Hermione was enjoying the early fall morning next to her potions table. Not that she could ever really feel the seasons in her lab. Everything was perfected isolated, after all a stray oak leaf could cause an explosion in the wrong cauldron.

She had spent the better part of a week perfecting the base of her Cure-All potion. She really was sick of the misnomer as it should have really been called Cure-Most. However, after hours upon hours of diluting and titrating she had gotten it to cover all muggle aliments; however, she still needed one more ingredient to finish the magic aliments half of the potion. She needed a pilot and she was running out of time. Why was she so useless on a broom?

Regardless, it was time for a break. Her tea pot steamed on the burner a table over. She happily called it over and ordered it to pour into her waiting mug of bagged spices. A nice black tea, for this (assumedly brisk) autumn day.

However, as it always seems to happen, before she could so much as sip her drink a rather annoying bell rang by her floo. She considered ignoring it for a moment, but the second round was enough to pull her away from her drink.

With a sigh, she glanced at the base of the bell that had fallen silent. The plaque below stated INDIA prompting her to grab a loose hanging scarf from her coat rack. With a mildly irate yank she wrapped the scarf around her, feeling the charms take hold as she slipped into another skin before stepping into the floo before her tea had even stopped steaming.

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Draco was sick of this rotting place. It was always hot. The food burned his tongue. There was dirt everywhere and not nearly enough alcohol to tolerate it. But, oh yes, he did try. Which is precisely how he found himself sweating, unhappy, and grilling the portly man named Timbala in front of him for answers

"This is your bottle yes?" He tapped, possibly slammed, the potion container on the counter. The embossed three-eyed cat head matched the ragged wooden sign swinging outside the door.

"Yes, sir it is." The man was a wall. He did not fall to any bribes, threats, or general grandstanding. It threw Draco out of his element.

"Then you made this skelegro, yes?" He was speaking so slowly one would assume his Many-Tongues potion was malfunctioning. But no, it was just the seething rage of being stuck in a hot shop with no answers.

"No, I did not make that potion." Draco was ready to swing at the man. He was burly and the way his arms were crossed promised that Draco shouldn't act on that impulse. But oh, he wanted to.

"Then. Who. Did." Don't hit him. Don't hit him.

"Not. I." Replied the man behind the counter. Again. For the fourth time.

"If you didn't then who did!" Deep breaths were all that was keeping him from exploding.

"The owner of the shop." Draco started at this. A new answer possibly? A way out of this looping conversation.

"Fantastic! Who is that?"

"Not I!" Draco was contemplating hitting him anyway when an elder woman breezed in. Her long black hair was braided back and fell down her right shoulder. It was streaked with grey and her wrinkled face wreaked of wisdom.

"She is." Draco sent one more look of pure hatred at the shopkeep before turning his full attention to the new comer. A deep green Sari was embossed with vibrant gold, a small detail but indicated a taste for the lavish. Considering the state of the shop, that was something he could work with.

"Hello, I am Ahmi. I hear you had some questions?" The elder woman drawled. Draco was always better with women. He blamed years of his mother's horrid social events. They just ate his charm right up.

"I do. I appreciate your kindness in assisting me." Draco ignored the scoff from the shopkeep and focused his attention on the new target. "Is there a way I could speak with such a lovely creature like yourself in private?"

"There is a parlor in the back. Please join me for tea." She spun around and passed through a curtain clearly inviting him to follow. He smirked one more time at the shopkeep who, for the first time since Draco entered the dark shop, had a suspicious smile on his face. Draco desperately hoped he wasn't in charge of the tea.

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At first Herminone had frozen. It had been a long time since she felt the unadulterated fear of the war. It was only her cold and calculating logic that brought her back to reality. She listened to Timbala give him the work around for what must have been at least a third time by the sound of the youngest Malfoy's tone. He might have called her in on her day off but sometimes she did love that man.

She breezed into the room in her sari. The shift in attitude was immediately perceptible. She ignored the false charms and smiles and called him back to the parlor to deal with in private. After all, what could he want with a poor apothecary.

She led him through the dark wooden building, past rows of potions, ingredients, teas and other stock both magical and muggle. When she was sure he was thoroughly lost from the corridor's charm she turned into the parlor.

It was the whole reason she selected this building after all. She renovated the rest of it to fit her needs but she left this parlor exactly the same. Spices and ingredients hung from wooden support beams and the fire in the floo provided just enough light to make out the sturdy wooden table, two chairs and a basic kitchen.

