Blood of Mud, Wing of Bat

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Chapter 32: Everlasting

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Noise exploded in a deafening blare as Hermione and Malfoy Apparated onto the platform outside St. Mungo's and were promptly inundated by a mob of reporters. Hermione's headache, already splitting, threatened to erupt like a gory red dungbomb as dozens of Lite Brites popped off in her face. She felt Malfoy recoil against her, his fingers digging into her arm.

"Mrs. Weasley, is it true you're leaving your husband?" yelled one reporter, shoving what looked like a Muggle microphone in her face. Actually it was just a sceptre styled to look like a mic; they were all the rage among wizarding reporters these days.

"Mrs. Weasley! Who's he cheating with?" shouted another.

"Mrs. Weasley, Mrs. Weasley," yelled yet another. "What's your connection with Draco Malfoy?"

She could hear someone else simultaneously shouting at Malfoy: "What's your connection with Hermione Weasley?"

"Clear the platform!" bellowed the Apparition attendant, giving Hermione a firm shove in the back. She lurched forward, lost her balance, and plunged down into the crowd. She felt Malfoy's grip break free and turned quickly to look for him, but they had already been separated. She was on her own. Not that he probably would have been much help in any case.

"Mrs. Weasley! Tell us what happened! Why were you so angry you blew up your house?"

"It wasn't the house," Hermione tried to protest. "It was just a shed. And… hold on, I didn't do it!"

But her answer was drowned out amidst more shouts of "Mrs. Weasley! Mrs. Weasley, a question!"

"Wait, wait, one at a time," she said, but it was like trying to douse a stampede of fire-lemmings with an eyedropper. Her head was pounding like a thousand drums and she could barely see for the pain. And still the questions came on, piled atop one another.

"Mrs. Weasley, do you have anything to say to your husband right at this moment, and if so, what is it?"

"Mrs. Weasley, have you ever cheated on your husband?"

"No comment!" she gasped in outrage, but nobody heard that either. Honestly, why couldn't she have become newsworthy for something genuinely important, like managing to recreate the Philosopher's Stone? Why did she have to be the Witch Who Chudley Cannons Beater Ron Weasley is Cheating On?

She started looking for a way to get back onto the Apparition platform, but she was penned in by newspeople and their equipment. She couldn't even see it, much less reach it. And she couldn't Apparate away unless she could get to that platform, since St. Mungo's wards would prevent it otherwise.

"Let me through!" she gritted, as she tried to get past the scepters ringing her.

"Mrs. Weasley! Mrs. Weasley! Did Malfoy pay your bail?"

"Mrs. Weasley! Have you spoken to the Director of Auror Affairs, have you spoken to your father-in-law since you were arrested?"

"Mrs. Weasley! Have you cheated on your husband?"

In desperation, she lifted her wand. The reporters fell back momentarily, probably fearing she meant to curse them. But when she made as if to Apparate instead, they surged ahead again, likely thinking she wouldn't succeed because of the wards.

She wasn't planning on really Apparating, though; she was only going to pretend to. She moved her wand in a not-quite correct movement, combined with her very best instant transformation into fly-form, and -

CRACK!

The reporters closed in to fill the empty space as Hermione spiralled upward entirely unseen.

---

It was a shame that after the promising show Hermione had put on at Hogwarts, and despite her early successes in changing the structure of Wizarding society, she hadn't actually contributed all that much to the advancement of Wizardry itself. To date her biggest magical accomplishments were feats she'd never dare tell anyone about, because they involved innovative ways of getting in and out of her Animagus form without anybody finding out what she was.

The fake Disapparition had been the first of them, and in fact the breakthrough had come when she, Ron and Harry were still learning how to Apparate. When the other two weren't around, she'd practiced fervently and made her transformation faster and faster until she was able to duplicate the snap of displaced air that occurred during a real Disapparition. This was possible because of the dramatic size difference between her human form and her Animagus. Once she'd gotten the technique down, she'd honed her skills by practicing it right in front of her two friends, who never even suspected. The reverse was a bit trickier as it required casting a firecracker charm upon re-transforming, so she could only do it when nobody happened to be looking. Not to mention the smell of burnt firecracker might be cause for suspicion. But it could still be done, if she was careful enough and if the circumstances were right.

In the subsequent years, she'd expanded her portfolio to include fake Flooing. This involved throwing the floo powder in, stepping into the flames as they roared their highest, but then transforming and quickly flying back out the way she'd come. The brilliance of the green fire prevented anyone who was looking from spotting her tiny form coming back out.

She could also simulate an arrival by floo by flying into the fireplace, turning around, then shooting out of it transforming at the same time. So long as she made sure to do it when nobody was looking, it fooled them every time.

Of course, the Ministry kept strict records of both Flooing and Apparating, and her records would certainly look odd. But who was going to go back and check all the records?

