Chapter 3; Business Opportunities
"Notion" by Kings of Leon
I've got a notion that says it doesn't feel right / Got the answer in your story today / You gave me a sign that didn't feel right / So don't knock it / Don't knock it / You've been here before.
A carton of juice and a cookie. Normally, Hermione would have huffed at the gesture - although she knew it was normal for paramedics to give you those after you woke up from fainting - but she was glad she had something to drink and eat at the moment. She leaned against the wall of the police building, and watched how the ambulance drove away. The paramedic had said something about sitting down, but she felt more comfortable standing. Sitting at this moment felt weak in her own mind.
"Miss Granger, what was the last thing you ate?" the paramedic had asked her inside the ambulance, after letting her answer some basic questions like what her name was, if she could remember passing out, if she knew the date and the current time.
"Well, uhm," she had said, blushing. At that moment, it seemed incredibly dumb to not have eaten a single thing since Monday morning. "Monday morning," she had mumbled, while accepting the cookie and the juice carton from him.
"Do you often stop eating and drinking for a few days?" the paramedic had asked then. Hermione got a little cross at the moment; what was this guy aiming at? He must have known about the murders, and he must have known she was working at the police station, and now he was trying to link her fainting to what? Anorexic behaviour? Hermione didn't answer him very nicely.
"First of all," she started, "If three of your colleagues would have been murdered in less than a week, you wouldn't feel like eating much, would you? I am not anorexic, if that is what you're aiming at. Secondly, I have never said I didn't drink, because I did drink water - continuously." She said this all very coolly, and it made the paramedic feel a little uncomfortable. What she said had not been a complete lie; Hermione had drank water, but not more than two litres in total since Monday, plus a whole bottle of vodka. Hermione half-heartily expected that the paramedic would say something unfriendly back, but he didn't. She guessed it was part of his job to stay nice, and it made her feel a little sorry for her outburst. He just did his job.
"I am obliged to ask that, Miss," he had said to her. "I can understand the past week was hard for you, but if you don't want to die as well, you had better start eating again." Hermione had politely thanked him, apologized for her outburst, and started eating the sugary chocolate-chip cookie as amiably as possible.
She had finished her cookie now, and she put the the straw in the juice carton. Orange juice. Delicious, cold, orange juice. Hermione thought about what had happened to her while she drained her juice as fast as she could without getting a brain freeze.
She had felt horrible the past few days. She had lived on merely two litres of water, a litre of vodka, and at least ten packs of cigarettes. She had not slept more than ten hours in the entire week, and she had constantly looked at horrific crime scene photographs of her three dead colleagues. It was no more than logic that she'd faint one day or another.
Somehow, she felt better now. She felt somehow rested, like she had gotten some sleep - weirdly enough, although the clock inside the ambulance had told her it was eleven o'clock, and the meeting had started around ten. Her mind was also at ease, like what had happened was just a fictional crime movie, and she had been watching it on television. She felt like what had happened wasn't happening at the moment. She felt like herself again, finally. She could rationalize and distance herself from what had happened.
She had finished her orange juice already - she craved for more, and wanted to go to buy some lunch at a sandwich shop around the corner, but she hadn't even started walking before she remembered what had happened between her short presentation about the possibility of multiple murderers, and her fainting. That memory made her freeze on the spot.
A phone call, announcing another murder. Terry Boot had been absent the whole day, but when Neville pointed that fact out, Harry had discarded it - Boot was always free on Fridays. Harry knew perfectly well that Terry Boot wouldn't miss a meeting like this, even when he was free - but Hermione assumed he just didn't want to think about the possibility he may be murdered before it was actually confirmed he was. She didn't know more about Terry's murder yet - but at that moment, someone who had more information called her name.
"Hermione!" She saw Harry coming out of a police car that was parked on the parking lot. Dean Thomas was with him. He must have caught her when she had fallen from her seat, she had been sitting next to him, Hermione realised.
"Hey," the two men both said while Harry pulled her into a hug, pulling her out of the frozen state she was in after realising that Terry had been murdered too.
"How are you?" Dean asked her.
