Lull

Hermione Granger was not the type of person to shriek. She was not the kind of girl that was given to dramatics. She would not, under any circumstances, make herself seem foolish in the eyes of anyone, especially her colleagues. Hermione Granger was intelligence. Hermione Granger was Athena incarnate.

She must, under any and all circumstances, uphold the ideal of social decorum.

Hermione looked down at her shaking hands, reading the loopy script that placed the envelope in her name again and again, trying to assure herself that it was not a figment of her imagination and that she was not crazy. She made the mental checks in her head:

'Same green ink, same loopy script…' she thought to herself. She inhaled softly and pet her owl, Nike. Turning the envelope over in her hands, she found a simple wax seal. Licking her lips, she sliced it open with a quill and watched as a piece of parchment slipped out.

Her eyes hungrily searching the letter, she found it to be pleasant, and assuring. She heaved a heavy sigh. Now she would really read the letter and imagine the writer in her mind's eye, wondering what it was that he was doing.

Dear Hermione,

I can't believe it's already been ten months since we've last seen each other. I hope you've been doing well in your personal life. I've tried to keep tabs on you through newspapers and magazines and stuff—you're rising to the top! Just the other week, I read your interview in Witch Magazine, and I couldn't stop tearing up when you started harking on and on about Rita Skeeter and how you'll never accept her offer. Good for you—you shouldn't feel any obligation to speak with her, not after all she's done to you.

I know I haven't been a good friend, leaving you to fend off all the reporters by yourself and I know that you haven't been too happy lately. Right now, I am in Europe, but that's about as specific as I can get for now. I'll tell you all about Bolivia once I see you in a couple of months to take care of that thing we always do.

Don't worry your pretty little head over me, I'm doing fine with all this travelling, but you'd never know how much I miss England and you will never understand how much I miss you, Hermione. When I get back home, I'll tell you all about Bolivia and Ghana…I had may have had a little too much fun with the natives there…picked up a couple of tattoos and everything.

I know that you may have been having a hard time lately, dealing with everything, but know that I'm always with you, Hermione. You're my best friend, and I love you with all my heart.

Love Always,

Harry

Hermione read the letter several times before she allowed herself to place it in her top left draw underneath her desk. She had always kept Harry's letter locked away from prying eyes. She knew what it would cost Harry if anyone was to track the letter's origins.

Ever since he defeated the Dark Lord, both Harry and Hermione decided it would be best if he left the country and moved around for a couple of years—7, to be exact—until everything at home calmed down. They were already nearing the sixth year, and Hermione an Harry were both very anxious about his return-- what kind of welcome would he receive? Would he be ostracized because he wouldn't become the Ministry's minstrel? Where would he work? Would he have to live with the threat of reporters and thrill-seekers on his doorstep everyday? Hermione sighed and locked the drawer.

"How cute," someone snorted behind her. Hermione's neck twisted as she turned to find her office-mate, the bane of her existence, the nail in her foot and itch on her back—Malfoy. She narrowed her eyes and growled. He really did enjoy ruining these moments for her.

The only reason the stupid bugger wasn't even in Azkaban was because of the pull the Malfoy name still had, even after his involvement in the Hogwarts takeover and Dumbledore's death. The little pecker had escaped imprisonment because he couldn't be placed on any battlefield after that, but Hermione, as well as Harry and Ron—rest his soul—knew all about how he helped Snape with his dark potions making. And although the dark wizards deserved any and everything they got, the current Minister refused to wipe out age-old families. The elite would be in an uproar. And then where would the Ministry get its funding?

So, with only a slight slap on the wrist and an agreement to act as the Ministry's example of a fully reformed Death Eater, Malfoy was sent to her department, Muggle Tolerance and Education Department. It was intended for her to keep tabs on him and to advertise the new attitude that all purebloods should now exhibit. And although he was relatively safer than he was right after the war ended, many of he Aurors and families who lost loved ones wanted to destroy him. He was being watched, very carefully, by all sides, now.

He would be the perfect scapegoat should an ex Death Eater find any dirt on him. But lucky for him, he was too intelligent to leave behind any clues to his ties with the Dark Lord, Voldemort, aside from his dealings with Dumbledore's death. The bastard had the nerve to still be a right prick, and she wanted very desperately to knock him off his high horse.

Although the current Minster of Magic was leagues better than the few previous Ministers, he certainly put her in a predicament no one would have expected. To place a muggle-born witch with an ignorant, elitist pureblood—well, anyone could have told him that it was a spell for disaster. And for the first two years that the two worked together, it was.

However, it was only within the last couple of months that the name-calling and arguing slowly became a thing of the past as they just learned how to regard each other with a cold, distant contempt that lacked the need to be expressed in words and gestures. The Ministry, itself, breathed a sigh of relief as two of the most powerful and influential people of modern times ceased to bicker. There were times that the very walls of the establishment shook under the onslaught of energy from the two.