---

Now headache-free and soaring above the turmoil, Hermione tried to decide what to do. She couldn't very well Apparate in her Animagus form, and almost anyplace she'd want to go from here was an awfully long distance to be flying on the wings of an insect. But "catching a ride" covertly with a total stranger was problematic, because she'd never quite know where she'd end up.

As she circled indecisively she spotted Malfoy forcing his way through the packed reporters towards the great plant-and-animal graven arch that was the Wizarding entrance to St. Mungo's. He presumably had a lot more experience dealing with the media than she did, but he still didn't seem too happy. Maybe he was used to more controlled situations like press conferences. And of course, being that he was wandless, rudely Apparating away would not have been an option even if there hadn't been wards.

Hermione was none too pleased with him after their little conversation at Ernie's, but despite herself she darted down to have a better listen to how he was answering them.

"How's your son doing?" shouted a reporter.

"No interviews!" Malfoy scowled as he pushed and squirmed his way between two massive Wizarding TV Seer Balls.

"What about the restraining order preventing Salazar's mother from seeing him?" a second reporter yelled as they flowed back around the Seer Balls trying to catch him.

"No interviews!" he repeated, clambering awkwardly over the umbilical joining an Witness Eye floater and its operator.

"Is it true you're having an affair with Hermione Weasley?" shouted a third reporter, this one right in his face. Malfoy stomped directly on that reporter's foot hard, forcing him to give way.

"That's revolting!" he snarled, as he shoved through the resulting gap. "No more questions!"

And with that, he bolted up the steps and in through the doors of St. Mungo's. A pair of blue-liveried Department of Social Services ickle-Aurors posted there prevented the reporters from following him in.

They did not, however, have a hope of preventing Hermione from zipping in over their heads.

---

The main waiting area of St. Mungo's hadn't changed much over the years. It was still loud, crowded, and shabby, with rows of crummy wooden chairs holding witches and wizards in every possible state of disrepair. Weird moans and shrieks blended into a hideous cacophony, making Hermione very glad her headache hadn't survived her transformation. Grotesquely altered body parts oozed dubious substances onto the floor, or in a couple of cases lay about completely detached.

Malfoy was significantly out of breath, and a bit sweaty and wild-eyed as well, after his encounter with the reporters. But he wasted no time in striding up to the Inquiry desk.

"Next, please?" asked the witch who was stationed there. "Oh, Mr. Malfoy! How nice to see you again. You've come alone, then? You know you really ought to have brought along someone familiar with Muggle culture to explain things for you," she said cheerfully.

Hang on, thought Hermione in surprise. Did she say Muggle culture?

"It's so difficult to face these decisions at the best of times," the Inquiry witch continued. "And it's particularly difficult when we're talking about Muggle surgery. So many of you older families just don't have enough exposure to Muggles to be able to grasp the simplest -"

"That's enough of that," said Malfoy sharply, eyes darting to make sure everybody nearby was minding their own business. "And I'm more than capable of making the decision myself, thank you. Now about my appointment?"

Wait, wait, thought Hermione. They're going to do Muggle surgery on Salazar?

"Ah yes," said the Inquiry witch without batting an eyelash. "They're just waiting for Dr. Thurgood to arrive and then they'll be ready for you. Why don't you have a seat and we'll call you when it's time?"

Doctor! thought Hermione. It really is Muggle surgery!

"Such a pity there's no reversal for Everlasting Glue, it's one of the Great Mysteries of the Wizarding World," the witch was already saying to the next person in line, as Malfoy stalked toward the waiting area.

---

Hermione hadn't really had any specific plans when she followed Malfoy into St. Mungo's, but now she knew she had to get in and see his son for herself somehow.

When she'd originally learned about the accident with the Everlasting Glue, Hogwarts hadn't bothered to relay any of the details, and in fact had implied the details were unnecessary. The school had threatened to expel Freida and Georgia, which was bad enough, but had not actually done so. Malfoy's owl to Hermione and Ron had been threatening too, but it hadn't said he planned to press charges or file a lawsuit, only that any more incidents like it would result in action on his part.

In other words, it seemed that the twins had done something incredibly foolish and ill-advised, which had caused someone else to get hurt accidentally… but not seriously.

But then there had been that niggling, unresolved detail - the part about Salazar not being back to school until next term. No ordinary parent would want their child's schooling to be set back a year if it was at all avoidable. How minor could the injury be, if it was going to result in that?

And now Hermione was beginning to fear she had underestimated the situation completely. This business of Muggle surgery was a surprise, to say the least. No Magical Healer in his or her right mind would even consider recommending such a thing unless the patient's life was at stake, and there were very few situations where magic couldn't do the job better and faster. Not to mention, it would require that a Muggle surgeon and his surgery team be exposed to the Wizarding world, which was a good deal more problematic than revealing secrets to ordinary people.