"Much better, thank you," Hermione smiled to him, giving him a small hug too. After all the events from last week - and most likely, the events from upcoming weeks - she thought everybody could use some more nice gestures, a little more didn't really talk much with the handsome dark man, but she respected him a lot. He was kind, and a strong member of the MIT, mentally and psychically. Hermione was sometimes surprised at his do's and don't in combination with his life story - you'd expect that someone who had served in the army for some years and became an cocaine addict before he checked himself into rehab and joined the police would be a bitter, cold person with a negative view on basically anything.
"You scared us all, you did," Harry said, while Hermione was looking for her cigarettes in her bag. "Can I have a fag too, please?"
"'Course," Hermione said, handing him one and passing him her lighter while she apologized. Harry didn't smoke much, only when he felt like it - which was usually only when he had slept badly or felt horrible, which explained why he wanted one now. "I'm sorry," she said. "I really am. It was my own fault, I haven't slept well, hadn't eaten since Monday, and..."
"Me neither," Dean said. "Haven't slept, I mean. I live at me mum's, and she forced me my food down me throat, otherwise it could have happened to me too, y'know."
The three of them talked for a few minutes about how they were doing since Monday. She didn't say to Harry and Dean that not talking about it had most likely helped with feeling even worse the past days, causing her to not eat and eventually faint. She was glad Harry and Dean talked about it, now - Hermione didn't say much herself, but hearing them talk about it helped her.
"Hermione," Harry said after flicking away his cigarette bud. His frown came back on his face. He talked in a different tone now. He locked his eyes on hers and Hermione braced herself for the words she knew would come. "Can you remember what happened right before you fainted?" Hermione sighed.
"Terry is dead, isn't he?" she said, pressing her lips together.
"Yes," Harry said. He sounded a little relieved, probably glad he didn't have to say the words again. "Both the CSI and the MIT are already there, but us two wanted to wait until you got out of the ambulance, but we really need to head over to his crime scene now..."
"I want to come with you," Hermione said, dedicated to her goal - to catch and lock up the bastards who had done all this. "I think I can see and notice more things if I'm at the actual crime scene."
"But - are you sure?" Harry said with a worried look. He had always been very protective of his friends, something Hermione appreciated a lot in him, especially since he didn't take it too far. Harry knew Hermione well, and he knew he couldn't change her mind once it was made up. Still, he always tried to overthink her decisions, not wanting her to hurt herself. "You're not really accustomed to crime scenes and -"
"I agree with Smith," Hermione interrupted him. "The sooner the murderer or murderers are caught, the better - for our colleagues' sake," she quoted her former boss. "And if I don't go to see the crime scenes, it'll feel like I'm not doing enough for everyone we have lost so far."
The two men were quiet for a moment. Dean nodded curtly, and Harry seemed some sort of proud at her, like he admired her bravery. But Hermione didn't feel brave, not at all, actually, but she had to do this. She would feel even worse if she didn't go to every crime scene from now on. She hadn't seen Hannah's and Zach's, and thinking about that made her feel stupid enough. It was almost like she danced on their graves.
"Okay," Harry said. "But please know that you can leave from the crime scene whenever you want."
Hermione had gone to the crime scene in her own pace, going to the supermarket first. She was still hungry, which was a good sign. She had gotten her appetite back after waking up from fainting. This meant she could, after a full week, see her goal clearly again; finding the bastard who did this. She had been overthrown with emotions before, but she had found a way to switch those off for the time being, so she could both concentrate on her work and live her life normally. Of course, she had bought more than she could eat. She had drained half a litre of delicious fibre-rich forest fruit juice and had eaten two whole focaccia breads, before deciding that half past eleven was way too early to eat like it was Christmas Eve.
Somehow, this appetite meant she was feeling better. At the same time, it meant she wasn't feeling as bad as she should be feeling about what had happened. She felt guilty to be this hungry, like she should stop eating until the stranger was caught. It was a strange feeling to experience. But Hermione also knew that the people who were dead at the moment wouldn't want anyone to stop eating, to stop taking care of themselves. Hermione knew deep down they would want everybody to keep their heads up and carry on. She tried to remember that when she opened another carton of her juice - but saying and thinking that was so much easier than it sounded, and it was even harder to say that to herself when she arrived at the crime scene of Terry Boot, which was just as painful to see as Lavender's crime scene.
