A/N/: So. This is my first DraMione fanfiction. I probably should finish all of the other stuff that I have in progress before I start writing this because if I don't, nothing will ever get done. Still. I hope you like this as much as I do. I hope it ends well.

Department of Magical Law Enforcement

A combination of police and justice facilities that has power over all other departments except the Department of Mysteries

Hermione Granger

The paper crinkled beneath her fingers as her appendages tightened in a vice-like grip as her brown eyes scanned the headline of the Daily Prophet. The words blurred and swam before her as her eyes skimmed over them. It couldn't be happening. It shouldn't be happening. She had done everything within her power to ensure that this would never happen again. What had gone wrong? Her plans had been foolproof, or so she thought. That was obviously not the case, she realized, after looking at the headline. She hadn't been notified of this incident. No one had thought to even mention it to her. A word hadn't been breathed in her direction. How news such as this hadn't gotten to her throughout the day was beyond her, but in all of the questions and hysteria, there was but one fact. Merlin, her department was going to have hell to pay in the morning.

"Why didn't they notify me?" she snapped, slamming down the paper on the table before her.

Hermione Jean Granger ran her hands over her weary face in order to shove away some of the stress and anxiety that hid behind her tired features. The night had been so calm and cheerful. It had taken an early edition of the following morning's Prophet, however, to send her evening into ruins. Her carefully constructed system was crashing down around her and she was beyond frustrated. She was helpless towards fixing it until the following morning, and even then she was unsure if she could. The Department of Magical Law Enforcement would be a mess in the morning, and everyone would be coming to her for answers. Those answers were some she herself was unsure that she could answer. Still, she'd grin and bear through it like she always did.

"I am the head of the Department," she snapped, snatching up the paper once more. The face on the cover of the Prophet stared back at her with an evil glint in his eyes, and she tossed it back down again. It was a constant game of picking up and throwing it to the table. She couldn't decide which she preferred. Having it open to the rest of the world where everyone could see her mistakes or in her hand where those eyes seemed to only focus on her. "I am the first bloody person they should notify!"

"I shouldn't even have this yet, 'Mione," a George Weasley said, setting down a fresh cup of tea before her. The ginger's eyes flicked briefly to the paper before falling back to her. "I've only got it because a few strings were pulled."

"My department would have already known this. They would have been the first to know. They should have informed me by now. I have no idea what is running through those thick heads of theirs, but Harry won't know what has hit him in the morning..." she seethed. She picked up the teacup from the table and cradled it in her hands. The warmth quickly seeped through her stiff fingers. She hadn't realized how cold her appendages had become until she touched the searing porcelain.

"They might have avoided telling you for your own good. You work too hard, 'Mione. When is the last time you had a day off?"

"What do you mean? Today I was off. I was off the entire weekend. You were with me," Hermione said.

"Working at the shop does not mean you have been away from work, 'Mione, and you know it. You've been working at the shop."

"I find it relaxing..." she said, trailing off a bit. She tilted her cup to her lips and grimaced as the hot liquid scalded her tongue. She pushed past the sensation, however, and took a deep sip.

"Hermione, you were very nearly pulling out your hair earlier when some kid let a pygmy puff loose," George deadpanned. "You've practically got a receding hairline already."

Hermione set down her cup and allowed her hands to fly to her forehead. Surely she did not have a receding hairline. She was too young, and the effects of pulling out one's hair were catastrophic. Surely she would have noticed balding spots around her face.

"Blimey, I was only joking, 'Mione, but if that doesn't show stress, then I don't know what else does. I'm worried, and I'm sure I'm not the only one."

George was so serious when he had to be. She missed his joking manner that he put on when the store was open. Seeing it now even in small doses was a welcome sight. Still, the older brother-like qualities that he displayed to her when she was tired beyond relief were more than she could have ever asked for. She would never request him to fall back to his old habits only to please her. He needed time to find it in himself to change on his own. They all did after the war, and some simply took more time to grow than others.

The woman let her head fall to the table as a loud groan escaped her lips. Yes, George was correct. She was stressed beyond means she thought existed. But how could she not be when put in such positions? She was the head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, and she had hardly turned twenty-five years old. She was too young to endure all of this. It was far too taxing to be in charge of an entire department. She had hardly managed her two best friends whilst hunting for Horcruxes. It had just been the three of them then. How she had expected to run an entire department that focused on the capture and incarceration of dark wizards a good majority of the time was beyond her. She knew these laws inside and out, but still she was stressed. Adding their current predicament to the mix had been the worse curveball thrown in her direction yet.

