She slammed the door to his study with an almost inhumane force that reverberated around the room. They had been working flat out in her office at the Ministry for the last 2 days. There was very little to go on, but since Dark magic had been used, he had persuaded her to come and use the Malfoy Library.
The pressure of being there, however much she avoided the East Wing, was taking its toll.
Malfoy growled at the now closed door, running his fingers through his hair in frustration. He picked up his notes from the clutter of parchment and books from the library down the hall that lay spread out across his oak wood desk. He slowly went through the sepia file that Potter had given him that first morning, going over the crime scene photos once more. Pulling out the photo of the muggle-born witch, splayed out across the lounge area of her apartment overlooking Thames, her legs disjointed, her blouse bloodied and ripped, he didn't need to see the open gashes, deep and long across her torso to know the spell that was responsible. A large burgundy corona around the body was the only blemish to the luxury cream carpet that covered the open plan apartment. There was no flooded bathroom to wash the effects away this time, he dryly mused.
Turning the photo over, he scanned the MLE Trace Division report already knowing all its details. Their officers had confirmed, while the body was exposed to the harsh glare of lumos charms and the slow flashes of light bulbs from the crime scene technicians cameras, traces of Dark magic in the apartment. In bold red ink across the top of report was written:
CAUSE OF DEATH: SECTUMSEMPRA
With a sigh, he stood, placing the open folder on the desk, as he made to go after the witch who had slammed his door a few minutes ago, hoping she had calmed down somewhat. They had been arguing again and although arguing with her was always a turn on, he was starting to get more than a little tired of the constant fighting. Walking down the hallway in the direction of the library, he chucked to himself at the realisation that some things never changed. If you couldn't find Granger, the little bookworm would no doubt be in a library. He just never expected it to be his library he realised.
"Don't you think it would be better for us both if you just left me alone for a while?" she muttered, her hazel eyes not leaving the page she was studying.
He chose to ignore her question, which they both knew was rhetorical, as he crossed the threshold and made his way over to the desk she had cluttered with her notes and books.
Sitting down in the chair she had been using before she got up to fetch the book she now had her nose in, he scanned her cursive script. She continued to stand with her back to him, determined not to look at him, silently seething that he had stolen her seat. It always annoyed her immensely when someone sat where she had placed her things. It was discourteous at best and an invasion of her space at worse, she considered.
He leaned back in her chair, knowing full well he was pissing her off, her rosy cheeks flushed with unspoken anger. She hadn't calmed down from their previous argument and although he had intended to find a way to placate her in the hope of a less arduous afternoon, he now found himself pressing her buttons once more. He couldn't help it. Their rivalry had gone beyond long forgotten and now politically incorrect blood prejudices and academic competition; they were grown up now and at 24 years old their rivalry was based on sexual tension and professional competition. Okay, he considered, the sexual tension was probably a little one sided, but there was no denying that he pressed her buttons because it was akin to the feeling he expected to get if he ever got the chance to unbutton one of those flimsy cream blouses she insisted on wearing that made her breasts positively alluring in his opinion.
Watching her silently, a small smirk played out across his lips and he knew she was pointedly ignoring him. She brushed a curl away from her eyes and bit her bottom lip. He really wished she wouldn't do that. It triggered an almost primal urge to grab her and throw her onto the desk, burying himself to the hilt as she threw her curly haired head back in vocal release. He growled in frustration as the images of desire flashed across his now closed eyes and she turned, glared at him, threw the book down in disgust, the thump breaking his sexual reverie. She stormed out of the room, grabbing her jacket and purse from the emerald fainting couch as she past it and made off towards the staircase.
He stood up violently, thrusting the chair back with such force it hit the bookcase behind him, knocking two volumes from the shelves. With quick, purposeful strides, he went after her, yelling obscenities and demanding an explanation of where she was off to.
"Home, you foul git!" she cried rushing down the stairs.
He pulled his wand from his pocket and sparks flew across the atrium. Shocked, she ground to a halt, and turned on her heel to face him. He stopped mid decent and the pair glared at each other with unmasked malice.
"Did you seriously just try to hex me?" she yelled, anger flashing behind her eyes, her cheeks flushing deeper than before. He would have found it sexy had he not been equally pissed off with her.
"You can't just storm off, we need to go over this again and find a lead!" he bellowed, his steely glare the epitome of the muggle phrase 'if looks could kill'.
"That's what I've been trying to do for the last two days, it isn't my fault, Ferret, that you just want to play games" she returned, turning again and making her way to the floo.
She spun round as she sensed him raise his wand once more and grabbing her own wand, sent a hex his way, which he narrowly avoided by ducking to one side just in time. He growled as the bannister splintered next to his head and then the step he was stood on took the brunt of the second hex she had sent for good measure.
Without looking back she disappeared into the green flames as the final hex he cast hit the priceless Ming vase his mother had displayed in the atrium.