Dolor Draconum

Chapter the Second

Potions.

Harry wondered whether Snape had kept him on out of sheer malicious pleasure. Neither he nor Ron had achieved the outstanding grades he claimed to require to take them on for NEWTs. Eventually, Hermione explained the McGonagall had spoken up for them and mentioned that Umbridge had declared neither would get in. Despite her absence from the school, her memory still carried weight. The swamp, still nestled in the corner of one of the corridors, leant weight to that memory. A small notice had appeared beside, reading 'this swamp brought to you by The Brothers Weasley. Come to Weasley's Wizard Wheezes in Diagon Alley to meet the makers in person, and sample our various products.' Harry suspected Ginny had put it up as a favour to the twins. Ron was disgruntled by the fact 'The Brothers Weasley' apparently consisted of only two members, as opposed to the six it ought to have. The Sister Weasley merely thought it was a good name.

Snape was waiting at the front of the dungeon as they filed in. Harry noted with interest that Crabbe and Goyle sat away from Draco, in fact, Draco was left entirely on his own. Apparently they hadn't forgiven him for their fathers' arrests. Despite the lack of Dementors, Lucius Malfoy and his friends were finding it a little harder than anticipated to break out of Azkaban. Two attempts had already been reported in the Prophet, and Luna Lovegood claimed they'd hushed up at least seventeen more, though one of those was supposed to have been aided by invisible Hippogriffs, so the tally was probably a little less.

"Welcome back," Snape began. "Many of you don't deserve to be here, and if I had my way you wouldn't be." He gave a few Gryffindors, now much depleted in numbers, a cold stare. "Still, we must make the best of what meagre talent is accumulated amongst the few brains you share between you," a pointed look at Hermione, "and being another year. I hope you all did your summer reading, as we are going to begin with a duplicating potion. Pairs, please."

Hermione stared around desperately, but Ron and Harry were already setting up, and everyone else in Gryffindor (all two of them) had paired up. On the other side of the room, Draco didn't even bother raise his head. It seemed that it wasn't just Crabbe and Goyle shutting him out. Hermione wondered what he had down to deserve this sudden enmity.

"Okay, fine. Granger, go and work with Malfoy," Snape snarled, clearly annoyed that his favourite was being forced to work with one of his least liked pupils.

They worked in silence for a bit, following the instructions that had appeared on the board in front of them. A soft murmur of noise filled the dungeon as pupils chatted about the first few lessons, and about the potion whenever Snape came within hearing.

Abruptly, Malfoy broke the silence that had settled between himself and Hermione. "Why on earth did they hire that Muggle as a Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher? Dumbledore's lost it this time."

Hermione's mouth opened. "I, um, yes. I agree," she stammered, shocked at herself. "I mean, not about Dumbledore, he probably had very good reasons, but I can't work out what they are."

"He's cracked, that's the reason," Malfoy said bluntly. "I'd rather have that Ministry woman back. She couldn't teach magic, but at least she knew what it was."

"I'll bet you want her back," Hermione muttered. "She made it so easy on you."

Malfoy gave her a withering look. "I would have failed Dark Arts if it wasn't for my father," he said scathingly. "As an administrator I think she did a lot for this school, but as a teacher the only thing worse they could have done was bring in a mudblood or a squib. Oh, wait, they did."

"She's an empath. There's a rumour that she's teaching occlumency and leglimency."

"So why not have Professor Snape do it? At least he's a wizard. That girl is actually taking lesson here! She's a student, like the rest of us."

"Harry made a pretty good Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher last year, and he's still a student," Hermione pointed out candidly.

"Illegal teacher," Malfoy sneered, but he didn't object to Hermione's claim. A lot of students had failed on the practical portion of the exam, but all of those Harry had taught had passed with flying colours.

The potion stared to change colours, flickering between red, white and blue in a very patriotic manner. Malfoy dropped some shredded pig's liver in and it slowed, colours changing more gradually, until it began to separate into layer.

"Stir it," Snape told them brusquely. Hermione did so and it turned a delicate violet.

