Hermione knelt inside Draco's warded bed, trembling with fury. She wanted to rip the coverlet in half with her bare hands. She wanted to shred the down pillows until the curtained space swirled with fluffy white tufts. The bed's carved snakes sensed her rage and slithered down to hide under the mattress.
But no, she couldn't destroy the bed. Draco didn't deserve that, even if he was undoubtedly raving out there about her harlot ways. Fucking sexist double standard. Her hand tightened on the vinewood until she expected the wand to cry out in pain. Sleeping with her best friend, who had needed her, hardly compared with hounding around Hogwarts with ...
She squeezed her eyes shut, striving for control, and when she opened them, she blinked in surprise. The bedposts were now bone-white and the bedding had turned a virulent pink, embroidered with daisies and kittens. Purple ribbons had even replaced the silver tassels on Draco's pillows. The carved snakes slithered up the bedposts again, but now they were flowering vines, flapping their leaves in agitation.
Hermione couldn't help grinning at the sight and cast a spell to prevent Draco from reversing the colors. Only McGonagall or Flitwick could change the bed's contents back now, and Hermione doubted the Slytherin would ask either professor to help him with his kitten pillow problem. Then she turned one of the pillows into a round orange cat and propped it against a bedpost. Perfect.
Despite her mischief-making, Hermione could admit to herself that Draco's response to Harry's revelation had been better than expected. It had been a shock, and after eight years of rivalry between the two wizards, well, some lashing out was to be expected. A little hit to that big ego of yours, hmmm, Draco? He had acted poorly, that was true, but Merlin, when didn't Draco Malfoy act poorly?
Many times, actually. He didn't act poorly earlier tonight. Hermione burrowed under the pink coverlet and closed her eyes, remembering. Draco removing Tally's grip on his robe with a gentle hand. Draco looking at her over the negotiating table. Draco's hair and eyes glowing in the lamplight as he conjured silver cards with lewd suggestions.
And the wizard had stuck to her terms. He'd stuck to her terms. Hermione had expected their negotiations to be a game to him, that once she was naked beneath him, he'd throw over that table and just ... just take. And a part of her had hoped he would. Dangerous, unreformed, half-tamed ... Draco was all those things.
But he hadn't. Draco had skidded right up to the edge, but stayed on the right side of the cards, although Hermione had been helpless under his touch. It should have been nothing to him, just another underhanded deal, but it wasn't, he took it seriously. Draco took her seriously and Hermione found that sexier than anything he'd done before. He'd tried to hide her, too, even when Harry mentioned Azkaban. He'd protected her.
Hermione stretched under the coverlet and smiled in the darkness. Yes, Draco had done well enough, so if he provided an appropriate apology along with a little groveling and ...
She found herself stroking her skin under the silk pajama top, remembering his touches. How his hands and mouth and body had veered wildly from tentative to demanding, gentle to rough, biting and soothing. Her hand drifted lower and she felt a fluttering between her legs
For Merlin's sake—what are you doing? She should be planning a serious talk with Harry, not fantasizing about Draco and how he ... and what if she weakened the wards, just a little bit? Just a small provocation? He could enter all enraged and they could have a little fight and he'd say she deserved to be treated like a ...
Hermione sat up with a gasp. Well, that wasn't very evolved—why did Draco Malfoy inspire all these contradictory feelings? She pushed at the bed curtains with a bare foot and almost groaned as the cloth gave way slightly. Was this to be her thing now, accidental magic giving form to her unconscious and not-so-unconscious thoughts?
The familiar flash of white light came almost as a relief at that point. Hermione found herself on her bedroom sofa again, holding the vinewood wand and a pink pillow. Curses, she'd left her Durmstrang book behind. She padded over to her bed, where Crookshanks was curled on the coverlet, and slid inside the comforting red and gold. Tomorrow she'd have a few words with Harry about his behavior and about—
Isobel.
How could she forget about Isobel? And about Tennant, who was clearly lurking around? Female students needed to take precautions. Wait, Ginny was the new Head of Student Security. Yes, that could come in handy. Hermione was trying to decide the best way to approach the redhead, and how to tell Ginny that Harry had returned to the castle, when she fell asleep.
***
Draco wasn't at breakfast Friday morningl, and perhaps that was for the best since the whole castle was buzzing about Isobel. The Ravenclaw had made no secret of her new interest in Justin and had apparently workshopped a written breakup statement to Draco with all her friends, so the general contention was that Draco had attacked Isobel in a jealous rage.
"Watch yourself, Hermione," Seamus warned. "You danced with him, remember?"
Hermione rolled her eyes. "I'm not afraid of Draco Malfoy. Is that the last muffin?"
