For the first time since returning to Hogwarts, Hermione woke up to the buzzing of her wand.
The 6:30 AM alarm charm was so ingrained in the vine that Hermione didn't even need to refresh it. But this year her sleep had been too interrupted and restless, and she always woke before dawn.
However, this morning Hermione woke to a furious vibration in her hair. She pulled her wand from her curls and rolled onto her side, trying to return to her wonderful dream — to gentle touches, silky skin, and a crystal ball that sonorously announced perfect O.W.L. scores: "Numerology — Outstanding; Charms — Outstanding; Divination — Outstanding..."
A loud thud and an indignant hiss jolted her awake, and Hermione's eyes flew open. Crookshanks was furiously batting at her still-vibrating wand, and it rolled across the duvet, then tumbled into the gap between the mattress and the bed frame.
"Crookshanks, stop!" Hermione scolded him. "Accio Wand!"
The vine shot out from under the mattress and slapped into her palm.
"Quietus," Hermione murmured, stopping the vibration. An offended Crookshanks jumped off the bed.
Hermione stretched, now smiling. How pleasant it was to wake up in her own bed with a red and gold canopy, not in a bathroom, corridor, or alcove. Rays of morning sun streamed through the wide window, glinting off brass handles and gilded picture frames, illuminating velvet scarlet curtains and rows of leather-bound books. Not a single creepy silver object in sight.
But she still felt chilly — missing the familiar warmth, the faint scent of perfume. Hermione burrowed into the duvet and closed her eyes, trying to return to that dream. Her last clear memory was falling asleep pressed against Malfoy's body, his arms around her, listening to his steady heartbeat and trying to match his slow, deep breathing.
Her hand slid under the duvet. Could they breathe in unison not only in sleep? Hermione imagined sex with Malfoy — if it ever happened, the very thought caused a strange mix of excitement and anxiety — quick and aggressive. Demanding. But perhaps sometimes he would prefer to do it slowly and sensually... Would he want her to be loud? She felt she wouldn't want to hold back her expressions of feeling. The models in Fred and George's magazines definitely loved to moan loudly, though some, perhaps, overdid it. In her tent, Hermione even had to cast silencing charms to calmly turn the pages. Well, if the moans bothered Malfoy, she would just conjure him protective earmuffs...
The mere thought of Draco Malfoy shagging her with earmuffs on made Hermione pause and almost burst into hysterical laughter. She burrowed deeper under the duvet, trying not to wake Romilda with her giggling, and it took her a moment to compose herself. Earmuffs. Merlin help her in winter. She wouldn't be able to stop laughing.
Fully awake, Hermione sprang out of bed and headed for the shower. Then she rummaged through her trunk, suddenly dissatisfied with her wardrobe. She was tired of jumpers and jeans. Feeling for the gray narrow skirt she wore under her robes for Wizengamot sessions, she continued her search. Somewhere here were black shoes... And also... There it was, a purple silk blouse. A bit too much, of course... Though, why not? Today she didn't need to follow Tennant — she had given the Map to Malfoy.
She put on the skirt and blouse and went to the mirror to deal with her hair before Romilda woke up. A pot of "Sleekeazy's Hair Potion" helped gather her hair into a voluminous bun on top of her head. Hermione no longer looked like herself, but who knew — maybe Malfoy would like it.
Her smile faded slightly. Because Tennant would too. The thought of the massive wizard almost made her put on jeans, a puffed-up vest, and perhaps Hagrid's beekeeper hat. But Hermione suppressed the urge. Today Tennant was Malfoy's problem, and no Rowley was going to dictate what she wore. Out of pure stubbornness, she put on earrings (tiny amethyst hearts — a gift from her parents in sixth year) and put on lipstick. There.
"You look absolutely stunning!" Parvati gasped enthusiastically as Hermione approached the Gryffindor table. "And even the book matches your look!"
Hermione managed to restrain herself from glaring fiercely over the gray-bound "Durmstrang: A Handbook." Books aren't accessories!
As she read, the Great Hall filled with students, and Hermione involuntarily glanced towards the Slytherin table. Malfoy was looking in her direction with pursed lips. He didn't look too pleased — more like Justin chewing a lemon.
