Blood of Mud, Wing of Bat

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Chapter 7: I Fly

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The streamlined white bulk of the Lucius shifted gently, nudging down against the Muggle car tyres arranged on the ground beneath it. A soft squeak escaped their union, and then the yacht eased up again on the breeze with a faint rasp of rope on wood.

It seemed impossible that something so big could be so incredibly quiet. And yet it was; Hermione could hear people walking around and talking through the open windows of the buildings, birds singing from the gutters and drainspouts, and thuds and shouts from the loading docks some distance away.

The Lucius resembled a Muggle racing-yacht only superficially. It had two hulls in mirror image to one another, like an ocean-going yacht mated to its own calm reflection. Its twin masts, now folded back at rest, bore much of the same hardware as their single Muggle counterpart would. But this graceful craft was meant to fly, not crawl upon water.

There was a tiny round porthole, no more than palm-sized, that had been left ajar. Hermione had buzzed inside and explored the interior of the yacht, followed the curves of the teak-panelled walls and circled over the narrow bunks where the crew would sleep if anybody was there. It was as clean and well-kept as the outside, and entirely bare of personal details. All except for one room at the bow of the top hull - the room where the porthole had been open. There a somewhat larger bunk was tucked into the point of the bow. There was also a very small desk and some storage compartments. That bunk was made up with blankets, and someone's personal effects were stashed in every possible nook in the cramped room: clothes, papers, a wand. Hermione landed on the bunk and her acute fly senses told her that this was Malfoy's place, and he had slept there only hours before. She wondered if the wager-making staff in the front lobby knew that he slept here sometimes. She wondered how often it happened. It didn't look like the kind of place where an arrogant pureblood like Malfoy would be caught dead sleeping -- more like a servant's niche. Maybe the fact that it was inside of a yacht made a difference.

Several times, Trelawney's owls flew by overhead, circling in puzzlement before leaving with letters for Hermione undelivered.

---

When Hermione had first left Batwing by broomstick, she had been fully prepared to never come back. Her frustration had sustained her for nearly ten minutes - long enough for her Whisk Evoca, the latest top-of-the-line sporty business model, to carry her well out of eyeshot of the factory.

Then, self-preservation and her damnable Gryffindor sense of responsibility kicked in, with an awful sinking feeling. She had screwed up big time, and she knew it.

It didn't matter that Trelawney had lied; Trelawney failed her a lot, but that didn't mean Trelawney would be understanding if she failed. No doubt Trelawney even thought she had a good reason for setting Hermione up like that. Or maybe it had been an accident - who knows? The point was, Trelawney was paying Hermione very well to clean up her messes and clean up her clients' messes too. There was no way Hermione and Ron could have had five kids in Hogwarts simultaneously on a Quidditch player's salary, and Trelawney wasn't handing all that money over for nothing. She expected brilliance out of Hermione Weasley.

And then there was Draco Malfoy. The more she thought about it, the more she realized his reaction to her had been one of sheer terror. Well, why not? She'd have whipped out her wand and started screaming aggressively too if she'd, say, discovered a Death Eater climbing in her bedroom window at 3 AM. Though Hermione herself had never done anything to him (except maybe slapping him that one time back at Hogwarts… a long time ago…) a lot of people very close to her had. She was just lucky he hadn't started hurling curses before the first word. The smart thing to do would have been to contact him in writing the first time, and keep communicating that way until she was sure he was OK with a face to face meeting. Maybe the entire thing could have been done by owl from start to finish... well, maybe not.

Hermione's first step upon coming to her uncomfortable realizations was to land and send off an owl to Trelawney asking for an explanation. She knew she'd better, because it was guaranteed that Malfoy was going to demand an explanation too -- probably in terms that did not flatter Hermione's performance. Then Trelawney would have to talk to Malfoy and convince him to give Hermione another try… that was assuming Hermione still had her job after this fiasco.

And Hermione did want to keep her job.

