Draco burst into the library, his polished boots sliding on the stone floor. He had left lunch early to find information about the Vanishing Spell before Divination. The prefect, who was substituting for the librarian, snorted exactly like Pince at his noisy arrival.
As he wound his way between the tall shelves, Draco felt the dark wood wand in his pocket reacting to its surroundings: a Hufflepuff's shoelaces tied themselves into neat bows, and a slightly ajar door swung wide open for a miniature first-year carrying a stack of books. Draco headed deeper into the library, trying not to notice how overturned inkwells righted themselves and chairs slid back under tables. A busty Slytherin – one of Tennant's harem – gave Draco a disdainful look as he passed, but then gasped as her gaping blouse spontaneously buttoned all the way up to her chin. "This wand will demand nobility, Mr. Malfoy," Ollivander's words echoed in his head. Splendid. Just what he needed. More nobility in his life.
Draco continued his circuit, collecting books on enchanted objects, exotic wood types, and even xylomancy, grabbing a fresh copy of Wood-Charm Digest, so beloved by Granger. Then he headed to his favorite corner, trying not to notice how the books aligned themselves on the shelves as he approached.
Settling at a table, he was immediately distracted by the magazine's cover story: "What Wood Suits You? Wizards and Their Wands." Draco smirked and pulled out a quill to take the "Wood as Soul" test. Do you prefer whole or divided leaves (Divided, of course). Do you shed your leaves? (Only for you, darling). Your favorite season? He wrote "winter," adding: "I like dead trees." The next part was a list of character traits from which he had to choose three. Draco circled "intelligent," "tolerant," and "unfussy."
A snort made him freeze, quill in hand, and look up. Granger plopped into the chair opposite him—still in that awful jumper, her hair looking as if it was about to break free from the thin ribbon and escape.
Draco caught himself gaping and quickly returned his face to its usual expression. He wasn't used to Granger appearing before him in the middle of the day. The dark wood wand in his pocket immediately began smoothing her stray curls and mending a loose stitch on her jumper at her shoulder. Oh, Salazar.
Fortunately, the witch wasn't looking at him and didn't notice the ink stain vanishing from her pinky finger. She was too busy studying his answers in the magazine test upside down, tallying scores, and evaluating the result.
"Pear wood, Malfoy?" she tapped the page with a short-clipped nail. "I had no idea you were so soulful, generous, and wise."
Draco smirked smugly.
"It also says that pear wands are the hardest, most sensual, and most satisfying."
Granger blushed.
"This test is completely... what are you doing?"
Draco's palm covered Hermione's hand, her skin feeling so soft under his fingers. Granger tried to pull her hand away, but he held it firmly, touching the wand in his pocket with his other hand.
"Accio Harlequin wand," he whispered.
The chessboard wand flew out of her right sleeve, and he caught it with a Seeker's speed.
"Neville told me about these wands," Granger said, "that they... Malfoy!"
Draco brought her wrist to his lips, kissing her knuckles, while his eyes subtly scanned the hall. The prefect was still engrossed in reading—for now—and there were no other students nearby.
"Shh," he whispered, touching her palm with his lips. Granger shivered.
"It's still a library."
His lips slid down her wrist, touching the unexpectedly soft yarn of her jumper.
"Malfoy," she hissed. "This isn't your bedroom."
All the voices in Draco's head merged into one: What, in Merlin's name, are you doing?—but he ignored them.
"Did you think you could snatch my wand without consequences, Granger?" he asked.
"Padma's looking our way..."
"Make up a story," Draco said.
"To explain why you're kissing my fingers?"
"Aren't you the Most Boring Witch of Your Generation?"
"Let go of me, you..."
"Hermione?" The prefect was now standing nearby, staring at their intertwined fingers. "Is everything alright?"
"Everything's fine, thank you, Padma," Granger replied, still trying to free her hand.
The Ravenclaw didn't look convinced.
"And Malfoy seems to be..."
"Finger-shrinking solution," Granger said. "Malfoy's measuring the effect."
Draco raised an eyebrow. With what exactly, his lips? Granger squirmed, clearly trying to poke him with her instantly lengthened nails, but he held her wrist firmly.
