Crown of Thorns

Chapter II: Hidden Depths

My shadow. Change is coming through my shadow. My shadow's shedding skin

I've been picking

My scabs again.

I've been crawling on my belly

Clearing out what could've been.

I've been wallowing in my own chaotic

And insecure delusions.

I wanna feel the change consume me,

Feel the outside turning in.

I wanna feel the metamorphosis and

Cleansing I've endured within

My shadow

Change is coming.

Now is my time.

-Forty-Six & 2 by Tool (Ænima)

________________________________________________________________________

Ginny Weasley sat cross-legged on her bed staring blankly at the wall. It wasn't her wall. Technically, it wasn't Hesper's either, belonging to the university, but it was on Hesper's side of the room. And it was covered by a painting that she found vaguely disturbing.

"So, what brings you to Druid College?"

"What do you think?" Her answer was terse, almost short-tempered.

"What are you going to major in? What are your interests?"

"What is this, an interview?" she had muttered. But Hesper answered anyway. "A major in Magical Theory, with an emphasis on computer bewitchment. And I like painting."

"Did you do that one?" Ginny gestured to the painting she was hanging on the wall.

"I suppose I did," replied Hesper gazing at the portrait of the witch. It was black and silver and emerald green with ivory white. It dazzled her with darkness. At the bottom right corner was a silver eye with two emerald serpents around it. One arched over like an eyebrow, the other, a concave cupping it from below.

"That's my symbol," said Hesper without turning.

"How did you know I was looking at it?" Ginny was unsettled.

"Most people look at that first. I sign all my paintings with it."

"Ah." Ginny stared at the dark-haired woman with a smile like a little 'v' and green eyes. She was laughing at her, Ginny was certain. "Who is she?"

"Who?"

"The witch in the middle," shivered Ginny. She had not meant it as a female mage, but as a witch, a frightening lady with blood on her hands and a savage little 'v' smile.

"Catherine Montvoisin. The infamous La Voisin during the reign of the Sun King. The one who tried to poison Louis XIV, was arrested along with the huge network of witches and sorcerers she controlled, and could have brought down half of Paris with her. The wealthy half."

Ginny shuddered inwardly. Hesper sounded admiring. She tried one last attempt to be friendly. "Do you want to go with me to the Ki-lin? It's a nice Chinese food place."

Her voice was amused. "Why would I want to go with you?"

Why would I want to go with you? The rhetorical question had hit her, hard. She had not thought a Malfoy could be so cruel, not since Draco and Harry had become brothers.

She heard Draco's voice in her head. The Weasleys and the Malfoys have been mortal enemies ever since 1325 when a Malfoy caught a Weasley poaching on his land and snicked off his head with an axe. Sensitive lot, those Weasleys. Ever since then, it's been schoolyard shoving, professional name-calling, and general loathing all around.

He had said that meaning to draw out a reluctant smile and to pass over the matter of his hatred of her brother with an absurd historical event.

Well, ha-ha, I've been denounced as rubbish again.

La Voisin smiled at her from Hesper's wall. Weasley rubbish, she crooned. I don't associate with people like you. People like me? The outsiders? The sacrifice outside of the protective circle, meant for the summoned demon.

Of course. Catherine Montvoisin's voice was like the poison she distilled. Had Hesper bewitched the portrait? No, it was strictly a Muggle artwork. Ginny shook off the sweet voice and instead ruminated on the silver rose.

The grimoire in La Voisin's hand was bound in black calfskin and silver trappings. The lock on the tome was shaped like a single silver rose. The key in her hand was also adorned with a rose.

The silver rose stood for unnatural beauty, a flower wrought of the cold moon's lustrous blood. And not only that, Hesper seemed to have a great deal of silver roses. Her pajamas were embroidered with them. So was one of her cloaks, and a little black notebook that was her diary.

She was either an insane follower of the witch or a descendant. Or even both. Ginny wouldn't be surprised if it turned out to be that way. What was Hesper doing now anyway?

The door banged open. "Speak of the devil," muttered Ginny.

"What's that?" asked Hesper, black backpack in tow.

"Nothing," said Ginny, speaking louder.

The silver-eyed girl ignored her, sitting down on her favorite stool, the one with light varnish that was utterly out of place with all of her other furnishings. It went with the easel and canvas.

"I need to finish my assignment, so don't bother me," she said, not looking at her.

"Mmph," said Ginny, looking at the ceiling. The stucco was very interesting.

Hesper was in an abominably good mood. She hummed as she squirted tubes of oil paint onto her palette and filled a can with fresh water. She laid down the background without scowling, traced greyish outlines without a grimace.

Was she always like this when she painted?

