The hair tonic Hermione found on her desk the morning following the most embarrassing verbal slip of her life must have been one of her coworker's poor idea of a joke. Her hair was just fine, thank you very much. And while it would doubtfully ever be tamed, these days she at least knew how to combat the slings and arrows of outrageous frizz that had plagued her youth.

Upon actual inspection, Hermione found that the fancy little bottle was not Sleekeazy's. It was something far more expensive, very possibly bespoke, and had a high probability of containing ingredients like dragon liver and a veela's entire, hyper-condensed, first-born child.

She didn't know quite what to make of the pearlescent concoction until she spied the card it was sitting on.

In case you were wondering.

-Lusciously Yours

Hermione's breath caught, her fists curled in fury- he wouldn't dare! - and yet…

Her face flamed like she was some fourth year confronted with her first crush. Which was patently absurd. There was no part of her that found that infuriating prat of an allegedly reformed Death Eater remotely attractive.

So much for normal. Hermione swallowed, glaring at the deceptively innocuous bottle sitting on the corner of her desk. She simply needed to think this through logically.

There was absolutely no way in any universe Lucius Malfoy sent her this hair tonic in good faith.

Fucking with her psyche, yes. A subtle jab at her- now much more manageable once she had learned to stop brushing it when it was dry and only use a comb when wet- hair, definitely.

He was messing with her. That much was painfully obvious. But to what end? This was, likely, a remarkably expensive way to poke fun at her, and Malfoy seemed the type to enjoy the fruits of his misdeeds in person. The hairs at the nape of her neck prickled.

"Homenum revelio," Hermione cast, to no effect. Then she cast it several more times throughout her office and twice more in the hallway.

Nothing. No one was watching, except young Sebastian peering around the corner after hearing her exit her office.

Hermione was always notoriously early. She doubted anyone had witnessed Malfoy slip in if she hadn't managed to catch him herself. For all she knew, he could have delivered it last night. Or done so by proxy.

She had always maintained an open door policy, but perhaps she had been remiss in not warding her office in her absence, or at least warding it after hours? The only question was whether she could justify locking everyone out. There were the occasional beast related emergencies she might be called in for, after all.

No, warding her office door wasn't the solution, though she would be taking a second look at further securing her desk and file cabinets.

It pained her to admit that perhaps she was wrong, not about him making fun of her, but of his need to witness her duress firsthand. He'd slipped Tom Riddle's diary into Ginny's cauldron and never followed up on it again. Malfoy might just get his jollies from knowing he'd unsettled her without having to grace her with his presence.

But with the thought of the long dead diary fresh in her mind, she returned to her office, shutting the door behind her. Hermione sat down in her ethically sourced- she had an example to set, after all- dragon leather chair peering at the ornate, suspiciously innocuous, bottle.

It didn't feel dark, nor did it have any sort of enchantment on it to try to tempt her to use it.

Malfoy surely wouldn't be foolish enough to try to harm her when the method could be so easily traced back to him.

Every diagnostic and identification spell she cast returned the same result. The container wasn't cursed, as far as she could tell the ingredients were genuine, and there weren't any charms of malfeasance on the contents. It was simply very expensive, nice smelling hair tonic, nothing more.

She was tempted to throw the entire vial in the rubbish, but she hated wasting things- a residual effect of a time on the run when supplies got thin.

But the last thing she wanted was anyone asking about the bottle, so she slipped it into her beaded bag for further analysis- as well as possible donation or destruction, and pushed the whole ordeal from her mind, disregarding the fact that no, the next time she saw him, her slip would most definitely not be forgotten.

For now, she would simply wait, and watch, and plan.

"Er. Miss Granger?"

"I've asked you to call me Hermione, Sebastian," Hermione sighed, not liking the cowed look in her personal assistant's eyes and dreading whatever he had to say next, "What is it?"

"Right. Of course. Miss Granger, Mr. Malfoy is waiting for you in your office. He said you were expecting him."

She was, in fact, not expecting him. At least, not at this specific time. Certainly not after the hellish morning she had just had.

"Ah." Hermione blinked, her face perfectly blank.

"I tried to make him wait out here, but he was very persistent-"

I bet he was, she thought uncharitably.

"It's fine, Sebastian. Thank you, for the heads up."

