Vita Labyrinthae Similis In Quo Umbrae Vagamus

CHAPTER 17

They say you sparkle like a different girl

--David Bowie, Letter to Hermione

The rest of the break passed too quickly for everyone. The days were brilliant and fleeting and full of gladness; the nights were sweet and fiery and brief. Hermione moved all day in the shelter of Draco's arm, and when they did come down to the Great Hall, they came down together. Both of them knew that the idyll had its limit, and that it was fast coming to a close, and they made the most of what hours they had together.

The day before the rest of the school was due to return, Snape came to visit Draco. He found him staring out of the windows over the frozen lake, head propped on chin, his hair falling silver around his shoulders, the dark form of Naga curled around his neck.

"Draco?"

The pale boy whirled, hand automatically reaching for his wand, before he saw who it was. "Oh, Professor Snape," he said. "Hello."

"Hello," said Severus, and regarded his pupil critically. "You're looking better."

It was true. Draco had regained some flesh, finally, and his colour was good. He looked more like the sixteen-year-old Severus knew him to be than the white statue that had lain so long in this room, as unchanging as a stone. "Madame Pomfrey finally gave in and started feeding me real food," said Draco mildly. "You've no idea how a month of gruel can kill the appetite."

"I think I might," said Severus, remembering acidly his own months in the hospital wing, and the coppery smell of his own blood. "Anyway, Draco, I need to talk to you."

Draco's eyes flickered. He looked down. "Is this about Hermione?"

"Not exactly." Snape pulled over a chair, sat down. "How are you, really?"

Draco met his gaze with a silver regard that was oddly unreflective. He paused for a long moment, as Naga shifted around his throat, her dark eyes peering out from under the fall of his hair. "I'm all right. I think, now, that I'm all right. I'm not looking forward to rejoining the Slytherins, especially after my last encounter with Pansy, but I'm better than I've been in a long time." He paused, ran a fingertip down Naga's sleek head. "And much of that I owe to Hermione."

Snape held his gaze. "I know."

"Do you?" Draco looked away first. "She...she said to me that the scars don't matter. That they're almost beautiful."

Severus felt a little surge of gratitude to the Muggle-born girl, who had already proved her exceptionality many times over. "Good." He sighed, caught sight of the pack of Djarums on the windowsill. "Can I have one of those?"

Draco stared at him, his eyes wide, but a little curving smile played over his face, and he offered the pack to his teacher. "I'm sure this isn't regulation."

"So am I." Severus lit the cigarette with his wand, inhaled. "My God, these are good." He blew a series of smoke rings into the layered air of the room. "Draco....you may know that Professor Serenskaya and I are...attached."

"Yes," said Draco simply.

"Well..." Snape looked away, concentrated on the end of his cigarette. "We're going to get married."

Draco reached out for the pack of cigarettes, lit one of his own. "Congratulations." His voice was light and warm and sincere. Severus caught his gaze.

"I...we...wanted you to know. We haven't told anyone else yet."

Draco suddenly felt a wave of warm affection for the cold professor. "No. I mean it, congratulations. I hope you'll be happy together."

Severus kept his gaze fixed on Draco's for a long moment, let it drop. "Thank you. That's not the real reason I'm here, though. You must know by now that you're perfectly fine and completely recovered, as Madame Pomfrey continues to assure me. That means that the Ministry is liable to call you up to give evidence in the matter of your parents' death. I wanted you to be prepared for that. You ought to have some idea of what you're going to tell them, and what you want to ask for when they say how much of the Malfoy possessions are still yours. Do you know if you're going to sell the house?"

"I hadn't thought about it." Draco thought about it. "I think so, yeah. I can't imagine ever living there again. It's not exactly the happiest of memories for me."

"Quite understandable. That's the sort of question they'll ask you." Severus tapped ash off his cigarette; it vanished with little red sparkles. "Until you're eighteen you're still a minor, and Dumbledore's got loco parentis custody of you. Are there any relatives or family you want to stay with?"

