So ... have we all recovered from the last chapter? I hope so, because it's time for Night Three of the Vanishing Spell.
Draco's chat with Lovegood ended his plans for remaining in the library, and possibly for speaking to any Ravenclaw witch ever again. So he headed to his bedroom early; he deserved a decent sleep after the turmoil of recent nights.
Tennant wasn't there, thank Salazar, and Draco was able to go to bed and draw the curtains without listening to his roommate's perving for once. He took his Advanced Charms textbook with him, trying not to think about the day's class. One of those daft First Years had actually smiled at him at dinner. He hoped his mother moved quickly finding a wandmaker.
His conversation with Theo and Blaise also left him unsettled. They had all been close once, until Draco drifted away in Sixth Year to focus on the Vanishing Cabinet. Draco did not regret that choice. Crabbe and Goyle had been expendable. Theo and Blaise were not.
He leaned back against his pillows and lit a floating candle. Then he fished out the reading glasses he never wore around anyone and opened the textbook to the NEWT-level Ascendio charm. He supposed it could be useful if he ever lost his mind and decided to fling himself into the air with little control over his trajectory.
Draco spent a quiet hour reviewing charms until the ebony grandfather clock in the corner began to toll ten. He thought about writing his mother, but decided the only thing more pathetic than doing schoolwork in bed was writing his mother in bed and maybe he should just—
The white flash didn't make him jump, although it should have, and thinking on it later Draco wondered if he'd really been surprised.
"Damn it, Granger!" he snapped, dropping his book. The candle floated back between them, softly lighting the Gryffindor's glare.
"Don't you 'Damn it, Granger' me," she huffed. "This is all your fault."
She brandished a thick roll of parchment tied with a red ribbon. "I knew your counterspell didn't work, Malfoy. I saw how you looked at those bedposts. You should have stayed and tried again instead of flying off."
Draco knew she was right, but he wasn't going to admit it. Granger's entire appearance tonight set his teeth on edge. Instead of the skimpy outfits she'd been sporting, the witch wore plaid flannel pajamas, fuzzy red socks and fingerless gloves, a quill stuck in her curls. The Gryffindor had obviously prepared for a night in the cold Slytherin dungeons. She'd also brought a book and a tiny purple handbag, and Draco found himself annoyed that she had so little faith in his spellwork.
"I have a test tomorrow, Malfoy, and I refuse to let your nonsense interfere with my education," Granger said with a sniff. Then her eyes widened, and she pounced on Draco's open Charms notes.
"Oh, Ascendio!" she cried. "Have you read all the variations to the theory that—"
"Shut it, Granger." Draco snatched his scroll back. "You might be happy you're here, but I am not. Our time would be much better spent getting you out."
Granger sniffed. "Well, excuse me for making the best of things. You're clearly rubbish at unraveling your own charms, and breaking the connection will take time. In the meantime, my education must remain my top priority."
Draco leaned forward, looming over the small witch. "And my top priority is reversing this Vanishing Spell, so unless you'd like to try some more interesting activities here in my bed, you'd better start researching woodworking enchantments."
He shifted closer. A familiar voice in his head, which sounded very Malfoy, screamed what are you doing? But he ignored it. He could smell that flowery perfume, and her eyes gleamed golden in the candlelight.
"Up to you," he said wickedly.
He expected Granger to quail, or at least blush at his words, but instead she rolled her eyes.
"Well, get on with it, then, Malfoy," she said. "Seduce me."
Draco blinked, feeling himself back in the library with Lovegood, but he was determined to get the upper hand, literally and figuratively. He grasped her forearm.
An ear-splitting screech sounded, bouncing off the warded curtains and ricocheting around the enclosed space. Draco fell back in shock, releasing Granger, and the shrieking stopped immediately.
"Handy little charm," she said, looking smug.
Draco remained still for a time, waiting for his heart to beat normally once more and for his hearing to return. When he looked at Granger again, the little bint was leaning against one of his pillows, scribbling notes in her Arithmancy textbook and ignoring him.
Well, that could not be allowed. Draco lunged forward and circled that slender throat with both hands. Granger looked up at him wide-eyed but said nothing.
"I could easily strangle you without touching those accursed pajamas," he threatened. "Or Vanish them entirely."
The cold point of a wand found the pulse point on his throat. "Or perhaps you'd like to try life as a ferret again."
Draco cursed. Of course she had her wand hidden on her person this time.
"Or," Granger continued, sounding bored. "We can stop playing games and you can treat me civilly. We can study for classes and find time to fix this spell."