Tennant was also staring at her, his forgotten morning porridge dripping from his spoon onto his clothes. His round eyes were fixed on Hermione, and she defiantly met his direct gaze.
Hermione quickly realized why office dress codes didn't mix well with a medieval educational institution. She almost broke her ankle twice, slipping on her heels on the stone floor, until Padma took pity on her and taught her a cushioning charm for shoes. Although in that narrow skirt, Hermione still couldn't move quickly. The silk blouse was poor protection against the icy drafts, and the tightly pulled bun caused a headache. Hermione stubbornly persevered until the end of classes, unwilling to give up. How did those eighth-year Slytherin girls manage to walk in heels in tight dresses?
After the last lesson ended, Hermione was clacking her heels along the seventh floor (the sound unpleasantly reminded her of Madam Pince), when Ginny suddenly darted out from behind a suit of armor.
"Merlin, Gin!" Hermione shrieked, lowering her wand and trying to catch her breath. One heel got stuck in a crack in the stone floor, and she almost fell. That's it, enough — tomorrow she'd wear jeans, a jumper, sneakers, and wouldn't even try to style her hair.
Ginny gave her an appraising look.
"What did you put in my fourth-year birthday present?"
"Chocolate Frogs, a gingerbread broomstick with icing, lipstick, and a list of Bat-Bogey Hex modifications," Hermione rattled off without thinking.
Ginny smiled broadly and for a moment was once again that reckless witch from pre-war times.
"The excessive salivation idea was brilliant," she admitted.
"Worked great in Umbridge's office, I hear," Hermione replied. Both for a second immersed themselves in the extremely pleasant memory of Malfoy choking on his own saliva while tiny bats flew out of his nose.
"Come see me after dinner," Ginny ordered, now in a serious tone. "We need to talk."
"How do I find your room?" Hermione was thrilled at the prospect of seeing the witch's secret lair.
Ginny looked around and lowered her voice, though there was no one around.
"Look on the Marauder's Map for the 'SPS' mark — I was inducted into the Marauders last year. Wear a dark robe and make sure you're not being followed."
Hermione would have laughed at such secrecy before, but Tennant's words echoed in her ears, and she merely nodded. Ginny disappeared from sight, after first peeking around the corner.
Hermione was already heading for the library when she suddenly froze in the middle of the corridor, ignoring the indignant students forced to walk around her. The Marauder's Map. She didn't have it, and she couldn't admit to Ginny that she had given the map to Draco Malfoy. She would either have to retrieve the Map, or at least look at it.
She didn't know Malfoy's full schedule, but after cautiously questioning the Head Girl, she found out Tennant's schedule. Padma was not thrilled with the student transferred from Durmstrang: his antics in the library constantly interfered with her studies, and he never returned books to their place.
If Malfoy was indeed keeping his promise, Hermione decided, he must be somewhere near the target of his surveillance. She headed for the Astronomy Tower, mentally thanking Parvati for the cushioning charm on her shoes.
She hadn't taken a step before she noticed Malfoy walking down the library corridor. She moved towards him as quickly as her ridiculous skirt allowed.
"Granger," Malfoy's gaze slid over her appraisingly from under half-closed lids. "You look charming."
Hermione blushed, involuntarily flattered, but then immediately frowned.
"What are you doing here?"
"Well, I was promised a first-class education," Malfoy replied with a barely perceptible smirk. "Alas, promises remained just promises."
Her eyebrows furrowed even more.
"I suppose you know what you're doing."
"As always." He leaned against the wall, stretching his lips into a wide smirk.
"Why the excellent mood?" Hermione asked suspiciously.
His gaze slowly slid downwards.
"Enjoying some very pleasant thoughts."
She snorted. There was little time left before dinner, and then she still needed to find Ginny.
"I need to talk to you."
Scanning the empty corridor, Hermione pulled aside the curtain of the alcove where she had previously hidden from Ginny and the Slytherins. After tightly drawing the curtain behind Malfoy, she lit a candle in the wall niche.
Malfoy leaned against the opposite wall, hands in his pockets, a strand of his light hair falling over his forehead.
"Quite chilly for this time of year, wouldn't you say?"
"Terribly cold..."
Oh. Hermione looked down and sighed. Splendid. Her nipples were clearly visible under the silk blouse. Why hadn't anyone told her?
