Draco entered the bedroom to find Tennant, jacket removed and sprawled on the sofa. He was sipping Firewhisky directly from the bottle. The bloody bandage on the wizard's head gave Draco a grim premonition.
"What happened to you?" he asked.
"Gryffindor bitch."
No surprise there. Who else could it be but Granger? First day of watching Tennant — and already casualties. What happened? Why did she attack him? Did he hit back? How did she... She... She's fine. Fine. Draco furtively glanced at the grandfather clock — ten to ten. Already so late? He needed to keep Tennant on the sofa with his back to his bed for as long as possible.
He poured himself some whisky, blew on the rim of the glass to ignite the cold flame, and settled into the velvet armchair opposite the sofa, watching Tennant with feigned amusement.
"Gryffindor, you say?" he drawled. "Weasley?"
"Granger." Tennant stared morosely into the fireplace. "That kind of shit doesn't happen at Durmstrang. Our girls know their place. Don't hit you with books and bloody staircases."
Draco froze, his glass halfway to his mouth. He couldn't imagine such a thing — Hogwarts staircases were famously resistant to all charms except restorative and maintenance ones. Generations of students had tried to make them cooperate. Draco himself had almost gone mad in fourth year trying to get a shifted staircase back into place, which made him late for McGonagall's class.
He took a sip of whisky.
"I'm sure she had her reasons."
"I didn't do anything," Tennant grumbled.
"So you just walked up to her and said, 'Hello, Miss Granger,' and she hit you with a staircase?"
Tennant pouted.
"I just agreed to her offer." He took another gulp of whisky. "Claimed she'd polish me every Sunday."
Completely forgetting his Death Eater composure, Draco blinked.
"You must have misheard."
"Oh, I heard correctly." Tennant's lips twisted. "That bitch distracted me, and then almost finished me off."
Draco wasn't convinced by his words. Granger was supposed to be watching Tennant, not luring him into a trap.
"The little witch was hiding from me," Tennant continued, relishing every word. "I spent an entire evening, but I got her on the floor in that little skirt, with her knees apart. What would you have done, Drakey?"
Draco drained his glass, pushing away the persistent image.
"Just look at yourself," Tennant smirked. "You're already shaking." His reddened eyes fixed on Draco. "How many years have you been studying with that Mudblood? Six? And I've known that whore for only six weeks — and I'm already ready to finish her off. What the fuck are you waiting for?"
Magic seeped into Draco's consciousness in a thin stream, searching for an answer, but he instantly raised his Occlumency shields, gladly cutting himself off from his own emotions.
"Get out of my head," Draco said coldly. "I've been lenient with you, Tennant, but I've had enough."
Tennant snorted.
"Oh really?"
"Precisely." Draco stood up and pulled out his wand. "You think you can show up at the castle, insult me, shame my House — and I won't do anything?" He waved his wand. "Clutter my rooms with your shiny trinkets?"
A silver casket flew off the mantelpiece and across the room. It hit Tennant's dresser, fell to the floor with a broken lid, and left a scorch mark on the carpet.
Draco raised his harlequin wand even higher as the grandfather clock began to strike.
"I watched Death Eaters befoul my home for a whole year," Draco said, "and I won't tolerate the same from you."
Tennant didn't look impressed.
"Do you hear me?" Draco hissed, aiming his wand threateningly at him. "This is my school, my room, my House, my wit—"
"Your what?" Tennant inquired innocently.
"I'm warning you, Rowley. Control yourself, or I'll finish you."
Tennant smirked.
"Not enough guts."
Draco raised his wand to cast a Cruciatus on the bastard — damn the consequences — but, to both their surprise, the harlequin wand slipped from his grasp and disappeared behind the bed hangings. Draco clenched his fists. Granger.
Tennant burst into laughter, almost falling off the sofa.
"Fuck," he groaned through his laughter, wiping away tears. "You're such a pathetic little arsehole, Drakey. Can't even control your own toy wand. You should see your face!"