Once the letter was sent, she shifted into her Animagus form and turned back in the direction she'd come from.

---

For at least an hour Hermione explored Batwing, weaving in and out of open windows, buzzing over production floors, tasting the sultry heat of greenhouses. It would take weeks to really examine it thoroughly, but she had seen enough to be boggled by the sheer scale of it. The company must have millions of individual items in its catalogue. Changing the direction of such a behemoth would be a difficult task, but Hermione was already getting some ideas for how to improve manufacturing efficiency and employee morale. Now if only she could get the client-relations portion of this assignment back on track!

The first, and probably most important problem, was that she could not think of a single incentive Malfoy would have to agree to work with her specifically. But leaving that aside, then there was the nagging question of why Malfoy was so gung-ho on making Batwing profitable at all. For all she had been able to determine, his acquisition of the company had been purely accidental. Though the company would have been worth a good deal had it been profitable, in its current condition it was more of a liability.

But assuming that Malfoy had a good reason for wanting the company to work, then there was the question of what he personally was bringing to the table. Malfoy's previous experience with owning manufacturers had ended disastrously with the monopoly-building scandal, and he had a limited (and poor) track record of direct business management. While his family's finances were a well kept secret, he'd probably been kept on a tight rein all his life in that regard, first by his parents and then by goblin accountants. There was no guarantee that he knew how money worked at all. There was, however, an off chance that he had been trained in serious financial matters. It would be good if he had. It would be good, in fact, if he had been trained in anything at all.

Some detractors claimed Malfoy had no personal expertise in any area - aside from being very good at pissing people off - and basically lived off his inheritance and/or as a parasite on working society. Arthur Weasley, however, had once told her that Malfoy had notable specialties when it came to spells and curses. She only wished she'd asked about that in detail at the time, since it would certainly be awkward to do so now.

Malfoy's current position at the Ministry might another clue as to his personal skill set, if any. He'd been initially hired as a clerk by the Department of Supernatural Relations, shortly after he'd resurfaced following the war. The public perception was that this position had actually been arranged several years earlier by his father, who'd been highly influential at the time. Amazingly, the department was still willing to honour the arrangement despite all that had occurred in between.

Since then Malfoy had risen through the ranks on his own merit, and now held the position of Liaison to the rest of the Ministry, representing the Department of Supernatural Affairs in meetings, during votes, and in the courtroom.

There was nowhere else for him to rise to in his department; he couldn't become Head of it without any experience with actual Supernatural Relations, and it was well known that Malfoy's knack for pissing off nonhumans far outstripped his abilities with humans. There was no way anyone would intentionally let him come face to face with an entity possessing the power to destroy the wizarding world on a whim.

However, the position he did hold gave him a lot of power and visibility among the Ministry set, and because the possibility of a lateral transfer to another department was always open, it was not perceived as a dead end either. To have achieved such a rank suggested he had some valuable skills; it just wasn't obvious to an outsider what those might be.

And unfortunately, Hermione needed to know what they were. The employees of Batwing weren't going to accept Malfoy in command unless they perceived him as having some quality of leadership or expertise that Batwing needed.

Before she'd explored Batwing, and before she'd settled on the yacht as her waiting-point, Hermione had tried to spy on Malfoy personally in order to find out what those skills might be.

This had proved impossible because she'd returned to find he'd fallen fast asleep at his desk.

And he'd been that way for the two solid hours since.

---

A voice. Malfoy's voice, she thought, faintly audible over the outdoor noises.

Hermione buzzed up sharply against the face of the building and re-entered it through one of the windows.

All the windows were wide open, and the sun shone straight in illuminating every corner of the office. Someone had watered the plants on the window ledge; the muddy dirt was dark and lurid under bleached dusty leaves. The owl cage was empty, its silver gilt wire door standing ajar, the silk cloth lying crumpled on the table beside it. The Bulgarian racing broom was still lying where it had been.

