Les Liaisons Serpentines

Les Liaisons Serpentines

by The Tonio

Chapter Two: Snakes in the Grass

Draco checked himself out in the bathroom mirror; thanks to his trainer he had finally developed some lean muscle in his shoulders and upper arms--all the better for when Quidditch practice started in two weeks. He was going to beat Harry Potter to the snitch this season or die trying. He ran his hands under the tap, dampening them--school had become the only place where he felt comfortable not wearing a pair of gloves--then used his fingers to casually dishevel his hair. He stepped back and studied himself. The new set of school robes he was wearing fit him well, and he was particularly pleased with how the green stripe in his tie made his eyes look somehow brighter. Granger wouldn't know what hit her.

"How you doing?" he asked his reflection, winking. This was followed by a stifled laugh. It had been Marcus Flint's favorite pick up line, but Draco liked to fancy himself a bit more subtle when it came to such things.

Draco knew just where to find Granger, of course--tucked away in the furthest reaches of the library, most likely looking haggard and washed out in the pale light of the hanging lanterns. He left the boys bathroom and made his way to the library, taking a wrong turn once along the way, still unsure as to the layout of his new school. The building was located on a large, unplottable Island out near the Hamptons, and students traveled by ferry to and from the mainland. Rather than a castle, this version of Hogwart's had been modeled after the Palace of Versailles, with winding, white marble hallways and much garish gold décor. It might have been classy, had the whole place not had the aura of being one giant replica. Malfoys were raised to collect Louis XIV originals, so Draco was none too impressed with the Palace...no matter how accurate of a reproduction it was.

The Library was enormous, with shelves and shelves of books climbing nearly to the top of the high cathedral ceilings, charmed to absorb the echoes that would have surely resounded from any student movement below. As such, Draco was able to quickly tip-toe into the back carrels where Hermione was situated between piles of books, chewing on the tip of her quill thoughtfully. Draco smirked inwardly; Lamia had suggested he invite Hermione to take the ferry back to Manhattan for the weekend, where they could meander through museums and visit Little Diagon Alley, a rowdier version of the original that existed back in England (Draco was beginning to wonder if the American wizarding community had ever built anything even remotely original). Lamia, however, didn't know the personal history of loathing that existed between himself and Hermione Granger. If he waltzed up and invited her out on a date just like that, she was likely to think him under Imperius or something worse.

Screw Lamia, anyway. Draco had a better idea of how to deal with Hermione Granger. Running his fingers through his hair one more time for good measure, he walked out into the carrels, fashioning his expression into one of hassled distraction.

"Let's see..." he murmured, eyes scanning the shelves not far from where Hermione was seated. "Actual Advanced Arithmancy...where can it be?"

In his peripheral vision, he could see Hermine lift her head from the book she was hunched over. "Did you say something, Malfoy?" she asked, her tone curt. She seemed annoyed, as if she owned the library and he had barged in on her private space.

"I wasn't talking to you, Granger...so don't worry your little bushy head." Draco kept his eyes glued to the shelves, raising his hand to count them off for good measure.

She watched for several seconds in silence before curiosity got the better of her. "Are you looking for something from that shelf? Because I pulled a few things from there earlier."

"I'm looking for Actual Advanced Arithmancy, by Gulliver Grendel. I was told it was shelved back here."

"It is," Hermione said, lifting the large book she had been poring over. "I have it right here."

"Oh." Draco turned and gave her a sort of half-smile. "If you could put it back when you're finished, I'd like to look at it next."

"Certainly," Hermione said agreeably, though rather than returning to her book she continued to stare at him inquisitively, finally probing: "But what do you want it for, Malfoy? You're not even in Arithmancy this term."

"Can't a man check out some recreational reading?" he asked, working his face into an offended scowl. "Just because I dropped Arithmancy doesn't mean I don't like to keep up with the latest theories in the field."

"Of course you can check it out," she backpeddled furiously, her face strained. "I just need twenty more minutes with this chapter."

"That's fine. I'll wait." Draco pulled a random book from the shelf and plopped down in a cushy armchair, splaying his legs out before him. Stiff and ancient, the pages of the book crackled when he opened it, causing him to grimace slightly. "New function Arithmancy has undergone a number of changes since its revolutionary stages of development in blah...blah...blah..." He continued to move his lips as if reading silently to himself and looked over at Hermione through lowered lashes. She had the looks of a commoner, he decided; plain, sturdy features with absolutely no hint of delicacy, and so what if she had nice eyes when her unkept hair was enough to make anyone cringe? It was hard to believe that this was the girl who had won a World Cup Quidditch player's heart. No wonder Lamia was humiliated.

