Dolor Draconum

Chapter the Fourth

"Are you going to stand there all day?" the soft voice had drawled.

Hermione froze, staring at the opposite shelves in absolute horror.

"You've been wavering back and forth for over a minute. I know you saw me. Please, return the favour and let me know whose legs I have the pleasure of viewing."

Hermione frowned. She stepped forwards and stared at the shelves. Around knee height there was a section of missing books, and the shelves stuck out past the wall for almost a metre. She cursed herself for not backing away further.

Steeling herself, she stepped around the corner.

"Granger?" Malfoy's mouth was open, absolute horror mingling with gut-wrenching shame evident in his tone. Hermione blushed to her roots, bag clutched protectively n front of her.

"I... I was looking for the book," she murmured, "that book," she gestured in Draco's direction, unable to take her eyes off him.

His hair was rumpled from the shelves behind him. One hand was resting on the pile of chocolate leaning on the bare wall, while the other was clutching the book like a shield, as one of the Hermiones had done in Potions. His eyes were red and puffy, a single tear still clinging to his cheek. His lower lip trembled, and he bit down hard to stop it. The last summer had added some maturity to his face, and he'd grown a lot since starting Hogwarts. He was lean and slender, angles and smooth curves, lithe and delicately muscled. His face had 'pain' written on it, and his body had 'suffering'.

Have you ever unexpectedly come across someone crying? Whether it's someone you know or someone you don't, it's always awkward. It's worse when you know them, but not well. Be it a friend of a friend, someone from a class whose name you know but nothing else, or a hated enemy, you just don't know what to say, but feel obliged to say something. Hermione still wanted to help, but she might as well have run into Dean Thomas in tears. She had no idea what to say, what Draco wanted to hear, or needed to hear. So she did the most sensible thing she could in the situation, and offered him a tissue.

Draco looked surprised, but accepted the paper handkerchief and wiped his eyes. He muttered something that might have been a thank you, and Hermione sat down beside him. To her surprise he didn't object, though he didn't really react at all.

They sat in silence for a bit while Draco shredded Hermione's tissue absentmindedly and occasionally helped himself to chocolate, not thinking to offer Hermione any. Eventually he seemed to remember she was there and shot her a suspicious glance.

"What did you say you were doing here?" he asked, his voice under control and carefully modulated to sound completely calm. Now Hermione had something to compare it too, she realised that Malfoy had been speaking in those same carefully measured tones ever since she saw him on the train.

"I came to find the psychology book," she pointed to it. "This section of the library is dismal, isn't it?"

"Who gives a damn about Muggles?" Draco muttered, but his heart wasn't in it.

"This isn't about the rumour, is it? I swear I had nothing to do with that!"

Draco shot her a look. "Which rumour?" he asked.

Hermione blushed, suddenly aware that he obviously didn't know what she was talking about, but that she couldn't go back now. "Some people are, um, saying that you, well, youtriedtorapeme," she finished in a rush.

Draco looked her up and down. "Have you told them otherwise?" he asked.

"Of course!" Hermione stared at him, horrified. "Why on earth wouldn't I?"

Malfoy shrugged and turned back to the book on his knees. Hermione thought they were falling back into silence again, but he spoke up unexpectedly. "I appreciate that," he said dully. "They would expel me if they thought I had."

"Oh," was all Hermione could say to that.

"You need to read this," Draco waved at a page in the book. "If Professor Kelp really is trying to use operant conditioning she ought to be rewarding us too."

"Maybe we haven't done anything reward-worthy." Hermione sighed. "I know she's an empath, but really, she has no right to punish us for feeling-"

"...my father thinks he does..."

"-Everyone feels, right? It's what makes us human. Without emotion we are- what did you say?" Hermione stared at him.

"Nothing," Draco snarled. He shoved the book roughly into her hands.

"Hey, watch it!" Hermione protested. "That hurt."

"Good!"

"I'm trying to help you here! I'm being nice."

"Well now you know it's not worth it, don't you? Draco Malfoy, not worth the time of day. I don't need your pity! I don't need anybody!" He glowered at her. "You never bothered before, did you? Never cared." He was breathing hard, almost gasping for air at times, as he spoke, scrubbing a hand across his eyes desperately but unable to stop the tears that pooled there. They were fighting in whispers, though they probably needn't have bothered. "Why are you here, Granger? Why do you bother? No one wants nasty little mudbloods poking into their business, pushing their nose in where it doesn't belong. You got my father arrested!" His voce had gone up at least an octave. His shoulders were shaking furiously and his chest was heaving. "Go away!" he shrieked, but still whispered. "Leave me alone! I don't want you here! Mudblood. Mudblood, mudblood, mudblood."

"I hate to say it, but I've gotten used to that word coming from you," Hermione said coldly. "So if you think calling me a filthy mudblood is going to make me walk away, you're wrong."

