A/N:

This one is completely AU and completely OOC-ish. No magic, no Hogwarts; I wanted to do something different with my favourite characters, so I pretty much wrote a story and dropped them in it.

August had drawn to a close, summer was well and truly over and the autumn season that had barely begun was quickly turning into winter. Hermione ordinarily wouldn't mind, winter was her season; woollen hats and gloves, warm coats, fuzzy socks and hot drinks. And snow. She loved the snow. But right now, winter was the last thing on her mind. Right at this minute, nothing really mattered. The day had been grey and miserable everything had that cold, run down feel to it making the world feel old and unwelcoming. And when you lived in a town that was older than the earth itself, that was saying something.

Her already tiny flat seemed even more cramped than usual; two bedrooms, a bathroom, kitchen and living room. That was the sum total of space she owned. It wasn't much, but at least it was all hers. She was sitting on the cushioned window seat, staring out the window, well, as much as she could stare out; the rain was pouring down, completely distorting her view. She hadn't left her flat for days. In fact, she hadn't changed out of her pyjamas for days. She was in serious need of a shower, but even that seemed like too much of an effort.

Three days ago, she had been fired from her job at Flourish and Blotts book store for, let's just say, being too damned efficient and making her co-workers look bad. One of them, who shall remain nameless...Lavender Brown...decided that she'd had enough of looking bad and got her fired. She had been hauled into the manager's office and was told that in no uncertain terms that bullying was not accepted in the workplace.

She had stared unbelievingly at Don Blotts, her boss, a somewhat stupid man, whose only reason for hiring Lavender was that he thought he might get laid. Lavender was your stereotypical air head; big boobs (possibly fake), blonde hair (definitely fake), short skirts, a tan the color of a Dorito and a brain the size of a walnut. Lavender had recently been dumped by her sugar daddy, her very rich, very prominent sugar daddy, whose wife had had enough of his extramarital affairs, and given him an ultimatum: Lavender or her. Naturally he chose the latter, and Lavender found herself in dire need of an income. She'd managed to convince Don to hire her, and apparently thought her job was to flounce around the store, doing little more than making puppy dog eyes at all the men - although to put a positive spin on it, at least more men in town were buying books.

Lavender, Hermione was sure, had used this same tactic on Don, batting her eyelids at him and showing a little more cleavage than necessary when she told him that Hermione was controlling and wouldn't let her do any of the work she needed to do, and that she felt bullied. Hermione proceeded to tell Don, that the only reason she had to do Lavender's work was because Lavender wouldn't do it herself.

"Well, Miss Brown is most upset." He told her.

"Miss Brown," Hermione gaped at him. In all the time she'd worked for him, not once had Don called her 'Miss Granger'.

"Yes, Miss Brown has explained that she can't work to the best of her abilities with you here, making her feel inferior." Don looked incredibly proud, virtually high-fiving himself for using such a big word like inferior.

Hermione rolled her eyes, wondering just how long he'd worked on this speech for, and retorted, "So, show her the door."

"Now, Hermione-" he started, but Hermione raised her hand and cut him off.

"Don, please do not tell me you believe her?"

"She was very upset, Hermione, and I have no reason to think she was lying."

Seven years she'd worked for this man. Seven years! And not once had she given him any grief. She turned up on time, worked weekends and nights when no one else would, had only taken leave when she had been forced to. She loved her job, and honestly felt like Flourish and Blotts Bookstore was hers, not Don's. Hermione both choked and laughed at the same time, "Wow," Hermione looked incredulous, "I guess she was showing more cleavage than I thought. This is total bullshit, Don, and you know it!"

"I'm sorry Hermione, but I just can't have this kind of behaviour here. I will have to let you go."

She sat staring at him for several seconds before her brain finally registered that she had just been fired, "You're firing me?"

"I'm sorry Hermione, but I simply have no other choice."

"Well Don, I hope it all goes well. I mean seriously, with Lavender here, imagine the clientele you'll attract," She sneered at him as she stood, "Just a tip for you, you may have to stock some more male oriented reading material, because every pervert in town will now frequent Flourish and Blotts." And she stormed out.

