Blood of Mud, Wing of Bat

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Chapter 27: He Says, She Says

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Witch's Brew was considered a "chick beer" and therefore wasn't Ron Weasley's usual brand, but apparently he'd opted to work his way through Hermione's stash rather than leave the house and risk her turning up when he wasn't there.

When Hermione arrived in a blast of green fire, she found the living room of the Burrow completely trashed. Her work papers regarding Batwing and Malfoy were still scattered copiously over the coffee table, end tables and couches, and now they were joined by three different brands of fast-food wrappers, a case's worth of empty Witch's Brew bottles, assorted dirty Quidditch socks, two pro-issue Beater's bats, a Bludger confined in a No-Go-Donut, and one very dishevelled looking Ron Weasley.

Ron had been sprawled asleep on one of the couches, but sat bolt upright at Hermione's precipitous entrance. He was unshaven, unbathed, and still wore a salt-stained orange Cannons uniform.

"Hermie!" he exclaimed, in evident relief. "You're back! Where have you been? I was worried sick about you!"

"You wouldn't believe me if I told you," said Hermione tiredly, and slumped onto the couch opposite, dumping all of her stuff at her feet.

Something flashed in the lower boundary of her vision, and she glanced down and saw to her surprise that there were two He-Says-She-Says charms sitting in the middle of the coffee table on a patch of glass carefully cleared of papers. One resembled a small cardboard cutout of Rowena Ravenclaw, and the other resembled Viktor Krum. Each had a little word balloon sticking out of its mouth. The flash had been Rowena Ravenclaw's word balloon changing in response to Hermione saying "You wouldn't believe me if I told you." It now said: I'd tell you, but you'd become irrationally angry and probably want to go kick somebody's arse, and I really can't cope with that right now.

"Oh no!" Hermione exclaimed.

Rowena Ravenclaw's word balloon quickly changed to: Oh god! He-Says-She-Says charms!

"Aren't they great?" said Ron enthusiastically. "We need to talk, and I thought they'd help in knowing we were being honest with each other. They're just like a truth charm!"

Viktor Krum's word balloon said: Parvati better be right about this. These things cost a fortune!

"Um," said Hermione, making a mental note to throttle Parvati Patil at the next earliest opportunity. "I hate to say it, but from what I've seen of them so far they're not exactly truth charms. They're more like… reckless bluntness charms. Probably not very conducive to a civilized conversation, or at least not a tactful one."

She pointed at the Viktor Krum charm.

Ron read what it said and blanched. "Oh."

After a moment, Hermione reached out and laid both charms down on their faces so they couldn't be read. Ron did not object.

"I do agree we need to talk, though," she said. "It's not going to be easy, but at this point I don't think we have any choice if we want things to work out."

Ron nodded. "So, I thought I could get the keg and you could handle the food?"

Hermione blinked. Keg… food… oh! The Quidditch Barbecue! How could he be thinking about the Barbecue at a time like this? But of course, Ron no idea that she had just found out the truth about his infidelity. Or at least, Malfoy's version of the truth. Suddenly Hermione realized that bringing the subject up with Ron was going to be a lot more difficult than she had thought. She couldn't just blurt it out any old time, no matter how much the news had upset her. She had to take first things first.

First get the Barbecue out of the way. Then confront Ron about Sheila Lasherton.

"Look, Ron… this Barbecue thing… I know your parents are really gung ho on it, and they said you'd already agreed, but I don't think it's such a good idea," she said. "My work is really stressful and I just took on a brand new client -"

"Malfoy," supplied Ron.

"Yes, him, and I just got done telling him he needs to put in more time at Batwing on the weekends. There's no way I can tell him I'm going to be taking a weekend off now, not this week!"

"Invite him," suggested Ron. "And his rugrats play Quidditch too, don't they? Invite them as well."

There was a short, startled silence.

"Er… you want me to invite Malfoy?"

"Well, why not?" said Ron, leaning back with his arms folded behind his head and his legs casually stretched out amongst the junk under the coffee table. "He's your client, isn't he? You always invite your clients."

"I usually do," said Hermione cautiously. "But I thought you hated him."

"Well, he's not my favorite person," admitted Ron, "but that's no reason to stand in the way of you doing your job. Besides, it's been twenty years since I played Quidditch with Malfoy. It would be fun to see if he's been keeping up with it."

