TW: Hermione exhibits signs of past trauma and abuse in the way she responds to Draco being angry in her presence. This will be addressed as the story goes on, and she will be able to work through it. Men shouting/some violence will occur, no abuse of Hermione will happen.

Author's Note: I own nothing except a deep and abiding love for Draco Malfoy and Hermione Granger. This story is cross-posted on Ao3, I will be updating them simultaneously going forward.

The trouble was that she had the situation under control.

Really, she did.

It may have looked like Covington's wand was in her face, while steam rapidly escaped from his ears, and foul language from his mouth, but-she was handling it. So to speak. Nevermind that the man had grabbed her by the arm and threatened in no uncertain terms that he had had enough of her. She sort of… blocked that part out. The moment his voice raised, Hermione was no longer coherent. Floating in her own fear and an innate sense that there was no walking away from an angry wizard unscathed, even if they were in a crowded Ministry hallway.

What brought her back to earth was the intervention of a quiet rage with a shock of blond hair.

Covington's throat was encircled by fingers large enough to palm a quaffle; pale skin, strong hands, just the sort of build to make a witch duck behind a partition as he passed by on a normal day, and yet… the person in ownership of those hands dwarfed the man in his grasp, speaking words in his ear too low for her to hear.

She tugged on his arm, for reasons she still didn't fully understand-stop choking him!-but the intervening man was a behemoth. He easily shook her off. Turns out that ten years had done a lot for the formerly scrawny Slytherin. Trouble was… she hadn't spoken to him in all that time. Why was he here? Right this second-strangling a man? Where had he even come from? He didn't work for the Ministry; as far as Hermione knew, he was soaking in gin off the Amalfi coast. Until now. When he was attempting to squeeze the life out of a third tier Auror.

Still… eventually, when he caught sight of her stricken face, he released him.

Covington coughed, doubling over. He clutched his neck.

"What the hell, Malfoy!" Covington staggered away, yanking his tie from his collar. His wand dangled from his fingertips like a snapped rubber band.

The blond man straightened, but he was panting. He turned towards Hermione and a queer look crossed his face. He stepped into her space, lumbering several heads taller than her-enough that she had to crane her head up to look at him so close, and still she leaned away. His hands floated about her shoulders and then dropped again as she shied away from him.

"You alright?" His eyes bore into hers intensely, seeking some kind of answer she couldn't provide beyond a simple nod. Once it was offered, he stood tall again, carding a hand through his hair. He shouldered past her. Off he went. It only took a swift turn of the heel, and he flung himself down the hallway, bedecked in black wool and obviously sweating, to where she knew not.

Hermione blinked.

When she sat down at her desk, there was a familiar folded letter waiting for her, sealed in black wax.

You're going to pay for that, Mudblood.

The trouble was, she had a lot of work to do. She had been at it all day. But she couldn't shake the feeling that there was trouble stirring. Covington wasn't the only one with a bone to pick, and in his case, that bone had everything to do with the fact that she was Muggle-born. He brought it up whenever he could. Especially at meetings, when there were enough people around to ensure she wouldn't speak against him. But his comments hadn't ever felt dangerous, at least not overtly.

Which is why she was dumbstruck as Draco Malfoy of all wizards strode into the meeting room, took the empty seat beside her, and glowered across the table at Gerald Covington. The Auror's neck was purple with finger-marks he hadn't bothered to hide.

Hermione already felt cowed to be in Covington's presence after their confrontation, and the note, but with the blond beside her, she couldn't curl herself small enough. She folded her arms over her body and gripped her elbows until her knuckles turned white. She barely heard anything as the gathering of wizards and witches was briefed. Instead, she intercepted waves of energy from her left. Part-way through the meeting, Malfoy scooted his chair closer to hers. Hermione balked. She leaned away from him and shot him a side-eyed glare. He didn't look at her. He was staring daggers at Covington across the table, meeting be damned. In fact, he leaned forward; rucking his cuffs up his forearms, Malfoy braced himself on the edge of the table and flashed a peek of hawthorn wood with a leather-wrapped grip, for all to see. His wand. In a case meeting. What in Godric's green earth was he doing there?

No one addressed the obvious cross-table posturing. In fact, everyone in the room except for Covington seemed bent on ignoring it. Hermione's hackles raised ever higher.

