The Darkwood Wand

Tessomancy

But sleep eluded him. The scene with Vane had left him half furious, half aroused, and he tossed and turned on the luxurious bed. A thin ray of moonlight peeked between the hangings, touching on the carved snakes slithering up and down the bedposts. When Draco finally slept, another Azkaban nightmare awaited:

... Crouched in a corner,

Ragged, shivering, the very walls whispering:

"You're empty, Dracooo ... so empty ... of thoughts ... of feelings ... of life ..."

"No ..." Draco groaned, "no ..."

The stone mocks him: "Wretched, alone, forgotten, hated ..."

Chains clank as he rolls

Body racked with coughs in the dirty, stifling air.

"You'll be back, Dracooo ... you'll be back ..."

"NOOOO!"

Draco woke with a start, heart pounding, throat hoarse and scratchy. Thank Salazar the wards he always set around his bed hadn't dissipated yet. If Tennant Rowle heard Draco crying out at night, he'd never hear the end of it.

He peeled off his sweaty pajamas and drew his wand from under his pillow. It took three tries to further strengthen the wards; the hawthorn wavered in his hand, resisting him. Draco shook it a few times and frowned. Had Potter damaged the wand before returning it by owl post? No, Draco had been struggling with his wandwork for the better part of a year, ever since the day he confronted Dumbledore.

It's just nerves. Draco shoved the wand under his pillow and lay back again. He'd hoped regular shagging would help, but his nightmares were worse than ever. He was on very thin ice with the Ministry, with a Head Auror eager to pounce on the slightest hint of wrongdoing. Fuck, this thing with Vane could be Draco's one-way ticket back to prison if he wasn't careful. He had to find a way to control her or end things altogether.

***

Draco was still brooding over the Vane problem the following afternoon as he climbed the stairs to the Divination Tower. Professor Trelawney had resumed her classes after the horse returned to the Forbidden Forest. The Dark Lord's prophecy and its role in the war had raised Divination's cachet, and more students than ever requested the subject, hoping to be Seers. The Advanced class was crammed with mostly female students from all four Houses, including Vane and Loony Lovegood.

Draco's own attendance was part of his probation: The Ministry considered the subject essential to "understanding how one's actions affect the future." Mad idea. Draco always left Divination with a raging headache from the perfumed air and a faint regret that the Dark Lord had lost after all.

Today the class took a dramatic turn for the worse. Draco had always sat alone at the room's tiniest table—certainly nobody wanted to See his future. But as the Slytherin scaled the wooden ladder and popped his head out of the hole in the classroom floor, he saw that once again his cherished isolation had been snatched away. The round room was crammed with tiny tea tables, armchairs and fat poufs as usual, but today a second pouf had been added to Draco's table. On it sat the last person he expected to see in this class.

Hermione Granger.

The Golden Girl's contempt for Divination, after all, was well-known, despite its role in the Dark Lord's defeat. Certainly she didn't look happy to be there: She was perched almost comically on her pouf, arms crossed and nose in the air, her back ramrod straight. Draco had no choice but to join her, since the other tables were full and none would welcome him anyway, not even Vane, who was crammed around a table with three friends.