AN: I decided to upload chapter 1 as well, since the prologue is short. Enjoy!

Chapter 1 - Draco's Big Problem

April 6, 2001

Ministry of Magic

Department of Magical Law Enforcement

Auror Headquarters

1:58 pm

Draco Malfoy was sitting in his cubicle, daydreaming about fucking Hermione Granger.

A cubicle wasn't the ideal location to partake in such an activity, but it had happened there before and it would happen there again. Privacy wasn't high on the list of priorities for the department of MLE, and if Draco had to rush to the loo every time an impure thought about Hermione crossed his mind, someone would certainly notice and suggest he seek out a healer specializing in men's urology issues.

Thankfully, robes were loose enough to hide the evidence of his daydreams, although he did have to be careful on days he wore muggle clothing, and had worked out circuitous routes which bypassed her desk for just such occasions. It was an ironic misfortune that the one witch who would most approve of his broadening horizons was the one witch he had to tactfully avoid while he sported his muggle suits or wool coats. Not to mention he looked damn good in muggle clothing, and thanks to his spontaneous stiffening around her, she never got to appreciate it - not that she was the type to do so.

It wasn't like seeing her would always result in a pants tent, but he could not identify a pattern in the occurrences, and thus lived in fear of being struck unexpectedly. It had happened once in a department meeting, during one of her particularly well-done presentations; she wasn't even wearing anything provocative, or bending over to pick something up, or anything that would understandably result in arousal. Instead, he actually found himself turned on by the depth of work the project had clearly taken, her confidence as she presented it, and the way her teeth clamped onto one side of her bottom lip as she considered questions.

Another time, they had run into each other as she was exiting the breakroom and he was entering; the narrowness of the doorway resulted in her brushing against him, muttering flustered apologies, her rear end just barely scraping along the front of his hips, the cloud of her hair bombarding him with scent. That instance had been particularly bothersome. Occasionally, when he had not self-satisfied in a while, he found full salutes triggered by just her laughter, and the way she would toss her head back, hair thrown behind her shoulders, in response to a particularly amusing joke.

In the almost two years since his trial, he had considered Hermione Granger quite often. Just as Harry sodding Potter had wanted, every time Draco acknowledged his freedom, he acknowledged that it came from the woman he had hated and tormented for her blood. At first it made him bitter. At first, he hated her for helping him. He sulked in the Manor for weeks, thoughts endlessly running through his head. After the initial stream had resolved, and he examined it, he equated the pattern to the five stages of grief.

Denial: Like how dare she presume he needed the help of a Mudblood! He would've been fine on his own; Malfoy money could solve most any problem. He didn't need Dumbledore, he didn't need Harry Potter and he didn't need her. He was not one of her precious house elves; he would not be her charity case.

Anger: Like how very Gryffindor it was to insert into a situation that didn't concern her and try to orchestrate the outcome. She assumed he was worth saving, which meant she assumed he'd had any doubts about his position in the war. She always thought she knew everything, the stupid little know-it-all, but she knew nothing about him.

Bargaining: Like how he would do anything to get her off his mind, even go and sit the utterly deserved sentence she'd abolished for him. It was better to rot in prison, knowing that he was at least paying for what he'd done, than to sit in the tainted Manor, unable to expunge Hermione Granger and the debt he owed her from his mind.

Depression: Like why would she help him, him, when he'd gone to extremes to make her life miserable for the most ridiculous of reasons. He didn't deserve help from her, from anyone. He'd nearly killed his classmates, he'd let Death Eaters into Hogwarts, and he'd watched, impotent, as she was tortured on his drawing room floor.

Acceptance: Like how Hermione had saved him when he didn't deserve it, and he would never, ever forget it. Because she hadn't wanted him to know, he would never be able to thank her. He'd forever share a secret with Harry Potter. On occasion, he would catch Harry staring at him with a look of poorly disguised confusion. Draco assumed this was a representation of shock that he hadn't spilled the Bertie Botts to Hermione yet.

He remembered Harry mentioning the 'few other points' Hermione had used in Draco's defense, and he drove himself crazy trying to figure out what they could be. Had she mentioned the Astronomy tower, and him lowering his wand? Had she presented the day he'd been found crying in Moaning Myrtle's bathroom? Had she told Harry about that night in the Manor, about how Draco had met her eyes between bouts of Bellatrix's torture, about how she had seen his helpless tears before he was able to control them? Were there other moments she'd noticed, other instances that made her believe he had some good left in him when he didn't even believe it himself?