Taking the chair furthest from the door she waited for her old classmate to sit. He was clearly over confident in his abilities to woo her.

"Miss?" He started confidently, but she was willing to play the game.

"You may call me Ahmi." She responded as she gestured her wand at the kettle on the stove. It may be significantly warmer but she still wanted her tea. "Why are you here, Mr. Malfoy?"

"Ah, you know of me?" He smiled confidently and Hermione had to resist rolling her eyes.

"Of your family, yes. But the last time I inquired they had no interest in Delhi."

"No, we tend to stay on our side of the pond, or two." He chuckled in a way that she was sure was somewhat endearing but in her experience, Malfoy laughing was never well.

"So then, what are you doing in my shop?" The kettle screamed and she called over two tea cups and two of the bags she stored in the pantry. As an afterthought she called over some milk and sugar. No reason to be impolite.

"Well you see that's a rather interesting story." She raised an eyebrow as she poured his tea first before her own. Leaning back she gestured to go on.

"Well I happened to injure myself while visiting some of the local temples." Hermione was sure that if Malfoy was wandering the streets of Delhi he was not visiting temples. "And as it would happen, I slipped down some steps and broke my arm."

"You should be more careful. Blood spilt in the temples can be considered a promise to the gods." He confidently waved her off.

"Well, unfortunately we were out quite late and none of the major magical medical centers happen to be open. By pure chance we happen upon a local emergency clinic." Hermione was mildly irate. Those clinics for locals in need of care, not drunken vagrants too pissed to stand straight.

"After a sizable donation they agreed to give me some skelegro for my arm. Of course, I was reluctant to take it and would have much rather seen a healer. However, you really can't risk time with these things, can you?"

"I suppose you cannot, Mr. Malfoy." He was including her in all the right places. Just enough input to feel active in the conversation but not enough to actually contribute. As if even a second wasted on anything she were to say would be a tragedy.

"Well, as my friends and I prepared for a night of foul-tasting suffering."

Most likely by the addition of more alcohol and torturing kittens. Herminone thought to herself.

"When, low and behold, while the bitter flavor of skelegro was still toe curling, there was no pain! You could imagine the shock as, over in the Queen's land, ours comes with a night of screaming."

The Queen's land? What a pretentious- Does this even ever work on anyone? She was quite enjoying her tea after all. She had gotten a surprise show to go with it.

"And so, I went back to this small clinic in disbelief as my arm had completely healed!" He clearly meant it as a compliment but it came off more as an insult to the very clinic she helped trained.

"That tends to be the point of Skelegro, is it not?" Somewhat stalled he half chuckled and nodded along.

"Indeed. Well after some pestering they gave me the bottle, which led me straight to this shop." Hermione could not help the look of skepticism that crossed her face. 'This shop' is almost impossible to find unless you know what you are looking for or truly in need. He probably bribed or threatened his way here.

"And I just must know how you have done it!" Hermione reacted genuinely to that one. It is a well-known practice within the industry not to ask other potioneers how potions are made without genuine interest and a good bit of groveling. She sipped her tea as he clearly waited in anticipation. She could take some groveling.

"Well, for emergency breaks there is no need to regrow the whole bone." To her surprise he zeroed in, fully focused on her response. "Thus we are able to dilute the tonic to allow slower recalcification of the bone."

"Yes? Do go on." Somewhat skeptical she continued her explanation as he followed every word closely.

"Since the calcium is not being pulled from the surrounding cells in such large amounts, as when it's needed to grow bones, it is much less painful. It is a process that takes about the same time as a full regrowth treatment but significantly less pain."

"Pardon? I don't quite understand what you mean." The hint of impatience in his voice reminded her of who she was talking to. Pulled from the moment she quite remembered that she has no obligation to help the man in front of her.

"It is quite more than I am up to explaining today. I appreciate your interest but I have some things to work on."

"That is perfectly fine, I can come back. I will be here all week!" He replied in a cheery voice but there was an underlying hint of ice.

"I will be out of the country for the next few weeks unfortunately."

"I can floo in. Cost is hardly a concern."

"I am a very busy woman." She responded firmly.

"Then I will pay for your time." He responded flatly. The cordial conversation was over and it was time to get to the meat of things.

"I am aware of who you are, Mr. Malfoy. Not just of your name, but who you are, what you did and what you do. What exactly does a corporate giant like yourself want with my little old potions shop." Clearly sensing the shift in mood Malfoy dropped his act too.

"You think I want this rickety old place? Hardly."

