For the first time since returning to Hogwarts, Hermione woke up to the buzzing of her wand.
Her six-thirty a.m. spell call was so ingrained in the vinewood that she didn't even have to cast it anymore. But this year her sleep had been so patchy and disturbed that she was always up before dawn.
On Tuesday morning, however, Hermione woke to her hair vibrating madly. She slid the wand out of her curls and rolled over, fighting her way back to a lovely dream with soft touches and satiny skin and a crystal ball that chanted perfect NEWT scores: "Arithmancy, Outstanding; Charms, Outstanding; Divination, Outstanding ..."
A clatter and angry hiss jerked her awake, and Hermione opened her eyes. Crookshanks was batting at the still-vibrating wand, which then skittered across the coverlet and fell between the mattress and bedframe.
"Crooky, stop that!" Hermione scolded. "Accio wand!"
The vinewood popped out from behind the mattress and slapped into her palm. "Quies," she said to stop the buzzing. Crookshanks jumped off the bed, offended.
Hermione just stretched, now smiling. It was nice to wake up in her own red and gold-draped bed and not in a bathroom or corridor or alcove. The morning sun poured through a single wide window, picking out brass knobs and gilt-edged picture frames, and shone on the red velvet curtains and rows of leather-bound books. Not a creepy silver object in sight.
She felt a bit chilly, though, still missing that familiar warmth, a hint of cologne. Hermione pulled up her coverlet and closed her eyes in an attempt to recapture that dream. Her last clear memory was falling asleep tucked into a long, curled body, her ear against a steady heartbeat, trying to match Malfoy's slow, deep breaths.
Her hand slipped under the covers. Would he match her breaths too, in other ways? She assumed sex with Malfoy—if they ever had sex, the very idea made her equal parts excited and anxious—would be quick and forceful. Demanding. But maybe he'd try it slow and deep, too ... sometimes. And would he like it loud? She felt like she'd like to be loud, expressive. The models in Fred and George's magazines seemed to like it loud, although maybe a few took it a bit far with the screaming. She'd had to put up a silencing ward back in the tent just to read some of those pages. Well, if noise bothered Malfoy, she'd conjure him some earmuffs ...
The very idea of Draco Malfoy shagging her while wearing earmuffs halted Hermione's own touches and nearly sent her into hysterics. She burrowed deeper into the covers, trying not to wake Romilda with her giggles, and it was some time before she regained control of herself. Earmuffs. Merlin help her when winter arrived. She'd never stop laughing.
Thoroughly awake now, Hermione hopped out of bed to shower. Then she dug through her trunk, suddenly dissatisfied with her choices. She was tired of jumpers and denims. Her groping hands found a grey pencil skirt that she'd worn under her robes when testifying for the Wizengamot. She had some black pumps in here somewhere, too. And where ... there it was, a purple silk blouse. Seemed like a bit much ... Well, why not? She didn't have to track Tennant today, since she'd left the Map for Malfoy.
She slipped on the skirt and blouse and stepped to the mirror to wrestle with her curls before Romilda woke up. A jarfull of Sleekeazy's helped smooth her hair into a large, puffy bun on the top of her head. She looked quite unlike herself, but that was alright. Malfoy might like it.
Her smile wavered. Tennant might, too. The thought of the big wizard almost made her trade her outfit for denims, a puffy vest and maybe Hagrid's beekeeping hat. But Hermione resisted the urge. Tennant was Malfoy's problem today and anyway, no Rowle would dictate her wardrobe. Stubbornly she put on her earrings (tiny amethyst hearts, a present from her parents in Sixth Year) and lipstick. There.
"You look so glamorous, Hermione!" Parvati gushed when she arrived at the Gryffindor table. "And look, your book matches your outfit!"
Hermione tried not to glare over her grey, silver-bound "Durmstrang: A Directory." Books were not accessories!
The Great Hall had filled up since she'd begun reading and Hermione couldn't help glancing at the Slytherin table. Malfoy was looking her way with pursed lips. He didn't seem very pleased. In fact, he looked like Justin eating a lemon.
Tennant was looking over as well, much to the detriment of his morning porridge, which he'd splattered all over himself. Tennant's round eyes fixed Hermione and she stared boldly back.
