Dolor Draconum

Chapter the Thirteenth

Draco was finishing an essay when Hermione stuck her head through the curtains. She recognised it as the Potions essay she had had to do the previous week. He was fully dressed and sprawled across the covers with his feet on the pillows, a position Hermione recognised from when she did homework in bed. He had yet to notice her, so she took advantage of the opportunity to study him closely.

Physically, he seemed fine. If he could lie on his stomach it was reasonable to assume his ribs had healed and the bruising on his chest had gone down. His hair was a mess and in need of cutting, his clothes were badly creased and rumbled up to expose a good section of lower back. Hermione frowned. There were a few white and pink ridges of old scar tissue striping his back.

Draco signed his essay with a flourish and began to sit up. He almost fell off of the bed when he saw Hermione.

"What- how long have you been standing there?" he asked, eyes wide.

"Not long," Hermione smiled, and stepped through the curtains. "How are you?"

"Good. Great. Very very bored. Sit. Stay." He grinned and patted the bed next to him.

Hermione was a bit taken aback. She had anticipated many things, but a cheerful and pleased-to-see-her Draco was not one of them. He'd never been pleased to see her before. She couldn't even imagine it. He hated her. Oh, he'd kissed her, but he probably still hated her. After all, Hermione told herself, the only reason she didn't hate him was because she felt sorry for him, and he didn't have that justification. On the other hand, perhaps his hatred had abated because she was nice to him? It seemed just about reasonable. But still, his behaviour was slightly alarming, as was her own mental babbling.

He saw the baffled look on her face. "Also very lonely," he said a little more softly. "No one comes up here except Madam Pomfrey, to give me medicine, and Professor Snape, to give me work."

"So no one's come to visit you?" Hermione asked, feeling a little guilty.

"Who would want to?" Draco sighed. Hermione climbed onto the bed and sat cross-legged next to him. He let himself collapse backwards, hands tucked behind his head, knees bent, bare feet rucking up the covers. "So, what brought you here?"

"I came to see how you were."

Draco raised an eyebrow. "It took you five weeks. Honestly this time: why are you here?"

"Because I wanted to see how you were," Hermione repeated, a little irritated. "Why else would I be here?"

"I don't know," Draco replied with equal irritation. "Maybe Dumbledore sent you. Maybe he was worried that I was spending too much time alone. Maybe you came to gloat. Maybe it was a dare. How should I know?"

"Is it really that hard to believe that I wouldn't be just a little concerned that you've been up here for over a month? You should be fine by now, but you're still not back in lessons. Why?"

Draco tried to shrug, found he couldn't with his hands linked behind his head, and settled for muttering, "How should I know?"

"You mean no one's said anything?" Hermione frowned.

"No. What, you think I'm dying and they're too scared to tell me?" He grinned.

"Don't be ridiculous," Hermione scolded vaguely. "I knew Dumbledore would see through your lie. They obviously don't want to put you back in the dormitory until they've worked out what to do about the bullying."

"So why can't I go to class, or eat meals with everyone else?" Draco cocked an eyebrow at her.

"Because they don't want to let on they know that something's up. They're keeping you here on the pretence you're still ill."

"Would that explain why I have to keep taking that foul tasting potion too?"

"You really have to take medicine?" Hermione faltered. Somehow that seemed like they were taking it too far, if it was all just pretence.

Draco gestured to a bottle on the bedside table. Hermione picked it up and studied it, smelling it and holding it up to the light. Faintly blue and smelling slightly of almonds. She'd seen Snape brewing it in class while they worked. There was nothing to imply it wasn't genuine.

"Have they... have they told you anything?" she asked quietly, staring at her hands in her lap.

"Nope. What, you don't think I really am dying, do you?" Draco sat up, looking worried.

"No, of course not," Hermione lied. They exchanged a look and Draco flopped back again.

"I mean, what would I be dying of?" he tried to convince himself. "I don't feel ill."

"Maybe it's just to make sure you're healing properly," Hermione suggested helplessly.