Hermione felt emotionally detached from the whole scene. She couldn't tell if she did that on purpose, or that she was becoming some sort of immune to the situation, but she didn't give those options too much thought, because this detachment helped her to concentrate better. She was content with how she was feeling now, and she decided to stop thinking on the how's and why's of her emotional state.
With this newfound numbness not achieved by taking in alcohol, Hermione carefully took in every single detail of the crime scene, taking fifty photographs in less then ten minutes - that got her slightly annoyed looks by the crime scene photographer, Colin Creevey - but she needed to be one hunderd percent sure the things she wanted to be photographed were actually couldn't see anything out of place at this moment. She saw Terry was most likely shot by someone who was smaller than the person or persons whom had shot the other three victims, but she couldn't say for sure until the results came back from the CSI lab - which was probably tomorrow. So she started to walk through alleys and streets around the crime scene, to see if there were any tracks from an escapee, like muddy footsteps, car tracks, anything - but she wasn't very good at spotting those signs yet.
She kept making bigger circles around the crime scene, thinking about making free time to learn about things like spotting escapee signs. If she successfully finished a course like that, or learned it from an expert... it could possibly solve the case or be essential to solving it. Everyone left tracks, even serial killers without a personal goal.
Suddenly, something caught her eye on her right when she came out of an alley about hundred yards from Terry's crime scene. Two persons, judging by their business suits, on a break from their work, stood still on the curb, standing very close to each other. She couldn't see their faces - both were wearing their black coats with the collar up and they wore a hat too.
They were talking in a low voice, almost whispering to each other. It took Hermione some effort not to huff while she took some steps back into the alley - the two men looked like the villains in a cheap movie, where you know who did it in less than five minutes. Did they know they looked so typically suspicious or did they just like to dress that way? Hermione tried to overhear the two men, which was nearly impossible because they were fifty feet away, talked softly, and the wind blew the other way, so she only caught up some words that didn't mean anything significant, until one of the men started yelling at the other. It may be nothing, but Hermione's instinct told her this was something. Suspicious behaviour, close to a crime scene? It was definitely worth listening to their conversation.
"What d'you expect from me?" one of them men yelled suddenly. Out of anger, he stepped back from the other man, who came towards him and grabbed his arm. Hermione had done another step back into the alley, afraid they would spot her. They were about seven feet closer to her now. The same voice yelled again - "People are murdered, and you see that as a opportunity for the enterprise?"
Enterprise! Hermione knew who one of the men could be, the man who was being yelled at. There was only one enterprise in the city: Malfoy Enterprises. Hermione thought the man who she hadn't heard talk yet may just be Lucius Malfoy himself. She had seen his face in the local newspaper occasionally and since the man had a very recognisable face she could easily identify him... the man certainly wore the same kind of clothes as Malfoy - his clothes were obviously tailor-made and very expensive. And, of course, the man had white blonde hair - nobody else had hair as white as his. Hermione wondered if she recognised his voice, but she couldn't recall ever meeting the man. A friend of Hermione's had interviewed Malfoy once, though, and he said that Lucius Malfoy was a straight up asshole and very full of himself. Next to that, Hermione knew the way the man spoke, according to the interviews she'd read. Maybe she could recognize him from that, if she would not see his face.
"I don't expect anything from you..." the older man finally spoke coldly. The self-respect in his voice, his self-certainty; it must be Lucius Malfoy. Hermione's instinct had been right. Now the question was - who was the other person, the one she had heard speaking first? Which of Malfoy's employees dared to talk to him like that? Hermione didn't respect Lucius Malfoy, but she knew his employees most likely did and they would never talk to him like that.
"Oh! How lovely to hear that!" the unidentified man sneered, interrupting Lucius Malfoy, clearly upset. "No expectations for me!"
"Let me finish my sentences before you talk back to me," Malfoy said in a threatening tone. "I meant to say, not at the moment. But in a couple of months, I will expect things from you. You can do... other sorts of business, my son," Lucius said slightly uncomfortable, bearing a creepy smile that made Hermione feel uncomfortable too. It took her a minute to register what he just had said. Other sorts of business? What did that mea- wait. What? 'My son?' What?
