The Darkwood Wand

Alone

This intensely magical wood is one of the most powerful and misunderstood. The African savannahs are dotted with these gnarled trees that take a century to grow. African darkwood is sensitive to music, resistant to fire, and incredibly strong. It is rarely used in wandmaking, but if a magicworker has an affinity for darkwood, it will bond in mysterious ways.

Hermione eyed the bedposts with new interest. The nearest snake had returned, still wearing Malfoy's glasses and bobbing its head as if it wanted to read the book, too. African darkwood ... what a strange choice for a Hogwarts bed. Could such a magical wood have affected the Vanishing Spell? Maybe—

A door slammed again, and there was the sound of heavy footsteps. Hermione sat up and raised her wand.

"Waiting up for me, Draco?" Tennant's hoarse rumble pierced the curtains.

"Just relaxing," Malfoy said. Malfoy's here? He was here the whole time?

"You do look comfortable." Tennant said. Hermione heard a loud creak of leather and an irritated grunt from Malfoy. "Hmmm, yes, this sofa is quite comfortable."

"Sod off, Tennant."

He's here. Malfoy hadn't left her alone after all. He'd stayed, and ...

"We need to discuss tonight." Tennant's voice turned dark. "That Mudblood bitch will pay for Stunning me. Clever little thing, pretending to be knocked out like that."

"Is that what happened?" Malfoy sounded bored. "I thought you were taking a nice nap on the floor."

"Fucking useless, you are—could've revived me, at least."

"Consider it a lesson," Malfoy said. "There's nothing to be gained by messing with Hogwarts' Golden Girl."

A rich laugh from Tennant. "If you think a little flower hex changes anything, you don't know me at all. Pussy-whipped, are you? By a slag who won't give you the time of day?"

Malfoy's voice was wintry. "I wouldn't turn it down. I just don't think you're the man to get it."

"You'd leave her to that priss-faced prune? That witch wants bending over a desk." Another laugh. "Which end would you like?"

Hermione felt sick and light-headed with fury. Tennant Rowle was going down if she had to blow up her whole Hogwarts career to do it. How could she allow such a wizard to run free in the castle? And then in the outside world, continuing to visit the horrors he'd learned during the war on wizardfolk and Muggles alike?

Suddenly tonight's scene with Malfoy seemed trivial, even the Vanishing Spell was now an afterthought. Hermione ran her wand through her fingers, tracing the carved vines. Just thinking.

"I don't share." Malfoy's voice was entirely indifferent.

"You'll need to learn to share if you want a piece of that." Hermione heard another creak of leather, and Tennant's voice drew nearer the bed. "Don't say you haven't thought of that smart mouth around your—"

The loud thump against the bed's warded curtains made Hermione squeak and she rose on her knees, wand raised.

"Ow, Draco, what's wrong with you? You're so touchy about that filth—I say, is this bed warded?"

"Yes," Malfoy snapped. "And stay the fuck away from it."

"You've been warding your bed a lot lately. Is anybody in there?" The Slytherin cackled. "Don't tell me she pitched you out."

Hermione gasped aloud. She needed to stop thinking of Tennant like his father.

"Don't be stupid," Malfoy said, his voice calm again. "There's nobody there. But surely you understand if I feel ... protective ... of my possessions."