Draco slammed into the library, his polished shoes skidding on the stone floor. He'd left lunch early to research the Vanishing Spell before Divination. The Head Girl manning the librarian's desk acknowledged his noisy entrance with a Pince-like sniff.
As he wound through the library's tall shelves, Draco could feel the darkwood wand in his pocket react to its surroundings: A Hufflepuff boy's dragging shoelaces tied up into jaunty bows; a half-door swung open for a tiny girl carrying a stack of books. Draco moved toward the back of the library, trying to ignore spilled inkpots righting themselves and chairs sliding neatly under tables. A buxom Slytherin witch—one of Tennant's harem—gave Draco a hooded look as he passed, then gasped as her open shirt buttoned itself up to her chin.
"This wand will demand honor, Mr. Malfoy." Ollivander's words echoed in Draco's mind. Splendid. Just what he needed. More honor in his life.
Draco continued his circuit, pulling books on enchanted objects and exotic woods and even xylomancy as well as an issue of Granger's woodworking magazine. Then he carried it all to his favorite corner, trying to ignore the slap of books straightening on the shelves as he passed.
He settled behind the table and was immediately diverted by the magazine's cover story: "What's Your Tree? Wizards and Their Woods." Draco snickered and pulled out his quill to complete the Personality Plant Survey. Did he prefer simple or divided leaves? (divided, of course). Did he drop his foliage? (only for you, darling). Favorite season? He wrote "winter," adding "I like all the dead trees." The next section included a list of personality features and told Draco to circle three that described himself: He circled "intelligent," "tolerant" and "low-maintenance."
An amused snort stilled Draco's hand, and he looked up to see Granger drop into the seat opposite him. She was still wearing that awful jumper and her hair looked ready to spring out of its thin ribbon and run out the door.
Draco found himself gaping and quickly reordered his features. He wasn't used to Granger popping out at him during the day. The darkwood wand in his pocket began smoothing her stray curls and mending a raggedly knitted spot on her shoulder. Oh, Salazar.
Fortunately, the witch wasn't looking at him, or noticing the ink stain vanishing from her little finger. She was too busy reading Draco's magazine quiz upside down, totaling his score and evaluating the result.
"Pear wood, Malfoy?" she asked, tapping the pages with a short-nailed finger. "I had no idea you were so warm-hearted, generous and wise."
Draco smirked. "It also says pear wood is one of the most sensual and satisfying of hardwoods."
Granger flushed. "That quiz is entirely... what are you doing?"
Draco's hand had closed over hers, her skin soft against his palm. Granger tried to tug it away, but he held fast, his other hand touching the wand in his pocket.
"Accio harlequin wand," he whispered. The checkered wand shot out from under her right sleeve, and he pulled his hand out of his pocket and caught the harlequin with Seeker reflexes.
"Neville told me about those wands," Granger said, "that they—Malfoy!"
Draco was now raising her hand to his lips, kissing the knuckles as he discreetly looked around. The Head Girl's eyes were firmly on her book—for now—and there were no other students in sight.
"Shhh," Draco said into her hand, turning it to brush his lips over her palm. Granger shivered. "This is a library." His lips moved down her wrist, brushing the surprisingly soft yarn of her jumper.
"Malfoy," she hissed. "This isn't your bedroom."
All the voices in Draco's head united into a single What in Merlin are you doing? but he ignored them. "Do you think you can swipe my wand without consequences, Granger?" he asked.
"Padma's looking over here ..."
"Think up a story," Draco said.
"To explain why you're kissing my fingers?"
"Brightest Witch on the Page, right?"
"Let go of me, you—"
"Hermione?" The Head Girl was at their table, staring at their entwined fingers. "Is everything alright?"
"Fine, thanks, Padma." Granger was still trying to free her hand.
The Ravenclaw looked unconvinced. "Malfoy here seems to be—"
"Finger-shrinking solution," Granger said. "Malfoy's measuring the effects."
Draco raised his eyebrows. With what, my lips? Granger twisted her hand, undoubtedly trying to stab him with her now-long nails, but he held it fast.