Draco removed his hands from that soft throat with an effort. Merlin, this witch was a complete horror.
"But before we continue further ..." she pulled a piece of parchment out of the book, "sign this."
I, the undersigned, ______________________, agree not to reveal my ill-conceived and poorly executed Vanishing Spell on Hogwarts beds to any other person, living or dead, painted or otherwise.
I furthermore admit full responsibility for any suffering and negative academic consequences resulting from the aforementioned incompetent spellwork.
Draco was outraged. "I am not signing this!"
"Then I'll have to go to McGonagall."
His best Death Eater glare only earned him another sniff and a quill slapped into his hand. Still glaring, Draco scribbled his name on the line and across the bottom of the parchment. Granger tapped the contract with her wand, nodding in satisfaction, then stuffed it into her purse. The purse was round and beaded, topped with a little bow, and Draco snickered silently at the frivolous addition to her dowdy tartan.
"Now," Granger continued, "for your information, I have been researching woodworking charms. Today I took out an owl subscription to Wizards Woodworking Weekly. And I've drawn up some ideas about where the spell went wrong. Why don't you review them while I finish this essay and then we can discuss my conclusions." She handed Draco the red-ribboned scroll.
Draco eyed it gloomily. All he'd wanted was a little bedtime fun, and here he had a Mini-McGonagall assigning him extra homework.
"I'll read it later," he said, tossing the parchment aside. "I'm going to sleep."
Granger shrugged. "Fine. Don't blame me when I keep returning night after night after night after night ..."
Draco glared again but she just wrinkled her nose at him. Wrinkled her nose!
"Don't treat me like your little fuckboy Weasel," he snarled.
"Oh, he was much more difficult than you," she said, returning to her essay.
Draco didn't believe that for a moment; she was just trying to get under his skin. "Give me one good reason I shouldn't throw you out of this bed right now, Tennant be damned."
That got her attention. "You wouldn't!" she cried.
"Yes, it would be an outright disaster for both of us," Draco said. "But I'm almost ready to blow up my Hogwarts career if it means you're out of this bed!"
Granger's eyes narrowed. "I don't believe that. You wouldn't throw me to Tennant."
She was right. Oh, how he hated that.
"Fine." Draco snatched up her scroll. His fingers clenched, wishing the thick roll of parchment was Granger's throat. How he wanted to grab her and force her against his bed, pulling at her hair, his mouth ...
No. The effect of such thoughts on his body was horrifyingly obvious in his thin silk boxers. He threw the covers over himself, casting Granger a quick look, but she was once again absorbed in her textbook, the virginal little prude. Was she a virgin? Probably at least the Weasel had stuck ... that fucking Weasel ...
"What is wrong with you, Malfoy?" Granger snapped. Draco looked down to see he'd torn her Vanishing Spell notes in half.
Granger cocked her head to one side. "I didn't know you wore glasses."
Draco yanked the glasses off his face. Granger sniffed again and returned to her book. He repaired the scroll with a tap of his wand, untied the ribbon, and began reading with great resentment.
Vanishing Containers: A Study in Precision. Oh, bloody hell ...
It was a thorough job, he had to give her that. If he'd had these notes Sixth Year, he'd have fixed the Vanishing Cabinet in days, not months. No wonder Potter won. She'd even found some obscure references to temporal magic used in Vanishing Objects, turning them into what Muggles called "time machines." Draco didn't think that was happening here, since the intent of his spell was not to travel through time, merely to activate the spell at precise and regular intervals. Like an alarm clock overlaid on the wood, set to go off ... something tickled in his mind, but he couldn't capture the thought. What was clear, anyway, was that his control over the Vanishing Beds had been broken, if he'd ever had any control. The spell was operating under its own power.
"Obviously," Granger said in a patronizing tone. Draco looked up, realizing he'd spoken that last sentence aloud.
She went on: "And given the fact that I returned to my bed this morning at two o'clock, it looks like the timing is still off as well."
"You appeared here at ten o'clock again," Draco pointed out.
"Yes, but who knows when I'll leave?" Granger was stretched comfortably out on his coverlet, her book between them, wiggling her toes inside her red socks.
"My guess is that my movements will become increasingly random," she said, waving her quill for emphasis. "I could pop in and out of this bed at almost any time." She sighed. "We need to either break this spell or tell McGonagall anyway."
Draco's blood turned to ice. "You wouldn't ..."
She looked him straight in the eye. "We'll have to, if we can't solve this. We can't have a Gryffindor girl turning up in a Slytherin boy's bed next year."
