Chapter 7: The Snake Charmer

Peter Pettigrew didn't really like the snake. In fact, if he'd had the courage he would've confessed to hating it. Granted, they hadn't necessarily started off the best of chums he and the snake. Their mutual dislike was deep-seated and stemmed from the days when Peter had been required to milk the beast for its venom. If the venom hadn't been for the Master, Nagini never would have allowed it and Peter would not have thought in his wildest dreams to attempt such a feat. If he were required to milk beasts, he much preferred milking cows to terrible reptiles.

The snake, however, was not without her charms. She wound her way sinuously around the boy's chest several times, the cold, dry skin of her scales rasping against his bare flesh. Her svelte head swept up over his shoulder, angling for a better view of his face. She regarded him with her lidless eyes, dark, wide-set and bottomless. A boy could get lost in those eyes.

Nagini flicked her forked tongue against his jaw. When this failed to wake him, she tightened her thick coils around his body, squeezing gently, a subtle yet effective harbinger of the elegant violence to come. When the pressure of her body stopped the expansion of his lungs, the boy's eyes flew open. He coughed and sputtered, sucking in several shallow breaths.

"Awake are we now?" Pettigrew asked.

It took a moment for Draco's eyes to focus on the murine little man standing in front of him. He was small of stature with watery eyes, a balding pate, and prominent, pointed incisors.

"Let young master Malfoy breathe, Nagini," Pettigrew said. "He won't be able to speak otherwise."

Nagini seemed to consider Pettigrew's words a moment before she relaxed the pressure she exerted on Draco's chest. He gasped and drew in a deep breath, hording air in his lungs.

"That's better, isn't it?" Pettigrew said.

Draco simply stared at him. At the moment the concept of better was relative. Yes, it was indeed better to breathe than to suffocate, but it would be better still to be free of the dingy room where he was being held, magically bound to a chair with a giant snake wrapped around him.

Pettigrew walked toward Draco, ducking down so that he could peer directly into his face.

"You're a pretty boy, Master Malfoy; well-made, such finely turned limbs." Pettigrew looked at his own silver hand and curled its fingers into a fist.

Nagini hissed softly at Draco's ear.

"The Dark Lord has great plans for you. It is not wise to disappoint him."

"I'll remember that," Draco said, his voice measured.

"I know you will. You're a clever boy. The Master thinks you're clever as well, which is why he asked me to meet with you."

"You mean he sent his errand boy?"

Pettigrew clucked his disapproval. "Your tongue is sharp, Master Malfoy, but I think you'll find Nagini's to be sharper."

The snake slithered round him with an eerie elasticity, shifting her weight. Draco shuddered faintly in disgust. Suddenly, Nagini's tongue lashed out across his cheek leaving a razor-thin cut in its wake. The sharp sting of her tongue forced Draco's eyes closed. When he opened them Pettigrew had straightened and taken a step back from him.

"I see we understand each other," the former Marauder said. "Now, a few questions if you don't mind—not that you're in any position to mind. The Master wishes to know what happened to the cabinet."

Draco looked away from him. The magical bind that kept him fixed to the chair allowed for very little movement. He could move his face, of course, and turn his head a fraction of an inch to either side, but that was all. He did so now, angling his head to the left and casting his eyes to the floor.

"I don't know," Draco said finally.

"Of course you know, my boy. It was the cabinet you'd been preparing to allow the Death Eaters entrance into Hogwarts. The cabinet was under your care."

Draco remained silent.

"Hmmm, not one to tout your own accomplishments, then? It was brilliant, your plan: the cabinet in the room, the room being unplottable, a loophole in the school's defenses. The Master was quite pleased."

Nagini moved again, circling her lower half around his lap and legs further binding him to the chair.

"Then a few days ago, the egress appears to have been lost and the magic of the cabinet silenced. I'll ask again, what happened to the cabinet?"

Before Draco could answer, Nagini constricted, the pressure so intense, the pain so sudden that he nearly blacked out. His breath stopped. His ribs creaked under the strain. Nagini tightened herself around him to the point where her scales bit into his skin. And then she released him.

Draco gasped for air, but each breath brought the pain searing back through his chest, which he knew was a mass of bruised muscle and damaged skin. The cut on his face began to seep.

"Do you have an answer for me now?" Pettigrew asked.