"Don't." Neville held his hand over the blueberry muffin. "I saw it wriggle."
"D-Malfoy would never attack Isobel," Hermione continued, smearing jam on a scone instead. "He'd end up back in Azkaban right quick."
"You think someone is framing him," Ginny said, eyebrows raised. Hermione nodded. "In that case, Seamus is right. You should watch yourself."
"Luna, too," Neville said. "She's been talking to Malfoy, insists he's very polite—Romilda, don't!"
Romilda started and dropped the muffin on her plate. The Gryffindors watched it bounce off the table and roll out the doors.
Ginny was inspecting another muffin through a magnifying glass. "Ravenclaw plot," she muttered.
"For what, world domination by pastry?" Hermione asked.
"Stranger things have happened," Ginny said darkly.
This was inarguable, so the Gryffindors turned to other topics (mostly Quidditch). Hermione sipped her pumpkin juice, thinking. Tennant was nowhere on the Map, which meant he was likely on the grounds, in a secret passage or ... the Room of Requirement. The whole school knew about the Room now, and so many students kept sneaking in there for mischief (or snogging) that McGonagall had hung a painting to guard the entrance. But Tennant was more than capable of outsmarting a painting. She'd have to tell Harry.
After breakfast she pulled Ginny aside in the Entrance Hall and informed her that Harry would be lurking around the castle in an unofficial capacity. Hermione was worried that the Junior Auror's arrival would fracture their fragile détente, but Ginny took the news in stride.
"Justin contacted Harry last night?" she repeated. "Sensible." Her sharp brown eyes roved the hall.
"What are you looking for, Gin?"
"I'm looking for nothing," she answered. "Like the dog that wouldn't bark."
Hermione barely managed not to roll her eyes. Ginny was certainly taking those Sherlock Holmes books seriously. "So you don't mind having Harry here?" she asked.
Ginny's gaze snapped back to Hermione. "No. Glad to have another set of eyes since McGonagall is out of the castle."
Hermione knew she should be happy with that answer, but curiosity drove her on. "Are you still angry with him?" she asked. Angry with me?
She expected the other witch to snap and glare, but Ginny shook her head. "No," she said. "You're both idiots. Ron and I are well shut of it."
"Harry and I aren't together," Hermione said, determined to make that clear.
Ginny snorted lightly. "No, you're not. That would make too much sense. You prefer Hogwart's Resident Walking Disaster, and only Merlin knows what madwoman Harry will try to rescue from herself."
Now Hermione was displeased. "Draco is not a—"
"Do you have the Map on you?" Ginny cut in.
"Yes."
Ginny nodded. "I'll have the Squad keep up the security questions. Rowle could be anybody these days."
Hermione gasped. She couldn't believe she'd forgotten. Where was her mind these days? "I need to tell Harry about the Polyjuice," she said.
"Yes," Ginny agreed. "If I don't find him first." She drew her wand and conjured a thin, pale cloud that swept around the Hall. "Shape-Wrapping Mist," she said. "One of Moody's spells. Useful when seeking Disillusioned or invisible targets."
Hermione was intrigued. "That could be used for ..." She trailed off, for Ginny was moving away, striding up the Marble Staircase, almost visibly sniffing after Harry or Tennant. Hermione shook her head, bemused, and headed to double Advanced Herbology.
The greenhouse was quiet, with all the students working on a two-foot essay about Fast-Growing Dandicores, which looked like large dandelions with teeth. Hermione had already written four feet on the topic, so she sat silently beside Neville, her chin in her hand, watching the large yellow flowers sway and snap.
The lack of activity allowed tendrils of the night before to float through her mind, coiling and pulling her thoughts this way and that. Draco lying on a fuzzy red robe before the fire, his head pitched backward to reveal that long, pale, muscled throat. His eyes slits as Hermione touched him and touched him, his hand over hers. Guiding her. Begging her. Had he ever begged another woman, or had they all been too impatient, too eager to please ...
"Miss Granger?"
Hermione blinked at Professor Sprout's voice.
"Your essay?" The teacher held out a rough, stained hand, and Hermione gave her the scroll.
"Her eyes look funny," Neville said, frowning. "Dilated."
"Are you quite yourself, Miss Granger?" Sprout asked.
"No," Hermione said faintly. "I'm not." I'm something else. I don't know what yet, but I'm not the same.
"Why don't you have a quiet moment somewhere before lunch, dear." The Herbology teacher's graveled voice was kind.
"Should I come with you, Hermione?" Neville asked.
"No, thank you," Hermione said absently. She picked up her wand and bag and wandered off without another word.
