Unofficial Portkey Archive

She had been there the moment he almost killed his father.

It had been chaos by that point; there were people dying all around her and she could barely tell her allies from her enemies. People were covered in dirt and blood and remnants of spells and sweat. She had almost bypassed the two figures standing off, wands drawn, as she hurried by looking for someone else to help. Such scenes had become commonplace to her. She stopped, however, when she heard a cold laugh that was jarringly incongruous to the circumstances. She drew nearer, but remained unnoticed by the two men absorbed with one another.

As she got closer and shielded herself behind a large oak tree that had seen better days, she told herself that her assistance might be required in this situation, but she knew that the real reason she was staying was because she thought she had recognized one of the combatants. Her suspicions were confirmed a moment later when the other figure spoke.

"Come now, Draco," his father said, sounding amused and dangerous all at once. "Surely you're not thinking of raising that wand against me. I am, after all, your father."

"Surely you didn't think I'd just hand it over to you. I am, after all, your son." She was amazed by how calm he sounded, considering that he was facing death at the hands of the man who had given him life in the first place.

"You always were a fool. Stop this nonsense, and I'll consider sparing your life," Lucius said. "Raise your hand against me and I'll strike you down where you stand."

"I'll make you the same offer," Draco said without inflection. His posture was casual, but she could see lines of tension running through his body. His expression was one of grim determination, and she was moved by the lack of fear she saw there. It was clear to her that he wasn't going to be swayed by anything Lucius had to say, and knew that he meant for one of them to die before this act was over. He was prepared to kill his father, and prepared to die at his hand. She felt an emotion she couldn't name pass through her when she realized this, and nearly intervened. However, prudence stayed her -- prudence, and the certain knowledge that if she were to distract Draco at that delicate moment, she might tip the balance in Lucius Malfoy's favor, and Draco's death would be on her conscience.

And she wasn't prepared to live with that; not after what he'd done for the Cause, what he'd given up for all of them, what he'd had to live with the entire year, knowing all the while that the same people who reviled him and wished great misfortune upon him were the same ones he was risking his life to save.

"You think you're a match for me, boy? You spoilt child. You ungrateful, disloyal child. You'll be dead before the words leave your mouth."

"I hate to state the obvious, but you haven't been paying much attention this year. I might surprise you."

"This unjustifiable arrogance is really quite unseemly, Draco."

"Done all right so far," Draco drawled sardonically, pointedly referring to the current situation. If Lucius Malfoy had been paying closer attention to his son, he might have realized his progeny's defection long before.

"Well," said Lucius, "this will be a great disappointment to your mother."

"You've always been attentive at seeing to Mother's disappointment. I don't think she has any left in her," Draco said dispassionately.

"Or really anything else, for that matter," Lucius agreed, unaffected. "If it makes you feel better, you'll no doubt be seeing her soon." Without another moment's hesitation, Lucius brandished his wand and cast the Killing Curse at Draco with a speed and fluidity that left her heart in her throat.

She nearly gave herself away with the moan that escaped her throat, but it came out as more of a whimper. When the flash of green had faded enough for her to be able to make out individual shapes and colors, she fully expected to see Draco lying dead on the ground. This was not the case. To her amazement, Draco was not only upright and quite alive, but had apparently drawn his own wand quickly enough to utter a counter-curse to his father's Avada Kedavra. The two were now locked in a battle of endurance, their wands vibrating as the two spells attempted to overpower one another.

The struggle continued for long minutes as the advantage alternated between the two wizards. Lucius, after getting over his surprise, had looked amused and almost pleased. This initial reaction had long since passed, and in its place was quickly growing frustration ... and anger. For his part, Draco had shown little emotion. When the pressure had been at its most intense, beads of sweat had formed on his brow. Now his fine blond hair was wet and spiky with perspiration, and he was breathing hard. But the hand that gripped his wand was unwavering.

Just as she couldn't stand it anymore, just as she decided she would have to intervene despite not being able to cast Unforgivable Curses very well (or at all), something extraordinary happened. Draco, who had been steadily gaining the upper hand, stepped forward, and his spell reached the tip of his father's wand. Lucius's eyes widened and his mouth grew slack as he realized what was about to happen, and soon his wand was nothing more than cinders that dusted the ground around them. Lucius collapsed, the energy spent holding the curse taking its toll on the older man. Draco stood above him, pointing his wand at his father with a still-steady hand.

"Draco," Lucius said, sounding weak. "Spare your father his life. After all I've done for you ... you owe me that much."

Draco didn't say anything to this bit of audacity, and she was sure that he was going to end his father's life any moment. She knew she ought to stop him, or call for Aurors who would take the elder Malfoy away so he could later be tried in criminal court, but she didn't. Draco was going to kill his father, and she wanted him to do it; for himself, for everyone.

After a long moment, Draco spoke. "Death is too good for you," he said without emotion. "You're going to rot in Azkaban, and I'm never going to think about you again."

She didn't know where he got the strength to do a binding charm after the energy he'd expended battling his father, but he had it. As soon as Lucius was immobile, Draco fell gracelessly to the ground and passed out. She ran for help. In the following days, everyone would know that Draco Malfoy had been responsible for delivering his own father to the Ministry, and that Harry Potter and Albus Dumbledore had defeated Voldemort in a final battle that claimed the life of Hogwarts' greatest headmaster. The wizarding world picked up the pieces of their once-great society and began to contemplate a world at peace once more.

