Thanks to everyone who reviewed. I'm sorry for the long wait, hopefully this chapter will make up for it.
He pulled his car off the road and opened the hood
He pulled his car off the road and opened the hood. There was nothing wrong with it, currently, but that was about to change. He took out his wand and tapped it against the radiator. Steam immediately began to erupt from his engine. This was going to be fun. He hadn't been fishing in a long time. He had been watching his catch for some time now and knew that she would stop to lend a helping hand to a stranger in need. As her headlights rounded a curve, he sat on his front bumper and put his head in between his hands. She pulled over, and he hid a smile; he loved being right.
"Car trouble?" she asked.
"My cell phone is dead," he replied, getting up and flashing a smile. "It's my kid's birthday tonight, do you mind if I borrow yours? I don't want him to think that I'm letting him down again."
Her face softened. "Sure you can," she said as she leaned into her car to retrieve her purse.
She stood back up, her phone in her hand. "I have a Triple A card if you-"
"Stupefy," he incanted, and she fell unconscious to his feet. He grinned in anticipation, and then dragged her to the passenger seat of her minivan. He got in himself. With a flick of his wand, he cleared his footprints and fixed his car as he drove to a more secluded spot.
Draco
Draco stepped off the plane and stretched. It had been a long and turbulent flight. Since the events of 9/11, overseas Apparition was severely restricted by the States, and was not permitted at all within the nation's capital. Even Nym would have been hard pressed to get him permission to Apparate with less than a day's notice. And, although Draco was anxious to get out there, he was glad for the slowness of air travel, it gave him time to go over his files and collect his thoughts.
The fact that the killer had moved on to a different country radically changed things. Typically, serial killers, like him, were very dependent on location. He'd only just noticed that the parks chosen for each crime were arranged in a star around the Tower, of all places. The precisely chosen locations spoke to his need to control, and to his notions of being an artist. Why change canvases now?
After making his way through customs and gathering his luggage, he walked into the main terminal of Dulles International Airport, and looked around for his ride. His boss at the Yard, Stephen Welling, was supposed to have arranged a ride to the crime scene with the FBI. He soon spotted a young woman in a smart business suit holding a sign with his name on it. She was looking at her watch and bore an expression on her face that clearly said she had better things to be doing than collecting him from the airport. He took a moment to catalogue her. She looked to be in her middle twenties. Her brown hair was pulled back into a loose bun. He recognized the look of disgust mixed with determination and a little excitement on her face. She had just come from the crime scene; and possibly this was her first time leading an investigation? He'd worn that expression himself before. She wore no wedding or engagement ring on her left hand but he saw, from the diamond earrings she wore, that she was likely in a fairly committed relationship. She gave the impression of one who was very serious about her work, which was just fine by him. He walked over to her and cleared his throat. She looked up at him.
"Draco Malfoy?" she asked, giving him the same once over he had just given her.
"Yes," he said holding out his hand.
She shook it. "I'm Special Agent Rebecca Salinger." She took one of his bags and started walking toward the parking garage. "We have a while before we get to the scene, if you'd like to fill me in on what you know."
"Actually, I'm curious as to what you already know."
She glanced back at him and smiled slightly. "I'll show you mine if you show me yours?" she asked.
He raised an eyebrow. He might have to revise his impression to include a sense of humor. "Not at all," he chuckled. "But, there's no sense in repeating myself, is there?"
She nodded.
They got to the car and she handed him a file before pulling out of her parking spot and heading out of the garage. When they were on the highway, she began. "Suspect is likely a Caucasian male in his late thirties to middle forties. He is good enough at blending in and seeming normal that his victim was not taken under duress.
"She was a prostitute?" he asked, while flipping through the files.
She glanced over to him. "She was a soccer mom."
Draco looked up surprised. He had not only changed his location but also his intended victims. Rebecca continued, "The extremity of the violence suggests an anger toward his victim that likely stems from childhood abuses. He is also highly adept at clearing crime scenes of evidence, indicating a background in criminal studies and medical forensics. He seems to know exactly what we look for in physical evidence," she concluded.
