"Granger," Draco greeted, with an exasperated tone that only scratched the surface of his irritation. He schooled his features to avoid the scowl he felt creeping in, settling for pressing his lips together in a thin line.

Draco saw a multitude of emotions swim across her face before it landed on an expression of understanding and frustration to rival his own.

"You're the Auror Tonks wants me to teach?" Granger finally asked, incredulous.

Draco was very curious to know who was pursing their lips harder. He suspected Mr. Hufflepuff was going to get quite the show, if he proved to be quick-witted enough to understand it.

"The teaching," Draco sneered, "is quite unnecessary, I assure you. I only came down here as a courtesy and to say support from Muggle Affairs is no longer required."

"Is that so?" Hermione crossed her arms, "is that the official position of the Auror department?"

"The Auror department is first and foremost concerned with solving cases," replied Draco. "And as the only representative from said department in this room, I can confidently say that your assistance is not required."

Granger turned around and pulled a piece of paper off the top of the pile she had carried into the room. She cleared her throat.

"I should warn you, Hermione," she read aloud, "this particular Auror is used to working alone, and will try to dissuade you from collaborating on the case. I am reaching out to you specifically not only because you are a brilliant witch with undeniable experience fighting dark wizards," Hermione glanced up meaningfully at this line, "but because I know you will see through his particular charms and not be swayed by them. We need you on this case, whether he is willing to admit it or not."

She finished reading with a self-satisfied smile and shot Draco a pointed look that spoke to her perceived personal triumph.

"Need is an overstatement," Draco ground out unconvincingly. Granger had him backed into a corner and she knew it. It was time to try a different tactic. "You can't seriously want to work on this case with me," he continued, "surely you have much more important things to be doing…" he trailed off, gesturing to the mountain of books on her desk.

Granger crossed her arms and arched a brow at him. He unsuccessfully stopped himself from noticing that her brows were quite artfully manicured, a contrast from how he remembered her during their school years.

"I do not want to work with you," Granger replied frankly. 'But if I can do something to stop a dark wizard I will. Not to mention Tonks is a dear friend and if she asks for help I will not turn away from her. You have very little to do with it."

Draco opened his mouth to reply, but Granger was not done.

"But come to think of it, teaching you how to behave like a Muggle might be one of the most challenging endeavors I've had to face. Though I'm afraid it could very well be a lost cause."

Draco's emotions warred with each other. He knew he was being baited, but he could not stand the insult to his competency. Well, two could play at that game.

"You helped defeat Voldemort," Draco replied, ignoring the way Mr Hufflepuff flinched at the name, "and you think teaching me how to act like a muggle might be your greatest feat? Are you sure you're not losing your touch, Granger?"

Her eyes flashed, and Draco felt satisfied for a moment that her ego was perhaps as large and fragile as his own, but she schooled her expression quickly.

"I guess we'll find out, won't we?" Granger asked, and Draco had to stop himself from shivering at her menacing tone and the way her brown eyes bore into him.

"Fine," spat Draco, "when do we start then, professor?"

Her smile held a promise, and for the first time Draco began to feel a bit nervous. He was brought back to the feeling he had walking in to take his NEWTs, the anxiety that perhaps all his studying had been a fever dream and that he might not know anything at all.

"We can start tomorrow," Granger replied. "I haven't quite finished with the curriculum yet, and I still need some time to review the cases–Tonks told me to ask you for your notes. I'll send you a memo with where to meet." She gave a dismissive wave, not unlike the one he'd seen from Tonks earlier, though without any of the feigned kindness.

Draco assured himself that he won the interaction as he stalked out of the room without deigning to respond. He was nearly able to convince himself that it was his choice to leave at that moment, that she was standing in her office reeling at his insults while he emerged confident and victorious, hangover notwithstanding. This worked as long as he ignored the fact that he had entered that office with the goal of leaving without a partner, and not the goal of proving to Hermione Granger and everyone else that he would be the most convincing Muggle they had ever encountered.

Draco fell into his chair and let his head fall with a soft thunk onto his desk. He groaned, regretting the action almost instantly. He let his eyes close, enjoying the blissful darkness away from the flickering lights around the office, tuning out the buzz of conversations and the shuffling of papers. Vaguely, he registered the sound of caster wheels spinning against the hardwood. They were getting louder.

"Alright, mate?"

Draco slowly turned his head towards the voice and saw none other than the Weasel looking down at him, head tilted and brows together with mild concern.

"No," deadpanned Draco, "but I doubt it's anything you can help with."

Weasley raised his hands in mock surrender as Potter came up behind and clapped him on the shoulder.

"Everything alright?" Potter's look of concern was more convincing than Weasleys.

"I'm hungover, and just found out I'll be working with this one's," he lazily gestured towards Weasley, "girlfriend, for who knows how long. Just leave me be."

Potter cocked his head in a nearly identical manner to Weasley, before turning to look at his friend. "Since when do you have a girlfriend?" Accused Potter, "and why does Malfoy know about her before me?"

Weasel was affronted. "I don't have a girlfriend!" He shouted–Draco couldn't help his smirk when several Aurors looked over to give Weasley pitying looks–"I don't know what he's talking about!"

"Granger," ground out Draco. "I thought you two were a thing," he finished with a light shrug, nearly bursting into laughter at the mottled red Weasley's face had gone.

