"The attacks," Malfoy comments, sitting across from her now, "this last one was different, the stings weren't just congregated to the neck and face, it was everywhere-"

"I'd thought that, too," she says, and then adds, "It could be that they're getting sloppy, for whatever reason, or the Mosps harder to control- Mosps generally sting wherever they can reach, which is why the location of the stings was so interesting in the first place-"

"Or," Malfoy says, running a hand through his pale hair, "this one was a passion kill, unintended, brutal, maybe this victim knew something, and they were trying to cover it up-"

"Possibly," she agrees, taking down a few notes, "no ID yet, I take it?"

Malfoy shakes his head slowly, pursing his lips. The movement is alarmingly distracting, and Hermione tries to force her eyes down, to keep them on her parchment.

"Not yet," and then he chuckles, a short, unexpected sound, "not everyone is working today, we'll likely get an answer tomorrow."

Hermione hums in acknowledgment. But she honestly wonders-

"How come you're here, then?" she asks, and upon realising how it might come across as abrasive, she quickly adds, "at work, I mean, on a Sunday?"

Her eyes flit to him once more, and his brows have furrowed, ever so slightly. He looks thoughtful, hesitant, even.

"I couldn't sleep," he comments after a moment, short. Hermione thinks briefly that she might end up with metaphorical whiplash from his mood swings. This calculated demeanor being entirely opposite to that of how he had just been- before-

"We do know one more thing for certain, now," she comments, pulling her previous list forward, "the attacks are most definitely Mosps, no doubt about it, and from what I saw of the- um- the venom, they're engineered in some way, it was far too green to be normal Mosp venom."

She taps her sugar quill against the parchment, and Malfoy leans back casually in his chair.

"It's a shame we're having to wait for someone else to get us answers," she comments, "the only thing I'm able to do is find that map I remember, and I haven't been able to do that- yet."

"Would you like some help?" he asks, and she is startled by how genuine he sounds. Not a hint of trickery, of him messing with her. Perhaps the pie had been a peace offering, at least for this particular meeting.

"Yes," she says after a moment, "we can cover more ground with the two of us."

Hermione gestures toward the left side of the stacks.

"I've already looked through everything on this first column, all topics ranging from the recently archived alchemy shops to the largest list of apothecary registries I've ever seen."

Malfoy looks thoughtful for a moment, and then he moves to stand.

"And you reckon you've seen it here before?" he asks, and she nods, pursing her lip. He sweeps across the room, stride languid and yet entirely purposeful as he reads the plaques on the bookcases. Hermione watches in silent wonderment, because she's not at all sure what he's looking for, and there's absolutely no way they can linger at the ministry to keep looking-

He pauses in front of a stack around four rows away from the table she'd originally commandeered. Then he looks back at her over his shoulder with an arched brow, as if assessing something. Feels herself bristling under the gaze.

"What?" she sniffs, moving to stand as well.

"If I had to hazard a guess, I'd say our best bet is in this section," and his words are entirely too self-assured for her liking. She realises a moment too late what section he's standing at, and she narrows her eyes.

"The History of the Ministry of Magic?" she says haughtily, "is that where you think I've spent my time?"

Malfoy only gives her a look, one that says that yes, yes he does think that, his lips tugging up on one side. Smirking at her.

"Well, I think you'll find I've spent the most time in the History of Magical Beasts section, for my job-"

"Nope, you've always been mad for the history of buildings, architecture," and Hermione rejects the urge stomp her foot, because he is entirely wrong-

"Plus, when I first started working with Potter, you were always in this section," he muses, and then he slips into the aisle, flanked by bookcases.

Hermione is flabbergasted though. Because there's absolutely no way Malfoy of all people would remember-

"What do you mean, always?" she asks, watching him as he seemingly browses the shelves, "I had a brief fascination with the grounds last year but that really didn't last long-"

"It was several weeks, actually," Malfoy says, his voice nonchalant as he scans the shelves. And then he looks at her over his shoulder again, as if beckoning her to join him.

She doesn't. She stays outside in the main area, watching him with a frown.

"How do you know?"