"No," said Draco quickly. "There's another house...Fairfax Chase, in Wiltshire....it's called Dark Heart House. A much smaller mansion than Malfoy Manor, but it's...nicer. I'll live there, if they let me."

"I can't imagine them not letting you. You are still a very wealthy young man, Draco." Severus sighed, smoke wreathing him. "As far as I can make out, the offshore holdings are almost all blameless. It's the major accounts in Gringotts that are mostly dirty money from drug and protection rackets. What your father had in the Caymans is more than enough to keep a gigantic manor house going for years and years and years, along with a fleet of Bentleys and..."

"Stop," said Draco quietly. "I'm not going to be like that. I can't. The money is useful, and I'm grateful for it, but I won't be like my father. I won't be obviously and explicitly rich."

Severus looked at him, and Draco thought he could see quiet respect in the black eyes. "Fair enough." He put out the cigarette in the ashtray Draco handed him. "You do know it's not going to be easy, this next term."

"I know," said Draco, and his voice was heavy. "Trust me, I know."

"So do I. And Professor Serenskaya and I will do all we can to help. Come to me, won't you, if the Slytherins give you any trouble."

"I will. I promise." Draco took a last drag off his own cigarette and put it out next to Severus's. "I...well...thank you, sir. For everything."

"I haven't done you any favours yet," said Severus dryly. He stood, his head tilted to one side, regarding Draco. "By the way, you and Miss Granger are the two top students in the year. Again."

"Really?" Draco's eyes lit up. "Wow. I was expecting low to middle."

"Honestly," said Severus. "With all the studying you two got done in the last week before exams...it's unsurprising. You're edging into Head Boy territory, Draco."

"Oh God, spare me," he said. "That's not my style."

"Not anymore." Severus sighed. "I'm sure Mr. Potter will be glad to take your place."

"Potter's up there too?"

"Directly under you and Miss Granger. I believe one Dark Arts question knocked his average down a point below you."

"He's welcome to be Head Boy," said Draco wryly. "He's probably been itching for the chance for years."

Severus grinned. "Draco...I think I've said this before, but we're all very glad you've come back to us. Despite what the Slytherins are going to say tomorrow."

"I'm more worried about the Gryffindors, actually," said Draco seriously. "Hermione told Harry about us, and Harry told Ron, and Ron came creeping in to see me. He was a lovely shade of puce. I think his little heart was set at rest by our talk though. I hope so."

"Mr. Weasley is perhaps more choleric than we could wish," said Severus blandly.

"I would have said "bloody-minded," but I agree," said Draco. "He seemed to simmer down a bit after I reassured him that everything Hermione and Harry had said was true. He was particularly concerned about his sister. Ginny."

"What happened to Ginny?"

Draco told the story of Ginny's borrowed broom and his hasty Wingardium Leviosa. "Weasley clearly thought I had some ulterior motive in saving his sister's life. I thought about telling him that she was just a pawn in a game too complex for him to understand, but I thought he might punch me in the nose, so I didn't."

"That was probably wise," agreed Severus. He got up. "Look....odd as it may seem, I wish you and Hermione the best, and especially you, for the term ahead. I think we'll all get through it somehow, but it won't be fun."

"I know." Draco looked up at his professor. "Are you going to tell everyone else about..." He trailed off, but Severus knew he meant the impending marriage.

"Not until later. We hope to get married in April, or thereabouts. Not for a while."

Draco nodded. "And do you know anything else about when the Ministry is going to call me in?"

"No. Although they're a bureaucracy, and as such they generally take about three months longer than anyone expects them to for the simplest of things, I suggest you prepare yourself for it. They might ask you some....painful questions."

"Can I....could I bring Hermione with me?"

"Miss Granger...?" Severus paused. "I don't see why not. They'll have to call her up anyway to ask her about her strange new abilities." He fixed Draco with a warm black gaze. "And some of them do have hearts."

"I see," said Draco. "Thank you."

