released her. Hermione backed away, weary of his next action. She reached inside her robes, and pulled out her wand.

"Give me one good reason why I shouldn't hex you, Malfoy!"

Draco shifted uncomfortably, and mumbled something incoherent.

"Come again?"

He looked up, and smirked.

"I said, I could make your night out worthwhile."

With that, Draco moved forward, his face inches from Hermione's. His hot breath tickled her nose, and she became mesmerized by his kissable lips. Suddenly, all previous thoughts of hexing the wizard before her were forgotten.

"How so?" she whispered, eyes drifting closed as his lips neared her own.

"Like this."

Hermione felt his lips crush against her mouth in a rush of passion. Engulfed in the bliss of the kiss, she could concentrate on nothing more than the feel of his lips on her own. Sparks ignited and fireworks went off inside her mind.

She lifted her arms to encircle his neck, and began toying with his hair. His arms slipped around her waist, tugging at her cloak. Hermione groaned as he maneuvered his hands inside the cloak, and gasped as is warm fingers came in contact with the skin of her lower back.

Her eyes widened in fear. What am I doing? He mind buzzed. Placing her hands firmly on his chest, she pushed Draco away.

He stood, bewildered at her retaliation. Hermione grabbed the folds of her cloak and drew them tightly around her shivering body. She stared at him in fear, shock and...desire? Stop this foolishness she commanded herself, stepping backwards to create even more distance between herself and Draco.

They stood in silence; the only sound was of their heavy breathing from the escapade they partook in just moments before. Hermione drew the cloak tighter and tighter, sure if she continued in that fashion she would cut off circulation from the neck down. Her eyes were downcast, tracing over the cobblestones. She felt his penetrating gaze, but ignored it, attempting to regain her common sense (which seemed to have disappeared).

"Why?" she finally squeaked out, raising her face to match his steel gaze.

"Why?" she repeated with more conviction, startling him with the force of her voice.

He raised a bemused eyebrow. "Why not?"

Shaking her head, Hermione turned around, unable to face him any longer.

"Why not? Why--" Hermione began her tirade, spinning around.

Draco was no where to be found. A small wisp of smoke floated in the air, above the spot he previously stood.

"Figures, completely figures," she muttered, treading towards home.

"How was your walk, Herm?" Ron inquired upon her return.

She hung her cloak up, and proceeded to the staircase of their humble abode.

"It was...tiring. I think I'll head up to bed." Hermione bid Ron and Harry goodnight, and climbed the staircase.

Once inside the safe confinement of her room, she closed the door. Leaning against the oak frame, Hermione slid down its length, curling up once she reached the carpeted floor. Digging her toes in the plush cream-colored rug, her eyesight suddenly became blurry.

Touching a delicate finger to her face, she felt a small wetness coursing down her cheeks. Tears? She pondered, confused. Why am I crying?

"Hermione? Are you alright in there?" The soft voice of Harry seeped through the door.

Pushing herself up, she rubbed her eyes, attempting to erase any traces of tears. Clearing her throat, she delivered (what she thought was a convincing) "I'm fine, just heading to bed."

Hermione heard Harry mumble a "if you're sure..." and felt relief when she heard the padding of his feet become fainter.

Hermione stumbled to her white dresser, and pulled out some night clothes. Slipping the blue cotton pants and tank top over her shivering frame, she made her way to her bed.

Flopping down, she allowed herself to sink into the warm, soft mattress. Pulling the white comforter and sheets up to her chin, Hermione drifted off to what she was sure to be a restless sleep. Her last thoughts were: Why? What are you playing at Draco?