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Day 11
Hermione Granger did not have many regrets in life. She didn’t regret the adventures and perils that plagued her school years—part and parcel of befriending Harry Potter. She didn’t regret kissing Ron at the Final Battle nor their amicable breakup several months later, once they realised they were better off keeping things platonic. She didn’t even regret leaving her job in the Department for Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures to be a solicitor in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, despite the role change bringing her into close, daily contact with one Draco Malfoy. But as Hermione stared down at the wilted, greyish-green piece of broccoli speared on her fork, she wished that she had never, ever stepped foot inside that secondhand bookshop.
Several Weeks Earlier
A bell chimed above her head as Hermione stepped into the quaint store. The rays of light shining through the display window caught on swirling dust motes and she could feel the tension in her shoulders melting away as she was enveloped by the comforting smell of old books.
Hermione loved her new job. Truly, she did. After spinning her wheels in the DRCMC for five years with nothing to show for it, she finally felt like she was enacting real and meaningful changes for magical creatures and beings. Instead of fighting red tape from her shoebox of an office, she was fighting injustice in the courtroom—winning cases and setting new precedents for future cases. Just the other day she’d helped a recently-turned werewolf win the right to keep her job and flex work hours around the full moon. It was deeply gratifying.
There was just one small billywig in the ointment, so to speak…how disgustingly attracted she was to her co-worker.
Hermione had thought she and Draco working together would be like chalk and cheese, a return to schoolyard animosity and sniping. Instead, she’d found a completely changed wizard who barely resembled the bully he’d been at Hogwarts. He still knew how to push her buttons, but he was also a competent research partner and fought just as hard as she did to dismantle the lingering influence of Pureblood ideology, often giving her insight on which members of the Wizengamot she could rely on for support.
She wasn’t sure quite when she’d transitioned from thinking his face was too pointy to admiring the sharp angles of his jawline and chiselled cheekbones, but she thought it might have been when they’d stayed late to work on the MacGregor case, sharing mediocre lo mein and orange chicken as they searched case law for information to back their argument. She’d stared at him, noodles halfway to her mouth, realising her crush was both pitiful and utterly hopeless; the Daily Prophet gave nearly weekly updates on his courtship of Astoria Greengrass, an engagement surely on the horizon.
Ever since then, Hermione started to utilise her lunch break to escape their shared office and explore the surrounding streets. So far she’d discovered a lovely little cafe and a florist from whom she’d purchased a small snake plant. She’d seen this bookshop—Another Chapter—several times, but she’d been saving it for an emergency. Today, Draco had rolled his shirtsleeves up to his elbows and was wearing his reading glasses, so it was definitely an emergency situation.
Hermione wandered through the aisles, trailing her fingers reverently over leatherbound classics and muggle paperbacks alike.
“Can I help you find anything, dearie?” the shop proprietor asked.
She smiled at the older woman and shook her head. “I’m just browsing for now, thank you.”
Venturing into the back corner of the shop, Hermione’s eyes snagged on a book that looked like it had been shoved haphazardly onto the shelf, pages facing outward. She gently pulled it free and inspected the cover—Easy Microwave Dinners for the Working Woman by Dinah Loan.
“Interesting,” she murmured to herself. Flipping through the pages, Hermione was impressed by how enticing the recipes and pictures seemed. She hated to admit how much she relied on takeaway, but trying to cook always brought up unpleasant memories from their year on the run, especially if a recipe called for mushrooms. It certainly wouldn’t hurt to try this book for a meal or two, she reasoned.
Bringing it to the counter, Hermione asked, “Can you tell me how much this one is, please?”
Taking the book from her, the owner scanned the barcode. She frowned and scanned it again. “That’s odd,” she said, squinting at her computer screen. “I don’t have this title in my inventory. Tell you what, you can have it for free.”
“Are you sure?” Hermione hated
“My niece set up this system for me and I don’t know how to add things to it, so it’s more trouble than it’s worth. Just come back again soon!”
“Thank you, I will.”
