Angels Wear Chanel
Disclaimer; I do not own any of J.K.Rowling's Characters, or Chanel. Chanel belongs to Gabrielle Bonheur Coco Chanel, so please don't sue me. (or rather Karl Lagerfield or who ever)
Draco Malfoy sat in the hard stone- cold chair in his small, rented apartment. In his lap were several white envelopes: results of owl mail and the results of his job searching. It was really rather amusing to him, in an ironic sort of way. He, Draco Malfoy, the King of Slytherin was job hunting, and desperate. He laughed bitterly. He should be lying in a huge comfortable chair, with a bag of gold at his feet, and thousands more in the cellar. Instead, he barely had one hundred Galleons to rub together.
The reason was the overthrow of the Dark Lord, and the regime of the New Minister Of magic. When the Dark Lord was overthrown, his father was killed and a raid conducted on the Malfoy Manor. The tons of Dark Things that his father had kept caused him and his mother all the Malfoy money, and more. His mother had died in shock. He had to sell the Malfoy Manor, and finish paying out; all he had was the meagre amount, and it wouldn't last. Rent had to be paid, bills to be paid, clothes and food to be bought.
He cursed silently and brought himself to the present. In his lap there lay about thirty refusals that didn't help him at all. He swept them all to the floor and was about to stand when he noticed one last small envelope. He slit it open, not really expecting anything.
It was short. "Draco Malfoy, You have been accepted for an interview with the manager and owner of Jewellery Exquisite. You are expected to be there at nine o' clock. Please be punctual. Directions are included on the back.
Mrs. V. Potter Personal Assistant
Hmm. He knew Jewellery Exquisite. It was a "supposedly Muggle" shop, that actually was run by wizards. Well, be punctual. He didn't have much choice did he? Not at all. He got up and rifled his wardrobe, trying to decide what he would wear.
Next morning, bright and early, a handsome young man emerged from the small apartment. He was wearing semi formal clothes, and his long blond hair was well slicked back. With a look, he started briskly out on foot.
He hated this. He should have a limo. Instead he was walking, since he didn't have any money for bus fare. Plus, he hated walking. He continued walking, then stopped, cursing to himself silently. He had nearly walked past the place!
He hurried towards it. It was a huge white building, with huge store windows, displaying exotic and rare gems, both loose and in sets. It was actually a very tasteful display, with huge and wonderful sets in the centre, each surrounding by loose gems, of the finest quality. Huge rubies, emeralds, sapphires and diamonds were in one, while beautiful white, cream, gold, peach, pink, blue and last of all black pearls adorned another. In yet another was fine turquoises. The display was so rich it took his breath away. And he was a Malfoy. He consulted his directions. He soon reached upstairs.
It was simple, with an aquarium. The P.A. (personal assistant) of his hopefully future boss was sitting at her desk. A redhead, wearing a black suit . . .hmm, red hair. Familiar. He knew her, and the plaque Mrs. V. Potter was familiar. She turned her eyes up, deep chocolate brown to his steel grey ones, and said "Mr. Malfoy, could you please wait here?" She indicated some beautiful plush seats near to the aquarium. Now he recognized her. Ginny Weasley. Formerly scum to him, of Muggle loving purebloods, he would never had looked at her. Now he was obeying her.
He sat, and examined the fish till she told him "The boss will see you now." She looked towards the door. Her hair might have been fire, but her voice was ice.
His heart beating, but keeping his cool, he found the door and opened it.
It hit him. The scent. So elegant, warm, rich, classy . . . feminine. Refined, yet sexy. Alluring, yet with class. This boss had to be a woman. Then he didn't have to worry.
Did he?
"Sit down, Mr. Malfoy," said a cool, crisp voice, with an underlying tone to it that shocked him, deliciously. He sat. He would have trouble with her . . . he knew.
"Why should I hire you?" asked the voice, abruptly, that came from the large chair backing him. He couldn't see the owner.
'I'm creative, sensible, and willing to work. And I have educ-"
"I know your education and achievements. But against you, you are arrogant, piggish, only willing to work because you need a few galleons. And most of all"-in saying this, the voice took on an ironic twist- "you hate Mudbloods." And she turned.
In the chair was a woman as classy as her perfume, with her curly brown hair arranged into an elegant ponytail. Her eyes caught you, deep, liquid light brown eyes, with just a hint of makeup around them, the expression in them as cool as her personal assistant's. The face was beautiful, though in it was an almost wistful quality behind it somewhere, as if there was something left to be fulfilled. Even in her chic black suit, the woman looked like some kind of angel.
It was Hermione Granger.