Hermione couldn't help it. She had to know. She reached over and picked up the Viktor Krum charm and found its word balloon jammed with tiny text. She had to hold it close to her nose to make the words out: I would give my left nut to see that skinny little rat go down under a hail of Bludgers. Please, God, oh please let her say yes because making nice to his pointy, ferrety little face for two or three hours is more than a fair price for the privilege of taking him out in a matter of seconds on the backyard pitch. Please please please!

"Jesus," exclaimed Hermione.

Ron immediately snatched up the Rowena Ravenclaw charm and read it. After a moment, by mutual unspoken agreement, they showed the charms to one another.

The Rowena one said: I knew it! I'm married to a Neanderthal.

Ron grimaced. "Maybe you're right," he said. "I mean, about the Barbecue. It's just that… I'm not sure how to put this, but… mom and dad already started inviting people."

"They what!"

He spread his hands apologetically. "They'd already invited some of their friends from work even before I knew we were going to have a party. It wasn't my idea. They just sprang it on me last night as already planned."

"You're not joking!" said Hermione.

"No," said Ron sadly.

"But there'll be… they'd have invited Daschel Duncan, and -"

"His name did come up," admitted Ron.

"That does it then," said Hermione. "You're going to have to handle the Barbecue by yourself. I can't be unavailable for work this weekend, not while I'm still trying to win Malfoy's trust and cooperation, and I certainly can't invite him to the party when there will be non-family Ministry people there."

"Why not? It's not as if there won't be politics there already, and I'm sure Malfoy knows how to act at a dinner party. He probably grew up at them."

Hermione sighed. "It's just not a good idea. Malfoy is on a hair trigger. He's under so much stress these days it doesn't take a lot to set him off, and he does know how to use his wand as a weapon. And all those Ministry people are twice as paranoid about him as he is about them. All it would take is one wrong word or something happening to his daughter in Quidditch, or… or something… and it could turn into a bloodbath."

"Well then, everybody will just have to give up their wand at the door," said Ron reasonably.

He wouldn't dare try anything unarmed, said the Viktor Krum charm, but I sure hope he does. I'd love to grab him by his scrawny little albino pencil neck and -

Ron reached across and covered the charm with his hand, pulled it free of Hermione's grasp so he could lay it face down again.

"Look," he said, "what it said… that might be what I'd want to do, but I wouldn't. You know that."

"I know," said Hermione.

The Rowena Ravenclaw charm said: Yeah, right. That's why you burst in on him in a public restaurant and would have tried to do just that if Crabbe and Goyle hadn't stopped you.

Ron stared at it for a moment. She could see him trying to figure out how Hermione had found out about that little episode, but of course the obvious explanation was that Malfoy had told her about it.

"I… appreciate what you're trying to do," she said. "And it's big of you, it really is. I know you don't want him here, but the fact that you'd be willing to let him come just to support my work… it's really noble of you." She took a deep breath. "But it's just not realistic, is it? Someone will only get hurt, or worse."

Ron's shoulders slumped.

"I… yeah. You're probably right. But… you'll be there unless you actually have to work, right? And you'll still do the food?"

Hermione gritted her teeth in frustration. There just wasn't any way to escape this Barbecue thing. Here she was with nearly insurmountable problems at work, and her husband was cheating on her for heaven's sake and she still had to confront him about that, and they barely ever saw each other anyway, and now she was going to get stuck cooking for the whole party too, when half the invitees were people she wouldn't have wanted around anyway. It was enough to make a person scream.

But instead, she took a deep breath.

"Of course. Just let me know how many people I need to cook for, and I'll set everything up during the week. I'm certain I could get a few minutes free to come set off the preparation charms and make sure everything happens correctly."

"Mom and dad didn't say how many they had invited, but I can find out," said Ron. "And aside from that, I assume we'd be inviting the twins and their families, and Bill and Charlie and their families, and Ginny of course."

Not Pansy, thought Hermione. Of course. The Weasleys are as irrational about Pansy as Malfoy is about Mudbloods.

There was a pause. Ron was staring in shock at the Rowena Ravenclaw statuette. Hermione looked at it too, and gasped. It said: Maybe we should invite that Sheila Lasherton cow too. Why not? One big happy family, eh? Boy, wouldn't I love to slave away in the kitchen and on the grill, making a nice welcome home for that STUPID FILTHY WHORE while people who really should be part of the family are left -- Hermione snatched the Rowena charm out of Ron's hand and pressed it face-first against her bosom before either of them could read any more. However, the damage had already been done.