For one thing, Muggle doctors were highly intelligent, highly motivated, and worked for a cause that was seen as just and good in both the Muggle and Wizarding worlds. When they became aware of the Wizarding world and all the benefits of magical healing, they invariably produced well-thought-out, compelling and insistent arguments that this knowledge ought to be made freely available to Muggles for the saving of lives. And these arguments were terribly difficult to ignore, even for the mainstream moderates who knew fully well such a thing could never be allowed wholesale. There was inevitably a huge row over it at the Ministry, and Obliviations of everybody involved. Everybody who could be legally Obliviated, that is. Which led to the next problem: Healers and their Muggle equivalents were traditionally exempt from Obliviation. This was because there was no way to guarantee there wouldn't be accidental loss of medical knowledge that might result in harm to patients, or even unnecessary deaths.

So Muggle surgery would not have been recommended lightly. And it was clear that Malfoy knew about the proposed surgery and that this is what the meeting was going to be about. It didn't take a Know-it-All to realize that the situation must be serious indeed for Malfoy to even listen to something like that. If the glue had covered the boy's wand hand, perhaps, or had gotten onto his face, sticking shut an eye or entering his nose or mouth… that might be serious enough to warrant it. Since Everlasting Glue could not be reversed, the only way to remove it was physically, and perhaps Muggle cutting would be kinder and less destructive than using Accio and its relatives to rip the glue away.

The more Hermione thought about it, the more worried she became.

Ron and others may joke about how strict she was with the children -- and it was true, sometimes she found herself repeating the same warnings and instructions for the 100th time and realized for herself how acutely ridiculous she was being. Kids misbehaved in school. It had been that way since the beginning of time. Who was she to think she could change human nature?

But putting someone in hospital! That was too far in just about anybody's book. And if anything went wrong, if Salazar were left with a hideous scar or something, there was absolutely no way Malfoy would fail to press charges on the twins, Batwing or no. After all, how could a business be more important than his own son? He wouldn't even work on weekends because of wanting to be with his family. It was a sure bet that needing Hermione's goodwill for Batwing would only go so far to protect Georgia and Freida from his revenge.

If only they could have picked something less extreme than Everlasting Glue!

---

Determined not to miss out on anything, Hermione followed Malfoy through the crowded waiting area. He was drawing quite a few stares; evidently his lack of beautification charms was no substitute for travelling incognito. In fact, since everybody recognized him, his less-than-wonderful appearance was probably generating loads of additional unwanted rumors.

He chose an out-of-the way chair in a back corner of the waiting-area, next to a fat witch who appeared to have been half consumed by a large python but who was currently reading a copy of Witch Weekly unconcernedly. On the chair across from them was a gray-and-black tabby cat with its feet curled up comfortably beneath it. It looked ordinary, but it was probably an accidentally transformed person coming to get the spell reversed. Either that, or a familiar belonging to one of the patients.

Malfoy edged as far as he could into the corner away from both of them and leaned against the wall, watching the waiting-area and the people in it. His eyes flicked over the obvious cases quickly, lingered on the more bizarre ones. Hermione had visited St. Mungo's enough times for Ron that people-watching in the waiting-area without being free to follow them further in their lives had lost quite a bit of its novelty, and she didn't have paranoia to keep her interested like Malfoy did. She was just wondering if she should go try to find Salazar now - perhaps on the Potions accidents floor - when Malfoy suddenly spoke to the witch sitting beside him.

"How long has that owl been staring at me?" he demanded.

Hermione spotted the owl he was talking about at once - it was sitting on the post-perch near the Inquiry desk. It was a very fine specimen, with a brand-new tip pouch and no sign of damage anywhere on its sleek feathers. It was staring at Malfoy avidly.

The python witch lowered her magazine, revealing that it was open to the "Most Eligible (And Wealthy!) Bachelors of the Year 2020" spread. Malfoy was listed as #15 of 45, just after Tad Baddly, four times MVP and the captain of England's international Quidditch team, and just before Parker Wanmaker, heir to the Ollivander's fortune. Not that Ollivander himself showed any signs of expiring, mind you - but he had to be nearly a hundred and thirty years old.

"Well hello," said the witch, after blinking several times and then comparing the picture in the magazine to the genuine article just to make sure her eyes weren't deceiving her. "Do you always pick up witches in the St. Mungo's lobby?"

Now it was Malfoy's turn to blink. "I'm not trying to pick you up," he said after a pause.

"Oh dear," sighed the witch, disappointed. "Well. I suppose it will still be quite a story to tell the girls at work."

Malfoy's nose wrinkled. "And that owl? How long has it been there?" He turned to glare at it intently. After a moment, it spun its face 180 degrees the opposite way.

"Why, I have no idea!" exclaimed the witch. "I only just noticed it there."

"Hmph," he said. A moment later, Hermione saw him look up suddenly at the owl again, catching it in the act of turning away a second time.