"I don't need you," Draco insisted, tears pouring down his cheeks. "I don't need anybody. Why can't people leave me alone?"

"They are," Hermione pointed out. "That's why you're sitting in a forgotten corner of the library rather than in your common room."

Draco shook his head desperately, unable to speak. He made a few inarticulate noises, and then gave in. He collapsed over his knees, hugging them to his chest, crying bitterly. Hermione rubbed a comforting hand across his shoulders and he made a miserable little mewling noise, leaning into her arm. She pulled him close and held him while he cried, digging one-handed through her bag for more tissues.

When she found them and pushed them gently into his hand he pulled away from her. He blushed furiously, wiping his eyes and blowing his nose, unable to look at her. They were sitting much closer together now, and he could feel the warmth of her body hot against his side. It was... pleasant. Comforting. He kept his knees up and book in his lap, carefully hiding a tented area in his robes, spots of crimson high on his cheeks highlighted his aristocratic bone structure, but Hermione was staring into his eyes, concern written across her face.

"Would it help to talk?" she asked softly. "I can promise you I won't tell a soul unless you tell me to."

"I suppose from you a promise like that actually means something," Draco said bitterly.

"Of course it does," Hermione confirmed.

"Why?" Draco asked her, honestly curious. "You hate me."

Hermione shrugged. "That doesn't mean I want to hurt you. Well, not like that. I'd happily give you the occasional slap... What I mean is when you find someone else hurting, you ought to help them, whether they're your worst enemy or your best friend."

"I can't pretend to understand you," Draco said with a weak smile, "but I appreciate it."

"Honestly, what are we to do with you?" Hermione asked in playful exasperation, not aware of how much she sounded like her mother. "You can't understand being nice now and then?"

"Not to someone like me," Draco sighed. He took advantage of Hermione's position to lean on her again, forcing her to put her arm around him if she wanted to remain something related to comfortable. He reached down and broke a chunk of chocolate in two, offering one piece to her.

"Thank you," she smiled. "Now, are you going to stop prevaricating and get whatever it is off your chest?"

"You know what's wrong," Draco pouted.

"I want to hear it from you," Hermione insisted.

"I... They... You put my father in prison!" He pulled away from her suddenly, as though he'd only just remembered this fact. "You put Crabbe and Goyle's fathers in prison too."

"The three of you seemed to be getting on okay at the end of last term," Hermione prompted.

"They've relied on their size their whole lives to keep them out of trouble. Ever since that 'Dumbledore's Army' club you lot started last year, they're no longer able to do that. After the incident on the train Crabbe said he wanted nothing more to do with me. Goyle said that I'd lead them into trouble like my father led theirs."

"I see. What about everyone else?"

"Who'd want to hang around someone with a convicted criminal for a father? What if it's genetic?" Draco looked at her scornfully, and Hermione returned it full force.

"What are you on about?" she demanded. "Why on earth should criminality be hereditary? It's a matter of upbringing."

"And my father brought me up."

"Oh. Um..." Hermione found herself in the unusual position of being unable to think of anything to say. "Look, they'll get over it eventually, I'm sure. There's a limit as to how long people can hold a grudge."

Draco gave an ironic laugh. "Funny, the Slytherin versus Gryffindor enmity is a grudge left from the founding of the school. Imagine that, a grudge lasting for centuries. And think how many other examples there are. The English and the French. The Middle East, that one's been going on for a while. Oh, and don't forget the English versus the Irish, though that's mostly a Muggle thing..."

"You've made your point," Hermione said tersely. "Fine, yes, some grudges last a long time after those involved are dead. Can't you be a little positive?"

"What, and give you an excuse to leave?" Draco raised an eyebrow.

"I'm not going anywhere," Hermione protested. "I'll be here as long as you need me. Besides, I've still got that work to do." She reached for the book, but Draco grabbed it swiftly and held it in his lap.

"We can read together," he said hastily. "As long as we don't start doing that stupid competitive reading thing where we try and beat each other to the end of the page."

"That's so pointless," Hermione agreed, ignoring the fact she'd been racing Ron earlier that day. She dug out some parchment and a quill and began to make notes. Malfoy didn't bother, but he did continue to share the chocolate. Over an hour passed this way, in absolute silence apart from the turning of the pages and the muted sounds of chocolate being eaten and enjoyed.

Eventually even Hermione had to admit there were no more notes she could wring from the book and Malfoy dragged himself to his feet to put it away. The chocolate was gone and the library was about to close. A silent understanding passed between them: the truce was over. Hermione knew that Draco hadn't told her even half of what was bothering him, but he'd told her something, and she knew she would never breathe a word of it to anyone else. They went in opposite directions when they reached the edge of the Muggle section, not even saying goodbye.

Draco did, however, murmur thank you as he walked away, and when Ron and Harry finally found Hermione she was smiling.