His breath sucked in with a sharp draft of cold air, as they sat perfectly still staring at each other. He was remembering headlines Weasley gone missing day before marriage, is feared dead, with a large picture of Hermione crying, with Ginny and Harry in the background, Weasley is deemed dead, none can find him, Bride to be is heartbroken and other headlines, most with Hermione on the front. And here she was sitting right in front of him like if those things had never happened.
"Have you lost your speech, Mr. Malfoy?" asked Hermione with a sardonic twist to her voice.
He was unable to say anything, then managed, "No, madam, I have not," more out of habit than actual thought.
"Because I have no use for workers that can talk and will not. I am not an easy employer. I demand strict, exact following of instructions. Precision, calmness, and a love for the work are required. I do not tolerate fools, nonsense and pathetic, sheepish excuses. Employees are expected to at least try to get along, and if not, then do not cause trouble. Yet I am fair, and kind, with praise given where it is due, and help where it is also due. My employees are happy. You Malfoy fit most of the bills. But any nonsense, any 'King of Slytherin' and you could be fired. Marketing Manager is important. See that you are always on time, with no shoddy excuses. When I call for you, you come. You're hired Mr. Malfoy. Be here tomorrow morning, at exactly eight preferably before. Dismissed."
"Um, Madam, what am I to call you? And what do I wear?" surprised that this woman, though a little shorter than him, made him feel one inch tall.
"You will call me Miss Granger, and eventually, you might end up calling me Hermione." Here she permitted a soft smile to grace her countenance. "Most do. Your current clothes are fine. I will discuss things with you tomorrow in depth. Good morning."
He bid her good morning and left, his heart thudding. He was hired by a Mudblood that had a face like an angel, played like the devil, with a heart that had to be of a block of ice. He was really in for it. A woman of contrasts.
This was not going to be easy.
Hermione relaxed into her chair again, after being very tense. She was scared. Of Malfoy. For when she had seen him, a feeling of pure feminine pleasure had washed over her. And she had never felt that way. Not even with . . . well Ron. She shut her mind up about him, sent her memories back into their small little corner. He had grown up, matured, and a decent man, and a sensible employee. Think business. But she couldn't help seeing in her head his pale pointed face, with steely grey eyes, where she could read emotions easily, where hers didn't show. And his strength . . . he made her feel small.
She buried her face in her hands after lighting her favourite vanilla candles, a headache- and a heartache- starting. Then she heard her name. Loud, clear, and angry.
"HERMIONE GRANGER!!" A furious Hurricane Ginny suddenly blew herself into the office.
It's a good thing this office is sound proofed, she thought. Only thing is, her head, already throbbing, wasn't.
"YOU HIRED THAT FILTHY, STINKING BASTARD!!!! ARE YOU MAD!!" yelled Ginny, her eyes blazing.
Hermione buried her face deeper in her hands. "No, I am not," she said, looking up.
"Then why. Did. You. Hire him." Her voice was low and deadly.
"He's the best qualified man applying."
"He's bastard."
"Ginny, give him a chance."
"What if I do and he kills us all?"
Then I'll be with Ron, she thought, but aloud she said "Then we'll be dead and won't care." Ginny sent her a smouldering look.
"Look, Ginny, just give me a break. My head is starting to kill me, and I need to go downstairs and work a little as cashier, just for a change, okay? Any appointments, schedule for the day after, which is Wednesday."
"I know the days of the week, Hermione," snapped Ginny. "I'll note that. Go downstairs."
Hermione went downstairs, and found the cashier, Tanisha, working desperately to keep up with the line of customers queuing. At once, she was next to her, working her fingers off with her.
"Where's Latoya? And Samuel?" asked Hermione.
"Off," said Tanisha. "Dunno where they are, Hermione. And Ryan is sick leave." At this she looked sad. Ryan, a girl was one of her best friends.
Hermione frowned. Then a tall, beefy man that resembled Harry's uncle, Vernon, said, "Watch it lady," referring to Hermione, "you shunt be talking. If you do, I'll report to your boss."
Tanisha giggled as Hermione looked the man in the eye and said, "But I am the boss. And I have always permitted my cashiers to talk. Could you please step aside, you are blocking the other customers."
"I don't believe you. I'll find the office and say you are impersonating!" said the man, who Hermione was sure was Dudley Dursley.
She shrugged. "Suit yourself."
Ten minutes later, he came down, looking very embarrassed, and walked out the shop without buying anything. Hermione and Tanisha started laughing, and with them, the customers, so everyone was happy.
But later, as she was trying to sleep in her bed, she wondered if Ginny was right.