The only times they spoke now was during conferences, and even then they refused to look at each other, and both parties were entirely content with that. But every week, when Hermione would receive a letter from Harry, who had been her pillar of strength after the War, he would find need to comment. It was on these occasions that she had decided to completely tune him out, lest she suffer another skirmish on a delightful Thursday afternoon.

Hermione turned to the leaves of parchment on her desk next. There was so much work to be done before the weekend. They were still working out various kinks in the Death Eater rehabilitation program, where the wizards and witches were stripped of their wands and forced to live as muggles for months on end, and there were also lesson plans from various professors that needed to be reviewed, section by section, to better supply the youth with knowledge of muggles in hopes that it would breed tolerance. Malfoy was not such an optimist, however, and the projects suffered several setbacks because of him.

"Hermione," came a voice from a small radio on her desk. Arthur Weasley's tinkering with muggle objects enabled him to create this gem of an invention—an intercom that could work with or without magical interference. Hermione pressed the button on the intercom and spoke as clearly as she could.

"Go on, Shirley." Shirley was their secretary. Although she and Malfoy had to share the same office, Shirley was a witch who only communicated with Hermione. He had his very own secretary, thankfully, as the woman was a few eggs short of a basket.

"A Mr. Kloninger is waiting for you outside."

"Oh, yes. He must be here about that spider-attracting honey that was found in London not too long ago." The stuff was unbelievably more trouble than anyone could have imagined. Helpless muggles would go to the store, buy themselves a nice jar of honey, only to find themselves covered in tarantulas. Honestly, it was a mean, cruel, and silly joke. She knew second-years who could have come up with something better.

"Let him in please." Hermione pushed her chair out from her desk and adjusted her navy blue sleeveless turtle neck and short black skirt. She was just about to put on her jacket when Mr. Kloninger, a pale, red-haired man with the blackest of eyes walked in, twisting his mustache in his fingers.

"Ms. Granger." He nodded.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Kloninger."

"Doing a bit of light reading, I see?" He nodded in the direction of her desk. Hermione looked back and blushed. The place was a torrential mess. The reams of parchment were scattered across the top of the tables, letters fluttering around the office, and Nike fluttering around, screeching for some sort of snack.

She looked over to her office mate and felt a surge of annoyance as he reached into his robes and pulled out a treat for the owl, stuffing it into her mouth, silencing her. He threw one look of contempt in Hermione's direction and then sat down at his neat desk to write something. Hermione angrily turned back to Mr. Kloninger.

"Have you resolved the issue yet?" She asked a bit testily.

"Ah, yes. The culprits have been apprehended. It would seem that a Neville Longbottom was at the root of this issue. Said that he was trying to develop a potion that, when sprayed on a flower, would attract bees so that they might spread pollen better. Unfortunately, he said, the potion was better at attracting spiders and such. He had no idea it was he behind the entire ordeal and has made a formal apology to the Ministry on behalf of Jolly's Greenhouses and Laboratories." Malfoy snorted from his corner.

"I thought the poor sod would one day grow out of his idiocy. I guess I was wrong again."

"Something you should be used to by now, I'm sure." Hermione quipped. As if sensing an argument brewing between the two, Mr. Kloninger politely excused himself and told Hermione and Malfoy to have a good day.

Luckily, Malfoy refused to say much else to the witch, and decided to continue writing whatever it was he was writing. She punctuated the sound of the door closing with a huff and all but collapsed back into her chair. One of these days, she was going to kill that man. A small beep from somewhere underneath all of the parchment startled her.

"Ms. Granger,"

"Yes?"

"The Minister wanted to remind you of the lunch date set at the Lachesis." Hermione sunk into her seat even lower. She and Malfoy were having a lunch with the Minister today at noon sharp at a Greek restaurant downtown. She was a little afraid of what new project he was going to have them undertake. Anymore of these dinky little projects where older wizards dressed up as Muggles and spoke in condescending tones about tolerance and love and she'd puke. Where the minister took a Sunday school approach to teaching the wizarding world about muggles, she felt it was necessary to show them the intelligence and cunning the muggles possessed that was evident in their inventions and ways to go about their daily lives without magic.

"He also says that you might want to bring lots of chocolate."

"Chocolate?" She blinked. Hermione was a major chocolate fanatic. She loved it all: German chocolate, Swiss chocolate—hell, even American chocolate which had to be the worst tasting of all chocolates in the world—and it served as a wonderful comfort food.

She looked over to Malfoy's pale, laughing face. He seemed to find it amusing that the Minister was going to break some horrible news to her. She inwardly growled at the thought and shoved a quill into her small black purse, trying her best not to cross the room and Avada Kedavra him like he'd probably done so many good people.

