Blood of Mud, Wing of Bat

Chapter 25: Holding Down a Tiger

The front entry of Malfoy Manor was truly grand, suitable for receiving guests for some of the most fabulous balls in the upper-crust wizarding world. It had a vaulted ceiling painted in murals of flying beasts and shifting white clouds, dozens of ornate chandeliers hung from long chains and lit by magic, and a vast marble floor. There were long low marble benches lined up along each side, interspersed with expensive-looking end-tables and potted trees that chimed gently with thousands of tiny cut-glass decorations. There were two massive double-doors large enough to admit entire carriages, and a fountain at the center of the circle which a carriage might follow in passing between the two. At the opposite end of the hall were a pair of broad curved staircases which met at their tops underneath an elaborate archway. Through the arch could be seen a massive single chandelier and another painted ceiling.

The room was still, quiet, and chill.

Until --

POP!

A shock of cold, moist air hit Hermione like a full-body slap. She had a split second to register that they had re-Apparated a meter above the floor and still traveling with all the velocity and momentum they'd had when they vanished from Malfoy's office --

-- and then, Malfoy twisted like a cat and landed on both feet and his free hand in an amazing display of coordination. A moment later, Hermione crashed into him full force from behind and they slammed down hard, all in a tangle with the wrist of his wand arm still clutched in her panic-stricken grip. Her broomstick, briefcase, and the two evidence bags clattered across the floor on impact and her knee struck hard, a terrific pain shooting up it.

And then everything was still.

For a moment she lay stunned, clusters of tiny candle-lights swimming in the periphery of her vision. We almost died, she babbled mentally. I can't believe I did that.... I grabbed his arm when he was about to Apparate! We could have been killed! That was unbelievably dangerous!

Then she braced her free hand against a slick cold surface -- marble, it felt like -- and tried to push herself up.

As she lifted her weight, Malfoy moved also, shoving himself up with a sound like a snarl of fury. She saw his fingers clench around the handle of Gina White's wand and in a moment of clarity she realized, he's going to curse me.

Moving on sheer instinct, Hermione tightened her grip on his left wrist, shifted her free hand to his other shoulder and threw all her weight down onto his back. He slammed down into the floor again with a woof of breath. Instantly she found herself trying to hold down a tiger; he fought her with a ferocious strength and it was all she could do to keep him pinned. She knew it was only the weakness of his wand arm and the other injuries Arthur had alluded to that let her do it.

And for the first time in her life, she was actually thankful for what having five kids does to a woman's figure.

"Get off me," he hissed, his voice hoarse with fury.

"Just calm down," she pleaded desperately.

"I'll kill you! Get off me, you filthy Mudblood!"

Oh no, thought Hermione. He's really angry!

"I'm not going anywhere until you calm down," she said.

"The next time someone tells me to calm down, I'm going to rip out their eyes and ram them down their throat!"

Hermione had to admit, people told Malfoy to calm down a lot. She'd personally witnessed it several times in the last two days. While she'd be the first to admit interpersonal relations weren't really her area of expertise, she did feel that under the circumstances she ought to offer what advice she could based on her own personal observations.

"I think they're only saying it because you scare the shit out of them," she said as honestly as possible.

This only seemed to enrage him further. He fought hard, obviously trying his best to throw her off. She shoved down with all her weight and flattened him to the marble with a grunt of expelled breath. She kept pressing until finally, after several long seconds, he stopped fighting her.

Hermione breathed a sigh of relief, but didn't dare loosen her hold just yet. She could feel his damp heat through the silky surface of his robes, the spread of his ribs as he labored to catch his breath.

After several more seconds had passed, Malfoy spoke again, his voice quiet and more than a little pained.

"Will you please get off?"

"Are you calmed down enough to have a normal conversation instead of trying to curse me?" Hermione asked.

"You're squashing me." Yes, he definitely sounded in serious pain and his voice was already growing more stressed out.

"I'm not that heavy," she exclaimed. "And you don't sound very calm to me."