Draco was speechless. He was trembling with anger — whether at Tennant or Granger, he didn't even know himself. All he could do was stand and endure the boisterous mirth of his drunken roommate, trying not to look at the bed and not to explode the room with a stray spell.
"Oh, I'll kill you, you big bad wizard," Tennant mimicked in a high-pitched voice. "You think you can show up at my school and accost my little friend..." He unsteadily got to his feet. "Thanks, mate, that's exactly what I needed."
Tennant unwrapped the bandage, revealing a disgusting, jagged wound with traces of dried blood.
"Well then!" he cheerfully declared. "Since I won't get the promised — and, by the way, deserved — polish — don't even offer, Drakey — I'll just settle for a bath."
He pulled off his shirt, revealing a torso scarred with marks extending to his hips, and tossed it to the floor. Then he staggered towards the bathroom.
As soon as the door closed behind Tennant, Draco jumped into bed, not even taking off his shoes. He fell on Granger, pinning her to the mattress by her wrists, just like that first night she appeared in his bed. In one of her small hands, his wand was clutched, and behind her, a candle floated, casting shadows on her face.
"How dare you summon my wand!" he hissed.
"Your probationary period prohibits..."
"To hell with that period!" he roared. "You humiliated me!"
Granger, as much as possible in her position, shrugged.
"It's just Tennant."
"Stupid girl," he hissed, vaguely aware that he sounded just like his father. "If Tennant decides I'm weak, he won't stop until he puts me in my place."
"Excellent," she said. "Perhaps he'll try to recruit you, promising me as a reward. We can use that."
Draco frowned, looking at Granger.
"So that's your new role? Bait for Slytherins? Did you enjoy teasing him with polishing?"
Granger snorted.
"Don't be silly. I wasn't talking to Tennant when I said that."
Draco stared at her. Then with whom...?
"Some of the staircases in the school are in terrible condition," Granger continued. "I plan to discuss it with McGonagall."
Stunned, Draco released her wrists and propped himself up, his knees pressing into the mattress, his head almost touching the canopy. Tennant must have misheard. Draco shook his head, deciding to drop the subject.
"Why did you even go near Tennant?" he demanded. "You were supposed to be watching him! From a distance!"
"I know," Granger sat up, pointedly rubbing her wrists. "I was careless. It won't happen again."
"Yes, it won't happen. Give me that bloody Map, I..."
"Only if you promise to give it back to me. We'll take turns using it..."
The door slammed shut.
"Drakey?" Tennant called. "Come out, I want to talk to you."
Granger perked up.
"Excellent. So, Malfoy, don't take anything he says about me personally, just..."
"I'm not going to discuss you with Tennant," Draco hissed. "You know what he's after."
"Well, if you could show a little more enthusiasm..."
"Towards what? To rape you?"
"Those words won't hurt me."
"Draaaacooo," Tennant sang. "You're not sulking at me, sweetie? Let's kiss and make up."
Draco heard a raspy laugh and the slosh of Firewhisky in a half-empty bottle.
"Go on," Granger urged him. "He'll surely tell you about his plans."
"Then give me the Map," Draco replied. "I'll watch him tomorrow."
Granger was clearly not thrilled with the idea.
"I'm not sure I can. Harry gave it to me, he wouldn't like..."
A dull thud against the hangings, directly on Granger's protective charms, made Draco flinch.
"Come on, don't be scared," Tennant called again. "I won't hurt you!"
"Give me the Map," Draco repeated. "Or I'm not going anywhere. You can discuss his plans with Tennant yourself."
"That's blackmail!" Granger exclaimed.
"Negotiations."
Another thud against the hangings.
"Drakey, Drakey, come out and play!"
Draco leaned back into the pillows, putting his hands behind his head, and smirked, looking at Granger. The witch frowned.
"Alright," she surrendered. "You can have the Map for one day."
Draco sat up again and pulled out his wand. Then he adjusted the protective charms and left the bed, without uttering a word.
Tennant was happy to see him.
