Draco paced back and forth before the magically lit hearth in his office on the first floor of the Ministry and sipped furiously from the crystal glass filled with the finest Hebredian Black Firewhisky money could buy.

Damn Zabini! If only he could perform an undetectable Legilimens on his Vice-Minister…

His best friend's note had been annoyingly cryptic about having a possible solution to Draco's little problem of finding an appropriate witch for a wife. "She's one you can hang on your arm before the press with pride and confidence," the man had boasted. "If nothing else, at least she'll boost your points in the polls."

Better well bleedin' do since he was giving up his well-loved bachelorhood in the exchange! Draco needed the respectable front that riding the "family values" tag could provide if he was to win the upcoming election in September. And oh, did he want to win!

As usual, Zabini didn't knock on his door to announce his presence. The man simply strolled in as if he belonged. With a wave of his wand, Draco shut the door behind him.

"You can relax," Blaise announced with great fanfare as he threw his backside down in one of the cozy chairs by the fire, "I've found you a wife."

Draco went to the alcohol caddy and poured a drink for Blaise, refilling his own glass at the same time. He crossed the room and passed off the Firewhisky to his mate. "So you said. Who is she and why should I consider her?"

His companion swallowed back a good mouthful of his drink. "She's got a solid reputation as a war heroine, knows how to play politics with the best of them, can intellectually leave the entire Ministry in the dust, is a good blending of social liberalism and fiscal conservativism, has never been married, and best of all, neither of us have slept with her."

In a flash, Draco went down the list of possibilities. "Hogwarts, Beauxbatons, Durmstrang, or other?"

"Hogwarts."

The list shrunk. "Slytherin, Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff, or Gryffindor?"

Blaise finished off his drink, holding it out for more. "Gryffindor."

The list perceptibly narrowed again. Based on Zabini's description, he was beginning to have a sneaking suspicion that he knew exactly whom his best friend had picked out for him. He had heard the rumours that a certain know-it-all witch from his childhood had just recently returned to England from the I.C.W. headquarters in Geneva, where she'd taken the place by storm for a dozen years, only to end up accepting a quiet position within the London M.L.E. office as a law librarian for some unfathomable reason.

"Age?" he asked, ignoring the unspoken request by his Vice-Minister's outstretched hand for more booze.

Zabini grinned up at him and shook his glass. "Thirty-two, to be exact."

A Gryffindor he hadn't slept with, who had been in his class or a year older, was smarter than most of the Unspeakables he employed, and a war heroine. Only one witch fit the bill.

"There is no way you'll ever convince Hermione Granger to marry me," he stated with all assuredness. "Hell, there's no way I'd want to marry her. She's insufferable. Not even the Weasel King wanted her, and that was back when she was younger, tighter, and undoubtedly prettier."

"Actually, they've made four attempts over the years," Blaise corrected him, standing and making his way to the alcohol tray on his own, "with the most recent breakup – and final, if I heard the office rumours right – having occurred just this last Saturday night." He poured himself a double, turned, and saluted Draco with his glass. "You're free and clear to woo her to your heart's content, mate."

Draco shook his head. "You've really gone 'round the bend this time, Blaise. There is no way that woman would willingly come within a hundred feet of me."

Just as the last word left his mouth his door was flung open by a rather strong Alohamora. The spell had so much power behind it that it blew the portal wide, slamming it into the wall. In the gaping doorway stood one fully developed, surprisingly attractive, and wrathfully furious Hermione Granger.

Yes, it was definitely her. She may have finally figured out how to tame that mop on her head using Sleekeazy's, but there was simply no mistaking those amber-brown eyes when they were filled with furious fire, as they were now. Draco had been on the receiving end of that exact same stare for seven whole years of his youth, so there was no way he wouldn't recognize it when presented with it again, regardless of time's passing.

His heart did a little queer pitter-patter thing in his chest. It was a feeling he'd only known one other time in his life: right after he'd been smacked hard across the jaw in third year by a certain bushy-haired Gryffindor princess.

"Oh, no. That is so inconvenient," he mumbled to himself.

"I'm sorry, did you say something?" Blaise asked with a cheeky grin, clearly having heard.

Draco scowled at him.

