Heart's Desire

The four sixth-years flew as the sun rose, covering the miles swiftly. They noticed that the forests beneath them were thinning slightly, and took this as a sign that they were drawing closer to London.

The flight was fairly uneventful, except for one incident, where Hermione changed to golden eagle form halfway through. Harry had glanced back once, and, instead of seeing a slightly airsick Hermione clinging to her broom, he saw a great golden eagle staring back at him, clutching Hermione's broom in its talons. There appeared to be something small and dark stuck to the broom.

Hermione! he thought at her in astonishment. How on earth did you manage that without dropping your broom and pack? Speaking of which, where *is* your pack?

Ron and Draco had 'heard' Harry, and now looked around at Hermione, waiting for her response.

I put a Shrinking Charm on the pack, then attached it to the broom with a Clinging Charm. Then I shifted, and caught the broom before it fell. Not that hard. And I really couldn't stand this broom for much longer, she thought furiously, giving the broom a little shake of annoyance. It wobbles something dreadful.

Harry looked amused. Yeah, they do that sometimes.

After about fifteen minutes of silence, Ron 'spoke' up.

Maybe we should land, change, and walk now, Ron 'pathed to the others. Charlie said to start walking when we were about five or so miles from London, and I can already see a bit of the city on the horizon.

Fine with me, Harry mindspoke. I'm getting an awful cramp. I've never flown for so long a stretch.

They spiraled downwards slowly. As Harry, Ron, and Draco dismounted and, with the help of a few Shrinking Charms, packed their brooms away in their packs, Hermione shifted back into her normal form and followed suit.

Each of them had brought along a set of Muggle clothes- namely shirts and jeans. Hermione, Harry, and Ron had had them in school with them, but Draco had had to have his mother get him a set for the occasion. Now, they dispersed into the brush to change.

After a few moments, they emerged wordlessly. It was still quite warm, the last traces of August heat lingering in the air, and the four had dressed accordingly. Hermione was attired in a black tank top and jeans, and a formidable expanse of back showed when she leaned down to put her wizard clothing back in her pack. Harry was garbed casually in a dark red shirt and jeans, which were, as always, both several sizes too big. Ron was in a white shirt and jeans. The white of his shirt made his red hair stand out like a fiery beacon.

Draco and his family, however, evidently had a very vague idea of how Muggles dressed. While his mother had hit on the fashion in choosing a black, button-down cotton shirt, and a black t-shirt to go under it, she evidently did not know that black leather was not exactly the most common material of choice for making pants.

"You look ridiculous, Malfoy," Ron offered cheerfully as Draco emerged from the shadows into the light, his robes over one arm.

"You look goth," Harry said succinctly.

Draco stared blankly. "What does goth mean, exactly?"

Harry shrugged noncommittally. "Oh, nothing."

Draco knelt to put his clothing away. "Yeah, right," he grumbled.

"Oh, leave him alone, you two," Hermione said. "After all, he's behaved fairly well so far, and I see no reason for you to keep insulting him."

She had lowered her voice to say this, not really wanting Draco to hear it.

But he had, and he glanced at her, eyebrow raised in slight disbelief. The completely serious expression she had only confused him more.

* * * * *

Hermione couldn't help wondering at Draco's silent behavior.

As they walked through the woods, she stole occasional, furtive glances at Draco. What was making him act so much more subdued than usual? If he had been acting as he did normally, he would have been strangled, gutted, and hung out to dry by Harry and Ron a long time ago.

Was it possible he was doing some deep thinking for once?

Hermione had always assumed he was strictly allied with the Dark Lord. What else could explain his actions in school? His pure pleasure in watching Muggle-borns being attacked?

Yet, if he'd still been allied with Voldemort, why hadn't he left the group of Heirs a long time ago, to run back to his father and master?

Her natural assumption at this thought was, Well, he does need those ingredients for the potion.

Then why didn't he simply go to Voldemort? another voice in her head countered. Without Malfoy, we can't win against You-Know-Who, and I'm sure the Dark Lord is perfectly capable of having the ContraCurse brewed for Malfoy.

Hermione fixed her eyes on Draco again, her hazel eyes wistful.

Dumbledore probably saw the uncertainty in him too. I think he said something to Draco that made the boy think. For once.

* * * * *

Lucius Malfoy entered the shadowed room quietly, shutting the door behind him. The chamber had a oppressive feeling about it, with heavy drapes hanging from the ceiling and windows, and thick, sound-absorbing carpet on the walls. All were of somber dark colors- dark red and black snaking along paths of gray and green. A long coiled serpent lay quiet by the fireplace, which burned with an almost lethargic fire. There was a cloying, heavy scent drifting from the lazy fire, which dulled Lucius's mind and senses.

Voldemort stood by the fire, his back to Lucius.

Lucius made his way slowly to stand exactly seven feet from Voldemort in a gesture of supreme respect. Such a thing was a subtlety, but a subtlety that Voldemort would severely punish him for if he neglected to observe it. Voldemort demanded great humility from his Death Eaters, and if he even thought that one defied him, that one would not escape with impunity.

"You have received the letter from Dumbledore," Voldemort said slowly.

It wasn't a question.

Lucius cleared his dry throat. "Yes."

Voldemort turned his serpentine visage towards Lucius. The harsh light of the flames threw his face into sharp relief.

"And he recommends the same remedy that I have?"

"Yes," Lucius reiterated numbly. The fumes were weights on his mind.

A humorless smile coiled along the Dark Lord's face. "Then let Dumbledore and his kind waste their resources and energy sending your son and the other Heirs off all over England," he said coldly, a touch of amusement buried in his voice. "The more time they spent in their foolish attempts to fulfill this prophecy, the more time we have to gather strength and lay our plans. It doesn't matter anyway. But I take it your son is loyal to our cause?" The last sentence was delivered sharply.

"Of course, my Lord." Lucius's words came stumbling out over themselves. "Since he was born, I have taught him nothing but loyalty to you, and schooled him in nothing but that which might benefit you. He is yours."

"I hope that is true," Voldemort said calmly. "For your sake."

