Chapter 1

It didn't seem one-hundred percent real until I was moving my belongings into the tiny desk space in the new office. The room was open enough to not be suffocating, but still small enough to keep my mind from wandering too much. After moving on autopilot for the last decade of my life it feels different to be consciously putting one foot in front of the other without worrying about dying after every step.

"Ms. Granger, I assume that you will be able to handle things from here?" My boss, an older man with a withered smile stood in the doorway of the office. His hand rested on the freshly painted frame - this office had been rebuilt entirely following the destruction caused by the war - and he held a rather large coffee mug lazily in the other hand, which made him seem all the more relaxed. His personality translated into the work atmosphere, that much I could already tell. Relaxation is something, above all, that I am grateful for in everything that has come after the war.

"Yes of course," I said somewhat stiffly, before persuading myself to match his relaxed demeanor, "and thank you, again, for everything Mr. Alderdice." Sometimes my voice doesn't really sound like my voice anymore. It lacks the usual shrillness that I have always been known - and bullied - for.

"You have no reason to thank me, Ms. Granger, I am merely repaying you a favor. You helped save the wizarding world, the least I can do is offer you a job." He offered a warm smile before winking and disappearing down the hall to seek out whatever kind of chaos would present itself to him next. He is like Dumbledore in that way, I think. But maybe it is just the twinkle in his eyes that reminds me of Albus.

I was beyond happy, beyond grateful, but mostly I was beyond relieved. This depression the wizarding world was in for so long has shattered, with only small shards remaining to remind us of the terror that used to be. But life can be peaceful now, and it can be simple. I can be in love with Ron and not worry about losing him every time I turn my head. Harry is finally safe, and he can, for the first time in his life, feel true happiness without worrying about it being snatched away from him. Everything can go as planned now. No interruptions by some bald headed, no-nosed, snake tongued freak. Just bliss.

And then there is this job. A publisher. Getting paid to read and fall through countless rabbit holes that each story brings? It is every bookworm's dream. Although it is considerably less intense than my life has been since starting at Hogwarts when I was eleven, I can say that it is a very welcomed change.

I placed the final stack of pencils in their place and stood back to admire my work. I had a new computer settled on the corner of a very large, very old, wooden desk that consumed most of the room. There was also a printer sitting nicely to the side, along with multiple pencil holders filled with various pencils, pens, and markers that had undoubtedly been accumulated by the office over time. What I most looked forward to, though, was the holder filled exclusively with red felt-tip pens that I knew would be my partner-in-crime while I worked here. There was also a stack of freshly printed manuscripts which stood a few inches high, that I really could not wait to get my hands on. For the first time, everything truly was coming together.

Like puzzle pieces.

No no, that is too cliche.

Like pieces of a…mosaic?

"Granger?" I stood slightly frozen as a rush of cold almost knocked the breath out of me. I knew that voice. That voice that had taunted and teased me for years and years on end, whose bitter laughs followed Harry and Ron around the halls and grounds of Hogwarts. The taunting, snarling, fighting, and general venom that surely followed after he spoke. And with the voice there were always the eyes. The same eyes that matched mine, for a split second, as I fell under his aunt's unforgivable curse. Normally I would not have been so surprised, mostly just perturbed, but I could have sworn he was in Azkaban with his damned father.

But here he is. The frigid voice with the icy eyes to match. So much for bliss.

I clear my throat slightly, a nervous habit that I certainly was not fond of, and turn around slowly, trying to prepare myself for his hateful glare while also maintaining some semblance of my composure. But I never would have expected, and nobody could have prepared me for what I did see. It shattered my bubbling hatred into microscopic pieces, dust if you will, that could have easily been taken by the wind.

He was sad, so sad, and seemed completely broken. In all the years I had known him I had never seen such a fracturedness grace his usually aristocratically stiff features. His striking platinum hair was up on ends and the sickly deep purple under his eyes contrasted with his otherwise marble skin. His clothes were pristine though, very on brand for him, but it could not outshine the crumbling facade that he was trying so desperately to present to the world.

"Malfoy." My voice came out tinier than I had wanted, but I did not show him that I was surprised by his presence. I nodded slightly towards him, an acknowledgement that I hoped came off professional and emotionless. Despite my best efforts, tension hung in the air like thick smoke; it was suffocating me.

"You work here?" He asks casually, running his hand through his hair, raking it out of his eyes. He had a thick stack of file folders in one of his arms that he held tightly to his body. Of course, my infamous curiosity made me think about the contents of those folders for a moment too long, and he raised his eyebrows in anticipation for my answer after such a prolonged silence.

"Uhhh...I uhh...yeah, yeah I do?" I stuttered and his perfect blond eyebrow shot up. So much for being professional and emotionless. Who even am I anymore?

"You don't sound too sure." He asked with a smirk on his face. "I am, thank you," my cheeks flamed, "it just surprised me that you work here, that's all." I snapped and internally cringed at the return of that shrillness that I thought I had moved away from. Deep laughter filled the room, bouncing off the walls and echoing into the hallway. It took a moment for me to realize that the laughter was his.

"I'm surprised that you aren't staying at home and being Weasel's perfect little housewife." He said it with confidence and stiff posture, staring down at me with what reminded me of the same look of disgust he saved just for me in school.

Nevertheless, I could not deny that familiar stinging in my chest and uneasiness in my stomach that was always such a direct reaction to his insults and gross remarks. I hated that his poisonous words still had such an impact on me.

"Well, I'm surprised that you aren't in Azkaban. I specifically remember you being a death eater." I spat without looking at him, shuffling that stack of manuscripts on my desk. I knew that statement would hurt him, and I think that is why I said it the way that I did. His body became rigid, and his smirk dropped, he stood still for a second before sharply turning and leaving my office and closing the door softly behind.

My hands came up and rubbed my face. I suddenly felt extremely out of place in the office I had begun to find such a blissful comfort in. Suddenly everything seemed muddled and complicated once again. Could I have been any more heartless?

The time after the war was meant for restorative healing, for driving out and completely eradicating any hatred that could polarize people like it did when Voldemort was around. As part of the holy Golden Trio, I was the face of that. I had given so many speeches, participated in so many interviews, hosted so many collaborative talks about unity and cohesion, and here I was spewing the same type of hatred that I had tried so desperately to destroy.

I sat in my office chair and turned on the computer and began sorting the stack of manuscripts by date and length. I plucked a red pen from the holder on the corner of my desk and set to work. Disappointment settled into my heart as I thought about my actions. I admire my unwavering ability to stand up for myself, but I do not like who I am when I am angry.

I try to push down the disappointment and focus on my work, but the sinking feeling does not go away.

Hello everyone! I am trying to get back into writing and I have always loved writing about Dramione! I hope you guys enjoy this story that I am going to try reeeeeally hard to post regularly. Please leave feedback too, I love that!

Much love!