Chapter Five: Enraptured
Draco and Hermione stood before Dumbledore's desk, awaiting the verdict on their behavior. Draco dared not risk a glance toward the young woman, lest Dumbledore get the wrong impression. Professor Sprout stood behind the two as if she were a guard to make sure neither one escaped the ominous room. She rambled on in a somewhat controlled fury as Dumbledore peered silently over the top of his half moon glasses.
"...and he was SMOKING!" Sprout said, producing the offending cigarette and holding it between the students so Draco could catch the sight from the corner of his eye.
"I see," said Dumbledore calmly. "Thank you, Professor Sprout. Please leave me to deal with the children. You may go."
A pang of disgust ripped through Draco at being called a child. He held himself in check and stood straight with his chin up in a manner befitting a Malfoy. Professor Sprout mumbled a bit as she left the room but Dumbledore bore her no attention.
"Miss Granger, did Mr. Malfoy at any time attack you this morning?" he asked.
Without hesitation Hermione replied, "No, Sir."
"Did you witness Mr. Malfoy smoking?"
"No, Sir."
Draco's eyes widened. What was she doing?
Dumbledore looked at Hermione intently for a moment. "Did you see Mr. Malfoy attempt to smoke, Miss Granger?" he asked.
Draco had to smirk. Nothing was lost on Dumbledore. Perhaps his father had been wrong about Dumbledore being an idiot. He sure seemed to know which questions to ask and how to read people. From the corner of his eye Draco saw Hermione's chin drop a fraction.
"Yes, Sir."
She'd seemed almost reluctant to turn him in. He'd have thought Granger would have gladly served his head on a platter when faced with such incriminating evidence against her nemesis. But perhaps he wasn't just a nemesis anymore. The thought gave Draco pause and he didn't immediately hear the question Dumbledore had put to him.
"Mr. Malfoy, your answer?"
Draco looked up at the aged wizard, then over at Hermione. "I'm sorry, Sir," he said, looking back to Dumbledore. "I missed the question."
"I asked if you had touched Miss Granger this morning."
What could he say? He could lie and say no, but lying to Dumbledore was useless. If he said yes, it would go against what Hermione had said earlier. He breathed in deeply. "Yes, Sir."
"In what way did you touch her, Mr. Malfoy?"
The questions were becoming uncomfortable and reminiscent of the ones his Father had asked him in bed once. Draco recalled those moments in the back of his mind. (Now, Draco, did you like that? Did it feel good? Tell me how it felt to-)
"Draco?" Hermione asked, puzzled.
The sound of her voice brought him back to Dumbledore's office. He turned to Hermione who now wore a mask of concern.
"Headmaster, I don't think he's well," Hermione said, furrowing her brow.
"What is the matter, Draco? Are you feeling ill?" the great wizard asked.
Draco had broken out in a cold sweat. All of a sudden he felt like he was smothering. He leaned forward to catch some air and Hermione immediately grabbed him to hold him steady. She helped him into a nearby chair as Dumbledore came down from his desk to tend to his student.
"Mr. Malfoy is hyperventilating - not to worry. I will take care of this," said Dumbledore, producing his wand.
"Sir, I can assure you that Malfoy didn't hurt me in any way and he didn't do anything to endanger me. We were talking - I saw him with the cigarette and told him not to light it. He didn't. That's all. I'm sorry I made him late for his class," Hermione said quickly.
Dumbledore cast a charm on Draco that made his body immediately relax. He sat in the chair like a rag doll, limp and tired. He was thankful for the charm because Hermione's words had almost sent him into shock. He tried to will the young witch to look at him but she kept her eyes averted once she knew he was all right. Something about Hermione Granger speaking up for him to the Headmaster felt very wrong.
"I see," said Dumbledore, returning to his desk. "I would like to remind Mr. Malfoy that cigarettes are not allowed in school and if you are caught in possession of any kind of drugs you will be sent home immediately. You must uphold the conditions of your stay here, Mr. Malfoy. You are both dismissed."
Draco sighed in relief and tried to stand but his legs were still feeling a bit rubbery. What had caused the attack of panic that has swept through him and made his skin crawl? For once it wasn't Granger or any of her goody-goody friends. He shrugged off the unpleasant thoughts and found a hand thrust into his face. Hermione stood before him, offering him aide in standing.
"I'll help you get to the greenhouse," she said simply.
