Carefully, he slipped his enchanted knife behind the painting, cutting the alarm wires that were attached to the back. The painting then easily came off the wall, and he swiftly pried the canvas out of the frame, carefully replacing it with a fake. He hung the painting back up, reparo'd the alarm wires, and took off down the marble halls with in a swift trot.
When he passed a bathroom, he skidded to a stop. He grinned. An \idea began to form. He was already tempting fate, why the hell not? He walked into the bathroom. The automatic lights flickered on. Nonchalantly, he made his way into a stall, locking the door behind him. He crouched in a corner, rendering himself invisible from the lone surveillance camera.
He then disapparated, grinning like a madman and feeling absolutely delicious.
Oh, yes. Draco Malfoy just loved fucking with people. And when you had a flair for the dramatic and nothing to loose, it made it all the sweeter.
oOo
"Recent evidence has come to light that the theft of more than four-hundred works of Muggle art from around the world has likely been the work of witches or wizards unknown," Hermione Granger proclaimed to a room full of Aurors and several people in the departments of International Magical Relations and Magical Law Enforcement.
"Muggle security cameras in the Van Gough Museum, located in Amsterdam, show footage of some bloke waltzing through the museum at night, pinching the painting, walking into a bathroom and simply disappearing. Additionally, after replacing the painting with a flawless reproduction, the wires that he had cut with a knife were repaired to their former state. The entire night-time staff at the museum were unconscious during the fifteen minute duration of the hoist, and all security on individual paintings had been turned off."
People in the room began mumbling to each other, not disrespectfully, but simply because humans can only stand to stay silent for a certain length of time. Especially when information pertinent to their lives was being bestowed on them. Hermione raised her voice slightly.
"Since the Dutch Council of Magiks is being, pardon my French, a bunch of stubborn, lazy and presumptuous arse-faces, we have to deal with this."
The conversation in the room increased.
"They have somehow discerned," she scowled, "from a mere fifteen minutes of gritty tape and a crime scene investigation, that the wizard was in fact British. Thus, they have delegated the bulk of the investigation to us."
Groans of protest were heard. It was Monday, and not only did they have to sit through one of Hermione Granger's infamous lectures, but it was also quickly becoming clear that they would have to tread the murky waters of the Muggle world and international politics.
She was merciless.
"The man has stolen 'Starry Night', the magnum opus of Van Gough, a highly revered Dutch painter and a Squib. The painting is venerated by the Dutch, and the Council of Magiks, through some rather shady methods, has managed to keep this from the claws of the media."
Mutterings of acquiescence were heard; it was common knowledge that the Belgian, Dutch, and French Magical governments were extremely corrupt.
"My personal staff has closely examined the recent bulge in the art-theft rate, and we have determined that most of the fliching is the work of this wizard. He's a sort of serial-art thief. Our psychiatric witch and profiler, Mrs. Unhorn," she nodded at a woman with black hair and green robes, "has informed me that the most likely reason for the crimes of this man is likely a sort of adrenaline rush, which is why he left the cameras on and the night crew unharmed. She also believes, that if this fact is true, we can be expecting his thievery to enter the magical world soon," she said, doubt lacing her voice.
From the lowly secretaries to the Minister himself, anyone in the Ministry of Magic knew about the feud between Evangeline Unhorn and Hermione Granger. Both were extremely relevant in many cases, one as a psychologist, the other as an expert in Magical Crime. Both of them would go to any length to prove the other wrong, and they would stoop to almost any methods to do so.
The reasons for this were rather personal. Hermione thought that psychology was primarily unfounded poppycock that required almost nothing but the ability to bullshit your way through anything. Unhorn was rather pissed off that a mere twenty four year old witch held such sway in the Ministry, when she herself had rose to her position and level of influence after a lengthy forty years of bartering and blackmail. Upon their first meeting, their strong personalities had clashed, and a rivalry nearing the legendry of Slytherin and Griffindor had been born.
"Why does this bloke have a fetish for Muggle art?" Nathanial Wuthers asked with cheeky charm, causing several people to chuckle.
"We're not sure," she said. "None of the objects we believe he has stolen are at all relatable. Not all of them are worth millions, nor are they all from a certain time period or artist, and they aren't in similar styles or have similar subject. There are statues, jewelry, paintings, photographs, and a few historical artifacts. It seems to be a matter of personal preference."
