What a Wonderful World

Chapter Three:

Of Farmers and Snakes

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

Once, a farmer killed a mother snake when it tried to bite his child. He picked

up his ax and crushed the snake's head with the blunt edge of the tool. Thus, he

saved his family. But as the snake lay motionless on the ground, a small frail-

looking snake came slithering up to the dead creature. It was the dead snake's

offspring. Saddened, the farmer took it and cared for it until it grew up, pitying

the creature for the early loss of its mother. He fed it, and cared for it and treated

it as a pet; a part of the family. When it grew up, it tried to bite his child, forcing

the farming to kill it too.

Sighing, the farmer looked at the dead snake. A snake will forever remain a snake.

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

It'll be okay, Draco... I'll take care of you...

Liar. You left me alone.

It's okay. Don't worry about it... They promised to help us.

They're lying. Just like they've always done. Just like--

"Halt! Surrender peacefully and you shall be unharmed! We promise--"

Liars. All of them. Even you...

Draco...

His eyes opened with the first rays of the sun and he rubbed his eyes and found them moist. Sitting up, he used the coverlet to wipe his face, shaking his head to get rid of the drowsiness still clinging to his senses. His vision was blurry and the surrounding place failed to register in his mind. The smell was different as was the atmosphere. What place was this?

And then yesterday came like a bullet through his brain. He suddenly remembered the events that recently took place. The Ministry's propaganda, the pardon, the Aurors...

"Granger..."

"Is downstairs. She's making breakfast."

His head whipped around suddenly and his long hair stung his face when the two connected. He raised his hand to feel the burning skin. He vaguely wondered if it would leave a mark. Blinking to clear his vision of pain-induced blurriness, he saw a boy no more than ten standing by the door. A skinny little boy with dark, wispy hair and strikingly brilliant purple eyes. Purple eyes? he thought. He had never seen eyes that purple before.

The child was smiling, if you could call that small inclination in his mouth a smile. It didn't reach his eyes, Draco noticed. His eyes that seemed to convey too much knowledge for a kid no more than ten. The child took a step forward, seemingly gauging his face for reactions. He scowled in return. He didn't want any more Muggle company.

"She asked me to wake you up, Hermione Granger did," the child's soft voice intoned, a singsong quality in them. "She said she had to tell you a lot of things. Draco Malfoy, you must get up now. I do believe you are expected company."

There was a certain quality in the child's way of speaking that intrigued Draco. It was like the child thought of him as the child and not the other way around. Raising an eyebrow, he gave the child a condescending glare, but his eyes glinted with curiosity. A child in the Granger home? Hers, perhaps?

"I am Mat," said the child, almost as if he heard what Draco thought. "I'm sorry for not introducing myself earlier. You must be wondering what I'm doing here."

"Not really," he shrugged his shoulders indifferently. "You know, kid, you should leave while you have a chance. You don't want to be eaten by her, do you?"

"Is that question related to Hermione Granger being a witch?" Mat asked, head off slightly to one side. "Witches don't eat children, she least of all. She likes me." He stretched out his hands to show Draco a book with drawings that vaguely resembled fairytales. "She gave this to me, see?"

Draco eyed the book squarely, resisting the urge to roll his eyes and failing miserably. Well, at least that side of Granger hasn't changed. At any time, her most preferred gift was always a book. "She probably steals it from him after dark, just so she can read it for the thousandth time," Draco muttered softly. Bloody Granger and her bloody habits. Poor kid.

"It's related to Granger being Granger actually. She'll eat you alive, scrawny as you are. So, kid," he asked loudly, as he drew the rest of the covers around himself, "who was the stupid bloke that knocked her up? I pity your father, but I pity you worse for having her as a mother. Because of her, you have filth in your blood."

"I don't have filthy blood," he said softly, something that seemed like a scowl on his face, "and my parents are dead. As are yours, Draco Malfoy."

He stiffened at those words and a cold anger flashed in his face. He sneered. "Be careful of what you say, kid," his voice was low and dangerous. "I don't particularly fancy being tried for murder after I've just been released. If the fucking Ministry would even provide a trial for me, that is."

"Your dreams are intriguing," was the soft reply, and Draco was momentarily speechless at the complete unrelated-ness of it. "The woman's grief was heartbreaking. She really loved you, didn't she?" Turning away from Draco's stunned face, he strolled quietly towards the door. "Hermione Granger said she already prepared new clothes for you. They're there," he pointed to a big wooden closet by the far right. "Take a quick bath, okay?"