"Everything good, Drakey?" he asked, patting the sofa beside him. "Excellent. Let's talk about Granger."
Draco smirked, settling into his favorite armchair and stretching out his legs.
"I'm sick of talking about Granger. Maybe find yourself a new obsession?"
Tennant put the bottle aside. The bath, it seemed, had sobered him up. He looked terrifyingly composed in his green dressing gown and with his hair slicked back. In the firelight, he looked nothing like Thorfin.
"Oh no," Tennant said. "That bitch will pay."
Draco raised an eyebrow.
"Oh?"
"Oh yes. Granger will answer for everything." Tennant's eyes glowed darkly. "For the Dark Lord. For my father. Even for the overcooked chicken at dinner. That Mudblood will pay with everything she has."
His smile widened.
"She will pay for all our losses. Not someone else. Not Potter. Not the Ministry. Not the Wizengamot. Only Granger."
Draco again needed all his Death Eater training.
"And will you let me watch?" he asked with feigned ease.
"Perhaps." Tennant sprawled on the sofa. "I have a task for you."
"Screw off. I'm not a errand boy."
"Oh, but you'll like this task," Tennant smirked. "I want you to watch Granger."
"Sounds like a waste of my time."
"Catch her alone," Tennant continued, ignoring Draco's words. "I heard you danced with her at the party, that you interact nicely in Divination. The Mudblood is watching you. Infatuated."
Draco rolled his eyes.
"Ah, I see. After all your grand failures, you want me to bring you Granger on a silver platter."
"Catch her alone. Show her a wounded soul looking for forgiveness." Tennant tapped his finger on his lower lip. "I want to know."
Draco frowned. He wasn't in the mood to listen to Tennant's opinion on how to seduce this particular witch.
"What do you want to know?"
"Her weakness," Tennant said thoughtfully, staring into the fire. The flames' reflections glided across his crude features. "Every witch has one. But I can't talk to her myself — next to me she's as prickly as her stupid ponytail."
Draco snorted.
"I can't imagine why."
"I tried to be polite," Tennant turned to Draco, and his face was contorted with malice. "Introduced myself. Bowed before the stinking Mudblood. And what did she do? Spat on my politeness. Insulted my father. Threatened me." He clenched a meaty fist. "Her behavior cannot go unpunished."
"Oh, so the bad, bad girl hurt your feelings?" Draco sang. "Still don't see what that has to do with me. She didn't insult me."
"Her very existence should be insulting to you."
"I've become more tolerant," Draco waved his hand nonchalantly. "New era and all that."
Tennant sighed heavily.
"You're a complete disappointment."
"I'm a disappointment to everyone." Draco stood up and headed for the bathroom, deeming the conversation concluded.
"It's not just about Granger."
Tennant's words made Draco freeze in place with his back to him.
"This is more important than one dirty whore. I want to use her."
A grim chuckle.
"And use her."
Draco turned around.
"Use her for what?"
"According to the Prophet, Potter helped you get out of Azkaban," Tennant said. "Testified in your favor and your mother's. Granger could do the same for our fathers. At least reduce their sentences."
Draco frowned, displeased with another reminder of Potter's interference. He tried not to think about it.
"You're insane. Granger would never agree to such a thing."
"Maybe she would. If it's presented correctly." Tennant's eyes gleamed. "If you present it correctly."
"You've truly gone mad. Help free those who wanted her dead? She hates Death Eaters."
"But not all Death Eaters," Tennant countered. "Obviously, her compassion goes beyond all reasonable bounds, since she's even talking to you. Just play along with her. Hint. Describe the horrors of Azkaban. House arrest is more humane and all that. If that doesn't work, a little Imperius won't..."
"Imperius?" Draco repeated, unable to believe what he was hearing. "You'd have to melt half of Granger's brain for her to even lift a finger for Thorfin, let alone my father."
Tennant shrugged.
"She's a Gryffindor. Her heart bleeds with compassion and all that."