"I don't know," Draco said. His voice was hushed and raw. "I don't know what happened to the cabinet."

"That is indeed disappointing. I can't go back to the Dark Lord without some sort of answer."

Nagini shifted and Draco flinched.

"Easy, Master Malfoy, she's only teasing you. I've seen her take her prey. If she's hungry, it's usually with the fangs and its over in a flash. But she's not hungry today. Today, I'm afraid she's in a sporting mood, in which case we could be here all night."

Nagini squeezed again. Draco had hardly enough air to scream, but some sound did escape as he felt his ribs give way. It was a broken, strangled sound that even made Pettigrew wince.

"Tell me something boy. I'd hate to see such fine limbs go to waste. Was it Potter? Did the Potter boy break the cabinet?"

"Yes," Draco heard himself agreeing through a haze of pain. "It was Potter."

The snake relaxed her grip and uncoiled herself from Draco's torso.

Pettigrew looked thoughtful for a moment. He folded his arms across his chest.

"It's a pretty lie, boy, and I gave it to you, but you were not supposed to accept it. You were to tell me the truth—the truth that the Master already knows. You broke the cabinet. You kicked it to pieces."

Nagini coiled herself around Draco's left arm.

"You thought perhaps that if you told me something, then I might call her off?"

Draco didn't respond. His breath came in a wheezing rasp from battered lungs.

"But it isn't that way at all. We had the information. There was no need to torture you for it. You were to be punished. Had you been honest from the start you could've perhaps saved the preamble. But now that we've come to it it's an eye for an eye." Pettigrew reached out his silver hand to brush away the damp blond hair that had fallen into Draco's eyes. "Or should I say a hand for a hand."

OOO

Ron was shaking Harry. He'd seen his best mate have nightmares in the past, but that didn't seem to make it any easier to watch. Harry lay twisted in his sheets, sweating, panting, at times shouting and at other times mumbling incoherently.

"Harry, wake up, mate!" Ron whispered urgently.

At the sound of his name Harry's eyes sprang open. He was speaking softly.

"Oi! That's enough!" Ron said. "It's right creepy when you do that."

Harry pushed himself up to sitting, kicking away the twisted sheets. He stared blankly into space for a moment, waiting for his breathing to calm and his heart to slow down.

"Do what?" Harry asked. His voice was a scratchy whisper in a dry throat.

Ron blanched and took a step back.

"Come on, Harry. You know I'm not a Parselmouth."

Harry straightened. He realized he'd been speaking in Parseltongue.

"I'm sorry, Ron. I didn't even know I was doing it." He reached for his glasses on the stand next to the bed and rubbed his eyes before he slipped them on. The room fell quickly into focus. Concern was etched crystal clear across Ron's features.

"What did you see?" Ron asked warily.

"Pettigrew and Malfoy," Harry said.

"I knew it! Malfoy's a Death Eater!"

"I don't know, Ron. She was there, the snake. She was torturing Malfoy for information."

"What?"

"It didn't make sense. Something about a cabinet he'd broken." Harry closed his eyes. "I was the snake, Ron."

Ron thought a moment. He sat down on the edge of Harry's bed.

"Harry, you don't think it's real, do you?"

"I don't know. The last time I thought it was real it wasn't and Sirius died."

"Maybe we should tell Dumbledore."

"Tell him what? That I still haven't learned Occlumency? No thanks."

"But you saved my dad, Harry. If you hadn't told… I don't know what would have happened."

Harry sighed. It was times like these when he truly felt the sting of being an orphan. He needed guidance. He needed to be told what to do. He needed to make mistakes and be grounded. He needed to be told that he couldn't borrow the car until he got his grades up. He needed a curfew. He needed a role model. He needed the decision made for him.

In the silence of the boys' dormitory, he had none of these things, so he made a choice as best he could.

"We don't tell Dumbledore," he said. "We don't even know if it's real, and if it is… well, it's Malfoy, isn't it? It's not your dad."

OOO

The Great Hall was noisy. There was the usual clatter of plates and utensils as dinner began. The chatter among the students, however, was louder and less formal than usual as was their dress. It was Saturday evening, the weekend, and the atmosphere was a bit more relaxed. Even Hermione looked less frazzled where she sat next to Harry and Ron at the Gryffindor table.

