Blood of Mud, Wing of Bat

Chapter 15: Flock Together

As the Lucius lay at dock amongst the other flying yachts beneath Segal's Roost, it was graceful, elegant and silent.

The same could not be said for the Lucius' crew.

Six hulking figures piled off the boat laughing raucously and exchanging jokes and stories. They pushed and shoved each other good-naturedly as they scrambled up the cliff via a narrow path to the restaurant. Following them in her fly form, Hermione was surprised to find that though they were much older than when she had last seen them, she recognized them all. There were the hulking Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle, and heavy-browed snaggle-toothed Marcus Flint. Then there was Millicent Bulstrode, so blocky and plain-faced that she could be mistaken for a wizard at first glance, and her baby sister who'd started at Hogwarts the year everybody else on the crew had graduated. "Baby" Bulstrode was even bigger than Millicent, and built like a brick bunker with a face like a dustcart. Blaise Zabini brought up the rear.

Together, the crew resembled a load of weight-lifting-obsessed gangsters taking a breather from breaking people's kneecaps and flinging Unforgivables around. Needless to say they were all suspected Death Eaters.

Once inside the restaurant, which had filled up considerably with diners, they made their way straight to the table where Malfoy was seated. Hermione had given up on watching him earlier because he'd spent the entire time using the Knowitall Ball she'd given him. Even Malfoy failed to be particularly entertaining while sitting there staring intently into a ball of glass for minutes on end.

Now he slipped the Knowitall into a pocket of his robes and rose to meet his friends. There was a good deal of back slapping and carrying on but they finally managed to sort themselves into the booth and sit down.

"It smells like tan-robes in here," said Zabini, nose twitching. "Patent leather, cheap laundry soap, and standard-issue Cedar wands."

"There were tan-robes," said Malfoy. "The place was swarming with them about two hours ago."

"I knew it," said Zabini in satisfaction. "What'd you do this time?"

"I didn't do anything."

"Bloody Aurors," exclaimed Baby Bulstrode. "Why don't they concentrate on the real criminals? The baby-stealers and the hexabombers and the ones who fornicate with tied-up Muggles."

They all turned to stare at her.

"Er, I mean," she blushed unattractively. "Not that anyone would do that. I mean, not that I would know, even if anyone did," she said lamely.

Malfoy's forehead wrinkled in consternation.

"Ouch," said Goyle.

"Er, let's move on," said Zabini. "Quickly, please."

Fortunately Jones chose just then to make another of his amazingly well-timed appearances. "And what can I get everybody to drink tonight?" he asked, smiling.

"I'll have a Blast-Ended Skrewdriver," said Crabbe.

"I'll have a To-Kill-A-Sunrise," said Millicent Bulstrode, who apparently had no fear of hangovers.

"Wizard Red Stripe please," said Goyle.

"Make that two Skrewdrivers," said Crabbe grimacing. "I have to watch him drink that swill."

"Double for me too then," said Millicent. With friends like these, it was no wonder Malfoy drank too much!

It was Flint's turn. He made a show of looking through the drinks menu, then grinned toothily. "Something has put me in the mood for sins of a Muggle nature," he said. "I think I'll have a Rum and Coke."

They all groaned and leaned over to poke or punch him.

"I didn't mean that I forn-" began a redfaced Baby Bulstrode. Millicent clapped a hand over her sister's mouth before she could protest too much.

"She'll have a Longshoreman's Surprise, on the rocks," Millicent told Jones.

"That sounds good, I'll have one too," said Zabini.

Jones took down their orders. "And for you, Mr. Malfoy?"

"More tea is fine," said Malfoy.

"Very good," said Jones. He left in the direction of the kitchen.

"Draco, aren't you drinking?" asked Crabbe.

"No, there's no point," said Malfoy. "Matsy and Nally nearly drowned me trying to make me O.D. on Yerg's Natural before I came here."

"Old Matsy still thinks two's better than one, eh?" laughed Flint. "You'd think the little stinker would have learned after last time."

"It was very nearly three," said Malfoy. "Lucky for me I woke when I did."

"Lucky for you you woke at all," said Millicent Bulstrode bluntly, "if it took two vials of Yerg's to do it. How long did they wait before they decided to give you the second one?"

"I didn't ask," said Malfoy. He glared at her. "Nor should you. Honestly, where are your manners?"

"Just because I care if you kill yourself," she huffed. "Though I don't know why I bother."

