Her mouth dried up and she couldn't breathe for a moment. Her S.P.E.W. files lay forgotten on the table in front of her as she felt her nails dig into her palms. In that moment she was consumed with the overwhelming possibility that Draco Malfoy was to guard her life. They hated each other for years! Surely it was more dangerous putting her life in the hands of Malfoy than let her handle herself? Her heart pumped faster with an onslaught of memories just imagining how horrible this arrangement would turn out to be if she turned out to be right. And she usually was.

Malfoy was just watching her, his grey eyes roaming over her face. He didn't look invested in the matter one way or the other. He wasn't slinging curses at her. He finally blinked and looked at the floor.

It had been four years…perhaps he was less of a git than when they were at Hogwarts? Four years since the war, two of which he'd been employed with the Ministry. In that time, he certainly hadn't treated her how he used to, or any way much at all. They rarely ran into each other, and she always just assumed he'd rather try and avoid her altogether in order to keep his job.

Hermione took a steadying breath and realized she was being ridiculous. She was acting like it was first year all over again. Really, she had no recent reason to hate him. She'd decided after the war to leave all that behind her. Or at least she thought she had.

Being forced into a room with him for longer a minute was casting doubts on her initial resolve. She remembered how he looked after the battle of Hogwarts and bit her tongue.

Showing no outward hint to the storm racing through her mind, she asked, somewhat strained, "Why is he here, exactly?"

The room shared a tense silence as Malfoy shuffled, glancing at Hermione once more before addressing Kingsley. "I'd like to know the same thing," he asked.

Kingsley narrowed his eyes. "You have been briefed on the situation, yes?" Malfoy nodded, as did Hermione. "Then I assume it's obvious, there are only so many Aurors to spare these days, what with the public demanding new wards for their home every few months ever since…well. You know. I have appointed Harry as lead on this case, Mister Weasley as his second. If one of them were to guard you it might lead to conflict of interest as you are all such close friends. And given that little scuffle in the papers last year," he paused, looking at Ron, "I'd like to avoid that nasty Skeeter as long as possible."

Kingsley chose to ignore the way Hermione scoffed, Harry awkwardly looked at Ron. Ron shrugged and scowled at the back of Harry's head. Malfoy observed the interaction with subtle interest.

"So, since I trust Draco, and I trust you Hermione, and since you two don't have the closest history—"

"That's one way to put it," Malfoy interrupted.

Kingsley sighed. "I trust you both to be civil as well. Thanks to Hermione here the Ministry has been quite well rid of pureblooded superiority. Including you Draco."

Malfoy didn't acknowledge Hermione's curious once over.

"Of course," Kingsley continued, "If things do happen to evolve to an unpleasant state, I will of course alter the arrangement."

"Oh, we'll be on our best behavior, won't we Malfoy?" Hermione asked casually, addressing him directly.

Malfoy's brows twitched as he nodded in reply. He decidedly did not look at her. "There will be no problems, sir."

Kingsley smiled, gripped Malfoy's shoulder, and handed him the file containing the small note and case information. Malfoy tucked it into his side and reached up to fiddle with his collar.

Kingsley focused in on Hermione next, narrowing his eyes at her and pointing. "Until further notice, you are not allowed to work on this case. Besides, it's not your department anyway."

She fought not to argue, knowing it would lead nowhere. "I expected that."

"Well, I'll leave you four to talk then. Report back every so often and immediately if you have a lead, Harry," Kingsley said as he left the room, closing the door behind him.

Ron waited exactly half a minute before he hurried out the door. The tension emanating from him from just being in a room with Hermione was already noticeable, and Malfoy's presence probably pushed him over the edge. If they were left in a room together, Ron would most likely start a fight. He was obviously unhappy about not being able to guard her himself, which just added to the unpleasantness of the situation. Hermione didn't bother to call after him as he stormed out.

Someone was after her life, and she had to work with Malfoy, she had bigger problems to worry about right now.

Harry was taking it quite well, at least on the outside. He tried smiling, but it came out as an awkward slant. Malfoy took one look at him and said, "Listen Potter, your pretty little book worm won't come to harm with me as her guard. I surmise you want reports from me as well?"