"Weasley, I'm not joking," he cried out. She wondered if she was actually hurting him seriously. Granted, Arthur had said he had possibly debilitating injuries, but she also remembered that when he was a child, Draco Malfoy had had no shame about pretending injury in order to get what he wanted -- or to get out of what he didn't want. He could easily be faking it now.

She stared down at him for long moments, trying to decide which it was. His hair had become mussed and had fallen into his eyes, hiding much of his expression. But she could see part of his profile, and his mouth was drawn into what might be a grimace of agony. Or it might just be frustration.

But faking it or not, she couldn't hold him down indefinitely. She was going to have to let him up and he was already angry enough without her prolonging matters. How could she protect herself, though? After what she'd witnessed during the altercation with the B.U.M.M.E.R. aurors, she had no illusions that she'd be able to handle him if he actually did try to curse her. None whatsoever.

"All right," she said, thinking quickly. "All right, I'll let you up... if you give me your wand."

She felt his breath catch in a near-noise of frustration or pain or fury.

"Are you mad?!"

"You just said you were going to kill me," said Hermione, trying to sound as reasonable as possible. "Wouldn't it be rather foolish of me to let you up still holding your wand?"

There was a long pause, as if Malfoy were wrestling with himself internally. His lips twitched a couple of times and finally twisted into a terrible scowl.

"Take it, then," he said tightly. "But for God's sake be quick about it!"

That was it, then. He was going to let her take the wand. But was he truly cooperating, or was he trying to trick her? She wouldn't have thought it possible for someone as drunk as he'd been the day before to catch a fly right out of the air with two fingers, and yet he'd managed it. Catching Hermione by surprise now would probably be easy for him.

Sucking nervously on her lower lip, she pressed down harder on the rest of him and tried to remain alert to his every movement as she loosened her grip on his wrist and moved her hand slowly up the short distance to the wand. For a moment, she couldn't force herself to do it.

Then, quick as a blink, she snatched Gina White's wand out of his hand.

She felt him sigh as if he'd been waiting in suspense for the grab.

"There, you have it. Now let me go," he said.

But Hermione was inclined to be cautious. Nesbitt had called him "harmless" without his wand, but Nesbitt was a 40-year Special Ops veteran and a thrice-decorated war hero. Harmless to him was probably quite a bit different than harmless to Hermione. She'd seen how Malfoy managed to physically overpower that B.U.M.M.E.R. ickle-Auror. Granted, it had been a sneaky surprise attack from behind, but still. Bangor had been trained in hand-to-hand fighting and probably considered weightlifting a recreational activity. Hermione herself wouldn't last a moment if Malfoy tried to attack her physically and she knew it.

"Don't jump up right away," she warned him. "Wait until I say."

He nodded curtly, his breaths hissing out through flared nostrils.

As she lifted up her weight, she felt him gather his limbs under him and knew that he wasn't planning on staying still at all. The moment he could move, he would, and she'd better be prepared.

Gripping her wand firmly, she got herself balanced and then stood --

And Malfoy lunged to his feet, ramming into her so hard he nearly bowled her over.

"Hey, watch out!" she cried as she staggered back.

"No, you watch it," he snarled, turning on her. She'd known he was freaked out, but it was still a shock to see his face fully and discover it pale and drawn with panic and fury, his eyes bright with tears. She started backward involuntarily and he came after her, his body language aggressive.

"Now, hold on a minute," began Hermione.

"What were you thinking?" Malfoy's voice cracked, evidence enough of how stressed out he was. "Are you suicidal? We could have both been killed! I've never come that close to an accidental splinching before in my life!"

"Just... calm down," said Hermione, forgetting that he didn't like it when people told him to calm down.

"Listen you," he hissed. "I don't know what Weasley and Trelawney are thinking letting you run around without half an idea of how to act in a combat situation, but if you're going to spend any more time around me, you're sure as hell going to learn. A Muggle child has enough sense to take cover when hexes are flying! And if you ever - ever! - interfere with my wand when I'm in the middle of casting a spell again, it's going to take them years just to figure out how many different hexes I used on you - and that's only if there's anything left afterward."