"Malfoy, we need to talk," the irate witch in his doorway seethed, her fingertips crackling with red electrical sparks as she kept a tight grip on her wand. Her gaze narrowed on Blaise. "Zabini, get out. NOW."

Holy. Shite.

There is no way Draco should have found such behaviour from a woman hot, as he was a clear Dominant in the bedroom and he preferred his women submissive, but he was suddenly sporting some serious wood in the face of Granger's anger.

Of course, that might be because she was a bit rumpled and out of breath, as if she'd run all the way around the Ministry in that tight, pin-striped pencil skirt and in those eye-catching black heels to get to him. Her chest was heaving under the matching, unbuttoned business jacket, her cheeks were pinked, and her nipples – clearly visible through the thin fabric of her white, silk blouse – were hard, tight points that any man would find impossible to ignore. With her hair up in a coiffed French twist, and her lips bare of gloss, she was the living, walking dichotomy: the conservative with the wild streak.

Salazar's bollocks, Blaise was absolutely right! Granger was the answer to all his political prayers, wasn't she? She appealed to both the liberals as well as to the conservatives.

Hell, everyone loved and respected the witch, not only because of her role during the war, but because of the changes she'd helped to oversee in the international wizarding arena. Draco had followed the politics in the I.C.W. since becoming Vice-Minister, and then Minister, and knew that Hermione Granger was known there as 'The Champion of Rights'. Although most of her propositions had been deemed too radical to accept by the main body of the I.C.W., still her efforts had garnered her respect and established precedent over the years. There were now at least a dozen new grassroots organizations that rallied for wizarding civil liberties, and environmental groups that demanded protections for endangered magical species, all at her urging.

In terms of business, she'd also fought for and won the guaranteed allocation of funds to important wizarding medical R&D projects. These included investigating the spread of lycanthropy and vampirism (both of which had mysteriously doubled in the last decade) as well as the increasing rate of Squibdom and infertility in the pureblood families due to centuries of inbreeding. As a result, new corporations had been formed to tackle the mandate of developing treatment therapies. The flush of government monies into the industry had made many people very rich, and gave hope to the magical world overall.

All of those achievements had been possible in only a few short years because this witch – the one with her wand pointed rather menacingly at him at the moment - had stepped up to the podium and shoved the issues to the forefront of political debate. She was definitely a force to be reckoned with on both sides of the aisle.

Then there was the issue of her physical beauty. As he took her in from toes to the tip of her nose, he realized that she'd grown up - and from where he was standing, the change had been a rather positive one. She'd obviously gotten wise to fashion, discovered cosmetics, and tamed that gods-awful hair of hers. The scrawny, bony body she'd sported back in school had developed a series of delicious curves with age, too. And those legs…!

"Blaise, please excuse us," he made his apologies to his friend, turning to pour a fresh drink into a clean glass for his new guest. "And close the door on your way out, if you don't mind."

He could feel Zabini's interest and amusement without having to look at the man's smug face. His best friend knew him too well. "Sure. Catch you later." He turned to watch his former roommate in Slytherin saunter towards the exit, give a chivalrous tip of his head towards Granger in passing as she stepped into the room, and move past her into the hall. He threw Draco a wink for luck as he shut the door behind him.

"Drink?" he asked.

Her anger greatly reduced from a moment ago, the crackling-pop of magic around her dissipated. In a cultured move, she straightened her jacket and re-buttoned it, clearing her throat. "Please."

He picked up the glass he'd prepared for her, crossed the room, and held it out for her to take. She did, and she tossed it back in one go, much to his surprise. "I didn't know someone as uptight as you was partial to the hard sauce, Granger, especially before noon. Things change that much over the last dozen years?"

She made a curious face as she swallowed, as if she was sampling something she'd expected to be awful, but it turned out to be quite acceptable instead. "I'm not partial to such things, and I'm not uptight. I'm charging up the big guns so I can let you have it with both barrels blazing."

Draco raised an eyebrow at that. "Muggle saying?"

She nodded. "It means -"

He held up his hands. "I quite understand. I do know what a gun is, in all its crudity. I'm not that ignorant of Muggle culture. It looked to me as if you had enough brass before the drink, though."

She handed him the empty glass. "Yes, well, you're not going to like what I have to say." She put one hand on a lovely hip and affected a pose that said she would not be turned away.

