Dolor Draconum

Chapter the Twenty-Seventh

Draco was, well, concerned. Not so much about Hermione's reply, though that was taking up a large portion of his attention, but instead about Dumbledore. It had taken him a while to realise it, but he was back in lessons. And he hadn't heard a damn thing about his father.

He knocked on Professor Snape's door. Well, he was hardly going to go and confront Dumbledore himself, was he? A ghost of a smile crossed his face when he remembered knocking on Professor Kelp's door, and finding Snape. He wondered if that was still going on. He hadn't heard any rumours to the contrary, but for all he knew only he and Hermione had any idea there was something going on in the first place.

"Come in," Snape sighed. Draco pushed the door open and entered the small room. It reminded him of the dungeons in which Snape taught potions, mostly because it was right next to them and contained many of the same things, though fewer desks and chairs.

"Professor Snape?" Draco hovered next to the door. If Snape wanted him to sit down, he'd say so. There was an order to these things that Draco appreciated.

"Sit, Malfoy," Snape drawled.

Draco sat.

"What was it you wanted to see me about? I hear you've been traipsing in and out of the Gryffindor common room."

Uh-oh. That was not the sound of a happy Snape. If Draco wanted information about his father he was going to have to tread carefully.

"I thought I'd left something there, after staying in that awful tower over Christmas," Draco scoffed. "My, um, dressing gown. But I hadn't."

"I seem to recall that you were wearing it the other evening, in our common room," Snape said pointedly, "when I was looking for Pansy Parkinson."

"Oh yes, I'd forgotten," Draco said dully. Damn!

"So, do you have anything else to add?" Snape said after a short silence.

"Oh, yes. I was wondering... why am I back in lessons? What about my father?" Draco managed to look Snape in the eye when he asked this. He didn't like the fact that it was a struggle to do so. All he wanted was the truth. When had the truth become something to be nervous of?

Snape wasn't looking at him, he realised. He was looking everywhere but him. "Ah, yes. I wondered how long it would take you to start questioning this," he mused aloud. "His cell was searched during the holidays. Nothing else of yours was found there. Your father was also... searched."

Draco couldn't help but grimace at the images that phrase suggested.

"So there's nothing left for him to use against me?" Draco checked one last time.

"As far as we know," Snape said, staring at his desk.

"Is there anything else I should know?" Draco asked, putting a bit of bite into his voice. He was a Malfoy, after all. He could get away with talking down to the teachers.

Snape hesitated for a moment. "No," he said coldly. He finally looked at Draco. "And I'll remind you not to use that tone when talking to the staff here," he added. "Dismissed."

Draco left the office and headed straight to another one. Professor Kelp looked rather surprised when he walked into her office without knocking.

"What happened to my father?" he demanded. "I know something's happened, I'm not stupid."

"Why come to me?" she asked, struggling to keep her voice level.

"Because Snape knows," Draco said, looking down his nose at the Muggleborn professor.

"-" she stared at him. "You suspect more than you know," she finally said coolly.

"I know enough," Draco said.

"No, you don't," she told him. "And what precisely would you do with that information? Go to Dumbledore? He's hardly going to object. He'll probably ask to preside over the wedding."

Draco allowed an arrogant smirk to spread across his face. "Wedding? Aside from the fact you are getting far ahead of yourself, you don't have the faintest idea what I know. Do you think the paltry fumblings in the potions supply closet between two members of staff interests me, or any one else?"

She gave him a wary look. "Blackmail, mister Malfoy, could get you suspended."

"And looking for the Dark Lord could get you fired."

"How did you know?" she asked eventually.

"The eyebright. I asked Hermione. It's a weed used in Muggle mythology as part of the fictional scrying spell. You do know there's no such thing as scrying, don't you?" he sneered.

"You guessed," she stared at him. "You little bastard, you guessed."

"That you were trying to contact the Dark Lord?" Draco said offhandedly. "Of course. Thank you for confirming it for me. The question, however, remains: why?"

Aurora looked at him levelly. He was leaning with one hand on the back of a chair, studying his nails. The inner politics of the wizarding world were meat and drink to this boy. That could be useful...

No. She shook her head to clear it. He was just a boy. This was already getting out of hand. Why had she done it? There were so many reasons, and they were all true. It was just, as time went by some slowly became less true than others.

"Glory," she settled on eventually. "Everyone here looks down on me, for knowing so little. I though if I could find him, maybe even help catch him, they'd finally give me a bit of respect."

Draco seemed to accept this.

"You could still get fired," he told her. "I mean, trying to find the Dark Lord, for whatever reason, whilst on school grounds? There's not a parent out there who wouldn't sign the petition to have you out. You could have put every child here at risk, if you'd used a real spell. And the fact you didn't even realise that scrying wasn't real, well, it hardly speaks well of your teaching qualifications."

