On Tuesday evening, as soon as Granger appeared, Draco immediately knew the witch clearly had something on her mind. She held a book in her hands and was in full pyjamas, but at least not plaid.
"Is Tennant here?" Granger blurted out.
Draco checked the Map.
"No. He's with Tracey Davis." He almost shuddered at her mention. That Slytherin half-blood was more dangerous than Fiendfyre. Tennant could wake up tomorrow in the middle of a soul-binding ritual, choking on Amortentia or fending off Davis's pygmy puff.
"Alright then." Granger shoved the book into her purse and reached for the Map.
"Oh no you don't," Draco raised the Map higher, out of Granger's reach. "There's no point in you tracking Tennant who's tracking you."
"What should I do then?"
Draco shrugged. He didn't care, as long as she stayed away from Tennant.
"If we had two Maps..." Granger mused. "Or at least one that only tracked Tennant. I'd bet the Marauder's Map was created using a dowsing tool principle. They probably used a crystal pendulum, and then..."
"You can't know that," Draco interrupted her. She might be right, but, Merlin damn it, he couldn't let Granger wander around the castle with such a Map and a crystal pendulum. Draco's life was complicated enough as it was.
"Then Thief's Downfall," she said. "We could brew some to identify Tennant under Polyjuice. "Granger made herself comfortable on the bedspread, crossing her legs, and continued to elaborate on her crazy ideas. "But a waterfall in the middle of the corridor might attract attention. Maybe some mist... What do you think?"
Draco thought it was a terrible idea. Only goblins knew the recipe for that potion. Even if the two of them managed to create it, what was she going to do—run around spraying Thief's Downfall on everyone who seemed suspicious? Merlin, she'd do exactly that.
"Is that my flower?" Granger suddenly asked.
Yes. The house-elves, when making the bed, stubbornly left the still-blooming camellia on his pillow every evening. Draco irritably grabbed his wand and silently cast Wingardium Leviosa. But instead of smoothly lifting from the pillow, the flower exploded, scattering petals everywhere. Granger looked around, wide-eyed, and Draco gritted his teeth. Bloody wand.
"Well, Malfoy," she smirked. "Very... uh... romantic."
Draco frowned.
"Will there be violins?" she asked politely. "Champagne on ice?"
He sighed.
"Just clean them up, Granger."
She let out a long, regretful sigh, then pulled out her wand.
"Alright. Evanesco."
But the petals didn't vanish—they only multiplied, and Granger burst into laughter, dropping her wand.
"You did that on purpose!" Draco roared, reaching for the vine.
"No, I didn't!" Granger threw petals in his face, trying to grab her wand again, but Draco was faster. He rolled over the vine, and Granger ended up on top—her face an inch from his.
"You're lying on my wand," she breathed.
"I could say the same."
Granger rolled her eyes, but a smile hid in the corners of her lips. The light from the candle hovering above the bed gilded her neatly arranged hair. Draco touched the ribbon holding the strands, and it came undone, releasing a cascade of brown hair.
"Malfoy," Granger whispered. "We need to..."
"Yes, we do," Draco replied softly. His hands slid into her hair, and he pulled her closer, drawing her into a kiss.
Granger tried to mumble something, but soon gave up and returned the kiss, her soft palms resting on his chest and ribs. Draco pulled her by the unusually smooth strands, when suddenly... What was that? A sharp pain pierced Draco's skin, and he gasped, pulling away from Granger.
Granger recoiled.
"Oh no!" she cried.
Draco propped himself up on an elbow and looked at his bare chest, covered in red petals and thin, bloody scratches.
"Is that..."
"I'm so sorry!" Granger squeaked.
His mind frantically searched for an explanation. Had he gone too far? Scared her? Did she use a knife? A spell? A spontaneous burst of magic?
"I'm not used to them!" Granger raised her hands, her fingers adorned with long red claws. "I scratched you!"
"Scratched?" Draco touched his rib and winced. "You lacerated me!"
"Do you have the book?"
Draco blinked.
"What?"
"They shorten when I'm studying or in class." She raised her wand. "Accio book!"
The bed shook with dull thuds—apparently, all the books in the bedroom hit the protective charms, stirring up new clouds of petals. Draco sat up in bed and stared at Granger, bewildered. Why were her nails suddenly two inches long and blood-red? Why had she lacerated him? And why was all of this so arousing? Granger, meanwhile, was casting healing spells and cleaning up the blood.