Draco was nodding. "Excellent," he said. "You've done a fantastic job, Agent Salinger."
"Rebecca," she corrected.
"You'll also find that the suspect has a number of fetishes. He cuts the hair of his victims and likely finds sexual thrill in their deaths."
"As do most serial killers," she said, loudly enough that he heard her clearly but quietly enough that he wasn't sure if she meant him to.
He addressed her anyway. "Yes, but I believe that it is the moment of death that allows this particular serial killer his sexual release. He is likely incapable of any normal sexual activity, and that has filled him with rage towards women. He also fancies himself an artist. We found a rose laying next to the body of our most recent victim in England. He likely has photographs of his victims, which he may be inclined to paint. The locations of the kills were very symmetrical. They made a star shape with the Tower of London bisecting it in the middle. I don't think Washington has an equivalent to the Tower, so he's likely chosen another location to work around. How far from the White House was the victim found?"
She cleared her throat, and he could see her reassessing her opinion of him. "About four miles," she said.
He nodded. "He'll likely keep his kills close to that distance from the White House, assuming that is the intended focal point of his 'masterpiece'..."
Which it likely isn't, he thought.
..."He plans ahead, this one. I intend to catch him before he gets the chance to make a more complicated design.
Rebecca nodded in response; absorbing the new information he'd given her about the murderer.
Draco looked out the window; it had started to rain. There wasn't going to be much to see at the crime scene. He caught his reflection in the glass. No wonder she seemed surprised that he was intelligent. His suit was rumpled, his hair was messy, and his five O'clock shadow had started early. He counted forward on his fingers. Well maybe it hadn't. The steady movement of the windscreen wipers made his eyes droop. He rubbed them vigorously and shook his head trying to wake up.
Rebecca looked over at him. "Gonna be a long day for you, huh?"
He stifled a yawn. "It already has been. I've had longer though."
She nodded in understanding. "We'll be there in a couple of minutes."
Draco recognized the familiar sites of the crime scene when they were still a good distance away. Things were as he expected them to be, except for one detail. "This is a grave yard," he said as she pulled into a clearing that was roped off by police tape.
"This is Arlington National Cemetery," Rebecca said, before she stepped out of the car and opened her umbrella.
Draco pulled the collar up on his overcoat, and stepped into the rain.
"There's not much to see, I'm afraid," she said as she walked over and shared her umbrella with him. They ducked under the police tape. Forensics specialists were going over the area looking for clues. Draco knew they weren't going to find any. Rebecca started a tour. "We found the body over there," she said pointing to a cluster of Forensics specialists, near a small grove of trees. "She was completely naked, and in an unnatural position."
Draco nodded as he stepped out from under the umbrella and walked the parameter of the scene, taking it all in.
Rebecca continued. "The preliminary report came back this morning. She was Kristen Adams of Arlington, wife and mother of two. She was reported missing a few weeks ago.
"How long exactly?" he asked looking back at her.
She fumbled as she tried to flip through her note pad and keep the umbrella over her head. "The report was made to the local police seventeen days ago; she had been missing for twenty-four hours before that."
Draco calculated in his head. That gave him approximately three weeks in between his kills, which meant he'd moved his timetable up some. "That's soon for him, by our best estimates his previous kills were approximately six to eight weeks apart. It's only been three." He walked back under her umbrella. "May I see her?" he asked.
"Of course, I'll take you there now." They got back into the car. Draco shivered; he probably shouldn't have walked in the rain like that. It woke him up, at least. Rebecca wordlessly turned on the heat. They drove in silence for several minutes before she asked, "You said something about a rose?"
Draco started from his thoughts. "The most recent victim, in London, was found in a provocative position with a red rose laid against her."
"We didn't find anything like that."
"Nor had we, previously, before Jane Doe." He briefly wondered if they'd managed to ID the girl yet, and reminded himself that he needed to check in with Joe before it became too late in London. "I believe that the unnaturally cold weather we've been having this spring preserved it before it was"- he briefly paused to think of a word that would mean more or less the same thing as "de-transfigured" –"destroyed as the others most likely were."