Draco stared at the ceiling. "Lie down," he murmured weakly. "Please, lie down next to me." Hermione gave him a surprised look, but did as he asked. He rolled onto his side to look at her, eyes trailing down her neat frame unabashedly. Hermione blushed, but didn't stop him. Truth be told, she was enjoying the attention. She was too close to Ron to see he did it too, but she had enough emotional distance from Draco to recognise that he found her attractive, and her ego inflated, just a little.

"Draco?" she murmured when she felt his eyes on her face again. They had been lying in silence for several minutes, she realised, but it had been a comfortable silence.

"What's going on?" he asked plaintively, not expecting her to know the answer. "I want to go back to class. I want to eat in the hall. I want to sleep in my own bed. I can look after myself."

"No, you can't," Hermione corrected him gently. "You're punishing yourself," she went out on a limb, going by what Ginny had suggested. "You've got it into your head that it's all your fault, and you're letting those bastards hurt you, because you haven't got the guts to do it yourself."

That hadn't come out right.

"I mean-" Hermione backtracked quickly, but Draco placed his hand over her mouth.

"I'm not punishing myself. I'm not some sap who blames himself for everything like Potter. If anything, I refuse to take the blame when something is my fault. You ought to know that by know. I'm a self-serving creep."

Hermione opened her mouth, and closed it again.

"Okay, that was the bit where I pause and you contradict me. But oh well..." He smirked at her. "I'm not letting people beat me up. God knows I fight back." he saw the look on Hermione's face. "I've been learning to defend myself for years," he said coolly. "Just because I'm not the tallest or the broadest doesn't mean I can't stand up for myself. You want to know why I haven't asked for help? Pride. Arrogance. I don't need help."

"But you do! You're the smallest guy in Slytherin. They're grinding you into Draco Dust!"

"Thank you. My ego is all better now."

"Sarcasm is the last resort of the weak minded, and the first of fools."

Draco opened his mouth, but couldn't think of anything to say. He glowered at her. "Every single comeback I can think of to that involves sarcasm."

Hermione laughed.

"Except this one," he added, and kissed her.

Hermione's brain froze. Damn, he was good at this. Not just kissing her, but surprising her with it. For someone who couldn't come up with a decent insult if he tried, he knew some pretty good 'lines'. Hermione responded helplessly, letting him draw her closer to him so that their bodies were pressed together. He hooked his leg over hers and wrapped his arms tightly around her. She stared into his grey eyes, which creased at the edges in a mouthless smile.

Abruptly, she pushed him away. She pushed a little harder than she meant to and jerked backwards. With a resounding thud she fell off the bed, and found herself with her back on the floor and her legs still trapped between Draco's. He moved to release her and leant over the side of the bed, eyes hurt and confused. Hermione closed her eyes and tilted her head back; opening them when she was certain she'd only be able to see the ceiling.

She found herself staring straight up Snape's nose.

* * *

Ron moped round the common room, trying to find a distraction. He'd seen the look on Ginny's face when Hermione had kissed him. It had never occurred to him that she didn't know either. Was he really playing it that close to his chest? Maybe Hermione wasn't ignoring his feeling because she didn't want to see them; maybe she really couldn't see them.

Hermione wasn't back yet. Harry had stayed behind after Quidditch practise to talk to Alicia Spinnet, who had taken over being captain of the Quidditch team when Angelina left. They'd had to find new beaters and a new chaser, and there was still a question over whether it was worth keeping the temps from Umbridge's reign. Ron wasn't that interested - he didn't have a lot of experience playing with the old or new team yet.

He frowned at his watch. Hermione had gone to speak to Malfoy over an hour ago. What on earth could she have to say that would take an hour? His gut clenched. For all his joking, part of him was getting very concerned that there was something going on between Hermione and Malfoy. No one knew her like he did, no one watched her and listened to her and studied her like he did. He didn't like the fact that she was wasting her time being worried about Malfoy, but he could accept that it was part of her personality. He knew she hated Malfoy, she always had done, but recently he could feel that hatred slipping away. If she started to like the bastard, how could he compete?