"Something more important than the petty crap you get me to do now?" the younger man asked. Hermione couldn't wait to see his face, just to be sure of it. Because as far as Hermione knew, Lucius Malfoy had one child, whom had be a student at the same high school as Hermione: Draco Malfoy.
They had never spoken to each other, but everybody knew him. He was someone almost every shallow girl fantasised about ending up with in their lives. Draco Malfoy was attractive, with his strong jaw line and his always good looking hair - but he would also own a fortune when his father died. This made a lot of girls swoon every time he walked by. Hermione didn't pay that much attention to guys in general at that age, and when she started to gain that interest around her twelfth year, Draco had not been the first on her mind. She had never paid him a lot of attention; she disliked his father even back than, and besides that, Draco came across as an arrogant git - but that could be prejudice from Hermione's side. He seemed to care; if the murders didn't interest him, he wouldn't have yelled at his father.
Now that she thought back to high school, she had never heard him talk before, but his voice and tone seemed very suitable by her little memories she had of him.
Hermione was onto something, this was important, and she knew it. Seeing opportunities for your business in murders on cops, an remark about "other sorts of business" with that tone and with such a creepy smile... She needed to find out more. Hermione was eager to investigate these two men further - this meant something, this had something to do with the murders, and she was going to find out what.
"Yes, Draco," Lucius replied to the speaker, confirming Hermione's thoughts. "Something a lot more important. But have a little patience. There are more... opportunities for us to come and I just want to wait until the right time to get you briefed about one of those... chances."
More opportunities, more chances - they were synonyms for murder, Hermione thought, getting more certain of it with every second.
Suddenly, something caved in hard - a mental blow hit Hermione so hard she was shaking on her legs. What was she doing? For fuck's sake, what the hell was she doing? She wasn't right; the conversation could've meant everything, it could just mean the literal thing that was said, no hidden messages... With another dizzy hit, she remembered Lucius Malfoy did say that the murders could be an opportunity for the enterprise - or well, actually, she heard his son repeat him. What did that mean? The company didn't sell anything, they just did things with stocks. Hermione had never interested herself into the stock market, and she knew not a lot about it - but she knew that murders in a small city on specific people could not affect any stocks.
Hermione thought the whole conversation over, reminding herself to breath in and out slowly. What had she been making up just to hear some sort of evidence? What had truly been said? Was this really suspicious behaviour or did she just wanted to find something that could be important to the case?
The mental blow and the very concentrated thinking about it made her lose a part of the conversation the two man had. What shook Hermione awake from her thoughts was Lucius Malfoy passing by her alley at a quick pace, his luxury wingtips clicking on the pavement. He did not notice her, luckily. She looked carefully some more around the corner, wanting to see the face of Draco Malfoy. She already knew it was him, of course, but she'd like to see it with her own eyes too.
He was still standing on the pavement, lighting up a cigarette. He did not look very pleased. It was clear to Hermione that the part of the conversation she missed was not satisfactory for him, although his dad promised him a more important job. Hermione wondered if Draco knew what that could mean.
Keeping his head straight up, he put his lighter away and looked in the direction his father went, although he had gone around the corner already. He looked puzzled, and very cross. Hermione recognised his face immediately, of course; he was a very recognisable person. Now, she could also remember and understand better why the girls in high school found him so attractive. The man had a pretty face, his pale blond hair was cut in a easy model, he was tall, looked like he was strong and he had a certain amount of self-certainty over him that was not, like his dad, annoying.
Because he kept standing there, Hermione took the time to collect her thoughts. The mental blow she had received moments ago was not right. Her thoughts before that were right, the confirmation was the fact Draco had yelled at his father that it was crazy that murders were opportunities. In a few moments, she had decided she would do this undercover. She would get close to Malfoy, befriend him, maybe get herself a job at the Enterprise, and find out exactly what is going on there. She is going to solve this case, and it doesn't matter how.