"Maybe they weren't present at the other scenes," she said simply.
Draco shook his head. "I don't think so, the last scene made a kind of sense that the others didn't. The rose was the missing element. I don't think it was a fluke. He's likely been fantasizing about these kills for a long time. The rose fits the fantasy.
She looked doubtful but decided to change the subject rather than press the issue just then. "Where are you staying?" she asked, conversationally.
"With a cousin of mine until I can find a flat to rent," he answered.
"You're staying, then?" she asked almost nonchalantly.
"For as long as he does," he said. And then, because he couldn't help himself, he added, "Is that a problem?"
"Not if you know your place in the system. I was given to understand that you were here to share information as a consultant," she said, attempting to be intimidating.
Draco's jaw tightened. He understood her desire to remain in control of her investigation but had little interest in protecting her feelings on the matter. Now was not the time for her to defend her territory. "I was given to understand that I was here to catch a murderer and to extradite him to England where he will stand trial for his crimes." He could see regret for her words flash into her eyes, as he continued to address her. "I'm not here to step on anyone's toes, but I've been in this guy's head for almost a year now, and I am the best chance we have of catching him. Like it or not, I'm working here as an agent of your ministry as well as mine. If you check with your boss, I think you'll find that I have the power to run this investigation, if I so choose." He took a deep breath and relaxed a little in his seat. "For now, I'm content to keep you in charge."
She blushed as she turned a corner into a parking lot. They had arrived at their destination. "You'll find the morgue on sub-basement two," she said stiffly. "Take a left; I have to make a couple of calls."
I'll bet you do.
"I'll meet you down there shortly." She walked off dialing her mobile, no doubt confirming what he told her.
"Thank you, " he said, as he started inside to find the lift.
He managed to find the morgue with a minimal amount of wrong turns. He knocked briefly on the door and walked in. An older man in his late forties or early fifties looked up from the corpse he had his hands in. "May I help you?' he asked.
"I'm Draco Malfoy, I'm here to see Kristen Adams."
"You know she's dead right?" he asked as he removed his gloves and made a note on his clipboard. Draco gave him an incredulous look. "I'm just kidding," he added. "That's just a little morgue humor."
"Right. Sorry. Jet lag," Draco excused himself. "May I see her?"
"Do you have clearance?"
It was just then that Draco realized that in amongst all of the files that Rebecca had given him, he had not received any security passes or credentials. He pulled out his Scotland Yard ID and gave it to the coroner. "I'm currently on loan from England until we find our criminal. Agent Salinger should be along shortly with my FBI commission."
The Coroner nodded. "They mentioned that they were bringing outside help on this one. I had to be sure, you know? The press have been all over this one. They're already calling him 'The Magician.'" He walked over to one of the drawers and opened it. "I hope you have some secret strategy for this case, because you aren't going to solve it forensically. There was nothing on her and I mean nothing. No stray hairs, no finger prints, no semen, no blood even, not even hers." He handed Draco some latex gloves.
Draco nodded as he pulled on the gloves. "It's a pretty shitty MO, isn't it?" He snapped a few pictures and probed the body looking for evidence of magic spells, aside from the absolute faintest cleaning charm there was nothing. He couldn't even tell which spell it had been. Not that he knew very many of them in the first place.
"Got that right," the coroner replied. "Cause of death was blood loss due to a severed carotid."
Draco nodded as he snapped a few more pictures. He noted that this victim's throat had been more gently cut than the last one's was, and stepped back from the body, pulling off his gloves. "Thank you very much, err-"
"Folks round here call me Smithy." He closed and relocked the drawer before he removed his gloves and held out his hand. Draco shook it.
"Thanks Smithy. Where's the best place to get mobile reception around here?"
"Up a couple of levels. Ground floor," Smithy said as he put on a new pair of gloves and went back to the body he was working on before he was interrupted.