The castle grounds were cold and windy, but she still looked around for Tennant as she hurried toward the big oak doors. But she saw only Hagrid piling huge pumpkins into a wheelbarrow, his breaths creating white clouds. Hermione entered the castle, shivering, and headed to the prefect's bathroom to splash water on her face.
But she never turned on the tap, just stared at her reflection in a full-length mirror. She was dressed all in black, almost completely covered by a tight, high-necked jumper, a long, straight skirt and heeled leather boots. Her hair was braided as tightly as her curls would allow. The only spots of color were her purple bag and silver earrings shaped like triangles with a line and circle inside—the Deathly Hallows symbol and a handmade birthday gift from Luna.
I look like a real witch today, she thought, not a magical girl in modern clothes. The tiniest edge of a purple mark peeped out from her knitted collar. What has he done to me?
Hermione turned away and resolutely walked down to lunch, trying to clear her head. Focus. She couldn't go through her day in a vague fog—she had to prove Tennant was in the castle. He was the real danger. She checked the Map (Tennant's dot was nowhere to be seen and Harry was in the owlry), then joined the rest of the students.
Two tall goblets of icy pumpkin juice helped cool her blood, and Hermione was able to reassure Neville and answer Parvati's Arithmancy questions in a calm, clear voice. Her back was to the large double doors, but when a sudden hush fell over students and teachers alike, she knew Draco Malfoy had entered the Hall.
He moved into her view, walking to the Slytherin table, back straight, pointed chin in the air. He took a seat and his cool gaze swept the Hall and stopped at Hermione.
He looks ... bleak. I should smile, at least.
But Draco turned away before she could respond, his white-blond fringe sweeping over his eyes as he poured a cup of tea. He looked rather sick, too. Had he gotten into the firewhiskey? In fact, the entire Slytherin table didn't look well. Maybe they had all gotten into the firewhiskey. Maybe the House held a degenerate party last night. Maybe Draco joined them. A degenerate party with witches—
"Erm, Hermione? Are you alright?" Neville asked, looking worried now.
Hermione came to herself with a start. Half the Gryffindor table was staring at her and no wonder: Her steak and kidney pie had turned into a plate of pink daisies. What was with the pink today? Would her inkpots turn into kittens next? Her vinewood wand was in her hand. Had it picked up some tricks from Draco's weird checkered wand or was Hermione simply going mad?
She pushed the plate of daisies into the center of the table, like a centerpiece, and another pie appeared before her. "Just some color on this lovely day!" she squeaked.
Her Housemates looked up at the Great Hall's enchanted ceiling, wreathed in ominous rainclouds, but said nothing. Hermione gnawed on a broken bit of crust and scolded herself: I'm being foolish. Of course he didn't run off to party with witches. Her eyes slid over to the Slytherin table again: Pansy Parkinson was standing to give a little lecture. A few high-pitched words drifted Hermione's way: "Chewing ... disgusting ... bones ..." Who knew Parkinson was so passionate about table manners? Not that Gryffindors couldn't benefit from such attention; Seamus was currently trying to stuff an entire pie into his mouth, Ron-style. The Slytherins clapped at the speech, which warmed Hermione's heart. So nice to see people embrace self-improvement.
A few owls swooped in a few minutes later, dropping off letters and packages, and Hermione was interested to see that Draco received one. He looked almost scared to open it. Was it hate mail? Orders from Tennant? Draco read the missive with a scowl, then sighed and penned a short response. His gaudy orange owl flew away after nipping Draco's hand, a clear sign of affection.
"Wonder who Malfoy's corresponding with?" Ginny whispered beside her. "Suspicious."
"There's nothing suspicious about getting mail."
Ginny's eyes gleamed. "Plotting."
Hermione set down her fork and lowered her voice. "Have you talked to Harry yet?"
The redhead nodded. "Found him in the kitchens. He didn't even pull his wand on me. Some Auror." Ginny's lip curled in contempt.
"Did you tell him about Tennant and Polyjuice?" Hermione asked.
"No, a House Elf popped in." Ginny took a bite of pie, looking thoughtful. "If it was a House Elf."
Hermione shook her head. A blood purist like Tennant would Avada himself before he impersonated a House Elf. Was it even possible? But there was no reasoning with Ginny, so Hermione just unfolded the Map under the table and whispered the spell. Harry's dot placed him in Classroom C, likely checking Justin's story about the Hufflepuff's Stunning.
"I'm going to talk to Harry now," she whispered. Ginny nodded, watching Draco again, but Hermione didn't follow her gaze, just left the Great Hall. Draco was fine and she had unfinished business with her best friend.
NEXT UP: Hermione talks to Harry, and the plaster heads have opinions.