"Then why are you here? You want my recipe for Skelegro? I find that hard to believe as it's hardly profitable." As a rule, the standard formula was regulated by the ministry and would never be allowed to be sold above a certain price as it was a 'vital-to-life potion'.

"I want to know how you did it. Consider it a side project of mine." He replied simply sipping his tea. "Excellent tea by the way."

"Why?"

"Because," he paused for a second as if to formulate a thought. "You make it better than me. And that drives me insane."

"Pardon?" It was Hermione's turn to balk. A Malfoy, admitting an unknown was better than him? Call the Prophet the mogul has lost his mind.

"I want to know. I have my own reasons."

"Well then you will be left wanting then. Now if you'll excuse me." She pushed her chair back in an act that felt oddly similar to running away when his hand caught hers.

"You seem to hate me quite a bit for someone who doesn't know me."

"I know you. I know what you have done. Your attitude shows what a selfish spoiled child you are. Well, for once, you won't be getting what you want." She ripped her hand away and headed towards the door.

"You may know of me. But, while we are tossing around accusations. you are not who you say you are either Ms. Ahmi."

Hermione had her face schooled into a lake of calm but inside her emotions rushed like waves. How did he know? When did he find out? After all this time I get brought down by Malfoy. Of course, that's just bloody brilliant. How much time did she have?

Before she truly set her escape in motion, she forced her thoughts to calm. She knew she tended to panic in these situations. Instead she slowly turned while shooting him a doubtful glance.

"Oh? Who am I Mr. Malfoy?" She held herself with confidence, even under fear of the answer.

"You use tea bags." Hermione tried to suss out any meaning from the statement and had come up dry. Did he know or didn't he? She was growing tired of the games and may have snapped a bit more than she intended.

"What on earth does that mean?"

"The locals here drink loose leaf and strain it. You use tea bags."

"I don't like tea in my teeth." She fired back.

"You offered milk and sugar, even though you took none."

"Some people like milk and sugar."

"Not here they don't." Hermione cursed inwardly to herself. She spent so much time here and had managed to forget that little detail.

"What is your point?"

"You were raised in England. Possibly another European country but I doubt it considering your taste in quality tea and preferred style of cup."

"That one you are wrong on. These are simply cups I had picked up on sale." She responded huffily. She didn't think they were very English-looking at all.

"So then I am right about everything else?" Somewhat annoyed by his word play, somewhat entertained she decided to close the conversation anyway. Perhaps if she just gave him what he wanted he would leave her be.

"If you want the recipe that badly just take it." She waved her wand in the general direction of the door and a slip of paper came flying in, resting on the table in front of him. She was almost offended by his look of disgust.

"I hardly care for such an insignificant recipe. No, I need more than that. I want the knowledge of how you built it." Feeling the major warning bells going off in her head she twitched her wand calling for Timbala.

"Unfortunately for you, my brain in firmly planted in my head. Now please leave before I-"

"You will work for me."

"Oh? Will I?" She crossed her arms in a way that she was sure was out of character but the audacity of the statement had called for it.

"Yes. I will pay you well and arrange living quarters. You will see me on my schedule and will work on my guidance until your purpose is fulfilled, in which case you will be paid a more than generous retirement sum and can buy yourself a beach house in… I don't know… Figi." He waved his hand while pulling out a stack of coins. It was almost laughable if it weren't happening to her. Malfoy was trying to buy her!

"While that is quite a generous offer, I am not your sort of person." His eyebrow raised in question at her. "I am not a pureblood."

He scoffed, startling her. "You are who you are. I need what I need."

It irked her how such a point of torture to her for years was now hardly worth mentioning. She rubbed her right forearm absently. "I am not even half-blood."

His lip twitched and his counting stalled. "You're a mudblood."

"Muggleborn." She hissed with enough venom to make him jump. After a moment of silence, he continued to count.

"Well you are a talented mud- muggleborn and will be compensated as such. No need to haggle, more will be sent to your account to assist with relocation."

"Well," She paused in her shock looking for words. She pulled the first thought she could from her head."I am sure your father is proud."

Again he stopped counting, clenching the gold tightly. "My father is dead."

Unfortunately, Hermione found the right words for the wrong time. "I cannot give you my condolences."

"Did you know him?" For the first time Hermione was able to relax. Safe from identification, even with her slip. It appeared he did not recognize her after all.

"Somewhat. A horrid man." Her face instinctively scrunched up as it always did when speaking of any Death Eaters. The memories may blur but she never quite found a way to make them fade.