She never told anyone what she had witnessed that day, not even Draco; she guarded the memory like a stolen jewel.

The pathology lab was located three floors below ground, and always had a kind of sterile smell that didn't sit well with Ginny. She wrinkled her nose and hoped that she wouldn't have to be down here for very long. If she was lucky, what Draco wanted to show her would be quick. She didn't hold out much hope.

If someone had told her when she was sixteen that ten years in the future she would be an Auror with the Ministry, waiting in a dank pathology lab to look with avid interest at two dead bodies with her partner Draco Malfoy, Ginny would have laughed and understood it was Divination homework for that madwoman Trelawney. That it was reality was a surreal concept.

"Ginny Weasley?"

Ginny turned at the sound of a pleasant voice, which belonged to an equally pleasant-looking man who wore a white lab coat and a beaming smile. He was in his mid-thirties, she judged, and had dark brown hair that he wore slightly too long. She suspected it was less of a fashion decision than it was that he didn't find the time to get it cut. She was familiar with Ministry lab scientists, having dated a couple of in her time. None were as good looking as this one, however. "Yes, I'm Ginny," she replied, smiling in return. "Pleased to meet you, Dr. --?"

"Yellowbrook. James. That is, James Yellowbrook, at your service," he said, flushing slightly. She realized she had overestimated his age; this man wasn't a day over thirty, and probably younger. "Malfoy -- that is, your partner, Malfoy --"

"Yes, I know who he is," said Ginny, smiling at the stuttering scientist.

"He was right," Yellowbrook blurted, looking excited. He was fairly vibrating with enthusiasm. "We didn't think he would be, not really, but he was right, and it's all very fantastic, isn't it? What are the chances that--"

"Yellowbrook," Ginny interrupted. She was feeling slightly better than she had a couple of hours ago, but Draco hadn't elaborated on his implication that Harry had something to do with these supposed murders, and then he'd disappeared for an hour, so Ginny was no more informed now than she had been when Draco had dropped his bombshell earlier. "You'll have to start from the beginning," she said apologetically. "I'm afraid I haven't spoken to my partner, who is more familiar with this case. He sent me an owl ten minutes ago asking me to meet him here, but he has yet to show up." Because he's a self-involved bastard who can't be bothered to keep his partner informed, she added in her mind.

"Keep thinking bad thoughts about me and one day you might be sorry," asserted Draco, who had just arrived.

Ginny turned, startled, and groaned softly when this aggravated her headache. "I wouldn't know what to do with myself if I stopped," she said grumpily. "All right -- want to tell me what's going on? And where have you been?"

"Had to run some errands," he said. Then in a lowered voice so the pathologist wouldn't hear, "Besides, I thought you might appreciate the time to get yourself presentable."

"I was never unpresentable," she informed him in outrage. Her ire was dampened considerably when he handed her a steaming cup of latte. "Oh, you angel!" She closed her eyes and sipped. Ambrosia.

"I thought I was a black-hearted devil," said Draco.

"Lucifer was once an angel," she rejoined. She noticed Yellowbrook looking at them with interest, and quickly got back to the matter at hand. "Right -- I think Yellowbrook here was about to tell you that you've cracked the case, Malfoy."

Draco turned his attention to the white-robed scientist.

"Er -- not exactly," said Yellowbrook, looking embarrassed. "But we did discover that the bodies had been magically tampered with, posthumously."

"Magically tampered with? How?" Ginny asked.

Draco was studying the other man's face, and he answered without looking at her. "Their wounds were healed after they died," he said briefly. "At least, as far as the human eye can tell."

Yellowbrook nodded.

"What else?" Draco asked. "Have you determined cause of death?"

"Yes. Massive blood loss. This probably would not have been detected if you hadn't raised questions, Malfoy. It's not conclusive, but preliminary results indicate that both victims had internal lacerations."

"They were stabbed?" said Ginny in amazement.

Yellowbrook turned slightly pink when he directed his attention to her. "Yes," he said. "It would seem so."

"What kind of spell--"

Yellowbrook shook his head. "The tests have been performed, and I can say with absolute certainty that magic has been ruled out as a method. The lacerations were made, most likely, by a knife."

"A knife," Ginny repeated.

"A sharp one," Yellowbrook said helpfully. He turned his full attention to Ginny. "Would you ... would you, um, like to come see the bodies?" He sounded for all the world as if he were asking her to view his flower garden.

Ginny opened her mouth to answer, but wasn't given the chance.

"Yes, we would," inserted Draco, taking Ginny by the elbow. "Lead the way, Yellowbrook, we haven't got all day."

"What kind of wizard worth his salt would use a knife to kill people, when Avada Kedavra is so much more efficient?" Ginny asked, stuffing her mouth with a dumpling.

She and Draco were at her flat, sprawled around her coffee table, which was littered with the remnants of their dinner, case files, pathology reports, and two-month-old copies of Witch Weekly. A drop of juice from the dumpling trickled down her chin, and Ginny quickly grabbed a napkin to wipe it up, feeling inexplicably embarrassed. Over the last few years she and Draco had seen one another in far-less-flattering circumstances, but one thing Ginny hated was to appear uncouth around him, as his own table manners were impeccable. No matter how many times she told herself that he was the bizarre one, that being able to eat without once dropping a crumb, getting anything in his teeth, or smearing it on his mouth (or face) was unnatural, she still felt like a coarse country bumpkin around him. What was worse was that he never made any mention of it. Draco Malfoy, who delighted in pointing out people's faults to their faces, had never once ribbed her about her dining deportment. It made her suspect she was so hopeless that even he was too embarrassed to call attention to it. And that was quite a bar.

