It was a good thing Draco felt somewhat rested, because Monday was going to be brutal.
Before breakfast, he loitered near the Great Hall, hoping to get a quick word with either Granger or Vane—but neither of them wanted to cooperate. Vane stuck close to her giggling friends, refusing to go near any secluded corners. Granger, as usual, waited until the very last minute to appear and entered the hall right after Draco finally sat down at the Slytherin table.
From a distance, it looked like she wasn't affected at all by recent events. She came in with Longbottom, who was carrying a ten-foot-long Cowardly Creeper. Granger's hair looked like it had exploded at the top of her head, and she was wearing a pink jumper, a denim skirt, and tights with purple and white stripes.
(Draco tightened his grip on his teacup—Merlin's beard, did the woman have to dress like a freed house elf?)
In contrast, Draco was still moving carefully. His forehead was starting to bruise, and his nose was slightly swollen. He pushed his plate away—how could anyone eat when they were hanging by a single curly thread from expulsion and Azkaban?
His entire future depended on two Gryffindor witches, and neither of them even glanced at him.
His eyes flicked to the staff table. He almost expected McGonagall to rise and proclaim: Kidnapper! Rapist! Criminal! Death Eater!
But the Headmistress just ate her porridge and chatted with Flitwick. Cold-blooded, that one. Plays with her food before devouring it.
Draco looked back at the Gryffindor table, where a familiar messy mop of hair peeked out from behind an open book.
"I could help you with that little bookworm, Drakey," came a raspy voice beside him. Bloody hell—Tennant's voice always sent a chill down Draco's spine.
"If you want to roll in the mud, be my guest," Draco replied, his tone like ice.
"Maybe I will. I've heard things. Hermione Granger…" Tennant tilted his gingerish head and crunched into a strip of bacon. His voice dropped to an ominous growl.
"You can have her after I'm done."
"Go fuck yourself," Draco snapped, standing up.
"Oh, I will. Don't worry."
Draco left the Great Hall without another word, making the students scramble out of his way. Normally, he would've relished the gasps, squeaks, and the clatter of benches tipping over, but people like Tennant and Granger always managed to suck all the fun out of life.
After that conversation, Draco's mind was filled with images that made him want to punch the stone walls.
Hoping to send a letter to his mother before his first class, Draco climbed staircase after staircase on his way to the Owlery.
There was still a chance he wouldn't get expelled, and if so, he'd need a wand. The manor probably had a spare or two lying around.
The circular tower was freezing. The stone walls were studded with nests. Draco involuntarily flinched when owls zipped back and forth through the open windows, their claws angled just perfectly to rip the skin off his face.
He walked across the straw-strewn floor, his polished shoes crunching on rodent skeletons. The smell of owl droppings made his stomach turn.
Merk's round orange eyes watched his approach with contempt.
Merk was a spectacular Eurasian eagle owl—huge, russet-brown, with fluffy feathers and long ear tufts. He was also the most vile, malicious creature Draco had ever met (barring that murderous hippogriff and Granger's hellcat).
Back in the lower years, Draco used to be terrified of Merk, and even now his heart rate spiked whenever he got too close to his familiar.
"Down, Merk," Draco commanded, pointing at the nearest perch. He wasn't getting any closer to those nests.
Merk just puffed up his feathers.
"Now."
Merk swooped down onto the perch with a defiant hoot and spun his head around, deliberately refusing to look at Draco.
"Take this immediately," Draco pulled out a tightly rolled scroll.
Owls weren't supposed to be able to smirk, given the lack of lips, but Merk somehow managed it.
"Your leg, Merk," Draco snapped.
The owl turned his head again, his hatred for Draco warring with his sense of duty.
At last, Merk stretched out one long, skinny leg, his talons dangerously close to Draco's still-bruised nose.
Draco hastily tied the scroll to his leg. Normally, he'd just flick his wand to handle these mundane tasks, but right now everything had to be done by hand—and there wasn't much time before class started. He cursed under his breath as he dropped the scroll, fumbling in the filthy straw. Merk watched him with open disgust.
Draco shook off the dirt and bird shit from the parchment, straightened up, and tried again.
He was going to get this done.
He tied the knot so tight that Merk hooted indignantly and pecked him, leaving a bloody scratch on his hand.
Draco didn't care. It was done.
"Deliver this to Mother. Wait for a reply," he ordered.
Merk gave a hoot that sounded more like a growl but obeyed. With a shake of his massive wings, the owl launched from the perch and smacked Draco across the face with one long wing.
Turning midair with unnecessary grace, Merk hovered just long enough to watch Draco clutch his nose and howl in pain—then swept out through the nearest window.
"B-bastard," Draco muttered, grimacing.
He really hated animals.
****
After a tense morning and lunch, Draco arrived early to Divination, hoping to catch Granger before the next round of nonsense began.