"What do you want, Malfoy?" she sighed. "And please, sit down. Stop hovering like a damn vulture."

With a smile, he sank into the seat set opposite her desk. "I want to know about what's going on with my father."

"Again, I ask, why should I know anything more than you?" she said smoothly.

"You're shagging Snape. He knows something," Draco snapped, patience wearing thin.

"Well I don't. He hardly tells me everything," she snapped back.

"So find out," Draco said, standing up again and leaning over her desk threateningly. "Find out what has happened to my father, or I will tell the Daily Prophet and Witch Weekly, the two most popular periodicals in this country, at least, the two taken most seriously, everything you so foolishly admitted to me. And I can word it so it is simultaneously perfectly true and more damaging than any lie could ever be."

"Why not Dumbledore?" she asked.

"Because he'll forgive you and hush it up. He's soft like that. Foolish. If I tell the papers, he won't be able to do anything. The parents will demand your removal from the staff. And that respect you so desperately desire? You will lose all chance you ever had of getting that."

She stared at him. "I could get you expelled for this," she murmured.

"That's hardly going to dissuade me from going to the papers, is it?" he sneered. "You have one week. I want to know about my father!"

He left then, closing the door carefully behind him. His every move was calm and controlled, his every look superior and supercilious. But inside... he as just a boy, she reminded himself. That proud haughtiness didn't extend further than skin deep. He was making a concerted effort to sound, look and act like his father. But he wasn't his father, he wanted his father.

She stared at her desk. She'd do it. She shouldn't, but she would.

* * *

Hermione was in the library. She had originally gone to the girl's dorm, but Lavender and Parvati had decided to help her by debating the relative merits of a valentine's date with Ron and a valentine's date with Draco. Harry was still in the boy's dorm. Most people had gone to dinner now, but Ron hadn't been hungry and Ginny felt he deserved some sibling solidarity. It was just as well, as Pigwidgeon bundled down the chimney and emerged in a cloud of soot, hitting three different walls, and one twice, before coming to a choking rest at Ron's feet.

Ginny sighed and picked him up by his feet, extracting a scrap of tattered paper from one leg. She let go and Pig tumbled to the ground, almost. At around ankle height his wings started whirring, and he fluttered up to Ron's shoulder, leaving a streak of fine black dust all the way up his robes.

"Pigwidgeon," he snarled, but his heart wasn't in it. Ginny gave him a concerned look. "So, who wrote?" he said.

"Dad. Wants us to call him ASAP. Oh god, I hope something hasn't happened to mum," she worried.

Ron looked horrified. "Anything else want to go wrong today?" he sighed. "I've got some floo powder upstairs. Want to try now?"

"There's no one else around. Wait, is Harry still up there?" Ginny bit her lip.

"Yeah. He'd probably appreciate being included. I mean, what can dad have to say that he won't want Harry to hear?" Ron nodded. "Yes, I'll go and get the powder, and tell him what's going on. He can join us if he wants."

"What's going on?" Ginny asked. "I mean, why... what happened?"

"He and Hermione..." Ron stared at her. "I don't know," he admitted. "Hermione thinks we need to practise, I don't know, some kind of 'tough love' thing on him. He's taken exception to that. I've tried speaking to her. I mean, I know where she's coming from but I don't think it will work. He needs us to be there for him, not to shut him out. Or... something." Ron gave Ginny a vaguely pitiful look. "Why everything at once?" he asked softly. "Harry and Hermione, Draco, dad..."

"I'll go get the floo powder," Ginny said. "You clean Pigwidgeon."

"Yeah," Ron said distantly. "I'll do that."

Ginny knocked on the door of the boy's dormitory with an edge of nervousness. She scolded herself for being silly; this was Harry, after all. But that was it. It was Harry. Harry, who she had had a crush on for years. Harry, who had saved her life. Harry, who was best friends with her older brother.

When no answer was forthcoming Ginny pushed the door open slowly and stuck her head around it. Initially there was no sign of Harry, but then the curtains around his bed shifted. Squinting, Ginny could just make out a silhouette through the heavily brocaded material. There was a brief flash of light, which she realised came from a tiny gap in the curtains. The light was glinting off Harry's glasses.

Ginny sighed, and stepped fully into the room. The floo powder was in the cupboard next to Ron's bed. School rules were a bit unclear about floo powder. Students weren't meant to have it in case they took it into their heads to run away, but they were allowed to contact family members by any means they wished, which included floo powder. So some students had some, but they made a point of not flaunting it. Since the Daily Prophet had acknowledged the Voldemort threat, the number of students with the stuff had soared. After entering the Order of the Phoenix over a year ago Mr and Mrs Weasley had given each of their children a small amount, enough for a single journey, in their Christmas cards.

