A/N: I know this is supposed to be on hiatus, but I've recently received a few more reviews on it, and have decided to continue it after all. I know there is at least one person out there who has been looking forward to it (read: Lee Lee) and I just couldn't disappoint her. So, here's another chapter. I am also letting anyone who cares know I will be changing the title to just 'Dirty Snake', effective next chapter.

Draco immediately fell into a troubled sleep. He had many dreams, each one more horrible than the last. Images flashed through his mind of Voldemort; of his parents' deaths; flashes of red and green light; blood and body parts soaring through the air. He woke more than once, covered in sweat and shaking, in a panic because he couldn't remember where he was. After the fourth time, he gave up, pulled on his pants, and walked downstairs. He vaguely recalled someone telling him to be quiet in the hall, but he didn't care. Why should he? He had a shitty day and couldn't get any sleep without reliving that shitty day over again. He kicked the bottom stair in anger and someone began to scream.

He turned to see a portrait of a woman shrieking at the top of her lungs for no apparent reason. He walked up to the woman and yelled at her. "Shut the fuck up, you batty old hag! What are you screaming about?"

Abruptly, the old woman closed her mouth, eyeing him up. "You look familiar," she said.

"Sirius Black was-"

"Don't dare speak his name, the nasty blood traitor. Are you one of them?" the portrait asked.

"My mother was Narcissa Black."

"Malfoy? You're a Malfoy?" The woman looked overjoyed. "Finally, someone to rid this house of the filth my no-good, traitorous son Sirius allowed in here."

"Nope."

"What? The son of a Black AND a Malfoy... but... YOU FILTHY BLOOD-TRAITOR! GET OUT OF THE HOUSE-"she was cut off mid-sentence. Her mouth moved, but no sound came out. Her face contorted in anger and she began gesticulating roughly at someone behind him.

"What did you do to her?" a light feminine voice asked from behind him.

Draco spun around to stare at Hermione Granger. "What's it to you?" he sneered.

"We've been here for over six years and no one, including Sirius Black, could shut her up without pulling the curtains on her. I was wondering."

"My mother told me how. This portrait was painted after Black ran away from home. It's a simple enough hex, really. I'm surprised know-it-all Granger couldn't figure it out." He sneered at her again.

"Fine, don't tell me. I'm not going to beg. I was trying to make polite conversation because I, unlike you, am mature enough to put the name-calling and little pranks behind me. You, however, seem to enjoy calling me names like an eleven-year-old. Well, bully for you. Now, if you'll excuse me, I'll be downstairs, doing something productive with my time instead of calling you names and reminiscing about the good ol' times." With that, she turned around and walked back through the door to the kitchen.

Draco felt ashamed. Dammit. I'm tired of feeling all these new emotions. This SUCKS. However, he did realize calling the only other person in the world that wouldn't kill him on sight a 'know-it-all' probably wouldn't make him any friends. He sighed, then followed Hermione into the kitchen.

She was sitting back in the same spot she had been in when he first arrived. This time, though, her hair had been pulled back from her face in a loose ponytail. A few short pieces of hair had escaped, framing her face and hugging her jaw. Her shoulders were hunched as she leaned over a book nearly a meter wide, squinting at the miniscule writing, while taking notes every few seconds. She looked so intent, he wasn't sure if she had heard him enter the kitchen, though it had been less than a minute after she had.

Just as he was getting ready to clear his throat, she spoke. "What can I get you?"

"Um, well, I just wanted to tell you I didn't intend to offend you."

"Okay. Anything else?"

Wait a minute, I just apologized, and she's acting as though he was wasting her time! "Yes, actually. Dumbledore told me you were down here if I needed someone to talk to."

"Well, talk, then."

She's changed. A lot. "Um, what about?"

"You decide. You're the one that wants to talk, not me. I have work to do," she said impatiently.

"Fine, then." If she wants to act like that, so can I. "What are you reading?"

"Can't tell you."

"Why not?"

"You'll have to ask Dumbledore." Hermione finally looked up at Draco. "There are only certain things I can tell you. There is a good reason, and if Dumbledore thinks you're ready to hear what I am doing, he will tell you. Is there anything else you want to talk about?"

"I... um, yeah. But you need to stop reading." Hermione put down her quill and put the parchment she had been making notes on in the book to hold her place. Hmm. "And you have to come sit by me." She stood up and moved down to the other end of the table. Hmm... how about..."Now get on my lap."

"Fuck off." She started to stand up, but Draco grabbed her hand. "I'm sorry," he said quickly.

"You don't mean that."

"I don't want you to go."

"Well, I want to, because it's dark outside, which means it's getting colder, and the fire is down on that end." She pointed next to the chair she had been sitting in when he entered the kitchen.