"Sheila?" said Ron, his face turning so white his freckles seemed to jump out like Muggle stop-signs. "How did you know about her? Wait a minute, it's Malfoy isn't it? He told you!"

Ron grabbed up the Viktor Krum charm and looked at it. It said: Oh shit, how did that backbiting little slimeball remember that from so long ago? He tossed it aside, but it landed face up, its incriminating words plain to see.

"So what if he did?" demanded Hermione.

The Rowena Ravenclaw charm said: So that's why you remembered Malfoy throwing out the Quaffle. That's probably the first thing you thought of when you heard I was going to be working with him, isn't it? How he saw you with your little fresh-out-of-Hogwarts Quidditch chickie, you lying, cheating sack of --

"That slimy bastard! I'll kill him!" raged Ron.

The Viktor Krum charm said: That slimy bastard! I'll kill him!

"Don't you dare, Ronald Weasley," growled Hermione.

The Rowena Ravenclaw charm continued: -of Skrewt dung! And don't you dare! I don't plan on losing my job because you'd rather beat the crap out of someone than tell me the truth. Not to mention, he'd probably curse you to next Tuesday before you could lay a finger on him. Anyway, stop trying to change the subject!

"Look, I don't know why you listen to what that little rat says. He was probably just saying it to get to you, and it's all lies anyway!" said Ron.

Hermione's eyes narrowed and she ignored the Viktor Krum charm this time. "If it's all lies anyway," she snarled, "why did you get that look on your face when you saw her name?"

"Because I knew you would overrea -"

"Overreact?" Hermione screeched, her voice rising up in an uncanny imitation of Molly Weasley's. Ron's eyes widened and suddenly he was on the defensive. There was a smell of smoke on the air. Hermione vaguely wondered where it was coming from.

"OK… I … uh… look, you've got to calm down," Ron said anxiously.

"I… I… what?" Hermione stuttered. "Excuse me? Why should I calm down? You've been cheating on me!"

"I know, but…." began Ron.

"Damn it, Ron, she's twenty-five years old! Don't you have any shame? And what about our kids?"

"Just… OK. I can explain," he said, reaching towards her hand.

"Don't touch me!" she shrieked in fury.

And then, they found out where the smell of smoke had been coming from.

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KABOOM!!!

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A flash of orange and the floor jumped, spilling both Ron and Hermione to the ground. They staggered up, ears popping, to the sound of crackling fire. All the lights in the place had been blown out, and the windows were lit up with an eerie orange glow. Through them could be seen a strange, previously-unknown gap between the row of outbuildings across the yard. Debris was still raining down all over the place, and in the spot where Arthur's old Muggle artifacts experiment shed had been, there was only a pile of wood rubble and mounting flames.

Did I do that? thought Hermione in disbelief as she looked upon the surreal sight.

"Shit," squeaked Ron, in fear and awe. "Now it's definitely time to calm down."

"I didn't do that," said Hermione defensively.

"Yes you did," said Ron fervently. "You have a right to be angry, but not to totally freak out! Now calm down before you kill us both!" he pleaded.

But Hermione hadn't cast much wild magic even when she was eleven years old. There was no way she had suddenly started doing it now. "I didn't do it!" she repeated, wild-eyed.

"Of course you did, Hermie. Who else could possibly -"

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WHAM!

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The front door blew open with a crash and a shower of splinters and six olive-clad Aurors charged into the living room of the Burrow, causing both Ron and Hermione to whirl away from the window in startlement.

"What the…?!" began Ron.

"Get down, Mr. Weasley," barked one of the Aurors, and then two of them tackled Ron bodily, knocking him down onto a couch. The couch crashed over onto its back, dumping Ron and the two Aurors to the floor and sending books, papers, and beer bottles flying everywhere.

"Aargh!" shrieked Ron from beneath the pile of bodies, his long legs flailing in the air above his head.

For her part, Hermione didn't even have time to react - three other Aurors had her surrounded immediately and their combat staves belched white fire, freezing her in place.

"Erk?" was all she could think to say as she toppled stiffly onto the floor.

From that angle she had a perfect view of the Aurors themselves. They were dressed in true combat gear from the war, but their chests bore white triangular emblems featuring a spiky triple-D.

Seeing that, she knew exactly who they must be.

