The war had ended, but the battle between them never had.
Hermione Granger was used to dealing with Malfoy's sneers and sharp words. What she wasn't prepared for was working alongside him at the Ministry. Forced to collaborate on high-profile cases concerning dark magic artifacts, their partnership was anything but civil.
They both worked in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, forced to share the same office space. It was a large, open-plan room filled with the constant hum of activity—Aurors reviewing reports, investigators discussing cases, and legal experts poring over complex magical legislation. The air was thick with the scent of parchment, ink, and the occasional faint whiff of old magic.
Enchanted windows flickered between different outdoor scenes, as if unable to settle on one, though Hermione barely noticed. Between the towering shelves of case files and the large oak desks surrounding them, the room felt suffocating.
Or maybe that was just Draco Malfoy's presence.
The first few days were hell. Every morning started with an argument, followed by a day filled with biting remarks and tension thick enough to cut with a knife.
Today was no exception.
"Try to keep up, Granger," Draco muttered, flipping through a parchment with a casual flick of his fingers. He was reclined in his chair, looking absurdly at ease despite the seriousness of the case they were handling. He didn't even bother to glance at her as he spoke, which somehow made it even worse.
Hermione's quill snapped between her fingers. "Maybe if you contributed something worthwhile instead of lounging like an entitled brat, we'd actually make progress."
His smirk deepened, something dark flashing in his silver eyes. He set the parchment down and leaned forward slightly, voice dropping into something dangerously smooth. "Oh, Granger, you always did have a mouth on you. Bet you use it just as fiercely in—"
"Finish that sentence, Malfoy, and I swear they'll be scraping your remains off the floor."
Draco chuckled, entirely unfazed. "Such hostility." He stretched, rolling his shoulders as if he'd been doing all the hard work. "And yet, here we are, forced to work together. Who would've thought?"
"Certainly not me," she huffed, snatching the parchment from his hands to inspect it herself. The parchment was warm from his touch, his clean, musky scent lingering faintly on it. She scowled at the ridiculous effect it had on her.
Her workspace was a meticulously organized chaos—files stacked neatly, notes arranged in a precise manner, and her quill ready for use. Draco's side, in contrast, was unsettlingly pristine, as if he barely engaged with the work at all. She had to admit, it made her blood boil.
While she had spent her time finishing her schooling after the war, Draco had made his own path. He hadn't returned to Hogwarts for his final year, choosing instead to complete his N.E.W.T.s through the Ministry's specialized program. By the time Hermione had graduated, Draco had already been an Auror for a year—an annoying fact he'd never let her forget.
It was almost as if he was subtly reminding her that he was ahead, that he had already put in his time and now could afford to coast while she had to prove herself all over again.
"You realize we have to submit our preliminary report by the end of the week?" she asked, flipping through the parchment, scanning his half-written notes.
Draco let out a slow exhale, looking utterly unbothered. "And?"
"And," Hermione said through gritted teeth, "we need to start drafting it now."
He made a dismissive gesture. "You're excellent at reports, Granger. Knock yourself out."
Hermione turned to glare at him. "We are both assigned to this case, Malfoy. That means both of us need to contribute."
Draco merely smirked. "I am contributing."
She scoffed. "How, exactly?"
"I'm giving you something to complain about. Keeps you sharp," he said smoothly, tapping his quill against his chin.
Hermione let out an exasperated groan, throwing her hands up. "Unbelievable."
Draco studied her for a moment, his gaze sharper than usual. Then, he leaned forward, bracing his forearms on the desk. "You know, Granger," he mused, "if you weren't so insufferably stubborn, we might actually make a decent team."
She blinked, caught off guard by the statement. "What's that supposed to mean?"
Draco tilted his head, silver eyes gleaming with something unreadable. "Just an observation. You're quick. Precise. Annoying as hell, but competent."
Hermione frowned, suspicious of the rare—not quite a compliment, but not an insult either. "And you're arrogant, lazy, and entirely too smug for someone who's only here because the Ministry forced you to be."
Draco chuckled, sitting back again. "Ah, but that's where you're wrong, Granger. I chose to be here."
She narrowed her eyes. "Why?"
He didn't answer right away. Instead, he studied her, tapping his fingers against the polished wood of the desk. Then, with an infuriating smirk, he said, "Things aren't always as they seem."
