In Which Mr. Zabini ruins The Plan, Miss Parkinson makes an acquaintance, and Hermione goes to dinner

Author's Note

To the people who left reviews, you are the absolute best and the only reason that I write.

I apologize for the terribly late update. Some of you may have already read this chapter. I have made a few tweaks and there are a few added scenes, so take the time to skim through so that the next chapter doesn't confuse you.

Also, I would like to mention that I am looking for a beta with a lot of free time. So... if anyone's interested feel free to send a message.

Hermione Granger hurried to her office, nodding at the witches and wizards who greeted her along

the way. She smoothed her hair down, righting her skirt and quickening her pace as she glanced at the time. Her secretary, Alicia Spinnet, had sent her a messenger snitch, notifying her that there was a near hysterical Mr. Ollivander waiting for her on a Floo call. So to her office Hermione hurried, while she steeled her mind for the coming jibberpufferies, or shenanigans as her Muggle parents would say, of the old wandmaker.

"He's gone mad," Alicia warned as Hermione passed her desk.

"More than he normally is?" Hermione asked with a sly smile. "Maybe it's the Night Plimpies this time."

"Not dark enough," Alicia quipped. "I'm guessing it's about whatever the Quibbler is featuring this week. Looked like a hypogriff and a dragon had a zombie child. You really should talk to Luna about toning down the articles. You're the one who has to deal with the fall back."

Hermione smiled. "It would be of no use. Luna is as free of a spirit as a spirit can be. Did you know she gave me a cover for my fireplace? It's hideous! Sparkling pink with neon stars all over! She told me it would keep the Beherniaks away."

"What is a Beherniak?" Alicia asked curiously.

"Exactly."

"Maybe we'll figure out this Sunday," Alicia laughed. "Oh, and after this call I've blocked off the rest of the hour so you've got time to work on the Demiguise poaching."

Hermione nodded and entered the office, overlooking her neat décor and sighting the face of Mr. Garrick Ollivander, seeming dishevelled and tired, in her fireplace.

"Vine with a dragon heartstring core, ten and three-quarters inches. Miss Granger!" the wandmaker exclaimed, his hair more out of place than it usually was.

"Hello, Mr. Ollivander," she greeted. "I hope you're in good health?"

"Blast my health, dearie! I've got terrible news! Chizpurfles have taken over my store!"

"Chizpurfles?"

"Chizpurfles!"

"Do you mean Chiz-PURR-fles?"

"Yes! Chiz-PER-fles."

"No, it's pronounces Chiz-PUR-fles, sir."

"I've got a different- I'm from a different part of the United Kingdom than you are! My accent affects pronunciation!"

"Right. So sorry to hear about the Chiz-PURR-fles. Have you made any steps towards eradicating them? I can give you a few spells or send a Ministry worker to perform them if you are indisposed-"

"I wouldn't call for a minor issue, Miss Granger!" Hermione raised an eyebrow. "Excluding the last few calls, of course." Ollivander chuckled nervously. "This is an infestation of the most serious kind! They've chewed through hundreds of wands and I don't know how to get rid of them! I've tried all the usual spells but there are far too many!" he explained frantically.

Hermione blew out a breath. "Do you have any idea where they came from?" she asked worriedly. "Have any of the neighboring shops complained of them?" If they made their way down Diagon Alley, Ron would make an unwelcome presence outside her office in no time.

"None! They were here when I returned from my trip to the Black Forest to retrieve some wand-quality Beech wood, only to find my wands taken hostage by the bastards!"

"Oh my, I'll send a message to Percy Weasley immediately," she assured him, writing a quick note and fashioning it into an aircraft. It would serve the snooty dunce right to have to deal with those nasty little buggers, she thought, crinkling her nose in distaste at the image of the tiny fanged beasts.

"What is that boy going to do about anything?" the old man asked incredulously. "I'm not sure he'll be able to help with this. It's nothing to do with the wand, just the wizard yielding it. I can recall the day he walked into my shoppe, nose turned up so high, even the wands could sense it. The only one kind enough to work for him was walnut with dragon heartstring core, six inches."

"Mr. Ollivander," Hermione started, biting her lip to hold in a laugh. "Percy Weasley is the Chair-Wizard of the Pest Advisory Board. He is the top person to help you with this."

"Fitting job for him, no?" the older man remarked.

"I like to think so," Hermione agreed, pursing her lips to hide her smile.

Ollivander muttered a curse. "Oh, he'll do. I suppose you don't have the time?"

"I'm never too busy for you, Mr. Ollivander, but I will have to wait until after work to come check on the situation. If Mr. Weasley hasn't sorted it out by then, of course."

"I'm sure he won't have!" Ollivander deadpanned. "Alright, alright. Please, tell Mr. Weasley to be quick! It is already going to take years to replenish my supply. Years!"

"Of course," Hermione promised. "He'll be there within a half-hour at the latest. In the meanwhile, perhaps I can help set up an apprenticeship with recently graduated students interested in wandlore?"

"That would be very kind of you, Miss Granger," he said, still distraught.

"Take care of yourself, Mr. Ollivander, and don't worry, we'll have your supply reinstated within a few months, not years."

Mr. Ollivander nodded distractedly, clearly dubious of her words but unwilling to refute them.

She closed the Floo with a wave of her wand and relaxed back into her chair. As the Head for the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, she usually did not deal with pest issues, but there were certain people whom she preferred to deal with personally.

Now, that Hermione was constantly busy, she wasn't able to spend much face time with any one of her friends, so she usually kept up with everyone's lives' through Sunday gatherings at the Burrow. But still she felt out of the loop, like her life was wasting away on work. Work that was important, of course, but work that took over every square centimetre of her life.