"Did I heal everything?" she asked. "Did I scratch your back?"
The image of those long nails gliding down his back momentarily pulled Draco out of reality. When he came to, she was still looking at him anxiously, ready to continue healing.
"What happened here?" he demanded.
Granger dropped her wand to cross her deadly weapons.
"Romilda gave me a manicure. And then, when you... I got a little overexcited..." she blushed deeply.
"Ah." Draco was no stranger to long nails. Slytherin girls managed perfectly well with any task, despite the length of their claws. Granger, whom he had only seen with neat nails no longer than his own, clearly lacked that skill.
"And the books?" he asked.
"Romilda enchanted my nails to shorten when I study, and lengthen when I... don't study."
Granger looked more embarrassed than ever, her entire face flushed.
"Qu-quite an impressive spell, actually."
Draco agreed. He ran his hand under his pillow and pulled out folded sketches.
"Try this," he said.
Granger took the parchments, and indeed—her nails shortened, and the bright red and gold polish vanished. A little calmer, she sat cross-legged again on the petal-strewn bedspread and began flipping through his sketches.
"Your bushes could use a trim," she mumbled.
Draco raised an eyebrow.
"Your sketch of the Fainting Fancies has flaws." She turned the page. "Wow, your horned serpent is so healthy."
"Oh, really."
"Draco!" she exclaimed when he snatched the sketches from her and tossed them aside. They had made a real mess of the bed today.
"And now," he whispered, drawing closer, "where were we, Granger?"
"We can't. My... my nails. If we do anything like that, they'll..."
"I don't mind at all." Draco really didn't mind.
Granger lifted her chin, looking determined.
"Malfoy, we need to talk."
"Do we?"
"Yes." She took a deep breath, straightening her back and placing her hands on her knees. Her dark, straight hair fell distractingly to her waist, and her lips, swollen from kissing, looked as intensely red and soft as the petals around them.
"Malfoy, what we're doing isn't fair," she announced.
"To whom?" Draco asked. Bloody hell, she didn't mean Finch-Fletchley, did she? Or, worse, Weasley?
"To you."
"I don't understand."
"You said we shouldn't continue touching each other in bed, and I... I agree."
Draco scoffed derisively.
"Nonsense. I couldn't have said that."
"But you did, the night of the Ravenclaw party," Granger insisted. "You said you weren't a toy."
"Exactly."
"So I should show you more respect."
"Yes, you should." Just in time. "But I forgive you." He leaned in closer, touched her throat, and ran a finger down. "If you want to make amends, you can..."
"I shouldn't..." Granger squeezed a crumpled petal in her hand. "I shouldn't tease you if I don't want to have sex. Is that what you meant? When you said you weren't a toy?"
Draco stared at her in horror, realizing what she was getting at.
"Wait..."
"I shouldn't kiss and touch you in bed. It's not fair."
"It's alright, I can handle it," Draco said nobly.
"It's quite cruel."
"I deserve it." Draco felt desperate. "I'm a scoundrel, remember? A Death Eater who lures you here every night and shamelessly takes advantage of the situation, plus I stunned your Hufflepuff twice, and let's not forget..."
"But you don't deserve..."
"I do. I should be grateful for anything you deign to give me," Draco said. He tried to look grateful, but such an expression was not natural to him. Judging by Granger's face, he probably looked like a maniac. Damn it, this was awful. Why was she suddenly listening to him?
"Well, that's just wrong," Granger protested. "I was wrong. You're a completely different person now and you deserve more respect."
Draco's eyes bulged.
"No, I'm not, and I don't deserve respect."
She shook her head.
"Yes, you do."
"Absolutely not," he insisted now. "Honestly, Granger, I deserve any torture you deign to inflict upon me. Unleash your claws."
Granger was still red with embarrassment.
"I'm not very good at this—at romance and sex. I've already hurt people I care about." She sighed. "I don't want to hurt you."
Draco's jaw dropped. Hurt him? That was unexpected.
"Are you trying to fix me, Granger?" he asked curiously.
She frowned.
"No. I don't believe one person can change another."
"But they can push for change," he said.
"I'm not going to use my body to..."
"And I'm not saying you should," Draco lied. Too bad, he liked that strategy.
"I've been quite selfish," Granger said sadly. "Giving in to impulses all the time."
Draco chuckled, unable to help himself. Gryffindors.
"Don't worry about it, Granger," he said, waving a dismissive hand. "Your conscience should be clear. I retract my previous statement. I am absolutely fine with being teased and seduced in my bed. In fact..." he tugged on a long curl, "I'm looking forward to it."
