Dolor Draconum

Chapter the Fourteenth

Not. Yet. Seventeen. When he'd been speaking to Hermione, he'd been nervous. They'd joked and denied and created excuses, but he'd been nervous nevertheless. But some part of him had been completely sure that he was fine, because it couldn't possibly happen to him.

Everyone has that bubble, which protects them and their family from harm. No one can die, no one can be seriously ill, no one suffers a terrible injury... it just doesn't happen to people you know. It's what happens to orphans in Africa and rail passengers in Asia and unfortunate tourists in the Pacific. Always so distant, so hard to care, no matter how much sympathy you felt for the bereaved. And then it happens to you, and the bubble bursts.

Draco's bubble had burst with the arrest of his father, shattering the comfortably sheltered little world he'd been brought up in. When it had just been speculation over the potion he'd been able to keep it distant, to keep it from touching him. He hadn't let himself believe in the possibility. But now he couldn't keep it at arms length any longer, and with no bubble to protect him there's was nothing left but the stark, painful truth.

Not. Yet. Seventeen. The words ran round and round in his head. It all seemed monstrously unfair. He wasn't even seventeen. He couldn't even legally apparate. How could he be dying so young? Why was he dying? It was so unfair!

Not. Yet. Seventeen. He stared at his feet, bare and pale and pedicured. He stared at them over his knees, chin resting on his legs, arms wrapped tightly around them. His feet shimmered and wavered as the tears began to fall. He'd never cried in front of his father, but whenever he was denied something he would go to his mother and switch on the waterworks, and he'd get whatever it was he had been hankering after. Always, always she had caved, always it had worked. Except once. When the tears were real, and he was begging not for what he wanted, but what he needed, she had turned her back and left him.

Not. Yet. Seventeen. He'd never been in love. He'd never had sex. He'd never trusted someone with his life. Sometimes he wondered if he'd ever trusted someone, full stop. If he had, he'd had that trust betrayed. He'd never eaten sushi, which seemed an odd thing to worry about, but it hit him just as hard as everything else. He'd never visited South America. He'd never prepared a meal for someone else. He'd never Apparated. He'd never owned a furry hat.

Once he'd started, he couldn't stop. So many things he'd never done, or had the opportunity to do. How long did he have left? He didn't know. No one would tell him anything. When he had asked about the potion, Snape had just frowned and said nothing. Madam Pomfrey had looked strained and told him it was nothing to worry about.

Not. Yet. Seventeen.

Dying.

* * *

"Oh, don't be ridiculous, Ron!" Ginny stared at him. "Malfoy, dying? Hermione said he looked perfectly healthy."

"I overheard Snape and Madam Pomfrey," Ron said in a wretched voice. "They don't want to tell him because it will upset him, but Madam Pomfrey is scared he's going to die."

"Are you sure? Did they say anything else?" Ginny looked surprised. "I mean...what on earth is killing him?"

"I don't know! I mean, he's probably not dying right this very second, but the implication was that without this potion he'd be in serious danger." Ron picked at the fraying rip in the invisibility cloak, which was pooled in his lap. Ginny batted his hand away.

"Ron, I know, I mean, I understand that you're worried, but you seem, well - and please don't take this the wrong way - but aren't you a bit too worried? This is Malfoy. I know you wouldn't be jubilant if he died, if anyone died, but I'm a bit surprised that you're so upset about all this." Ginny couldn't look her brother in the eye.

"I told him," Ron said.

Ginny's head snapped up and she levelled her gaze on him. "You. Did. What?"

"I told him. I told him he was dying then I put on the cloak and made him think I had left and he started crying, dammit. Crying." Ron pushed the invisibility cloak away. "Can you fix that, Gin? I can't give the cloak back to Harry with a bloody great hole in it."

"But it's okay to leave bloody great holes in Malfoy?" Ginny near shrieked. "I can't believe you!"

"Neither can I," Ron sighed. "It just, oh god, I feel sick again. I made him cry. I hate him, really loathe him, and I always thought it would be great to get my own back and hurt him like he hurt me, and you, and Harry and Hermione. But no. He cries, suddenly I hate myself."

Ginny gave him a dubious look. "You're not just a little bit pleased that you hurt him? I mean, everyone knows you like Hermione-"

"-except Hermione-"

"Well, yes."

"And Malfoy."