She was really looking forward to this Sunday. Ginny would be out of the country, and though she was a close mate, it was nice to talk to Harry alone. He was her best friend, after all, and she needed his advice on a particularly thorny circumstance.

Oliver Wood had asked for her help with a delicate issue. His girlfriend, now former and pregnant, had cheated on him with one of his best mates who was also on the Puddlemere United team. The rags had gone mad about the story, giving Oliver no time to adjust to the changes. He chose to take his holiday in England rather than staying in Ireland like he usually did, just to get away from the ordeal.

She had immediately agreed to aid him in any way that she could. Though Harry had warned her that Wood was only using his public breakup as an excuse to pursue her, she had disagreed and accepted Oliver's request.

"You don't know what it's like, Hermione," he started. "I used to be in the newspaper for winning Quidditch matches and now? Now they ask me if I've given Victoria and Nathaniel my blessing! Apparently, because they're going to have a baby, it makes everything okay. She cheated on me for fucking months. I doubt that she was ever faithful, to be totally honest, but it's all completely acceptable in the face of a pregnancy! It makes no fucking sense!"

"Of course I know what it's like. I've been the apple of Rita Skeeter's beady eyes since the Triwizard Tournament nonstop. I've been written about more times than you can count."

"But you're the brightest witch of our age! They can say whatever they want in the news, but at the end of the day, everybody loves you. It's different for me, Hermione. I'm just a Quidditch player."

It had taken her a day to weigh the pros and cons, but she had finally decided to aid Oliver. After all, it wasn't as if she wanted an extremely active love life. Maybe helping him would help fend off some unwanted attention.

"Fine. But no funny business or I'll make sure you're back on the reserve team."

And Oliver had been a perfect gentleman, keeping their physical contact limited to handholding and light waist touches. It was Hermione that had bumbled it all up by snogging him. In her defense, the only reason she'd done it was because a particular buggy reporter – who would be receiving another visit soon – had badgered her into it, saying things like 'Miss Granger, how many more Quidditch players will you entrap with your cunning?' and 'Miss Granger, how long do you think this poor boy will last?'By the end of their day Hermione couldn't resist planting one on Oliver, just so that the rotten reporter – if you could even call her that – would actually have something to write about!

'That beetle better get the message this time,' the devil on her right shoulder whispered.

'Giving her the time of day will just encourage her,' the angel perched on her left shoulder reasoned.

Okay, this is starting to get weird, Hermione thought. I've even named you two.

'Too late,' Mia snorted. 'You've been weird all of your life. I mean, who chooses to study when she has access to some of the hottest wizards of the century?'

'It's not all about sex, Mia,'Onie retorted, smoothing down her lengthy white dress.

'Oh, I know you think that,'Mia scoffed. 'After all, you are the reason we're still a virgin.'

The subject-verb agreement in that sentence was incorrect. The correct usage would be- Hermione was interrupted.

'I know! Just because I don't have my nose in a book every waking moment of the day doesn't mean I'm daft!' Mia defended.

'Are you sure?'Onie asked innocently.

'Get back to the point already. You were whining about being admired by Oliver Wood, the bleeding captain of a professional Quidditch team,' Mia snarled, whipping her tail.'There is so much wrong with you.'

Right.

Now, she was trapped between a Hyppogriff and a Chimera, because she was almost one hundred percent sure that Wood was dancing around a question that she was not yet prepared to answer. She had successfully avoided him for a week, but she wasn't sure how much longer she could delay him. He was growing antsy, showing up in places that she hadn't told him she'd be and asking Alicia when she had a free hour for lunch. It wouldn't be long before he followed in Ron's footsteps and simply told Witch Weekly that they were seeing each other without confirming it with her first!

'I cannot even begin to comprehend why you would date that carrot top disaster when you could've been fucking Harry Potter!'Mia shouted, stamping her stiletto encased foot, causing Hermione to flinch.

Ow, Mia!

'Harry was in love with Ginny and letting Ron down wasn't an option at the time. Remember how many symptoms of depression he was displaying?'Onie reminded. 'He was spiralling downwards and-'

'I don't care!' Mia pouted, leaning the trident against Hermione's neck and conjuring a bright green fruit between her hands.'The nerve of the tomato nosed bastard! To tell the entire Wizarding World that we were together just so he could save face! Almost as bad as Wood-'

'He's a far cry better than Ron! At least Wood had the courtesy to ask,' Onie pointed out.

'More attractive? Yes. Shaggable? Absolutely. Dating material? Forget it! We're not making the same mistake as we did bef-'

A knock at the door startled her. Hermione looked up to see a burly, curly-haired blonde, leaning against the doorway.

'Look at that delicious piece of meat,' Mia murmured, wiping the apple against her vest before biting into it and letting the juice slide down her pouty lips. 'Do you think he'll lick me clean?'

'You're disgusting. He's completely inappropriate! How can you be attracted to such obscenity?' Onie asked in disbelief.

'How can you not be?' Mia retorted, settling down on Hermione's shoulder and crossing her legs like a proper demon.

"Interested in making some magic together? Because my wand's at the ready, dar-"

"Cormac," Hermione cut him off, glaring at his wolfish grin. "Is there something you needed?"

"Just your lips, sweetheart," he flirted, plopping down on the chair across from her. Mia puckered up as Onie gagged.

"Shut the door on your way out," Hermione replied evenly.

"I already did, just in case you decide to finally show me your knickers," Cormac said, his eyes lighting up as her eyes narrowed impossibly further.

"Get out of my office," she ordered, turning back to her work.

"You know I love it when you get strict with me, Professor Granger. However, I'm afraid, my sweet, that I am here on business."