It didn't take long for Hermione to discover why dressy office attire was unsuited to a medieval-era educational setting. She nearly broke her ankle twice slipping on the stone floor in heels until Parvati took pity on her and taught her a shoe-cushioning charm. Not that Hermione could move very fast in this straight skirt anyway. Icy drafts sliced through her silk top like she wore nothing at all, and her hair's tightly smoothed knot gave her a headache. Stubbornly Hermione pushed through the day, determined to tough it out until after classes. How did those Eighth-Year Slytherin witches manage in heels and tailored dresses?
Hermione was clicking down the seventh floor after her last class, sounding uncomfortably like Madam Pince, when Ginny popped out from behind a suit of armor.
"Merlin, Gin!" Hermione cried. She lowered her wand and tried to regulate her breathing. One of her heels caught in a crack in the stone floor and she nearly toppled over. That's it—tomorrow I'm wearing denims and a jumper and trainers and my hair will be HUGE.
Ginny looked her up and down. "What did you put in my birthday gift basket Fourth Year?"
"Chocolate frogs, a frosted gingerbread Quidditch broom, lipstick and a list of variants for the Bat-Bogey Hex," Hermione rattled off.
Ginny grinned, and for an instant she was the mischievous witch from before the war. "That drooling amendment was genius," she admitted.
"Very effective in Umbridge's office, I heard," Hermione said. Both women took a moment to fondly remember Malfoy gagging on his own spit while tiny bats flew out of his nose.
"Come to my room after dinner," Ginny ordered, stern once more. "We need to talk."
"How do I find it?" Hermione was excited by the prospect of seeing the witch's secret lair.
Ginny looked around and lowered her voice, although no one was nearby. "Look on your Marauders Map for G.U.L.—I was made a Marauder last year. Bring a dark cloak and make sure you're not followed."
Ordinarily Hermione would have scoffed at such precautions, but Tennant's words echoed, so she nodded. Ginny ran off, peering around a corner before disappearing from sight.
Hermione was halfway to the library when she stopped dead in the middle of the corridor, heedless of complaining students forced to detour around her. The Marauders Map. She didn't have it, and she couldn't tell Ginny she'd given it to Draco Malfoy. Well, she'd have to get the Map back, or at least get a good look.
She didn't know Malfoy's entire schedule, but she did know Tennant's after a discreet inquiry of the Head Girl. Padma was no fan of the Durmstrang transfer: Tennant's library antics kept disrupting her studies and he never reshelved his books.
If Malfoy was doing what he'd promised, Hermione concluded, he wouldn't be far behind their quarry. So she clicked off to the Astronomy Tower, silently thanking Parvati again for the cushioning spell on her pumps.
Hermione had barely set off when she spotted Malfoy heading down the library corridor. She went to meet him, moving as quickly as she could in this ridiculous skirt.
"Granger." Malfoy's hooded eyes swept over her. "Don't you look lovely."
Hermione flushed, pleased despite herself. Then she frowned. "What are you doing here?"
"Well, I was promised a first-class education," Malfoy said with a thin smile. "Sadly, that has not been the case."
Hermione's frown deepened. "I assume you know what you're doing."
"Always." Malfoy leaned back against the corridor wall, smile widening.
"Why are you in such a good mood?" Hermione asked suspiciously.
His eyes slid down from her face. "I'm enjoying some very pleasant thoughts."
She huffed. They only had a short time before dinner and then she had to meet Ginny. "Well, I need to talk to you."
Hermione looked around the empty corridor, then pulled aside the curtain to the alcove where she'd hidden from Ginny and the Slytherin wizards. A wave of her hand closed the curtain tightly after Malfoy and lit a candle set into a small recess.
Malfoy leaned against the opposite wall, hands in his pockets and a sweep of pale hair over his forehead. "Rather chilly this time of year, isn't it?"
"Yes, it's freez—" Hermione looked down and sighed. Brilliant, her nipples were clearly poking through the silk blouse. Why didn't anyone tell her?
"Never mind," she said, suppressing the urge to cross her arms over her breasts. It wasn't anything Malfoy hadn't seen already. Or touched.