"Never mind," she muttered, suppressing the urge to cross her arms over her chest. After all, Malfoy had already seen all this. And touched.
Malfoy seemed to catch her train of thought — he approached, his breathing slightly heavier. He slid his fingers along her arm, and Hermione looked up, expecting to see that familiar languid gaze, the capricious curve of full lips — meant only for her.
But today none of that was there. Malfoy's gaze was predatory, his body tense, despite his feigned relaxation. Hermione flinched, but not from anticipation. Was he angry about the blouse?
She stepped back. If Malfoy wanted to act like an arsehole, pretending to be possessive, he could do it on his own time.
"Malfoy," Hermione said firmly, "I need the Map."
"The Map," he drawled, looking at her from under dark lashes. "Of course. I'll bring it to you."
"You didn't bring it with you? Malfoy..."
"It doesn't matter," Malfoy leaned in, his fingers sliding over her silk sleeve, his lips an inch from her... Oh, Merlin. Hermione took another step back, now pressing against the wall, and subtly dropped her wand into her palm.
"Malfoy, what are you doing?" she asked sharply. "What makes you think you can touch me?"
"Don't be afraid," the wizard whispered. "Don't you feel it between us?"
Hermione almost snorted at such a cliché, but she was too busy scrutinizing him. The suit and tie were certainly Malfoy's, but this wizard wore no jewelry, and his hands trembled slightly. Hermione swallowed.
"No, I don't," she snorted, mimicking Justin at his most prim. "This is completely unacceptable."
"Really," he again gave her an attentive look. "Well, Granger. Why don't you remind me about this... map."
"I can't believe you forgot," Hermione said, trying to stall for time.
He smiled with his lips again.
"You're very distracting."
"You'd better remember," she said sharply, "because I'm not going to get a bad grade on our Divination Map because of your sloppiness."
Thank Merlin, she had read the entire Advanced Divination textbook. Dowsing was a very complex technique.
"I have... a pendulum," she continued, "but it's useless until you finish drawing the map."
Hermione shot a fierce glance at the wizard before her. Malfoy had never been particularly conscientious in their joint Divination projects before, and to slack off on such a complex task was entirely in character for him.
"We need to establish a coordinate system, Malfoy," she continued in her most commanding tone. Maybe if she infuriated him, he'd back off. "Don't forget to divide the map into four quadrants for detail."
"Yes, yes, four quadrants," Tennant (and she no longer doubted it was him) drew closer. "You know what, let's meet after dinner, and I'll bring this Dowsing Map." His fingers slid over her sleeve again. "We'll look for treasures together."
"Absolutely not," Hermione snapped. "I very much doubt you've marked all the sub-quadrants and sub-sub-quadrants." She was getting into it. Maybe she should write a dowsing methodology for Trelawney? Merlin knows, that woman could use some help.
"Be sure to use my numbering system," she continued, "because Vlatzbey's scheme is completely outdated." She shot him another scathing look. "Have you even opened my notes on incorporating Numerology into dowsing formulas?"
The wizard blinked.
"Uh, no?"
"Of course not," Hermione snorted. "Then there's no point in meeting at all until you sort out the map, because I refuse to do your work for..."
She broke off, noticing the furious glare of the blonde man before her. Hermione covered her mouth with her hand. Oh, Merlin, for a moment she had forgotten she wasn't facing Malfoy. Tennant was unlikely to appreciate their invigorating banter. The wizard's sharpened features were contorted with anger.
"I will not tolerate orders from some gr... boor like you!" Tennant hissed. "Shut your mouth!"
Hermione theatrically recoiled.
"Malfoy, what's wrong with you? You've never spoken to me so rudely! I... I am very offended and... and I'm leaving!"
She freed herself from his trembling hands and slipped out of the alcove. The pseudo-Malfoy rushed after her, and they both ran into a group of girls — third-years, by the looks of it.
"Mr. Malfoy!"
"It's Mr. Malfoy!"
"He'll help us!"
"Wheee!"
All the girls began waving scraps of parchment.
"Mr. Malfoy!" cried the girl with the huge yellow bow. "We're doing love divinations today!"
Tennant and Hermione showed a rare unanimity, exchanging looks of complete bewilderment.
"Mr. Malfoy, can you help us?" a dark-haired Gryffindor girl asked.