The Head Girl frowned. "I see no practical application for—"
"You'll find it in 'Potions Most Odde,'" Granger said. "Volume three. Ah, works on toes, too."
"We'll be measuring those next," Draco said.
Padma eyed them both doubtfully, then headed off to the Potions section. Ravenclaws checked up on everything.
Draco released Granger and she jumped to her feet, tucking her hands under her jumper. "I can't believe you—"
"Sit down," Draco said calmly. "I have news." He cast a Muffiliato with the harlequin he still held. Or at least, he tried to cast a Muffiliato. Immediately the library's low-volume rustles and whispers vanished.
Granger paused, then took her seat with an indescribable expression.
"What is it?" Draco blinked in surprise when he couldn't hear his own voice.
Granger appeared incapable of speech, her face tomato-red.
"What?" Draco demanded. "What happened to me? Why can't I hear any—"
The witch's head fell into her arms and her bushy head shook wildly.
"What the—" Draco slapped his hands over his ears, pulling an object off his head and throwing it on the table. He could now hear Granger's muffled laughter.
On the table was a pair of earmuffs: fluffy and bright purple. Fucking harlequin.
"You think you're funny, don't you?" he snapped at the wand.
Granger looked up at him, her face still red. "Ear ... muffs!" she squeaked. A passing student turned and stared.
"Be quiet!" Draco snapped.
She gulped. "If you don't like it loud, just wear ... wear ..." She buried her head in her arms again.
"Granger." Draco's voice was all Malfoy ice. "Would you care to share what is so amusing?"
Her bushy head shook. "I really wouldn't," said her muffled voice.
"Very well," Draco said, still cold. "Then I would like to share my news, if this is acceptable."
Granger raised her head and nodded.
"Tennant left for Durmstrang this afternoon," he said.
All the flushed amusement left Granger's face and her eyes widened. "For good?"
"No. Three-day DADA seminar."
She tilted her head in thought. "Why? Professor Lemond is doing a perfectly adequate job, although surprisingly dependent on theory for an Auror."
He shrugged. "Durmstrang has its own approach."
"I'll bet," she said darkly. She tapped her fingers on a magical carpentry book, her nails retracting and returning to their natural state. "Tennant must be recruiting there."
Draco felt a pleased glow that they'd come to the same conclusion. Stop that.
"Well, we have until Saturday." Her voice was brisk. "Enough time to come up with a better plan. We need to find out exactly what he's doing and who he's recruiting."
Draco shrugged, resigned to yet another mad scheme involving massive inconvenience and unnecessary risk.
"Ginny knows, by the way," Granger said.
"About Tennant?"
"Yes. And about us." She glanced at the earmuffs on the table and flushed again.
Draco felt an odd lurch in his chest at hearing the word "us" from Granger's lips. Then he frowned. "She knows about the spell?"
Granger shook her head. "No, she has no idea about that. But she knows there's—erm—something."
Draco reached out a hand, once again capturing her fingers. "Hmmm ... something."
This time Granger didn't try to tug her hand away, and Draco ran his thumb over her palm. Hopefully she'd given up on fairness and respect and all that rubbish.
"Something dark," he mused aloud. "Something secret. Degenerate."
"You're not degenerate, Malfoy."
"Give me time."
"You're not," Granger snapped. "You're not dark or degenerate or doomed or any other of those ..."
"Those what?" he asked.
"'D' words," she finished lamely.
Draco snickered.
"It's true," she insisted, squeezing his hand. Granger looked ready for battle, her jaw tight, hair bristling, that tiny bag slung across her chest and her own wand undoubtedly up her other sleeve. This witch still thought Draco had a real future, which only showed that even after eight years of wand waving, she didn't understand the wizarding world at all.
Well, Draco would let her have her delusions. Plotting to redeem him would keep her amused and in his arms for now. Draco would have to stay faithful, of course, but he didn't mind that. Which was rather concerning, but likely he was just being practical. He'd heard stories about a jealous Granger. Involving birds.
"This is all quite interesting," he said. "And just how do you plan to seduce me from my evil ways?"
"You're not evil," she said stoutly. "You were never evil." Her tone on the last word implied he was plenty of other things, but Draco would settle for not-evil.