Out of the darkness came a dragon and a rider. The rider reminded Ginny of a combination of Harry, Charlie, and Draco. His hair was silvery, but his face was shaped differently, his features did not yet exist. He wore flame-retardant dragonhide clothing. It was archaic and in the style of the Dark Ages, but still reminiscent of something Draco had worn a long time ago.

A long time ago it had seemed. But it was only three years ago when the unlikely events of brotherhood had unfolded.

Ginny waved away thoughts of Draco, swapping memories for Hesper's dragon. The grey-eyed girl finally snarled, throwing down her brush, then hurriedly taking it off the cheap dorm carpet. She searched for a rag in vain, Ginny did not offer her help.

The dragon was green. And winged. Beyond that, it was obvious Hesper's knowledge of the anatomy of dragons was extremely limited.

The red-haired girl winced, and returned to her examination of the ceiling.

Hesper began to vigorously try and remove the oil paint. "I guess you don't have any paint thinner," she said wryly. It was the first sentence she had said to her roommate that was not loaded with malicious amusement, disdain, or just plain derision.

"No," said Ginny shortly. Then, rather helpfully, "You could ask Tery on the second floor." Terynnéa Lafayette was wellborn, French, hazel-eyed, and a... collector of every inhalable and ingestable substance in both Wizarding and Muggle Europe.

"Hm," replied Hesper with what could be gratefulness (and just as well could be Ginny's imagination).

"Or you could just go into town later," said Ginny as she abruptly got up from the bed. "I need to go to class."

As a matter of fact, she didn't have Astronomy until 5, but for some unfathomable reason, she had to get away from that room.

******************

"A what?" Draco demanded. "You set a what around Hesper Malfoy?"

Valerian sighed inwardly and looked at his hands. It was the afternoon of the first day of school. Draco had come in to politely interrogate him about the Malfoy girl. When he saw Dumbledore, he had paled to an almost translucent color, then had launched his assault with doubled efforts.

Dumbledore blinked mildly. "She's not a demon, Draco Malfoy."

"Oh yes she is!" he yelled. "Just like Rhysenn. She looks like Rhysenn, is part of the family, and has patrimony that you can verify at first glance!" "First glance?" Dumbledore looked faintly amused. "Her features--" "Her features are Malfoy, I know," snapped Draco. "But can't you feel the darkness? Can't you feel a cloud around her?" The headmaster of Hogwarts shook his head. "I don't feel a cloud. More like a very light fog emanating from her."

The sophomore looked at Dumbledore like he was crazy. "She scares me, Headmaster. And if she doesn't even raise a hair for you, then you're either brain-dead or Voldemort himself!"

Valerian winced. "Young man, I think it's unwise to invoke his name in these circumstances."

"Yeah?" asked Draco. "And it is to say hers?"

Dumbledore cleared his throat. "I believe that these circumstances are somewhat difficult for you, Mr. Malfoy. And I do But I assure you, there will be no harm to Ginny Weasley."

"What?" he said sharply. "What did you say?"

Dumbledore smiled. "Mr. Potter and Ms. Granger will also be safe. Now if you please--"

Before he could protest, he was outside the Dean's office. "Damn," he said.

******************

"I still don't think it's wise," said Valerian in a resigned tone. "Death Eaters are not to be trifled with."

"No," Albus Dumbledore said quietly. "They aren't."

******************

Draco stumbled disappointedly out of the building, bumping into someone near the Rainbow Fountain. His customary mumbled apology was drowned out by a surprised,

"Draco?"

His eyes widened as he looked up. "Ginny?"

"What are you doing near the dean's building?" she asked looking at him curiously.

"Oh, the normal feeble attempt to try and get someone expelled," said Draco, fixing his eyes on the colors of the spurting Fountain. Instead of stone, mirrors had been used so that the enchantment of the colors was even more magnificent. Even as he spoke, the purple of the Fountain flowed into a brownish dark red that was marvelously akin to the color of drying blood.

"Expelled?" she exclaimed. "Who?" Even as she asked Ginny was enlightened by the look of Draco's face. "Hesper? Draco, sure she's creepy and a total bitch, but she hasn't done anything to get expelled!"

"Just a figure of speech," said Draco tonelessly as the fountain turned a deep crimson. "I only wanted her out of the United Kingdom."

"What?" Even as she gave this cry, Draco strode purposely away from her, dipping his hand into the Rainbow Fountain as he went by. Bright scarlet. The false color of lipstick, fresh blood as it spurted from the wound. As he passed out of the circle of enchantment, the color slowly subsided from vermilion to carnation to light pink to just plain water with a trace of oil to help the magic. He wished that all bloodshed was like this, that the terror brought down by Slytherin, Voldemort, and even the comparatively feeble Bloodstorm he read about in the Daily Prophet would fade away with a simple action.