"So I've gathered." He grinned, took a gulp of his own Firewhisky, and walked around his desk. "Please, have a seat." He indicated one of the chairs across from him and waited for her to plant her bum before doing likewise.

Placing the empty drink glasses to the side, he folded his hands on top of his desk and looked at her as he usually did with foreign dignitaries: giving her his full attention by slightly leaning forward as if to catch every word, his expression set with pretend interest.

"Now, I'm very busy and important. How can I help you?"

She bristled at his intentional light-heartedness, sitting up straighter in her chair and giving him a prim frown. "Did you know, Minister Malfoy, that you head of one of the most discriminatory governmental agencies in the free world? Do you realize how many laws are still on the books that affect a woman's right to a safe work environment? Do you even realize how many gender-based regulations and statutes negatively impact witches in Britain?"

Ah, she wanted to lodge a formal complaint. Obviously, this issue was of great importance to her, too, as she'd come right to the top to do it. Already he had his 'in'.

"Can't say that I do, but I'm sure you're going to tell me."

She did – in painful length. Draco gave her the party nod throughout her long-winded explanation, paying particularly close attention to the issues that seemed to mean the most to her, as her voice would rise and her words would fly during such topics.

To his great relief, after only an hour of listening to her whinge on – which unfortunately included being forced to endure a long bulleted list of pertinent talk points - Granger finally began to wind down. "In conclusion, I must strenuously request that you exercise your prerogative powers to issue a Ministerial Proclamation overturning these archaic laws," she stated.

Reaching into a small beaded bag that she pulled from the sleeve of her jacket, she stuck her hand into the purse, rifled around, and withdrew a thick stack of neatly bound papers. "I've taken the liberty of outlining the pertinent statutes in this report for you, and included the proper procedure and language necessary to rescind said legislation." She handed the summary over to him, and then sat back in her chair, looking infinitely pleased with herself.

Draco opened the report and scanned through the first three or four pages while he made her sit there, basking in her assumed triumph. When he felt her ego had reached a state where squeezing out of the door might be a problem, he pounced.

Giving her his most amicable smile, he said, "I think it's brilliant. It's stellar, really."

His opponent smiled back, believing from his words that she'd actually won this round.

With a dramatic wince, though, he set about dashing her pretentiousness. "Uh, that is, apart from the one obvious, tiny, little, baby hiccup. You see…" – he plastered an apologetic expression upon his features – "you've given me absolutely no incentive to do as you ask, Granger."

Her smile fell in a heartbeat. A second after that, her face flushed an uncomely shade of raspberry.

"What did you say?" she asked in a low, threatening voice.

Draco closed the cover on her report and stood up, leaning his palms on the desk as he stared her down with a serpentine smirk.

"Here's the thing, Hermione," he stressed her first name to throw her off balance, "I'm not one to cave to intimidation tactics, which is clearly what you've done here. In fact," he cut her off, holding up a finger to stop her as she opened her mouth, "the manner in which you barged in here, demanding my attention could be interpreted as a hostage-taking situation, if I chose to see it as such. You've spent the last hour and," – he looked up at the magically-wound clock above his door – "nine minutes dictating policy to me under a form of duress. I allowed it, however, out of respect for your reputation. I listened to every word. Truthfully, I have given you more of my attention today than I have given foreign dignitaries over the last year. For that alone, you owe me some form of compensation."

Her eyes widened with incredulity and her lips pulled back in a feral snarl. She shot to her feet, wand in her hand, energy crackling from her fingertips again. "How dare you! You despicable, dog-hearted scoundrel! After spending all this time discussing the different forms of gender-based harassment around this place… Ooh! You would dare to offer a trade of sexual favours for doing your moral civic duty - and with me of all people - the witch who's been dying for an excuse to kick your arse since we were children?"

A wicked smile worked its way up his cheek. "Why, Granger, I don't recall saying anything about trading sexual favours."

She pointed her wand at him. "You implied it, you villainous boar!"

"Did I?" he asked, feeling his mirth bubble up from within. He hadn't realized how much he'd missed locking horns with this particular shrew. "And you suddenly know how my mind works how?"

She narrowed her eyes. "I spent six years of my young life on the receiving end of your most vile taunting. I think that more than qualifies me to know what kind of person you are, Malfoy."