The Head Girl reemerged from the Potions section with a stack of books, heading determinedly their way. Well, he'd leave Granger to deal with that. A flick of the darkwood wand and all his books and papers leaped into his satchel, which buckled itself up with a snap. He left the earmuffs for Granger, since she liked them so much.
Draco picked up the satchel, then leaned down to whisper in Granger's ear, taking care that his lips brushed her skin.
"I'm not evil, hmmmm?" he murmured. "I suppose you'll have to convince me of that tonight."
***
Draco's rare good mood lasted into Divination, where the class was drawing up astrology horoscopes. "Virile Jupiter has edged into Gemini," he wrote, "and the nearly full moon continues to wander through the intimate eighth house with the promise of pleasure." He made sure to place the parchment so Granger could read that section, and she rolled her eyes.
After dinner, he withdrew to his blessedly Tennant-free bedroom and opened the library book on magical carpentry. Apparently, spells cast on magically built furniture could be unpredictable. The book even mentioned Hogwarts, saying that most of the school's furniture had been built by hand for that very reason. One exception was the staircases so they would move at random without the use of spells. The staircase that had rescued Granger from Tennant was on loan from an Eastern European castle and also magically built. Draco wasn't sure if any of this applied to his and Granger's situation, but he made notes anyway.
Draco also forced himself to read his old notes from Sixth Year, still tucked into a secret compartment in his trunk. He was rather impressed by his younger self's level of detail, although he still credited his success to dumb luck rather than any fabulous woodworking talent. This bit about wood grain, for example, made no sense at all.
At nine-thirty he gave it up and prepared for bed, rumpling his hair just so and applying a few dabs of cologne. His bedding was clean and petal-free, with his Magical Creatures sketches freshly ironed by the elves (Tally, most likely) and stacked on his pillow. Draco closed the hangings to shut out all light except his tiny floating candle. Tonight was for shadows.
Leaning back on his pillows, he mentally sketched out a few plans. Maybe we can pick up where we left off this morning. He resisted the urge to slide a hand under his black silk boxers; he wanted her hand instead. His eyes slid shut. Maybe she'll wear one of those little short sets, with the thin straps that slide off the shoulder at the slightest touch of my ...
A thump and a high-pitched sound startled Draco, and he opened his eyes to a most terrible sight. Granger was wearing the plaid pajamas, which was bad enough. Her wand was stuck in her ponytail, and he squinted in its bright gold glare. Far worst of all was the shape clamped in her arms along with a thick book. A familiar shape, and very orange.
Draco bolted upright and pointed his wand at the cat. "What is the meaning of this?"
"Lower your wand!" Granger cried. "You're scaring him!"
"Get that thing OUT."
"What? No!"
"Well, he's not staying here!" Draco glared at the cat and the cat glared back. "He'll murder me in my sleep and eat my face!"
Granger stared, then collapsed into giggles, dropping her heavy book on the coverlet.
"What's so funny?"
She was outright laughing now, one arm tightly around her pet, the other on her stomach. "Eat ... face ... can't ... can't breathe ..." she gasped.
"It's not funny!" Draco snapped. Why was he so bloody amusing today? He glared at the cat struggling madly in Granger's arms, its teeth and claws clearly anxious to sink into Draco's flesh.
"That thing cannot stay here," he said coldly.
Granger stopped laughing. "This thing is my loyal friend, and I'm not setting him loose in this dungeon. Snakes are not on the list of approved familiars at Hogwarts, but I know some Slytherins bring them anyway."
Draco was disappointed. A Seventh Year named Barnaby had smuggled in two magical pythons and that would have been the perfect solution.
"Now you listen to me," Granger began, and Draco assumed she was speaking to him—it was certainly a tone she commonly used with Draco. But she was speaking to the cat.
"You will behave yourself while you're here, Crooky," she lectured. "And you're not to tease Malfoy or ..." her voice wavered slightly "... eat his face. You will stay on this side of the bed with me and be good."
The cat launched a series of high-pitched yowls that sounded like a house elf ironing its ears.
"Yes, Crooky, I know he Petrified you and he's sorry about that." Granger turned to Draco. "Aren't you, Malfoy?"
