Chapter Text
Working at Witch Weekly wasn’t exactly what Hermione had dreamed of when she graduated from the Magical Journalism Department at Wizarding Oxford. And yet, there she was, sitting in a noisy office (where tiny Floo fireplaces blazed with constant calls), her hair tied in a tight bun, reading her latest article out loud to the girl at the next desk, pretending she wasn’t three minutes away from a nervous breakdown.
“And only then will the wizards of Tajikistan know true and lasting peace,” she read the final line of her newest piece, the one she’d been working on for three sleepless nights straight. She was proud of it.
“Mione, it’s brilliant,” said Parvati, one of the few people Hermione actually trusted at work. “It’s really moving… but you know it’s never gonna make it into Witch Weekly.”
Hermione rolled up the parchment and sighed. She knew Parvati was right, she just didn’t understand why. Women of all ages read Witch Weekly, so surely at least some of them wanted to read about politics, economics, or the lives of wizards in struggling countries!
“Merlin, I busted my butt at Hogwarts, then at uni, and then at internships, only to become Hermione Granger, the bloody How-To Girl.” She yanked open her drawer and stuffed the parchment inside. “And write articles like, How to Use the Best Pick-Up Lines or Do Brunettes, Like, Really Have More Fun?”
Parvati snorted softly, leaning against Hermione’s desk. “I think your time will come, Mione. You just need to be patient,” she said, unwrapping a chocolate frog from the stash Hermione had opened that morning in a desperate attempt to sweeten her mood.
“Ugh, I know,” Hermione sighed. “I just want to write about things that matter, you know… politics, the environment, foreign affairs, things I actually care about.”
Parvati nodded, chewing thoughtfully. “Keep busting your butt, honey. You’ll get there.”
Hermione wanted to snap her quill in half and declare that she was done, that none of it made sense anymore, but instead she leaned back in her chair and took a deep breath. Maybe Parvati was right. Maybe she just had to keep pushing, and someday her dreams would catch up.
“Hey, I’ve got something to cheer you up,” Parvati said suddenly, returning to her desk two meters away and rummaging in a drawer. Hermione watched her lazily. “You know that editor from The Quidditch Chronicle you’ve been shamelessly flirting with by owl for, what, a month now?”
Hermione gave her a knowing little smile, because really, who wouldn’t flirt with the editor of The Quidditch Chronicle?
“What about him?”
“Well, his owl made a little delivery this morning…” Parvati waved an envelope in the air.
No. Impossible.
“No! He really did that!? Quick, show me, show me this.” Hermione snatched the letter and tore it open in one motion. Ha! She knew it! A grin spread across her face.
“Oh, I don’t believe it! Tomorrow night!”
“What’s happening tomorrow night?” Parvati asked.
“Oh, only the most exhilarating and artistic display of athletic competition known to wizardkind,” Hermione fanned herself dramatically with the envelope.
“The Ice Magicapades are in town?”
“No, the B&I Quidditch League Finals are in town! Aaand I. Got. TICKETS!” Hermione sang, waving them triumphantly. “Come with me?”
Parvati tapped her quill against her lips, pretending to think. Then she smiled. “All right, all right, I’ll go, but I’m not putting out.”
“Two slices of pepperoni hotshot and a couple shots of Firewhisky, and you’ll be singing a different tune, baby.” Hermione winked, slipping the tickets into her bag.
Parvati laughed. “You know me too well.”
Their banter was interrupted by Jenie, who suddenly appeared from behind the cubicle wall behind Hermione’s desk.
“Good morning, ladies,” she greeted them without a hint of a smile (as usual). “Don’t forget, staff meeting in thirty minutes!” she barked before hurrying off to spread the message.
Hermione frowned at Parvati. “Oh no. Have you seen Luna today? She cannot miss another meeting, Rita will kill her.”
Parvati winced. “Last I heard, she was still wallowing at home, convinced her life is over.”
“Right. My turn then. I’ll get her, you get the coffee,” Hermione said, already packing her purse. “Meet me in the hall in twenty.”
“Wait, wait!” Parvati waved her hand before Hermione could Disapparate. “Take some samples!”
“Samples? Ah—yeah! Samples! Great idea!” Hermione grabbed the little bag Parvati offered and Disapparated with a soft pop.