"You're welcome." Severus sat down briefly on the edge of the bed. Draco saw the weariness, but also the joy, in his teacher's frame, and was suddenly happy. He slid off the windowsill, sat down beside Snape.

"Sir?"

"Mmmm?"

"I'm happy for you. Really."

Severus's breath caught, smoothed out. "Thank you."

Gingerly, Draco held out his arms, and gingerly Severus embraced him, the light quick respectful embrace of men.

Later, Hermione found Draco bundling up his books and papers. He was wrapped in the Slytherin dressing gown, which Hermione suspected had come from Dumbledore. "What are you doing?"

"Moving back to the dormitory," he said quietly. He met her eyes, and suddenly she knew it was really true; that their idyll was really over, and neither of them knew when they would have such completely unregulated time together again, and in the meantime they would have to deal with their regular dormmates and the politics that lay between them.

"Let me help," she said sadly.

He slid an arm around her waist. "Don't be sad yet. We've still got tonight to scandalize the Slytherin dorm."

"Not the Gryffindor dorm?"

"Hell, why not?" Draco shrugged, awkwardly, under the weight of the books. "The night is ours. Tomorrow is, emphatically, not."

Together they entered the Great Hall. He wore plain black school robes, Naga curled around his neck like a spotted version of the school tie. She wore the dress robes her mother had sent her with a sweet little get-well note: a rich dark gold velvet, with tiny ruby cabochons scattered amidst swirls of bronze-coloured silk embroidery at the throat, wrists and hem. The colours lit a dim fire in her chocolate hair and her cinnamon eyes. Nobody questioned it when they sat together at the Slytherin table; everyone who was paying attention was staring at Hermione, who seemed to have aged two years and blossomed into the beauty she would normally have attained at eighteen or nineteen. Draco was aware of that beauty, beating against his senses like the tides against a seawall, and he wondered again at himself, that he had never before noticed it in her.

Perhaps it took a disaster to bring it out, he comforted himself. Perhaps.

Perhaps she was always this lovely and I never noticed it because I was always too busy calling her a Mudblood....goddamnit I hate that word....

Don't be stupid, he heard her voice in his mind. Bashing yourself over the head for your past mistakes won't help us now.

He sighed. She was right, even inside his head. He looked up at the staff table. Snape and Serenskaya were sitting together, and he thought he could see a little flicker around them like the one he felt around himself and Hermione. An aura.

He looked away hurriedly and applied himself to the roast chicken. The decorations had been taken down and there was only the normal glory of the Hall, but with Hermione by his side it was glory enough. Just being close to her felt like being near to a blazing fire; warm and dangerous at once. An old Muggle song came into his head, unbidden.

I...I will be king

He smiled at Hermione and poured the pumpkin juice. There was nothing more he could do. What would come, would come, and they would have to deal with it. Until then....

"To you," she said, and clinked her goblet with his.

"To you," he repeated.

That night they lay in his Slytherin bed, resplendent in green and silver. "I know it won't last," said Hermione, taking down her hair, sitting naked on the side of the bed. "I know. I'm not asking you for a miracle. Just....just love me, Draco, tonight."

"I do," he said, realizing it was true, staring at her candlelit beauty. "I love you, Hermione. I love you."

They fell together.

And later, in her Gryffindor bed, in red and gold, he loved her again. "I've never been up here," he gasped, when she let him go. "It's nicer than our dorm."

"It's not underground," she countered, breathing heavily. "And it's warm."

"Yes," he managed, "it is."

And it was he who woke just before dawn, before the chilly light of morning cut through their curtains. He had the felicity of wakening her; and the first thing she knew was the exquisite drift of his hands, and the softness of his lips on hers, waking her to the day.

"Hermione," he whispered. "Hermione, I must go. I have to be back in the Slytherin dorm before anyone notices I'm gone."