"If it was important enough, your department head would have come straight to me," Hermione said firmly. "Leave. Now."

Finally taking note of her genuine ire, Cormac spoke quickly and frankly. "There's been a sudden wave of Golden Snidget usage in Wiltshire."

Hermione's icy demeanor melted into disbelief. "Merlin! They're using real Snidgets? Has the world gone mad? They're on the endangered list already! We'll need to get someone on this immediately!"

"Yes," Cormac agreed. "But there's a slight problem."

"Which is?"

"The Snidgets are being used by younger wizards, aged from nine to eleven years, pre-Hogwarts."

"Where are they even getting them from? Are they not being supervised? This speaks on the parenting, really. To use an endangered animal for a silly sports game!"

Cormac grinned at the witch's belligerence. "We don't have any sure answers yet, but there is some speculation. We've got Patty from the Department of Magical Law Enforcement making calls already."

"What are the speculations and what steps is she taking towards the issue?" Hermione queried, her quick quill poised over fresh parchment, ready to write.

"She's spoken with wizarding families from the area and gathered a bit of intel. So far, what we know is that the parents are completely unaware."

"That seems unlikely, because only an older witch or wizard could acquire a Snidget. They're far too agile for a mere child to capture."

"I could've managed it at seven," Cormac remarked, puffing his chest.

"No, you couldn't."

"Why don't you take a ride on my broom and see for yourself," he suggested, raising his eyebrow provocatively.

"Why don't you leave my office before I hex you? I can see that you will be of no further help."

"I'll stop while I'm ahead, as the Muggles say." Cormac rose from his chair, and called back to her once more before he exited, "Did you cast a stupefy? Because you are stunning, Hermione."

"That didn't even make sense, Mclaggen!" Hermione cried after him.

Draco didn't bother knocking as he entered the mangy, black home of Geoffrey Willard, blowing the door to chunks and splinters with a jerk of his wand. "Willard!" he bellowed, storming down the unlit hallway and into the muddy drawing room to find the wizard in question stuffing a magazine into the cracks of his armchair.

"Draco," he said weakly, shooting to his feet and clasping his hands.

"What did I tell you about Pansy?" Draco advanced on the pathetic man until he was seated once more, looking up at him with wide eyes.

"W-w-what do you mean?" Geoffrey stuttered unconvincingly.

"Answer me, Willard, before I make your pathetic life more of a joke than it already is," Draco threatened, an evil smile twisting on his face. Back when Hermione chose to keep her tongue in her own mouth – good times – and he had been able to maintain the delusional idea that he could live without her, the instances in which he could exercise his influence, like this one, had been the only thing to make him feel alive.

"I didn't mean any of it! I was just mad! She cheated on me a-"

"And why wouldn't she, Willard?"

"Well-" Geoffrey paused, trying to find a reason.

"Can't even find a reason to defend yourself? You're a pitiful excuse for a wizard. Might as well be a Muggle," Draco spat, sneering at the tremble that racked Willard's body and completely unaware that Vey's fangs had lowered as a menacing warning.

"Please, don't kill me! I didn't mean to-"

Draco narrowed his eyes, bristling at the unveiled insult. "You think I'd waste one of my Avada's on a fool like you?" he asked incredulously. Willard began to stutter, but Draco continued. "No. No, I'd rather give Avery Couvisia call."

"No!" Willard cried, shaking his head frantically. "No, please, Draco, please, spare me."

Draco chuckled. "Now, why would I do that, Willard, when you can't follow simple directions? I think you need a punishment, a proper lesson as to why you should always heed your superiors."

'He's back!' Veela cried as Vey cheered their host on with glee.

Hermione was currently in a meeting for her latest legislation concerning werewolfves. Though the number of werewolf attacks had decreased significantly since the war, it was still a large number. Her proposal outlined the benefits of required Ministry-administered Wolfsbane potion to all werewolves. The bitten person would simply register with the Ministry and the werewolves would either pick-up their potions or opt to have them delivered.

Her meeting with the St. Mungo's Chief Potioneer, Hemmington Reece, was going as well as she had expected. Hemmington was a particularly condescending individual and loved to be as uncooperative as possible where Hermione was concerned.

"How many employees will you need to brew three thousand Wolfsbane potions?" Hermione asked seriously.

"Well, I don't know, Hermione, what do you think?" Hemmington countered rudely, pursing her lips.

'She looks like a cow,' Mia said meanly, flashing her pretty figure.

'Her appearance isn't what matters,' Onie said. 'It's about what's on the inside.'

'And what do you think is inside that fat cow? It's not like she's nice.'

'She is hostile at times,' Onie admitted. 'There must be a lot going on in her life.'

'Or nothing at all, which is why she creates drama. I would know, I am a demon, after all. And I can promise you that this cow is just picking a fight with us because she knows she can. Hermione, here, has been the nice little girl for so long that people are starting to take advantage of her. I hate it.'

Hermione gritted her teeth and flared her nostrils, before she took a deep breath.

"I don't know, Hemmington, which is why I asked you. You are the head of the Potions Ward, correct?"

"Correct," Hemmington affirmed, turning her nose up.

"So, how many witches and wizards will you need to brew Wolfsbane potion for three thousand werewolves?" Hermione asked again.

"Not sure," Hemmington answered indifferently. "Will we be here much longer?"

"That depends on whether or not you will you answer my question. It's the last one."

"No, I don't think I will. I've got a nail appointment," Hemmington said, standing from her chair and heading for the door. "Owl me if you've got further questio-"

Hermione flew out of her chair and pointed her wand towards the door, slamming and spelling it shut. Hemmington froze, turning to look at the woman poised to curse her.