As she collected her belongings, Lavender surprised her by engulfing her in a hug. She had crocodile tears in her eyes, and wailed about how she would miss her. Hermione managed to detangle herself from the fake embrace, and shook her head as Ernie MacMillan, who was once her trusted work crony, but had become another drooling lapdog the second Lavender walked in the door, wrapped an arm around her shoulders.

"We'll miss you," Lavender wailed, ensuring that everyone in the store heard her, "I can't believe you're leaving us."

"Wow, Lavender, I'm touched," Hermione drawled, "And you sound so sincere. I think you deserve an award for this brilliant performance of I got Hermione fired."

Ernie's eyes got wide, and he looked at Lavender, his arm dropping quickly from her shoulders. "You got Hermione fired?" he stammered.

"No!" she exclaimed, "I didn't, Mr Blotts said she quit."

Ernie looked at Hermione; he knew damned well she would never quit this job. Books were her life, and this, aside from owning her own book store, was her dream job. "Hermione? What's going on." he asked.

"Ask Lavender, she's responsible for this."

The people in the store were watching the show with a great deal of interest. Hermione was certain that the second she walked out, they would all instantly take out their phones, and the entire town would be aware that she no longer worked at Flourish and Blotts Books.

She looked at Lavender, whose tears had all but dried up, and pointed at her chest, "You might want to cover the girls up, because Mr Blotts is expecting way more than the eyeful you gave him. Way more." And with that, she turned on her heel, and sauntered out of the store.

Of course, all the bravado left her the minute she slumped into her car, which was fortunately parked at the rear of the store where no one could see the blubbering performance that followed. She leaned her head on the steering wheel, and let out a sob. What the hell am I going to do now? She thought. She was one of those rare people who actually loved their job. She had been reading since she could remember. As a child she sat on her father's knee, following his finger as it raced across the pages, teaching her to recognise words and letters. Every night they shared a story, and his love of books and reading was passed on to her.

Hermione lifted her head from the steering wheel, and saw the dark clouds moving in across the sky. Perfect, she thought, even the universe hates me. She stared at herself in the rear view mirror, groaning at the horseshoe-shaped welt from the steering wheel across her forehead, almost twenty minutes had passed without her even realising it. What am I going to do? She asked herself again. Go home was her first thought. Drink myself into oblivion was her second thought. She figured the best way to rid herself of the foul stench of Don Blotts was to drown herself in vodka and it would just so happen that Ginny and Harry had given her a bottle for her last birthday and it was now gathering dust in the back of her cupboard, so that's what she did.

Well, no. That's not exactly what she did. The first thing she did was to drive her car to the local pub.

The Second Salt, was the towns' oldest pub. It was rustic and welcoming; timber, clay bricks and intricate stone carvings made up most of the building's outer structure. It was difficult to see through the stained glass windows, but Hermione knew that beyond the heavy wooden door that she would have a quiet place to sit and ponder over her new found unemployment.

The pub was dark inside, not in a dank and dreary way but in that warm, mellow and welcoming way. Rounded, hardwood beams supported the upper floor and the rows of small lights attached to them. Ceiling fans circulated the air and the walls were littered with so many different types of memorabilia, no one was sure if they were trying for a specific style or if they just put up anything they liked. She always assumed the latter.

The well worn bar, that had been wiped so often it was almost like a mirror was central in the large room. Stools surrounded it on all four sides. Several long tables took up space either side of the bar, with smaller tables and booths lining the outer walls. And there was a well used pool table in the rear. The pub was almost completely abandoned. Two older locals occupied two stools at the bar, so she placed herself firmly at the opposite end, as far away as possible from them and rapped her knuckles on the bar, attracting the attention of Seamus Finnegan, the Irish owner of the English pub, (no matter what time of day you were there he was behind the bar), who greeted her with a slight frown.

"Isn't it a little too early for you to be in here." He commented with a quick glance to the clock, "In fact, isn't it a little too Tuesday for you to be in here?"

"How many shot glasses do you own?" Hermione asked ignoring him.

He frowned, "Why?"