"Sir, why didn't you get the Defence Against the Dark Arts job?" Malfoy asked ingratiatingly. "You know everything this girl is teaching, and I bet you'd teach it a lot better."

"She volunteered," Snape said shortly, and walked away before Malfoy could ask any more questions.

"Do you suppose that means she's not being paid?" Hermione asked slowly.

Malfoy gave her a surprised look. "Well, I suppose her wages and the school fees would cancel each other out to a certain extent."

"School fees?" Hermione looked confused.

"If you're over eighteen you have to pay for full-time education," Malfoy explained.

"Oh, yes. It's the same in the Muggle world," Hermione said, a little embarrassed at not having realised that.

They lapsed back into silence, but it was more comfortable this time.

The lesson drew to a close and Hermione began to ladle the potion into a flask with relief. Malfoy had been shooting glances at her for the past five minutes and it was beginning to get on her nerves. She had discretely checked her reflection in the potion, but there was nothing obviously wrong with her.

"Are you-" Draco began suddenly, but he was interrupted by Snape calling, "Time's up," and he fell silent again.

Snape strode around the classroom, looking in each cauldron and studying each bottle of potion. Eventually, he selected Ron and Harry's, beckoning Hermione forwards to act as guinea pig. Swallowing nervously, eyeing the bottle bright green liquid with trepidation, she took a deep swallow.

Hermione's eyes widened. Her body began to split in two, separating up the middle like an amoeba. Her clothes started to rip.

Suddenly, there were two Hermiones, both flushing scarlet and clinging to the shreds of their uniform. The class burst out laughing.

"Potter, Weasley, do you know what you did wrong?" Snape asked, ignoring Hermione's predicament. One Hermione had ducked under a desk; the other was using textbooks to keep herself covered. "You didn't add a hair. The duplicating potion has many similar properties to the Polyjuice potion, when mixed properly, but has the advantage of being much quicker to prepare and the disadvantage of only producing a surface glamour. The person should still have their own voice and body shape underneath the outside mirage, and it takes a powerful wizard to conjure clothes onto the glamour. You two, however have created a Facsimile Potion, so now we have two Grangers. Does anyone know the antidote?"

The Hermione under the desk was fuming. If the potion had gone right, she would be wearing Harry or Ron's naked body, but it had gone wrong, as Snape had undoubtedly known it would, and she was stuck with wearing almost nothing, twice over. The Hermione dressed in books answered Snape's question.

"You will raise your hand when you speak to me," he said, malevolent humour glinting in his eyes.

Hermione stared at him, horrified. She made a brief attempt at holding the books with one hand, but after almost dropping them she gave up.

"Anyone else?" Snape looked around.

Most of the class had ceased to pay the slightest bit of attention. Most of the boys were staring open mouthed at the Hermiones, cheeks flushed and pupils dilated. The girls were giving her dirty looks, and Pansy Parkinson said in a stage whisper "the ugly little tart's enjoying the attention." Harry and Ron were staring at the desk, but the Hermione under the desk caught Ron sneaking the occasional glance. If she remembered all this (she wasn't sure she would, with having two separate memories of exactly the same period of time), she was going to keep a close eye on him from now on.

Malfoy went to raise his hand, but found it hexed to the desk. He turned to glower at Crabbe and Goyle, noticing the Crabbe was still holding the wand. He turned back with a shrug and simply raised the other hand.

"Essence of bindweed, Sir," he said simply. Both Hermiones gave him a grateful, albeit surprised, look.

"Well done, Malfoy. Ten points to Slytherin. Unfortunately, I don't have any." He turned around to look over Hermione-with-the-books's shoulder. She realised with guilty satisfaction that if he actually looked at her she could get him kicked out for harassment. She almost let the books slipped, but thought better of it. Pansy's jibe had struck deep. "Hermione, both of you, please go to Madam Pomfrey and ask if she has any. And go and put some clothes on while you're at it."

Hermione-under-the-table's eyes widened. "You don't expect me to walk half way across the school like this?" she asked aghast.

"Malfoy can escort you," Snape sneered. "Protect you from 'admirers'."