"I'm afraid not, girls," Tennant replied. "Miss Granger and I have plans."
His meaningful tone made the girls' eyes widen. They exchanged glances, looked at the draped alcove, then at Hermione.
"We were discussing a Divination project. Dowsing," Hermione said dryly. "And I hope you all understand that love divinations have no scientific basis whatsoever."
"But my letter!" cried the blonde Ravenclaw. "I wrote you a letter, Mr. Malfoy!"
She unrolled the parchment and began to read: The wind in the leaves whispers your name: Draco...
Tennant's face darkened.
"Oh, fuck it," he snarled and strode towards the library.
Hermione watched him go with envy. There were advantages to being a sociopath. Bellatrix surely never had to listen to girls' love letters in Hogwarts.
The Ravenclaw was now sobbing and wiping away tears with a scrap of parchment, while her friends rushed to comfort her. Hermione tried not to sigh heavily. She couldn't stand third-years, even when she was a third-year herself.
"It's alright, Miss..." Hermione began.
"Clark," the girl sobbed. "Val Clark."
"Walbur..." another began, but the others shushed her.
"Please don't be offended, Miss Clark," Hermione continued. "Love is... uh... a sore subject for Malfoy right now."
The girls exchanged glances and giggled.
"Did you reject him, Miss Granger?" a Gryffindor asked.
"Of course not," Hermione replied.
The girls' eyes widened.
"So... it's not... I'm not... we were just talking."
The girls gave her skeptical looks.
"Malfoy is upset. Because of another witch," Hermione said desperately. Then she remembered how Malfoy hated pre-prepared speeches. "She... um... expressed her feelings in writing."
The girls nodded, accepting this explanation, and looked with sympathy after the pseudo-Malfoy. Then Val's face brightened.
"Maybe then you can help me, Miss Granger? I have something about his eyes..."
"Absolutely not," Hermione cut her off. There was a limit to everything. "Better spend this time studying."
"Yes, Miss Granger," the blonde girl said glumly. "Thank you, Miss Granger."
The others repeated their thanks, and the small group scurried away.
"I liked the part about the lips like petals, Val," one of the girls said loudly.
Hermione leaned against the wall, feeling drained, but before she could relax — the real Malfoy approached rapidly from the opposite end of the corridor. His wand was ready, and his face was flushed.
"Where is he? What happened? Are you alright?" Malfoy demanded.
Hermione straightened up and pulled out her wand.
"Which planet was in retrograde last Friday, Mars or Jupiter?"
Malfoy blinked.
"What?"
She raised her wand.
"Answer the question."
"Mars — according to Trelawney, Jupiter — according to you," he rattled off.
"Correct."
Hermione looked around the empty corridor and pulled Malfoy into the alcove. The candle in the niche was still burning. She had only discovered this place yesterday, and now she almost lived here.
"What did Tennant do?" Malfoy demanded. "I saw your dots! Together!"
"I'm... I'm alright. He was impersonating you. Polyjuice Potion."
Malfoy put away his wand and grabbed her by the shoulders, the warmth of his fingers penetrating through the silk.
"He touched you? He hurt you? Hermione..."
"No, no, nothing like that. He was disgusting, but that's all. I'm fine."
"Thank Salazar."
The tension eased, and he relaxed, leaning into her. Now Hermione's eyes were fixed only on his tie — the seemingly solid black silk was actually composed of tiny black and gray squares. A silver snake clasp coiled around a black pearl. She closed her eyes, inhaling Malfoy's scent — how could she have mistaken another wizard for him even for a second?
"He really didn't touch you?" Malfoy whispered.
"Well... he ran his hand over my sleeve and stared at my nipples."
Hermione felt Malfoy tense.
"He saw your nipples?"
"The blouse is sheer."
Hermione opened her eyes and saw Malfoy pull away — his face again resembled Justin chewing a lemon.
"I knew there'd be trouble when you showed up for breakfast looking like that," he grumbled. "What possessed you to wear that blouse anyway? And that skirt? And that... that hair! You jeopardized everything!"
"I jeopardized?!" Hermione exclaimed. "You're the one who lost him! Again! Oh yes, silly me for finally deciding to wear something nice, because you insisted on taking the Map today..."