"Maybe you didn't realize it, but normal people who aren't Death Eaters or Aurors rarely find themselves in that situation," said Hermione defensively. She realized she was backing away from him and forced herself to stop. "And I doubt Arthur or Trelawney ever thought someone would be flinging curses over my head! And as for the other, well, I'm sorry," she said truthfully. "I didn't know you were about to Apparate. I thought you were going to curse Nesbitt."

Malfoy kept advancing until he was right in her face. He sneered contemptuously. "Well, then you haven't really done your research, have you?"

Hermione wondered if his record indicated a tendency to Apparate rather than fight, when possible. In any case, his combat record wasn't something Hermione had been given access to. And right at the moment, she was more concerned with his appearance. She couldn't help but notice that despite the exertion, he was dead white. His breaths still sounded painful, and he was hugging his left arm protectively against his chest.

"You're really not all right, are you?" she said in wonder.

He seemed taken aback by her change of subject. He recovered quickly though, his eyes narrowing.

"Of course I'm all right, Weasley," he spat. "Forty year old noncombatant witches have always been able to hurl me to the ground and disarm me with a minimum of difficulty."

She winced at the heavy sarcasm in his tone.

"Er... maybe you had better sit down," she said. "You look awful!"

His lips tightened, but instead of arguing he turned and moved away from her toward one of the benches along the wall. After a moment, she followed, hovering solicitously.

"Keep your distance, Mudblood," he growled.

Hermione gritted her teeth at the insult, but reminded herself that she was trying to get him to calm down, not agitate him further. So, she backed off a bit, then watched as he lowered himself stiffly onto one of the benches and leaned on one of its outwardly-curving arms, supporting himself with his right elbow. She couldn't help but notice that he was still coddling his left arm. He was still giving her a dirty look as well.

As for herself, her knee still hurt something fierce and was forcing her to limp. Boy, are we a fine pair, she thought.

"Look... I really am sorry about… the grabbing your arm thing. I thought I was in danger so I just... freaked out I think. Immediate physical emergencies aren't really my strong suit. Are you calm enough that I can give your wand back now?"

Malfoy continued to glare at her malevolently for a moment.

"Well, that explains why you assaulted me in the first place," he said finally. "But why did you take so long to let me up when I told you it was urgent?"

"I really thought you were about to curse me or attack me!" she exclaimed. "And besides, I thought... er...." Admit it, she thought to herself. You were pretty sure he was faking. "Well, never mind that. You do want your wand back, don't you?" She held it out to him cautiously.

But Malfoy shook his head. "No. It's not mine. It belongs to one of my employees. You'll need to take it back with you when you go explain to Nesbitt and his goon brigade that you are perfectly all right."

"That I'm...?" Only then did it occur to Hermione that it must have looked terribly suspicious, her disappearing along with Malfoy like that. If they didn't think he'd kidnapped her, they probably thought she had run off with him to join the Death Eaters or something.

"Good grief," she said in alarm. "They think you grabbed me!"

"Now you see my point," he said.

"But Arthur will... I don't know what he'll do!"

"Probably test you to make sure you aren't under Imperius," said Malfoy dryly.

Hermione wasn't the type to say "Omigod", but she could distinctly hear Gina White saying it in her head just then. A pause, and then:

"I'll just go back and talk to them now, then," she said. "Before they have time to really work themselves into a state of panic."

"Wait," he said. He held out his hand toward her. "Take this."

She realized that there were gold coins in his hand, and stopped. There had to be 500 Galleons there in large-denomination coin. By comparison, she'd only had about 128 Sickles to work with when buying her children's school clothes and supplies this year.

He beckoned her to come nearer, clearly impatient with her hesitation. "I insist. If it ever becomes known you've been spreading stories about me, anything about me, you'll be answering to far greater powers than I can protect you from. The stakes are higher than you could ever know. So don't open your damned mouth about me to those Aurors if you know what's good for you and your family! This is for your silence. For the first installment of your silence."

"I - I can't take that money," she stammered.

