A/N: Here we are again, friends! I'm super excited (and nervous) to share this fic with you! It's written in its entirety just working on edits. You can expect updates a few times a week until it's complete!

Tags: Co-workers, Time Travel, kinda-sorta-not-really infidelity, forced co-habitation, TWO DRACOS!, Angst, Fluff, Smut.

xXx

THE TROUBLESOME THING ABOUT TIME

xXx

Dropping her quill, and earning a few unwelcome ink splats, Hermione cradled her throbbing wrist, flexing it as she sat back in her chair. Her body ached, and no amount of pain potions or hot baths could soothe the unending weariness that had settled deep in her bones.

As she watched the bustle of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, she couldn't help but think that at some point in her life, she might have veered left, when she was meant to go right. She was Hermione bloody Granger for crying out loud, destined for great things from a young age, ready to set the world ablaze with her brilliance; yet here she sat with a cramp in her wrist and a scowl on her face.

"Wotcher, Hermione," Harry beamed, his hair tousled and his glasses crooked as he lurked outside her cube.

She couldn't help but bristle, sitting up straight in her chair and pinning him with a pointed stare. "Harry."

"How's your morning?" His insatiable grin was impossible to ignore and Hermione let out a long breath as she turned her attention to her friend.

"Perfectly mundane, as per usual. And you? You seem rather…" Hermione's brow puckered as she studied him. "Breathless."

"Hah! We just got done doing a major raid down in South London. Found crates of Dragon Eggs tucked into some seedy little shop in the Muggle part of town. It was wild. Turned out to be an all-out wand fight by the end and there are now a handful of sleazy criminals in holding cells and a dozen dragon eggs on their way to Romania."

Jealousy twisted in Hermione's stomach as she forced a tight smile over her features. "That's brilliant, Harry."

It's not that she wasn't happy for him—no, that wasn't the case at all. After all, they'd been through during the war, she just hadn't thought it was in her best interest to sign up for a life of catching the bad guys. She'd already done her share, after all. And so she took the path less traveled, she'd joined the DLME as a Special Case Investigator.

It was a very fancy way of saying that she did research. A lot of research. It came with certain perks: access to the Ministry Archives and her nights and weekends free. But it lacked a certain level of excitement that now, after four years, she could admit she missed about her youth.

"Potter!" Malfoy's voice interrupted the moment as he strode up to her cube in all his smug indifference, tossing a Gryffindor scarf at Harry's head. "You forgot this on my desk. Next time, I'm changing it to the proper colours and charming it stuck to your thick neck. Granger," he crooned wickedly, leaning his bum on the edge of her desk. "You're looking positively…"

"Don't finish that sentence," Hermione warned, poking her wand into his hip to rid him from her space. "Don't you have more important things to do?"

Malfoy snorted, turning to rest one hand on her parchments and the other on the back of her chair. Caging her in, he leered down at her, his lips tugging up in a familiar smug smirk. "More important than riling you up on a Monday afternoon? Never."

Being the daughter of dentists, she could appreciate the way his pristine white teeth gleamed beneath his smirk, but she still desperately wanted to clip his perfectly chiseled jaw with her fist. In the spirit of moving on, however—and in the interest of not being fired—she refrained.

"Why do you love to irritate me so?" she purred, poking him again with the tip of her wand, this time sending a small jolt of magic into his leg. He yelped, backing away from her with a pointed glare.

Laughter boomed past Harry's lips as he clamped a hand on Malfoy's shoulder and tugged him away. "Let's go, partner. We've got a shite ton of reports to fill out before Robards has our arses." After a few steps, Harry turned, delight still etched in his features. "Dinner, Hermione?"

"Only if that twit you call a partner isn't coming!" she called back absently, waving a hand at them as they retreated to the Auror Department.

oOo

Eyeing the cramped booth at the back of the Leaky, Hermione wished she could say she was surprised to see the blond sitting next to her brunette best friend.

"Oh, you came. So glad you could make it…again."

