Chapter Two: Detecting

As usual, homage to Rowling for creating everything except the plot.

Please review, everyone! It will make me very happy...

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Draco shut his office door with a click, double-checked to make sure it was locked, and started down the street. It was a dim evening, threatening to rain. The cobblestones of the road were slick with the damp, and that is probably the only reason Hermione's plan worked. When her spell wrapped itself around his left ankle and jerked, he fell instead of just losing his balance. The shimmering red ropes dragged him into a nearby alley, where she stepped forwards, wand raised.

She underestimated him again. No wizard who had gone through the war would have failed to draw his wand in the few seconds on the road, and Draco Malfoy was no exception. Her wand wasn't the only one at the ready, and her surprise threw her off kilter for one crucial moment. His reaction was faster.

"Expellarimus!"

Her wand was snatched from her fingers. She couldn't let him see her, not unless she was in control. She whirled back, throwing her hands over her face.

"What the fuck-" He was still on the ground, squinting into the dim corner, wand poised, her wand in his other hand.

"Who are you? Come out." He started to get to his feet, and she charged forward, face averted, and rammed into him. His spell flew crooked but residual sparks from the force of his magic shot out of her wand and burned her robes. She scrabbled back, scratching at his face so his eyes flinched shut, and spun away down the alley.

He didn't try to catch her, but then, he didn't need to.

&&&&&&&

"Did you say you have the wand?"

When Draco had opened the door, he'd expected to see the cartoon version of a detective's office, complete with blinds and smoke. Instead, the room was sunlit and whitewashed, with a china-blue settee at one end and a prim wooden desk at the other. He sat on the settee now, elbows resting on spread knees, hands clasped.

"Yes."

If the red-haired woman at the desk had been surprised to see him come in, dark-suited and impassive, she hadn't shown it. More than anything, Ginny was surprised at how relaxed Draco's posture was. You'd think the man would be more on edge, considering.

"Can I see it?"

He handed her the wand.

"We can run some routine tests to find the owner..." Her eyes wandered over his face. "And he-"

"She. I'm fairly sure it was a woman."

"And she did that to you as well?"

He touched his scratches. "Yes."

"Are you sure you don't know who it was? Not even a speculation?"

Just as he had done when she first asked, he considered, and then shook his head.

"Okay. I'll see what I can do, Mr. Malfoy."

He smiled a little; she didn't know at what.

"Thank you, Miss Weasley."

He rose, and left.

&&&&&&&

'Wear the blue robes, then."

"I can't."

Harry turned to look at her in exasperation. "Why not?"

"Oh...They got ruined."

"Well, just put something on. You'll look good regardless." He turned back to the dressing table to fix his tie. "Hurry up a little, though."

They were going to the Weasley house for dinner, an affair that Hermione always disliked. Arthur had gotten worse in his old age and it was hard to turn the conversation to anything non-muggle related. Sure enough, Arthur cornered her in the sitting room, eyes bright as he began: "I was going to ask you, Hermione, about this new muggle thing: 'PDA', because I thought on account of your growing up..."

He went on, and Hermione's thoughts wandered. She couldn't stay with Harry much longer. She was attached to him, she supposed, but his kisses had turned rancid. Harry loved her; he would do whatever she wanted; all she had to do was ask. He would voluntarily submit to her demands. She didn't need to force him to do anything.

&&&&&

She brushed against him as he stood in line to get his groceries. He moved away automatically, twisting back to see who he'd bumped into. Several emotions coalesced on his face and then cleared, like a storm passing.

"You."

Hermione smiled at him. "Me."

Draco turned back to the line, looking straight ahead. She brushed up against him, more purposefully. He cocked a shoulder to ward her off, stepping away; his hands were full of packages. Something occurred to him and he set the milk down so his wand hand was free.

"Draco, I just wanted to say-"

His head snapped around. "Don't call me Draco."

