Horcruxes.
Hermione met Harry's gaze, speechless for a moment.
She hadn't even heard the word in almost a decade, not since she, Harry, and Ron signed the non-disclosure agreement alongside Kingsley and the rest of the Wizengamot. They'd all intended to keep that secret buried with Voldemort where it belonged; the last thing the Wizarding world needed was for someone else to attempt immortality—someone who wasn't nearly as stupid as Voldemort had been, and they just made horcruxes out of random objects and left them lying in a trash heap somewhere.
"Are either of you planning to tell me what a horcrux is, or are you just going to continue staring at one another?"
Hermione had completely forgotten for a split second that Draco was even in the room, halted in her tracks by the mere mention of Voldemort's secret source of power.
"I hate when you do that by the way, both of you," Draco said, grey eyes cutting between her and Harry as he scowled. "You go into your own little 'we saved the world together' mode and tune out the rest of us mere peasants."
He really wasn't wrong.
After almost twenty years of friendship, the two of them could speak volumes with a glance, and right now, Harry's eyes said they may be in much deeper than they'd been with any of the other up-and-coming megalomaniacs that she and Draco had fought over the years.
Harry nodded toward Hermione, then said, "I've already gotten the clearance from the Wizengamot this morning. We can tell him, then he'll have to sign an NDA as well, but there's really no other—"
"He as in me?" Draco asked, his voice a bit testier than it had been all morning. Their usual back-and-forth contained very little true anger these days, but every once and a while, that snap would return to his speech. "If so, he would very much like to be a part of this conversation."
Harry sighed, running a hand through his already disheveled hair, standing it even further on end. It was a habit he'd picked up during their time on the run all those years ago, and it still came out when he was most stressed—at the births of all three of his children, after his cousin Dudley had shown up out of the blue to inform him of the deaths of both his aunt and uncle, when he'd first made Head Auror.
"Horcruxes are the way that Voldemort was able to return after he was killed the first time," Harry said, removing his glasses so that he could rub his eyes, as if this was not at all the conversation he'd expected to have today.
"So, he really was dead then?" Draco's brow furrowed. It had been highly speculated for years whether or not he'd actually died or just lost his powers. Hermione thought they were more or less one and the same. One couldn't exactly "die" if their soul was scattered to the winds, but regardless, the Wizengamot and the rest who knew the truth were either dead, imprisoned, or sworn to secrecy, so no one had ever told the masses the truth.
"So to speak," Hermione chimed in as she stood to retrieve yet another coffee cup, this one from the small tray beside Harry's coffee pot in one corner of his office. This was a conversation she'd truthfully rather have with a splash or twelve of firewhisky, but as it was only nine in the morning, she supposed a third cup of coffee would have to do the trick.
"A horcrux," she continued, "is an object wherein a person hides a part of their soul." She turned to face them both, waiting on Harry to speak up, but when she determined he was leaving this to her to explain, she went on. "A person splits their soul by using a series of ancient spells, the darkest of magic, really. The process itself has been lost over time, or hidden, actually, as most of those in power, us"—she motioned between herself and Harry—"as well as a few others on the Wizengamot were sent to destroy any text on the subject we could find after the war was over. And even if someone knew of the existence of such magic, finding any instruction on it would be damn near impossible."
"Even then," Harry said, speaking up finally as Hermione sat another coffee cup in front of him, "it's extremely advanced magic. Only someone incredibly powerful and intelligent would be able to pull it off at all."
"So, Voldemort made one of these before the war?"
"Six," Harry said, every bit as weary as he looked the day he'd ended the tyrant for the very last time. It had been over a decade, and yet, here they were, still reliving the same war they hadn't wanted to begin with.
"Seven." Hermione lay her hand across his shoulder, giving him a quick squeeze before taking her seat beside Draco again. "He killed people to perform the ritual, for lack of a better word, then used them to bond pieces of his soul to objects that he deemed worthy to house them. Harry, Ron, and I spent our year on the run trying to locate these objects and destroy them so that Voldemort could be mortal again, and ultimately," Hermione paused to give Harry a soft smile, "we succeeded."
