"Your record is less than exemplary," the wizened old wizard said, staring down at the blond-haired wizard before him. "You have not displayed appropriate office behaviour in the past."

"Yes, I know that," the blond replied, "but I'm really going to try my best this time. Really."

"You have three counts of not showing up without reason-"

"I was sick and couldn't find my owl."

"One count of sexual harassment-"

"All I did was compliment her on her figure. She overreacted."

"Nine counts of not completing assignments-"

"I felt them to be unnecessary, and I was right."

"And finally, a remarkable twenty-nine counts of being disrespectful to coworkers, particularly those of Muggle descent."

"Old habits die hard?"

"And all that was in the last month alone." The elder wizard, the Minister of Intra-Ministerial Discipline, glared down at the young Malfoy heir before him. "You have an abundance of excuses, Mr. Malfoy, but very little proof that you plan to change your ways. Now, the Ministry takes no pleasure in letting its employees go, and it is Ministry policy to attempt to relocate unsatisfactory employees to positions to which they are better suited within the Ministry, however-"

"However what?" Draco asked impatiently. "There are tons of other jobs here, what's the holdup? I've only had-" he cocked his head to the side, mentally tallying the number of jobs he'd gone through since he had begun working at the Ministry two years before.

"You have had four hundred, seventy-two jobs with the Ministry," the elder wizard said. "One with every department."

"There must be more departments than that," Draco scoffed. "I can't have had a job with every department there is."

"Well, there is one, however..." the wizard's voice was high with skepticism.

"All right, so send me there. One last hurrah before I get kicked out here!"

"We at the Ministry think you would not do so well in that department."

"I've earned forty-two disciplinary notes on my record in the past month," Draco reminded him. "I can't be any worse in this next department than I was in the last one, could I?"

Though he didn't say it aloud, the elderly wizard felt very deeply that Draco could, in fact, beat his past record.

"Fine," the wizard sighed, "if you insist. You will report to the Department of Records tomorrow morning at nine-o'clock sharp."

"The Department of Records?" Draco was shocked. "What? That place is so dull!"

"You asked for a last chance," the wizard reminded him scathingly. "Perhaps we have stumbled upon a case of 'be careful what you wish for'?"

Outraged, Draco could do nothing but stammer and stutter until, in a moment of cool maturity, he stuck his tongue out at the elder wizard and stormed out of the room.

It wasn't that Hermione Granger, ex-war-hero turned Ministry-slave, hated people, it was just that she hated the people she was forced to interact with at work. The problem wasn't that they were stupid (which they were), inept (refer to "stupid"), and dull (though, after years of evil-wizard hunting, most things seemed dull). The problem was that she could do no wrong in their eyes.

It was always, "Ooh, Hermione, your hair is fantastic!" on bad hair days, and "Ooh, Hermione, what a brilliantly written report" on pieces of writing which she knew to be only decent. For a girl who thrived on constructive criticism and competition, being put on a pedestal was absolutely no fun at all, which is why, one rainy day, she snapped.

"This isn't amazing, Melinda!" she had screamed, throwing a report at her secretary, a temporary intern who had been thrilled to be working with her idol. "There are at least three spelling errors in here, and I know you saw them, but you didn't even mention it!"

"Miss Granger, I'm so, so sorry," the girl had said, tears forming in her eyes. "I didn't want to offend-"

"Being an idiot offends me!" Hermione had screamed, throwing a vase against the wall. "Being a simpering fool offends me!"

And so it was that Hermione found herself before the Minister of Intra-Ministerial Discipline.

"Your behaviour is quite out of character, Miss Granger," the old wizard said. "I had never expected to see you in my office."

"I know, Minister," Hermione said quietly. "I'm ashamed of myself. I have no good excuse for what I did."

"That young intern has been psychologically damaged. She was extremely fond of you."

Hermione grimaced. "I'm aware."

"She was crying very loudly."

"I heard."

"It took the psychotherapists a long time to calm her down."

"I know."

"You threw a report at her."

"I did."

"Because she liked it."

"I know."

"And you threw a vase at the wall."

"I'm aware, Minister."

"That seems an extreme reaction to an intern telling you that she likes your report."

"Yes, Minister, I know!"

The wizard was extremely taken aback. "Miss Granger, I do not like your tone. You clearly have not recovered from whatever it is which made you react so violently to that poor girl in the first place, and I frankly do not think it would be wise for you to return to your previous department for the time being."

"Are- are you relocating me?"

"Please report to the Department of Records tomorrow morning at nine, Miss Granger."

It had taken Draco about a year after that final battle at Hogwarts to stop loathing Muggle-Borns and Half-Bloods, and another year after that to admit that they weren't useless idiots. It took three months after that to remain in the same room as one for over four hours, another six to shake a Half-Blood's hand, and another four to admit that a Muggle-Born was intelligent. Despite all this progress, however, the odd "Mudblood" still slipped out every once in awhile.

He never meant it cruelly for, while he still thought himself to be a bit better than Muggle-Borns and Half-Bloods, he had been trying very hard. He normally said it while teasing, a laughing "Oi, you stupid Mudblood!" between friends. Or coworkers. Or clients. Or perfect strangers.

