To Live and Die in LA - A Dramione fanfiction (complete)

Chapter 2

"Spill dame." I say curtly. Probably too curtly, but my glass is shattered on the floor and now the only way to drink my meals is directly from the bottle.

"My name is Hermione Granger," her accent is not from around here. Hell, she sounds British of all things. That would explain her lack of fashion. "May I have a seat?"

I nod to the worn chair in the corner and with a simple wave of her hand it slides on its own in front of my desk. "How in fuck's sake did you do that?"

"It is unimportant at the moment," she states flatly. "Like I said, I have information on the death of Mister Zabini."

"Detective Zabini. Give him the honors he is due." My cold stare doesn't faze her, which, in turn, unnerves me. Usually I can get the guilty parties to crumble under my stare but this dame, she takes it all in stride.

"Fine, Detective Zabini then. I knew him as Blaise anyways." She waves me off with a swish of her hand. Internally, I panic. The last wave of her hand sent a chair across the floor. This one had my glass right itself, pieces of intricately carved crystal that was supposedly my late great grandmother's, are seamlessly repaired. Even the amber liquid that was remaining in it returns. Now it sits on my desk. Mocking me. Like magic. Being a realist, I know it isn't magic, magic doesn't exist. That doesn't explain this dame though.

I don't even flinch, which would probably be a distraction but it just how I operate, "How do you know Blaise? And what do you know of his death?" My interrogation begins on the young twenty-something dame that sits straight back in front of me, her shapely gams crossed, with not a care in the world.

"Mister Malfoy."

"Detective."

"From what I hear, you either have a demotion or a permanent residence in this office in your future. Calling you Detective Malfoy is somewhat disingenuous."

I smirk, the dame knows her stuff. "Fine, call me what you may. Malfoy would be fine. Just answer my questions." I am getting tired of this dame schooling me, like some proper bitchy governess. I had enough of that in my youth, I don't need some swotty priss telling me what to do or what I should be called.

"You haven't found a smoking gun." She reaches into a small simple black handbag that I didn't see her carrying, pulling out a cigarette and lighting it with a snap of her fingers. "And you won't. You won't see what killed him because you are simply looking at muggle means. You need to expand your repertoire."

"How do you know? And what does Muggle mean to you? Zabini nor I smoked muggle. Nor were we involved in its trade." I don't know if I trust this dame, but if she can give me answers to Blaise's death and give Tracey some piece of mind, I am willing to entertain it.

"It is best if I show you rather than tell you. Let's just say you aren't safe. Blaise took that avada for you. He knew. Now I have to give you a lifetime of instruction in a matter of days. And this time it is your life that is on the line. Meet me here," she elegantly uncrosses her legs, "at 8 tonight. Don't be drunk. Clean yourself up. We are going out." She stands like there is no question that I will follow her instructions, and God help me, I am. She wraps herself up in her shawl before turning on her heal and gliding towards my office door like she is floating on air, not walking. "Eight tonight. Don't be late Mister Malfoy." She doesn't even look at me as she turns the knob on my door and walks out of my life like she walked in.

Damn, now I have to get a shower and suit.