Just look at him. Skin so pale it seemed he'd never seen a ray of sunshine in his life (which wasn't at all surprising since he lived in that disgustingly huge Manor all by himself in Northern England), grey eyes that sometimes seemed a little blue (not your attractive sort of blue, but the kind that sort of creeps you out whenever you are in a dimly lit room), and soft platinum blonde hair that fell in his eyes every now and then. Hermione had heard women tittering about that hair, saying how they wished they could just brush the strands away with their hands. Hermione just wanted to take a pair of garden shears or weed-whack the son's of bitches to oblivion.

Hermione sank even further into her chair.

Stupid aristocratic nose. Stupid expensive clothes and good taste. Stupid white teeth and perfect physique, she thought sourly. She watched him out of the corner of her eye. He was not paying her any mind at all, still writing in that grand script of his that made her feel like she was reading a Poe story.

"Are you going to continue staring at me all day? What are you doing? Trying to remind yourself why I'm too good for a muggle-born like you?" Hermione blushed furiously and dug her nails into the armrests of her chair.

"Shut up!"

"Good, then. I'll give you another five minutes to come up with a better retort." Hermione used to dream of the day Muggle-borns and Purebloods alike could go hand-in-hand, a day where their children would play together, unknowing of the subtle differences between them. Now she just wanted that day to come so they could disassemble her Department and transfer her to an area far, far away from the bastard.

Hermione looked at her watch to see that it was only a few minutes before noon. She stood up and stretched, earning a herself a glare from lover-boy extraordinaire. She shrugged it off and placed the jacket over her shoulders.

"Be there on time, Malfoy." She grumbled before looking up to find no one there. Was she so deeply engrossed in her internal monologue that she failed to notice that annoying pop whenever someone disapparates? She was even more annoyed now, so she closed her eyes and concentrated on the entrance to the Lachesis.

When Hermione opened her eyes, she was standing in front of the restaurant, advertized with gold leaf lettering on the glass door. Her eyes quickly perused the menu and she saw that it was a little on the expensive side. Sighing heavily, she tipped her head in the direction of the young boy who opened the door for her and she stepped in, only to be quickly ushered to the table where Malfoy and the Minister sat. Hermione took one look at them and then placed her purse on the table and her jacket on the chair.

"I hope this'll be quick." She muttered. Malfoy and the Minister stood and then followed her as she took her seat. Hermione quirked one eyebrow in Malfoy's direction.

"Good afternoon, Hermione. So nice to see you again." The older wizard rubbed his balding head, and smiled up at her.

"Hello, Minister, it's been a little busy around the office lately."

"Ginny's been asking about you. Wanted to see if you'd agree to have dinner with her tomorrow night." Hermione smiled.

"Okay, tell her I'll give her a call later on tonight." Because of her department's program, wizards were becoming more and more reliable on Muggle technologies, the cell phone being the favorite.

"May I take your order?" There was a petite waitress wearing a short black skirt and gentle smile. Hermione caught herself from giving her a once-over. She was absolutely gorgeous with her blond hair and startling blue eyes. Probably a total bimbo, Hermione thought to herself.

"Ah, yes, I would like a glass of water with a lemon."

"Ah, hello there." Malfoy sunk into his usual James Bond-like charm. Upon recognizing exactly who he was and that he was flirting with her, she fluttered her lashes and flipped her straight blond hair expertly. Malfoy ordered a glass of wine and then continued to flirt with her. After clearing her throat, the young woman looked at Hermione as if she had not known she was there.

"I would like…"

"And the young woman would like a strawberry banana smoothie with a hint of lime." Hermione kept her anger in check. How dare he order for her?! Of course, that was exactly what she was about to order, but it was the principle!

"Now hurry back, sweetheart. You don't want to make your other costumers wait." He winked at her and the girl positively swooned (definitely a bimbo). As she walked away, Hermione pinned him with one of her most disconcerting stares, but Malfoy merely fixed his tie and looked somewhere above the Minister's shoulder.

When Hermione realized that he was staring in the window at his reflection, she rolled her eyes. The vain little bugger should get a zit. Or better yet, she should slap him just to see that satisfying little imprint of her hand across her cheek. Anything to mar that perfect, pale, aristocratic, arrogant face of his—

"Here you are." The waitress said as she placed their drinks in front of them.

"Are you ready to order or do you need more time?" She asked politely, looking at Malfoy the entire time. Hermione rolled her eyes and then remembered that she hadn't even looked at the menus. She was about to grab the one sitting in front of her when Malfoy reached over and picked it up. "Of course." He smirked.

"Pikilia for the appetizer and Pashalino Arni for the entrée." The Minister nodded.