The short and boyish man lying down on a bench in the corner spoke up. "Just how much contact will we be having with Muggle Authorities?"
She frowned slightly, both at the question and at the manner in which he was lounging. She let both of them slide. "It will be minimal. Mr. Niwer, Head of Nonwizard Relations has graciously offered someone to do most of the negotiating with the higher ups. That'll give us clearance to everything else. A re-examination of all the scenes will be required, so a few of you will be traveling."
"This thief," said Natalia Chimbero peevishly, "how do we even know he is British? Or rather, how does the Dutch Council of Magiks claim to know he is British?"
She waved her hand at the comment, already accepting that they were going to have to take on this case. "Something about the trace amounts of English aftershave they found at the scene and the style of shoes he was wearing. If you want the specifics, you'll have to check the insanely long, driveling list of bollocks they sent through their embassy this morning. I'm having one of the secretaries lift out relevant facts from political simpering right now, but it'll be finished tomorrow at the earliest."
This did not sit well, and a patriotic edge came into the usual Monday grumbling. The Aurors and specialists nursed their cups of coffee, a few of which were spiked with a little something extra as the meeting continued. Their Marvelous Leader showed them the Muggle security tapes, and after another round of questioning, everyone shuffled back to their offices to begin their prospective tasks.
Hermione was actually excited about this case; as opposed to her coworkers, who just saw it as a pile of work. It was interesting. The thief was not stupid, but rather complex. He stole precious works of art, and he would've come away completely unscathed, she knew. The footage of him at the museum was simply because he suddenly felt the need to smear his success in everyone's faces, like a toddler smearing mud across the face of his the child who stole his treacle.
She had been granted some of the best from all of the departments, simply because of the scope of the burglary. Over four hundred pieces of art from various museums, private collections and bank vaults were no simple kidnapping. The fact that they were required to interact heavily with Muggles also came into play. Although she herself had absolutely no problems with this, she knew that many of the people she worked with were completely alienated by Muggles.
That morning's materials in her hands, she made her way back from the meeting room to her office. An enormous pile of reports on various thefts still sat on her desk, waiting for her to go through it.
When she opened her door, she dropped everything she was holding and nearly hexed the unidentified man sitting behind her desk. However, she allowed a moment of examination before she immobilized the intruder in the most painful way possible.
"You great sodding idiot! Do you have any bloody idea what I would've done to you? What I should do to you, for being such a pompous prick! Oh, don't look at me like that. I know exactly what it takes to get into my office uninvited, and that isn't just shagging my secretary."
He laughed.
"You've still got that Auror mouth on you, haven't you?"
She rolled her eyes. A flick of her wand, and all her notes and reports flew from the floor back into her arms. Hermione carried them to her desk and plopped them down unceremoniously in front of him.
"I've spent half of my life surrounded constantly by men. I'm not impervious to everything, Harry. Besides," she sniffed, "It's a form of self expression. And you shouldn't be breaking into the office of an expert on Magical Crime."
"Yeah…that last stinging ward you had up was particularly nasty, 'Mione." He stood up and hugged her, giving her a brotherly kiss on the cheek.
"Hello to you too," she muttered into his chest as she wrapped her arms around him. Her attitude belayed the fact that she was pleased to see him. The last time they had spent time together had been at a charity event last week, and she missed her friend. They had been virtually inseparable since the age of eleven. When the war against Voldemort had ended and the Goldon Trio had been forced to go their separate ways at the age of twenty, the first few weeks had been nightmarish.
Hermione sat down on a chair in her spacious office. She couldn't help but notice that Harry was virtually bubbling excitement, his boyish expression slightly strange behind his glasses and against the backdrop of his prematurely salt-and-pepper hair.
"I have good news for you," he blurted.
She raised an eyebrow. "Shoot."
"Luna's pregnant."
Hermione was momentarily rendered speechless. "That's…that's excellent. Congratulations."
"I know…" he beamed, a faraway look stealing onto his face.
"I thought women were supposed to glow during pregnancy, Harry," she teased.
He scowled, she laughed. They talked for a few minutes, catching up on the last few days, mentioning mutual acquaintances. It was then that he noticed the amount of parchment and paper in her piled around her workspace was probably equivalent to a small forest.
"Merlin, Hermione. Is all this stuff for one case?"