Half-awake, and still dreaming in a drift of pleasure, she held him down, and she stroked him into joy, and she kissed him blind, so he could not go without her leave. This joining was the most passionate, and the deepest, they had yet experienced. He felt himself fragmented into a thousand shards, falling around her like pieces of mirror, glinting as they fell; she felt herself lifted into a white sky, among the birds who rose and whirled in a confetti-swirl of shapes against the clouds. Neither of them could help crying out as the power rose within them, that throbbing, sweet fire that robbed them of control and shook their bodies in a rhythm much older than them both; they cried out the words that neither of them had any right to say, and that both of them could no longer deny: I love you, I love you.....

He left, early in the morning, when that milk-light was still falling softly through the high windows, hurrying back to his own room, his image of her still burning beneath his eyelids, like a dream-vision that failed to fade. He could not, would not, forget that face beneath his own, that face pale and yet flushed with the heat of their lovemaking, those roseate lips whispering his name. Draco, I love you. I love you.

************************

He was glad of that memory, for it was beautiful, and he had precious little to hold on to, anymore. The rest of the Slytherin sixth-year boys arrived that day, around noon. He had been up for several hours by then, lying on his bed and reading, and he was more or less prepared for it when Blaise and his friends came into the dorm, tanned from a month of skiing in Chamonix or lounging on the beaches of Cancun. He was prepared for the raised eyebrows and the muttering behind their hands.

"You're back," said Blaise.

"Indeed." He turned a page with careless grace. He was aware of their eyes on him.

"Are you all right?"

He knew the query was not prompted by their concern. "I'm fine."

"We heard stories," said Blaise. "You and the Mudblood girl with the big teeth...Harmony, or whatever her name is."

He raised a laconic eyebrow. "Oh?"

"Yeah. Draco, you of all of us should know the importance of being a pureblood. We've got Slytherin pride to uphold."

He looked up from his borrowed copy of Moste Potente Potions. "Blaise, I think I understand better than the rest of you the importance of blood."

Silence. Then, rather cowed, Zabini: "So, we understand each other?"

"I believe so." He fixed them with that patented silver gaze, and was pleased to see them swallow nervously. "Perhaps better than you think."

In the Gryffindor girls' sixth-year dorm, Hermione was also lying on her counterpane and reading a copy of Zablotny's Applied Theory. She heard the rest of the year come in; it was sort of hard to miss them. She identified Lavender Brown and Parvati Patil among the more high-pitched of the girls, and steeled herself for their entry into the dorm. House-elves had already lugged their trunks in and set them up at the foot of the beds.

"Hermione!" squealed Lavender. "You're back!"

She hugged the other girl. "How was your holiday?"

"Wonderful! We went to the Riviera! Are you all right?"

"I'm fine." She mustered a smile. "What about you, Parvati?"

"Oh, I'm fine," said the Indian girl. "My parents took a house in Gstaad. I learned to ski!"

"Great," said Hermione. "Welcome back."

"Hermione..." said Lavender quietly. "We heard rumors about you....and Draco Malfoy!" "Ah," said Hermione. "Well, you shouldn't believe everything you hear."

"He's pretty hot, though," Lavender shrugged. "But he's a Slytherin. Ewww."

"Quite." Hermione shut her book. "I shouldn't worry. I uphold the tenets of Gryffindor House as much as any of you."

"Oh, good," said Parvati, relieved. "Hey, I have the new issue of Teen Witch, do you want to see it?"

Hermione smiled, with a bit of effort. "Sure."

That day passed, and the next, and the next; and the days turned into weeks, passing by. It wasn't easy—it wasn't anything like easy—but both Draco and Hermione managed to keep up the appearance of disinterest. They did not pretend to be enemies; they merely pretended not to care about one another.

Of course there were the stolen nights atop the Astronomy Tower, and the moments in Herbology when they found themselves briefly alone in the greenhouse, but in general they managed to keep a fairly believable front.

"I still can't believe it," said Ron one day in February, beside the lake. He and Harry were desultorily throwing pebbles into the water, occasionally hitting the giant squid, which roiled in the shallows. The ice was mostly gone from the steel-coloured water. Harry couldn't help thinking that they stood almost in the exact same place where he and Hermione had been sitting, back in autumn, before all of this happened. He felt a sudden strange rush of melancholy at the thought of time passing; a melancholy which, he would find out, came on him more and more often as he grew up. He thought the Welsh called it hiraeth.

