A/N: Welcome new followers! I realized after having posted 7 chapters that I did not have this story labeled as Dramione and did a huge facepalm. I was so confused as to why my other stories were getting traffic and this was getting none, and now I know. I hope people still find their way here now and aren't put off by the low number of reviews. That said, please leave one if you're enjoying the story! It helps to know you're out there :)

I walked into the atrium at the Ministry at half eight, thirty minutes before my scheduled meeting. I wasn't punctual as a courtesy to others, it was more that I was conscious of the reputation my family name had garnered, and had taken to adopting a variety of polite habits just to stick it to all the prejudiced bastards who didn't know how to lose a grudge. Pissants.

One of the terms of my year-long probation following the war, was that I must assist with a variety of experimental projects within the, get this, Muggle Liaison Office. A back-handed extra punishment directly from the mind Granger, no doubt.

Just as I was nearing the end of my year-long term, it was requested that I remain on staff for an additional six months past my end-date. Of course, I'd refused. I'd be damned if I had to spend one extra minute of my life enduring glares, gawps, and sneers from every blessed face turned in my direction, day in and out. Not to mention the work itself. It seemed Minister Shacklebolt was suddenly keen to re-write the International Statute of Secrecy, in a clear bid to solidify his elongated run as Minister now that the second war was finally over. It wouldn't be enough for him to simply pick up where Scrimgeour and Thickness (puppet though he was) had left off. No, he'd needed to make a name for himself.

His plan was simple: allow muggles in certain high-ranking positions at a variety of institutions to gain knowledge of the Wizarding World, in an effort to strengthen Wizard/Muggle relations, and put an end to the enmity that most witches and wizards of a certain age still held firm against their hearts. Indeed, they'd all been forced to keep their less than positive opinions of muggles hushed up, but were certainly not restraining themselves in their homes. It would logically follow that their children would still receive the brunt of their passed-down prejudice, and before we knew it, 3WW would be underway. Frist Grindelwald, then Voldemort, it was only a matter of time before the next crackpot megalomaniac made a bid for power, and Kingsley had been hell bent on beating whoever they were to the punch.

It was admirable, to say the most.

Personally, I thought he was barking. Darkness and evil would always find a way, like a flower through a crack in a paving stone, only drastically less innocent and beautiful.

I truly did not think it mattered either way. If we wizards succeeded in forming amicable ties with a handful of muggles in high places, would it truly make any difference? I could not quite see how, and yet, I'd kept my mouth shut and my temper in check for eight long months. Well, sort of. I'd let it slip for a moment when Kingsley had sent Granger (of all people!) to talk me into remaining for an additional 6 months past what was required. Sure, she was in charge of my probationary period with the Muggle Liaison Office, but still… of all people!

*Three Days Earlier*

"It will look good for you, Draco, staying on past the required date. And we both know how you like to prioritize appearances. "

"Jumped up mud- muggle born."

"I heard that."

"A slip of the tongue. And since when are we on a first name basis, Granger?"

She looked casually over at the window in her office as if she couldn't be bothered to respond to what I'd said. Her ears turned pink, however. Got her.

"Look, Malfoy, this next project will require longer than a 4-month commitment. We've been assured, it'll make no difference if it ends quickly, it's just the nature of the engagement. It would be like knowing a potion needs to rest for a month and choosing to move ahead with it after a fortnight."

"What concern is that of mine? Put me on a different assignment then. One with a shorter time constraint."

"There aren't any others at the moment, Malfoy, so you see our predicament."

I took my feet off her desk and leaned forward with an air of faux concern.

"Oh? Do enlighten me about our predicament, Granger."

She huffed.

I loved winding her up like this. My favorite hobby, these days.

"Well," she said, through gritted teeth, "seeing as we have no other uses for you at the moment, the alternative would be to send you to the Auror's office to work alongside Harry and Ron as they round up and interrogate escaped Death Eaters and prepare their trial proceedings. I believe your Uncle Rabastan Lestrange is currently in for questioning, I could send you down there today to be note keeper."

Her tone had grown lighter and more pompous with every word.

"You fucking bitch."