* * * * *

Draco had indeed been taught of nothing but loyalty to the Dark Lord, but he now found his certainties wont to waver.

And the main reason for this instability in his thoughts was one Hermione Granger.

His father had always told him that Muggle-borns and their ilk were low-born, slime-coated people, crawling from the depths of the Muggle world to try and take from the pure-blood wizard that which is his- the ability and the right to practice magic. Lucius had cleverly exploited his son's weaknesses by telling him that Muggle-borns were grasping and shallow, and that they were completely without compassion or capability of understanding.

What Draco didn't know was that his father had planted these very weaknesses in him on purpose. For Lucius knew that what his son wanted was only acceptance, and love, and friendship- everything he had purposely denied the boy. He knew that Draco wanted nothing but to love and be loved- for hadn't he himself carefully cultivated these wants in his son over the course of fifteen years?

He fed Draco these ideas over the course of fifteen years, teaching him that Muggle-borns were the antithesis of what Draco considered desirable. He taught Draco that Muggle-borns were totally indifferent to everything but themselves, that they were cold and formed relationships with people only to use them to benefit themselves. He told Draco that Voldemort was justified in his persecution of these damned souls.

And what Lucius said, Draco believed.

But now, he wasn't all that sure. After what he had heard Hermione say... maybe Mudbloods weren't all like that. It seemed that his father might have been had been wrong all along.

Or maybe his father had been manipulating him his whole life. Lucius certainly seemed up to it.

And in a single moment of clarity, as he pieced the parts of his life together, he found himself gazing upon a picture he'd never seen before.

Perhaps his father had never thought of him as a person. Perhaps his father had thought of him as a thing, a possession. A thing to be bred to continue the Malfoy family line, and to serve Voldemort. A thing that could increase his status among the Death Eaters. All that training, the hard schooling, was not for Draco's benefit, but for Lucius and the Dark Lord's benefit. The training had been meant to make him into a soldier. An asset.

Do I really want to go back to that? Am I even sure that is what my father thinks?

He glanced over at Harry sharply. He'd intended to do this to take his mind off the thoughts that troubled him, but Harry only gave Draco more cause for thought.

Draco had always been repelled by the taking of human life. So when he first went to school, and saw the boy his father and Voldemort had been planning to kill for most of Draco's life, Draco had decided to do something about it.

Perhaps if Harry could be converted to Darkness, Voldemort wouldn't kill him. And who knew? Harry might become an asset. Maybe then his father would give him the praise Draco had never received.

"You don't want to go around with the wrong people," Draco had said. "I can help you."

He hadn't meant it to sound as if he were putting down Harry's companions. He had meant to imply that if Harry stayed with these sort of people, it would be only a matter of time before Voldemort killed Harry out of retribution. But Harry took it the wrong way.

Draco knew that it hadn't been because of stupidity on Harry's part. But Draco was incensed. He had failed, and he would have liked to believe anything at that moment other than the fact that he had failed. He was not used to failure, and he had no patience with thick people. And so, with Harry's rejection of his well-meant comments, Draco's feelings became twisted into animosity. If Potter was going to be thick, he deserved to be scorned. He was a dead boy anyway. Voldemort would not hesitate to destroy him, now that Potter had swung to the Light. The Dark side was too powerful for the Light to be able to protect Harry.

But now, Draco was inclined to wonder if Harry hadn't made the right choice after all.

* * * * *

"Malfoy? Malfoy, what... what is happening?"

It was Hermione who spoke, alarm in every syllable. Draco's eyes had gone flatly silver- an unnatural, unearthly shade- and he was trembling uncontrollably.

"Get Granger away from me. Now," Draco snapped. "All of you. Get away from me."

"What?" Ron snarled.

"It's the curse, genius," Draco said sarcastically. "And it'd be appreciated if you'd vacate the area."

"What about you? Are we going to leave you here so you can go about biting everything in sight?" Harry snapped.

Draco inhaled sharply, and for a moment, his pupils returned. They were slitted, like a serpent's. "I'll manage," he said with an impatient wave of one elegant hand. "All I need is a little blood." Here he smirked darkly.

Ron blinked. "Then why don't we just let you bite one of us?"

Draco gazed at Ron in exaggerated mock disbelief. "You think we can afford that kind of a delay? The bitten person will be too weak to walk for a while. And we know no blood restorative charms. So leave. Now."

The three hesitated, before disappearing into the woods. But they didn't go far- they went about twenty feet, before turning again. "I want to keep an eye on him," Harry said curtly.

Draco remained where he was for several more seconds. Then, he appeared to relax. He began to walk out of the clearing.

"Where is he going?" Hermione whispered. The boys shrugged.

They followed, at a relatively safe distance. Draco's course seemed completely random- there was nothing special about the direction he was going.

Until Hermione looked ahead, through the trees.

"Uh, guys?" she said uneasily. "There's a Muggle out there. And it looks like she's going to get bitten."

"What?"

"We have to warn her..."

"What are you going to say, Harry?" Ron said acidly. "Oh, hello, we don't know you, but there's a cursed vampiric soul wandering about and you're his target. Have a nice day, and don't forget to take two aspirin for the puncture marks in your neck. They're going to sting."

"Shhhh... we have to catch up to him and-" Hermione began.

But it was too late for them to do anything- Draco had already vanished while they had been speaking, and further search proved fruitless.

Hermione sighed deeply. "And there should be a shriek of terror.... right..... about....."

A shriek pierced the silence.

"Now," Hermione finished.

They edged quietly towards the sound. They didn't want to startle him by coming upon him suddenly. Harry and Ron knew from experience what happened when you disturbed a feeding Draco.

They timed it just right- the three reached Draco just as he straightened from the prone figure. He turned towards them, the burning silver light fading from his eyes, the pupils returning. He registered their presence slowly, his eyes taking a few seconds to focus.

"Hullo," he said thickly. "I can remember what happened this time. You know, I think the only reason that I couldn't remember last time was because your beloved gamekeeper bludgeoned me over the head."

He drew his hand across his lips to clean them. It came away bloody.

