Dolor Draconum

Chapter the Seventh

The next day was miserable for Hermione. The weather was dismal, things were still strained between her and Ron and Harry, her teachers seemed to be in particularly bad moods and she found herself sitting with Malfoy in several lessons. It wasn't that she found his presence particularly upsetting, it was that she didn't find his presence upsetting. She wanted to hate him, but things had changed too much for that. Some combination of sympathy and trust made him almost likable, and Ron and Harry could both see that she was warming to him. In short, she felt wretched.

And then, of course, there was the detention. She and Draco had detentions on consecutive days, since there was a quidditch match on that evening. Hermione felt slightly put out that nobody had mentioned it to her, but it didn't involve Gryffindor, and since Ron and Harry were being slightly cool towards her it hadn't really come up in conversation. It had already started when Hermione knocked on Professor Aurora's door.

She took the chance to get a proper look around the room. She could remember bits and pieces of Harry's descriptions of the office's previous occupants, but the room seemed to surpass all of them in Hermione's mind. Candles covered almost every available surface. A crystal ball balanced precariously on top of a stack of paperwork and a ouji board poked from between books. Shelves groaned under 'ancient tomes' that were labelled as such, which made Hermione's lip curl in contempt. Velvet and silk hanging covered every wall and billowed across the ceiling, making the room feel unnecessarily cramped, though the sheer amount of clutter had its own role to play there. Hermione picked her way through the scrolls and books to perch on a beautifully ornate but incredibly uncomfortable chair next to a small table that looked like it would collapse any second. No wonder there was so much mess, if she'd rejected even a desk. Professor Aurora had a spread of scrolls across her table, a second year class's homework; she glanced up to acknowledge Hermione, then turned back to the work.

"I never had a detention while at school," Professor Aurora commented offhandedly. "I've never given one either."

"You don't know what to do with me," Hermione guessed correctly.

"I'd make you write lines or something, but that seems so old-fashioned. Tell me, would you have gone to watch the quidditch if you didn't have detention?"

"I suppose so," Hermione frowned, a little confused at this line of questioning.

"Hardly enthusiastic. I suppose merely depriving you of that opportunity doesn't count as a punishment. You're always so keen on homework; I can't exactly make you do that. Of course, you have to catch up from the lesson. That doesn't seem enough, though."

"It's a starting point," Hermione said meekly.

"Well, it is that," Aurora conceded. "Here's my lesson plan. It's got all the notes and so on. I expect you to get on with that while I finish this marking." She cleared a small corner of the table and gestured for Hermione to work there. Hermione looked at the miniscule space and settled for working on her lap.

Half an hour passed in near-silence, punctuated only by the cheers and boos of the crowd outside. Hermione found her mind wandering from the task she had been set, and she wished she knew how Draco was doing on the pitch.

* * *

Draco stared around the pitch in mild disinterest. It was hard to focus on the match when he could see straight into Professor Kelp's office. Hermione's head was bowed in concentration, presenting him with a good view down her top, if he squinted.

There was a yell from below him. Slytherin had fouled the Hufflepuff keeper. Again. Well, it was the only way that had a hope in hell of scoring any points: take out the other team player by player. Even Malfoy could admit the qualifications for the Slytherin team were being big and scary. Actual talent had little to do with it. Maybe he had bought his way onto the team, but at least he could fly in a straight line without falling off the broomstick. In any other house he'd have got into the team on talent, but he just wasn't butch enough to get onto the Slytherin team without a little financial aid.

The match continued, foul by foul. Now Lee Jordan had finally graduated Ginny Weasley had taken his post as commentator, claiming that one season was all she could manage on the pitch. Malfoy was looking forwards to playing the new Gryffindor team. They weren't gelling as well as the old team. Slytherin didn't have the problems: every player was built like a brick wall, with the intelligence to match. You wouldn't know the players had changed if it wasn't for Ginny's commentary, and even she kept getting the names wrong.