With that, the tiny child disappeared out the door, leaving Draco alone to contemplate his situation. His dream returned with full accuracy and he clutched his head to clear it away. It didn't disappear. It didn't disperse like it usually did when his consciousness returned to take full control of his senses. When he stood up, he was like a dead man, unfeeling of the cold as he moved towards the door leading to the bathroom.

The water in the shower was scalding hot, burning his skin, almost as if he was being peeled alive. He reveled in it. Thankful for the opportunity to feel remotely human. As if he was still living. The skin on his face felt particularly painful. Perhaps there will indeed be a mark. A day after he was released and he already had a mark. Perfect. In his mind, he completely ignored the other mark that marred him. It was useless to think about it anyway.

She really loved you, didn't she?

His eyes flew open, and they stung from the water that hit them full force. He rubbed them, reaching for a towel to dry his eyes before turning the knob off. Bloody hell. That fucking hurt. He stepped out, drying himself, looking at himself in the mirror not far away. The face that looked back looked like a fucking corpse. Gaunt, hollowed cheeks, bloody hair, he cursed the face to infinity and back. He looked like shit. And all the while the voice kept repeating in his head.

She really loved you, didn't she?

"No, shit," he closed his eyes and leaned on the sink. "She was my mother after all."

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

"There is no fucking way that a house this small could make one person lost," Draco grumbled as he walked across the lawn towards the door. "It's just not feasible!"

That was, of course, what had happened to him. He blamed it on the wretched kid. His stupid talk had made him disoriented. He was sure he knew where the kitchen was, or at least the dinning room. But the moment he left his room it seemed like every turn he made led him directly outside. What the fuck was that?

"What are you doing here?"

Draco scowled. It was the abomination again.

"I fancy myself a morning person," he said dryly, giving the little demon a hard glare. "I was contemplating greeting the neighbors on this glorious day. Mind joining me?" He pushed past the walking plague and almost as abruptly turned back. "What are you doing here, anyway? Aren't you supposed to be with Granger?"

"She's talking to someone. She didn't want me to listen." There was the merest hint of a sulk in his voice. So, the kid was a child after all. "It's the man with the black hair. He comes here often."

Draco screwed his face in disgust. "Potter," he spat, missing the child's confused face. "Figures."

He walked to the place where the child's eyes were focused on, but didn't find anybody else there. Granger was situated to the far left, clutching something in her hand and keeping it near her ear. He knew what it was. A... phone. That was it. Muggles used it to converse like the Floo network.

"I'll tell him... Yes... I understand... I'm sure he'll go..." That was the extent of her conversation. The most she did was nod her head almost imperceptibly. He saw her eyes turn towards him, the briefest glimmer of surprise passing through them before the mask fell firmly in place. Well, he knew how to take that off now, didn't he? It would be so entertaining to do it again while Potter was listening.

However, before he could so much as open his mouth, she released the phone, placing it in place. She gave him a brief glance before walking away. "Breakfast is ready," she said softly. "Go on and eat. I have to tell you some things."

He narrowed his eyes at her, following her towards the table. "Who cooked it?"

A pause. "I did."

"I don't have a death wish this early, Granger," Draco remarked blandly. "And cyanide isn't my ideal seasoning either."

She gave him a long look. "Cyanide isn't my thing."

"Ah, yes. So I heard. You're more the hack and slash kind, right?"

He was sure that glint in her eyes was annoyance, but at that instant, the child appeared and situated himself at one of the chairs. The mask fell down without missing a beat. "I'm pretty good with a knife." Her stare was unwavering. "It's a handy skill to learn."

He really wasn't sure when she acquired a knife, but as if to demonstrate, she brought it down with great force, slicing the vegetable she was holding in two. It fell apart, dead center, falling on either side like a flowing silk. Draco shut his mouth in spite of himself.

He followed her movements with his eyes, watching as she set the food in front of him. It was steaming hot and the aroma that penetrated his senses promised a heavenly taste. He took a cautious bite, the warm bite of food slowly heating his barely used digestive system. It warmed him from the inside, and the taste of it stayed with him long after it was gone.

He frowned.

Who would've thought Granger could actually cook? Granted, she was good at Potions, which, he supposed, was almost the same thing but she never seemed like the home person before. He risked a glance at her. Her steady and unwavering stare almost made him nauseous in its intensity. He glared back, equally hard.