"I am not, and I'll do it again if that thing comes anywhere near me," Draco announced. The cat hissed.
Granger huffed. "I refuse to argue about this. I didn't mean to bring him, but I lost track of time. We need to prepare for our Divination exam tomorrow."
"Prepare for Divination?" This didn't suit Draco's plans at all, and he never prepared for Divination. "We'll just make stuff up."
Again that narrow-eyed glare. "Oh, really, Malfoy? Like you did today, perhaps? What can you tell me about the career of Cassandra Vablatsky? Can you even spell Vablatsky?"
"She's the author of the textbook 'Divining Your Destiny,'" Draco answered promptly. "V-A-B-L-A-T-S-K-Y."
Granger blinked. "Well, that's very good, Malfoy, I'm quite impress ... what is it, Crookshanks?"
She looked down at her cat, who, Draco was displeased to see, was nudging her Advanced Divination textbook on the coverlet. Its cover was clearly visible.
"Clearly," Granger said in an eerily calm voice, "we have a lot of work to do. We'll begin by reviewing tea leaves, Xylomancy, scrying mirrors and palmistry ..."
Draco was reminded of the night Granger first turned up in plaid, presenting her report on Vanishing Cabinets. What about their something? Wasn't he supposed to be seduced into redemption tonight? Unsuccessfully, of course, but he'd appreciate the effort.
Granger, however, was cracking open her book, the mangy furball tucked beside her. Well, he wasn't giving up yet. Shifting closer, Draco took her hand.
"Palmistry, Hermione?" he asked. He kept his right hand on his wand, hidden in the bedclothes. Granger flushed, and he began to run his thumb over the crisscrossing lines on her palm. "The pattern in the lines is clear," he murmured. "You are vain, heartless and prone to scandal."
She smiled faintly. "Of course."
"See this line?" He moved his thumb in circles over the center of her palm. "You will set out on a journey after many delays." Draco leaned closer. "You will find yourself doubting whether you should travel at all."
Soft honey-gold eyes looked up at him. "What will I do?"
"You will take the journey," he murmured in her ear. Draco then kissed the palm, his tongue reading her life, head and heart lines. Yes, this was quite effective. His other hand raised the darkwood slightly.
"Is it a dangerous journey?" Granger whispered.
"Yes." Draco saw no reason to deny it. Granger's hand, still damp from his mouth, touched his cheek, nails scraping his skin lightly.
The witch blinked and dropped her hand. "What are you doing, Malfoy?"
Draco hastily lowered his wand. "Nothing."
"You were pointing that at Crookshanks! You were going to hex my cat again!"
"No. Yes. Maybe. Just a bit."
"I can't believe you!" Granger scooted away and clutched her pet protectively. "How dare you!"
"Self-defense," Draco tried.
"Crooky hasn't done anything!"
Wizard and cat traded a look. "Not yet."
"Don't be absurd," Granger said. "Crooky is very well-trained. Unlike certain wizards I know." She placed the cat on her other side and picked up her textbook. "We need to study."
"I'm not studying for Divination," Draco sneered.
"Well, I am, so don't get any ideas." The witch pulled the wand from her hair and lit the page. "Good night."
Draco glared at her, but he knew that look. He didn't want to hear about the table. Time for a tactical retreat. Thoroughly annoyed, not to mention frustrated, he lay back down, rolling away from her. He could feel her eyes boring into his bare back. Exams, rabid animals ... this was not the way tonight was supposed to go.
He tried to relax, to think of anything but the witch behind him. Flying over Wiltshire in the summer, before the war, following the rolling, patchwork hills. But dark thoughts kept creeping in, and any thoughts of home felt tainted now, any beauty there a mockery of the evil within. He squeezed his eyes shut against images of advancing darkness in shadowed rooms, but they wouldn't retreat, until he realized Granger was speaking softly.
"... The earliest recorded use of crystals for divination dates back to the Celtic Druids in the Iron Age," she was saying. "The meditative trance, often helped by a special incense ... isn't that interesting, Crooky? No, it really isn't, I must have been mad to take this class ... Anyway, most quality crystal balls are made of polished beryl for its magnetic qualities. Honestly, I'd have more respect for this discipline if it simply stuck to its mumbo-jumbo instead of trying to apply scientific principles ..."