Malfoy seemed to pick up on her thoughts, for he'd drawn closer, breathing a bit heavily. She felt fingers brush her arm, and she looked up, expecting to see that familiar heated softness, the pout of those full lips just for her.
But there was none of that today; Malfoy's gaze was predatory, his body tense despite his easy, pleasant air. Hermione shivered, but it wasn't anticipation. Was he angry with her about the blouse?
She stepped back. If Malfoy wanted to play the possessive prat, he could do it on his own time.
"Malfoy," Hermione said firmly. "I need to see the Map."
"The map," he purred, his eyes veiled by dipped dark lashes. "Of course. I will get it for you."
"You don't have it on you? Malfoy—"
"It's not important," Malfoy said, and now he was bending down, a hand brushing her silk sleeve, his lips inches from hers ...
Oh, Merlin. Hermione stepped further back, now pressing against the wall, and slid her wand down her sleeve, its tip on her palm.
"Malfoy, what are you doing?" she snapped. "What makes you think you can touch me?"
"Don't be afraid," the wizard murmured. "Don't you feel it between us?"
Hermione nearly snorted at the line, but she was too busy looking him over. That was certainly Malfoy's suit and tie, but this wizard wore no jewelry and his hands trembled slightly. Hermione swallowed.
"No, I don't feel anything between us," she sniffed, channeling Justin at his most prissy. "This is all quite improper."
"Is it now." He eyed her with amusement again. "Very well, Granger. Why don't you remind me about this ... map."
"I can't believe you don't remember," Hermione said, stalling for time.
Another smile that didn't reach his eyes. "You're very distracting."
"Well, you'd better remember," she snapped, "because I'm not getting a bad mark on our Dowsing Map because you can't be bothered." Thank Merlin she'd read the entire Advanced Divination textbook. Dowsing was a very advanced technique.
"I have the ... the pendulum," she continued, "but it's worthless until you finish drawing the map."
She glared at the wizard before her. Malfoy hadn't exactly been conscientious in any of their joint Divination projects so far and it would be just like him to skive off such a complicated task.
"We have to establish the coordinate system, Malfoy," Hermione continued in her best bossy tone. Maybe she could annoy him into leaving. "Remember to divide the map into four quadrants for additional detail."
"Yes, yes, four quadrants." Tennant—for she was sure now that it was he—edged closer. "Tell you what, why don't you meet me after dinner, and I'll bring this Dowsing Map." Again the brush of fingers. "We can search for treasure."
"We certainly cannot," Hermione snapped. "For I very much doubt you've labeled all the sub-quadrants and sub-sub-quadrants," She was beginning to warm to the concept. Perhaps she'd write out a nice unit on Dowsing for Trelawney. Merlin knew the woman needed the help.
"Be sure to use my numbering system," she went on, "because Vlatsbay's system is entirely inadequate." She glared. "Have you reviewed my notes about incorporating Arithmancy into the dowsing formulas?"
The wizard blinked. "Ah, no?"
"Of course you haven't," Hermione sniffed. "Well, there's absolutely no point in meeting until you've sorted out the map, because I refuse to do your work for you ..." she trailed off, for the blond man before her was glaring now.
She put a hand to her mouth. Oh, Merlin, for a minute there she'd forgotten this wasn't Malfoy. Tennant likely wouldn't enjoy one of their refreshing little discussions. In fact, the wizard's pointed features were livid.
"I will not be ordered about by a M—a minx like you," Tennant snarled. "Hold your tongue!"
Hermione shrank back dramatically. "Malfoy, what's wrong? You're never rude like this to me! In fact, I'm ... I'm very offended and ... and I'm leaving now!"
She slipped out of the alcove and those trembling hands. Fake Malfoy charged after her and they both ran right into a group of girls—Third Years, it appeared.
"Mr. Malfoy!"
"It's Mr. Malfoy!"
"He can help us!"
"Wheeeee!"
All the girls began flapping little bits of parchment. "Mr. Malfoy!" cried a girl with a huge yellow bow. "We're casting Love Prophecies tonight!"
Tennant and Hermione exchanged a baffled look of rare accord.
"Can you help us, Mr. Malfoy?" asked a dark-haired Gryffindor.
"Ah, afraid not, girls," Tennant said. "Miss Granger and I have plans."