"Will you tell Agent Salinger that I'll be upstairs, if she comes by?"
"Sure thing." He turned on the radio and "Ooh La La" by The Faces rang through the speakers. Smithy sang along with the chorus, "I wish that I knew what I know now.."
"Thanks again," said Draco as he walked back to the lift.
He opened his mobile. The clock had automatically adjusted itself to his new time zone. It was 3 PM. He stepped outside and dialed his partner. Joe answered on the third ring.
"This is Krellor." It sounded like he was eating, which reminded Draco that he was hungry.
"Joe, it's Draco. Any news on the Jane Doe?"
"Not yet, it's been quiet here. How are things Stateside?"
"He's moved up from streetwalkers to young mothers, as well as his timeframe. There's nothing else to report. I have a feeling I'm going to be here for a while." He spotted Rebecca heading towards him; she didn't look too happy. "There's also been some hostility among the natives."
Joe chuckled. "You managed to brass them off, already?" he asked. "That's got to be a record for you, eh?"
Draco smiled slightly. "Actually that's not even close to my record."
"Listen mate," Joe said more soberly. "It looks like they're closing things down on this end. They've started reassigning people. The only loose end is finding Jane's identity. The case is officially cold here."
Draco drew a deep breath. "I can't say I'm terribly surprised. I was hoping for some more friendly support, though." Rebecca was now standing in front of him. "I've got to go mate, but I'll be sure to keep you in the loop."
"I appreciate that. Hang in there, and be sure to bring me back a tee-shirt, yeah?"
Draco smiled. "Sure thing. Bye." He hung up the phone and looked at the woman who was now, for all intents and purposes, his new partner. "Well?"
She cleared her throat but her jaw was tense as she apologized for her earlier behavior. Adding a reluctant "sir" at the end of it all.
Though he was exasperated, Draco tried a new tactic. He forced himself to smile and said, "I'm sorry for speaking to you like that. You really needn't worry, though. I think you'll find that I loathe paperwork and am apt to avoid it at all costs."
"I didn't think about that part of it," she added reluctantly.
"Too late now. Is there any chance of stopping for a bite to eat before continuing the tour?"
"Sure," she said and led him back to her car.
After a brief lunch, he got her to drop him off at the Department of Magic, claiming it as the government building in which his cousin worked. He walked into the white-columned building and through the metal detectors, wondering, vaguely, if he had the right building. Everything had a very Muggle look to it. He walked over to the office listing to see if Michael Fletcher was on it; he wasn't. Draco ran his hand through his hair and frowned. He looked around for some clue as to where he should go.
He was genuinely surprised when he saw Rebecca walking towards him with purpose. "I thought there was something different about you," she said, once she was within speaking distance. He gaped at her. "No one told you where to go, did they?" she asked, only slightly condescendingly. He still was staring at her in shock. She looked annoyed, and he made himself speak.
"You're a witch," he said at last.
She shook her head. "No. Troy, my boyfriend, is a wizard, and I work as a liaison between the FBI and the DoM when one is needed."
Draco nodded, in response. He was having a difficult time recovering from his shock. "Nice to meet you again, Rebecca," he said flatly. She shook his out stretched hand. "Would you mind telling me where the bloody visitor's entrance is?"
She smiled slightly, and led him to the elevators. "They told me I'd be meeting with someone from the Ministry of Magic, and from Scotland Yard, today, but they failed to mention that they were going to be the same person," she said as her badge was scanned, and a new set of controls appeared. She pressed a button and the elevator started to move, first to the right, and then down.
The lift doors opened and Draco was greeted with the familiar sight of a large marble hall lined with fireplaces and the constant stream of wizards and witches flashing in and out of them. Rebecca led him through a maze of corridors to a section marked Division of Enforcement. He held the glass door open for her and she preceded him into the reception room.
"Hello, Janice," said Rebecca, pleasantly.
"Agent Salinger," was the much more formal reply of the reception witch.
Rebecca sighed and introduced Draco. The reception witch nodded - somewhat snottily, Draco thought.
