Dolor Draconum

Chapter the Eleventh

Hermione bit her lip. She wasn't avoiding Draco, she absolutely wasn't. She was still going to the lessons she shared with him, right? She just happened to be too busy to hunt him out in the library in the evenings. Now she and Ron and Harry were getting on well again she was spending time with them. And Ginny was hanging out with them too, as though by sharing a secret with her Hermione had created a new kind of bond between them. Well, in a way she had, and it was nice to have another girl around for once.

It was just, well, she didn't know what to say to Draco. Every time she thought about the kiss she felt differently about it. Guilty, flattered, happy, angry, hurt, embarrassed... Draco hadn't exactly made an effort to talk to her either, though Ron had commented that he'd been watching her like a hawk. She'd lied, and said she couldn't work out why. More guilt. Whoopee.

Despite her lack of experience in the field, Hermione felt that it had been a pretty good kiss. Not too wet or too long or too hard. No tongues, since it was a first kiss. That was right, wasn't it? Hermione found herself wishing she'd been more accepting of Krum's advances just so she'd have some basis for comparison until she realised how selfish it would have been to use him like that. It seemed some of Draco's ethics were rubbing off on her, though she believed she was rubbing off on him as well. He was slightly less depressed, for a start, and he hadn't bullied anyone less well off than him almost all term.

It occurred to Hermione that in Draco's opinion there probably wasn't anyone less well off than him. It was him depression that was making him appear more altruistic, not any change in personality. Which meant she had no reason to be attracted to him, not really. She knew she wasn't shallow enough and too sensible to like him for a surface change. She wouldn't be fooled by someone who acted nice to get what they wanted, especially when they had a history of such. So, either she wasn't attracted to him, or he wasn't the person she'd always thought he was.

That kind of logic had nothing to back it up and little to recommend it. Hermione pushed her reasoning to the back of her mind, along with any thoughts of Draco, whenever they rose. It was hard when she shared so many lessons, but as time passed she grew used to Not Thinking about him.

Hermione chewed the nib of her quill as she sat in Arithmancy, staring at a number chart. The teacher was late, so she was trying to find ways to improve her homework. It was one way of taking her mind off the fact that she shared this class with Draco, and the constant reminder he served as. She was developing a knack for finding distractions, from doing extra work to throwing herself into conversations with Ron and Harry about Quidditch to shopping with the other girls in her dormitory to teaching herself Latin. The first and last were accepted as normal behaviour for her, but when she came back from Hogsmeade with 'an outfit just absolutely perfect for watching Quidditch' Ron and Harry had locked her in the prefect's bathroom and threatened to fetch Madam Pomfrey on account of her insanity.

"I'm trying to..." Hermione had tried to find something truthful and yet not hurtful to say. "I'm avoiding Draco."

"She's sane, let her out!" Ron declared. "And it's about bloody time," he commented as she stepped out.

Hermione had turned on him. "You could try being a little nicer to him," she snapped.

"Still insane," Harry had sighed. "Lock her back in."

"I'm not insane," Hermione told him, trying to keep her frustration under control. "I just feel for him. Sure, he's a complete git, but he's still hurting."

"Why?" Ron had asked, "Why should we be nice to him? He's never done the same for us!"

"He's going through a really bad time. I just think that perhaps we shouldn't go out of our way to make it worse," Hermione had explained impatiently.

"Yes, because he's always been as obliging to us," Ron had sneered. "He deserves it, Hermione. Think about everything he's said and done to you. He deserves to suffer what he's put the rest of us through."

"He's never done this! He never put you father in jail-"

"He's tried," Ron had snarled. "His father was always making trouble at the ministry for us."

"Okay, fine. But think about it, Ron, He's an only child. You couldn't imagine how lonely that can get. His father is in prison and his mother just abandoned him. He comes to school, and all of his friends stop speaking to him. You're just kicking him when he's down."

"He'd do exactly the same," Harry had stood up for Ron.

"Exactly," Hermione had crowed triumphantly. "You're being just as bad as he is, taking pleasure in his pain."

Ron hadn't been able to find an answer to that.

"So why are you avoiding him?" Harry had asked suddenly.

Hermione flinched. "He's... he's growing dependent on me," she floundered. "He needs to try and sort things out with his friends, and I want to spend some time making things are okay with mine."

Ron smiled at her. "Things are okay with yours," he said almost bashfully.

"As long as you keep avoiding him," Harry said ominously. "He's just playing for sympathy. He'll hurt you."

"We don't want to see you hurt," Ron had added solemnly. "That's all."