"It could," said a familiar voice.

Draco sighed, turning around to face his stepbrother. "Harry, that thought was private."

"Why?" asked the tall young man, grinning. "Because it was impossibly sentimental, and you didn't want anyone to know that you actually think those kinds of thoughts?"

"Maybe," said Draco, looking straight into Harry's green eyes. "But remind me what you were saying about it being possible."

Harry sobered, but his eyes still twinkled. "The one simple action everyone should take. Do everything selflessly."

"Wait a minute," said Draco with a tinge of a smile. "Are we getting into a philosophical discussion here?"

Harry considered. Then he shook his head. Then he thought some more. "OK, maybe," he conceded. "The nature of good is selflessness. The nature of evil is selfishness."

"To you, Harry," retorted Draco, "evil is something more profound than it really is." He stormed off. Probably to the dragon enclosure, or as the University called it, the drennels.

Harry sighed. "Evil is profound," he said to himself.

Sure, there maybe people with an obvious talent for it, like me. But it doesn't take much skill to wallow in it. With that telepathic parting comment, Draco blocked the connection. He always had the last word.

******************

Hesper dragged her hand along the carpet, lifting away the oil paint with Magid powers. Ginny had finally left the room. She would have gone sooner if Hesper had used impulse magic, not the much slower foul sigil she had painted into her dragon. She didn't mind having to start all over again on the painting. The dragon was shit anyway. But she did wish that Ginny had gone off faster, although the Dark Arts would set off the wards. Although impulse magic was not quite black, it was still a very dark grey and Hesper did not want to risk getting imported away from the civilized world.

"I'll have to visit the dragon enclosure," she mumbled to herself. "That anatomy's wrong and I know it."

There was a knock on the door. "Fuck," she said. Then, "Come in."

"Hey," said the resident advisor of the floor. "There have been some complaints--"

"Complaints?" Hesper interrupted.

"Yes, complaints," she looked flustered.

"Of what," asked Hesper impatiently. "Spit it out."

The resident advisor was a nervous looking senior. She looked as if she was going to fall apart and Hesper would toe her remains with a disdainful shoe. She was all greasy blond hair and clipboards.

"I, ah," she said. "The smell of the oil paint is getting to some people. Ah."

The dark-haired girl suppressed a smile. "It's my homework. You can take it up with Professor Lyons if you must."

"Ah," she said, grinning nervously. Oh God, she was going to burst into tears. "I'll, ah, be, um, going now."

"Have a nice day," called out Hesper in a fit of a fey humor. She shut the door. She was really annoying, that senior. Suddenly tired, she rubbed her face and decided to take a nap. Maybe she was overworking. She could go to the enclosure tomorrow. There wouldn't be anyone there. Right? And the Dragons class was--

Oh. Yes. The Dragons class. She could still sit through it. Oh well. Sleep.

In her dream, Grandmère looked at her and smiled benignly. Dark hair and dark eyes with a hint of green. An emerald ring glinting on her finger, the black dress drawn up to reveal an embroidered green petticoat. "Good morning, ma cherie. Did you sleep well?"

"I'm still sleeping," said Hesper rudely, as she always was in dreams. "And why did I have to dream about you?"

She laughed. "Have some marzipan, dear."

Hesper did. It was lovely marzipan, none like it. She began to mellow toward her subconscious.

"Well then, Grandmère, why is it that you appear to me now in my dream? I'm fairly sure you're roaming about the world, Aurors on your trail."

Grandmère waved her hand dismissively. "Pah. I am residing in Cardiff, my dear. Now remember that. Cardiff."

Hesper rolled her eyes. "The Aurors said you were most probably in the People's Republic of China, Grandmère." She took another marzipan, shaped like a golden rose blossom.

Grandmère watched, a satisfied look on her face. "How fitting," she mused. "As the prophecy said..."

"What prophecy?" asked Hesper, still munching at the marzipan.

"Oh, the prophecy concerning you."

She was immediately interested. "Grandmère?"

"You'll find it in the University library. Or are there more than one? Let's see... the one with the statue of a Druid Priestess on one side and the Sibyl on the other. And the whole place in bluish white marble, I believe. An Ice Castle. Superb."

And new voice interrupted her dream. "Witch."

"I'm going by a new name, now," said Grandmère, unperturbed.

"Leave the Dreaming. I will not get involved in a petty human war."

She cackled. "Petty? Oh no, it will be far from petty, milord Morpheus." But she turned and began to walk away from the dream. "Petty," she muttered. "Ha!"

The tall dark figure slowly materialized in front of her. "So you are the one. These are dark times." His eyes were like mirrors, she thought. Dark mirrors that reflected your dreams and nightmares.

