The Insight Initiative

The sitting room’s atmosphere was heavy with tension. Zacharias Smith sat rigid in his oversized leather armchair, his fingers tapping an uneven rhythm against the armrest as he processed Hermione’s bold accusation. His face flushed slightly, and he avoided her gaze, his eyes darting briefly toward the window before fixing on the ornate rug beneath their feet.

"Staged?" he snapped, his voice sharp and defensive. "That’s absurd. Why on earth would I risk my reputation by fabricating something like this?"

Hermione met his reaction with calm determination, her pen poised above her notebook. She had expected outrage; in fact, she had counted on it. The nervous tapping of Smith’s fingers had become more erratic, his shallow breaths more audible now that he was visibly distressed. Each sharp word he spat out only amplified the tells she had already noted: the tight grip on his chair, the darting eyes that refused to meet hers directly, the way his voice cracked slightly when he tried to regain composure.

From her peripheral vision, she caught Blaise shifting in his seat, his brows knitting together in mild surprise. He hadn’t expected her to be so direct, and for a fleeting moment, she could feel his disapproval hanging in the air. It was a reminder she didn’t need—this was exactly the kind of impulsive move that had gotten her reassigned from the NCA. But the words were already out, and there was no going back now.

Before Hermione could respond to Smith’s indignation, Blaise leaned forward slightly, his posture relaxed yet purposeful, stepping back behind his mask of perfect calm and charm like nothing happened. The surprise on his face had been so brief Hermione could have almost thought she imagined it herself. 

"Mr. Smith, we’re not accusing you of anything." Blaise said, his tone smooth and placating. "Our job is to explore every angle. Sometimes things aren’t what they seem—surely, as a man of your status, you can understand the value of covering all possibilities."

Smith stiffened, his hands gripping the chair as if it were the only thing keeping him grounded.

"The theft was real!" he bit out, his voice rising with indignation. His tone faltered at the edges, betraying a flicker of uncertainty. "Maybe you're not accusing me, but she certainly is." he added, glaring pointedly at Hermione. "This insinuation is not only ridiculous—it’s insulting! I have a reputation to uphold, you know!?"

A faint crackle in Hermione’s earpiece broke the exchange. Draco’s low, even voice filtered through.

"She might be onto something." he announced, not even bothering to say her name. "There’s exactly five seconds of tampering in the collection room’s video feed—barely noticeable unless you’re looking for it. But here’s the thing: the rest of the system is spotless. No forced entry, no alarms triggered, no disturbances logged in the access records. It’s clean. Too clean." He paused, as if to let that sink in before adding, "And the timeline Smith provided still doesn’t line up."

Hermione blinked, momentarily caught off guard. Draco Malfoy, of all people, backing her theory? The man who had barely offered her more than clipped words and frostbitten stares since her arrival? She suppressed the urge to glance around as if to confirm it wasn’t some elaborate joke. Instead, she focused on the details, her pen already scribbling notes. The tampering was a deliberate surgical strike—whoever orchestrated this had been meticulous, confident enough to leave no other trace.

"It’s curious," Blaise said smoothly, his voice sliding in like oil over water, as though Draco’s interjection hadn’t thrown him for a loop. "You have such impeccable security, and yet no real signs of a break-in. Doesn’t that seem... unusual?"

"I run a respectable household!" Smith said defensively, lips pressed into a thin line. His fingers resumed their erratic tapping and his voice trembled just enough to betray the strain. "There’s nothing here—nothing—that could explain this... fabrication you’re suggesting."

"Ask about his financial situation." Theo's voice buzzed in Hermione's ear.

She glanced at Blaise, who caught her eye with a fleeting smirk, then turned his attention back to Smith.

"Of course," Blaise replied, his voice a perfect balance of politeness and pressure. "Then it won’t trouble you to clarify—is there anyone, any recent dealings, maybe some money problems? Anything you’ve been less... forthcoming about?"