The meeting adjourned and Hermione couldn't remember a single word that was said-she held a scroll in her hand that was apparently meant to be read in her office, and when everyone else stood from the table, she remained seated. Hermione hoped Malfoy would scamper off from whatever hole he had crawled from, but it wasn't to be. Covington remained, too. It wasn't until Covington stood that Malfoy stood. He pressed a hand to the table in front of Hermione, partially concealing her from view. She stared at the skin before her, the way the veins traversed his forearm and pulsed from his obvious tension.

Covington conceded without a word, rubbing his neck absent-mindedly. He left the conference room. Only Hermione remained, paralyzed in her ball of anxiety, and her surprise protector. He remained standing, but bent over her.

"He's scared, now," Malfoy said frankly. "You won't see more of him today."

Hermione hazarded a glance at him and found his gaze pointed and angry. She cowered under his unblinking stare. Could he just… go away? She let out a long breath.

"Are you… he didn't stun you, did he?" Malfoy knelt beside her and Hermione scrambled backwards, nearly falling out of the chair as she stood. His face dropped it's dark concerned expression immediately. She put the chair between them.

He brushed off his pants, standing. She realized that he had forgone his outer robes and was merely in a fine high-collared shirt, vest, and trousers. All black. As were his italian boots. It made him look even taller. He certainly had several heads on her, now-

"How tall are you?" she blurted, against her will.

His eyebrow lifted in time with the corner of his mouth. "When last I was measured for a suit, I believe I was one hundred and ninety-five centemetres. It depends on whether or not I'm having a good hair day." He was having an excellent hair day, if he said so himself by the way he flipped it off his forehead.

Hermione said nothing but her cheeks reddened. She sidled around the chair. The door was a welcome escape that she took readily… only, the click of hard soled boots echoed on the stones behind her.

He was following her.

Her heart raced, but Hermione tried to keep her pace even and unhurried, even as the footsteps behind her continued… all the way back to her office. She tried to shut the door in his face but the wizard slid into her office and closed the door himself. He loomed over her once more. Hermione cleared her throat.

"Can I help you?" She stepped out of his space and behind her desk, where she could at least toe off her mules (which were murder on her heels), and get her head together.

Malfoy put his hands in his trouser pockets and leaned back against her closed door. Anyone passing by from the outside would see the silhouette of muscled shoulders pressed to the glass. He shrugged, and his face betrayed nothing.

"I'm waiting on you," he said, as if that meant anything at all.

"I'm… I'm sorry?" Hermione clasped her hands together on top of her desk.

Malfoy rubbed his face and sighed. "I told him this was a bad idea…"

"Who?"

"Your boyfriend."

"Who?"

"Are you an owl?" He sneered in that all-too-memorable manner that reminded her why she was so unsettled to have him blocking her only exit. "Weasley."

"What about him?"

"I told him," Malfoy said, pushing off the wall, "that you wouldn't like this." Hermione scooted back in her chair and he gestured at her. "You're bloody terrified of me."

She frowned. "What does Ron have to do with anything?" Nevermind that he wasn't too off the mark about how her stomach was instructing her to flee!

Malfoy sat before her desk. From the wooden chair, he was practically her height-and he took advantage of the equal footing to look her dead in the eye. "Suppose he cares what happens to you. I couldn't particularly care whether you stepped off a curb and were laid out by the Knight Bus, but-" he shrugged. "There are people in your life who would very much like to see your obituary run in the Prophet tomorrow."

Hermione's heart dropped into her stomach. "Is… is that why you throttled Covington in the hallway?"

Malfoy propped his head in hand on the edge of her desk. "That I did for free. Even I wouldn't grab you where anybody is there to witness it! The man has no sense of elegant revenge." His eyes sparkled with some kind of quiet dare.

"You're hoping to… what?" Hermione huffed. Her patience was wearing thin with whatever charade Malfoy was conducting. "Make a fool of me? Teach Covington how to properly torment me, as if he hasn't been openly trying to destroy my projects for months-"

"I wish I was jesting. The man wears his loathing on his sleeve. A real man wouldn't be so callous. Frankly, I'd rather see him strung up like a fool."