He cleared his throat. "I have an appointment with Michael Fletcher," he said.
Janice tapped her wand against the monitor, on her desk, checking Fletcher's schedule. She looked at him and spoke, "Director Fletcher is running behind schedule; please have a seat and he will be with you as soon as he can."
"Thanks," said Draco and he and Rebecca sat in the uncomfortable waiting room chairs.
She leaned closer to him. "Tell me more about our killer; he's a wizard isn't he?"
Draco nodded. "Yes he is. But the only magic he uses is to clean up after himself, and for taking his trophies." For a reason that he couldn't explain he leaned closer and said, quietly, "I have a theory, that I've never told anyone about, as it's only a feeling. But, I think that the prostitutes that were killed in England were actually stand-ins for the true objects of his rage. If that is true, then Kristen Adams means a remarkable, and disturbing, step forward for him."
Rebecca thought about what he said for a while, and then she said, "That would make sense."
Draco smiled slightly, and leaned back in his chair. After an absurdly long wait, Janice called his name and told him to go into Director Fletcher's office.
Draco rapped politely on the door as he walked into the spacious office. Michael Fletcher stood up behind his desk and offered Draco his hand, which Draco shook. He was a tall and broad man with dark hair that was speckled with grey at the temples. He looked to be in his mid-fifties and his work robes were impeccably tailored.
Draco was distinctly aware of his own rumpled suit and haggard appearance, but he tried to put it out of his mind as he sat in front of the head of the US Enforcers' Division.
Fletcher went straight to business. "Tell me what you know."
Draco explained the situation for another time, but it seemed to him that he was only being given half of the man's attention. When he concluded, there were no questions about the case or about Draco's opinions on the murderer. His listener was only interested in one thing.
"You work for Muggles," Fletcher said flatly. Draco knew everything he needed to know about Michael Fletcher based on the one statement.
"Yes," Draco confirmed.
"And you've met with the FBI," he still wasn't asking.
Draco nodded curtly. "Yes."
"And tell me, what do you think of our resident Muggle, Rebecca?" he asked.
"She seems competent."
"Hmm," Michael said noncommittally.
The formal, almost cold, reception that Janice gave Rebecca fell into place for him, and he admired her for making the most of what was clearly a negative work environment.
"Well," Fletcher said cheerfully as he closed Draco's file and handed it back to him. "I've arranged a task force for you." He motioned behind Draco, and three people who looked like interns walked in. None of them could have been older than twenty, and one of them was still dealing with an acne problem.
Fletcher was watching him closely for his reaction. Draco made sure that his face remained a mask of impassivity. If he hadn't been so mad, he probably would have found it funny. Draco stood up and introduced himself to the newcomers. He turned back to Fletcher and said, "If there's nothing else, I'd like to get to work." Draco saw a flash of disappointment almost cross the other man's face, and knew he had just won their invisible poker game.
Fletcher cleared his throat and spoke to the tallest one, "Simmons," he said. "Take Mister Malfoy to his office." Draco nodded to him and left the room. He matched Simmons' quick pace and followed him through another maze of corridors. The female of the group jogged to catch up with them.
"The whole division isn't like him," she said.
Draco glanced over at her. "Good," he said. "I'd hate to think everyone here is a bigoted arsehole."
They arrived at his tiny, new office. He placed his briefcase on the desk and bade everyone inside. "Right," he said. "First things first, what are your names?"
The young witch spoke first, "I'm Sarah Singer." She offered her hand, which Draco shook.
The tall one cleared his throat and said, "Bill Simmons." Draco shook his hand as well.
The third one looked to be the youngest of the lot. He was short, and had acne troubles. He introduced himself as Brian Garcia, as Draco shook his hand.
"Good to meet all of you. Meet me here tomorrow morning at 8:30 and we'll get started." He noticed their confused looks and said, "Some advice: This will be the last time you will be leaving at anything resembling a decent hour. Take it, and enjoy it." He walked out of the room and realized he had no clue where to go. He leaned back into his office and cleared this throat. "I don't suppose one of you could lead me back to the lobby, could you?" The three young Enforcers shared a smile and led him back to the front.