Draco wasn't even looking at her. He had finished eating some twenty minutes ago, and was intently studying the reports. "Hmm," he said.

"Perhaps they didn't use Avada Kedavra because they can't," Ginny suggested. "Like a Muggle."

"Don't be ridiculous," Draco dismissed without looking up. "A Muggle couldn't possibly have infiltrated the wizarding world, and even if one did, no wizard would allow himself to be killed by one. Also -- where's the motive?"

"Perhaps the killer is a squib," said Ginny, warming to her subject. "Embittered from being unable to perform magic, he--"

"--takes it out on Quidditch players, because hey, they can fly, which means they're magic-enabled, and plus they're all so conveniently accessible and don't have hordes of security around them nearly all the time?" Draco finished, glancing up at last to raise a skeptical eyebrow.

Ginny deflated. "It was just a theory," she said grumpily. She perked up again. "Maybe--"

"Don't say that the knife somehow gained sentience and began killing on its own."

Silence.

Draco sighed. "Besides, Gin, you know not every wizard is capable of performing Avada Kedavra. It's a fairly limited specialty."

"You don't --" Ginny hesitated. "You don't really think Harry had anything to do with this, do you?"

"And what if I did?" Draco asked blandly. "Would you brain me with that poker, then run off to warn him that he'd been found out and that he'd better flee the country before Scotland Yard came after him?"

"Don't be silly. Scotland Yard is a Muggle institution and wouldn't be involved," she said.

"Don't dodge the question, Weasley."

"Then don't ask daft questions."

"So you would do it."

"Of course not!" Ginny exclaimed, fed up. "Harry's not above the law."

Draco's expression was one of cynicism. "Of course he is. Always has been."

"He wouldn't be exempt from something like this," Ginny said. "So answer my question -- do you honestly believe he had anything to do with these killings?"

Draco let a moment of anticipation pass before he said, "No, I don't."

Ginny let out a sigh of relief.

"But would you have believed me if I had said yes?"

Ginny considered before speaking. Finally she said, "I've learned to trust your instincts, so I might not have dismissed it as easily as if someone else made the same suggestion. But it would be very, very hard for me to believe Harry capable of any of this."

Draco nodded. "Well, you can sleep soundly at night knowing your precious Potter isn't behind it all," he said.

"How are you so sure? I mean," Ginny quickly amended, "I'm not suggesting that there's any reason he is, but ... why are you ruling him out?"

"Too strategic," Draco answered. "This was all well-planned and thought-out."

"Hey," Ginny protested. "Harry's strategic."

"Maybe on the pitch, but not with anything else. You know Potter -- he's all about heart and following his emotions. That was always his problem, you realize. He wouldn't be capable of the kind of planning that was executed here. Even at school, that was what he had Granger for. He acted on her strategies, for the most part. Potter would more likely kill in a fit of passion."

"And what about you?" Ginny shot, provoked. "You'd be able to plot murder, would you?"

"Of course," Draco said easily. "I could also kill if provoked. I'm stunningly well-rounded. Besides -- I'm trained to do it. We both are."

"Yes, but I would do all I could to avoid such a scenario. You'd just do what was most convenient."

"Ginny," said Draco patiently, "you've seen my records. I haven't killed a single person yet."

I've seen your official records, Ginny thought. And while you may not have killed in your capacity as an Auror, you have killed ...

"So what's next?" she asked. "Looks like we'll need to talk to Kittridge's and Thorpe's families."

Draco nodded. "I've already set up the interviews."

"What? When?"

"This morning."

"No, when?"

"Wednesday morning, bright and early. You're bringing the coffee."

Ginny ground her teeth. "And when were you planning to tell me this?"

"You know now, don't you?"

Ginny knew better than to pursue it, although it irritated her to no end -- blame rolled off Draco like water off a duck's back. He was a master at dodging complaint and accusation. And infuriating as it was, it leant a certain irresistible edge to the frustration of being with him, which was probably why women flocked to him in droves.

Women like Fancy Knickers. Ginny made a face.

While she'd been at the lab listening to Yellowbrook drone on and on about exsanguination, Ginny had taken the opportunity to study her partner without fear that he'd notice her doing so. He had been completely involved in every boring detail Yellowbrook had shared, and Ginny studied her fill. He really was very attractive, and had many good things going for him. She trusted Draco's judgment in nearly every respect, but when it came to women, he clearly needed assistance.

With that thought, an idea had formed itself in her mind and wouldn't let go. It would take a little -- all right, considerable -- work, but it was perfect. The more Ginny thought about it, the more she knew she'd have to at least try. Fancy Knickers was all wrong for Draco. Oh, she was beautiful enough. They were all beautiful. But she was too posh; too put-together; too submissive. Draco needed someone who would challenge him. He needed someone who wouldn't let him get away with the things his girlfriends normally let him get away with. He came from a wealthy family and had an impeccable bloodline, and that was the problem. He needed someone who was salt of the earth, someone who would shake him off his high horse and show him what the world was really like.