"I knew it," he growled. He pulled an expensive designer Self-Refilling Quill and a roll of parchment out of his pocket, unrolled the parchment on his knees and carefully scripted:

Please sign and return.

in the center in an elegant hand. He blew on the ink and waved the parchment to dry it, then folded it carefully into a packet. Once it was folded, he wrote a name and address on the outside of it. Hermione couldn't catch the name, but the address was somewhere in the United States of America.

What on earth was he doing? It looked like he was addressing a letter. Was he really going to send a letter that said "Please sign and return" to someone on the opposite side of the planet?

When he was finished he dug in his pocket for a ribbon and rose to his feet, wending his way quickly back through the waiting area toward the Inquiry desk with obvious intent. The fancy owl flapped indignantly as he grabbed it and began to tie the letter onto its leg without even bothering to ask the Inquiry witch for permission to use it first. Hermione and the python lady watched (the latter snickering in astonishment) as he finished and released the owl, only to have it continue to stare at him aghast, unmoving. He made an abrupt, be-off-then gesture. Sulkily the owl flounced off the perch and out the front doors, and Malfoy made his way back to his seat.

"Why did you do that?" asked the witch jammed up to her hips in a python, evidently unable to bear her curiosity.

"To stop it from staring at me of course," said Malfoy. "And to keep it from coming back too soon."

"Was it bothering you that much?" she asked.

"I have bad enough luck without letting a stupid owl make it worse," he said.

"Bad luck?" repeated the witch. "You sent that poor owl off to the States because you thought it was giving you bad luck?" She looked as if she might think he was insane.

"Animals staring at you is always bad luck," said Malfoy, looking as if he thought she was insane for ever doubting it.

The witch glanced at the gray tabby cat that had been staring at them from directly across the aisle the whole time. She looked as if she were about to point it out, but just then the cat stopped staring and began to studiously clean its paw instead.

"Breaking mirrors is bad luck," said the python witch. "A black cat crossing your path is bad luck. But owls staring? Hardly! I suppose you believe rainbows are good luck too?" She patted the head of her python, whose eyes, it should be noted, were currently bulging out and staring in two opposite directions.

Malfoy raised his chin haughtily. "Rainbows are good luck. Why on earth would you suggest otherwise?" Both he and the witch appeared to believe they were having a perfectly sensible conversation.

Hermione couldn't believe what she was hearing. Save me from pureblood foolishness!

---

Ten minutes later, Malfoy's conversational companion was halfway through a story about why she was halfway through a python. It was a very long and convoluted tale that seemed to involve a lawn chair, a vial of Giselle's Grace Enhancer, several tins of coconut oil, and a Sunlight Magnification Charm. Malfoy was paying alert and sober attention to the story and even asking questions, which Hermione found perfectly maddening. The python itself had still not made its entrance into the plot line when Malfoy was summoned for his meeting - and not a moment too soon as far as Hermione was concerned!

The team who'd come to pick Malfoy up didn't resemble a simple escort so much as it resembled a goon squad for dealing with particularly difficult patients. In addition to a wizard in Healer's robes carrying a clipboard, there were four huge orderlies -- two male and two female -- as well as a second Healer, a small mousy-looking witch who held her exposed wand in one hand and a vial of clear pale-yellow potion in the other. From the color and viscosity it looked like a Paralyzing Draught, but Hermione couldn't be sure.

At first she wondered if Salazar was really giving them that much trouble, and then she realized it was Draco himself they were wary of. Of course, she thought. If he'd gone through nine surrogates, he'd been "killed" nine times. The sacrifice of the surrogates via the Dark Link ritual would have prevented him from dying, but somebody still would have had to have done the actual healing that completed the saving of his life. And the St. Mungo's Healers were among the best in the world, so naturally someone like Malfoy would have been brought to them. There were probably quite a few people there who knew exactly what Malfoy was and weren't going to take any chances.

---

The room where the meeting was to be held was deep inside the original St. Mungo's building, a centuries-old monastery that had survived several wars, Muggle and wizarding both. Hidden behind a modern façade and several layers of newer construction, this core area had some of the oldest and heaviest wards in the Wizarding world.

The room itself appeared to be normally used as an examination room, but currently contained a small table and several chairs. There was another, older Healer standing and waiting, as well as one of the Department of Social Services Aurors. The lighting was extremely bright, quite uncharacteristic for Wizarding interior spaces which were still typically lit by torchlight. It was, however, normal for one of the examination rooms. Hermione had been in them enough times for Ron to know that.

Everybody, including the Healers, looked haggard and grimy under that light. Hermione was glad she was a fly.

The newest Healer gave the Auror a nod, and the Auror stepped forward and performed a physical search of Malfoy's person, evidently looking for a wand. He discovered the forearm sheath, which was of course empty, but did not find the quick-release chest holster. Hermione began to see why Nesbitt and Malfoy both disparaged "ickle" Aurors. Still, since Malfoy really was wandless, it hardly mattered this time.