"Looking good, Granger." A smooth, familiar voice drawled from behind her and she jumped as Theo Nott swatted her playfully on the bum. Sending her his most charming smile, he slid in next to Harry, pressing a quick kiss to his cheek as his hand came down to rest on her friend's thigh.

"Hi, Theo." Hermione fell into the seat next to Malfoy, grumbling under her breath as the blond turned towards her, a wicked grin forming on his face as one arm stretched out behind her. "Malfoy."

"Miss me, love?" Hermione's rolled her tilted her head at the wizard to her right, finding his handsome face all too close for her liking. He was a prat, sure, but a handsome prat nonetheless, and being in such close proximity was dangerous for her well-being. His tongue darted out to wet his bottom lip, before he trapped it between his teeth, letting his gaze rove lazily over her features.

"You're incorrigible and why I tolerate you remains to be seen." Hermione reached to grab a menu, her shoulder brushing his chest as he scooted infinitesimally closer to her, his palm finding her thigh.

Returning to her upright position, now with Malfoy nearly sitting on her lap, she unfolded the menu. "Draco Malfoy, so help me, if you do not remove your hand from my leg, I will remove the bones from it myself."

Malfoy barked out a wild laugh and extricated himself from her space. "Oh, I just love it when you're feisty, Granger." Draining the last of his firewhisky, he lifted a finger towards the barkeep, motioning for another for the table. "First round's on me, boys."

Groaning, she buried her face in the pages of the menu she'd memorized years ago. Merlin save her from Draco Malfoy.

oOo

Hermione yawned, stretching her arms high above her head as she shimmied the sleep from her bones. It had been foolish to stay out so late on a weeknight, but she'd found that being in the presence of the unadulterated, sickening, sweet love of NottPott—as she'd so cleverly dubbed them—with a strong side of Malfoy required alcohol. And once she'd started, it had been far too difficult to stop.

Over the years, she'd found that he was far more tolerable after the sated buzz of alcohol clouded her inhibitions. He was almost…funny, in a dry, careless kind of way that she was only fond of after at least two firewhiskys. There had even been one incident—after an almost illegal amount of alcohol on her twenty-first birthday—when she'd found herself pressed up against a wall in the Leaky Cauldron on the way back from the loo with Draco Malfoy's tongue in her mouth.

She'd forgotten most of that night, truth be told, but one didn't forget a kiss like that. The memory of his rough, almost desperate touch as his hands roamed her body, gripping the flesh of her arse as he pressed his knee between her thighs and crushed his lips to hers, lingered in the back of her mind.

"Granger!" a booming voice commanded, breaking her reverie.

Hermione blinked, drawing herself from the sordid memory and swiveling towards her department head.

"Yes, Sir?"

She was greeted by the top of Peterson's shiny, bald head as he shuffled through a stack of parchments, offering her the smallest semblance of attention. "Sanders is requesting you down in the D.o.M—stat."

"Sanders? D.o.—"

Peterson sighed, finally sparing her a glance over his handful of files. "Cicely Sanders? She's the department head for the Unsp—"

"Unspeakables, I know," she interrupted, rising to her feet with a knitted brow. "But why on earth would they want to speak to me?"

With a long, exaggerated sigh, Peterson returned his attention to his paperwork. "Perhaps you don't understand the general idea behind Unspeakables, Granger, but they tend to keep their cards fairly close to the vest. In other words, she didn't tell me jack shite."

Peterson walked on, dropping a few files on her colleague's desk as he made his way back into his office, and Hermione couldn't help but gawk. She couldn't think of a single reason for the Department of Mysteries to seek her out.

xXx

Her heels clacked across the black marble leading to the entrance of the Department of Mysteries. Torches lined the walls, flickering in a bluish tint as she approached the looming door at the end of the long hall.

Flashes of memories from the night she'd spent here fifth year seared behind her lids, and the phantom pain of a curse long since healed seared her side. The thrumming of her heart was nearing a frantic level, and she could feel her palms slicken as she nervously wrung them together.

