Blood of Mud, Wing of Bat

Chapter 3: Fly-By

"Mmmm, you smell nice," said Ron as he nuzzled into her hair. It had been a standing joke of theirs since she'd gone to work for Trelawney; every time she went in to the office she came home reeking of incense.

"Really?" asked Hermione innocently, playing her part. "I tried a different soap today. That must be it." She felt giddy. It was so good to see Ron again. It didn't matter that she'd had to stay up until 2AM waiting. It didn't matter that she'd been waiting for five more months before that. He was home now and everything would be fine.

"Must be," said Ron. He kissed her neck. "I missed you. Where are the kids?"

"Hogwarts," said Hermione, feeling a bit guilty. "We didn't know if you were going to be able to make it this time, so…."

But Ron didn't seem that disappointed. On the contrary, he broke into a big grin and picked her up off her feet. Hermione shrieked in surprise as he carried her off into the bedroom for a more thorough hello.

Some time later found them sprawled on the couch in the living room, drinks in hand, clothes rumpled, and hair decidedly tousled. Hermione had been staring at Ron non-stop, still unable to believe that he was really there. He looked good: tall and well-muscled, deeply freckled by hours on a broomstick, his fiery red hair cut sleek and stylish. Was he really hers, this famous Quidditch star, Beater Ron Weasley?

"So this is the latest project?" Ron asked, surveying the papers arranged all over the coffee table, the end tables, and the couch.

"Yes, it's Batwing Alchemical & Pharmaceutical," said Hermione.

"I've heard of them! The Apothecary shop on Diagon Alley buys their stock from them, and Fred and George get most of their raw materials from them owl order."

"Yes, they're the oldest ingredients supplier in continuous operation. However, at the moment they're not profitable at all, and that's where I come in. I'm really looking forward to it. It should be quite a challenge."

"Wow Herm, this has to be your biggest assignment yet," said Ron, glowing with pride for her. He took her hand and kissed the back of it.

"I think it is," agreed Hermione, smiling at him fondly.

"And how does Draco Malfoy fit in?"

Hermione grimaced at the reminder. Suddenly her feelings of happiness were replaced by the flutter of trepidation she'd been trying to ignore ever since receiving the nasty owl from Malfoy earlier in the day. "He owns it, believe it or not. As of a month ago."

"I wonder if he bumped off the original owner to get his hands on it."

Hermione gave Ron an exasperated look.

"Well, he could have!" protested Ron. He picked up a press-photo of Draco that was lying on the table. "Ecchh, yes, that's him all right. Lucius' little clone."

Hermione laughed despite herself. "Does look like him, doesn't he? Not so little anymore, though."

"Says you." Ron snickered. "I've seen him in person. My Seeker outweighs him. He's a runt."

Hermione rolled her eyes. Trust Ron to see everything in Quidditch terms. "Size doesn't matter in business, dear. Only money." The picture of Malfoy scowled at her and she took it away from Ron, placing it face-down on the table so she wouldn't have to look at it. "When did you see him in person?"

"It was oh, two, three years ago, at the semi-finals at Holyfield. He threw out the Quaffle. We all had to shake his hand first, in front of everybody. Typical celebrity stuff. He had his wife with him… Mandy, or Mindy was it…."

"Mindi Brains," supplied Hermione. "That was number five. He divorced her after only a year." Hermione had already memorized a lot of what Trelawney had given her in the file.

Ron shook his head. "I can never keep track. Didn't he leave number six at the altar?"

"Yes, Veroniqua Weathermark. He didn't even show his face on wedding day. Rumour says he was on holiday in France."

"Lawyers must have had fun with that. Why do these women keep saying yes?"

"I have no idea," said Hermione. "Although, the thought of marrying someone guaranteed to divorce them and cough up a fabulous fortune in damages might appeal to some of them on a purely financial level."

"Is this his police record?" Ron asked in delight, reaching for it. "Look how thick it is!"

"Ron, that's confidential!"

"No it isn't, it's on the public record." He started flipping through it. "There are hundreds of flying violations in here! Speeding, recklessness, use of a competition vehicle in commercial airspace… well, he can't be all that bad can he?"

Hermione groaned. Men and brooms!

"Ooh, obstructing a warrant search… resisting arrest… assault on an Auror, multiple charges… this must have been one of the raids."

"Give that back Ron, goodness! It's personal!" She tried to grab the file from him, but he held it out of her reach, laughing.

