Living for Living's Sake

A/N: I give my gratitude to It's Just Not Flowing's story, "Of Quidditch Pants and Persuasion" which was the foundation of which this story was based upon. I hope you enjoy!

Chapter 1: The Quidditch Player

Hermione loved Mondays. Really, she did. She thought it to be a fresh start to the upcoming week no matter how rotten the past one was. And while many of her coworkers looked as if they rolled out of bed and simply happened upon the Ministry, she believed professional appearances spoke volumes and helped with internal promotions. After all, she was currently a secretary, a position she didn't mind but had every intention of vacating at the earliest opportunity to pursue a more compelling career.

Taking into her office, she set her satchel atop her desk, and waved her wand at the window. The curtain parted down the middle and furled itself off to the sides, giving her a view of Montmarte Place Cachée under an early sunrise. She smiled at the pink and purple clouds that canopied Place Cachée as she shrugged off her coat. As it flew into her wardrobe, she sat down, tapping her wand against the topmost drawer of her desk. It barreled open like a train on its tracks and a folder jumped out of it, belly-flopping open on her desk.

However, before she could get a start on her morning's work, she saw a figure pass by her door. She waited, her eyes skirting the outside office area where cubicles huddled around each other. She quickly surmised it wasn't one of her co-workers for surely they would've greeted her with a Good morning or Bonjour as they did every day. No, this was someone who wasn't a department regular. But she wondered who it was so early in the morning. She always had, at least, an hour or so to herself before everyone started trickling in.

The figure then knocked on the door next to hers. A heavy silence followed before the figure tried again, louder this time. Hermione speculated over whether or not this figure, whoever he or she was, saw her open door when they passed by it. She gambled on the probability they certainly hadn't or else the figure would've stopped in and asked her if whoever they were looking for was in yet. Then again, the office next to hers belonged to-

A third knock rattled Hermione, it being so barbaric she wondered whether this person ate his or her food with a fork and knife. She huffed as she planted her palms on her desk and pushed herself upwards. There was absolutely no way she was going to let this oaf disrupt her morning, especially when she had it all planned out. She had a schedule to stick to, damn it!

She tiptoed to her door and poked her head around the frame. A young man stood in front of her boss's office, looking down at the watch on his wrist and frowning. He then sighed as he looked around. From what she could see, he was wearing a grey T-shirt and black joggers. The black hair on his head was extremely messy, as if he woke up with it and couldn't be bothered to do anything to tidy it up. He also wore round-rimmed glasses, it windowing his bright green eyes.

"Excuse me," Hermione called out to him. The young man looked over at her curiously. "Can I help you?"

"D'you work here?" the young man asked, pointing a finger at the floor.

Hermione inwardly scoffed. "Would I be offering my help if I didn't?"

"Er, I guess not," he said, rubbing the back of his neck. "I, uh, I was wondering when Ludo Bagman was going to come in." He took a couple of steps forward, stuffing his hands in his pockets.

"Mr Bagman has taken a week-long holiday to France," Hermione answered.

The young man's brows pulled forward across his head, digging plow lines deep into it. "Are you his secretary?"

She nodded. "Whatever you need, I'm sure I can be of assistance."

"Well, Ludo never got back to me about the suggestion I made on the Quidditch complex," he said.

"Do you mean The British and Irish Quidditch League Complex?" Hermione asked for clarification.

"Yeah, that's it," the young man said with a small smile. Hermione thought him to be rather fanciable when he did this.

She waved him into her office as she said, "Unfortunately, the proposal has run into some complications."

"Complications?" he repeated. "What kind?"

"One primary one, actually," Hermione said, indicating for the young man to take the seat across the desk from her. When he did, she explained, "It was due to budget concerns. Mr Bagman's request for funding was denied by the head of the Department of Magical Games and Sports."

"What for?" She could tell the young man was irritated upon learning of this new development.

"He didn't think it was a smart use of funds," Hermione replied. "He also argued that nothing was wrong with the current setup-,"

"Everything's wrong with the current setup," the young man grumbled.

"-and, if you ask me, it seems as if the head of the Department of Magical Games and Sports isn't exactly fond of Mr Bagman," Hermione continued as if there had be no interruption.

"Not many people are," the young man complained. Looking defeated, Hermione almost felt sorry for him because of the fact. She supposed sharing a bit of hope with him didn't go against her job requirements.

"He plans to appeal to the Senior Undersecretary to the Minister for Magic," Hermione said. "Mr Bagman, that is." The effect, as she expected, was instantaneous: optimism looped the man's eyes and a wide smile flooded his face.