"Yes," she said, smiling. "They've actually given me some thing proper to work on, for once, instead of some imbecile hexing his Auntie Jane for her pearls."
"Whoever this is, they've been busy. It's not some murderer, is it?" he asked, his face darkening.
"No, no." She was quick to reassure him. "Some wizard has been stealing Muggle works of art."
"Must be crazy," he remarked off-handedly.
oOo
Draco smirked smugly to himself. The tanned brunette was whispering some enticing suggestions in his ear. They were made all the more sexy by the fact that her voice was low and husky, and she happened to be crooning in French.
He adored the French, not that he would ever admit that to anyone, even his French grandmother. They had long ago perfected many arts. The art of cooking, the art of fashion, and has he had discovered in his teenage years, the art of loving. There was just something automatically sultry about all the petite French women with their throaty voices and understated sensuality. Although, this one was proving to be quite the minx. He playfully pinched her, and she laughed against his neck as she ran her fingers down his chest.
Currently, he was in Nizza. His skin had already acquired a slight golden tone. And right now he was sitting on the veranda of his top-notch on the waterfront hotel, a pleasing package in his lap as he sipped his scotch.
Any completely sane man would've currently devoted all their attention to the woman in their lap, but not Draco Malfoy. For several reasons. He knew women enjoyed foreplay, and he was not as callous as to just take her to his room and pound her into his bed. No, he had too much class and too much experience for that. His mind was also preoccupied vaguely with the blatant 'Bugger you!' he had given the Ministry at his last heist.
It was too boring, pulling of a series of perfect crimes, and never being recognized or pursued. Where was the glory if it was only in your own mind? Were was the thrill if you knew you weren't going to get caught? He knew the Golden Trio worked at the Ministry, a along with several other people he wasn't fond of. His father had familiarized him with the workings of the ministry at a young age, and he knew that at least one department would've been whipped into a tizzy by now. He had paid off the proper people in the Council of Magiks to make sure that his crime was recognized by his fellow British countrymen.
Suddenly, he felt a slight twinge in his mind. The alarm that people were tugging on the wards on his ancestral home, Malfoy Manor. He half scowled, half grinned. They had been quick, but this was rather annoying. He would have to completely abandon the lovely Mina. Gently, he pushed her off his lap standing up from the armchair. A few Muggle banknotes left on the table paid for his scotch. With an 'Au revoir', and a trek to the hotel later, Draco Malfoy was apparating to Sussex, England.
The ministry had long ago discerned the actual location of Malfoy Manor, even with an Unplottable Charm and a Secret Keeper. When the three brats who saved the Wizarding World were held in your basement for a week, there was little you could do. Draco had been able to secure extensive wards when the manor had been magically passed on to him during the middle of his war after his father's death. It had morphed to fit his needs, as the Manor did for each of it's owners. The magic of the centuries old manor, enchantments put in place with the help of handsomely paid experts, and the effort of Draco Malfoy kept the ministry out. He was hardly their main concern. They knew he was alive, or the manor would've passed to his Scottish cousin twice removed. But he was not openly active in the still slightly chaotic wizarding world, and thus he was not a very high priority. That didn't mean he didn't get weekly or bi-weekly alerts that the persistent ministry was poking at his wards. Good thing he was stubborn.
He had made his destination the top of the Gargoyle on the roof for a reason. As he perched on the highest vantage point, he was free to look around the extensive grounds. With the help of an eyesight spell, he noticed the intruder almost immediately. Surprisingly, it wasn't a battalion of Aurors and a lazy supervisor, but rather a single person.
She was sitting by the front gates on the edge of the wards, where they mixed slightly with the Muggle world. Her delicate figure was cross-legged and her eyes were closed as she waved her wand and chanted. Granger. If he hadn't seen pictures of her in the Daily Prophet, he wouldn't have recognized her with her hair so long and dark and without her school uniform. Slightly curious but detached, he made his way closer, knowing she couldn't see him. Suddenly, there was a large CRACK and she was toppled onto her back. A slight cloud of magical residue from the combined backlash of her spell and the wards floated around her.
