Her Utter Priority
Summary: Draco Malfoy's at the peak of his life. What does a young heir of the Malfoy bloodline, (not in prison like is predecessor!) do with his spare time? Become an investigator. And he's good at it. At least until a certain red-haired wench comes to enlist his services, and he becomes more than slightly involved. Draco Malfoy's going to have to finish this case--without ending up with...attachments.
Chapter 1-Meeting the Customer
'Malfoy Incorporated, Julianna speaking. Mr. Malfoy is in a meeting, would you like to leave a message?'
'Hello, is this Malfoy Incorporated? I must speak to Mr. Malfoy please! It's important!'
'Mr. Malfoy, is that you? I am in dire need of your services…you see, someone's gone missing!'
'And you want me to find them? How original. Meet me at Wellingdon Road, in the Green Ivy, Friday at 6 o'clock. Do you understand?'
'Thank you Mr. Malfoy, thank you so much!'
It was standard procedure. Some ditzy, Jessica Blake-like character would pick up the phone, missing a husband, a child, a low-key lesbian lover…regardless of the circumstances, someone was always missing. And somehow, they always knew where to find me. For after all, I am listed, under the yellow pages. Malfoy Incorporated, also known as Malfoy, Private Eye.
'You've crossed the line, Malfoy.' A voice was chattering insistently in my ear. What was it now? Bills, fraud, accusatory rape…Maybe I should have listened to the feisty wench who was dropping me a line. I should be happy. She was probably very pretty.
'Mr. Malfoy, are you listening to me? You have been underpaying your bills all year, and we have just managed to accommodate your lack of respect for anything relating to blah blah blah blah buzz buzz buzz boring boring boring…'And so she continued. And, as usual, I was tuning out. I nodded in the right places and pretended to scold myself.
I have a somewhat, err…horrible…questionable reputation when it comes to paying bills. As far as I am concerned, hey. You pay for it, it's yours for life.
Unfortunately I didn't read the fine print (ok, it was actually at the top of the page, about 92 Times New Roman) that stated that I paid a monthly balance. Hell, I didn't even know anything about these blasted telephone companies since the downfall of He-Who-Looks-Like-Crap-In-Trousers, as I was trying, with difficulty, to improve my less than squeaky clean status in society. And, once more, I ramble like an idiot.
After all, since the downfall of He-Who-Should-Chew-Constantly-On-Mint-Leaves, the whole world has somewhat embraced technology, and so of course, I had to get with the program. Nobody likes an old-fashioned Malfoy…horrible dress sense.
So, in contemplating why I paid bills for this probably very pretty wench on the phone, and trying to add the correct mmm-hmms, yeah sures, why should I care's and so what's, I'd completely forgotten about the Jessica Blake wannabe.
Who could she be missing? Who in the name of He-Who-Has-A-Strange-Preference-For-Toe-Jam is shee?
And most importantly…why did she call me? Let's just say that Draco Abraxias (shudder) Malfoy, was definitely looking forward to meeting her.
She was late. It was exactly thirty point five seconds after 6, and the stupid wench was late. If she didn't arrive in ten seconds, I was ordering a drink.
I was just deciding between a Firewhiskey or Slugworth's Gin when a hooded figure approached me.
'Mr. Malfoy?' The voice pressed anxiously, clutching his/her chest anxiously.
'That depends. Who's asking?' I said demurely, raising my head to look into the black hole of the hood.
'Um, I called you on Wednesday.' The girl said, not so evasively. I devilishly raised an eyebrow. 'Yes? And?' I was keeping all her options of escape closed. Damn, am I good.
'I can't tell you who I am. But let's just say that if I don't find her…I won't be able to live.'
I wrinkled my nose. Another woman wasted in the prison that is lesbianism.
'Well who are you? I generally don't offer my services to people whose names I don't know.' I watched her closely.
'I should think it better if I remained anonymous. If I revealed myself, you might not want to "offer your services" to me.'
This was getting interesting. I couldn't scare her off now.
'Well, madame, if you tell me who you are…I will definitely offer my services.' Now there was an offer she couldn't refuse.
She took a deep breath, before removing her hood.
'My name is Ginevra Molly Weasley. I am twenty-four years old. I am not married, but am in the process of bearing a child. I am looking for my friend. If I do not find her…I fear my baby and me shall die. I am in dire need of your services.'
I could feel my jaw drop. The Weasel girl? Potter's vomitous girlfriend!
'Um, who are you looking for Weas—I mean, Ginevra?' She laughed nervously.
'Oh, don't call me Ginevra…no one does that anymore. It's Ginny.' She gave a tight-lipped smile, her hands moving absent-mindedly to her stomach. I curled my lip. I can't stand Pregnant Women. Although—that did mean she wasn't gay…hmm.
'Right. So, back to my earlier question…who are you looking for?' She was fidgeting. That's good. Fidgeting is always the best way to really see what people are thinking…before they upchuck the contents of their breakfast.
This Weasel girl was taking a deep breath, unconsciously biting her low, ragged nails. I had to admit she looked kind of nice to curves in all the right places
I was too busy mentally looking that poor girl's figure to realize what she was saying.
'I'm sorry, what?' I stared more intently at her. How unfortunate. Given such nice red hair. Ok, time to focus.
'Hermione Granger.' She said firmly, looking me in the eye. 'And Mr. Malfoy, it's very important that you address this case. For after all, it's important. To me, and to my child, and to Hermione.'
I raised an eyebrow.
This was going to be good.
Author's Note: It's very different from what I usually write, and just a little too humorous. It's DMGW for now, but will probably escalate in a DMHG. And is Ginny really pregnant? You'll never know…