Notes: This was going to be under the title 'Satisfied' to go along with 'Helpless' but I changed my mind last minute.

Disclaimer: All rights belong to JK Rowling or other rightful owners. If you recognize anything it probably isn't mine and was possibly written by a super cool person like JK Rowling or Lin-Manuel Miranda!

(see end of work for more notes)

Hermione Granger frowned, vexed and impatient. She had been waiting outside of a $2 admission Theatre for the past thirty minutes, desperately hoping that she didn't look like she was lost as she waited for Harry and Ron. The skin covered under her sweater was tacky, due to the unprecedented heatwave that had fallen over the East coast, never mind that it was November of all months.

It was particularly gruesome, because New York was never warm this time of year, and she looked down at her clothes in dismay, partly because it was almost Christmas, for god's sake, and partly because her choice in apparel had not been particularly forgiving to her appearance in the humid, afternoon air.

She wore a heavy, knitted sweater that had gone through the wash one too many times—handmade by Molly when they had first been introduced—form-fitting jeans that were unfortunately unripped and now rumpled in strange places, therefore doing nothing to help in her fight against the warmth, and battered red sneakers that felt muddy with sweat through the fabric of her socks.

Her hair itself was a whole other story.

She winced at the slight pain when she gathered the bushy and tangled clump, looping it through a tie to keep it away from her neck and sighed, deciding that there was nothing else she could do to lessen the onslaught of unwelcome perspiration.

Rearranging her 99-cent store, purple heart-shaped sunglasses on the slippery bridge of her nose, she glanced down at her phone to check the time.

"Wonderful." She grumbled, when she saw the bright text reading 3:04 pm on the cracked surface of her outdated iPhone.

The mutually decided time for their gathering had been 2:30, and even after half an hour with a short grace time, neither of them had bothered to show up. She recalled them mentioning a party they had attended the night before but she still couldn't help but feel irritated. She had a right to feel so, she reasoned, especially if they didn't have the decency to call in ahead of time.

Put out and downtrodden, Hermione awkwardly shoved her phone in her back pocket, stepping out of the shadows and into the busy streets of the city. The sun beat down on her in a merciless rhythm the moment she left the slightly cooler confines of the alley, and drummed against her sticky flesh. She scrunched her nose in discomfort, searching left and right for any store that offered air conditioning.

She almost cried in relief when she spotted a Starbucks off on the corner of a four way intersection, and set off towards it in a half-jog, itching for the cool air that the shop oozed of in every poster advert and televised commercial. Dodging a couple of jaded businessmen clad in plain suits on the way, as well as a swarming sea of visiting tourists, she smuggled her way against the tide, and managed to reach the entrance doors.

The glass windows were decorated with festive lights and chalk drawings of candy canes and red-cheeked Santa's, and the sound of jingle bells rang in her ears when she stepped into the store.

The change in temperature settled in a blissful breeze over her shoulders, and she breathed in the nostalgic scent of roasted coffee and baked holiday delicacies. Finding a spot in line, she took out her phone and scrolled through her unread messages from Harry.

(3:09 pm) where are you?

(3:09 pm) we're at the theatre

(3:10 pm) ron's phone died

(3:10 pm) are you running late?

(3:12 pm) ?

read at 3:15 pm

"I can help the next person in line!" Someone—a british someone—shouted from behind their station.

Hermione jumped in alarm and hastily pocketed her phone, shuffling towards the barista with mild embarrassment.

"Sorry." She mumbled, fishing through her bag for cash.

"No worries," The barista—Blaise judging from his name tag—gave her an easy smile. "It happens more often then you'd think."

White teeth glinting against the dark tones of his skin, he wore a Starbucks uniform baseball cap and a green polo shirt under his black apron, looking and reeking of one of the multi-millionaire conglomerate business heirs that had attended the same lacrosse camp where Harry was scouted.

He looked like he didn't belong serving in the warm but cramped space of the coffee shop. He rather looked as if Hermione should be serving him instead while he was on the other side of the cashier counter, a wad of cold cash in one hand and an impressive resume that could knock out any dean in the other.

"I'll have a tall black coffee." She said, handing him a couple of bills. Her phone buzzed again in her jeans and she discreetly switched it off.

Blaise smiled again and held a black sharpie in the air, jotting down her order.

"And your name?" He asked.

"Herm—"

"Zabini, where the hell have you been?" A british and rich, if not aristocratic voice drawled from behind them with a mixture of agitation and cool indifference.

A boy with blond hair and sharp gray eyes paid her no attention as he glared at Blaise. His pale skin looked stark against the dark contrast of his perfectly ironed and pressed suit, the silver glimmer of his cufflinks and tie shone under the swinging lamps, and his eyes bore into Blaise's with an unreadable expression.

He looked like an asshole.

Blaise snorted. "Calm down Draco. Honestly, it should be me asking where you were last night. You disappeared as soon as the drinks came out. You do know that they were there too, right?"

Draco scowled when Blaise mentioned them, whoever they were.

"That's precisely the reason why I left in the first place."

"Obviously." Blaise rolled his eyes. "What was your name again?"

He turned around to face Hermione, waving Draco off as he peered at her over the rim of the paper cup, marker still in hand.

"Her—"

"I'll have a venti medium roast coffee that's only the slightest bit burnt with space for milk and a dash of cream." Draco lazily said, his eyes trained on his phone as he typed out an email draft.

"Excuse me. I'm not sure if you were aware but there's a line here, and I was in the middle of ordering my goddamn drink so I don't know who the hell you think you are but you have no right to just budge in front of me." Hermione held her nose high in the air, keeping her ground and trying not to feel infinitely tiny under his towering height.

She scowled at him as his eyes shot up from his screen, as if finally noticing that she was even occupying the room and blinked at her slowly.

She could hear Blaise holding back a laugh in the tense silence.

Draco adjusted the knot in his tie, loosening its hold on his neck and appraised her through soft strands of his hair that had draped over his eyes.

"Well?" She spat out, tapping her foot impatiently with her arms folded over her chest.

"Well," He repeated in a mocking manner. "I'm Draco Malfoy and my father owns this venue, so I would really reconsider my attitude if I were you."

Hermione stared at him, unfazed.

"Honestly, what the fuck is a Malfoy, because in my experience, some exotic name and an endless stream of money doesn't give you an excuse to not follow social protocol and etiquette." She snapped. Her cheeks flushed with anger and her eyes narrowed, feeling the need to one up Draco in their battle of glaring.

"For your information, my father has more power in his finger—"

"What's your name!" Blaise shouted, his eyes darting between them like a tennis match spectator with desperation.

Hermione momentarily snapped out of her anger and turned back to Blaise.

"Hermione." She said with a small smile. She spun back on her heel and her mouth fell into a prim line at the sight of Draco. "If you think money has any hold over a person's value, you really need to re-evaluate your ideals in life."

"Thanks for the coffee, Blaise." She took the warm cup from his hands with a nod of affirmation, and swept out of the store without a second glance.

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