The Darkwood Wand

Cartomancy

"See something interesting, Blaise?" Theo's voice dripped acid. Blaise didn't respond, just sliced up his pancakes.

Draco gave Blaise a sideways look, wondering if the suave Slytherin would ever give up on the Weasley madwoman. Draco himself would rather crawl into bed with a transformed Veela: beaks, claws and all. But apparently Blaise felt differently since he was now cutting his pancakes into pieces so tiny he'd have to eat them with a spoon.

Draco's eyes shifted to the Gryffindors again. Hermione was still absorbed in her book, looking all straight-backed and virtuous as if she'd never seen an upright cock in her life. Her mouth was pursed, her hair pulled into a tight knot, and Draco swallowed hard at the sight. He poured a cold glass of pumpkin juice and promptly choked as Hermione broke her peeled banana in half and started nibbling on it. The whole Slytherin table was staring at Draco now, and he glared at his pancakes as if daring them to say a word.

Draco looked up again to see Theo eyeing him, and he resisted the urge to say something suggestive to Daphne. She was appealing enough despite her beady eyes and stick-thin figure. Long, straight, spun-gold hair framed Daphne's delicate features and was pinned up on one side with a dainty emerald clip. Such an ornament would be totally unsuitable for Hermione, of course; it would either vanish in her curls or snap under the strain and take out somebody's eye ...

"What are you staring at?" a voice hissed.

Draco blinked, startled. Daphne was looking back at him, her pale eyebrows arched. He was disturbing her aura. Draco then looked at Theo, the source of the question. Theo's fingers were clenched around his teacup and while his features were placid, a spot of color had appeared on each cheek.

"Give over, Theo," Blaise said.

"I have no chance, anyway." Draco gave a dramatic sigh. "I don't write poetry."

"Fuck," Blaise groaned.

Theo glared at Draco, then gathered his things and left without eating.

"Damn it, Malfoy," Blaise hissed. "This is not the time for your shit."

Draco didn't answer, just looked at the Gryffindor table again. Hermione was helping Longbottom carry away his Cringing Vine, which had doubled in size. He'd have to catch her at lunch, maybe they could ...

But he was out of luck there as well. Professor Sprout kept him after class and told him she'd set a new security ward on Greenhouse Two and didn't know how to remove it without breaking the windows. So Draco had to skip lunch to painstakingly peel the enchantment off the structure pane by pane. Sprout offered him a horrid herb flatbread afterward and he'd had no choice but to eat it or starve until dinner, so now he was walking around smelling of rosemary.

Cranky appeared as Draco headed to Divination, trailing his steps again, and Draco ignored the giggles and whispers. Once inside the stuffy, perfumed room, he stalked over to his empty table and sat down, grateful that cats didn't climb ladders.

Today they were studying cartomancy, and a small stack of Tarot cards had been placed in the center of each table. The sight lifted Draco's dour mood. Cards. Another negotiation, perhaps? With a grin, he shifted his pouf backward, leaning against the wall. He put his hands in his pockets and stretched his legs under the table, his glossy black shoes sticking out the other side. Then he waited.

Draperies parted, revealing a doorway, and Trelawney appeared, glittery and batlike in dark robes. At the same time a familiar bushy ponytail popped out of the trapdoor in the center of the floor and the rest of Hermione followed.

She was still smartly dressed in the black jumper and matching long skirt with boots, but the tight knot in her hair had given up the ghost. Draco didn't bother to suppress his smirk as he watched her walk to their table and take a seat. She shifted her pouf away from him, but of course she couldn't go very far.