Ron had been sent the letter, therefore Ron was the one who got to do the honours and speak to his father. Ginny dug about in his cupboard, riffling through unwashed socks, what she prayed was washed underwear, several years worth of presents from Hermione, a few old school books and a wizard photograph of Harry, Hermione and Ron.

Ginny stared at it for a moment. When it had been taken Harry had slung his arm around Ron's waist, and Ron had placed one hand awkwardly on Hermione's shoulder. Hermione had her hands full with a large textbook. The Ron in the picture was shooting her coy looks, but she had opened the book and started reading. Harry had withdrawn into the background, sulking under a tree. Squinting into the picture, Ginny guessed he was crying. It made her heart hurt, but that twisty feeling in her stomach that she used to get whenever she saw the black haired boy was gone. Crushes don't last forever, even if you try to prolong them.

That was why Ron had to get his skates on and tell Hermione how he felt. Or, and Ginny felt a guilty pang for thinking it, Hermione should get over herself and tell Draco how she felt. Hermione was her friend, she reasoned, she had a loyalty to her happiness as well as to her brother's. Hermione would be happy with Ron, she knew, but not as long as Draco was in the picture. On the other hand, she'd be happy with Draco no matter how long Ron was in the picture. And Ron would be happy for her, in a strained, sad kind of way. Draco would be bitter and angry and jealous, if Hermione didn't choose him, and he wouldn't let Hermione and Ron get a moment's peace.

"It's up to her," Ginny reminded herself aloud, forgetting where she was.

"What is?" A voice croaked. "And who?"

Ginny jumped. "I'd forgotten you were here," she admitted, turning to look at Harry's bed. He pulled the curtains back so she could see his face. "Dad wrote to us, said he wants us to call him using floo powder. Want to come find out what's going on?"

"Who's 'us'?" Harry asked suspiciously.

"Me and Ron," Ginny said softly.

Harry thought about it for a second. "Yeah, I'll come," he sighed at last. "If Ron's still speaking to me, that is."

"Of course he is," Ginny scolded. "So's Hermione, in a way. She just won't put up with you looking miserable unless you tell her why you're miserable. Until you do, you'll get no more sympathy from her."

Harry stared at her. "Well, maybe it's not something I can tell her," he snapped. "Good friends don't make demands like that on each other."

Ginny grimaced. "Come on, I've found the floo powder. Dad wants us to call him as soon as possible."

She climbed to her feet stiffly and started towards the door. There was a moment of doubt when she wondered if Harry was actually going to follow, but her she heard the curtains flap and the floorboards creak as he climbed out of the four-poster bed. He followed her downstairs, to where a very sooty Ron and a very clean Pigwidgeon were still battling.

Ron glanced up. "Great, Harry!" he said, with real enthusiasm. Harry looked startled, but pleased. "Come on, let's get this over with. I'm starting to get really nervous."

"I'm sure mum's fine," Ginny reassured him.

Harry looked horrified. "Do you think that's why your father wants to talk to you?" he stared at his feet. "Should I be here? I mean, if it's a family thing?"

"'course," Ron said awkwardly. "You're practically family."

So they settled in front of the fire, tossed in the floo powder, and Ron stuck his head into the fire, calling "Weasley kitchen" as he did so. Ginny and Harry watched him, listening to the one-sided conversation.

"Hey, dad. You wanted to talk?"

"Just Ginny and Harry."

"Draco's dad?"

"Oh."

"Ooh."

"Oh dear."

"Ah."

"Right."

"Well, I'll keep an eye out. Do you think I should tell him?"

"Draco."

"Huh. I'm not sure. I mean, he was here earlier."

"Yeah, I know, in the Gryffindor common room. The shock almost killed us all. He wanted to talk to Hermione. He asked her to go down to Hogsmeade with him, on the weekend after Valentine's day, the bastard."

"Sorry, mum."

"Okay. Look, the floo powder's almost run out, so we'll have to cut this short. I'll tell the others to watch out, okay?"

"Yes, love you too. Ginny says hi."

"Yeah, I'll tell her. Okay, bye."

"Yes, mum. Goodbye."

* * *

Draco found himself in Professor Kelp's office, barely a day later. He wondered what she'd found out in such a short time.

On her desk was a bowl of water with some powder floating in it. Another attempt at scrying? Silly girl.

"Draco?" Aurora chewed her lip.

"Yes?" he asked, swallowing down the broiling nervousness in his stomach. He felt sick.

"I have some news about your father," she said heavily.

"He's dead, isn't he?" Draco said.

"No. He's escaped."