"I have had it with you!" Hermione screeched. "Who do you think you are, speaking to me like that?"

"I- I-"

"I know what you think," Hermione snarled. "There isn't anything happening in that brain of yours that I don't understand. You think that I'll keep on taking your ill treatment, that I won't speak up against you." Hemmington shook her head dishwater curls bouncing around. "Let me make one thing extremely clear to you, Miss Reece, if I decide to let Kingsley, my close and personal friend, know how ill I've been treated by you, you won't have a job tomorrow. Do you understand?"

"Y-yes," she stuttered out.

"Good. And one more thing, learn to be pleasant!"

"Y-yes, Hermione," she agreed, bowing her head slightly.

Hermione's panting slowed, finally realizing what she had done.

'Don't go soft, now! You'll look weak and she'll take it out on another potioneer or a patient!' Mia urged.

"M-may I l-leave, ma'am?" Hemmington asked.

"The answer to my question, first," Hermione ordered.

"Of course, ma'am."

It had been a few hours since Pansy had left the Zabini Estate. Since then, she had been wandering around aimlessly. First, she went to Hogsmeade for a butterbeer and some garlic chips. Deciding that she needed some new clothes, she then went to Gringotts to extract some gold. Usually she would just charge her items to 'the Malfoy account,' because the Malfoys had an account everywhere, but, a few years ago, after one of her more hefty spending sprees, Draco had made it clear to all the clothes shop owners' on Diagon Alley that Pansy was not to add her purchases to his tab, ever. She didn't speak to him, put out by his stinginess, before Blaise had brought to her attention that the bills, altogether, had come out to 500,000 Galleons. Her heart had stopped as she tried to recall what she had bought. She damned her privileged upbringing for teaching her to never worry about price! She would sometimes look at price tags, if the urge took her, but she had been shopping at Lala Lime, a witch workout-clothing store that didn't believe in price tags. After she had gathered a few outfits, she hadn't wanted to ask for the price like a common witch!

Ashamed by her childish behavior, Pansy had deposited the 500,000 Galleons into the Malfoy account at Gringotts. When Draco learned of it, he apparated right into Pansy's room at the Parkinson Home and yelled in her face.

"Just what do you think you're doing, Parkinson?" Draco shouted, parchment clenched in his fist, which he shook angrily.

"Paying you back! I didn't realize I had used so many Galleons!" Pansy defended, her hands planted firmly on her hips.

"Well, take it back!" Malfoy ordered.

"No," Pansy refused stubbornly.

"I don't need the bloody money, Parkinson! I just don't want you bankrupting my inheritance so that I have to dip into the Malfoy funds!"

"You can't tell me what-" Pansy stopped herself. "Wait, what do you mean by Malfoy funds? Isn't that the account you use now?"

"Of course not! That account has the money that Malfoy businesses have made since the beginning of time! I only use the Galleons I came into when I turned of age," Draco explained. He raised his voice again. "Which is why I'm telling you to take your money back!"

"I'm not going to take my money back, Draco. Stop ordering me around like we're at Hogwarts!" Pansy was ruffled, by her friend's shouts and orders.

"Look at this, witch, before you say no to me again!" Draco shoved the wrinkled paper from his fist in her face, the words and numbers reading blurry from the nearness.

"Merlin, you are filthy fucking rich" she whispered, her mind going dizzy. In her hands was a Gringotts slip for the current state of the Malfoy account. The number on it was long, so long that she lost track of the commas and wondered if she could count that high. She looked back up at Draco's smirking face and said, "Give me back my Galleons, Malfoy. And wipe that smirk off your face. I already knew you were rich beyond imagination."

"It's always nice to be reminded, Parkinson."

Pansy laughed at the memory, finishing the last of her drink. She was currently on Diagon Alley. Having successfully found items that were to her taste, she had treated herself to a pumpkin pasty and a cappucino. She enjoyed the last bit of pastry, chewing thoroughly, before standing from the table.

"Ouch! Watch where you going!" someone yelped rudely.

"You watch where you're going, wanker," Pansy exclaimed, turning to see her offender. A smile curled her lips when she saw who it was. "Well, well, if it isn't the Boy-Who-Couldn't-Find-The-Loo."

Harry looked up to see the dark-haired witch. Her prettiness caught him off guard, making him forget to glare at her for nearly breaking his toe. "Pansy Parkinson," Harry said. "I should've known."

"And what is that supposed to mean?" Pansy asked indignantly, attempting not to notice how well Harry had filled out. His shoulders were rounded, his arms tense with lean muscle. Her eyes dropped, taking in the lines of his legs and the bulge where the Golden Boy had decided to keep his Golden Prick free of restraining briefs.

"You were the one who yelled to give me to Voldemort, right? Why wouldn't you be the one to slice my toe off in a public location while I was innocently eating my pumpkin pasty?" he asked cheekily, astonished as her porcelain skin turned the slightest shade of pink.

"For your information, my parents were being held hostage by the bastard! Draco wasn't the only child bullied into fixing his parents' wrongs. Or rights, as it is."

Harry laughed. Oh my, he really does look god, Pansy thought as she narrowed her eyes and crossed her arms, fending off the attraction she felt towards him.

"Relax, Pansy. I'm not angry with you, well, not anymore, at least. I just spent a bit of time with your mate, Draco, and his snappy attitude really does rub off."

She smiled. "That explains it." Has he always had such defined arms? Pansy wondered. And such thick fingers?

"Yeah," Harry agreed, his mouth slightly open as he watched how her smile lit up her face.

Pansy felt uncomfortable under his stare. "So, where is the Weaselette? I thought you two were attached by the hip. Except for the times you're off on Auror busienss, of course. By the way, good job on catching the evil Carrow twins. Good riddance, if you ask me. Just like their uncle and aunt."

