Blood of Mud, Wing of Bat

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Chapter 11: Tongue of Lark

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The restaurant perched atop a rocky, droppings-stained cliff overlooking a gray beach seething with gulls and pelicans. There was an Apparition platform and a broom shed, but the dozens of yachts nuzzled up to the cliffside betrayed what sort of clientele gave the place color. The sign over the door read "Segal's Roost - drop an anchor!".

Hermione would never, ever, in a thousand years have pegged this as the sort of place Draco Malfoy would be caught dead in. It definitely wasn't a high society hangout.

---

She had gone home and changed into her human form so that the owl carrying Malfoy's apology would be able to find her. After she'd received the letter (and placed it on the mantel because she was sure Ron would want to frame it or something) she'd spent some time consolidating her mental notes from earlier in the day and adding them to her Batwing project Knowitall Ball.

She'd been preparing to leave for the 2PM appointment when a last-minute owl arrived asking her to please hold off as Malfoy was "indisposed" and was not going to be able to make the date. It estimated Malfoy would be able to meet with her in an hour instead. The letter was on Batwing stationary and signed by a Mrs. Chatworth. There was a postscript explaining that Mrs. Chatworth would owl again when Mr. Malfoy was available.

Hermione remembered Malfoy's frantic consumption of Ogden's Extra Special during his conversation with Trelawney and suspected "indisposed" translated into "unconscious" and "we estimate he will be able to meet with you in an hour" translated into "we are attempting to revive him now".

Three more hours passed. She took a nap, since between Ron's visit and the 7AM appointment she'd had no sleep the night before. Despite her annoyance at the delay and the stupid reason for it, she found herself hoping Malfoy wasn't dead.

Finally as 5PM drew near she received another owl. This one was Malfoy's giant eagle-owl. It carried a Segal's Roost business card and someone had written on the back of the card, "5PM". There was no signature, apology, or further explanation. Hermione sighed and told herself she shouldn't have expected any.

---

A bitterly cold wind blew from the north as she lurked in fly form waiting for him to show up. Fortunately as an animagus she was not as susceptible to cold as a true fly would be.

Finally Malfoy made his appearance, in the exact center of the target painted on the platform. He was damp as if freshly showered, and smartly robed in uber-expensive business wear. He carried a different wand. He glanced around the platform and, seeing no one else there, slipped the wand into a pocket and strode purposefully toward the restaurant. He seemed quite sober, and as Hermione buzzed after him she discovered he smelled of wizardmint and Extract of Nightflower, both prominent ingredients of the heavier duty detox potions.

As he reached the door, his eyes flicked about the platform a second time as if he expected Nesbitt and Benkmann to be lurking behind him. After what she'd witnessed earlier in the day, Hermione couldn't really blame him for being paranoid.

Inside, it was all dark paneling and dim orange candle-light. Heavy wood tables filled the main room, and bluer light came from a long row of windows at the end of the restaurant that overlooked the cliff.

The maitre d' came at the sound of a bell on the door, then did a double-take when he saw who it was. "Mister Malfoy!" he exclaimed as he fumbled with a couple of menus. "What an unexpected honor!" He scrambled out of the way as Malfoy stalked past him without so much as a nod, headed for the back of the restaurant where the ocean view was. "Your usual booth, then?" the maitre d' called after him. "Go on, ignore me, you insufferable prick," he muttered when there was no reaction. "If it was up to me, you wouldn't even be allowed in the door."

This was definitely not the maitre d's first encounter with Malfoy; Hermione recognized the symptoms.

The maitre d' made his way back to the doors of the kitchen, where he snared a Hogwarts-aged boy who was on his way out with a tray of clean glasses. "Get Jones here!" he said in a low, urgent voice. "Malfoy's early. Something's going down."

The boy's eyes widened. "Do you think it's the Weasley meeting?"

"How should I know? But he wasn't supposed to be here until tonight after the Lucius completes the Frogwichshire-to-London race."

The boy grabbed his wand and hurried out the front door. Hermione followed him curiously, but wasn't able to land on his shoulder before he'd Disapparated. Then she had to wait for a chance to get back inside the restaurant because the door was too well weather-stripped to allow her in around the edges. Hermione circled around getting more and more chilled as nobody went in or out for several minutes. She felt kind of guilty about making Malfoy wait for her, but then again he'd made her wait practically all day. Five or ten minutes wouldn't kill him.

