"I don't know if you've ever noticed this, but first impressions are often entirely wrong." 

- Lemony Snicket

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Draco couldn’t believe it. He was going to be working for Granger. Mudblood Granger. This was disgusting. Just the thought of it all made his insides squirm uncomfortably. He hated her, hated everything she represented, hated her friends, hated her Muggle family, hated that blasted cat, hated she got better grades than he did, hated that she never reacted to his insults. At least with Potter and Weasley they retaliated and more often made fools of themselves. With Granger everything had to be rational. The stupid bint. How was he even supposed to contain himself from hexing her? The mere sight of her would set him off. There was no way he could do this.

He turned around again, this being the second time he’d decided he would not go through with this, and pushed his way past the crowd of people who made no effort to hide their glowers.

Draco was thinking too much of apples when he agreed to this. He couldn’t do it. There was no way.

But then as he continued onwards through the streets of Diagon Alley, he caught more people glaring at him, some whispering behind hands, some not bothering to use their hands. Some even looked smug.

He tried to remember what things had felt like when people bowed to his family’s every whim and found the fond memories of his father ordering people around were getting hazier and hazier. And if this is how the public reacted by Draco’s presence, he could only imagine how they treated his father. And while Draco had understood why the man avoided leaving the manor, he thought now, as he really considered it and stood in the centre of this sullen treatment, he finally, fully, understood why this was so important. His mother, who once had more friends than the number of students in his year at Hogwarts, saw two or three at most and hardly left the confinements of their house. None of them had been publicly out as a family in years.

And suddenly yet slowly, the overpowering need to make them all sorry was there, pulsing and demanding, and his lack of enthusiasm was flipped completely. He was not going to accept this anymore. 

Draco sneered anyone who met his eye and marched in the other direction, towards Gringotts Bank and to the side where a new cream coloured building, about sixteen floors up, stood. One of the new additions after the war.

The large, finely carved wooden doors opened at his approach and he stepped onto the marble floor for the first time. There were witches and wizards arriving by floo to the left of him, to the right they were lined up for departure. Further up, there was a large peach coloured reception desk and on either side were more walkways where people busily came and went.

He strode confidently to the front desk. If he were being honest with himself, he could not help but admit that this place was rather nice, but there was no way he was about to look impressed with a building Granger worked in. Anyone who employed her was obviously not all there in the head.

“I’m here to see, uh, Miss. Granger,” Draco told the woman behind the desk.

She wearily looked up at him from behind her Potter-like glasses, tucking away a strand of plain brown hair that had came free from her tight bun. “Name?”

He paused for a second. “Draco Malfoy.”

Her lips, coated in brown lipstick, pressed together into a straight line. “I see,” she said, her voice tighter than it had been before. “Do you have an appointment?”

“No, I don’t –”

“Take a seat over there.” She gestured at the rows of puffy plum coloured seats close to where the fireplaces along the walls were. “I’ll call you in when she’s free.”

“But –”

“Sit down and wait patiently or leave.”

Draco bit his tongue to prevent himself from hurling back the retort he knew would get him thrown out of here and slumped into a chair, arms crossed in annoyance. Back in the day, a Malfoy would never be told to wait; this was ludicrous.

Leaning back further into the chair, he closed his eyes, shutting himself off from the monotonous voices of the people in the building and the weird thing that kept ringing on the desk, and pictured all the lovely ways he planned to get Bun Woman fired once he got his reputation back. Maybe someone could ‘accidentally’ fool with the floo network and turn the fireplaces into real fire… such a splendid idea…

***

“Martin, stop poking him!”

“But Mum! He looks funny!”

Draco groaned and stretched, letting his eyes slowly blink open to meet a pair of hazel ones. He jumped back and the kid erupted into fits of giggles.

“I scared him Mummy!” he cried joyfully.

The woman frowned at her child. “I’m so sorry about him.”

Draco examined her. Her nose was rather large but all in all she wasn’t bad looking, a little plain, but nice nonetheless. “That’s quite all right. Anything is more interesting than waiting for the damn receptionist to call me up. Although, now, I’m not bored at all.” He put on a charming smile.

“Oh,” she smiled back, moving closer. “All because of my son?”

“And the company,” he said, voice low.

She laughed. “My, you’re flattering. What’s your name?”

Shit.

“Uh, um… it’s Draco… Malfoy.”

The woman’s contorted face was the last thing he saw before she backhanded him across the cheek.

“You bastard! My uncle was killed in that war!”

Draco rubbed where her hand had hit. “I… well, umm…”

She huffed and stood, pulling the kid into her arms. “My life will never be the same without him! He was like a father to me!” And she stormed off dramatically, large nose in the air, kid dragging behind her, down the hall.

Draco ran a hand through his hair, still blinking stupidly. How on earth was the death of her uncle his fault? He hadn’t even played an influential part in the bloody war!

“Draco Malfoy, Miss. Granger will see you now,” Bun Woman called, pointing to her right. “She’s up the stairs, down the hall through the elevator on the fifteenth floor, to the right and through the last door down the hallway.”