Harry looked just as perplexed, "Um, no…I mean if you want to that's fine. But Hermione showing up to work every day should be enough to know she's safe. If something does happen, floo me. Here—" Harry drew out a pad of paper and started to quill out his address, but Draco stopped him.

"I'll get it from your secretary Potter. You're too, Granger."

"Wait, why do you need my address?" she asked, somewhat overwhelmed with the events of the last twenty minutes. It was too surreal to process completely.

"As much as we both dislike these turn of events, we're going to have to be able to owl or floo each other should the need arise. Shacklebolt already went over this with me before the meeting."

"Uh-huh." It was such a stupid response, but she couldn't think of anything else to say.

"I'll owl the both of you later." Draco nodded and left the room, taking the turn they knew led to Harry's secretary.

Hermione smoothed her hair behind her ears and stood, gathering her files. She'd be damned if she was going to let Malfoy ruin her day, or this little arrangement sidetrack her from the protest. She started for the door but felt a hand on her shoulder. It was Harry.

"Yes?"

He frowned and somewhat clumsily drew her in for a hug. Hermione was reluctant at first, still peeved by the entire situation, but returned it as sincerely as she could. She missed Harry so much these days, and Ron she feared would never come around.

"Ron will be fine; I just have to work on him a little. You know how stubborn he can be," Harry said into her hair.

She could only manage a nod in reply, it was too much to talk right now. She smiled carefully, and backed away, letting his arms fall away from her. Harry grasped her shoulders, "I'll floo you soon? This weekend?"

The smile she gave him was genuine, "I'd like that."

"It's a date then, I'll bring Ginny too." He smiled softly and left the room.

Hermione shook her head and closed her eyes. She let out a deep breath and gathered her thoughts before heading out.

She had house elves to support.

When Hermione opened the door to her own office, she was surprised to see Malfoy sitting in one of the guest chairs at her desk. She tried to hide the shock on her features, but the arch of her eyebrows was noticed by the impeccable blond. He simply stared at her, his bangs falling in his eyes. He ran a hand through his hair and reclasped his hands in his lap, his knee jumping slightly.

They remained locked in a stare for all of a minute before Malfoy cleared his throat and turned back around to face the back wall of her office, motioning with one hand for her to sit down in her own chair. She frowned, brown eyes darkening in slight anger. He may be civil, but he was still a demanding snot.

"Malfoy why are you in my office?" she asked as she put her files away. Sitting, she adjusted herself in her seat until she was comfortable. She had a feeling they would be sitting here for a while.

"Uncomfortable?"

"Bad chair," she told him.

"Get a new one then," he frowned.

She leveled a stony glare at him. "I've asked, but whoever's in charge of ordering new chairs for my department would rather spend their time—You know what, never mind."

Malfoy quirked a brow at her but didn't push the subject.

They stared at each other a moment longer, the awkward seconds ticking by, before he leaned forward and tapped one finger on a file on her desk. She hadn't even noticed it was there.

"What are these?" Hermione asked, gingerly taking it in her hands, Malfoy didn't stop her. What was inside were profiles of every Voldemort follower on record, including suspicious wizards and witches in general. Each page was accompanied by a moving mugshot, their anger lifting off the page. Even the deceased were listed, their status marked with a red X across their picture. She flipped until she reached Bellatrix Lestrange and, glancing quickly at Malfoy, closed the file.

He ignored her and kept on. "I had filing bring this to me. It may list the person who killed the muggle in the alley. I thought you might like to have a copy, just in case."

Hermione was shocked—Malfoy had done her a kindness. It was strange. She narrowed her eyes unconsciously, there had to be an ulterior motive to this, right? It was bloody Draco Malfoy after all.

She nodded, "Yes, this helps me a lot actually. There's no way I'm going to let Harry and Ron take care of this by themselves, intending to leave me on the sidelines. Idiots."

Malfoy made a choking sound and when she looked up, he actually let out a little laugh. His features pulled as he smiled. It was perhaps the first time she'd heard him genuinely laugh, no malice in it. That was even stranger. An unhostile Malfoy was unknown to her, and she didn't know how to handle it. The laughter stopped as soon as it had started, and he said smirking, "A busybody just like always, even with a threat against your life."