Hermione huffed, shaking her head as she turned back to the parchment. "Cryptic nonsense. Typical."
Draco simply grinned, watching her with that same unreadable expression.
The war was over, but something told Hermione the real battle between them was just beginning.
Days passed in a blur of tension. Hermione's life had fallen into a strange, unsettling rhythm. She spent her days in the bustling offices of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, poring over reports, following leads, and, most frustratingly, working alongside Draco Malfoy. Their conversations were laced with barbed comments, thinly veiled insults that flickered just beneath the surface, always threatening to boil over. The easy camaraderie of the office clashed colorfully with their own charged tension.
Despite their constant verbal sparring, the department functioned like a well-oiled machine. The Department of Magical Law Enforcement was a fast-paced environment, home to seasoned Aurors and eager recruits alike. Kingsley Shacklebolt, now Minister of Magic, often made appearances, his calm authority ensuring the Ministry stayed on the path of reform. He had handpicked a team of skilled witches and wizards to lead investigations, making their department one of the most formidable in the wizarding world.
At the heart of it all was Harry Potter, the Lead Auror. Though he no longer spent every moment in the field, his influence was unmistakable. He led morning briefings, oversaw major cases, and kept a close watch on the Ministry's growing concerns about dark magic resurgence. His presence alone was enough to command respect, a steady force in an ever-shifting political climate.
Ron Weasley, now a senior Auror, was never far from the action. He was one of the best at what he did—sharp, quick on his feet, and relentless in pursuit of criminals. However, his tolerance for Draco Malfoy remained thin at best. They worked together professionally (for everyone's sake), but their interactions were often laced with snide remarks and old grudges that refused to die completely.
"Oi, Ferret," Ron called across the office one morning, a smirk tugging at his lips. "Try not to get lost in that stack of paperwork. Wouldn't want you to get buried under something heavier than your hair gel."
Draco barely glanced up from his desk. "Weasel, I'd be more worried about you actually understanding the paperwork. Must be a challenge, what with all those big words."
A few chuckles rippled through the office, and even Hermione fought the twitch of a smile. Their bickering was almost a daily ritual now—exasperating but ultimately harmless. She had no doubt that, for all their posturing, they trusted each other in the field.
Then there was Theodore Nott, Draco's longtime best friend and partner-in-crime since their Hogwarts days. Unlike Draco, Theo had a penchant for mischief, often finding ways to make even the most serious situations amusing. A prankster at heart, his Slytherin cunning was always at play, but when it came to work, he knew when to switch gears. In the field, he was sharp-eyed, smooth-talking, and an expert at reading people—making him invaluable during interrogations.
Despite his easy charm and quick wit, Theo remained a wildcard in the department. His reputation as a cunning strategist made him an asset, though few truly knew where his loyalties lay. He had distanced himself from his family's old alliances after the war, yet whispers of their former connections still followed him. That lingering mystery surrounded him, making some colleagues wary. But those who knew him best—Draco included—never doubted where he stood. When it truly mattered, Theo had proven time and time again that his loyalty was unshakable.
Neville Longbottom, no longer the timid boy they had known at Hogwarts, had grown into a formidable investigator. His expertise in Herbology made him invaluable when dealing with magical poisons and dark plant-based artifacts, but his skills extended far beyond that. Years of fighting had sharpened his instincts, making him a surprisingly adept field strategist with a natural instinct for magical defense. His unassuming demeanor often led people to underestimate him—a mistake they rarely made twice.
While he wasn't one for constant banter like Ron or Draco, Neville had a quiet confidence that commanded respect. He had a knack for diffusing tension with a single well-placed comment, and when he did speak, people listened. His presence balanced the team, grounding them when tempers flared or egos clashed.
Alongside them were a handful of other Aurors and investigators:
Aurora Sinclair, a no-nonsense investigator with a talent for unraveling complex magical crime scenes. She had once worked with the Hit Wizards and carried an air of authority that even Malfoy respected.
John Dawlish Jr., son of the former Auror, was the youngest member of the team—green but eager, with everything to prove. Determined to step out of his father's shadow, he threw himself into the job with relentless enthusiasm, sometimes bordering on reckless.
