PART THREE
"Malfoy!"
Draco opened one eye, then closed it again. The bedroom was dim, with only the embers of the fireplace glowing. His cheek rested against soft, warm skin, and a steady heartbeat pulsed beneath. Surrounded by a floral scent, he was enveloped in warmth and had no desire to wake up.
"Malfoy!"
What was that knocking? Had he become so delicate that mulled wine gave him a hangover? The body beneath him stirred, and a quiet, irritated mumble was heard.
"Malfoy!"
The knocking didn't stop, and it became clear the sound wasn't in his head. Someone was pounding on his bedroom door. Draco opened both eyes and propped himself up on an elbow. The carved mahogany door was rattling from the blows.
Immediately alert, Draco reached out.
"Accio darkwood wand," he said, though he couldn't see it, and the wand immediately landed in his palm. Draco got to his feet, completely naked, his muscles protesting. Were those carpet burns on his...
"Open the door!" a muffled voice called.
Hermione also jumped up. Draco glanced at her naked form, but there was no time. Whoever was at the door could break it down at any moment.
"To bed!" he hissed. The witch nodded and, with surprising speed, jumped inside, the curtains instantly closing.
Draco cast a protective charm on the bed, then grabbed his dressing gown. Tying the belt with one hand, he cast a spell to unlock the door, ready to curse whoever was on the other side.
But at the sight of the wizard standing there, Draco froze with his wand raised, the spell dying on his lips.
It was Potter. Harry Potter.
Potter stared at him through his ridiculous glasses, his eyes wide. Why was he so surprised? It was logical to assume that if you barged into Draco Malfoy's bedroom in the middle of the night, Draco Malfoy would be the one to open the door.
"Tell me this is a nightmare," Draco groaned.
"Can I come in?" Potter asked.
"No, you can't. Piss off."
"I'd prefer not to have this conversation in the hallway," Potter said, sounding exactly like Theo.
Draco gave him a contemptuous look. The Boy Who Lived, even in the dim light of the dungeons, looked more like the Boy Who Barely Survived. Just as skinny as Draco remembered, with red-rimmed eyes and dark circles underneath. His unruly black hair and the lightning bolt scar stood out sharply against his pale forehead. But Potter's green eyes burned with determination. He wore a long, form-fitting black cloak with a high collar, and a hand in a black glove held his wand at the ready.
"How did you find my room?" Draco asked. This bedroom was separated from the rest of the dungeons by an additional, password-protected door.
Potter shrugged.
"Slughorn."
Draco winced. His head of house was always happy to serve the Chosen Idiot.
"I have nothing to say to you, Potter," Draco spat his name. "It's the middle of the damn night."
"We need to talk about a certain witch," Potter said coldly.
Draco had to raise his occlumency barrier to hide his reaction. Hermione? Now the situation was much more delicate.
"This is me being polite, which you hardly deserve," Potter continued. "I can get the Ministry involved at any moment."
Draco stepped back, silently letting the Auror inside. Potter waved his wand, and the fire in the fireplace flared up, illuminating the crumpled green sheets in front of the hearth and Hermione's red dressing gown, still on the floor next to a single empty mug. The second one, apparently, had rolled away when she...
"Sleeping on the floor lately?" Potter interrupted his lewd thoughts. Focus!
Draco ignored the question, slipped his feet into his embroidered slippers, and settled into a chair. He desperately wanted to call Tilly to bring him a cup of tea, but Salazar knew he didn't want to give Potter a chance to interrogate her.
"What are the little lights?" Potter was still looking around the room.
Draco blinked in surprise, but then remembered that the wizard in front of him was a half-blood. Potter glanced at the dressing gown on the floor again, then smirked. The Auror's expression made Draco involuntarily smooth his hair and tighten the belt of his gown, but he didn't release his wand.
Potter approached the leather sofa.
"May I?"
Draco nodded, surprised by the sudden bout of politeness, and Potter sat opposite him, pushing aside the Durmstrang textbook. Draco held his breath, praying that Potter wouldn't open the book and recognize the handwriting in the margins. But he just looked at Draco intently.
"Tell me about Isobel MacDougal," Potter said.
Draco barely held back a sigh of relief. So it wasn't about Hermione. Draco hadn't thought, of course, that one dance at a party would attract the attention of a newly minted Auror... but Potter had always been paranoid.
"I have almost nothing to say," he replied with a smirk.
"You were seen together," Potter said. "In the library, on school grounds, at the Ravenclaw party."
Draco carefully weighed his next words.
"Isobel was helping me with my studies," he said. Potter gave him a skeptical look.
"It's true. Ask her yourself."
"I can't." Potter's voice turned icy. "Isobel MacDougal is in the hospital wing."
"What?" Draco sat up abruptly. "What happened?"
"What do you think?"
Draco jumped to his feet, and Potter instantly did the same, meeting his gaze despite the five-inch height difference.
"What happened to Isobel?" Draco demanded sharply. "Tell me!"
"Where were you tonight?" Potter asked.
"Here," Draco cut him off. "What happened?"
"Can anyone confirm that?"
"No, I was alone." He raised his wand. "If you don't tell me about Isobel, I'll find out myself."
"I wouldn't advise trying to leave," Potter stepped, positioning himself between Draco and the door.
