Bad [Harry Potter Fanfiction] (Bad Series: 1)

7 | Pieces fall into place

The taste of Ogden's Old Firewhiskey burned as it slid down Ginny's throat, but it kept her on her toes. And she needed that now, sitting before an extravagant fireplace in the study at Malfoy Manor. She crossed her legs and took another sip. The warmth of the fireplace licked against her skin. Malfoy sat at the desk behind her, but she ignored him.

The only reason she stepped foot in this place was the job opportunity. Everything reeked of money with its ostentatious furniture and items. But the bookshelves lining the wall behind the desk, no doubt covered with concealed magic to hide dangerous books and artifacts, and certainly would give her a pretty galleon on the black market, but that wasn't why she was here right now.

She felt his gaze, and when movement danced in the air, she waited for him to sit in the chair beside her. He did. "Shall we get down to business?" he asked, leaning on his elbow.

"We both know I'm not here for the alcohol or your company," she pointed out, watching the flames.

"I would never delude myself into thinking you were here for my company," he said, and when she looked at him, he smirked.

People never changed. But analyzing him wasn't why she was here either. There was a job, and it was time to find out about it. The faster she did, the sooner she could focus wholly on the Ministry job. She took another sip of Firewhiskey. "Tell me."

The edge of his smirk fell for a split second. She almost missed it. He drank the remainder of his Firewhiskey and placed the glass on the table between them. He flicked his wand and a pictured flew into his hands. He handed it to her.

Narcissa and Draco stared at her. His mother sat in a chair in the study. She wore a dark blue evening gown, her blond hair pulled back into an elegant bun, a single curl hung loose down the side of her face. Narcissa Malfoy was beautiful, and her fragility in the photo was evident.

Draco stood behind his mother, a glass in hand, his other on her shoulder. His hair cut to the form of his jaw. He wore a black dress robe with a black shirt and silver tie matching his steely eyes. He stared ahead, into the camera, looking into the viewer's. The only movement was, every few seconds, the glass in his hand lifted to his lips. He took a sip, gaze never faltering.

"This was taken before Mother fell ill a year ago," he explained, gaze never leaving the fireplace.

Ginny stared at the picture. She never liked the Malfoys, but when you're eleven-years-old and some sot slips a diary into your cauldron that will potentially kill you, you're biased. Not to mention all the torture the Weasleys received at their hands. She never knew Narcissa personally, but Ginny expected the witch was no saint. But all that didn't take away the pain of losing someone you loved. It clung to you. It was you.

He stood and walked over to her. Leaning forward, he point at Narcissa. A beautiful locket hung around her neck. "This's what I'd like you to procure. It's a Black heirloom. A locket that's been handed down to the youngest daughter. It meant a lot to Mother." He straightened and cleared his throat. "Someone stole it after her death. Now, I don't have a bloody clue where it is, and I want it back. Even if I don't have a daughter, it's a remembrance of Mother."

"It's stunning," she said, further inspecting it. Rectangular shaped, one to two inches long, white gold, and decorated with diamonds, the locket shined. And it beaconed her. Maybe, the locket remained stolen and in her hands.

He straightened. "Of course it is."

She bit her cheek. The idea settled further in her mind. "When was it stolen?"

"Two weeks after Mother's death. I came home from a business trip, and my study was ransacked." He moved to the fireplace and leaned against the mantle.