"So." Romilda held up yet another dress. "Red or pink?"
"For the North Turret? In this storm? Whichever is warmer."
Hermione was on the sofa Wednesday after dinner, wrapped in plaid flannel and sipping tea. It didn't matter what she was wearing—pajamas, a short set or Harry's Quidditch jersey. Nobody would see it.
Romilda pointed a hanger at her. "You need to talk to Draco. You can't let things fester. When he started pulling my hair during sex I spoke up right away. I said, 'Draco, it's alright to do that while I'm—'"
"Romilda!"
The witch huffed. "Just trying to help."
"And I was going to talk to Draco. I was."
Hermione had even brought the Map to dinner in case he didn't show and she had to sneak into the dungeons. But he did turn up. Just walked in, all Slytherin hauteur, ignoring everyone. The rumors accusing Draco of Isobel's attack were fading, but he still looked dangerous.
"Why didn't you, then?" Romilda tossed the dresses aside and pulled out a black skirt. "He was staring at dinner."
"He nodded at me! Politely!"
"So?"
"We don't do polite!" Hermione's hands clenched on the hot mug.
"That's true," Romilda conceded, pairing a sequined red top with the skirt. "He certainly doesn't do polite. He was all 'Do this,' 'Do that,' 'Lick your lips,' 'Get on your—'"
"ROMILDA."
The witch pouted. "You are terrible at girl talk. Does this lipstick match?"
Hermione tilted her head and squinted. "Too pink."
"Well, it won't stay on long anyway."
Hermione played with a button on her pajama top. "I left Draco in the Honeyduke's tunnel yesterday," she confessed. "I ran off with Neville and Seamus."
Romilda's eyes widened. "You left him alone? It's dark down there!"
"He had his pocket watch."
"Hermione!"
"He dove back into the tunnel and wouldn't come out!"
Romilda began packing a small silver purse. "Well, if it's over between you, you need to know for sure. Closure is important. Then you can find someone else. Someone nice." She picked up the purse and selected a pink cloak.
Hermione sighed. "Draco is nice."
Romilda rolled her eyes and walked to the door. She hesitated, her hand on the doorknob. "There's a party later tonight in Cormac's room," she said. "Like to come? No classes tomorrow!"
Hermione smiled. "Thank you, no. You have fun."
Her roommate tossed her hair and grinned. "Oh, I will. I have a new game for us to play. Draco wouldn't do it, but Cormac said he'd grab my—"
"ROMILDA!"
The witch's high-pitched laughter could be heard through the heavy wooden door. Hermione poured another mug of tea, unable to keep from grinning. The mental picture of Cormac trying to play Death Eater was rather funny.
And Romilda was right, She needed to talk to Draco. She had to know about their something. Was it still there? Would it outlast the spell? Was it fragile, ephemeral, held solely by magic, or was it solid and hardy, like those magical darkwood trees?
Hermione curled up in the chair, trying to read but mostly just watching the fire as it died to glowing embers. The storm outside grew worse, rattling the windowpane.
She had to know. She had to ask him. Hermione jumped to her feet with decision and pulled a large Weasley jumper over her pajama top and swapped the flannel bottoms for denims. Then she slid her feet into trainers and opened the Marauders' Map.
Draco's dot wasn't in the bedroom. His dot wasn't anywhere.
Where was he? The Room of Requirement? A portion of the maze-like Slytherin Dungeons was now revealed on the parchment. (She and Harry should have thought of that when they were getting Draco to the infirmary.) Clustered dots of unfamiliar names, possibly First Years, wandered in circles. Most of the Slytherins were in the Common Room, but no Draco. His bedroom was empty.
Hermione stood in the middle of her own room, thinking. Nobody was mad enough to go out in this weather. Was he inside a Slytherin secret passage? If so, his dot should reappear soon. She tucked the map into her bag and picked up her wand. She'd go to his room and wait for him outside the door.
She slipped out of Gryffindor Tower and had just reached the sixth-floor landing when Crookshanks appeared, glowing in the torchlight.
"Crooky!" Hermione scooped him up and nuzzled into his soft fur, carrying him further into the corridor. "You're back! Where have you been? I missed you, my little Fluffy Wuffy ..."