"When's he going to do that?"

"As soon as he gets back from France," Hermione answered. "He's actually put me in charge of the revised proposal." She tried not to sound too haughty when she said this, but she considered this to be a huge opportunity to advance her career within the Ministry. Of course, that would be wholly dependent on if the motion was passed.

"What's wrong with the original draft?"

"Funding," Hermione said simply. "The previous bid for the complex would use up a majority of the Department of Magical Games and Sports' budget. The Senior Undersecretary would reject the project outright if he saw how much it would cost the department."

"Is there are any way around that?" The young man rested his right ankle on top of his left knee.

"The financing would have to come from somewhere else," Hermione said, "or, if that's not possible, the budget for the complex would have to be severely diminished."

"But the space needed only works with how much money was requested," the young man countered.

"I understand that, however, it's just not practical. Funding for the department is allocated between its divisions equally. It would be improper for the British and Irish Quidditch League Headquarters to take any necessary money from the Official Gobstones Club and the Ludicrous Patents Office to use for our own personal gain."

"What if they loaned the money out? They could then be paid back with interest!"

"Excuse you, but we are not a bank," Hermione affirmed. She wanted to kick this man in the shins for being so obtuse.

He scowled at the floor as he drummed his fingers against his leg. After a minute, he said quietly to himself, "I suppose I could pinch in a good amount. Wood could as well. I'll have to ask some of the other-,"

"I beg your pardon," Hermione interrupted, "but are you suggesting you're going to pay for the complex with your own money?"

"Mine, and a few others," he nodded.

Hermione felt like laughing, but managed to hold it in. "I suppose you have one of the bigger accounts at Gringotts, then?"

"Actually, I'm pretty sure they're all the same size," he said, completely missing the sarcasm.

Hermione tried again, though this time, jailed the irony. "I mean, do you honestly think you and a few others are going to be able to pay for an entire complex? Did you not see how much it costs?"

The young man shrugged. "You make a lot playing Quidditch."

This made Hermione pause. A curious thing to as very little baffled her into complete silence. Yet, this man's admission surely did, and quite easily, on top of that. Scrutinizing him more directly, Hermione now saw more of him than she did upon her first inspection: his shoulders were wide, and his biceps moved easily under the sleeves of his shirt; he had a clearly defined chest that stretched down into a flat stomach; and had narrow hips. To put it simply, he looked good, very good, in fact. And though she thought it to be shallow to judge someone based on their outward appearance (Books not looks! she used to tell herself at school), this was a particularly special scenario. Hermione tried to keep from salivating.

"You're a Quidditch player?" she asked.

He arched a brow at her. "I thought you knew?"

"And how was I supposed to know that?"

"Everyone here does," he said. "This is the British and Irish Quidditch League Headquarters."

"I'm well aware of where we are," Hermione snapped. She didn't at all appreciate how belittled she felt with this young man's words. "But it isn't an obligation to be a fan of Quidditch to work here."

"I'd imagine anyone who did work here and wasn't a fan of Quidditch would find their work a bit dull."

A small smile wormed its way across Hermione's face though it didn't reach her eyes. "Contrary to that absurd belief, I enjoy the work I do very much."

"So you're not a fan of Quidditch?" The young man looked genuinely surprised.

"If you must know," she huffed, "I'm not much into flying, and thus, not a fan of Quidditch in the slightest."

The young man's eyes grew wide at her admission. "Not a fan of-," he began, then stopped, shaking his head as if trying to clear it of Hermione's seemingly nonsensical acknowledgement that had cobwebbed inside it.

Hermione pursed her lips at him, annoyed beyond belief this young man was playing her like a fool just because she didn't like flying or Quidditch. She hadn't been around Quidditch players often enough to conclude if they were brilliant and masters in the art of flying, or if they were brainless, one-eyed trolls who could barely string coherent sentences together. She thought this young man was more of the latter. As it was, he did believe the other divisions in the department would be more than willing to lend their money out, and that they could be paid back with the interest. What an asinine thought to have!

"Yes, well, isn't it a shame we don't all like Quidditch," Hermione said dryly.

"It's not that," the young man shook his head. "It's more of the fact you're not into flying."

"I have a perpetual fear of heights," Hermione said rather shrilly. She was getting worked up and it was barely seven in the morning. If she kept this pace up, she'd have to bow out of work early which would only increase how much she would have to get done tomorrow.

"The only way to overcome your fear of flying is to keeping flying," the young man offered.

"I don't have any need to fly, thank you very much. I'm more than content to keep my feet firmly on the ground."