Rebecca stood up and joined him at the reception desk, where Janice wordlessly handed Draco a visitor's badge for the next day. He followed Rebecca out of the building, and to her car.
"How was it?" she asked once they were on the road.
Draco looked at her from his seat. "I think you know how it was," he said.
She sighed. "I guess I do. Michael Fletcher is a bigot, and his influence has started to rub off on the rest of the division. You should hear how he talks to me. I think he genuinely thinks that I'm mentally challenged."
"Is he a new addition to the division?" Draco asked, morbidly curious. Michael Fletcher was fast becoming the equivalent of a train wreck to Draco. He couldn't turn away. After all, there but for the grace of God... Draco could have easily been Fletcher, if not for the timely intervention of Albus Dumbledore.
"He stepped in as Interim Director after Jacob Henry stepped down due to illness. Technically, he's still the Interim Director, even though he's been in the position for over a year now."
"Does Troy work there?" asked Draco, thinking of the hell he must receive from his boss and co-workers for dating Rebecca, and that he must really love her to go through all of that.
"No, he's a Healer," she said.
"Is the wizarding medical community more open-minded?" he asked, utterly fascinated by American society, to which he had never given much, if any, thought before.
"Considerably. There's even been some promising work in bringing Muggle medicinal practices into wizarding medicine. Creagor Memorial is at the forefront of that research," she said, proudly.
He noted her ease in the use of wizard jargon and asked, "How long have you and Troy been together?"
"Five years," she said with a smile. "I've worked in my current position for the last four," she added, anticipating his next question. "What about you, why do you work with Muggles?"
Draco didn't answer her right away. On the surface it was a simple question. But the answer was far more complex and personal than he wanted to give someone he had only known for less than one day. However, not wanting to risk damaging the camaraderie that had developed between them since visiting the DoM, he gave her the most basic answer to the question. He said, "Because that's where I belong."
Sensing that it was a personal subject, she wisely said nothing.
He turned to her. "I know you aren't my chauffeur but would you be willing to make one more stop before taking me to my cousin's?"
"Sure," she said easily and without hesitation. "Troy's on the late shift tonight, and I have some time to kill."
It was late evening when she dropped him off at Jude's house, in Maryland. "It was nice meeting you, Rebecca. I look forward to working with you."
"You too," she said. "What time tomorrow?"
"I told the others that we were to meet at the DoM at 8:30, I want us to be there before them, and we should do some organizing first."
She sighed. "I'll pick you up at 6:30. Fair warning: I'm not a morning person."
Draco gave a half smile and dragged his suitcase to the front door and knocked.
It wasn't long before Jude answered the door, a toy truck in one hand and a laundry basket balanced against her hip.
"Draco!" she exclaimed. She hurriedly placed her burden on the floor and gave him a hug.
He returned it, lifting her off of the floor. He set her back down and looked at his favorite cousin who he hadn't seen in four years. She had aged, of course, but, like all of the women in her family, she had done so gracefully.
"You look great!" he said.
"You look terrible," she said simultaneously.
"Thanks," he grumbled. "You know, I have been awake since one o'clock this morning, your time. And chasing after a dangerous murderer is very taxing, I'll have you know."
She grinned, and hugged him again.
Draco looked over to her husband, who had just entered the room, along with Samantha, who was in her pajamas. "Tom," he said, extending his hand to the man he had only met a handful of times before they moved to America.
"Hey Draco, how are ya?" he asked.
"I'm all right, all things considered." Draco responded.
Draco then turned his attention downward where a girl, who looked to be about eight, stood regarding him curiously. She had her mother's blonde hair but her father's everything else. He crouched down to her eye level and asked, "Do you remember me?" She shook her head. "I met you when you visited your grandparents in England." She didn't say anything. "Well, pick a hand" he offered his two fists to her face down. She thought for a moment and chose his left hand. He opened it and produced a lollypop that he had purchased from the duty free shop, earlier in the day. She grinned as she took it.