"I don't know what this is," she said simply. "Grandmère is often in my dreams, but none like this. And you are never in my dreams."

"I am always in your dreams," he replied. "But don't look up the prophecy. It will be your undoing." Then he slowly dissolved as he waved his hand so that

The eagle flies red over redstone or sandstone or red granite or blood-sweat-drenched sand-rock and the blue black withers bring a princess a song that is a very elegant word that was translated into three languages that predated Babel...

And the sun was a big moon that decided it was better than a chocolate filled bar of marmalade and the delirious frog kissed a man who became a princess

The sea was actually big bulging teardrop that fell in love with a horse that became the waves and Lord Poseidon was really a wingless dragon that loved the sky so made a ground-sky that covered the universe and Atlantis died

The prophecy did not come from on high, it actually decided to be born into a giant bubo on the arm of a Australian priest whose descendants would dye their hair blue and recite William Blake badly and not exist because the priest was actually a castrated prostitute

And the silver rose was actually a key to someone's hair and there was a crown of thorns that may have saved someone's life but killed them instead but not directly. And the golden rose was a poppy that was like fire and ice except the ice was not yet quite there, having been unavoidably detained by an emerald sky and the golden rose was full of blood and Hesper was all part of it and

Then she woke up.

******************

Rather groggily, she grabbed her diary, and flipped it open to a blank page. With her pen (quills bothered her very much) she began to write. I had a weird dream. And it was about a silver rose and a crown of thorns and syrupy fire. Oh yes, and Grandmère was in it. She gave me some marzipan. And it was good. I'm glad I didn't have the other dream.

******************

The next week, Charlie Weasley Apparated to Druid College University. As the newest addition to the team of dragon-keepers, he got the thankless job of teaching the weekly Dragons class (Language, Care, and Handling).

Druid College University had drennels with many fine specimens of dragons, and many of their students wanted to pursue careers that would need knowledge that Charlie could provide. But the University didn't keep all those dragons at their own expense. The Ministry paid them to keep the dragons out of trouble. And also, many eminent scholars and wizards were interested in studying dragons, and they preferred the more comfortable University drennels to the kinds of camps that Charlie had worked in.

When the University offered him the job, he had jumped at the chance of taking care of some of the rarest dragons in the world (and keeping an eye on Ginny).

A great many Hogwarts graduates, the ones that had been in Hogwarts when Charlie taught Care of Magical Creatures for that one year, signed up. Including Draco Malfoy.

Charlie was taking a look at a Ukrainian Ironbelly (his underside scales were looking sickly) when he realized he had to be up and ready for his class.

He hurried dressed in dark green robes before rushing over to the place that the scholars called the drennels and pretty much everyone else called the enclosure.

Much to his surprise, Draco Malfoy was lounging by the fence, stroking the head of a Romanian Longhorn.

"Hello, Draco," said Charlie, aware he probably looked rather stupid, coming late to his first class. "You shouldn't get near the dragons without a keeper nearby, whether or not they really really like you. Policy."

"Policy can go to hell," said Draco breezily. "It already has, anyway. And in answer to your unspoken question, I am standing away from the horde of students because I'm not a sociable person."

"Horde?" He scanned the area around the enclosure. About twenty feet away from the far side sat about a hundred students, looking warily at the dragons. Twenty feet wasn't enough, Charlie thought. Dragons can breathe fire in farther distances. These dragons won't, though. And then a bit uncertainly, I think. "Horde," repeated Charlie with resignation. "That's not good." Then in a smaller voice, "Oh fuck."

Draco shrugged. "Have fun."

The dragons looked skittish too. With good reason. Too many people around them.

Just then, a dark haired girl walked in too close. Charlie shut his eyes. Please don't fire-breathe, he thought hard, trying to ESP to the dragons. Oh, you fool, he thought a second later, and opened his eyes so that he could run over to the girl and stop her from being killed.

But miracle of miracles, the Antipodean Opaleye stretched her neck to nuzzle at her. She was carrying a case and a sketchpad.

"Stop it," objected the girl. But it was obvious it was a mutual attraction. Charlie was too busy being relieved to see that Draco was gaping, horrified. Claudia, the blue Antipodean Opaleye, nuzzled her protectively.

Charlie was pleased. Draco was not.

"Good!" exclaimed Charlie. "They like you!"

The bravest of the Horde stepped closer, confident. The dragons bared their teeth menacingly. They (the few, the proud, the Marines!) beat a hasty retreat.

"I'm Charlie. I teach this class." He proffered his hand. She took it.

"Actually, I'm not in your class--I was hoping I could sit in and draw the dragons for my Painting class." She smiled nervously, knowing that Charlie had all rights to banish her from his kingdom (which was already overcrowded).