"That's not the point, George. My stress doesn't matter as head of the Department. This is my job, and last I checked, I've always thrived under pressure. I only thrive, however, when I know everything. They could have just owled me here at the shop."

"This is your job, yes, but sometimes you don't need to know everything all at once..." George trailed off. There was a certain hesitance to his voice that Hermione couldn't exactly explain.

"I am the head of the Department. It is my job to know everything. How do you expect me to address the public without understanding what is going on?"

Hermione snatched up the Daily Prophet once again and allowed her brown eyes to scan over the headline.

'NOTORIOUS DEATH EATER AND WEREWOLF FENRIR GREYBACK ESCAPED FROM AZKABAN'

She shuddered at the words. She was at a loss as to how he had managed to escape. The last five years had gone so smoothly without the dementors at the prison. They had wizards posted each night, and he had been monitored by at least three armed wizards while in each transformation during the full moon. It should have been impossible for him to escape, but that is what they said about Voldemort returning. He shouldn't have escaped, yet, he had.

She sat back in her chair and sighed heavily. Her gaze was focused on the picture of Greyback on the front cover of the Prophet. Those beady eyes just bore into her soul. There was something about them that set her on edge. After a few more prolonged moments of the staring competition with the photograph, she had to turn away.

"I should be going George... It's nearly midnight, and I've got to be at the Ministry early tomorrow morning for the briefing on whatever this is," she said, pushing her chair away from the table. She glanced at her tea, deciding to abandon it. She couldn't stomach the fluid anyways. There was a pit at her center that she assumed wouldn't be leaving her anytime soon.

George stood with her. "I'll walk you out."

The pair exited George's apartment above Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes, and made their way downstairs. Once at the doors, George turned towards her. He held a serious expression in place of the smile she only wished he would wear.

"Promise me you'll be careful, 'Mione; a man like that will hold grudges against those who fought against him in the war. If I do remember correctly, you blasted him into a wall before Professor Trelawney dropped a crystal ball on his head," he said, a smile tugging on his lips. It faded quickly, however. "Neville, Professor Trelawney. Anyone who he could have some grudge against are safely protected by the wards of Hogwarts. They have Harry, the boy who defeated the Dark Lord not once but twice. You... You only have your apartment and whatever defensive spells you put around the place, and we don't know what he's going to do yet."

"George, I only live down the street. I'll be fine," she assured him.

The ginger placed a hand on her shoulder, his expression hardening. "'Mione, you're family to me, you and Harry both. I can't help but worry. If Greyback got to you... He holds grudges, 'Mione, and I don't want to see you hurt. You're just as much of a sister to me as Ginny. I can't... Our family can't lose anyone else..."

George trailed off, his eyes avoiding hers. He was growing more and more distant by the second. He was thinking of Fred. Hermione took both of his hands in hers and offered him the most comforting smile that she could manage.

"I'll be fine, George. I was called the most brilliant witch of my age for a reason, you know."

"I know," he said, his features softening ever so slightly. "Still, I don't want you to turn into Lavender Brown. She's hardly a shell of what she used to be after Greyback's attack, and she isn't even a full-blooded werewolf. I don't see her all that often, but when I do... She's not the same as she was, 'Mione, and I couldn't watch that happen to you. Something like that is scarring."

"It won't, George," she said, offering him a smile. "I promise."

"At least let me to walk you home? I'd rather be safe than sorry," he asked, that concern lighting in his eyes.

"That's unnecessary, George. Greyback wouldn't show his face here just yet... It's too soon. It's too dangerous. I'll be fine. It's just down the road," she said, offering him a smile. "Goodnight, George."

"Goodnight Hermione."

Hermione turned away from the male and started down the street, her wand in her hand. The cobbled roads were a little uneven under her feet, but after many years of walking these streets, she had become accustomed to them. And with them being entirely barren so late into the night, she made her way down them with ease. As she was about to round the bend to fall out of sight of Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes, she turned and waved goodbye to George. And then she was gone, travelling down the street towards her little apartment. Everything was silent around her. It was late on a Sunday evening. The majority of the wizarding population had work the next morning. She didn't expect to see anyone else out and about. Still, it left the usually lively street in a ghostly light.

The witch walked slowly, one hand at her side and the other firmly holding onto the shaft of her wand. Her ears were alert and her eyes were trained on the smallest movement in the shadows, especially as she passed the entry way to Knockturn Alley. Even passing by was a miserable experience. What lurked down there... She did not want to know. Hermione tugged her sweater tightly around herself. Even in the heat of the late August evening she felt cold passing the street. She knew some of the worst folks were down that way, and she had no intentions of running into them, especially with someone like Greyback on the loose.