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One of the most notable differences between government in the Wizarding world and government in the Muggle world was how domestic disturbances were handled. In the Muggle world, domestic disputes might be minor or they might be fatal, but in either case they were usually private and the consequences to the neighbors rarely extended beyond overheard yelling or the obligation to phone the police. Not so in the Wizarding world! In fact, outside of war, domestic arguments were the number one cause of full scale Magical Catastrophes. This was because the strength of Wild Magic, and its likelihood of occurrence, was directly proportional to the degree of negative emotion the witch or wizard was experiencing. Wild magic cast by kids was bad enough, but an adult with full magical powers who completely lost it could cause incredible damage. And what was more emotional than a nasty domestic dispute?

The Department of Domestic Disturbances, therefore, had a sub-department called the Emergency Containment Division, which was further subdivided into an administrative portion, and a paramilitary unit known as the Disaster Containment Squad. It was from this department that members had been culled to form the Department of Magical Catastrophes when Sirius Black - or rather, Peter Pettigrew - proved that sometimes disasters happened that were neither war nor marriage related.

It was the combat-ready Aurors of the Department of Domestic Disturbances Disaster Containment Squad Hermione saw before her now.

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As they hauled Hermione to her feet, and the two who'd tackled Ron helped him to his, Hermione could see the sixth remaining Auror rifling through the papers on the coffee table and gathering them up. Suddenly she realized what would happen if they found the things there that Trelawney was not supposed to have, like the photo from the raid on Malfoy Manor.

"Hey wait," she said in alarm, her voice a bit distorted because the immobilization charm had made her whole face numb. "You can't take -"

"Evidence," grunted the Auror.

"Evidence of what?" she demanded incoherently. "We weren't fighting about -"

And then she realized. This wasn't about a domestic disturbance at all, it was about Draco Malfoy. When she hadn't returned to explain herself to Nesbitt and his sidekick, Special Ops had pulled strings to get her busted by the Disaster Containment Squad so that they could seize whatever they wanted and bring her in for questioning. She didn't know how Nesbitt had found out she and Ron were having a fight, but she'd bet her two front teeth that Nesbitt would be there waiting for her at Domestic Disturbances HQ when they brought her in.

"Oh, no," she said. "I'm not going with you."

"I'm sorry, Ma'am," said one of the Aurors holding her, "but we have no choice. The Wild Magic O' Meter showed a WMI or Wild Magic Index of 88.8 on a scale of one to 100 in this area just before we came in."

"Jesus," said Ron, staring at Hermione in horror.

Her face turned red. "I didn't do it," she seethed. "I've been set up! They just want to question me about Malfoy. I'll bet that Agent Nesbitt is waiting right there to nab me when they bring me in. This whole thing was probably his idea!"

Several different emotions whizzed across Ron's face as if he didn't know whether to be upset or amused or baffled. Then he really saw what the sixth Auror was doing, and something clicked in his expression. Hermione knew he must have remembered Malfoy's criminal record and all the times he'd supposedly been picked up on Domestic Disturbance calls. This was clearly one of the many ways the erstwhile Department of Magical Law Enforcement managed to get what it wanted despite ostensibly being disbanded.

"Wait a minute," Ron demanded, as the Aurors began to drag Hermione towards the door.

"We apologize, sir, but we must bring her somewhere safe, where she can cool down without damaging anything else," said one of the Aurors as he deftly removed Hermione's wand from its pocket and placed it in his own.

"It's for Nesbitt," yelled Hermione. "What a farce."

"But you can't just - I don't want to press charges or anything - " Ron protested.

"Forget it, Ron," said Hermione bitterly. "There's nothing you can say to stop them. They'll let me go when their questions have been answered."

"I'll call dad," said Ron. "He'll make them stop."

But Hermione suspected that by the time Arthur could act - assuming he even bothered - it'd be far too late.

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In the short time since the explosion, the front yard had become packed with reporters. Everything was luridly lit by swarming Lite-Brites and an enormous Pillow-Wisp that loomed like the moon in the smoky haze from the burning shed. Hawks-eye charms and Flying I's jostled for a gander at her, and the reporters surged forward, babbling their questions.

Hermione scarcely had time to wonder how they'd found out about this and arrived on her doorstep so quickly; the Aurors were dragging her down through the crowd, pushing and shoving, using their staves to force people back. Waiting near the center of the mob were another gaggle of Triple-D Aurors carrying broomsticks, and an enormous push-broom harnessed to a floating prisoner transport booth.

As they pushed Hermione inside the cramped booth, Ron stood on the front steps and called out to her. She thought he said "I'll floo dad!" but she could barely hear him over the crowd. And then the reporters had closed in around him and there was nothing she could do but wait for what would come.

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