"Well, my plan for the afternoon is to drink myself into oblivion, crawl back and drink myself there again." She informed him and waved her hands across the bar in a flourish, "Line 'em up."

"Wow," he said, wide-eyed, "I'm not sure I have enough booze in here to cover that."

"So get more," she told him, "I plan on being here for a while."

"You do realise that I have a responsibility to ensure that you don't drive home drunk?" Seamus gave her a stern look.

Hermione sighed, exasperated, and tossed him her keys, "There, are you happy?" he smirked at her and then nodded. She made a twirling gesture with her finger, and repeated, "Now line 'em up!"

Seamus laughed, finally realising she was serious. They had been at school together and had been reasonably good friends, but while she liked the (very) occasional shit-faced drunk Saturday night as much as the next person, and his pub was the favourite hang-out of her and her best friends, to be here before midday on a Tuesday ordering copious amounts of alcohol was just not something she wouldordinarily do.

"Um," Seamus said cautiously, "Hermione, are you okay?"

"Well Seamus, that depends on your definition of okay." She said glumly, "If getting fired from the job you love and are extremely good at makes you feel okay, well then yes, I'm just freaking dandy."

"What!?" Seamus looked dumbfounded, "Don fired you? But why?"

She nodded. Don Blotts was well known around town. His bookshop had been the only one in town since Jesus was a baby. It had been in his family for generations and no one dared to buy their books anywhere else. Amazon was almost blasphemous in Grimsby, population twelve thousand. It was as if the Blotts could sense that you purchased a book from elsewhere and very few people dared to do so.

And along with the towns' knowledge of The Blotts Family, they were also aware of her family. The Grangers had lived there for almost as long and even though her family was well known, Hermione's name seemed to have been forgotten and she was commonly referred to as that poor child who lost her parents. But more importantly they also knew that she lived for books. She had toted one with her everywhere she went since she could walk, and had been notorious around town for it.

"Seamus," Hermione said, leaning her elbows on the bar and resting her chin on her hands, "I got fired today. I got fired because Lavender Brown's boobs are bigger than mine. I got fired today because I don't possess the proclivity to shove mine in the face of every man in town. And if that doesn't mean I can drink myself into a shit-faced mess on a Tuesday afternoon, I'm not sure what does."

Seamus grinned at her, "And when you are as shit-faced as you plan to be, who do I need to call to drag you out of my pub?"

Hermione laughed, "Harry will be fine. Now, my Irish friend, I think it's about time I became reacquainted with my favourite Russian and my favourite Mexican."

Seamus placed two shot glasses in front of her and she gave him an irritated look, "Hey, let's just start off slow," he told her, "I really don't need to be cleaning vomit from my carpet before the after work crowd wander in."

She scowled at him, but conceded the point, watching as he filled the glasses; one vodka, one tequila, "One at a time, okay." Seamus warned her, "No vomiting."

"Fine," she said tilting the small glass towards him, telling him cheers, and downing it.

It wasn't until the vodka hit her stomach that she realised it had been hours since she'd eaten. And really, what she had eaten wasn't all that much. She'd consumed yoghurt and fruit at six-thirty that morning after going for her usual five-thirty run. Up at the butt-crack of dawn, was her motto, she had too much shit to get done to lay in bed all morning. But said food – or serious lack thereof - probably wasn't going to soak up any significant amount of alcohol. Seamus may have been right; vomit might be on the horizon. She picked up the second glass and threw it down her throat. The burn from the first shot had hardly dissipated and she shook her head as the fire shot down her throat and scorched into her chest. She put her fist to her mouth, hoping that her stomach would welcome the heart and soul of Mexico and wouldn't prove Seamus correct and bounce straight back.

Seamus' mouth twitched trying not to laugh, "You okay?"

"Fine," Hermione gasped.

"Here," He said, handing her a glass of what she hoped was water, "Wash it down with this."

She drained the glass, and was already certain that she would be paying for this little exercise in the morning. But hey, she didn't have a job to go to, right? Seamus refilled the glasses and she downed them both in quick succession.