Just as she was nearing Flourish and Blotts, the shop in which she lived above, a figure emerged from the shadows. Her first thoughts were of Fenrir Greyback. He had figured out where she lived and was coming to exact his revenge on her. Maybe she should have taken George up on his offer. No. She was Hermione Granger. She could handle a werewolf like Greyback. If it was Greyback. She couldn't go blindly hexing whoever stood in front of her. That would look absolutely horrendous to the Prophet and her department.

The witch whispered a quiet lumos under her breath, and the tip of her wand lit up with a bright glow. Her features first read with shock and then complete and utter disgust.

"Malfoy?" she asked, the irritation in her voice quite evident.

What is Merlin's name was Draco Malfoy doing in front of her apartment at midnight? She approached him in order to get a better look at him. She was quite sure that he was thoroughly drunk; she could smell the alcohol emanating from him from meters away. Of course there were other telltale signs. His posture was slouched and unsteady. His clothes were rumpled and unkempt. His hair was disheveled. Those piercing grey eyes of his were dilated. Yes, he was quite drunk. Tom must have just kicked him out of the Leaky Cauldron. The question was... Why the bloody hell was he in front of her apartment?

"Granger!" he drawled. He hiccuped directly after.

Oh, yes, he was just as smooth as he had been back in Hogwarts. How attractive. "What in Merlin's name are you doing here?"

"I 'unno," he stammered, his brow furrowing in confusion. He was absolutely sloshed. "Figured I'd find a quick shag before work t'morrow."

Hermione scoffed. He was disgusting. "And you call yourself an Auror. Act professional. Get home and sleep. I want you in early tomorrow for a briefing. The lot of you have hell to pay in the morning."

Malfoy groaned audibly. "You mudbloods nev'r know-" a hiccup "-'ow to have any fun," he whined.

"Get out of my way, Malfoy. I want to go to bed," she snapped, ignoring the slur that was thrown her way. She didn't have the energy to threaten him with hexes and curses.

"What's wrong, Granger? Are you put off 'cause Weaselbee is off on a case-" another hiccup "-and you are too guilty to shag anyone else?"

Hermione's temper flared and she shoved him back with the hand that wasn't holding her wand. "I'll have you know that my personal life is none of your business, and neither is who or who I do not shag."

He stumbled backwards, but managed to remain upright. "You've always beena feisty one," he drawled, that not-in-the-least-bit-charming smirk spreading onto his lips once more.

She scowled as she watched him with her calculating brown gaze. He swayed from side to side in front of her. He was far too drunk to apparate home, and she knew that there was no way he could walk back to Malfoy Manor like that. If Tom had kicked him out of the Leaky Cauldron, then there wasn't a chance of him getting a room there. After the slur he sent her way, she was tempted to leave him in the streets of Diagon Alley to find his way home himself, but her moral compass was too strong. As much as she hated him, she couldn't do that to him. As one of her Aurors, Hermione hated to acknowledge that she was the one who had to become responsible for him. She hadn't the slightest clue as to the location of Malfoy Manor; she wasn't going to take him there for that reason. Her couch it was, then.

"Sod off, Malfoy. You're a drunken prat... Let's go," Hermione grumbled, wrapping an arm around his waist. She took his arm and laid it across her shoulders. She started off towards the stairs at the back of Flourish and Blotts that led to her apartment.

"Gettin' a little frisky there, aren' you, Granger," Malfoy drawled, a smirk spreading across his lips.

"Only in your dreams, Malfoy."

"I wouldn't dream about fucking a mudblood," he said as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

She really wanted to smack him, but as his boss, that would be less than professional. She snorted and ignored his comments as she struggled to get him up the stairs. She struggled to unlock her door with his weight pressing against her. And, Merlin, did he reek of firewhiskey. It was almost as bad walking into the Hog's Head after an Irish win in Quidditch. She nearly wretched as she forced him through the threshold of the flat. She quickly deposited him on her couch. She wasn't surprised to find that, with the amount of alcohol in his system, he was out like a light. Hermione wasn't so lucky.

Before bed, she sent out her patronus to each auror in her department that wasn't already on a case, informing them that they were to come to the Ministry early the following morning. A briefing on a new incident was to follow. She brushed her teeth, just as she was raised to do. She then laid down in her bed to sleep.

Sleep did not come.

No matter how hard she tried, she found it particularly unfathomable that Draco Malfoy was asleep on her couch in her living room. That, and the ever present threat of Fenrir Greyback made sleep positively impossible. Oh, the aurors were certainly going to have one hell of a morning.