"That's fine," he said with a grin. The dragons' friends were his friends.

Hesper gave a grateful smile, then sat down on the grass.

Charlie touched his throat with his wand, muttering a spell so he'd sound louder. "Alright then," began Charlie. "I suggest you back away from the dragons about twenty more feet."

******************

The hour ended with zero casualties, and everyone learning just how far away you should stay from the enclosure. Oh yes, and the different sorts of dragons there were and how to tell male from female.

The Horde dispersed, and Draco sauntered over to where Hesper was sitting to take a good look at her sketchpad.

Well. She was talented. (He was sure that part came from the Malfoy side of the family.) She had captured the lines of the Welsh Green Charlie called Keltica, with her proud arch and gleaming eye. And the way that Claudia moved when she hunted screamed at him from the page, although he had never really seen the New Zealand dragon outside of the enclosure.

On the margins of the page, however, there were drawings of things other than dragons. Draco squinted at them, trying to recognize just exactly what--

Her small, lithe hand closed the pad. Hesper looked up into his surprised face with an amused smile. "Like my work?"

"It's pretty good," he allowed.

"I suppose." She glanced at the powerful Hebridean Black called Andromech. "I'd like to make more sketches but I need to run an errand."

"Like what, an appointment with hell?" Draco asked sarcastically.

She rolled her eyes. "No, I need to buy a CD burner."

"A what?"

"Never mind." Hesper sighed and looked at her lap. "A recording device for my computer. A Muggle thing."

"Illicit activities. A true Malfoy." He dabbed his eyes in mock emotion. "Our little girl is growing up."

The dark-haired freshman laughed derisively. "You are too funny, Draco. I have a license for that sort of thing. When it involves computers, anyway."

"Flirting, Draco?" The two Malfoys spun around to face Charlie.

"Eww!" Hesper was disgusted.

Draco coughed delicately.

"That bad?" Charlie chuckled. "You've lost your touch, Malfoy."

"We're related," choked Hesper, a revolted look on her face.

"That is pretty gross," admitted Charlie. "Sorry." He then turned to Draco. "You didn't tell me you had a relative over here," he said accusingly. "On Narcissa's side, then?"

"No," mumbled Draco. "Malfoy. American side of the family."

"Cool. Does the dragon thing run in the family, then?"

Hesper shied away from his interest. "You could say that." Before Draco could say anything else, she muttered something about hurrying. She strode away fairly quickly.

Charlie blinked. "She's fast."

Draco muttered something about genetics that didn't really make sense.

"I was going to ask if she wanted a closer look at the dragons, but I guess not." He was not offended though; the life of a DCU student was far from a leisurely one.

Draco muttered some more, then waved good-bye as he Apparated.

"I guess abrupt farewells run in the family also," said Charlie to the dragons. Claudia snorted a reply. "Well, yes, it could just be rudeness," he acknowledged, but Charlie Weasley really didn't believe it. It might be in the case of Draco, but it didn't seem likely for his cousin. Or whatever she was.

******************

Draco paced quickly, doing tiny jumps of Apparition so that he could catch up with Hesper.

He did eventually. In front of Lindskold Hall, looking cheerier than ever.

"Just what were you doing?" he asked, looking very cold.

"What do you think?" she responded, two spots of red burning high on her pale cheeks.

"Deceiving people?" he suggested. "Getting close to them? I'm not a child! I've seen your type before, I've seen it all! I didn't destroy the Dark Lord just to lose everyone to you--"

"Shut up," Hesper retorted frostily. "You're the most annoying jerk with a drawling Brit accent that I have ever met! Why is it that everything I do is a threat? Haven't you thought that I might just want to get a diploma?"

"Hell no," said Draco, narrowing his eyes. "That is impossible."

"How would you know, traitor?"

"Your side lost, Hellspawn."

She threw up her hands. "Can't I just retrieve my purse and broom so I can get to Cardiff? All I wanted to do was to free up some room on my hard drive!"

"Do you even know who you are?" Draco demanded. "You're not just some bloody child with a Death Eater's heritage. You're--"

"I know who I am," she snapped, her face contorted. "And someday I'll meet destiny along the path. But for now, I'll just satisfy myself with this." Her arm snapped up and Draco was flung across into a tree.

"Ow," said Draco.

"Nothing's broken, I hope," Hesper said sardonically as she continued to walk toward Lindskold Hall.

Draco pointed at her. With lightning speed, she grabbed the curse out of his hand and threw it back at him. He was waiting with a mirror spell that made her bite off a scream in agony.