"She–we aren't–I mean–" Weasel sputtered.

"What Ron's trying to say," Potter stepped in, "is that they aren't together anymore. Broke up, what was it, April last year?"

Weasel nodded mutely.

"Taking it well, then?" Draco teased, finding satisfaction as Weasel's expression went from embarrassed to offended.

"We're still friends," Weasley muttered in response, "not that it's any of your business, but it was mutual."

"Ah, Potter must have transfigured your face into a tomato then, my apologies. Quite clever magic, that."

Draco had intended the remark as an insult, but instead Potter burst into loud guffawing laughter and gave him a big clap on the shoulder while choking out "good one". Draco's only response was to roll his eyes.

"I don't see how working with Hermione is a bad thing," offered Weasley. "She's really the brightest witch in, oh, at least a generation. Harry and I might not have even graduated without her."

"Now that last part I believe," replied Draco, which somehow got Potter roaring even more.

Draco idly wondered what he had done wrong these last few years to make these two idiots so comfortable with him so as not to understand that he was disparaging them.

"Ron's right," said Potter, pulling himself together enough to participate once more in the conversation. "If Hermione is working with you on the case, I'm sure you'll have it wrapped up in no time."

Draco frowned at the implication that the case would only be wrapped up quickly because Granger was participating.

"Potter!" yelled a voice at the front of the room. The three of them turned to see Tonks leaning out of her office.

"Well, I guess that's my cue," Potter sighed, "Good luck, mate."

"You'll need it," muttered Weasley under his breath before rolling his chair back towards the front of the room, using his wand to propel him forwards.

Draco hardly felt reassured. He couldn't deny that Hermione was a brilliant witch. He had spent most of their school years resenting the fact that a muggle-born consistently bested him academically. She had hardly helped her case by being a truly insufferable know-it-all. The most vivd memories he had of her (apart from when they were insulting each other, and the one incident of physical assault that he did his best to not think about) were of her hand shooting into the air so quickly that it created a subtle breeze for those in proximity to her desk. The idea of her doing the teaching was, simply put, horrifying.

Putting his many, many, reservations aside, Draco pulled out the case files and started getting to work. Taking up his quill and some fresh parchment, he spent the next several hours copying case files, detailing his thoughts on each case, and drawing up a summary of his current theory.

Hand smudged with ink stains, he folded up the documents neatly before enchanting the papers to deliver themselves to Muggle Affairs, Hermione Granger, Office Thirteen.

For the second day in a row, Draco woke up to the persistent pecking of an owl. With a groan, he forced his eyes open to the bright daylight streaming into his bedroom. Seeing Draco come back to life, the grey barn owl had graciously ceased its assault and was now perched expectantly on his nightstand, a scroll neatly tied to a leg it extended towards him. Draco untied the note with a scowl as the owl gave what sounded like an offended "hoot" before exiting through his open window.

Draco pushed himself upright in bed and rubbed the sleep from his eyes. The dreary grey light of early morning shone dimly through the open window. Looking at his watch, he saw it was 6:45 in the morning, an unreasonable hour for anyone to be sending letters, he thought. As if to punish the letter, and of course, its sender, Draco propelled himself off the bed and left the note on his nightstand where it could think about what it had done.

He went about his morning routine, moving bleary-eyed through his cramped London flat. He put on the kettle for tea, and set about making himself an extra hearty breakfast of scrambled eggs and sausage links while it boiled. Usually he would opt for a quick nip of porridge, but he was feeling rather leisurely, and he was already up an hour earlier than normal.

Breakfast and tea in hand, he sat at the worn oak dining table. Opening up the Daily Prophet, he quickly skipped over the main headlines in favor of the gossip section, engrossing himself in the latest scandal (a tell-all from a witch who claims to have been in a passionate affair with the Keeper of the Chudley Cannons). The Keeper declined to comment on the story.

When Draco looked back down at his watch, it was only 7:15. He groaned, begrudgingly acknowledging that perhaps a proper morning routine wasn't the superhuman feat he convinced himself it was as he rushed out of the flat most mornings. With a dramatic sigh he pushed away from the table, leaving his dirty dishes in the sink on his way back to the bedroom where the letter awaited, unbothered by his procrastination.

Unrolling the scroll, he read a tight, neat script:

"8:00, meet me at 14-28 Oxford St, London. Try to look like a Muggle.

- H. ".

He didn't recognize the location, other than that it was squarely in Muggle London. Granger didn't seem to give him even that much credit, if she assumed he'd show up on Oxford Street in billowing robes, wand at the ready. Scowling, Draco noticed that she quite kindly gave no indication of the purpose for their field trip. He made a mental note to set some ground rules when he saw her, since she clearly thought she was running this operation.

Draco tossed the letter aside, took the two required steps to his chest of drawers, and began digging through his clothing to find the trousers and shirt he was instructed to purchase when he joined the Auror department, in case his duties necessitated Muggle interaction. He'd only pulled them out a handful of times over the years, and as a result they were untidily shoved in a back corner of the bottom drawer. He grimaced distastefully at the wrinkles before resolving them with a quick flourish of his wand.

Pulling on the not quite freshly laundered outfit, Draco mentally prepared himself for whatever Granger planned for their first day.