CHAPTER ONE - Just Like That

Fourteen thousand galleons.

The number glares at her, taunts her. Her fingers glide over the various line items: copies, court filing, divorce proceedings. Her heart clenches and tears spring to her eyes. However is she going to pay these fees? Her solicitor won a clean separation, no debt that her ex-husband racked up would be hers, and she won custody of her two children, but this is the price. A costly service for peace of mind.

In the seven years since the final battle at Hogwarts, she's been married, given birth to two children, and divorced. The Ministry is calling it a fallout; so many young people married and rushed into adulthood following the war, so pleased to have survived. Now, though, families are falling apart because the anxieties of post-war Britain are melting away.

She's cold as she sips her tea in fuzzy pyjamas and a thick, gray sweater. The bun atop her head is falling apart leaving curls to fall haphazardly around her neck. She doesn't even care how bedraggled she looks. Long gone are the days where she's innocently put together every second of the day and she's perfectly comfortable with no makeup on her face and wearing mismatched underwear.

But, cor, fourteen thousand galleons.

Her wages at the ministry aren't enough to make the ghastly monthly payment option, and yet she makes far too much to qualify for assistance from the ministry welfare division. She's completely and utterly buggered.

"Mummy." A squeaky little voice interrupts her worry and she pulls her lips from between her teeth to mask the concern there.

"Hugo, my lamb, what are you doing out of bed?" Hermione smooths the notch between her brows and pushes the solicitor's statement out of her sight. "It's half eleven, darling. Have you had another bad dream?"

Hugo looks exactly like his father. He's ginger with the wide blue eyes and freckles beginning to dust his nose. But when she looks at him, she sees herself, too. The curious glances when someone gives him new information, the scrunch of his eyebrows when he's trying to solve a puzzle, and while his hair is a brilliant shade of red, it's a curly mop around his ears.

Her youngest child sniffles and wipes at his eyes. "Yes. There was a dragon and it stole my galleons."

Hermione smiles despite his deep frown and holds her arms out to him. He jumps into her arms with his blanket and snuggles into her warmth.

"Dragons don't steal galleons," she tells him lightly and smooths his hair down. "Has mummy ever told you the story of the dragons that guard Gringott's?"

Hugo nods and wipes at his eyes. "They protect the galleons, mummy."

"And do you think that the dragon in your dream could be a Gringott's dragon?" She pulls back and smiles down at her son. He scrunches his face as he thinks.

"Maybe he thought I stole his galleons?"

"Perhaps, lamb."

"You sound sad, mummy." His big, blue eyes meet hers and she schools her expression into an exaggerated, happy face.

"Oh no, Hugo, mummy is very happy," she lies in false cheerful tones. "I've got you and Rosie. What else could I possibly need?"

He sighs and smiles as his eyes begin to droop. Hermione's gaze falls on the note from the solicitor. Fourteen thousand galleons. Due upon receipt. Hermione takes a deep breath and rubs her son's back as she tries to think of any possible way she can make enough money to pay the solicitor.

As her son's breathing slows, she gently lifts him and puts him back to bed. The poor thing hasn't been sleeping well since his father left, quite the upset for the little boy who idolizes his father. Hermione promised Ron that she'd never keep the kids from him, but it's the hardest balance for her to keep: what Ron has done to her versus how good he is as a father. She'd never be able to reconcile the gentle father with the furious husband.

She kisses Hugo on the forehead and makes sure his blanket is pulled over his body. She peeks in on Rose before she walks down the hallway and sits at her table again. The invoice nags at her and she takes another sip of her tea.

Buggered, that's what she is.

She pushes the invoice out of sight and pulls The Daily Prophet closer. It's quite a boring paper now that the war is over and peace has fallen on Britain. There's no whispers of darkness and the world is starting to repair itself. There are other things now, rebuilding and rebranding things in the Wizarding World to reflect the new, tolerant Ministry.

Her eyes rove over the various headlines.

450th Quidditch World Cup Confirmed for Germany

Hogwarts Set to Open Doors 1 September 2005.

Malfoy Heiress Dies, Age 24.

She pauses there. The Malfoys are a quiet comfort to Britain after the war. They donate, the roll their sleeves up and help to rebuild. Hermione doesn't care for them, given all of the history, but learning of Astoria's death makes her tear up. Their poor son, Scorpius, to be without his mother so young - Rosie's age. She couldn't imagine.