Smith’s knuckles whitened further, his shoulders stiffening. "That’s absurd," he snapped, his voice losing its even edge. "I—I can’t discuss certain matters in detail. They’re… private, unrelated to this incident."

"Private?" Blaise echoed, tilting his head slightly. His smile didn’t waver, but Hermione noted the calculating gleam in his eyes. He had spotted a lie somewhere. She didn't know how she knew, but she did. "Mr. Smith, our job is to eliminate doubt. The more you share, the better we can help you clear this matter up."

Smith exhaled sharply, his composure finally cracking as he ran a hand over his face. "Fine," he said, his tone lower now, edged with reluctance. "There are… financial pressures. Some deals didn’t go as planned. I… I’ve had to engage with certain groups, let’s say, whose reputations aren’t exactly pristine. But that has nothing to do with this theft!"

Hermione made another note, her pen gliding steadily as she absorbed the information. Smith’s admission was as guarded as his earlier denials, and yet the strain in his posture—the tense set of his jaw, the restless tapping of his fingers—spoke volumes. Blaise, sensing the precarious line they were walking, leaned back with a genial smile.

"Of course, Mr. Smith. We appreciate your candor. If there’s anything further you recall that might be relevant, let us know."

A knock at the door interrupted the moment. The butler stepped in, his composed demeanor a stark contrast to the tension in the room. "Your housekeeper, Mary Cattermole, as requested."

Smith gestured toward the butler curtly, his voice clipped. "Send her in."

Mary Cattermole entered the room quietly, her hands clasped tightly in front of her. The pristine condition of her uniform showed someone who was neat and dedicated. But her posture was stiff, her movements precise yet mechanical and a sheen of sweat gleamed at her temple. She was nervous and, seemingly, had rehearsed this situation in her mind before entering the room. The faint creases around her cuffs suggested she had been smoothing them compulsively while waiting. Hermione’s eyes flicked to Mary’s hands, noting the faint redness around her knuckles, likely from scrubbing or cleaning chemicals, and the nails, uneven from being bitten off but not damaged from the manual labor housekeeping required. 

As she moved to take the seat across from Blaise and Hermione, her eyes darted briefly to Smith, as if searching for reassurance, before dropping quickly to her lap when her employer quietly left the room to give them privacy.

"Thank you for joining us," Blaise said, his tone friendly. "We’re just here to ask a few questions about your time working here. Nothing to worry about."

Mary nodded quickly, her posture stiff. "Of course, sir. I’ll do my best to help."

Hermione’s gaze sharpened as she studied Mary’s body language. Her shoulders were too tense, her smile too quick and too wide. The nervous clasp of her hands and the flicker of her eyes toward the floor whenever Blaise spoke told Hermione that Mary was likely hiding something.

"You’ve been with Mr. Smith for about three months, is that correct?" Blaise began, his tone conversational as he leaned back slightly in his chair.

"Yes, sir." Mary replied promptly. "I started in August."

"And before that?" Blaise asked, his voice still friendly. "What were you doing prior to joining Mr. Smith’s staff?"

Mary hesitated, her fingers twisting together in her lap. "I was... between positions," she said carefully. "I had been working for a private family overseas before that."

Hermione caught the way Mary’s voice wavered, the slight shift in her posture as if bracing for further questioning.

"Overseas?" Blaise repeated, his tone light but probing. "What brought you back to England?"

"The family relocated," Mary said quickly. "They no longer needed my services."

A faint crackle in Hermione’s earpiece caught her attention. Theo’s voice came through, steady and low.

"Her address during that gap is tied to an associate of an art thief recently released from prison. The same address also appears in connection with a well-known art auctioneer who organizes private sales for high-value items across the country. There’s no documented link between the two individuals, which is highly unusual."

Blaise’s gaze sharpened, though his smile didn’t falter. "Interesting," he said, his tone still friendly. "And did you find the adjustment to working here smooth? Anything unusual about Mr. Smith’s collection or the people visiting the house?"

Mary blinked rapidly, her hands tightening in her lap. "No, sir. Nothing unusual at all."