She cracked a smile, as sudden as it was to herself, and returned with a sarcastic, "Just like the old days."

"Indeed it is." His smirk disappeared and his features darkened. It lasted for one tense moment, before he broke his trance and left that dark place. Living in memories, huh Malfoy? Hermione chose to ignore it however, and instead thought of a question.

"May I ask you something?" She started carefully. "It might be out of line." Malfoy looked at her suspiciously but nodded. "How is it that…Why didn't you do it?"

"What?" He was clearly not understanding the question, which was expected, it had been four years after all.

"Dumbledore." She said firmly. She locked a hard gaze on him, but he didn't reveal any emotion besides his ever impervious stoic appearance.

"I do not kill Granger. Nor will I ever." Simply put. No anger or sadness. Just stated as if it was any other topic of discussion.

He's moved on with his life, she realized. And of course, why wouldn't he? Slowly, she realized what he said made me feel respect for him. Before she could rankle internally at herself, he took over the conversation.

"Why weren't you all buddy-buddy with Potty and the Weasel?" he suddenly asked, his tone accusing. He always had that quality about him, always commanding, always telling, never receiving. She wondered if he even noticed that about himself.

"What do you mean?" she breathed, busying her hands with the file.

Leaning forward, elbows on her desk, he smirked and said slyly, "Oh, you know exactly what I'm talking about. Weasel didn't spare you a glance, and Pothead hardly even acknowledged you. If we're going to do this quizzing game after four years of fame and fortune, all our names headlining the papers, I expect you to answer my questions too."

Hermione let out a dry laugh, "Your curiosity has amounted over the years has it, Malfoy?"

"Oh, like you wouldn't believe." The smirk widened making him a vague reflection of his father, though his features held joking and conniving rather than cruelty and hate. Briefly, she forgot what she was going to say. Suddenly Malfoy was staring so intently at her, his gaze so enthralled, she forgot herself. There was a sort of shared perverse giddiness at talking with an old enemy, a moment she didn't want to pass up. It was too rare.

"I ended it with Ronald a year ago. And I've simply been too busy to see Harry and Ginny as much as I've wanted to." That's all he needed to know about it.

"Ginger still looks a bit peeved from my observations of earlier." Why wouldn't he let it drop?

"It's awkward," she finished simply, what else was she supposed to say about it? Explain to him how Ron's aggression at the smallest things started to add up? That she caught him staring after pretty girls with a look in his eyes she knew all too well? That she just…lost it, lost what she felt for him, somewhere in the middle of it all?

Malfoy didn't deserve that explanation.

"You're a different person Malfoy," she said instead. And he was, she could tell simply from the way he spoke. He seemed lighter now, happier than he'd been in school.

"People change, Granger, even a Malfoy," he said, shrugging.

"Of course they do, I didn't mean-"

"This isn't school. I don't believe all that shit about blood rights either. And don't think it's about your little project here at the Ministry. I haven't since fourth year, really." The way he spoke feigned nonchalance, but she knew he was trying to be serious. Sincere.

"Hm."

He frowned. "That all you have to say? I was a right bloody prat to you, you have every right to scream every profanity at me you can think of, and all you say is hm?" He chuckled again, the same pleasant sound filling the small office. "I'd understand if you'd want to have a go at me. You do have a nasty right hook you know."

Hermione laughed despite herself. "I wouldn't want to have an injured body guard, that'd defeat the purpose. And this isn't school anymore, I'd be written up for drawing blood."

"It would defeat the purpose," he hummed. "And you weren't worried about that in school?"

She eyed him. "We had our way around the rules there, as you well know."

His smile was wide. "That you did." A pause, then, "I don't know if you'd manage to draw blood again though. It has been a few years."

"Are you suggesting I'm old?"

"If I suggested you were old, then I'd be calling myself old too." He thought for a moment. "So…yes?"

Hermione shook her head on a scoff and waved her quill at him. "Well, for old time's sake then, maybe after this is all over I can give you one, on the house?"

"Ha, like that will ever happen!" But he was smiling as he said it.