Having worked with him these past few years, Ginny knew that Draco was more than capable of putting aside his snobby upbringing and appreciate life on a simpler level -- look what he did for a living, after all, that there was more to Draco than what those women were offering. What he needed, in short, was someone his exact opposite.

And Ginny had the perfect candidate in mind. Hermione.

They hated one another, it was true, but Ginny suspected that behind the surface of their animosity lay attraction. That was the true reason why they were always at one another's throats. Why had she never seen it before? They would both have to be convinced, of course, to see beyond their mutual dislike, but she wasn't daunted by the prospect. In the end, when they were happily together and thanking her for her interference, she'd wave aside their gratitude and tell them that their happiness was enough.

Draco and Hermione -- it seemed so obvious. But she'd have to be very, very careful about this. They were both likely to bolt like skittish mares if she came on too strong. Imagining Draco as a skittish mare made her grin.

"What? What's so funny?" he asked, taking a sip of his wine. He'd been contemplating the fire whilst she'd been lost in her own matchmaking thoughts.

"Oh, something Hermione said the other day," Ginny lied, watching him carefully for any change in expression at the mention of the other woman's name.

Draco snorted. "I take it you mean she said something inadvertently amusing," he drawled. "That woman stood in line for a double-dose of 'book smarts' and bypassed the 'sense of humor' line entirely."

"Hermione can be funny," Ginny defended loyally.

"I've just said that she can be. Though her audience is normally laughing at her, not with her."

He's attracted to her, that's why he's being so scornful, Ginny thought. "She and I are having lunch together tomorrow," she said casually. "Want to come?"

"Where are you going?"

"Basanti Grill."

Draco made a face. "No, thanks. Their chicken club makes me queasy afterward."

"Then don't get the chicken club," Ginny said reasonably.

"But it's the only thing good there."

"Then just sit there and drink water for all I care," Ginny said. "We'll have our lunch. You'll just be there for the company."

Draco looked perplexed. "Gin, I see you every day."

"Not m--" she began in exasperation, but stopped. She couldn't show her hand just yet, but honestly, he was being remarkably dense.

He raised his eyebrows. "Then what?"

"Nothing," she muttered.

"Basanti Grill is right next to Top & Ladder, isn't it?" he asked casually.

Ginny wasn't fooled for a second. "What do you want, Malfoy."

"They have really fantastic lemon-pepper chicken fettuccini."

"You want me to bring lunch back for you?" Ginny said incredulously.

"Would you? Thanks, how kind of you to offer. And make sure they don't skimp on the parmesan."

Ginny grit her teeth, and barely managed to keep from throttling him. However, this was perhaps for the best. She would work on Hermione first. Although at this particular moment she couldn't recall why she was trying to foist Draco off on her friend. Fancy Knickers deserved him.

And she'd make sure to "forget" the garlic breadsticks he loved so much.

"It's late," she said pointedly when Draco yawned.

He rested his head against her couch, blinking sleepily. "Can I stay here?"

"Again?" It wasn't unusual after a late night for Draco to spend the night on her couch. Ginny suspected that he didn't like being in that big, drafty manor by himself. He'd never say so, of course, but the idea of it was enough to appeal to her sympathy. But she couldn't show her concern; if Draco thought she was taking pity on him he'd leave a Draco-sized cut-out through her door.

"Why, are you expecting company?"

"You know I'm not," Ginny said.

Draco looked honestly contrite. "God, Gin, I'm sorry. I forgot all about Jim."

Ginny sighed. "It's all right; I'd forgotten about it until this moment. I'll go get the spare blankets."

"Can't I sleep with you?" Draco asked, looking at her with big eyes.

"Don't push it, Malfoy."

"You've gone totally mad. That's it, isn't it? That's the only possible reason I can find for why we're having this conversation."

Ginny let out a sigh. "It's not that ridiculous a proposition."

"No, Gin, I think it's exactly that ridiculous a proposition," Hermione said, glancing around the newsroom to make sure no one was listening in on their conversation. It was embarrassing enough, discussing her love life in public; add the slant Ginny was putting on it and Hermione was downright mortified. "I mean, really, have you ever known me to not actively dislike Draco Malfoy, let alone fancy him?"

"Maybe not yet," Ginny said, a placating note to her voice as she dogged Hermione's steps, "but if you'd just give it a little bit of time, I think you two would be smashing together."

"If by 'smashing' you mean I'd end up smashing his head into a wall, then you might be on to something. Lavender, did you steal my prototype Quickest Quips Quill again?" Hermione turned her head from Ginny to glare at the Prophet's fashion columnist.

"Of course not," Lavender said with wide, innocent eyes.

The Quickest Quips Quill was the latest in Rita Skeeter's line of journalistic accessories. Unlike its predecessor, the Quick Quips Quill, the new model did not embellish or otherwise entrap the person being interviewed. Instead, it took a clear, concise, and unbiased record of the encounter, leaving it to the reporter his or herself to add any additional 'flavor' to the story. While this sort of fair-minded journalistic integrity wasn't close to being in Rita Skeeter's book, Hermione (possessed of the knowledge that Rita was an unauthorized Animagus) had written a few new chapters for the intrepid reporter and a new generation of Prophet staff had been born. Hermione smiled a secret, satisfied smile as she thought of the weeks she'd kept Rita's Animagus form trapped in a glass jar, then snapped out of it when she remembered Lavender was still staring up at her with a guiltless countenance.