They returned each other's actions; neither could stop, neither could admit the other was more powerful. Eventually the wards went off, but by then they were too absorbed in trying to hurt each other without doing an Unforgivable Curse to realize that Dumbledore and Charlie were trying to pry them apart.

Eventually, Dumbledore just stunned both of them.

******************

Fortunately, most of the students were off campus then, and the matter was hushed up. Unfortunately, both of them were put in the Infirmary. Side by side.

"The glasses keep shattering and such," complained Dr. Elliot. "I had to borrow the students in detention so that they could keep doing Reparo. It's ridiculous!"

It was, actually. It took a petition from the students in detention (they had all been hit by flying glass fragments and miniature hailstorms) also signed by Harry, Hermione, Ron, and Ginny, who all visited Draco and were pelted by nails. Hesper was moved to another room, and the storm subsided. And the stun was taken off them. By that time, the weekend had come and gone. They both sported various cuts, bruises, and even third-degree burns (don't ask about that).

Late assignments were excused hastily by teachers who had visited them during the campus legend that was dubbed 'The Dragonsfire.' Those who hadn't seen it still excused them. Somewhat less hastily, but still with a bit of fear in their eyes.

No one found out what the fight was about. The two Malfoys' stories differed. Draco claimed that she attacked him, unprovoked. Hesper claimed that he provoked her.

They combined the stories loosely, gave them both frowns, and then hurriedly retreated out of the Infirmary.

******************

"I can't believe Draco did that!" exclaimed Ginny for the hundredth time. "He hasn't fought with anyone like that except for Harry, and that hasn't happened for--" she counted silently "--at least three years!"

"Wow," said Ron, still awed by the Dragonsfire. "Put two bitchy Malfoys together, and what do you get? Tada! Nuclear fission without the radioactive waste!" Ron was doing his major on Physics Applied to Magic.

"I don't think it was that bad," said Harry. They all looked curiously at him. "I mean," he amended, "when I beat him up."

"When he beat you up," corrected Ginny. "I mean," she said hastily, "when you beat each other up."

"Ginny's right," interjected Hermione. "In this case, I think it's the same. Only a lot worse. You two never just pointed at each other and mouthed curses at lightning speed."

"But Harry did make a lot of things explode," added Ron helpfully.

"Yeah, Draco's always had a lot of self-control," said Ginny.

"He's a cold, calculating bastard," corrected/added Ron.

"This Malfoy girl," said Hermione slowly. "Does she remind you of Draco before he and Harry switched places?"

Ginny thought for a moment. "Yes. Only she's my roommate. So she's sort of gotten used to living with rubbish."

"So maybe Draco's fighting his past?" she suggested.

She had no idea how right she was. In another sense, of course.

******************

Hesper was released from the infirmary days later. Both her legs were broken, and so was her left arm. Two ribs were cracked. As for Draco, he broke his right arm, both ankles, and his left leg was fractured in three places. Five ribs were cracked. These injuries did not count the various cuts, bruises, really bad burns, sprained or strained muscles. It was not clear who was the winner. Draco had more broken bones because Hesper flung him against the tree (which had eventually been reduced to an immovable pile of ash that had a tendency to glow emerald green) two more times. But she had third-degree burns all over her lower body and had sprained her ankles too.

"How can you break your legs and sprain your ankles at the same time?" asked Charlie incredulously, when he found out.

Dr. Diane Elliot shrugged. "She did," replied the mediwitch, pointing at a stunned body.

Dr. Elliot fixed their bones, burns, cuts, and bruises. As for the sprains and strains, she decided to call in a specialist (she wasn't sure how to fix them without waiting for the magic aura to fade from the fixed bones). DCU denied the cost, and Hesper was forced to resort to the magical version of a wheelchair, and asking Ginny nicely. Draco just got a sling (for his right wrist). The shock of the Dragonsfire incident faded quickly. Part of it was due to small time Memory Charms so that it wasn't so prominent in the students' thoughts. And a stronger wipe for all the Journalism students and the snoopy junior who was about to owl the Daily Prophet. (Malfoy against Malfoy: Could This Power Be Turned Against Us?)

******************

"Could you please get me a glass of water?" asked Hesper, looking irritated.

Ginny went into the bathroom. She resisted the urge to spit into the glass. Revenge was petty. Petty. Very petty. Right?

"Thank you," said Hesper with a glare, looking even more irritated. They had fixed an adamantine cuff to her right hand to prevent her from sending any long distance curses to Zelazny Hall, where Draco's room was. This also meant that she couldn't use magic to help herself.

She drank the water, and set the glass on the side table. With great effort, she pulled herself up into the hoverchair, and glided over to her easel. She was acutely aware that she looked ridiculous, but it couldn't be helped. And she still had to finish her art assignment.