"Suit yourself," he replied offhandedly. His indifference had Hermione itching to break his glasses. She would love to see him try to fly around a Quidditch pitch without them.

"Anyways, do you have anything else to bother me about?" she asked him rudely. "I'm rather busy."

"So early in the morning, are you?" He made a point to look at his watch.

"I'm an early riser," she said.

"So am I," he traded back.

"Oh, I know," Hermione nodded. "Why else would you be here if it wasn't to distract me from my work?"

"I'm not sure you remember but I didn't come to see you specifically. I came to see Ludo. And I think you're undervaluing the idea for a Quidditch complex, and that bothers me."

"I'm not undervaluing anything," Hermione said angrily. "I just find your visit completely irrational!"

"How?" She noticed the young man's voice had risen considerably.

Before she answered, Hermione forced herself to take deep, calming breaths. The last thing she needed was a shouting match with a stranger so early in the morning.

"You could've sent in your question through owl post. I would've gotten back to you before the end of the day."

Though his jaw was tense, the young man seemed to let out a breath he had been holding in. Hermione assumed he had his own calming mechanisms to employ under heated situations.

"I was up anyway," he let out, leaning against the back of the chair. "Quidditch practice," he added on as an explanation.

"At this time?"

"No, at five." This surprised Hermione. "We go for an hour until six."

"Why so early?"

"Because there are only two pitches for thirteen teams," he said. "It's mad trying to schedule a practice since every other team needs to practice too. This is why we need individual pitches for each of us. That way, there isn't any fuss over who gets to use which pitch for however long they want to."

"Listen, I know the problems the British and Irish Quidditch League have. I mean, I read the proposal for the Quidditch complex half a dozen times. The only setback it faces is funding. Well, that and the fact Mr Bagman isn't well-liked by higher-ups but that's a wholly different matter. If it means anything, if it were up to me, I'd give the approval."

The young man managed half a smile. "And why's that? I thought you didn't like Quidditch."

"I don't," Hermione confirmed. "But I do like practicality. And for thirteen teams to share two places to practice isn't exactly reasonable."

The young man nodded in agreement, and any resentment she felt towards him before drained away. It was like they found common ground, a place where judging one another and their ideas wasn't part of their unspoken about treaty. Perhaps they found a way to turn the corner and had an understanding about each other that wasn't there several minutes prior. And just a subtle nod of his head was all it took.

"By the way, what team do you play for?" she asked.

"Puddlemere United," he answered instantly.

She looked at him skeptically. "You're not the Seeker by any chance, are you?"

His brows pulled together. "How d'you know about the Seeker position?"

"Honestly, just because I don't like Quidditch doesn't mean I'm oblivious to it," she rolled her eyes. "I went to a school full of boys who talked about Quidditch non-stop!"

"Hogwarts, right?"

Hermione opened her mouth to answer, but paused instead because it was then that she realized she had not introduced herself to this young man in front of her, and he didn't do the same with her. It was very unlike Hermione not to acquaint herself to someone she hadn't yet met and she didn't understand why it slipped her mind that morning. She ran upon two possibilities of what may have hindered their accommodation: she didn't expect their conversation to last as long as it did, or to put it simply, the opportunity just didn't present itself. In her opinion, the first was just as likely as the second.

"I actually didn't go to Hogwarts."

"Really?" When she nodded, he asked, "Were you taught at home, then?"

"No," she shook her head. "I studied at Beauxbatons in France."

"So you're French then?" He asked this as if he was gently probing her like one would lightly poke an old cat to see if it was still alive.

Hermione laughed as she ducked her chin. She didn't know why but she suddenly felt rather shy in front of this stranger. "Um, well, I guess you could say that. But I'm originally from Britain. London, to be exact."

"London's a big place," the young man held out his arms as if to show just how big it was.

"West Brompton," she said. "My mum and dad moved back there during the summer."

"So, pretty close to here? What is it, like a couple of miles away?" When Hermione nodded, he asked, "Do you live with them?"

"No," she replied. "I don't even live in London. It's much too busy for me."

"Where'd you settle down?"

"A village in West Country," she said. "Godric's Hollow."

The young man's mouth dropped open as he stared at her, his hands gripping the arms of the chair tightly. "You're joking."

"I assure you I'm not because I haven't any reason to," she sniffed. Hermione couldn't help but be a bit offended this man thought she'd have any time for such comedy.

"The thing is, is that I live in Godric's Hollow," the man said, palming his chest. This greatly surprised Hermione. "I have for the past several years now." He shook his head in astonishment, a large smile on his face. "I've never seen you, though."

