Dolor Draconum

Chapter the Ninth

Somewhere, in the darkness of the night, a serpent rounded its way between old stone and worn masonry. It slipped between bars and around locks. It bit a man in the dark, because it didn't much like that man. It couldn't kill, but the snake felt like being petty. The idiot yelped in pain. Then he looked down, and screamed in terror.

The snake sighed in frustration, a feat for a snake. It moved up the flabby body with soft speed, coiling around legs and between folds of fat up to a comfortable noose around the neck. Snake and man paused eye-to-eye. The screams had faded to breathless squeaks. The snake stuck its tongue out, for once not tasting the air and instead meaning everything human in the movement. And then it winked as its coils tightened for the last time.

When the snake was quite certain the man wouldn't be around to talk about winking serpents, it moved on. The body was warm and the night cold, but no matter how much he craved the heat he had more important things to attend to. The stones and mortar stole much-missed scales, but even that wasn't enough to justify so much as a simple rest. Slit windows were greying, a sure sign that he'd spent too much time toying with men too unimportant to even be hated.

There were no cracks here, no chinks. Not even a rat could get in and out. No animal could, let alone a human. You stayed here for good, living off crumbs and droplets. The sea roared dully outside. That was why. You could get out, but you'd drown. Even the rats here, fierce swimmers the lot of them, wouldn't risk it. And for a cold blooded creature it was suicide. No foolish animal could escape.

But the snake was far from foolish. He'd had this planned out every step of the way for months now. Snake's don't like to be kept cooped up. They're too good for that. So he'd watched the comings and going. The visitors who came with a shiver; those who came with a purpose, and those who came to gloat. They came on the first boat and left on the last. It was the only choice they had, because the boat only went each way once a day.

The snake curled in a hollow by the guards' post. The boat came on time, as always, and the sole visitor climbed off with a weary scowl. The snake was both pleased and displeased by him. It would be deliciously ironic, but deeply demeaning. Still, only a fool would turn his nose up at a ticket out of there.

The outer cloak was shed and the visitor gone. The snake slipped inside the discarded robe, hissing gently at the strange collection of Muggle implements that littered the pocket. He didn't know how long he'd have to wait. All day, it felt like, but after the past few nights he was grateful for the chance to sleep. As uncomfortable as it was amongst the three pronged objects and strange spindles of string, the time and temperature caught up with him.

He woke to a hand in the pocket. It took all of his self restraint not to bite it. He squirmed desperately, but there was no hope for it. The hand brushed his scales and he tensed. A dead body would attract a lot of attention, but he'd already done that, hadn't he? Just as he was about to sink his fangs and start climbing, the hand withdrew and he felt a jerking motion. The idiot was taking off his cloak for a better look.

The snake made for the darkest corner, but a scale ripped jagged by the rough floors caught on something. Glancing back, the snake saw almost a full skein of wool worked into the lining. And somewhere under that, he exalted, must be a hole. Picking with fangs and tail, he forced the wool apart. It was a tiny hole, but he was a snake, and tiny holes were his speciality. As the eye came to the entrance the last flick of tail whisked away, and the snake lay heavy in the lining. The cloak shook violently a few times and he felt a hand grope long his length, but the man seemed to give up after a while.

After a while the fervent rocking ceased, and after a period of rhythmic swaying the snake recognised the gentle vibrations of a train. A second set of vibrations joined it shortly afterwards, and the snake worshipped his good luck. Coiling out of the lining, out of the pocket, and out of the carriage, the snake lay in wait by a pair of scuffed and cracked doors. A Muggle train, then.

There was a large gap between train and station, but the snake found a pair of boots to act as temporary transport on the rushed flood of ankles. There were several moments of gut-wrenching terror as the snake darted between heels and toes in a panicked dash amongst a flurry of feet. Any second now a Muggle might look down.

And then he was free. Sliding down the final slope of the station, following the track away from car parks and gravel and tired houses. A nice little country station, out at the end of a village. Even the rain was welcome. It wasn't long before night crept up as well, and finally the snake didn't have to worry about being seen.

An aristocratic blond man surveyed the dismal fields. Even naked and dirty Lucius Malfoy was still an imposing figure as he strode across the English countryside.

