Disclaimer: This is J. K. Rowling's world, not mine. There will, however, be a couple of original characters along the way.
A/N: Hi there, this is a fic that actually came to me in my sleep. I know not everyone likes the characters involved, but I hope you will give it a chance. Please read and review, please be kind. This is only the first chapter, more action is to come. I have been re-working the story. If you have read it before, it's a little bit different, a little more detail. I will have new chapters soon, I just wanted to change a few things so it would work better going forward. More chapter updates to follow.
Chapter One – A Re-introduction
Hermione Granger, aged twenty-four and one of the Daily Prophet's top journalists – and she just loved how that sounds! Harry would joke with her that "by day, she's a mild-mannered reporter working for a major metropolitan newspaper", which would always make them both laugh. Ron never understood why.
When the Second Dark War ended, Hermione returned to Hogwarts to complete her last year of education, after which she got a job as a junior copy editor for the Daily Prophet. Many thought this was a rather strange and even surprising career move for her, as her brains would have made her an excellent candidate for a position at the Ministry or as a Healer Trainee. However, an even more notable reason for the general confusion at her choice to work for the paper was the fact that since Rita Skeeter's influence, the quality of Daily Prophet had degraded from respected newspaper to trashy rag, not unlike the "Weekly Wiz News". Hermione was often asked why she even applied for a job there, let alone accepted one. She would only ever grin in response and say she had big plans for the paper.
She worked hard in her entry-level position, putting in a lot of overtime hours and covering the shifts of anyone who needed it. Harry, Ron and Ginny had to work hard nagging her to get her to come out with them. Hermione would secretly and subtly clean up other writers' articles – to the best of her ability and without getting caught, anyway.
The first big change she was able to make was to the paper's entertainment section. Filled with false, sensationalist hearsay, she used her connection to Harry to help the entertainment writers' gain audience with other celebrities of the wizarding world. While Harry usually preferred to stay out of the spotlight and particularly out of the celebrity circles, Hermione had done so much for him over the years that he could never refuse her anything. The handful of quality, valid interviews that the paper published garnered enough respect for them to continue to make connections without Hermione's aid. Her contribution, however, did not go unnoticed.
The next valuable improvement she made to the Prophet was to its sports section. Weak at best, its reporters wrote as though they had never watched a Quidditch game in their lives. Her help here not only assisted the paper, but ended up bettering someone's life. After ten years in professional Quidditch, working his way up to first-string Keeper for the Montrose Magpies, Oliver Wood suffered a bad injury that permanently damaged his left arm and was forced into early retirement. The sport having been a major part of his life for so many years, he had fallen into a deep depression, until the day Hermione approached him with the suggestion of applying for the job of sports writer with the Prophet. They were very enthusiastic to add a former Quidditch star to their staff, and he was certainly thrilled to still have a connection to the game.
After these contributions, Hermione applied for a journalist position the very instant that one opened up. The editor-in-chief was well aware of her diligent work, as well as her assistance in bringing the Daily Prophet closer to its former glory as a reputable newspaper, and hired her on the spot. In addition to the asset of her natural intelligence, it also turned out she was quite a gifted writer. She was given fairly small assignments at first, but her talent and willingness to be flexible with tasks gave her superiors the faith to give her increasingly important pieces to write. Now, while she was given first pick at articles. Her preference was current and world events. While some of her colleagues resented her quick rise to the top, none could find it in themselves to say that she didn't deserve it.
Even though it was years after the culmination of the Second Dark War, the Ministry of Magic was once again swaying with the winds of change. Rufus Scrimgeour was set to retire from his post, and campaigning was beginning for other candidates vying for the position of Minister for Magic. Hermione had opted to cover the choice political interviews at this time, which was keeping her rather busy, even more so than usual. Her tactic of having lunch or dinner meetings with politicians in order to contact them for comment tended to work better for the important stories than her fellow writers' phone calls, or rushing them at press conferences. Her department's assistant, Elspeth Hanley, a young, timorous witch with ash blonde hair and bitten fingernails, booked all her meetings for her.
As writing on the Ministry was still new to Hermione, she was doing her best to become acquainted with it as quickly as possible. Typically, when meeting with a member of the Ministry, she tries to memorize as much information about them as possible – their personal background, their previous experience within the Ministry, their stances on various important issues, everything. However, when called on a last-minute assignment, on occasion she has had to grab a file from Elspeth and run, barely having time to skim the information. From time to time, she has shown up at interviews knowing only the position, not the name, of the person she was about to meet with. Fortunately, she was very talented at "winging it", and had not yet been caught off guard by a single interviewee.
In the midst of political hubbub, Hermione was so engrossed in editing an article that she didn't notice one of the Daily Prophet owls fly into her office and drop a notice on her desk. She wasn't even aware of what it at all until Elspeth stuck her head into her office, and quietly asked, "Um, excuse me, Miss Granger?"
Hermione looked up, and sighed. "Elspeth, I've told you about a thousand times now to call me Hermione. What can I do for you?"