"Don't stare, Granger," he leered, finding it hard to keep the contest up any longer. "I just might say yes and oh, how tarnished I would be then. Such tragedy."

She stared at him simply. "Use this in your earlobe until it becomes numb," she said, handing him a small square-shaped piece of ice.

He blinked in confusion before scowling. "What for?" he asked, grudgingly taking the ice from her. He eyed it suspiciously.

"Just in case," she answered vaguely.

"Just in case what?" he pressed, but she refused to answer him. "Are you sure there's no cyanide in this food?"

She chewed her food and swallowed before answering. "No. There is this though," she said, pointing to a bottle with some inscriptions he couldn't read. "This solution affects the body within seconds, telling the heart to stop pumping and the lungs to stop functioning, thus rendering the systems of the body ineffective. It's a slow and painful way to die and all the while you'll be saying all your deepest darkest secrets. That's more my thing."

With eyes wide and spoon suspended in the air, Draco contemplated whether or not she was jesting. Surely she wouldn't kill him. He was under Ministry protection, though it killed him to admit that specific information. No matter who she was, she couldn't escape the repercussions of such an act. "Is that a fact?" he asked. He was only half sure that his voice didn't waver.

"This is the antidote," she said, showing him a packet of salt. "When you feel the shortness of breath tell me and we'll use this." There was a large possibility that he only felt that specific symptom because she mentioned it, but Draco, who had been on the verge of believing her, felt the symptom and panicked. He reached out to the antidote only to have it snatched away. "Are you feeling breathless?" Hermione asked coolly.

He shook his head, pride getting in the way of his panic. She wouldn't let him die. He was sure of it. Sure enough, she handed him the packet within seconds. Draco forced himself to open it without haste.

"By the way," she said calmly, and Draco locked his gaze with hers, "it only works when the solution is directly injected in the bloodstream. This antidote works the same way. I think I forgot to mention that but it's a tasty seasoning. Completely harmless unless used otherwise."

She wasn't smiling. There was no smug look in her eyes either. She was simply... staring at him, reading his reactions, which at that moment was plainer than a sign that said, "Draco Malfoy. Idiot of the Day. Embarrassment is my Middle Name." He was sure the red he was seeing was not the blooming flowers from behind her. The fork seemed like an appropriate choice of arsenal.

"You," he said slowly, gripping the fork forcefully, "forgot? How convenient." His voice was shaking. "Granger, I'll--"

"Snape wants to see you for tea. I was talking to him earlier."

Draco's anger deflated and the sudden inflation and deflation in his emotions tore through him like a speeding train. He suddenly felt lifeless. Like he had been running for miles and miles without rest. Spent of energy. He thought he should be surprised, but he wasn't. In a way, he seemed to have been expecting it unconsciously. "Wants to see me, does he?" he asked flatly. "Whatever for, I wonder." Deadpan was the best adjective to describe it.

She didn't answer him and he refused to say another word after that. They continued eating in silence.

"Who's Snape?" asked Mat, his plate scrapped clean of food. "Is he the man with black hair? Uncle Sevvy?"

Draco raised an eyebrow. Uncle Sevvy?

"Yes," she answered. "That's him. On the phone earlier."

"Wait a minute. You were talking to Snape?" Draco asked. "When I saw you? I thought that was Potter."

Her gaze swiftly ran past him. "You thought wrong."

Draco scowled at her. He had never felt so shunned in his life. She was doing a fine job of making him feel unwanted. Not, of course that he was hoping for a warm embrace and butterbeer, but... this was Granger! Ultimate Goody-Goody with an emblazoned "Let's Help the Oppressed and Give Everyone a Second Chance" badge right above the Prefect letter on her robe. He was oppressed, wasn't he? He needed the bloody second sodding chance. Why isn't she being nice? Frowning at the complete apathy being sent his way, he touched his ear, feeling the ice completely gone. His fingers were stinging and his ear was completely numb. He couldn't feel a bloody thing.

"Numb?" she asked him, watching him as he pinched his ears periodically. "I see. Here, pick something then." She presented him with three pieces of paper.

"What's this?"

"Just pick." He did, and showed the paper to her.

"Well then," she said. "Let's begin this farce."