"Bacaliaros Skordalia." Malfoy pronounced it perfectly and the waitress giggled into her small pad. "And the lady would like Chtapodi Laborigani." Hermione positively brimmed with unsurpassed hatred for the man as the waitress took the menus from him and trotted away.

"What's with you ordering for me?"

"You would have held up the poor woman if we waited for you to peruse the menu. You probably couldn't even read it." Hermione was steaming now. How dare he insinuate—even think—that she could not read something? Even if it was Greek? She was about to open her mouth to yell at him when the minister cleared his throat.

"So, how have the projects been coming along?" He asked nervously. Hermione glared at him, but shut her mouth. Malfoy leaned back in his chair coolly and shrugged.

"As well as expected. You can't imagine that every wizard everywhere is going to cuddle up close with the muggles and mu—muggle-borns." Hermione kicked him underneath the table. She very desperately wanted him to slip up and say that word that used to bring her to tears. She very much wanted Arthur Weasley to kick him out and put out a warrant for his arrest.

"Well," Arthur looked down at his glass. As the waitress returned with the appetizer. "Would you look at that! It looks great," he smiled at the waitress. He soon began to dig in, motioning for the other two to follow. Both Hermione and Draco reached in at the same time. They looked at each other and Hermione immediately snatched her hand away. Arthur watched them with an amused smile on his face.

"To what do we owe the please of this meeting?" Draco was the first to speak after the appetizer disappeared, replaced with a salad. He and Hermione immediately began to go to work: she placed her cherry tomatoes in his bowl as he forked the radishes and held it out for her to take. She handed him her clean fork and took the extra ranch dressing from his hand. She immediately handed over the vinaigrette and then began to munch on the leafy vegetables.

Arthur Weasley quirked an eyebrow. He enjoyed taking them out to lunch only so he could see this amazing spectacle. Although the two swore to posses nothing more than the utmost hatred for the other, they sure seemed to work together seamlessly. Maybe his proposal would work, after all?

As soon as the bowls were taken away and the entrée was delivered, Malfoy tried to ask the Minister what the meeting was about again. He shook his head and bade them to finish their meals, which was done so in silence. Finally, when the table was clear and the threesome denied the opportunity for dessert, Arthur Weasley rubbed his forehead with his napkin, awarding himself a disgusted sneer from Malfoy.

"Now, I suppose we should get down to business, then." He began to wring his robes in his hand. Hermione frowned—what could have the minister so nervous? "Our lunch hour is almost over, so I'll be blunt."

"Now, we all know the trouble Malfoy has been having with the common population of the wizarding world. We all know that the masses have been stirring for Malfoy blood ever since Rita Skeeter let it slip that his family was responsible for over sixty percent of Voldemort's funding." Malfoy looked around them and covertly put up a silencing charm around the table.

"You both know how indispensable the Malfoy family's funding is to the Ministry. You also know how important his involvement in these projects is. He is the pinnacle of the rehabilitated Death Eater, and if he is to be placed behind Azkaban's walls, the elite will pull their funding from the Ministry and most likely rebel for fear that they might be incarcerated anyway."

"I understand where this is going, but I don't see how this has anything to do with me, Mr. Weasley." Hermione stared.

"I'm getting to that." He cleared his throat. "I spent all yesterday trying to figure what we can do to save Malfoy. If he goes, so does our plan o rehabilitate the ex- Death Eaters and much of our government funding and everything will collapse." He sighed.

Hermione immediately felt pity for him. Although it was due to his new position the Weasley family was no longer strapped for cash, duty as Minister of Magic was ten times harder than it ever was in the wake of this war. The hardest part had yet to pass, and she could see the last patches of his hair falling out.

He muttered something under his breath. Hermione leaned in closer to hear him.

"Hermione, I need your help." Hermione frowned.

"With what, Mr. Weasley?"

"Malfoy needs to be seen with someone not of pureblood status. Not rich, not prestigious. He needs to show that he really has changed—that there is no more Death Eater left in him. I first thought that anyone would do, that any muggle-born would be able to pull him out on this one. But then, it wouldn't slip past anyone. Everyone would suspect that he was just using that person for this reason exactly. But with you Hermione, Harry Potter's best friend, the brains behind the Order's front…" Hermione tensed up, not sure where he was going with this.

"Hermione, Malfoy…I need you two to pretend you're in love."

Okay… that was the end of the first chapter. I think, this story included, I have about four stories I'm currently working on. I know it seems to be a bit much, but I can't stop writing new ones. I came up with this idea after I got tired of reading one marriage law fic after another. This one, I just decided to make them a little older, post-war, with Draco's ignorant beliefs still intact. I don't know… thought it might be more interesting. SO…

If you enjoyed it, don't forget to review! Give me your honest to god opinions, and I'll thank you personally in the following chapter 