After several long, staggering minutes of note taking, Hermione finally closed the Gulliver Grendel book and rose rather unsteadily, heaving it up into her arms.

"Um...Draco?" she ventured, taking a few steps toward him.

"Yes?" Draco looked up from the book he was feigning great interest in.

"I'm finished, if you still want this."

Draco took the book from her outstretched hands. "Grendel's theories on new function Arithmancy are really something else, aren't they?" he said, running his fingers over the book's cover with admiration.

"I was just taking notes on that chapter." Hermione looked startled; vaguely suspicious. "How do you know about new function Arithmancy? We just started covering that this term."

"Sometimes Professor Vector and I like to have tea in his office and 'talk shop'," Draco said, the Americanism sounding strange and somehow pleasant on his tongue. "I like to stay fresh on the subject."

"Oh really?" She seemed to struggle silently for a moment, then finally let her eyebrows raise up in interest. "You really should sit in on our class someday...next week we're going to--"

She broke off, though, interrupted by the sound of approaching footsteps. Draco swiveled around to see who had broken up the party. He was rather unsurprised to see that it was none other than Harry Potter.

"Hermione?" Harry asked--his eyes blinking rather dimly, Draco thought. "What are you still doing here? I thought we were going to meet in the common room before dinner?" His eyes skipped over to Draco, shadowed with caution.

"Oh, I was just coming," she said, shying away from Draco and moving back to her carrel to gather up her books. Harry waiting silently, shooting Draco apprehensive glances all the while. It was rather irritating, but Draco supposed he should be glad that it was Harry who had bumped into them rather than Ron Weasley, who was much more likely to loudly voice his displeasure at witnessing the private interaction.

Draco pretended to be engrossed in Gulliver Grendel's book as they left, looking up distractedly as Hermione said "erm, enjoy the book."

"I'll let you know what I think," Draco called to her retreating back, and was pleased at how she jumped slightly, thrown by the implication that they would be having a civil conversation at some point in the near future. If Potter had a reaction to Draco's words, he didn't show it.

Once they were gone, Draco slammed the book shut and tossed it to the floor, unable to contain his cat-who-swallowed-a-canary smile. She wasn't exactly throwing herself at him yet, but he was fairly certain that he had taken the first step towards breaking her heart.

***

"No offense, Marty, but I hate it here." Draco stared at the tiled ceiled of his therapist's office, his gloved hands folded across his torso.

"It was your idea to see me on Tuesdays, Draco...though why it is you want to take the ferry out from school in the middle of the week is a mystery to me..." Marty's voice was weary and distracted, and Draco thought to himself--certainly not for the first time--that the doctor seemed far too unenthusiastic for what he was being paid. That was the trouble with Americans--they hadn't grown up scraping and bowing to Malfoys, and were too set in their superior ways to start doing so now.

"I didn't mean I hate it here in your office; I meant that I hate being here in the city, living with Auntie Freesia and Uncle Theo instead of being back at Malfoy Manor where I belong."

"You'll be back there soon enough," Marty said, his voice sounding almost robotically programmed. "It's dangerous over there now, anyway."

"It's just as dangerous here," Draco said, thinking of Lamia. Last night she had crept into his dormitory room and slithered into his bed, laying across his chest until he had sputtered awake. When he opened his eyes she had been grinning down at him, her fist propped under her chin. Almost at one she demanded news of his progress with Hermione.

Please tell me you've already fucked her, she said, eyes narrowing to slits. Draco yawned and stretched beneath her, giving her a light push so that she rolled off of him, still managing to flop gracefully at his side.

We're talking about Hermione Granger here, he said, reaching out to ruffle her hair as if she were a six-year old. She's as sexually repressed as the day is long.

Exactly, Lamia whispered, crawling on top of him again so that they were lying with their chests pressed together, their chins almost touching. She's about to pop a cork with that tight ass of hers. One come-hither glance from you and she should come undone.

I'm glad you have such faith in my abilities, Draco remarked. And I can see why you're so jealous of her--aside from winning over Krum, her rack is a great deal more impressive than the one you're currently grinding against me. With that, he lifted her up by her gyrating shoulders, rolling her body off his own once more.