"That's great, Malfoy," Harry said dispassionately. "But what do you plan to do with her?" He gestured to the knocked-out Muggle- an unfortunate hiker who had happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time.

"Drink some more," Draco said cheerfully. "She tastes nice."

That clearly wasn't the answer Harry had had in mind. "Malfoy, none of us here know how to do a Memory Charm. What if she runs off and tells people-"

"I know how," Draco interrupted. "My father taught me."

Kneeling by the woman, Draco muttered, "Obliviate." He then moved his wand to the puncture wounds, murmured, "Curae," to heal them.

He remained kneeling a moment, before straightening up. "She won't remember a thing. I gave her some different memories."

"What kind of memories?" Ron asked suspiciously.

Draco's lips twisted- it looked like he was trying not to grin. "She'll think she tripped."

Harry then knelt by her. "Ennervate," he said.

As she began to stir, the four quietly slipped back into the forests.

* * * * *

They could hear the roars of the dragon long before they actually saw it. As the first shriek reached their ears, they stopped uncertainly, looking at each other. Suddenly, there was a flurry of movement through the trees, as the Hebridean launched itself into the air, heading for the city.

"Praesidius!" came the sound of about ten voices. The dragon smashed into the invisible barrier, and roared. Not realizing that the barrier had been knocked down by the impact, it turned and flew in the opposite direction.

The four continued at a fast pace in the direction from which the voices had come, and before long, they intercepted Charlie's group. There were seven wizards and three witches, including Charlie, and all were disheveled.

"Hullo," Charlie said. He looked tired- his fire-red hair was a mess, and there were shadows under his eyes. "Sorry we don't have a better welcome for you-" he grinned ruefully- "but this bitch's been giving us hell over here, if you'll excuse my language."

"We'll help," Hermione said quickly as the four put their packs down, keeping their blades and wands. Hermione stayed by her pack a moment longer, removing a few things from it, before standing up again. She then placed protective charms around the packs, making sure they wouldn't get stolen or damaged.

Charlie nodded shortly, before gesturing to the other men with him. "She's gone that way. She can't have gotten far, though. The dragoness hasn't gotten a good feed in a while."

They made good time through the forest, watching the dragon flying ahead. Soon her flight faltered, as tiredness took its toll on the creature. Dipping one wing, she spiraled down to land.

They came upon her quickly. The dragon was not as large as some others were- it was only about twenty feet long, its slim, undulating body clearly built for speed. But that didn't make it any less powerful than any other dragon, and everyone became acutely aware of this as the dragon reared, the telltale rumbling beginning in her chest and throat.

Wizards pelted hastily to both sides as the firebolt struck, singing the trees and setting the grass afire. A healthy blaze roared up.

Hermione had been about to raise her wand to conjure a water spell, but broke off and gazed about- she could hear the rushing of water, strangely enough, right next to her. She then saw Draco, his hands clenched together and water spurting from between them.

"I didn't think I should give you time to let you use your wind power," he said cheerfully in a tone of maddening superiority, giving her an extremely irritating smile as he released the wave upon the flames, "as it would feed the fire."

"I wasn't going to," she retorted, before realizing that he had just been baiting her, but Draco only shrugged cryptically. He suddenly got a strange look, his eyes sliding out of focus. It was as if he'd just realized something, and was mentally beating himself for not remembering it before. He then turned on his heel and walked briskly away, in the direction of the other group of wizards. She thought maybe he'd gone to tell them something.

She knelt quickly to scoop some of the soggy ashes up and put them in her pocket, before she forgot. There was the first ingredient- dragonfire ashes.

"What the hell are you doing!" came Ron's voice, and Hermione's gaze jerked up. But she soon saw that he wasn't talking to her.

Draco was standing in the clearing, directly in front of the dragon, gazing up into the creature's blazing violet eyes.

Oh great, now he's going to go get himself burned. Typical. Hermione groaned mentally.

Draco's lips parted as if he was about to speak, but it weren't human words that came from him. It was the growl of a dragon.

The Hebridean regarded Draco with something close to astonishment as Draco continued to speak, and Hermione realized belatedly that Draco was speaking Dracentongue to it, just as Harry would speak Parseltongue to a serpent.

Finally, as Draco stopped speaking, the dragoness opened her jaws to reply.

You speak the Dragon's tongue, Child? she growled.

Draco was silent a moment, thrown by her act of referring to him as a 'child'.

....Yes.

I cannot do what you ask. I cannot give over my freedom to a motley group of humans.

Only for a short while, Draco continued desperately, aware that every wizard in the clearing was staring at him. Only for a few days. Then we would give you back your freedom.

The dragon spread her wings with a great outrush of wind. Draco's black clothes rippled in the breeze as his hair lifted in a silent, twisting dance.

You must first knock me out, Child. It will not be easy. Do not bring your friends into this. And though you be one of the few who speak the Dragon's tongue, I will not hesitate to destroy you to keep my freedom. Keep on guard.

The dragon's claws, long, scythe-like blades, swept through the air as it reared. They caught the watery sunlight and glittered as the dragon crashed back to all fours. The head swung towards him on its snakelike neck, quick as a sunray darting through the trees.

Draco leapt back lightly as the dragon snapped at him- he had anticipated that the dragon would attack in that manner. He saw the others hurrying towards him, was briefly aware of crying, "Stay back!" before he had drawn his wand. But what could this little piece of wood do against a dragon?

The others, it seemed, had no intention of letting him face the creature alone- they continued to move towards him, but were repelled by something like a barrier- and Draco realized that the magic of the dragon was coming into play, barring the other wizards and witches from interfering.

He was alone.

What the flying fuck is going on, Malfoy? Harry's thoughtspeak voice came angrily. Oooooh. This was serious. Harry rarely cursed that badly.

No fucks are flying around here, Potter, Draco snapped back- almost cheerfully. But if you really want to know,I have to knock her out myself before she'll come peacefully, and she's not going to let you or anyone else interfere!

