Hermione gently eased herself into the overstuffed reading chair in her sitting room, clutching the latest edition of Perfectly Prepared Potions that had arrived earlier in the week. She sighed remembering how relatively peaceful her life had been when she ordered the tome from Flourish and Blotts not even a fortnight ago.

At the time, she had visions of sidling into a cozy nook with Crookshanks after a long week at the Ministry and tucking into the latest works of one Bridget Clausius, expert in the field of potions and consequently one of Hermione's favorite authors. After the firestorm of the past 24 hours, reading didn't exactly take on the same languid enjoyment it otherwise would have, however it was admittedly one of her only foolproof coping mechanisms for internal conflict.

Following Harry's abrupt departure, Hermione contemplated heading into the Ministry to get a jump start on her mounting caseload, but she had vowed to herself long ago after a rather debilitating bout with work fatigue that her weekends would unfailingly be dedicated to her rejuvenation. So far she had stuck to that mantra and was not about to deviate from this gratifying personal policy simply because Malfoy had chosen to show up on the scene and ruffle her perfectly prone feathers. With that in mind, she elevated her legs onto the matching azure ottoman and commenced what was sure to be an exceedingly pleasurable afternoon.

She should have known that it wouldn't be that simple.

Within the first five minutes, she had re-read the first few pages no less than a dozen times each. With each backtrack, she grew increasingly agitated by the persistent thoughts that sidled unbridled through her mind like vexing gossamer threads, each one centered around the combative imbecile who was to be her unwelcome DMLE partner. To be fair, she was well aware that Malfoy was far from an imbecile. His intellectual prowess was unmatched by anyone at Hogwarts, apart from her own. He always had a particular affinity for the acquisition of knowledge...perhaps that was one of the reasons they both found themselves at loggerheads throughout much of their time at school. That and the relentless bullying she and her friends suffered at the hands of Malfoy and his cronies. She felt herself growing increasingly restless as each unfettered thought cantered effortlessly over the towering walls she had built within her mind.

Despite the considerable passage of time since the war, she had remarkable difficulty reconciling Malfoy's role in the Dark Lord's sinister schemes- like how he could have allowed Death Eaters into the school to rain relentless rounds of terror on his fellow classmates. No matter that Harry told her Malfoy lowered his wand on the Astronomy Tower that fateful night, Hermione certainly had not forgotten, nor would she ever forget, the torture inflicted upon her at Malfoy Manor while a seemingly unaffected Malfoy looked on. Her forearm burned a searing flame of outrage at the mere recollection. She felt her heart begin to undulate a manic tattoo in her chest before she finally shook herself from the unpleasant memory.

Her eyes swept over to the fireplace where they landed on the pile of ash left behind in Harry's wake. For some reason, they reminded her of Dumbledore's phoenix, Fawkes, who according to Harry, was routinely reduced to no more than microscopic rubble following a slow and steady decline. And yet somehow he would rise from the ashes and once again be reborn into sanguine splendor.

She wished she could be more like Fawkes, rising from the ashes of her defiled past with Malfoy. While she had made a concerted effort over the past few years not to dwell on the things she couldn't change, that proved to be impossible now that Malfoy had been thrust back into her life.

How could she salvage the charred remains of their turbulent past long enough to see this case through?

She didn't have to wait long for the object of her ire to reappear, as she heard an abrasive tapping on her kitchen window that roused her from her melancholic daze. The ensuing thunderous pecking and scraping startled her, causing her to wonder if a mammoth parliament of rambunctious owls had escaped the Diagon owlery and managed to find their way to her sill.

Rising from her chair, she padded over to the window, only to find a solitary Eagle-owl scowling at her from beyond the pane. She considered not opening the window to allow him inside, but knew the earsplitting ruckus would only continue. Who on Earth would own such an abomination?

As she cautiously maneuvered the latch on the framework, the owl paused the cacophony and gave her a look of impatience that would rival Professor Snape. Upon raising the window wide enough for the unruly beast to enter, she took a measured step back and cautiously watched to see what would happen next.

The dandified creature puffed out its chest, quickly schooling its features and swaggering onto the kitchen ledge. Gallantly proffering its leg for her to unseat the attached missive, the Eagle-owl bore its eyes into hers with unconcealed annoyance. She had never seen behavior like this before in any of the owls she'd encountered since entering the wizarding world all those years ago. How peculiar. Without pause, she unraveled the tasteful silver twine and gently seized the accompanying parchment.

"Thank you," she managed, while carefully reaching her hand into the treat jar to capture a small token of appreciation for the now patiently awaiting postman. "You certainly are a persistent little fellow, aren't you?" She held out her hand with the tasty morsel, but the Eagle-owl only peered down with disdain at her offering.

Immediately looking away, he set his sights on what lay beyond the treat jar, glossy orange eyes landing on the counter where a plate with the contents from Hermione's breakfast from that morning still lay. He hooted in expectation.

"You want my toad in a hole?" Hermione asked incredulously, looking back and forth with intrigue between her plate and the owl. "Well, I guess I don't see why not," she added uncertainly.

Walking over to the sink to pluck a sausage from what remained of her meal, she wondered to herself if the owl was being properly cared for at its home. Why else would he be so hungry this early in the day? She held out the savory snack to her persevering pal as he quickly gobbled it up in one go, looking back at her imploringly.

Hermione was hardly proficient in interpreting an owl's mannerisms, but if she had to guess, it appeared he was asking for more.

With blooming amusement, she swiftly made her way back to the sink and rather than bring him another morsel, she carried her entire plate over to the ledge and placed it down in front of him. She could have sworn she saw him smirk before he dipped his head down toward the plate and began consuming its contents.

As he indulged himself, Hermione unrolled the post to reveal its contents. She scanned the beautiful scroll which elegantly glided across the parchment, wondering what witch or wizard authored such a flawless script.

It wasn't until her eyes reached the bottom of the missive that she had her answer...D.M.

Of course.

It appeared he couldn't even be bothered to sign his entire name.

How very typical.

But it wasn't his infuriating lack of manners that had her temper igniting this time. It was the audacious demand he made for her to meet him at the Ministry, on her day off nonetheless! As if she had nothing better to do than drop everything and oblige his every whim! Forget about the fact that she didn't exactly have anything to drop at the moment, but he didn't know that. She reread the message a second time more out of habit than to assuage her mounting frustration.

It was only then that she discovered a detail she likely missed in her blinding aggravation.

"Meet me in our office."

Her eyes lingered on the one word she was certain was written in error.

Our.

Her heart pounded so unmercifully she could feel throbbing in her ears as a cauldron of anger began to roil in her chest, threatening to tear through her throat in the form of a strangled scream.

Her face heated flames that licked her cheeks and before she could stop herself, a deafening wail escaped her mouth.

"Ahhhhhhhhhhh!"

Upon hearing the hair-raising shriek, the startled Eagle-owl abruptly stretched out its broad wings and began flapping them at a punishing speed through the open window, knocking the nearly empty plate onto the floor in its haste.

The shattering of porcelain on her kitchen tile was the last thing she heard before storming through her flat toward the Floo.