Disclaimer; I do not own any of J.K.Rowling's Characters, or Chanel. Chanel belongs to Gabrielle Bonheur Coco Chanel, so please don't sue me. (or rather Karl Lagerfield or who ever)
Draco Malfoy sat in the hard stone- cold chair in his small, rented apartment. In his lap were several white envelopes: results of owl mail and the results of his job searching. It was really rather amusing to him, in an ironic sort of way. He, Draco Malfoy, the King of Slytherin was job hunting, and desperate. He laughed bitterly. He should be lying in a huge comfortable chair, with a bag of gold at his feet, and thousands more in the cellar. Instead, he barely had one hundred Galleons to rub together.
The reason was the overthrow of the Dark Lord, and the regime of the New Minister Of magic. When the Dark Lord was overthrown, his father was killed and a raid conducted on the Malfoy Manor. The tons of Dark Things that his father had kept caused him and his mother all the Malfoy money, and more. His mother had died in shock. He had to sell the Malfoy Manor, and finish paying out; all he had was the meagre amount, and it wouldn't last. Rent had to be paid, bills to be paid, clothes and food to be bought.
He cursed silently and brought himself to the present. In his lap there lay about thirty refusals that didn't help him at all. He swept them all to the floor and was about to stand when he noticed one last small envelope. He slit it open, not really expecting anything.
It was short. "Draco Malfoy, You have been accepted for an interview with the manager and owner of Jewellery Exquisite. You are expected to be there at nine o' clock. Please be punctual. Directions are included on the back.
Mrs. V. Potter Personal Assistant
Hmm. He knew Jewellery Exquisite. It was a "supposedly Muggle" shop, that actually was run by wizards. Well, be punctual. He didn't have much choice did he? Not at all. He got up and rifled his wardrobe, trying to decide what he would wear.
Next morning, bright and early, a handsome young man emerged from the small apartment. He was wearing semi formal clothes, and his long blond hair was well slicked back. With a look, he started briskly out on foot.
He hated this. He should have a limo. Instead he was walking, since he didn't have any money for bus fare. Plus, he hated walking. He continued walking, then stopped, cursing to himself silently. He had nearly walked past the place!
He hurried towards it. It was a huge white building, with huge store windows, displaying exotic and rare gems, both loose and in sets. It was actually a very tasteful display, with huge and wonderful sets in the centre, each surrounding by loose gems, of the finest quality. Huge rubies, emeralds, sapphires and diamonds were in one, while beautiful white, cream, gold, peach, pink, blue and last of all black pearls adorned another. In yet another was fine turquoises. The display was so rich it took his breath away. And he was a Malfoy. He consulted his directions. He soon reached upstairs.
It was simple, with an aquarium. The P.A. (personal assistant) of his hopefully future boss was sitting at her desk. A redhead, wearing a black suit . . .hmm, red hair. Familiar. He knew her, and the plaque Mrs. V. Potter was familiar. She turned her eyes up, deep chocolate brown to his steel grey ones, and said "Mr. Malfoy, could you please wait here?" She indicated some beautiful plush seats near to the aquarium. Now he recognized her. Ginny Weasley. Formerly scum to him, of Muggle loving purebloods, he would never had looked at her. Now he was obeying her.
He sat, and examined the fish till she told him "The boss will see you now." She looked towards the door. Her hair might have been fire, but her voice was ice.
His heart beating, but keeping his cool, he found the door and opened it.
It hit him. The scent. So elegant, warm, rich, classy . . . feminine. Refined, yet sexy. Alluring, yet with class. This boss had to be a woman. Then he didn't have to worry.
Did he?
"Sit down, Mr. Malfoy," said a cool, crisp voice, with an underlying tone to it that shocked him, deliciously. He sat. He would have trouble with her . . . he knew.
"Why should I hire you?" asked the voice, abruptly, that came from the large chair backing him. He couldn't see the owner.
'I'm creative, sensible, and willing to work. And I have educ-"
"I know your education and achievements. But against you, you are arrogant, piggish, only willing to work because you need a few galleons. And most of all"-in saying this, the voice took on an ironic twist- "you hate Mudbloods." And she turned.
In the chair was a woman as classy as her perfume, with her curly brown hair arranged into an elegant ponytail. Her eyes caught you, deep, liquid light brown eyes, with just a hint of makeup around them, the expression in them as cool as her personal assistant's. The face was beautiful, though in it was an almost wistful quality behind it somewhere, as if there was something left to be fulfilled. Even in her chic black suit, the woman looked like some kind of angel.
It was Hermione Granger.