"The only one bleeding here is you, Tennant," Draco observed. "After one dance with me, the whole school is whispering about dark magic. What will they say if Hermione Granger suddenly starts lobbying for Death Eaters?"
"Then let her get them transferred to less guarded cells," Tennant said stubbornly. "We'll do the rest ourselves." He leaned forward. "Think about what we can do after graduation, Drakey, with the help of our fathers... and others."
"Others," Draco repeated.
"Actually, I should thank Granger," Tennant mused. "Today she gave me food for thought. Said I was capable of more than just suffering over the Dark Lord's demise."
Draco barely suppressed a groan, instead forcing himself to smirk.
"Always knew you were partial to the Dark Lord's demise."
Tennant ignored the barb. He approached Draco and clapped him heavily on the shoulder, exactly as Thorfin used to do. It took all of Draco's self-control not to flinch.
"This time it'll be different," Tennant smiled. "I have plans for Potter too. We won't fight the forces of good. We'll use them."
He walked towards his bed and tossed off his dressing gown, revealing a torso covered in scars that descended to his hips.
"Will you do me this little favor, Drakey? Good boy."
Tennant slipped into bed, surrounded by shimmering protective charms. When Draco returned to his own, again in pajama bottoms, with his shirt, wand, and watch, he was met with the usual sight: Granger, sprawled on the bed in her dismal plaid pajamas, reading a book.
"Did you know Durmstrang was founded by a witch?" she asked, turning a page. "Nerida Vulchanova. Originally, it wasn't a military school at all; Nerida was headmistress for only two years until she died under mysterious..."
"What's wrong with you?" Draco hissed, climbing under the covers beside her. "Did you even hear what that bastard said?"
"Of course. I knew Tennant was up to something."
"Well, now you certainly do. This is all your fault, Granger. What possessed you to give him advice anyway?"
"I didn't think he'd actually listen to me." She turned the next page. "Did you know that Durmstrang Castle can only be accessed by barge? There's an underground river leading to the gates and staircases..."
"Granger," Draco groaned, leaning back against the pillows, "I'm not in the mood for Durmstrang lectures right now."
He had enough problems as it was. He shouldn't have come back to Hogwarts. The Ministry had offered to let him take his O.W.L.s at the manor if he agreed to three additional years of probation. He could still agree. What, and leave her here alone? A quiet voice sounded — neither Malfoy's nor Black's — calm, reasonable. Lately, it had been sounding louder and rarely said what Draco wanted to hear. Don't be an idiot, he mentally snapped. She doesn't need me. No one needs me.
"Don't be so sure," Granger said, and Draco choked, thinking he had said the last words aloud.
"Durmstrang might be part of Tennant's plans," she continued, and Draco sighed quietly with relief.
Her gentle palm pushed the sweat-dampened strands of hair from his forehead.
"You did very well today, Draco."
"Unlike you."
"I know."
"So what was that about polishing?"
Granger snorted.
"Definitely not what you thought."
Then she sighed.
"You told me to be careful, but I didn't listen. I'm sorry."
Draco opened his eyes and saw her, leaning over him. She really did look remorseful — as she should, after all of Tennant's jabs, stealing his wand, and ridiculous career advice. The candle behind her created a golden halo around her dark hair.
His gaze slid to her lips.
"How sorry?" he asked.
He expected her to snort and pull away — she was in her plaid pajamas, after all, and that never boded well. But Granger gave him a strange, thoughtful look. Then she leaned forward and touched his lips with hers, her tongue lightly grazing them.
"Very sorry," she whispered.
Her touch melted his self-control like a hot knife through butter. And Draco had never been known for good self-control anyway. With one fluid motion, he rolled her over, his heart pounding.
"I'm sorry too," he whispered. His fingers clasped her wrist, but gently this time, and Draco bent to kiss her reddened skin.
But then he saw — the sleeve of her plaid shirt had slipped, revealing blood-red letters:
MUD BLOOD.
Draco flinched and released her.
"He... he's still on your skin."
"Yes," Granger replied softly. "I usually mask it with charms."
