Celebrate the Season Request for Trillian (1/2)
Celebrate the Season fic request for Trillian/ (Part 1/2)
Author: Anya/dancinggoldfish
Title: Rancor Between Coworkers (1/2)
Rating: PG/PG-13 (I'm terrible at picking out
Disclaimer: All recognizable places, objects, and people belong to JKR. I only wish I owned them :D
Author's Notes: Probably different than what you were expecting, and there is some slight angst I suppose, but I did try to keep it fun :D
Summary: Muggleborns are being targeted for murder, and Ron, Harry, Hermione, and Draco must work together to catch the killer, no matter how much they might hate it.
To say that Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy did not get along as to speak in understatements. Not only did they hate each other, they went out of their way to make the other’s life miserable. The situation was not aided much by the involvement of Ronald Weasley or Hermione Granger. Each had their own reasons for disliking the “pointy-faced git”, and while neither actively needled him, neither did anything to hold the Boy-Who-Lived back from losing his temper with blond Auror.
And now?
Now all three, gathered together next to the refreshment table, were pointedly ignoring Draco Malfoy, who had just appeared at the main entrance. The man scanned the room, caught sight of the trio, and determinedly headed their way. “Potter,” he began without preamble, “what the hell is the meaning of the application you filed last night?”
“What application, Malfoy?” Harry replied, turning to face the angry blond with a casual expression on his face.
“The application requesting that I be transferred to Siberian Consulate,” Draco replied, visibly tensing as he continued to drawl. “Perhaps such behavior is only to be expected from the Savior of the wizarding world, but I had been assured that you had grown up beyond such childish tactics.”
Harry shrugged as he frowned. “So somebody submitted a request to have you transferred away. Hardly surprising, given your charming personality. What of it?”
“Someone submitted a transfer request under my name, Scarhead. That got me thinking. Who could possibly hate me enough to do that and still have the balls and brains to pull it off? The Wonder Trio, of course. If you three pooled all your capabilities together, I’m sure you could up with enough of the necessary qualities to do it,” he elaborated.
“We didn’t do it, Malfoy,” Hermione replied, speaking up for the first time during the encounter. “And Harry, get a hold of yourself! You’re creating a scene.”
“Yeah, Potter, you’re creating a scene,” Draco drawled, “and we don’t want that, do we?” Looking over the faces of the trio, he realized that his words had struck closer to home than he’d intended. “Potter,” he began.
Hermione had whitened, but she quickly straightened and allowed her cool social mask to slip into place. “I can assure you, Malfoy, none of us were involved in this transfer conspiracy you’re so concerned about. Now, if you’ll excuse us, we had better go mingle.”
Draco wasn’t stupid; he’d clearly been dismissed, and just as clearly, Granger - and by extension, Potter and Weasley - didn’t want him around them. It wasn’t the bone-deep enmity they carried within themselves for each other that was the cause of such a desire either - there was something else. Curious, he allowed them to withdraw and circle about the room.
But he watched them.
Even as he flirted, chatted, and mingled, some part of his awareness was focused on each member of the Wonder Trio as they moved about the room. And as they chatted and smiled easily, he wondered at their intentions. All three were clad appropriately, in the ceremonial Auror robes, as was he. Granger’s shoes were odd - sturdy and practical - but knowing her, she’d simply thrown the dress robes on over her work clothes and headed to the Yuletide fete. Potter and Weasley were in the same situation. It could be excused as “time-saving” behaviors, but that didn’t quite jibe with what he knew of the two men - Granger, possibly, them, no. So what were they planning?
“Don’t stare,” Pansy hissed at him, jabbing him in the side with her elbow even as she kept a smile as carefully applied as her makeup plastered on her face. “I know you hate them, Draco, but honestly, maintain appearances. There is no need to demonstrate so vehemently what the whole world already knows. Your little display over by the refreshment table was more than enough for one evening.”
In a marked contrast to Granger, the outfit Pansy wore was practically for only two purposes - to look good on her, and to seduce a man. Her blue-gray, low-cut robes made the most of her curves and brought out bright, sensual gleams in her elegantly coiffed hair and roses and cream skin, even as her tall heels added centimeters to her diminutive height. Yet Draco, for all he appreciated the display, couldn’t help himself from focusing on the mystery Granger, Potter, and Weasley presented.
“Draco, stop staring,” Pansy whispered to him again as she drew him around to face the many flashbulbs going off.
He’d been expecting it, yet as always, the bright bursts of light left him disoriented. “You know how I hate this ridiculous gauntlet, Pansy,” he complained.
“Next time, I suggest taking care of it before you nearly cause a fistfight. You’re a celebrity as much as them, Draco. Of course you’ll have to face the cameras - just like them,” she replied, patting his shoulder easily.
“They’re not posing for this parade,” Draco pointed out, gritting his teeth through his smile as he tried to navigate past the reporters, more than merely half blind from all the cameras going off.