Crookshanks tolerated the cuddling for a short minute, then began scrabbling with his legs and butting his head against Hermione's arm. She let him go and stood up.
"I'm on my way down to the dungeons," she told him. "Are you hungry? I have some dry food in my bag."
"YOWL!"
"Well, don't think you're getting any tuna, you're a naughty cat to run off like—"
Crookshank's yowls increased and Hermione looked around nervously. She really didn't want to disturb Slughorn, whose office was nearby.
"Crooky," she said, "that's enough. I'm not going back to Gryffindor Tower. Now if you want—"
"YOOOOWL!" Her cat immediate wound himself around her ankles.
"What what are you doing?" She tried to pull her familiar off but he only clung more and she could feel the faint scrape of claws through her socks. "Crookshanks!"
"YOWL!"
Teetering on her locked legs, Hermione opened her bag and fished out a bowl and bag of dry food. "There you go and that's all you're getting—"
"YOOOOOWL!"
"Ugh, you are the most spoiled thing! Get off!"
But it was no use. Crookshank's body squeezed her ankles like one of Barnaby's pythons, and Hermione's efforts to free herself just sent her falling to the stone floor, cat food scattering everywhere.
"OW!" she cried, flipping onto her back and shaking her legs, still locked together by a furry orange cat manacle. "You're lucky I don't Petrify you!"
Crookshanks glared, his yellow eyes glowing in the corridor's torchlight.
Hermione flopped onto her back and groaned. "Fine! I'll go upstairs and give you tuna." Crooky unwound himself immediately and licked her hand.
Grumbling over her bruises, Hermione used her wand to clean up the mess and stalked back up to her room, with Crookshanks running ahead, clearly urging her to hurry.
"You must be really hungry, Crooks." The second Hermione opened the bedroom door, the cat streaked through. Hermione followed more slowly to see him hop on the window seat.
"YOOWL!" Crookshanks poked his head inside the break in the curtains, his squashed face pressed against the cold glass.
Hermione put her hands on her hips. "What on earth are you doing?" she scolded. "It's all dark and nasty out there!" She pulled aside the red velvet curtains to reveal a black night seething with ice and rain. The wind howled, rattling the casements.
"Wow," she murmured, transfixed by the violence of the storm. She tried to pull the curtains closed, but Crookshanks began yowling again.
"Crooky, it's cold!" she protested. But it was no use—every time she tried to shut the curtains, the cat clung to the velvet cloth with its claws.
"Fine," she snapped. "Look at the storm and freeze." Hermione left the curtains open and began opening a can of tuna with her wand. "Honestly, if you can't be here at feeding time, why should I—"
"YOOOOWWL!"
"Crookshanks, I have had just about enough of this nonsense—AAAEEEE!"
Hermione shrieked as a dark shadow sailed out of the swirling rain and slammed against the glass. She dropped the tuna can and rushed to the window, Crookshanks leaping out of the way.
"What was that—AAGH!" She screamed again as the shadow returned, now a spreading black form blotting out the storm. It hit the glass and a sharp sound echoed, a crack appearing at the bottom of the pane and spreading upward. The black shape rolled back and something large and bristly struck the glass. A broom? What the—
"DRACO!" Hermione screeched.
She raised her wand and vanished the window pane, letting the screaming, icy wind soak her immediately.
"DRACO!"
She couldn't see him. "LUMOS!"
A bright light flared from her wand, almost blinding, but it couldn't pierce the storm. But then the black shadow swept by again, flapping like a giant bird, it swooped toward the window ...
And missed!
Hermione's shout was lost in the wind. She clambered onto the seat, clutching the window frame with one hand, just in time to see a black figure fall.
"ARRESTO MOMENTUM!" The figure slowed. "WINGARDIUM LEVI-O-SA!"
Never had Hermione incanted the second spell—one of her signature spells—so desperately. Her voice rose over the storm and echoed off the bedroom walls, she was standing on the seat now, heedless of the cold and sleet and rain, wand outstretched, all her focus on a dark figure now floating upward.
I won't let you fall. I'll never let you fall.