Throughout the search, nobody spoke. Malfoy stood still, his posture stiff with protest but not actually resisting, his eyes locked onto the Healer who'd given the go-ahead with an unreadable look that wasn't quite hatred, but was extremely intense. It was almost a promise. Hermione realized there must be previous history between the two of them, and not pleasant history at that.

After the search was completed, however, the Auror was sent away and Malfoy was offered a seat.

"I apologize," said the leader of the Healers, "but it was necessary, for the safety of our guest. Because of who he is, and because of… what you are."

"Ha," said Malfoy sourly, smoothing back his hair and taking the pro-offered seat.

The evidence of what he was was hard to ignore, under that damning white light. Here it was clear to see that most of his face - the part that would be covered by a Death Eater mask - was perfectly free of even the tiniest blemish, while the signs of magically healed nicks and cuts began at his jaw, which would be exposed.

The hand he'd just used, his wand hand, had hundreds of faint scars crisscrossing it, some tiny and some quite large. For the kind of precision spellwork he did when Apparating it could never be gloved, and of course his opponents would be trying to curse or knock the wand out of his hand. Hence that hand, and that arm, would be the most damaged.

But it was his other hand, his right, that drew Hermione's eyes. It lay seemingly harmless across his lap, thin and angular yet elegant. The scars along it, tiny and lavender, were concentrated along the back as opposed to the palm, showing that his hand had been in clenched in a fist and only its outer surface unprotected. That was the hand Nesbitt said he used to grab someone from behind, get them by the neck. Just like he'd done to the Auror, Bangor.

Each victim would have only a second or two to fight him, the moments it took to pronounce the spell Avada Kedavra, the killing curse. And then it'd be too late.

This is what Malfoy did. This was his area of expertise, that elusive skill-set that was so hard to spot when looking only at his daylight hours. Slaughtering innocent people by cursing them in the back! It was one thing to sit in Ernie's Café and listen to him make excuses about lack of choices and forced loyalties. It was quite another to see the goddamned fingernail marks on his hand from dying Muggles trying to free themselves from his clutches! Somehow this was more sobering than any graphic accusation Nesbitt could have come up with - the mute evidence of those dozens of tiny marks, proof that at least that many Muggles had clawed out the last brief instants of their lives with his wand at their backs.

Hermione was sickened. She wanted to flee the very sight of him.

But the door was opening again and a Muggle in a doctor's coat was being ushered in. She knew that regardless of her feelings about Malfoy she had better stick around long enough to find out what Salazar's condition really was, for Freida and Georgia's sake if nothing else. After all, if it did come down to a lawsuit or some such, she'd be in enough trouble trying to hire lawyers willing to go up against Blitzkrieg and Ramhomme without remaining completely ignorant of the situation as well.

---

The doctor was a short, clean-cut fellow wearing glasses and a white Muggle lab coat. He was carrying a clipboard with some notes on it.

"Ah, Dr. Thurgood," said the Healer who seemed to be in charge. "I'm Penrose St. James, the lead Healer for this case. And this is Heather Mattham, our Potions expert, and Bryant Wentwood, Life Support Supervisor." He indicated the two other Healers, and pulled out a seat across from Malfoy. "Please, have a seat."

"Thank you, very nice to meet you," said Dr. Thurgood. He seemed pleasant and intelligent, if a bit nervous. He shook hands with the three Healers, and then everybody sat down except for the orderlies, who remained standing against the wall with their arms crossed.

Malfoy watched Dr. Thurgood like a hawk, his body held perfectly still and his eyes filled with such intense malice it was impossible to ignore. Certainly Thurgood flinched from his gaze the moment he tried to meet it.

"And this is Draco Malfoy… the father," said St. James.

"Pleased to meet you," said Dr. Thurgood diffidently. He'd apparently been coached against offering to shake Malfoy's hand, because he showed absolutely no inclination to do so. Neither did he try to meet Malfoy's eyes again. Hermione wondered if perhaps he'd been told a bit more than just how to act. Perhaps he'd been told who and what Malfoy was, as well. Or would they have told him that much?

"Dr. Thurgood is a Muggle surgeon and will be able to explain to you how the Everlasting Glue might be removed using those techniques. It's only a proposal, mind you - it will be entirely up to you in the end," said St. James.

"The only reason I'm here," said Malfoy through his teeth, "is because you won't allow me to see my son until I've sat through it. That doesn't mean I actually want to hear any of this Muggle tripe, nor does it mean I'll consider it seriously for so long as a instant."

"Of course," said St. James soothingly. "We just want you to know all the options. Well then. Before we get to that, you'll be glad to hear the insects have all been successfully removed. A series of excoriating charms did the job nicely, and the glue has been covered with bandages so it cannot become adhered to anything else."

Malfoy nodded, looking as if he'd expected as much. Perhaps they'd discussed that part of the procedure during an earlier visit.

"Removing the glue itself is somewhat more problematic, of course," the Healer continued. "After all, the reversal of Everlasting Glue is one of the Great Mysteries of the Wizarding World."