“One, they don’t seek the publicity. They still have to deal with the cameras at social events, but they can afford to put them off. You can’t.” Pansy leveled her dark gaze at him. “Yes, you’re as famous as them, but for different and not necessarily as good reasons. The image presented to the rest of the world by the Wonder Trio is simple - hardworking saviors. You, however, are the son of a Death Eater who was also a manipulative, blackmailing bastard. You flirted with joining the Death Eaters before the Wonder Trio saved you, and while you did a shitload of work bringing down You -” She caught his gaze, remembered his feelings on the subjects, and switched words. “- Voldemort , it can also be fairly easy for many idiots to dismiss you on as a filthy rich bastard who got out when he saw the chance and plays at being an Auror.” She raised a hand to cut off his protests. “You and I know that’s not true, but at the same time, we know that you’re not lily-white with innocence - and the public knows it. So you have to work a careful balance - bringing a positive limelight to the Malfoy family and enterprises and ensuring that people see you as a good person, but not too far to be unbelievable.”
Draco smiled, the first time he’d truly done so since he’d received that dratted transfer request. “If I had known you were going to talk my ear off, I never would have asked you to handle PR for the Malfoys,” he teased.
“Admit it,” Pansy laughed, “I’m brilliant and I’m perfect. You’re just jealous because you don’t have my brains.”
“I’ll leave the brains to Granger,” Draco replied cryptically, nodding in a direction over her shoulder.
Pansy refused to look. “Will you please stop staring?” she demanded. “People are beginning to wonder if there isn’t some sort of sexual tension between you and one of the Wonder Trio.”
“One of the Wonder Trio!?” Draco squeaked out - it was mortifying, his voice lost at such a suggestion.
“It’s pretty much evenly split between Granger and Potter, although a couple of people I’ve talked to about are rooting for Weasley,” Pansy explained.
There was a full minute of silence. “There is nothing between me and any members of the Wonder Trio,” Draco growled. “It’s simply pure dislike - something obviously foreign to these sycophantic hordes. Sexual tension, my arse. And what the bloody hell are you doing, talking to people about this?”
Pansy said something in reply - he didn’t catch what as his gaze was arrested by Potter slipping through one of the many doors lining the walls of the room. Weasley had disappeared through another one earlier, and even as his eyes were swinging across the room to Granger, she was heading for a third door. “Excuse me,” he muttered to Pansy, cutting her off in the middle of her amused comment. “Give my regrets to anyone who asks - urgent Auror business.”
Before she could even think to protest, he was hurrying towards the closest door. This wasn’t the first time he’d been a guest in the Zabini home; while it had been a while, he knew its corridors well from years of hide-and-go-seek, and he knew that the doors the three friends had taken led directly to the main hallway. As did the one he was walking quickly through, boot heels near-silent on the plush carpet.
“Draco.” Blaise Zabini stepped into the hallway in front of him. “Where are you heading off to so soon? You’ve only just arrived.”
“Auror business,” Draco replied firmly. “I’d stay if I could, but you know how my work is.” He trailed off with a languid shrug.
“Ah.” Blaise hesitated, then said, “I saw Potter, Granger, and Weasley heading out too.” The unspoken question hovered above his words.
Draco nodded. “The same. If you could keep this quiet, I’d appreciate it.”
“Of course, Draco. Does Pansy know?”
“Yeah. She was the one I was with when I had to leave,” Draco confirmed. “She’s all yours.”
“Excellent,” Blaise replied, teeth flashing in a slash of a grin. “Well, go off and catch bad guys. I will be entertaining the lovely Miss Parkinson.”
Draco nodded, smiling as well, and continued on his hurry down the hall. The Wonder Trio were already gathering their cloaks, faces grim, their bodies turned to walk through the front door at any moment. “Oi!” he called, drawing their attention to him before they could disappear into the night. They weren’t happy to see him - that he could tell he easily - and he smirked.
“What do you want, Malfoy?” Ron demanded as he helped Hermione into her cloak. “We had nothing to do with the transfer application. ‘Mione already told you that.”
“Get back to the party, Malfoy,” Hermione added. “You’ve already drawn enough attention to us for one night.”
“What are you doing?” Draco asked, ignoring her suggestion.
“None of your bloody business,” Ron shot back. “Now go blow a fag and get back to the party.” As if on cue, clumsy, drunken singing of “Deck the Halls” burst out audibly through the suddenly opened door.
“Parkinson,” Harry acknowledged with a resigned expression on his face.
“Isn’t this a cozy tête-à-tête?” Pansy teased as she strolled towards them. “If the reporters catch wind of this, they’ll have you all in a foursome by tomorrow morning’s paper.”
Hermione and Harry looked uncomfortable. Ron was obviously about to say something inflammatory, but Draco opened his mouth first. “What are you doing here, Pansy? Blaise is supposed to be with you.”
Pansy rolled her eyes. “Yes, I know. I was able to slip back in there without being noticed, and I’ll be able to slip back in there without being noticed either. Now, what’s going on here?” she demanded.
“Auror business,” Hemrione hastily replied. “Strictly confidential.”
Pansy shrugged. “Ah, well. No screaming fights in fisticuffs, you hear me, Draco?” she warned.