"I'm not going to kill myself," he said.

"Not intentionally," she muttered.

"Forty-five minutes," said Flint.

Everybody's heads swiveled in his direction.

"What?" said Malfoy.

"They waited forty-five minutes," said Flint. "I know, because I flooed to check up on you and they told me that's how long they were going to wait."

"You checked up on me?" Malfoy seemed incredulous and annoyed. "You spoke to my house-elves?"

Flint shrugged. "Vincent said you were pretty out of it out when you called him. So I thought I would give you a floo. It's no big deal."

"I do not need checking up on," said Malfoy, through his teeth.

"By definition," said Millicent Bulstrode, "if you remain unconscious for forty-five minutes after ingesting a full vial of Yerg's Natural, you do require checking up on. Frequent checking up on."

"I was just tired," said Malfoy. "Thanks to Rudeo Nesbitt and his latest sidekick, I only got about two hours of sleep this morning."

"Oh I see, and big bottles that say Ogden's on them don't figure in at all," said Millicent, rolling her eyes.

"I for one don't blame him," said Zabini. "I'd get stupid-drunk too if I had to meet with Hermione Weasley face-to-face."

"I was not," said Malfoy, "stupid-drunk. Anyway, how did you know about my meeting?"

"It was all over the news, Draco," said Bulstrode. "How else would we find out? It's not as if you ever tell us anything anymore."

"So how did it go?" asked Crabbe. "The meeting, I mean."

Malfoy scowled. "Terrible. Bancroft and his bunch of idiots managed to Stupefy me five times before it was over. And I didn't even do anything."

"You know, you'd get more sympathy if you didn't exaggerate all the time," said Millicent.

"I'm not exaggerating!" Malfoy bristled.

"Oh, ignore her," said Crabbe. "What about Weasley? You did manage to meet with her, didn't you? What did she say about Batwing?"

Malfoy seemed to deflate. "She wants me to quit the Ministry," he said, "and work on the company full time."

"Blimey, You-Know-Who will love that," said Crabbe. "He's been trying to pry you off the Ministry for ages."

"Him and everyone else on the planet," grumbled Malfoy.

Hermione was surprised that they would mention Voldemort publicly, even if they'd avoided using his real name. She would have thought Death Eaters would be more circumspect. Then again, she had no actual proof they were really Death Eaters. And the innocuous "you-know-who" could have referred to anyone - it was in much more general use than the more explicit "he-who-must-not-be-named".

"Well what's so wonderful about Supernatural Relations anyway?" asked Zabini. "It's a joke. How many times have they let you speak with an actual Supernatural Being in the last 22 years anyway? Once?"

"And that once was an accident," pointed out Flint.

The accident Flint was referring to was actually quite a famous incident. The receptionist in Supernatural Relations had made the mistake of asking Malfoy to watch the fireplace for her while she used the loo. During the three minutes and ten seconds of her absence Malfoy managed to offend a minor harvest deity so grievously that a small African country received a five-year drought and a thirty-year plague of mice and locusts as an outlet for the goddess' rage.

When asked to comment on this by the media, Malfoy had said something on the order of, "If killing off her own Muggles is the worst she can do to me, I almost wish I'd insulted her on purpose."

The next day, Malfoy was struck by lightning six times. Instead of dying, he spent two weeks at St. Mungo's, made a full recovery, and was soon back to work. Speculations as to why he'd gotten off so easily ranged from Dark Magic to unbelievable luck. Knowing how unlucky Malfoy generally was, most people assumed the former. He was quoted in the media as saying something like, "D'you call those little things lightning bolts? I'm still not impressed."

Fortunately for Malfoy, and for the hapless Muggle worshipers, the goddess did nothing more than give him the silent treatment after that.

"And it's not as if the work they do give you could be that much fun," Zabini was saying. "Unless you've actually developed a love of paperwork and boring meetings over the years. You should just ditch that job. Your name is more than notorious enough without a Ministry title."

"Here we go again," sighed Malfoy. "I have no intention of quitting the Ministry for any reason."

"I don't see how you could possibly avoid it, and still go through with this crazy Batwing thing," said Flint. "I mean, how is the company going to do any better than it already is, if you never show up or do anything to it?"

"That's what the consultant is for," said Malfoy. Hermione noticed he sounded a good deal less confident now than he had when he'd said the same thing to her earlier.

"You go ahead and keep telling yourself that," said Flint. "My money is on it failing unless you leave the Ministry."