The prefect frowned.
"I don't see any practical application for..."
"You'll find it in Potions Most Peculiar," Granger said without batting an eye. "Volume three. Oh, and it works on toes too."
"Those we'll measure next," Draco added.
Padma gave them a doubtful look and headed to the Potions section. Ravenclaws always checked every source.
Draco released Granger, and she jumped to her feet, hiding her hands under her jumper.
"I can't believe you..."
"Sit down," Draco said calmly. "I have news."
He tried to cast a silencing charm with the chessboard wand he still held in his hand. At least, he thought he was trying.
Instantly, all the sounds of the library—the rustling of pages, the whispers—vanished.
Granger froze, then sank into the chair with an inexpressible look on her face.
"What happened?" Draco blinked in confusion, unable to hear his own voice.
Granger seemed speechless, her face the color of a ripe tomato.
"What?!" Draco demanded. "What's wrong with me? Why can't I hear..."
Granger buried her face in her hands, her bushy hair shaking wildly.
"What the..." Draco clapped his hands over his ears, pulled something off his head, and threw it onto the table. Now he could hear Granger's muffled laughter.
On the table lay headphones—fluffy and bright purple. Bloody Harlequin wand.
"You find this funny, do you?" he snarled at the wand.
Granger looked up at him, her face still red.
"He... headphones!" she squeaked piercingly. A passing student turned and gave them a sharp look.
"Quiet!" Draco snapped.
She swallowed.
"If you don't like loud noises, just put on... put on..."
She buried her face in her hands again.
"Granger," Draco's voice turned Malfoy-cold. "Care to explain what's so funny?"
Her curly head shook in denial.
"No, I don't," came her muffled voice.
"Fine," Draco maintained his icy tone. "Then, if you'll permit me, I'll share my news."
Granger looked up and nodded.
"Tennant left for Durmstrang today."
All the cheerful blush instantly vanished from her face, her eyes widening.
"For good?"
"No. For a three-day DADA seminar."
She tilted her head thoughtfully.
"Why? Professor Lemond is perfectly capable, though he pays an unexpectedly lot of attention to theory for a former Auror."
He shrugged.
"Durmstrang has its own approach."
"I don't doubt it," she said grimly, tapping her fingers on a book about magical woodworking. Granger's nails had returned to their natural length. "He's probably recruiting someone there."
Draco was flooded with warmth at the thought that they had both come to the same conclusion. Stop it.
"We have until Saturday," her tone became businesslike. "Enough to come up with a better plan. We need to figure out exactly what he's up to and who he's recruiting."
Draco sighed, resigned to another crazy adventure, full of inconvenience and unnecessary risk.
"Ginny knows, by the way," Granger said.
"About Tennant?"
"Yes. And about us." She glanced at the headphones on the table and blushed again.
Draco felt a strange sensation in his chest at the way the word "us" sounded from Granger's lips. Then he frowned.
"She knows about the spell?"
Granger shook her head.
"No, she has no idea. But she suspects that there's... uh... something between us."
Draco caught her fingers again.
"Hmm... something."
This time she didn't pull her hand away, and he ran his thumb over her palm. Draco hoped she had already given up all that nonsense about fairness and respect.
"Something dark," he mused aloud. "Something secret. Vicious."
"You're not vicious, Malfoy."
"Give me time."
"No," Granger cut him off. "You're not fallen, not vicious, not cursed, and none of those..."
"None of those what?" Draco raised an eyebrow.
"P-words," she finished uncertainly.
Draco smirked.
"It's true," Granger insisted, squeezing his hand.
She looked ready for a fight—jaw clenched, hair disheveled, that tiny purse slung over her shoulder, and her own wand undoubtedly hidden in her other sleeve. This witch still believed Draco had a future, which only proved that even after eight years in the wizarding world, she completely misunderstood its rules.
Well, Draco would let her keep her illusions. As long as she was busy planning his "salvation," she would be close. Of course, he would have to remain faithful, but that didn't bother him. Which was a rather disturbing sign, but he was probably just being practical—he'd heard stories about a jealous Granger. Involving birds.
"This is all quite entertaining," he said. "And how exactly do you plan to tempt me off the path of evil?"