"Yes, but if we're going to-"

"There's no 'we', Granger. Are you buying something? There are more tills to your right."

"Oh, no, I'm not buying anything. I'm here to see you."

He went on guard. "What about?"

"Don't worry, I'm not here as a reporter. This is non-professional visit." That didn't exactly lower his guard.

"What, a social call in the middle of a grocery store?"

She waved a hand vaguely. "Well, I just happened to be in the area, and I saw you and thought, 'oh, I'll stop and say hello!'".

"To see...In the area?" He stared at her. "Are you stalking me?"

She decided to worry him a little: she opened her mouth and laughed far too loudly, then said: "We don't call it stalking, silly." She observed his resulting expression with satisfaction, then wondered if she could make him back up into the stack of baskets.

"You certainly get a lot of groceries, Draco. Do you want a hand with that...?" She reached for his packages and sure enough he stepped back, almost into the baskets, and had to rebalance.

"No! Go away." He glanced ahead to see how soon his turn would come, and she took the opportunity to touch against him again. He nearly dropped the rest of the groceries, disgust and disbelief on his face as he spun around.

"Jesus," he breathed. "What. Do. You. Want?"

She smiled a little at his frustration. How could she best wind him up? The truth?

"You," she answered.

If he had been less in control, his jaw would have dropped. It was one of the things she loved about him, and the situation. Being in control of someone who was in control of himself. It doubled her power.

"Well, I'm afraid," - was he smiling? -"That's not an option."

He was smiling. He had denied her outright. Hermione felt things slip a little, even as her pulse raced.

"Don't say that, Drakie." The look on his face was fabulous to behold. "You can't just lay down rules like that."

"Yes I can, it's my body," he said, feeling that things were out of hand: why was he having this conversation?

He looked around for his milk, a stone pillar of reality in a crazy situation. It was by her foot.

She followed his thought uncannily. "Get it," she said, nudging the bottle with her toe. "It's just here."

He would have to bend in front of her feet to reach it. Her pulse beat. He had denied her outright, and now he had to bend, kneel to her.

"No," he said. Disgusted. All his control snapped back in place like a cloak thrown round his shoulders. He turned and left the shop, without the milk. Without her.

Looking after him, she didn't know whether she'd won or lost.

&&&&&&

When he stalked into her office at the agreed-upon time, Ginny was surprised again. Draco was a mixture of iron-clad stillness and twitchy pacing, alternating between the two.

"Do you want to sit down?"

"No." The flat word made her withdraw, and made him reconsider. Was that all he could say these days? "Yes." He sat.

"Is there something wrong? You're really..."She trailed off, not wanting to offend him.

"No, nothing. I met – I encountered -" He froze, looked up at her.

"You're Ginny Weasley," he said.

Oh. My. God. "Yes..."

"Well, never mind." He relaxed, sitting back. "Do you have anything new on the case?"

"No, I'm sorry to say. The WI office is backlogged right now, and yours is a fairly low-priority case."

"You mean about the wand?"

"Yes. And it's the only lead I have right now, so..." She shrugged apologetically. Pushed a strand of hair out of her face. "Unless you can think of anyone who might want to-"

"No."

"You know, I'm coming to the conclusion that this was a routine mugging attempt." She looked to him for a reaction. "Mr. Malfoy?" What the hell. Every time she said that, he smiled. The man was fathoms beyond her understanding.

"You may be right, Miss Weasley." He stood. She readied herself for his exit; a single man left a room and somehow it fell flat behind him.

He paused at the door. "Will you be at the dinner on Wednesday?"

She blinked at him. "Dinner?"

"Vets and Business Gala."

"Oh." The War Veteran and Business dinner, an annual event but important this year because of the potential donation to be made to the Vet society by Halwark & Postum. If everything went well at the dinner, the Vets - with Harry leading - could start building homes for the widows and children of dead soldiers.

"Yes, I'll be going; with Harry and Hermione. Are you...?" She tilted her head, confused.