"Oh, give him a break," said Millicent Bulstrode. "I agree the Ministry is a waste of time, but quitting it isn't going to help him with that Batwing insanity. Can you honestly see Draco running a business? Do you have any proof he has what it takes to put in 80 hours a week and make all those decisions? He's never done anything like it. He wouldn't be able to take the schedule and the responsibility and he'd crack up."

Malfoy's eyes narrowed. "I wouldn't crack up," he said resentfully.

"She's right though," said Flint thoughtfully. "You're good at the surprise attack, strike first and take no prisoners, in-and-out in ten minutes, spend the next 24 hours lazing about recovering scenario. That's what you do. This Batwing thing is more like, oh...."

"Like that day-cataloging assignment Professor Bangkok gave her Fourth Year Life Studies class last year," said Zabini.

The others groaned, and Malfoy slowly flushed dark red. Hermione remembered the assignment well, because Christopher had been in that class and he had railed at length on how incredibly tedious the work had been. It had involved writing down and analyzing every single verbal interaction he was involved in, every single day for the entire term. The assignment was total overkill, since anyone with half a brain would have fully exploited its teaching potential after three or four days. Chris had only completed the assignment because he was as anal about homework as she'd been at his age. She distinctly remembered him gloating that Salazar Malfoy had balked after the first week, earning himself a resounding failure.

"The professor was biased," muttered Malfoy sulkily.

"The apple doesn't fall far from the tree," Zabini corrected him with a grin. "I'd like to see how long you would have lasted at that assignment."

"Salazar is simply too intelligent to do repetitive make-work that prevents him from having time for his other studies," insisted Malfoy.

Goyle, whose own son was hardly the shiniest hair on the unicorn-tail but still managed to pass all of his classes, stared at Malfoy incredulously.

"No comment," said Zabini.

"No comment," echoed the rest of them with various smirks and snickers.

Malfoy leaned back into his corner and crossed his arms over his chest, refusing them the entertainment of trying to defend his son's intellect further. Perhaps, Hermione thought, because there wasn't a lot of evidence to support his protests; despite a supposedly brilliant showing during private tutoring in their pre-teen years, neither Salazar or Lucia had ever done well at Hogwarts.

"So," said Zabini after a pause, "Are you ever going to tell us why you didn't just sell that company and wash your hands of it?"

"No," said Malfoy.

"Oh, come on," said Crabbe. "We're your friends. You can tell us."

"I don't care what you say," said Malfoy. "You're not going to talk me out of doing this, so you may as well not waste your breath."

"Hey, I think it's as stupid a plan as anybody does," said Crabbe, "but you don't hear me trying to talk you out of it. I just want to know why are you doing it. Maybe if we knew why, it would make more sense to us."

"Maybe I don't care if it makes sense to you," hissed Malfoy.

"Maybe you don't have a good reason for doing it, and you don't want to admit it," suggested Millicent Bulstrode.

"Oh come off it, Millie," said Zabini. "Have you ever seen Malfoy work this hard for anything without a good reason?"

"Maybe he's doing it," snickered Flint, "To finally prove he's not just a useless playboy fit for nothing but spending inherited wealth."

Malfoy went for his wand, but Goyle clamped a huge hand gently but firmly around his wrist before he could withdraw the weapon. "Calm down, Draco, you know they're only kidding."

"Besides," Baby Bulstrode spoke up, "everybody knows Draco's really doing it so he has something nice and juicy to give up when he marries Amexia Brandt and then divorces her."

Hermione noted with interest that Malfoy's expression had reached the same level of cornered, helpless fury he had displayed earlier in the day when the Aurors had roughed him up in his office.

As the others roared with laughter, Malfoy's eyes slitted dangerously. He raised his chin with determination, his narrow jaw tensed. "For the last time, I'm not going to tell you, so there's no use in asking me." He tried to jerk his wrist out of Goyle's grasp, but the size difference was such that even with the element of surprise, he succeeded only in wrenching his own more slender limb painfully. "Let me go," he hissed.

"You let go first," said Goyle.

With a scowl, Malfoy let go of his wand. Goyle pulled Malfoy's hand away from the pocket and then released it. Malfoy gave him a dirty look and rubbed his wrist with the fingers of his other hand, but did not go for his wand again.