"More," she said to Seamus, who filled the two glasses in front of her again. She downed the vodka, and then picked up the tequila, "Don Julio, I believe you are about to become my new best friend." She threw her head back and downed the shot, coughing and spluttering as the tequila slid down her throat. Elegant? No. But when was tequila ever elegant?

Seamus placed another glass of water on the bar in front of her, "How many of these do you actually think you can drink?"

"That sounds like a challenge," Her head was already starting to swim, "How do you feel about making cocktails?"

Seamus laughed and reached beneath the bar, "My knowledge of cocktails." He said holding a dusty old book up to her.

Hermione took it from him, blew the dust from the cover, and picked a random page, "A long Island Iced Tea, good sir," She said and turned the book to face him. He scanned it and then looked up at her.

"Um, so you just want more alcohol then? Because seriously, that's all this is."

"Alcohol it is then!" She laughed and slapped her hand on the bar.

And the routine followed. Hermione randomly chose a drink from the book, Seamus attempted to make it and she drank it. He did make her drink water between each drink, so she guessed she had him to thank for keeping her hydrated. She had no idea what time it was, and had no idea just how much alcohol she had consumed, but Seamus had obviously thought it enough as Harry and Ginny arrived to pick her up. Of course, she insisted that they have drink with her but Harry politely declined. He also told her she should probably get coffee to go.

She slid off her seat, hugging Ginny and Harry, telling them both just how much she loved them and stumbled towards the door, Ginny and Harry flanking her. They managed to get her into their car, and she slumped across the back seat.

She lifted her head when the car doors closed, "I got fired," she slurred, "Stupid, fucking fired."

Ginny reached back and squeezed her leg, "Hey, you can sleep this off and tell us all about it tomorrow."

Hermione's head was pounding and her eyes refused to open. Her mouth felt as though it was stuffed with cotton balls. Something was wrong. Her bed felt hard and cold. And her pillow? Well, she wasn't even sure it was a pillow. She forced one eye open, and got a blurred view of her toilet. What the hell? She tried to sit up, but immediately regretted it. The room began to spin, and her stomach tried to exit through her throat. She closed her eyes, waiting for the feeling to pass.

When she finally dared to, she rolled onto her back, opened her eyes, and realised she was laying on her bathroom floor. The pillow she didn't recognise was a rolled up towel, and there was a quilt thrown over her. Vague recollections of the previous day's proceedings swam through her head like a cutting room floor. Pieces were missing, and holy crap, she hoped they weren't bad.

She pushed herself to sitting position, and only after the quilt slid down and pooled at her waist did Hermione realise how very few clothes she was wearing. Her bra and knickers were all that were covering her, and she had no idea how she got that way. She closed her eyes, and tried to remember, but she was drawing a blank. Placing one hand on the toilet bowl and one hand on the basin, she dragged herself off the floor and after the wave of dizziness passed, headed for her bed. She flung herself onto it and closed her eyes trying to remember the last god knows how many hours, and groaned at the mariachi band that was currently playing in her head.

"Shit," she said quietly when the sudden memory of her firing climbed out of her brain and waved at her. And then a sudden rush of nausea hit her and she was back in the bathroom, curled over the toilet bowl and still with no idea who had put her there in the first place – in the state of undress she was in she certainly hoped that it was Ginny or Pansy. She stayed on the floor for who knows how long, which gave her plenty of time to ponder her life and what exactly she was going to do. She pressed her face to the cool tiles, rueing the fact that she had left the quilt that had been draped over her in the bedroom and hoped that no one would actually find her near naked on the bathroom floor. She closed her eyes and sighed, sure there was another bottle of Vodka somewhere. And as soon as her stomach decided it was empty enough, she would start to fill it again.

She knew alcohol wasn't the answer, but right at that moment, she didn't care.

And that was how Hermione found herself staring out the window, feeling sorry for herself, three days after she had been fired. Ginny and Harry and Pansy, her three closest friends had all called, left messages, texted her, and she was sure at one stage she heard a loud banging on her door but completely ignored it. She didn't want to cut her friends out, but she just couldn't face anyone right now. She needed to work through the complete and utter betrayal that she felt on her own, and while she knew that they would be sympathetic, she really didn't need them to cry alongside her right now. She just wanted to be miserable and alone.