Malfoy picks up one of the scrolls, glances at the binding tied in the middle, and then puts it back on the shelf. She's momentarily distracted by his library etiquette, because he'd put the scroll back exactly where he'd found it, with the binding facing the front, which is- which is not something she'd thought Malfoy could possibly have. Such good etiquette-

"Because I saw you," he murmurs, his face placid as he picks up another scroll, and then he turns his gaze to her, his grey eyes dark in the dim light of the stack.

"You saw me?" she asks, only because she has no idea what else to say. Feels a trickle of heat rising onto her cheeks. When had he-

"Yes, Granger," he replies, a low drawl. He's examining the scroll he's holding now, and then he pulls the binding off and unravels the parchment.

"When?" she asks, quickly, sharply, "because I've never seen you here, not until tonight, at least."

The blonde in front of her gives her a classic Malfoy smirk, intensely confident mixed with narcissism that floods her with something- perhaps recognition. She's definitely seen this smirk before.

"I used to come here quite often," he comments, "at the start, last year."

His eyes are on the parchment now, and they appear to be skimming the contents. Hermione itches to know what he's looking at, but she plants her feet firmly on the marbled floor. Instead, she simply watches him, and waits. Waits for him to say something, to elaborate or to explain what scroll he's looking at.

"I think it might have been around the time the Weasel disappeared." he says, and she feels half stricken, half confused.

"Don't-" she begins, but he cuts her off, and it makes her feel a spark of frustration.

"Don't what? Call him Weasel?" Malfoy asks, his lip curling up snidely, but she knows it's meant for Ron, not her, "I believe the name really quite suits him now, don't you?"

She scowls, hopes he can see it on her face in the light.

"Ron hasn't been the best recently, sure," she says, slowly, "but that's no excuse to-"

"He cheated on you, he hurt you and you're still sticking up for him?" Malfoy re-rolls the scroll up and replaces the binding. He looks at her, and she's surprised to see a spark of anger in them, "At some point you'll have to admit he's an arsehole, you know."

"Thanks for the advice," she says, her voice thick with sarcasm, "but I'd really rather not discuss Ron with you."

Malfoy simply shrugs, and continues down the stacks, his eyes on the shelves. After a few moments of silence, she puffs out a breath.

"You know we have to leave soon?" she asks, checking her watch, Nearly midnight.

""Of course, Granger, but there's no harm in trying," he murmurs, "we'll just have to meet here tomorrow morning and keep looking."

Hermione nods, and then turns on her heel to trudge back towards the table.

"Tomorrow morning, then," she says, picking up her bag. Can hear Malfoy's steps getting louder as he arrives at her side.

"Before you flee, again," he says, taking the seat opposite her once more, pulling his own satchel into his lap, "pie?"

Her eyes linger on the apple pie between them, and she pauses.

It's late.

But she is hungry, awfully so.

And so she sits, and conjures them both two dessert spoons.

"Pie," she says, in agreement.

Hermione is in a bit of a rush.

Not because she's late, Merlin forbid. But she's rather fond of the idea of being early to most events, especially meetings. And so she finds herself skidding past Mary at the reception for the second time in less than a few weeks.

It would be rather amusing, Hermione thinks, if she wasn't so pressed to make it into the next available lift that's just opened up across the atrium.

Barely making it inside, she sighs a breath in relief, smoothing out her skirt and robes.

"Ah! Good morning Miss Granger," comes a voice. Hermione's eyes are greeted with the sight of Glenn stepping into the lift next to her, and she presents him with a curt smile.

"Good morning Mr Alden," she says, and he gives her a tentative smile, "I do hope you're well."

The young man gives her a spritely grin, then, and begins to give her a pleasant explanation of how his weekend went. Nodding at a particularly stifling take on a quidditch match she hadn't watched, she appraises him.

His hair is brown, a mousy tone, and it is carefully slicked back into a neat style, eyes also a similar brown. Hermione scolds herself for it, but she thinks he is decent looking, if not a bit on the plain side.

The grate closes, and the lift makes its way to their floor at the usual intense speed.

"How was your weekend?" Glenn asks, taking a sip from his coffee cup.