Jude frowned at him. "You can have that tomorrow, Sam. It's time for bed now."
"I'm not TIRED!" she said.
"Now, Sam."
"Five more minutes?" Sam bargained.
"You can stay up for ten more minutes, if, and only if, you go up stairs and get into bed this instant."
Draco recognized her "mom voice," the universal sound of finality. Samantha, also, apparently knew a good deal when she heard one, and went up stairs to go to bed.
"Get the book ready," said Tom. "I'll be up in a minute to tuck you in."
Jude looked up at Draco. "Come in and sit down," she said. "Are you hungry?"
"Famished."
"Well, come sit down and I'll fix you a plate." She led him to the spacious kitchen and started rummaging through the refrigerator. Chatting easily about work and family the entire time. Draco relaxed in his chair and did his best to listen to her, but he found his mind wandering back to his killer and his killer's change in victims. A chill ran down his spine as she placed a sandwich and a cup of tea in front of him.
He pushed the plate aside and looked at her seriously. "Listen Jude. The... person that I've been trying to catch isn't targeting prostitutes any longer. I want you to promise me to be careful, and watch out for strangers. I'd hate to lose you."
She patted his hand. "You don't need to worry about me. Eat your sandwich and go to bed, Mister 'I've been up since one o'clock this morning.'"
Draco let the subject drop, for the time being. There would be time discuss it later. Tom would likely help him broach the subject again. He made up his mind to talk to him and ate his sandwich.
That night Draco sat on his bed and sorted through the files that Michael Fletcher had given him. In amongst his newest credentials, and directions to the various fire exits located throughout the building, were the CVs of his new colleagues. They were, indeed, as young and inexperienced as he'd first guessed. But, they were anything but mediocre, and only one was a Muggle-born.
Bill Simmons graduated fifth in his class at the Enforcement Academy, and had shown promise in his first assignments as junior Enforcer. Fletcher noted some disciplinary issues, but didn't go into specifics. Draco made a note to ask Simmons, upfront, what the situation had been. He had little faith in Fletcher's ability to objectively judge a person's actions.
Sarah Singer also finished at the top of her class, but her first attempts at fieldwork hadn't seemed to work out for her. The report said that she'd made a misjudgment and allowed the perpetrator to escape her custody. Draco absorbed this knowledge and made a note to discuss it with her. Very likely she'll have developed a block and might choke under pressure if put on the spot. That could be problematic.
Brian Garcia, was only eighteen, and was also, it seemed, a genius. He had finished his secondary schooling at the age of fifteen, and graduated, at the very top of his class at the Academy, after only three years, instead of the standard four. This was his first assignment. He was the Muggle-born of the group; the sole reason that he had been placed with Draco, instead of being placed on the fast track to higher office.
Draco made a few more notes about things he needed to accomplish and closed the files. He double-checked his alarm before he turned out the light and sank into oblivion.
The next morning he woke, not to the sound of his alarm clock, but to the sound of a baby screaming for his mother. Draco missed the days when his teenage mind would have easily allowed him to hate the child for daring to interrupt his sleep. Still, he filed this away on his mental list of the pros and cons of having a child (never sleeping in again? Con), as he rolled over and tried to ignore the child's wails in favor of his last ten minutes of sleep. It was fruitless. Draco groaned as he struggled out of the bed. He flicked on the light and shielded his eyes against its brightness. It was going to be another long day.
He showered and dressed quickly, and made his way down stairs. Jude was sitting at the table mechanically spoon feeding Kevin his breakfast with one hand, and sipping a cup of tea with the other. She glanced up at him and smiled. "Good morning," she said with far more cheer than he could have mustered, given how tired he felt. It always took him a few nights to adjust to a new bed, and he hadn't slept as well as he would have liked.
He mumbled his own greeting to her and sat opposite to her at the table. She wordlessly poured him a cup of tea, which he took, gratefully.
"There's some bread on the counter, if you want to make toast," she said.