A low growl came from Hermione's throat and she noticed that Ginny was hiding a smirk. It was a fairly well known fact that Hermione was an Animagus, and that her inner-animal was a lion ("That's our little Gryffindor," Ron and Harry had been fond of crowing after she'd changed the first time, back in sixth year). A lesser-known fact was that she was one of the rare Animagus witches who absolutely detested transforming and actually hadn't done so for several years. Hermione sometimes wondered if she even remembered how. Lavender was not aware of this, however, and the growl was warning enough to shake her tenuous hold on deception.

"I don't see why you should be the only one to use it," Lavender groused. "Just because Rita Skeeter goes off her rocker berserk around you."

"Yes, well, that's between Rita and me," Hermione said, snatching the quill back from Lavender's outstretched hand. "We came to an understanding years ago. Please, Lavender, if you absolutely must borrow it, just ask."

"Hmm," Lavender said. "I hadn't considered that."

Hermione rolled her eyes, then turned back to her desk, a little startled to see Ginny leaning against it impatiently; she had almost forgotten that Ginny was there. Ginny soon reminded her by starting in on the threads of their previous conversation without missing a single beat. It was an annoying habit Harry had, as well, and it drove Hermione nutters to have Ginny get in on the act. Especially given the subject matter.

"Why don't you just come off it, Hermione." Ginny sized her old friend up. "You can't possibly hate him the way you used to."

"No," Hermione grudgingly admitted, depositing the prototype Quick Quips Quill back on her desk. "I admit he's not nearly as loathsome as he used to be. But really, what sort of a foundation is that? I don't hate him, so I might as well date him?"

"It's not a foundation! Don't you see, that's what the date is for!" Ginny seemed to be really warming to the subject. "How can you know that you don't fancy him when you've never spent any time with him?"

"Ginny, isn't it possible that I simply don't want to spend any time with him? I mean, really, why now? He's been your partner for years."

"Oh, Herm," Ginny moaned, "I just can't stand the girls he goes out with! They're so obvious and they do nothing but fawn over him. I want him to have a real girl, someone who'll challenge him and make him really happy."

"Someone like you, you mean?" Hermione raised an eyebrow.

"Of course not!" Ginny looked appalled at the suggestion. "We're just friends. Sometimes we're at each other's throats so much we're barely that. I just -- he's in my life, you know? And if he's going to be in my life, it stands to reason the woman in his life is also going to be in my life and can you please just put me out of my misery and say you'll go out with him?"

"Why would he want to go out with me, anyway?" Hermione began to get suspicious. "Have you already asked him?"

"Naturally," Ginny scoffed.

Hermione narrowed her eyes. "I can't tell if you're lying or not. Never could. I hate that."

"Come on," Ginny wheedled, "just give it a chance. What can it hurt, really? One night out of your life?"

"I can't think of anything at the moment, but every instinct I have tells me it could hurt a great deal," Hermione muttered.

In truth, the idea of going out with Draco Malfoy wasn't all that much more distasteful than the idea of going out with any man who wasn't Harry Potter. Stifling a groan, Hermione sat down heavily at her desk and flopped face down against her folded arms. Her infatuation with Harry had started back in school, but his total disinterest in her had fueled the mounting attraction she and Ron shared. A thousand good times and bad had sought to forge their places in each other's lives, seemingly without their consent. Hermione was Ron's girl, Ron was Harry's sidekick, and they were all best friends. Even when she wasn't Ron's girl, everyone sort of assumed she still was, and any unrequited feelings she had for Harry were conveniently swept beneath the proverbial rug.

Which didn't bother Hermione too much, considering that her feelings for Harry were most definitely unrequited. He cared about her deeply, but he always made her feel as though he loved her like a sister or an especially dear cousin. Any way but as a potential romantic partner. It hadn't been so bad until they started working together at the Prophet. These had been both the best and the worst years of Hermione's life, being so close to Harry, and so far from him. That seemed to encompass a lot of her life -- the best and the worst of everything, but she wouldn't trade it for any other life, because it was hers, and unlike the first ten years of her life, it fit.

Perhaps she shouldn't judge this harebrained scheme of Ginny's so harshly. Her heart was certainly in the right place, and given how much Hermione knew Ginny cared for Draco, the idea that Ginny "approved" of Hermione being his girlfriend was sort of flattering. At the very least, going out on a date with a man might help snap her out of the unending cycle of wanting-without-having she seemed to have perfected with Harry.

Then again, it was still Draco Malfoy . . .

"I'll think about it," Hermione mumbled into her desk.

Ginny let out a squealing sound of happiness. "Oh, Hermione, you won't regret it!" She leaned over Hermione's hunched form, squeezed her friend tightly, then bounded away from the desk.

"I said I'd think about it!" Hermione hollered, sitting up straight. "That means maybe, not 'go make dinner reservations'!"

But Ginny had already Disapparated.

"Bugger," Hermione muttered.

Draco could feel Ginny's gaze on him as he sat at his desk, filling out paperwork. They would be submitting their request to have the Quidditch player killings officially sanctioned as a Ministry case today. Draco didn't have any doubts that it would be approved, and was only slightly irritated by the fact that they had to go through this red tape at all. He'd been working as an Auror too long to try and hurry the process along, if not bypass it altogether. That would only serve to annoy his superiors (in the most general sense of the word, of course), and Draco knew from experience that being on the bad side of people who could pull strings for you was not smart.