A polite cough brought her out of her reverie and made her look up. Even when injured, Draco was a poser, showing off his body to its best effect, making the wounds seem like medals for heroism. Part of her wanted to smile at this observation, the rest of her just considered it to be yet another one of his multiple annoying traits.

"Is this seat taken?" he asked, sitting down without waiting for an answer. Another annoying trait, that.

Hermione sighed and began to roll up her parchment. "You're looking a bit better," she observed, "the wounds seem to be healing."

Draco fished a mirror out his bag and studied himself in it. "Liar," he concluded eventually. "I look as though I haven't slept for months."

"Well, yes," Hermione blushed, "but other than that."

"Well, I guess. Wounds do tend to heal if you give them a chance." He put the mirror away and tried to get a look at Hermione's homework, but she finished rolling it up and put it on the other side of the desk, giving him a disapproving look.

"So, why haven't you been sleeping?" she asked. "Are the other Slytherins bothering you again?" she demanded. "You should go to a teacher if they are."

"Okay, we're not all you. Teachers are not my friend," Draco grimaced. "You should see some of my school reports."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "You're Snape's favourite, and he's head of your house. Why haven't you gone to him?"

"There's nothing to go to him about," Draco insisted. "This isn't uncommon behaviour in the Slytherin dorms - I've done it to others. What goes around comes around. I'm many things, but I draw the line at hypocrisy."

"You're all as bad as each other," Hermione sighed. "You make yourself hard to feel sorry for, you know."

"Perhaps that's because I don't want you to feel sorry for me," Draco said testily. "In fact, it's none of your business whether I've been sleeping or not."

"You haven't been losing sleep over me?" Hermione tried to make it a joke, and Draco laughed, but he blushed as well. Her stomach twisted with butterflies and it took all of her self-control not to touch him, not to brush the hair from his eyes or smooth his sleeve or checked his sling was straight. Seeing the effect she had on him made her feel guilty, and she wished they hadn't run into each other, that first time in the library. Every nerve in her body screamed for her to help him, but every cell in her brain still thought he was a selfish, prejudiced git. She stared at the desk in rapt concentration, fighting the urge to hug him.

Their conversation, which had already stuttered to an embarrassed stop, was prevented from being resumed by the arrival of the teacher. The other Slytherins in the class never took their eyes from Draco and Hermione as they worked silently together, occasionally throwing bits of paper and miscellaneous rubbish at them. It didn't take a genius to work out that their grudge against him hadn't abated. Sitting with a Gryffindor had to be the final straw for the already angry house. As the lesson drew to a close Pansy Parkinson stalked over while they were packing up.

"I don't know what you're thinking," she addressed Draco, "sitting with this mudblood. I knew you'd gone down in the world, but I didn't think your standards would slip quite as far as you. You'd be better off dating a Hufflepuff."

Draco regarded her coolly. "Maybe I will," he said. "Hannah Abbott's very pretty, isn't she? Of course, compared to you, even Hagrid's a supermodel."

"Oh, you think you're so witty," she snarled. "Everyone knows about you and Hermione. I think it's disgusting. No matter what your father did, you still come form a good family. Why do you want to drag the Malfoy name through the mud?"

"I think both of my parents have already managed that," Draco frowned.

"Well, I think your mother did the right thing. If she could see you now she'd disown you," Pansy said triumphantly.

"She already did, you stupid bint," Draco snarled. "You know, that bit where she abandoned me? Where she divorced my father, took as much money as she could get away with and said she wanted nothing to do with me?"

"Perhaps divination runs in your family," Pansy smirked. Hermione had to grab Draco's hand to keep him from hitting her.

"Look, you idiotic, gossip-mongering, pug-faced little bitch," Draco said, enunciating each word carefully, "my life is not, has never been, and never will be, any of your business. For you to even so much as comment on my family is vulgar, crude, and only serves to emphasis your ignorance. And to assume that merely because you and the other Slytherins refuse to let me near any of you and I am forced to sit with this Gryffindor that I have some romantic attachment to her makes you look, well, insanely jealous."

Pansy paled. "I am not jealous!" she shrieked. "I wouldn't touch you with a broomstick!"

"Why jump to the conclusion that Granger and I are dating if it's not already on your mind? Do you think about me, wish you were sitting with me, dream you and I were going out? Pansy, I never knew you cared," he sneered.

Pansy spluttered indignantly, and when she couldn't find the words she settled with spitting at him and flouncing away.