Draco seemed to be considering something, his eyes focused at nothing in particular as he looked at the wall toward his left. Finally, after a moment's contemplation, he said, "That's why Bellatrix was so worried. That's what was in the Lestrange vault, a horcrux."
Harry nodded. "A golden cup that belonged to Helga Hufflepuff. Hermione and Ron destroyed it at the Battle of Hogwarts."
"And that tiara in the Room of Hidden Things? With the Fiendfyre."
It was Hermione's turn to nod.
As much as she knew Harry after all these years together, Hermione felt like she knew Draco almost as much, and the look on his face right now told her that as interested as he was to learn about this case and this sort of magic, he was clearly still upset that he'd been left out of the loop to begin with; there was no 'if', only a 'when' he'd give her the lecture she knew he was already practicing in his mind.
"There were seven in total, one that was unintentional." Before Draco had a chance to ask the question that she knew he was thinking of—she would tell him about horcruxes, but it was Harry's decision to share that particular bit of his history—Hermione added, "So you can see why the Ministry would want to keep that sort of magic buried?"
So, you can't be mad at me for not telling you. She left that last bit unspoken, but the way he cut his eyes at her before turning his focus back on Harry said that he wasn't entirely convinced.
"And one was found in Texas?" he asked.
Harry nodded again. "Yes, it's not in the file because even the word itself is highly classified. You'll be meeting with a team at MACUSA who will brief you on the specifics. All I know is that one was found and apparently it wasn't done correctly. All we can hope is that whoever it is, they haven't figured out the proper way to do it between now and when you catch them."
Harry gave them the details for their departure and sent them both home to start packing, telling them he'd meet them in the portkey office the following afternoon to see them off.
Draco scowled at this too. "We aren't children, Potter, we don't need you to hold our hands."
"Let me rephrase," Harry said, looking at Hermione, "I'll be there to see you off. This twat I could care less about."
"You know I love it when you talk dirty to me." Draco shot Harry a wink as they left his office, but the moment he and Hermione walked through the door of their own office, his frown had returned.
He began gathering his things, anything he'd need for their trip, but he did so in sullen silence.
"Go ahead, say what you need to say." Hermione leaned against her desk, crossing her arms and waiting.
"I don't have anything to say," Draco said, continuing to cram things into his bag.
"Okay, if you're not quite done pouting then, I suppose I'll see—"
He turned around abruptly and copied her stance, leaning against his own desk and glaring at her. It had been a very long time since she'd been cowed by him, and truthfully, his grumpy demeanor just made her want to chuckle these days. She thought, perhaps, that wasn't the right response, however, so she just tilted her head and lifted an eyebrow at him.
After a moment wherein his frown deepened and he narrowed his eyes at her, he said, "We're supposed to be partners."
"We are partners." She could barely contain her exasperation. She knew him well enough to expect his frustration, but that didn't make it warranted.
"Partners don't keep secrets."
"This is hardly a secret."
"It's the very definition of a secret."
"True, but I had to sign a non-disclosure agreement. I would have gone to Azkaban had I told you."
He waved a hand in the air dismissively.
She couldn't help but chuckle then. "Just because you've been there and found it so lovely doesn't mean the rest of us want to go."
He pursed his lips, and she knew she'd at least made a dent.
"Rude," was all he said.
She rolled her eyes and took a step toward him. "Look, I honestly never thought I'd hear that word again let alone have to go on yet another fun little vacation to find more. Had I known it would eventually be a part of any investigation of ours, I would've told you, Azkaban or not."
His eyes bounced back and forth between hers, and had she not trusted him to never use Occlumency on her—not to mention her ability to tell if someone was traipsing about in her mind—she would have thought he was peeking into her thoughts to determine whether or not she was lying. After a moment, he seemed to believe her, and the tension drained from him.
He heaved a deep exhale and said, "I'm still mad at you."
She smiled and patted his arm. "You'll get over it, I'm sure."
"You can replenish my stock of Scotch, and we'll call it square."
"Me? Blaise drank more than I did, that's—"
"But I'm not mad at Blaise."