Draco Malfoy was laid back in the executive chair with his hands lax on the chair-arms, head fallen against the head rest and turned to one side. A blind had been pulled down to protect him from the sun; his was the only shadowy spot in the office.

An owl waited patiently amidst the heap of clutter on the desk, a letter tied to its leg. The envelope was gold and silver with colourful iridescent sparkles, marking it as official Sibyll & Co. correspondence. Hermione wondered how long the owl had been waiting there.

The voice she'd heard had been Malfoy talking in his sleep, and he was still asleep now. His skinny face twitched in reaction to something only he could see.

"Nnn," he moaned. "Mumble mumble Snitch."

Snitch?

---

BANG! A crackling burst of energy and a brilliant flash of light exploded through the room. Malfoy came awake instantly, shooting to his feet and snatching automatically for his wand. Hermione and the post owl had also leaped up in surprise; all three collided in mid-air and Hermione got bounced in the opposite direction. Malfoy clawed wildly at the flapping owl and managed to shove it out of his face.

"Expelliarmus!"

The two Aurors who had accompanied the flash of light darted forward as Malfoy's wand flew into one of their hands. In the next moment, they had converged on him and grabbed him.

"What the…." he began, but bit off the words as they dragged him away from his chair and shoved him up against the shelves behind it. "Get your hands off me!" he hissed. "What is this?"

The older of the Aurors, Rudeo Nesbitt, seemed to have acquired a new young partner who Hermione did not recognize. "Always check this one for spare wands," Nesbitt told his partner. "He's usually carrying at least one, and he's not shy about using them. Just ask poor old Nix Johnson."

Johnson was an Auror who had been badly injured in the line of duty, hit by a nasty curse that had blown him limb from limb. Johnson had survived, but had never worked again. Hermione had not heard that it was Malfoy who had thrown that particular curse. Maybe Nesbitt was referring to some other incident.

"Yes, sir," said the partner.

As the younger Auror proceeded to search Malfoy's person, Nesbitt addressed Malfoy formally. "You, Draco Lucius Malfoy, have broken the conditions of your probation by using, or intending to use, a flying vehicle."

"Like hell," Malfoy snarled. "Tell him to get his Mudblood hands off me or you'll both regret it. I'll file a -"

"Let me let you in on a little secret, Malfoy," said Nesbitt smoothly. "In our department we have a special inbox just for your complaints. It's called the fireplace. We haven't had to buy wood in years."

The other Auror, the young one, tried to hide a grin. "Here's the spare," he said.

"Get a Prior on it," said Nesbitt. The younger Auror turned away to cast Prior Incantato.

Nesbitt smiled nastily at Malfoy. "Now, where is the broom? Is that it?" he indicated the Ignatov lying across the room on the conference table.

"I refuse to take part in this charade," said Malfoy. "You have no right -"

Nesbitt grabbed him by the collar of his robes and twisted. He pressed the tip of Malfoy's own wand against his throat. "Yes or no?"

Malfoy paled. "No."

"Where is it then?"

"There was no broom. The stupid charm went off for no reason while I was asleep!"

"I find that difficult to believe," said Nesbitt. He let go of Malfoy's robes and reached for his left hand instead. Malfoy tried to squirm away but the Auror caught his wrist in a vicelike grip.

"Don't be coy, Malfoy, everybody knows what else is up your left sleeve," smirked Nesbitt. "Why try to hide it?" Hermione assumed he was referring to a Dark Mark. All she could see right now, though, was a braided silver bracelet wound tightly around Malfoy's wrist. The skin around it was red and sore-looking. Hermione realized that must be the physical component of the restraining charm. The crackle of energy she'd heard must have been the shock it delivered. No wonder Malfoy had jumped up so quickly!

"I'm sure I have no idea what you are talking about," said Malfoy stiffly. "Aagh!" This last was as Nesbitt twisted his arm suddenly and forcefully, smashing him back into the shelves this time face-first.