Draco watched her for several minutes before he began grumbling under his breath. She hadn't regained consciousness. It was starting to drizzle. He debated mentally. She worked for the Ministry. She was helpless. She was an old enemy. She was a lady, sort of. She had been tortured by his Aunt in his basement. He sighed. Might as well make up for it, Draco. He threw a stupefy at her for good measure before picking her up. It just wouldn't do to have her waking up in the middle of everything. That would be incredibly sloppy. Malfoys were never sloppy.
oOo
Hermione groaned, bringing her hands to her head. Damn Malfoy. Damn his stupid manor. Damn his bloody unbreachable wards. Wait. What had happened? She panicked mentally as she went over her memories in the darkness of her closed eyes. She had been attempting a complex magical neutralizing spell that had been recently proposed by a German wizard. Then, there was a loud noise and a flash of color and then…nothing. For a moment, she was scared to open her eyes. She reminded herself that she was unbound and feeling perfectly fine. Taking a deep breath, she steeled herself and opened her eyes.
The ceiling was gold, she noticed. How nice. Gold and cream, with simple but elegant molding. Classy. Old-fashioned classy. Snobby classy. She sat up slowly, her hair tumbling around her shoulders. She was wearing a long cotton nightgown. She was wandless, she suddenly realized. But there was no one else in the room. Uneasily, she slipped out from underneath the covers. Her feet landed on plush carpet as she took in the expensively generic room. She half expected someone to burst through the door as she studiously examined her surroundings. There was a letter on the nightstand.
It was in a cream envelope made of thick paper, and heavy. Granger was scrawled on the front in messily elegant handwriting. She frowned, opening it with her finger.
Granger,
I'll give you credit, that neutralizing spell was quite good. Sorry, my wards were better. You passed out from the magical rebound. Idiot, why were you there all alone? Don't underestimate the enemy. Never mind, I'll not concern myself with that.
I have saved your life. From magical backlash and pneumonia and possible mauling by bear or rape or something nasty. That constitutes a magical debt. Don't worry, the cost of the hotel room won't be added. I've paid them quite handsomely, feel free to order anything. The eggs benedict are divine. In case you're wondering, you're in the Westin Palace hotel in Madrid. I'm too conspicuous in England, so enjoy the sunshine. You could use some.
I'll let you know when I want to call in that debt. Perhaps when I see you next, I'll even be nice and return your wand. And stay away from the manor. Can't you accept something's beyond you for once?
It had been signed only with a large M. She knew who it was, and as she read the letter her rage escalated till it escaped in a furious screech. Hermione attempted to chuck the letter across the room, but it merely floated a few feet. Incensed, she grabbed the thing nearest to her.
Pillows, bedding, and the maroon lampshade flew across the room. She tipped over a chair, and then kicked the mahogany wardrobe. Her foot stung from the impact, and Hermione lowered herself onto the couch. Breathing heavily, she tried to think a way out of her predicament. No wand, no money. In Spain. Her Spanish was rudimentary at best, but she knew quite a few people spoke French here.
There was a timid knock on the door.
She reached for her wand, wanting to clean up the mess. Then, reality came rushing back, and she called "Come in."
A small Spanish girl in a traditional maid outfit opened the door. "Senorita?"
"Erm…habla usted ingles?"
She smiled shyly. "Yes, senorita."
Malfoy had told her to order anything; he'd no doubt paid for the whole room with his extensive inheritance. And if he hadn't done anything to her yet, she'd hardly be poisoned. Besides, she needed the fuel. "I'd like breakfast."
"What can I get for senorita?"
"Hot cakes, sausage, some peppermint tea….and, oh why the hell not, eggs benedict. And some fruit salad please."
"Yes, senorita. Right away."
When the second knock on her door came, the rage induced destruction was cleaned up and Hermione was dressed in the clothes she had been wearing yesterday. She had found them in the armoire, and almost flew into another rage over the fact that Malfoy had changed her. Now, she was just feeling slightly out of place in the five star hotel in what was obviously a suite. Her jeans and sweatshirt did not exactly match the décor.
The maid came in, pushing a trolley. She was followed by a dignified sliver haired man in a business suit. As she began putting the covered dishes on the table, the man addressed Hermione.
"Senorita Gryffindor, allow me to introduce myself. I am Carlos Grizollo, concierge of the hotel. The Senor Salazar who paid for your rooms has asked me to inform you that all expenses have been paid for the next two days. He has also requested that I give you this." From behind his back, the man pulled out a flat velvet case. It looked like something that would hold an expensive necklace.