Hermione glared at her office door.

It had been three days since her unfortunate verbal slip, and two since the unsolicited 'gift' she'd discovered on her desk. She had no desire to speak to the wizard usurping the sanctity of her office, but she couldn't very well simply ask him to leave. They likely had actual business to attend to.

She made an about face.

"Miss Granger?" Sebastian asked as she passed his desk again.

"Just fetching some tea for my guest," she assured cheerily.

This was a task she could have, of course, foisted off onto Sebastian, but Hermione derived a minuscule, though assuredly deserved, petty pleasure out of making Lucius Malfoy wait.

Making her way to the employee break room, she put the electric kettle on- brought from home, of course, and taking advantage of one of the few electrical outlets she'd insisted upon. The other outlet was for the laptop in her office as she'd yet to perfect a charm that could simultaneously extend the battery life from four hours and not fry her computer. She decided after the second battery mishap that they were simply too expensive to experiment on. The Faraday shielding charm that kept her muggle devices from being fried on magical principle was complicated enough.

She thought muggles really did have the right of it with such modern conveniences, though; the electric kettle heated the water so much more perfectly and precisely than warming charms. The fact that it would take three precious minutes of planning to do so was merely an added bonus.

Hermione had initially expected this incursion on Tuesday, after the arrival of the Tonic of Dubious Intent, but when Malfoy never showed up, she realized he was giving her time to stew. Therefore, it was no surprise when he again neglected to appear on Wednesday.

She had, in all honesty, anticipated that he would finally show up to torment her today or, at latest, tomorrow; however, she had erroneously anticipated having the home-pitch advantage- ugh, was she seriously thinking in quidditch metaphors? Regardless, she had expected to be safely ensconced in her office, with Malfoy on the outside having to knock and enter at her leisure.

But the morning brief ran long, and then she'd been pulled into an impromptu stand-up on expectations for her hand-picked DRCMC legislative assistants thus leaving her office unguarded but for her novice PA, and definitely out of the running for Malfoy wrangler, Mr. Mangle.

It had been a rookie mistake.

Hermione pulled two mismatched mugs, the community bowl of various tea bags, the milk and sugar she'd brought in from the muggle shops, and the kettle itself once it clicked off when it was done heating, and placed them all on the tray.

She was going to give Lucius the most passive aggressive, painfully mugglish, but unfailingly polite welcome to this unsolicited arrangement possible.

Hermione stopped short once she had gathered everything together.

If she really was going to have to work with him for the legislative session on getting her proposals approved to even be sent to the Wizengamot, perhaps this was the wrong move. It was too obvious a snub, and while she had her moments of brash action without forethought, she'd tried to grow past that. Or at least make her snubs more subtle.

If Malfoy could be subtle and sneaky, so could she. She could be perfectly happy to know she made his tea the muggle way, and if he enjoyed it, all the better.

She regretfully pulled the electric kettle from the tray and poured out two steaming cups. Hermione glanced around to make sure no one had snuck into the break room while she wasn't paying attention, and she pulled her special, rather expensive, blend from its hiding spot. Letting it steep forestalled her impending meeting another three and a half minutes.

Making him wait was a power move in its own right, but she could only dither for so long before it became either cowardice or inexcusably rude.

So, Hermione gathered the mugs of tea, as well as her little carton of milk and packets of sugar- ubiquitous enough as they were in the middle of London after all, and made her way back to her office.

She had half expected the great platinum-blond intruder to be sitting imperiously behind her desk, perhaps rifling through her unwarded files.

He was sitting imperiously, granted- with one leg crossed over the other and that horrid cane spanning his lap, but it was in one of the two visitor's chairs opposite her desk. She was less than thrilled to find he had both charmed the cushions green and altered the style to something more… Rococo? Baroque? Ostentatious, for sure.

Hermione bit back her grimace. Time to play nice.

Monday didn't happen. The hair tonic didn't happen. She repeated in her head, assuming the most neutral facial expression she could muster.

"Good morning, Mr. Malfoy. Sorry if I kept you waiting, but I thought some tea might be in order. To what do I owe the-" don't say displeasure, don't say displeasure! "Pleasure of your visit?"

"No trouble at all, Miss Granger," he said graciously, accepting the cup from her tray, but neglecting to answer her question. She placed the tray in easy reach of them both and passed him to take her own seat.