Malfoy grimaced. Hermione wondered how often he'd heard that phrase about Everlasting Glue in the last three days. Probably about a thousand times.

"Since there is no magical solution to the problem, we've been forced to consider alternative treatments," said St. James. "Dr. Thurgood? Would you be so kind as to explain how Muggle surgery might be able to help Salazar?"

Malfoy's pale eyes left St. James and travelled back to Dr. Thurgood again, where they settled with unmistakable hatred.

"Yes, well," said the Muggle, shuffling his papers nervously and not looking up. "Quite a difficult case, really, and I should think it would be quite impossible to treat him with only magic or only surgery. But using the strengths of magical caregiving and the physical removal with surgery - we might well succeed. After examining the patient, I feel that -"

"They let you see him?" demanded Malfoy suddenly, sitting bolt upright in his chair.

"Now, Mr. Malfoy," began St. James.

"You let a Muggle see my son, and I haven't been allowed to?" Malfoy's outrage was plain. He started to leap to his feet, but then appeared to think the better of it. Hermione didn't blame him - between being wandless, and with four bulky orderlies standing right there and Mattham fingering that yellow potion, even Malfoy had to see the sense in avoiding trouble.

"Now now, you'll be able to see him shortly," said St. James. "Please be patient. Go on, Dr. Thurgood."

Malfoy sat back rigidly, not making any particular effort to hide his fury and resentment. And the look he shot Dr. Thurgood was absolutely chilling. Hermione questioned the wisdom of provoking Malfoy where a specific Muggle was concerned; the Death Eaters had no compunctions about harming Muggle medical personnel if they got in the way. Had someone taken steps to ensure Thurgood's safety? Who had thought it was a good idea to suggest Muggle surgery in the first place? It was obvious now Malfoy would never accept the idea, not in a thousand years.

"Er, yes," said the doctor, obviously discomfited. "Perhaps we should continue this another…?"

"No, no," said Wentwood. "Please continue."

"Describe the surgical procedure," suggested Mattham. "That's what he really needs to know."

"Very well," said Thurgood. "As to the surgery itself, the skin touching the glue must be cut away using a scalpel."

"Which is a small knife," said Wentwood.

"Oh yes, my apologies. A tiny, very sharp knife. Because the glue itself cannot be touched without adhering to whatever touches it, you see, we will keep it covered with bandages on the one side and skin on the other. Because each section of the glue must be lifted off in its entirety, this is a very time-intensive process and entails many risks, even with magical support. Fortunately, some of the complexities which would be encountered in purely surgical methods can be avoided or at least mitigated using magic - for example problems with keeping the patient anaesthetized for so long, and issues related to blood loss and replacement."

"Blood loss and repl…?" began Malfoy, but the Healers rushed to interrupt.

"Oh yes, very fortunate," said Wentwood hastily.

"Yes indeed, there shall be no issues regarding that, isn't that good?" said St. James almost at the same time.

"I daresay there shan't be any of that at all," said Mattham.

Confusion joined the anger on Malfoy's face. "What was that about blood?" he demanded.

Wentwood coughed. "Nothing of importance, really… and why go into all of that when it will only delay your seeing your son even longer?"

Malfoy's eyes narrowed suspiciously. Hermione thought they were wise to try to avoid discussing blood transfusions in front of him, because he was sure to become completely irrational. Most purebred wizards erroneously believed that the key to their breeding lay in blood, not genetics. To suggest that a Malfoy allow the blood of some lesser-born wizard - or worse yet, a Muggle - be inserted into his son's veins would likely be considered grounds for a duel to the death. Only in this case, since Dr. Thurgood was a Muggle, Malfoy would probably dispense with demanding a duel and simply AK him on the spot. That was if he didn't drop dead of a stroke himself once he finally comprehended what the Muggle had suggested.

"Heh heh," said Dr. Thurgood nervously. "My apologies. It's simply that normally in our surgical methods, there is a good deal of bleeding, because a scalpel is a knife after all, and the blood lost must be -"

"-must be somehow be unbled back in," interrupted Wentwood quickly. "Yes, very tricky procedure as you can imagine, especially without magic."

"Nothing a good Blood Staunching Charm can't take care of before it ever happens, though," said St. James firmly. "Thank goodness for magic, eh?"

"Right." Mattham nodded.

"Definitely," said Wentwood. "Thank goodness for magic."

Malfoy crossed his arms over his chest. "Fine then," he said shortly. He looked as if he knew perfectly well he was being finessed past some unpleasant subject, but didn't know how to retort without knowing what it was they were not-talking about.

"I am duty-bound to tell you," explained Dr. Thurgood, "that if you agree to do this, it will be a very slow process. His body can only withstand so much trauma at once time, and even with magical help he can only recover so fast. That means the glue will have to be removed in small sections over some months."

"Months!" said Malfoy in disbelief. "Months?"