Hermione gave a bark of laughter as she stormed away. "I don't know why everyone is adamant we're dating," she smiled, shaking her head. "Of course, now I'll have to spend this evening dissuading Ron and Harry again. Honestly, it's ridiculous."

Draco stared at the back of Hermione's head as she walked away. Was it really that ridiculous? Perhaps Pansy was right, his standards really had sunk that low. He wouldn't have dreamed of even sitting next to a mudblood until Hermione had been so understanding when he was in the library, and now he had even gone so far as to kiss her.

He tried to picture introducing Hermione to his parents, tired to imagine what she'd be like as a Malfoy. His throat constricted. His mother had been the perfect Malfoy wife, and look how that had turned out. Draco imagined that if he married Pansy, she'd do the same, and the idea of putting his own child through something like that... He stared at Hermione. Maybe it was about time the Malfoys broke from tradition.

"Hey, are you coming to Defence Against the Dark Arts or not?" Hermione called back over her shoulder. Malfoy shook himself and hurried after her.

"What took you so long?" she asked when he caught up. "Are your injuries bothering you?"

Draco opened his mouth to issue a vehement negative, but he suddenly found himself short of breath, just from running the length of a classroom. He pressed his hands to his chest and tried to breath as shallowly as he could, willing the pain away.

"Oh god," she murmured, "they are, aren't they? You have to go to Madam Pomfrey. There's got to be something she can do."

Draco forced himself to stand up straight, ignoring the shooting pains that made him want to curl up in a foetal position on the floor. He had a lot of experience at coping with pain. "No, it's okay. I was wondering, though, if you could make me some painless potion? Or any kind of painkiller, really."

Hermione frowned. "Didn't Madam Pomfrey give you any? Look, if you're okay we really have to hurry to DADA. Besides, I'd need access to Snape's potion cupboard to brew a painkiller potion. They don't let under-eighteens buy the ingredients in case they overdose."

"Well, you've done that before, haven't you?" Draco grinned.

Hermione chuckled. "Actually, I was the distraction. You're one of the best at potions in the year, Snape's ridiculous bias aside. Why ask me?"

"Because I don't have experience of going against the school rules," Draco suggested, not entirely sure why he hadn't thought of doing it himself. He had a suspicion that painkillers would actually be a very stupid idea right now, as they would mask much more serious problems. Zabini had been late to bed the previous night, and Crabbe and Goyle had played a few rounds of 'kick Malfoy where people won't see' until Malfoy had gone limp, passing out with pain.

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Just go to Madam Pomfrey and ask, okay. Honestly, why must men do everything the hard way?"

"Male pride," Draco thumped his chest, and immediately regretted it. The amusement in Hermione's eyes turned to swift concern as he slumped again the corner of the corridor. He wheezed something at her, but she looked blank.

"It's okay," she soothed. "Just concentrate on breathing."

"I'd have thought you two would have learnt better," a cold voice said from the other end of the corridor. Hermione's head snapped round. "Trysts between classes are inadvisable, especially when both of you are already establishing quite the record for being late to Defence Against the Dark Arts."

"Draco's in pain," Hermione objected immediately, turning to face Snape. "He needs to go to the hospital wing!"

Snape looked Draco up and down coolly. "Is this true, Mr Malfoy?"

Draco opened his mouth to reply, but found he couldn't gather the breath to speak. Instead he went into a coughing fit, clamping a handkerchief over his mouth to keep from spraying Hermione with saliva and, as it turned out, blood. When he took the handkerchief away from his mouth she paled and pressed her hands to her mouth.

"Oh Draco," she moaned. "What have they done to you?"

"What have who?" Snape asked sharply, already bracing an arm around Draco to help him to the hospital wing.

Draco shook his head desperately, but Hermione went on doggedly, "the other Slytherin students. I think they've been beating him up. They've certainly been making life hell for him in everyway they can."

"Draco?" Snape glanced down at the young man. "Is this true?"

He looked from Hermione to Snape and back again. Sure, teachers always claimed they could help, but he still had to sleep in the dormitory, and he still had to go to lessons, and he still had to go to Quidditch practise, and they'd get their revenge. "No," he said, closing his eyes. "They haven't been exactly nice, but it's not as bad as Granger makes out."

He had only meant to close his eyes and gather his strength, but for some reason he couldn't bring himself to open them again. The quiet dark his pain was tugging him towards seemed a better option than opening his eyes and seeing the hurt on Hermione's face caused by his outright lie. He stopped fighting the darkness and abruptly became a dead weight on Snape's arm as he dove into unconsciousness.