His breath sucked in with a sharp draft of cold air, as they sat perfectly still staring at each other. He was remembering headlines Weasley gone missing day before marriage, is feared dead, with a large picture of Hermione crying, with Ginny and Harry in the background, Weasley is deemed dead, none can find him, Bride to be is heartbroken and other headlines, most with Hermione on the front. And here she was sitting right in front of him like if those things had never happened.
"Have you lost your speech, Mr. Malfoy?" asked Hermione with a sardonic twist to her voice.
He was unable to say anything, then managed, "No, madam, I have not," more out of habit than actual thought.
"Because I have no use for workers that can talk and will not. I am not an easy employer. I demand strict, exact following of instructions. Precision, calmness, and a love for the work are required. I do not tolerate fools, nonsense and pathetic, sheepish excuses. Employees are expected to at least try to get along, and if not, then do not cause trouble. Yet I am fair, and kind, with praise given where it is due, and help where it is also due. My employees are happy. You Malfoy fit most of the bills. But any nonsense, any 'King of Slytherin' and you could be fired. Marketing Manager is important. See that you are always on time, with no shoddy excuses. When I call for you, you come. You're hired Mr. Malfoy. Be here tomorrow morning, at exactly eight preferably before. Dismissed."
"Um, Madam, what am I to call you? And what do I wear?" surprised that this woman, though a little shorter than him, made him feel one inch tall.
"You will call me Miss Granger, and eventually, you might end up calling me Hermione." Here she permitted a soft smile to grace her countenance. "Most do. Your current clothes are fine. I will discuss things with you tomorrow in depth. Good morning."
He bid her good morning and left, his heart thudding. He was hired by a Mudblood that had a face like an angel, played like the devil, with a heart that had to be of a block of ice. He was really in for it. A woman of contrasts.
This was not going to be easy.
Hermione relaxed into her chair again, after being very tense. She was scared. Of Malfoy. For when she had seen him, a feeling of pure feminine pleasure had washed over her. And she had never felt that way. Not even with . . . well Ron. She shut her mind up about him, sent her memories back into their small little corner. He had grown up, matured, and a decent man, and a sensible employee. Think business. But she couldn't help seeing in her head his pale pointed face, with steely grey eyes, where she could read emotions easily, where hers didn't show. And his strength . . . he made her feel small.
She buried her face in her hands after lighting her favourite vanilla candles, a headache- and a heartache- starting. Then she heard her name. Loud, clear, and angry.
"HERMIONE GRANGER!!" A furious Hurricane Ginny suddenly blew herself into the office.
It's a good thing this office is sound proofed, she thought. Only thing is, her head, already throbbing, wasn't.
"YOU HIRED THAT FILTHY, STINKING BASTARD!!!! ARE YOU MAD!!" yelled Ginny, her eyes blazing.
Hermione buried her face deeper in her hands. "No, I am not," she said, looking up.
"Then why. Did. You. Hire him." Her voice was low and deadly.
"He's the best qualified man applying."
"He's bastard."
"Ginny, give him a chance."
"What if I do and he kills us all?"
Then I'll be with Ron, she thought, but aloud she said "Then we'll be dead and won't care." Ginny sent her a smouldering look.
"Look, Ginny, just give me a break. My head is starting to kill me, and I need to go downstairs and work a little as cashier, just for a change, okay? Any appointments, schedule for the day after, which is Wednesday."
"I know the days of the week, Hermione," snapped Ginny. "I'll note that. Go downstairs."
Hermione went downstairs, and found the cashier, Tanisha, working desperately to keep up with the line of customers queuing. At once, she was next to her, working her fingers off with her.
"Where's Latoya? And Samuel?" asked Hermione.
"Off," said Tanisha. "Dunno where they are, Hermione. And Ryan is sick leave." At this she looked sad. Ryan, a girl was one of her best friends.
Hermione frowned. Then a tall, beefy man that resembled Harry's uncle, Vernon, said, "Watch it lady," referring to Hermione, "you shunt be talking. If you do, I'll report to your boss."
Tanisha giggled as Hermione looked the man in the eye and said, "But I am the boss. And I have always permitted my cashiers to talk. Could you please step aside, you are blocking the other customers."
"I don't believe you. I'll find the office and say you are impersonating!" said the man, who Hermione was sure was Dudley Dursley.
She shrugged. "Suit yourself."
Ten minutes later, he came down, looking very embarrassed, and walked out the shop without buying anything. Hermione and Tanisha started laughing, and with them, the customers, so everyone was happy.
But later, as she was trying to sleep in her bed, she wondered if Ginny was right.