A Change in Plans - A Dramione Fanfiction (Complete)

Chapter 4 Weasley

Hermione 2 August 2017

Two down, one to go and I'm early for the 11:30 meeting - the clock is only registering 11:15. This gives me a moment to go over everything from earlier today.

It's a good thing I'm so acclimated to quidditch from the many years that the Potters - Harry and Ginny, and Ron...

Aw damn... Ron...

My mood turns grey again. Another wave of pain washes over me for the umpteenth time. Pick yourself up Hermione, I tell myself. You weren't this bad when Harry had to go into the Forbidden Forest by himself, and that was a definite.
This is only a meeting about the Quidditch World Cup.
The Quidditch World Cup that Ron was helping to coach the Irish team, just because he was so passionate about the sport. Before...

Before Harry walked into my office.

Putting on the most fake smile I can imagine on my face, I walk into the oversized conference room. Only in it is a black wooden table with about 25 or so seats surrounding it. And about that many seats lining the walls behind. Probably for the admins of those at the table to take notes.
I take the seat at one of the heads of the table. I'm travelling by myself, so there's no admin to linger behind me uncomfortably - for the both of us.
Without looking up from my notes from earlier today, I notice a striking gentleman come into the room, also alone. I don't look up to greet him - yet, still reviewing the previous meeting's information on the sanctuary that Luna set up. There are complications. It gave me a real reason to go see my old friend.

"You look deep in thought Granger." I hear from across the table. Oh hell no.
"Let me just finish this Malfoy." I scribble down a few more notes of what I need to talk to Luna about, "And it's Weasley, not Granger."
"You're always going to be Granger to me. Weasel just got lucky."
"Please don't Malfoy. This isn't the time nor the place to discuss my personal life."
"The meeting hasn't started yet. We're in here by ourselves. It isn't like we are have a reporter from the Prophet here." I could feel his eyes focused on me in an unnatural manner. "You can talk to me. Just know that. I am sorry for everything me and my family did. I am really trying to make up for it, every day." He sounded almost gentle in his apology, definitely sincere. He has been up against a lot after the war: his father's disappearance and ultimate jail time, him taking over a company that no one wanted to associate with for a long time just because of the name, his mother's breakdown. A lot rested on the the cold, calm shoulders of the man across the table from me.

I hold up one finger on my left hand to signal to him, wait. I finished my notes, but I wasn't ready to talk about that - any of that - yet. Especially with Malfoy.

My notes complete, I look up to him for the first time. "Malfoy, I have one question: Why are you sitting at this table?"
"Madame, you didn't know? Well the Minister should hear about this!" he gave his signature smirk. "Granger, the Ministry contracted with Malfoy Industries International to design and build the next 10 stadiums. And we are the supplies for the resident tents. And the training facilities. If it needs building or supplying Malfoy Industries International is pretty much doing it. And who else but the head of the company should be representing it at such an important meeting?"

Bloody hell. Really? Why is that not in any of the notes that were forwarded to me from the Minister.
There are times I think Kingsley is a reincarnated Dumbledore. It wouldn't have surprised me honestly if I hadn't seen them in the same room together before.

"So Malfoy Industries International," I look down at my notes, adding that tidbit, "primary supplier. Got it. Now is there a contact that you have tasked with this? Someone we can deal with directly?"

He's laughing. Genuinely LAUGHING.

"What the bloody hell is funny Malfoy?" I say through my gritted teeth. I still can't stand that prat.
"Granger, that would be me." He get up and strides - no saunters - over to the other end of the table and hands me a card with his left hand, held cockily between his index and middle fingers. I know he's right handed... "Here. It has all my personal contact information. Direct line to the executive suite of offices - Trini is in charge. She'll help you with anything you need. You'll like her. Also my cell phone. You can call whenever you need." There is that damn smirk again. "If you want," he took the card back and wrote a number on the back of it - waving his wand and it turned silver against the black paper "here's my house numbers - the Manor and my flat in London. If ever you can't get ahold of me for whatever reason, contact Trini and she will get Blaise immediately."
My time to smirk at him for once, "How does Astoria feel about you giving your number out so easily?"
He shrugged casually leaning against the conference table, "Don't know. Don't really care since our divorce was finalized 6 months ago."
His what??? He's divorced? That's news to me. "I'm sorry. Genuinely."
"Don't worry yourself over me Granger. It is for the better." He took my left hand in his. "Really."