Dolor Draconum

Chapter the Twenty-Third

It was not, to put it lightly, a pleasant journey. Draco, keeping his promise, had found himself unable to think of anything to say, and Ron found he could communicate more in a glower than he could in any insult or swear word. Though the walk did give him time to think up some rather creative ones.

The uneasy truce lasted until they reached the cellar under Honeyduke's. Ron regretted not bringing the invisibility cloak, though asking Harry right now would have ensured him a hex. Besides, he had not intention of sharing it with Malfoy. As they all got older the trio were finding it harder and harder to fit under the cloak as it was, and generally hoped people wouldn't notice three pairs of feet wandering around on their own. Both Ron and Draco were quite tall, and the idea of having to get close enough to him to keep both of them covered made Ron shudder.

"I think it ought to be okay to go up," Ron muttered to Malfoy. "It's Boxing Day, after all, so the shop ought to be empty."

"And shut," Malfoy added.

"Yes, and shut," Ron repeated with a confused frown.

They climbed through the trapdoor and stood in the stock room. Ron led the way into the main shop, watching Malfoy carefully to make certain he didn't steal anything. The main shop was full of covered boxes and crates, empty displays and bare shelves. There was something sad about it, like a beach in winter. It looked unwanted, almost ugly.

Malfoy ran a finger across the surface of the counter. He scrutinised it and rubbed his fingers together.

"They were open on Christmas eve," Ron told him. "I suppose this must all be getting ready to send out for New Year's Eve. You know, for parties."

"We always had the best parties," Malfoy sighed. "Everyone came. Everyone who was anyone. I've never not been at home for Christmas before, except the year of the Yule Ball. And even then, I went home for New Year's."

Ron thought: spoilt rich only child. Ron said: "Yeah, we used to do that, but Mum got sick of Bill and Charlie bringing their girlfriends. Never got along. She liked Percy's girlfriend though, Penelope Clearwater."

"I remember her," Malfoy said, forcing himself not to make comments about sardines.

"Yeah. I think she dumped Percy when he started obsessing over ministry stuff." Ron looked uncomfortable. This wasn't a subject he wanted to delve into any deeper. "So, shall we get going? You wanted to get back."

"What? Oh, yeah." Ron turned to see Malfoy blinking like a rabbit in the headlights, apparently woken from some daydream. He had been staring at the boxes, and Ron rolled his eyes. Of course it was a shock, the way Malfoy's life had changed so abruptly, but if he was going to get tearful over every little change he was never going move on. Life was all about change.

Malfoy frowned. "Quit staring at me," he said defensively.

"Wasn't," Ron responded automatically. He reached over and yanked o the door handle.

They both stared at the handle. Ron moved it up and down, pushed and pulled, but to no avail. Malfoy walked over and nudged him out of the way, and moved it up and down, pushed and pulled and swore a lot more than Ron had.

They exchanged looks. Both whipped out their wands and "Alohomora!"

Nothing.

"It's Boxing Day," Malfoy said. "It's shut. I told you the shop was shut, didn't I?"

"You failed to mention that you knew it would be locked too!" Ron snapped.

"Well I didn't know, did I?" Draco snarled. "But it's a reasonable, assumption, isn't? I suppose we have to go back and find another route."

"There isn't one," Ron told him. "All of the others have collapsed or been blocked. If we don't get out of here then we'll just have to go back and tell Professor Aurora that we couldn't get her damn weed."

There was a sound. They both froze.

"Bugger," Draco muttered. "The people who own the place have woken up."

"Back to the cellar!" Ron pointed, the sleeve of his jumper catching on the door, as knitted clothes always do. He frowned and yanked backwards on it, unravelling the sleeve. His irritation was increased when the door abruptly swung outwards and the wool followed, leaving him with a bare arm. Then his mind caught up with the events and he darted out of the open door, pulling Malfoy after him. With a quick yank he managed to shred his sleeve even more, but also pull the wool off the bolt on which it had originally snagged.

"A bolt. On the inside of the door," Malfoy sighed, having shut the door carefully and legged it down the road, pulling Ron after him.

"We are such idiots," Ron said. "Why on earth didn't we see that?"

"Well, most doors are spelled shut," Draco pointed out. "With spells that take more than an 'alohomora' to counter. Though the way Hogwarts is going, it won't be long before breaking and entering becomes a part of the lesson plans."

"We weren't breaking, and we weren't entering," Ron pointed out. "Though we may have to, if the shop owner notices the door isn't locked. He's bound to come down to find out what all the racket was about."