Ginny Weasley's brassy laugh rang out as she squeezed on to the bench next to Hermione. She was wearing a ratty Chudley Cannons t-shirt, which from the looks of it had originally belonged to Ron. Ginny had made it her own however, having cut the neck out of it and paired it with her Quidditch breeks, which Harry was pretty sure she wasn't supposed to be wearing off of the pitch—not that he was going to say anything about it.

Ginny greeted Hermione and the older girl couldn't help but smile. She could count on Ginny to catch her up on all the latest goings-on at Hogwarts. Some might call it gossip, but Hermione preferred to think of it as research of a sort. It was like the time she'd come across a copy of The Sun in her mother's things and spent entirely too much time leafing through its tawdry pages strictly as a means of acquiring knowledge. It was important to know what her peers were thinking and talking about. Ginny seemed to know everyone and everything. She was the perfect agent of Hermione's research. Plus, she had style.

"Didn't see you at Hogsmeade," Ginny said.

"I had some reading to catch up on," Hermione replied.

"Ran into Fred and George at Zonko's. They asked about you. Wanted to know if you're married to Ron yet."

Hermione choked, guilty and embarrassed all at once.

Ron broke off from his conversation with Harry long enough to turn and thump her on the back. He succeeded in dislodging the pesky bit of shepherd's pie which had caught in her throat. Then he turned back to Harry as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened.

Hermione cleared her throat. "Not married yet," she said.

"You sure?" Ginny asked. "Nothing says marriage like a disinterested Heimlich maneuver."

"I hate to break it to you Ginny, but your brother thinks he's in love with a Veela."

"Doesn't everyone?" Ginny said.

"Point taken."

Hermione's eyes drifted over to the Slytherin table. She hadn't bothered with the golem. It wasn't such a big deal if Imogene missed a meal today. Plenty of students made other plans on the weekend. She was disappointed however, when she noticed that Malfoy wasn't there. The table was somber without him. A hush seemed to have settled over the Slytherin students.

Ginny followed Hermione's gaze. "Trouble in Slytherin house," she said. "Nobody's seen Malfoy since we left for Hogsmeade this morning."

"Really?" Hermione asked, feigning casual interest. Ron and Harry's interest wasn't casual at all. The two boys stopped their conversation and turned to look at Ginny.

"They're saying that he's disappeared," Ginny explained.

Harry and Ron exchanged a look. It wasn't lost on Hermione.

"What?" she asked the two of them.

"Nothing," Harry said.

"That wasn't nothing," Hermione insisted.

"Harry had a dream about Malfoy getting attacked by a snake," Ron said reluctantly.

"What!" Hermione nearly leapt out of her chair. "Did you tell Dumbledore?"

Harry shrugged.

"What does that mean, Harry?" She didn't like the way that this story was shaping up.

"I didn't say anything to Dumbledore," he answered. "It was just a dream. I've had plenty of those. It's not real."

"Not real? How can you know that?"

"Lay off, Hermione," Harry warned. He could feel his chest getting tight. He didn't want to think about Sirius. "Don't start."

"No, Harry. Think, for once! Why would You-Know—why would Voldemort send you false information about Malfoy getting attacked? It's Malfoy! What's the point? You're not going to go charging to his rescue!"

The table fell silent.

"So you're saying it's real?" Ron asked finally.

Hermione nodded, embarrassed to find herself on the verge of tears.

"Or maybe not," Ginny said. She pointed toward the entrance to the Great Hall where Draco Malfoy was walking slowly toward the Slytherin table.

"He looks okay to me," Ron said.

Harry turned to Hermione. He didn't say it but it was clearly written on his features: I told you so.

"Strange that he's wearing his robes," Ginny remarked.

"Well, we can't all go around cutting the necks out of our brother's favorite t-shirts," Ron said.

"You gave it to me, Ron. It doesn't fit you anymore."

"Doesn't fit you either," Ron grumbled. "It's a bit tight." Ginny rolled her eyes. Ron had just reminded her that growing up in a house with six brothers was almost enough to put her off men for good. She glanced at Harry. Almost.

Hermione knew that she should apologize but she couldn't quite find the words. Instead she sat in silence for the rest of the meal, listening to Ginny relate a series of rumors concerning Professor Flitwick and Madam Hooch which she had evidently learned from Moaning Myrtle. It was a great distraction, but not great enough to keep her eyes from drifting over to the Slytherin table every now and then.