"You're a child, you know that." When he shrugged and threw on his cloak, she smirked and said, "Actually, I'll buy you whisky. It'll go nicely with your new cowboy hat."
He grumbled, and Hermione snickered at the face he made.
She had a feeling she'd be seeing a lot more of that sneer when they made it to Texas.
— Back in Texas —
Draco and Hermione followed Detective Brown inside the main lobby where she led them through a series of wand and identification checks. The aged desk officer barely even looked up as he had them sign their names to a registry by the door, but the young woman working alongside him did a double take as she scanned Hermione's wand and ID through what looked like some sort of airport security device. Draco wasn't surprised that he didn't get the same reaction.
Hermione was a celebrity almost everywhere they went. He honestly didn't think a week went by without someone in a shop buying her lunch for her. When they'd first been partnered together, it'd always rubbed him the wrong way. At the time, he didn't know her nearly as well as he did now, and he assumed then that she thought just as highly of herself as the rest of Wizarding Britain seemed to. But now, he knew better. She wasn't as conceited as he'd thought her to be at Hogwarts.
She did, however, like to remind him how ridiculous it was that he would consider anyone conceited.
The conveyor belt took all of their things through a small dark tunnel where they were scanned for everything from Dark Magic to transfiguration. The younger officer—N. Kemp, Security Officer, based on the shiny brass nametag on her chest—handed him back his things without a word, but when she gave over Hermione's, she blurted out, "I'm a big fan of yours, Miss Granger."
"You are?"
Five years ago, Draco would have assumed that her astonishment at being recognized was feigned, but it wasn't a ruse. It was as if every so often she would forget that hers was a household name. It was just one of the things that made her so endearing… though he'd never tell her that, of course.
Instead, Draco made sure to smirk at her, giving himself a mental note to refer to her as Golden Girl for the rest of the day, when Officer Kemp said, "Oh, yeah. I know all about the Golden Trio." Hermione's wince at the moniker had been slight enough that the woman didn't notice, but after five years as her partner, he'd picked up a few things, one being that she absolutely despised those names.
"I even…" Officer Kemp glanced at Detective Brown, ensuring she was far enough away to not overhear, before dropping her voice to a whisper. "I even had a poster of Harry Potter in my dorm room. He's…" She didn't finish her sentence, but her exhale as she shook her head, a flush creeping down her neck and an enamored smile on her face, said plenty.
Draco couldn't hold in his laughter, and his snort echoed around the empty lobby loud enough to rouse Officer Kemp's geriatric colleague from his crossword puzzle and to draw the disgruntled gaze of Detective Brown. He cleared his throat and pretended not to be listening in on their conversation, but the damage was already done. Detective Kemp's blush was now covering her entire face as she fumbled through giving them their temporary access badges.
"Harry will be glad to hear that he hasn't lost it," Hermione said with a smile, turning the woman's face an even darker shade of crimson. As they followed Detective Brown through the large double doors that exited the lobby, Hermione elbowed him.
"Ouch! Why are you hitting me?" he asked, rubbing the spot on his ribs where her bony elbow had been.
"You embarrassed her," she said with a glare.
"She should be embarrassed. Having a crush on Potter is bad enough. Admitting it out loud is just asking to be laughed at, really."
Hermione rolled her eyes at him as they both rounded a corner. They followed Detective Brown into the lift, the woman's silence so heavy Draco could feel it pushing around them.
He knew based on the woman's misplaced anger when she'd met them in the courtyard and the way she stared a hole through the lift doors for their entire ride to the third floor that she didn't at all want them there.
He understood really. Had two outsiders been sent into their own investigation, he and Hermione both would be livid, but there was nothing to be done for it.
They passed through yet another set of double doors, these labeled Auror Division, and Draco felt a bit more at home. They may be halfway around the world, dropped into a part of the country that felt almost like another planet entirely, but, outside of the American accents coming from the dozens of people filling the department, he could have been back in his own office.
Paperwork in varying colors flew around the top section of the room, each of them folded into different shapes in what could only be assumed to designate the recipient of the communication. Desks were crammed around the room, some littered with heaps of empty crisp bags and soda cans between the mountains of manila folders, a dead ringer for Finnigan's desk, while others were arranged in orderly rows, color-coded and separated in distinct organizers. He smirked at Hermione when she gave one of these such desks an approving nod as they passed.
