[October 1st] [Harry Potter] Draco Malfoy, P.I.

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Title: Draco Malfoy, P.I.
Day/Theme: October 1st - A screaming comes across the sky
Series: Harry Potter series
Character, Pairing: Draco, Ginny, Hermione, Ron.
Rating: PG for a bit of violence


One of the worst things about living in this part of town is that it’s never quiet at night. There’s always some guy hollering at his girl, some girl hollering back at her man, some perv blasting his porn on the T.V. When I started living here I finally realized that quiet was a luxury of the rich.

I’d managed to drift off into an uneasy sleep when the entire apartment complex was awakened by a woman’s scream.

An ominious thud followed.

No use for it now. I’d have to take a look.

Through my cheap curtains, I could see lights were coming on all over the courtyard. I didn’t bother to turn mine on.

I went downstairs. A quick “Lumos” did the trick through the narrow stairs.

When I got down there, the courtyard was buzzing. It had only been a few minutes but already a crowd of people surrounded the body. There was a broad gabbling hysterically about murder most foul. Some poor slob was sobbing like the end of the world had come. If he’d been involved with the dame, it probably had.

I made my way through the crowd and surveyed the body dispassoniately.

The dame was dead. Not just dead, violently dead. Brains splattered all over the pavement, and her head was at an odd angle. Snapped. By her fall? Or did someone push her? She was wearing a dress that had seen better days, but it was a well-made dress for all that.

“Someone owl for the police,” I said. One of my neighbors nodded, turned towards the owlery. “And take those two away, there’s too much noise out there.”

One of the perks of being a private dick is that you always recognize a crime. It didn’t take a broad having hysterics to tell me that this dame had been murdered.

I needed a cigarette, so I searched my pajama pockets until I found what I needed. I always had a cigarette in a pocket somewhere. I stuck the cig into my mouth and chewed, thought about the crime.

I looked at the dame again and realized that I knew her. The face was older now, but there was no mistaking her. We’d known each other at Hogwarts, but I didn’t know she was living here. I’d thought she’d done better for herself. Sunrise Mansions was no place for a lady.

And Hermione Granger had definitely been a lady.



A few hours later, after all the hubbub of the night, I walked up the four flights to my office in the heart of Knockturn Alley. Yeah, as the sign on my door said, Draco Malfoy, private dick for hire to anyone with the goods. My father would have killed himself to see precious son slumming like this. But Pops Malfoy was gone, finis, years ago when he tried to kill Voldemort.

That’s a story for another time.

“Any owls?” I asked my secretary.

She shook her head. If you couldn’t have a little secretary with a body like that, with glasses perched on her head and a snappy manner, preferably named Doris, then Ginny Weasley was the next best thing. The only thing she missed was the part about being named Doris, and she made a mean martini. It wasn’t something my last secretary had been able to do well at all.

Ginny Weasley had come into my employ after the death of Harry Potter. I laughed every time I thought about it—-The Boy Who Lived, Dead—-but it wasn’t really that funny. We were never friends, but we’d come to an understanding. I’d been a right bastard when we were both at Hogwarts, but that didn’t excuse some of the things he did to me.

Still, the poor sod’s dead now, no use thinking about bygones.

Thinking about Potter, Granger, and martinis made me realize I needed one. No point in being awake without a drink. So I reached into the cupboard over the sink and pulled out the gin, dry vermouth, and some olives that I kept just for times like this. “Martini?”

“It’s only eleven,” she said sharply. She put her glasses on top of her head, just the way I liked it. I’ve always had a fondness for secretaries for glasses.

“I’m doing my best to corrupt you,” I explained. Then I remembered that she and Granger had been friends, so I made her one too.

“Here, you’ll need it.”

She took it reluctantly. “What do you mean?”

“Hermione Granger’s dead,” I said baldly. Ginny’s whole body stiffened, then she knocked the drink back in one gulp. “Good girl,” I said, sipping mine. I like a woman who knows how to treat her liquor.

She looked at me with a question in her eyes. I told her the story, taking out the part about the brains. I'm not a gentleman, but I like to pretend once in a while.

“God, Hermione,” she murmured. “I saw her just last week.”

“You knew Granger?”

She shot me a look. “For a private investigator you don’t seem to know a lot about what’s underneath your nose. She was married to my brother, Draco. They both lived in Sunrise Mansions.”

I’d forgotten. I was about to ask her what the hell they were doing there instead of living at the Burrow when we heard footsteps. Someone was in a dead hurry, running up the stairs.

The footsteps stopped outside the door. The doorbell buzzed insistently. Ginny buzzed the visitor in. I think we both knew who it was even before the door opened.

Ron Weasley looked like the devil had caught up with him. He was haggard and his clothes were rumpled and dirty. I didn’t blame him, he must have been through hell in the last twelve hours. I pulled a chair up and pointed. He sat down, running his hands through his hair. Ginny gave him the once-over, stood up and started mixing a martini.

He lifted his face and looked at me. “I need your help, Malfoy.”