His suggestive tone made the girls' eyes widen and they all looked at the curtained alcove, then at Hermione.
"We were discussing a Divination project on Dowsing," Hermione said repressively. "And I hope you all know that Love Prophecies have absolutely no basis in fact."
"But my note!" a blonde Ravenclaw cried. "I wrote you a note, Mr. Malfoy!" She unfolded her parchment and began to read:
"The wind in the trees whispers your name:
Draco ..."
Tennant's face darkened. "Fuck this," he snapped and strode off toward the library.
Hermione enviously watched him go. Being a violent sociopath did have its advantages. Surely Bellatrix never had to listen to girls' love notes while she was at Hogwarts.
The Ravenclaw was sniffling now into her little paper and her friends rushed to comfort her. Hermione tried not to sigh. She couldn't bear Third-Year girls when she was a Third-Year girl.
"It's alright, Miss ..." Hermione began.
"Clarke," the girl sniffled. "Wally Clarke."
"Walbur—" another girl began, but the other girls shushed her.
"Please don't be offended, Miss Clarke," Hermione continued. "Love is ... er ... a difficult topic for Malfoy right now."
The girls looked at the alcove and giggled. "Have you spurned him, Miss Granger?" asked the Gryffindor.
"Of course not," Hermione said.
The girls' eyes widened.
"I mean—it wasn't—I didn't—we were talking."
The girls looked skeptical.
"Malfoy is quite upset. By a different witch," Hermione said desperately. Then she remembered how Malfoy had hated the idea of a written statement. "She ... er ... shared her feelings in writing."
The girls accepted this explanation, nodding sympathetically after Fake Malfoy. Then Wally's face lit up. "Can you help me, then, Miss Granger? I have this bit about his eyes—"
"Certainly not," Hermione said. There was a limit. "Your time would be better spent on your schoolwork."
"Yes, Miss Granger," the blonde said dolefully. "Thank you, Miss Granger."
The other girls echoed her thanks and the little group trotted off. "I like the part with the petal-pink lips, Wally," a girl said loudly.
Hermione slumped against the wall, drained, but she couldn't relax for long, for here was Malfoy again, moving quickly from the other direction. His wand was out and his face flushed.
"Where is he? What happened? Are you alright?" Malfoy demanded.
Hermione straightened and drew her wand. "Was Mars or Jupiter in retrograde last Friday?"
Malfoy blinked. "What?"
She raised her wand. "Answer the question."
"Mars according to Trelawney, Jupiter according to you," he recited.
"Correct." Hermione glanced around at the now-empty corridor and pulled Malfoy behind the curtain. The alcove's candle was still glowing in its stone holder. She'd only learned of this space a day ago and now she practically lived there.
"What did Tennant do?" Malfoy wanted to know. "I saw your dots! Together!"
"I'm ... I'm fine," she said. "He was impersonating you. Polyjuice."
Malfoy dropped his wand and grasped her arms, his hands warming the silk. "Did he touch you? Did he hurt you? Hermione—"
"No, no, none of that. He was very sleazy, but that's all. I'm fine."
"Thank Salazar." Some of the tension went out of his body and he leaned into her. Now all Hermione could see was his tie: What appeared to be solid black silk was actually tiny black and grey squares. A silver pin in the shape of a wee snake coiled and uncoiled around a single black pearl. She closed her eyes and breathed him in; how could she have thought for an instant that the other wizard was Malfoy?
"He really didn't touch you," Malfoy whispered.
"Well, he did brush my arm and stare at my nipples."
She felt his body stiffen. "He saw your nipples?"
"It's a very thin blouse."
Hermione opened her eyes to see Malfoy step away and his face looked like Justin-eating-a-lemon again.
"I knew there was going to be trouble when you walked into breakfast looking like that," he grumbled. "What possessed you to wear that blouse? And that skirt? And that ... that ... hair! You've endangered everything!"