"Yes. Well. You see, we will have to start with the critical areas - the sooner we can get him off full life support, the better. Once he is able to survive on his own again, assuming all goes well, we can concentrate on trying to unstick him from himself so he can regain normal movement. And assuming that goes according to plan, after that we can begin removing it from his hands and face, areas not covered by clothing."

"My god," said Malfoy. Every bit of anger vanished from his face to be replaced by shock. "Just how much of that Glue got on him?" he demanded.

My god, thought Hermione at the same time Malfoy said it. She should have known. They wouldn't have arranged all of this if the situation hadn't been critical. Thurgood said it was on his face and hands? And that he was stuck to himself with restricted movement? How awful!

"I assure you, his life is in no actual danger at this time," said Wentwood.

"You've been trying to set me up for this, haven't you," said Malfoy slowly, staring at Wentwood. "You're trying to ease me into it. You've something awful to tell me and you're trying to softpedal it, aren't you? Life Support Supervisor! What the hell would you be doing here if it wasn't a disaster?"

"Now, now," said Wentwood. "There's no disaster. Not yet. So long as all of this is resolved in a timely manner Salazar will be just fine."

"A timely manner?" exclaimed Malfoy. He was definitely freaked out. "A timely manner, what are you talking about? Nobody's been able to figure out Everlasting Glue a thousand years!"

"Now, calm down, please, Mr. Malfoy," said St. James.

"That does it," said Malfoy. "I want to see him. Now."

"Mr. Malfoy," began Wentwood.

Malfoy jumped out of his chair, fury suffusing his features. "I don't care who you think I am," he said harshly. "I deserve to see my son, and I want so see him now!"

There was a long silence. The three Healers looked at each other.

"I suppose we'd better show him," said St. James at last.

---

Of course, Hermione knew that Death Eater father or no, 15-year-old Salazar didn't deserve to get hit with Everlasting Glue. How Georgia and Freida had even gotten the idea to make such a thing - not to mention the more difficult to find ingredients - was beyond her.

But unfortunately, extreme stunts, and extreme revenge for other people's pranks, seemed to be increasingly their way. At first their behavior had been funny, inspired as it was by the school stories of their uncles Fred and George. But Freida and Georgia were different from their namesakes. Crueller at the core, more callous, more willing to cause actual harm. Though Hermione had tried to change that, she had to admit she had very little real influence over them anymore. They were at an age where teenage girls and their mothers often felt like strangers to one another anyway, and between their being gone to Hogwarts during the year and staying in Romania with Charlie and his family during the past two summers, not to mention their sincere attempts to keep all communications to an owl per week, she felt like she barely knew them anymore.

Not that she felt like she knew the others any better. The next oldest, Christopher, was so attentive to studies that any attempt to socialize, even by his own mother, was tolerated as an interruption rather than welcomed. But at least he seemed to be perfectly capable of staying out of trouble on his own, and thank goodness for that.

Then there was Jude. He tried to be obedient, but he was just so rambunctious that he couldn't seem to contain himself. And at 13 he was changing so quickly that one summer wasn't a lot of time to help him improve his behavior before he was gone again for an entire school year. Hermione had thought he'd been doing so much better, but now with this pushing someone down the stairs….

And little Nellie. Hermione had never understood her youngest daughter, not since day one. They had absolutely no commonality upon which they could base any meaningful communication. The girl wasn't stupid exactly, but neither was she proud of the intellect she'd presumably inherited from her mother. Studying was a chore to be avoided, and school merely an opportunity for social activity. Nellie had apparently concluded that she could get what she wanted out of life if she acted like she was about six years old instead of her actual 11, which Hermione found absolutely maddening. Disciplining Nellie didn't seem to stop her from whining, manipulating, and cajoling to get what she wanted, in fact it seemed to make things worse, with poutings and "not fairs". Was it rebellion, at this tender age?

Or was it simply that Nellie, being the youngest, had been more profoundly affected by the problems in the Weasley household than the others who'd been older when it all started happening?

---

Hermione's own private paranoia -- and the fact that the Healers had not allowed Malfoy to see his son until now -- should have been enough warning, but when Hermione finally saw Salazar his condition was a shock.

On the bed lay a huddled figure wrapped almost entirely in bandages. The figure was curled in an exaggerated cringe position, arms shielding the head and one knee lifted higher than the other, as if Salazar had seen the bucket of glue coming and had just enough time to react instinctively before it covered him head to toe. There was a ragged stone edge showing under his side… it was a piece of the floor of the Hogwarts Great Hall!

One thing was entirely clear. This had been no accident. The entire gallon of the Everlasting Glue had hit Salazar, it had hit him dead on, and if it hadn't touched anyone else in the Great Hall at mealtime then it had been aimed very well indeed.

