The music is low and pulsing and the clatter of glasses and voices creates a constant backdrop for the bar. The mood is cheery: a celebration of Friday and weekends and a break from work. The door opens and the clatter of bells is lost amongst the noise, but the entrant is noticed all the same. A ripple goes through the crowd as the newest patron passes out of the damp autumn evening.

A woman sitting at the corner of the bar feels the potential in the air, like the crackle right before lightning strikes. Suddenly it disperses, and conversation picks back up.

The figure in his blue jacket strides past the swooning men and women and heads for a drink. He orders a whiskey, and then spins around to survey the room. Business men, students, a party of young women; nothing remotely threatening. A few groups of twos and threes, some singles looking for a good night, and there, with her back to the wall looking deceptively relaxed. He takes his time to drink her in: brown curls and a fading tan, dress pants, blouse, blazer swung over the back of her chair, simple silver bracelet, long lashes and a Cupid's bow mouth. She isn't anything extraordinary, not someone he would typically give a second glance, but for the sheer presence that surrounds her. Intrigued, he grabs his drink and moves in her direction.

Hermione sees him coming. He's all confident strides and military coat and razor sharp grin. If she weren't wary, she would acknowledge his face and charm.

"Hello there beautiful," he drawls out. "What are you doing sitting here all by yourself?"

She raises an eyebrow. He's obviously dangerous - a shark in a tank of fish - and she hasn't the faintest idea why he is talking to her, other than maybe he knows that the same could be said of her. "Just enjoying the end of the week." She'll play along.

"Captain Jack Harkness," he tells her, reaching out a strong hand.

She raises the other brow. If that's his birth name, she'll eat her pointed hat. He's also a Yank. "Jean Grey." She shakes with delicate fingers and a firm grip.

"Like the X-man?"

"Exactly." She smiles, because someone has finally gotten the joke. This is not the first time she's gone by that alias, but wizards were never very up to date on their muggle comic books.

They get to talking, and she's impressed by the breadth of his knowledge on everything from swordplay to physics to making excellent Pad Thai. If she takes him home to her tiny flat - through the heavy, illegal wards and past her nosy landlady Mrs Patterson - it won't be because he has a face to charm the Devil. It will be because his fingers on her wrist sends her magic sparking, and no one has looked at her in a long time and understood.

That, and she has a feeling the sex will be phenomenal.

AN: This has been languishing in my writing file forever. Finally reread it and decided that I loved it too much to leave it there. In my headcanon, this is set somewhere before Torchwood; Hermione and Ron might be taking a break, or there might be no Hermione and Ron, I'm not sure. I don't think that there's anything more to it. In any case, I hope that you enjoyed. As always, I don't own any of it, but I do like reviews regardless.