Hermione was fascinated by the dynamics of the group. Malfoy was clearly the center of attention, but why were they giving him such a hard time? And why had he put up with their teasing for so long before getting angry? Was it simply out of lifelong habit, or was there something more to it than that? Hermione had not been spying on Malfoy for that long, but she had the definite impression that he would only take that kind of ribbing from people he considered friends. Maybe it was the others' way of making sure they were still in his good book -- or showing their resentment at his leaving them out of the Batwing loop.

Hermione forgot all about her hypotheses, however, as a sudden commotion sounded at the restaurant's entryway.

Instantly the confrontation of before was forgotten as all of the Lucius' crew looked alertly in that direction, then back at Draco. For all that they'd picked on him earlier, it was clear that he was their leader - and that they'd worked a lot together. Before Hermione could figure out what communication had passed between them, the table scattered. Flint and Bulstrode skirted the wall and disappeared into the hallway to the loo. Baby Bulstrode went around to the right, toward an empty table in the corner, while Zabini headed toward the bar. Vincent Crabbe got up and slid in to the booth opposite Draco, leaving Goyle beside him.

And then, Ron Weasley burst past the maitre d' and charged down toward Malfoy's table, murder in his eyes.

Hermione was so shocked by the unexpected sight of him that she fell off the ceiling for the second time that day, landing with a resounding plop in Malfoy's tea.

Wet! Wet! Wet! Agh!!!

By the time she'd struggled to the edge of the teacup so she could see what was happening, Ron had dived down with hands reaching toward Malfoy's throat. But Crabbe and Goyle leaped up and shoved Ron back two or three steps; together, they were more than his match.

Hermione lost her grip on the slick porcelain of the cup and slid back into the tea, bobbing and frantically paddling.

"Weasley," said Malfoy in distaste. He'd backed into the corner of the booth during Ron's charge, but now that it was safe he edged forward again, eyeing Ron with loathing. "What do you want?"

"Where's my wife, you slimy little Death Eater?" Ron demanded, surging against Crabbe and Goyle's blocking arms.

"Can't keep track of your wife, Weasley?" sneered Malfoy. "That sounds like a personal problem to me." Crabbe and Goyle chuckled. Malfoy picked up his tea with false casualness and almost had a sip, but recoiled when he saw Hermione floating in it.

Ron turned beet red. "I know she was here, you pointy faced git!" He struggled wildly to get at Malfoy, who flinched back but then proceeded to watch with interest when it was clear Ron couldn't get past his bodyguards.

"Yes, she was actually," said Malfoy. "But she left a short time ago. You just missed her." He used a finger to scoop Hermione out of his tea and wipe her off onto the tabletop.

"What did you do to her?" Ron yelled, as Crabbe and Goyle grunted under his onslaught.

"As I'm sure you'll learn in the news tomorrow, absolutely nothing. She was probably in more danger from the Aurors than from me." As a soaked and bedraggled Hermione crawled under the edge of a plate to hide, Malfoy nearly drank out of his tea, then thought the better of it and set it down. "Really, Weasley," he drawled, "the state of Auror Affairs since your father took over is simply appalling. Someone ought to do something."

"I'm going to kill you if you don't tell me where she is!" Ron vowed.

"Oh?" Malfoy raised an eyebrow. "You're welcome to try, by all means. However before you do anything foolish, you might look to your left."

Baby Bulstrode smiled and waved with her left hand. Her right hand was under the table.

"And to your right," continued Malfoy, amused.

To Ron's right, Millicent and Flint lurked in the hallway, wands in hand.

"And behind you," said Malfoy.

Ron looked behind him and there was Zabini, staring at him in an intent and unfriendly fashion from the bar. No wand was in evidence, but Zabini's eyes promised mayhem and more.

Ron whipped his head around to stare at Malfoy in alarm.

Malfoy smirked and lounged back in his booth, quite confident of his safety now. "I've given you all the information I have, Weasley. Now why don't you run along before you get hurt?"

"You're going to regret this," said Ron, flushing. And then he turned and stomped away, heading for the front of the restaurant.

Malfoy's steely eyes followed him until the door had closed.

As soon as Ron was gone, Crabbe and Goyle burst into laughter. The others converged on the table and they were laughing too.

"Did you see the look on that git's face!" guffawed Flint. "He almost pissed his uniform when Blaise gave him the evil eye."

"Did you see him jump when he got a closer look at Baby?"

"Eh, doesn't everybody? Hey! Ow! Geroff me!"

