His recalcitrant nature gave the illusion to most who had the misfortune of crossing his path that nothing could penetrate his adamantine façade.
Which would have been largely irrefutable had it not been for one bushy-headed know-it-all.
Her self-righteousness grated the very nerves beneath his pallid skin every time she deigned to open her mouth to speak. She currently had him wishing he could summons a pre-pubescent mandrake to the 2nd floor to drown out her incessant prattling, but he knew it would be grossly impolitic to interrupt her, seeing as the fates had placed him unwillingly as her subordinate in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement.
So instead, he resorted to his routine coping mechanism- indolently staring out the charmed window lining the expansive wall at the back of her office. His drifting eyes would give the perfect illusion that he was deep in thought, mulling over her useless harangue.
"Malfoy! Have you even heard a word I've said?!" she bellowed, breaking him away from his peaceful reverie.
His barbed eyes snapped toward hers, their calm veneer revealing nothing of the torrent of aggravation that brewed inside him at the mention of his surname.
They were adults after all.
Years had passed since their manumission from the poor excuse for a school, Hogwarts. They were mere children when the usurper who called himself Voldemort ascended to power, leaving them both on opposite sides of a bloody war.
He was convinced she used his surname as a form of retribution for his shortcomings during his youth- a subtle reminder of his family's erroneous allegiance. Considering his not inconsequential role in the war, however, perhaps shortcomings was not exactly the most fitting verbiage. Regardless, he had paid for his crimes, as did his family. And now he was gainfully employed at the Ministry, and ready to leave the past behind.
Unfortunately, it hung around his neck like a noose when he walked through Granger's door.
"I think you've mistaken me for one of those two hapless fools you've attached to your coattails. Unlike them, I am more than capable of seeing and hearing at the same time." His smooth reply was laced with as much ire as he could manage without sounding unprofessional. He was after all more than aware that there was a fine line between being curt and downright uncivilized. And a Malfoy was nothing if not polished and refined, as evidenced by his perfectly-coiffed hair and impeccably tailored Alexander Amosu suit, complete with nine 18-carat gold and pave diamond buttons. Casually leaning forward on the desk behind where Granger sat struggling to reign in her irritation with his blatant insolence, he added with a smug lilt to his voice, "It would do you well to remember that."
Donning an utterly repugnant scowl, she replied in the sanctimonious tone for which she was so well-known, "Look Malfoy, if you wish to be employed in my department, it would do you well to remember who is in charge."
Briskly rising from her seat, she stalked over to the filing cabinet situated near the door and extracted a folder bearing the name MacNair, before returning to his side and roughly proffering it out for him to hold.
"These are the current findings from Harry and Ron's latest reconnaissance efforts at MacNair Manor. It appears Walden has finally returned to Scotland after all these years and surreptitiously re-inhabited his estate. We had a hunch he would eventually return, but having a hunch and knowing he's there changes everything."
She shifted to place one hand securely on her hip, the haughty maneuver not going unnoticed by her unwanted companion. "Not only does this bring us one step closer to apprehending the man who murdered Broderick Bode, but it may be just the lead we need to solve the mystery of Miriam Strout's murder as well. I suspect if he's brazen enough to return to Scotland, there is a very malevolent reason why."
If her prophetic words didn't convey the gravity of the situation, her sobering stare did when it met Malfoy's splintered gray irises, a grim awareness flickering behind his eyes.
"Well," he began tersely, "it was common knowledge among the Death Eaters that it was MacNair himself who murdered Broderick. I was there when Voldemort ordered him to leave the pot of Devil's Snare at St. Mungo's for him to find." Casually rifling through the paperwork like the chore that it was, he remarked flippantly, "If it's a conviction you're seeking, look no further. I am a living witness and will gladly testify to ensure that deviant miscreant never again sees the light of day."
She nodded imperceptibly, shifting anxiously under Malfoy's piercing glare. "Well, that is helpful, yes. However, we strongly believe Bode's murder is the least of his crimes." She squared her shoulders as if the weight of her statement required it.