* * *

Hermione was sitting opposite Ginny when the parcel arrived almost a week later. Ron and Harry, chatting about another Quidditch match on some looming date that Hermione only remembered because it clashed with a test, both saw the bundle as the overburdened owl careened towards Hermione, actually slamming into Ginny's cereal. Ron reached across to his sister and fished the parcel out of the mess of milk and cornflakes. He unwrapped it while Hermione mopped milk out of Ginny's hair with her handkerchief.

"Sorry," Hermione smiled apologetically.

Ginny laughed. "That's okay, I wanted toast anyway. So, what've you got there?"

"Books," Hermione said simply. "A bit of light reading."

Ron glanced through the books and handed them to Harry, who studied the covers. "Frankenstein?" he said curiously. "I thought that was meant to be pretty dark."

Hermione chuckled. "Gothic horror. I've promised to lend them to someone, but you can have them when he's done, if you want."

"He?" Ron asked suspiciously.

Hermione recognised her mistake too late. "I have to go to the library now," she said quickly. "See you at lunch!"

Ginny rolled her eyes as Hermione hastened away, leaving her breakfast half eaten. Ginny had heard the rumours, and she thought it was sweet, in a 'Romeo and Juliet' kind of way. Of course her brother and Harry thought differently, but they were male. And had good reason to hate him. Though, Hermione did too, really. She just had a larger heart, Ginny supposed. And eyes. Like Harry, Draco had those Quidditch player thighs.

"Mroaw," Ginny murmured under her breath, then giggled.

"Are you okay?" Ron asked, looking concerned.

Ginny just started to laugh harder.

* * *

The library had just been a convenient excuse, but Hermione knew that if she was to find Malfoy anywhere, it would be either the library or the lake, and it was tipping down with rain outside. It was a Sunday, so she had all day to find him, but something in her wanted to get this over and done with. It was odd, because her words to her friends had left her with the whole morning to spend with Draco.

He wasn't at any of the desks, but Hermione didn't bother look there anyway. She strode determinedly through the library into the darkest, mustiest corner. And there in the Muggle section, curled up around his bandaged ribs, was Malfoy.

Hermione sat down next to him without ceremony. He smiled at her.

Hermione's heart skipped a beat. It was a real smile, not strained, not weak, not empty... Malfoy was honestly pleased to see her. She beamed back.

"My parents sent those books I was talking about the other night," Hermione told him. His smile faltered slightly. "Look, here's Frankenstein, and Dracula, and some stuff by Edgar Allan Poe..." she persisted.

"Thank you," he said softly, "quoth the Ravenclaw."

Hermione laughed. "You've read some Poe then?"

"That poem is famous," he smiled. "We used to have some books of Poe at home. I liked The Telltale Heart."

"You know, I've never actually read that one," Hermione admitted. "I've only got the books because we had to study some of his poetry for English."

Draco snorted. "You study English in Muggle schools? I can't believe you have to be taught your own language."

Hermione scowled at him and gave him a gentle shove. "Don't be stupid. We study literature and the complexities of the language. I bet you wouldn't know a preposition from a proposition."

Draco laughed, but it was breathless and dissolved into a weak cough. He was still clutching his side where Hermione had pushed him. She blushed slightly.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to hurt you," Hermione said, surveying his wounds with poorly hidden interest. "I wish I hadn't missed the match. I hear it was quite interesting."

"Not really," Draco tried to shrug, but winced and grabbed his shoulder.

"What happened to you?" Hermione asked. "I saw you being carried away; you look like you hit the ground face first."

"Thank you, I'm so very flattered," Draco said sardonically. "In fact, that's exactly what happened. Apparently it was a fall worthy of Potter, or something like that. I caught the snitch when I made a swipe for someone else's broom."

Hermione giggled. "That is very like Harry," she grinned. She looked him up and down again. "Do you know how bad it was?"

"Broken nose, three cracked ribs, broken collar bone, broken arm, sprained wrist, concussion..." He gave her a martyred look.

Hermione frowned. "But Madam Pomfrey can patch broken bones over night. Why are you still all wrapped up in bandages? It's not like that hippogriff scratch again, is it?" she asked suspiciously.