"That will be all for now, Mary. Thank you for your cooperation." Blaise said smoothly.

The housekeeper had seemed surprised at that. Hermione would have been too, had she not heard Theo's information just like he had. Clearly Mary hadn't expected the interview to be so short, she had braced herself for questions, as Hermione had noticed. But her shoulders slumped in relief ever so slightly when Blaise got up, signifying the end of the interview. Gracefully he escorted her back to the parlor door and offered her one of his signature smiles before watching her leave, closing  the door shut behind her a few instants later. Turning back to Hermione, he let out a low whistle, plopping back onto his chair and folding his hands behind his head.

"Well, that was enlightening." Blaise said, the sarcasm in his tone laced with genuine amusement as he leaned back in his chair. He studied Hermione for a moment, his grin widening. "But I’ve got to admit—that move with Smith earlier? Didn’t see that coming."

Hermione glanced up, her pen pausing mid-tap. "I had a hunch."

"The accusation, straight to his face like that, that was..." Blaise tilted his head.

Hermione bit at her lower lip, her pen resuming its rhythmic tapping. It was the moment her rash decision making was going to ruin it all again, she knew it. She couldn't find it in herself to regret it, as often when she acted on her gut instincts, things at turned out in their favor.

"I'm sorry... But it got us results, didn’t it?"

"That it did." Blaise replied with a low chuckle, dropping his hands onto the table and leaning forward, shaking his head with a smile that Hermione could only described as beaming. "Girl, you keep exceeding my expectations. I'm floored." he laughed openly. "Bold, a little reckless, but damn if it didn’t pay off."

Hermione blinked, caught off guard by the compliment. "I… thank you?" she said, her tone uncertain, her cheeks flushing despite her best efforts to maintain composure.

Blaise grinned, clearly enjoying her flustered reaction, but his expression turned thoughtful as he shifted gears.

"Now, about Smith. His tells were all over the place. He wasn’t lying about his financial troubles—that was real. But when he mentioned those ‘deals' he had to take with irreputable sources’? There was something else. Something he’s not saying, and I’d bet my best bottle of wine it’s tied to this theft."

Hermione frowned, considering his words. "You think it’s all connected?"

Blaise’s grin faded slightly, his expression turning serious. "It’s a hunch, but yeah. The way his tone shifted, the way he avoided specifics… it’s tied to this somehow."

"And Mary?" Hermione prompted, her pen still hovering over her notebook.

"Hiding something. That one is pretty obvious." Blaise replied without hesitation. "Her responses were too polished, her body language too controlled. She’s practiced this routine before, which means she’s protecting something—or someone."

Hermione’s pen moved swiftly between her fingers as she spoke, subconsciously needing to keep her fingers busy while her brain did the same.

"And that's all without counting on Theo’s information about that address… an art thief and a high-profile auctioneer, both tied to the same place? And that place just so happens to be linked to someone working for a wealthy art collector? This is one big, very neat coincidence."

"Absolutely," Blaise agreed, his grin returning. "No documented link between them means it’s either off the books, or someone’s gone to a lot of trouble to keep it hidden."

"Or both." Hermione muttered, tapping the pen once more before setting it down. "Smith’s financial situation might be personal, but if all these connections lead to the same point, both Mary and Smith may be involved in something that goes beyond a simple stolen manuscript."

Blaise stood, adjusting his jacket with a practiced motion. "Looks like we’ve got some digging to do. Let’s regroup with Theo and Draco. I’m sure they’ll have their own theories to throw into the mix once we're back home."

As they prepared to leave Smith’s house, Hermione and Blaise paused in the sitting room, exchanging polite farewells with Smith. Blaise’s tone was smooth, almost disarming, as he thanked their host for his time. 

"We’ll be in touch if we have any further questions, Mr. Smith," he said, offering a charming smile that hid his earlier suspicions to perfection.

"Of course. Anything to help." Smith nodded curtly, his posture stiff.