There was a small part of her that wondered if the D.o.M had heard of her and wanted to offer her a job. Although, that seemed unlikely considering her resume consisted of little more than an impressive list of educational credentials and accolades followed by a few years of sitting behind a research desk.

Pausing before the grand doors, she steadied her breath and lifted her fist to rap against the handleless door, but before her knuckles could brush the surface, the doors swung open. She sucked in a startled gasp, before quickly recovering, adjusting her skirt and tilting her chin high.

There was a decrepit looking woman behind a tall desk, deep lines etched on her face, and age spots staining her fair skin. Her hazy glasses sat low on the bridge of her nose and she didn't even bother to look up from whatever she was so intently perusing on her desk.

After several long beats of silence, Hermione's mouth fell open to introducing herself, but she was quieted by the receptionist who had chosen that exact moment to speak.

"Missus Granger, I presume."

Clearing her throat, Hermione gave a brisk nod. "Yes. I'm here to see—"

"Unspeakable Sanders," she interrupted, her voice croaking. Hermione fought the glare that threatened to overtake her features. "Take a seat. She'll be out shortly."

Huffing out an indignant little breath, she crossed the foyer and sat primly in one of the four chairs of the department proper.

She waited for what felt like close to half an hour, her annoyance devolving to ire when a door finally swung open.

Unspeakable Sanders was no stranger to the Ministry. She was the face of the department, and while her work was secretive in nature, she was always seen out and about in various departments.

Honestly, the witch was hard to miss. She was stunning: tall and statuesque with deep chocolate toned skin and high cheekbones. Not only was she a credit to her profession, and an absolute powerhouse in the Wizengamot, but she was also a beautiful and poised woman. Simply put: she was everything Hermione was not.

"Miss Granger," Unspeakable Sanders beamed, her bright smile gleaming in contrast to her ebony skin. "Welcome to the Department of Mysteries. Although, rumor has it this isn't your first time." A perfectly arched brow lifted high on her forehead, paired with a conspiratorial smile.

"Unspeakable Sanders," Hermione greeted formally, rising to shake the woman's hand.

"Oh, please," she smiled, waving her long fingers flippantly through the air, "call me Cicely. Now, I bet you're wondering why we've summoned you to the bellows of the Ministry on this fine Tuesday."

Cicely turned, her robes sweeping away from her body in a grand way as she gestured for Hermione to follow along.

"You could say that."

They stopped just before the entrance leading into the room of doors that Hermione knew waited for them just beyond and Cicely shook her head in a fluster. "Oh, I've nearly forgotten. Before you can enter and be debriefed on the case we've called you down for, I'll need you to make a solemn vow of confidentiality. We don't go so far as to make Unbreakable Vows down here, so no worries there! However, it will render you speechless should you try to reveal confidential information without proper authorization."

When it took Hermione a moment to mull it over, Cicely tacked on a quick, "Standard protocol and I will have to insist that you take it as we can't really progress in this case without you, I'm afraid."

Her gaze flitted over to the looming door. While the prospect of sworn secrecy was a bit much to grasp with nothing to go on, she was desperate to know what secrets lay beyond the door. Despite her internal debate, curiosity won out in the end as she extended her wand arm to the department head, each of them wrapping their fingers around the other's forearms.

"Hermione Granger, do you so solemnly swear that the details, both explicit and implied, of this case, will be treated with the utmost confidentiality?"

"I do."

"Do you swear to keep any information procured from your time in the Department of Ministries private from anyone outside of the those immediately relevant to the case and those who have been given proper clearance?"

"I do."

"Do you understand that this vow is a binding magical contract and severing it will result in a trial to determine guilt with possible sentencing to Azkaban?"

Hermione gulped. She hadn't been given that small shard of information, but in for a sickle, in for a galleon, she mused. "I do."

Wisps of ethereal, silvery magic twined around their hands and forearms. She could feel the magic binding to her own, and, just as suddenly as it had appeared, it vanished. Cicely smiled brightly back at her.