"..." Malfoy swallowed. "Anything back up plans?" he asked. "You know, in case praying fervently doesn't help?"

"Not so much," Ron sighed. "We can always walk, I guess, but people are going to want to know what we were doing outside the castle grounds in the first place."

"Be so much easier to explain if you were Terry," Malfoy muttered.

This was too much for Ron. "I knew it!" he burst out. "I wasn't dreaming! Terry's gay and you had a sex dream about Hermione!"

They stared at each other. It struck Malfoy as very surreal. He had snuck out of Hogwarts, breaking God knew how many rules, with his worst enemy, to buy a weed with no real magical properties for a teacher he couldn't stand. It was winter, it was cold, they were standing in an alley having just broken out of a shop, and now, of all times, Ronald Weasley chose to bring up the conversation he had had the previous morning with a boy he really didn't know that well. It struck Ron as very funny. Malfoy was pink. Terry was gay. Harry was heartbroken. Ron was standing in an alley wondering if the girl he fancied was just as appealing to Malfoy.

Ron laughed. Malfoy grimaced, but the hysterical laughter was catching, and he started to giggle in a most unmanly way. This only made Ron laugh harder, and he started to wonder if there wasn't something going on between Terry and Draco. Draco did his best to sober up, but the sight Ron collapsing onto the ground, one jumper sleeve a mass of tangled wool was too much for him.

Eventually the laughter subsided. "Come on," Draco sighed, "we better hurry. If the supply shop is shut we're going to need to come up with a way of getting in."

"No! Wait!" Ron grabbed his arm. "You aren't getting away that easily."

"What?" Draco asked mock innocently.

"You. Hermione. What's the deal?" Ron asked, all laughter gone.

"Why does there have to be 'a deal'?" Draco asked carefully.

"Because I'm not an idiot, Malfoy, no matter how much you like to think I am," Ron said coldly. "I know you and Hermione were kissing, and God knows what else because I don't want to, and I know you're attracted to her. So I want to know precisely, with diagrams and flow charts if necessary, what is going on between you two."

"You need diagrams?" Draco asked, amused. Ron drew himself up to his full height and glowered down at Draco, who sobered up quickly. "Look, she's an attractive girl. She's been nice to me. Maybe I have kissed her a few times-"

"A few? More than once?!" Ron shrieked. "You, you, you..."

"I'd never date her," Draco said silkily. "I can't even justify laying a hand on her, not to myself. She's a mudblood."

Ron thumped him in the stomach. Draco folded up without a sound, collapsing to a sitting position on the muddy ground. Ron aimed a vicious kick to his stomach, and again Draco took it without a sound. This unnerved Ron so much he stopped before he caused any internal injuries. That didn't mean he wasn't still angry though.

"You're leading her along," Ron said, staring down at the Slytherin curled at his feet. "I don't know what's going on in her head, but I know that you are a sick, prejudiced, bastard. Maybe I do agree with some of what you said on Christmas morning, certainly about what might happen if the wizard and the Muggle worlds merge. But that, what you said just then, was simple racism. And racism is bad."

"You can't think of anything better than that?" Draco wheezed. "'Racism is bad'. Yeah, and You-know-who's a 'naughty boy'."

"Do you want me to kick you again? Somewhere even more painful?" Ron asked, drawing a foot back and aiming it at Draco's groin. Years of parental conditioning meant that he wasn't even certain he could kick Draco there, rules ingrained in his soul after fight and battle with five older brothers. Still, it was good to look threatening.

Draco shook his head, and began to get back to his feet. Ron let him. He felt better when he was facing a standing opponent. Kicking a guy when he was down, attacking someone from the rear, they were the sort of things Malfoy would do.

"Fine," Malfoy grunted. "I take it back. Hermione and I are a happy couple, she has shown me the error of my pureblood ways and we're planning the wedding for March. Happy?" Ron said nothing. "I thought not," Malfoy spat. "I see the way you look at her, you know. I know you want her. You're just afraid that the competition is getting to hot for you. She doesn't even know you care, Weasley. I told her, and she laughed. She didn't believe me. She's single. She's fair game."

"She's not some animal to be hunted," Ron ground out. "And this has nothing to do with how I feel about Hermione. It has everything to do with how much I hate you, though. I know your life has been crap, recently. Get over it. Get over yourself."