Though inexperienced, he had sharp instincts and a strong grasp of spellwork, making up for his lack of field time with raw talent and an almost obsessive dedication. His eagerness often led him to jump in too quickly, earning exasperated sighs from his more seasoned colleagues.
Despite his occasional overconfidence, Dawlish Jr. had a deep respect for the veterans, particularly Harry Potter, whom he viewed as a legend. He was learning—sometimes the hard way—that being an Auror wasn't just about skill but also patience, instinct, and trust in the team beside him.
Callum Hayes, a seasoned veteran of the department, was one of their most skilled trackers. Broad-shouldered and steady-handed, he had an uncanny ability to pick up on the subtlest of magical traces, making him invaluable in the field. His easygoing attitude made him well-liked among his colleagues, though beneath his relaxed demeanor was a sharp mind honed by years of experience. While he wasn't as quick with banter as some of the younger Aurors, he had a dry wit that surfaced at just the right moments.
Miriam Holt, the team's young but brilliant research analyst, was the backbone of their investigations. Tasked with handling case logistics, she meticulously recorded and cross-referenced every detail, ensuring no lead was overlooked. Though she rarely engaged in fieldwork, her keen eye for historical magical records and investigative patterns made her an invaluable asset. She often worked closely with Hermione, diving deep into ancient texts and Ministry archives to uncover crucial connections others might miss.
Together, they formed the backbone of the department, each bringing their own strengths—and, in some cases, their own baggage—to the table.
Despite—or perhaps because of—their clashing personalities, Hermione and Draco were considered one of the most effective investigative duos. Their strengths balanced each other; Hermione's methodical approach and unwavering sense of justice clashed with Draco's cunning and willingness to bend the rules. Yet, their results were undeniable.
The tension between them was undeniable too.
Their office was often a constant whirlwind of activity—desks stacked with parchment, magical case files floating midair, and enchanted quills scribbling notes faster than human hands could manage. The team worked tirelessly, tracking down leads, interrogating suspects, and piecing together the mysteries at hand, their efforts woven together in an intricate dance of strategy and persistence."
One afternoon, as Hermione reviewed a stack of witness statements, a cup of tea floated lazily through the air, steam curling in delicate wisps as it settled onto her desk with a soft clink momentarily cutting through the haze of long hours and relentless research. She glanced up to see Neville watching her with an easy, knowing smile. He leaned back in his chair, arms crossed. "You looked like you could use it," he said simply before returning to his own reports, quill scratching steadily across the parchment.
Hermione exhaled, tension easing slightly from her shoulders. "Thanks," she murmured appreciating the small gesture, as she wrapped her fingers around the warm porcelain.
Across from her, Malfoy leaned back in his chair, arms draped over the armrests like a king on his throne. He arched a brow, silver eyes gleaming with mischief. "Didn't know we had house-elf service in the department," he drawled, tilting his head in mock curiosity.
Hermione's grip on her cup tightened, the heat of the tea seeping into her palms. She turned to him, her gaze sharp enough to cut. "Not everything is about privilege, Malfoy. It's called basic human decency."
He smirked, slow and deliberate, the kind that had once sent chills down her spine at Hogwarts—though now, it ignited something entirely different. "Ah, but that's where you're wrong, Granger," he said smoothly, tapping his quill against his chin. "In my experience, 'basic human decency' is often just a polite way of calling in favors."
Hermione scoffed. "Right, because clearly, offering someone tea is a calculated power move."
Malfoy leaned forward slightly, his presence suddenly tangible in the charged space between them. "You'd be surprised how much can be read into the smallest gestures." His voice was low, almost thoughtful, as if they weren't just talking about tea anymore.
The air in the office shifted—something unspoken passing between them, weighty and electric. The usual hum of the department faded for a brief moment, the shuffling papers and murmured conversations becoming background noise to the quiet war waging in their locked gazes.
From his desk, Theo snickered. "Careful, Draco. Keep pushing her, and she might just dump that tea on your head."
Hermione smirked, lifting her cup as if considering the idea. "Tempting."
Malfoy's lips twitched, his smirk never faltering. "You'd regret it. This hair takes effort, you know."
Neville rolled his eyes. "Merlin help us all."
The spell was broken. The office returned to its usual rhythm, but the undercurrent of tension between Hermione and Malfoy remained, an invisible thread stretched taut between them, waiting for the next tug.