Draco didn't recognize the voice or the word that came out of his mouth in reply. "Thanks."
Hermione shook her head a bit to move a bit of the long waves that had fallen into her face. Draco immediately had the urge to reach up and touch her hair but stifled it as he tentatively took her hand. Again, the sparks shot through him at her mere touch. He wondered if she felt it, and for a brief second thought he saw some kind of reaction in her face but then it was gone. She eased him up gently and helped him into the hallway. He tried to pull away from her once they'd started walking toward the greenhouse, but Hermione held on.
"You can let go, I'm all right now," he assured her. He didn't really want her to let go but he was terrified not only that they'd be seen, but that he would also enjoy being close to her a bit too much. Already he felt the sweat on his palms as the proximity to her took its toll. If he didn't disengage from her grasp he'd be walking funny and it'd have nothing to do with feeling weak. He yanked his robes around him, covering himself just in case the inevitable happened.
"No, I'll help," she said gently, urging him along. "What happened to you back there?"
"I don't know," he said truthfully. "Why-" Should he ask it? "Why did you tell Dumbledore that nothing had happened?"
Hermione stopped and looked at him. "I didn't say that. I told him the truth."
"But you said that-"
"I know what I said. Can we drop it?" her voice took on a tone of exasperation and Draco knew he would not be getting any more information out of her about the subject. Hermione seemed to be walking a bit faster now than she had been before.
"Slow down, Granger, I'm recovering from a nasty spell, you know," he said with a sneer, uncomfortable at being hurried along to face Professor Sprout once again.
"You're always nasty, Malfoy," she shot back. This was more like it -- the old Granger, bitchy and haughty as ever. This, he understood.
"And you're always a bitch," he halfheartedly mumbled, just to get a rise out of her.
"And you're a -" she stopped and pushed him away. Draco lost his balance for a second but grabbed onto a sconce and stayed upright against the wall. He waited breathlessly for her insult; he was beginning to enjoy this.
"I'm a what?" he prompted.
"You're a - toad!" she said, pursing her lips and folding her arms across her chest.
"Is that the best you can do?" he said, wincing. "You've got to try harder than that."
Hermione's face colored as she fumed with anger. Draco loved the look in her eyes - she was trying so hard to hate him but something told him she wasn't quite capable of true hatred. He'd seem hate enough times in his father's eyes. His father. The remembered emotion he'd seen on his father's face welled up inside him now. He was sick of playing games. Why was he being so nice to her? And by calling her a bitch, he did think he was being nice. He hadn't even called her a Mudblood.
"Well?" He pushed her again for a proper insult.
"You're a prat, Malfoy!"
"A prat, then?" he said, looking thoughtfully up at the wall, then shaking his head. "No, that won't do. What would you call me if I said you, Granger are a filthy whore?" He cocked an eyebrow at her.
She stared at him in stunned silence.
"Nothing?"
"I would say you're a -"
"What? What am I, Granger?"
"You're a fucker!"
Draco would have burst out laughing if it weren't for the fact Hermione Granger had just uttered the word "fuck" in front of him. The word affected him physically as well as mentally. He pushed off the wall and lunged at her, grabbing her in an embrace.
"You think I'm a fucker, Hermione?" He looked into her eyes and saw genuine fear reflecting back at him. "You think I won't hurt you? Is that it? You're playing with fire, little girl. Suck up to Dumbledore all you want," he hissed, his mouth just centimeters from hers. "I'm not who you seem to think I am. Or maybe...I'm exactly who you think I am." He smirked maliciously.
The game had gone too far. What started out as jovial had now moved into a darkness Draco wasn't sure he could control or escape from.
"Who are you?" she whispered. Her question caught him off guard and he had no answer. He moved his head back, away from hers just a bit and looked down into her brown eyes, laden with apprehension. He held her so tightly to him he could feel her heart pounding.
"A Malfoy," he replied finally. "No more, no less."
Hermione shook her head, quivering slightly. "No," she said.
No? What was she on about, disagreeing with his own assessment of himself, his bloodline, his legacy? Draco pulled her down the hallway and thrust her into a secluded and dark alcove. "You said I'm a fucker," he said, his voice dripping venom. "Who is it you think I've fucked?" He chose his words carefully; each question served to frighten her and arouse him further. He pressed her against the wall just as he had only a couple of hours before. "No one's here, Hermione," he said as he grabbed her wrists and held them over her head. He positioned himself so that she would not be able to knee him in the groin or kick at him. "It's dark, it's private," he continued, unsure of where he was going with this. "Who do you think I've fucked?"