Draco stared at him. "Yeah, that's just what I need right now. A boot in the stomach and being told I need to get over myself. Oh, I have seen the light. My misery was nothing compared with yours, or Potter's, or whoever you happen to have in mind right now. Why, the fact my parents just left is nothing. I never realised until you pointed it out to me. Why, I ought to be dancing gaily around, tossing flowers in your path and singing songs of-"

"You do know sarcasm is the last resort of people who don't have a hope in hell of winning an argument, don't you?" Ro said snidely.

"Really? I thought that was physical violence," Draco retorted.

Ron gritted his teeth. "Maybe this is about how I feel for Hermione," he admitted. "But it's not just jealousy. I'm worried about her. I'm worried that you're going to hurt her, badly. I'm worried that she seems to be losing her mind! Or perhaps that's me. Perhaps it wasn't you who made her cry repeatedly over the years by calling her mudblood. Perhaps it wasn't you who mocked her appearance and intelligence. Perhaps it wasn't you who has been a complete and utter git to everyone in this school except your chosen few over the years."

"She hasn't forgotten," Draco said. "I know I'm not a nice person. I keep reminding her of that, but she has this stupid idea that there's a bit of good inside everyone. And you know why I like her, why I keep kissing her and flirting with her? Because she makes me believe it too."

"I used to believe it, 'til I met you," Ron said sulkily. The fight was winding down now, both had said what they wanted to say and short of going back to sarcastic insults and name calling, or punches and kicks, they had to accept that there wasn't going to be a winner.

"You heard what I thought, yesterday," Draco persisted. "You even said you agreed with some of it. I know I'm prejudiced. I'm not ashamed of it. I believe my reasons are right. I don't believe the propaganda the Death Eaters spread, or the zealots cry from street corners. Hermione can see that I am a reasoning, thinking being, and I can see that she is too. She respects my opinions, and I hers. I never had to justify anything to you lot, but I did, because none of you can climb out of the mental cages you built yourselves and see that she might be right. Your prejudices against me are hurting her."

Ron snorted softly. "You turned it all around. Now we're the prejudiced ones. Now we're the ones hurting Hermione. You're a git, Malfoy, but you might be right. But that doesn't mean I don't think you and your prejudices aren't hurting her. Life would be better all round if you just stayed away from her."

"Mine wouldn't," Draco said, thinking aloud.

"Normally I'd say 'who cares'," Ron sighed, "but for Hermione's sake I won't."

"You just did."

"Shut up."

Draco smirked.

"Come on," Ron sighed. "The sooner we get this over with the sooner we can go back to ignoring each other most of the time."

"That's what I've been saying all along!"

"I've already acknowledged you were right once today. Don't make me do it again."

Draco laughed. "Yeah, I know how humiliating that must be for you."

"After you," Ron gestured out of the alley. "I do so want the police to be able to track you down by the fingerprints that appear on the door handle."

Fortunately, the small apothecary-type shop was open, and had some eyebright just in, even if it was dried. Draco was wracking his brains to work out what Professor Kelp might want it for. It didn't smell nice, or look pretty, or have any particular magical properties that he was aware of. He tried to put his suspicion down to his dislike of the wishy-washy not-quite-witch, but he found it hard.

"Wondering what she might want it for?" Ron asked. "Probably something to do with all that mind stuff we're doing next term."

"I'd forgotten about that," Draco sighed. "Great, now we have to put up with her invading our heads, as if she didn't do that enough already."

"What are you hiding, Malfoy?" Ron asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Looks like all my secrets are out in the open," Draco replied, "but what would Hermione say is you were forced to blurt out your secret to the entire class?"

"You're not going to tell her, are you?" Ron asked, aghast.

Draco stared at the delicate dried flowers in his hand. "No, I guess not," he admitted. "She didn't believe me before, said I didn't know you, which is fair enough. But I can't see the point, really. Wouldn't gain me anything." He looked up at Ron. "Why haven't you told her?" he asked suddenly. "What have you got to lose?"

"What, except one of my closest friends, and my dignity?" Ron asked scathingly.

"She wouldn't hate you," Draco said, a bit confused. "At worst, it'll be a bit awkward for a few weeks, but Hermione's not the sort to let that get in the way anyway. At best, you and she end up going out. I'd say it was an acceptable risk."

Ron didn't want to reply to Draco, and he found he didn't have to. They had reached Honeyduke's again and although the door was unlocked the owner was standing on the other side, a large man with a sour expression on his face. Both boys froze.

The shopkeeper opened the door and beckoned them inside. The boys obeyed unquestioningly. Both were wondering whether Dumbledore would consider this an offence worthy of expulsion.