"I'm a veteran as well, Miss Weasley." Icily.

"Of course," she muttered, looking away. Draco Malfoy had just been cleared by the Wizengamot; he had been fighting on their side after all, apparently. But every memory of the war had him behind Dark lines: to many people, and certainly to Harry, Malfoy would always be wearing a white skull mask.

When she looked up again, he had gone, taking something from the room the way he always did, and leaving it empty.

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The sound of tinkling crystal and polite laughter faded. Harry sat down, looking pleased. It had been a good speech, Draco knew. Powerful, moving, eloquent – he wondered how much of it had been written for him.

"Good, good, that was excellent, Potter. Well done." The man seated to Draco's left was Bulvoid Halwark, donation sponsor and very important guest. He was a little drunk and enjoying himself enormously. "You have a good heart, and at Halwark and Postum we like that."

Things were going well. The restauraunt was done in a style reminiscent of Trelawney's tower, with red plush on the walls and smudged golden lighting. The waiters sailed through in their immaculate black and white garb, bringing food that tasted as expensive as it was.

Hermione, seated across from him at Harry's side, hadn't said a single thing. Ginny was across and a couple of seats down. When he arrived, there had been a brief awkwardness between them: how to handle their situation, now that they weren't in her office? Was their relationship here professional or casual? He had settled on a medium, a smile with a nod, and she had returned it.

"Fortune cookie, sir?" A waiter bent over him.

"What?"

"Our fortune cookies, sir." The waiter smiled around the table, as though he were a magician unveiling a particularly good trick. "The Lamont tradition: each fortune message, tailored to delight. You follow the message after eating the cookie!"

Beside him, Halwark guffawed. "Just the thing! I'll have one, then. Hand it over."

He took his, opened it to the interest of the table, and read aloud: "Charm the napkin of the person next to you. Transfiguration charm of your choice." He rounded on Alicia Bennet, the pretty girl on his other side, and turned her napkin into a guinea pig. Chaos ensued as everyone demanded a cookie, and Draco had one thrust into his hands. He examined the sweet hard biscuit without interest.

"Open up!" Halwark gleamed at him, sweaty and full of good humour.

Draco looked down at his cookie, and snapped the brown crust with a certain amount of satisfaction. He pulled the curled parchment from the middle. In the moment that followed there happened to be a lull in conversation, so Halwark's words boomed across the table.

"Well? Read it to us, go on!"

Everyone looked at Draco. He read the words with a feeling of disbelief; his fingers twisted away from the paper and he looked up. Hermione's face was triumphant, greedy.

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Now she really was in control; he couldn't make a scene here, and to baulk about a simple kiss would be rude. Every turn had him cornered, and any attempt on his part to get out of it would only increase her pleasure. Never in a thousand years would she get this feeling with Harry.

As Draco rose from his chair. She had won, again. A mutter ran around the table, mostly amiable, with a small protest from Harry. It was a long distance around the table, and there was an expectant silence by the time he reached her.

He stood for a moment, and she saw her death slide across his face. She froze, excited at his defiance but scared despite herself. Then in a folding of cloth he bent, meeting her upturned face, to kiss her. The shock of his disgust flamed through her, fusing her spine together, hatred locking her in place. Many times stronger than at the Wizengamot, it was electrifying, fizzling down her nerves until it grounded in her feet and dispersed through the carpet. The chill crept through at last; his unmitigated dislike and revulsion emanating from him as he moved back. Again, his face was open for a moment after kissing her, and the chill was written on it. She stared, tingles still shooting haphazardly across her skin. A little smile on her face.

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Ginny watched him kiss her; a short, impersonal brush of the lips. A polite, distanced kiss; befitting the circumstances. And yet, Hermione was flushed when he drew away two seconds later. Ginny had not seen his face when he paused in front of her, but on the return to his seat it was blank, the calm after a storm. She switched her eyes back to Hermione again, and frowned, missing something.