4

If the Dragon was caught, it of his own choosing, nothing more.

Draco woke in an apartment rather less sumptuous than his own, limbs tangled with Hermione's, and a large, satisfied smile gracing his aristocratic features. Rolling over in bed, he discovered that she was already awake, and watching him with her own amusement, hiding whatever she was thinking behind glittering eyes. Her dress and his suit were spread across the floor, and Draco followed the trail of their progress until his gaze returned to Hermione's, amusement apparent.

"You certainly don't disappoint," Hermione said, levering herself up in bed and bringing the sheet with her, so that Draco was forced to look up at her. Her eyes sparked. "So I won't either."

Draco made a pleased noise and sat up as Hermione slid out of bed, sashaying towards her bathroom with a distinct note of arrogance in her step. "By the way," she called, "Have you seen the paper this morning?"

The door shut, and Draco raised a brow, stretching before grabbing his pants and padding to the door to grab, presumably, the paper. Obviously, she wanted him to see something… but what was there to see? None of the articles were interesting – except one or two shots of the charity event, which they were calling the event of the season – and another, smaller piece about the upcoming auction in two days. But that wasn't what… ah.

In the classifieds was a small, three word ad, to which Draco let out a laugh. He raised his gaze to find Hermione silhouetted in the doorway, gaze intent on his face. "Very amusing," he told her, folding the paper neatly and standing, coming over to where she was framed between rooms. The challenge in her eyes was both ignored and answered by his lips, pressed ferociously to hers for a split second before he pulled away. His eyes lit with amusement. "Tell me, Detective, are you just itching to use your handcuffs?"

Hermione looked distinctly unamused. "You're going to find out," she informed him, mouth thinning slightly.

"Later, Hermione," he told her, and when she sighed and propped one hand on her hip expectantly, tilting her face upwards, closed the distance between them once more.

…

They were both of them waiting for Draco to steal the necklace. Once he did, she could move on him – she had a warrant waiting. Once he did, he could also vanish… if he chose. It was for that moment that both of them were waiting, and thoughts of the necklace drove both of them further into their work.

It was at 24 hours until Christmas Eve that Draco set to work. He had all his gear ready, Dragon mask set across his face, eyes darkened, hair hidden…

He wasn't sure which he was looking forward to more – having the necklace in his hands, or seeing Hermione again. He was hungry for both.

Thus, in the small hours, 2 AM on Christmas Eve, Draco darted off into the night, ready to claim his prize.

…

After all the practice he'd done… really. Even with Hermione waiting, waiting for him to make a move, it was still child's play to enter the ventilation system and slowly but surely make his way towards the safe. They hadn't, still, put any sensors in the vents – he wasn't sure if that was arrogance or cleverness, something to lull him into complacency.

But there was no room for complacency tonight, nor for the smug, arrogant hunger that churned in his throat and chest, making his cheeks warm with wanting. He pushed it down, pulling the icy-calm mask of the Dragon over his features, as he dropped into the safe room and set about dismantling the alarms. He had a tool imported from Italy and another from a watchmaker in Marseilles, and it was the work of seconds before the alarms were off. He'd have about 4 minutes before the next shift of security noticed that they didn't respond to a routine check.

Four minutes for the safe. Draco slid to his knees in front of it, almost reverently, and pressed his hands to the front, taking a steadying breath before lowering the tempo of his breathing so that he could hear the safe.

The first two numbers were simple, easily done. He committed them to memory, glancing at his watch – 2 minutes. Then he pressed his ear closer and listened, spinning the dial carefully, each tick sending a shot through his nerves. He was so close. He was-

The door swung open and Draco almost purred in satisfaction at the sight. Not even the fake necklace, which was seated atop another secret catch, could dull his joy – he unlocked the drawer below with picks and pulled out the real thing, stroking it reverently before adding the final touch.

The change of security, enlightened as to the fact that there was someone in the safe room, burst in to discover an empty room – except for the small toy dragon seated smugly atop the safe.

…

Draco was in his bedroom, drinking a cocktail, tiara seated upon his blonde locks, when the police broke down his door.

Sipping it with the insouciant smugness of royalty, Draco watched as they went through his house with a fine-toothed comb. It was unnecessary – his safe was open, revealing all the treasures he'd plundered, and his tiara, seated on his brow, glittered in the low lights.

Detective Hermione Granger stalked over to his bed and removed the tiara herself, eyeing it with appreciation before reading him his rights and extending an expectant hand for his wrist.

"Can't wait for the handcuffs," he purred, giving her his wrist, eyes sparkling.

Her expression was mildly disappointed- as if she hadn't wanted him to be caught- and Hermione said nothing until one of the sergeants stopped her on the way out.

"The necklace isn't here," he told her, and Hermione whipped around to see Draco's wide, leonine grin, her eyes re-lighting with sparks. "Begging your pardon, but… it's like he was waiting for us."

"I wonder," Draco lilted as Hermione, expression blazing, tugged him out the door.

…

He got away with it, much to his eternal amusement. The treasures were all recovered, and Draco charmed the judicial system into giving him a lightened sentence – bargaining to help Scotland Yard solve other crimes and help improve security, much to the public's delight. After all, a cat burglar was so romantic – why, Draco received more love letters during his trial than he had in his entire life. He even rather thought that one of them was from the prosecuting lawyer.

The necklace was never found, and Draco denied having ever stolen it.

Throughout the entire trial, Hermione's gaze burned holes between his shoulder blades, sending lightning up and down his spine if he even dared to move. When the 'sentence' was declared, she up and stalked out of the courtroom… but not before he caught sight of her expression.

It was ravenous.

…

Draco sauntered into his new 'office' the week after, holding a mug of coffee for Hermione in one hand (decorated with handcuffs) and a thermos for himself in the other. His suit and bearing were impeccable, though he rather missed his crown, and he slid into the office chair next to her with a challenging gaze.

"Good morning, Detective Granger," he purred.

"Where shall we start?"

FINIS.