Chapter 3

Draco Malfoy and the Reds

Hermione appeared either entirely disinterested or dangerously riled. Either way, it seemed in Malfoy's best interest to fall silent once more. But that wasn't Malfoy's style. After all, he with the silver tongue had the tendency to fall victim to his own hubris. Especially when it came to Hermione. And so, he pressed. "I thought the illustrious Hermione Granger wouldn't be caught dead in red."

Hermione didn't flinch. "Things change."

He narrowed his eyes. He lied for a living, but Hermione was never too good at it. "You haven't."

She crossed her legs. "You don't know anything about me."

He watched her as she anxiously pulled at the clip holding her hair in place. When she released the clasp, it fell to her shoulders, completely obscuring her reddening ears. He felt for her. Enough that he almost let it go. "Perhaps not anymore," he said.

She gave him a repulsed look. "Don't kid yourself," she said. "You never knew me."

He watched her steadily for several moments before looking away. And possibly she was right. It was conceivable, after all, that he never really knew her. The thought made him a little sick, and he tried to quash it before it took hold. Before it could begin to colour his memories. Surely, she didn't mean it. "You're still angry," he said.

Hermione made an indignant sound. "Don't flatter yourself."

…

"Hermione," Harry was saying, "where are we with the forged Ministry Pass?"

They were back in the conference room the following morning and Malfoy was blinking profusely to remain awake through yet another dreadfully dull meeting. Perhaps, it had more to do with the fact that he barely had any sleep the previous night, having spent the bulk of it in the driver's seat of Hermione's car, watching her watch the warehouse behind the docks. He perked up when he heard Hermione's name and looked over at her from underneath his blond eyebrows, moving only his eyes.

Hermione shifted in her seat uncomfortably and cleared her throat. Before speaking, she opened up a case file and flipped through several pages. Clearly, she was trying to buy time. She had nothing prepared. Malfoy sighed in silence, mulling over his options. He could either keep his expertise to himself or – or he could call a truce by coming to her aid and, as a result, expose the extent of his experience.

"It's not a fake," he said, still watching Hermione. She looked up at him in alarm. Before she could speak – and ruin his attempt to save her behind – he continued, turning to Harry, who was standing at the head of the table and appearing quite rivetted by Malfoy's assertion. Malfoy could see Hermione folding her arms and cocking her head in a typical Hermione fashion out of the corner of his eye. "It's a real enough pass. I inspected it myself."

"Real enough?" Hermione interjected. "It either is or it isn't. Besides, it was the only pass used on the restricted level of the DoM on the night of the eye theft," Hermione said.

Malfoy lifted his eyebrows and glanced at Hermione. He was trying to suppress a laugh. "The eye theft?"

"Alastor Moody's Eyeball," Hermione said, not amused by his lighthearted attitude. "It was placed under protection after the war, being one of a kind as well as susceptible to Dark Magic."

Malfoy narrowed his eyes. "It was stolen?"

Hermione nodded.

"Right, well," Malfoy turned back to Harry. "Clearly, the perpetrator just lifted a pass off a Ministry employee and disguised himself as said employee."

"That's not possible," Hermione scoffed.

"Hang on," Harry said. "Didn't you two work on this together?"

Hermione let out a bitter chuckle.

After giving her a pointed look, Malfoy continued, "It wouldn't be so difficult to pull off."

"The Ministry has safeguards, Malfoy," Hermione said in a haughty tone. "Not anybody could just waltz in and head into a restricted section with only a pass. Even with a properly concocted Polyjuice Potion, it's not possible."

Malfoy listened patiently as she spoke. When she stopped, he gave her a small smile. "The pass is not a fake," he said calmly. "The pass cannot be counterfeited. Believe me, I've tried."

"Alright," Harry said. "Suppose the pass is an original –"

"It is," Malfoy insisted.

"Suppose that it is," Harry continued. "If you needed to get something out of the Department of Mysteries – the restricted level no less, and after hours – how would you go about doing it?" He was looking to Malfoy for a response.

Malfoy considered this for several moments. He briefly scanned the room. Naturally, all eyes were on him. He would've been satisfied with this, except that Hermione was deliberately not looking at him. He glanced back at Harry. "I wouldn't," he said.

Harry seemed disappointed. He gave Malfoy a stern nod, muttering something imperceptible but likely profane under his breath, before returning his attention to the notes on the table before him. He appeared ready to move on when Malfoy spoke again.

"I would find an accomplice," Malfoy said.

Harry lifted his eyes and regarded Malfoy sceptically over the frame of his spectacles. "An accomplice?" he straightened his back. "Seems too easy. Besides, Ministry employees are vetted extremely well."

This time, it was Malfoy's turn to scoff. "Extremely well? Like Umbridge was? Or perhaps my father?" Malfoy leaned back in his seat. "Don't tell me that all Ministry employees are above corruption. Anybody could be coerced, given the right circumstances." He looked around the room. "I bet I could convince each and every one of you to steal Moody's Eye for me." Malfoy's gaze fell on Hermione. She was watching him with what appeared to be mild curiosity. "Everybody's got a price."

"That doesn't explain," Hermione said, "the fact that the name on the pass does not belong to any current Ministry of Magic employee."

Malfoy smiled at her broadly. "Is that so?"

"The name on the pass is that of a deceased staff member," Hermione said. "We've already spoken to his widow, and she was able to produce her late husband's actual pass."

"That," Malfoy pointed at Hermione, turning in his swivel chair to face Harry, "is your fake."

"It still does not explain how the perpetrator was able to get in." Hermione said. The level of irritation overlaying her tone was escalating magnificently and Malfoy was revelling in her frustration as always.