Her eyes skim the page.

Astoria Malfoy, née Greengrass, fell victim to her long held blood curse this past Monday and leaves behind her husband, Draco, and their son, Scorpius. The Malfoys were unavailable for comment, but those closest to them have told the Prophet that she has taken ill soon after the Malfoy Heir was born. News of the illness caused a rift between the young Malfoys and rumor has it, they filed for separation. Court proceedings for Magical annulment lasted a year, but Mrs. Malfoy continued to live in Malfoy Manor so that she could spend as much time as possible with her son before her death.

Funeral arrangements for Mrs. Malfoy to take place -

She's been so far removed from the news that she'd entirely missed the part where Draco Malfoy, of all people, had gotten a divorce. Lucius must be livid, she thinks, as his desire for propriety is well known. Come to think of it, she hadn't seen Draco in the Ministry over the past year at least.

She chews her bottom lip as she considers sending them flowers or perhaps attending the funeral to pay her respects to Astoria. They weren't friends, of course, but she's learned that support from the most unlikely sources is one of the most uplifting things to encounter. Hence, why she was shocked when Molly and Arthur visited her after she filed for divorce and offered anything they could to help her.

Her eyes catch another headline, smaller than the main feature but still just as shocking to her.

Malfoy Heir In Search of Nanny

Of course he couldn't possibly take care of one child all by himself. The idea is just ludicrous, to think he'd be able to give up the overworked stupor of a successful career path, even without the financial burden she's suddenly facing, he couldn't part with the Malfoy & Associates brand.

She rolls her eyes and that's when she catches the interesting bit.

Draco Malfoy, heir to the Malfoy fortune, is seeking a full time nanny, who will be responsible for his son, and lone heir. Mister Malfoy is offering the perfect candidate nights and weekends off, full medical coverage, and a signing bonus of ten thousand galleons.

Her brown eyes are so wide that her eyebrows are nearly pressing into her hairline. Ten thousand galleons just to sign? But she couldn't possibly, he wouldn't possibly… could she, would he?

She stares at the small moving picture of Malfoy holding his son on his hip and waving at the camera. The boy smiles toothily and pecks his dad on the cheek. He's adorable, she thinks, and immediately decides that it must be the Astoria's doing, because the Draco Malfoy she remembers is nothing short of a dickhead.

The interaction with him would be minimal, she assumes, since he's offering nights and weekends off. He must be willing to actually raise the sprog himself when he's not working, which Hermione has learned is a rarity among pureblood high society, if Pansy's exploits without her child are anything to go by.

She toys with the idea of applying. She bites her lip, grabs a quill and parchment, and then she sips tea for an hour before she finally decides to send off her letter of intent to the mailing address on the article.

As soon as her owl takes flight, she wants to change her mind. It's a terrible idea. She can't possibly work for Malfoy. And he wouldn't want her to, would he? He'd probably ridicule her for even trying. Oh, but she is such an idiot. The owl disappears and so do the last vestiges of her pride.

Five days later, long and agonizing days where Hermione randomly smacks herself in the forehead and groans about the stupid decision to apply for work as Malfoy's nanny, she receives a return owl. She's invited, in what appears to be a generic letter, to interview with Draco Malfoy in his Wiltshire manor.

Today.

She rereads the letter and sees the time.

An hour. An hour? Only a damn hour!

The kids are with their father, thankfully, and she has been on sabbatical from the Ministry for weeks in order to sort out her affairs after the divorce. She has no immediate obligations as much as she's grasping at something, anything to talk herself out of going.

There aren't enough hair care products in the universe to take the beast atop her head in under an hour. There's not enough makeup to cover the dark circles under her eyes, the result of exhaustion and running a household. She's not sure an hour is long enough to be okay with facing Draco Malfoy, inside Malfoy Manor, and not have a nervous breakdown over potentially working for him. But, blimey, an hour is all she has to make absolutely certain that she can get that ten thousand galleons signing bonus.

She pulls her hair up into a tight tail and she sweeps her long fringe off to the side so that it swoops along her eyebrow. She dots concealer over the purple shadows beneath her tired eyes and gives her pale face a bit of blush so that she looks at least somewhat human.