Draco flushed slightly and stood up to move down the table. He hurried a little so he could pull out Hermione's chair, which she noted but made no comment on. Once she had been seated, he sat down to her right, facing her. The fire was at his back, and he realized she was right. The kitchen had been getting a little chilly.

Once he had been settled, Hermione looked at him, but said nothing. Draco felt a little uncomfortable, and his "What?" came out a little rudely.

"Do you want to talk or sit here staring at me?" she asked. He blinked, noting there was no emotion in her voice or her actions. Well, at least she's not being mean to me. Did I just say 'mean', as in 'big fat meanie'? I really am a child.

"Well, is there anything to eat? I'm hungry again." He paused, then asked, "How long was I asleep?"

"First things first. What do you want to eat?"

"What've you got?"

"We've got snacks, if you want cakes or chips; or we've got leftovers from dinner, which was dragon stew and biscuits."

"Stew, please. Can I have two biscuits?"

"Sure. Next thing, you were in that room for about three hours. You didn't sleep much, did you?"

"Nope. How'd you know?"

"I couldn't sleep for more than fifteen minutes at a time after Ron died."

"What happened to the Weasel?"

"If you're going to act like that, I'm not telling."

Draco was starting to get angry at himself. Why do I keep calling her names? Why am I being so childish? What the hell is my problem?

He sighed. "I'm sorry." Why am I apologizing to this Mudblood? Why is she making me feel guilty for treating her the way she deserves to be treated? Why am I angry with myself for treating her the way I always used to? "Please tell me." Is it because she doesn't deserve to be treated that way anymore? Hmm.

"He died."

"Oh. How?"

"Your mate Zabini's dad killed the twins-"

"You mean the ones that left Umbridge in the hall in the middle of fifth year?"

"Yeah, those twins. As I was saying, when Ron found out who did it, he went after him and died in the duel." Hermione's face lacked all emotion, but her voice had a note of pain in it.

"I'm sorry."

"No, you're not. Don't say it if you don't mean it."

"You misunderstand. I'm not sorry he's dead, I'm sorry I wasn't there to help."

Hermione visibly stiffened. "Here's your food. Get out."

Draco didn't know what she was talking about. They were having a decent conversation and all of a sudden she tells him to get out? "What the hell is your problem?"

"I'm not deaf, you know. I heard what you said."

"What?"

"The part about wishing you weren't there to help." Hermione was so mad her small frame was shaking.

"I said that?" Oops.

"Yep. Clear as day."

"I didn't mean to."

"What, you think it's okay to just think it?"

"Well, I didn't think it on purpose."

"What the HELL is THAT supposed to mean?"

"Some things are just ingrained. Just like I breathe without thinking, I hate – well, I hated – anyone who wasn't a supporter of the Dark Lord. Weasley was a blood traitor, and it's not like he didn't hate me, too. I bet he had dreams of killing me one-"

"You DO NOT know ANYTHING about Ron!" Hermione cried. "Just get out of here. I don't want to talk to you any more right now."

"But Dumbledore-"

"I think he'll make an exception tonight. Now get out of my sight before I actually lose my temper." She turned her back on him.

Draco's eyes widened. That was how she acted when she had her temper under control? He grabbed his dinner and walked out of the kitchen.

Hermione sank to the floor with her head in her hands, her shoulders stooped. Her anger at Draco had been replaced by anguish as images flashed in her mind of Ron's dead body, of various memories at school, of his fervor to avenge Fred and George. She dissolved into body-wracking tears and screamed her pain at the floor.

Just outside the kitchen, Draco had backed away from the door when he heard Hermione cry out. Did she cry like that at school? Did I do that to her before? What is my problem?

XXXXX

Draco stood up and left for the restroom. Pansy was staring at a point on the wall behind Draco. Her mouth was slightly open. Blaise's dad? Three Weasleys? No wonder the Zabinis were honored so much. Pansy was impressed, but not surprised. Blaise had always been ambitious, and now she knew where he got it from. She felt kind of bad for Draco, though. His parents murdered, he was forced to live with that Muggle- and Mudblood-loving fool Dumbledore. Of course, if it hadn't been for his parents being murdered, Draco would probably still be a Death Eater and either be dead or in Azkaban because of it. That would suck. I'd have no one left to talk to.

When Draco returned, Pansy asked where Hermione was. Draco said she was at St. Mungo's, visiting a friend. Pansy didn't actually care, she was trying to be polite.

Draco walked up to the counter and asked for a pack of cigarettes. The waitress handed them to him, and he asked her to bring over another refill when she got a second. For now, though, he sat down, lit another cigarette, and stared out the window again.

A/N: It was a tad bit longer than usual... hehehe... hope it was enjoyed and hope to get some reviews. This is for you, Lee Lee!

Later,

-Kat