"Malfoy-"

"Who could recognize a true tormentor better than I?"

Hermione studied him. What the hell was his angle? She drummed her fingers on the desk. "Fine. Color me curious."

"You want to know why I'm here." He smiled-the first real smile she had perhaps ever seen from him, at least when it wasn't a direct result of seeing her suffer as a child.

"Indulge me."

"Protection."

"Wh-what?" she stammered.

"You heard me, Granger." He stretched his arms behind his head.

"Protection from what?"

"Covington, and what I suspect are a host of lackeys who are a genuine threat to you."

"...and Ron… hired you?"

"In a manner of speaking." Malfoy fished in his pocket and produced a note which had been folded and unfolded so many times that the folds were wearing permanently in the parchment. He handed it over.

Malfoy-

It's time. Like we Hermione until your trial and I'll be a witness in your defense. My best bottle of scotch is yours, too. Covington is a problem, likely others. She'll hate it, but it can't be me or Harry, our involvement will only draw attention from the Prophet. The way I figure it: Skeeter can't print anything about you until after your sentencing, per the taboo. It might keep Hermione out of the papers, too.

Shacklebolt knows I'm asking you. You'll have top clearance as long as you're with Hermione. You are barred from anywhere in the Ministry other than her floor and the atrium, so don't try it. Your wand won't work on Ministry property either, but Covington won't know that. Be your usual charming self.

Do what you have to do. Short of murdering someone in public, if you please?

Don't tell her why you're doing it. I don't want her to be alarmed. I'd rather she be annoyed with you than scared. I'll explain everything when I go see her this week.

Cheers,

Ronald Weasley

Hermione's face turned beet red. "You failed your first task, Malfoy. You weren't supposed to tell me." She felt her anger swiftly bubbling to the surface.

"I know you well enough to know that you need all the facts if you're going to agree to something." He took the letter back and returned it to his pocket, safely folded.

"Ah!" She laughed. "You think I'd actually agree to letting you 'tail me'? As if I want you within ten kilometres-"

"Don't be stupid, Granger."

"Stupid? I remember who you are!"

"Was," he said evenly. "You don't know me from Adam."

"I know enough." Hermione stood abruptly but she upset a host of papers onto the floor.

Malfoy rolled his eyes and swiped them up again, gathering them in his massive hands and tapping them into order on the desk. "There's a letter waiting for you at home from Weasley," he said, "confirming what I've told you. He owled me earlier to give me a heads up." A small folded note escaped from the pile and he frowned. He opened the note before she could stop him.

A look crossed his face that made Hermione gulp. When he looked at her, his grey eyes were ablaze. He leaned forward so his face was centimetres from hers.

"When did you get this?" he asked. His breath ghosted across her face.

Hermione shivered. "After the spat with you and Covington."

Malfoy stuck the note in his pocket. "I'll be right back." He strode for the door and Hermione squeaked. She raced around her desk and pushed herself between him and the door. "Move."

"No!"

"I have to finish strangling the life from his skinny gullet-"

"You'll make it worse!"

"Granger, this is why I'm here-"

Her hands slapped his chest and she tugged on his vest sharply. "Please, Malfoy. Don't. It's not the first and it won't be the last. I can handle it. They're just notes, nothing more."

"Show me."

Hermione realized she was holding onto him for dear life-Malfoy!-and took her hands back. She stepped around him. From the bottom drawer of her desk, she produced a stack of notes, all with broken black wax seals. A stack so tall she had to hold it in both hands. The sound of the stack falling on the desk made a cruel smack.

He shook his head.

He kicked her filing cabinet.

He turned away from her and his fingers tangled with his once-perfect hair.

His shoulders hiked up to his ears.

"Get your cloak." He spoke so softly that she barely heard him.

"What?" Hermione had wedged herself as far away from him as she could while he exercised his rage over the stack of notes. She peered at him over her hands, which were covering her face. He wheeled on her but froze as soon as he saw her cowering.

He adjusted his stance, at once letting his hands fall to his sides. Malfoy shook his head again.

"I'll get you home, Granger." His voice was calm, measured-as if he hadn't just made a boot-shaped dent in her cabinet.

"You don't need to," she peeped.