“Yes, ma’am,” he replied, tossing off a salute. Her lips twitched, but she didn’t say anything as she returned to the ballroom. Draco turned his attention to the three former Gryffindors as the door closed behind her. “You guys wouldn’t be cutting me out of this case, would you?”
The trio looked among each other, then back at him. “Nonsense, Malfoy. Why on earth would we want to do that?” Hermione answered briskly. “Just because we don’t like you doesn’t mean that we’re out to get you.”
Harry snorted, hiding his laughter behind his hand. “If the lead pans out, we’ll let you know. He’s very skittish - we could barely get him agree to meet with us.”
“Tell me more about him now, and I won’t insist on joining you,” Draco stated firmly, causing the trio to roll their eyes and groan.
“You really are a git, you know that, Malfoy?” Hermione stated definitely as she rested her hands on her hips, lookin gat him. Then she sighed, and said, “You guys go on ahead. I’ll Apparate after I finish filling the Ferret in on the details.”
Harry and Ron nodded, laughing, as they stepped out onto the street. Near-silent cracks broke the silence moments later as they Disapparated. Hermione turned to Draco with an annoyed sound. “So, Malfoy, what do you want to know?”
“Everything.”
“Everything?” she parroted, raising an eyebrow. “I don’t have time to tell you everyting, Malfoy. Haven’t you been reading the reports Ron, Harry, and I filed? They’re there for a reason, you know.”
“I know,” he replied, running a hand through his hair. “I’m not yet up-to-date with the reports filed in the last forty-eight hours. Fill me in on those, and how you think your snitch will help you.”
Her right eyebrow rose to join the first. “I beg your pardon, Malfoy?”
He gestured. “What’s so bloody difficult about that request, Granger. Just tell me what you know.”
“It’s something called manners, Malfoy.”
Draco groaned. “Why the hell are you wasting my time, Know-It-All?”
“I would like a little respect from you, Malfoy. You don’t bother to read my reports, and then you demand that I give you the information you need with very little regard towards manners or respect. Ask politely.”
“You are one of the most hardheaded, prissy, stuck-up - women - I have ever had to work with, Granger,” he snapped. “Merlin’s balls, you’d drive a saint to drink.”
“Looks like you’re an alcoholic then,” she retorted smugly. “I happen to like the fact that I annoy you. Deal with it, apologize, and then ask me again, politely this time.”
He stared, laughed in a manner that was not at all reassuring for Hermione. “You have got to be kidding me, Granger. Just tell me the damned story so you and I can both get out of here.”
She looked mulish, but he could see the amused glint in her brown eyes, and it infuriated him. “Say please,” she insisted.
He was going to get her for this. Jellied toad intestines in her inbox. Itching powder in her shoes. He’d have to think of something good. “Please?”
Then she was grinning, and he was glaring at her. “Walk with me,” she commanded as she buttoned her cloak closed. Their feet clattered on the steps on the Zabini house, and she began talking and gesturing. “Our source insists on remaining anonymous. He’s given us enough information that has allowed us to figure out that he wasn’t too high up in the Death Eater circles when Voldemort was running around, but he’s more important now, post-war.”
“Stepped into the shoes of the killed members of the inner circle?”
Hermione nodded. “Yes. We have a fair idea of who he is - rather who he might be, but we don’t want to make any moves for fear of spooking him. So we gather his information, check it, and use it. So far, all of it has checked out.”
“You don’t think that it might be a setup? Some sort of trap to draw you in and then cut you off? We’ve already nearly lost two Aurors to this bastard - you have to keep that in mind,” Draco interrupted.
She gave him a look that plainly told him she thought his IQ was falling fast. “Of course that’s a very serious possibility. Ron, Harry, and I have taken precautions against it, and no, you may not know them, not yet. Currently, I determine who needs to know, and you don’t.”
He nodded, didn’t protest, although he fully intended to later. “Alright, so what else?” he asked as they walked under the glow of a streetlight.
She hesitated fractionally, then said, “Nothing that I can think of at the moment. It’s all in the report I filed anyway. Why didn’t you read it?”
“Didn’t have time to today - I was busy dealing with my ‘transfer request’,” Draco replied.
“How did you catch that anyway? Don’t transfer requests usually get put in, and you’re later told if you’d been approved or not?” Hermione asked.
“A friend of mine works in that section - he thought it was odd, so he checked with me.”
“That’s lucky.”
“Don’t I know it.”
They paused under another streetlight. “Well, Malfoy, if that’s it, I’d better head after Harry and Ron.”
“We aren’t arguing, Granger,” Draco pointed out, rubbing his hands together before burying them in his pockets.
“I noticed that, Malfoy. That doesn’t change anything,” Hermione retorted. “If you get a chance, look over the reports we’ve filed.”
“Was that an order, Granger?” Draco drawled, beginning to glare at her once more.
“See, we’re arguing again. Just look over the damned report,” Hermione snapped before she disappeared with a quiet crack.
She reappeared in Forfar, Scotland, a small county town. “You’re late, ‘Mione,” Ron growled as he looked up at her arrival.
She brushed herself off. “My deepest and most sincere apologies, Ron.”