She pouted at his side, her hair loose and fine around her shoulders and almost as white as the nightgown she wore. Wearing white pyjamas himself, Draco had been startled by their mirror image...un-nerved at how she could curl his lip almost precisely in the manner that had taken him years to perfect.

"Dangerous? What sort of danger?" Marty asked, interrupting his thoughts.

"Well, I'm referring to my half-sister, specifically."

Marty seemed to stifle a sigh. "Draco, I've been quite understanding about your various neuroses so far...the glove-wearing, for instance...but I have to say that your paranoia regarding your sister seems un-justifiable. Perhaps you are merely jealous of her?"

"What are you talking about?" Draco said, rolling over onto his side to better shoot daggers at the good doctor. "I'm the least jealous person I know."

"Of course." Marty shifted in his chair, his face carefully neutral. "And what was it you were saying last time? About wanting to start up a feud with Harry Potter?"

"Oh, him," Draco sniffed, returning his gaze to the ceiling. "Let's just say I'm focusing on someone else for the time being...the Head Girl, specifically. She's a mudblood, if you can believe it."

"So you have a romantic interest in the Head Girl?" Marty asked, ignoring the mudblood comment.

"What? God no. Lamia and I struck a deal--if I manage to turn Granger into a sexual deviant by the end of term, she'll give up her Christmas with us at the Manor."

Marty cleared his throat, speaking clearly and slowly. "You know, Draco, I have to say that I don't think this sort of interaction is the best way for you to form a lasting bond with your sister."

Tell me about it, Draco thought dimly, feeling quite ill as the image of last night floated back to him. Looking at his sleepy-eyed half sister beside him, she had seemed weirdly like a part of him. For the very first time, he found he couldn't deny their strange and un-namable bond, which was stronger than that of normal siblings--something dangerous and twisted. He had leaned forward and kissed her, his lips parting slightly against hers, longing to discover if her mouth tasted like his own--just as her hair seemed to smell of him and of their father, of all things rich and nobel. But he had managed to keep the kiss chaste, or just barely. He nipped her bottom lip with his teeth and feel back on the pillows, closing his eyes to feign exhaustion...even as Lamia laughed knowingly beside him.

***

The next morning at breakfast, Draco sat morosely on the fringes of his Slytherin classmates, all of whom had their eyes on Lamia, who was reading news of the war aloud from the Salem World Herald.

"The Daily Prophet reports that He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named has been invited into the Ministry compound to negotiate a peace treaty that would end the recent acts of terrorism that have been carried out in He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named's name. Readers will recall that these acts of terrorism began with an attack on the Hogwart's School of Witchcraft and Wizardry last winter, a siege that left Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived, gravely injured. Minion's of You-Know-Who had been attempting to assassinate the young hero, but had not counted on Potter's skill at defending himself. Harry Potter is now finishing up his schooling in American at the New Hogwart's School of Witchcraft and Wizardry..."

Draco rolled his eyes. Trust the media to turn important, war-related news into a entertainment piece about Harry Potter. Draco's gaze meandered over to the Gryffindor table, where Potter and Ron Weasley were engaged in deep discussion, Hermione Granger oddly absent from their side. Last winter's attack on Hogwarts had left Potter with a second scar, a jagged line that ran from his lower lip to his chin, and even more notoriety. Which was stupid, Draco thought. The bloke had almost died--what was so heroic about that?

Draco's rather comforting thoughts were cut off by a brisk tap on the shoulder. Looking up, he was nearly bowled over to see Hermione Granger standing over him, a fistful of parchments in hand.

"Hello," she said, looking as if she were struggling to maintain some kind of Head Girl composure, even as a number of the Slytherins were pulling their eyes away from Lamia and craning to get a look at what was unfolding down at the No-Man's-Land end of the table.

"Hi," Draco said, dropping his spoon into his cereal.

"I thought you might want these," she said, thrusting the parchments toward him. "They're copies of Professor Vector's lecture notes on new function Arithmancy."

"Thanks," Draco said, carefully taking the parchment from her grasp. Thinking fast, he allowed the tip of his finger to graze her wrist as he did so, pleased when her face twitched in surprise. There it was...the subtlety and nuance of a well-done seduction--something that had nothing to do with words or Arithmancy and everything to do with body language. "This was very thoughtful of you," he added, smiling.

"It was nothing," she mumbled, her face going red. She bustled away in a hurry, returning to the curious and somewhat angry Weasley and Potter, who at once bombarded her with questions that Draco couldn't overhear.