Hermione offered a polite nod, echoing Blaise’s thanks, though her sharp gaze lingered on Smith for a moment longer. There was something about his manner—the tautness in his jaw, the way his hands fidgeted with the edge of his sleeve—that only reinforced every idea she had about him being involved, somehow.

They stepped outside into the cool afternoon air, the door shutting firmly behind them. As Blaise moved ahead toward the car, Hermione hesitated, her gaze drawn upward. Through the upstairs window, she caught sight of Smith standing there, his silhouette outlined against the dim light of the room. He was holding a phone to his ear, his expression grave and his posture tense as he stared down at them.

A ripple of unease coursed through her. The sight of him, looking down on them, so solemn and serious, made it clear that despite whatever Smith had claimed, despite how this case had started, the reality of it was going to be far from simple. She simply didn't know exactly how yet.

"You coming?" Blaise called from the driver’s side, snapping her out of her thoughts.

Hermione nodded, tearing her eyes away from the window as she climbed into the passenger seat. As they pulled away, she cast one last glance back at the house, Smith’s shadowed figure still etched in her mind.

The drive back to the house was quiet, the weight of their discoveries settling heavily between them. Blaise tapped his fingers on the steering wheel in sync with the music playing softly from the radio, humming along as his mind clearly started working through the tangled threads of the case. Hermione, notebook balanced on her lap, scribbled notes between glances out the window, her thoughts racing.

When they arrived at the house, the familiar hum of activity greeted them. Theo was perched on the living room couch, sitting cross-legged with his computer balanced precariously on his knees. His fingers flew over the keyboard, the faint glow of the screen illuminating his focused expression. He barely acknowledged their return, only offering a nod that wasn't even directed to any of them since he seemed to refuse to take his eyes off of his screen. Hermione guessed he hadn't stopped snooping in the system since her and Blaise had left. Not even now.

Draco’s presence was marked by the quiet clink of mugs in the kitchen. He moved methodically, brewing coffee and rinsing out cups with the precision of someone who was used to doing things the exact same way every time and would know his way around the kitchen blindfolded. The faint aroma of fresh coffee drifted through the air, making Hermione hunger for her own cup of it.

Blaise strode into the living room, tossing his jacket onto a nearby chair. "Theo, tell me you’ve found something good," he said, his tone lighter but edged with curiosity.

Theo didn’t look up, his voice clipped and direct. "Cross-referenced the address again. Still no direct connection between the art thief and the auctioneer, but there’s a financial trail tied to an offshore account linked to private transactions."

Hermione frowned, stepping closer. "Private transactions? For what?"

"High-value art sales," Theo replied without missing a beat. "The kind that don’t show up in public records. Smith’s name hasn’t popped up directly, but the timing aligns with his supposed financial troubles. It’s suspicious."

Draco stepped around the kitchen island, steaming mug in hand, his gaze pointedly turned towards Theo or Blaise, refusing to acknowledge Hermione. 

"Suspicious doesn’t cut it. If the account links back to either Mary or Smith, then they’re both in deeper than we thought." His tone was as cold as ever, but there was a spark of interest in his eyes as he leaned back against the counter.

"If this is tied to private art sales, then the manuscript might not just be a random theft." Hermione exchanged a glance with Blaise as she spoke. "It could be part of a larger operation."

"Exactly," Theo said, finally glancing up from his screen. "And if that’s the case, we’re not dealing with a simple theft anymore. This is organized, calculated."

Blaise let out a low whistle, his grin returning. "Looks like we’ve got some real digging to do. And here I thought this was going to be an easy case."

As Blaise moved back toward Theo and the ongoing discussion, Hermione lingered in the doorway of the kitchen where Draco still stood, leaning against the counter with his coffee mug in hand. His gaze barely flicked toward her before he spoke, his tone as icy as ever. "What you did at Smith’s was a pointless risk," he said flatly. "It could’ve ruined the entire interview. You’re lucky Blaise knows how to diffuse those kinds of situations."