She debates on clothing for far too long for her liking. If it was Harry or Neville or even Percy, she'd wear jeans and a sweater, but it's Malfoy and in every photo she's ever seen with him, he's always so proper and put together. Jeans wouldn't do. But she doesn't want to wear a dress, but a pantsuit seems too much. In the end, she lands on a pair of black slacks and a cream colored jumper with a thick collar. Simple, comfortable, and passes as dressing professionally.

"Merlin, what am I doing?" She mutters to herself as she approaches her floo.

The invitation to interview is in one hand and a folder in the other. She's nothing if not entirely prepared to fight for the job, with recommendations from other parents and a full-scale plan on how to be a nanny to the Malfoy heir. She doesn't think Malfoy will appreciate some of her ideas, but she's Hermione Granger and so she will lay down ground rules that he must follow if she's to nanny his heir.

Her confidence shakes a little as she scoops a little powder into her hand, coating the invitation in soot. She steps into the crate and stares out at her tiny living room as she throws the powder at her feet.

"Malfoy Manor!"

She's gone in an instant and closes her eyes as the world spins around her. When she finally dares to open them again, she's standing in a much taller fireplace overlooking a beautiful foyer. It takes her several moments to catch her breath and wrestle with her courage to enter this home again and she clenches her fist around the invitation.

There's no one in the room to greet her as her heels click on the white tile. Across from the floo, there's a large arch that separates the foyer from what appears to be a hallway. There are mirrors in the room, as if the Malfoys are providing ample opportunity for their guests to ensure they're looking their best before entering the main living quarters. Hermione takes the opportunity to check her hair and to ensure she doesn't have anything embarrassing like knickers stuck to her trousers.

"Miss!" Hermione glances down to find a young house elf tugging at the hem of her jumper. "Miss is here for Master Malfoy. Follow Tink."

"Hullo, Tink," Hermione greets the elf kindly, noticing that she wears pristine cloth and has adorned her floppy ears with a flowery bow.

"Miss is one minute late and Master is waiting for her in the den."

Tink pulls Hermione along, through long hallways and they pass so many doors. She wonders which is the drawing room; which of these must she avoid at all costs? Her hands are coated in cold moisture and she wants to blame the stairs she's climbing for her erratic heartbeat, but she knows that's not true.

"Master Draco is just through this door," the little elf tells her as she points to a set of double doors. She pushes the doors open and her toothy smile appears as she drags a nervous Hermione forward to her Master. "Master Draco, Miss Hermione Weasley, as you requested."

"Er, it's Granger," Hermione whispers and she's not sure anyone hears her. Her voice is stuck in her throat even as she approaches Draco with an outstretched hand. "Hello, Malfoy."

When he says hello, in a silky voice that she doesn't expect, Hermione finally brings her eyes to his rather than his dragonhide shoes. He's still hardened, guarded, just as she remembers, but his lips are raised with a tight, kind smile and that's not something she's ever associated with him.

"Granger."

Malfoy takes her hand gently and curls his underneath it. For a moment she thinks he's going to bow and kiss the back of her hand, but he just applies a small bit of pressure and then pulls his hand away. She releases a nervous breath and tries her best to smile.

This is a very bad idea.

"Thank you," she says roughly, and then wipes her hand against her trousers. "For interviewing me, I mean."

He nods his head and then gestures for her to sit in one of the chairs in front of a fire. She hasn't even taken in the room, and finally pull her eyes from him to take stock of her surroundings. A library, top to bottom books all over the walls. How on earth did she not see this immediately? Her mouth falls open just a little bit as she feels around for a chair to slide into.

"I thought you'd be more comfortable here," he tells her as he sits in the chair opposite her. "You're in your natural habitat surrounded by books."

"It's spectacular," she breathes and finally plants her bottom into the chair. Her neck still cranes to look around at the tombs on the wall. She can make out some titles and authors, and Merlin does she want to live in this room forever. "Are you catering your interviews to the applicants?"

He waits a beat and she watches as his eyes dance over her face before he answers. "No."

"Just me, then?" She chances a small smile and finally settles into her seat with her hands in her lap on top of her invitation and folder of information.

Malfoy nods. "Just you, Granger. Not Weasley?"

Hermione swallows around a dry patch in her throat and barely shakes her head. "No. We, er… that is to say, it didn't…"

"Like many of our generation, you found that you've made the wrong decision."

She lets out a deep breath. "Yes. Our generation is going to spike the divorce rates, I think."