"A rather strange item turned up at the scene of Miriam Strout's murder last week," she added with a hint of trepidation in her voice. "We know Miriam was the only healer on duty the night MacNair strangled Broderick with the Devil's Snare. He likely thought she would implicate him for the murder should he ever attempt to show his face again in Scotland and so he silenced her in the worst way possible."
Her face contorted into a pained grimace, a chill chasing up her spine.
"It was rather easy to connect the dots," she continued, endeavoring to manifest an air of confidence. "What still remains a mystery, however, is what exactly this object is telling us about MacNair's current sordid affairs."
"Something tells me that's where I come in."
A bitter expression suddenly washed across his face at the realization.
He had admittedly wondered why Kingsley Shacklebolt had abruptly transferred him to the DMLE, seeing as he was faring quite well for the previous 9 months in the Department of Magical Games and Sports. It seemed he was one step closer to getting his answer.
"Is it that obvious?" She exhaled a heavy sigh, shifting her glance to the folder still lingering in Malfoy's hands. "Look, I understand I am likely the last person on Earth you care to be working for right now. And I also know that you've worked tirelessly these past several years to leave your checkered past behind you. But, loathe as I am to admit it, we need you and your expertise on this case."
She glanced back up imploringly, searching Malfoy's face for any indication he understood the dire nature of her supplication.
Feeling a sudden and favorable shift in their palpable power struggle, he donned a self-assured smirk. "I had no idea you were so aware of my comings and goings these past several years. Do you make it a habit of trolling all former Death Eaters, or am I just special?"
She scoffed defensively, arms crossing tightly in front of her chest as her eyes narrowed infinitesimally. "Anyone with eyes and the ability to read at an elementary level knows your whereabouts just by glancing at the cover of the Daily Prophet. Surely you must know that."
With a flimsy roll of her eyes, she stalked over to the other side of her desk, adding distance between her and her former nemesis before reclaiming her seat directly across from where the ill-tempered wizard stood.
"Look," she finally offered resignedly, "I realize it may be hard for you to believe your dark past may hold any merit here at the Ministry, but I think you'll find that if you can use it for the betterment of wizarding society, it won't be all for naught."
She chanced a cursory glance at him, startled to see a poorly-masked visceral reaction brewing at the sound of her conciliatory words.
Something about her placating tone caused his lip to curl into an unpleasant sneer as his face morphed into a mask of contempt she hadn't seen since childhood.
"Interesting how The Hermione Granger, expert of all things, is also now the talisman for human psychiatry," he ground out between clenched teeth. "I'm perfectly aware of what merits I do and do not hold here at the Ministry and need no advice from a paper-pushing war heroine on how I can better wizarding society. If we are to be forced to work together in any capacity, might I suggest you keep your unwarranted solicitudes to yourself?"
His fiery enmity startled her, a throbbing vein marring his otherwise elegant, angular face.
"I only meant to remind you of the unique skills you bring to this case," she replied in a low and cautious tone. "You're invaluable, Malfoy. Without you on board, we don't stand a chance of prosecuting MacNair for his crimes."
The gross flattery tasted bitter on her tongue as the bleak admission fell from her lips. Stiffly shifting in her chair, she warily chanced another glance in his direction.
Hostility undulated through the air where his agitation hung visibly unabated, evidenced by the subtle clenching and unclenching of his fists as he leaned forward challengingly. "Tell the Minister I'm no acolyte for hire. If he desires my expertise, as you so eloquently put it, I will gladly come aboard as your equal, and nothing less."
With the cutting sound of finality, he turned and stalked off the way in which he came, offering nothing more than the thunderous slamming of her office door which echoed through the room long after his departure.
She exhaled evenly along with the force of his exit, blowing away an errant curl that defiantly cascaded in front of her face.
"Well, that went well," she muttered to herself, reaching for a spare bit of parchment and beginning a missive to Kingsley.