---

As luck would have it, the next person to arrive was in fact the young boy back again, and with him a tall, dark-haired man who was just finishing tucking in the shirt of a waiter's uniform. To her surprise Hermione recognized the man. His name wasn't really Jones, and he wasn't really a waiter. He was an undercover Auror of some experience. Like most of the covert operators he was not very well known outside of Auroring circles. Hermione had met him at one of Arthur's dinner parties.

The pair hurried inside and Hermione followed. They were met by the anxious maitre d' who pulled them over to a side nook where they were sheltered from sight of the rest of the restaurant.

"Fill me in," said Jones as he pulled on a waiter's vest to complete his disguise.

"You told us to let you know if anything unusual happened. Well, we expected Malfoy tonight since he usually comes here to meet his crew after races. But he's here at least four hours early. We thought it might be for the Weasley meeting."

Jones nodded. "That was supposed to go down at Batwing today at 3PM. We had his office there staked out, but neither of them ever showed up. So you may be right. You did the right thing in telling us."

As Jones started to turn toward the kitchen, the maitre d' grabbed his arm. "There better not be any trouble. That touchy son of a bitch has only been coming here three months and we've already used up our next three years of allotted emergency calls because him. The disturbance fines are killing us. And with a Weasley…."

"Let me handle Malfoy," said Jones.

---

Jones placed his bag in the kitchen and, fully looking the part of a waiter, went out into the main restaurant with Hermione zipping after him. They found their quarry in a corner booth next to the windows.

Malfoy had leaned back in the booth with an arm over the back, his other hand toying with the stem of the empty wine glass on his place setting. His posture looked lazy, but his pale eyes belied that, roving tensely over the interior of the restaurant and the beach below it, staring at each spot for only a moment before flicking compulsively to the next. He seemed to be avoiding looking at the yachts, though. Hermione realized that must be because of the hair-trigger restraining charm. Nesbitt had implied that even thinking about flying could set it off - and had.

When Jones appeared at his elbow, Malfoy knocked over the wine glass and his hand dove into his wand pocket.

"Calm down," Jones smiled. "No one's going to get you."

To Hermione's surprise Malfoy looked relieved when he saw it was Jones. He relaxed at once, unpressing himself from the booth corner and withdrawing his hand from his pocket empty.

"I can never be too sure these days," he said with a slightly embarrassed smile. Hermione was fascinated by the dramatic change in his look and manner. When he was smiling, Malfoy seemed pleasant and harmless. One thing was for sure, Jones was a better friend to Malfoy than anyone else Hermione had seen him interact with yet -- with the possible exception of Vincent Crabbe.

Jones looked around as if checking for watchers, then tucked his notepad and pen into his pouch and slid into the seat opposite Malfoy's. "So how's it been going?" he asked. "There've been all sorts of rumors."

Malfoy smirked. "I'm sure there have."

"Heard you were hooked up with Amexia Brandt again."

Malfoy's smirk vanished and he stared at Jones in obvious astonishment. "Amexia Brandt? Have you lost your mind?"

"I thought that didn't sound right," Jones laughed.

"I think you just made that up to see how I'd react," Malfoy complained.

"No really, I heard it from a friend of mine. Obviously he was mistaken."

"Very much so," said Malfoy firmly.

"Hmm, well, I know you wouldn't be caught dead in public by your lonesome, so who are you meeting? Someone else special in your life? A new girlfriend perhaps?"

"No girlfriend," said Malfoy sourly. "Just business."

"You're not bringing Hermione Weasley here are you?" said Jones with great interest.

Malfoy leaned back into the corner and regarded Jones with annoyance. "And just how would you know about that?"

"It's all over the Daily Prophet. Haven't you seen?"

"This afternoon's? Already?"

"Oh yeah, check it out." Jones took out his wand and said, "Accio newspaper!" A folded Daily Prophet shot out of the kitchen through the swinging doors and to Jones' hand. He opened the paper and riffled through it, then folded it back to a small Page 12 article down near the bottom. Hermione took a risk and landed on the wall directly over Malfoy's head so she could read the article too.