"You're not evil," she stubbornly declared. "You never were evil."
The emphasis on the last word clearly implied he had been many other things, but Draco was content with "not evil."
The prefect returned from the Potions section with a stack of books, heading determinedly towards them. Well, let Granger deal with that. A flick of the dark wood wand—and his books and papers jumped into his bag, which immediately clicked shut. He left the headphones for Granger—since she liked them so much.
Draco picked up his briefcase, then leaned in to whisper in Hermione's ear, deliberately brushing his lips against her skin.
"I'm not evil, you say? Hmm. I suppose you'll have to convince me tonight."***
Draco's unusually good mood lasted all the way to Divination class, where they were to compose astrological horoscopes.
"Fertile Jupiter has entered Gemini," he wrote, "and the nearly full moon continues to wander through the intimate Eighth House, promising pleasures."
He deliberately placed the parchment so Granger could read the passage, to which she merely rolled her eyes.
After dinner, Draco retired to his blessedly Tennant-free bedroom and opened a book on magical woodworking. It turned out that spells cast on magically created furniture could behave unpredictably. The book even mentioned Hogwarts—most of the furniture in the castle was handmade for this very reason.
The exception was the staircases—they were created with charms so they could arbitrarily change direction. The very staircase that saved Granger from Tennant was rented from an Eastern European castle and also created with magic. Draco wasn't sure if this applied to their situation, but he took notes anyway. He also forced himself to reread his old notes from sixth year, still stored in a secret compartment of his trunk. Draco was impressed by his younger self's meticulousness, though he still attributed success to luck rather than talent for wood-charm. That paragraph about wood texture, for example, was complete nonsense.
By half past nine, he gave up and began preparing for bed: he deliberately ruffled his hair, applied a couple of drops of perfume. The bed was made with fresh linen, the petals were gone, and his sketches of magical creatures (most likely thanks to Tally) were neatly smoothed and folded on his pillow. Draco drew the hangings shut, leaving only a tiny hovering candle. Tonight, shadows ruled.
Leaning back on the pillows, he mentally drew scenarios. Maybe continue where they left off this morning? His hand involuntarily reached for his silk boxers, but he stopped himself—better to let her hand do it. His eyelids closed. Maybe she'd wear that short, thin-strapped set that would slip off at the slightest touch...
A dull thud and a thin shriek made Draco open his eyes. A gruesome sight lay before him. Hermione was in plaid pyjamas (a nightmare in itself), her wand sticking out of her ponytail, blinding with golden light. But worst of all was the lump clutched in her arms along with a thick book. A very familiar lump and very ginger. Draco sat up sharply in bed and aimed his wand at the cat.
"Why did you bring him?"
"Put your wand away!" Granger cried. "You're scaring him!"
"Get that creature OUT."
"What? No!"
"He's not staying here!" Draco glared at the cat, and the cat glared back. "He'll slit my throat in my sleep and eat my face!"
Granger stared at him, then burst out laughing and dropped the heavy book onto the bedspread.
"What's so funny?"
She was now openly cackling, one hand firmly pressing her pet to her, the other on her stomach.
"Eat... face... I can't... I can't breathe..." she gasped.
"It's not funny!" Draco snapped. Why did he seem so amusing to her today? He glared viciously at the cat, which was violently struggling in Granger's arms, clearly eager to sink its fangs and claws into Draco's flesh.
"That creature is not staying here," he stated coldly.
Granger stopped laughing.
"That creature is my loyal friend, and I'm not letting him roam this dungeon. Snakes aren't on the list of permitted familiars at Hogwarts, but I know some Slytherins bring them anyway."
Draco was disappointed. A seventh-year named Barnaby once smuggled in two magical pythons—that would have been the perfect solution.
"Now listen to me," Granger began, and Draco assumed she was addressing him. It was a very familiar tone—the one she usually used with him. It turned out she was talking to the cat.
"You will behave yourself while we're here, Crooks," she said sternly. "And you won't tease Malfoy or..." her voice wavered "...eat his face. You'll stay on my side of the bed and be a good boy."
The cat let out a series of piercing wails, like a house-elf cauterizing its ears with an iron.