His words had a visible affect on her - he enjoyed the way his prey breathed heavily, the way her eyelids grew heavier, the way she stopped struggling against him and simply let him pin her to the wall. She was playing games, all right. She was playing with fire and she was going to get burned, that was a given. He enjoyed toying with her.
"Let me go, Malfoy," she said, her voice quavering.
"Are you going to tell Dumbledore about this?" he asked.
She looked into his steel gray eyes and he saw something worse than hate in them - he saw pity. "About what?" she asked. "Nothing's happened, as far as I'm concerned."
"What are you playing at, Hermione?" he asked, sincere this time.
"I'm not playing," she said, looking down.
He closed whatever remaining space there was between their bodies so that she could feel his arousal on her thigh. A whisper of a moan sounded in her throat. Draco pushed against her sensuously once more, enjoying the friction. The emotional barrier between them fell and Draco felt extremely vulnerable as he moved against her. Hermione's eyes were shut tightly and her hair hung down and obscured most of her face from his gaze. He held both of her wrists with his right hand while he moved the fingers of his left hand down through her hair. Pulling the chestnut strands from her face, he lifted her chin slightly.
"Look at me," he ordered.
The small sliver of light afforded him a look into her eyes as she looked up at him, panting. Her lips were slightly parted, beautiful and inviting. He moved against her once more, straining painfully in his trousers underneath his robe. He pushed the robe aside and positioned himself a bit lower, so that he could graze the juncture of her thighs. She hitched in a breath and closed her eyes again. It was at that moment he could stand it no more; he pressed his lips to hers in a searing kiss. Hermione's lips seemed burning hot under his and he advanced his tongue tentatively, sweeping the top over her lips, which soon parted under him. The kiss deepened and Draco instinctively moved against her again and again.
Draco let go of her hands and buried his fingers in her hair, drawing her closer to him. He couldn't taste enough of her. Hermione's tongue slid across his, heightening his arousal. She responded to him in kind, even parting her legs slightly. He didn't know if she did it unconsciously and didn't care. Her hands were on the back of his neck, sliding down the back of his robe, moving around to the front to undo the clasp. Draco barely felt the black Slytherin cloak fall from his shoulders to the floor. Now her hands were on his, pulling him - where? He allowed her to take his hand and slide it from her hair to her breast. He was actually touching Granger's breast. Draco couldn't believe he was doing it and couldn't believe he was enjoying it - even more astounding was that Hermione had put his hand there herself.
He moaned against her mouth as he cupped her breast and gently squeezed her. The only coherent thoughts in his head became "yes" and "more" as he kissed her again. He was rewarded with soft moans and whimpers as he pulled her hair to the side and brought his heated mouth to the delicate exposed skin of her neck. He wasn't prepared for the way she cried out at the new sensation, but held onto her and sucked and licked her skin. She shifted against him, her knees giving out just a bit. Draco stopped kissing her neck and slid down her body so that he was on his knees before her, panting heavily. He looked up at her and saw that she was just catching her own breath.
Placing his hands at the fastening of her jeans, Draco looked up imploringly. "Hermione?" he said, his voice cracking. He didn't know why he was asking, or what he was asking. He just wanted to take off every stitch she had on and prove that he wasn't his father's bitch. The realization hit him like a wave of ice water. Was he doing this just to prove he didn't like sex with men? Was he using Hermione? It felt like it, but no - he wanted to know her, he didn't really hate her, not really. He'd just been told to hate her, to hate Mudbloods. Still, the idea that he was using her made him feel sick. The very thought of his father made him feel sick as well. He dropped his hands, now trembling, and moved away from her.
"Draco?" she whispered in between breaths.
"I'm - sorry," he said and bolted from the alcove, leaving his cloak at Hermione's feet. He needed to get away - far away from her, from his lust, from his memories. He ran all the way out to the edge of the Forbidden Forest and finally collapsed, out of breath. With his last remaining bit of strength he raised his head and released a primal scream into the wild. His cry of agony echoed through the trees and caused the great birds to take flight and tiny animals to scurry for cover. Then he laid his head to the earth and tried to weep, but no tears would come.