"Well, Miss… uh… Hermione, i-it's just that it's, um, it's five o'clock, and I'm going home now, a-and, um, you still haven't come to my desk to pick up the file on the guys from the International Magical Office of Law," she shyly stuttered.
Hermione furrowed her brow, and looked back down at her work, scribbling notes in the margins of the parchment on her desk. "I don't remember asking you for a file."
"You d-didn't," Elspeth stammered. "It's for your dinner meeting. Your interview tonight. D-didn't you get the owl?"
Hermione looked back up at Elspeth, now with panic in her eyes. "Oh, no!" She looked around her desk, and grabbed the piece of parchment she hadn't noticed before. She scanned it quickly. "Oh shit!" she exclaimed, letting slip a rare profanity. She jumped out of her seat, grabbing her wand and the file Elspeth was holding out to her. "Thank you Elspeth! The meeting is in an hour, I'd better go now if I want to have time to review their file."
"Oh, before you go…" Elspeth interrupted before Hermione got to the entry fireplace, "Mr. Ashby wanted me to remind you that the dinner is at a really nice place in Muggle London, so to bring the company Muggle credit card. He also said to dress up a bit, wear a skirt or dress rather than your usual hum-drum pantsuit. He said that even though it's a business meeting, keeping it casual will make a bloke more willing to answer the questions, especially when a pretty lass is asking them."
Hermione whipped her head around, and saw that Elspeth was reciting those instructions off a small bit of parchment. She sighed. 'Damn you, Ambrose!' she thought to herself. Now she had to stop at home and take time to put extra effort into her appearance. She'd be lucky if she got to glance at the file at all.
This wasn't harassment on her boss's part. Ambrose Ashby's general opinion was that everyone could do a better job when well-dressed for it. He certainly had no specific interest in seeing Hermione in a skirt, for he was "more flaming than a dying phoenix" as he often liked to quip.
Hermione quickly Flooed home to her apartment. She lived in a two-bedroom flat painted entirely in taupe, and she kept it exceptionally tidy. While she lived on her own, the spare bedroom had come in handy from time to time, doubling as both a home office and a place to drop Harry or Ron (or on one particularly unusual occasion, Ginny) for the nights they get particularly pissed after a raucous night out. Every room in the apartment had at least one bookcase in it, and all her furnishings were done in clean, simple neutrals.
Rushing to the bedroom, Hermione first tossed her briefcase onto the couch. She yanked her closet doors open and started shuffling through the many, neatly-hung suits inside.
'Let's see… grey suit, black suit, navy suit, pinstriped suit… Augh! Why must I wear a dress? Do I even own one?' she thought angrily, throwing each outfit aside with more vigour than usual. After several minutes of hemming and hawing as to whether Ambrose would consider a cream-coloured blouse to be suitable, she eventually found something appropriate, buried deep at the back of the closet. 'I forgot I had this,' she mulled to herself. It was a knee-length black cocktail dress, the least modest dress Ginny could convince her to buy for her and Harry's engagement party six months ago. She pulled off her robes, and slipped the dress on, along with a pair of black ballet flats (as she detested heels). She made a quick run to the bathroom mirror, and grimaced at her reflection, as her hair seemed particularly out of control today.
After trying – unsuccessfully – many styling incantations in order to calm her wild curls down, she finally gave up and added a hair clip to at least keep it out of her face. She barely had time to apply her mascara and lip gloss before dashing back to her living room to grab the files. Ensuring she had her trusty notebook and favourite quill safely tucked into a large but fashionable purse, she disapparated from her apartment, apparating miles away, in Kensington in Muggle London.
'Where is this place?' she thought, trying her best to follow the confusing directions Elspeth had given her. When she finally stumbled upon the building, she checked her watch while on the elevator taking her up to The Tenth. It looked like she'd only be five minutes late. Unfortunately, she hadn't even had an opportunity to open the file yet. 'I'll just have to put the improvisation skills to work.'
"Good evening, miss," the maitre d' greeted her.
"Good evening. I have a reservation under D.P." Whenever reservations were required for the Daily Prophet in Muggle London, they always placed them under the paper's initials, so as not to invite any questions.
"Ah, yes. Your fellow diners have already arrived. Please, right this way, miss." And he led her through the elegant restaurant to a table by the window overlooking Hyde Park.
A well-dressed man who looked to be in his early thirties was seated, looking out at the spectacular view of London. He turned as the maitre d' pulled out a chair across from him for Hermione, and he stood up to greet her.
"Finley Sheehan," he introduced himself in a thick Irish brogue, and held out his hand, "from the International Magical Office of Law," he added as the maitre d' walked away from the table.
"Hermione Granger, Daily Prophet." She shook his hand. "It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance," she continued, sitting down.
Following her lead, Finley sat back in his chair. "The pleasure's all mine. You'll have to excuse my colleague's brief absence; he just stepped out to the toilets before you arrived." He ran his hand across his shaved head, looking over Hermione's shoulder in – presumably – the direction of the toilets, and stood back up. "Ah! Here he is now. Miss Granger, please meet my colleague and friend…"
Hermione stood up and turned, finding herself face to face with –
"Percy Weasley."