"Yes, Crooks, I know he stunned you, and he's very sorry," Granger turned to Draco. "Aren't you, Malfoy?"
"Not a bit sorry, and I'll do it again if that creature comes within an inch of me," Draco declared. The cat hissed.
Granger snorted.
"I'm not discussing this. I didn't plan to bring him, but I lost track of time. We need to prepare for tomorrow's Divination test."
"Prepare for Divination?" This was not at all part of Draco's plans; he never prepared for that subject. "We'll just make it up as we go along."
And again that squint.
"Oh really, Malfoy? Like you did today? What can you tell me about Cassandra Vablatsky's career? Can you even spell Vablatsky correctly?"
"She's the author of Predict Your Future," Draco replied instantly. "V-A-B-L-A-T-S-K-Y."
Granger blinked in surprise.
"Well, very good, Malfoy. I'm impresse... What is it, Crookshanks?"
She leaned towards the cat, which, to Draco's displeasure, was nudging the Advanced Divination textbook lying on the bedspread towards her. The cover was clearly visible.
"Apparently," Granger said in a chillingly calm tone, "we have a lot of work to do. Let's start with a review: tea leaf reading, xylomancy, crystal gazing, and palmistry..."
Draco remembered the evening Granger first appeared before him in plaid pyjamas, presenting a report on Vanishing Cabinets. What about their... something? Wasn't she supposed to be tempting him onto the path of righteousness tonight? Unsuccessfully, of course, but he would have appreciated the effort.
Granger, meanwhile, had already opened the textbook, and the scruffy ball of fur settled beside her. Well, Draco wasn't ready to give up yet.
Moving closer, Draco took her hand.
"Palmistry, Hermione?" he asked, his left hand still holding his wand, hidden in the folds of the blanket.
Granger blushed as he began tracing the intertwining lines on her palm with his thumb.
"There's a clear pattern in the lines," he whispered. "You are vain, heartless, and prone to scandal."
She smiled faintly.
"Of course."
"See this line?" He slowly traced a circle in the center of her palm with his thumb. "You're destined for a journey after long delays." Draco leaned closer. "You'll doubt whether to embark at all."
Granger's golden-honey eyes looked directly at him.
"And what will I decide?"
"You'll embark on the journey," he whispered in her ear. Draco kissed her palm, his tongue gliding along the lines of life, mind, and heart... Yes, that worked. Meanwhile, his other hand subtly raised the dark wood wand.
"Is it a dangerous journey?" Granger whispered.
"Yes." Draco saw no point in lying. Her palm, still damp from his lips, touched his cheek, her nails lightly scratching his skin.
But suddenly the witch blinked and dropped her hand.
"What are you doing, Malfoy?"
Draco hastily lowered his wand.
"Nothing."
"You were aiming at Crookshanks! You were going to hex him again!"
"No. Yes. Maybe. Just a little."
"I can't believe it!" Granger moved away, clutching the cat to her. "How dare you!"
"Self-defense," Draco tried to justify.
"Crooks didn't do anything!"
Wizard and cat exchanged glances.
"Yet."
"Don't be silly," Granger snorted. "Crooks is perfectly well-behaved. Unlike some wizards." She moved the cat to the other side and picked up the textbook again. "We need to study."
"I'm not preparing for Divination," Draco snapped.
"Well, I am, so don't even think about anything else." The witch pulled her wand from her hair and illuminated the page. "Good night."
Draco glared at her, but he knew that expression well. Arguing was useless. Time for a tactical retreat.
Annoyed and, to put it mildly, unsatisfied, he lay down, turning away from her. He felt her gaze burning into his bare back. Testing, rabid animals... Not the night he had imagined.
He tried to relax, to think of anything but the witch behind him. For example, flying over Wiltshire in the summer, before the war, when he could just glide over the green hills. But gloomy thoughts crept in, and now even memories of home seemed poisoned—all its beauty merely masking the evil hidden within. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to ward off the images of shadows thickening in the manor rooms, but they wouldn't disappear... Until he realized Granger was quietly mumbling something.