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

He was late. Severus favored the clock by the wall another glance and scowled. He was very late. Granted, the boy did have a knack for spectacular entrances. Always wanting to be the center of attention. He just hoped this entrance would lack the usual brightly colored hexes. It seems that was a tradition with him.

Almost an hour now. A bloody hour. No one makes him wait an hour. If that boy didn't show up soon he'd--

You'd what, Severus? Take points from his house? Take away some privileges? The boy is a man now. A broken man at that...

The scowl disappeared, replaced by something quite similar to guilt. Or was that pain? It looked a lot like failure too. Of course. Draco was a man now. Had long been, in fact. Severus had become too attached to the boy he once had been. Had become too protective. Too expectant. Perhaps it was because of these feelings that the boy went away. Too pressured by expectations. Suffocated by the watchful eyes. So in the end, he was the one who drove him away wasn't he? He was the reason the boy chose the very thing he wanted him to avoid.

He shook himself from the reverie in time to see the sleek metallic blue car that Hermione loved more than her books. Well, almost. The reckless and adventurous aura the car emitted was completely opposite of her nature. She was too controlled. Too obsessed with protocol and the rules laid out by the Ministry. The car suited her once. Not anymore though. He didn't know which was the better of the two. Or worse for that matter. That seemed a better word for it.

They stopped at one of the available spaces, getting out in their own different way. Hermione moved quietly, calmly, not making the least bit of sound. Even the act of closing the car door seemed quieter because she did it. She wore a black ensemble of silk clothes that contrasted greatly with her pale skin. Her hair was piled neatly at the nape. She came like Death itself, emotionless yet beautiful. She attracted people's attention due to the quiet authority she exuded.

Draco on the other hand, handled himself with loud elegance. He closed the door hard, very hard, sending the car swaying at its side, not caring the noise it made to everyone that could hear it. He smirked at his associate after, seemingly unruffled by the very least. Almost as if to spite his female companion, he wore an ensemble of white. A loose fitting button-up shirt and white pants. His hair was free to sway in his face as he walked and the smirk that had become his trademark expression was firmly in place. He almost looked ethereal. Almost. The smirk marred the effect. People turned in their seats to look at his elegant indifference. A person could drop dead at his feet and he wouldn't be ruffled. Complete and total apathy. It drew them to him somehow.

They stopped at his table and a scowl replaced Draco's unwavering smirk. Hermione stood quietly at the side, the very picture of a trained professional. Somehow, her silence spoke louder than her enthusiastic answers in her childhood ever did. She seldom showed enthusiasm for anything now.

The silence stretched and neither of the three spoke a word. Time stood still for that moment.

"Were you perhaps waiting for a white crow?" Severus finally said, his tone displaying his annoyance at their tardiness. He was hungry and impatient, and they made him wait... without even the slightest bit of apology at their arrival. Insolence was never the way to please him. Of course, few things were but that wasn't the point. "Or a flying pig? I could arrange both of them for your amusement but that would mean I would have to make myself care." His voice sharpened. "Take a seat or take my order. Either way, stop doing nothing."

Draco's scowl intensified and a look of hatred burned its way through the apathetic eyes. Severus inwardly sighed. Was it safe for him to allow such hatred to consume the man? It will scorch him to the flesh and if he could not contain it, he will never recover. Such a consuming feeling, hatred. Easier to feel than love, and much, much harder to kill.

"I'm afraid I cannot stay," Hermione said, looking pointedly at the older man. "I was not invited to this meeting."

Draco's eyebrows went into orbit and a thousand accusations floated fleeting in his eyes. And what exactly was that supposed to mean? His eyes seemed to say. Eyeing Severus in an obviously unfriendly manner, Draco turned his head to face the woman.

"Can't stay? Why ever not, I have to ask." Gray eyes narrowed to slits when they became directed at him, but Severus pretended not to care. "Perhaps the old professor would like the presence of your company."

"No. He has made it clear he does not wish to see me more than was necessary." She gazed at Severus fleetingly before glancing back at Draco. He saw a vague sense of... something before she closed up once more. "You know how to get back, don't you? I won't come back here to fetch you."

"Afraid I won't return?" he asked sneering, eyeing her necklace with a touch of curiosity and an even more pronounced sense of distaste.

"No," she said simply, eyes passing swiftly somewhere below the left of his head. "I'll know exactly where you are anyway." She gave a small nod of goodbye to Severus before she walked away, silently, almost regally towards her car. Opening the door, she slid carefully to her seat and started the engine. She maneuvered out of the parking space and within moments, was completely gone from their sight. Draco inwardly cursed.