And if nothing else, Draco was smart. Fortunately, he was possessed of a great deal of other positive qualities as well, including dashing good looks, charm, wealth, grace, common sense, the ability to choose clothing that suited him, modesty...

She was driving him batty.

He looked up. "What?" he demanded shortly.

Clearly abashed at being caught staring, Ginny looked away quickly. "Nothing."

Draco didn't believe her, but turned back to his paperwork. He knew the silence would soon unnerve her, and she would say what was on her mind, whether he wanted to hear about it or not. Sure enough, two minutes later Ginny was clearing her throat. Draco put down his quill and raised a brow in inquiry.

"Erm." She bit her lip. "Are you serious ... about Frances?" she asked hesitantly.

To say he was surprised by this question was an understatement. Ginny hadn't used her derogatory nickname for the other woman, and that in itself was astonishing. Draco couldn't remember a single instance before now when she hadn't (other than in Frances's presence, of course). "Why?" he asked warily. It did not occur to him to tell her it was none of her business. He often found himself asking her questions about her partners, though he was always irritated with himself for it. But he also couldn't seem to stop himself, so he didn't begrudge her the same courtesy, within reason.

Ginny shrugged, playing with the corner of a piece of parchment. "Just curious, that's all."

Draco's brows shot up even further. Was she asking because...? He shook his head, not allowing the thought to go further. "No," he said. He didn't have time for serious relationships, and Ginny knew it. It was also about time that she gave up attempting to have them, herself. It would never work in their line of employment. She really ought to know better.

Ginny smiled, her evident relief making Draco's pulse race a little faster and his throat a little dry. "Good, because ... I think I know who'd be perfect for you, Draco," she said softly.

How many times had he fantasized about her saying exactly that, with that tone of voice, with that look in her eyes? And at the end of those fantasies, Draco always took the next logical step -- he and Ginny ended up fucking on his desk, on the floor, against the file cabinets, against the door ... and sometimes, in his chair, where she'd straddle him and--

"Draco?"

Ginny's voice, innocently unaware of the gutter where his mind had gone for the past few moments, jarred him out of his thoughts. He shifted uncomfortably, aware of the growing strain in his trousers. He was thankful for the concealment of his desk. If Ginny knew he ever entertained these kinds of thoughts, she'd be out of that door before he could utter a single spell to prevent it. It wasn't as though he were foolish enough to think any of his fantasies could ever be reality. They were exactly what the word 'fantasy' implied -- unreal, residing purely in the imagination. But he was a man, and Ginny was an attractive woman, not to mention the only one he was around all day. It was natural that he should entertain these thoughts from time to time. It would be more bizarre if he didn't, in his opinion.

"Who?" he asked, after frantically trying to recall what she had last said.

"I know this is going to sound crazy ..."

She's going to say 'me,' Draco thought in shock. He didn't know what the terror seizing him meant. Because he wanted her to? Because he didn't? Because if she did, it would change everything about their relationship, and he liked it very much as it was already? Because if she didn't, he was going to be very, very disappointed, and he hated feeling disappointment?

"Just hear me out. I know you don't really get along with her, but I really, really think that you and Hermione could really hit it off."

Draco looked at her blankly. Ah yes, and there was the disappointment that she hadn't suggested herself as the perfect companion for him. But -- what had she just said? "Granger?" he repeated incredulously, once it had sunk into his brain that Hermione Granger, Brainiac and Prophet Bloodhound, was the person Ginny was suggesting would be perfect for him.

"Don't say her name like that," Ginny admonished. "Call her 'Hermione.' That, I think, will go a long way in dispelling this hostility between you."

"Gin," he said, as patiently as he could given the fact that he wanted to throw things, "We don't want to dispel the hostility between us. We like the hostility between us. It's one of the few things I depend on."

"Don't be silly," Ginny dismissed as if he were joking, though Draco could not have been more serious. "Clearly, you two are in a rut. You're used to fighting with each other, so that's what you do. We just have to get you out of that cycle, make you see one another in a new light. Then you'll see I'm right."

"Mm-hmm. Perhaps I wasn't clear enough before. How about this: Are you out of your mind?"

"Why are you being so stubborn?" Draco had to hand it to her; she sounded genuinely perplexed.

"I'm not being stubborn, I'm being realistic," Draco said through gritted teeth. "Of all your mad matchmaking schemes, this one has got to be the worst."

"Mad matchmaking schemes?" Ginny said, sounding incredulous. "When have I ever -- you would be so lucky to go out with any of my friends!"

"Luck would have little to do with it," Draco muttered.

"I heard that." Ginny appeared to think better of her tactics, and wheedled, "Give me one good reason why you can't even go out with Hermione one time, to try and bury the hatchet."

"Because it's liable to end up in one of our backs."

Ginny crossed her arms. "I'm still waiting for a legitimate reason."

"I'm a Malfoy."

"So?"

"So ... her parents are dentists. Muggle dentists." He said this as someone else might have said, "axe-murderers."

"Merlin, you're such a snob, Malfoy."

"Yes," Draco said in relief, glad she finally understood.

"Not yes!" Ginny exclaimed, standing up and making her way over to him. "It's time you stopped living up to this ridiculous image of who you think you ought to be, and started behaving like a normal person."

"Nice to know what you think of me," Draco said, hurt.