Hermione grabbed her cup and took a sip- a show of faith that it was not poisoned, as if she would be the one poisoning anyone out of the two of them, and he followed suit after fixing it to his liking. Malfoy's brows quirked in surprise.

"Darjeeling," he said with an appreciative lilt, "My, my, aren't you ever full of surprises?"

"I do endeavor," Hermione replied, her lips tilting with the briefest of smiles while getting a feeling for the flow of their impending conversation. His innuendo and rude gift would be unmentioned, but omnipresent, entities.

He let the silence hang for a full minute, seemingly content to nurse his tea, observing her over the rim in a way that she found vaguely disconcerting.

Hermione broke first. She wanted to get this meeting over with, and being stubborn was, for once, counterproductive.

"Your agenda, Mr. Malfoy?" she reminded.

"Oh, this is an informal meeting, really, just to establish a working timetable of meetings and expectations," He said as he placed the half-finished cup on the corner of her desk.

"In keeping with committee scheduling, Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays at say, ten, would be best."

Hermione's eyes were drawn to where his ridiculously ringed fingers idly fiddled with the serpent head of his awful cane. Inexplicably flustered, she quickly looked away, pulling her meticulously color coded planner in front of her. Enduring his presence twice a week would be difficult, but three times a week would be untenable.

"Ten won't do," she contradicted, her eyes focusing firmly on her calendar, "Actually, those days are completely booked. I can meet on Tuesdays and Thursdays at eleven."

"I'm afraid I'm otherwise occupied at that time. Both days," he replied airily, staring straight at her. "And thrice a week is standard."

Hermione ground her teeth. Nothing would be simple with this man. Like hell she was going to rearrange her schedule to suit him.

"Of the two of us, one is a department head with multiple inter and intradepartmental obligations, and the other is you," she grit out.

His answering grin was gleeful. Hermione instantly regretted her feeble power play brought on by her temper.

"My, my, Miss Granger, already succumbing to the stressors of your post? It is a pity that you're not better able to manage your time, but I suppose that's to be expected for-"

"I would be very careful of the next words to come out of your mouth, Malfoy."

"Someone so inexperienced."

Hermione swallowed, trying to control her traitorously quick mouth.

"I can manage my time and duties just fine," she replied, leaving off the implied: you insufferable prat, "I simply only have so many open spaces in my calendar to entertain the… restrictive conditions the Wizengamot has placed upon this project."

He inclined his head magnanimously, "Understandable, my dear. Mondays, Wednesdays, Fridays, half four."

Hermione grimaced.

With the Balanced Life initiative the ministry had put in place a year prior, all official meetings were to begin no later than half three, thus allowing workers to complete their duties prior to day's end without running over. Hermione generally reserved that time for planning and unofficial meetings. It was, therefore, free. She detested end of day meetings, preferring the invigoration and attention of morning.

"Fine," she agreed, not quite letting go of the tension between them, but she recognized that this was likely the only solution they might agree on. At least temporarily. It was the solution that would get him out of her office before she started hexing him, at any rate. "If that's all-"

"It would be best to go ahead and outline the possible options to be voted on," Malfoy said imperiously, ignoring her attempt at dismissal, "Then you can set your underlings to drafting."

She doubted he would let anything she put forth be presented, much less voted on. Hermione had the creeping realization that he had agreed to this assignment simply to waste her time.

This was what she had to look forward to for nearly anything she intended to accomplish now and in the future, and if she couldn't handle one relatively defanged Lucius Malfoy, her career aspirations were kaput.

Taking a bracing breath and snapping a lid back on her temper, Hermione unlocked her third desk drawer, pulling out a muggle A4 ring binder that she had magically extended to seven inches thick, and based by the straining at the bind, she was due to expand it again.

"This is my current list of proposals, and a copy for you to peruse at your leisure," she said, pulling out a second identical binder, pushing it across her desk toward him. "I've charmed it to reflect any notes or suggestions you make back on my original."

Of course, if he tried to destroy it or do anything otherwise untoward, he might find a few nasty surprises waiting for him.

"You can't be serious," he said, eyeing her binder with sneering contempt.