It didn't matter; the point was that the Malfoy heir was attempting to be a better person, except being a better person didn't come naturally to him, and the rest of society just wouldn't leave him alone about it.

It was for this reason that Draco felt his banishment to the Department of Records to be completely unjustified. He hadn't meant to say and do all those offensive things, and he had had plenty of opportunities to say and do more, except he hadn't because he was trying. It takes a lot of time to re-write one's beliefs, Draco often thought, and people needed to be more understanding about that.

Angry, and with this thought in mind, Draco wrenched open the door to the loathèd Department of Records and slammed it shut, launching himself into the nearest chair and promptly beginning to sulk.

"What are you doing here, Malfoy?" an extremely cross voice asked from across the room.

He looked up to see angry brown eyes, an irritated scowl, and a mane of unruly brunette hair.

"I could ask you the same, Granger," he replied, his face mirroring the disgust evident on hers.

"I was told to come here by the Minister of Intra-Ministerial Discipline, and it's quite important, so I suggest you leave."

Irritated by the self-righteousness clear in her voice, Draco scoffed. "Leave the lying to the crooks and thieves, Golden Girl."

"Well, you'd know all about crooks and thieves, wouldn't you, Malfoy? And I'm not lying."

"Well, I'm here because that very same Minister told me to be, Granger, and so I know for a fact that you're telling untruths."

"Who's lying now?" Hermione laughed. "What, did you invite your little girlfriend down here for a snog, and you're upset to find the room already occupied?"

Draco pushed away memories of his latest conquest, an irritatingly clingy little redhead by the name of Melinda. "Hardly. Why, jealous?"

"Did she dump you, then? Realize how pathetic you are?"

"If you must know, Granger, and I don't see why that would be, I left her. I refuse to stay with any witch longer than a week and a half, it's a matter of principle."

Outraged, Hermione could only stare at him, mouth agape.

"You look like an orangutan, Granger. A big improvement on how you used to look, mind you, so I'm not complaining."

"You're disgusting!" she shrieked. "If you don't leave this room within the next thirty seconds, I will hex you to Kingdom Come!"

"I will do no such thing," he declared, "until my business here is done!"

"I won't stand for this," she muttered angrily. "I am leaving, and I will owl the Minister later about my business with him." Her angry footsteps echoed through the room as she walked to the door. "Goodbye, Malfoy," she said, her tone poisonous, as she pulled on the door. "It's been a pleasure."

"I'm so very sorry to see you go," he shot back.

Except Hermione wasn't leaving. She was pulling on the door with all her might, but to no avail. There was no escape.

Angry, she turned around. "We're stuck."

"Just Disapparate," Draco sneered.

"Do you ever read?" Hermione shot back. "You can't Disapparate or Apparate inside any part of the Ministry, save for the Great Hall. It's a security measure."

Both were silent.

"Well, I'm going to take a nap then," Draco said. "Mind you don't wake me with your obnoxiously loud breathing, you-"

"What's that noise?" A loud humming had filled the room.

"Looks like a portkey," Draco said. "Over there."

Indeed, situated on a table across the room from the arguing pair, two identical portkeys had appeared.

"Well, this has been fun," Draco said. "But I'm leaving!"

Nearly sprinting across the room, Draco grabbed one of the portkeys and disappeared, Hermione hot on his heels with the second portkey.

Draco found himself in a bright yellow kitchen which he had never seen before, on the table of which sat a plate of fresh chocolate chip cookies and an envelope. He would have been very happy with this, except-

"You're still here?" Hermione shouted. "Is it my fate to have to put up with you every day for the rest of my life, or something?"

"Shut up, Granger."

"I will do no such thing! I went to that room for a meeting, and instead I find-"

"Shut up! It's for us!" Draco was holding up the envelope, on which both their names had been written.

"What's going on?" Hermione asked slowly.

"It looks like we're trapped," Draco said, opening the envelope. "Dear Mr. Malfoy and Miss Granger or, as you will be known for the next four months, Mr. and Mrs. Smith."

"Mister and Missus?" Hermione shrieked. "What?"

"We're both here for sensitivity training," Draco said. "For the next four months."

Hermione snatched the letter from his hands and began reading it over, her eyes whipping back and forth so fast that Draco thought she might have been having a seizure.

"We have to live as married Muggles, interacting with and even finding jobs in the Muggle world. We have separate bedrooms, so the act is only for the rest of the world to see... Um, it says here that due to a magical suspension implemented by the Ministry of Magic and the Department of blah-blah-blah... Our wands don't work. They're basically just useless twigs until our four months of sensitivity training are up."

"My wand doesn't work?" Draco asked, panicked. "I need my wand! How am I supposed to survive without a wand?"

"I'm married to you," Hermione said, her stomach filling with dread. "We're married."

"Don't think I'm any happier about it than you are, Granger," Draco sneered. "I would have hoped my first marriage would have been to someone tolerably attractive, at least."

"Well, I have at least one advantage," Hermione shot back.

"Oh? And what's that?"

"I'm not an ugly, arrogant, Muggle-hating prat, and I have experience living like a Muggle! Good luck, Malfoy."