"I think the world of you, and you know it," Ginny said in obvious exasperation, standing next to his chair and bracing one hand on his desk. "Why else would I even dream of you working it out with Hermione? I would never pair you up with someone who I didn't think deserved you."

Draco wasn't entirely sure that was a compliment, but he let it slide. "And I suppose Granger went along with this without any resistance whatsoever?"

Ginny turned slightly pink. "Well ... she's as stubborn as you are, but I think she'll come around."

"Hmph. Well, she would. She's getting the far better deal."

Ginny put her hands on her hips crossly. "No more of that! I know you don't mean it, so why don't you just stop with this conceited arsehole nonsense?"

Draco meant every word, and she was completely and utterly mad. But he couldn't deny that her intentions were good, if typically idealistic and impulsive, just like she was. And he had to admit he really enjoyed the way she looked at him so sincerely, with that expression on her face that begged him to do the "right thing," whatever she thought that was. It also helped her case that she was wearing the robes he liked best on her; this close, he could see the way the material strained enticingly across her breasts.

"I suppose it wouldn't hurt," he said reluctantly, as if wanting to be convinced further. Hell, he already knew there was no way out of this without disappointing Ginny utterly, so if he had to give in he might as well get something out of it. He wasn't going to be the uncooperative party, no. There was no way Granger would agree; she would refuse and get them out of this, and meanwhile he would lose zero points with Ginny. In fact, she would understand that he was the obliging, ultimately injured party. She might even try to make it up to him.

For now, he would settle for the delighted smile she leveled his way. "Oh, you won't regret this," Ginny prattled on as she made her way back to her desk. "The two of you will see that I'm right. One day, you'll thank me."

Truly, she was mad as a hatter.

"Gin, have you been drinking? Because you know the Ministry frowns on that sort of thing during business hours. Don't make me get Hermione to write another exposé."

"Harry, you know I don't drink and Apparate after that time we -- but anyway, that isn't what I'm here to discuss with you."

"No, you much prefer stark raving madness," Harry said dryly. "Look, Gin, as adorable as I find your insanity -- and I do find it adorable, I swear -- I haven't got time for it at the moment. Hermione'll skin me alive if I'm late with my copy again."

"What business is it of hers if you're late?" Ginny placed her hands on her hips and lifted her eyebrows.

"Because if I'm late, that means she has to help me, and she says she's got better things to do with her time than bail me out of trouble. Claims she got enough of cleaning up after Ron and I when we were kids."

"Ron and me," Ginny corrected with a hint of exasperation. "You're supposed to work for a newspaper, Harry."

"A newspaper with an editor," he said, as though that made everything all right.

Ginny waved an impatient hand at him. "Anyhow, that's not why I'm here."

"Yes, that would be about your mad scheme."

"It is not a mad scheme!" She stamped her foot. Actually stamped it.

Harry grinned.

"Stop that!" Ginny made a sound of supreme frustration. "Oh, why is it you have this gift that only my brothers are supposed to have?"

"Sorry, Gin. But I'm sure I wouldn't be able to annoy you from the office you share with Malfoy," he said pointedly.

"Subtle, Potter, but you're not getting rid of me until you agree to assist me with my mad scheme."

Heaving a sigh, Harry began making through the bustling newsroom. Things always got the most hectic an hour before quitting time, and Ginny's arrival couldn't have been more poorly timed. Trying to tell her that had only prompted her to increase her haranguing. Harry wondered if it would be really that awful of him to attempt to lose her in the bullpen. A glance over his shoulder confirmed that, awful of him or not, throwing Ginny off his scent when she'd got a bee in her bonnet about something was highly unlikely.

Too many metaphors, Potter, he heard the internal Hermione he had in his head caution. If you can't even follow it, how is some hapless reader expected to?

He turned to Ginny as he picked up his pace. "I thought it was neither mad, nor a scheme?"

"If you can't beat 'em, join 'em," Ginny said with a shrug, her shorter legs working doubly hard to keep up with his long-legged strides. "But I'll have you know that this mad scheme is going to make our dearest friends unimaginably happy, and they'll have me to thank for it." She reached out and grabbed his arm, halting his forward momentum and forcing him to look at her. "If you'll stop being so stubborn, they'll have you to thank, too."

"Yes, er, as much as I appreciate you willingly sharing credit with me--"

"It's not an equal share," she cautioned. "I'm doing all the leg work, after all. Your part is really very minor. I hardly need you at all except for--"

"Except for the fact that Hermione thinks you're absolutely bonkers and Malfoy likely only agreed because he's sure Hermione won't?"

"You get too bogged down in details, Harry," Ginny said earnestly.

"You're mad. Goodbye." He turned to walk away.

"Do you want her to be alone forever?"

Staring up at the ceiling for a moment, Harry heaved a sigh. No. No, of course he did not want Hermione to be alone forever. But Malfoy? Couldn't Ginny see what a phenomenally bad idea that was? Then again, it had been ages since Hermione had been out on a date with someone other than Ron. Maybe . . . maybe seeing what was out there would make her--

Harry cut off his own dangerous line of thought. That way held more madness than Ginny's idea.

"Of course not," he said aloud, looking at the bright lights of the newsroom, Lavender Brown hastily scribbling away at her latest column, anywhere but at Ginny.

"Maybe it is a mad scheme with no hopes of succeeding," Ginny conceded, though Harry could tell she didn't doubt her genius for one second, "but, Harry -- what if it's not? Are you really willing to cheat Hermione out of something wonderful because you're too short-sighted to see the forest for the trees?"