She shrugged. Shrugged! She'd had me by the balls from the moment I walked in here and she had bloody well known it. There was absolutely no way I was going to play fucking errand boy to Saint Potter and his pet weasel, and especially not in front of the man that had reduced me to a shriveled ball of tears at ages 4, 7, 12, and 16, no bloody fucking way.

"There's no one else that Kingsley trusts to monitor your probation, and may I remind you that the third option is a lovely cell in Azkaban. Believe me I would have no qualms about arranging a portkey for you within the hour if that is where you choose to ride out the remaining four months."

Four months, that might not be too bad. The dementors were gone, after all, completely exterminated for their unflinching loyalty to the Dark Lord, even after he'd fallen. My Father thought they must have been bewitched, since they'd gone back to guarding the prison after the first fall of Voldemort. The second time, however, their allegiance had remained intact. Cursed forever to fight for a wizard who would never again walk the earth. How Voldemort had succeeded in cursing them beyond his death was astonishing, yet not entirely confounding. A bit tragic, really, but then dementors were the least sympathetic creatures perhaps in the entire magical world.

An annoying snapping noise and a shrill voice broke my train of thought as Granger clicked her fingers in front of my face. She'd come out from behind her desk and was looming over me.

Ridiculous, considering how much taller I was. I stood and stepped back defensively. A cornered snake.

She cocked her head to the side in what looked like concern.

"Draco you're not seriously considering going to Azkaban rather than simply staying on in your post for an extended period?"

I stared at her. There she went using my first name again. It was almost like she cared about me. I scoffed.

"Drop the act, Granger, I know full well you were sent here with an agenda. What did Kingsley say, huh? Have me agree to this in one conversation and don't let me leave the room until it's done?"

I expected her to draw back in embarrassment, but instead she stalked towards me with a menacing glare. It caught me off guard and I stumbled a bit as I tried to match her steps in reverse.

"As a matter of fact, Kingsley told me to send you to Azkaban straight away. He was convinced you'd never agree and that I should not waste even a moment of my valuable time. He tried to tell me, but would I listen? No. Apparently, I'm too big a fool to heed the advice of our Minister over some feeble intuitive notion of my own!"

I blanched at this. What was she on about?

"Oh, you've been cooperative, Draco. Exceedingly so. But Kinglsey was right, you're not fooling anyone. He said you strut around here like you're doing the world a fucking favor just by existing, as you always have. Well, guess what? It may have escaped your attention, but your family name is utter shite around here. And apparently, other than me, no one is expecting much of anything from you other than a year of obligatory kowtowing to suit your own ends. By all means, go ahead and prove them right!"

I was both seething with anger, and utterly dumbfounded by her comments. Other than her?

I stepped towards her until our faces were mere inches apart.

"So what's it to you, Granger? Why not let me rot?" I put a great deal of emphasis on the last word.

She flinched, then exhaled sharply.

Then, to my surprise, she turned and walked to the other side of her desk with her back to me, and stayed that way for a long moment.

When she spun around, I was horrified to see a tear running down her cheek.

"S- s- silly me. I thought you'd changed."

I stood there in complete shock, stock still and frozen in place, staring at the ground. Was this part of the manipulation? No, Granger could certainly turn on her inner Slytherin when she needed to, but this didn't feel like a ruse. It felt… genuine.

I grimaced. Granger, of all people, thought there was some good in me.

Well that made one of us.

Feeling an imagined hour glass in the room running to its last grains of sand, I spoke.

"I'll do it," I said, looking up at her.

"You'll- you'll what?" she sputtered.

"I said I'll do it, you silly witch, now stop blubbering and give me the assignment."

She made no rebuttal, but wiped her face with the sleeve of her jumper and strode back to her desk, retrieving a piece of parchment. With a small, watery smile, she handed it over. It contained a floor and an office number at which to report on Monday, 9am sharp. Lastly, the name of the muggle I'd be meeting with…

Michelle Akin, Life Coach.

I looked up at Granger with a scowl on my face.

"What in the bloody hell is a Life Coach?"

A/N Hi there! This is one of my works in progress that I started while I was finishing Sour Grapes. I'll be posting weekly updates here. I hope you'll follow and leave a comment if you like what you've read so far!