"Stembell kept me after Herbology to remove another protective charm," Malfoy hissed through clenched teeth. "And you absolutely didn't need to dress like that! And it's already so difficult, even when you're in those worn jumpers with big letters, with your hair stick—" He made small circles with his hands. "But I can still put up with that, and then you... you..." his hands dropped helplessly, "...suddenly decide to look... groomed... in silk... and these... Do you even realize what that does to Slytherins? Even Goyle was staring! I almost lost my... what? Mmph!"
Hermione was kissing him — partly because it seemed the only effective way to shut him up, partly because she wanted to. How a person who had been through a war could remain so innocent and naive was a mystery, but she was grateful for it. Malfoy, in many ways, was still sixteen — just like Harry — though she would never admit it to him.
Now he was pressing her close, one arm lifting her off the floor, the warm fingers of his other hand sliding towards one of her provocatively protruding nipples. Oh, Merlin, how she wanted him in such moments — anxious, infuriated, indignant, aroused...
It was foolish to kiss here, where only a thin curtain separated them from the bustling library corridor, and behind them was a secret Slytherin passage. But suddenly it turned out that being an object of concern and care — for some strange reason — aroused Hermione, so she couldn't stop. Not to mention how easily Malfoy lifted her, how his lean body pressed against hers...
She wanted to wrap her legs around him, but that foolish skirt wouldn't allow it; she wanted to know how her loud moans sounded, but she hadn't cast silencing charms, and now Hermione felt all the frustration in the world that a woman could feel with a sexual man's tongue in her mouth.
And then she lost even that — Malfoy broke the kiss to talk.
"How did you guess?" he breathed into her ear.
"About what?"
"Earlier." His hand slid to her waist. "How did you know it wasn't me?"
Hermione looked at him. For almost the first time in her life, she didn't want to display her knowledge.
"Is it really important?"
Malfoy's jaw tightened.
"Yes."
She sighed and mentally made a list: trembling hands, lack of jewelry and perfume, ignorance about the Map... But when she opened her mouth, something entirely different came out.
"Your Slytherin masks," she said.
Malfoy's eyebrow arched quizzically.
"Tennant looks warm and playful," Hermione explained, "but his eyes... they're cold. Dark."
"And me?" Malfoy's voice was quiet.
"Quite the opposite," she confessed. "You... look cold and stern, but when you touch me, I feel that..."
She looked away, cheeks burning.
Soft lips touched her ear.
"Tell me."
Oh, these Slytherins. They demanded revelations on command. What could she say? You need me so much and you hate it, but I like that you hate it, because I need to be needed, but I don't need to be... God, she sounded like Luna.
"Tell me," Malfoy repeated. He was ready to keep her against that wall all day if necessary. Hermione traced her lips along his cheekbone, and he flinched, but didn't pull away.
"You're... warm," she said uncertainly. Warm?
Malfoy pressed even closer and removed his hand from her waist to undo her neat bun and tangle his fingers in her curls.
"You're funny, Granger," he whispered in her ear.
She couldn't suppress a smile.
"But I was right."
They began kissing again, and Hermione was ready to melt and forever become part of the stone wall, just to keep Malfoy in place.
However, the ghost of the disgusting Tennant ruined everything again. Malfoy pulled away from her lips and groaned:
"We need to check the Map."
"The Map," she repeated, breathing heavily. He lowered her to the floor — to her displeasure — and took a step back.
"Only Salazar knows what Rowley's doing out there disguised as me," Malfoy grumbled. He touched the parchment with his wand. "I solemnly swear that I am up to no good."
Hermione snapped back to attention. Of course, he was right. Malfoy didn't have Justin's squeaky-clean reputation — if Tennant caused another chaos...
"He's probably back in his own form now," Hermione said. The Map showed Tennant on the Marble Staircase, surrounded by a cluster of dots — students heading for dinner.
"Mischief managed." Malfoy gave Hermione a stern look. "Did you tell him anything?"
"I mentioned the Map..."
Malfoy's eyes widened.
"He knows?"
"Both yes and no," Hermione answered evasively.
"Explain."
"I did mention the Map before I realized it was Tennant. But I corrected myself," she said.
"What exactly did you say?"
"That it's a map for a Divination project. Dowsing. I said I couldn't meet him today to work on the map because he probably misnumbered the sub-quadrants or ignored the numerological principles I talked about."