"Domestic violence? I didn't think even he would sink that low. No wait, this is him claiming she attacked him. Look, here's another incident. And two more! Why did they arrest him instead of her, though?"

"They arrest whichever one was going to leave the scene anyway. Don't you remember how he always used to run out on confrontations back at school?" Hermione tried to grab the file again, but Ron's advantage over her in reach made that impossible.

"These aren't even all the same wife! Well, I can't say I blame them, I'd get violent too if I was married to the little shit."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Well he'd be safe because you'd never be around. Give it here! Oof!"

Laughing, Ron finally let her have it.

"What's all this, Batwing financial stuff?" he continued, pawing through the folder. Hermione placed the arrest record safely on a side table.

"Yes, and I've been reading through it all evening. The company is in terrible shape and it's worth next to nothing… I don't know why Malfoy's even bothering with it."

"He spent every day of the first five years of school thinking up petty insults for us, and you're surprised he can obsess on stuff that's not worth it? Are you sure you're a Know-it-all?"

"That was twenty-two years ago, Ron."

"Hey, you were the one who brought up school. Ooh look, one of the raid photos." Ron snatched it up and examined it avidly. The photograph had been taken by a Ministry evidence gatherer during the most recent raid that summer, then leaked to the press. It had appeared in the Daily Prophet the next morning, but this was no newspaper clipping. It was a big, clear, wizard photo. "How did that old fraud Trelawney get her hands on an original? I don't think Dad even has any at home."

Arthur Weasley, in his capacity as investigator for the Ministry of Magic, had conducted several sensational raids on Malfoy Manor in the years following the war. The first one had come a few days after Draco's first divorce. Several more had happened over the intervening years, with the most recent only two months ago. Hermione had heard it said around the dinner table that another was planned and imminent. Each time, the warrant was extended to cover additional hiding places learned about through interrogating new prisoners. Each time, at least a couple of Dark Magic items were seized. However, as Arthur had explained to the family, it was clear that Malfoy was somehow being warned in advance, and successfully removing most of the illegal items to new as-yet undiscovered hidey holes. The few pieces seized were on public display and too easily explained away as family heirlooms.

This particular photo showed Draco and a couple of children, sitting in an opulent drawing room under Auror guard. They appeared to be waiting while the house was searched.

Draco was wearing a silk night-robe and his hair was tousled with sleep. Sometimes in the photo he seemed calm, chill, almost bored with the invasive procedure. Other times the eyes betrayed stress and exhaustion. Arthur had explained that it took many days to add new rooms to a house, and set them up with charms and wards, and hide things there and then remove all trace of what had been in the old hiding places. That night of waiting patiently had most likely been preceded by days and nights of frantic labour, with many different Death Eaters taking round-the-clock shifts to get the job done.

Salazar and Lucia shared their father's and grandfather's near-albino coloration. However, they were both husky kids, looking slightly too-large compared to their father, and their faces were not as pointy as his. Apparently the cross between Pansy Parkinson's pug-like mug and Draco's ferrety one had had unexpectedly happy results. They were good looking kids. They were also fearful and confused looking kids, dressed in pyjamas as if they'd been dragged out of bed and clinging to their father's hands.

Ron obviously didn't agree with her assessment of the kids' looks. "Gah, they look just like Pansy," he complained. "Except with bleach."

"You shouldn't badmouth Pansy," said Hermione, biting her lip. The entire Weasley family had thrown fits when Ginny moved in with Pansy several years ago. The woman still wasn't welcome at family gatherings, despite being Ginny's live-in and fellow Auror.

"I don't care what anyone says," said Ron. "Her whole family are a bunch of Slytherin-sorted Death Eaters and Azkaban-fodder. Why they trust her as an Auror is beyond me."

"Oh, Ron," sighed Hermione. "It'd mean so much to Ginny if you'd accept her friend. After all these years!"

Ron shook his head and placed the picture with the kids in it back in the folder… also face down. His mood had clearly been spoiled by Pansy's name coming up.

"I also don't see why Trelawney would send you of all people," he grumbled. "I mean, I know you're one of her best Know-it-alls, but Dad's last raid on Malfoy's house was just eight weeks ago, and the next is to be less than a month from now. You'll probably still be working with him when it happens. And even if he didn't have that to hate you for, he'd still hate your guts just for not being pureblood."