"Nicely done." Lamia had left her friends and sat down across from him, the folded up Salem World Herald still in her hands. "Pansy assured me that you had been quite the Casanova back in England...looks like she was telling the truth."

"Of course," Draco said, pocketing the Arithmancy notes.

"What did she give you, anyway? A love letter?" Lamia looked hopeful, also entirely innocent with her face scrubbed free of makeup, her hair neatly tied back in a long plait and her prefect's badge gleaming.

"Arithmancy notes."

Lamia looked dumbfounded for a second or two, then a small, knowing smile surfaced. "Very good. Catch a bookworm with books...I should have thought of it myself."

"If you were a real Malfoy it would have been the first thought to enter you mind," Draco said loftily, stirring at his cereal. A tiny crease appeared between Lamia's brows as her eyes narrowed.

"I wouldn't have such a big idea of myself if I were you," she warned darkly. "Hermione Granger is hardly a challenge--anyone who's anyone knows that her red-headed boyfriend would rather die that spoil her before marriage. She has to be more sexually frustrated than a eunich trapped in a room full of naked Veelas."

Draco wrinkled his face in disgust. "Enough with talk of eunichs, if you don't mind. But carry on with the topic of naked Veelas, if you like--I'm quite fond of them."

"My point is that you have an easy job ahead of you," Lamia said, leaning forward and plucking a cocoa puff from Draco's cereal bowl.

"Not really." Draco frowned. "Granger has a long history of hating me--she even slapped me back in our third year together."

"Really?" Lamia raised her eyebrows in interest. "What for?"

"Who knows...I probably called her a mudblood to her face or something."

Lamia laughed in delight at this, taking several minutes to collect herself. "Oh Draco," she breathed. "That public mudblood-hating will get you nowhere. Even your mother agrees with me on this."

"But it's so fun." Draco grinned. It was true, as well. He often found himself hoping that his Father's goal of assisting the Dark Lord in the banishment of mudbloods failed, in fact; life would be fairly boring for Draco if he didn't have handfuls of people he could feel superior to.

"Still," Lamia insisted, her laughter subsiding. "A real challege would be someone like..." she paused, scanning the room, "...oh, her." She pointed at the Gryffindor table. Following her finger, Draco saw that she was referring to a tall, red-haired girl who played chaser for the house Quidditch team. It was Weasley's quiet younger sister, Ginny.

"Her!" Draco snorted. "What would make her so hard to seduce?"

Lamia smirked in a triumphant sort of way. "I overheard her telling her friends that she plans to enroll in the Amazonian Order of Aurors when she finishes at Hogwarts."

"Oh really?" Draco sat up straighter, impressed with Lamia's ability to hunt down details on seemingly everyone in the school. The Amazonian Order of Aurors was an intense, highly-selective group of female Aurors that operated independently throughout Europe. Amazonian Aurors were known for being strong, deadly, and decidedly same-sex oriented. "So you think Weasley's little sister has Sapphic leanings, do you?" Draco asked, craning his neck to get a better look at the red-head.

"She might," Lamia said, shrugging. "But moreover, she seems calm, happy, and friendly--not a tightly wound ball of nerves, like Granger. Getting a good lay is the last thing from her mind, I imagine."

"Getting a good shag from Draco Malfoy is never far from any girl's mind," he corrected, smiling self-assuredly.

"Put your money where your mouth is then, brother." Lamia's voice lowered to a whisper as she delivered the final word. As far as their classmates knew, Draco and Lamia were merely first cousins.

"Another deal? What is it this time? And what sort of vendetta do you have against Ginny Weasley, anyway?"

Lamia shook her head. "No vendetta. This is just for fun."

Draco folded his napkin, his face carefully neutral despite the fact that small warning bells were sounding deep inside his murky conscience. "All right. What did you have in mind?"

"I bet you can't score with Ginny Weasley," Lamia said, leaning forward in confidence. "And if you can't, I get to visit Malfoy Manor for the entire summer."

Draco smirked; Lamia already foresaw his eventual conquest of Hermione Granger, it seemed, and was trying to re-capture a chance to luxuriate on the Manor grounds during the sunniest months of the year. "Very well," he said slowly. "But if I do score, you have to start staying at school during the weekends. I want Saturdays with Mother to myself for once."

Lamia looked slightly pained at the prospect--she was very fond of Narcissa, after all--but finally nodded her head in agreement, outstretching her hand so they could shake on the deal.

"Always a pleasure to play with you," she said, smiling rather wickedly before scurrying away. Draco slumped back into his chair and wondered what he had gotten himself into.