Just like the Auror Division in their own Ministry, there was a dull roar of continuous communication, and Draco was surprised to note that very few people stopped their discussions to watch as they passed through.
The floor seemed to be divided into three major sections. Large signs hanging from the ceiling read, Administration, Services, and Investigations. It was into this last section, by far the largest of the three based on the additional corridors branching out around it, that Draco and Hermione continued towards, still following behind Detective Brown.
When they made their way through a series of turns and into a large conference room, Draco cataloguing in his mind each corridor and room that he passed, he stood waiting for both Hermione and Detective Brown to take their seats before unbuttoning his suit and sitting as well.
Old habits die hard. He hadn't sat in an etiquette class in over fifteen years, but some Pureblood customs remained, no matter how hard he tried to break them.
"Detective Brown," Hermione began, with the voice he recognized as Placating Hermione, "I understand your frustration at having two virtual strangers—"
"Two actual strangers," Detective Brown replied coolly.
Draco spoke up, trying to mask his own frustration.
"Surely our credentials were sent in advance, Detective." They didn't have time for this sort of pettiness. If they were going to solve this crime, which he wholly intended on doing— because they were both entirely too proud to fail and because he was ready to leave this hellhole before he ever even Apparated here—then they would have to work together, just as Hermione had said outside… as loathe as he was to admit it.
Everything was different here, from the foul smell in the air to the oppressing heat, and like fish out of water, they were out of their element. He had no doubt that they could still solve the crime and be on their merry way, but it would be much quicker if they didn't have to fight the podunk Americans every step of the way.
Detective Brown clearly didn't care about their credentials. She pursed her lips and said, "You could be the king and queen for all I care. We don't need people to come in and tell us how to do our jobs."
"They're not here to tell you how to do your job, Brown."
Draco turned to see a man who looked to be in his late fifties enter the room. He looked like he'd walked straight out of a Western film, from his heavy-lined face, deeply tanned but smiling, to the tight denim jeans and black cowboy boots. Really, the oversized silver belt buckle was just too much. This man was a caricature.
"They're here to help. Potter said they were experts." He even sounded like that Clint Eastwick guy, with a voice like gravel, yet his slow drawl made it sound like he had a mouthful of honey. Draco and Hermione both stood as the man stretched out his hand to each of them, and Draco was pleased to note that he shook Hermione's first.
Maybe they weren't quite as backwards here as he assumed them to be.
Detective Brown did not stand; however, she did look slightly abashed at having been reprimanded in front of the strangers.
"I'm Josiah Ludlum, Head Auror," the man said as he shook Draco's hand, and he and Hermione introduced themselves as well. "I've heard all about you both." His eyes gave Draco a quick once over as he spoke. Draco wasn't surprised. More often than not, the people they encountered in the other countries where they'd been sent didn't recognize him at all. The ones who did didn't immediately trust him.
"Sit, sit," Ludlum said. "I'm sure you're both eager to hear about the case. We're just waiting on our FBI liaison, and we'll be ready to get started."
"FBI liaison?" Draco asked.
"Oh, yeah, I understand y'all like to keep things real secret like, putting as much distance between your own folks and the no-majs. I mean no disrespect to your government at all"—the words came out governmen'n'all—"but we do things a bit different here on this side of the pond. Every region of MACUSA has an inhouse no-maj officer, and they all work for the Feds."
Footsteps were heard coming down the hall, and Ludlum grinned wide enough to crease laugh lines on either side of his eyes. "Y'all know what all CIA and FBI agents have in common?" He paused for less than a second before saying, "They all wanted to join the CIA."
Draco glanced at Hermione who only gave him a shrug. She seemed to have no idea what the man was talking about either.
"You still tellin' those same tired jokes," said a voice just outside the door before a man with an easy grin walked into the room. Draco's first thought as the man clapped Ludlum on the back was that he could have given Goyle a run for his money. Goyle had come a long way since their time at school together, and, after years of Muggle boxing, he outweighed Draco by at least three stones. Just like Goyle, the man Draco assumed to be the FBI liaison, was huge.