Hermione sighed. "I know, and look at this letter." She found Malfoy's most recent hate-mail and passed it over.

Ron read the letter, and then blinked at it in surprise. The snake on the Malfoy crest blinked back at him suspiciously as Ron's face reddened in fury. "This just arrived today? Hermione, you can't work with this guy, he's threatening our kids!"

Hermione groaned. "Not without reason, I'm afraid. Freida and Georgia are completely out of control, and Jude seems to be regressing to his old primary-school tricks. Look at these school letters… I wouldn't be surprised if Chris is even encouraging the twins, too. I wish you were here to help discipline them, they really listen to you." She tried to push the latest letters from Hogwarts into Ron's hands.

"Only because I pick my battles. With you nitpicking everything, no wonder they've learned to let it roll off their backs. Look at this list…." Ron avoided the Hogwarts letters and instead grabbed a list of Muggle deaths Malfoy was suspected of having some connection to. "There are hundreds of names on this list! At least some of them must have been murdered by his own hand. Do you really want to expose our kids to that? Do you really want to expose yourself to that?"

"Ron… put that down! That really is confidential. And none of it's ever been proven, either. Anyway, our kids aren't even technically Muggle-born. And why would he go after me? Trelawney said he didn't mind working with me."

Ron looked at her incredulously. "You believe that old bat? And you call me reckless! What else is in here?" He dug through more of the papers.

"Ron…."

"Look!" he said, pointing at a list of charitable contributions made in the Malfoy name. Among the more innocuous and traditional contributions like St. Mungo's, the Hogwarts Alumni Society, and the Magical Pet Rescue, there were more sinister items. "He donated nearly a million galleons to the Lucius M. Malfoy Foundation, and that's last year alone! That's a million more galleons gone to legal defense for wizards accused of murdering Muggles. The mark of a real good citizen, don't you think? And then look here… he makes a contribution to the Mabel Initiative three times a year. You know what they do, don't you?"

"Yes, Ron, they educate people about the beneficial aspects of the Dark Arts. But…."

"Oh, Bludgers, look at the time." Ron had just noticed his watch. "Do you think you could do my laundry for me while I take a shower?"

Hermione stared at him in total confusion at the change of subject. "Er… what?"

"My laundry… it's by the door. I need to take a shower, if I go when I'm all sweaty like this the flies will eat me alive."

Hermione stared at him, stunned speechless.

"A bunch of the fellows and I are going to meet in Port de Soller tomorrow to go over some new moves Benny has thought up," he explained. "I'd have to leave now if I want to get any sleep beforehand. I'm sorry, I thought I told you."

"You're leaving?? But it's been five months! And you just got here two hours ago!"

"I promised the lads. You know how they are. I barely even managed to convince them I needed tonight."

"But what about the kids? Hogwarts is threatening to expel Freida. Chris got on the Quidditch team and could really use a letter from his father congratulating him…."

"I'll write him, I promise," said Ron. "From Majorca. First thing after I wake up."

"Jude pushed a 2nd year down the stairs today!" cried Hermione in desperation. "A little girl a year younger than him! He's turning into the worst sort of bully!"

"Was it Lucia Malfoy?" asked Ron. "She probably deserved it."

Hermione felt like ripping out her bushy brown hair.

Forty-five minutes later, Ron was gone. He'd taken the most recent sack of fan-mail and some of the clothes from his spare trunk with him. He had not said when he might be able to visit again.

Hermione flopped herself down on the couch and put her arm over her eyes. She couldn't even begin to describe how she felt. She'd loved his visit, but she was unbelievably frustrated at him leaving on the very same night he'd arrived. And after five months of absence! She really didn't think she was being unreasonable about it this time. If she asked her friends they would surely support her instead of telling her she was being silly. Wouldn't they?

There was a lump of something uncomfortable under her thigh. She reached into the pocket of her robes and found the snitch-sized Knowitall Trelawney had given her nearly 18 hours before. She hadn't really been telling Ron the truth when she said she was looking forward to the challenge of helping Batwing. To be honest, she'd already looked through the folder several times and not found anything to inspire her about the Batwing situation. The company really was nearly worthless. And after Ron's incredibly short visit, she was feeling even less inspired than before.

"Well, it can't hurt me to just look at what's on here," she muttered to herself. "Or at least, it can't hurt any more."