They continued their calm banter for a while, not realizing how well they were getting along. Hermione hadn't had an ear to talk off for quite a while, and Draco lacked an intelligent conversationalist in Astoria at home, and he rarely met with Blaise, so he found himself enjoying her company perhaps more than he wanted to. However, as long as this subtle peace existed between them, Hermione would not oppose to having him as her guard. They'd be spending a lot of time together, so it was better to ignore stupid childhood grudges and move on with their lives. He obviously had, and she had to learn to let it go, no matter how much she thought she already had.

Because this simple meeting was the start of something bigger than either of them knew.

Draco had stayed longer than he thought he would in Granger's office, a little too close to lunch. She'd been better company than he'd been expecting, gratefully accepting the file he'd brought for her. Actively returning his teasing.

Granger was actually…less annoying than he remembered. Her mess of hair didn't make his eye twitch whenever its curls shifted on her shoulder. The tone of her voice was less grating. Seeing her smile and hearing her laugh, short-lived as it was, was no longer headache inducing. He wondered when that had changed, or if he just didn't care as much as he used to. Maybe he'd succeeded in putting his past behind him even more than he thought he had.

But work had to be done, Granger had house elves to support, and he had a thieving girlfriend to deal with. If Draco knew one thing hadn't changed, it was the prospect of Astoria giving him the surefire excuse to go to bed with a bottle of firewhiskey that night. He didn't have to worry about Granger for the rest of the day, her stand-in Auror would be escorting her home tonight. Then Draco would take over from there. All he had to worry about was Astoria. He worked through lunch after a slightly awkward goodbye to Granger and powered on until six.

Draco mentally prepared himself for Astoria's ridiculous chatting for when he arrived home. Did he really even want to go home to a begging, gold digging girlfriend? No. Did he want to have a glass of firewhiskey and a quick shag? Yes. He took a deep breath, once more for mental reinforcement, took a handful of the Ministry's floo powder, and yelled his home address.

As the green flames erupted and delivered him into his living room, he saw the resplendent liquor cabinet directly across from him on the opposite wall. He shed himself of his work robes, leaving himself in just his white work shirt, and slacks. So far, no sign of Astoria. Maybe he'd be free of her tonight. He helped himself to a bottle of the delicious blazed taste of the whiskey and headed into his bedroom, kicking off his shoes and settling back on his plush bed.

He closed his eyes and sipped off the bottle, sighing happily. Content. This is what a full day of hard work and a nice quiet evening of liquor was like. Just perfection. It reminded him of his bachelor days, and he yearned for them. Despite enjoying having a steady amount of sex in his life, he didn't particularly enjoy having Astoria around. She was a chatty, nonsensical, unabashed, flirty witch with a taste for money. He didn't even consider it worth it with how much money he'd given to the relationship. Even his mother was starting to notice what a drag she was taking off of her son.

Should he end it?

Another swig.

Was it worth it?

Another swig, deeper this time.

"When did it get like this," he asked aloud to the room in general.

It hadn't always been like this. The last year had been the burnt end of something that used to be fun. At the start of it all, when Daphne had introduced them, he actually looked forward to seeing her. Now he had the kneejerk response to put a vanishing charm on his wallet whenever she seemed to grow bored and look around a room.

He knew he could do better.

But could he, was the question. He was Draco Malfoy. There was more infamy than fame behind that name, and he knew it. There was good reason for the hate attached there. He made use of it when he needed. He was proud he could be the civil man Granger had seen today and be the prat when he needed to. He could be whatever people wanted him to be. It was something he'd become used to of late.

He had already swallowed whatever grief he had with Granger the moment he saw her in her office. It simply wasn't worth it, especially with the job he was given. He had to get along with her, and surprisingly it wasn't hard. He liked talking with her today, although her questions were a little intrusive.

He could be intrusive too. He'd find out what made Granger tick—

Draco felt the effect of the whiskey hit him all at once, the heaviness, the heat spreading throughout his limbs pleasantly. That drunkenness hung over him like a glorious sun. He smiled and lazily turned himself over on his side, hoping to just be able to go straight to sleep without having to see Astoria at all after her little shopping trip. Sleeping through her incessant high pitched voice would prevent any headache. The firewhiskey aided beautifully.

However relief did not come soon enough to save him the misfortune of a true migraine as soon as he heard his front door open and slam back shut. He groaned, he didn't want to deal with her. Or their problems. Or his problems. Partly because he was now sodding drunk and he knew his patience was thin as it was, and partly because well…every other reason.

