The Darkwood Wand

Night Five-Warnings

"What are you doing?" Hermione asked. "I'm not finished!" Malfoy ignored her and slid further under the covers. "I have an idea!"

"Brilliant," he mumbled, turning away.

"We should go to Borgin and Burkes."

Malfoy rolled back to face her. "We should what?"

"See Mr. Borgin. He taught you how to repair the Vanishing Cabinets, right?"

Malfoy was on his back now, staring up at her. Hermione knew he had to be shocked, because her robe had opened a bit and he didn't even look. She closed it quickly.

"I can't leave the castle grounds," he said.

"I can get you out." She was leaning over him now, her hair falling forward. She pushed it back and this time Malfoy noticed her robe.

"How?" he asked.

"If I can get you out, will you go?" she asked. "You have to be there. You can answer any questions and Borgin won't talk to me anyway."

"No." He turned away again.

"Malfoy!" she shook his shoulder. "I don't believe this—I have to wheedle you into doing something that directly benefits you and keeps you out of Azkaban? Is this what Slytherins call negotiating? I ought to—"

"For Salazar's sake ... if you're not going to shag me, Granger, then go to sleep," Malfoy snapped. "Is this what it's like to be married? Almost makes me glad my family name is shit, at least I'll be spared that."

Hermione glared at his bare back. "I'm well aware that you don't listen to women," she said resentfully. "Romilda told me what you did to keep her from talking."

Malfoy rolled back toward her, looking hopeful. "Is that an option?"

"Don't be disgusting."

The Slytherin sat up and smirked, stretching an arm over his pillow. His coverlet slipped, revealing the Septumsemptra scars and that line of darker, downy hair. Clearly he hadn't missed her earlier looks.

"This opens up a whole new avenue of negotiation," he mused.

"That is not on the table, Malfoy. Nothing is on the table. I'll go to Borgin's by myself, first."

Malfoy dropped the smirk. "Now that would be stupid, Granger. He's very adept at handling ... unwanted customers."

"I'm not afraid of Borgin." Now Hermione was the one to turn away and face the curtain. "I'll let you know how it goes." She pulled the coverlet up to her chin and closed her eyes.

She felt Malfoy shift closer, but she didn't move. "Granger," he snapped. "Granger." She didn't respond.

"You're acting like a child, Granger."

That's rich coming from you, you big entitled baby.

He sighed. "You don't know Borgin. You don't know what he's done."

Yes, I do. He helped you bring Death Eaters into the castle.

Malfoy was right behind her now, his breath in her ear, hand sliding over the coverlet to rest on her hip. "Granger."

Hermione couldn't suppress her reaction to his touch and her whispered name. She expected to feel his lips on her skin, his hand slipping beneath the covers. But his touch remained still.

"On Borgin's counter sits a quill and a brass-topped inkpot," Malfoy said. "If you open the inkpot—say, while the shopkeeper is talking to your father—you'll find a tiny face inside. Screaming."