Ginny watched her with what might have been satisfaction, as Hesper pulled out her sketches and began to paint the dragon all over again.

The result was astounding. It was the ideal hunter. Fearsome, fearless, feral. Awe-inspiring. Riding on her back (it was a her, and the picture shrieked that at Ginny) was a... a dragon-rider.

Who just happened to be silver-haired. And for some reason, looked astoundingly like Charlie.

"Why does he--" Ginny began.

"I tried to make him look like a dragon kind of person," cut in Hesper (not so sharply, now that she was extremely dependent upon Ginny). "And it didn't work."

"Who is--" she began again.

"Gareth Slytherin."

"Mmh." Her mind went back to her Time-Turner and when she had met Benjamin Gryffindor and Gareth Slytherin, the Heirs of Godric Gryffindor and Salazar Slytherin (technically, 'when' was the Dark Ages). "Gareth looked sort of like Draco, only a bit over twenty-five."

"How would you know?" asked Hesper acidly, but she was already changing the rider's features from Charlie's good-natured face to the sharp planes of a Malfoy. For good measure, she added a sword behind his back. "Seems kind of like it," mused Ginny's bitchy roommate, her pale mouth twisted in concentration. "But Gareth Slytherin was a hero, not an annoying git."

"He was annoying," reminisced Ginny. "But he was really hot."

Hesper glanced at her curiously.

"I mean," said Ginny hastily, "he seems hot. Like--um. Yeah."

Hesper raised a brow.

"Don't ask," finished Ginny lamely. Nice going there, Ginny.

"Well," said Hesper with a sigh. "I just need to add the finishing touches, give it a protective coat, and find someone to take it to Professor Lyons for me." She looked pointedly at Ginny.

"No," said Ginny. "Go ask the resident advisor." She picked up her backpack. "I need to go to class."

"She'll probably drop it few times, and then have a seizure," said Hesper sarcastically. "I'll just take it myself." With a heavy sigh, she began to add detail to the dragon.

******************

Manipulating the controls of the magic hoverchair and holding on to the picture was difficult. Without her wand and with the adamantine cuff still on her hand, she was having a really hard time. "Fuck fuck fuck," she sang softly. "Oh fuck."

The hoverchair floated gently over the last flight of stairs. The painting began to slip. "FUCK," she said, and held onto it tighter, while making the hoverchair go just a tad bit faster down the stairs.

The result was that she bowled into someone.

Fortunately, the hoverchair was made so that the people involved in an accident would retain minimum injury. It just floated to the ceiling.

"Ow," said Hesper. "You idiot." She was going to go into a string of curses, but then she remembered her painting. She turned her head, and found out that quite curiously, it was unhurt, lying on the stairs next to her and the unfortunate victim/culprit. She also realized she couldn't get up. "Help," she said crossly.

The face of Charlie came into view, right over her. "Are you alright?"

"No," said Hesper briefly. "And what are you doing here?"

"I was sent by Professor Lyons," said Charlie ruefully. "I'm a sort of errand-boy these days. I'm supposed to find you and fetch some assignment."

"There it is," she said crabbily, pointing to it. "Would it be possible for you to get me back to my room before you take it to him?"

"Can't you Apparate?"

She showed him the adamantine cuff.

"Oh. Yes. I heard about that." He looked up at the ceiling. "How do you get the blasted thing down."

"Down," said Hesper, pointing to somewhere far from where she was lying. The hoverchair benignly floated down beside Charlie. "Stupid thing." The hoverchair trembled with indignation.

Charlie lifted her into the chair, and carrying the painting, he pushed her up the stairs.

"This is probably the most horridly absurd thing that ever happened to me," she said contemplatively.

"What?" asked Charlie. The magic hoverchair was charmed to be anti-gravity, so it was easy to push. It was hard to hang on to the painting at the same time, however.

"Crashing into you at the last flight of stairs. A few more, and I would be safe."

"Ah. I though you meant spraining both ankles."

"That too."

Silence.

"Well," said Charlie. "Can I take a good look at the painting when we get to your room?"

"I guess. I used the sketches of the dragons at the enclosure in this one. It really helped."

"Mmph," said Charlie, struggling with the painting and the hoverchair.

They got to the third floor without mishap.

"Thank Merlin," breathed Charlie.

"Is that what you say here in Britain?" asked Hesper curiously. "How quaint."

"You come from...?"

"The United States. And we say 'Thank God,' not 'Thank Merlin.' Well, some of my grandmother's friends said that. But I guess Americans don't have much respect for Merlin. I knew this guy once. He said 'Thank Satan.' You know, the whole witch and wizard thing. I guess he never really got a hold on it."

Charlie wrinkled his nose. "I think some of our Goths say that."