Without breaking concentration she leaped backward with rare agility and a body sailed through the glassless window to land with a thump on the red carpet. With two wordless swishes Hermione replaced the windowpane and shut the curtains, and the sudden silence was deafening.
Draco.
Hermione fell to her knees beside the long form on her soaked carpet. It didn't even look human, just a long black lump. She rolled him over with shaking hands, his hood falling back to reveal sodden hair and a thankfully red face. Hopefully no frostbite. She stripped off his ice-driven gloves to reveal fingers frozen to the touch, but also red, then used her wand to pull off his boots and socks. So far, so good.
Draco moaned softly. "It's alright," she said. A flick of her wand sent the fire in the hearth leaping. Crookshanks mewed by Draco's head.
Feverishly Hermione stripped off his clothes: his sopping, icy cloak, his jumper and layers of shirts. His Quidditch leathers were soaked through and impossible to remove, so she just vanished them.
"Merlin," she breathed. Draco's naked body was covered with spreading bruises and his shoulder—the one not bitten by Tennant—hung at an odd angle. Dislocated.
She pointed her wand at the shoulder, "Brackium Emendo," and a blue light shot out. Draco's shoulder snapped smartly into place; Hermione was much more adept at the spell than Gilderoy Lockhart. Draco groaned.
Quickly she Summoned towels and rubbed his body dry, then levitated him to her bed. She heated blankets with her wand and wrapped them around him, then pulled her coverlet over all.
Draco moaned again, and Hermione ran to pour hot tea. She pressed the mug to his lips.
"Drink," she urged. "Drink this."
His eyes fluttered open, foggy and dazed. "Hermione ... I ... I ..."
"Drink." She pressed the tea to his mouth again and he complied. He coughed, but kept drinking.
"I'm alright," he choked.
"You're not alright, you probably have hypothermia," Hermione scolded. Kneeling on the bed beside him, she cast a diagnostic spell with her wand. "Over 36 degrees," she muttered. "You are so lucky." She grabbed his wrist, his pulse was surprisingly strong.
"Hermione ..." Draco's eyes rolled back and he collapsed.
"Why did you do this? Why?" she asked, setting aside the mug. The wizard didn't answer, he'd fainted again, breathing slow, deep breaths. Merlin, he looked exhausted. Hermione stroked his hair, slightly curled from her hasty wand-dry. He could have died a dozen times flying on such a night, had nearly died right before her eyes.
An orange, fuzzy face nuzzled Draco's, and Hermione leaned over the wizard to press her own face against her cat's body. She felt her tears wetting the fur, but Crookshanks didn't move.
"Thank you, Crooky," she whispered, hugging the cat with one arm and Draco with the other. "I don't know how you knew, but thank you."
***
Hermione woke the next morning with a heavy weight on her chest. Draco had moved during the night, somehow wiggling out of the layers of blankets to wrap his warm, naked body around hers. Most of the covers had been kicked to the floor and a single quilt was twined around their waists, revealing Draco's long, muscled back and shoulders. The fire had died and the room was pleasantly cool.
She waved a hand at the red window curtains, allowing sunshine to pour into the room. Then she gently rolled Draco over onto his back. He lolled like a rag doll, still sleeping deeply, pale hair flopping over his face. She thumbed his eyes open, the pupils were fine, although his eyes were shadowed. Fingers pink and healthy. Shoulder moved easily in its socket. She'd have Madam Pomfrey see Draco for a final checkup, but everything looked good. Hermione eyed the muscles of his chest, the creamy skin broken by dark scars, the line of darker, downy hair leading to his lightly flushed cock. She felt her cheeks warm.
Hermione pulled up the quilt and smoothed it over him. He could sleep for hours more. Sliding out of the bed, she closed the hangings and pulled on her robe. Crookshanks loudly demanded his breakfast and she fed him extra tuna, then let the cat out of the room. The corridor was empty; few people were up so early on a day without classes. She had just closed the door again when a harsh tapping on the window made her spin around.
She stared, open-mouthed. Flapping outside the glass was the most beautiful owl Hermione had ever seen, with fluffy ear tufts and round orange eyes. It looked rather familiar, like an avian Crookshanks. The bird was scowling—how could an owl scowl?