Harry thanked her, ducking his head down shyly. He caught sight of her bare legs and her muscled thighs. Look at those pins! Such strong, trim thighs she has. I want those wra- "So, what are you doing in Diagon Alley without Nott or Zabini?"

Pansy noted how he avoided anwering her question about Ginny. "Clothes shopping. Those two refuse to come out with me because I always make them lug those back," she explained, pointing to the table that had a ridiculous amount of bags on it.

"Hmm," Harry hummed, looking at them with interest. His green eyes cut to her quickly, capturing her gaze as he asked, with intention, "Do you need help carrying those home?"

Hermione returned from her meeting at St. Mungo's with an extremely satisfied look on her face.

"I've never seen you so happy after a meeting with the Greese!" Alicia noted.

"I got everything I needed this time," Hermione said, smirking. "The next time you see Miss Greese, I daresay you'll think you've stepped into another universe."

Alicia narrowed her eyes playfully. "What did you do to our beloved Hemmington?"

"Knocked her down a few pegs," Hermione offered with a serene smile.

"I'm glad to hear it," Alicia replied.

"Any messages while I was gone?" Hermione asked, turning to leave.

"Just one," Alicia hesitated. "And he's waiting in your office."

Hermione's hand froze on the handle and she turned to Alicia with a look of surprise. "Who?"

Alicia gave her a knowing look. "You know who, Hermione. You've put him off long enough."

"You let Wood into my office?" Hermione asked in a vehement but hushed tone, glaring at the brunette.

"Yes," Alicia replied confidently, straightening her shoulders. "Now go accept his dinner invitation before I offer Witch Weekly an exclusive on your romantic relationship with Harry."

"I haven't got a romantic relationship with Harry!" Hermione said affronted.

"Exactly," Alicia replied. "Now go. Don't keep the handsome Quidditch captain waiting."

"I don't want this Alicia," Hermione stated clearly. "I don't want him."

"Yes, I know," Alicia said. "But maybe a dinner with him will help you figure out what you do want."

Hermione glared at her, pursing her lips in annoyance at the wisdom in her friends words.

'She could be right you know,' Onie responded

'Finally she says something smart!' Mia saluted her sweet counterpart.

"I hate you," Hermione said, not sure if she was talking to her secretary or herself.

'But I love her,' Mia sighed. 'Why haven't we tried women yet?'

'Mia!' Onie gasped, covering her mouth.

"You'll thank me soon enough," Alicia assured. "Now stop stalling and go."

'Seriously, we need to properly thank that woman with a snog,' Mia squealed.

'Hermione, do something!' Onie insisted.

Hermione placed a sweet smile on her face and turned the knob.

Draco found himself in the foyer of his manor before the hour was out. The consequences of Willard's actions had been dealt out easily enough, but, still, he was tired. He'd forgotten how demanding wielding power was and silently applauded his younger self for doing so constantly.

'You are pathetic,' Vey informed. 'If you had let me be in charge, Pansy would have never had to endure the indignities from that vermin's mouth.'

Why, thank you, Draco said. Fortunately, I am not an idiot hell-bent on ripping the head off every person who dares look at our dear ones, so I have resisted handing you the reins and entering into a reign of terror.

'See! No one likes you. Go find another host,' Veela added.

'You are just pathetic as Draco is,' Vey growled, 'and when I get out of here, you'll be the first to feel my wrath.'

'Oh, bugger off! You can't do anything, because you'll never get out of there!'

'Just you wait, harpy!'

'Who are you calling harpy, beast?' Veela hollered, his anger reverberating through Draco's body.

Not a chance, you two, Draco thought firmly, though he could feel his nails elongating and sharpening.

'No! I think we should show him just what we're capable of!'

There's no we about it. There's you two dolts and then there's me. Now, shut up before I decide not to pursue our mate again. The two quit the bickering immediately, making Draco wonder why he hadn't thought of using that threat earlier.

'Because you were too busy being a tosser?' Veela supplied.

'No, because he was too weak to chase after his mate like a real man,' Vey corrected.

Right.

CRACK!

"Lucius! What are you doing here? I thought you were visiting Pearl today?" Draco inquired.

"Sire, I's came homes to get a flower from the garden because Pearl is mad at me," Lucius explained. "I's was about to leave when I's heard something hit the window of your study. At first I's thoughts it was a bird, but thens I's noticed the noise was coming from inside! So, I's went up and guess what I's saw!"

"What?" Draco asked curiously.

"Your friend, Mr. Potter, bound your other friend, Mr. Zabini!" Lucius exclaimed, his eyes wide.

"What?!" Draco shouted. "Why would he do that?"

"I's asked Mr. Potter, sir, and he said 'I's worried the bastard will steal something else.' Excuses my language, sir," Lucius apologized shyly.

"Blaise was going through my things?" Draco concluded, tapping his chin.

"Yes, sir, that's what Mr. Potter says."

"Has Mr. Zabini said anything? Explained why he's here, I mean."

"Well, sir's, he has not said anything yet," Lucius answered nervously, looking down at his feet.

"Yet? So he's still here?" Draco asked, wondering what Lucius was nervous about.

"Yes, sire."

Draco realized he wouldn't get much more from the young house-elf, so he said, "Then take me to him." Lucius placed his hand on his master's pant leg. "We've got some serious interrogating to do!"

"Yes, sire!" Lucius cried happily, apparating them immediately.

CRACK!

Lucius and Draco appeared in the main study, immediately sighting Harry standing over Blaise, who was writhing on the floor, attempting to escape his magical bonds. He wiggled around helplessly, face turned towards the carpet as he mumbled and moaned to himself.