Given that he was distrustful of most people, there were few things that made Draco respect a man immediately upon meeting him, the first being the fit of their suit. Potter was the absolute worst at this. Though Draco had long since stopped hating him, Potter couldn't for the life of him buy the right suit. He always looked like a little boy who'd raided his father's closet and could never find the perfect fit. It was sad, really.
But this man knew how to wear a suit.
"I'm Chance Decker, the FBI affiliate here," the man said, "the butt of this one's ridiculous dad jokes. Everyone calls me Decker." He offered Draco his hand, giving Draco the second determining factor in whether or not he would consider the man ineffectual.
He passed that test as well. His handshake was firm, none of that dainty fish-hand business.
Very, very rarely did Draco develop rapport with a person, particularly men—he blamed a lifetime of forced competition within Pureblood society; Hermione, however, said he was just an asshole—but there was something about Chance Decker that made him immediately likable.
…until he offered Hermione his hand next.
"Hermione Granger," she said with what Draco called her 'customer service smile.'
"The Hermione Granger. It's an honor to meet you," he said as he took her hand into his much larger one, and the bastard's eyes literally twinkled.
I hate him.
Draco, feeling the sneer making its reappearance for the second time in less than an hour, noticed that this big cretin had fucking dimples.
No, I really hate him.
Draco and Hermione were quite different in a lot of ways—she believed that people were innately good, Draco believed all people had the capacity for great evil if given the right level of power; she liked classical music, but Draco would be happy if he never had to hear a piano again for the rest of his life, to name a few. But, in some ways, they were fairly similar as well. He could count on Hermione to always be professional, to never be swayed by an attractive—
Fuck.
Her smile changed; no longer the practiced, artificial one she used when she was aggravated but wanted to appear friendly, it was now a genuine, honest-to-Merlin friendly smile.
The two stopped their handshaking—How long's it been already? Who shakes hands for twenty minutes?—and everyone but Ludlum took a seat around the table.
The Head Auror cleared his throat. "As I was saying our FBI liaison, Decker, here"—the huge oaf nodded his head once as he was introduced again—"as well as Detective Brown"—the detective remained just as stiff, her eyes barely moving to meet Draco's—"are the two in charge of the Rune Killer case. I'll leave you all to it. Mr. Malfoy, Miss Granger, you two're part of the family now." He offered them a wink as he started for the door before remembering something and turning back toward them. "Oh, and Brown's in charge of getting you settled in. She has your hotel information, and she'll getcha squared away. Y'all need anything, you let her know."
Draco heard Detective Brown mutter a few choice profanities as her boss left the room.
Decker slid them each a folder, the soft blue exterior in complete contrast with the carnage they contained. "I'm sure you've been briefed more or less on the details of the case, but these files will have a bit more information than the ones you've seen so far."
Draco began thumbing through his, noting some of the same photographs from the files they'd received from Potter back in their own office, only here there were far more of each crime scene. The strange, bloodless gashes across each victim's skin were just as grotesque as they'd been before, each with the tell-tale signs of death prior to the lacerations, puckered skin, withered and wrinkled around the wounds.
"We were told you found a horcrux," Hermione said.
"That's on page seven. It's listed there as an RIA," Detective Brown said, speaking for the first time without an air of irritation. Draco wasn't sure if it was the pointed conversation with Ludlum or if, like most in their field, bygones were put by the wayside when the actual casework began.
"Resurrection and Immortality Artifact," Decker said. "I'm not sure how you all feel about them in Britain, but the U.S. Government really loves their acronyms." There it was again, the easy sideways grin, and Draco found it exceedingly difficult not to chuck the folder at his massive watermelon head.
"My team and I had actually never heard of that term until we presented our findings to the Joint Coalition for America, the JCA"—pronounced J-Caw—"see, another acronym. That's the organization responsible for housing non-magical agents inside of magical facilities. It's been a sort of trust-building cooperation effort for going on a hundred years now."