As a brief scuffle ensued, the only one who wasn't laughing was Malfoy. He looked upset.

"Poor Draco," said Flint. "When are you going to have a good day? Today is turning out almost as badly as… Tuesday? When was it?"

"This morning," said Crabbe. "If you're referring to the letter that set his desk on fire at the Manor."

"I was actually referring to when the restraint charm went off on the street in Hogsmeade."

"That would be Monday," said Millicent Bulstrode. "At least, Monday night was when Pansy told me about Derringer getting sacked."

"That's just crazy," said Flint. "How can they throw away a perfectly good Auror on the say-so of Nesbitt's ego? And he was actually helping Nesbitt by dragging him off Draco. I mean, there must have been a hundred and fifty witnesses. Probably saved him from doing something that would have gotten him sacked."

"I'm sure Derringer will be back," said Crabbe. "If Duncan doesn't re-hire him, the tan-robes will snap him up."

"They are certain to have some openings soon," said Malfoy darkly, stabbing the sugar in the sugar bowl with its spoon. "If I have any say in matters." He tossed the spoon onto the table beside the bowl and rose to his feet. "I have to go. I have a school board meeting."

"Oh, come on Draco," said Zabini. "Don't be so touchy. We won't talk about it if it bothers you that much."

"I'm not being touchy," said Malfoy. "I have to go." The others shifted to let him squeeze out of the booth, but they hadn't given up yet.

"At least stay long enough to hear how the race went," said Crabbe.

"I don't think so," he said, rubbing his left wrist where the flying restraint charm was attached. "Not unless you want a pack of Aurors down on your necks."

"Don't you at least want to see the damage?" asked Millicent Bulstrode.

Malfoy hesitated. "Damage?"

"Vincent managed to snap another boom," said Zabini. "Uncontrolled jibe downwind."

"It wasn't my fault Greg and Baby lost their grip on it," said Crabbe.

"But you were driving," pointed out Zabini, "and you were driving last time too."

"It wasn't my fault," muttered Crabbe again, but he was blushing. "Draco's supposed to drive downwind. Just because the rest of you are too scared to try -- and make me do it all the time -- doesn't mean I should get all the blame."

Malfoy shook his head. "Don't worry about the boom, I'll have a look at it tomorrow. I'll be late if I don't leave now." He was looking increasingly stressed out, but the restraint charm hadn't gone off yet. And the others were talking about flying. Hermione wondered how he managed that.

"You're not going to be back here tonight?" asked Crabbe.

"The meeting will probably run long. We're doing curriculum changes again, and that DADA teacher we threw out is appealing the decision."

Ah, that's how he foiled the charm, thought Hermione. He's deliberately thinking about the school board meeting instead.

"You threw out Professor Mordmore?" said Millicent Bulstrode in surprise.

"No, she quit after two weeks. This is Aldinius Wandheimer, the previous one."

"Mordmore quit?" said Goyle stupidly. "But my son just owled me talking about what she did in class yesterday."

"Believe me, your son isn't the only one who's confused," said Malfoy grimly.

As he turned and strode away, Flint said something and the table broke out in guffaws of laughter. Hermione took off and buzzed somewhat soggily after Malfoy. The laughter seemed to follow them all the way to the front of the restaurant. It sounded happy and carefree, a group of friends who managed to remain friends despite being surrounded by enemies. Malfoy seemed to find the sound upsetting. He rudely ignored the maitre d's goodbye as he shoved his way through the heavy front doors onto the windy Apparition platform. Hermione had half-expected to find Ron waiting there for him but the platform was empty.

Malfoy took out his wand, but didn't Disapparate right away. Instead, he walked to the edge of the platform and stood looking down at the yachts arrayed below. His shoulders were slumped. The wind gusted and he shivered. Hermione was struck suddenly by how lonely he looked in that moment. The restraint charm hadn't gone off so he wasn't thinking about boats. Hermione had a feeling he wasn't thinking about the school board meeting either.

She battled against the wind to try to get a better view of his face, but by the time she got there, he was gone.

Definitions:

Uncontrolled jibe: When sailing on a downwind run and the stern of the boat passes through the eye of the wind causing the boom to swing abruptly and forcefully 180 degrees to the other side of the boat. Possibly taking off someone's head or damaging itself in the process.

Driving: Operating the tiller (steering), hopefully in a knowledgeable fashion. Driving downwind is more dangerous and is usually done by the person most familiar with the boat, like for example its owner.