"You can, and you will," said Malfoy intensely. "If I can't trust you to keep my secrets, we can't work together, and unless there's something in it for you over and above your own so-called 'trustworthiness', that isn't going to happen."

"What!" exclaimed Hermione. "My own trustworthiness is very… trustworthy, I'll have you know." Did I just say that? She groaned. Despite all her high moral standards, the sight of that much cash in one place made her a little nervous. Theoretical money owned by corporations was one thing. Gold in someone's hand held out toward her was something else entirely.

"This isn't about ethics, or willpower, or whatever you're thinking," said Malfoy.

"Yes," said Hermione firmly, resolutely ignoring Malfoy's hand. "It is."

"No it isn't!" Malfoy withdrew his hand, but his pale eyes were grim and determined. "It's about Arthur Weasley and how far he is willing to go in the name of gaining evidence. Without something concrete to remind you of right and wrong, you'll just be a pawn for him to manipulate."

"And your money will remind me of right and wrong?" exclaimed Hermione. "I don't think so!"

"Well," he conceded, "it will remind you of promises made at any rate."

"I can handle Arthur Weasley," said Hermione.

"You think so now," said Malfoy. "He's only asked you a few questions, maybe asked you a few favors. Little things, like getting you to return those wands to me and bring the release forms back. Pretty soon he'll have you in a regular habit of coming back to him once a week, twice a week, maybe even daily. If you say you don't have his answers, he'll show you he's disappointed, but also sympathetic. He'll express his concern for your wellbeing. At first.

"Then he'll start putting on the pressure. He'll tell you Trelawney has been asking questions about you, snooping around trying to figure out if you've been talking to him. He'll tell you it's getting more and more difficult to fool her. His wording will be innocent and concerned but the implication will be that she could find out at any moment... and that he could make it happen if he so desired."

"I'll tell Trelawney myself, then," said Hermione staunchly. "If I'm honest and up-front about it --"

"She already knows!" Malfoy hissed, cutting her off. "If someone tells her openly, she'll only be forced to terminate you immediately."

Hermione stared at him in horror. "How does she know? Did you tell her?"

"Don't be a fool, Weasley. It's perfectly obvious. She'd have to be blind not to know it by now."

"How is it so obvious?"

"Firstly, he's your father-in-law. Of course you will be speaking to him. Secondly, Special Ops and Covert Ops glom everybody who has the privilege of saying hello to me, trying to get information or a lead. It's no secret. Trelawney must know. You're no different than anyone else in that respect - in fact, you're more desirable than most because you'll be seeing more of me than most.

"And last - though by no means the least - no less than eight different people took it upon themselves to warn me you were either at Aur Central this evening or had just left there. Everybody and his ex-wife knows where you were from five-fifteen until six-fifteen tonight. I have no doubt that Trelawney has heard it from at least two of the same sources."

"Which two?" asked Hermione, faintly.

Malfoy's lips tightened grimly, and she knew she would not be getting that answer out of him directly.

"But that will only be the beginning of it," Malfoy continued instead. "If that sort of pressure doesn't produce the results he wants, he'll escalate. And he'll keep escalating until things become nasty enough that you step into line.

"He'll turn his son against you. He'll convince Ron Weasley to leave you, and he'll help him win custody of your children and even a restraining order to prevent you from ever seeing them again."

"No, Arthur wouldn't do that," said Hermione.

"Yes, he would, and he will," said Malfoy intensely. "They'll take away your house - it was his, wasn't it? And they'll take most of your pay to help him support the children, and you'll be left with nothing. Nothing."

"That just isn't -"

"I know. Trust me." Malfoy's slitted eyes were bright with bitterness.

"But how? How could you know that? He's my father-in-law, I think I know him better than -"

"Because the same thing happened to Pansy," Malfoy hissed.

There was a short, brutal silence.

"It couldn't have been exactly the same," began Hermione, "because -"

"Close enough," said Malfoy.

There was another, longer silence.

"They... the Aurors... convinced you to divorce her?" Hermione finally asked.