The dragon eyed him balefully, the rumbling beginning in its throat. Liquid flames dripped from its jagged jaws as they opened, expelling a blast of flame that roared with a lion's voice.

Draco summoned a whirlwind, a maelstrom of rushing water interspersed with glimmering shards of ice that sang a siren's song of cascading waterfalls. The flames slid among the whirls and tongues of ice water, which hissed in protest, and the ice shards puffed into watery oblivion as the heat touched them. The fire and water writhed with each other as the liquid bore the flames down, and the two opposite elements destroyed each other.

Draco pointed his wand, remembered the raw strength of an Heir, ten times that of a normal wizard- when the Heir was at maximum strength. He wasn't so sure he was at maximum though. There wasn't any water around, and he was beginning to feel the pull of tiredness.

"Stupefy," he hissed, as he sent the crimson bolt streaking like chain lightning directly for the dragon's underside.

The dragon snarled and lurched backwards as the bolt struck her and fragmented with a flurry of red sparks. Her eyes crossed slightly for a split second- then focused again with deadly intent.

That smarted, Child, she growled, a hint of amusement in her throaty voice. Not bad.But you will have to do better. She bared her long, glistening teeth as she wove her head back down to hover level with his line of sight, her neck twining in a seductive dance.

Draco's eyes narrowed. His Stunning Spell simply wasn't powerful enough, and it wouldn't work no matter how many times he tried it. The hide of the dragon would protect her from most of his spells. He would have done the Conjunctivitus Curse a long time ago, but he wanted to knock the dragoness out, not send her into a flaming blind passion. Casting his mind about for another way, he then remembered a spell his father had taught him a long time ago, a Dark Magic spell that would open a hundred bloody wounds on the body of the victim. Normally it wouldn't be able to pierce dragon hide, but though he wasn't at maximum strength, he was still techically stronger than any normal wizard. He could probably do it. Then he would have a pretty big chance of hitting her in a vulnerable spot with the Stunning Spell- a spot not protected by tough hide. Still, he hesitated to do it- it seemed a horrible spell to use. But he didn't know any spell that would open less wounds, and he couldn't get close enough to use the blade that rested on his back.

The dragoness's tail whipped forward as he thought, almost taking his head off. A spike on the end tore into his left shoulder painfully, drawing blood.

Ow.

Okay, this was serious. He would have to use the spell or else get his head bitten off.

"Cruento," he muttered slowly, raising his wand in a deliberate, slashing arc.

The dragoness's hide exploded in a hundred places with a shower of blood and an unearthy, high shriek of agony from the dragon. Her long neck arched back as five wounds opened along it, one at a time, each spewing a misty firerain of blood. Through a haze of red blood-mist, he saw the horrified visages of the three Gryffindors, and the conscience that he had thought he didn't have squirmed with guilt. They had good reason to look horrified- that was a hell of a lot of blood there.

The bloody throat arced down as the dragoness's anguished amethyst eyes fixed on him, holding a mixture of horror and respect.

You know the Dark Magic, Dragonspeaker, she hissed in a strained voice. How cruel of you to use them on me.

Her head wove drunkenly with the blood loss- and Draco knew in a single guilt-soaked moment that he wouldn't have to use the Stunning Spell to knock her out- sheer blood loss was enough, and much of the blood she'd lost was on him. He hurriedly murmured a charm to clean the blood from his clothes before some unknown aspect of dragon blood kicked in and started burning his skin off.

The dragonmagic barrier fell apart as the creature collapsed unconscious in a dead faint.

Harry, Hermione, Ron, Charlie, and the others hurried forward. Charlie and the others went immediately to the fallen dragon and started to murmur healing spells. Occasionally they glanced askance at Draco, sizing up the seeming 'cruelest' of the Heirs and shaking their heads. They'd known before that his family was immersed in darkness, and that he was the most unstable of the four. This only proved it.

Hermione followed the dragon keepers to get a vial of dragon's blood and to clip a bit of wingskin before they healed all the cuts. She'd kept the ingredients parchment, a small pair of scissors, and a few vials in her pockets for the occasion- Hermione was a girl with a great deal of foresight, and had seized the items she had thought she might need before laying her pack down. She busied herself around the dragon, gathering the ingredients, and after a moment, she returned to where Draco, Harry, and Ron were. She held the parchment and three vials, which contained dragonfire ashes, dragon's blood, and dragon wingskin.

"What spell exactly was that?" Ron was saying, a calculating look in his sharp blue eyes. "I've never seen anything like that."

"Cruentas Curse," Draco said succinctly. "Opens a hundred cuts along the victim's body." He looked around at the mildly accusing expressions around him, before adding softly. "It is Dark Magic."

Hermione's lips pursed. "Doesn't the Ministry monitor the use of Dark Magic?"

Draco's lips quirked briefly. "Actually, no-"

"They don't," Ron cut in hurriedly before Draco could begin his usual diatribe against certain Ministry members. "They monitor the usage of magic in general, and that's quite enough. They can tell when a human is severely injured by the use of magic."

"What about dragons?" Draco said, a hint of indignation in his voice. "They don't mind if you use the Cruciatus on a dragon?"

"Well... they have to worry about humans first, and I don't think anyone sane would try a Cruciatus on a dragon. They'd get their head ripped off," Ron said. "And why do you look so outraged about that? You yourself just sliced open a dragon in about a thousand places."

"Hundred," Draco corrected automatically. "And it's not like I wanted to. I didn't have much of an alternative either- it was either that or get bitten in half."

"It would have been a lot easier on some people if you'd chosen the latter-" Ron began.

"Alright, people, let's get moving," Charlie cut in at that moment, blissfully unaware that he had cut through what could have turned into a spectacular battle. He glanced at Draco briefly before extending his look to include the other three. "Go get your stuff. We'll handle the dragon from here. I'll leave a trail to the camp for you. You look like you guys could use a rest before you move on."

"Yeah, obviously," Ron said sarcastically.

"Careful, Ronniekins," Charlie grinned. "I have enough blackmail about you to send you into hiding for ten years."

Ron's lips tightened slightly. Draco grinned.