"Gracias, Senor Grizollo," she answered with a wry smile as she took the offered case. Malfoy had obviously enjoyed himself tremendously with the names.
He nodded regally. "Is there anything we can get you, Senorita?"
"No, not at the moment. Thank you," she said idly. Delicious smells were wafting fron the dishes the maid had brought. Hermione realized she was ravenous. Well-trained servants, the maid and Senor Grizollo exited the room as she sat down to start eating brunch.
After gorging herself on food, her curiosity returned. The case lay on the table next to her plate, and she warily opened it. There was another note inside, in the same handwriting. Next to it lay a pair of extremely old fashioned round sunglasses with brown lenses.
These glasses are a portkey. Unregistered, of course. They're good for the Muggle ministry entrance till tonight.
Scowling, she slammed the case closed before marching down to the lobby to check herself out.
oOo
Harry Potter entered Hermione's office the two days later. This time, he was invited. He didn't know why he was invited, but of course he came. When he arrived, she was sitting behind her desk, staring off into space.
"He's good, you know."
Harry sank into the chair he had occupied earlier. "Good?" he asked, confused.
"Yes. Very good. Thinks of everything. I'm starting to see why he's been able to avoid us for so long."
Harry was slightly uncomfortable. "Who are we talking about?"
Hermione sighed. "Promise you won't get angry with me if I tell you, Harry?"
Hesitantly, he nodded.
And so Hermione told him everything. How she went to have a go at the notorious wards on Malfoy Manor after managing all the paper work on her present case. Testing out the new spell. Waking up in Madrid. Everything.
Her best friend had been quiet as she talked, and she couldn't help but think that he was more confused than when she started. Well, join the club, she thought grumpily.
"Let me get this straight. You went to Malfoy Manor alone to try and get the wards down with some new spell. Then you blacked out and woke up in Madrid?" He sounded doubtful.
"Yes, Harry," she snapped. "If you think I've gone bonkers, I'll show you the fucking notes. I still have them." She flicked them across the desk at him.
A slight frown on his face, the hero of the wizarding world read both the lengthier letter and the short note that had come with the Portkey.
"Eggs benedict?" he asked, peeved.
"They were good," she shrugged.
"And he still has your wand?" Harry growled.
"Yes. I've procured a replacement, but that slimy git still has my wand. If I ever catch him with it, I'll hex him back into his mother's vagina."
"Ugh, just what we needed. Everything is starting to get settled, and then Malfoy shows up."
"I know it's inopportune Harry. I have a huge case I need to work on, never mind what will happen if the Prophet ever gets a hold of this mess. Or anyone at the Ministry, for that matter. I'm…at loss for what to do." Admitting that she had no idea how to handle the situation made her feel useless.
"Honestly, I have no clue what to do either, 'Mione. And when you don't know what to do…the best thing to do is nothing. At least for the time being."
She grimaced. "That doesn't make me feel better, Harry."
"Me neither. I'll tell you what, I'll send in an anonymous tip that I've seen Malfoy in Madrid. That'll get some more Aurors looking for him."
Hermione relaxed slightly. "Thanks Harry. That makes me feel better."
He grinned at her. "That's why I'm your friend."
oOo
"Yes, he was actually British," Natalia Chimbero told Hermione later that day. Recently returned from the Netherlands, she was even more prickly than usual. "However, when I talked to their Forensics Wizard and performed spells on the scene myself there was nothing. Nothing besides the bloody style of his shoes. When I talked to the head of the Investigative Department, well…he was rather nervous."
"You think someone paid him off?"
Chimbero nodded. "The bloke who gave him the equivalent of thirty thousand galleons was British. It's safe to assume our thief is, too. Or at least from the UK, but we have clearance over the whole continent with a case this big."
"Can you get one of the secretaries to do a retrieval spell on all the files? All males of British origin between the ages of 17 and 50 that have been active in magical theft." As she spoke, a purple Ministry memo zoomed in through the door. The edges were flashing red, indicating it was an urgent matter.
"I need to open this, one second," Hermione told Natalia.
Ms. Granger,
There has been a theft that we suspect related to your case.
Location: Muggle Gdansk, Poland
Stolen: 1931 Bugatti Royale Type 41
Muggle Value: 7,301,285 Euros
Owner: Florjan Monskowski, CEO of Tyskie Beer
A ministry arranged portkey is waiting for you in the Office of Transportation. Please pick it up within the next hour. A translator will be on scene.