“What took you so long, Hermione?” Harry added, wrapping his cloak tighter about his body as they began trudging up the hill.
“Malfoy wanted a more detailed explanation than we agreed on, so it took me a bit to convince him to go check out the report instead,” Hermione replied, shrugging her shoulders.
“Fabulous,” Ron muttered as he grabbed a hold of their portkey - a crumpled tin can - and waited for them to grab a hold so he could activate it. “I don’t see why we have to work with him,” he grumbled.
“Because Stephen Cornfoot is in the medward for the same reason Anthony is. They were tracking down the killer and got wounded in the process. Just be glad they didn’t temporarily assign you and Malfoy to work together,” Hermione pointed out.
They were flung through the air at that moment as Ron chose to respond with action instead of words and activated the portkey. Their landing was hardly graceful - neither of them was focused on such things, for they could already see the Dark Mark floating above the small, ramshackle hut. Curses filling the air, they rushed towards the dilapidated building, slowing only when they reached the perimeter, wands out, checking for occupants.
There was one living person inside, and once they had rushed through the standard safety procedures, they found their quarry, throat slashed posthumously, blood spattering the walls. Hermione turned, fought back her retching, then joined her two friends in silently checking the scene for clues.
There were none of course. The bastard that had done this, the killer they’d been tracking for nearly six weeks now - he knew better than that. There had been some slipups in the beginning, but not serious ones, and the killer had learned since then. Hermione’s teeth gritted as she fought the urge to hunt down that idiot reporter. The man - a male clone of Rita Skeeter to be sure - had managed to get onto the crime scene, snoop on the many conversations and meetings held by the press, and take a boatload of photos, and then turned around and published every damned fact in the paper. So the killer had learned - hadn’t repeated a mistake - and Harry, Hermione, Ron, and Draco were stuck trying to find a killer who left no clues behind.
“Done?” Harry asked, turning to Ron and Hermione after finishing the last of diagnosis spells on their snitch.
“We should get Malfoy out here,” Hermione said, the words tumbling from her mouth before she could think about what they truly meant, especially gathered together in such a sentence.
Predictably, Ron’s fists balled up and he demanded, “Why?”
“He’s part of the team, no? And don’t you think that with his background, he might be able to catch something we missed?” Hermione pointed out.
“It’s pretty unlikely we’ve missed anything, Hermione,” Ron countered. “Between the three of us, and the years of experience we’ve got - I’d say it’s pretty damned near impossible.”
“We’re obviously missing something,” Hermione answered. “We haven’t gotten any useful clues from the last three kills, and now our snitch is dead! Our only lead into who this bastard is. I’m just saying that Malfoy might have picked something up when he was still running with the Death Eaters - something obscure that could give us a clue.”
Harry was silent - they both turned to him, awaiting his decision. “I hate to say this, but Hermione’s right. At the very least, we’ll have had a fourth pair of eyes to look over this mess - and Ron,” he continued before the redhead could interrupt, “we’ve always been saying that Malfoy’s a sneaky bastard, just like his father. Might as well see if we’re right.”
Ron’s blue eyes did brighten at that - he was always looking for some way to one-up Malfoy. “Fine, but I’m not going to get him.”
Hermione rolled her eyes, punched Ron in the shoulder. “I’ll go, you prat. Back in half an hour.”
“We’ll send out search parties,” Harry rejoined.
“You do that!” she shouted even as she disappeared again with a quiet crack. She obviously didn’t have a hard time finding the blond-haired former Slytherin, for they reappeared in under twenty minutes, the latter pale-faced and grim looking.
He glanced over at body on the floor, and his face whitened further. “Terrence Higgs,” he muttered.
“I beg your pardon?” Hermione asked, catching his arm with her hand.
“That’s Terrence Higgs,” Draco replied, nodding to the body, but refusing to look at it directly.
“We crossed him off the list three weeks ago,” Ron argued, straightening from his post by the bed. “What the hell makes you think you’re right?”
“He looks different, but certain aspects of his body are the same - nose, eye shape. Besides, that’s one of the glamours he was fond of wearing back when we were both fighting for Voldemort,” Draco said flatly. “I fought alongside that face for eight months - I think that I would know who it belongs to, even if it isn’t biologically theirs.”
Hermione shook her head - no - at Ron before he could say anything else. “Alright, Malfoy, we believe you.” A chime from her wristwatch drew them back to the time - approaching three in the morning - and she announced, “We’d better finish cleanup.”
Somehow, she found herself working alongside Malfoy as they worked to dismantle the hut and prepare Higgs’s body for the burning ceremony. They lay it across the shoddy daybed, the blood cleaned from its skin and the walls of the shabby building. And then, together, they stood on the ridge as they watched it burn.
Onwards to Part 2
Three things you want your fic to include: a camera (of wizarding or muggle persuasion), a Christmas carol, green and red stockings
Three things you do not want your fic to include: angst, Hermione as a death deather, scrooge
Anything specific that you do not want to write: I have issues with hermione is really a pureblood fics and ones with draco likeing bad muggle punk music.