That thought made up his mind. He went into the dormitory and, checking he was alone, opened Harry's case at the foot of his bed. He removed a swathe of shimmering material and slipped it over his head. Checking his lack of appearance in the mirror, Ron crept downstairs again, covered by the invisibility cloak.

He felt bad, spying on Hermione, but he tried to convince himself he wasn't spying on her at all, just Malfoy. He was spying on Malfoy because he was concerned for his friend. Somehow he just knew that if Hermione made him explain it to her, she wouldn't find his reasoning quite so convincing. Therefore, it was best if she didn't know either.

Malfoy had money, looks, charm, power, and a newfound vulnerability that he had no qualms about using to garner Hermione's sympathy. What did Ron have? Five years of tempestuous friendship and a family that liked her. He didn't for a moment believe that Hermione was shallow enough to chose Malfoy on the basis that he had more money than Ron, but if she forgot how cruel he had been to her, as she seemed to be, then that oh-so-practical side of her might influence her decision, just a bit.

Ron sighed. If Hermione didn't even realise there was a choice, he might as well kiss his teenage dreams of love goodbye. But the mere idea of telling her made him break out in a nervous sweat, even when he had no intention of doing it. What if he ruined their friendship? There was nothing to say she felt the same way about him, and then he'd have to live with that kind smile and heartfelt apology and that immortal phrase "I hope we can still be friends". Maybe a good time to tell her would be the last day of their last year, when, if she said no, he'd never have to see her again.

But Malfoy obviously had no intention of waiting that long. Ron's jealous mind chose to overlook Malfoy's long held prejudices against Mudbloods and only saw that he was monopolising Hermione's sympathy and attention. He could only think of one reason a person might do that, the reason he might do it, and a bitter resolve formed in him to do whatever it took to stop Hermione being seduced by that arrogant bastard.

Unlike Hermione, who had dawdled on her way to the hospital wing, stopping to talk to friends and dropping briefly into the library to check Draco wasn't there, Ron moved swiftly through the hall and corridors. He almost ran headlong into Filch, but the only thing the old janitor registered was a sharp breeze as Ron skidded out of the way just in time. After that he forced himself to slow down. Mrs Norris spat at him as he kept moving through the corridors, and it took all of his self control not to kick the cat, an ambition he and all of his brothers had shared for many years now.

Ron saw Snape striding towards the hospital wing, arms full of paper and books. Ron swallowed a snicker. Even Malfoy couldn't get out of work, no matter how much he played up his injuries. Ron slipped through the door after him, careful not to actually touch the potions master.

Ron hovered while Snape stopped to talk to Madam Pomfrey, not sure which bed Malfoy would be in.

"I don't know if this is such a good idea, Severus," Madam Pomfrey was saying. "Why are you and Dumbledore so adamant that we don't tell him?"

"He'd be better off not worrying," Snape replied shortly.

"Are you sure?"

"Perfectly so."

"But what about the danger? If the situation gets any worse... I don't want to have to deal with the death of a student."

"I have known Malfoy for a long time now, Poppy. Rest assured that I have his best interests at heart. Continue to administer the potions I give you until the situation improves, which I believe will be soon."

Ron's jaw dropped. Malfoy was dying? What on earth was he dying of? Unless... he'd probably misinterpreted. There must be plenty of things that Dumbledore would want to hide from Malfoy, though why any would require the administration of a potion was beyond Ron. He was lost in thought as Snape began to walk away, and coming to himself with a jerk he hurried after the greasy professor.

Ron followed him through the infirmary to what turned out to be the only occupied bed, which had the curtains drawn around it. There was an odd sound issuing from behind the curtains that made Ron's heart drop. A sort of muffled moaning that sounded a bit, well, wet. It stopped suddenly and he could hear someone panting. There was a thump and Snape pushed the curtain open, allowing Ron a clear view into the room. Hermione looked back, and Ron saw her guilt written across her face. The three (four) people around the bed stared at each other.