Hermione straightened, bristling at the comment. "A pointless risk? It got us answers, didn’t it? Smith wouldn’t have admitted anything if we’d just tiptoed around him. Sometimes you have to take a chance."

Draco’s eyes narrowed, his posture stiffening slightly. "And if it had gone wrong? If he’d shut down or tossed us out? What then, Granger? You gamble too much for someone who’s supposed to be calculated."

Her jaw tightened. "Calculated doesn’t mean spineless," she retorted, stepping closer. "You think I didn’t consider the risks? I saw an opening, and I took it. Maybe that’s not how you do things, but it worked."

Draco’s gaze sharpened, his expression remaining inscrutable. "It worked this time," he said coolly, setting his coffee mug down on the counter with deliberate care. "Blaise saved it from turning into a disaster. Next time, you might not be so lucky."

"If you’re just going to criticize everything I do, maybe you should focus on your own work." she said, her patience finally snapping and her voice rising slightly. "I’m not here to earn your approval, Malfoy."

Draco’s lips pressed into a thin line as he pushed himself from the counter and took long strides towards the door. For a moment, she thought he was going to leave without another word. But at the doorway, he stopped, glancing back at her with an intensity that made her breath catch. 

"How did you know?" he asked, his voice quieter now. "About Smith—that he was involved in the theft of his own manuscript, how did you know?"

Hermione hesitated, the sharpness of his question disarming her. It came out of the blue. But if there was one thing she was sure of, looking at him and his rigid posture, it was that he wouldn't leave it alone unless she told him. So regardless of the fact that people never managed to follow or understand her reasoning, she swallowed, squared her shoulders, and spoke up. 

"It was in the way he spoke about the theft—like he was already trying to control the narrative, too defensive for someone who should’ve been blindsided by a break-in. His posture was stiff, but not with fear—it was like he was bracing himself, like he knew more than he was letting on."

Draco’s expression didn’t shift, but Hermione pressed on, her words coming faster now. "It wasn’t just in what he said—it was the way he carried himself. The suit, the polished shoes, it all screamed generational wealth, but the way he wore them felt performative, like he was desperate to keep up appearances. The constant smoothing of his sleeves, restless tapping of his fingers. Every detail made it clear he was anxious, but not because of the theft. Because we were there." she took a sharp exhale, realizing she was speaking fast and without breaks. A bad habit she had when trying to explain a process nobody but her usually understood. "And then there was the way he handled Blaise’s questions—he didn’t outright evade them, but his eyes darted to Blaise constantly, begging him to shift the conversation. That need to dictate what was and wasn't talked about—it wasn’t just defensive, it was calculated. Like he wanted to steer the conversation in a very particular direction."

She inhaled and exhaled again, short of breath from her monologue but not the least bit regretting it. She had held her tongue about Malfoy's remarks until now, had played nice and played coy because she wanted to fit the mold he had in her mind— like she did with everyone else. But something about this place, this team, made her want to show what she was made of in a way she never had before. Because those people were like her, supposedly. And if even them couldn't accept her, acknowledge her genius, see she was useful and not defective. Then who would?

"The rest was instinct. Like you said, I gambled."

Draco stood still, his gaze still locked on her, unreadable. He opened his mouth as if to speak, then closed it again, turning sharply as though to leave. Hermione braced herself for another cold remark, but instead, he stayed still and quiet in the doorway, his hand resting on the frame for a second that seemed to stretch on forever. 

He turned his head over his shoulder, his eyes meeting hers with the same sharpness they always appeared to hold. "That was..." he began, his voice trailing off for a moment before he continued, quieter, "smart."

The word pushed past his lips reluctantly, like he had to physically force himself to utter something complimentary but before he quickly turned his head back and stormed away, Hermione thought she saw something flicker in his eyes—a fleeting look of respect, maybe?

One second he was there and the next he was gone, leaving Hermione to grapple with the foreign feeling of Draco Malfoy saying something nice about her, despite the barrage of complaints he hurled at her beforehand. And, stranger still, that he might have actually meant it.