"I've endangered everything?" Hermione cried. "You're the one who lost him! Again! Silly me, thinking I could wear something pretty for once because you insisted on taking the Map today—"
"Sprout kept me in Herbology to break another ward," Malfoy said. "And you have no business wearing all that! It's bad enough when you're in one of those shabby jumpers with the big letter, with your hair all ..." he waved his hands in small circles. "I can cope with that, but then you ... you ..." he dropped his hands, "... decide to go all ... sleek ... in silk ... and those .... do you know what that does to a Slytherin wizard? Even Greg was looking! I nearly lost my ... what? Mmmph!"
Hermione was kissing him now, because it seemed the only practical way to make him stop raving, and because she wanted to kiss him. How any man could go through the war he had and remain so clueless and innocent somehow she had absolutely no idea, but she was grateful. Malfoy was still sixteen in so many ways—like Harry, actually, although she'd never tell him so.
He was pressing against her now, one arm pulling her off her feet, warm fingers brushing one of those objectionable nipples. Oh, Merlin, she wanted him so much when he was like this, all ruffled and bothered and outraged and worried ...
It was foolish, kissing him here, with only a thin curtain between them and the much-traveled library corridor and a secret Slytherin passage behind her. But being fretted and worried over was apparently an odd kink of Hermione's, because she couldn't stop. Not to mention Malfoy's easy strength as he braced her against the wall, his lean frame against her ...
She wanted to wrap her legs around him, but this skirt wouldn't allow it, and she wanted to test out some loud moans, but she hadn't warded the alcove, and now Hermione was as frustrated as a woman could be with a sexy man's tongue in her mouth.
But then she didn't even have that, because Malfoy tore himself away to talk.
"How did you know?" he panted into her ear.
"Wha-what?"
"Before." His hand slid down to her waist. "How did you know it wasn't me?"
Hermione looked up at him. For nearly the first time in her life, she didn't want to show off her knowledge. "Is it really important?"
Malfoy's jaw tightened. "Yes."
She sighed and mentally compiled a list: trembling hands, lack of jewelry or cologne, ignorance of the Map ... But when she opened her mouth, different words emerged.
"Your Slytherin masks," she said.
Malfoy's brow quirked, inquiring.
"Tennant looks all warm and teasing," she explained, "but his eyes ... they're cold. Dark."
"And I?" Malfoy's voice was soft.
"Quite the opposite," Hermione admitted. "You ... you look harsh and cold, but when you touch me you feel ..." She looked away, cheeks burning.
Soft lips brushed her ear. "Tell me."
Ugh, Slytherins. Insisting on shared feelings on demand. What could she say? You're so needy and you hate that but I like that you hate that because I need to be needed but I don't need to ... Ye gods, she sounded like Luna.
"Tell me." Malfoy repeated. He'd hold her up against this wall all day if it suited him. Hermione ran her lips along his jaw and he shivered, but didn't move.
"You feel ... warm," she said lamely. Warm?
Malfoy pressed even closer and his hand left her waist to pull down her carefully crafted bun and burrow into her curls. "You're ridiculous, Granger," he breathed into her ear.
She couldn't help smiling. "But I was right."
Then the kissing started up again, and Hermione was prepared to melt and become a permanent part of the stone wall as long as Malfoy stayed exactly where he was.
But once again, the awful specter of Tennant intervened. Malfoy's lips left hers and he groaned. "We have to check the Map."
"Map," Hermione repeated breathily. He was setting her down, to her displeasure, and backing away.
"Only Salazar knows what he's doing out there as me," Malfoy grumbled. He tapped the parchment with his wand. "I solemnly swear I am up to no good."
Hermione came to herself with a jolt. He was right, of course. Malfoy didn't exactly have Justin's sterling reputation if Tennant went on another rampage.
"He's probably himself again," Hermione said. The Map showed Tennant on the Marble Staircase, other dots clustered thickly around him as he joined the wave of students headed to dinner.
"Mischief managed." Malfoy looked sternly at Hermione. "Did you tell him anything?"
"I mentioned the Map—"
Malfoy's eyes widened. "He knows?"
"Yes and no," Hermione hedged.
"Explain."
"I did mention the map, before I realized he was Tennant. But I fixed it," she said.
"What did you say?"
"That we were doing a map project in Divination. Dowsing. I told him that I couldn't meet him tonight to work on the map because he likely hadn't properly numbered the subquadrants or incorporated the Arithmancy principles I'd laid out."