***

Draco's main problem was that he had no idea how to approach a seduction with Ginny Weasley; he knew nothing about her other than the fact that she was a decent Quidditch player and a prefect, like Lamia. Despite Lamia's implications that Ginny was a latent lesbian, Draco had seen her hanging around Neville Longbottom quite a little bit and wondered if the two hadn't dated off and on over the past few years. That was a good sign, maybe: any girl desperate enough to date Longbottom was definitely overdue a thorough, kinky fuck.

And speaking of kinky...Draco watched from the stacks as Hermione Granger read a book at her usual carrel, her feet propped up on the table in a blatent disregard for rules, her quill clamped between her teeth. Studying the way Hermione worked the quill between her lips, Draco wondered if she didn't have a bit of an undernourished oral fixation. If so, he'd be happy to fix that soon enough.

That was the shocking part, really--the discovery that he was actually looking forward to making Granger pant for him. He couldn't imagine a better position of power and triumph, relishing the thought of bringing the Head Girl to her knees--in more ways than one.

It made him more than a touch nervous, though, to be pursuing both Granger and Ginny Weasley at the same time. If Ron Weasley discovered that he was making the moves on both his sister and his girlfriend, Draco was most definitely a dead man. Dead and possibly castrated.

Ignoring such horrific thoughts, Draco moved casually out from the stacks and over to the carrels, paying note of the way Hermione's eyes involuntarily brightened at his approach.

"What do you want?" she asked, trying to sound defiant.

"Just to return these," Draco said, holding out the parchments she had passed to him that morning. "I made a copy of them, you see."

"Oh." Her posture seemed to wilt a little. "That was a copy, actually. I made those for you to keep."

"Really?" Draco's tone was one of muted delight. "That was really nice of you...especially considering, well..."

"That I hate you?" she supplied helpfully.

"Yeah," he finished, smiling. "Exactly."

"I can put my feelings aside for academic purposes," she said, shrugging lightly, her quill still caught in her mouth.

"Of course." Draco reached out and, very gently, pulled the quill away from her lips. "You're going to ruin that thing, you know."

She laughed nervously. "I go though a few of these a week. Ron hates it."

"Who wouldn't?" Draco retorted, snarling a bit at the mention of her boyfriend. Sensing his sudden tension, she placed her quill on the table and began to twiddle her thumbs together instead. Draco was beginning to see what Lamia meant about Granger being wound too tight.

"Listen, Granger," he began, his tone no-nonsense. "If you intend to become a powerful, well-studied witch, you need to pull yourself together a bit more. You're jumpy as a mouse...your clothes are wrinkled and unkempt...you chew through your quills and bite your nails down to the quick. It's all rather disgusting."

"It is?" she asked, her mouth dropping open. A look of deep offense touched her features, but she seemed to shrug it away. "I mean, it is," she said, nodding her head in weary agreement.

He patted her shoulder in a comforting sort of way, but his voice remained strict. "Tomorrow you will use a spell to press your uniform. You will refrain from chewing on quills and sit properly, like a lady." He swatted her on the knee and she dropped her feet to the floor at once, crossing them neatly at the ankle.

"Okay," she said, her eyes wide with a mixture of fear and awe. A bossy one herself, she wasn't used to taking orders, he knew. But perhaps she just hadn't been given the right kind of orders all these years. She was a slave to following her professors, after all--if he could tap into that behavior he would have her wrapped around his little finger soon enough.

"Good girl," he said, fingering her cheek. She glowed faintly in appreciation, lapping up the praise like a starved creature.

"Do you..." she began, then trailed off, looking unsure of herself.

"Please ask me anything you like," he said, thrilled to note that she seemed to brighten further at receiving the gift of his permission.

"Do you still hate me? I always thought you did." She cringed at the sound of her own words, a high blush fanning out over her cheekbones.

"I'll probably always hate you for who you are," he said, still running a finger along her jawline, the word mudblood hanging silently between them. "But I could be made fond of you in some ways...if you manage to do as you're told."

She pulled away as if stung. "I don't know why I'm talking to you," she said, her voice going cold. "You're horrid. Like a maggot." Flustered, she gathered up her things and hurried away, looking as if she might burst into tears.

But the next morning she entered the Great Hall wearing pressed and starched robes, her hair tied back neatly for once, and sat down between her friends with a great deal more composure than usual. Her neck extended almost elegantly as she sought out Draco's gaze, her eyes catching his and silently begging for approval.