It reached the point where if Malfoy caught the snitch, it would be a tie. He despaired of his teammates, who had scored a single goal, and given Hufflepuff eight penalties so far. When they debriefed, he'd point out the flaws in their game plan. Hufflepuff were missing three players already, and were still confident of winning.

The wind was getting up. Malfoy clung to his broom, finally tearing his attention away from Professor Kelp's office long enough to secure his grip on the broom. To his horror, he spotted the snitch, immediately behind the Hufflepuff seeker. The moment he turned around, which he was likely to do any second as he scanned the pitch, the game was over. It would be the most crushing defeat Slytherin had suffered in over a century.

Malfoy hovered on the edge of a decision for a moment, then plunged down towards the snitch. If he fouled the seeker they'd lose anyway, but it was worth the risk. He was so intent on his dive that he didn't notice the bludger hit by one of his own teammates.

Later, someone commented that it was a catch worthy of Harry Potter. Malfoy couldn't argue that, considering the number of novel ways Harry had found over the years to end matches. Malfoy and his broom parted company as the bludger hit the tail and the wind gave an extra violent gust. He plummeted down, watching the ground with an almost sick fascination as it rushed to meet him. The Hufflepuff seeker lurched out of his way at the last second, leaving the snitch behind. Malfoy made a swipe for his fellow seeker's broom, desperate to break his fall. He almost let the snitch go in disgust when he found himself still falling, but his survival instincts told him that if the kill didn't fall him, letting go of the snitch now was certain suicide. His teammates would slaughter him if he didn't draw this match for them.

Suddenly everything went white, then black.

* * *

The sound of the crowd increased in intensity until both Hermione and Professor Aurora were unable to concentrate. Aurora walked to the window and stared towards the pitch.

"I suppose the match is over," she commented. "Something seems to have happened."

The pitch was close enough that Hermione could make out individuals in the crowd, though those bunched together in the stands still looked like washes of garish colour. The Slytherins as a whole seemed very agitated. Madam Pomfrey could be seen hurrying towards the pitch, and Hermione had a sinking suspicion that she knew who had been injured. Her suspicions were confirmed when a stretcher floated swiftly back towards the castle, bearing a bruised and bloody Draco Malfoy.

Hermione sighed. "Well, that's one way to get out of detention," she joked grimly.

Aurora gave her a grin. "Sure, I'll bet he gets his nose broken and ribs snapped all the time just to get out of class."

"I've finished the lesson," Hermione said as they both sat down again.

Aurora took an old fashioned pocket watch out of her top and flipped it open. "Well, I guess I'll have to let you go. If anyone asks, it was a much more unpleasant detention, okay? Snape wanted to have you scrubbing the dungeon floors."

"Sure thing, Professor," Hermione grinned. "I'll see you next lesson, okay?"

"I should certainly hope so," Aurora scolded.

Hermione departed, and Aurora leant back in her chair. This job was so much harder than she'd ever anticipated. And all these complications kept cropping up. Was she being too harsh on the students? Maybe Snape could cope with being hated, but she couldn't. She chewed her lip. She'd be lucky to last the year at this rate, but she'd hate to leave like every other teacher had. Hermione's year would go through the whole school with a different teacher each year. Aurora felt she owed them a little stability, but so far she made Neville look like Hermione when it came to charms and potions. Magic just wasn't where her talents lay.

She clucked her tongue against her teeth gently, staring up at the speckled canopy. Why did teaching have to be so damn difficult? The students thought she was either too harsh or too soft, and held her abilities as a witch in utter contempt. She was trying so hard, but, to be honest, so she didn't have any more faith in her abilities than they did.

Aurora sighed. There was no use in thinking things like that. If she was training students to have their own minds completely under their control, she ought to follow her own teachings and keep her mind on the task at hand. Teach by example. She snorted and shook her head. Sure, that was going to work. At least she hadn't told them her real name. The students thought she was a terrible witch as it was: admitting her first name was actually Julie would be too Muggle for words.