Chapter 9: Serpensortia

The morning after the Quidditch match, Hermione woke earlier than the rest of the House and made her way down to the Great Hall for breakfast. She was very keen to avoid the morose looks her housemates had been exchanging all evening over the Quidditch match-it was ridiculous to be so depressed over a game, particularly with Harry in the hospital wing with the bones in his arm removed-but the misplaced priorities surrounding sports were driven clean out of her mind as she passed the main second floor corridor on the grand staircase. Hearing Professor McGonagall's voice, she stopped and pressed her ear to the wall to listen.

"...Found him only last night, poor thing, lying in the corridor outside his dormitory," McGonagall was saying.

"I don't suppose the attacker hung around long enough to catch him?" squeaked Professor Flitwick.

"Of course not," said Professor McGonagall dryly. "I suppose he...or she...was long gone by then. I'll have to write to the Creevey boy's parents this morning and explain….don't know what I'll tell them…" Hermione had heard enough. Heart hammering in her chest, she fled as quickly as possible without alerting the professors to her presence, and, not knowing where else to go, made her way down to the Great Hall as she'd planned. At least it would be quiet there.

So, there had been another attack, with a human victim this time. She'd thought it best, after her argument with Harry and Ron about the Polyjuice Potion, to simply let things be-after all, the teachers were investigating the attacks and were sure to find more than she herself could-but now, with Draco's obvious fear and Ginny's unnerving shift in behavior and her bizarre warning at breakfast last week...well, it was all very suspicious. She'd have to do something, but the trouble was, her only leads at the moment were tied to Draco and Ginny, the former of whom had refused to discuss the Chamber again since the first attack, and the latter of whom seemed to be avoiding Hermione altogether. Well, she'd just have to force one of them to talk to her, she thought, biting her lip and staring up at the enchanted ceiling-today a dull, cloudy gray. Draco would be in a good mood after his victory at the Quidditch match-perhaps she could trick him into revealing something. Yes, she'd start there.

"Hey-Hermione!" startled, she looked up, and to her surprise, saw Harry hurrying toward her across the Hall, looking slightly out of breath but otherwise completely healthy.

"Oh, Harry!" she exclaimed, relieved to see him despite her worries. "You're all right, then?"

"Yeah-but listen, I've got to tell you something," he said quietly, taking the seat across from her and leaning in despite the fact that they were nearly alone in the Hall. "Colin Creevey was attacked last night, I saw-"

"I already know," Hermione interrupted quickly. "I overheard McGonagall telling Flitwick this morning." Harry nodded, but he still looked worried.

"Listen, there's something else," he hissed, leaning forward even further. "When they brought him in last night-McGonagall and Dumbledore, I mean-they said the Chamber had been opened again." Hermione's blood froze.

"So it's been opened before?" she whispered. "When? Do they know who it was the first time?" Harry shook his head.

"They didn't say," he said darkly. "But look, Hermione...I know what you're going to say, but please just listen. Malfoy's father could've done it last time, all right, and now he's taught-"

"You're right, you do know what I'm going to say," said Hermione coldly. "Harry, I know you don't like Draco, I know. But this isn't evidence, this isn't...well, what else did they say?" Harry sighed.

"Nothing, they shut up really quickly." He paused. "Where's Ron? I've got to tell him all of this." Hermione hesitated for a moment, then shrugged.

"He's probably still up in the dormitory," she said listlessly. Harry nodded, stood, and fled the Great Hall. The moment he was gone, so did Hermione. She may not believe Draco was the one behind the attacks, but he knew something. That was the only explanation for his whoever opened the Chamber slip when they'd argued about it in the library. He knew something, and she was going to make him tell her.

She felt quite stupid loitering outside the Slytherin common room, and the dungeon corridor was quite cold, but she told herself over and over that it would all be worth it. She was there scarcely twenty minutes when Draco emerged, flanked by Blaise and Theo. Spotting Hermione he frowned slightly, and she charged forward and grabbed him unceremoniously by the elbow, ignoring his friends.

"I've got to talk to you," she hissed. He glanced back at Blaise and Theo, who looked very startled, and gave them a halfhearted shrug.

"I'll catch up to you," he said lightly, and to Hermione's immense relief, they left without complaint. She dragged Draco around the corner and glanced around to ensure they were quite alone before leaning in to speak.