HAS MALFOY FINALLY LOST IT?
By Agnes Casteroyle
It has come to our attention that Draco Malfoy -- son of notorious Death Eater, former Ministry official and Azkaban inmate Lucius Malfoy -- has hired Hermione Weasley as a consultant in connection with his failing manufacturing firm, Batwing Alchemical & Pharmaceutical. Yes, you read correctly. Weasley is not only the daughter-in-law of Arthur Weasley, the man who has been coordinating all the raids on Malfoy Manor recently, but her daughters Freida and Georgia are responsible for the accident at Hogwarts that put Draco's son Salazar in St. Mungo's. What we'd like to know is, does Malfoy actually have a good reason for doing this, or have all those generations of inbreeding finally proven his family's downfall?

Malfoy looked indignant. "What does she mean by that, 'have all those generations of inbreeding finally proven his family's downfall'?"

Jones cleared his throat. "Well, some believe that excessive intermarriage between cousins and siblings, so as to drastically reduce um, diversity in the family line, can result in degeneration, weakness, and possibly even fatal flaws."

Malfoy looked momentarily puzzled, and then contempt dawned on his face. "Ah. Muggle science," he drawled dismissively. "Rubbish, of course." He folded the newspaper and handed it back to Jones.

"Do you really think so?" asked Jones curiously.

"My breeding is unparalleled, as everyone knows," said Malfoy proudly. "If those who are clearly beneath me wish to invent insults based on fantasy and Muggle D&A's then let them; I shan't let it bother me. It is nothing but jealousy." He appeared to be perfectly serious. Hermione was amazed by his complete disregard for the facts.

Jones hid a grin. "Errrrm, well," he half-laughed, half-coughed. "Now that we've gotten that out of the way, can I bring you your usual?"

"No, no, don't bother," said Malfoy, waving the offer away. "Some rather overenthusiastic well-wishers force-fed me two entire vials of Yerg's Natural not a half-hour ago."

Like most detox potions, Yerg's Natural Detoxifying Elixir was too addictive to use regularly, but for special occasions it packed quite a wallop. Malfoy would probably be stone cold sober for at least 24 hours no matter what else he drank. Two vials' worth was almost certainly overkill, but maybe the "well-wishers" had panicked after being unable to wake Malfoy. He sounded disgusted with the behavior of his unnamed benefactors, but after hearing his opinions on "Muggle D&A's" Hermione was more prepared to trust their judgment than his.

Jones chuckled sympathetically. "Can I get you something else, then?" he asked.

"Tea will be fine until she arrives," said Malfoy.

"Very well," said Jones. There was a pause, and then he winked. "She? It is Hermione Weasley, isn't it?"

Malfoy rolled his eyes. "Yes, it's her. Are you satisfied?"

"You know this place is going to be just crawling with tan-robe Aurors because of that, don't you?" said Jones. Hermione couldn't help but marvel at Jones' undercover abilities. Malfoy had to be thoroughly fooled indeed if Jones could actually talk about Aurors without raising his suspicions.

"I know," Malfoy said stiffly. And then, after a long pause, a grudging: "Sorry."

"Don't be sorry for Mr. Segal, he thinks they're wonderful business. He thinks you're wonderful business."

"The more fool he," Malfoy muttered, but Hermione could tell he was pleased by the compliment. Very pleased by it.

It was clear that Jones had been stalking Malfoy for a long time now, long enough that Malfoy had been completely taken in by his waiter's guise and had even warmed up to him as a person, trusted him. Hermione was fascinated. How long had that taken? Months? Years? One thing was for sure, it proved Malfoy spent far more time at this restaurant than she would have expected. It also probably meant Malfoy had known him a lot longer than the three months he'd been coming here.

---

Within seconds of Jones' disappearance into the kitchen, and probably not at all by coincidence, a group of four wizards wearing nondescript beige robes and shiny black boots had entered at the front of the restaurant, waiting to be seated. They were supposed to be inconspicuous, but the truth was the youngest wizarding child could spot a cluster of tan-robe Aurors in a crowd. Their all-too-obvious presence was considered an excellent deterrent when it came to things like assassinations. Hermione had been wondering when Arthur would get around to butting his nose into her business, and what form his interference would take. It looked like this was it. She couldn't decide whether to be flattered or exasperated. It's not like she was the Minister of Magic or a foreign dignitary or anything.