Hermione worked up a quick plan. It was a crazy idea, maybe, but she had to make contact with him, and she had to do it now, before he got away. She could easily find his home address on the internet, but now was a perfect occasion for her to make contact with him.
Quickly but carefully, she unclasped her pistol, cuffs and taser from her belt and put them in her bag. She felt a little unprotected - Harry hadn't given them to her and the others just because he thought it was funny. She closed her bag, and waited for Draco Malfoy to walk, hopefully not towards her.
Every second she waited, she got more anxious. Was it a good idea - literally running into him? But she wanted to befriend the guy, just to get a step closer to his father and his enterprise. Her hunch told her it wasn't right, what was going on there, if Draco knew about it or not. She guessed he didn't, but judging by the conversation, he will soon do know. He was doing 'petty crap' now; his own words. In college, Hermione had learned that lower ranged people in an organised crime circle had to do the actual killings, and it could easily be that Draco Malfoy was aiming on that - with that thought, she felt scared. What if she was about to befriend an actual murderer? She had been undercover with crooks and drug dealers, but never with a possible murderer. Her mind switched quick; if Draco was the murderer, he would not have been so confused by his father's insistence that they were an opportunity for the enterprise.
Still, the younger Malfoy was the perfect way to get information on his father, on their business, and on what was going on there.
Finally, he moved, in the direction Hermione wanted. Hermione didn't get why exactly he had not moved the entire time - for her it was almost impossible to stand as still as he did while smoking. But she wasn't a very patient person - maybe he was. Hermione waited for a few seconds in a start position. Then, when he went around the corner, she started running, like she was in a hurry.
She realised she was running way too quick to casually run into him when she actually ran into him, knocking him over in the process. Before she knew it she was lying on top on him - him flat on his face, her on his back. This was certainly not how it was meant to go.
"Oh, fuck!" Hermione said, getting quickly off him. "I am so sorry!" Maybe knocking him over wasn't that bad, she hoped: now she didn't have to fake her apology. He moaned a little, standing up. Hermione didn't really know if she should help him standing up. She had the feeling he would push her away if she tried to touch him. She scolded herself. How could she have been so stupid? She'd had minutes to think about it!
"What the hell, woman?" Draco Malfoy said angrily when he stood on his feet again. He was at least seven inches taller than she was, towering above her. "Can't you just, you know, look where you are going? Like most people do?"
"I'm sorry," Hermione said. Every chance to a casual, funny and flirty conversation way gone. "I just was... in a hurry."
"Yeah, I figured," Draco deadpanned.
"I'm sorry," Hermione repeated.
"You mentioned," he said. "Weren't you in a hurry, or something?" He checked his clothing for dirt and he brushed himself off.
"Yes," she said. She wanting to run further, but somehow her legs kept her from doing that. Draco Malfoy was still not able to laugh at the situation. He held his arms crossed, looking at her with a slightly opened mouth and raised eyebrows, like she had just said something incredibly daft.
"Well, what are you waiting for, then?" he said.
"I just - are you - you - are you okay?" she said nervously, telling her legs to listen to him and move.
"Yes!" he yelled at her, making a sudden movement, which made Hermione jump a little back. "I'm standing up. I am not screaming in agony - stop staring at me and fuck off!"
"But your face," Hermione said, panicking. She wouldn't normally let allow anyone to yell at her for no reason but a simple mistake... but now she felt she deserved to be yelled at. Not because of what she did, but because of what she should've done. This wasn't a good start for a friendship with him. "You are bleeding and -"
"Yes, thank you, miss," Draco interrupted sarcastically, wiping the blood from his chin. "Get out of my sight now - please." Hermione's feet suddenly responded, and she ran away, around the corner, where she stopped. With great caution, she looked back around the corner, to see what he was doing. He was standing with his back towards her, most likely wiping more blood from his face. Hermione was angry at herself; she had completely ruined it. Why had she ran harder than she should have? Why couldn't she say something witty or smart back to him? Why had she said she was sorry three times, when it was clear he was irritated already after the second time? Why wouldn't her legs move after he reminded her she needed to go somewhere?
Swearing and mentally cursing herself, Hermione walked away, back to Terry's crime scene. She also found it to be very annoying that she couldn't do anything with the information. First of all, Harry would discard it, saying it could mean anything, and secondly, she had no proof of the conversation at all.