"Thank you, Hermione. Now—" They entered with little fanfare as she followed Cicely inside and down the narrow hall flanked on either side by closed doors. "What do you know about Time Magic?"

A deep blush stained her cheeks and Hermione's eyes rounded. She could almost feel the weight of the time turner she'd carried all those years ago on her chest. "A little."

They kept up a brisk pace as the doors rotated quickly around the room, stopping in front of one with the rune for time carved into the stone. "Don't be coy, Miss Granger! We know all about you dabbling with time during your third year. We also know the implications of your blatant disregard for time law regarding the outcome of not only Sirius Black but…what was that bird's name?"

Heat licked up the sides of her throat as Hermione squeaked, "Buckbeak."

"Ah, yes! That naughty little hippogriff. Well, don't fret about all that now. We can hardly hold you accountable now for the blatant disregard for time law as you were a minor. Your headmaster on the other hand…" With a cluck of her tongue, Cicely approached the Time Room and the door swung swiftly open.

Hermione had been here before; although it had looked slightly different after the battle had run its course. The walls were still fixed with magical time devices of every shape and size, and the light still glittered throughout the room, entrancing her as she walked through the narrow passageway.

"Back in the 1800s, the Department of Mysteries studied Time Travel for upwards of nine years. During that time, one Unspeakable, Eloise Mintumble, caused a chain of catastrophic events. Have you heard of her?"

Hermione nodded absently, her gaze transfixed on a glowing jar near the far side of the room.

"Well, Eloise Mintumble traveled back in time to the 1400s. She was trapped there for no less than five days, and when she returned, her body rapidly aged in the process. Dozens of her ancestors ceased to exist, simply vanishing and become unborn. The entire thing was a mess and the statutes of time laws have been heavily guarded ever since."

Cicely paused, allowing Hermione due time to take in the grandeur of the room. "We still study magical artifacts and how time affects magical beings and the like—but the use of time travel has been banned from even this department. We've no idea what implications something as small as a sneeze in the past or future could have on the present."

A door appeared, tucked in the side of the room and opened without preamble. Cicely's cool touch rested on Hermione's arm, garnering her attention as she smiled kindly and gestured for her to enter.

"This is all terribly fascinating," Hermione said earnestly. "I've just no idea what any of this has to do with me."

The next room was far colder, lined with a giant trench similar to the one in the Death Chamber that Hermione had seen some years prior. In the middle loomed a giant, crude archway, golden magic dusting down towards the stone floor.

"What on Morgana's green earth is that?" Hermione blanched, stepping forward as the pull of magic thrummed in the air all around them. The magic was old and powerful, running deep into the walls and floor.

"This," she paused, letting out a long breath, "is a Tempus Motus. In layman's terms, it's how Unspeakable Mintumble was able to travel through time. There are a few portals throughout the world, and this one is probably the newest, built and forged under Minister Gambol in the 1400s."

"This…" Hermione's brow puckered as she struggled to make sense of the overwhelming information being laid out plainly before her. "This is how one time travels?"

"It as I said, the use of it has been banned for centuries." Cicely's tone turned serious as she gestured towards the other door in the room. Hermione had a hard time tearing her gaze from the grand archway but begrudgingly followed her guide. "Which is why you can imagine our surprise when yesterday afternoon this man fell through."

Hermione turned, shifting her attention to the final room. It was by far the least exciting of them all: devoid of much furniture or any of the interesting accouterments the other rooms had boasted. Instead, it held two simple metal chairs and a single large window in a nondescript holding room.

Inside sat the same prat from the night before, his hands laid plainly on the table, and Hermione huffed out an annoyed breath. "That's Draco Malfoy. He works in the Auror Department. He probably snuck his way in here and poked around the wrong room…"

Cicely rounded on her, her eyes flashing as she studied Hermione's face. "Impossible—Auror Malfoy wouldn't be able to sneak into these rooms."

"We did," Hermione challenged, her head canting to the side as the excitement in her belly extinguished. "And we did it as kids. Draco Malfoy can get into all sorts of trouble if left unattended."

