a/n: totally wasn't planning on posting again so soon, but the amount of support i got was huge (really wasn't expecting 60+ followers already) so here we are! thanks

Chapter Three: Ground Rules

Draco Malfoy was not looking forward to the next three months of his life.

When he first came to the Auror department after a year practically living like a hermit abroad, he wasn't expecting to even get through the front door of the Ministry. His goal was to get a job, and while a career as an Auror would be the most engaging one, he would've settled for a position stuffing envelopes on the first floor of the Ministry if he had to. And while his interview wasn't warm or welcoming by any means, the heads of the training department treated him fairly. There were two heads: Regina, a tall woman with a blonde bob that never had even a single hair out of place, and Antonio, a laid-back younger man with tan skin and a toothy smile. Together, they ran a very effective 'good cop, bad cop' system. After seeing his proficiency with a wand, though, they let him into the program contingent upon his agreeing to the most thorough and extensive background checks known to man.

It was Antonio, luckily, who broke the news to Draco about Hermione.

"Listen, Malfoy," Antonio said as he leaned back in his office chair, his feet propped up on the desk. "We've got this thing going on right now—we're not telling any of the other trainees about this, but since you've been here almost a year, we're letting you in on it."

Draco, who was sitting on the opposite side of the desk, leaned forward in his seat. "Go on."

"We've got a situation with Potter." Draco's throat closed up and he grabbed his left forearm instinctively. He'd have felt it if the Death Eaters were back, right? "No, no," Antonio continued. "There's no reason to worry about that right now. We don't know if it's your lot."

"They're not 'my lot'," said Draco sternly.

"Right, right, sorry," the other man said. "Well, we have a situation with one of Potter's friends—Hermione Granger. You'll remember her, of course. She was a big deal after the war until she ran off to Hogwarts where the paparazzi couldn't find her."

Draco did, in fact, remember Hermione Granger quite well. Bushy hair, teeth too big for her mouth, annoying, shrill voice, bossy, and a show-off. Draco harbored many painful memories of Lucius yelling at him for letting a Mudblood beat him in marks. "I remember her," he said coldly.

"Kingsley's hired her to start her own department—some Justice and Equality and Rainbows and Unicorns department—and she's going on an international tour of peace to make contacts and do some Ministry work that no other department could cover," Antonio explained. "To make a long story short, she was there when Potter was attacked and given her history with bringing down the world's most evil forces, we're a wee bit concerned about her safety."

Draco raised one eyebrow. He didn't like where this was heading.

"Now, we don't actually think she's in trouble. I, myself, would shit my pants if I had to face that woman in a duel—I hear she's got a real way with a wand. But it would be really awful PR for the Ministry if a war heroine gets harmed while working for us. So, we're sending her with a travel companion." Antonio held up a hand to silence Draco, who was already objecting. "There will be no arguing over this. We can't afford to send any of our active Aurors, and the others in training are far too inexperienced. I know we've kept you in training for a long time, Malfoy, but I discussed it with Regina, and if you finish this job successfully you will be accepted into active Aurorship."

Draco snapped his mouth shut. He'd been in training for almost a year now with no end in sight. "You swear to me?"

Antonio nodded solemnly. "Even Regina agrees you have proven yourself."

This was the end Draco had been begging for since the day he began training. All he had to do was get through three months of Granger, which surely couldn't be that hard. But he had a hard time believing she agreed to be escorted by a Malfoy. "Did she agree to this?" he asked hesitantly. "She hates me."

"Not yet, but we're going to talk with her."

Draco looked down at his hands. "And the department believes this is the best idea, considering my past?"

Antonio sobered, taking his feet off his desk and looking his trainee directly in the eye. "You told me the day you interviewed that this was your chance to prove you are more than your past. Don't go doubting yourself now."

A week and a day later, after a short and precarious meeting with Granger, Draco was all packed up for a three-month trip across the globe. Hermione sent over her itinerary, which was far more detailed than any itinerary need be—the woman practically scheduled her bathroom breaks. He'd been worried he wouldn't be able to handle her, but the clamorously annoying personality of her youth had calmed to a faint buzz that was easy enough to ignore. Armed with several pairs of earplugs and a hefty stock of anti-headache potions, he could certainly survive three months with Granger.

The day before they were scheduled to leave, Draco stayed late in the office finishing up the last of his paperwork. He thought everyone had left when there was a knock at the door. Weasley was leaning against the doorway to the training office, looking terse.

"Malfoy," he said.