"They convinced her to divorce me. They knew she would lose the house, the children, and so forth. They wanted her to break all ties with me and they didn't care if she wanted to or not. First they told her to choose between me and her job as an Auror. When it became clear she had refused and was simply waiting to be released from service, they upped the pressure. They made a very convincing threat upon my life. I didn't even know about it at the time, although I found out later that's what finally decided her on the matter."

"I see," Hermione said.

"If you don't believe me, ask your sister-in-law Virginia," Malfoy added. "If the child support payments left Pansy anything of her salary, she wouldn't have been forced to move in with her. I'm sure she's been told the entire story."

Hermione knew there was a lot more to why Pansy lived with Ginny than simple financial dependence, but she suspected now wasn't the right time to remind Malfoy of that. He obviously preferred to delude himself about the circumstances of his first divorce, was in denial about why the mother of his children might have decided to leave him. Not that she couldn't see why he'd find it tempting to believe those things. Who wanted to be rejected by their own spouse for someone else? It was so much easier on the ego to believe the breakup was for political reasons, and at wandpoint.

Malfoy's pale eyes took on an ugly glint. "And if you don't believe her, ask your Harry Potter. He's still alive, isn't he? Somewhere in Muggle Surrey, I believe. Ask him why he is no longer an Auror. I'll guarantee you it isn't because he didn't want to be one.

"This isn't the library, Granger," he said fiercely. "There's no easy right or wrong where family and survival are concerned. And if you don't fall into line, they'll simply keep pushing you harder and harder until you reach that point where family and survival become more important than anything else. And you won't be the first -- why do you think there were reforms? The old-line Aurors will stop at nothing to get what they want."

Hermione frowned and was silent for a bit. She knew Malfoy was wrong, both that Arthur, frustrating as he could be, would actually do something like that -- and that Ron would allow himself to be party to it. She didn't blame Malfoy for the bitterness he obviously harbored about the circumstances of his divorce with Pansy, but she wasn't prepared to believe everything he said on that basis.

She remembered Arthur accusing Malfoy of having formed a monopoly of Muggle companies on purpose, when that was patently ridiculous. In her opinion, Arthur was no more capable of engineering his own son's unwanted divorce than Malfoy was capable of valuing the complexities of Muggle society enough to waste time tinkering with the Muggle economy. It was just one more example of what ridiculous notions people could think up when they became extremely paranoid.

And as for Harry Potter, a lot of people had theories about why he'd gone back to live with the Muggles who'd raised him and rarely showed his face in the mainstream wizarding world anymore. Hermione had some ideas about this herself. But nobody knew why he'd really done it, and she had no reason to believe that Malfoy was any more enlightened than the rest.

Malfoy's eyes had narrowed to slits, gleaming in the light of the chandeliers. "You don't believe me, do you?" The tone of his voice was offended, incredulous.

"No," she admitted, "I don't. I'm sure you believe what you're saying, but I just can't. I know Arthur and Ron both too well."

Malfoy leaned back against the wall, his right hand draped over the curved arm of the bench. Hermione's eyes were caught by the elegant lines of forearm and wrist. He seemed delicately built, but she had seen him wrap that same slender arm around the throat of an Auror and drag her back, forcing her to drop her wand. He was stronger than he looked.

"Ron wouldn't do it," said Hermione. "They have nothing on him. No way to force him -"

"Ah," said Malfoy, "but you're assuming he doesn't want to."

And what Malfoy did lack in strength, he made up for in viciousness.

There was a long pause.

"Just what is that supposed to mean?" demanded Hermione, into the silence. Her voice sounded shrill even to her own ears.

"He's been carrying on with her for years and years now, hasn't he? I should think that could be construed as some indication --"

"What the... who are you talking about? Who has he been 'carrying on with for years and years'?" Hermione asked wildly. She was aware that he was pushing her buttons deliberately, but she couldn't stop herself. "This isn't amusing, Malfoy. I know you don't like Ron, but if you think you're going to turn me against him --"

"Don't play stupid, Weasley, I'm referring to Sheila Lasherton," said Malfoy.