"And are there witches and wizards within your organizations as well?" Hermione's question was the same one that Draco had been about to ask, and Draco had to bite back a smirk. 'Dimples' didn't stand a chance. "Seems only fair that magical people would be granted the same level of 'trust-building cooperation.'"
Draco was disappointed to see that, rather than be intimidated as he should have been, Decker seemed… impressed. So did Detective Brown for that matter. Her lips turned down on either side as she tipped her head toward Decker.
"Can't get anything by you, can we, Miss Granger?" he said with a laugh. "Yes, there are magical people working in the same capacity as myself at almost every three-letter agency in the country, NSA, CIA, FBI. That is how cooperation works."
"Okay, now that we've established that we're all on the same side, can we get back to the case?" Detective Brown asked. Draco was liking her more and more by the minute. No-nonsense, to-the-point, and immediately distrustful. A woman after his own heart.
At the other end of the spectrum, he didn't at all like the way this leche was staring at Hermione.
"Absolutely," Decker said. "Back to the RIA, or horcrux"—he lifted a hand, palm-up in acquiescence toward Hermione. "It was found at the scene of what was determined to be the first victim. The Bureau was brought on board as soon as this was determined to be the work of a serial killer, and immediately, as the information was passed up the channel, the runes on their skin made it pretty obvious that the perp possessed magic. It wasn't until I received the case, along with Detective Brown, that we discovered two priors that hadn't previously been tied to the same killer."
Detective Brown flicked her wand to the folders in front of Draco and Hermione, flipping them forward a few pages to what must have been the first two murders. There were no runes on these victims, and the first—a man with a shorn head, tribal tattoos covering both sides of his bare chest—wasn't bloodless like the others had been. Where the other victims had been a pasty white tinged in yellow, this man was covered in blood. Every single inch of him was coated in a deep brownish black, only faint hints of red remained, as if he'd been bathed in it then left to crust over for days before he was found.
"This was determined to be vic number one, based on the same magical signature found at the site. But as you can see, the…process is quite a bit different here. There were no runes, no reason for local authorities to put this in with the other murders. This was the only site where a horcrux was found."
Draco removed the photograph of the body to find another beneath it, this one much closer and showing a diamond-chain bracelet lying beside the victim's foot. Or what was once a diamond-chain bracelet. Though half of it appeared immaculate, still shining brightly in the photograph, the other half was charred and twisted, mangled around itself with the last two inches separated entirely from the rest.
"How did you know it was a horcrux?" Draco asked. This was the question he'd been wondering since Potter first told them about the case. If it was made incorrectly, how could they have known that's what it was to begin with.
It was Brown who spoke up again. "We didn't at first," she said. "Like Decker, I didn't have any idea what we were looking at, but it was obvious that it was important. You could feel the magic coming off it, but like…" She paused for a moment, her brows furrowed. "Like powerful but just the shell of something powerful, if that makes any sense."
"That makes perfect sense," Hermione said softly. "Once the soul is removed, the object still feels like something more than what it is, only hollow."
Brown nodded. "Like a shadow."
"That still doesn't answer the question of how you found out what it was." Draco was scanning the paperwork in front of him, trying to find the answer to the question, but all he could find was some sort of device, an 'SDD.'
They really do love their acronyms.
Without missing a beat, Decker said, "That's classified information."
Draco directed his attention to Hermione, and an obvious agreement took place between them though no words were spoken. Draco closed his folder at the same time Hermione did, and stood.
"Then your team can handle this investigation on your own," Draco said as he and Hermione both started for the door.
Brown just looked bored, or maybe as if she anticipated them leaving all along, but Decker stood as well, lifting his hands placatingly as he sidestepped in front of the door. "Wait, wait, just—"
Draco immediately bristled when the door was blocked, his hand involuntarily reaching toward his wand. After three years of living with the shroud of Voldemort in his home, he didn't do so well when he was cornered.
Decker's eyes followed the movement, and his gaze hardened. He tilted his head to one side as if preparing himself for a fight. He lifted his hands slowly. "Again, we're all playing for the same team."
Hermione glanced toward him, her brows lifting ever so slightly, as if to ask, Really? She might as well have rolled her eyes.