* * * * *

Hermione had been doing a bit of thinking during the conversation.

She'd watched Draco's behavior carefully. It seemed strange to her, the way he was acting. He had had a perfect oppurtunity to start pissing Ron off by insulting his family as the Slytherin usually did, but he had let it drop. She didn't see why this was, especially as Ron's animosity towards Draco was by no means diminished.

Then there was the issue of the dragoness herself. Draco had shown concern and open reluctance to use the spell. She'd have thought he would not have hesitated to cause injury to others, judging by the macabre, sadistic behavior he'd shown in earlier years. But it seemed she had judged wrong- Draco evidently did have the capacity for concern.

Maybe it was her hormones. Draco was not an unattractive specimen. In fact, she could almost discern the difference in general appearance between Harry and Draco now. (Strange, how, when she thought of him, she called him Draco and not Malfoy) Draco's good looks were... almost ethereally feminine in nature. He could almost be called beautiful. Harry, on the other hand, had good looks that were definitely too rough to be anything but masculine. He had a certain aura about him that defined him as handsome.

Hermione gave a mental shrug as she continued her analysis of Draco. Maybe it was because of breeding, or his veela blood, but Draco did exude a rather feminine allure. Not in a bad way. It wasn't like his face looked like a woman's, either. Or his build. His face, body, and build were definitely that of a male. It were subtle, small things that defined it- his aura! That was it. Things that would go unnoticed by a less aura-sensitive person than Hermione- in fact, the normal observer would immediately dismiss Draco as being masculinely handsome, not girly in any way. But a touch of femininity was there. The tone and texture of his hair, so like that of a veela. The slant of his eyes. The full, almost sensual lines in lips that were once too thin. The finely-chiseled cheekbones that rose high in his face.

In fact, he looked like characters she had once seen in a brief glimpse she's gotten of Japanese animation during a summer past. Definitely male, but with a shade of femininity.

And the earrings he wore didn't detract at all from this.

She was surprised she hadn't noticed the articles of jewelry before, and that Harry and Ron hadn't already made snide comments about them. They were delicate, small things, worn one on each ear, both in the shape of identical dragons. The dragons were crafted of silver that curved so delicately it looked almost natural, and the skin of the dragon's wing was made of a thin sheet of deep black obsidian. The tiniest ruby she had ever seen was the eye, and another, larger ruby, cut in the shape of a flame, rested in a ring of silver at the tip of the dragon's tail. Tiny emeralds glittered down the length of the dragon's body, set deep in the silver. The net result of this clearly expert craftsmanship was a flashing glint from both sides of Draco's face whenever the silver and gems caught the sunlight. It also helped impress on her yet again the wealth of his family.

Hermione blinked. She was getting somewhat of a headache from all this analysis.

But she was definitely getting to dislike him less, she knew that much. Perhaps it was because she was seeing more of his vulnerable side, the side he had only shown to her. The 'love me, I'm cute' side of him that needed affection. She wanted to get to know that side, feeling somehow that she could relate to it. Then there was that feeling she got when she was by his side... as if she belonged there.....

Charlie had walked up, and spoken to them then. Hermione had gotten up to follow the others, and the track of her thoughts had been lost.

* * * * *

Draco had been having similar thoughts, as the four began to head back to where they'd left their packs. His thoughts, however, ran a much simpler course than Hermione's.

He wasn't bothered by issues of femininity or masculinity. He only knew that Hermione had grown into quite a pretty girl, and that the hair potion she used to smooth her hair was definitely working.

He also thought that maybe he could relate to her. She was the only person he knew who he thought could really get to know him. The other Slytherins were nothing of that type. Nothing. He really didn't want to go questing for love in the Hufflepuff or Ravenclaw Houses, either. Even beyond school, his life was filled with cold people who observed him, not to get to know him better, but to see of how much service he could be.

However, Hermione had been giving him looks that he couldn't miss. He had wondered what they meant. He thought maybe he could finally find a person who could listen to who he really was. But Hermione hadn't quite passed his numerous tests and lines of defense. He didn't feel quite safe enough to put aside his cold exterior and expose his vulnerabilities. Especially since Hermione was a Gryffindor. But sometimes, when she was around him, he got these intense feelings of deja vu- as if they had been together before... a long, long time ago...

* * * * *

As the four traveled leisurely back to where they'd left their packs, Hermione edged up to Draco, and took his hand.

Draco's heart stopped in shock and panic. Did she know? How could she possibly know his thoughts?

"Here," she said in a business-like, almost aggressive manner, prying his hand open and depositing the vials in it. "You can't expect me to carry around all your things for you." She released his hand and promptly placed a foot of space between them.

Draco's heart resumed beating at a slightly faster pace than before. "I didn't know you had them," he muttered, somehow keeping his hormones from making his words tremulous. "If I had known, I wouldn't have made you hold them," he said snappishly.

Hermione glanced up at him. The sun was beginning its downward descent, and shadows had already come out from their usual midday haunts in the darkest places to cling eerily about Draco. She was shrewd enough now to look beyond Draco's snappishness to the uncertainty beneath those words. "Well, I did have them, so you have to hold them," she said lamely, realizing in retrospect that her words had sounded really, really stupid.

She expected him to make some sort of snide remark, but he held his silence. She took this oppurtunity to wonder how that touch had felt to him, as if it were an athletic feat he might judge. She certainly knew how it had felt to her. His hand had been smooth and slender, with long, slim fingers. It was one that had never had to work at menial tasks before. Hermione had no way of knowing that it was also a hand that had received agonizing blows from a whip until it was a scarred mass of bleeding, mutilated skin and flesh. The only reason Draco's hands and body did not bear scars from these beatings was because Lucius did not want an heir with scarred skin.

The two looked at each other uncomfortably. Their gazes locked, and both froze, then looked away quickly.

I never realized it was *this* far to our packs... Hermione thought nervously. She later thought that maybe this was because she was so uncomfortable, but at the moment, every second seemed to stretch out into miniature pockets of eternity.