"I know. It's as if we're all characters in some dreadful story that the author doesn't know how to finish."

"That's a bit thick, Harry," said Ron, flipping a pebble. "I mean, this is all just ordinary sixth-form politics. Our best friend is in love with our mortal enemy, who we have just begun to realize is not our mortal enemy any longer." He paused, staring out over the grey landscape. "It happens everywhere, I imagine. Our version of it is just a bit more fraught."

Harry sighed, kneeling down by the lakeshore. "I suppose you're right. It's odd, you know....I talked to that snake of his the other day."

"What, his Nagini, or whatever she's called?"

"Naga," Harry corrected gently. "Not at all the same as Nagini. She told me about his childhood...at least as much of it as she was aware of. You know Lucius kept her locked up in a cage over the mantelpiece for much of her life? Well....Draco found the key, and let her out, and they played together. The way Naga told it...it sounds as if they were each other's only friend."

"Jesus," said Ron, "that's pathetic."

Harry scowled at him. "My point is that this has to be insanely hard on Draco. He's got to pretend his allegiances still lie with the rest of the Slytherins, and pretend to dislike Hermione. Otherwise..."

"Otherwise what?" said Ron, seriously. "If he came out as who he really is, or who you think he really is, what would he have to lose? He doesn't want to be a Slytherin like Zabini or Parkinson, according to you. He's changed. So why does he still pretend to be one?"

Harry rubbed at the bridge of his nose. A headache was beginning to pound behind his left eye. "Because..."

"See? There's no reason for it. I don't know why he doesn't just come out and say he loves her and be done with it."

"Because it would ruin her life as well as his," Harry sighed. "The Gryffindors would never forgive her for...well...sleeping with the enemy. You know that; you had a hell of a time forgiving her yourself. Think what all the rest of the Gryffindors would say."

"He convinced me, didn't he? And I'm set in my ways."

"Let it go, Ron, please? I don't feel like talking about this right now."

Ron looked at his friend. "Okay."

The end came sooner than anyone expected. Halfway through March, as a grey rain fell outside the castle, Blaise Zabini and his Slytherin crew pounced on Hermione as she walked down the corridor to Snape's office, and pulled her into a supply room.

Caught by surprise, Hermione forgot to shield herself, and several of the Slytherins found themselves flying against the walls before Zabini sat on her chest and muttered a dampening spell. "Now then," he hissed. "Little Miss Perfect Gryffindor. Don't think we haven't heard the rumours. Don't think we don't know about your plot to capture Draco. You've ensorcelled him."

"What are you talking about?" demanded Hermione, in the whisper the spell had left her. "Draco and I..." The lie did not come easily to her lips. "Draco and I are...nothing to one another."

"Gryffindor girls don't know how to lie, do they?" Pansy Parkinson demanded nastily, taking Hermione's hand in hers and beginning to bend back the fingers. Weak beneath Zabini's spell, Hermione could do nothing but bite her lip as the pain increased. "Go on, Gryffindor slut. Tell us what you've done to Draco. Tell us what spell you used to bewitch him."

Hermione's mind was full of grey fog. The clarity and immediacy she needed to summon her untried powers was gone beneath the onslaught of Zabini's spell. She began to feel the first bright bubbling up of panic beneath her breastbone. The circle of grinning faces came closer, closer.

"Tell us," muttered Crabbe, his arms folded. Goyle was squatting beside her, and one of his hamlike hands crept out and caressed the rise of her left breast. She would have wrenched away, but she couldn't move. Zabini had moved down to her waist, sitting on her as he would sit on a broom. "Tell us."

"No," she muttered. The shame of being found here was almost as bad as the shame of being found out by the Gryffindors, and until it was an equal shame, she would fight. "I won't. I haven't done anything to Draco, I swear. There's nothing between us."