Since Blaise had yet to notice his presence, Draco wished to remain a silent bystander for as long as he could, so he raised an eyebrow at Lucius and Harry, silently asking what they had done.

"I only bound his limbs at first, but he wouldn't stop moving so I spelled him to the floor," Harry explained. "He was going through your things so I figured I might do you a favor, bloody thief." A hearty laugh left Draco, booming against the study walls, the situation too hilarious for him to remain incognito.

"MMM-MMMM!" Blaise yelled indistinctly. "MM-MMMM HMMMM!"

"Did you spell his mouth shut, Lucius?" Draco asked, biting his lip.

"I did, sire."

"Good man," Draco complimented, stepping towards his struggling friend.

"And how have you been, Oliver?" Hermione asked pleasantly, her hands folded atop her desk.

"Good, Hermione," he replied simply, with a smile on his handsome face.

Well, Hermione corrected silently.

'Oh shut up! Do you see his thighs?' Mia whispered into Hermione's left ear.

'Why would you be looking at his thighs? Look at those lips, so soft,' Onie murmured dreamily.

'Yes, Onie, my dear, his lips are heavenly. But those thighs tell me how hard he'll fuck us,' Mia said.

'You've always got to ruin it with your nasty-'

"Is there anything I can help you with?" Hermione inquired.

"Yes," Oliver said.

Why on earth is he here? Annoying little prick-

'Hermione!' Onie cried.

"What is it that I can help you with?" Hermione asked tiredly.

Shaking himself from whatever state of mind he was in, Oliver sat up straighter. "I'd like to take you to dinner, Hermione. Tonight at Nern's Diner."Before Hermione could speak Oliver cut her off. "Listen, I know you told me nothing would come of our day in Diagon. I know you don't see me in a romantic light. I know you aren't expecting dinner to change your mind on this. But what's the harm in one date? At the worst it'll help me a little bit more in the tabloids," Oliver finished, imploring her to see his reasons.

His logic along with Alicia's left her leaning in one direction.

And it was a direction that Mia certainly approved of.

"So you're telling me that you were rifling through my things for some parchment?" Draco asked, raising his eyebrows in disbelief. Harry rolled his eyes, jabbing his wand a little further into Zabini's neck.

"Yes," Blaise replied enthusiastically, licking his chapped lips. His mouth had been spelled shut for the better part of an hour before Draco had rescued him. Well, rescued his mouth. The rest of his bonds had been redone to fit him to the chair.

"Sir, you parchment is in the second drawer, but Mr. Zabini was looking through the fourth one!" Lucius argued, glaring at the lying wizard.

"Shut up, you!" Blaise shouted.

Draco shot out of his chair and stalked around his desk to lean over Blaise, his fangs flashing. "Do not ever speak to him in that tone, again."

Lucius, who sat atop the desk, put his thumbs to his ears and wiggled his hands whilst sticking his tongue out. Harry laughed, giving the young house-elf a high-five.

"But – but look at him! He's taunting me!" Blaise cried.

Draco did not look. He did not care what Lucius was doing as long as it wasn't dark magic.

"Never again, Blaise. Are we clear?" When Blaise nodded his assent, Draco returned to his seat. "Good. Now, tell me the truth. What were you doing going through my desk drawers? The fourth drawer only has firewhisky and you know it."

"Really? I must've forgotten," Blaise claimed unconvincingly.

"Oh, come on!" Harry shouted. "Who on Earth apparates -"

"I used the Floo!"

"-To their friend's home to borrow some parchment! You have loads of money, Zabini! Or did your mummy run out of rich men to fuck, marry, and kill?"

"Fuck off, Potter!"

"If you don't tell me what you've done, I'll tell the Prophet that you stole Harry Potter's girlfriend and your company will never be contracted for security again," Draco threatened.

"How did you even know that? Did you tell him?" Blaise threw Harry a nasty look.

"Of course I told him, you dirty little rat!"

"I'm your best friend, Draco. You wouldn't!" Blaise said affronted.

"I would," Draco assured, thinking on the punishment he had doled out for Willard. "Spill it. Now."

Knowing that he was caught in a corner, Blaise decided to talk, regardless of the consequences Pansy would rain down on him. "Well, Pansy Floo-ed over to my estate a few days ago, ranting about 'work that had to be done,'" Blaise started.

"Salazar, save me," Draco sighed, motioning his friend to continue.

"It took us a day to get Theo in on it," Blaise said.

"To get Theo in on what?"

"The fact that you're a Veela and that you have a mate," Blaise replied quickly, cringing when Draco hit the desk with his fist.

"You're a WHAT?" Harry shouted, shooting up from his chair.

"Potter-"

"This is what you were trying to tell me the other night? That you're a damn Veela!""

"I was trying not to tell you," Draco countered evenly. "I'm still getting used to it all."

"I can't believe this! After all the years you've been crying about pure-bloods, you're a fucking creature!" Harry howled.

Draco jumped to his feet. "For your information, Veelas are even better than Purebloods, Potter!" Blaise scoffed. "Shut up, Blaise! They're more rare than wizards and have particular abilities! Not that you would know anything about it!"

"What do you mean by that?" Harry asked hotly, putting his hand on his wand.

"Put your wand away!" Harry obliged him, narrowing his eyes and shoving it in the front of his jeans, the top just visible. "And I meant that you've never cracked a book open in your life!" Draco replied, coming around the desk to stand in line with Harry. "We all know you got through your classes becasues Hermione checked all of your essays and forced you to study!"

"Since when do you call her that?!" He demanded, missing when the sly wizard, seated between him and Draco, gripped the top of Harry's wand with the tips of his fingers.