"Would you like a seat, sir?" If the tone of voice were more sarcastic, Draco would have to drive it away with a Beater's club. And even then, that was highly difficult. Looking back at his, as he recently learned, legal guardian, Draco swallowed bitterly and took a seat. "Good. I was wondering whether I have to pound your head before you understand my meaning."

The waiter came and served them food and drinks but neither touched what was served of them.

And then it was silence once more.

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

"-oy, that bastard? How could you? I'm coming over!"

Harry stared at the flickering flames of the office fireplace long after the face that he had been talking to disappeared. A long, long time after the face disappeared, or at least, that was what it felt like. Sighing, he stood up and dusted himself of any soot that might have attached itself to his robe. He sat at his chair, facing away from the door. If he had to explain this predicament, he would need all the patience he could manage. A lot of patience and a large dose of indifference. He wasn't on the agreeing side of things either, after all. Sighing once again, he composed himself, awaiting the arrival of one eruption called Ron Weasley.

The door banged open and Harry exhaled a resigned breath. Turning his chair around, he braced himself from Ron's angry outburst.

He stopped. And stared.

"Good morning, Mr. Harry Potter. May I intrude?" Honey could never compare with the sweetness of the tone.

Harry gave his guest a long, hard glare before shaking his head a little. "Good morning, Ms. Parkinson," he said, as he stared at the beginnings of a predatory smile on Pansy Parkinson's face. "How may I help you?"

Her lips become a full-blown smile at those words.

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

Well isn't this nice? Draco thought sourly as the awkward atmosphere stretched between them. What more can a just recently released convict ask for than a man who turned traitor to their side? This bloody program is beginning to be a whole lot of fucking whoop! Draco's scowl grew more pronounced as his thoughts grew more and more wrathful. Unconsciously, he toyed with his smarting ear.

Severus watched him silently, taking into consideration how thin and malnourished he seemed. Others might not find anything grave about him - he had done a great job of concealing his physique to the majority of onlookers - but he had seen the boy grow up, had even visited him sometimes, though Draco would have no knowledge of that. He was as frail and thin as a dead man. And his eyes looked too hollow. Windows of the soul, the saying goes. He saw nothing but blankness there. Two eyes. He had seen two eyes like that. It was almost as if Dementors had gotten to them.

"Wonderful jewelry, Draco," Severus started, staring at the blood red orb that was too deep a color for someone who was so fair. Draco's white-blond hair brushed his ears at certain intervals, and a slight flinching of pain could be seen from him. He was toying with the earring. Subconsciously it seemed. That, or he would have grasped his hands in front of him. Severus wasn't used to indirect tactics of conversation, but one has to be careful when dealing with the unknown. Draco had always been the most unpredictable boy he ever knew. "I see Miss Granger has started with the program."

Draco's anger flared. "Started? Started? This is the end of it. I want out. I don't want to live in a place where I have to see the likes of her every single day! Please tell me you had nothing to do with this, because I have this intense desire to make a bloody pulp out of someone."

"You want to stay with Potter, then? Weasley?" Severus eyed him carefully. Who will Draco pick among his three worst enemies? That was the million-galleon question. Severus squashed what little shred remained of his conscience. It had to be Granger. It had to be. He was such a demon sometimes. Manipulative bastard, as the now soft-spoken Miss Granger had once said.

Draco's eyes widened in disbelief. "Are those my only choices?" he asked incredulously. "Why the hell are they the only ones? If I didn't know better, I'd say this was a set-up."

Severus gave a sigh so convincing it seemed true. Looking back, he thought perhaps it might have been, but for that moment, he had to try his luck at acting. He was good at that. "Draco, who would spend their time trying to set-up a broken down man like you? You have no money, no connections, ...nothing. People who might actually try will get nothing from you but your exasperation. If you think there are people shallow enough, kindly list them and I'll try to look for any clues regarding the matter." Draco scowled darkly at each word. "I have known what your response to this might be and have tried to fix matters beforehand. However, as far as I can see, this arrangement so far is entirely beneficial to you."

A certain glint made its way to Draco's eyes. The same glint that ensured he would do very well in the house of cunning, subterfuge and, most of all, self-gain. The scowl faded slightly. "What do you mean?"