Malfoy snickered. "Better him than me." He visibly relaxed, however, and retrieved his wand to smooth his hair and suit. Then he leaned into her again, but Hermione raised a hand between them.
"I'll have you know, Malfoy," she lectured, "that when we get to that unit, I won't tolerate you skivving off work—where are you going?"
The blond wizard rolled his eyes at her, his hand on the curtain. "If we're finished here, I am going to dinner."
"I need to look at the Map one more time," Hermione said. Merlin, she'd almost forgotten Ginny.
He raised an eyebrow. "Oh, really."
"Yes, really."
"So I have something you need, then."
Hermione groaned. "Can you ever do anything just to be accommodating?"
He raised an eyebrow.
"Well, what do you want ..." she began. "Oh, for Godric's sake!"
Malfoy pretended to think. "Let's see, you can pay up now, or we can argue and miss dinner and you won't see the Map until tonight."
Hermione growled in aggravation, but she stepped up and placed her hands on his jaw. "Come down here, then." His kiss was sweet, and again she forgot about the Map until he pulled away.
"Have at it, then," Malfoy said smugly, handing her the parchment.
Hermione tapped the Map with her wand: "I solemnly swear I am up to no good." The lines and dots appeared and she began searching floor by floor for Ginny's room. There it was, between the Hufflepuff basement and the kitchens. Excellent spot for a secret hideaway. But there was no door, no way to enter. How—
"Granger," Malfoy said in her ear, "you are aware that dinner is served for only a limited time?"
"Yes, yes," she muttered, running her finger along the ground-floor corridor.
"What are you looking for?"
"GUL," Hermione said absently, scanning the second floor.
"A ghoul? There aren't any ghouls at Hogwarts. Greg and I had to fetch one all the way from the Goyle cellars to scare Longbot—"
"Yes!" Hermione cried. "That's it! 'Gadding with Ghouls'!"
Malfoy sniffed. "I wouldn't call it gadding. Bloody unpleasant creatures."
"No, no!" She looked up from the Map. "Gilderoy Lockhart's second book. His publisher donated a portrait of the cover and it hangs ... in the Trophy Room corridor!"
She checked the Map, and there it was, a label at the end of the corridor: "Ginny's Undisclosed Location entrance." A small bubble appeared, reading, "Tell Lockhart how handsome he is."
"Lockhart," Malfoy was muttering. "The gabby dimwit with the pixies, right?"
Hermione flushed. "I thought his classes were very interesting." She still felt bad for Lockhart, now a permanent resident of St. Mungo's after losing his memory, although she knew he deserved his fate. She'd found his latest book, "Who Am I?" an interesting case study of a rebounded Memory Charm.
Malfoy was snickering. "I remember now, Lockhart tried to mend Potter's injury at a Quidditch game." His smile widened and he flapped an arm.
"Not funny," Hermione snapped. "Harry had to regrow all his arm bones!"
Malfoy gave a final snicker and held out his hand for the Map, which Hermione surrendered reluctantly. "Be careful tonight, following him," she said. "He doesn't trust you."
"Tennant doesn't trust anybody."
Hermione set herself to rights with her wand and the two slipped out of the alcove. They headed toward the first-floor landing, the stairs empty with nearly everyone at dinner. It felt strange, walking in public with Malfoy, but then everyone knew they'd danced together, and they were Divination partners.
When they reached the Marble Staircase, Malfoy halted two steps below her so their heads were nearly level.
"So," he said, a gleam in his silver eyes. "I'm warm."
Hermione blushed like a Third-Year girl. He would never let this go. "Perhaps you're feverish," she said.
He smirked. "You look a bit feverish yourself."
"I drink a lot of hot tea," Hermione said.
"That makes no—"
The pounding of feet swept away Malfoy's words as a pack of Gryffindor boys tore down the staircase between them. "Treacle tart tonight!" a boy shouted, and they all cheered. Hermione pressed against the marble bannister to allow them to pass, but when the staircase had cleared, Malfoy was no longer there. He was now stood at the large double doors, looking up at her, his Slytherin mask in place once more. Then he turned sharply, his long form disappearing into the Great Hall.
NEXT UP: Hermione retakes a DADA test and offers more career advice.