Draco looked fine ostensibly. She'd almost convinced herself that she was worried for nothing when he got up and, having finished with dinner in record time, made his way across the Great Hall. He paused briefly at the hall's entrance, leaning with his right hand propped against the archway, before he walked off.

No one else seemed to notice, but Hermione had. In an instant she was on her feet.

OOO

Draco had no memory of having blacked out. When he came to Granger was leaning over him. What in the hell was that about? Had she hexed him? No matter. He could see down her shirt.

It was the last thought he had before the pain in his left arm overwhelmed him and his eyes slipped closed.

OOO

Hermione slapped him in the face, hard, as if she'd heard what he'd been thinking. She hadn't, of course. She was simply concerned to see him lose consciousness, especially given the extent of his injuries. She'd opened his robes and the damage had made her nauseous. Blood seeped through his shirt in several places and there was a crude bandage wrapped around his left arm. Most of the bones of his hand were crushed, others were misaligned; and some of them punched through the skin in places.

Hermione carefully unwrapped the bandage on his arm afraid of what she might find. A freshly minted Dark Mark, perhaps? Instead there were puncture marks, two of them, evenly spaced. She remembered Ron's description of Harry's dream. They were fang marks from a snake.

She slapped Draco again, twice. His head lolled to the left, but his eyes opened a fraction of an inch.

"We have to get you to Madam Pomfrey," she whispered urgently.

Draco's lips were moving, but there was barely any sound. Hermione ducked her head close so that she could hear.

"No… Hospital Wing," he said.

"Then Snape at least. You've some sort of snake bite. There could be poison in it."

"No, no Snape… no Snape."

Hermione opened her mouth to protest but realized that it would be pointless. His eyes had slid shut again. She drew her wand and flicked it toward the unconscious boy in front of her causing his body to rise into the air.

OOO

For the briefest of moments there was only warmth. It spread along the right side of his body, chafing heat into his fingers, arms and face. It was a perfect moment, an easy moment and it wouldn't last. Draco's eyes opened to fine slits, pale grey irises barely visible beneath heavy lids. As his vision fell into focus, so, too, did the pain. It sharpened itself against his ribs and spiraled along his left arm.

An ordinary boy would have cried out, but the son of Lucius Malfoy knew better. He'd been taught to bear it; to endure even when the mere act of drawing breath sent pain rioting through his ribs and lungs. He held himself immobile, trying as best he could to minimize the pain.

He realized that he lay on a floor, a carpet beneath him and a fireplace several feet away, the source of the warmth he'd felt earlier. From what he could see there was no furniture in the room, only books. There were uneven stacks of them which littered the carpet. A quick glance at the titles revealed that they were an eclectic mix. Herpetology: A Handbook, The Mediwitch's Guide to Broken Bones, and Know Your Skele-Grow were among the tomes stacked haphazardly around the room.

Imogene sat on the floor by the fire, a large, dusty book propped open in front of her. Draco watched as her eyes scanned the page. She had her wand drawn and she appeared to be tracing circles in the air with its tip. She was practicing, he realized, learning a spell of some sort.

"Where are we?" he asked, his throat dry.

She jumped, dropping her wand. "You're not dead," she said.

"You sound disappointed."

"Not at all. I was hoping I hadn't killed you." Hermione unfolded her legs and stood stretching her arms out behind her. The hem of her black t-shirt rode up baring her stomach. She tugged it back down. That was the problem with Imogene's wardrobe. Most of it was darker, and tighter than Hermione's. On the whole it was a bit more daring and, as a result, ill-suited to nursing duties.

She walked over to Draco and sat down beside him, conjuring a glass of water for him to drink. Draco lifted his head slightly and took several sips from the glass. When he was finished, he lowered his head back to the floor, fatigued from the simple action.

"We're in the Room of Requirement," she said, finally answering his question. "I was thinking that I needed a place to hide you, some place quiet… and warm because I knew that I was going to have to… undress you." Hermione stopped, slightly embarrassed.

Draco watched her, oddly moved by the blush that colored her cheeks. He was indeed naked under the sheet which lay over him.

"For medical purposes, of course," she added.

"Of course," Draco said drily.

"I had to figure out the extent of your injuries."

"As any proper Mediwitch would."

"Now you're mocking me."

