"I swear, Colin. If you were any denser, you'd be a concrete wall." Draco snatched the legal documents from his assistant's unstable grip, giving him the once-over as he did so. "Go take the rest of the day off. It seems your mind is elsewhere. You're no good to me if you're going to stand about all damn day, staring at the new intern's arse."

Colin Creevey. An impeccable prat, if there ever was one. His organizational habits seemed to be the only reason Draco kept him around lately. How he managed to get through the security details of the lobby on the first day of his interview at the Ministry's lawyer firm was beyond the wits of Draco. Where he lacked in every other area, he made up for in his promptness and organization. Clearly, both Draco and Colin were desperate, so out of the bottomless, black-as-coal depths of Draco's heart, Colin was hired. At least Colin had some notion of Draco's history from their school years, so he knew full well where he stood in the legal food chain and any others for that matter. A full five months passed and beside the obvious surface flaws, the Creevey chap had been sufficiently adequate, creating only a mere two minor mistakes since his employment; less than the average fools who Draco had been forced to fire in the past of his three years of being a lawyer for the Ministry.

Draco had taken the job for the Ministry right after graduating, showing far more promise as a civilian than his father ever could've conjured. His desire to follow down the path that his father paved for him never strode past the age of 17. Whatever embellishments or thoughts implanted into Draco's head were cancelled out by the simple fact that redemption could be obtained. Draco was not a monster, nor did he covet the concept of being one. Refusing to be an elitist Pureblood any longer, Draco ditched his usual title, feeling as if no one should owe him anything because of it. He wanted to stand on his own two feet and build a life for himself, one that didn't involve the Dark Arts, thank you very much.

Colin left his office, a disappointed aura encircling him. A slight flick of Draco's wrist and the door slammed behind him. Groaning as he did so, his nimble fingers loosened his tie with a fluid movement. The paperwork on his desk glared at him, just another stack of documents with empty signature blanks that needed his approval. Some of the folders wouldn't even get a second glance from Draco. He had little time, though the inanimate objects hardly understood a lick of it.

The folder that he'd received from Colin (or, snatched away from, however you saw it) fell to the generically printed carpet. His entire office reeked of bland decor, from the cheery, broomstick wall decals to the rough black carpet that had probably resided in the same office for a decade and a half. Draco didn't have to mechanically turn his head to know that the papers were spilled across the floor. They mocked him in his misery. What loyal company they kept.

After four minutes of deciding that he'd look over the papers and then call it a day, Draco rose from his slumped position and knelt down to collect the disarray of papers. Some crumpled beneath his knees, some lay perfectly still. Exasperated, he finally came to the last document. New case documents, or so it appeared. His grey eyes scanned the lines of print until they reached the bottom. From what he gathered, he would be defending a sorry low-life who claimed that he didn't commit the two murders that he was accused of. The man's background check revealed that he'd had a violent history and this didn't make matters any better. The criminal was forcing Draco to fight a losing battle. Spectacular.

Yawning widely, Draco tossed the folder on the desk, refusing to chain himself to any more work over the weekend. Without a doubt, Colin had more than likely already set up a meeting with the bloke, so he would need to center all of his concentration into deciding whether or not this case was a lost cause.

Any recollection as to how he ended up walking the windy streets was lost; Draco could barely keep his head on straight. He'd had no contact with anyone in ages - save for Colin who hardly knew left from right - and it was beginning to affect his behavior. The personality of a newly-claimed insomniac wasn't the bubbliest or most pleasant, even Draco knew.

He was the epitome of isolation.

---

Her heartbeat pounded in her ears, a vague feeling crawling up her spine that someone was smacking her senseless with a thick Muggle telephone book. It wouldn't be the first time today that a headache made its appearance.

Hermione's fingers trailed up to her throbbing temples, applying the lightest of pressure and massaging tight circles. Alleviation was what she aimed for, but hardly what she received. Oh, the joy of office work and its everlasting rewards.

She didn't necessarily hate her job, no. Quite plainly, she adored it. It was the career she chose for herself and one that would last throughout her future and until she retired, but it sucked the life from her. Hermione secretly worked for the Ministry, regulating the legal system, or at least what was left of it after the final war. The Ministry seemed to think that with Hermione Granger under their belt, the chances of having another uprising of the Dark Arts were quite minimal, almost none. This sort of deal almost dared the Wizarding World to have another go at the Dark Arts. With Hermione working for them for almost three years, the deal had worked beautifully. A small rebellion of dark wizards attempted to corrupt the Ministry half a year ago, for example. Not only did Hermione uncover enough evidence to put them away for a life in Azkaban, the evidence struck the judges so far to their very core that executions were scheduled immediately for the following month. No other 'rebellions' had ensued. It seemed that no one cared to mess with the Ministry's hidden weapon.

The Ministry had her relocated to a normal law firm not far from Diagon Alley, beating any suspicions that Hermione was associated with them at all. Any record of Hermione's opinion of the Ministry was that it was corrupted and highly bribable. Anything and everything could go wrong in that building. Though, her true opinion was that after the war, their government was on the brink of collapsing. More chaos would've come of it than the outbreak of the actual war against Voldemort. Hermione figured that what was once unstable could grow another backbone, given the help. She hadn't been proven false since. The government confirmed to be stronger than ever, after much rebuilding.

A few of Hermione's former classmates - much to her delight - were also fixated on insuring confidence once again for the people of the Wizarding World, only they chose to do so publicly. Draco Malfoy, surprisingly enough, managed to round up over 35 of the so-called 'Death Eaters' who claimed to still survive in the dark corners of London. Most of whom were either residing in a cell in Azkaban or had been dealt with by execution methods. Her ill-will toward him evaporated over the years, even settling to a more respected manner. Hermione would never audibly admit this to Draco himself, but he had enough sense to recognize that they were younger and foolish back when he let his blood status step in the way of the possibility of a friendship. Now they even exchanged a few words during conferences, but hardly enough to categorize their relationship, if you could even name theirs as such. They were more similar to acquaintances, if you were to be specific.

In a misty daze, Hermione walked past her secretary, a faithful, naive little thing, her arms full of papers and folders galore. Thank Merlin for the weekend.

The click-clack of her heels were the only, solitary reminder that she remained in reality. The cobblestones of the street appeared to pity her, at least. As if she desired it.

A reasonably swift gust of wind, summoned from the south-of-nowhere blew the loose papers from the top folder whose cover swayed, an open invitation for the legal documents to escape. The closest sheet landed with the grace of an airplane, at the very least 15 feet in front of her. How lovely.

Within the moments following that it took for Hermione to collect her thoughts and the few papers in front of her that she was allowed, a gracious and rather pale hand extended toward her out of thin air, clutching the papers that had fallen from her reach. Without bothering to make eye contact before she spoke, Hermione started in on her appreciateness.

"Er, thanks. I'm sorry. It seems the wind decided to-" She stopped, dead in her tracks, a deer frozen in the glare of headlights.

Draco Malfoy raised an eyebrow and offered a familiar smirk. "Something got a hold of your tongue, Granger? Or are you perhaps taken back by my looks? Wouldn't be the first time for either, now would it?"

---

A/N; I'm quite excited about this particular story, though not by the first chapter. I realize that it's a slow start, but it'll pick up in the next chapter and continue to in future ones. Before I update again and actually get the ball rolling, I'd appreciate 10 reviews. I don't mind criticism at all, and if you have any ideas, throw them out there. You'll be credited in the next chapter if I use them. As for now, cheers and beers. xx