"I do." He pointed to the stack of notes. He pointed to her. "You're in danger. You're so afraid that you're becoming one with the wallpaper."

"T'would help if you didn't… kick things." She straightened a bit.

Malfoy nodded once. "I apologize. I will be composed from now on, I see how it bothers you."

"You will…?"

"I will. Get your cloak."

Hermione was so confused that all she could do was obey the firm instructions and fasten her cloak at her neck and keep him in her sights. He had resumed the position of hands-in-pockets, but his face no longer hinted at his enjoyment to see her squirm… nor did he look angry. He looked intensely serious. And he was looking right at her like if he blinked, she would escape. Malfoy nodded to the door.

She silently padded to the door and then remembered her shoes beneath her desk. Hermione hurried and retrieved the infernal shoes, and then thought better of leaving the notes out in the open. Before she could dump them back into the drawer from whence they came, Malfoy took the stack and deposited it in a paper back, which had once held her lunch for the day. He nodded to the door again. She obeyed.

Hermione locked her office and made her way to the lifts. Malfoy was at her elbow. Bloody hell, but he was a giant. He ducked his head to enter the lift. Several other witches and wizards already occupied the compartment but they huddled together to give the imposing wizard a wide berth. He reached around her and pressed the button for the atrium, at once enveloping Hermione in the scent of his cologne. She hadn't noticed it before, but then again, she hadn't been breathing much since he barged into her office. Cedar, and spice. Clove, maybe. It only made her more anxious, knowing what he smelled like.

When the lift reached the atrium, Hermione disembarked and her shadow followed. She paused before the hearth she usually chose to floo home. "Go on," he murmured, followed by: "What the hell are you looking at?" which was grunted at a passing witch, who seemed to have been waiting for the use of that particular hearth. "Granger. Go."

"You can't come home with me," Hermione insisted.

"And yet, I must."

"I can think of a million reasons why not."

"I have a stack of threatening notes that say otherwise." His palm found her shoulder and he gave her a shove. "I'll follow."

"What if you're the one trying to hurt me?" She looked at him over her shoulder.

"If it were, you would know by now." Malfoy reached for the bowl of floo powder and scooped up a heaping handful of the magical soot. He grabbed her wrist, prying her fingers open. She allowed him to pour some of the powder into her palm. "Let's get a move on."

Hermione stepped into the hearth and tossed her powder to the ground. The green flames leapt around her as she announced her destination. She felt silly all of a sudden, shouting my house! while making eye contact with Draco Malfoy, but the feeling lasted but a moment as she hurtled out of her own hearth. Moments later, the man in question gracefully stepped out of the green flames behind her. Hermione catapulted herself across the living room and put at least the sofa between them. His hair grazed the low ceiling of her cottage. She stared at him.

What now? Sure enough, just as Malfoy had said, there was a letter sitting on the coffee table with Ron's hasty lettering scrawled across the face. She swallowed hard.

"You should make sure your wards are current," Malfoy said.

"I will."

"Tonight." He gave her a dark look that said he would press the matter further if she pushed back. She rolled her eyes.

"Fine. I'll make sure all magical persons are barred, especially former Death Eaters."

"That's for the best. But I'm staying." Malfoy set the paper bag on her mantle and unsleeved his wand, which made Hermione draw her wand immediately. "Would you relax? I happen to be excellent at setting wards."

"I have witnessed you be violent two, almost three times today," she spat, raising her wand to level with his chest, despite being across the room from him. "I have evidence that someone has it in for me-and once upon a time, that person was you. Excuse me if I can't 'relax'!"

Malfoy huffed. "You may see a lot more violence from me before this is done-"

"I have seen enough violence from you to fill several lifetimes."

He couldn't have looked more stunned if she had petrified him. He blinked once, twice. Then, he lowered his wand. He hadn't even realized that he had matched her stance until the force of her words hit him. "This is a bad idea," he breathed.

"Finally, something we can agree on."

Malfoy set his wand on the hearth, beside the bag. He toed the rug, which was sooty from their arrival. "Granger-" He stopped himself and rubbed his chin. "Bloody hell."

She scoffed. "How do you think I feel?"