He came around the desk, respectfully wary of the wand in her hand, and leaned against it on the other side, adopting a casual, unthreatening pose. "Really, Granger, haven't we grown up and gotten past that yet? Would it help if I apologized for tormenting you and your friends during a period when I acted the rotten, spoiled bastard?"

He had to throw her some sort of bone, after all, and if doing so caused her to lower her arm then it was cheers all around.

Bowing his head, he gave her his best puppy-dog expression, having practiced and honed the look over the years to placate his mother when the occasion called. "I humbly beg your forgiveness for being a cold-hearted, runty little pip during our school days, Ms. Granger."

Her dark eyes widened, and in them, he noted glints of gold around the irises. Funny, he'd never noticed how sparkling her eyes truly were.

She lowered her wand and Draco let out the breath he'd been holding. "You're not having me on, are you?" she asked.

"No, I'm not," he reassured her, sincere this time. "That was an apology a long time in coming."

It wasn't enough, and he knew it - not by a long shot. He owed this woman much more than words. She'd endured a lot of suffering in her life, most of it caused by him and his twisted family.

Maybe, though, she'd give him a chance to make it up to her.

The prospect of that opportunity had him silently thanking his tailor for having the forethought to design his clothing to hide certain embarrassing bodily reactions by weaving specific Disillusionment charms into his slacks.

To his astonishment, at some point between this witch's dramatic entrance and this particular moment, Draco realized he'd fallen under the charms of the adult-version of Hermione Granger. Although it pained him to admit it, he'd been completely wrong about her. She was incredibly well-spoken, well groomed, and as arrogant and ambitious as he, with more spark than a firecracker. Plus, she was hotter than Hell, especially when she was angry.

He was going to owe Blaise something big this time.

Granger dropped down into her seat, staring up at him in dazed confusion. "You… I…"

He gave her his most reassuring smile. "Is it so hard for you accept that over the last decade I've changed, Ms. Granger? Surely, if the people of Wizarding Britain could vote for the former Minister with me attached to his ticket, then there must be some belief in the idea that my black heart had been redeemed, wouldn't you think?"

"I… I suppose," she hesitantly answered, dropping her eyes to her lap. "I'll admit that perhaps I've not being completely fair in my assumptions where you're concerned. I apologize for that."

Like butter left in the sun too long, he'd softened her up. Now he had her exactly where he wanted her. "Let's agree to let bygones be bygones, then, and start fresh, shall we?" He held his hand out to her to shake. "It's been a pleasure to speak with you this afternoon, Ms. Granger. Your presentation was most enlightening, and I promise to take your concerns under very serious consideration."

She stared at his hand for long seconds, and then her head tilted back to meet his gaze. Cautiously, she extended her hand to meet his. "Thank you." She cleared her throat, and instantly, her demeanor changed to that of the professional. "Yes, thank you, Minister." She stood, still shaking his hand. "I appreciate your time and attention."

When she made to withdraw, he held on a bit longer, standing to his full height and stepping in a bit – not enough to crowd or to make the appearance of impropriety, but enough to make her sweat. "My pleasure."

She blinked, taken aback by his unexpected move, and promptly removed her hand from his, stepping around her chair. "Yes, well, I'll make an appointment with your secretary next time."

"I should have an answer for you by Friday afternoon, if you'd like to see what's available then," he suggested, knowing his secretary purposefully cleared his Friday afternoons so he could make an early start to weekend plans, if he wished.

"Friday is fine for me, any time after one. I'll see you then. Good day to you," she stated in a crisp tone, and walked around her chair and out the door.

He'd seen the blush in her cheeks there at the end – rouged this time not in anger, but in sexual awareness. He'd felt her heart rate speed up the longer he'd clasped her hand, through the throbbing pulse under the pad of her thumb. He'd watched a thin sheen of sweat form over the top of her lip in nervous energy as she'd made to go.

The trap was set. On Friday, he'd spring it.


TO BE CONTINUED...


Author's Notes:

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Chapter 4 preview...

Hermione spent the rest of that week berating her fool self for letting her guard down before Malfoy and preparing for the upcoming battle with the man.

Humble? Just whom did that man think he was fooling? There wasn't a humble bone in any Malfoy body, living or dead.