After that, his thoughts drifted to the inconsistencies in the beliefs he'd been raised with, and turned a hell of a lot more self-loathing. She is the argument to why muggleborns are not inferior, Harry had said. Don't you think I know that? Draco had wanted to say, had wanted to scream, but he was too filled with humiliation from being lectured by Potter, and worse yet, knowing he was right. Draco had always known that she flew in the face of all his Pureblood ideals, and it was part of the reason he'd treated her, in particular, so terribly. Every exam she'd aced, every question she'd answered, every spell she'd flawlessly mastered, had only increased his hatred towards her.

When he was finally able to break the surface of his thoughts and return to the physical world, he was ready to make some changes. It had been eighteen months since the war, sixth months since Hermione had ensured he was a free man, and if he was to prevent her from regretting it, he had things to accomplish.

He signed up for his N.E.W.T.s and received Outstandings all around, with Astronomy being the E-xception. He applied for a position in the Auror training program, and thanks to his N.E.W.T.s (and, alright, a substantial bribe), he got in. The Ministry had introduced expedited training for qualified candidates; three years was too long when the department had been gutted by the war, and dark wizards were still evading capture throughout Europe. Draco easily qualified, and completed the expedited training so well that even those initially against his inclusion in the program were swayed, for the most part.

He had expected Harry to be in the department, and maybe the red-haired wonder, though Draco seriously doubted the Weasel's ability to subdue even the least intelligent of foes. He had not expected to see her there, hair bushy, smile easy as ever, a brief faltering look in her eyes as he'd greeted her, jaw stiff, heart hammering, hands tightly gripping his box of belongings.

He had assumed she'd be a professor, or a healer, or a magical creatures activist. He had thought she'd go back to school, maybe even Muggle university. Instead she was right there, taunting him. Was he living in some cosmic joke? Was he doomed to sit so near the woman who had given him his life, unable to thank her, unable to tell her that she was the only reason he'd even attempted to get where he was now?

And when had she become so damn fetching? The woman he worked with now looked nothing like the girl he remembered from school, though he sometimes wondered if his prejudices had affected even the memory of her. There was nothing glaringly evident that had changed her appearance so drastically, and yet mere weeks into working at the department, he'd been struck with an unfortunate case of the stiffies and had been struggling to tame the issue ever since.

But it had all become so much worse two weeks ago.

Draco was on the prowl for coffee. He was not a morning person, and having to interact with coworkers before noon meant he required caffeine in large doses. The breakroom was the first location he'd always look, before going through a checklist of increasingly desperate options. That day, as he approached the room, he heard his name, and paused outside the door to listen.

"-Draco sodding Malfoy. If I have to listen to her brown nose to him one more time…" It was a female's voice; he thought Susan Bones. Two more females laughed, and Draco felt his stomach clench slightly as he recognized her laugh among them.

"Right?!" Said another female, one whose voice he did not immediately recognize. "Does she not know how obvious she's being?"

Hermione's laughter rang through the group, seeming to hit his ear at the exact right angle to make it reverberate through his skull. "Oh, Draco," Hermione mocked, lilting her voice just so. Draco now knew Hermione was imitating the new department secretary, Jessica, (or was it Jennifer?) who was clearly enamored with Draco. Except 'Jennica's' voice did nothing but annoy Draco, while this…

Listening to this was becoming problematic. He tried to think if he'd ever heard his given name from her mouth before. He didn't think so, but with all the times he'd imagined it he couldn't be sure. The way she said it was intoxicating, and, unbidden, his mind filled with images of her mouth, her tongue flicking off the roof of her mouth as she uttered the sharp turn of Drake, her plump lips forming a round 'o' at the end.

"Let me get your coffee for you. Oh, Draco, can I help you make copies? Draco, can I sit in your lap and feed you grapes?"

The group of girls burst into giggles again, and then a distinctly familiar male voice joined in.

"Why're the new girls always attracted to that git? What's he got that I don't?" Ron Weasley asked, and Draco's stirring parts immediately ceased their stirring as he imagined the pout Weasley was certainly sporting. Draco contemplated leaving, but knew even as he considered it that he wouldn't - or couldn't. He told himself that the fact he'd even considered it was a step in the right direction.

"Brains?" Hermione asked innocently, and Draco imagined a mischievous smile playing at the corners of her mouth. He couldn't stop the embarrassing pitter-patter his heart made at her comment, even though he knew she was only messing with the Weasel, not acknowledging his own intelligence. He felt the familiar twist of sadness in his gut that she would never aim a smile his way.

A light thwacking sound indicated to Draco that Ron had probably punched her on the arm. For a moment, Draco was distracted by daydreams of teasing her; of pinching her waist; of her playfully pushing away from him, smiling.