The younger Auror looked on in some dismay. Hermione knew that if he spent much time partnered with Nesbitt, he'd be seeing a lot more of that sort of thing.

"Whatcha got, Benkmann?" said Nesbitt.

The younger Auror gathered his wits. "Uh… he hasn't used this wand since the last time it was checked."

"Here, do this one then," said Nesbitt, handing over Malfoy's primary wand.

"Zitanwood and dragon nose feeler!" exclaimed Benkmann as he examined it. "This is probably worth more than both our yearly salaries!"

"Zitan for endurance, feeler for control," grunted Nesbitt. "That wand is nothing more than a crutch, Benkmann. You're better off using your school wand. That way your magical prowess won't degenerate. Of course, the fact that your family hasn't practiced generations of inbreeding helps."

"If you damage that wand, so help me…" began Malfoy. Then he hissed in pain and fury as Nesbitt twisted his arm a little farther and pinned him harder against the book case. "…I'll make you regret it!" he managed to grate out, before he had to shut up in favour of concentrating on gasping for breath.

"There must be fifty beautification charms from this morning alone!" exclaimed Benkmann, after a bewildered pause.

"The rich and powerful are just plain old blokes like the rest of us," Nesbitt said. "They just go to more trouble to pretend they aren't."

"Maybe we should reverse the charms just in case he's hiding anything," suggested Benkmann.

"No," Nesbitt lectured. "Precedent clearly states that removal of personal beauty glamours without a warrant is an invasion of privacy. Millicent Bulstrode vs. the Ministry of Magic, 2014."

Malfoy started to smirk at that, but Nesbitt moved a hand up to grab his pinioned forearm hard, just under the inside of the elbow where a Dark Mark would be, fingers digging in cruelly. Malfoy's smirk vanished instantly and his eyes clenched shut.

"But if you want to see," Nesbitt said to Benkmann, "we have plenty of photos in his file back at the office."

"OK," said the trainee, who had been watching the wand's output and hadn't seen what Nesbitt had done. "But this can't be right. There's nothing in here but a month's worth of Apparate and a year's worth of vanity charms. Who'd own a wand like this for doing just those?"

"I hate to tell you this, but we got the Priors on that wand only three days ago. So you're only seeing two days worth of activity."

"Two days? That's insane!"

"What, that he's app-happy or that he spends a few hours a day in front of the mirror?"

Benkmann sputtered. "Both, I guess."

Hermione wondered what on earth Malfoy was doing with all the beautification spells. He wasn't that good looking. Well, perhaps now wasn't a fair time to judge him - many people didn't look their best when jammed front-on into a bookshelf with their arm bent at an unnatural angle. She wished she'd paid more attention before.

"Keep those. Now go over and check out the broom."

"Yes, sir."

As Benkmann moved to do as Nesbitt directed, Nesbitt finally released Malfoy. Malfoy turned defensively to face him, back still against the bookshelves.

"This broom hasn't been flown in three weeks," said Benkmann. "It hasn't even been picked up since then."

"Ah, but you've thought about it, haven't you Malfoy?" grinned Nesbitt.

Malfoy drew himself up in outrage. Unfortunately this was not a very impressive sight, as he was red-faced and wheezing and holding his arm tenderly with his other hand. Also -- Hermione couldn't help but notice -- Ron was right. Malfoy really was outweighed by the Chudley Cannons Seeker.

"The Minister will hear of this," he said with as much dignity as he could manage.

"Sure thing," said Nesbitt. "And now, the yacht." The two Aurors Disapparated.

"The…?" Malfoy repeated. Then he rushed over to the window. Hermione could hear Nesbitt and Benkmann talking again down below. She buzzed over to see and sure enough they had reappeared there, and were walking purposefully toward the quietly bobbing Lucius.

Malfoy slammed his palm down on the window ledge in fury. He whirled back to the desk and scrabbled in one of the desk drawers, came up with a big, sticklike black wand. With a flick of the wrist he Disapparated and then reappeared in the courtyard right in front of the Aurors, facing them. It was actually quite a fancy bit of Apparition. Hermione was impressed.