"Fabulous," she groaned. "Chimbero, you're going to have to travel again. Don't worry, we're just hopping the channel to Poland for a few hours. Can you go find Wuthers? I'm going to get Hammstien. I'll meet you at the Office of Transportation in twenty minutes. Bring everything you need." Chimbero stalked out of her office, and Hermione set about gathering her supplies. She transfigured her robes into respectable Muggle clothing, and grabbed the Muggle authority badges they had gotten from the Department of Non-Wizard Relations. She grabbed her coffee as she walked out the door to look for Hammstein.
Wuthers, Chimbero, Hammstein and Hermione made up the squad. Each had a different area of expertise. Wuthers was the muscle, a highly trained and experienced Auror as well as a black belt in tae kwon do. Even though his profession was grim, he was constantly cheery. Chimbero was an expert in forensics magic, and opposite of Wuthers in disposition. She was never in a good mood and constantly bitchy. Hammstein had schooling was in politics, both Muggle and Wizarding. He was the one who got them past the yellow tape and told them whom to maneuver for needed results. Hermione was the leader, a slight mash-up of all the others on top of an innovative and determined mind that was fountain of knowledge.
She knocked on the door to Hammstein's office, a mere formality. Without waiting for a response, she opened it. The bespectacled ginger was lounging behind his desk and looking into the screen of a Muggle laptop.
"Hammstein," she barked. "We're going. Poland. Some CEO got his fancy toy car stolen. Hop to it, the blasted hunk of metal is worth more than all of our houses combined."
Indolently, he got up off his desk chair. As he began shoving what he needed into a briefcase, Hermione orated further instructions.
"He's Muggle, so get out of those robes. I heard the man's involved with some politician's daughter, so we're going to have a hell of a time keeping this out of the papers. But we can't Obliviate, the wanker has already gone to Muggle authorities. I hope you know your way around the Polish Muggle government, because we're going to have to pull some serious strings." She paused and took a sip of her coffee.
"Too bad we can't just Imperio the lot of them," she mumbled in a temper, only half joking. War was a lot more convenient when it came to illegal curses.
Hammstein grinned. "I don't see why you're so worked up. You're not the one that has to tell the Muggles how a car vanished into thin air."
"Yeah, yeah. We have to be at the Office of Transportation," she checked her watch, "in thirteen minutes. Anything you need to pick up?"
"Nope," he said as he shoved his laptop into his enchanted bottomless briefcase. I'm good to go. Oh wait, my robes."
"I'll take care of it." Hermione put her bag on one of the chairs in his office, and pulled out her wand.
"New wand?" he asked curiously.
"Shut your goddamn mouth before I do it for you." Her wand transfigured his tan work robes into a navy business suit. Because she was feeling vindictive, she gave him a neon green tie. Swiftly, she picked up her bag and took a sip of coffee. "C'mon, let's go. I have to talk to Chimbero and Wuthers before we Portkey to Poland."
They made their way toward the elevator. In the ministry, the elevators did not have different levels on the buttons; rather, they had the names of the department or place you wanted to visit. Hermione pushed the button for the Office of Transportation, and she and Hammstein arrived there a few seconds later. Wuthers and Chimbero were already waiting.
"Nice tie," Wuthers grinned when he saw Hermione's work.
Hammstein rolled his eyes and tapped the tie with his wand. It turned into a respectable red and black pattern.
"Both of you need to get into Muggle garb," Hermione told Wuthers and Chimbero. When they were wearing another business suit and lab coat respectively, Hermione gave them all the necessary reminders.
"No wands till I say so. Let me and Hammstein do the talking till we get to the scene. If you slip up and absolutely have to Obliviate someone, well fine. Just don't do a shoddy job, or the Minister will have our heads. And please, be discreet. Not like last time. Oh, here are the new Muggle Authority badges Niwer gave us. Read them, so you actually know what your job is supposed to be." She handed them out, and they all studied theirs.
They got their Portkey, a crumpled piece of paper, and were promptly on their way to Poland.
oOo
When they arrived at the mansion, they found a tall blonde man talking to the squib they recognized as the Ministry translator. He looked like he was about to piss in his pants. When he saw them, he squeaked in relief.