Today was Xylomancy day, and bits of bark and twigs were scattered across the tea tables. The air was thick with the scent of incense wafting from the heated plate, and Draco coughed as he sank onto a pouf. His headache was creeping back.
There was no sign of Trelawney. Draco wondered whether Granger was even coming or if, right now, she was with McGonagall and the Head Auror, filling out the paperwork for his arrest.
Kidnapping, assault, unauthorized spellwork, illegal creation of magical objects…
Well, it could've been worse. Much worse. Thank Salazar the Vanishing Spell had whisked Granger away last night. Even without all the yelling and kicking, he wouldn't have been able to smuggle a witch out of his dorm without waking Tennant. That wizard had inhuman hearing, even asleep. And there were Tennant's anti-Muggle traps to consider.
Even if by some miracle they had made it out of the dormitory, the Slytherin dungeons were crawling with dangerous magical familiars at night—and neither of them had a working wand.
Draco wasn't the self-reflective type—the less he knew about his own character and motives, the better.
But somewhere deep inside, a very quiet voice (barely audible) admitted that he had put an innocent witch in serious danger last night. The terror he'd felt when Tennant had pulled back his bed curtain—what if he hadn't been able to protect Granger? What if…?
"My dear boy!"
Draco nearly fell off his pouf at the sudden chirp and banged his knees on the tea table. Steadying himself with his hands, he took a deep breath and waited for his heart rate to return to something normal.
"I foresaw your early arrival!" Trelawney trilled. She gestured to the thin birch logs standing upright in the fireplace, flames curling around them.
"Looook," she sang. "Do you see the logs, Mr. Malfoy? What do you See?"
Draco barely glanced at the fire.
"Well, it's burning at the top."
"Exactly! Most significant! It wasn't burning like that before you arrived!" The professor fixed him with her enormous glassy eyes.
"You are reaching for something higher," she breathed. "We shall see if you succeed, my boy."
The mad old bat had barely finished her sentence before the small flame at the top of the log sputtered out, leaving only a trail of smoke.
"Obviously not," Draco muttered dryly.
"No, no, you misunderstand!" the Seer cried. "Do you see that puff of smoke? Clearly snake-like, isn't it? The burst of flame was meant only for our eyes!" The corners of her lips turned down.
"And now enters the Doubter, whose mind is closed to the Inner Eye."
It was Granger, climbing up through the trapdoor and joining Draco at the table.
To his surprise, he was glad to see her—a clear sign he was not in his right mind. At least now he knew the truth.
Granger wrinkled her nose as she looked around.
"What's that smell?"
Draco kept his expression blank, his heel subtly scraping the stone floor. Damn it. He thought he'd wiped all the owl shit off his shoes.
Trelawney lit another stick of incense, and the air filled with the scent of baked dragon's blood.
"Any more of this and I'm casting a Bubblehead Charm," Granger muttered.
"At least you can," Draco shot back, feeling the loss of his wand like a phantom limb.
Granger ignored him, frowning down at the dirty twig on the table.
Draco didn't want to ask, but this might be his only chance.
"Did you talk to Vane?"
Granger brightened a little.
"Oh, yes. She's very disappointed in you, Malfoy."
"What?"
"You only hit her once and refused to act like a nasty Death Eater," said Granger, brushing the twigs and bark aside to fish a rune book out of her tiny handbag.
"What the—?"
"Although," she continued, "apparently you're quite good at picking out dresses."
"Granger," he growled.
For the first time, she looked him directly in the eye, her cheeks pink from the heat of the room.
"I questioned her under Veritaserum. Your story checks out," she said. "You really are an idiot, just like you said."
"I never said I—"
"And I've placed a counter-curse on my bed," she went on, "so don't expect any visitors tonight."
"Thank Merlin."
"But be warned—if I find out you tried that trick on someone else—"
"Never," Draco's voice was cold. "Get that idea out of your head."
"Oh, believe me, I will," she replied. "As far as I'm concerned, last night never happened."
"Agreed." He almost sighed in relief, and they both fell silent as the classroom filled with people.
Granger bent over her textbook, while Draco gloomily stared at the bits of wood in front of him. His eyes drifted to the long, graceful neck her ridiculous hairstyle exposed.
Curls wrapped around a small ear, tipped with a tiny amethyst earring. Her thigh, in purple-and-white striped tights, was just inches from his hand, and her denim skirt had hitched up to—
"MY STUDENTS!" Trelawney suddenly cried.
Draco jerked upright, gripping the table to keep from falling over as half the class raised their hands.
"Wonderful! A piece of bark is a sign to look deeper!"
Professor Trelawney slowly approached their table, her gaze sweeping over the scattered bits of wood. Granger reluctantly closed her book.