Draco and Hermione stood before Dumbledore's desk, awaiting the verdict on their behavior. Draco dared not risk a glance toward the young woman, lest Dumbledore get the wrong impression. Professor Sprout stood behind the two as if she were a guard to make sure neither one escaped the ominous room. She rambled on in a somewhat controlled fury as Dumbledore peered silently over the top of his half moon glasses.
"...and he was SMOKING!" Sprout said, producing the offending cigarette and holding it between the students so Draco could catch the sight from the corner of his eye.
"I see," said Dumbledore calmly. "Thank you, Professor Sprout. Please leave me to deal with the children. You may go."
A pang of disgust ripped through Draco at being called a child. He held himself in check and stood straight with his chin up in a manner befitting a Malfoy. Professor Sprout mumbled a bit as she left the room but Dumbledore bore her no attention.
"Miss Granger, did Mr. Malfoy at any time attack you this morning?" he asked.
Without hesitation Hermione replied, "No, Sir."
"Did you witness Mr. Malfoy smoking?"
"No, Sir."
Draco's eyes widened. What was she doing?
Dumbledore looked at Hermione intently for a moment. "Did you see Mr. Malfoy attempt to smoke, Miss Granger?" he asked.
Draco had to smirk. Nothing was lost on Dumbledore. Perhaps his father had been wrong about Dumbledore being an idiot. He sure seemed to know which questions to ask and how to read people. From the corner of his eye Draco saw Hermione's chin drop a fraction.
"Yes, Sir."
She'd seemed almost reluctant to turn him in. He'd have thought Granger would have gladly served his head on a platter when faced with such incriminating evidence against her nemesis. But perhaps he wasn't just a nemesis anymore. The thought gave Draco pause and he didn't immediately hear the question Dumbledore had put to him.
"Mr. Malfoy, your answer?"
Draco looked up at the aged wizard, then over at Hermione. "I'm sorry, Sir," he said, looking back to Dumbledore. "I missed the question."
"I asked if you had touched Miss Granger this morning."
What could he say? He could lie and say no, but lying to Dumbledore was useless. If he said yes, it would go against what Hermione had said earlier. He breathed in deeply. "Yes, Sir."
"In what way did you touch her, Mr. Malfoy?"
The questions were becoming uncomfortable and reminiscent of the ones his Father had asked him in bed once. Draco recalled those moments in the back of his mind. (Now, Draco, did you like that? Did it feel good? Tell me how it felt to-)
"Draco?" Hermione asked, puzzled.
The sound of her voice brought him back to Dumbledore's office. He turned to Hermione who now wore a mask of concern.
"Headmaster, I don't think he's well," Hermione said, furrowing her brow.
"What is the matter, Draco? Are you feeling ill?" the great wizard asked.
Draco had broken out in a cold sweat. All of a sudden he felt like he was smothering. He leaned forward to catch some air and Hermione immediately grabbed him to hold him steady. She helped him into a nearby chair as Dumbledore came down from his desk to tend to his student.
"Mr. Malfoy is hyperventilating - not to worry. I will take care of this," said Dumbledore, producing his wand.
"Sir, I can assure you that Malfoy didn't hurt me in any way and he didn't do anything to endanger me. We were talking - I saw him with the cigarette and told him not to light it. He didn't. That's all. I'm sorry I made him late for his class," Hermione said quickly.
Dumbledore cast a charm on Draco that made his body immediately relax. He sat in the chair like a rag doll, limp and tired. He was thankful for the charm because Hermione's words had almost sent him into shock. He tried to will the young witch to look at him but she kept her eyes averted once she knew he was all right. Something about Hermione Granger speaking up for him to the Headmaster felt very wrong.
"I see," said Dumbledore, returning to his desk. "I would like to remind Mr. Malfoy that cigarettes are not allowed in school and if you are caught in possession of any kind of drugs you will be sent home immediately. You must uphold the conditions of your stay here, Mr. Malfoy. You are both dismissed."
Draco sighed in relief and tried to stand but his legs were still feeling a bit rubbery. What had caused the attack of panic that has swept through him and made his skin crawl? For once it wasn't Granger or any of her goody-goody friends. He shrugged off the unpleasant thoughts and found a hand thrust into his face. Hermione stood before him, offering him aide in standing.
"I'll help you get to the greenhouse," she said simply.