The bait was taken. Now, Severus thought, how to reel him in? "Miss Granger has certain... connections which, if ever you were to be under her supervision, will render you far above the other people who are currently in the same situation. She is at present, the best in the current Aurors, holds the most responsibility in her status in the Ministry and gets practically every special treatment her status and her connections with Potter would allow. Being under her would ensure you get a minimum of that treatment, at least. I have researched this thoroughly. She will be most beneficial."

Draco's brow furrowed and his eyes took on an inward look of deep thinking. Severus could practically see the wheels turning in his head, weighing the proverbial scale of his options. Staying with Granger meant certain privileges that he was sure no one else would get. He would be, as he had been before, far above in status than others. However, that meant being in contact with her for the rest of the year and in a house that was very Muggle in nature. His brow furrowed deeper. Which scale tips more?

"Draco?" The voice seemed to snap him out of it, and he averted his eyes to look at the steel eyes of his ex-favorite professor. "You've been brought up in privilege. You are used to finer things in life and how to use them. Use the skills you've learned from your father. Exploit the situation as it presents itself to you. It might not come again."

Draco eyes took on a blank look. "I've also been raised to believe that Muggles and Mudbloods are filthy and dirty and are of no use but be servants to my kind. How could you suggest that I be a part of something so inferior? I will not take it. I will find my own way and manipulate the things that will be presented to me then."

Severus sighed, a true one this time, and his irritation was obvious in his stare. "You haven't grown up the least bit. You are still the immature boy you once have been. Still Daddy's little soldier and Mummy's little prince. When will you see that things don't always go your way? The world does not revolve around you, Draco. No more are you sheltered by your family's name and power. You are simply an individual now. You could die right here and few people will truly care."

Indifference and apathy went out the door and Draco eyes flared in hatred. "You speak as if you know me. As if you have watched me. As if you have seen my suffering. As if you have heard my pleas for help. Have you, my dear professor? If so, then why didn't you come when I called for you? If you were watching me, how come I never saw your aide? I did grow up. I did mature. I learned a lot of things about life, like the fact that society is a bitch that will bring you to your worse deaths. I learned a lot of things, Professor, even without your help. I grew up and matured alone because you were too busy trying to stab me in the back to notice!"

Stunned was the least of what Snape was feeling. Emotions swirled inside like the proverbial soup of creation and he had no idea how to sort them or what to sort out first to make them a little bit understandable. Of course, he had known that he would be hated. He knew it. From the moment the boy who grew up to be a broken man looked at him with eyes full of betrayal. He knew he would be hated forever. That is how Draco had always been. Slight him once and he will slight you forever. And this was only the first of the many backlashes that he would be receiving.

His line had snapped. The target had swam away, carrying in its body a new hatred for him. He had lost. For now, he thought. I will not fail again...

"Still hate me do you?" he asked, and it had been so abrupt and sudden that Draco was left stunned. "Of course you do," he continued, and took a sip of his tea for the first time, feeling what was supposed to be calming warmth dissolve into a numbing cold. "I would have been surprised if you weren't..."

Still seething and finding nothing else to do, Draco drank from his cup as well, but after the heated speech, the tea felt like sand in his mouth. He had paled at that comment, his mind swirling with memories from his dreams and from the past he had hoped to escape. His hold on the cup tightened, and his knuckles went white due to the force. Aware of his dwindling self-control, he thought it best to leave.

Draco stood up. "I have to go. Cerberus, the Guard Dog from Hell is waiting for me."

"I'd like to talk with you again."

"Of course," Draco answered, sneering. "After all, today had been so productive."

Sarcasm. Severus' eyes narrowed. "It would have been productive if you had listened." The voice was soft yet steely.

"I had been listening," Draco answered arrogantly, "up until the part when I got bored."

"When was that? Ten minutes after you arrived?"

"Of course not! How lowly you think of me," Draco replied. "It was right after the pretended pleasantries."

"Draco..."

"Thank you for the treat," said Draco standing up. "Goodbye."

He watched him leave, all calm indifference once more. When will the boy learn that his pathetic display at trying to imitate his parents' aloofness did not work on him. All Severus had seen are eyes that burned with hatred and betrayal. He watched as Draco walked away, clothes all white and immaculately clean. Hair a mass of white-blond wisps of hair that shone more so in the sunlight. His mother's little prince has transformed into his mentor's worst burden. And the worst part was, his mentor couldn't shake it off.