"You stay away from that," said Malfoy furiously, scurrying to intercept them. "You have no warrant to -"

"It's a flying vehicle isn't it?" smiled Nesbitt, who did not seem at all surprised to see Malfoy had followed. "How do we know you didn't use this instead of that broom?"

"I didn't use anything! I was asleep, you moronic imbeciles! Whoever cast that restraining charm ought to be fired for incompetence!"

Benkmann pointed at the wand Draco was waving. "That's not one of the wands we got the Priors on."

"Well spotted, Benkmann," said Nesbitt approvingly. "Hand it over, Malfoy."

"It's not even mine," said Malfoy in annoyance. "So I'm hardly willing to take responsibility for whatever the previous owner did with it. Speaking of mine, I want it back. And my spare too. Now."

"I'm afraid I can't do that," said Nesbitt. "You see, we need to take all three of them back to the office for more extensive testing. You can have them back… day after tomorrow maybe?"

In a fury, Malfoy smacked the wand he had in his hand against the alow rail of the Lucius and the thick black rod snapped in half with a flare of sparks.

"You did that on purpose, you sick fuck," said Benkmann, looking green. Nobody liked to see a wand deliberately broken.

Malfoy looked stunned, as if he hadn't done it on purpose at all. Hermione for her part found herself doubly impressed by Malfoy's using that wand for Apparition earlier. Anyone who'd Apparate with someone else's wand was either incredibly brave or very, very good. And anyone who'd Apparate with a wand flawed enough to snap in half with one good whack would have to be just plain insane. Being a perfectly sane coward, Malfoy was probably just realizing he'd done a really stupid thing… and that didn't even consider the fact that he had just managed to disarm himself.

He quickly pulled himself together. "I'd like to see you prove it," he spat, tossing the remains of the wand aside. "And in the meantime, stay the hell away from my boat."

"Benkmann, go aboard and check it out," said Nesbitt. "You, stay here where I can keep an eye on you." He grasped Malfoy by the elbow hard and dragged him some distance away from the boat. By now Hermione had realized Nesbitt had a purpose in always grabbing Malfoy by the left arm. If Malfoy really bore the Dark Mark, he wouldn't dare show the bruises to anyone and so Nesbitt would have no fear of repercussion for the roughness. Not only that, but if what Hermione had read was true, being grabbed there would hurt a lot.

As Benkmann climbed up and in and started to rummage about inside, removing panels and performing revealing-charms, Malfoy stood tensely and watched the outside of the yacht. As the bumpings and thumpings got more pronounced and various objects started flying out of the topside companionway to litter the deck, Malfoy opened his mouth to object more than once. Each time, Nesbitt gave him a warning squeeze. Once, Nesbitt moved his hand toward his wand pocket. Each time, Malfoy subsided again, though he looked more and more furious.

Then the alow companionway popped open and big canvas bags started dropping out and bouncing off the concrete and tyres underneath. Benkmann jumped down himself, and then began to drag sails out of the bags.

"What is he looking for?" shrieked Malfoy. "You're crazy, there's nothing there!"

"Just calm down," said Nesbitt, but Malfoy had finally lost all control.

"Do you have any idea how many days it took to prepare that boat for the race it's supposed to compete in only two hours? You're ruining everything!"

"We're just performing a routine -"

"You are not! It's harassment and I won't stand for it!"

"There's nothing you can do about it Malfoy," said Nesbitt. "The best you can do for yourself is not put up any resistance."

"Resistance my ass, I haven't done a damn thing!"

"You're hysterical," said Nesbitt. He took out his wand and hit Malfoy with a calming charm. He may have laid it on a little too thick; Malfoy shook his head, looking dazed. Nesbitt put his wand away and helped Malfoy sink down to sit on the ground. They watched as Benkmann continued to drag crinkly sails out, and as the ones already laid out got rucked up by the breeze and slid slowly over against the heap of rubbish cluttering the edge of the courtyard. When he was finished, Benkmann went back inside. More objects fell out or were tossed from portholes and other openings: foul weather gear, ropes, bits of hardware, and even kitchen implements.