Hermione felt a horror akin to smothering rise up in her as she pictured it happening. The twins coming with the bucket. The young Malfoy leaping up from his chair and backing off, then cowering as the contents of the bucket hit. Then curling up, frantically scrabbling to try to get it off, the wriggling bodies of roaches mashed harder into the slippery stuff as his struggles only got more of it all over himself. Then becoming blinded, unable to breathe, falling to the floor, then being stuck to the floor, unable to scream or move or even inhale, lungs exploding with pain, and ultimately blacking out….

A person couldn't live at all like this, let alone live a normal life. Not on their own. How would he eat? Could he even breathe? Repeated blood-cleansing draughts and magical life support could prolong his life, or even allow him to live out a normal lifespan. But who could possibly want to live curled into a shape like that, unable to see or move or really interact? Helpless to care for himself or to do anything constructive with his life?

To say Malfoy became agitated would be a severe understatement. Like Hermione, he clearly hadn't expected anything so extensive or so disabling. He started forward with a low cry deep in his throat, then froze, staring at the mummified shape that was supposed to be his son with an expression of purest dumbfoundment. He reached out and touched the bandaged head. There was no reaction. His fingers slid down to the nape of the boy's neck, where fine near-white hairs sprinkled a small triangle of exposed skin. Hermione held her breath, waiting for a reaction -

And then someone made some small noise behind them, and Malfoy spun and went for his wand.

Of course he had no wand, but the intent was there, his left hand diving toward his right wrist, his eyes bright with fury. As everybody jerked back a startled step, Malfoy's fingernails skidded off the primary wand's empty sheath, and finding no wand there darted reflexively up toward the vee of his robes and the quick-release for his spare holster. But of course that one was empty too.

He looked thoroughly flabbergasted when he realized he had no way to attack them, but he was so angry it only gave him pause for a moment.

Then his eyes fixed on St. James.

"You. You lied to me," he said, his voice low and grating.

"Now, Mr. Malfoy," began one of the other Healers. The four orderlies, two wizards and two stout witches, stepped forward again. Thank goodness Dr. Thurgood had been sent away as soon as the meeting was over.

Malfoy backed away from them, his eyes darting wildly over St. James' form as if trying to gauge his chances of overpowering him physically and taking his wand. But they'd tackle Malfoy before he'd closed half the distance - even Hermione could tell that.

"You told me he was feeling better!" he said wildly. "You told me he was conscious. How would you even be able to tell, you bastard?"

"I didn't lie to you," said St. James gravely. "He was conscious, and in much less distress yesterday than the day before. I saw as much when I checked him with scanning charms."

Malfoy's hands clenched as if he wanted to take St. James apart right then and there. But after a half-step forward, the orderlies moved toward him and he shrank back again, sidling along the bed.

"You could have told me he couldn't move, talk, or even breathe!" he hissed. "You could have told me it was all over him!"

His eyes then fixed on Mattham. She was by far the smallest person in the room. If Malfoy could take any of them physically, it'd be her. Her wand's handle was visible poking out of a pocket of her robes. She was behind the other two Healers, but there was enough of a gap between them that maybe a determined charge -

But no. The orderlies would get him. Even the two male Healers could get him, if they could react quickly enough. And what was he going to do once he got the wand, try to curse them? With a total stranger's wand? He'd be putting his son and himself in as much danger as them. It was insanity.

Don't do it, Hermione thought, as he gathered himself again, then checked his motion and backed off a second time, past the end of the bed.

She couldn't believe Freida and Georgia would do such an awful thing. Didn't they know how dangerous it was? But then again, she could remember doing some pretty horrible things with Harry and Ron when they were that age too. They'd left Draco Malfoy and his friends unconscious and deformed on the train twice at the end of school years, and if Hermione hadn't felt a speck of guilt, she knew for sure Harry and Ron hadn't. Still. Everlasting glue! What had the twins been thinking?

Hermione's thoughts were interrupted as Malfoy - speaking of people who obviously weren't thinking clearly - did exactly the opposite of what he should have done. He went for it.

Shouts rang out as he launched himself at Mattham, clearly trying to catch the others by surprise. But the orderlies caught him only two steps later, and Mattham - far from shrinking away - jumped forward and met him halfway. She popped the cork out of the vial she'd been carrying and tossed its contents half in Malfoy's mouth, half all over his face. He choked and sputtered, yellow drool running down his chin. The orderlies shifted to support his weight as he collapsed against them, flailing. Yes, it was indeed a Paralyzing Draught, and a wicked fast one too. Within seconds the fight had gone out of him completely. Physically, at least.

"Take him," said St. James, and the orderlies dragged him out of the room.

It was all so sudden. Hermione was torn between following the orderlies and Malfoy or staying to see what the Healers talked about. But they didn't stay either, they simply walked out of the room in a hurry and let the door shut behind them. More quickly than she knew what to do, Hermione found herself alone in the room, circling in agitation above the body of a boy wrapped entirely in bandages.

And what was she going to do?

What was she going to do about any of it?

---