"But that's ridiculous," she protested. "And it's unfair to me too. Because all the responsibility is on me. I have to be the one who can stop."
Draco shrugged. Life was unfair in general.
"I don't know why I thought we could talk about this like adults," she pouted as his lips touched her temple. "I just want to behave properly."
"Try, Granger," Draco said, taking her hand and placing it on his already healed chest. "But I don't promise the same."
Sunlight streamed through Draco's bed hangings, shining directly into his closed eyes. While the Slytherin dungeon bedrooms on the north side faced the thick water of the Black Lake, and the west and south sides faced solid rock, the windows of the Head of House/Head Boy's room faced east. The warmth warmed Draco's closed eyelids. His cheek was pressed against something soft, his hand rested on smooth, bare skin. Granger was still here.
Salazar, he was exhausted. They had argued half the night about fairness and propriety before falling asleep from exhaustion. Granger did allow him a few more kisses, which lengthened her red nails—which was nice—and then followed new apologies and rants about respect—which was not so nice.
Well, today was a new day. Draco ran his hand over her stomach under her pyjamas and pressed his lips to her throat.
"Draco," she murmured, still half-asleep.
"Yes," he replied hoarsely.
"Draco." This time her voice was louder, encouraging.
He lifted his head, slowly opening his eyes. Morning sunlight filtered through a small gap in the bed hangings. Hermione looked dazzling, lying amidst bright red petals, her curls free again. At least this time she was saying his name.
Granger's eyes opened.
"Malfoy..."
"Draco," he corrected, brushing a strand of hair from her face.
"I... I'm trying..."
"It's alright, I don't mind. Seduce me, lioness." He deepened the kiss, ignoring her morning breath, and ended up on top. Feeling sharp nails on his skin, he hissed quietly as she scratched the skin under his shoulder blade.
"Sorry," she breathed. "I'll try not to hurt you."
"Don't you dare." He ran his hand under her pyjama shirt and, as punishment for the audacious thought, lightly pinched her nipple.
Hermione trembled at his touch.
"Please," she stammered.
Draco pulled up her pyjamas, exposing her chest, and leaned down to lick the nipple he had just pinched. His hand slowly glided over the curves of her body.
Granger threw her arm back.
"Draco," she breathed louder, "oh..."
Suddenly, she gasped—and not from excitement. Draco froze, lifting his head. The bed hangings had been moved—she had hit them with her hand, letting in more light. And that meant...
"Protective charms!" Hermione hissed.
Draco sat up sharply in bed. Was Tennant here? Had he heard them?
Granger grabbed her wand, but immediately dropped it—her long nails got in the way. Draco was quicker, the harlequin wand obeyed this time, and he pulled the hangings shut and cast new protective charms. Then Draco dug the Map out of the pile of petals.
"I solemnly swear that I am up to no good," he whispered. Yes, there were their names, and next to them in the bedroom square—a third dot marked "Tennant Rowley."
"Do you think he heard us?" Granger asked, looking over his shoulder.
"Unknown," Draco replied absently.
"Probably..." A white flash—and she was gone, her purse and wand still lying in his bed.
Draco rubbed his face with his hands, then loosened the protective charms to open the hangings slightly. Tennant lay in bed, completely naked, spread out and snoring softly, his massive body almost completely filling the wide bed. The wizard looked dead, a bottle of firewhisky lying on the floor beside him. "It's alright," Draco told himself. If Tennant had heard Granger, he wouldn't be lying flat. He would have rushed to them with questions and demanded to join.
This image haunted Draco as he sat in the bathroom, wincing as the water stung his scratches. He was still distracted as he dressed, struggling to fasten his cufflinks and tie pin. He almost forgot to iron his silver inkwells (they had grown tiny white tails) until they meowed, attracting attention. In the magically expanded pockets of his jacket, he placed the Map, his watch, a splinter of dark wood, and Granger's beaded purse and wand.
Tennant had only just begun to stir and groan when Draco slammed the door shut behind him. He walked through the Slytherin common room, glaring sullenly at everyone, his thoughts clearing with each step. Draco knew what he had to do. Things had gone too far today. Of course, he still needed to keep an eye on Tennant, but priorities had shifted. He and Granger were acting like fools, playing their little games and messing around with the Map. Granger couldn't keep showing up in the bedroom anymore. Draco had to remove the Vanishing Spell immediately.