"I moved there at the beginning of the month, that's why. I live in the northeastern corner." Hermione wasn't sure why she was telling a complete stranger this, especially one that lived in the exact same village as her. For all she knew, this person could be a madman, one who was a complete nutter. The odds weren't in favor of him being a total loony, but still, one could never be too sure.

"Where are you, then, in the village?"

"The far west," he said, arching his arm out to the side. "A good distance away from you."

"Godric's Hollow hasn't always been as large as it is, has it?" she asked.

"No," the man shook his head, leaning back in his chair so the front two legs came off the ground. "It's expanded recently. Not sure if I like it to be honest with you."

"I do," Hermione said. She elbowed her desk and elegantly rested her chin atop her fingers. "It's very quaint and quiet. I prefer it to London any day."

"Sure, but it was quieter before."

Hermione shrugged. "It still doesn't bother me. I mean, there is such a thing as a village being too small."

The man seesawed his head to the left and right as if trying to decide if he agreed with that sentiment or not. As he did this, Hermione saw a scar shaped like a lightning bolt that zigzagged down his head. This, then, answered her question of who exactly this stranger was.

"Why Godric's Hollow?" he asked next. "Seems a bit random if you ask me."

"It's not," Hermione defended. "There's so much history there!"

"And you like history, do you?"

"As a matter of fact, I do," she nodded.

"You would've done well in History of Magic, then," he grinned.

"In fact, I did do well in History of Magic," she returned easily. "They offer it at Beauxbatons," she added when she saw confusion mask the man's face. "But Godric's Hollow is where the Peverells were born and buried; where Albus Dumbledore had once lived and where he met Gellert Grindelwald; it's even where Bowman Wright was born! He forged the first Golden Snitch in the Middle Ages!"

The young man's confusion turned to amusement. "Are you sure you're not a Quidditch fan? I mean, how else would you know of Bowman Wright? I bet you half the team doesn't even know who he is!"

"Once again," Hermione said, smiling despite herself, "I don't like Quidditch. I just like to read…a lot."

"So you read about the Peverells, Dumbledore, and Grindelwald, then, too?"

"I did," she confirmed, "more so about the Peverells and Grindelwald though. As for Dumbledore, Madame Maxime had an earful to say about him when she got back from Hogwarts after the Triwizard Tournament."

"You weren't at Hogwarts for it, were you?"

"No, I was too young to enter."

"How old were you?"

"Almost a full year older than you."

The man's face remained blank for several seconds before realization dawned upon it. "You know who I am?"

Hermione wiped her hand across her desk as if had crumbs on it. "I didn't at first, but it eventually came to me."

"And when was that at exactly?" The man leaned forward, rested his elbows on his knees, and stared at her. She suddenly went very warm.

"Well, when you told me you play for Puddlemere United, that narrowed it down. Then, you said Wood's name, and that cut the list down further because you don't seem like the type to refer to yourself in the third person. But what the most telling, was this," and she traced the lightning bolt-shaped scar across her own head to mirror his.

"I should've known," he said, shaking his head surreptitiously and rubbing his hands down his jeans. He then reached across the desk, his hand outstretched, and said, "Harry Potter, Seeker for Puddlemere United."

Gently shaking it, she said, "Hermione Granger, Mr Bagman's secretary." Her hand fit in his like a glove, and she quite liked the feel of it. She inwardly frowned when he let go.

"It's nice to finally meet you," he nodded once.

"Finally?"

"Yeah," he answered. "We've only been talking a good part of the morning, and I didn't even know your name for most of it."

"We got distracted for a little bit," Hermione said. After Harry grunted out a response, she eyed a clock behind his shoulder and continued, "Anyway, now that you do know my name, do you mind clearing out?"

"Hang on," he said, holding up a hand. "Are you kicking me out of your office?" Hermione might've imagined it but for a quick moment, he looked disappointed.

"Um, technically, yes," she admitted. "I'm sorry, but I have a schedule to keep while Mr Bagman is away, and I can't really afford to fall behind in my work."

"You have a lot to do?"

"Always," she sighed. "Sometimes there just aren't enough hours in the day to do all that I have to get done."

"I know the feeling," he acknowledged. Hermione didn't have to ask him to clarify what he was on about.

"You know, for what it's worth, because I'm in charge of revising the proposal for the Quidditch complex, I'll try to do all that I can to think of a way we could fund the project."

"You sure you can come up with something?" He looked rather uncertain.

"I'll try my best," she assured.

"And will that be enough?"

Hermione shrugged. "I don't know, but I guess we'll soon find out."

A/N: Please let me know what you thought of this chapter with a review! Thanks for reading.