The owl tapped again, clearly impatient, and Hermione hurried to open the window. The bird dropped a slim package on the sofa, then perched on the mantle, giving her a slow, contemptuous blink.
"You're so pretty," Hermione breathed. She picked one of the owl's feathers from the sofa. "May I keep one of your feathers, please? I've never seen such coloring."
The owl eyed her suspiciously, then nodded.
"Thank you!" Hermione laid the feather on her desk and opened a tin from Mrs. Weasley. "Would you like a crumpet? Homemade, with black cherry jam."
The owl spun its head and deigned to nibble on the crumpet in her hand.
"What's your name?" Hermione asked. The owl tilted its head to reveal a silver embossed tag on a chain. "Mercury. What a noble name."
The owl fluffed and preened, then stuck its leg out. Hermione pulled off the unaddressed scroll and unrolled it.
Mr. Malfoy:
I regret that the darkwood wand did not immediately meet your standards. Such wands hold high expectations of their masters, but a firm hand is always best. Your actions yesterday may have taught it a powerful lesson.
I urge you to try the wand once more. The results may surprise you.
Very truly yours,
Garrick Ollivander, M.W.D.M.E.
Hermione looked up to find the owl watching her with regal condescension.
"Mercury," she scolded, "this message was for Draco!" She remembered the gaudy owl now from the Great Hall. "You're Draco's owl!" The owl fluffed its feathers and eyed the closed bed.
"Oh, were you worried? Draco's safe now." Hermione stroked his feathers. "Such a sweet, caring boy you are."
She gave the owl the rest of the crumpet, then opened the window and watched him swoop gracefully around the tower, heading west.
Lovely owl. He must be such a comfort to Draco.
After a quick shower she threw on denims and a pink jumper, and checked on her nighttime guest again. He was stretched out now, arms at his side, mouth slightly open. She brushed his forehead with her lips and placed two crumpets beside him before heading down to breakfast.
It took twice as long as usual to reach the Great Hall, what with staircase closings and detours. The Marble Staircase was half-closed, with Justin and McGonagall at the bottom trying to organize student work crews. The Headmistress looked harassed and Hermione felt guilty enough to sign up for an afternoon shift.
She brought a full breakfast tray (glamoured to look like a stack of books) back to the room, where Draco was still sleeping. He'd turned on his side, however, a flung-out arm smashing a crumpet and smearing the black cherry filling all over the coverlet. At this rate, he'd sleep all day. Hermione cleaned up the mess and drew the bed hangings once more.
Then she settled on her sofa to read the latest Ravenclaw study and her book on magical sociology. Hermione had always admired the House's penchant for surveys and studies, and had even participated in a few. It appeared that Isobel had turned to mail-order surveys for her current study to get a larger sample size. Plus, as Isobel said in the cover letter, anonymous surveys were more likely to yield accurate results.
The survey and cover letter in Hermione's hand came courtesy of Seamus, who had been noisily filling his out at the Gryffindor table that very morning. Hermione's cries for discretion had no effect and it took a threat to go to McGonagall to convince her friend to give her the sheaf of parchment. Seamus had the last laugh, however; he'd obviously copied it, and went off chortling with his friends.
Hermione found the study quite intriguing, but initially put it away in favor of a study of magical surveys through history. Her thoughts, however, kept drifting to the night before. Did Draco really fly here through an ice storm? For me? Did that mean he ...
Firmly she returned to her survey history tome, but before long, Isobel's study was open in her hands again. It was fascinating, really, the idea of applying scientific principles to sex and magic. Justin would have his hands full. He certainly hadn't sounded very Victorian in that alcove. And this question about cushioning charms was quite—
A loud groan and a rustle of movement in her bed sent Hermione's papers flying. Hermione peeked over the sofa back to see a pale hand push aside the gold brocade cloth and two long, bare legs emerge.
Another groan and a stream of muffled curses and Draco stepped out of the bed, unabashedly naked. Hermione eyed him up and down, clutching the sofa for support. Merlin.
Draco took a few stiff, halting steps, hands vigorously rubbing his face. When he lowered his hands and saw Hermione looking at him, he froze. They stared at each other for a few slow beats.