Draco fought the urge to laugh, knowing it would hurt. How he could even think about laughing at a time like this was incomprehensible. Nothing about his situation was funny, but here he was teasing her and thinking about ways to get her to move closer to him and suppressing the chuckle which had risen unbidden to his throat.

"Go ahead, laugh," Hermione said, suddenly angry. "Laugh and undo everything I've tried to do these past three days! If you weren't so bloody injured I think I'd choke you to death!" She sprang to her feet. Draco watched as she began to pace the room angrily. "Do you have any idea what I've had to do? Of course, you don't! You've been unconscious! I had no idea what happened to you. None! You wouldn't let me take you to Madam Pomfrey! You wouldn't let me take you to Snape! So I had to do it. I had to figure out how to heal you. You're lucky I'm so bloody smart! You're lucky there are books about this sort of thing! You're lucky those books weren't in the Restricted Section!"

Draco blinked. "Granger," he said.

Hermione stopped in her tracks, convinced that the polyjuice potion had suddenly failed. "What?" she managed to say.

"I told Granger not to take me to the Hospital Wing. She found me."

Hermione closed her eyes, relieved that he hadn't seen through her, that he hadn't just called her by her true name. Yet she was faced with another issue. How could he possibly remember who'd found him in the hall? He'd been near delirious at the time.

"I found you. Me, Imogene," she said, hoping that he wouldn't press the matter. "You must have been having some sort of fever dream." Hermione turned and walked back toward him, her earlier anger having evaporated somewhat in the face of her fear of being discovered. She sank to her knees next to him. "I think I'm offended that you've been dreaming of some other girl."

Draco moved his good arm, or at least, the arm that was in better shape relatively speaking. His stretched out his fingers and brushed them against her hand.

"No other girl," he said.

She softened in spite of herself and looked away. "I did the best I could. Your ribs were broken. Your left hand was crushed. I tried everything I could think of, everything in these books. There may still be some scarring. You should let me take you to Snape."

"I can't go to him," Draco said. "If I go to him I'll have to tell him what happened."

"What happened?" she asked.

Draco's eyes grew dark and distant. "I did something I shouldn't have."

Hermione thought about the strange incident with the cabinet. She had a feeling that perhaps it was somehow connected, but she wasn't sure how.

"Not much of a snake charmer, are you?"

He turned his eyes to her. They were hard. "What do you mean?" he asked evenly.

"The fang marks on your arm. You were bitten. Perhaps because you did something you shouldn't have."

Draco closed his eyes. He heard Pettigrew's words in his ears: Nagini has given you her mark. When it heals, you'll receive His mark. You will obey Him.

No, he wasn't much of a snake charmer. A snake charmer would get his way. He would beguile the serpent and gain his freedom. He would not simply obey.

Draco opened his eyes and looked at her, a decision made. She didn't know it, but he had chosen.

He had chosen disobedience.

OOO

He was sleeping. Several strands of pale blond hair had fallen on to his forehead. Hermione resisted the urge to brush them from his face. She didn't want to risk waking him. It had been a long day. The fire was beginning to die down in the Room of Requirement. She knew that she should head back. They'd be looking for her in the girls' dormitory. She didn't want to leave him.

It couldn't hurt to stay just a bit longer. Hermione busied herself inspecting the bandages on his left arm and hand. They were fine as she well knew. She'd changed them recently. She carefully lowered his arm on top of the sheet which lay across the middle of his chest. He appeared to be resting peacefully.

Surely he wouldn't mind if she just lay down next to him. Just for a moment. Hermione stretched out on the carpet beside him. There she was lying next to him. She stared up at the ceiling. She could hear him breathing. His breaths were deep and even. He was truly asleep. It was okay then if she turned on her side to face him.

Hermione looked at him as he slept; the tight blond fringe of his lashes sealing his lids, the razor-thin cut across his cheekbone. She reached out with the tips of her fingers to touch his face. She traced his lips softly and kissed the corner of his mouth. She felt silly for it somehow and turned away from him.

Draco was perhaps not quite as asleep as she might have thought. He felt her lips on his face and felt her shift away. In response, he gathered her close, drawing her back along the length of his body. He turned his face into her hair and carefully moved his bandaged left arm around her waist.

It hurt. It hurt to hold her, but it hurt not to. He'd taken pain for so much less than this. He could take this pain. He could take this pain for her. It was worth it.

OOO

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