Hermione could feel herself flushing scarlet, and tried to fight it. She hadn't done anything wrong! If any one had, it was Draco. Though she hadn't exactly tried to stop him...

Draco stared at his head of house, stomach churning. He didn't know which was worse: being caught kissing Hermione, or the fact he'd been kissing Hermione in the first place. She was a Gryffindor and a Mudblood, and so far beneath him it didn't bear contemplating. She was good company, and passably attractive, but he had his pride, and his standards, and Snape knew that. Every Slytherin knew that, every Slytherin had the same standards and pride.

Snape looked from one to the other. While there had been several possible explanations for the situation, it was obvious from their faces what had been going on. He wondered whether Hermione had fallen off the bed in the heat of passion or whether she'd been pushed. The self-disgust creeping across Draco's face seemed to indicate the latter. Snape knew his student well enough to wonder why they'd even been kissing in the first place. If that was all they had been doing.

"Miss Granger, I believe visiting hours are long over," he said coldly. He had to admit defeat; no matter what rules he invoked there was nothing to charge either teen with, especially without conclusion evidence of their activities. Perhaps he could get away with docking points for being in the hospital wing after hours?

"I... I'm sorry," Hermione stuttered, leaping to her feet. "I was just about to leave. My watch must be a little slow, I didn't realise it was eight o'clock already."

"That is no excuse-" Snape began, but he was cut off by the clock on Madam Pomfrey's desk striking eight. Before he could say another word Hermione scurried away. He was looking at Draco when she stumbled suddenly, as though she had just brushed against an invisible wall. He didn't see the look of horror on her face as she stared into an area of empty space. He didn't realise that as he turned to follow her he stepped on the edge of the invisibility cloak, and as Ron shrank back to avoid touching him there was a sickeningly soft ripping sound.

Malfoy found himself staring at Ron, as Snape and Hermione disappeared, neither looking back. Ron looked furious, face red, teeth gritted, eyes wide, glowering at the blond boy in the bed. Malfoy returned it with a look of icy superiority.

"I didn't know the Gryffindors were into casual theft," Malfoy drawled before Ron could find the words to express his rage. "Where on earth did you get an invisibility cloak, Weasley? Don't tell me you sold your own mother, just to spy on your friends."

"Harry le-" Ron's jaw snapped shut.

"It's Potter's?" Draco asked, utterly incredulous. "Harry Potter has an invisibility cloak? No. No..."

Ron frowned at him. "Are you thinking, 'It's not fair', by any chance?" he asked shrewdly. Malfoy glowered at him.

"How did Potter get hold of a cloak like that? And what's he going to say when he finds out you stole it and ripped it?"

Ron stared down, aghast, at the huge gash in the material. Normally he would have asked Hermione to sew it up, but she was the last person he could tell about this. What would Harry say if he knew Ron had taken his father's cloak without permission, and ruined it?

"I'll make you a deal," Ron said, head snapping up.

"What on earth could you have that I want?" Malfoy sneered, not bothering to disguise his scorn. Of course, he never did, but this situation didn't even merit sarcasm.

"I won't tell Harry what I saw," Ron said, full of false bravado. Why should Harry care what Hermione and Malfoy did in their spare time? He was the one who had just had his heart ripped out.

Malfoy wasn't buying it. "Sure, he hates me," he smirked, "but Hermione isn't that whipped. She won't let either of you interfere."

"I'll tell the other Slytherins," Ron said, eyes bright with malice.

"They don't give a damn any more. They all loathe me, and they already thought I'd sunk low enough to kiss a mudblood long before I did. You'll have to do better than that, Weasley. Now, why shouldn't I tell Hermione you were spying on me, and Potter that you stole and broke his precious cloak?" Malfoy paused for a second, thinking. "It wasn't another gift from that axe-murderer, is it?"