"I am not like him." It was small and quiet. A barely there statement that left Hermione flabbergasted and vaguely pitying her old enemy.

"I am not available for any amount of money." Hermione saw more of a human soul in the Malfoy heir, or head she supposed, today than she had in the 8 years of knowing him. A small fire she had attributed to the discovery of her identity died behind his eyes. He was genuinely interested in her for some reason and as much as she hated to recall it, he was quite good on a broom. Nearly as good as Harry. Was she really that desperate though.

"Oh, I see." He stood up abruptly and somewhat shocked. He made quick work of the coins, sliding them back into his bag. "I am sorry for wasting your time today."

"However, I am looking for an apprentice." She had thought it but didn't expect her mouth to actually be able to deliver the words to a sworn enemy. The Ravenclaw part of her screamed that everyone who yearned for knowledge deserved it. While the rest of her logical side was stunned into silence before scoffing that he would never accept it anyway.

"I would hardly call my skill level apprentice." He responded back after what felt like an eternity. "I have a Master title."

"That is the only position open." Much to her chagrin he seemed to consider it. She was mentally screaming at herself as she weighed trying to backpedal against the offer versus wondering how much fun it would be to have Malfoy under her thumb.

"What are the requirements?" She had never expected that he would even consider this. She had to think of something still that would keep him around just long enough that she could get everything she needed done but not so long he wouldn't outright reject it.

"I will teach you whatever you need to know and guide you through it. In exchange, you will come to my workshop to assist in however I see fit until complete or for a maximum of one year. You may not share any information about me, my shops, or my life; however, your education is yours to do with what you please."

"I run a large company you know." He responded bitterly as Timbala finally appeared in the doorway. She let herself relax, knowing she had caught the wizard in front of her.

"You have minions to run a large company. You make custom potions for rich men with infidelity problems."

"I think you underestimate me."

"I think you overestimate yourself." She responded as he stood. She assumed he was planning to shake her hand to seal the deal, as if she would trust his word. "If you find this agreement reasonable you will make an unbreakable vow."

She smiled as he practically fell back his chair a vaguely haunted look on his face. He paused for a moment, staring at the table. "That's very dark magic."

"Not here." She responded, looking longingly at her empty tea cup. She was still not sure that this was the right move, but she didn't have the time she needed for any other option. "Here we don't make promises we don't intend to keep. Now, if you agree Timbala will act as our bonder. Otherwise please leave my shop."

"Why do you need an unbreakable vow then?"

"I hardly expect you to hold the same, or any, morals as the wondrous people of this country. My life is private and I would like to keep it that way. If you don't agree that perfectly-"

"Agreed." His whisper was hesitant and barely audible.

"What?"

"Agreed. So you will have your man cast it?" He eyed the large Indian man with a look of distaste, trying to regain his composure. Timbala remained passive as he eyed Hermione with a look of pity." Does he know how to do it without leaving a scar or losing a finger?"

"I didn't think you'd take it." She uttered mostly to herself. She did her best to suppress the disgust at the whole situation in exchange for the small spark of hope.

"Are you backing out?" He questioned with that god-damned typical smirk of his. Like he had played the game the whole time and left her at the start. Her temper flared but she couldn't scare him off.

"Hardly. Timbala, I need a Vow." Timbala moved into the room with surprising grace for a man his size, coming to a stop just close enough to Malfoy to seem uncomfortable. It seems she wasn't the only one enjoying watching the Slytherin squirm.

"Are you sure, Miss?" She simply nodded. Knowing better than to question her twice he raised his own wand between the two of them. "Hold out your wands."

Hermione did just that. She lifted her beautiful thin vinewood wand, pulsing with life. The cold skeletal black of his hawthorn seemed sickly, like the very core had been tainted. Harry should have never given it back. Nonetheless, they crossed wands with Timbala's steadfast Oak at the intersection acting as a guide. He nodded to her to start.

"For a maximum of one year, I will teach you willingly. I will give you skills you seek and will guide you in bettering yourself." A gold light snaked its way from Timbala's wand to her wrist winding around and back down it.

"For one year." He paused looking her directly in the eye. "or until I have learned all that I need, I will be your apprentice working as you need. I will learn from your teachings and keep the secrets you hold safe."

A second golden strand mirrored her own, snaking around Malfoy's wrist before connecting again at the center, glowing brightly before fading away.

Just like that, she was Draco Malfoy's Master and all she had wanted was some tea.