"Goths?" Hesper gave a suspicious cough. "Why be a goth when you're a witch? There's just no point in it. Though I knew a lot of Squibs who were goths, back in the States. I guess it's just an empty attempt at trying to be the real thing." She sounded a bit smug.

He pushed the chair down the corridor. "Did you know that the Black Coven wants you as their head witch?"

"Huh?"

"The on-campus Gothic Society. After they heard what you did to Draco--who also snubs them a lot--they kind of hoped you would be their hero. You fit all their criteria. Black hair, even though it's not dyed, you wear a lot of black, you're spooky, reticent, and you have talent."

She threw her head back and laughed aloud. A few doors peeked open to see this miracle. ("That girl! That demon girl down the hall! She laughed! With the Dragons teacher, the hot one with the leather trousers!")

Charlie was grinning.

"What kind of a name is 'The Black Coven'? Is there no end to stupid people? And I like my hair," she told him. "And I wear black because it's kind of my color. I look good in black. And as for spooky and reticent--" she laughed again. "Am I really that bad?" Hesper asked.

"Well, you do have a reputation for running away from people."

She looked thoughtful. "Well. I don't run away from them. I stay away from them. Maybe I just don't have the patience to put up with anyone. I mean, look at the kind of people who want to befriend me. Black Coven." She snorted.

"You seem to be putting up with me very well."

"You don't act like a rabbit in headlights whenever I'm around. And you don't act like a mother bear either."

"Headlights?"

"Sorry. Muggle expression."

Charlie kept pushing the hoverchair. "Which room?"

"Number thirteen."

He stopped. "I think we passed it. A long time ago."

"No, we didn't. They put thirteen at the end of the hall, after thirty-six." So he continued to push her down the hall.

"Superstition?"

She shrugged. "I think. It's just really annoying for me and my roomie."

"And anyone who happens to be pushing your hoverchair."

Hesper started. "Oh, I'm so sorry. I can control it myself if you want--"

"No, no, I'm fine." Charlie made a turn. "Maybe you shouldn't wall yourself in. I mean, you have a life. You're talented, attractive, and young."

If Charlie could see anything other than the top of her head, he would have seen a rare sight--Hesper Malfoy blushing. But as it was, he just saw the top of her head.

"I don't know," she said with a sigh. "I'll just be torn away from everyone again. Why should I risk anything for something I'll lose anyway?"

"Because it's the way humans work?" he suggested.

Hesper sighed. "But I'm not human."

"Then you're what? A veela?" He instantly realized that this may be true, given Malfoy bloodlines.

"Well, partially. But what I mean is, I'm not all the same."

"Only one way to find out." With acute embarrassment, Charlie realized two things. First, that he was giving a talk that sounded infinitely wise, as if it was coming from someone would was really really old. (I'm only twenty-seven, he told himself indignantly) (But that was kind of old compared to an eighteen-year old). Second, that his last comment could be taken two ways.

Apparently, she thought he was too old to think that he was asking for something other than an attempt at socializing.

"Look. I--" Hesper stopped and sighed. "It might be easy for you. But your parents aren't Death Eaters. Am I correct?"

"You are," said Charlie softly. "But the sins of the father are not visited upon the children."

"In this case, they are."

"What did he do?"

Hesper's face hardened, but Charlie did not see it. But he heard the change in her voice, suddenly become flat. "Things that should not be spoken of."

There was a pause. "I'm sorry," said Charlie. "I shouldn't have asked."

"It's all right," murmured Hesper, fiddling with her hands. "I mean, it's over. He's dead."

Charlie wasn't sure if she was referring to Voldemort or her father.

"But I just can't let it go. Maybe my children or my children's children won't be stigmatized. But not me."

"It's not always that way," said Charlie. "Look at Draco."

"Draco was a traitor," Hesper replied in a tight voice. "Traitors are welcome in the enemy camp."

"At least you could try and be nice to people."

"I could," she allowed.

Charlie came to a stop in front of number 13, as she had said, at the very end of the corridor.

She pushed the door open halfway as Charlie lifted up the painting. He gasped. The vibrant colors, the concentrated look on Draco's face (wait, that wasn't Draco), and the soaring dragon. It all hit him like a wave of cool ice, the kind that would not burn or hurt, the kind that healed and refreshed. The dragon arched her neck (surely it was a her) and from her mouth flowed and breathed flames that were beautiful and deadly and perfect. Heaven and Hell incarnate in one single painting.

"I'm glad you like it," said Hesper with a smile. "If possible, could you get the next assignment's materials for me from Professor Lyons? Since you're going there anyway?"

"Sure," he found himself saying. "I'll be happy to." And surprisingly, he was.