"Oh, I actually spent most of it working," Hermione replies. Of course, she's always found it difficult to maintain a healthy work-life balance, but being on such a particularly daunting case alongside Aurors has made that balance shift entirely one way, "important case and all."

"I see," Glenn replies politely, "is this the case you're working on with the DMLE?"

"Indeed it is."

The lift arrives at their floor, and Glenn indicates with his hand for Hermione to go first. Giving him a curt smile, she exits and begins making her way down the corridor.

"Well it sounds like a rather hefty case if you've spent your weekend on it, I wish you the best of luck with it," Glenn says, coming to stand by her side as she unlocks her office door.

"Thanks, Mr Alden," she says, lifting her hand to push her door open, "we can use all the luck we can get."

"Oh, please call me Glenn," he says, taking a quick sip of his coffee, "I have been here a few months now, no need to keep up with the formalities."

"Of course- Glenn," she replies, giving him a small smile, "in which case you should also call me Hermione."

And Glenn seems pleased by this, because his own smile grows, and she thinks she sees a small hint of pink work its way over his cheeks. Wonders why, because she's had this conversation before, several times over, with other colleagues and friends, and well- it's never been so intense.

"Hermione," he says, as if testing it, working out how it best sounds, "I have been meaning to ask you actually- I was wondering if you'd like to-"

Whatever Glenn is going to ask her is cut off with the distant ding of the lift, and a set of loud, languid footsteps heading their way.

At first, Hermione is entirely convinced it's going to be Malfoy again, simply because of the initial pace, and because he always seems to be there, always there, but he never walks with such a hefty pace, never this loudly-

"Hello, Miss Granger," and her eyes are greeted by the tall frame of Blaise Zabini once more, "we meet again."

He's wearing a three piece black suit, pressed just as immaculately as Malfoy's, the usual Department of Magical Games and Sports robes clinging to his broad frame. His face, she notes, is holding an expression of pleasantness, but knows that this is simply for show, because they have company.

"I do hope you realise how villainous that sounds- Mr Zabini," she replies, with a tight laugh.

"Not at all, Miss Granger, but I wouldn't class myself as villainous, would you?," he replies, his dark eyes treacherous, filled with all of the things his expression cannot. For one, she can see how annoyed he is to be standing here talking to her, which reminds her-

"Pray tell, Mr Zabini, what finds you in our department this morning?" she asks, quickly, curtly.

Glenn has gone intensely quiet, and Hermione notes he's perhaps a little star-struck, if his enthusiasm for quidditch in the lift is anything to go by. He runs a hand through his mousy locks, his expression definitely that of someone who's meeting a hero. Of course, because Blaise Zabini happens to be one of the most prolific quidditch scouts in the industry, at least for now. Knows this only because he himself had scouted Ron, way back when.

"Are you here to see Miss Granger?" Glenn asks, regaining his composure, putting his hand out to greet Zabini, "Glenn Alden, by the way."

Zabini's eyes land on Glenn's hand for just a moment, and if she hadn't been looking so intensely at him, if she didn't know how subtle Slytherin's tended to be and had been looking precisely because of it, she might have missed the look of utter disdain flicker across his features before he gives her colleague a firm handshake.

"Blaise Zabini, although I've no doubt you already know who I am," he says, and Hermione resists the urge to roll her eyes.

He let's go of Glenn's hand now, and turns his attention back to her.

"I am here to see Miss Granger, actually," he replies, his dark eyes on her, and she feels somewhat miffed, because Zabini never comes down to their department, and has most certainly never come here to see her, of all people.

To say she's put on edge is an understatement.

"I won't take up too much of your time," he continues, his voice ever so polite, "I was wondering if you've seen Draco at all, it's just- we were supposed to meet yesterday evening, and he simply didn't show-"

Bugger.

"Yes, Mr Malfoy was-" and she's not sure how to word it, because no matter how she thinks to say it, it will come across as-, "he was working with me, last night- at the ministry." there, not at all indicative of anything untoward-

A slight grimace has slid over Zabini's face, just barely, and she's sure Glenn hasn't seen it, but she most definitely has. Feels herself bristling under it- the disdain.