"You know," said Zabini, breathily, "for a Gryffindor, you're not too ugly. Tell us what spell you put on Draco and we might let you go."

"I didn't put any spell on Draco," she gasped as his weight increased. "You have to believe me."

"Do I?" Zabini motioned to Millicent Bulstrode, who came forward with a little crystal vial. Veritaserum.

If I tell the truth...the whole truth...about me and Draco, they will kill me.

The knowledge dropped, chilly and whole, into her mind. If I lie, and say I bewitched him, they might let me go. They can't stand to believe that their once-fearless-leader could ever honestly want a Gryffindor.

She drew a deep shuddering breath. "No. Please. Not that."

Millicent, leering, came closer. The vial caught the dim light, shining. Hermione found herself wondering what exactly she was going to do. What could she tell them?

"I...." she began, and then Zabini's hands were on her breasts, too hard, hurting her. She gave a little whimpering cry.

And someone opened the door.

All of the Slytherins looked up from where she lay crumpled on the floor, Zabini's weight pressing her down. Draco stood outlined by the brighter glow of the hall torches, staring down at her, his silver eyes as reflective and as cold as mirrors. His face was set.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" he demanded, quietly.

Zabini removed his hands from her, folded his arms across his chest. It was hard to look dignified when sitting on top of a supine girl, but he tried anyway. "Draco," he said in a wheedling tone. "This Gryffindor bitch put a spell on you to turn you against us. We were just finding out exactly what spell she used. So we could reverse it."

"Get off her," said Draco, and his voice held the frozen wastelands in its tones. "Now."

Zabini got up. "Come on, Draco, you know it's true. She bewitched you somehow. You must understand that."

Draco came forward two steps into the fuggy little room and grabbed the throat of Zabini's robes. "You little shit," he said. "She has never bewitched me. She has never used a spell against me. She saved my life. She saved it twice." His fingers were bloodless where they twined about the other boy's throat. "And I will not hear you say another word against her, or speak to her disrespectfully. She is worth twelve of you. Of you all." He let Zabini go, and the Slytherin staggered back, gasping. Crabbe and Goyle caught him.

Pansy Parkinson's eyes were huge and glistening. "Draco, listen to yourself. You would never say these things on your own. She's got her claws in you, it's obvious, you're not yourself."

Draco turned on her, and she recoiled beneath the power of that gaze. "I'm not the boy you knew," he said softly. "That much is true. I've grown up a bit."

"Draco," Pansy whined. "Please. We're only trying to help you."

"I don't need your help," he spat. He knelt beside Hermione, his face dead white, two hectic spots of colour burning on his cheekbones, and muttered finite incantatem. The paralyzing power of Zabini's spell left her, and she gasped in a deep breath, able to move once more. "Are you all right?"

"I'm fine," she muttered, letting him help her to her feet, her face burning with shame and embarrassment and not a little fear. Something she had never seen before seemed to have unfurled itself within Draco. Something powerful.

He put an arm around her shoulders. "All of you," he said to the Slytherins, "listen to me. I am still of Slytherin House. I am a Malfoy. But I am not like you. What happened to me is my concern, and none of yours. You will leave Hermione alone." The silver eyes seemed to whirl like hypnotic stars. "You will leave me alone. We have nothing to do with one another. And if you ever, ever, threaten Hermione...or myself....again, you will be extremely sorry you were ever born." He paused, raked the room with his gaze. "We will not speak of this again. We will not report this little...incident...to any teachers, nor will it be repeated. Do I make myself clear?"

Silence, then a subdued murmur of assent.

"Good. Go away."

They melted away, silently. Draco took a deep shuddering breath. Hermione clung to him.

"I'm so sorry," he muttered into her hair. "So sorry. You should never have had to go through that."

"It was bound to happen," she murmured. "Thank you for coming in when you did."

"I was on my way down to Snape's office when I heard you cry out. I could recognize your voice, of course." He swallowed. "The Ministry sent me an owl. I'm to go up before the court tomorrow."