Malfoy probably couldn't tell they were there from where he was sitting, but his nervousness had returned with Jones gone. He fidgeted about a bit and looked at his watch, which read "Hours late." Twice, he removed his hand carefully from his wand pocket and placed it on the table. It seemed to want to creep back in there for comfort.

Finally he noticed the first set of tan-robes, who were being seated by the very pleased-looking maitre d'. He stopped squirming about and sat perfectly still, staring at them as if transfixed. By now, Hermione with her greater mobility had discovered no less than six additional tan-robe Aurors waiting at the front podium. Four she could understand. It was going a bit overboard, but it sent a message that couldn't be ignored. But ten? Ten was nothing short of insane. Arthur must be really, really worried about her safety. Then again he was obsessed with the idea that Malfoy was Voldemort's chief lieutenant. It figured that his obsession would manifest itself in protectiveness in this case. I'm going to have to have a talk with him, she decided. She hadn't wanted to, because she knew he'd pressure her for information. But this was ridiculous.

Jones hurried past and handed Malfoy his tea, then bustled on to the Aurors' table, pretending to be a regular busy waiter. Hermione didn't catch what Jones had said to Malfoy, but she did notice that Malfoy drank his tea without even bothering to test it first. The level of trust Jones had managed to instill in Malfoy was truly awe-inspiring. Or maybe Malfoy was just distracted. He, too, had now seen the second set of Aurors, as they were led back by the maitre d'.

As Hermione buzzed back to the front, she found to her shock that there were a whole new line of Aurors waiting to be seated now. Shock quickly became outrage and confusion. What on earth was going on here? Were these really all for her? Jones' conversation with Malfoy seemed to suggest it. And she really could see Arthur sending at least a couple. But at this rate, she was never going to be able to get a seat, much less get Malfoy to talk to her.

She waited for her chance, then flew out the opening door and up and away. When she was sure she was far enough away that no one could see, she transformed back into her human self complete with briefcase and broomstick.

"This is crazy," she said to herself. And then she turned and arrowed back toward the restaurant.

---

By the time she'd been processed through the line and shown to Malfoy's table, the place was packed with Aurors. They filled every available table and their false chatter filled the air.

Malfoy stood as she approached. His expression was grim and his body language apprehensive.

"Mrs. Weasley," he said formally, offering his hand.

"Mr. Malfoy," she said, completing the handshake. His hand was surprisingly delicate in her grasp, long and fine-boned and as smooth-skinned as Trelawney had said it was. He withdrew too-quickly when they were done, as if her touch was contaminated.

"I'm sorry about earlier," said Hermione, as they took their seats. "I had no idea Trelawney hadn't warned you in advance."

"She's like that," he said shortly, beckoning to Jones.

Hermione felt guilty relief as they were saved from further discussion by Jones' arrival.

"Ah, you must be Mrs. Weasley!" exclaimed Jones. "Such a pleasure to have you with us tonight. Can I bring you anything to drink?"

Jones' acting was excellent. He looked as if he had never met Hermione in his life, as if she was just another customer. Hermione was glad her own recognition of him had come when she was in fly form so nobody could see. Even so, knowing he was an Auror and that Malfoy was oblivious to this was very distracting. As was the presence of the crowd of a different department's Aurors all around them.

After he'd taken her order, Jones winked. "Rest assured you will be in good hands here at Segal's, Mrs. Weasley."

As if I could have possibly failed to notice, thought Hermione.

---

After Jones had gone, leaving a pair of menus behind, Hermione and Malfoy spent some time squirming in their seats and pretending to examine the menus so as to avoid each others' eyes. Hermione felt ridiculous in doing so, knowing how she had despised Trelawney for doing the same thing when she'd made the Knowitall Ball. It was even sillier considering how many hours Hermione had spent today watching him in her fly form. Even so, it was incredibly difficult to make herself look his way.

Finally she forced herself to stare at Malfoy directly. He was pressed back into the corner again, looking profoundly unhappy and no little amount uneasy. The fingers of one hand massaged his temple and his other hand fidgeted nervously with the handle of his tea cup. His pale eyes seemed focused on some point near the center of the table.