Thank-you for Celebrating the Season with Draco and Hermione!
Author: Anya/dancinggoldfish
Title: Rancor Between Coworkers (1/2)
Rating: PG/PG-13 (I'm terrible at picking out
Disclaimer: All recognizable places, objects, and people belong to JKR. I only wish I owned them :D
Author's Notes: Probably different than what you were expecting, and there is some slight angst I suppose, but I did try to keep it fun :D
Summary: Muggleborns are being targeted for murder, and Ron, Harry, Hermione, and Draco must work together to catch the killer, no matter how much they might hate it.
To say that Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy did not get along as to speak in understatements. Not only did they hate each other, they went out of their way to make the other’s life miserable. The situation was not aided much by the involvement of Ronald Weasley or Hermione Granger. Each had their own reasons for disliking the “pointy-faced git”, and while neither actively needled him, neither did anything to hold the Boy-Who-Lived back from losing his temper with blond Auror.
And now?
Now all three, gathered together next to the refreshment table, were pointedly ignoring Draco Malfoy, who had just appeared at the main entrance. The man scanned the room, caught sight of the trio, and determinedly headed their way. “Potter,” he began without preamble, “what the hell is the meaning of the application you filed last night?”
“What application, Malfoy?” Harry replied, turning to face the angry blond with a casual expression on his face.
“The application requesting that I be transferred to Siberian Consulate,” Draco replied, visibly tensing as he continued to drawl. “Perhaps such behavior is only to be expected from the Savior of the wizarding world, but I had been assured that you had grown up beyond such childish tactics.”
Harry shrugged as he frowned. “So somebody submitted a request to have you transferred away. Hardly surprising, given your charming personality. What of it?”
“Someone submitted a transfer request under my name, Scarhead. That got me thinking. Who could possibly hate me enough to do that and still have the balls and brains to pull it off? The Wonder Trio, of course. If you three pooled all your capabilities together, I’m sure you could up with enough of the necessary qualities to do it,” he elaborated.
“We didn’t do it, Malfoy,” Hermione replied, speaking up for the first time during the encounter. “And Harry, get a hold of yourself! You’re creating a scene.”
“Yeah, Potter, you’re creating a scene,” Draco drawled, “and we don’t want that, do we?” Looking over the faces of the trio, he realized that his words had struck closer to home than he’d intended. “Potter,” he began.
Hermione had whitened, but she quickly straightened and allowed her cool social mask to slip into place. “I can assure you, Malfoy, none of us were involved in this transfer conspiracy you’re so concerned about. Now, if you’ll excuse us, we had better go mingle.”
Draco wasn’t stupid; he’d clearly been dismissed, and just as clearly, Granger - and by extension, Potter and Weasley - didn’t want him around them. It wasn’t the bone-deep enmity they carried within themselves for each other that was the cause of such a desire either - there was something else. Curious, he allowed them to withdraw and circle about the room.
But he watched them.
Even as he flirted, chatted, and mingled, some part of his awareness was focused on each member of the Wonder Trio as they moved about the room. And as they chatted and smiled easily, he wondered at their intentions. All three were clad appropriately, in the ceremonial Auror robes, as was he. Granger’s shoes were odd - sturdy and practical - but knowing her, she’d simply thrown the dress robes on over her work clothes and headed to the Yuletide fete. Potter and Weasley were in the same situation. It could be excused as “time-saving” behaviors, but that didn’t quite jibe with what he knew of the two men - Granger, possibly, them, no. So what were they planning?
“Don’t stare,” Pansy hissed at him, jabbing him in the side with her elbow even as she kept a smile as carefully applied as her makeup plastered on her face. “I know you hate them, Draco, but honestly, maintain appearances. There is no need to demonstrate so vehemently what the whole world already knows. Your little display over by the refreshment table was more than enough for one evening.”
In a marked contrast to Granger, the outfit Pansy wore was practically for only two purposes - to look good on her, and to seduce a man. Her blue-gray, low-cut robes made the most of her curves and brought out bright, sensual gleams in her elegantly coiffed hair and roses and cream skin, even as her tall heels added centimeters to her diminutive height. Yet Draco, for all he appreciated the display, couldn’t help himself from focusing on the mystery Granger, Potter, and Weasley presented.
“Draco, stop staring,” Pansy whispered to him again as she drew him around to face the many flashbulbs going off.
He’d been expecting it, yet as always, the bright bursts of light left him disoriented. “You know how I hate this ridiculous gauntlet, Pansy,” he complained.
“Next time, I suggest taking care of it before you nearly cause a fistfight. You’re a celebrity as much as them, Draco. Of course you’ll have to face the cameras - just like them,” she replied, patting his shoulder easily.
“They’re not posing for this parade,” Draco pointed out, gritting his teeth through his smile as he tried to navigate past the reporters, more than merely half blind from all the cameras going off.