The Knowitall contained a recording of the initial consultation Trelawney had done with Malfoy before accepting him as a client. It took place in Trelawney's office; Hermione recognized the purple haze and the garish paisley pattern on the curtain on the wall opposite her boss's desk.

Trelawney was too cowardly to meet Malfoy's eyes. Instead Hermione was treated to a dizzying assortment of worthless visuals, as Trelawney guided him to a chair while trying to look anywhere else.

Something was wrong with the sound too. She could hear their voices murmuring but couldn't really make anything out. That usually meant the person recording the Knowitall wasn't really paying attention. Hermione shook her head to herself and forced herself to keep watching.

Now they were seated. Trelawney still wouldn't look him in the eye, instead staring about a foot below his face. Somewhere through the haze Hermione could hear Malfoy's cool, drawling voice speaking. She could only hear a word or two here and there: "market share", "product range", "employee morale". His hands moved when he talked, in refined and elegant movements. His words finally faded completely away as Trelawney's attention focused increasingly on those hands. Hermione jumped as a thought intruded suddenly on her perceptions.

God, I love those hands, Trelawney was thinking. I wonder if I can get him to do a palm reading.

What the…? thought Hermione. Trelawney's Knowitalls were usually pretty bad, but at least she usually inserted thoughts that were actually relevant. Insofar as that was possible for her, that is.

Malfoy's hands were nice, long and elegant and perfectly manicured without a blemish on them. He wore a heavy platinum ring bearing the Malfoy family crest inlaid with emeralds or some other deep green jewels. That was nice too. But hardly relevant to Batwing!

Hermione gritted her teeth as she watched Trelawney reach forward and capture one of the hands, turning it over. She could hear Trelawney's real voice dimly in the background, and then as Trelawney glanced upward she caught a glimpse of Malfoy's long, narrow face and grey eyes. He nodded once, OK-ing the palm reading. Hermione was disgusted. Malfoy must really believe that palmistry crap. He was a pureblood though, and in Hermione's experience they were much more likely to be taken in by such fraud than people with more exposure to Muggle realism.

This skin, Trelawney thought, startling Hermione once again. Trelawney had an amazingly loud mind. I wish my skin was this gorgeous. Look at this hand, I bet he's never worked a day in his life. So soft. Her delicate, almost insectile fingers traced over the palm, caressing it, following the lines. Bad future though. Oh, my! Nothing but pain and hardship. I better de-emphasize that. Customers never want to hear bad news. Hermione heard snatches of Trelawney's reading, including the phrase "you will soon find love". Egads! The man had been married five times. The chances of his being in love again, sooner rather than later, seemed pretty high. Couldn't Trelawney come up with anything more impressive than that? But as the seeress glanced up at Malfoy's face again, Hermione could see that the wizard was listening intently, his eyes narrowed and thoughtful. Ugh! This sort of ignorance was truly alarming.

Hermione threw Trelawney's Knowitall away in disgust. It missed the fireplace and hit the top of the mantle instead, losing itself behind a forest of Quidditch trophies and the taxidermist-stuffed Pigwidgeon. Hermione doubted she'd bother going looking for it later; she should have known better than to expect anything useful out of it. But at least Trelawney usually tried to provide helpful information. This time she had totally ignored all the data Malfoy might have tried to pass along about Batwing, and didn't think a single thought worth overhearing. It was so frustrating!

But then again, Trelawney wasn't in charge of actually solving the client's problems, only securing the contract then providing a Know-it-all consultant who could do so. And wasn't she good at that? Stupid though palmistry and prediction was, Malfoy had seemed to eat it up. If that was what it took to get him to trust Sibyll & Co. with his company and his money, then how could Hermione really blame Trelawney for using it? She sighed.

Hermione preferred to go into new projects with a lot of research under her belt and some idea of what her initial attack plan might be. But after looking through the folder and viewing the Knowitall, Hermione was no closer to understanding why Malfoy thought Batwing had enough potential that it was worth spending the whole boatload of money she was sure Trelawney was charging him.

Or why Malfoy was willing to work one-on-one with someone whose kids seemed bent on putting his own kids in the Hospital wing, whose father-in-law was doing his best to put him in Azkaban, and who was a "mudblood" besides.

She wished that she could just go to sleep and forget about Ron's confusing visit and her increasingly-less-promising new assignment. But it was going on 4:30AM and she had an appointment at Batwing at 7. What in the world was she going to say to Malfoy's face?