She looked up at him. "Oh."

"I...." he trailed off. "Hermione, would you come with me? Please?"

"Of course," she said. "Of course I will."

"They should leave you alone, now." He glared around the little room. "They still fear me."

"I would have, too," she said. "Your eyes, when you came in....my God, Draco, you looked like you were going to kill Zabini."

"I'd like to." He stared down at her. "Are you really all right? They didn't...hurt you?"

"Just my pride. But Draco...what are we going to do? I mean, they're not going to stay silent forever."

"We knew it would happen." He sighed. "You haven't told anyone?"

"No, of course not." She rubbed her fingers, swollen from Pansy's attempt to break them. "I might have to, though." The Gryffindors weren't into physical punishment of that sort, but her emotional welfare was certainly going to come under attack.

Draco hissed as he saw the purpling bruises on her hand. "Shit. Who did that to you?"

"It's okay. It's nothing."

"Who did it?"

She sighed. "Parkinson. But it's not a big deal."

"Like hell." He tightened his arm around her shoulders. "Come on. I'm taking you to Snape."

Snape's office was as usual stacked with unspeakable things in jars. Some of them winked at Draco and Hermione as they entered and took the chairs in front of the vast blackwood desk. "What's the matter?" asked Snape quietly.

Draco took Hermione's hand and laid it softly on the desk. "Pansy Parkinson did that."

Snape frowned. Hermione shot a panicked look at Draco, who was sitting perfectly still and breathing in controlled sighs. "What happened?"

"You said not to tell anyone..." Hermione said. Draco laughed a little, mirthlessly.

"I know. I don't think Professor Snape is just anyone."

"I can keep secrets," said Snape quietly. "What happened, Hermione?"

So she told the story, and when she was finished, Snape sat back in his chair and regarded them both with an ineffable sadness.

"I knew something like this was bound to happen," he said, softly. "I'm sorry."

"I think I dissuaded them from trying it again," Draco offered.

"Most likely. But they won't keep quiet forever. Hermione, I think maybe you'd better tell the Gryffindors. It's not going to be fun, but it'll be better if they hear it from you than from Zabini and his crowd."

Hermione nodded, slightly. The world was coming and going in great swooping heaves around her, with the reaction from the attack. Snape reached out and took her injured hand, very gently, in his, worked the fingers.

"This is a bad sprain," he said. "I've got something that might help. Stay here." He got up, went into the other room. They could hear him clattering about, selecting bottles.

She lay back in the chair. "He's right. I knew something like this would happen."

"I know. I just wish it hadn't happened to you. I can take this sort of thing."

"You shouldn't have to." Hermione sighed. "I'll tell the Gryffindors. Hopefully they'll treat the matter with a little more maturity, but I'd be on my guard if I were you. They might want to tar and feather you and hang you from the top of the Astronomy Tower."

"I'm too quick for them," said Draco lightly. "I'd run away. I'm good at that."

She smiled, as she was meant to. Snape came back with a little grey glass bottle, took Hermione's hand in his. He let a few drops fall onto the darkening bruise, and gently rubbed the potion in with his fingers. Almost immediately the pain began to fade, and by the time he was finished, the swelling was almost gone.

"Better?" he inquired.

"Much. Thank you, Professor."

"All right. Off you go then, and if anything else happens like this, go straight to Dumbledore. I'll keep an eye on Zabini and his groupies. But...be careful, both of you."

"We will," said Draco, simply. "We have to be."

Severus, watching them, was aware that they were too young for this, far too young to deal with this sort of politics and shadow-puppetry, and was briefly sad for them, that it should have come to this.

Was it so bad when I was a child at Hogwarts? he asked himself. Yes. Perhaps worse, because we had Lucius Malfoy to deal with. Luckily nobody here but Draco himself has that sort of charisma. And Draco now is far more mature and intelligent than his father ever was.

I wish I could stop it, he thought suddenly. I wish I could make it all okay.

He was wise enough, however, to know that he could not.