Further embarrassment was forestalled when they arrived upon the pack location. Breaking the security charms, they gathered their things wordlessly, and set off back for Charlie's camp. Charlie had indeed left a trail- a pulsing, soft light that flitted along the ground. Harry had a strong feeling that Muggles would not be able to see it.

He took the oppurtunity to flick occasional glances at Hermione and Draco. They were walking off to the side, about three feet from each other. The perfect picture of indifference. Yet Harry could feel something there, as if the two were trying to find out about each other without getting discovered.

He'd watched their behavior for the past few days now, him and Ron together. Ron hadn't been so much concerned as he had felt betrayed (How could Hermione even spare a second glance on that goddamn git?!), but Harry felt like he was trying to hold on to Hermione but slowly losing her with every passing second.

He'd known he liked Hermione for a while now. He'd given up on Cho in fifth year- ever since Cedric's death she'd become distant, unreachable- a shadow of the friendly, vivacious girl he'd known before.

Hermione was so close to me, and I never knew. Maybe these things take time to grow.

He gazed at her. She was smart, even beautiful now, and he admired her. Wasn't that the same as liking her?

Yes, it was, he thought firmly to himself. There's something about her that I love.

Ron had given him a knowing look when Harry had shyly revealed this information. "Of course," Ron's voice came floating from the back of Harry's mind, "You two have been together so long you've got used to each other." The redhead grinned. "I dunno how you did it. There are still some times when I can barely stand her."

Harry had smiled. "There's just something about her. Her poise, I guess."

"You mean her poise when she threatened to chuck a vial of Melting Solution at you once in Potions? You really pissed her off then... I thought she'd actually do it."

"No!" Harry had broken off to stare into the fire. "It's just... I can't define it."

Ron gazed at Harry in smiling disbelief. "You are smitten, Harry. Was it the hair potion? It really is working, you know, and those teeth are much, much better now..."

"Are you talking about me?" Hermione had broken into the conversation, and the rest of the evening had been spent doing homework together...

Harry brought his thoughts back to the present slowly. He stole another glance at the pair before he realized that he might actually have to compete with Draco for Hermione.

The sentence sounded stupid, even in his head. Why did he have to compete with Malfoy, of all people?, he thought, pushing down the uneasy feeling in his chest. He should be able to win Hermione's favor easily.

* * * * *

That night, the four were given a tent to themselves at the camp. Charlie had approached them as they entered the tent to put down their stuff, apologizing for the lack of more space to give them. They'd waved off his apology, and, making the most of the last of the lighted hours before the sun went down, went out to look around the camp. Plus, Charlie had wanted Draco to explain the situation to the dragoness. Charlie seemed to have taken a slight liking to Draco, even forgiving him the aforementioned's earlier use of the Cruentas Curse, as Draco had obviously been very repentant of that action, however necessary it had been. Ron was entirely disgusted with his brother's attitude towards Draco and had loudly declared his brother a traitor to the Weasley family line. Not to Charlie's face, however.

The dragoness had been caught and penned. The dragon keepers had brewed some sort of potion with dragonsbane, and they had woven the fumes into a sort of magical dragonsbane barrier around the pen that prevented the dragoness from leaving. Draco had explained to her when she woke up that she would be kept for a few days, then released in another place. The dragoness didn't seem to mind- in fact, it seemed to have forgotten that Draco had caused it quite a bit of agony, and seemed respectful of him, if a little distant.

"Dragons know when they've been bested. It's a matter of dragonish honor for them that neither they nor the one who defeated them not speak about it between themselves afterwards unless the dragon itself brings it up," Draco had said.

"Really, you bested the dragon? I think she let you beat her," Ron said with a grin.

"Now is not the time for your inadequately developed barbs, Weasley," Draco smirked. "Of course, I'm just trying to salvage your... uh... Weasley pride. Your verbal attacks are worse than usual- and that's saying something."

In response, Ron tried out his link with the earth element. A very large poison ivy plant sprouted behind Draco.

"Careful, Malfoy..." he said.

Draco caused an encasing of ice to appear about the plant. "Now who's laughing?"

"I am," Harry grinned as a tongue of flame melted the ice, leaving the plant intact.

Hermione made a noise of impatience at the thick nature of boys as she called a sharp gust of wind to tangle the plant in a nearby bush. "Enough with the showoff and get into the tent. You all need rest, especially you." She aimed a particularily belligerent glance at Draco as she vanished into the tent. Hermione tended to lead by example.

* * * * *

Draco couldn't sleep. The other four had fallen asleep in the tent a long time before, and, though Draco had tried to lull himself to sleep by listening to the monotonous rhythm of the others' even breathing, it wasn't working.

On an impulse, he slithered from his blankets and stood. Dressing up quickly, he exited the tent, but his steps became less purposeful as he drew further from the tent, uncertain as to why exactly he had wanted to get out of the tent. But as he looked up, the great silhouette of the dragoness seemed to draw him like a siren's call.

The fumes of this barrier reek of dragonsbane, the dragoness rumbled quietly as Draco approached.

There isn't really much I can do about that, Draco growled in response, gazing at the dragoness. Sorry.

You are strong, young Dragonspeaker, the dragon remarked wistfully, changing the subject. Very strong. We dragons hope you will learn to harness your power and direct it towards a... better cause.

Draco looked ruefully at the ground.

What do your kind name you, young one? the dragoness began after a pause.

Draco Malfoy. Draco, after the Latin name for your kind, Draco said.

The dragoness laughed, a sound akin to the crackling of dancing flame. Your kind named you well, and a mighty name it is, Draco.

And you, are you named? Draco asked curiously, undertones of respect in his voice. He was quickly adapting to the dragonish mannerisms and nuances of speech.

Some called me Re'kashar, the dragoness growled. In your human tongue, Re'kashar holds the meaning 'stardust', for I was born on a night when a thousand stars fell to earth and scorched the lands with their glory.

A meteor shower, Draco thought. Did your name come from the dragon's language?

The dragoness- Re'kashar- peered at him. No. It came from First.

First? Is... First... a language? Draco ventured.