That night, Hermione still was annoyed. She had been bitchy towards her colleagues for the rest of her day, she had smoked all of her cigarettes in her package, she had bitched more. When she finally came home, she drained a glass of vodka, opened up a new pack of cigarettes, and showered for over an hour. She ate another focaccia bread, tearing pieces of it and eating it more violently than necessary.
After she yelled at the neighbour's cat for being on her balcony, she let herself fall on her couch. She started searching for the remote, wanting to clear her mind by watching something brainless on television, and her mobile phone rang. Annoyed that she had to get up from the couch again to retrieve her phone out of her bag, she answered without looking who it was.
"Hey! Are you busy? D'you want to go out for drinks with me and Harry? Ginny is coming, and maybe Neville too," Ron's voice came. Hermione sighed. Did she wanted to go? Maybe it was good to be around her friends in a non-working environment for a change.
"Sure," she said. "What time?"
"Around ten, can you make that? See you there or do we have to pick you up?" Hermione glanced around her apartment. It was a complete mess. She was the organised, structured and clean kind of girl, but not for the past week. She normally didn't smoke indoors, but there was a full ashtray on her dining table, her coffee table and probably on her desk in the other room too. An empty bottle of vodka laid on her couch. Clothes and things out of her bag were all over the floor. Mugs with cold coffee everywhere. It smells, she realised - not recalling her apartment ever smelled this bad before. She did not want her friends to see this, she didn't want to let them know she was coping this badly with what had happened the past week.
"See you there," Hermione replied.
It was a good decision to go out, Hermione thought contentedly. Being inside the warm and busy bar was nice; the soft talking, the laughter, the sound of glasses clinked together... she really liked this place, and it was really good to have a laugh and a drink and a normal conversation with her friends again, like nothing had changed in the past week.
"Another, please," she ordered when a waiter came to their table, handing him her glass. "And a water, thank you." Her mouth was dry; she had told her company excitedly about her trip to Chicago. It was just a week ago - it felt like another lifetime. It was nice to talk about it, share her experiences of the city, people listening to her without a dreadful look on all their faces. She crossed her legs, touching the silky fabric of her dark green dress. It was nice to be out of her usual attire, too. It was not like she didn't like that; just a change in her world that didn't involved brutal murder was good for her at the moment, she figured.
"Neville didn't feel like coming?" Ginny asked, absent-mindedly making a small braid with the fiery red hair that fell over her shoulder. She had scooted closer to Harry when the evening advanced. Ron didn't notice, Harry did but did not object, Hermione noticed too, but pretended that she hadn't.
"No," Ron said, putting down his drink on the table "After I called Hermione, I called him, but he was..." Ron hesitated.
"He was visiting Hannah's parents," Harry finished his sentence. "We said we understood, and well..."
"I think I'll visit him tomorrow," Ginny said. "Poor boy." Nobody knew what to say to that, really. Hermione tried to catch Ron's eye, wanting to give him a look she thought was reassuring, but he had picked up his drink again, watched the amber liquid clotch up against the sides, swirling it around slowly and thoughtfully. Harry, Hermine and Ginny could normally contain their emotions, leave them at work when necessary - Ron had more problems with that. Counted with that, he had known Lavender Brown better than they all had, having dated her a few months at high school.
"How's your new job, Ginny?" Hermione asked quickly before an awkward silence could fall between the four friends.
"Another subject, please," she said, sighing and unbraiding the small braid again, leaving the three strands of hair curly. "It is horrible, I am still going to job interviews at other companies..."
Hermione leaned back a little to look around the bar, looking at Ginny and Harry while listening to her with a small smirk. She had known since the evening started that they were together, or had at least talked about their feelings for one another. It was obvious, really - the signs of attraction towards each other had started a few days before Hermione had left for Chicago, and now they were purposely trying to act like they were nothing more than friends. They didn't even have to come into the bar together for Hermione to see the signs. They spoke to each other, but they didn't speak like friends did - instead their eyes were fixated on each others' mouth, pupils dilated. Ginny crossed and uncrossed her legs. They both touched their face and hair often.