A loud hammering knock broke into her thoughts, making her jump. The rain was still streaming down the window, the large drops making that pitter-patter sound as they hit the glass.

"Hermione Granger. Open this door!" Molly Weasley bellowed from the other side, "Now!"

Hermione sat stock still, hoping she would go away, but the hammering continued.

"Hermione Jean Granger, I know you're in there. If you don't open this door this instant, there will no longer be a door to open!"

Her middle name, and a threat to kick down the door, she was serious.

Molly Weasley was her best friend Ginny's mother. Molly had taken ownership of her when her parents were killed by a drunk driver when she was nineteen years old. Hermione didn't really need for someone to take over the role of parent, but since Molly had seven children of her own, she was of the opinion that one more wouldn't make much difference. Besides, Molly told her, she needed a mother to keep her in line.

Hermione was an only child of only children, which seemed to be a tradition throughout her family. She had no living relatives that she could call family, so she was stuck with the Weasley's. And it was much to Molly's annoyance that her twin sons, Fred and George, had taken her under their wings and encouraged her to be the smart mouth she had become.

And of course, now that she was thirty, it was Molly's firm belief that at her age Hermione should not be single. So what she liked to call Molly's Parade of Undesirables became a common occurrence. Along with the many various, somewhat eclectic other male's Molly had thought would be suitable for her, (Hermione wasn't sure what Molly thought her tastes in men were), she had attempted to match her up with her youngest son Ronald, since they were the same age. But Molly seemed to forget that they had known each other since kindergarten and Hermione had absolutely no interest in him romantically whatsoever. And in the state she was currently in, she certainly hoped that this wasn't the latest episode in the parade.

Hermione leaped off the window seat, slid across the polished wood floor in her stocking feet, flung the door open, and yelled, "What the hell do you want, Molly?"

"Oh, what a delight you are," Molly snarked back at her, "I thought you might be dead. You certainly smell like it." She pushed past her, her nose in the air. Ginny followed and was grinning manically. They had been best friends since they were small. The two had grown up as neighbours, which was convenient since Hermione's mother insisted that she be surrounded by other children, and the Weasley's certainly made up the numbers. Ginny was the only girl in her family, and being the only girl and having six older brothers, Ginny had desperately craved female company since she was small and had often hidden away at Hermione's house when they were growing up.

Hermione shut the door and banged her forehead into it, repeatedly, muttering "Why? Why? Why?"

"Oh, quit with the dramatics." Molly muttered.

She followed them into the kitchen, and watched as Molly dumped the shopping bags on the counter and was fairly certain that there would be absolutely nothing in them that she would eat. Molly had, let's just say, interesting tastes in food.

Molly took stock of the empty bottles on the counter, doing a quick count, "Well, it's a good thing I came over. It seems you may need solid food after what appears to be a three day liquid diet." She made herself at home in the kitchen, while Hermione slumped onto one of the bar stools at the counter.

"It was only two days, thank you very much. I just didn't clean up yet. And you know I'll never eat any of this crap," Hermione said.

"Crap?" Molly huffed indignantly, "You should be so lucky to eat this."

Hermione made a face, "Lucky to what? Survive?" She ducked as Molly threw an apple at her.

"I told you that smart mouth of yours would get you in trouble one day missy, and what happened? You got fired."

"No, Lavender and her boobs got me fired, not my smart mouth."

Molly had been warning her about her smart mouth since she could remember, but so far, no trouble had come her way. Hermione's own mother had warned her often enough about it – her dad just laughed and thought her hilarious, telling his wife to not squash their daughter's insightful, imaginative and determined nature – and Molly just picked up where her mother had left off. Hermione refused to count her firing as trouble, since she put the blame solely on the person responsible – Lavender. And besides, in her opinion, she didn't have a smart mouth anyway, preferring to call it politely correcting people when they were wrong.

"So we've heard what the town knows, but what did she actually do?" Ginny asked.

"Got the girls out and flashed them in Don's face," Hermione shrugged a shoulder, "I'm fairly certain he would have had to go home at lunch time to change his pants."

Ginny screwed up her face and then laughed, "Eww! Thanks for the visual."