She wondered how she was supposed to get a sensible business discussion out of Malfoy when he was surrounded by his enemies. From what she'd observed he'd been wound tight enough to snap even before the Aurors had started to arrive. All she could do was try to loosen him up with some small talk. Maybe he would relax a little then.

"Er.... so how is Salazar doing?" Hermione asked delicately. She noticed a distinct hush around the restaurant as she spoke. Their conversation was being monitored.

Malfoy met her eyes quickly, startled. He clearly hadn't expected her to inquire. It took him a moment to formulate a response. "They tell me he will be out of the hospital by the middle of next term at the earliest. As it is, he will probably have to redo the fifth year."

Hermione was horrified. "It's that bad?" In the mind of Hermione Weasley, having to re-do a year of school was about the worst thing that could happen to a kid short of outright death.

"I would rather not talk about it, under the circumstances," he said stiffly.

Hermione blushed. "I truly apologize for my children's behavior. It was totally unacceptable."

"Yes, well," he said with a little more acid in his tone. "Not exactly out of character though, was it?"

Hermione winced. Unfortunately it was true. While Malfoy's kids were famous for being intensely annoying spoilt prejudiced gits, they were better known for shooting off their mouths and provoking harm to themselves than for succeeding in causing actual harm to others. Her own kids, on the other hand, specialized in throwing the first punch in fistfights, pulling off gruesome over-the-top pranks, and teaching annoying spoilt prejudiced gits a lasting lesson. All while maintaining that cheerful Gryffindor good-kidness that made teachers and other authority figures want to let them get away with murder.

"Perhaps we'd better get to business," she muttered, blushing.

"Indeed," he said coldly, looking out at the horizon.

---

She opened her briefcase and rearranged the papers a bit, trying to decide if he'd been telling the truth or if he was exaggerating to gain sympathy. She certainly felt guilty about it either way. She wasn't going to be able to sleep until she found out if his son was really going to be missing a year of school or not.

A long silence passed. Out of the corner of her eye she could see Aurors shifting about and tapping on various pieces of surveillance equipment "secreted" in their pockets, trying to figure out if Hermione and Draco were communicating at all.

That would be a resounding no, thought Hermione with a sigh.

"All right," she said, putting a thick sheaf of papers on the table. "I've looked over the materials you and Trelawney provided, and I think Batwing can work, provided you're truly committed to making it happen."

Malfoy's pale eyes fixed on hers without a trace of warmth. His voice was even unfriendlier. "I should think it would be obvious that I would never have agreed to work with you if my commitment were anything less than absolute," he said disdainfully.

"Erm, yes," said Hermione valiantly. "Well, I've prepared this Knowitall Ball with all of my observations and ideas so far." She produced a Bludger-sized crystal ball and placed it on the table between them. "I also put my standard set of accumulated business knowledge on there so if you have any general questions that need answering when I'm not around, you can check there."

Malfoy's gaze flicked down to the ball once, and then he nodded, making no move to pick it up. Hermione suspected that it, unlike Jones' tea, was going to get a thorough testing before he went anywhere near it.

"Now, did Trelawney give you one to fill up too?" Hermione asked. She had been wondering about the Knowitall ball she'd seen taken from Malfoy's yacht earlier in the day. She hoped that hadn't been the one. But:

"Yes, she did," he said. He made as if to reach for an inner pocket, but stopped with a strained expression when nearly the whole restaurant full of Aurors stood at once, hands in their own pockets. Good god, thought Hermione, this place is a powderkeg. Those Aurors are as jumpy as Malfoy is.

After a moment, Malfoy withdrew his hand slowly, empty. The Aurors sat down again, also slowly. Normal, but low level, conversation resumed around the room. Malfoy looked shaken. Hermione could see a sheen of sweat had sprung up on his brow.

"Was all this really necessary?" he asked, struggling for his usual haughty tone.

"It wasn't my idea," said Hermione. "I didn't even know until after I got here. And it's not really making my life any easier either." She had been thinking they could just ignore the Aurors, but that little demonstration had just proven that wasn't a very good idea. Boy, was she going to give Arthur an earful when she managed to get ahold of him. "I'm sorry, for what it's worth."

The expression on his face made it clear the apology was not accepted.

Jones came past the array of Aurors and stopped at their table again. He was pretending nothing had happened, but through his façade Hermione thought he seemed tense. And well he might be; those tan-robes were interfering with his work as surely as they were Hermione's.

