Chapter 2 – Electrostatic Charge

"So, Hermione, do you think you can draw up a profile for the murderer?" Percy's voice brought Hermione back to the reality. She tore her eyes away from Draco's grey ones and looked at the dead, open ones of the victim.

"I will try my best, Percy." She muttered, looking closely at the victim, trying to picture her moments before she was killed. Percy continued to fidget and sweat in the background.

"Percy, maybe you should wait outside?" she suggested, fearing that her brother-in-law might faint; it was the first murder under his charge, and that too only after a month of his government. Percy nodded, leaving Draco and Hermione alone.

They didn't exchange any words. Draco remained seated, his gaze flitting from the cold, dead one of Parkinson's to the much furrowed one rested on Hermione's face. Recalling her lessons at university when she'd studied forensic psychology for one term, Hermione looked at the victim – thin, tall, frail; easy to target. She looked at the ribbon tied around her waist; she was slightly surprised when she saw the silver Dark Mark glinting back at her, but she carefully glazed her surprise with a look of concentration. The legs were straight, the knees unbent. The arms too were stuck to the sides, palms – open, facing the inside. It seemed to her that the murderer was very careful not to leave a signature on the body; the alignment of the limbs – completely linear conveyed a sense of neutrality and rigid geometry. The face was the only part of the anatomy that didn't match the pattern; it showed the victim's fear, her shock, surprise. Her mouth was slightly open, forming an 'o'. Her brows were creased, converging together in pain. Her eyes were glazed with a soft, dull sheen of white. But the thin coat of blood made it hard for Hermione to determine the exact nature of the emotion that was frozen on the victim's face. She leaned closer to see if she could gain some clarity with proximity. She drew back suddenly when she recognised the strong, square bones of the victim's face, shocked as if the body had gotten up and whispered something in her ear. "This," she started looking at the red, blood caked face of the victim in new light, "this is Pansy Parkinson." She announced, her voice shaking slightly.

"Wow, you're a smart one, Granger." Draco said, a grin slowly spreading on his face. Draco relaxed in his seat, allowing his shoulders to fall. His lips curled upwards in a sneer that Hermione knew all too well. Some colour returned to his previously lifeless cheeks. The smile transformed his features. The customary arrogance settled down onto his features with ease, bringing with it the princely beauty for which he was much reputed.

Hermione didn't say anything in response. Her heart beat just a tiny bit faster when she saw the familiar provocative look enter his eyes and a challenge sneer from his lips. But she showed no outward sign of the effect one simple change in expression had on her.

She narrowed her eyes, and titled her head, throwing him a sharp, exasperated look one would give a child. But in her eyes was a small, flickering spark; barely noticeable and Hermione was careful to hide it. "Where did you find your friend?"

"Beaubatons." He replied, and then added, "You do know that she wasn't my friend?" It was the way he said the phrase that made Hermione look up; there was a hint of something…sensual, something tantalising that made Hermione want to meet his gaze. She knew what he meant, she knew what he was implying and she also knew what he wasn't. But three years studying Psychology, and another two years practicing it had taught her when to remain silent and allow the silence to laud the person until they became too drunk on their own arrogance that they falter. And when that would happen – Hermione suppressed her smile that threatened to reveal her plans, well when that would happen, Draco would be cautious never to fall for Hermione's silence again. So like a cunning fox, she remained silent and continued examining the body, hiding from Draco her plan, the twinkling spark that shoed her sleep away and glowed in her eyes.

"Was she in this same position when you found her?"

"Position?" His grin grew; he was clearly surprised by his own ingenuity upon having detected the slight ambiguity of the question. A strange, peculiar frown appeared on Hermione's face as she struggled to form an appropriate response to his question. Still smiling, assuming Hermione's silence to mean a victory, he added, "Yes, she was lying exactly like that when I found her." Though his face retained the infuriating grin, his tone had softened, become more serious and respectful. There was an undercurrent of something - fear Hermione thought at first, but she quickly dismissed it.

"Ok, Malfoy, I'm going to need your memory."

"Why, what are you going to do me that you don't want me to remember later on?" he resumed his previous narcissistic and repulsively alluring tone. His smirk grew; one side of his lips curled upwards into a smile. A notorious expression sat on his face. Hermione struggled to find words and Draco relished every crease of frustration that settled on her features.

"No, Draco," she responded, using a patronising tone to cover the discomfort she felt inside. "I want your memory of the moment you found her."

"'course you do." He said, disbelievingly. But still, he rose, withdrawing his wand from his robes. He conjured a small phial and pointing his wand to his temples, he siphoned long, thin, silvery threads and poured them into the bottle. "here," he said. Hermione was instinctively suspicious of it; she wondered if he'd even put the right memory inside it. But she took the phial. As she did so, their hands brushed; the cold of his skin met with the slight warmth of hers, sending a frisson of electricity up Hermione's arm. She withdrew her hand immediately, resisting the temptation to rub the place where they'd touched as if there was something pleasurable about the lingering sting of the electricity on her hand. Draco raised his eyebrows, his question clearly expressed in his features.

"Electrostatic charge," Hermione replied, looking away. Draco laughed, a loud, cacophonous sound emulating from his lungs, and echoing across the large, cold metallic room.

Percy re-entered the room, drawn by the laughter. "What happened?"

"Nothing," Hermione replied, stowing the phial into the pockets of her robe. She looked directly at Draco, holding his eyes with hers. "It's just Draco, being a Malfoy." The grin slid of Draco's face. The words had hit home; their meaning though obscure to Percy was very explicit Draco. Smiling, her lips curled upwards just slightly in a partial smirk. Shock was splashed across his face; astonishment swallowing his arrogance.

"Percy, I will need the auror's report, the coroner's report as well before I can give you a character profile." Percy nodded as Hermione left, walking confidently, suavely which only aggravated the blunt wound that Hermione had just given Draco.

"Damn you, Granger." He muttered under his breath.