"Right, well, if you see him today, please let him know I was looking for him," Zabini replies, giving them both a quick nod in goodbye, and turning on his heel to leave.

"Goodbye!" Glenn calls, and then turns back to Hermione, "I'd better head off as well, I'll see you later-"

"What was it you wanted to ask me?" she asks, if only because she is entirely curious.

Glenn's cheeks pinken more, but he shakes his head quickly.

"It doesn't matter- I should really be off now," and he too gives her a curt goodbye, leaving her standing in front of her office wondering what in Merlin's name she's done to deserve such an unusual morning.

Due to her rather impromptu conversations with both Glenn and Zabini, Hermione finds herself barely on time for meeting Malfoy at the Ministry Archives.

He's already there as she arrives, sitting in the same spot he had the previous night, his back toward the entrance. Pausing briefly in the doorway, she watches him carefully.

Wearing a fresh suit, (this one a dark grey- she can see from here), he seems to be focusing intensely on something in his hands. Although he is leaning languidly in his chair, one arm over the back of the chair next to him, she can see the side of his face, and he looks to be deep in thought, brows furrowed.

She thinks he looks rather interesting, like this, without a smirk or a sneer or some kind of snide comment on his lips. Thinks he looks calm, serene, definitely not occluding. Thinks he looks rather striking, actually. Thinks she feels a warmth spread through her chest at this view-

This particular thought pulls her back sharply to reality, because once again, yet again, she has essentially thought of Malfoy as handsome, and it baffles her. She quickly begins making her way down the aisle towards him.

It is then that she sees what he's focusing on.

He's holding that same Terry Pratchett novel, the one she'd seen him with before. With that realisation, she's thrumming with curiosity, and he still hasn't seen her- or heard her.

So she makes her way as close as she can get without detection, frustrated slightly because she can't see the title of the book properly.

"What are you reading?" she asks suddenly, and is pleasantly surprised when he jumps slightly in his chair, flipping the cover closed as if it has burned him.

He abruptly looks over his shoulder at her, an accusatory tone flickering across his face.

"A book, Granger, which I highly doubt you didn't notice," his tone is clipped. And she wonders why, because they'd made good headway last night, gotten along just fine-

He's embarrassed, she realises. Embarrassed being seen reading, or even enjoying a book that's muggle. Decides she can't let this slide.

"A Terry Pratchett novel, though?" she asks, coming to stand beside the desk next to him. He's expertly covered the book up with his hands, but she can see the cover peeking out at her, "The Colour of Magic, that's one of my favourites."

Malfoy appears not at all affronted, his expression carefully controlled. Occluding over a book? Interesting.

"Which chapter is your favourite so far?" she asks, trying to make conversation. Feels the thrum of curiosity deepen as his expression shifts, flickers through minute depictions of emotion. Confusion, definitely, disdain, perhaps, and then he lands on a sneer, barely there, but one she knows all too well.

"We're not here to talk about books, Granger," he says quickly, stuffing said book into his satchel and she hums in amusement.

"Oh, but we are," she says, indicating to the stacks behind her, "we're here to find and discuss a very specific book, actually."

He must realise she's won this minor tiff, because he doesn't reply, he simply pulls out a directory of the aisle they'd been in last night, and begins skimming through it.

After a moment, she takes the seat opposite him, dumping her bag unceremoniously onto the table and begins pulling various notebooks, parchment and her ink pots out of her bag.

"I got a memo this morning," she begins, continuing to pull objects from her bag, "The Mosps are genetically engineered, or at least there's an 80% chance they are."

There is a thickness in the air, she thinks, and she's not entirely sure if it's because of the slight tiff they'd just had, the lingering elephant in the room (the "this" that they'd not come back to), or something else entirely, but it feels heavy, taut with tension.

"I think the stats are in our favour," he replies, placing a memo between them, and then his tone changes, becoming clipped once more, "We've had a positive ID on the victim, as well."

This must be why he's been off since she'd arrived.

"Who?" she asks, quickly, leaning forward in her seat.

Malfoy gives her a look she can only describe as minimalistically stricken. And he is suddenly, entirely serious. It sets her on edge.

"An Unspeakable."