"Sirs," Lucius whispered, pointing at Zabini. Neither Harry nor Draco heard him for their anger.

"I see you're not refuting the point-" Before Draco could finish Blaise sprung to his feet, having freed himself of his restraints.

"Alright, now, simmer down, children," Blaise crooned, smirking and waving Harry's wand playfully.

"Shut it, Zabini!" Draco yelled before realizing Blaise was armed. Worried for Blaise's sanity and Lucius's safety, Draco crossed his arms and leaned against his desk, partially covering his favorite house-elf.

"Give me back my wand!" Harry yelled, advancing on the dark wizard.

"Silencio!" Blaise spelled quickly. Harry went to say something but couldn't. "What was that Potter? I can't hear you, speak up!" The look of outrage on Harry's face when he found himself taunted was comical, Draco had to admit, but there wasn't a chance in hell he was going to aid Blaise. Not when he needed Harry's help.

"Finite," Draco mumbled. Harry gave Draco a look of thanks.

"So, you don't want to hear the rest of the plan, then?" Blaise asked innocently, eying Potter as he twirled the holly wand between his fingers.

Draco growled. "Don't make me angry, Blaise. Need I remind you that my Veela is easily irritable?"

'Hey that's not true!' Veela cried, folding his wings.

'Try easily irritating,' Vey corrected.

'Try certifiable crackpot,' Veela mocked, bending his talons in front of his mouth to look like fangs.

'Hmm. Yes, I agree,' Vey said chuckling.

'No, I meant you!' Veela whined.

'Did you?' Vey asked mildly, grinning as Veela ground his teeth.

"Is that a yes or no?" Blaise asked haughtily, paying no mind to Draco's threat.

'I don't like him,' Vey declared suddenly.

'Me neither,' Veela grumbled.

'Bit of an arse, eh?'

'My thoughts exactly,' Veela agreed.

"Why would he say no, Zabini? Obviously we want to know the plan," Harry asserted.

"No, he's just going to make something up," Draco lied quickly. He knew know, more than any other time, Blaise would enjoy being honest.

"I swear not to lie, Draco," Blaise said cheekily.

"Well, I don't believe you," Draco spit. "Get out of my house!"

"Draco, are you sure-"

"Trust me, Potter, nothing good will come of Blaise opening his mouth further." Harry looked dubious, so Draco withdrew the heavy artillery. "Look what he did with Ginny! Can you honestly tell me you want to be in the same room as that fool for another minute with that fool?"

"I have ears, you know!"

"Oh, do you really have ears, Blaise? Like all of wizardkind? We all have ears!" Draco hissed.

"Let's just see what he has to say," Harry suggested, settling back into his seat.

Blaise opened his mouth, honesty about to pour from it for the first time.

"Your company, Blaise," Draco snarled under his breath.

Blaise met the blonde wizard's eyes and was taken aback by the red he saw in them. He had seen Draco angry, Draco furious, and Draco raging, but this was something else. There was anger, yes, but, for the first time, he saw desperation in Draco's gaze. Fear and concern were there, too. It was a mixture of emotions that shook Blaise from his glee and brought him to the present situation. Slytherins were always there for each other, therefore Blaise would lie for Draco, help throw the mate business off Hermione's scent.

So just the normal, then, Blaise thought, cackling as he tapped his fingers together and thought of the lies he was going to spew to Potter.

Oliver and Hermione headed down a sidewalk in the middle of muggle London hand in hand. It was the former who had initiated it, but the latter didn't put up much of a fight.

"So, what is really on your mind, Hermione? And don't bother with the work excuse."

Hermione's head jerked back in surprise. "Have you had too much to drink, Wood?"

"No," he huffed. "Why would you think that?"

"You've never been so frank. It took you over a week to work up the nerve to ask me on a date after we'd already been on one."

"True. But, it should be noted that the first date was fake."

"Right," she snorted. "Well, to be quite honest, Oliver, I think this was a mistake. I regret accepting your invitation."

"You do know how to charm a man," Oliver replied, saracastically.

"You wanted to be frank," Hermione reminded.

"It hurts, but I'd rather know then have it all come to light after I've fallen in love with you. I suppose my situation is the only reason you said yes?" the bitter cuckold asked.

"Don't turn into a prick because I'm not interested in your prick, Wood," Hermione said before she could bite her tongue.

Damn you, Mia!

'Oh, you love me, Hermione,' the witch said as she blew her a kiss.

"Well, then," Wood said, surprised more than affronted.

"Yes, well."

"Well. Well, I hope we can both catch breaks from the media for a little while," Oliver sighed, shaking his head. "I suppose I should get you back to your flat now?"

"I think I can manage," Hermione answered. "No need to drag this all out. I'll just use the Floo at the Leaky Cauldron."

"No, no, a proper wizard always drops his witch off at her doorstep," Oliver insisted.

"Listen, Oliver, dinner was lovely, but-"

Oliver pressed his finger to her lip, before she could finish.

"No. You listen Hermione. Tonight was nice, nothing more. But, maybe, next time we'll have a real blast. Have some faith in me, eh?"

Hermione's resolve didn't falter as she spoke her mind. "Dinner was lovely, Oliver, but, I'm afraid we will have to restrict our relationship to friends."

"Hermione, listen-"

'I'm done listening to this arsehole. If you're not going to fuck him then boot him,' Mia commanded, slamming her trident against Hermione's shoulder.

Dammit Mia!

A spiteful bulb flourished inside her veins as Hermione pressed a firm finger to Oliver's soft lips.

"No Oliver, you listen. It's over. It would be best if you came to terms with my decision sooner rather than later."