First was the language of the ancients, Re'kashar said. First was spoken thousands of years ago, when all things lived in harmony. But First is now known only to the animals of the earth- the humans have grown apart from each other and nature and have forgotten the language. Humans forgot when they first sought to analyze the universe. The universe cannot be analyzed. Only understood. There is too much to the universe for one race to hold the absolute knowledge of all of it. We animals still understand the universe in a way the humans never can, with their analytical ways of reason. Each species may have its own individual language, but First is known to all.

Draco gazed at the stars, absorbing the words of the dragoness.

What is your sun sign, Child of my Heart? Re'kashar said presently.

My what? Draco growled, surprised. Oh. I... I don't know.

What is your Date of Being? Or, as you humans call it, birthdate, Re'kashar repeated patiently.

July 16, 1980, Draco responded.

A Cancerian you are then, linked to the sea and moon, to the tidal pulls and emotions, of cycles, possessed of the power of the mothering female all-goddess, Re'kashar said.

Draco sputtered with ill-concealed laughter. Feminine power of a mother?

The power of a mother is great, Re'kashar said quietly. It is the power that will lay down its life to ensure the continuation of new life. The mother defending her children, often giving her life for them.

Draco became silent, wondering if she was going somewhere with this conversation.

Odd. Your sign is the direct opposite of the sign of Harry Potter, your companion. Everything he is, you seem to be the antithesis of, Re'kashar murmured. He is fire, fixed, masculine. You are water, moving, feminine. He is Sun, you are Moon.

So you're saying that since he's good, I have to be evil, Draco said, slightly irked. And how do you know his birthday anyway?

You are only opposite to him in things that cannot be changed. Element, celestial respresentation. Those things you can change about yourself- evil, good- those are never fixed. And I know his birthdate because on the night he was born, the heavens indicated the birth of one who would strike a great blow to darkness. I did not connect that event with him until after the fall of the Dark Lord.

Re'kashar became silent for a moment, gazing at the stars.

The stars meet in your horoscope and make you of spirit and water and night. They speak of the great influence of your sign in your life, the mother that gives way for new life. There is much hardship in your path. Overcome it.

Draco cocked his head slightly. I don't understand.

You will not understand until later, the dragoness said. The stars tell me this.

And... aren't centaurs supposed to be the ones who read the stars and heavens? Draco ventured.

We dragons were the ones to originate this art, Re'kashar said stiffly. My illustrious ancestor Re'danar- the Stargazer- was the one to pass the art of star-reading to the centaurs, and, through the centaurs, eventually to man. Among the animals who could communicate with the humans, only the centaurs were intelligent enough to tediously learn our language and hear what we had to say about the art of star-reading.

At this Re'kashar fell silent, her eyes fixed on the heavens above. Draco sighed deeply. He had remained standing through this entire exchange, but now he found a nearby rock to sit and think on.

Someone approaches, Re'kashar growled.

Draco glanced up and, to his mortification, saw Hermione walking slowly towards the dragon pen. A kind of numb leaden feeling seeped through him as he watched the moonlight spill across her straight hair.

But before he could bolt, Hermione had seen him.

She walked over swiftly, and for some strange reason, Draco couldn't detach his eyes from her hips, which were tracing little sideways figure-eights through the air.

"What are you gawking at, Malfoy?" Hermione said shortly as soon as she was within earshot.

Draco tore his gaze from her torso to meet her gaze. "Nothing worth looking at," he remarked with a sneer.

"Cut that," Hermione said severely. "What are you still doing out here?"

"Just thinking, Granger," Draco said sharply. "That illegal?"

"I don't understand you, Malfoy," Hermione said in an exasperated tone. "Why do you have to be so defensive?"

"Because I know you and your friends hate me," Draco said dully, gazing at the silver crescent that was the moon.

"It's not like I hate you. Well, maybe Harry and Ron do," she said. She was growing uncomfortable- she didn't like to stand over people while she talked to them. It was a pet peeve of hers.

Draco glanced at her. "Oh. You don't hate me?" His voice was slightly mocking, as he, not quite believing her, tested her limits of tolerance. "I understand. You dislike me strongly. Not hate. Strong dislike."

Hermione sank to the ground beside his rock, sitting cross-legged. "No," she said quietly. "I know you better than Harry and Ron ever will. You are an insecure teenager who gains self-esteem by putting down others."

Damn that analytical nature, Draco thought, made edgy at the ease with which she filtered through his shell of defenses. "What makes you think that?" he retorted out loud, trying vainly to insert a sneer into his words.

"The way you act. Your behavioral pattern is frequently studied in books on psychology," Hermione said matter-of-factly.

"I'm touched that you wanted to look up my behavior in a psychology book. But I'm not quite insane. Yet," Draco pointed out with half a smirk.

She looked steadily at him. "We're going to have to work together to do this, Draco," she said.

"Oh, so it's Draco now," the Slytherin remarked acrimoniously. "Trying to win my favor? To lend a personal touch to our 'conversations'?"

"Trying to make you take this seriously," Hermione said. "Neither Harry or Ron will approach you. Their grudges against you are too heavily set into their minds. I don't hate you like they do. I can approach you. Besides, we had to work together on that Potions research project Snape gave us last year. I gained a lot of experience with you."

"And why don't you hate me then? You have good reason to," Draco said acidly. "Wasn't I the one to call you Mudblood? To snipe at your physical appearance, which, a few years ago, greatly resembled that of a beaver? To hope you would be attacked, or killed?"

"I wasn't stupid enough to succumb to those kind of attacks, Draco. Besides, I never really believed that you really meant it," Hermione said softly.

"Maybe you should have believed it," Draco said, just as softly as she had.

"Tell me the truth," Hermione said, suddenly forceful. "Did you mean it?" 'Cause I'm willing to bet you didn't.

"You wouldn't believe me if I did say. You'd just say I was lying," Draco said bitterly.

"I would believe you," Hermione said, even though she was suddenly unsure.