“One, they don’t seek the publicity. They still have to deal with the cameras at social events, but they can afford to put them off. You can’t.” Pansy leveled her dark gaze at him. “Yes, you’re as famous as them, but for different and not necessarily as good reasons. The image presented to the rest of the world by the Wonder Trio is simple - hardworking saviors. You, however, are the son of a Death Eater who was also a manipulative, blackmailing bastard. You flirted with joining the Death Eaters before the Wonder Trio saved you, and while you did a shitload of work bringing down You -” She caught his gaze, remembered his feelings on the subjects, and switched words. “- Voldemort , it can also be fairly easy for many idiots to dismiss you on as a filthy rich bastard who got out when he saw the chance and plays at being an Auror.” She raised a hand to cut off his protests. “You and I know that’s not true, but at the same time, we know that you’re not lily-white with innocence - and the public knows it. So you have to work a careful balance - bringing a positive limelight to the Malfoy family and enterprises and ensuring that people see you as a good person, but not too far to be unbelievable.”
Draco smiled, the first time he’d truly done so since he’d received that dratted transfer request. “If I had known you were going to talk my ear off, I never would have asked you to handle PR for the Malfoys,” he teased.
“Admit it,” Pansy laughed, “I’m brilliant and I’m perfect. You’re just jealous because you don’t have my brains.”
“I’ll leave the brains to Granger,” Draco replied cryptically, nodding in a direction over her shoulder.
Pansy refused to look. “Will you please stop staring?” she demanded. “People are beginning to wonder if there isn’t some sort of sexual tension between you and one of the Wonder Trio.”
“One of the Wonder Trio!?” Draco squeaked out - it was mortifying, his voice lost at such a suggestion.
“It’s pretty much evenly split between Granger and Potter, although a couple of people I’ve talked to about are rooting for Weasley,” Pansy explained.
There was a full minute of silence. “There is nothing between me and any members of the Wonder Trio,” Draco growled. “It’s simply pure dislike - something obviously foreign to these sycophantic hordes. Sexual tension, my arse. And what the bloody hell are you doing, talking to people about this?”
Pansy said something in reply - he didn’t catch what as his gaze was arrested by Potter slipping through one of the many doors lining the walls of the room. Weasley had disappeared through another one earlier, and even as his eyes were swinging across the room to Granger, she was heading for a third door. “Excuse me,” he muttered to Pansy, cutting her off in the middle of her amused comment. “Give my regrets to anyone who asks - urgent Auror business.”
Before she could even think to protest, he was hurrying towards the closest door. This wasn’t the first time he’d been a guest in the Zabini home; while it had been a while, he knew its corridors well from years of hide-and-go-seek, and he knew that the doors the three friends had taken led directly to the main hallway. As did the one he was walking quickly through, boot heels near-silent on the plush carpet.
“Draco.” Blaise Zabini stepped into the hallway in front of him. “Where are you heading off to so soon? You’ve only just arrived.”
“Auror business,” Draco replied firmly. “I’d stay if I could, but you know how my work is.” He trailed off with a languid shrug.
“Ah.” Blaise hesitated, then said, “I saw Potter, Granger, and Weasley heading out too.” The unspoken question hovered above his words.
Draco nodded. “The same. If you could keep this quiet, I’d appreciate it.”
“Of course, Draco. Does Pansy know?”
“Yeah. She was the one I was with when I had to leave,” Draco confirmed. “She’s all yours.”
“Excellent,” Blaise replied, teeth flashing in a slash of a grin. “Well, go off and catch bad guys. I will be entertaining the lovely Miss Parkinson.”
Draco nodded, smiling as well, and continued on his hurry down the hall. The Wonder Trio were already gathering their cloaks, faces grim, their bodies turned to walk through the front door at any moment. “Oi!” he called, drawing their attention to him before they could disappear into the night. They weren’t happy to see him - that he could tell he easily - and he smirked.
“What do you want, Malfoy?” Ron demanded as he helped Hermione into her cloak. “We had nothing to do with the transfer application. ‘Mione already told you that.”
“Get back to the party, Malfoy,” Hermione added. “You’ve already drawn enough attention to us for one night.”
“What are you doing?” Draco asked, ignoring her suggestion.
“None of your bloody business,” Ron shot back. “Now go blow a fag and get back to the party.” As if on cue, clumsy, drunken singing of “Deck the Halls” burst out audibly through the suddenly opened door.
“Parkinson,” Harry acknowledged with a resigned expression on his face.
“Isn’t this a cozy tête-à-tête?” Pansy teased as she strolled towards them. “If the reporters catch wind of this, they’ll have you all in a foursome by tomorrow morning’s paper.”
Hermione and Harry looked uncomfortable. Ron was obviously about to say something inflammatory, but Draco opened his mouth first. “What are you doing here, Pansy? Blaise is supposed to be with you.”
Pansy rolled her eyes. “Yes, I know. I was able to slip back in there without being noticed, and I’ll be able to slip back in there without being noticed either. Now, what’s going on here?” she demanded.
“Auror business,” Hemrione hastily replied. “Strictly confidential.”
Pansy shrugged. “Ah, well. No screaming fights in fisticuffs, you hear me, Draco?” she warned.