Then, taking a step back Hermione apparated.

Oliver stared at the spot she had disappeared from in confusion, before strengthening his resolve.

"Master Draco, you've got a visitor!" Lucius said from his study door, pulling Draco from his thoughts.

"At this time of night?" he wonderd, glancing at his pocket watch that read half past ten. "Who is it?"

"He said his name is Bobo Crumpet."

"Crumpler," Draco said quietly, whipping up from his seat and flying through the corridors, down the stairs, and to the front door. He tore the door open to a wizard aged around thirty years with lengthy brown hair and a thin face, wearing white and blue striped pants, a yellow button down, and had a leather bag strapped on his shoulder.

"Crumpler, what are you doing here?" Draco demanded. "I thought I told you to Floo me. The Ministry still surveils my home and I don't want He-"

"It's about Miss Granger, sir," Crumpler said. "You told me to notify you immediately, by any means possible, if there was a rubrum tempus."

Draco's anger faltered, as did his stance. He dropped his head to his hand, rubbing his temple as he leaned against the entrance of his ornate doorway.

"You mean there's a- She's gone on a-"

He couldn't finish his sentence, gulping at the flubberworm in his throat.

"Sir, she's-"

"Come in, Crumpler."

Hermione entered her flat, glaring at the pink sparkles around her but, still, feeling much better about herself. Agreeing to Oliver's dinner request had been good for her, yes, but the date hate been terrible, which meant, as Alicia had predicted, she now understood what she was looking for.

Oliver constantly spoke about himself, regaling tales of Quidditch and the celebratory nights of his epic wins. He complained about his situation in the tabloids and thanked her incessantly for her help. She attempted to relate to him, tried to find a common ground between the Head for the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures and the Puddlemere United Captain, but he was constantly interrupting her, never letting her get in a word before he starting gabbing off about another story that did nothing to connect them.

Whether it was due to nerves or a result of an inflated ego, Hermione knew she did not want Oliver or any other wizard like him. Instead of talking himself up, he should have spoken about the passion of his hobbies; instead of complaining about being followed by paparazzi, he should've been grateful to be important enough; instead of continuously thanking her for her help, he should've engaged her mind; instead of interrupting her, he should've listened.

"He's hopeless," Hermione muttered as she rifled through her dirty laundry. She was looking for a particular pair of underwear, her most comfortable ones. They were black silk with a lace edge and she'd thrown them in the bin to wash just the night before. Because the smell of freshly washed clothes reminded her so much of her childhood, she had carried the habit into her adult life by purchasing a washing machine and a dryer. Every Sunday, after she returned from the Burrow, she did a load of laundry and then went to bed folding her clothes and watching the telly.

But tonight was special. Today was special. This day marked the beginning of a new chapter in Hermione's life. She was no longer a servant of public opinion; she no longer worried about appearances. From this day forward Hermione was going to live her life the way she chose to live it. So she was going to wear her favorite underwear two nights in a row.

After a Scourgify charm, of course.

Draco's fist tightened, threatening the hawthorn in his grasp.

"She was out with Wood. On a date. Tonight," he confirmed, meeting the eye of his informant.

"Yes, sir. They kissed after dinner and walked down Bond Street. She left, apparated away by herself."

"And you're sure that they didn't meet up?"

"Yes." Crumpler hesitated, "It was obvious that Miss Granger left Mister Wood by himself for the night."

There was a long pause, fraught with tension as Draco considered what his options were.

'Go to her now and teach her a lesson,' Vey ordered, baring his teeth.

'No! No, I am as mad as you are, Vey, but she needs time! We'll see her on Sunday and we can come up with a plan by then,' Veela advised.

'We cannot reward her every time she defies us! She is begging for punishment and as her masters we must comply!' Vey fought, hitting his cage.

You're right.

"I'll have to make sure of that myself, Crumpler," Draco said finally. "Lucius will see you out. Thank you."

"Of course, sir." Crumpler bowed formally before turning to the house-elf.

"If you'll follow me, Mr. Crumpet," Lucius said.

"It's Crumpler," the reporter corrected with a smile on his face.

"That's what I said, Mr. Crumpet," Lucius insisted, looking at the wizard with large concerned eyes.

"Just Bobo then," Crumpler said.

Draco didn't have the patience to enjoy the comic relief his favorite house-elf provided.

Draco didn't have time for it.

He Accio-ed a black journal from his study, the one that held all of his contact information.

"H, H, H, there you are," he muttered, memorizing the information before tossing the journal to his couch and striding towards the floo.

It was time to pay his dear mate a visit.

I wonder where my knickers are, Hermione thought.

'I bet Ron stole them.'

'Why would Ron steal them?' Onie asked pompously.

'Because he's a liar and a freak!' Mia shouted

That's a bit harsh, Hermione admonished.

'Thank you! Ron is perfectly lovely,' Onie supplied.

That's a bit much, Hermione countered.

'Thank you! Onie's so full of it, like she's the only one that-'

WHOOSH!

"The Floo? But at this time-"

WHOOSH!

Hermione took her wand from the dresser, gripping it in her hand tightly and tiptoed to the doorway of her room.

Draco stumbled out of the Floo, stepping into the deserted living room and observing the décor. Everything was simple, tasteful, and warm, aside from the hideous pink hearth.

Why on earth does the fireplace have glitter on it?

Neither Vey nor Veela replied.

He heard quiet footsteps padding towards him and braced himself for indignation. He took a seat in the armchair opposite the cased opening, hardening his face and crossing his arms.

As the figure rounded the corner, entering the living room he performed a wordless lumos, lighting the area around him so that his host could see his face.

"Draco?!"

Author's Note

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