Draco didn't recognize the voice or the word that came out of his mouth in reply. "Thanks."
Hermione shook her head a bit to move a bit of the long waves that had fallen into her face. Draco immediately had the urge to reach up and touch her hair but stifled it as he tentatively took her hand. Again, the sparks shot through him at her mere touch. He wondered if she felt it, and for a brief second thought he saw some kind of reaction in her face but then it was gone. She eased him up gently and helped him into the hallway. He tried to pull away from her once they'd started walking toward the greenhouse, but Hermione held on.
"You can let go, I'm all right now," he assured her. He didn't really want her to let go but he was terrified not only that they'd be seen, but that he would also enjoy being close to her a bit too much. Already he felt the sweat on his palms as the proximity to her took its toll. If he didn't disengage from her grasp he'd be walking funny and it'd have nothing to do with feeling weak. He yanked his robes around him, covering himself just in case the inevitable happened.
"No, I'll help," she said gently, urging him along. "What happened to you back there?"
"I don't know," he said truthfully. "Why-" Should he ask it? "Why did you tell Dumbledore that nothing had happened?"
Hermione stopped and looked at him. "I didn't say that. I told him the truth."
"But you said that-"
"I know what I said. Can we drop it?" her voice took on a tone of exasperation and Draco knew he would not be getting any more information out of her about the subject. Hermione seemed to be walking a bit faster now than she had been before.
"Slow down, Granger, I'm recovering from a nasty spell, you know," he said with a sneer, uncomfortable at being hurried along to face Professor Sprout once again.
"You're always nasty, Malfoy," she shot back. This was more like it -- the old Granger, bitchy and haughty as ever. This, he understood.
"And you're always a bitch," he halfheartedly mumbled, just to get a rise out of her.
"And you're a -" she stopped and pushed him away. Draco lost his balance for a second but grabbed onto a sconce and stayed upright against the wall. He waited breathlessly for her insult; he was beginning to enjoy this.
"I'm a what?" he prompted.
"You're a - toad!" she said, pursing her lips and folding her arms across her chest.
"Is that the best you can do?" he said, wincing. "You've got to try harder than that."
Hermione's face colored as she fumed with anger. Draco loved the look in her eyes - she was trying so hard to hate him but something told him she wasn't quite capable of true hatred. He'd seem hate enough times in his father's eyes. His father. The remembered emotion he'd seen on his father's face welled up inside him now. He was sick of playing games. Why was he being so nice to her? And by calling her a bitch, he did think he was being nice. He hadn't even called her a Mudblood.
"Well?" He pushed her again for a proper insult.
"You're a prat, Malfoy!"
"A prat, then?" he said, looking thoughtfully up at the wall, then shaking his head. "No, that won't do. What would you call me if I said you, Granger are a filthy whore?" He cocked an eyebrow at her.
She stared at him in stunned silence.
"Nothing?"
"I would say you're a -"
"What? What am I, Granger?"
"You're a fucker!"
Draco would have burst out laughing if it weren't for the fact Hermione Granger had just uttered the word "fuck" in front of him. The word affected him physically as well as mentally. He pushed off the wall and lunged at her, grabbing her in an embrace.
"You think I'm a fucker, Hermione?" He looked into her eyes and saw genuine fear reflecting back at him. "You think I won't hurt you? Is that it? You're playing with fire, little girl. Suck up to Dumbledore all you want," he hissed, his mouth just centimeters from hers. "I'm not who you seem to think I am. Or maybe...I'm exactly who you think I am." He smirked maliciously.
The game had gone too far. What started out as jovial had now moved into a darkness Draco wasn't sure he could control or escape from.
"Who are you?" she whispered. Her question caught him off guard and he had no answer. He moved his head back, away from hers just a bit and looked down into her brown eyes, laden with apprehension. He held her so tightly to him he could feel her heart pounding.
"A Malfoy," he replied finally. "No more, no less."
Hermione shook her head, quivering slightly. "No," she said.
No? What was she on about, disagreeing with his own assessment of himself, his bloodline, his legacy? Draco pulled her down the hallway and thrust her into a secluded and dark alcove. "You said I'm a fucker," he said, his voice dripping venom. "Who is it you think I've fucked?" He chose his words carefully; each question served to frighten her and arouse him further. He pressed her against the wall just as he had only a couple of hours before. "No one's here, Hermione," he said as he grabbed her wrists and held them over her head. He positioned himself so that she would not be able to knee him in the groin or kick at him. "It's dark, it's private," he continued, unsure of where he was going with this. "Who do you think I've fucked?"