Returning home with her shopping, Hermione looked forward to trying out a recipe from her new book. There had been one with steamed salmon and asparagus that had looked quite good.
Humming to herself, she put the ingredients on the counter and opened the book, receiving an electric shock as she did.
“Ouch!” she yelped, sticking her finger in her mouth to soothe it. “What was that?”
Pale blue lightning crackled ominously around the book, the pages flipping rapidly, turned by an unseen wind, until it fell open to one recipe—“Overcooked Fish for Cat Ladies.”
Hermione blinked. That had definitely not been in the book’s index.
“Well, I’m absolutely not making that,” she remarked aloud.
Blue light jumped from the book and zapped her. Hermione stubbornly marched over to her fridge to grab the takeaway menus she kept on hand, but another flash of lightning and they were incinerated, ashes falling to her floor. Attempting to leave her flat found her being stung by her doorknob or landing flat on her arse when she tried to apparate.
Mentally exhausted and a little sore, Hermione finally gave in and made the recipe. Her salmon filet looked shrivelled and sad, but it was better than nothing.
Day 3
Hermione grimaced as she followed the instructions for “Burnt Brussel Sprouts for the Hopelessly Single.” She choked them down along with her well-done steak, promising herself a big breakfast on her way to work the next morning.
Day 6
Hermione only managed to eat three bites of her “Choke It Down Chicken for Spinsters" before tossing it in the bin. She wasn't sure how much more she could take of this.
Day 15
“Hermione,” Draco said, waving a hand in front of her face. “Are you all right? You’ve practically inhaled your food and we both know that the Ministry cafeteria leaves something to be desired.” He poked at his pudding with his spoon and it fell apart with a squelch.
She’d stopped her lunch hour explorations after the disastrous book purchase, so she had no reason to protest when Draco dragged her to the cafeteria. Ravenous after weeks of horribly desiccated and unappetising dinners, Hermione had eaten her meal as if she’d learned her table manners from Ron.
Hermione felt a tongue-tying curse prevent her from explaining that she was being held hostage each night by a cookbook, but she did manage to squeak out, “Oh, I’m fine, thank you. I just…didn’t eat much last night.”
His brow furrowed, grey eyes searching her face. “You don’t look fine.”
“Rude,” she huffed.
“If you’ve been taking work home with you and letting it distract you from eating, then you should offload some of it to me.”
Hermione shook her head. “It’s not that. I’ve been cooking for myself.”
“Let’s go out tonight to that Indian place you like. The one in Brick Lane. My treat,” he offered.
She bit her lip, wondering if the curse would allow her to make other plans. It certainly hadn’t let her leave her flat or order takeaway, but maybe if she didn’t go home? “Okay,” she agreed slowly. “Will Astoria mind?”
Draco looked puzzled. “Why in Merlin’s name would Tori care?”
Her heart twinged a little at the nickname, another reminder that her little crush was doomed from the start. Flushing, she babbled, “Well, I know and you know that it doesn’t mean anything, after all, we’re just colleagues, nothing more, but I just wouldn’t want her, or anyone else, to get the wrong idea…”
“Hermione, you do know that Astoria and Theodore Nott are engaged, right?”
“What?” she gasped. “But he’s your best friend! How could they do—”
He held up a hand to stop her tirade, chuckling. “Are you saying that you thought I was courting Astoria and that Theo has stolen her from me?”
Hermione gaped at him, brain malfunctioning. “It’s– It’s in the paper practically every week!” she stuttered.
Draco raised a pale brow. “Did you actually read those articles?”
“Well, no, not really. Just the headlines,” she admitted.
“If you’d read them, you would know that I was their chaperone.”
Her face burned even as a spark of hope ignited in her chest. “I…see,” she said with as much dignity as she could muster. She gently cleared her throat. “In that case, I’d love to go to dinner with you.”
“Good.” He smiled at her, his eyes crinkling a bit at the corners.
“As a date,” she added boldly.
Draco’s smile grew wider. “As a date,” he agreed.
Back in Hermione’s flat, with a flash of blue lightning, the cookbook disappeared.