He nodded just once. "Listen… I gave Weasley my word. I will tail you, with or without your permission. There's no getting around that, Granger. And you can hate me all you want-in fact, it's probably better if you do. It will keep my blood up so I can be hyper-vigilant." He laughed, but it didn't quite reach the corners of his mouth. "If you can't trust me, then trust your friend. If Ron Weasley thinks that I can keep you safe, surely… surely that's a vote in my favor." He looked up at her, then, jaw set. "It's getting dark. You better set the wards, now."

Hermione huffed again and pointed at her green-checked chair. "Sit," she said through gritted teeth. He did so. His legs were so long that his knees were taller than the arms of the chair. He looked like he was sitting in a chair made for a child. She would have laughed if she wasn't so… shocked. Angry. Fearful… outright.

She circled her cottage five times; repeating the enchantment in its entirety took almost an hour. The wards thrummed. No one could apparate in or out, and nobody would be able to find her cottage behind the charm unless someone lead them to where she lived-only a few people were privy to that information, anyway, and neither Harry or Ron were about to lead a pureblood fanatic to her door. Other than the reformed one currently sitting in her living room. When she entered the cottage again, his head was laid against the back of the chair. At first, she thought he was asleep, but he lifted his head.

"Took long enough."

"I'm thorough." She rested against the front door. He flicked his wrist and the locks clicked shut. He wrinkled his nose as if to say not thorough enough. Malfoy picked up the letter from Ron and tossed it to her in a spiral. It landed at her feet.

Hermione snatched it up. It read thus:

Hermione-

Please let Malfoy protect you. I know it's hard, but I'll explain everything. Don't hex him if you can help it. He means well.

Speak soon,

Ron

Oh, Ron. Whatever he knew couldn't be good. Especially if Malfoy was involved, and if he couldn't at least hint at what he knew in a letter.

"Did he sign it with love hearts?" Malfoy made a face as if he might retch.

"All right, listen!" Hermione pointed her wand at him. "If I'm going to agree to this… arrangement… there are going to be some rules."

"I'd expect nothing less from you, Granger." He folded his hands over his chest and waited for her to go on with a smug look on his face.

"Don't use your wand here unless it's necessary."

"Oh, to live as a Muggle!" Malfoy clapped his hands.

"You will not raise your voice to me unless I am currently in danger."

"So, like… every waking moment, then?"

Hermione's hand twitched and he hissed, shaking his hand where she had just wordlessly cast a stinging spell. "You may yell at me if someone is about to harm me. Otherwise, you'll speak to me like you actually care about my feelings." His face twisted as if he was going to offer some snide retort, but he thought better of it as she held up her wand again. "Also? No making fun of my home or the things I own. This is my sanctuary-or it was, until you were in it. No picking on what I eat, or how I go about my life. I've worked very hard for all of this. I'll be damned if you make me feel like I'm worthless."

"So, how am I allowed to talk to you, then? Since my primary modes of communication with you are disallowed." He grinned as she scowled.

"Nicely."

He raised an eyebrow. "Trouble is, Granger… you rely on me, now. So, you may have to put up with some things you just don't like. Like my shower singing."

"I swear-"

"Oh, go on," he said, leaning forward and giving her the most innocent of looks. "I'm listening. I promise."

"Merlin, Malfoy!" She pinched the bridge of her nose. "This dance between seriousness and teasing is giving me bloody whiplash. Pick one!" He settled on a facial expression that read as slightly flatulent, which she supposed was better than other options, like a dumb smile. She sighed. "When's your trial?"

"Three weeks."

"Great," she said. "I'm stuck with you for three whole weeks."

"That's the spirit. If it's any consolation, I'll probably be acquitted."

She narrowed her eyes. "You get testy with me because you're losing control-am I right?"

"You have three weeks to suss that out, Granger," Malfoy said, kicking his feet up onto the coffee table and crossing his ankles. "But for now, I'm tired."

"Get your dirty boots off my table!"

"Go to bed, Granger." He crossed his arms and closed his eyes.

Hermione considered hexing his stupid boots right off the table, but she wanted nothing more than a locked door between them. She was too tired to argue anymore, too tired to protest or process anything that had happened in the course of the day to make Draco Malfoy take up residence in her living room. As if she had no choice in the matter...

But she did have a choice. And she needed to talk to Ron.

Tomorrow.

Thank you for reading!