All too soon he saw the familiar beauty of the annoying entity that was Astoria. She was all smiles, already in the middle of a hyperactive retelling of her day when she saw him. Immediately her face dropped and she frowned at the sight of him. She stood there and pouted. Fucking pouted at him.

He stared angrily up at her through his haze. In reality the whiskey was only half gone, but Draco had always been an easy drunk.

"Are you drunk, love?" she asked, a little too innocently. She knew what Drunk Draco looked like.

"I am indeed."

"Well, I'll save the story for tomorrow then." Though after a beat, she continued on with it anyway. "You would not believe the kind of people I talked to today. Paris is so interesting, Draco. Did you know that the store I went to had eighteen different kinds of magical leathers? And some changed colors depending on what type of magical inclination you had. And—" She was interrupted by the dull thud of the liquor bottle hitting the carpeted floor. He was asleep. A stubborn scowl on his face, but still sleeping.

Astoria shook her head, bemused by her lover. She touched his cheek, admiring his beauty, thinking how adorable he was when he slept, all that anger and Malfoy pride swept from his face. Moving her hand, she swept the hair from his eyes and let it fall back to where it had been.

"Night, hun," she whispered as she kissed his forehead. Waving her wand, she draped a blanket over his sleeping form. After she undressed and brushed her hair, she settled in behind him, a hand around his waist. He unconsciously settled back against her even in sleep.

Astoria loved moments like these.

Before she drifted asleep, she envisioned a grand ball in her mind. A dinner party like the sacred families used to throw, before everything. It would be beautiful. She was sure he'd be excited at the prospect, as much as Narcissa would be. And Draco had the money for it.

She loved money perhaps, even more.

Somewhere from the murk of his dreams there dredged a familiar voice. The annoying pitch drew him from his slumber, and he was not happy to leave it. Draco angled his face towards it, that was curiously whispering his name in his ear. Astoria.

Slowly, as her whispers continued, her hand snaked down over his waistband. She nudged the edge of her fingertips underneath and her intentions were clear to him finally through his still hazy mind. He had never been a hard drinker.

In any other situation this would have turned him on, but at the moment her attempts at seduction were just annoying.

Draco pushed her hand away and sat up cautiously, minding the fact he might be likely to vomit whatever was left in his stomach. Astoria frowned and kneeled behind him, snaking her hands down his chest, again in an attempt at seducing him. Didn't she get it?

Draco stood and walked to the bathroom, shutting the door behind him. Astoria would just have to deal without sex. He simply had too much on his mind.

He stripped down to nothing and entered the shower, turning the water to somewhere just south of too cold.

As the water cascaded over his body, clearing what it could of his hang over, he vaguely remembered he had to meet Granger this morning to escort her to work. He'd have to discuss a possible shift change with the Auror when they arrived at the Ministry. He doubted this would be a viable routine for however long it took to catch the killer. Maybe he shouldn't drink on work nights anymore.

From somewhere outside the bathroom he heard the unmistakable rummaging of Astoria.

Groaning in annoyance, Draco pushed himself out of the shower and into a towel and out the door, water still dripping off his skin.

Just as he'd thought, Astoria had his wallet. She also had a bag on the floor by her feet, fancy French lettering on the sides. She spared him a cold glance but continued on.

"What are you doing Astoria?" he asked, tone narrow. His patience was thin as it was, and Astoria was on his last nerve.

"Counting," she sneered.

He walked over and took back his money from her, shoving it back in his charmed wallet. She still managed to pocket two galleons for her trouble. She made an affronted huff and looked up at him through dark hair, her eyes begging. He'd seen that look before, and had fallen for it one too many times.

It was time he took control of this relationship, if he could even call it that.

"No more money. You have plenty from your own family, and you can get a decent job if you want more. But no more of this stealing from me."

"I'm not stealing, love," she pouted, resting her hands on his naked chest.

"Going through my things and removing money from my wallet is stealing Astoria. Maybe you need a refresher on the definition."