"These are the experts we were waiting for, sir."
Hermione automatically assumed the man was the CEO of the Tyskie beer company. He had the confidence that came with all successful business people. When he introduced himself, it only cemented her assumption.
"Hello, Ms. Granger." He reached out his hand to shake hers, and she obliged. His English only had a very slight accent. "A pleasure to make your acquaintance. I am Florjan Monskowski. I hope you can tell me what happened to my car."
Catching the subtle threat, Hermione forced a smile. "I'm sure we will, sir. If you could show us the place where your car was kept, please?"
He led them to a garage that was also home to several other cars, including a Ferrari, a Land Rover, a Rolls Royce, a Prius, and a Porsche. There was an empty space between the Ferrari and the Rolls Royce. When she explained to the owner that the needed privacy to work their methods, he protested. Hermione asked that he take them to look at the security cameras. With the reminder of his secrurity system, Manskowski left Chimbro and Wuthers in his garage, taking Hermione and Hammstein. He relaxed slightly, chatting with Hammstein about politics and marketing revenues. Hermione examined the several costly pieces of artwork they passed in the modern home. A lucky coincidence, Monskowski was called away shortly after they entered the room that housed the security instruments.
The tapes held nothing. At three forty seven in the morning, all of the fifteen cameras around the house went on static until three fifty. When they came back on, the car had vanished. The tapes were all blank and there was no data to be recovered from the system. Chimbero had discovered magical remnants of a shrinking spell and Apparation at the scene, but there was no useful material. The Theif had obviously Apprated in, shrunk the car, and Disapparted. Disgusted by the lack of progress, Hermione ordered her team to pack up and head back to England. Only Hammstein stayed in Poland to talk to the Polish Parliament of Magic, as well as the Muggle Polish government.
Hermione gave herself the evening off. It was high time she started looking for her wand. She'd be careful, this time. Maybe if it was still in Malfoy's possession, she'd even get to take the asshole in. Oh, revenge would be sweet.
oOo
Malfoy felt the notice that someone was messing with his wards again. He scowled. It was only three days later, and he really didn't fancy another trip to England. Rolling up the blue prints he had been looking at, Malfoy apparated to his Manor.
When he got there, he was slightly surprised. There was no one there, but huge glowing l pink letters covered half his wards.
MALFOY YOU JIZZ-SNORTING ASS LICKING CUNT FACED MOTHERFUCKER,
YOU LEFT MY WAND IN A BROTHEL? Oh, that's nice. I had to sanitize it four goddamn times till I felt like I could touch it without getting herpes. Now, every time I look at it, I still imagine it as a dildo. I hate you.
Do you honestly think I'm just going to take this lying down? I've informed the Ministry about your jaunt to Madrid.
You were right. The eggs benedict were good. I hope that Azkaban food suits your pretty Pure-Blood stomach.
-G
He grinned. This is why he just loved poking at Granger. Her retaliation was always furious and intelligent. He wondered what she'd do about the car…It really was quite a nice car, Draco mused. As soon as he got it painted he would be off to Scotland, perilously close to the Ministry. The locket of Helen of Troy was there, in the collection of the now old warlock who invented the Wolfsbane potion. Stealing only from Muggles was getting too boring, even with the Ministry on his tail. He knew he would be successful, now he needed to prove himself. Besides, Granger was in charge of his case. Anything to infuriate her further.
Really, his life was rather boring. And lonely. The distanced interactions he'd had with Granger were the first in a long time with someone who knew him, more or less. He didn't even admit it to himself, nor did he know why, but he wanted to them to continue. For now, annoying her was extremely amusing.
oOo
"Did you find out anything at all about Madrid?"
It was late, and Hermione was tired of her work. Harry had come calling. He had avoided a lot of protocol, like making an appointment or flooing ahead. As the hero of the wizarding world, he often did things as discreetly as possible. Hermione was used to it by now, but she still found it annoying at times.
"No, nothing. I had the Aurors I sent all Obliviated after because I told them about my involvement. They found zilch. He paid them ten thousand Euros in cash. The descriptions we got were of a tall, unremarkable man in glasses and a hat. They did a magic tracing test on scene, but they only detected the Portkey, Appration, and Disappration." Hermione did not feel it was prudent to tell Harry they had also found remnants of the spell Malfoy used to switch her clothes into the nightgown. Besides, it wasn't really relevant.