Draco stood up. "Do I have to come back and clear up the equipment?" he asked, shooting pointed looks at Ron and Harry.

"Potter, Weasley, clear up Malfoy's equipment for him. Granger, ten points each from Gryffindor for being unsuitably attired."

Malfoy walked over to Hermione-under-the-table and handed her his cloak without talking. She wrapped it gratefully around herself, standing up carefully. He reached over carelessly and snatched Ron's cloak to cover Hermione-with-the-books. Ron didn't object, not even when it knocked over the essence of newt tail and stained it.

Hermione was pleasantly surprised by Malfoy's behaviour. He didn't gawk at her, he didn't make any suggestive comments or insult her, and he didn't try and 'hurt' her. He walked in front so he wouldn't see if the cloaks slipped. He had been brought up to be a Gentleman in every aspect of the word, bigoted and arrogant and rude, he knew which knife to use, which servants to call by their surnames and which by their first, and he knew better than to take advantage of a lady in distress, or even undress. Even if the lady was a common mudblood.

The fact was, Hermione's modesty had struck a chord within him. He hadn't stared like the other boys, but he hadn't acted as though she had anything to be ashamed of. In his opinion, she didn't, no matter what bitchy comments Pansy Parkinson might make. Now that Hermione had sorted out her teeth and found a shampoo that kept her hair a little tamer, she was more than pleasant to look at, something that hadn't escaped Ron Weasley's notice either.

Madam Pomfrey was horrified when she saw the Hermiones and ushered them away. Malfoy stuck his hands in his pockets and waited. From behind a curtain strange squeaks and squeals issued as the two Hermiones become one again. Eventually she reappeared, dressed in a spare uniform two sizes too big for her.

"That looks like it ought to belong to Millicent Bulstrode," Malfoy observed.

"It did," Hermione said darkly.

"Come on, we have the Dark Arts next," Malfoy said brusquely. "I brought your bag."

"Thank you," Hermione accepted it. "Do you think I have time to go and change? These are really uncomfortable, and smell... odd."

Malfoy smirked. "Miss Granger willing to skip lessons to work on her appearance? I don't think Madam Pomfrey put you back together right."

"If the last lesson was any indication, we could be twenty minutes late and still beat her there," Hermione said scathingly. "If I wanted to study psychology I'd be in a Muggle sixth form college, studying psychology, funnily enough."

She led the way to the Gryffindor dormitory. "You'll have to stay out here," she told Malfoy. "In fact, you really ought to be a bit further down the corridor so you don't hear the password."

Malfoy backed away a short distance, and Hermione failed to see his smirk as she whispered the password to the fat lady.

When Hermione returned from the girl's dormitories she was treated to the sight of Malfoy lounging bonelessly in a chair in front of the fire, one leg over the left arm, one arm over the back. With a frown like thunder she stalked up to him and stood with her hands on her hips between him and the fire.

"What are you doing in here?" she demanded. "I told you to wait outside!"

Malfoy shrugged. "I like your common room," he said, looking around with interest. "Cosy. Lacks the gothic elegance of the Slytherin common room, as Pothead and the Weasel no doubt told you when they were masquerading as Crabbe and Goyle. Still, it has its rustic charm."

"Get out," Hermione growled. "Get out of here you bigoted, arrogant, charmless, vile crook."

That last word bit deep, and Malfoy's face went a whiter shade of pale, lips thinning as he pressed them firmly together in an attempt to keep from shouting something that could embarrass himself. Hermione noted this triumphantly.

"Come on," he said tightly. "We have to go to Dark Arts. What if today is the day Professor Dumbledore attends?"

"After you," Hermione said with mocking derision.

Only later did it occur to wonder what he had been intending to ask in Potions, and wish she'd asked him before she blew up at him for following her into the common room. After all, Ron and Harry had sneaked into the Slytherin common room in their second year. That memory brought forth another one: Draco Malfoy praying that the Basilisk (though he hadn't known it was such) would eat her first. Then all the righteous anger flooded back, and she found herself hoping his father did escape, and he helped him, and Aurors would be forced to kill them both.