"How sure are you that anyone actually did?" Malfoy said.

Hermione nearly growled in her exasperation. "You are infuriating! Just say what you're thinking!"

Malfoy leaned forward, placing both elbows on the conference room table. Across from him, Ron was watching him with an expression that could have indicated either profound concentration or a wide-eyed slumber. To Ron's left, Neville was eyeing Malfoy suspiciously, although he was sitting with a quill at the ready for whenever Malfoy began to speak again. "First," Malfoy said, "tell me what we were monitoring last night at the docks. Granger was maddeningly vague."

Harry gave him a puzzled look, cocking his head slightly and glancing up at Hermione. Before Malfoy could turn to face her, Hermione stammered, "Popping over to a café for a piece of my favourite rhubarb pie is hardly surveillance work, Malfoy."

Harry seemed to be processing Hermione's response in slow motion, as if his faith in her candour were battling his observational capabilities. Malfoy was almost cringing at Hermione's complete lack of aptitude in the deception department when he heard her nervous laughter pervade the otherwise silent room. "Rhubarb?" Harry raised his eyebrows dubiously. Malfoy closed his eyes, suspecting that the rational jurisdiction of Harry's consciousness was winning the aforementioned struggle.

Malfoy heaved a noiseless sigh, peering up at Hermione. She was still laughing uneasily, her hands brushing her hair back over and over. It kept invading her face despite her best efforts. "Malfoy was hungry and so –"

"So, you mislead me," Malfoy shook his head at her.

Hermione's voice dropped off as if she'd been muted. She stared at him in horror.

Malfoy continued. "You know how much I hate pie, so you lied and said we've got a mark at the docks, which is, of course, in plain view of the café window."

Hermione caught on and began to nod slowly. "I wanted to make you eat my pie – eat the pie."

Malfoy sucked in his cheeks to suppress the burst of laughter that was threatening to erupt out of him.

"But why even take Malfoy?" Ron said, his eyebrows furrowed. "Can't you just eat the pie by yourself?"

"Go home, Weasley," Malfoy said, rising from his seat.

Hermione blinked at Malfoy as he gave the chair he'd been sitting on a spin before rolling it under the table. He stuck his hands into his pockets and looked up at her, a slight smirk pulling at his mouth. "You coming?" he said.

She nodded quickly and scrambled to brush her papers haphazardly into her portfolio.

…

"Malfoy, if you don't wipe that stupid smirk off your face, I will wipe it off for you."

They were fleeing the scene via the back corridor, heading toward the staircase rather than the lift. Hermione was walking particularly quickly, her robes – the red robes of the Auror Division of the DMLE – billowing in her wake. Malfoy fell in step with her and held a hand up before her, into which she nearly collided. She stopped abruptly and gave him a livid look when he stepped in front of her – the kind of look she'd directed at him countless times before, the kind of look to which he'd become all but desensitized. His hand still hovered before her, and he fought to keep it from moving forward to make contact. He lowered it reluctantly and fixed her with an inquisitive gaze. "Who were we watching?" he said.

"Get lost, Malfoy," she said, trying to push past him.

He brought his hands up to hold her back. "Hermione," he began.

"Don't Hermione me!" she stormed off down the corridor, slamming into the door leading to the staircase.

…

"So, what you're saying," Harry said, swirling the tip of his wand to signal the coffee pot to stop pouring coffee into his cup, "is that the target was not at all Moody's eye?"

Malfoy leaned back in his seat and watched Harry continue to twirl his wand furiously at the coffee pot which continued to pour his coffee. Malfoy waited until Harry's cup began to spill over before releasing his wandless influence over the pot. He smiled as Harry swore and attempted to save files from underneath his overflowing cup. It was the little things. "Distraction," Malfoy said, "is often the crux of a well-executed con."

Harry looked up at Malfoy wearily, holding a stack of dripping papers. "Fleecing 101?"

"Something like that."

"So, while someone was stealing the eye three nights ago, the real thief was somewhere else entirely, taking something completely different?"

Malfoy shrugged. "I'm not sure anyone was actually in the DoM that night. Like Hermione said, it's impossible to get in."

"But the eye was stolen."

"But when?" Malfoy said, reaching down to help Harry gather the papers now scattered on his floor. "All you know is that somebody triggered the alarm three nights ago."

"The distraction," Harry repeated.

"Precisely," Malfoy nodded, handing Harry the coffee-stained documents. "When did you last have eyes on … the eye? Was it that day? Or did you just assume it was taken because it was the only thing missing?"

Harry watched Malfoy carefully, but his face was betraying the sickening feeling he was likely experiencing in the pit of his stomach. "I fucking assumed. Like a fucking idiot."

Malfoy sat leaning into his elbow, which he had placed on the arm of the chair in Harry's office. His used his fingers to stroke his chin as he watched Harry implode with, and he wasn't ashamed to admit it, relish.

"But," Harry began – and Malfoy was already waiting for this insight – "nothing else is missing. We've checked everything."

Malfoy left a dramatic pause between Harry's revelation and his own response. Finally, after running his hand through his hair, he said, "I said the Ministry Pass cannot be counterfeited. Everything else, on the other hand," Malfoy lifted his eyebrows, shrugging.

Harry's eyes widened. "Are you telling me there's a bogus magical artifact somewhere in this building?"

Malfoy crossed his ankles underneath the chair, and the tracking anklet Harry had put on him brushed against his calf. It was Muggle issued technology which was enchanted to resist magic – a commodity Harry Potter had proffered to the department with glee. Malfoy was still getting used to the weight of it. Physical and otherwise.

"I'm fucked," Harry said.

Malfoy gave Harry a sympathetic looking smile. "You're fucked," he agreed.