"...who?"

"Sheila Lasherton. Reserve Beater for the Holyhead Harpies. Don't tell me you've been completely clueless all along?"

There was another, even longer, pause. During that silence Malfoy regarded her through half-closed eyes, appearing to consider her in a new light. It was as if he'd assumed something about her all along, and was being forced to reconsider.

For her part, Hermione had always envisioned Ron's cheating being cheap, one-night affairs with fans and hangers-on. Never in her wildest imaginings had she suspected Ron might be in a serious relationship -- particularly with another Quidditch player!

Whatever expression she was wearing on her face, Malfoy didn't seem to like it.

"Could you possibly point that somewhere else?" he asked, glancing at her wand. "I don't want to get hit if it goes off by accident."

"Years and years?" she finally managed to exclaim, her voice rising into a startled screech.

For the first time, she realized she might actually be losing Ron for real. How serious was he about this Sheila Lasherton woman? As a professional player, a Beater even, she must understand him totally in ways Hermione never had and could never hope to. Sheila would have the same obsession with Quidditch, she'd understand gut-level 'what it's like on the road'… whatever that was. Presumably it was something, because Ron was always telling Hermione that she didn't understand it. Jealousy welled up in her like some sort of hideous, unfamiliar beast.

"If you're lying to me," began Hermione.

Malfoy's eyes narrowed at the near-threat. "You'll run to Daddy?" he sneered. "Oh, I'm sure he will be most sympathetic."

Hermione frowned unhappily. The truth was, Arthur already thought Hermione was making too big a deal of Ron's behavior. If she started hurling actual accusations, he'd probably get really annoyed - and still side with Ron.

"Well… just… how do you know about this Sheila Lasherton woman anyway?"

Malfoy's gray eyes kept track of the tip of her wand with surreptitious darts.

"Several years ago - six or seven, I think - I was at the Holyfield pitch to throw out the Quaffle. It was the Holyhead Harpies vs. the Chudley Cannons. While I was there I saw Ron Weasley and that Lasherton person carrying on."

Hermione almost demanded to know what, exactly, constituted "carrying on" but down that path lay insanity. His words gave her the general idea and she would get the rest out of Ron later when she was cool and rational. For now, she just needed the basic information.

"All right," she said as evenly as possible. "Ron said you threw out the Quaffle only two or three years ago. You say six or seven years ago."

"Oh," he said, offhandedly. "I do it every year. I suppose there may have been another game versus the Cannons in between. Ah, yes, there was. I hadn't remembered. Three years ago."

"You throw out the Quaffle every year?" repeated Hermione suspiciously.

Malfoy began to look a little exasperated. "My mother's family has had property in Holyhead for centuries. There's a local minor holiday honoring them. It's become traditional for one of us to throw out the Quaffle on whichever game falls on that date. Is that a problem?"

Hermione's shoulders slumped at the all-too-mundane explanation.

"Oh… no. I just wondered."

Malfoy studied her critically. "By the way, he came looking for you at the restaurant last night. Seemed upset that he couldn't find you."

That's because I've been avoiding him, thought Hermione, but she wasn't going to tell Malfoy that.

"This Sheila Lasherton," she asked carefully. "What is she… like?"

Malfoy's eyes slid furtively away from hers, then returned when she persisted in staring.

"I don't know her very well personally," he said at last. "But she's from a respectable family, pureblooded, and… younger."

"How much younger?" demanded Hermione.

"She would have graduated from Hogwarts around the time I first saw them together," he said. "So that would make her… 24 or 25, I suppose?"

Hermione's knuckles whitened around her wand. She was so jealous she wanted to scream! But....

But Malfoy was a liar. Yes, she knew that about him and she was stupid to have forgotten it. He was a liar of the worst sort, one with years and years of practice at deception both stealthy and bold. He was Voldemort's right hand man, for Merlin's sake, and still had managed to hold down a position at the Ministry for more than twenty years! He'd managed to get his kids into Hogwarts with what in retrospect seemed obvious lies - nobody who'd done as well as he claimed in private tutoring could possibly be doing so badly in regular class. For all she knew, Ron had been right about his getting ahold of Batwing by foul means too.