He glanced at the clock. It was 6:30. "No time for breakfast," he said. He looked longingly at his tea, his source of precious caffeine, which was too hot to drink. "I'll see you tonight," he said with a weary sigh, as he stood up. He kissed his cousin on the cheek, and patted her son on the head.
Rebecca was just pulling up as Draco stepped into the cool morning air. He got in the car and looked at his companion, who wordlessly began their drive into the city. She clearly wasn't in love with the hour, but she looked nice in her stylish work robes. "You're wearing robes," he said, surprised.
She checked her blind spot as she changed lanes and replied, "I usually do when I spend the day at the Department of Magic. I stand out less." She glanced over at him. "I see you aren't wearing robes."
"I thought it'd annoy Fletcher, if I didn't."
She smiled wryly. "I didn't really like you, yesterday," she said, honestly.
Draco returned the smile. "Nor I, you," he said.
"I think this could work, though."
Draco saw a Starbucks, close to the entrance to the highway. He pointed at it. "Coffee," he directed. "I'll treat."
"Yes, sir."
With coffee in hand, they continued their commute. When they were safely stuck in traffic, she asked, "So how's this going to work?"
He took a sip of coffee and replied, "Today, we establish hierarchy and we research potential suspects."
"What is our hierarchy?" she asked, sounding a little nervous.
"I was thinking that at the DoE, it will be me, you, and then the others. And at the FBI, it will be you, me, and then the others. Will that work for you?"
"So the FBI will stay in the loop?" she asked. "I thought the DoE, would be taking full reign, since our perpetrator is a wizard."
"The FBI has its place in this investigation too," he said. "The victims are, after all, Muggles. I will fight to keep them involved, and I want you to lead that side of things."
"Thank you," she said. "For what it's worth, I am sorry if I was rude to you yesterday."
"Don't worry about it," he said. They spent the rest of the trip in comfortable silence.
There were very few people in the Enforcers' division when they arrived. It made a calmer and more relaxed atmosphere, for which Draco was very grateful. He was able to find his way back to his office, with a minimal amount of wrong turns.
"Nice closet," Rebecca said, sarcastically.
"Thank you."
He set his briefcase on his desk and pulled out his files as well as several bound copies of his profile of the killer that he had had made before he left the UK. He re-enlarged the template book that the librarian at the Ministry of Magic had given him and set it next to everything else. Finally he pulled out a list of record books that they would need to search for possible matches. He handed it to Rebecca. "Will you please take this to the record keepers and ask them to bring this list of books over in stacks of ten, please?" he asked.
She took the roll of parchment and left the room. Draco sat in his chair and looked at his four blank walls. He would need to bring in some artwork, maybe a fern would liven the place up a bit. Until it died from lack of sunlight, he thought a little bitterly. Rebecca was back sooner than he expected, with an intern, and a stack of books in tow. She also carried two mugs of coffee, and handed one them to Draco at the same time dismissing the intern, who was, unless he was mistaken, a little bit afraid of her. He was beginning to respect her efficiency and was glad that his original assessment of her seemed to be correct. A rap at the door signaled the arrival of the rest of his new team.
He bade them sit down, and got straight to work. He passed out the reports he had set out earlier. "These are the specs for our killer," he said. "Learn them. Live them. Love them." He floated in the stack of books that were left outside the door by the intern. "These are the first group of records we will sort through looking for possible matches." The looks of disappointment and horror that crossed their faces went unaddressed, but not unnoticed. "And these..." He tossed each of them a small box, the result of his and Rebecca's extra stop the evening before. "... Are your brand new mobile phones." He saw Rebecca smirk into her coffee at the confused looks Bill and Sarah wore. He continued his speech uninterrupted. "Read the instruction manual and always keep them on. Do you understand?" Everyone nodded. "Good," he said, taking a book off of the top of the stack and sitting in his desk chair. "Let's get started."
Thanks to Kazfeist for being an awesome beta, and for coming up with "Devision of Enforcement."
Thank you for reading :)