The Darkwood Wand

Marked

"Sleeping on the floor these days?" Potter asked, interrupting Draco's carnal line of thoughts. Concentrate!

Draco ignored the question and slid his feet into his embroidered slippers, then settled into the armchair. He wished he could call Tally for a cup of tea, but Salazar knew he didn't want Potter questioning her.

"What's with the lights?" Potter asked, still looking around.

Draco blinked in surprise, then remembered that the other wizard was a half-blood. Potter eyed the robe on the floor again, then looked at Draco with a small smirk. The Auror's expression had Draco smoothing his hair and closing his robe more tightly. He still kept his wand in hand, however.

Potter edged nearer the leather sofa. "May I?"

Draco nodded, surprised by the sudden courtesy, and Potter sat down to face Draco, shifting aside the Durmstrang book. Draco held his breath, praying that Potter wouldn't open it and recognize the handwriting in the margins. But Potter just gave Draco a hard stare.

"Tell me about Isobel MacDougal," Potter said.

Draco just managed not to sigh in relief. Not Hermione, then. Draco hadn't thought one dance with her at a party would bring in the Ministry's newest Auror, but then Potter had always been jumpy.

"There's very little to say," Draco sneered.

"You've been seen with MacDougal, I'm told," Potter said. "In the library, on the grounds, at a Ravenclaw party."

Draco weighed his next words carefully. "Isobel was helping me with my studies," he said. Potter looked skeptical. "It's true. Ask her yourself."

"I can't." Potter's voice was cold. "Isobel MacDougal is in the infirmary."

"What?" Draco sat up straight. "What happened?"

"What do you think happened?"

Draco jumped to his feet and so did Potter, meeting Draco eye for eye despite the five-inch height difference.

"What happened to Isobel?" Draco demanded harshly. "Tell me!"

"Where were you earlier tonight?" Potter asked.

"Right here," Draco snapped. "What happened?"

"Can anyone corroborate that?"

"No, I was alone." He raised his wand. "If you won't tell me about Isobel, I'll find out myself."

"I wouldn't try to leave," Potter said, stepping between Draco and the doorway.

Draco hesitated. Isobel in the infirmary. Her face, all wide eyes and black-framed glasses and round cheeks, swam into his vision. So swotty and innocent, with her odd appetites and written statements.

"Just tell me, Potter," Draco said quietly. He swallowed and forced out the word. "Please."

"Isobel MacDougal was found unconscious tonight in the library corridor." Potter's voice was clipped and professional.

"Was she ... was she ..." Draco couldn't form the words.

Potter still held Draco's eyes. "No sign of assault. Justin Finch-Fletchley found her and sent me a Patronus."

"She wasn't cut?" Draco asked. "She wasn't cursed?" The carved letters on Hermione's arm came unbidden to his mind, prompting memories of running his lips over the glamoured scars earlier that night. He had murmured broken apologies into her skin, too softly to be heard ...

"No," Potter said, green eyes boring into him. "She had apparently triggered a powerful Stunning trap."

Draco gritted his teeth, trying to maintain his mask. Tennant. He was here, in the castle. The attack was a message. Tennant knew. He knew about Hermione. That morning when the wards had faded and she had moaned Draco's name ... Tennant knew.