"Weasley." Neither Potter or Weasley had said more than a passing greeting to him since he'd started training. He didn't take this lack of communication for granted—it could have been worse, they could have had him kicked out.

Ron stepped into the office. Draco held back a smirk at the way he tried to puff out his chest to look more intimidating. The man before him wasn't far from the boy he knew in Hogwarts—same freckles, long nose, lanky arms. The only difference was a shorter haircut and hardened eyes that had seen more than they should have. But everyone had those—Draco stared at his every morning in the mirror, wondering if the traumatized glint in his irises would ever disappear.

"I was sent here to communicate with you the latest updates on our most recent case," said Ron.

"I didn't think I was going to receive any confidential information."

"Don't be idiotic. We're not going to send you abroad with our closest friend without all the facts." Ron pulled out a file and handed it over. "We did some back-tracing on the spell that left the lightning bolt burn outside the Burrow. It took twice as long to find a match because we had to go through domestic and international wand records, but we finally found someone."

Draco fingered through the pages inside the file. There was a photo of a young man with buzzed hair and thick eyebrows posing outside of a cathedral. "He's not English?"

"No, Irish. Goes by Trentin Rewall. I know that back-tracing spells isn't 100% accurate, but we also caught a photo of one of the attackers and the faces match. It's definitely him. We're currently in the process of tracking him down."

"I've ever heard of him."

"Wouldn't expect you to. No prior record, no siblings, and both parents are Muggles."

Draco looked at the man curiously. "Why would a muggle-born be attacking you lot?"

"That would be the question of the hour." Ron ran a hand through his hair. "Look, this confirms that these people are international threats, which brings me to the other reason I'm here."

Draco leaned back in his seat and cocked an eyebrow. "Come to remind me not to kill Granger?"

Ron scowled, not finding his comment amusing. "I think that goes without saying. I want you to know that Hermione is a stubborn woman. She's not going to think she needs your help, and for the most part, she doesn't. She's the smartest person I know and she can take care of herself. But it's always good to have another pair of eyes on things."

Draco fought the urge to roll his eyes. "Yes, Weasley, I know."

"I know Harry and I haven't made an effort to get to know you or find out why you even joined the Auror program. For obvious reasons, I want to spend the least amount of time around you as possible. But you're going to be with Hermione, and I need your word that you'll give nothing but your best effort to keep her safe." Ron's eyes were burning, his brows furrowed, his chin high. Draco knew what that look was—he loved her. Were the two of them still together? He couldn't imagine someone as sharp-witted and clever as Granger sticking around someone as simple as Weasley for the long haul. Both of them were equally obnoxious, though. Maybe they found common ground in their unpleasantness.

"You have my word," promised Draco. It was his job to make sure Granger didn't die, and damn it all if he wasn't good at his job.

Ron stared him down one last time before turning to leave, but for reasons unknown to him, Draco stopped him. "Wait."

Ron paused and turned around. "Yeah?"

"You should know that I'm not here—at the Auror department—for malicious reasons." The words left his lips before he could consider why he was even saying them.

Ron let out a short laugh, as if amused by his former enemy's desire to defend himself. "Glad to hear it, Malfoy."

As per Granger's very specific instructions, Draco arrived at his new travel partner's apartment at 8:55 the morning they were to leave. However, instead of using the Floo as she requested, he apparated straight into her living room with a loud crack that made Hermione, who was brewing tea in the kitchen, jump in fright.

"I told you to use the Floo!" she scolded, reminding him of Professor McGonagall. She'd spent far too long being a professor, she was already morphing into an old hag.

"I wanted to make sure I was on time," Draco said. He looked her up and down: blue sweater, gray pants, hair tied up in a complicated bun. She was no longer an ugly duckling, but by no means was she a white swan either. She was somewhere in between—maybe a dove. Or a crow. No, definitely a crow, those things never shut up. By the door he saw four giant suitcases lined up neatly. "How much did you pack? Surely someone like you can't have piles of fancy clothing."

"I require a lot of books," she said, ignoring his rude comment. She looked down at his single briefcase. "Where are your things?"

"I'm a light traveller."

"You can't possibly have everything you need in there."

"I quite possibly can," he said, imitating her high-pitched voice. "Don't you mind me, Granger. I have everything I need."

Hermione swallowed her retort and washed it down with her morning tea. Draco examined her living room as she did one last go-around of her flat. It was a small, cozy place with very minimalist decor. In fact, she really didn't have anything in the room besides furniture, a bookshelf, one of those Muggle moving-picture devices, and a glass display case with some photos and magical trinkets.

