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Hair flying and furious, Hermione stalked down High Street. Air—she needed air. Pushing through tourists and business people alike as she tapped at the keys of her smartphone, wishing at once for her old Nokia’s buttons to mash at, for the ability to throw the thing down the street and have it still functioning. With a deep breath, she hit the call button and forced herself to slow down.
“And?” came the voice on the other end.
“They gave it to Nott.” Hermione’s voice wavered. He gave her strength and made her feel safe—secure, allowed her to drop her guard.
“They did not! The bastard’s got nothing on you, Granger.”
“Nothing except a superior gender,” she huffed, turning to look in a shop window and swipe at her eyes. She was feeling vulnerable, a feeling that never failed to get her blood boiling. She was strong, smart, capable. She was not vulnerable.
“Utter bullshite,” Draco swore. “I’m coming down there. I’ll fix this for you.”
“Partnership buy-in is already ten thousand pounds, Malfoy. I don’t think throwing your cheque book at them will fix this.”
A smile tugged at her lips as she heard his hesitation on the other end of the line.
“Then I’ll remind Nott what my fists can do. See if he still wants it after that.”
She did laugh then, startling the window shopper beside her. “He’s your best friend.”
“He’s a tosser,” he replied, mumbling a string of other insults under his breath. “Alright then,” Draco pondered, “if money won’t fix it and I can’t beat up the bastard, what can I do?”
“Absolutely nothing,” Hermione sighed, resigned. “It’s a man’s world and a man’s world it will remain.”
“Fuck that, Hermione,” his voice was suddenly vehement. “You can wipe the floor with any of those plonkers. Get back in there and hand them their arses. Take them by the balls, Granger. You’ve earned that partnership. Make sure they never overlook Hermione Jean fucking Granger ever again!”
“You’re right,” she said, “thank you.”
She could do this. Determined and confident, Hermione pivoted.