Molly pursed her lips, in that disgusted, motherly way, "Girls," she warned, "You're not children, acting a little more grown up would be more appropriate."

"Oh come on mum, you despise that man as much as the rest of the town," Ginny said, "And Hermione's right, Lavender's boobs would be the only action he would have seen in his entire life."

Molly's lips twitched, and Ginny and Hermione both waited for the laughter. But they were disappointed when Molly schooled her features.

"Come on Molly that was a little bit funny." Hermione coaxed.

Molly narrowed her eyes, about to comment and thought better of it, "Well, I'll just cook dinner then, will I?"

"Will I be able to eat what you're cooking?" Hermione gave her a sweet, sarcastic grin. Molly was not impressed with the fact that she was a vegetarian, and her attempts to cook concoctions of vegetables that did not belong together convinced Hermione that it was her way of pushing her back to the carnivorous way of life.

"Of course you will. But unless you actually try it, you'll never know," she huffed and turned to the stove, flicking the switch making the gas burner jump to life. "Now go get dressed."

Hermione trudged into the bedroom, cursing under her breath at having her house invaded by mothers that weren't hers. She stripped off, and had to admit that Molly may have been right, three days in the same clothes and she did in fact smell a little ripe. She stood under the shower for what was apparently an eternity, since Ginny was pounding on the door telling her to hurry her arse up. She dried off and pulled on clean pyjama pants and a ratty old t-shirt, returning to the kitchen, and she had to admit, whatever Molly was cooking smelled pretty good. She would just have to close her eyes when she ate it.

Molly gave her the once over, "I thought I told you to get dressed?"

"What?" Hermione looking down at herself; pyjama pants with the Cookie Monster plastered all over them and an old Rolling Stones t-shirt that had a rip down one side. "This is dressed."

Molly rolled her eyes, "When did you last leave this flat?"

Hermione shrugged and looked at Ginny, "Well," Ginny said looking as if she was calculating the days that had passed, "Seamus called Harry and me to collect you from the pub three days ago. Have you been anywhere since?"

She shook her head, "Nope. But apparently I had more alcohol in my cupboards than I thought."

"Well, you should probably go outside, I think some fresh air might be good for you." Molly suggested.

"So, I'll open a window." Hermione was one of the few people, aside from Fred and George, who wouldn't let Molly control every aspect of her life. Answering back was something that just happened when she was around her. Molly just seemed to bring out the worst in her and she just couldn't seem to help herself.

Molly threw her hands in the air, and muttered something about brats and their smart mouths under her breath.

"Sorry, didn't catch that." Hermione crossed the room to open the window.

"Never mind." Molly muttered and continued cooking.

"So," Ginny began, "What are you planning to do with yourself?"

Hermione's three day vodka-tequila -gin fuelled binge came with what she thought to be the most brilliant idea she had ever come up with: a bookshop. She would buy an empty shop front and fortunately for her, the shop that was below her flat had only recently been vacated and now stood empty. She would speak to the owners as soon as she could and buy it from them. And unlike Flourish and Blotts that was steeped in archaic traditions, would add a coffee machine and attract a bigger and better clientele. And the best part? She'd put that slimy bastard out of business. In fact, her goal was to have Lavender (and possibly Ernie, the jury was still out on him) come begging for a job and she would tell her in no uncertain terms, no. Well, in her head it was fuck off, but outwardly she would be polite.

"That sounds awesome," Ginny said, "Let me know if I can help. I'd love to put that slimy bastard out of business."

Molly frowned, "Is that really a good idea?"

Ginny turned on her, "And why wouldn't it be?"

"Well, it's just that Mr Blotts has had that book shop for years, and his family would be distraught if it went out of business."

"And the fact that he fired me means nothing to you?" Hermione was incredulous. Molly was taking his side?

"Of course it does, but maybe you could think of another shop. Maybe just a nice cafe, not books." Molly said.

"No," she said firmly, "A book shop. It's what I've dreamed about my entire life, and maybe this was the kick in the arse I needed to do it. And if I happen to put Flourish and Blotts out of business in the process, well, that will be a bonus."