He went to go touch a levitating silver ball when Hermione came back and smacked his hand away. "Don't go touching things that aren't yours." She grabbed her suitcases and nodded at a stuffed teddy bear on the couch. "That's the Portkey."

"Am I allowed to touch that?" Hermione glared at him, grabbed the bear and his arm, and suddenly they were spinning, spinning, spinning… wham.

They landed with a thud in the large, ornate foyer of La Maison de Aubrianne. Hermione clung to her suitcases, which were falling over one another. Draco watched in amusement, making no attempt to assist her.

"Miss Granger?"

A short, heavily mustached man wearing a gold bowtie and a maroon vest was standing before them, beaming brightly. "Yes?" Hermione said, panting slightly as she tried to collect her things.

"We've been awaiting your arrival. Welcome to La Maison de Aubrianne." He swung his arm out ceremoniously, inviting them to take a proper look at the hotel. It reminded Draco of the many pureblood houses he attended parties at in his youth—gaudily decorated but undeniably beautiful. There were several other witches and wizard mulling about the foyer, including a feather-hatted woman checking in with a large fluffy cat at her heel, an old man with carefully combed hair musing a newspaper, a middle-aged couple dripping in jewels and furs.

The mustached man turned to Draco and his grin melted into a tight grimace. "And you must be Mr. Malfoy." Draco gave a tight-lipped smile in response.

"My name is Remi, and I am here to ensure your stay with us is nothing short of perfect. Please, if you'll follow me, I'll show you to your room." He waved his wand and Hermione's luggage disappeared. "I'll be waiting for you in your room," he reassured. Draco sneered—obviously nothing had changed since Hogwarts. She was still like royalty because of her association with Potter.

Remi walked the pair down a red and gold hallway with towering Renaissance-style paintings. The ceilings were tall and their footsteps echoed as they walked. "Every morning, breakfast will be sent you to in your room. You will have access to our library, indoor swimming pool, and recreational facilities. A private conference room is available upon request."

"I can't believe this," Hermione said breathlessly. "I didn't expect anything so… spectacular."

Remi looked confused. "You're Hermione Granger. We wouldn't dream of providing anything but the very best for you."

Hermione flushed and Draco scoffed, which he covered up with a grunt. She smiled smugly. "Don't be jealous."

"Right here is your room," Remi said, reaching the end of the hall. He handed her a pair of golden keys. "I'll let you settle in. Don't hesitate to ring the bell by the bed if you need anything. Our elves are more than happy to help—and they're very well compensated, too, so no worries there!"

The room inside was just as showy as the rest of the hotel: there was a plush white couch, an old mahogany desk with fresh quills and parchment ready, and a king-sized bed with tall posts and curtains. Draco dropped his briefcase onto the couch as Hermione was marveled at the antique décor.

"What are you doing?" she asked, her eyes narrowing at his briefcase.

"Settling in."

"In my room?"

He blinked. "Unless my vision has failed me, I don't see another bedroom here."

"But—but—"

"I couldn't possibly bodyguard you properly with a wall in the way." He smirked, relishing in her discomfort.

"But where will you sleep?"

Draco waved his wand and the white couch transformed into a small bed. "Kingsley must not have had time to ask for a bigger room on such short notice."

"But there's only one bathroom," she huffed.

"I know I'm an only child, Granger, but I do know how to share. I'll even put the seat down and everything."

"I don't want to use the same shower as you," she said, her arms crossed and her nose scrunched up like she'd smelled something bad.

He breathed in slowly, trying to keep himself from saying something offensive. "I assure you, I'm very clean. My parents house trained me and everything; I promise I won't be pee on the floor."

Hermione rolled her eyes, sat on the edge of the bed, and eyed the room carefully—it wasn't nearly as spacious sharing with another person. "I want to set some ground rules," she requested.

"Ground rules?" Merlin, the woman had a obsessive-compulsive need to delineate everything in life.

"Yes. I think it would be wise to set down some ground rules for ourselves in advance. Things like personal boundaries, methods for conflict resolution, time when I can be alone, words that are off limits…"

Draco's lip twitched slightly at her last suggestion, knowing it was in reference to his old habit of calling her Mudblood. "I can assure you that I've stopped using derogatory language."

Hermione sniffed. "Well, I didn't know that."

"I'm not evil," he said, his voice softening for just a moment before hardening again. "And I would appreciate you for not treating me as if I am."

"Fine. I'll put that down on the list of rules."

"Also, I want you to stop looking like you've smelled something horrible whenever I speak."