“Yes, ma’am,” he replied, tossing off a salute. Her lips twitched, but she didn’t say anything as she returned to the ballroom. Draco turned his attention to the three former Gryffindors as the door closed behind her. “You guys wouldn’t be cutting me out of this case, would you?”
The trio looked among each other, then back at him. “Nonsense, Malfoy. Why on earth would we want to do that?” Hermione answered briskly. “Just because we don’t like you doesn’t mean that we’re out to get you.”
Harry snorted, hiding his laughter behind his hand. “If the lead pans out, we’ll let you know. He’s very skittish - we could barely get him agree to meet with us.”
“Tell me more about him now, and I won’t insist on joining you,” Draco stated firmly, causing the trio to roll their eyes and groan.
“You really are a git, you know that, Malfoy?” Hermione stated definitely as she rested her hands on her hips, lookin gat him. Then she sighed, and said, “You guys go on ahead. I’ll Apparate after I finish filling the Ferret in on the details.”
Harry and Ron nodded, laughing, as they stepped out onto the street. Near-silent cracks broke the silence moments later as they Disapparated. Hermione turned to Draco with an annoyed sound. “So, Malfoy, what do you want to know?”
“Everything.”
“Everything?” she parroted, raising an eyebrow. “I don’t have time to tell you everyting, Malfoy. Haven’t you been reading the reports Ron, Harry, and I filed? They’re there for a reason, you know.”
“I know,” he replied, running a hand through his hair. “I’m not yet up-to-date with the reports filed in the last forty-eight hours. Fill me in on those, and how you think your snitch will help you.”
Her right eyebrow rose to join the first. “I beg your pardon, Malfoy?”
He gestured. “What’s so bloody difficult about that request, Granger. Just tell me what you know.”
“It’s something called manners, Malfoy.”
Draco groaned. “Why the hell are you wasting my time, Know-It-All?”
“I would like a little respect from you, Malfoy. You don’t bother to read my reports, and then you demand that I give you the information you need with very little regard towards manners or respect. Ask politely.”
“You are one of the most hardheaded, prissy, stuck-up - women - I have ever had to work with, Granger,” he snapped. “Merlin’s balls, you’d drive a saint to drink.”
“Looks like you’re an alcoholic then,” she retorted smugly. “I happen to like the fact that I annoy you. Deal with it, apologize, and then ask me again, politely this time.”
He stared, laughed in a manner that was not at all reassuring for Hermione. “You have got to be kidding me, Granger. Just tell me the damned story so you and I can both get out of here.”
She looked mulish, but he could see the amused glint in her brown eyes, and it infuriated him. “Say please,” she insisted.
He was going to get her for this. Jellied toad intestines in her inbox. Itching powder in her shoes. He’d have to think of something good. “Please?”
Then she was grinning, and he was glaring at her. “Walk with me,” she commanded as she buttoned her cloak closed. Their feet clattered on the steps on the Zabini house, and she began talking and gesturing. “Our source insists on remaining anonymous. He’s given us enough information that has allowed us to figure out that he wasn’t too high up in the Death Eater circles when Voldemort was running around, but he’s more important now, post-war.”
“Stepped into the shoes of the killed members of the inner circle?”
Hermione nodded. “Yes. We have a fair idea of who he is - rather who he might be, but we don’t want to make any moves for fear of spooking him. So we gather his information, check it, and use it. So far, all of it has checked out.”
“You don’t think that it might be a setup? Some sort of trap to draw you in and then cut you off? We’ve already nearly lost two Aurors to this bastard - you have to keep that in mind,” Draco interrupted.
She gave him a look that plainly told him she thought his IQ was falling fast. “Of course that’s a very serious possibility. Ron, Harry, and I have taken precautions against it, and no, you may not know them, not yet. Currently, I determine who needs to know, and you don’t.”
He nodded, didn’t protest, although he fully intended to later. “Alright, so what else?” he asked as they walked under the glow of a streetlight.
She hesitated fractionally, then said, “Nothing that I can think of at the moment. It’s all in the report I filed anyway. Why didn’t you read it?”
“Didn’t have time to today - I was busy dealing with my ‘transfer request’,” Draco replied.
“How did you catch that anyway? Don’t transfer requests usually get put in, and you’re later told if you’d been approved or not?” Hermione asked.
“A friend of mine works in that section - he thought it was odd, so he checked with me.”
“That’s lucky.”
“Don’t I know it.”
They paused under another streetlight. “Well, Malfoy, if that’s it, I’d better head after Harry and Ron.”
“We aren’t arguing, Granger,” Draco pointed out, rubbing his hands together before burying them in his pockets.
“I noticed that, Malfoy. That doesn’t change anything,” Hermione retorted. “If you get a chance, look over the reports we’ve filed.”
“Was that an order, Granger?” Draco drawled, beginning to glare at her once more.
“See, we’re arguing again. Just look over the damned report,” Hermione snapped before she disappeared with a quiet crack.
She reappeared in Forfar, Scotland, a small county town. “You’re late, ‘Mione,” Ron growled as he looked up at her arrival.
She brushed herself off. “My deepest and most sincere apologies, Ron.”