She reached up and pressed her lips against his ear, sucking lightly and biting gently. She whispered, "But I'm practically a Malfoy by now, what's yours is mine, love." She trailed her lips from his ear to his jaw to his lips. He didn't return it. She pouted again, but reattached her searching lips to his neck.

"Astoria. Stop."

"No," she said, sucking his collar bone.

Draco felt an unwanted ache. Squeezing his eyes shut, he grabbed her waist and pulled her against him, grinding his hips into hers. She moaned pleasantly.

"No more money from me," he huffed out, trying to concentrate on the feeling of her against him and nothing else.

"No more," she agreed breathlessly.

It went on like that for a while before Draco finally realized what he was doing.

"Fuck!" He shouted. He grabbed her shoulders and shoved her away. She stumbled back and caught her footing. She was glaring now, all business as she smoothed out her skirt. She didn't seem bothered in the least, that look of cold disappointment, petulant in the face of refusal.

He made his decision.

Grabbing his wand, he magicked his clothes to him, dressing quickly. A quick drying charm left his hair dry, though annoyingly fluffy. Astoria just moved to lie back in bed. She rested herself up on her elbows and watched him as if bored with the whole thing.

"No more fucking money, Astoria."

"I already said-"

"We both know that was a lie," he snapped at her.

She said nothing. It was the truth.

"I only wanted to throw a ball."

"Only? That takes a lot. And besides I can't keep giving you my paychecks, I do have to sustain my existence as well."

"You have the Malfoy vault, so no, you don't." He glowered at her, but he pressed on. "Not really. Of course, if I just-"

"No." Draco leveled a hard glare at her. He was serious about this. "No more money or this can't continue."

Astoria's eyes teared up instantly, an automatic reaction to whenever he threatened to end it.

"Draco, I-I…I don't want to end it." Tears rolled down her flushed cheeks. She shot up in bed and gripped her hands together.

"Maybe I do," he muttered darkly.

As he headed for the fireplace and called out Granger's address, he could hear Astoria's haunting sobs from his bedroom.

He felt better than he had in a long while.

Hermione was startled as she heard her fireplace roar to life, the green flames revealing the form of a very ruffled Malfoy. He was different, his hair was rising in all directions, and his eyes were cold. He looked like he just woke up from a bad dream.

"You're wearing the same clothes as yesterday," she remarked.

Malfoy didn't answer her and instead busied himself with smoothing down his robes and tie.

She thanked Merlin she was ready for work already, dressed in a dark grey work dress with simple black robes tied at the neck.

Draco appraised her home much the same way he had when he first saw her yesterday at the meeting in the Ministry. He seemed nonplussed at the sight of her muggle TV and magazines spread out on her coffee table, the images firmly set in their place. He surely was expecting them to start moving on their own.

"What's that?" he asked finally, pointing at her TV.

"It's a television. It has moving pictures inside it with sounds that tell a story." This is how she had explained it to Ron the first time he'd been to her house, one of the only muggle items that his father lacked.

He nodded and glanced around her living room once more before he looked at her and smirked, taking in her hair, "You seem ready, let's go."

"Right, let me just get my files." She wondered at why he looked such a mess today. On the off chance she ran across him at work he'd always looked very well put together. She wandered to her bedroom and gathered her briefcase, turning to find Malfoy in her bedroom doorway. A mental check reminded her she had no clothes lying about where they shouldn't be. Something Ron used to tease her about.

"God awful use of colors Granger, but I guess it can't be helped, you were never one for design." His eyes roamed slowly over her outfit next and she fought down the urge to squirm. Her bedroom was an array of warm browns and oranges, she thought it looked nice. And she loved this dress!

She frowned. "Well not everyone is so up to date with today's styles as much as you are Malfoy, just look at that hair. Who's your stylist? A porcupine?"

His smirk relaxed into a small smile, the coldness finally leaving his eyes. "I was actually thinking of contacting yours, whoever it is seems to have the jungle bush style down."

"Oh, I'm so proud to have gained your approval. I can finally die happy." She stepped into his space, but he didn't budge an inch. "But not before I give you their card, of course." She moved past him into the living room, heading to the fireplace. "And fix your hair," she shot back over her shoulder.

Draco tried to tame his smile. He was already in a better mood. He entered the fireplace with her, calling out the address of the Ministry.

Today would be a good day.