He gave Hermione her drink and refreshed Malfoy's tea, all as if nothing were unusual at all. As if his back wasn't between Malfoy and a bunch of wand-happy tan-robes and as if Malfoy himself wouldn't attack him instantly if he knew his true identity.

"And have you two decided what you'd like to order today?" he asked pleasantly. What an impressive actor.

"I'll have the Butterfly Pasta," said Hermione, hoping Jones would go away quickly this time. The tension was killing her.

"I think I've lost my appetite," muttered Malfoy.

"There's a piece of cold Lark's Tongue pie they've been saving for you in the back," said Jones. "I know it's your favorite."

Malfoy looked almost desperately grateful for the suggestion.

"That will do, then," he said, and Hermione was relieved when Jones took the menus and left.

Hermione cleared her throat. "You're a regular here, then?"

He looked at her suspiciously, as if she might try to use the information against him.

"Not usually during the day," he said after a long pause. "It's popular after races."

Yacht racing as a sport didn't have the popular attention that Quidditch had, mainly because it was difficult to spectate and also difficult to take up as an amateur. The cost of maintaining a yacht in racing form was prohibitive for most. The end result was a person could be on top of the racing world and nobody would know it. It was more an upper-class addiction than a public pastime.

"When I saw your boat, I thought you might be into racing," she said.

"I used to be." He scowled and looked out the window as if he'd rather look anywhere than at Hermione. She could see anger and frustration building in him. She groaned inwardly. Was it impossible to make small talk with Malfoy without probing open wounds? Specifically, recently-Weasley-inflicted wounds? Of course the restraint charm would have made racing impossible for him. That's why he was allowing Vincent Crabbe and the others to race the Lucius without him. Hermione wondered how he could meet with them after races without accidentally setting off the charm. Maybe it was unavoidable.

"Er, ahem," said Hermione awkwardly. She picked up her own tea and took a sip of it. "Where is the sugar?"

"They don't put any out," said Malfoy. He turned back from the window and drew his wand, pointing it at her tea cup. "Sucr…"

"Stupefy!"

---

Hermione supposed it stood to reason that even an annoying bastard like Malfoy would have been given a certain amount of training in manners by his parents or caretakers. It went hand-in-hand with his breeding. He simply didn't choose to display those manners much, at least in the presence of a Muggle-born person. It was terribly ironic that after being extremely rude to her all day, he would receive instant and decisive punishment for one little, most likely purely reflexive, accident of politeness.

---

"Stupefy!"

Five Aurors chorused from as many different directions. Hermione stared in disbelief as Malfoy's eyes rolled back in his head and he slithered heavily under the table, wand bouncing out of his hand.

She leaped to her feet. "What did you do?" she cried. The Aurors rushed in to surround the table and Malfoy's fallen form, like predators surrounding a kill.

"Best stay back, Mrs. Weasley," said one of the tan-robes, urging Hermione to get out of the booth. "For your safety."

"For my safety?" Hermione shrieked. "I'm trying to conduct a business meeting here!"

They had dragged Malfoy out from under the table and were sticking their wands in her tea. A pair of tan-robes led her farther and farther away, until she was at the other end of the restaurant.

"Wait a minute -"

"I'm sorry ma'am, but I can't let you go back there until we're given the all-clear."

Hermione put her hands on her hips. The pair of Aurors stepped back a bit at the look on her face. "I'm going to send Arthur such a Howler about this," she began.

"Now Mrs. Weasley, no reason to get threatening," said one of them. "Just relax and everything will be right again in just a bit."

"The last thing I needed," said Hermione, "was to get entangled in some kind of a lawsuit where Draco Malfoy tries to lose each and every one of you your jobs."

This time they actually blanched.

"And don't think he won't do it, either," she said. "I've heard he goes for that sort of thing, and this is a clear case of misapplied force and in front of a perfect witness too."

"Now Mrs. Weasley," began the Auror again.

"Don't you Now-Mrs.-Weasley me!" Hermione yelled. "I demand to speak to your supervisor!"

All told, this meeting was not going much better than the first.

---

Notes:

"The more fool he": This is paraphrased from Shakespeare. Malfoy probably doesn't know that.

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