The little know-it-all was right, he realized. Even if he somehow convinced Granger to stay silent, the connection between the beds would be discovered and quickly traced to him.
"Don't worry, Malfoy," she said, and Draco realized he'd put his head in his hands, wondering if he should flee the country before this whole thing blew up in his face. Merlin.
"We'll solve it," she said. "Nobody knows about this but ourselves, and we'll keep it that way." He looked up at her, and Granger's face was as cold as any Slytherin. "For now."
Draco nodded, unable to speak, and just looked down at the notes in his hand.
"To start," she said, "we'll assume you began to cast the spell, and somehow two things went wrong: your control of the Vanishing movements and the timing of the Vanishing movements." Granger bit her lip and Draco watched her silently. It was really something to see that mind at work.
"The Vanishing Spell was never designed to be this complex," she said. "Its single purpose is to move the contents from one cabinet to another and back again. You not only applied the spell to a bed, but you added a time element, and then you ceded control of when its contents were transferred again."
She quirked an eyebrow at him, questioning.
"I wanted to make sure Vane left at eleven o'clock," Draco said with a smirk. "Even if I was ... preoccupied."
"Well, obviously, the spell couldn't manage all the amendments. The smallest interference was enough to throw it off track."
"That orange monster," Draco said suddenly.
"What?"
"That Kneazle beast you keep in the room."
Granger's eyes began to spark. "You're blaming Crookshanks for this mess?"
"It distracted me as I cast the spell!"
She considered this. "Possibly. Crookshanks loves it when I do magic, often tries to push his way in." Her smile was fond. "He thinks he's helping."
"Some help," Draco grumbled.
"Well, it's a possible explanation." Granger opened her tiny handbag and Draco stared as she shoved her fat Arithmancy book into it. She shook the bag, and it echoed hollowly with a muffled thump. An Undetectable Extension charm, he'd wager, with an additional featherweight charm. And she lectured him about piling too many spells on an object? She was lucky if the purse didn't collapse in on itself and kill them both.
Granger slung the bag's strap across her chest and tucked her wand inside her pajama top, preparing for when the spell whisked her away again.
"We'll meet in my room at lunch tomorrow and try again." She looked around and sighed. "I wish I could walk out of here now. I brought the Map and everything."
"The what?"
Granger colored. "Nothing. Well, goodnight."
She tugged a red blanket out of the bag and rolled into it, stretching out against the curtain again with her back to him. Draco sat frozen, staring at the little covered form and head of curls, feeling thoroughly dismissed in his own fucking bed. Nobody dismissed a Malfoy. But Draco said nothing, he'd made enough of an idiot of himself tonight.
***
Winter at Malfoy Manor. Christmas trees lining the glittering foyer, crystal snowflakes floating from room to room ... strings of lights sparkling from doorways and mantles, twining around stair bannisters ...
He was in his bed, watching the snow outside his window, too excited to sleep. So warm ...
Draco opened his eyes in the dark. He'd been dreaming of past Christmases, when he was a small boy, before Hogwarts, before Death Eaters, before the Dark Lord. When he was safe and loved and nothing bad could ever happen to him. He'd lie in bed watching the snow on Christmas Eve, tucked around his flannel-covered hot water bottle ...
Flannel-covered.
Draco blinked confusedly. His arms were wrapped around warmth within flannel, but he was no small boy, and this was no hot water bottle. His hand slid over a curved hip, and he heard a soft, now familiar murmur.
He smiled in the dark. Granger's shrieking pajama charm, it appeared, had mostly worn off, he heard only the faintest Aaaeeee ... She was still on her side, turned toward the curtain, but he was stretched behind her now, both of them tucked together under layers of red and green covers.
Draco pressed against her and was pleased to feel her press back, arousing him instantly. Hmmm .... what might she let him do? His lips brushed her temple and his hand slid under her top, along warm, velvety skin, touching her ...
Flash. The witch Vanished.
He sat up, cursing the spell's timing. She was gone, leaving him with a hard-on. Draco groaned and fell back into his pillow. Why couldn't he have woken up sooner? Well, he hadn't wanted to, for one thing. He couldn't remember the last time he'd had a pleasant dream. He'd have to write Mother about it. She'd be pleased.
Meanwhile, he and Granger would truly break the spell today, ending these disturbing little visits. "Thank Salazar," he whispered. He buried his nose into Granger's plush red blanket and slipped back into sleep.
NEXT UP: Hermione takes a little time.