His words had a visible affect on her - he enjoyed the way his prey breathed heavily, the way her eyelids grew heavier, the way she stopped struggling against him and simply let him pin her to the wall. She was playing games, all right. She was playing with fire and she was going to get burned, that was a given. He enjoyed toying with her.
"Let me go, Malfoy," she said, her voice quavering.
"Are you going to tell Dumbledore about this?" he asked.
She looked into his steel gray eyes and he saw something worse than hate in them - he saw pity. "About what?" she asked. "Nothing's happened, as far as I'm concerned."
"What are you playing at, Hermione?" he asked, sincere this time.
"I'm not playing," she said, looking down.
He closed whatever remaining space there was between their bodies so that she could feel his arousal on her thigh. A whisper of a moan sounded in her throat. Draco pushed against her sensuously once more, enjoying the friction. The emotional barrier between them fell and Draco felt extremely vulnerable as he moved against her. Hermione's eyes were shut tightly and her hair hung down and obscured most of her face from his gaze. He held both of her wrists with his right hand while he moved the fingers of his left hand down through her hair. Pulling the chestnut strands from her face, he lifted her chin slightly.
"Look at me," he ordered.
The small sliver of light afforded him a look into her eyes as she looked up at him, panting. Her lips were slightly parted, beautiful and inviting. He moved against her once more, straining painfully in his trousers underneath his robe. He pushed the robe aside and positioned himself a bit lower, so that he could graze the juncture of her thighs. She hitched in a breath and closed her eyes again. It was at that moment he could stand it no more; he pressed his lips to hers in a searing kiss. Hermione's lips seemed burning hot under his and he advanced his tongue tentatively, sweeping the top over her lips, which soon parted under him. The kiss deepened and Draco instinctively moved against her again and again.
Draco let go of her hands and buried his fingers in her hair, drawing her closer to him. He couldn't taste enough of her. Hermione's tongue slid across his, heightening his arousal. She responded to him in kind, even parting her legs slightly. He didn't know if she did it unconsciously and didn't care. Her hands were on the back of his neck, sliding down the back of his robe, moving around to the front to undo the clasp. Draco barely felt the black Slytherin cloak fall from his shoulders to the floor. Now her hands were on his, pulling him - where? He allowed her to take his hand and slide it from her hair to her breast. He was actually touching Granger's breast. Draco couldn't believe he was doing it and couldn't believe he was enjoying it - even more astounding was that Hermione had put his hand there herself.
He moaned against her mouth as he cupped her breast and gently squeezed her. The only coherent thoughts in his head became "yes" and "more" as he kissed her again. He was rewarded with soft moans and whimpers as he pulled her hair to the side and brought his heated mouth to the delicate exposed skin of her neck. He wasn't prepared for the way she cried out at the new sensation, but held onto her and sucked and licked her skin. She shifted against him, her knees giving out just a bit. Draco stopped kissing her neck and slid down her body so that he was on his knees before her, panting heavily. He looked up at her and saw that she was just catching her own breath.
Placing his hands at the fastening of her jeans, Draco looked up imploringly. "Hermione?" he said, his voice cracking. He didn't know why he was asking, or what he was asking. He just wanted to take off every stitch she had on and prove that he wasn't his father's bitch. The realization hit him like a wave of ice water. Was he doing this just to prove he didn't like sex with men? Was he using Hermione? It felt like it, but no - he wanted to know her, he didn't really hate her, not really. He'd just been told to hate her, to hate Mudbloods. Still, the idea that he was using her made him feel sick. The very thought of his father made him feel sick as well. He dropped his hands, now trembling, and moved away from her.
"Draco?" she whispered in between breaths.
"I'm - sorry," he said and bolted from the alcove, leaving his cloak at Hermione's feet. He needed to get away - far away from her, from his lust, from his memories. He ran all the way out to the edge of the Forbidden Forest and finally collapsed, out of breath. With his last remaining bit of strength he raised his head and released a primal scream into the wild. His cry of agony echoed through the trees and caused the great birds to take flight and tiny animals to scurry for cover. Then he laid his head to the earth and tried to weep, but no tears would come.