Malfoy smirked.
"Better him than me."
He visibly relaxed and took out his wand to fix his hair and suit. Then he leaned towards her again, but Hermione raised a hand between them.
"Mind you, Malfoy," she said in a lecturing tone, "when we get to that section, I won't tolerate you shirking work... Where are you going?"
The blonde wizard rolled his eyes, holding onto the curtain.
"If we're done, I'm going to dinner."
"I need to look at the Map again," Hermione said. Merlin, she'd almost forgotten about Ginny.
He raised an eyebrow.
"Really."
"Yes."
"So, I have something you need."
Hermione groaned.
"Can you ever do anything just out of the goodness of your heart?"
He mockingly raised an eyebrow.
"Well, what do you want..." Hermione began. "For Godric's sake!"
Malfoy pretended to consider.
"How about this: you can pay now, or we can argue, miss dinner, and you won't see the Map until evening."
Hermione growled in annoyance, but stepped closer and took his face in her hands.
"Then lean down."
His kiss was sweet, and she again forgot about the Map, until he pulled away.
"Then here," Malfoy said smugly, extending the parchment.
Hermione touched the Map with her wand.
"I solemnly swear that I am up to no good."
Lines and dots appeared, and she began methodically studying floor by floor in search of Ginny's room. There it was — between the Hufflepuff common room and the kitchens. An excellent spot for a secret hideout. But there was no door, no entrance. How...
"Granger," Malfoy whispered in her ear, "are you aware that dinner isn't endless?"
"Yes, yes," she mumbled, tracing her finger along the first-floor corridors.
"What are you looking for?"
"SPS," Hermione answered absently, studying the second floor.
"A Ghoul? There are no ghouls in Hogwarts. Greg and I had to drag one all the way from Goyle's dungeons to scare Longbot—"
"Yes!" Hermione exclaimed. "There it is! 'Ghoulian Revels'!"
Malfoy snorted.
"I wouldn't call it 'revels.' Disgusting creatures."
"No, no!" She tore her gaze from the Map. "Gilderoy Lockhart's second book. His publisher gifted the school a portrait of the book's cover, and it hangs... in the Trophy Room corridor!"
She checked the Map — and there it was, a mark at the end of the corridor: "Weasley Hiding Near." A bubble appeared next to it, labeled: "Tell Lockhart how handsome he is."
"Lockhart," Malfoy muttered. "That babbling idiot with the Pixies, right?"
Hermione blushed.
"I liked his classes."
She still felt pity for Lockhart, who to this day remained in St. Mungo's after losing his memory, though she knew he deserved his fate. His last book, "Who Am I?", she found a very interesting study of a backfiring Memory Charm.
Malfoy smiled broadly.
"Ah yes, I remember. Lockhart tried to heal Potter's injury at the Quidditch match."
His smirk widened, and he began to wave his hand.
"Not funny," Hermione blurted out. "Harry had to regrow all the bones in his arm!"
Malfoy smirked one last time, extended his hand, and Hermione reluctantly handed over the Map.
"Be careful today when you go to watch Tennant," she said. "He doesn't trust you."
"He doesn't trust anyone."
Hermione tidied herself with a flick of her wand, and they emerged from the alcove. The first-floor staircase was deserted — all students were already at dinner. It was strange to walk beside Malfoy, knowing they could be seen, but the whole school was already aware that they had danced together and were partners in Divination. When they reached the Marble Staircase, Malfoy stopped two steps below, so their eyes were almost level.
"So," he said, and a glint sparked in his silvery eyes. "I'm warm."
Hermione blushed like a third-year. He would never forgive her for that phrase.
"Perhaps you have a fever," she said.
He smirked.
"You look like you have one."
"I drink a lot of hot tea," Hermione said.
"That's not even..."
Loud footsteps drowned out Malfoy's words — a group of Gryffindor boys rushed up the staircase between them.
"Treacle Tart today!" one shouted, and they all cheered joyfully.
Hermione pressed herself against the marble railing, letting the younger students pass, but when the staircase emptied, Malfoy was gone. He stood by the main doors, looking at her, his Slytherin mask back in place. Then he sharply turned, and his tall figure disappeared through the Great Hall doors.