Finally, Benkmann emerged with a plastic tub Hermione remembered seeing in the kitchen area. It now contained a pile of papers, as well as a large diary-like book, a Knowitall, and the wand she'd seen in the forepeak cabin.

Malfoy staggered to his feet, grabbing Nesbitt for balance. The calming charm seemed to be wearing off rather suddenly. "You can't take those!"

"You'll get them back in a few days. We just have to check them for important evidence."

"That's the ship's log! We can't race without that. And the crystal ball… I need that. And those papers… those are for work."

"Too bad," said Benkmann less than sympathetically. "They're for evidence."

Draco growled and tried to lunge forward to snatch the tub from him, but Nesbitt's iron-like grip kept him from going too far. "You bastards!" he yelled, struggling furiously against the much larger Auror. Yes, the calming charm had definitely expired, and Malfoy was well on his way to completely losing it again. Benkmann must have seen something alarming in Malfoy's eyes, for he stepped back, stuffing the tub under one arm, his other hand fumbling for his wand.

Nesbitt pulled Malfoy back as Benkmann pointed his wand. "Stup-"

"Ah-ah-ah," chided Nesbitt, stepping between them and pushing Benkmann's hand down. "With this one, Body Bind first, then Stupefy. Otherwise he'll turn and take it deliberately in the back, bang his head on something hard on the way down, stay in hospital for four or five days longer than really necessary, and then you'll find yourself sitting in a court of inquiry trying to explain away cursing-in-the-back and unnecessary-use-of-force-against-an-unarmed-suspect. If you're really lucky you'll only get a warning and Supernatural Relations will ding us for Malfoy's loss-of-productivity. Or, maybe he'll actually manage to get you fired. It's happened before, you know, though not on a person's first day."

Benkmann blanched. Then he raised his wand again, the body binding spell on his lips.

"Don't bother," Nesbitt interrupted again. "He's good at looking mean, but he's harmless without his wand." He pushed Malfoy roughly away from him.

"You're going to pay for this, Nesbitt," spat Malfoy.

Nesbitt only smiled. "Your father used to say the same thing. Come on, Benkmann."

The two Aurors vanished, first Nesbitt and then Benkmann carrying the tub.

Malfoy stooped with a Seeker's speed and snatched up half the broken wand, hurled it vindictively at the space where they had stood an instant before. However, he wasn't quite fast enough to cause a splinching.

He continued to stare after them for a moment, and then slammed his palms impotently against the side of the boat, bowing his head between his arms. He was breathing hard with reaction, nearly in tears so great was his fury.

"I'm going to kill him," he repeated to himself. "I'm going to kill him. Bastard!"

Hermione saw faces in many of the windows overlooking the courtyard - the confrontation had had a lot of witnesses. Malfoy seemed to realize this around the same time. He shoved himself away from the Lucius, glared poisonously up at the windows all around them. Then turned and stomped in the direction of the building where his office was, leaving the contents of the boat lying where they had been scattered. People who had been watching from the doorway melted into the darkness within the building, avoiding him.

---

Hermione followed his progress up the four flights of stairs. He charged all the way from the bottom to the fourth floor without slowing down and arrived red-faced and panting heavily. "The Killing Curse is too good for Nesbitt," he said, rubbing his left arm, unaware that anyone could hear him. Hermione followed as he made his way quickly down the hall to the nasty yellow waiting room that fronted his office.

"Poopsie!" he yelled, but the house-elf was nowhere in sight. He barged into his own office, startling the owl that was still waiting. More papers scattered on the floor as it flapped into the air, then landed on the desk again.