But then…she'd been with Malfoy last night at the pub. So, unless he'd somehow stumbled in here drunk off his arse, someone had their story wrong.

"Take a closer look, Hermione." Cecily stepped aside as Hermione approached the charmed glass.

There was no doubt he was Draco Malfoy; that much was painfully obvious. But, upon closer inspection, however, she noticed a few subtle differences. His hair was a little longer, pushed back instead of cropped tight. Rather than the clean shave he sported just the night before, a thin layer of stubble peppered his jaw. Creased around the same silver eyes, she saw wrinkles that she had never noticed before—that hadn't existed before.

"You mean to tell me, thatDraco Malfoy fell through this Tempus Motus last night from... when exactly? The future?" Hermione quipped haughtily, disbelief coloring her tone.

"Indeed."

"And how does this all affect me? I may have dabbled in it, but I've never really studied time travel or anything of the sort."

Cecily's gaze darkened and she reached for the door into the holding cell. "Auror Malfoy won't speak to anyone but you. He's insisted upon it, actually. He's agreed to comply with the laws to the best of his ability, and cooperate with our investigation into how and why he's here, as well as how to get him back—but not before he speaks with you."

Hermione's head whipped back to study the man through the glass once more. "He asked for me? Did he say why?"

Unspeakable Sanders straightened her spine, and tucked her chin into her chest, peering up at Hermione with a serious stare. "Head on in, Miss Granger. Everything said in this chamber is recorded so no need for notes. Just see what he needs from you so we can continue our investigation."

The door slid open and Hermione sucked in a harsh breath before stepping over the threshold. Her arms crossed tersely across her chest. When he lifted his head, he didn't miss the sagging of his shoulders, nor the relief that flooded his features.

"Thank, Merlin. There you are!"

Her brow puckered as she crossed the room; up close, the discrepancies in his age were far more prominent. Some of his hair was no longer the blond of his youth, but shimmered in a silvery-white near his temples. There was a nasty scar across the side of his neck that disappeared into his collar. The most arresting discrepancy of all, however, sat proudly on the third finger of his left hand—a wedding band.

"Malfoy?"

"How are you, love? Surprised to see me?" His lips quirked up in that familiar smirk she knew all too well and his brows lifted as he reached towards her. With a start, she flinched away from the friendly gesture and stared at him seriously. "Ah, I was worried about this. Say, what's the date?"

"It's the twelfth of September, 2003. Where are you from?"

Malfoy's grin widened and he carded a hand through his silvery strands. "Don't you mean when, love?" Her brow pinched and he chuckled under his breath. "2023."

An incredulous little noise burst past her lips. "That's impossible. You're from twenty years in the future?"

"I am."

"And what on earth do you want with me? I have work I could be doing, you know. How is it twenty years later and you're still going out of your way to infuriate me?"

Malfoy's chin dropped to his chest and he laughed mirthlessly. "You're always saying shite like that, you know? The last time you were so cross with me, was because I'd forgotten to feed the cat. You actually accused me of starving him just to annoy you."

Hermione pulse thundered deep within her ears and she felt the blood slowly drain from her cheeks. "Cat?"

"Yes, you insisted on adopting the ratty little thing and I was powerless to stop you." Malfoy peeked up through his long lashes, a lopsided smile pulling at the corner of his mouth.

"Draco Malfoy, speak plainly this instant," she breathed, her hands coming down to brace herself on the back of the metal chair opposite him.

"Where I'm from, you're Hermione Granger-Malfoy and have been for nearly two decades."

Knees buckling, Hermione steadied herself on the chair as she sucked in short, desperate breaths.

"I'm your husband, Hermione."

xXx

A/N: Hope you enjoyed this first installment! I'll be back in a few days with another for you.

Alpha Love: MCal

Beta Babe: DreamsofDramione

Make sure you're following both of their author pages! They have so much amazing work coming up and I can't waiiiit for you all to read it.

Your thoughts are always appreciated!