"And you just Obliviated them? That's quite ruthless, 'Mione. If anyone finds out, you're going to be in deep Hippogriff shit."
She glared at him across the desk. "If anybody finds out any of this, of I'll be in deep hippogriff shit. At the least, I'll get fined. At the most, I'll get a few months in Azkaban."
Harry shook his head. "Nah, they wouldn't do that to you. He wasn't with your wand when you performed the locating spell, either?"
She scowled. "No. My wand was in some sleezy French whore house."
Harry snickered. "You said it yourself, Mione. He really does think of everything."
A crumpled ball of paper hit him in the chest. "Even though he does think of everything, that doesn't change the fact that it would be much easier if he didn't."
Harry gracefully let the subject drop. "You ready to go to the Weasly dinner? Luna isn't coming, she says the smell of food makes her want to vomit. She's making me go."
"Oh, Merlin's saggy ball sack, that's tonight, isn't it? It's Wednesday, of course it's tonight." She sighed. "Yeah, sure. Just let me get ready, Harry. I'll be out in a second."
While Hermione was in the bathroom that adjacent to her office, Harry took a curious glance at the papers strewed across her desk. There were tons, but on top lay a list of "Things We Presume The Addict To Have Stolen." It was a very long list, and the edge of the parchment rolled over the edge of her desk and onto the floor before it finished.
"Okay, Harry. I'm ready, let's go."
As they were walking from her office to the Apparition points, Harry asked "The Addict?"
"Yes. That's what we've nicknamed the thief. Effers made some clever remark about him stealing so much it's like an addiction, and the name stuck."
"Interesting," was all he said.
oOo
Draco apprated into the Zabini country house. He was rather surprised the wards still let him in, but then again, that was what he'd been counting on. A house elf arrived seconds later. He had missed the prompt service of the wizarding world.
"Hello…Master Draco," it said, recognizing him. "I will get Master Blaise, yes?"
Draco nodded, and the creature disappeared with a popping sound. Curious, he ambled over to the delicate Japanese vase standing in front of a huge gilt-framed mirror. He was examining it when the Master of the house came to greet him, shoes clacking on the marble floors. Acting nonchalant, Malfoy continued examining the vase.
"Malfoy."
He turned. "Zabini."
Silence permeated the high-ceilinged entry room.
"I thought you were dead. The Ministry seemed sure you weren't, but what the hell do they know, eh?"
He grinned. "Well mate, your wards still let me in."
The aristocratic Italian frowned slightly. "Yes, I see they do. You must be here for a reason, Malfoy. You're a wanted man, visits between old friends aren't something you should indulge in."
Draco heard the consternation in his voice. "You're right, of course. I do want a favor. And don't look at me like that, I know what you're thinking. No, I don't want to assassinate some Muggle-Born at the Ministry, nor do I wish to go after Potter or something equally stupid. This is more of a…personal favor."
Blaise looked at him for a long moment. Then he sighed, and chuckled. "Only you, Draco, honestly. Disappear for five years without a word, become the third most wanted wizard in all of Europe and then show up at my house requesting personal favors. "
Draco shrugged his shoulders eloquently. "I would think being friends from birth gives me this privilege, no? Besides, it's not like this is something big. It's only on the very edge of being both illegal and amoral. I know you don't have problems with either."
The Italian rubbed his forehead tiredly before answering. "Look, Draco. I'll hear you out. It's the very least I can do, but I'm not making any promises."
Draco understood. Saving your own neck was always highest on the list of priorities.
"I have to go. I'm having dinner with my girlfriend's family."
"Who's the lucky girl?" He was slightly surprised. Blaise wasn't usually the type to meet daddy and have dinner with the family.
Blaise's expression shuttered. "Ginny Weasly." His countenance dared Draco to make a comment.
"Merlin's nipples, Blaise. That's a surprise. If you come back alive we'll have a firewhiskey and discuss things. I trust you're not averse to me spending the night?"
"Yes, yes. Ask Binky for anything, she'll get it for you. I really have to go, Draco."
Draco nodded, absentmindedly going back to examining the vase.
"I'm glad you're not dead," Blaise said, told his childhood friend just before he exited the room.
It was probably one of the most honest things Draco had been told in his life.
oOo
Pretty please review?