"I can't help habit," Hermione said in a tone that was cattier than he expected. For a moment he fought a smirk—she had bite. Now that he thought about it, she did throw him a few good insults when they were children.

"Then I suppose I won't be able to help it when I have to perform physical pat-downs and private interrogations on everyone you meet for work. You know, for safety reasons," he countered, wondering if he could coax another lash from her.

Her eyes narrowed. "You will not sabotage my work. I happen to know that you need to succeed at this stupid bodyguard job if you want to be an Auror, and I'm not above leaving you a scathing review when we get back if you get in the way of my job."

"I don't need you, Granger. If anything, you need me. I was briefed on what they found, and I know just as well as you that something—someone—is out to get you. You might believe you're fine on your own, but the Ministry assigned you a guard for a reason."

Something he said struck a chord with her, and for a moment the fire in her eyes actually frightened him. She looked as if she might punch him in the face, but then she took a deep breath instead. "Look," she said slowly. "This is why we need to set some ground rules. So we're not jumping at one another's throats all the time."

Draco sat down on his bed, curious what it was he said that pushed the wrong button. "That's fair," he said.

"I think we should start with the body guarding business, since that's the reason you're here. I'll admit that an extra pair of eyes is always useful, but I think I'll go mad if I don't ever get to be alone. I want three hours to myself every day."

He scoffed. "Absolutely not. Have you any idea what could happen in three hours?"

"I'm not an infant being left alone in a room with sharp edges—"

"Right, it's much worse, you'll be left alone in a strange place with people out there who want to hurt you! I know I'm not your biggest fan, but I don't want to see you dead. And it's my arse on the line if something happens to you."

"Okay," she grumbled. "Two hours."

"One," he countered firmly.

"Fine." She pulled over some of the parchment the hotel provided and wrote it down.

"We have to write these down?" he asked incredulously.

She looked at him as if this was the most ridiculous question. "Of course. If it's not documented and signed, how are we supposed to refer back to it in moments of conflict?"

This time he openly rolled his eyes, but she didn't care. He noticed how neat her script was, very small, neat, and loopy, almost cursive but not quite. He was reminded of the private tutor his mother hired to teach him cursive when he was six. "A proper wizard never writes in print," she'd say.

"I'd like to submit something," he said, his mind still on his mother.

"Hm?"

"No discussion about my parents. Ever."

She looked mildly surprised by the request, but she wrote it down without question anyway. "Done. I want you not to refer to me as a Mudblood, and to refrain from other offensive language unless it's warranted."

He rose an eyebrow. "Warranted?"

"As in, if I'm being unnecessarily bossy, then you can call me bossy."

He chuckled, surprised. She was logical to a fault. "Fair."

"I also want a promise that you won't constantly put down Harry and Ron."

"I'll try. I don't want you touching my things."

"Same for mine." She looked around the room again, noting how small it was. "In fact, I think we should divide up this room, so you can have your space and I'll have mine." She raised her wand and a thin line of tape slithered out and divided the room in half along the floor.

He frowned. "How am I supposed to reach the loo?"

She looked down—the door to the bathroom was, in fact, only accessible on her side. She waved her wand again and a small pathway was drawn in tape from his side to the bathroom. He gave her a look. "Are you serious? I'm supposed to walk between those lines only?"

"Yes."

"You're batshit," he muttered, but she didn't seem to hear.

"Anything else you'd like to add?" she asked, peering up above the parchment.

He thought briefly. "Not at the moment."

"I can't think of anything either, but we'll make it a living document. We can edit it later as needed." She crossed her legs and handed over the parchment. "Please sign and date on the line I drew."

As ridiculous as it made him feel, Draco signed the paper, and Hermione offered her hand for a friendly shake. He smirked. "Do we have to? I just washed my hands."

Giving him a look that could kill, Hermione turned her handshake into a middle finger and then stalked off into the bathroom. He cocked his head curiously as he watched her walk away. She was actually entertaining when she was angry—her hair came loose and frizzed around her face, her eyes narrowed into small slits, her nose scrunched up, and her lips pursed, giving her a startling resemblance to a mouse. She was also rather fun to argue with. She wasn't afraid to poke him where it might hurt.

He sighed and fell back onto his cramped couch-bed. Maybe the next three months wouldn't be as unbearable as he initially assumed. Maybe.

A/N: This chapter and the next aren't my favorite, so I'm probably going to post the next one tomorrow just to get it out of the way. It's necessary to lay the groundwork for the story, though, so bear with me!

-potato.