"Are you the boys who were poking about in here earlier?" the large man boomed. Ron and Draco stayed silent. "We're shut, see, and I don't want boys wandering in and out at will, not on a holiday. I know about the passage, see, in the back room, and we've never had any trouble before."

"We didn't take anything," Ron objected.

"I know that, I've checked the stock. Imagine what a holiday this has been, checking the stock."

"We're really sorry," Draco said. "We never meant to disturb you. It never occurred to us that you'd be closed, you see."

"You know, and I know, that you aren't allowed down here any old day. There're set weekends when you students invade this place. So, here you are, breaking school rules, breaking into my shop. And I was just wondering, before I march you back to that castle and hand you over to the head, why?"

"Buying flowers, sir," Draco said, holding up the eyebright.

"Don't get smarmy with me, son," the shopkeeper frowned.

"We were, honest," Ron said, stepping forwards. Somehow even when telling the truth Draco managed to come across as basically dishonest. Ron hoped the freckles would count in his favour when it came to having an 'honest face'. "We needed the flowers for a spell, for New Year's. It's a surprise, for our girlfriends, and there wasn't any at school. Flowers, I mean. You can check our pockets, all we've got is the flowers and some change. We knew we were breaking the rules, but we got them chocolate and they got us really great gifts and we felt we had to do something. Neither of us wants to start the New Year single, sir."

Draco held his breath. As lies went, it was unconvincing, but it was still more credible than the actual truth. The shopkeeper stood her, arms crossed over his bulky chest, considering. Eventually his mouth twitched, and a smile began to form on his face.

"Just chocolate, aye?" he chuckled. "Hope it wasn't just Honeyduke's chocolate. They must have got you something real good to beat that. Go on, beat it, back up to school. Next time I see either of you I want it to be coming through that front door with a purse full of money to spend on my sweets, you got it?"

"Yes sir!" they chorused, and fled. As Draco clambered down the trapdoor after Ron, he could hear the shopkeeper's laughter echoing from the main shop.

"That was quick thinking," Draco said, "though I don't know if he believed us. Chocolate perhaps wasn't the best choice."

"Well I could hardly say flowers, could I, with you holding that damn posy," Ron rolled his eyes. "I thought he was going to punch my lights out!"

"Not everyone is as violent as you," Draco smirked.

A thought struck Ron. "Hey," he said after a second, "why didn't you, you know, yell. When I hit you. And kicked you."

Draco shrugged. "Learnt not to. If I made a sound when dad was beating me I just got it harder. After a while you learn to keep your mouth shut."

"Your dad beat you?" Ron murmured.

Draco stopped walking and stared at him by the light of his wand tip. "I take it your father never did you," he said slowly.

Ron remembered listening to Mitty tell her tale about Draco's summer, and he remembered her referring to it, but it hadn't really sunk in then. The Malfoys had always struck him as the sort of family to believe in caning and corporal punishment, but the image of Draco sitting in a portrait gallery bawling his eyes out because he hadn't sneered hard enough didn't fit with the Draco he knew. So he'd forgotten it, for the most part. But now he realised that it wasn't so much that Lucius had hit his child that bothered him as the fact that Draco thought this was perfectly normal behaviour.

"No!" Ron spluttered. "Mum might give us a sharp tap if we were fighting, but my parents never hit any of us!"

"Different methods of discipline," Draco shrugged, trying to make it seem like less of a big deal.

"You could have your father for child abuse," Ron persisted.

Draco winced. "Right, because I want to send him to jail. Oh wait, he's already there."

"Sorry," Ron grimaced. "Still, it's worth a thought."

"No, it isn't," Draco said firmly. "You know why? It's not a big deal. I can't think of a single time I didn't deserve it. I was always failing him in some way. And since he's already out of my life, it's hardly an issue now, is it?"

"What do you mean 'failing him'?" Ron asked.

"Just shut up, okay!" Draco spun around. "Shut up! And don't even think of mentioning it to other people. Don't go getting it into your head that I'm some poor abused child! I'm not. It was discipline. I'm not someone to just pity and pat on the head. I can look after myself. I don't need the whole school wandering around thinking 'oh, that poor Draco, so bullied by his father that he actually misses him while he's in prison. That's the mark of an abused child, that is, wanting the parent even though they hurt him.' I wasn't abused, and I don't give a damn about my father! He deserves to be in jail for what he did as a Death Eater, not what he did as a father. So Shut Up!"

Ron watched Draco stride away, his wand a bobbing point of light. Ron sighed. "Lumos," he muttered, and his own wand began to glow. Honestly, if Draco cared so little about his father, why was he making such a big fuss out of all this?