Draco stared at the uneven letters, desperately trying to stay in this moment, in this bed, and not be transported back to Malfoy Manor, where...
"Go on," she said, and Draco realized his hand was suspended in the air near her scar. "You can touch it."
He traced the thin scars with trembling fingers. He had felt them before, but hadn't understood what they were. Though he should have.
"I'm sorry," he said again, this time the words caught in his throat. He pulled his hand away. Granger said nothing, only pulled away slightly, and Draco didn't dare to look at her, didn't want to see the reproach in her eyes — I was bleeding, dying, and you did nothing...
A heavy feeling, familiar from the days when the Dark Lord lived at Malfoy Manor, enveloped him. Then he hadn't lived, but existed in some dark stupor, almost unable to think or speak. When he was asked to identify Potter in the drawing room — any fool could tell it was Potter — his clouded mind refused to utter names. When Potter grabbed the wands Draco was holding, they slipped from his clumsy fingers. That's it, boys and girls, my humble contribution to the war. Wasn't it...
"I could have done more," he said, and his own voice sounded muffled and distant.
"Yes," she said coldly. Draco pulled away, slightly miffed. She didn't have to agree so quickly. "I would have died there. My parents too." "Yes." "What could I have done?" Draco's voice sounded pitiful and strained. He wasn't arguing — he truly wanted to know. He replayed that moment endlessly in his mind, but couldn't come up with a single solution that wouldn't have resulted in his own blood spreading on that floor.
Granger leaned back into the pillows, crossing her arms over her chest.
"At that particular moment? Nothing. It was already too late."
Draco understood what she meant. There had been many chances to do something — anything — before that day in the drawing room. To help someone. "I've already met one boy who made the wrong choice," Dumbledore had said then on the Astronomy Tower. Perhaps Draco hadn't fully plunged into darkness, malice, hatred, and pain... but he hadn't turned away either. If the Dark Lord had won — how far would it have had to go before Draco truly did something? How long would his home have to be defiled? How many Muggles had to be killed and tortured? How many teachers — fed to Nagini? How many classmates — subjected to the Cruciatus, bitten, left to bleed out from cursed blades? What had to happen? The death of his parents in that very drawing room? The death of his mother? The answer terrified him. "Granger will pay," Tennant's voice echoed in his head. "That Mudblood will pay with everything she has."
Draco straightened up.
"I won't do it."
Granger blinked in confusion.
"I will not follow Tennant's orders," he said firmly. "Not even for show."
"Oh." Granger frowned. "But if you're on his side, you can..."
"No." Draco's voice was stern. "I've played these games before — stalling for time, pretending to advance monstrous plans, and then succeeding despite my own efforts. In sixth year, I had no choice. But now..."
He looked into her golden-brown eyes.
"Now I say 'no.' I won't play that role. I won't be anyone's puppet anymore."
Granger looked at him searchingly, then nodded.
"Okay. We'll find another way."
Silence. Draco leaned back against the pillows, hoping the conversation was over. A lone candle hovered above him; he watched thin streams of wax run down its sides and disappear. When the candle was halfway burnt, he turned his head to look at Granger. She lay on her side, facing him, a slight wrinkle between her eyebrows. One unruly curl had escaped into the space between them.
"You're right, Draco," her voice was quiet. "You shouldn't obey anyone's orders."
He couldn't help a slight smirk.
"Even yours?"
"I don't give orders. I advise."
Draco snorted, but said nothing. Instead, he stretched his arm along the pillow until his fingers touched a silky curl. Granger moved closer until her head was on his shoulder, and his arm was around her. Raising his head, Draco blew out the candle.
Then he buried his nose in her curls. Granger sighed, her palm sliding along his ribs and coming to rest on his bare chest. A fleeting thought of how that hand could move lower crossed Draco's mind, but he was too tired — and too joyful at the thought that she didn't hate him. He didn't want to tempt fate. So he let that fleeting vision go, allowing it to swirl among other such thoughts before dissolving into sleep.