"No, and that was serious. Okay, maybe not as serious as I was making out," he admitted, "but Madam Pomfrey couldn't heal it immediately. I suffer from something that means I'm almost impervious to healing spells. There's a possibility I have Veela blood." Draco was glowering at her. "You've got no right to judge when you don't know all the facts."

"Okay, okay, I'm sorry," Hermione raised her hands in a gestured of exasperated apology. "So, what are you reading?"

"Something by a guy called Freud. Remind me to avoid brooms, wands and snakes at all costs, okay?" Draco grinned easily.

Hermione laughed. "Have you reached the bit where he thinks babies only feed from their mothers for oral sexual gratification?"

"Sexual?!?" Draco's voice shot up several octaves. "Okay, we're done with him!" and he threw the book across the room, wiping his hands on his trousers. Hermione had to stuff her fist in her mouth to keep from making too much noise.

"It's all about sex with Freud," Hermione said when she finally managed to stop giggled.

"Oh, really?" Draco said sarcastically. He leant back against the wall and began to look through the books Hermione had brought for him. "So, these look interesting. Nice and depressing."

"I suppose they are," Hermione leant back next to him, "but they're brilliant books. I wasn't very keen on Dracula - it's a tough read but an interesting format - until I saw a film where one of the characters said the saddest thing in Dracula is that he has no servants. Whenever one of the characters visits his castle, he serves them himself. He's five hundred years and alone."

Draco stared down at the cover. "Vampires, huh? You know, they're not really like that."

"I know."

There were a few moments of awkward silence, which Draco filled by reading the covers of the other books. Hermione sat beside him, trying to decide whether to leave or not. Just as she had made up her mind to go, Draco put a hand on her arm to keep her there.

"I see you and Potter and Weasley have made up," he said, voice ever so slightly strained.

"There wasn't really anything to make up. I can see why they're a bit unnerved, but I guess they've realised that this is just who I am." Hermione grimaced. Harry had even go so far as to say she could talk to Draco as much as she liked, though Ron had quickly added that he couldn't see how she could possibly 'like' talking to a guy who had made all their lives hell. Hermione had readily agreed.

"Perhaps they've noticed that we spend more time talking when you're upset with them," Draco pointed out pessimistically. "Maybe they think we're plotting against them."

"I'd never do anything to hurt either of them," Hermione said crossly.

"I don't know. If you and Potter ever got something going, Weasley would never speak to either of you again."

"Something... Harry... What?" Hermione stared at him. Draco began to edge away.

"Surely you've seen it? The way Weasley gets so possessive and jealous. You must have noticed: he's falling for you hard," Draco gulped, and slipped back another inch.

"Falling?" Hermione looked at him incredulously. Draco cowered. "Oh my..." and she burst out laughing.

Draco laughed as well, his relief evident in the slightly hysterical edge. Hermione realised this, but it only made her laugh harder. Draco moved back to sit next to her, slinging one arm around her and pressing his other hand to her mouth.

"If we... we're not qui...quieter," Draco gasped, "Madam Pince will... Pince will come and..."

"I know," Hermione interrupted, still giggling, pushing his hand away and replacing it with both of her own hands.

Draco grinned at her. "You have to admit, Weasley does get very jealous," he said softly.

Hermione sighed. "You don't have to tell me that. If I want to write to Victor I have to do it in the girl's dormitory."

"Victor Krum? Are you two..." Draco let it hang.

Hermione smiled at him. "No, we're not. He's considerably older than me, for a start. Besides, he lives in Bulgaria. There's long distance relationship and there's lunacy, in my opinion. I've visited him once or twice, but we're basically just friends."

"Does Weasley know that?"

"I don't know." Hermione frowned, "maybe you're right; maybe he does like me in that way. Ridiculous way of showing it if he does."

"What, refusing to talk to you for long periods of time and overreacting to every little thing?" Draco raised an eyebrow. "Welcome to the adolescent male psyche."

"So you do the same when you like a girl?" Hermione smirked at him.

"Oh no, I'm much smoother," Draco purred. The sudden change in his tone of voice caught Hermione's attention, and she moved to look him directly in the eyes. He smiled, a predatory grin, and tightened his arm around her shoulders, drawing her closer.

Slowly, never taking his eyes from hers, Draco Malfoy kissed her.