And then, almost like an after-thought, he was reminded of what Draco last said. "He's going back to Granger." It was more a certainty than a question. He smiled in spite of himself. Well, at least Draco stayed where he wanted the boy to stay. This would ensure more chances at least. Unbidden, thoughts of replaying the previous scenario shot through his mind. Another angry and hate-filled Draco. Could he stand another one?

He was already regretting thinking such thoughts.

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

The walk home was, in a word, refreshing. People passed him without the usual sneers and jibes and the whispered threats of painful deaths to come. Women even looked at him coquettishly, flirting with him with their looks and their blushes, feeling them undress him with their eyes. Men passed by him without a second glance, not minding his demeaning smirk. No one paid him the disgust and hatred that he was so used to seeing when he had traveled the short span between the entrance of the Ministry to Potter's ugly office. None of that was here. This was the Muggle world and though his opinion of it didn't alter the slightest bit, he was starting to like it more than the world he grew up in.

It unnerved him to think such thoughts. He felt blasphemous, almost. The words his parents had repeatedly told him contradicted everything this world had shown him. It... confused him. Quite. Just a little bit, but it nagged at him. It was Snape's fault, he decided. He's trying to manipulate me into something...

Snape. His mentor and most favorite professor. Among the many Hogwarts staff, it had been him alone who looked upon Slytherins without biased perceptions. Well, perhaps a little bias but that had been in their favor. Everyone else looked upon them like a plague. They built walls against them and then had the nerve to think they were the prejudiced ones. Society is a bitch. A fucking bitch with never-ending PMS.

Did the Ministry think that their pretty little propaganda would make the lot of them support the shitty system of the government? Not bloody likely. If anything, this seemingly harmless and "we're so good, kiss our squeaky clean arses" tactic the Ministry used could be the end of them someday. They had just released powerful wizards and witches who are trained to get what they want at all costs. Like his father once said, a caged hound acts like a mad dog when freed. It would be entertaining to see how well the Ministry could fix these "mad dogs" when they decided to go on a rampage.

He was lost in thought. He didn't see how far he had walked. That must be the reason why he was so surprised to see the abomination, also known as Granger's new found toy, peering at him like a kid during Christmas. It surprised him even more to see that Granger was there too, holding the child's small hands in hers. Looking around, he noticed that he was already at the lawn of his new home.

He was... home.

That didn't feel right.

"What," he snapped at the still peering child. "You got a disease or something?"

Mat just smiled. "Nice pretty earring, Draco Malfoy. It's the exact same color as Hermione Granger's necklace."

The statement reminded Draco of said necklace and his eyes gazed pass them on their own accord. They were the same bloody color. A deep crimson red that could best be described as the color of blood. It hung loosely at the hollow spot between her collarbone, the intensity of the color emphasizing the paleness of her slender neck. It took him a long time to realize he was blatantly staring.

"Whatever. Move out of my way," he said as he proceeded to open the door and went straight to the shower. He felt absolutely filthy. He walked back down, a towel in his hands, drying his hair. He really needed to have his damned hair cut. It was taking him too much time to manage.

He saw the woman and the kid lying quite contentedly by the living room sofa, her reading him a story it seemed. Her voice floated to his hearing and the notion that it sounded vaguely different passed swiftly in his mind. The child was listening with rapture in his face. Innocence and serenity. He would destroy that soon enough. He was sure of it. He'd laugh when he did too. That would be a part of his revenge.

"'--grew up, it tried to bite his child, forcing the farmer to kill it too. "

"The kiddie snake died, too?"

She nodded. "Yes. It wasn't a kiddie snake anymore and the farmer was only defending his child. The child could have died, you see?" Turning a page, she continued reading. "Sighing, the farmer looked at the dead snake. A snake, " - Her eyes left the page and settled on his in the most unsettling way. It made Draco almost shiver. - "will forever remain a snake. "

The story ended with her looking pointedly at him. Almost as if she meant something by that stare. Perhaps she did. Perhaps she didn't. He really didn't care. A snake, huh? Was that him? A snake, biting the hand that fed it because it was in his nature to do so?

Yes, he was the snake. He would be the snake. Even if it killed him.

Walking purposely towards her, he gave her a sneer before asking, "Any food for the snake, dear farmer?"

He would bite the hand that fed him.

He'd make sure of it.