The Feathered Serpent

Chapter One: Reaching Out

I put my hands up, lay my weapons down.
I know that I was stupid, I was wrong.
You and me and everyone, throwing fire at the sun.

If I listen there's something deeper that speaks.
If we reach out maybe we could make a little peace.
You and me and everyone, throwing fire at the sun.
Throwing Fire at the Sun - Heather Nova

If it had been Harry Potter or Ron Weasley who'd discovered Draco Malfoy on the floor of the library between the "T" and "V" sections of the 'Demons, Demi-gods and other Multi-Dimensional Creatures' stacks, subsequent events would have taken a much different turn. Fortunately for all however, it was Hermione Granger who found him.

Hermione replaced "The Wyrd and the Wyrm" on the shelf, walked back to the aisle and there hefted her shoulder bag - still stuffed with 'a little light reading' - into a more comfortable position. Were her satchel not so heavy, she never would have stopped to redistribute its weight before leaving the library, and thus would have missed the red flash and nearly inaudible fizzle of a miscast spell skittering along the floor from a couple of rows down. But it was and she didn't, and so ultimately Draco Malfoy owed his life to the heaviness of a bag of books - a cause so sadly mundane it would have irritated him greatly had he known.

Her curiosity piqued as to whom was foolish enough to attempt spells in Madam Pince's domain, Hermione walked quietly to the corner of the bookcase nearest the misfire and peered around the corner. For a second she didn't recognise the figure curled on the floor (the light blue glow it was giving off being somewhat distracting), but then the distinctive blonde hair registered.

"Malfoy!" she exclaimed.

A pain-twisted face lifted to her and if it was possible, grimaced more. Hermione stepped around the corner.

"What's wrong? What did you do?"

"Ju...just a miscast spell. Go away." Hermione hesitated. "Go away, Mudblood!" the words were snarled through thinned lips. Hermione's jaw clenched in a way that would have made Harry and Ron wince had they been there to see it. Six years and the spoilt prat still called her that.

"Fine. I'll just go get Madame Pomfrey to come check on you." she snapped, turning to leave.

"NO! Granger! Stop!" The unusual combination of genuine anxiety and the use of her real name caused her to look back at the Slytherin, and this time concern reluctantly crept into her mind. Malfoy really didn't look well. Under the luminescence he was pallid and sweating, and there were dark rings under his eyes. He appeared to have lost weight also. Yet he hadn't looked anything like that just this morning. She took a few steps and knelt beside him.

"You look like shit Malfoy," she commented in a dispassionate tone.

Draco started to laugh, then gave a small bitten-off cry as a shudder wracked his body. Whatever he'd done to himself, thought Hermione, it wasn't good. No matter how big an ass he was, no one deserved to suffer like this.

"I'm getting Madam Pomfrey." she told Malfoy, rising to her feet. A hand lashed out and grabbed her wrist, fingers digging into her. For someone so incapacitated, Malfoy's grip was surprisingly strong - Hermione doubted she could break free without using magic. Anger rose but before she could say anything Malfoy spoke again,

"No. No. Please. They'll tell...can't let him know. Please."

Astonishment held Hermione still for several seconds. She had seldom heard Malfoy say 'please' and certainly never to her. And twice in one breath? He must be desperate. Taking her silence for assent, Malfoy continued,

"Be over soon. Can't...tell. Cast Quietus. Don't g...unnh..."

Malfoy's body shook again and he loosed her wrist to claw at the floor. Not at all certain this was the right thing to do, or even why she was doing so (although years of following Harry's rule breaking probably accounted for it), Hermione pulled out her wand and cast a fast 'Quietus'. The fit lasted about another three minutes, minutes that felt like hours as Hermione helplessly and unhappily watched her worst enemy spasm in agony on the floor beside her, emitting choked screams of pain. It removed any internal doubt she could ever have become a Death Eater (even had she been a pureblood), although there was the smallest little sliver of inner nastiness that thought he deserved his pain. Shamed, Hermione tucked that part away as the stifled cries changed to harsh panted breaths and the blue glow around Malfoy faded. Eventually he rasped,

"B..bag. Potion."

Hermione crawled over to the fancily tooled leather satchel that housed Malfoy's schoolwork and unstrapped it. There was a single small, green glass potion bottle in the front pocket and she withdrew it, opened it, took a quick whiff that identified it as a powerful painkiller. Returning to the limp, shaking figure on the floor, she placed the phial in his trembling hand. Draco tipped half the contents into his mouth then closed his eyes, still breathing hoarsely. Hermione retrieved the potion, stoppered it and replaced it in Malfoy's bag. She spent the next few minutes cataloguing the Slytherin's appearance and running through all the backfires she knew which would cause such an attack. She couldn't think of any Light spell that would result in these symptoms. That fact, and the identity of the person suffering, led her to the conclusion Dark Magic was involved. But there was no way Malfoy could have cast anything even mildly Dark without alerting the school's wards.

Eventually Malfoy rolled over and pulled himself upright to lean against the bookcase and stare at her.

"You're still here." he said with a cross between sourness and resignation.

Hermione smiled brightly at him, a smile that widened further at the flicker of annoyance it elicited.

"So what did you do?" she asked.

Malfoy raised shaking hands to his face and ran them through his pale hair several times, smoothing the long strands into neatness and taking the time to regain his composure.

"Just a spell that went wrong. None of your concern." The pain and weariness were receding behind the Malfoy wall of ice.

"Well, as I'm now legally your accomplice I think I'd like to know what I've been implicated in."

"And just how did you come to the deduction you were my accomplice?" Malfoy's tones were also back to their normal prissy snideness.

Hermione felt her teeth grit reflexively.

"Oh, the minor fact I haven't reported you to Madam Pomfrey or anyone else. Yet." Hermione's voice was pure steel. She looked pointedly at the three books scattered on the ground beside the Slytherin. "Might this spell have had something to do with demons?"

Some emotion flickered through Malfoy's eyes too fast for her to catch what it was.

"Don't tell me you've never been tempted to summon a demon?" Despite the fatigue lingering on his face, Malfoy's smile was a study in the Superiority Smirk.

He was evading the question. Anger washed through Hermione in a bright tide. Not only was he evading but he thought she was stupid.

"Those particular books don't have anything on raising demons in them, Malfoy," she gave his name a bitter twist, "And this little problem of yours isn't the consequence of a failed summoning - those tend to result in the summoner being eaten. Nor is it recent either, to judge by the state you're in. So either you start talking to me or I start talking to Professor Dumbledore."

Malfoy stared, silver-grey eyes boring into her. What thoughts were going on under that impassive exterior she couldn't tell, but she glowered at him in return, refusing to back down. Just as she was about to snap at him, he slumped back, impassivity disintegrating into weariness and something surprisingly like despair.