"You just want to decide who Malfoy goes out with," Harry insisted.

"Details, Harry!" She snapped her fingers. "What do I keep telling you about details?"

"All right," Harry said, tilting his glasses up so he could pinch the bridge of his nose. Drinking with Ginny was great fun; being on the receiving end of one of her plots made him pray for death. "I will talk to Hermione."

"Talk to Hermione about what?"

"Hermione!" Ginny's voice oozed sugar. "I'm so glad you haven't gone home yet. Harry has something to tell you, don't you, Harry?"

"Huh? Oh, right. Um, Hermione . . ."

Hermione looked at him expectantly. Harry glanced over at Ginny and tilted his head, communicating his desire to speak to Hermione in private.

Ginny didn't move. "I don't trust you," she sad flatly, "and stop jerking your head about like that; you'll injure yourself and have to go to hospital."

"Oh, bugger," Harry muttered. "Herm, Gin thinks you should go out with Malfoy and I think it'd be such great fun, really, you should go." He glanced between both women, then pretended to see something out of the corner of his eye. "Oh, hey there, been looking for you all evening!"

It was not the most graceful of exits, Harry was perfectly willing to admit, but it was all he could manage. The subject of Hermione dating had always made him extraordinarily uncomfortable, and in the past, it had usually been Ron whom she was seeing. Having the best friend he loved like a brother date his other best friend had been hard enough; watching her go out with someone like Malfoy who was -- well, whatever he was to Harry now -- unthinkable.

He casually glanced behind him and saw that Hermione and Ginny appeared to be arguing. Feeling only marginally guilty, Harry pulled his wand out of his pocket and muttered a quiet incantation. A second later, both girls' voices filled his inner ear as though they were speaking right next to him.

"--can't believe you recruited Harry into this insanity," Hermione seethed.

"Well, you weren't cooperating," Ginny said in a tone that clearly communicated she'd felt she had no other choice.

"And Harry! He was so -- so . . ."

"So?"

"Willing!" Hermione whispered. "I can't believe he'd just shove me at Malfoy like this."

"Well, I did torture him," Ginny confessed.

"A lot?" Did Hermione sound hopeful?

"Not an awful lot," Ginny said. "He just wants you to be happy, Herm. That's all I want, too. If you'd just give it a shot--"

"I don't care what Harry wants. I don't care what you want. And I certainly don't care what Malfoy wants. Hear me, Ginny, and please, listen: I am not, not now, not ever, not even if we were the last two people on earth, going on a date with Draco Malfoy."

Ginny stared at her for a moment. Harry grinned to himself. That was his Hermione.

"That's just ridiculous," Ginny finally said. "If you were the last two people on earth it would be up to you to repopulate the species, and you'd have to--"

Even from where he was standing, it was clear that one of Hermione's blood vessels was about to burst. She turned and walked away from Ginny at a brisk pace.

"I've already made reservations for tomorrow night at Niko's. Draco will meet you out front," Ginny said doggedly. Hermione made an aggravated sound in the back of her throat as she quickened her pace. Harry watched an evil grin curve Ginny's lips. "I'll tell him to wear a white rose boutonnière!" she yelled. "So you'll be sure to recognize him!" A quiet laugh escaped her mouth when Hermione didn't argue. "Gotcha."

"They're not going to fall in love," Harry muttered to himself.

"You'll see," Ginny said as she passed him, startling Harry. He hadn't heard her approach. "Malfoy will finally have a girlfriend I adore and you won't have Hermione standing over your shoulder lecturing you all the time. Everybody wins, Harry." She smiled, then Disapparated.

"Everybody wins," he repeated quietly.

Credits and other things:

This chapter is lovingly dedicated to msscribe, who has a birthday coming up, who braves fandom wars with grace and style, and who we generally loff to pieces. Smooches, honey!

In our excitement to get the last chapter up as quickly as possible, we inadvertently left out some pretty pertinent authors' notes, which we will attempt to rectify here.

1) Anything we know about casefiles (which isn't much) comes from the X-Files. For any fans of the show, it's obvious that Draco and Ginny's boss Skinman is an XF reference.

2) Ginny's line in Chapter One about the Bedroom Olympics was tweaked from a line found in Judith McNaught's "Double Standards."

3) We hate writing summaries. We decided to pay homage to one from a story we love -- Cassie Claire's "Draco Sinister."

4) The first chapter's title, "Dial M for Malfoy," is a reference to Alfred Hitchcock's classic "Dial M for Murder" (1954).

5) This chapter's title, "The Matchmaker Always Rings Twice," is a reference to James Cain's first novel (and subsequent movies based on it) "The Postman Always Rings Twice" (1934).

Most of you probably got these references without us having to spell it out, but some people have made it clear that subtlety is an unappreciated art form. Mea culpa.

Magical Mayhem, for fic updates and discussion: http://groups.yahoo.com/group/magical_mayhem/.

Jade: http://www.livejournal.com/users/jade_okelani/

Sarea: http://www.livejournal.com/users/sarea_okelani/

And now, an update on the status of our friendship ...

Jade: Well, we survived another chapter.

Sarea: Just barely.

Jade: There were only two or three times when I felt I wanted you dead.

Sarea: Only? Really? Because I lost count of the number of times--

Jade: Make that four.