Still trying to recover from the fact a woman had just turned him down; Draco stood and gloomily went up the stairs and to the elevator. Would life always be like this? Once he got married, he had to stay with Ophelia obviously or the consequences would result in all his hard work going to waste, but that meant this was his last chance to fool around, to be a free man. How was he supposed to do that when every female hated him? And when women did want him again, he could not have them because of Ophelia.

Draco sighed and pulled the door open to the last hall. He needed an apple and some firewhiskey… lots and lots of firewhiskey. Wait, no… lots and lots of apples.

He didn’t realise where he was heading until he collided very roughly into something. Draco heard a shriek as hundreds of papers flew around, obscuring his view, and instinctively reached out his hand through the shower of parchment and pulled the woman back upwards, setting her upright.

It wasn’t until she looked up through hair so bushy he’d have recognised it anywhere, did Draco apprehend that he had his clean, well looked after self pressed up against Granger. He let go of her as though he’d been burned, taking a giant step back. “Bloody hell, woman!”

“M-Malfoy?” she asked, bewildered. “Why are you…” she looked around as if to assure herself she was in the right place, “here?”

Granger had not changed in the slightest over the years. She still didn’t understand the purpose of conditioner, dressed just as boring as ever and even still had the same Hogwarts bag draped over her shoulder. His nose wrinkled voluntarily. 

“I assure you, I’m not here because I want to be,” Draco drawled. “Did Bun Woman not tell you I was here?”

“No, she – wait, who?”

“Well I am, so lets just get this over and done with.” He pushed past her, and to his satisfaction she stumbled, only this time he did not bother to steady her.

“Get what over and done with, may I ask?” she asked, papers messily back in her hands as she hurried to keep up with him.

Draco sped up so she wouldn’t be walking near him. “My job interview.”

“Your… what?”

“Have your brains melted from spending so much time willingly around Potter?”

Granger didn’t reply, but he saw from the corner of his eye the nasty look she shot him before opening a door with the label: Promotion of Elfish Welfare.

Draco had expected it to be a small office. He was very much mistaken. This door only led to more doors and people walking in and out of them. He slowed down so he could now follow Granger through the mass of employees, some eying him with suspicion. At the very far wall, it held a massive screen, which read everything from how to treat house elves right to how to get help if you’re a house elf being abused, and on either side of the screen were staircases that lead to a balcony which circled the whole floor containing more doors lined down it.

He wanted to ask how big this building was, as it certainly did not look this large from outside, but held back his curiosity. He didn’t want to imply being fascinated or surprised by a place she worked. Which he wasn’t.

As they walked up the stairs and to the balcony, people called to Granger, shouting out, ‘hello’s’ and asking, ‘how are you?’ and he watched her with a frown as she replied with nods, smiles and saying, “I’m great, thank you.”

Draco wanted to hit her over the head and tell her politeness will never get you anywhere in life, but restrained himself and endured it. If he wanted her to employ him, might as well not be too much of an arse for now.

After a several turns and down more hallways, they came to a stop at another door that this time was labelled: Miss. Hermione Granger.

Mudbloods have their own labels now, what was this world coming to?

She pushed open the wooden door and Draco was met with a room that was about as large as his own at Malfoy Manor, which was saying something. The back was lined with large, clear windows from floor to ceiling and in front was her shinily polished desk with two cushioned chairs facing it. To his right were shelves and shelves of files, papers, and books. To his left was a bookshelf. Draco assumed Granger read those more interesting books during breaks.

He took a seat casually and watched the little rainbow fish on her desk swim happily about in his bowl. “You don’t want your ugly cat to see Mr. Fishy, Granger, otherwise Mr. Fishy may turn into Mr. Lunchy.”

She scowled as she took the chair on the other side of the desk and sat forwards, her right hand sitting on top of her left. “Now what do you want Malfoy? To be honest, I’m a little surprised they let you into the building.”

“It’s called being charming, you should try it some time. Oh wait,” he mocked sympathy, “no one would fall for that when you look like Medusa. Sorry.”

“You’ve certainly matured, haven’t you?” she commented dryly. “But I really don’t have time for this. If you’re here on important business, please state what it is. If not, I’d like it if you left.”

“You’ve certainly over matured, haven’t you?" he retorted coldly. “You’re like a fifty-four year old rather than someone in her twenties.”

“Twenty-two.”

“Yes, a few years does a difference,” he said sarcastically.

“It obviously does if you’re only a year younger than me and behaving like this,” she said testily.

“I’m not a year younger than you! You were born in 1980 –”

“1979,” she corrected.

“Whatever and you were born on…?”

“September, nineteenth.”

“And I was June, fifth, 1980 so…”

“That’s two hundred and sixty days apart. Basically a year.”

“No!” he disagreed. “It’s not.”

“Yes, it is – it’s more than half a year.”

“Yeah, but not a complete year!”

“I said basically!”

“You said basically a year, not basically half a year –!”

“Same thing!”

“No, it isn’t!”

“What do you want Malfoy?” she demanded, closing her eyes and rubbing at her temples. “Because I really, really don’t have time for this.”

“What, got a date with the Weasel?” Draco snarled.