"Probably."

"And hopefully Snape."

"Are you trying to avoid answering my question?" Ginny frowned at her brother.

Ron sighed. "Yes, fine, I was happy. Just for a bit, I was happy. But it was going too far. How can I be one of the good guys if my actions are worse than his? Even Malfoy never laughed at a dying man." He stared mournfully at the invisibility cloak. "Something happened. Just before Snape and I walked in, something happened. Hermione had fallen off the bed, and, well, I think she did that on purpose. So now I'm worried Malfoy was trying to force her to do something, and she's not coming to us, and I can't ask her about it..."

"He's not trying to force her," Ginny said quietly.

Ron's head snapped up. "What do you know?" he growled.

"This... they... it's not the first time they've kissed, if that is what they were doing," Ginny said miserably. "Hermione told me, after the first time. I think Malfoy really likes her, and I didn't tell you because I know you like her."

Ron swallowed his rage. "Does Hermione like Malfoy?" he asked, grinding out each word between clenched teeth.

"No. Not as a person, anyway. She feels sorry for him, mostly. Everything she's told you is true: she still thinks he's a complete git. She just feels sorry for him, and he's using that." Ginny fished out a needle and thread and began to sew up the rip in the invisibility cloak, unable to meet Ron's eyes. "I think she does find him attractive," she finished regretfully.

Ron stared at his little sister. Every dream and fantasy he had ever had was wrenched from under his feet. If he didn't act immediately Malfoy would have Hermione and destroy her. He harboured no illusions about Malfoy's intentions. Maybe the Slytherin did care for her, in his own way. He needed her, and wanted her, obviously, but Ron knew as well as Malfoy that the blond boy could never love her. She was Muggleborn. All Ron could do was pray that Hermione could make that distinction as well.

"What do I do?" he asked his sister. "I can't tell her I was there, and if I can't back up what I say she'll think I'm just making unfounded accusations and we'll have yet another argument. I really don't want to fall out with her now."

Ginny sighed. "Wait and see what's going on with Malfoy," she suggested. "It's all I can think of right now. And you might want to start dropping hints to Hermione about how you feel."

"Hints?" Ron gaped at her. "What do you think I've been doing? If the hints I dropped were any bigger she'd be crushed beneath them! What do you want me to do, wander around in my 'I love Hermione Granger robes'?"

Ginny giggled. "I could make you some, if you like," she smiled, holding up the darned cloak so Ron could admire her handiwork. "Though I was thinking more along the lines of obviously romantic Christmas gifts and leaving flowers on her bed without a label on."

"Christmas? Oh bollocks! I'd forgotten that was so soon!" Ron grabbed his wallet and shook out its contents onto the bed. He stared at the slim pickings. "So, home made presents it is. I'll be spending all holidays trying to make things without you lot peering over my shoulder."

Ginny smiled. "Look at it this way: at least Malfoy will be out of our hair for several weeks over Christmas. Hermione will be courted by you alone."

Ron grinned. "Hell yeah."

* * *

Draco stared at the ceiling above his bed. Christmas was soon. He might go home. He could, if he wanted to. Madam Pomfrey had advised against it, but she hadn't given him a reason. He hadn't noticed how few reasons he was being given for anything until Hermione's visit. She had made him confront a lot of question, and Weasley had made him face some unpleasant answers.

It wasn't just that he was dying. It was his list of everything he hadn't done. He'd written it down, in a fit of depression, and it lay there on the stark parchment.

Never been in love

Never had sex

Never trusted someone with his life

Never eaten sushi

Never visited South America

Never prepared a meal for someone else

Never Apparated

Never owned a furry hat

Never ridden in a Muggle aeroplane

Never owned a tortoise

Never kissed another guy

Never won a fair fight

... And so it went on. Most he'd never get to do. Some he'd never wanted to do, not until he'd found out he'd never get the chance, and even then he still had no intention of doing several of the things on his list. But even when he just included all the things he had either wanted or expected to do during his life, it was still a very long list. But some things, well, he still had the chance to do them, if he acted fast. It all came down to a handful of decision he realised he'd made a long time ago. He'd just been waiting for the right moment ever since then. But Malfoys didn't wait for the right moment, they created the right moment, as and when it pleased them, not fate.

With slow deliberation, Draco Malfoy crossed off the first item.