"There was another attack last night," she whispered. "Colin Creevey, he was found outside Gryffindor Tower." Draco opened his mouth to speak, looking positively stricken, but she held up a hand to subdue him. "And I've just spoken with Harry," she went on. "He was in the hospital wing all night, did you know?" Now looking very startled, Draco managed a single shake of his head. "Well, he was, and so he overheard Dumbledore and McGonagall talking when they brought Colin in. He found out the Chamber has been opened before. But you already knew that, didn't you?" she fixed him with her most piercing gaze, and after a moment, he lowered his eyes.

"For god's sake, c'mon," he muttered, dragging her deeper into the dungeons, down corridors she didn't recognize. After a few minutes he seemed satisfied, and released her.

"All right," he whispered, eyes wide with the same terror he'd tried to hide from her in the library. "The Chamber has been opened before. It was about fifty years ago, so it was before Father's time, but he knows all about it. There were attacks just like this, and in the end the attacker was caught and expelled. Whoever it is is probably still in Azkaban. And I know one more thing. Last time the Chamber was opened, a girl died, all right? A-a Muggle-born girl died. Now d'you see why I told you to stay out of it?" He looked pale and positively horrified now, and Hermione could feel her heart hammering painfully against her ribs.

"You don't have any idea who it was, last time?" she said desperately.

"No, I don't," he hissed. "It was really hushed up, didn't make it into any of the papers."

"How does your father know so much about it, then?" Hermione asked, as a feeling of unease crept into the pit of her stomach. Draco looked as though she'd slapped him.

"I don't know," he snapped. "I don't know, all right? Just please-please, Hermione, promise me you'll stop looking! Please!" Hermione stared at Draco's chalk-white, desperate face, and felt a prick of annoyance.

"I don't understand," she said slowly. "Don't you want the attacks to stop?"

"Oh, and you're going to stop them?" Draco shot back. "Hermione, d'you realize you're only a child? I know you and Potter and Weasley got lucky last year, and I'm happy for you, I suppose, but that won't happen every time, and this could be a serious-"

"That's not what I asked!" snapped Hermione, heartbeat hammering in her eardrums now. "I asked whether you wanted the attacks to stop."

"That's not-why are you asking me that?" Draco's voice trembled slightly, and Hermione had never seen him look more scared.

"Because it shouldn't be a difficult question to answer," she said coldly. He stared at her for a moment, then bit his lip and lowered his eyes.

"Of course I do," he said quietly. "But-"

"Then stop telling me what to do," Hermione interrupted. With that, she turned on her heel and stormed out of the corridor. He called after her, but anger propelled her forward and she didn't turn or stop until she'd passed the Entrance Hall. Oh, but Draco drove her mad sometimes. Yes, he was afraid of the Chamber, that she understood. He was concerned about her safety, all right, but did he have to treat her like a child? And that couldn't be everything he knew, it just couldn't. He'd seemed so scared, so reluctant to discuss it. There had to be more. Pausing between the first and second floors, she made her decision. She still didn't agree with Harry and Ron's reasons, but their plan now seemed her best shot at getting anywhere with her investigation. She found Harry and Ron in the Gryffindor common room, and ushered them at once into the quietest corner of the room.

"All right," she hissed, scanning the room carefully to ensure no one decided to listen in. "I'm in. Let's brew the Polyjuice Potion."

Draco set off to pursue Hermione up the stairs, but was thwarted almost at once as he found his path blocked by Professor Snape.

"Where do you think you're going, Mr. Malfoy?" he hissed, and Draco could tell by the glint in his eye that he was in very deep trouble.

"The Great Hall, Sir," he said quickly, trying to look and sound as innocent as possible.

"What a noble thought," sneered Snape. "Unfortunately, it is incorrect. Come with me." Before Draco could say anything else, the Potions Master seized him by his collar and dragged him, without stopping, until they reached his office. Throwing Draco inside, he slammed the door shut and surveyed Draco without speaking for an excruciating length of time. Draco had been inside Snape's office twice before, and both had been deeply upsetting experiences. He turned his gaze, as usual, toward the floor, waiting for Snape to speak.

"I suppose I should not be surprised," said Snape at long last, pacing menacingly back and forth. "After all, you've displayed nothing but arrogance and a brazen disregard for the lives of others in the past-one might say you, Mr. Malfoy, are as bad as Harry Potter." He paused to allow this to land. "Tell me, Mr. Malfoy. Do your ears work properly?" Draco frowned, lost.

