Hermione slumped against the wall by the fireplace, still breathing hard. Her cheeks were burning, but not with the usual blushes that appeared in every awkward situation. No, she was flushed because she was enraged.

Wiping the ash from her trip by Floo power off of her shoes, Hermione stepped into her living room and turned on the lights. How could anyone possibly have thought that this would be a good idea? Her, of all people? Did the Minister of Magic not remember what was between the two of them?

She flopped down on the sofa with a huff and pulled off her heavy outer robes. They had all gone mad, she decided. Nobody in their right mind would have assigned Lucius Malfoy to be Hermione Granger's personal servant.

It had been four years since the end of the war, and a couple of people who had been complicit in Voldemort's attempted takeover of the wizarding world had been released from Azkaban early for good behavior. One of those, of course, was Malfoy. The Ministry had decided that in order to make up the foul acts that the Death Eaters had committed against non-purebloods, they would have to serve those very same muggleborns as servants, until they had been deemed officially rehabilitated. Any infraction of the strict guidelines would be punished by an immediate return to Azkaban for some indefinite amount of time.

Hermione had just returned from a meeting at the Ministry where she had been informed of that decision, and also that none other than Malfoy would be her Death-Eater-turned-servant. Nothing about this could possibly go well, she thought to herself. At least they had given her a whole evening to prepare for her new servant, she thought sourly. Malfoy would be living in her house during his servitude, so that he could serve her "more effectively." Kill me in my sleep is more likely, thought Hermione. Of course she would ward all the rooms and charm everything so that it couldn't be used as a weapon, but still, how could she be expected to relax with a Death Eater sleeping under her roof?

At the thought of sleeping, Hermione stood up from the couch and moved into the kitchen to put the kettle on. When her tea was done brewing, she fished the chamomile tea bag out with a spoon and brought the steaming mug into her room, where it sat on her bedside table as she undressed and brushed her teeth before bed. She sipped it slowly as she read from the heavy volume of tenth-century wizarding poetry, and when the cup was empty, she switched off her lamp and settled into her pillows. Malfoy would be arriving in the morning, and she still wasn't quite sure how she could possibly prepare herself for that. Surprisingly, considering her mind was roiling with thoughts of what the next day might bring, Hermione slipped easily into sleep.

"Mudblood," Malfoy snarled, brandishing an impossibly sharp wand. He pressed it to her throat, where it immediately cut her skin and caused her to bleed. "You disgust me. I am a Malfoy, and our blood has been pure for centuries. I will never serve you. You filth, you whore, you disgusting excuse for a pitiful witch! I will KILL YOU!"

Hermione sat up with a gasp, her heart beating fast. Her sheets were tangled around her legs and her hair was damp with sweat. She switched on her lamp and concentrated on calming her breathing. She glanced at the clock on her bedside table, which was enchanted to light up and display the time only when it was looked at. There was still half an hour until her alarm was supposed to wake her up, and an hour and a half until Malfoy was supposed to arrive. Hermione knew she wouldn't be able to fall easily asleep again, so she swung her legs over the edge of her bed and stood up with a yawn. Twisting briefly to stretch out her back, Hermione grabbed her towel from the back of the door and made her way to the bathroom. As the tub was filling with hot water, she brushed out her hair and paused to look at her own face looking back at her in the mirror.

Her hair was still voluminous and curly, but less frizzy than it had been in her youth. She had high cheekbones and her teeth had been properly sized ever since she had had Draco Malfoy's jinx fixed in the Hospital Wing in their fourth year. She was of average height, but her slim body made her seem quite petite, especially with her pale skin and dark eyes that drew the eye with their contrast. With a sigh at the uncontrollable state of her curls, Hermione shut off the water running in the tub and stepped into the warm water. Sinking down in the tub until the scented bubbles tickled her chin, Hermione sighed and gazed up at the paint on the bathroom ceiling. It was peeling in places from the humidity of the bathroom air, and rivulets of moisture were making their way down the cool windowpane above the tub. The flat wasn't exactly luxurious, but it was clean and comfortable. Although that might all be about to change, Hermione reminded herself. She had a spare bedroom, luckily, which was where she kept most of her muggle possessions in boxes. It was sparsely furnished with a double bed and dresser, and when her school friends visited they usually slept in there if they stayed the night. Now Lucius Malfoy would be living there for some uncertain amount of time, and Hermione would have to share her space with him.

Hermione shuddered at the thought of running into him in the bathroom as one or the other competed their morning routines. There was only the one bathroom in the flat, and though Hermione had once experimented with magically extending a closet in the guest bedroom to serve as a second bathroom, the plumbing was uncertain at best when she tried to magically link it to the muggle water and sewage lines, and it was just easier not to have to worry about the plumbing malfunctioning on some poor unsuspecting guest. Lying there in the bathtub Hermione considered trying to spell the extra bathroom into existence again and just making Malfoy deal with it if the toilet's contents didn't end up where they should, but eventually decided it would pose too much of a problem. They would just have to set up strict shower times and whatnot, and hope that everyone remembered to knock before entering.

Hermione got out of the tub, pulled to stopper out to drain the water, and wrapped herself in a towel that she warmed with a quick charm. With a jet of warm air from her wand she dried and reshaped her hair into it's normal curly mass, and then returned to her bedroom to get dressed.

Rather than the muggle clothes that she usually wore at home on weekends, Hermione selected a set of casual robes. She didn't need to give Malfoy any extra reasons to mock her blood status.

Sitting with another cup of tea and a scone for breakfast, Hermione tried to concentrate on reading the Daily Prophet, but her mind kept wandering. There was an article mentioning the new decree, but it didn't mention what former Death Eaters were part of the new rehabilitation program, or to which muggleborns they had been assigned. It was ridiculous, Hermione thought, setting her teacup down with more force than necessary, that they had only been given some twelve hours to prepare their homes for hosting Death Eaters. The press release from the Ministry made it sound like this was a wonderful thing for both Death Eaters and the muggleborns they had to serve, because the former would be "cured" of their murderous tendencies by being forced to respect their new masters, and the latter would have live-in servants to cater to their every whim. All of the muggleborns were receiving a stipend for the expenses of housing an additional person, but no amount of gold could possibly make up for the stress and basic unpleasantness of living under the same roof as Lucius Malfoy, Hermione thought with a scowl.

At that thought, she heard a cough from the fireplace in the living room. Putting her dishes into the sink, she braced herself. Kingsley's head was floating in the flames, looking at her guiltily.

"I really am sorry about this, Miss Granger. But, as I told you yesterday, this is important for the wizarding world and the muggle world too. It goes beyond the unfortunate fact that this might not be enjoyable for you for the next few months. May we come through?"

Hermione nodded, her mouth in a grim line. Kingsley's head turned and receded for a moment, and then the fire burned bright green for a moment and two figures were stepping over Hermione's hearth.