The second female spoke up again, and Draco recognized her this time as Alicia Spinnet.

"You have to admit he's dreamy…" Any remaining giggling ceased at her words, and Ron made a noise of disgust.

"You weren't unlucky enough to be in his year," Susan said. Draco felt this was a little unfair - he had never gone out of his way to be unpleasant to Susan directly, (although he'd been notoriously unkind to Hufflepuff house in general), and he was always polite to her around the office.

"It's because they don't know him, Ron," Hermione said with finality. "Jessica looks at him and sees a young, handsome man." Again, Draco's heart hammered annoyingly in his chest at the idea Hermione found him handsome, even though he knew where this was headed. "Give her a few weeks; she'll figure out he's a snake. Then you can have a go."

There was laughter again, then some shuffling, and Draco had to skurry away, caffeine-less, lest he be caught.

Since then, he had tried to move on with his life. He had tried to forget what he'd heard. He was unsuccessful.

The negative comments didn't bother him much. He knew he was not loved around the office. He was respected, but for his work, not his personality. He didn't particularly make it easy on anyone, anyway. Part of him felt it was simpler that way - simpler to be unapproachable, so that when he wasn't approached, he would have something to blame it on other than his shameful past.

The final remark from Hermione hurt a little, but what could he expect? Just because she'd saved him didn't mean she liked him, and he had resigned himself to the fact that she probably never would. They exchanged curt niceties around the office, but he could tell she was uncomfortable in his presence, and so he inflicted himself upon her as little as possible. On the occasions when they were tasked to work together, he completed as much of the assignment as was possible on his own, and after the first time, she followed his example and did the same. It was a unique torture to work so closely with the source of his obsession and know he could never have her. Thankfully, the department head, Hestia Jones, seemed aware of the tumultuous past between Draco and a few other key employees and thus did not place him with the Golden Trio often.

What stuck with him, what tormented him, what ate away at him during his waking hours and woke him panting and sweating during his sleeping hours, were her lips uttering his first name.

Oh, Draco. Can I sit in your lap?

His mind conveniently cut and pasted only the parts he wanted to hear and played them on an endless loop. If he was not actively involved in an important assignment, or flying, or having dinner with his mother, (and thank Merlin his mother's presence was enough to temporarily resolve the issue), he would hear Hermione uttering his first name. His fantasies evolved, until he was useless if he didn't have a wank at least twice a day.

It didn't help that he spurned other women. He was a young and obviously hormonal man in need of release, but he'd chosen his hand over a woman for at least a year now, rejecting any who approached him and refusing the setups his mother attempted. It hadn't taken long for Draco to realize that because Hermione had saved him, no other woman would ever be enough. No woman would ever come close to having the impact on his life she'd had. He couldn't concentrate on their often drab yammering, and even if they had something interesting to say, he found his mind drifting. When he had been with other women, he had imagined Hermione, had even purposefully courted women who resembled her. After the third time he felt too dirty to continue, and back to the hand it was.

But despite his earlier intimacy with the appendage, here he was, unable to focus on anything but her, on her voice in his head, on her laughter floating through the office, on the fitted muggle skirt she wore today, on the way she'd tied her hair into a high bun and stuck her wand through it.

Glancing at the clock, he gave the day up for a lost cause and decided to cut out early, taking the long way out to avoid her desk.

The cosmic joke Draco was living couldn't resist the opportunity, it seemed, and as he entered the Atrium of the Ministry, he stopped dead, his lips twitching as he barely resisted the urge to cackle insanely. What were the chances that Hermione Granger would ever leave work early, let alone today, at the exact time Draco was trying to avoid her?

The bun that had so titillated him was still in place, though a few stubborn curls had worked their way free. Her wand was still twisted through it, and the fact that she had enough trust in the world they occupied to wear her wand in her hair gave Draco a pang in his chest. He would never know the innocence and trust she possessed; his wand was always hidden yet easily accessible.

Her smart muggle outfits were always enticing, and today's was no different. The skirt was high waisted and tight to the knees, her exposed lower legs terminating in simple kitten heels. He knew she'd had a blazer on earlier, but it was gone now, exposing a simple white blouse with golden buttons, tucked at the waist and turned up at the elbows.

As he looked at her, remembering his daydreams of pinching her waist, of teasing her, a sense of recklessness overcame him and he called, before he could second guess himself; "Hermione Granger, buggering off early? Am I in the wrong dimension?"

She turned to him with a slight jump, clearly startled, and that's when he saw Harry standing beside her, an alarmingly knowing smirk on his face.

Harry sodding Potter.