"Er-yes, Professor."

"Hmm. And do you consider yourself an idiot?"

"No, Professor."

"Very interesting. Answer me this, then. Do you think you are any match for the Heir of Salazar Slytherin?" Draco's stomach dropped like a stone. Snape had overheard him and Hermione arguing in the corridor. He tried to raise his eyes, or speak, or move, but his body refused to cooperate. Snape was not amused.

"Answer me, Mr. Malfoy. Do you think that you are a match for the Heir of Slytherin?"

"N-no, Sir," Draco choked, after a moment.

"Liar," hissed Snape. "Take out your wand." Draco gulped.

"S-sir?" Snape had made a similar request before, when he and Blaise had been caught trying to work a Disillusionment Charm. This time, however, he couldn't imagine what Snape was going to make him do.

"Take. Out. Your. Wand," Snape repeated, advancing closer with each word until he was inches from Draco's face. With one ice-cold hand he seized Draco's chin and wrenched his face upward, so hard and fast that Draco fought not to cry out in shock and pain. "Now!"

Instantly, Draco did as he was bidden, and Snape let go of his face.

"Good. Now, copy me exactly." Snape raised his wand, pointed it at his desk, and hissed "Serpensortia." At once, a boa constrictor shot from the end of Snape's wand onto his desk, hissing and spitting madly. Draco jumped back in alarm, and Snape waved his wand lazily and vanished the snake. "Well?" he prompted. "What are you waiting for? Copy me exactly. We will not leave this office until you do."

It was no use wondering whether he was serious-Draco knew, all too well, that he was. Draco concentrated with all his might, straining his mind to its fullest capacity until his head throbbed, his chest felt unbearably tight, and his throat was in agony from hours of screaming an incantation which refused, no matter what he did, to yield any results. By the time Snape threw him unceremoniously back into the corridor, he was so dizzy he could scarcely stand and he barely registered, upon entering the common room, that it had gotten dark outside. He went straight to his dormitory without speaking to anyone and collapsed onto his bed, utterly, profoundly exhausted. A moment later, however, the ceiling spun nauseatingly before his eyes and he flew from his bed, only just reaching the bathroom in time. Vomit tore at his parched throat, cutting his insides as he knelt on the hard floor for what felt like years. When there was nothing left he simply lay there, the cool floor bringing blessed relief to his pounding head, and it was a very long time before he found the strength to return to his bed.

The following day passed in a strange blur. Draco knew, in the back of his mind, that he was concerned about something, but he could not for the life of him remember what. Trying to do his homework in the common room made the pain in his head excruciating, and after just over an hour he gave up and returned to bed, ignoring Pansy's suggestion that he go and see Madam Pomfrey. He knew she couldn't help. He hadn't felt this way since he was very small, and his father had taught him to vanish objects. As a matter of fact, now that he'd started school he didn't think he could feel so ill and exhausted from doing magic.

Several hours later-he couldn't be sure what the time was-Theo woke him from a deep sleep he hadn't felt himself slip into.

"It's nearly dinnertime," he said softly. "C'mon, you should eat something."

He felt marginally better-at least, he could sit up without his head spinning-so he left the common room with Blaise and Theo. However, just as they'd reached the staircase leading up to the Entrance Hall, a familiar voice stopped him in his tracks.

"Where do you think you're going, Mr. Malfoy?"

"Er-"

"Sir, he hasn't eaten anything-"

"I do not recall asking you a question, Mr. Nott," Snape interrupted smoothly.

"But-"

"That will be all. Mr. Nott, Mr. Zabini, kindly be on your way."

Draco would never be able to remember, later on, precisely what happened to him that evening in Snape's office. He could dimly recall, if he strained hard enough, the feeling of something inside him splintering, breaking into a hundred sharp pieces, and releasing hot, poisonous anger through his mind and body. He could recall this anger coursing through him, fueling the words escaping his mouth, bursting out of his wand in the form of a thick, black, writhing snake on the top of Snape's desk. This time, when Snape tossed him out into the dungeon corridor, it took him (a minute? an hour?) to pick himself up again. He couldn't be sure how he made it into his bed. He didn't feel sick this time. Instead, every nerve in his body seemed to stick a few inches out from his skin. The air was painful. His bed underneath him made him feel like crying. But he'd done it. He'd conjured the snake.