"Extraordinary," Trelawney whispered, barely touching a cracked twig with one long nail. "The connection is splintered, but not broken. See how these two sticks are twined together? A weaving of two hearts' emotions."
She fluttered her hands in the air.
"I see fire tamed by water, and steam… so much steam…"
Draco and Granger exchanged looks that silently promised seericide.
"Miss Granger!" the professor exclaimed. "The sticks are calling to you!"
Draco smirked.
"Oh, are they now?"
"Look!" Trelawney waved a be-ringed hand toward a row of sticks that—he had to admit—were all suspiciously pointing straight at Granger.
"Highly unusual. I never expected this from such a weak Inner Eye," she said. "The spirits of the wood are awaiting your command, Miss Granger. Ask your question—they will answer."
Granger, who had been glaring at Draco, turned her eyes toward the sticks. Her brows lifted slightly in interest.
The sticks hadn't arranged themselves like that before. She gave Draco a suspicious look.
He smiled back. As if he'd touched those creepy things.
"Ask your question!" Trelawney bellowed, raising her arms. Granger blinked, suddenly flustered, the whole class staring at her. She bit her lip, hesitating for some reason.
"Will I ever find peace?" she whispered, too softly for Trelawney to hear—but Draco heard. He was practically sitting on top of her.
The sticks shifted. Some still pointed at her, while others rotated away. Even Draco was impressed.
"What does that mean?" Granger demanded.
"Well, Miss Granger, I don't know what you asked the spirits…" the Seer gave her a reproachful look. "So I cannot guide you. But it seems the answer depends on your actions. You will find what you seek if you accept what you find."
Granger rolled her eyes.
"Is that a heart?" one of Vane's friends asked, sneaking over to get a closer look.
Draco flinched as the girl pointed at two snapped sticks that had landed in a rough heart shape.
"Don't be ridiculous, Leanne," Granger snapped.
"Oh, but yes, dear—it's clearly a heart," Trelawney clapped her hands. "Miss Granger will discover tender feelings in her own heart…"
In a flash of temper, Draco swiped everything off the table—sticks, bark, leaves, the lot.
Trelawney and Vane's friend both shrieked and backed away, but Granger didn't move. Her face was almost approving.
"Enough," Draco growled, channeling his father's tone.
"Professor, perhaps you could teach us something useful today?"
"How sad," Trelawney sighed, retreating.
Vane's friend followed, eyes wide.
Draco and Granger sat in icy silence for the rest of class, not even pretending to take notes while the Seer rambled on about the size, shape, color, and texture of prophetic sticks.
A dozen sarcastic comments buzzed in Draco's head, but he wasn't about to share them with Granger. From time to time, he glanced at Vane, but she still wasn't looking at him. Perfect. Gryffindors were always more trouble than they were worth.
Draco felt calmer as he got ready for bed. The rest of his day had gone much better after Divination. Tennant had left him alone, busy with his little harem of Slytherin girls, and Vane had spent dinner hanging off MacLaggen.
The best part was that Merk had come back an hour ago.
The owl dropped a long, thin package directly onto Draco's head and hit him with a wing again, but Draco didn't care anymore. He climbed into bed and closed the curtains.
Inside the package was a letter:
My dear son,
Enclosed are two wands, once belonging to your grandmother and grandfather of the Malfoy line. Choose wisely, for this decision will have long-reaching consequences.
Tomorrow, I will begin searching for a wandmaker willing to come to Hogwarts.
Your fate, Draco, is full of turmoil and uncertainty. At midnight, I sacrificed a toad and cast its entrails in your name. I sense unrest, despite the comparative symmetry of the liver. The overall appearance of your future is clouded by green slime. However, tonight's reading revealed something curious—a large quantity of red blood mixing with the slime, which I take as a sign that demands careful attention.
Please conduct yourself with caution and wisdom.
With love,
Mother
Draco tossed the scroll aside. As if he didn't have enough to deal with, now he had to make sure his daily life aligned with a pile of frog guts.
That red blood could mean anything—from impending death to strawberries on tomorrow's pancakes.
What really interested him were the wands his mother had sent.
He tested each with a Lumos. The first was large, reddish-brown, speckled like snakeskin, heavy and ominous.
The second was light and slender, with a black-and-white checkerboard pattern—almost comical in Draco's big hand. He pointed the smaller wand at his bed and tried his usual spell.
The bed curtains turned bright pink. What the…?
Draco frowned, focused, and the curtains faded back to their usual silver. He reapplied the protective charms—the whole bed glowed briefly. He exhaled in relief. This might work, at least until—
Suddenly something heavy landed on him, filling the air with a familiar floral scent. Draco instinctively curled around the Malfoy wands, then sat up, pushing aside the book that had fallen on his head.
"What the hell?" he groaned, rubbing the still-sensitive spot.
Granger sat up too, eyes blazing.
"Yes, Malfoy, I'd like to know that as well."