Yes, worse than being a liar alone, Malfoy was also ruthless. Anyone who doubted that he was willing to go all the way in pursuit of winning need only look at the ten surrogates to know that it was true. Ten people dead in his stead! How could Hermione have forgotten that?

And it would surely be in his interests to break up her and Ron's marriage. What better way to remove the ugly Weasley connection from his much-needed consultant than a nasty divorce? With Hermione estranged from the entire Weasley clan he'd hardly need to worry about her blabbing his secrets to the Aurors anymore.

Suddenly she was all too aware of the subtle, unconscious grace with which he had draped himself over the bench, the sly appraising glint of his pale eyes as he looked up at her.

This was his turf, she realized. She had been mostly working with him out of his element so far -- seen him and spied on him while he was hopelessly off balance and given only a chance to react to what was happening to him.

But now, right at this moment, Malfoy was in familiar surroundings and playing a familiar game. Politics and the manipulation of loyalties were probably as easy to him as breathing. Under the circumstances, perhaps even moreso.

The sense of being manipulated was overwhelming, and she suddenly knew that she was in way over her head. With Malfoy, with Arthur, even with Trelawney. They were playing a game she was far too inexperienced to comprehend, and if she dared to continue onward, she would surely end up trapped in a tangle of illegal acts, contempt of justice, and deceit.

"Look, I appreciate your wanting me to be informed," she said, "but from now on, don't mention Ron again. It's none of your business! And don't you ever try to bribe me again either! It's immoral, it's probably illegal, and I will not be bought like some common thug. I take pride in my professional ethics and I'm not going to let them be corrupted, not by you, not by Arthur, nor by anyone.

"And by the way, Pansy didn't leave you because of some Auror plot," said Hermione vindictively. "She left you because she's in love with Ginny. And the sooner you get over yourself and admit that, the better off you'll be."

Ah, that had scored a hit. Malfoy's entire body language went tense as wire, and his face turned hard, his eyes vicious cold. The fingers of his injured hand twitched once, tightening, as though around the handle of a wand. And only then did Hermione realize that the "protective" curled position also put that hand in the perfect position to draw his spare from his chest holster, had it currently been there.

And then he was on his feet, quick as a cat, furious.

"Get out of my house," he hissed.

"Malfoy," began Hermione.

"Up those stairs. Fireplace on landing. Out!" He advanced on her, arm outstretched to point up the stairs, expression murderous.

"Fine," said Hermione. She went to go pick up her broom and briefcase from where they had fallen.

Malfoy came after her, kicking one of the evidence bags skidding toward her feet. "Those too," he snarled. "If you think I'm going to sign for those without a lawyer here, you're more foolish than I thought."

"Fine," Hermione bit out. Shaking with adrenaline, she snatched up the evidence bags too, and then straightened and marched to the stairs.

At the top of the stairs was a broad landing with a Persian carpet in its middle and four fireplaces, two on each side. They were cold and unused. There was a small stand between each pair, carrying floo powder in engraved bowls. Hermione took some floo powder and then paused a moment to look beyond the arch.

Before her was a massive ballroom even more magnificent than the entry chamber. A tremendous grand staircase wound down from her feet, following the ballroom's curve. This was clearly the point at which guests made their big entrances, in full view of the entire floor. The fireplaces on the landing were for new arrivals, people who were not arriving by coach or Apparition.

More than anything yet the ballroom made Hermione feel the unbridgeable gap between herself and Malfoy in society, in money, in everything.

As she turned back to the fireplace, she saw that Malfoy had come most of the way up the stair, and was lurking there watching suspiciously to make sure she really left.

He looked isolated and defensive, and it struck Hermione that, when no parties were being held, the Manor was probably a very cold and lonely place to live.

She threw the powder into one of the fireplaces and its gaping dark maw flared up in brilliant green.

"The Burrow!" she cried out.

To hell with the Aurors, thought Hermione. I'm going home.