Malfoy laughs, actually chuckles a deep and rumbly sound and she smiles at him. "Our generation has broken many unconventional records. Death, of course, being the worst."

She sobers immediately. Her fingers fidget around the papers in her lap and the small moment of laughter dies quickly, dousing the room in crisp silence. Draco pours himself a drink, an amber colored liquid, in a crystal glass, and then offers one to Hermione. She shakes her head.

"Right, so, this interview," she says, crossing and uncrossing her knees, "is it traditional? Do you have questions for me to answer? I brought a bit of material-"

He snorts, and then apologizes. "Sorry. Of course you come prepared, my apologies, Granger."

Her instinct is to recoil, but instead she thrusts the folder out to him. He takes it, opens it briefly, and then tosses it onto the table next to him.

"Don't you want to-"

"Not necessary," he says with a small smile. "Granger, I'll be honest with you, no one else has applied for the job."

Her eyebrows shoot up. "No one?"

"Not one. I've listed that position three times, increasing the signing bonus each time. No one wants a thing to do with… my situation."

She watches his throat bob as he gulps down the whisky in his glass. He hisses through his teeth and then sets the glass down on top of her folder. She wants to move it, to put it on a coaster instead of making a mess of her folder, but she resists. He seems so lost, sort of broken in a way, as he leans forward and rests his elbows against his thighs. That's when she sees the light scruff on his face and the way his hair curls just over his ears. He's just as tired as she is, and she has to bite her lip to keep from saying it out loud.

"Astoria, she was adamant that our son not be raised by house elves, like we were." Draco runs a hand through his hair and watches her closely. She feels like he's waiting for her to say something, but she keeps her mouth tightly closed. "I don't even live at the manor anymore."

She can't help herself. "Why are we here, then?"

"I wanted to know how serious you are." His tone isn't apologetic at all. "I know you're a ministry official now, and I thought, perhaps, you were made to keep tabs on me."

Hermione uncrosses her legs and leans forward. "Malfoy, the Ministry doesn't care-"

"Potter says otherwise." He laughs, but there's no humor there. "It's been seven years and they're still convinced my family is going to try to resurrect The Dark Lord."

She's surprised, not because he's spoken to Harry, but because he sounds so bitter. "I didn't know, honestly. I only work in the Creature division, and only reviewing propositions before they make it to the supervisor."

It's his turn to appear surprised. His pale eyebrow raises. "Pardon my bluntness, Granger, but I don't believe that after seven years, you're only a paper pusher."

Her eyes twitch. She swallows. Her hands are wet and cold and she desperately tries to wipe off the perspiration on her slacks. Ron ruined a lot for her, and at the top of the list is her career.

"I… I've had to focus on my family."

"Weasley didn't like a powerful female for a wife?" His tone is both teasing and filled with a disdain that she'd heard whenever she spoke to her friends about Ron's desire for her to be a stay at home mum. "He's an idiot."

"Draco!" She doesn't disagree, but it's hardly his place to say. "It's not… He's just accustomed to a certain lifestyle, is all. Let's stop talking about this, okay? What do you want to know about me in relation to this job?"

He doesn't answer her immediately. Draco's eyes rest on her gaze for a few beats and she no longer feels that the blush on her face is makeup related. He sits back and crosses a foot over his knee. His forearms flex as he holds onto his shin gently, and it's her turn to watch him. He's relaxed and not as dapper as she remembered him to be, wearing a button up shirt with the forearms rolled up to his elbows, and a silver watch on his wrist.

"You have children of your own," he says finally and he pours himself another two fingers of whisky. "I know you can care for children. Do you cook? Are you tidy?"

"I cook and I clean, of course." She almost sounds insulted that he'd even ask. "I don't have house elves and I'm running my household on my own."

"With a full time job?"

She feels like he's leading her somewhere, and she sighs.

"No. I'm on sabbatical at the moment while the kids and myself adjust to our new… lifestyle."

"What if I didn't want you to return to work? To focus solely on this job?"

She opens her mouth, intending to tell him bugger off, but instead she whispers, "Okay."

Alarm bells sound in her head as he watches her face closely. She's not unwilling to only be a nanny but she doesn't want him to know why she wants this job so badly.

"Okay? Just like that?"

She ducks her chin. "Just like that."

"Granger," he smiles around the words. "You're hired."