"No, it wasn't from Sirius. And he didn't kill Harry's parents, or that whole street of Muggles," Ron growled, getting increasingly angry. "And he's dead, and it's your father's fault, and he was good man, unlike your father and unlike you!"

Malfoy gave him a dispassionate look. Ron had his fists clenched at his sides, face red with rage, whole body shaking with the repressed urge to throttle the boy on the bed. The only thing that stopped him was the fact that Malfoy was going to die soon.

Taking a guiltily smug pleasure in the knowledge that he was about to destroy the life of someone he hated, Ron relax, forcing himself to unclench his fists and calm down. A malicious smile curled slowly across his face, and he slunk towards Malfoy's bed. Was this how Draco felt, every time he made one of those deeply scathing comments, designed to undermine a person's confidence? Those comments could reduce a well-adjusted, emotionally stable person to tears and would mean that in twenty years time they'd be packing boxes behind The Three Broomsticks, because they didn't believe they could ever be anything other than what Malfoy has suggested.

Malfoy recognised the look. Something very, very bad was about to happen.

"You don't really care about Hermione, do you?" Ron purred, sitting on the side of the bed. "She's just the only person who can stand to be around you. She's Muggleborn, you'd drop her in a second, if someone 'better' came along, wouldn't you?" Ron chuckled. "I suppose it's just as well. Normally I'd warn you against hurting her, but I don't think that's going to be an issue."

Malfoy tired to move away, but the blankets were tangled around his legs. "Oh shut it, Weasley," he said with only a hint of his normal self-confidence. "You can't fool me with that crap. You're just trying to scare me. Trust me, nothing you can say will change what happened, or stop me from going to Hermione and telling her that you were spying on her."

"It doesn't matter," Ron laughed. He felt so light headed. "You may not even get the chance to, I don't know! You're not a threat to my chances with Hermione."

"Oh, get real," Malfoy scoffed. "I wouldn't do anything serious with that mudblood." He shot a look at Ron, who was still smiling pleasantly. Why wasn't Ron punching his lights out? Mudblood, he'd called Hermione a mudblood. What was going on here? "Though she'd wait forever for a chance with me, and not even give you a glance, like most girls. Don't you get tired of being the-"

"You're dying."

"No I'm not! I'm fine!" Malfoy protested in panicked gasps. "Perfectly healthy!"

"So why are you still here? Why are you taking those potions? Why is Madam Pomfrey worried she'll have to deal with the death of a student?"

"Could have been anyone she was talking about!" Malfoy yelped, normally pale face yellow and waxy. "Not necessarily me!"

"You're the only one here, Malfoy, and given the conversation..." Ron picked up one of Malfoy's hands and patted it gently, like he might an ailing and elderly relative. "Don't worry, I'm sure your mother left enough money to afford some kind of burial, even if they have to dump you in the lake." With a sympathetic smile, Ron stood up and picked up the invisibility cloak, wrapping it around himself. "Goodbye," he said, with a definite finality. And then he was gone. The curtains flapped, briefly.

Originally, Ron had planned to stick around and gloat as Malfoy sat and worried about dying. He moved the curtains to give the impression he had gone, and then turned back to look at the figure on the bed. Malfoy looked sickly, sweat dripping off his forehead. He drew his knees up to his chest and started rocking back and forth. After a short while, he began to cry.

Ron stared at him. The light-headedness was replaced with a leaden weight in his stomach, and bile at the back of his throat. He stumbled out of the small room and fled from the hospital wing, not caring who saw his legs through the tear in the cloak, not caring who head his thudding footsteps. He made it to a bathroom just in time, as his stomach decided to get rid of some of its contents to make more room for the lead weight. Leaning with his head against the cool porcelain of the toilet, Ron wondered how any one could cope with this kind of guilt.

If Malfoy could be so cruel so often, then he couldn't feel this kind of guilt. Perhaps death was a kinder alternative than making someone live without such powerful emotions. Perhaps death was simply a safer alternative than letting someone like him loose upon the world.