He cleared his throat. "I need to wash up."
"Three doors down," she managed to say. "To the right. I'll Disillusion you."
Draco nodded and she cast the spell. Hermione watched her bedroom door open and close, then let out a long breath. He'd be back. After all, she had his clothes.
She spent an anxious twenty minutes trying to read and nearly fell off the sofa when the door creaked open again. "Are those crumpets?" she heard him inquire.
"Chocolate with black cherry," she squeaked, looking over the sofa back again. She could see a ripple at the desk and the crumpets disappear into an invisible mouth. The sausages soon followed.
"Would you like tea?" she asked, remembering her manners.
"Two sugars." A pancake floated off the plate on the desk and disappeared.
Hermione poured two cups and added sugar, then dropped the entire teapot on the floor when an arm slid around her waist. She could feel a long, warm body against her back, smelling faintly of rosewater and peonies.
"This is very arousing, being invisible," Draco's voice said in her ear. "Let's finish our tea and experiment. Do you think you could find my ..."
"Draco!" Hermione pulled away and cleaned the mess on the carpet with the vinewood, then pointed it at him. "Finite Incantum!"
He immediately popped into view before her, wearing nothing but that wicked smile. Hermione stared at him all scrubbed pink with damp hair curling slightly over his forehead and ears.
Double Merlin.
Draco picked up a mug of tea and drained it quickly, setting it down with a thump.
"Drink up," he said. "You've had breakfast, right?" She nodded, unable to speak. "Excellent. Go on, then, finish your tea."
Hermione found herself gulping down the too-hot drink, not caring if it burned her tongue.
"This is very disturbing, you not talking," Draco said. He took her hand and pulled her toward the bed. "Are you feeling all right?"
"You want to talk?" she asked as he tugged aside the gold hangings.
Draco shrugged. "You can be silent if you like." He was inside the bed now, bringing her after him. "Frankly, I never thought it an option."
He was stretched out on the bed, still naked, his skin flushed against red sheets, but Hermione would not be distracted.
"Why did you fly here last night? It was dangerous ..." Hermione could hear the Molly Weasley edge to her tone, "... you could have died!"
"I know." Draco's hands slid into her hair, pulling her face to his. "I had to."
"No, you didn't," she insisted. "I was out looking for you, and If it hadn't been for Crookshanks I would have ... while you were crashing... and falling ... and ... and ..."
His arms were around her now, holding her close, he was layering soft kisses all over her face. "My poor girl," he murmured. "I'm sorry. I just couldn't wait. I had to see you."
He gently turned her so she was the one lying against the pillows and Hermione burst into tears. The more she tried to stop, the more she cried, the stresses of past days finally breaking free.
"I thought since the spell was over, we were over," she sobbed. "You were so polite, and then, at dinner, you ... you nodded at me!"
"I know." Draco buried his face in her neck. "I'm such a coward."
"No, I'm the coward, I should have talked to you after dinner—"
"I should have talked to you before dinner. Instead, I hid in my room—"
"I left you in that tunnel all alone!" Hermione wailed.
"You couldn't do anything else. Shhhhh."
"And then that awful Nott said you were a lost cause ..." She hiccupped.
"Yes, well, that's Theo, the eternal pessimist," Draco said. "But you defended me, didn't you?" He smirked. "I hear I'm brave."
Hermione looked up at him, shocked. "He told you?"
"Oh yes." He brushed his lips against her ear while a hand slid along her breast and lower. "He told me. What he said gave me the courage to come to you ... to ask you ..."
Hermione's throat closed, she couldn't speak, hardly dared to breathe. All she could do was stare up into those hooded grey eyes, feel that warm hand on her hip. Ask me what? Ask me what?
He didn't speak either, just looked down at her, a spreading pink flush over his cheeks. His jaw was tight, and she could see him weighing his next words.
"Will you stay with me, Hermione?" he asked. "Without the spell?" He swallowed. "It won't be easy to hide this, but we can manage."
Hermione's heart nearly burst with happiness, then deflated just as quickly. She sat up with a glare.
"HIDE THIS?"
NEXT UP: Draco tries to be logical.