Draco offered her an imperceptible shrug, but his hand never moved from his wand.
He was pleased to note that, despite her obvious aggravation with his escalation of the situation, she'd still taken a step closer to him when the tension reached its peak. He had no delusions about her need to be protected. Hermione was many things; a damsel was not one of them. But, he felt a small surge of pride at knowing that even when she thought he was being overdramatic, they were a team.
Hermione turned her attention back toward Decker and said, "Not if everyone on the team isn't privy to the same information."
Decker seemed to be considering this for a moment. He sighed and dropped his hands first, his eyes shifting from Draco's to Hermione's. Finally, he gestured toward the table again.
Draco didn't return to his seat until after Decker had already sat down. Overdramatic or not, he wasn't taking any chances.
"I could lose my job for this, and then some. Hell, I could go to prison, so I'd appreciate it if this information never left this room," he said seriously. There was no sign of that sideways grin now. He looked genuinely grieved to be sharing this with them. He sighed again when both Draco and Hermione nodded. "NSA has something called the Signature Detection Device. It's a bit above my paygrade, but the way they described it to me is that it can essentially trace magical signatures to determine the last spells performed on whatever the object is."
It was actually Brown who spoke up first, making it obvious that she hadn't known about the SDD either. "Like Priori Incantatem?" She was leaning forward onto the desk, every bit as astonished by this information as Draco was.
Decker nodded. "The way I understand it, yes."
"But, that's impossible. I've never even heard of such magic."
Hermione looked to Draco questioningly, and he replied, "Nor have I. Someone with magic would have had to design that."
"Someone with magic did design that."
"For the non-wizarding government?" Hermione asked incredulously.
"Yes. A doctor, I don't know his name, but he developed the device for the Joint Chiefs of Staff back when Gellert Grindelwald was trying to take over. That was the precursor to JCA, why the alliance between MACUSA and the federal government was created to begin with."
That was ridiculous.
Hermione turned to meet Draco's gaze, her face showing the same astonishment that he was feeling. Draco had come a long way since the antiquated beliefs of his youth. He'd long since stopped believing that witches and wizards were naturally superior to Muggles, but there was something about the entire affair that seemed traitorous.
A wizard created a monumental sort of magic, capable of detecting the most obscure and dangerous sort of Dark Magic in existence, and rather than share it with his own kind, it was made for Muggles.
"We want it," Draco said.
"What—what do you mean?"
"In exchange for our help. We want this device, the SDD."
Now it was Decker who looked incredulous. "But this is your job. You were sent here to help us."
Draco watched Hermione bite back a smile. "Yes, we were," she said. "But it seems to me that your government isn't in any sort of shape to negotiate. This sort of magic could have been instrumental in helping to defeat Voldemort a decade ago. We don't want to take it from you. We just want to study it and replicate it."
Draco met Decker's gaze unflinchingly. He wasn't joking. He didn't want to be here anyway, and if Hermione was willing to walk, then he'd certainly hold the door for her with a smile on his face, happy to be rid of this gods' forsaken wasteland before he'd even unloaded his trunk.
But he knew her well enough to know she would stay and help regardless of this 'deal' they were trying to make.
Decker apparently was thinking the same thing. He said with a smirk, "You'd just walk away and leave us to handle it on our own. I don't believe that for a minute. You're a hero, Miss Granger."
Draco couldn't help but grin himself as Hermione's smile turned to ice. "I'm much more practical these days. Not to mention, that's exactly what your government did to us when we were fighting against the very same sort of magic that we're here to help you with."
The smile vanished from Decker's face when he realized she was serious. After a beat, he shook his head with a scoff. "I'll try my best, but I'm not exactly important. I have no idea whether they'll play ball or not."
It was certainly worth a shot. This sort of magic would be priceless, indispensable. Potter would be aggravated to find out they were negotiating rather than doing their job, but he'd also be giddy to have that sort of help within their own department.
"Well, hot damn." Draco turned toward Brown, having forgotten she was even in the room, and he found her actually smiling now. She looked a decade younger when she wasn't scowling. "I think I change my mind about you two."