"Poopsie!" he called again. "Damn that elf," he muttered as he flopped panting into his chair. He ran his hands over his face and through his hair, then let them fall into his lap again, head thudding back against the chair-back. He looked exhausted.

The owl shifted about hopefully, dislodging a couple of items from the heap on the desk so they fell on the floor. It uttered a small, plaintive hoot.

Malfoy groaned. "All right… give it here then." He leaned forward and grasped the owl, jerking the sparkly envelope free of its leg. The owl fell backward when released and flailed about indignantly. Malfoy did not seem to notice. He opened the letter with one hand while fishing about in the mess on the desk with the other. The owl opened its beak to hoot in annoyance, but then it saw what Malfoy's gropings had uncovered: a mouse-shaped pottery bowl filled with silver sickles and imprinted with the words HELP YOURSELF. This was definitely something that had been inherited from the previous owner of Batwing. Hermione would stake her life on it. Though it had probably had knuts in it before. The owl's beak snapped shut and it climbed to its feet, into the bowl, and began stuffing its ankle purse.

Trelawney's letter must have been brief. Malfoy glanced over it twice, then tossed it aside before Hermione got a chance to read over his shoulder. He reached for some powder from another, smaller bowl and tossed it powder into the fireplace. "Vincent Crabbe."

There was a flash of sparks, and then Crabbe's face appeared. Hermione hadn't seen him since her school days. He still looked huge, meaty, and ugly. He also looked concerned.

"Draco! What happened?"

"Nesbitt and some new sidekick of his were just here and trashed the Privileged."

"My god, what's the damage?"

"No damage, they just removed everything that was removable and dragged it out all over the ground, sails and all. I can't do anything about it either, I have something I must attend to right away. So unless one of you can make it down here well before the race I don't think you can use her today."

"Bloody hell. I'm in the middle of a meeting, I can't leave for another hour. I'll floo Marcus and ask him if he can make it. He's got family visiting him this week, maybe they can give him a hand. Why in the world did they do it?"

"Looking for evidence they said. They claimed I might have been flying that instead of a broom."

"You let them catch you flying again?" exclaimed Crabbe. "Don't you ever learn, you crazy son of a bitch?"

"I did not fly! I didn't even think about flying. The damn charm went off while I was dreaming about Quidditch."

"You're joking!" Crabbe looked horrified. "Do you think they tweaked the sensitivity up again?"

"I don't doubt it," muttered Malfoy. "I mean, why the hell not? They're doing everything else they can to drive me insane."

"Hey… um… did you change the name back again? You called her the Privileged."

Malfoy raked fingers through his hair. "God, no, I'm not thinking straight. It's still Lucius."

"You look tired."

"I haven't had four consecutive hours of sleep in months. You try it and see how you turn out."

Crabbe winced. "No thanks. Don't you worry about the race. I'll work something out. You just go on with what you need to do."

"Thanks, Vince. And… sorry."

Crabbe shook his head. "It's not your fault. I gotta go now. Bye."

Crabbe's face disappeared from the fire.

"Poopsie!" Malfoy yelled again, still with no response. After waiting a few moments, he muttered to himself and got out of his chair. A liquor cabinet in the corner yielded a half bottle of fiery green Ogden's Extra Special and a clean shot glass. He poured himself a shot and knocked it back while he stood there. He remained standing there for a moment, eyes closed, then went back to his desk and flopped into the chair again. The bottle and glass went onto the desk.

He pushed back his hair again and then pulled open a drawer and rummaged around, coming up with a Swiss Army Knife. Carefully extracting a tiny ivory-colored wand from its end, he used it to cast a couple of charms to restore his frazzled hair to its former smoothness and get the red out of his eyes.

Then he filled the glass again and put the bottle down beside it.

"God, I'm dreading this," he muttered to himself. He reached for the powder again and threw some in the fire. "Sibyll Trelawney."

This was the part Hermione had been dreading as well.

---

Definitions:

Alow: the opposite of aloft.

Companionway: doorway on a boat.

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