"...The first documented use of crystals for divination dates back to the Celtic Druids of the Iron Age," she read aloud. "A meditative trance, often achieved with special incense... Interesting, isn't it, Crooks? No, of course not, I must have been crazy to choose this subject... However, most quality crystal balls are made of polished beryl, as it possesses magnetic properties. Honestly, I'd respect this discipline more if it just remained charlatanry instead of trying to stretch science to fit..."
Draco would have rolled his eyes if they weren't already closed. He knew what she was trying to do. Useless—she could drone on all night, he wouldn't remember a thing. But her voice was strangely soothing, and soon Draco fell asleep to her grumbling about the complete lack of empirical data supporting a single word of that Divination textbook.***
"ANSWER ME! CRUCIO!"—Draco, get the goblin! Draco! Granger's screams, endless screams...
Draco sat up abruptly in bed, heart pounding. Just another nightmare. But why weren't the screams stopping? Granger was still screaming, screaming, screaming...
Only a piercing cat's wail finally provided the answer. Yes, Granger was screaming—but not in his nightmare, in her own.
"Tempus!" Draco roared, and his pocket watch flashed, illuminating Granger lying with her mouth open and eyes closed—she was still screaming. Draco was paralyzed with horror.
"MEOOOOOOWWWW!!!" the cat wailed, leaping over Granger and sinking its claws into Draco's arm.
"Aargh!" Draco pushed the cat away and saw blood trickling down his Dark Mark. But the pain cleared his mind, and he lunged at Granger, grabbing her arms.
"Granger! Granger! Hermione!" he roared. "It's alright!"
He cupped her face in his hands.
"Hermione!"
And—miraculously—she fell silent. Her eyes snapped open.
"Harry?" Oh, Salazar.
"No," he said, trying to be patient. "I'm not Potter. And not Weasley, don't even think about it. It's Malfoy."
"Malfoy..." she cringed in fear.
He was ready to slap himself. Hopeless idiot.
"Draco," he said as gently as possible. "It's Draco. Remember me? The one who tried to ruin everything, but you always won. You won. It's over."
"Harry came," she whispered.
"Yes, Potter came." Thank Merlin.
"Ron came."
"Well, yeah, him too."
"Dobby came."
"Um... yes," Draco stammered.
"A house by the sea," she said.
"Of course. Excellent idea."
"Need to breathe."
"Yes, great thought." And a truly worthwhile one. There was no doubt Granger would come up with a little scenario. "Let's breathe."
Draco leaned over her, resting on his elbows, as they breathed together. After a while, Granger's eyelids closed... then opened again, and she stared at him.
"Malfoy? What are you doing?" she frowned. "Now's a bit... not the right time for that."
"Oh, Salazar." Draco groaned, sliding off her and sitting up. "You had a nightmare, Granger. I was trying to... well, bring you around. And you could say thank you, by the way."
Granger blinked, still a little disoriented, but quickly recovered and began stroking the cat, which was rubbing against her hand.
"You're bleeding," she said to Draco.
Draco grabbed his wand and vanished the blood from his hand with a spell. He said nothing about the cat—but if not for that toothy ball of fur, Draco and Granger might have screamed a duet to complete madness. Two of a kind.
Granger brushed away the curls clinging to her temples and tugged at her shirt collar.
"It's hot in here."
"You should take off your shirt," Draco remarked politely, pretending it was a simple recommendation.
She rolled her eyes.
"I'll manage."
"Fine." Draco lay back down, pulling up the blanket. Granger lay on her side, facing him, and above her shoulder loomed an ugly ginger face.
"What?" he asked defiantly.
"Thank you," she whispered. "For helping me."
"It's nothing. Go to sleep." He was exhausted and still annoyed about his ruined plans. Granger moved closer until her head was on his shoulder.
"Is this okay?"
"Just keep that creature away from me."
"Okay." She settled in, and Draco no longer saw the cat, but he knew it was nearby, ready to pounce. Draco would wake up faceless, and then Granger definitely wouldn't shag him.
Well. Draco's eyelids grew heavy. He was too tired to keep worrying.
"Securus."
The watch clicked shut, plunging everything into darkness. Only warmth, soft curls, a hand in a plaid pyjama sleeve on his chest, and... something like a purr. Or was it a hunting growl before an impending attack? Draco wasn't sure.