Draco looked down at her for a long time. The moonlight played across the left side of his face, illuminating it and refracting off the earring on that side in a flash of brilliance, while the right side fell into shadow, becoming all black save for a shimmering, contemplative silver eye. Hermione slowly got the eerie feeling that he was reading her uncertainty in the position of her body, the arch of her eyebrow. Even a slight curve of her neck could give her uncertainty away to him. She'd never met a boy as perceptive as Draco- Harry and Ron tended to overlook a lot of things- and she was acutely aware that she'd have to take her composed outer shell a few points up in strength when dealing with this boy.

"Put the Verdictus Curse on me," Draco said suddenly.

"What are you talking about?" Hermione cursed her voice for giving a little tremor. "That's Dark Magic."

"It's the only way you'll know for sure," Draco said. He certainly looked sure of himself.

"I don't know how to cast Dark Magic."

Draco reached out. Drawing her wand from her pocket, he took her hand and put the wand in it.

Hermione felt a shiver go through her at his touch. She didn't resist, but just watched as he took her hand in his, raised the wand to his chest, and murmured, "Verdictus,"

Immediately after the spell sank into his chest, Draco doubled over. Cold pain was soaking through his body.

"Ask me. It's freezing," Draco said stiffly.

There was a pause.

"Did you really mean all those insults?" Hermione asked softly.

Draco's hand gave a nervous twitch. "No."

"Do you hate me?"

Another very pregnant pause. "....no."

"Do you hate Harry and Ron?"

"Yes."

Hermione's brow furrowed. "How is it that you hate them and not me? We three, we're like... well, like this." A crossing of the index and middle finger that bemused him. "We come in a single package. Detest one, detest the rest."

Draco looked pained. He was clearly beginning to have regretted his impetuous decision to accept this curse onto himself. "They're just really, really, annoying, that's all," he began slowly. "I thought-" Draco paused, struggling with himself- "I thought you could maybe understand me- or really know me, or even maybe care. A...about me. I just had this feeling that when you watch me, it isn't with hatred," he finished wretchedly, avoiding her gaze.

She stared at him. The Verdictus Curse rarely allowed a person to maintain a shell of emotional distance around oneself, and for the first time she could clearly read his feelings by looking at his countenance.

There was an unreasoning need in his eyes, a need for love, a fear of betrayal and false affection, a fear of rejection. Hermione could sympathize with his fears. But she couldn't quite grasp his need for love. She herself had been raised in a loving family, and could not comprehend any other kind. There was one way she could truly find out what his family life was like.

"Finite incantatem," she whispered.

She didn't want to ask him in that manner. Not with that curse on him.

He gasped briefly as the spell withdrew, and the warm night air rushed back into the brief vacuum left around him by the retreating spell. He glanced back at Hermione as the cold of the spell left him completely, and was surprised to see an intent look on her face.

"Now, Draco," she said.

Draco didn't like that tone. It was the business-like tone that Hermione so often assumed, and the one that annoyed the hell out of most people. She vaguely sounded like that Peter Weasley- or whatever that red-head's name was- when she spoke like that.

"What is it like for you at home?" Her tone softened substantially.

"Why do you want to know?" he whispered.

"We want to know each other. I want to know what is beyond your exterior. You want to know what is beyond mine," she admitted quietly. "Do you deny this? Because I do not deny it."

He had admitted his feelings- under duress, she would grant him that- but he had admitted them. It wasn't just for her to withhold her own feelings after that. Besides, if she found out more about his life in general, perhaps she could gain enough information about him to be able to predict his actions, and maybe steer him firmly into this campaign against darkness.

Draco gave her another of his calculating glances. This girl was sharp. He could tell there was a lot going on beneath that no-longer-bushy hair.

"I don't deny it," said Draco.

She gave him a 'well?' look. "The point is for us both to open up a bit." So that I can get you more well-placed within our group.

He met her eyes slowly. "Alright," he said softly, the familiar pressure compelling him to answer, along with a strange emotion he couldn't quite identify. "Alright, if you must know, my home life is a bloody hell," he snarled. "Quite descriptive enough?"

"A hell?" Hermione's brow furrowed. Draco could tell instantly that she couldn't quite grasp the concept of a hellish home life, and that she likely had loving parents.

"Father," Draco began, drawing out the 'a' sound ridiculously in a mockery of his own drawl, "has high expectations and a willingness to make sure that those expectations are constantly pounded into my head. Sometimes, that is literal. Beatings are usually because of Harry Potter and his little sidekick Ron Weasley. Also some other people in Gryffindor. The point is, when Gryffindor wins, Slytherin loses, and Gryffindor has been doing an inordinate amount of winning lately." He glanced sharply at her. "Father makes sure I realize that this is an insult to our family name."

Hermione blinked. "He lectures you?" This was something her own parents were fond of doing.

"Well, he does do that, but that's not my actual punishment, it's the introduction," Draco said coldly. "On nice days, I can expect punishment to be hanging in chains in the dungeon. On bad days I can expect a flaying."

Hermione's mind did a little flip as the shock of the things she was hearing.

"He has given me a lot of schooling, however," Draco said, turning abruptly around to pursue a different subject while watching Hermione with almost the same level of calculating shrewdness that she watched him with. "He taught me magic long before he sent me to Hogwarts. He taught me fencing, and military strategy, and hired tutors to teach me different languages."

"Sounds like he's been making you into the perfect fighting asset for You-Know-Who," Hermione said shortly, hoping her words would have the desired impact. "How can you be certain he's not just doing all this so he can gain a competent heir and a little status in You-Know-Who's inner circle?" Unknowingly, Hermione had just caused these thoughts to resurface in Draco's mind.

"I don't know," Draco said, his voice suddenly cold. "I don't have any proof of that."

"But there is a possibility?" Hermione questioned further.

"It's late," Draco said abruptly. He clearly considered the conversation over, and Hermione wondered if she'd touched a nerve.

He got up curtly and walked off, back towards the tent, leaving Hermione on the ground by the white rock, watching his form recede into the darkness. After a moment, she got up as well, and left.

There was silence for a few minutes.

Followed by the rustle of a bush behind the lone white rock as a pale-faced Harry left its cover.

* * * * *

review please.

-celeste