“As a matter of fact, I do.”

“I can’t believe this,” he muttered. “Four years later and you’re still infatuated with the idiot.”

She stiffened. “It’s not infatuation, I love him. What do you want?”

“Sure, all the girls say that to begin with –”

"What do you want?" she cried, standing.

He smirked and did not respond right away for effect, but rather straightened the sleeves of his shirt. When he did speak, his eyes locked onto hers. “A job.”

Granger faltered. “What?”

“I want to work here.”

Three times she tried opening her mouth to say something, only to have it close again. Forth time lucky did she stutter, falling back into her chair. “B-but… why? What? Is this your idea of a joke? Because it’s not funny, Malfoy.”

“I only joke with people I like,” he said shortly.

“Okay…” she began slowly, nodding and watching him like a mental patient. “Well if this isn’t a joke, which I still don’t believe, what makes you think I would employ you in the first place? I have plenty of capable people already interviewed and –”

“Because I’m Draco frigging Malfoy, Granger, and you will employ me. Not only do I not expect payment, but I’ll even pay you for it.”

“No,” she said instantly. “The boss is the one who hands out the money and I will not be bribed, especially by you,” she added, sitting back and crossing her legs.

He sighed and rubbed his eyes. Time to bring out the Slytherin in him.

Sitting forward, Draco looked into her brown eyes with fake plea. “My family’s name is tainted because of the war. I can’t go anywhere where I’m not rudely pointed, stared or laughed at. Surely you noticed that before as we walked here?”

She didn’t say anything, but the look in her eyes told him enough.

“You did. I saw your advertisement in the paper, and I figured I could redeem the Malfoy name if I showed I’m willing to work for it, and what better way than to work for you and elf rights.”

She didn’t say anything, again, for a long moment. Then she snorted unflatteringly. “Leave.”

“What?”

“I said leave, Malfoy. I don’t have time for whatever trick you’re pulling and that sob story won’t work on me. You made your choices and now I’m making mine. Goodbye, have a nice life.” She stood and started to usher him out.

“This is not a joke!” he snapped, rising from his seat. “I’m dead serious, why else would I ever come here? I thought I’d seen the last of your bushy head and here I am! This is me desperate!”

Granger stood too, perhaps in preparation for a fight. “Listen, I’m sorry things are different for you now but there’s no way I’m giving you a job just because you’re ‘desperate’. Plenty other people are desperate too.” 

“Have you seen how we’re treated now? How low my name has stooped? I’m not living like this anymore, Granger. This is the best way to show I can be something more.”

“Malfoy, you can’t –”

“Dumbledore believed in second chances,” he blurted.

Granger froze for a second, as though he’d started speaking Parseltongue. Then fury raised its ugly head as she said in a calm, cool voice, “Don’t,” she warned, not even looking at him. “Don’t you dare use Dumbledore for your own selfish needs.”

“Selfish?” he repeated. “This is the least selfish thing I’ve ever done! I’m not doing this for myself, I’m doing it for my parents!”

“So you’re still doing what they tell you.” Granger’s tone wasn’t surprised, and this made him equally as furious. If he was not one for a challenge, he might have given up entirely by now. But it was common knowledge that the more he wasn’t allowed something the more he wanted it, and so he stood tall and looked at her sternly.

“I’m not leaving this room until I get that job,” he spoke passively. “And I’m going to be blunt here. I don’t like you. I know you don’t like me. Understatements of the century, I know. But I need this. How am I supposed to prove the Malfoys can change if no one gives me a chance? And it doesn’t have to be forever, say a year at most. Then afterwards you can hire whomever you want. But give me this job today.” He swallowed his pride and added, “Please.”

She looked back at him, her mouth parted. Blinked, but now she looked less certain. “I can’t just…”

“We’re adults, aren’t we? You can put behind this resentment for a while, can’t you?”

“W-well, of course,” she said, awed that he’d suggest such a thing. “But I can't give you a job out of pity,” she said quietly, leaning forward again. “That’s not fair to –”

“I’m connected to all the pure-bloods that would have house elves. I could get them to cooperate much more willingly, Granger,” Draco offered, and he knew she knew it was true.

She ran a hand through her hair, sucked in a sharp breath, and later he would think he saw her shake her head. “Fine,” she bit out.

Draco was not a gaping man, nor was he rarely astonished. But for a few seconds he was. “Fine?”

“Yes, you can have the bloody job! Albeit you’ll be monitored regularly for the first few weeks, so I can rest easy knowing you’re not up to anything. If you do anything that I do not ask of you I’ll have you fired, no exceptions. Is that understood?”

“Don’t you trust me, Granger?” he said, feigning hurt.

“Is that understood?”

“Perfectly.”

“Malfoy,” she called, and with agitation he turned, suppressing the dire urge to lunge for the exit. “You do realise you’ll be my assistant? Meaning, you’ll be spending most, if not all, of your time –”

“– with you,” he finished, trying not to grimace. “Believe me, I’m aware.”

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Next chapter; 

“She won’t kill you –”

“Or what if I kill her –?”

“If you kill her, I’ll kill you –”