Draco would have rolled his eyes if they weren't already closed. He knew what she was trying to do. It wouldn't work, though; Granger could continue her crabby commentary all night and he wouldn't learn a thing. But her voice was oddly soothing, and Draco fell asleep to irritated mutterings about the shocking lack of empirical data to support one word of the Divination textbook's conclusions.
***
"ANSWER ME! CRUCIO!"
"Draco, fetch the goblin! Draco!"
Granger screaming, screaming ...
Draco sat up, heart pounding. Just another nightmare. But the screaming didn't stop, why didn't it stop? Granger just kept screaming, on and on ...
It was another sound, a distressed yowling, that provided the answer. Yes, Granger was still screaming, but not in Draco's nightmare—in hers.
"Tempus!" Draco barked, and his pocket watch lit up, revealing Granger with her mouth open and eyes closed, still screaming. Draco froze in horror, unable to move.
"YOOWLLLLL!" screeched the cat, leaping over Granger and digging its claws into Draco's arm.
"Aaagh!" Draco pushed the cat away and stared at the blood now trickling down his Dark Mark. But the pain cleared his mind, and he rolled over to Granger and grabbed her arms.
"Granger! Granger! Hermione!" he cried. "It's alright!"
He ran his hands up to her face. "Hermione!"
To Draco's amazement, she stopped screaming and her eyes popped open.
"Harry?"
Oh, Salazar.
"No," he said, trying to be patient. "I'm not Potter. I'm not the Weasel, either, don't you get any ideas about that. It's Malfoy."
"Malfoy ..." She cringed in fear.
He could have slapped himself. You fucking idiot.
"Draco," he said as calmly as he could. "It's Draco. Remember me? I'm the one who tried to fuck everything up, but your lot won anyway. You won. It's all over."
"Harry came," she whispered.
"Yeah, Potter came." Thank Merlin.
"Ron came."
"Well, yeah, him too."
"Dobby came."
"Er, yeah," Draco stammered.
"A cottage by the sea," she said.
"Sure. Sounds lovely."
"Breathe."
"Yes, good idea." It was, really. Trust Granger to come up with a little script. "Let's breathe."
Draco hovered over her, holding up his body by his elbows while they breathed. After a while Granger's eyes closed, then opened again, and she stared up at him.
"Malfoy? What are you doing?" She frowned. "It's a bit late for that sort of thing."
"Oh, Salazar." Draco rolled off her and sat up with a groan. "You were having a nightmare, Granger. I was trying to ... ah, breathe some sense into you. And you're welcome."
Granger blinked, confused, but recovered enough to pet her cat, which was butting its head against her hand. "You're bleeding," she told Draco.
Draco snatched up his wand and cleared away the blood. He said nothing about the cat, but if it hadn't been for the toothy hairball, he and Granger would probably be screaming together until they both went mad. A right pair, we are.
Granger pushed sweaty curls off her face and pulled at her collar. "Hot in here."
"You should take your shirt off," Draco said, all polite helpfulness.
She rolled her eyes. "I'll live."
"Good." Draco slid back down under the covers, lying on his back. Granger was on her side, facing him, with an ugly orange head peering over her shoulder.
"What?" he asked testily.
"Thank you," she whispered. "For helping me."
"It's nothing. Go to sleep." He was tired, and still irritated by his earlier thwarted plans.
Granger edged closer until her head was on his shoulder. "Is this alright?"
"Just keep that thing away from me."
"I will." She settled in with a sigh, and Draco couldn't see the cat anymore, but he knew it was around somewhere, just waiting to pounce. He'd wake up without a face and Granger would never shag him then.
Oh, well. Draco's eyes slid shut. He was too tired to care anymore. "Securus." His watch snapped shut, and he was shrouded in darkness and warmth and the softness of curls and a flannel-covered arm across his chest and what sounded like a contented purr, or perhaps a growling prelude to a midnight snack, he couldn't be sure.
NEXT UP: Draco wakes to a nasty surprise.