Hermione had thought Harry knew, by now, after working together for several years, that she couldn't be fooled. He had seen her questioning suspects, seen her seeing right through even the smallest lie. Hermione wasn't an expert with facial expressions, but that wasn't needed because, well, most of the people questions weren't experts at lying.
Ginny and Harry had, apparently, decided not to tell Ron nor Hermione about them being together - if they had discussed it at all - and who was Hermione to point the two of them out like that? She could think of many reasons why they wouldn't tell, and all of the reasons she had in mind were pretty fair - the first reason being that Ginny was the little sister of Harry's best mate; Ron. Secondly, and the most obvious one, was that new love seemed quite inappropriate, with everything going on. Hermione wouldn't think it was inappropriate - you simply can't decide when you are going to fall in love with someone, or with whom.
"Thank you for the snow globe, by the way," Ginny said, shaking Hermione awake from her thoughts. "Too bad your birthday dinner was cancelled..." Hermione thought so too. It was on the day of the first murder, and not only had she put effort in preparing dishes the day before the dinner was supposed to be held, but she would've loved to be with all the people closest to her. She had been away on her actual birthday, but it was nevertheless her twenty-fifth birthday party, and she reckoned it was... special. It seemed rather childish and silly to her now, putting meaning to a number - but it didn't felt it was then.
"When we solved the case maybe we can celebrate - " she started to reply, when she heard a distinctive text alert tune. She froze right on the spot. No.
"After the case, after the case," Ron mumbled, and he downed his whiskey. He hadn't noticed Hermione didn't finish her sentence. "Is that what they are trying to achieve? That we don't go on with our lives and put everything good on hold until the case is solved? Hermione, by the time this case is solved you will probably be closer to your thirtieth birthday than to your twenty-fifth." Hermione didn't hear Ron's words, nor did she saw the glance between Harry and Ginny, nor did she hear Harry's confirmatory reply or the small whine from Ginny about that the conversation was brought back to the topic work again and that she wanted to talk about something entirely else.
With shaking hands, she retrieved her cell phone out of her purse and she looked at the message on the screen. New Messages: 1. From: PD Alert. She opened it, reluctantly. The text alert tune had alreadytold her from whom she had received the text. Since it was after six o'clock, it could only mean one thing. A death.
"Harry," she said, her voice raspy. No, no, no. "Harry, Ron, look at your phones."
"What is it?" Ginny asked, but Hermione ignored her. Harry seemed oblivious to Hermione's current state of emotion - most likely thanks to a few glasses of alcohol.
"Don't have it with me," he said. Hermione felt like screaming to him that she clearly didn't mean his regular phone but his work phone, and that they were idiots for drinking all four - not that anyone had gotten here by car, they all lived at walking distance. Instead, Hermione gave Ron her own phone, pressing it hard into his hand.
"Oi!" he said, while Hermione put on her coat with massive speed.
"Just bloody read it, Ronald," she said, annoyed. She retrieved her wallet, pushed some bills in Ron's hand and left. It was busy at the bar, but all Hermione could hear was the blood rushing through her own body, feel her elevated pulse beating in her wrists and neck, and her own voice in her head, reading the text message aloud repeatedly.
"Hermione!" She faintly heard one of her friends yell. Her mind registered that they probably wanted her to wait for them, but that would cost her time. Valuable time, in which the suspect would be able to get further away from the crime scene.
Draco Malfoy, her brain said and contradicted immediately while she pushed the door of the cafe open. No, it was Lucius who was her suspect.
Draco Malfoy, her brain said again. Hermione found herself not moving, in the door post, and she briefly wondered why, before all the parts of her mind started working together as they are supposed too.
A pale blond man dressed in a well fitting black suit stood right in front of her, wanting to enter the bar Hermione just left.
They eyed each other for a second. Hermione gave him a small smile that disappeared almost instantly from her face, and she passed him, leaving Draco with an questioning frown on his handsome face, making her way to the murder scene.
I've got a notion that says it doesn't feel right / Got the answer in your story today / You gave me a sign that didn't feel right / So don't knock it / Don't knock it / You've been here before.
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