"Oh, I am very serious, Mr. Malfoy," Hermione said, feigning innocence and almost succeeding. If there was anything she remembered about his son from their younger days, it was his allergy to hard work. She imagined the apple didn't fall far from the tree. If he was going to waste her time with this farce, she could very well play tit-for-tat.

A subtle grin bloomed across Lucius's face, simultaneously insouciant and brimming with challenge.

That was not the reaction she had been going for.

"Very well, Miss Granger. Let's get started," he said, pulling the massively overstuffed binder to his side of the desk and delicately flipping through it like it was made of flobberworm mucus.

His acceptance was… disappointingly anticlimactic.

Which was a good thing, she tried to remind herself. Getting into an altercation with Lucius Malfoy would not be a good look for her.

Until-

"This isn't parchment."

"Ah, no. Cellulose paper," Hermione smiled. "Not exactly environmentally friendly, but much more economical than parchment. I'd think you would commend it, given your budgetary concerns. I've the whole department using it."

She thought she noticed the faintest tick in his jaw. It was subtle, but given how they were pointedly not mentioning the other things that had happened earlier in the week, much less the near argument they'd just had simply trying to schedule their next meeting, Hermione counted it as a much deserved point in her favor.

"And where shall we begin with this little crusade of yours?"

"Well, Mr. Malfoy, as you're the one that will decide what goes for a vote, I was thinking I might have your input on Monday. There are one thousand three hundred and seventy four memos, organized alphabetically by class of creature, noting briefs of the relevant proposals as well as the current legal standings and the last time they were updated."

"How very… thorough," he said archly, "And you expect me to read this entire volume by our next meeting?"

Hermione didn't expect much of anything aside from contempt and obstruction. It was perhaps a bit ill-advised to share the entirety of her creature plans with the man sitting across from her, but she wasn't overly worried. She had made some additional safeguards as soon as she learned who she would be forced to work with.

"Well, it's part of your Wizengamot committee duties, is it not? To be informed? To do your due diligence?"

She was baiting him, but Hermione found she couldn't help herself. She wanted, no- needed, to ruffle Lucius Malfoy just as much as he had ruffled her .

A task she was failing at, if his smug smile was any indication.

"Careful, Miss Granger. If I did not know better, I'd say this is your feeble attempt at running me off. I must say, I expected more."

"I don't understand why they sent you to begin with." Hermione snapped, the last shreds of her veneer of civility falling by the wayside.

"Sent me? My, no. You're labouring under a gross misapprehension, my dear. I volunteered."

Hermione sat rigidly in her chair, her fingernails digging into the armrests, abstractly grateful they were made of dragon hide and not something more easily damaged.

"Why," she demanded.

"I take my role in guiding the future of wizarding Britain seriously. Very seriously."

Without conscious thought, Hermione stood, leaning over her desk and glowering down at the man in front of her. She had successfully left her schoolyard house prejudices in the past until him . Everything about him was so infuriatingly Slytherin that she was moments away from her hair sparking as well as casting something she might regret. From a strategic standpoint, only. Lucius Malfoy deserved any hex or curse that came his way.

"You'll find, Mr. Malfoy, that. So. Do. I." Hermione grit out.

"Excellent." He purred, leaning forward, briefly pushing himself into her space under the guise of standing. Her only options were to recoil or hold her ground, and she had already let him get the better of her far too frequently in this meeting. Hermione stood unyielding, which brought her into close enough proximity that she could scent him- an unfortunately enticing combination of sandalwood, vanilla, and spice.

"This has been most illuminating, Miss Granger, but I really must be getting on to my other duties for now."

He snagged the massive binder, tapping it with the head of his cane to shrink it wordlessly, and if she was correct, using the wrong end of his wand as the magical conduit. Well, that was novel, but like everything else associated with Lucius Malfoy, profoundly irritating.

He swept away dramatically in a swirl of his extravagant robes. Lucius paused as he opened the door, turning back to her, eyes full of mischief.

"I look forward to our next meeting, Hermione, and please do use that hair tonic. It was a gift. It might even help with the sparking; that simply can't be good for your hair."

Hermione's right eye twitched, and she belatedly realized she might actually have growled for him to leave.

As soon as the door slipped closed on his muted laugh, she cast a hasty muffling charm and screamed, glaring at his chair and wondering how precisely she had lost any and all control.