“What took you so long, Hermione?” Harry added, wrapping his cloak tighter about his body as they began trudging up the hill.
“Malfoy wanted a more detailed explanation than we agreed on, so it took me a bit to convince him to go check out the report instead,” Hermione replied, shrugging her shoulders.
“Fabulous,” Ron muttered as he grabbed a hold of their portkey - a crumpled tin can - and waited for them to grab a hold so he could activate it. “I don’t see why we have to work with him,” he grumbled.
“Because Stephen Cornfoot is in the medward for the same reason Anthony is. They were tracking down the killer and got wounded in the process. Just be glad they didn’t temporarily assign you and Malfoy to work together,” Hermione pointed out.
They were flung through the air at that moment as Ron chose to respond with action instead of words and activated the portkey. Their landing was hardly graceful - neither of them was focused on such things, for they could already see the Dark Mark floating above the small, ramshackle hut. Curses filling the air, they rushed towards the dilapidated building, slowing only when they reached the perimeter, wands out, checking for occupants.
There was one living person inside, and once they had rushed through the standard safety procedures, they found their quarry, throat slashed posthumously, blood spattering the walls. Hermione turned, fought back her retching, then joined her two friends in silently checking the scene for clues.
There were none of course. The bastard that had done this, the killer they’d been tracking for nearly six weeks now - he knew better than that. There had been some slipups in the beginning, but not serious ones, and the killer had learned since then. Hermione’s teeth gritted as she fought the urge to hunt down that idiot reporter. The man - a male clone of Rita Skeeter to be sure - had managed to get onto the crime scene, snoop on the many conversations and meetings held by the press, and take a boatload of photos, and then turned around and published every damned fact in the paper. So the killer had learned - hadn’t repeated a mistake - and Harry, Hermione, Ron, and Draco were stuck trying to find a killer who left no clues behind.
“Done?” Harry asked, turning to Ron and Hermione after finishing the last of diagnosis spells on their snitch.
“We should get Malfoy out here,” Hermione said, the words tumbling from her mouth before she could think about what they truly meant, especially gathered together in such a sentence.
Predictably, Ron’s fists balled up and he demanded, “Why?”
“He’s part of the team, no? And don’t you think that with his background, he might be able to catch something we missed?” Hermione pointed out.
“It’s pretty unlikely we’ve missed anything, Hermione,” Ron countered. “Between the three of us, and the years of experience we’ve got - I’d say it’s pretty damned near impossible.”
“We’re obviously missing something,” Hermione answered. “We haven’t gotten any useful clues from the last three kills, and now our snitch is dead! Our only lead into who this bastard is. I’m just saying that Malfoy might have picked something up when he was still running with the Death Eaters - something obscure that could give us a clue.”
Harry was silent - they both turned to him, awaiting his decision. “I hate to say this, but Hermione’s right. At the very least, we’ll have had a fourth pair of eyes to look over this mess - and Ron,” he continued before the redhead could interrupt, “we’ve always been saying that Malfoy’s a sneaky bastard, just like his father. Might as well see if we’re right.”
Ron’s blue eyes did brighten at that - he was always looking for some way to one-up Malfoy. “Fine, but I’m not going to get him.”
Hermione rolled her eyes, punched Ron in the shoulder. “I’ll go, you prat. Back in half an hour.”
“We’ll send out search parties,” Harry rejoined.
“You do that!” she shouted even as she disappeared again with a quiet crack. She obviously didn’t have a hard time finding the blond-haired former Slytherin, for they reappeared in under twenty minutes, the latter pale-faced and grim looking.
He glanced over at body on the floor, and his face whitened further. “Terrence Higgs,” he muttered.
“I beg your pardon?” Hermione asked, catching his arm with her hand.
“That’s Terrence Higgs,” Draco replied, nodding to the body, but refusing to look at it directly.
“We crossed him off the list three weeks ago,” Ron argued, straightening from his post by the bed. “What the hell makes you think you’re right?”
“He looks different, but certain aspects of his body are the same - nose, eye shape. Besides, that’s one of the glamours he was fond of wearing back when we were both fighting for Voldemort,” Draco said flatly. “I fought alongside that face for eight months - I think that I would know who it belongs to, even if it isn’t biologically theirs.”
Hermione shook her head - no - at Ron before he could say anything else. “Alright, Malfoy, we believe you.” A chime from her wristwatch drew them back to the time - approaching three in the morning - and she announced, “We’d better finish cleanup.”
Somehow, she found herself working alongside Malfoy as they worked to dismantle the hut and prepare Higgs’s body for the burning ceremony. They lay it across the shoddy daybed, the blood cleaned from its skin and the walls of the shabby building. And then, together, they stood on the ridge as they watched it burn.
Onwards to Part 2
Three things you want your fic to include: a camera (of wizarding or muggle persuasion), a Christmas carol, green and red stockings
Three things you do not want your fic to include: angst, Hermione as a death deather, scrooge
Anything specific that you do not want to write: I have issues with hermione is really a pureblood fics and ones with draco likeing bad muggle punk music.
Thank-you for Celebrating the Season with Draco and Hermione!