Draco hesitated. Isobel in the hospital wing. Her face—big eyes, black-rimmed glasses, round cheeks—flashed before him. So diligent and innocent, with strange preferences and prepared speeches...
"Just answer me, Potter," Draco said quietly. He swallowed hard and forced himself to say the word. "Please."
"Isobel MacDougal was found unconscious tonight in the library corridor," Potter said in a dry, professional tone.
"Was she... was she..." Draco couldn't get the word out.
Potter didn't look away.
"There are no signs of an attack. Justin Finch-Fletchley found her and sent me a Patronus."
"No cuts on her?" Draco asked. "Was she cursed?"
The letters carved into Hermione's arm flashed in his memory. Just a few hours ago, he was kissing those charmed scars, whispering clumsy apologies, too quiet to be heard...
"No," Potter replied, still drilling him with his green eyes. "It seems she accidentally triggered a powerful stunning trap."
Draco gritted his teeth, doing his best to keep his face a mask. Tennant. He's here, in the castle. This attack was a message. Tennant knows. Knows about Hermione. That morning, when the protective charms had weakened and she had groaned Draco's name... Tennant knows.
Had Tennant been in the room tonight, watching him and Hermione... Draco couldn't suppress a shiver of terror. No, Tilly would have felt it. He pushed the thought away, focusing on the current situation, which was bad enough as it was.
"Will Isobel be okay?" he asked. His own cold tone surprised even him.
"Most likely. Madam Pomfrey decided not to use a reviving charm. She thinks it'll be better if Isobel wakes up on her own," Potter replied.
The darkwood wand in Draco's hand felt unbearably heavy. If this was all true, it was time for him to start packing his bags. He'd surely be expelled.
"Where's McGonagall?" he asked.
"At an international headmasters' conference in Prague," Potter said. "Justin and I want to keep this quiet until she gets back on Sunday."
"What about Slughorn?"
McGonagall's manic obsession with inter-house unity had led to the appointment of the Slytherin head of house as deputy head, allowing the wizard to reach new levels of laziness and irresponsibility.
Potter shrugged.
"He'd prefer to keep it quiet too." The wizard lowered his wand. "Let's sit down again, Malfoy."
Draco didn't like the soothing tone—that's how Aurors talked during Ministry interrogations. But his legs were a bit shaky, so he returned to the armchair, glowering at the uninvited guest.
"Are you here to arrest me?" Draco asked. Potter hesitated. "Ah, so you're here unofficially, aren't you?"
"I'm here at Justin's request," Potter admitted. "He says you're back to your Death Eater habits. Threatened to throw him off the Astronomy Tower." He narrowed his green eyes behind his round glasses. "Harassed Isobel... and Hermione."
There it was. Draco had been waiting for her name to come up. Good deeds never pay off, and failed good deeds are even worse. Potter might give Draco a chance to explain himself about Isobel, but he wouldn't tolerate anything concerning his best friend.
"Justin also said you stunned him in class," Potter continued, "and Hermione had to revive him."
Draco studied the Auror, wondering whether to tell him the truth—or at least part of it—and if his confession would make the situation better or worse.
"I know you have no reason to believe me," he began cautiously, "but I'm not the Slytherin you're looking for."
"Tennant Rowley, I presume." Potter sighed. "Hermione asked me to look into his case files. Says he's dangerous."
"He is," Draco confirmed. "He stalks witches and..."
"According to Justin, he's at Durmstrang right now," Potter interrupted. "Some DADA seminar."
"He's back."
"Are you sure?" Potter asked. "Any proof?"
"Only that Isobel is in the hospital wing," Draco replied sharply.
"MacDougal was attacked after 10:30 PM," Potter returned to his official tone. "At that time, she was leaving the library, where she was helping Madam Pince. Justin found her during his rounds, on his way back to the Hufflepuff common room." He stared intently at Draco. "Where were you at 10:30 PM tonight, Malfoy?" Negotiating a sexual transaction with your precious...
"I was here, Potter," Draco said aloud. "Alone."
"Alone." Potter stood up, and his gaze swept the room again. He blinked, noticing the invisible lights, then turned to the pile of bedding and the fluffy red dressing gown in front of the fireplace. The tip of Hermione's vine wand peeked out from under the hem of the gown, but thankfully went unnoticed. Instead, his green eyes lingered on a crumpled piece of black lace with pink ribbons.
Suddenly, Potter bent down and picked up a crumpled silvery card from the carpet.
Straightening up, he raised his eyebrows sharply, making his lightning bolt scar even more prominent.
The embossed letters spelled out the word "SEX," and Draco wondered if he could Avada himself from the humiliation before Potter disarmed him.
"Don't be stupid, Malfoy," the Auror said. "You understand the seriousness of the situation. Who else was here?"
Draco swallowed.
"No one."
"A student is unconscious in the hospital wing. Tennant Rowley has an alibi, Malfoy—so give me yours."
"No one was here," Draco repeated firmly. "Tennant likes to... have fun. I refuse to clean up after him."
Potter put the card on the table, then walked over to the fluffy dressing gown on the floor.
"Rowley has fun with witches in red?"
His gaze returned to the bodysuit, and Potter frowned.
"Tennant has no taste at all," Draco said provocatively, hoping to distract Potter.
It was useless. Now Potter was at his bed.
"The bed is under protective charms. Who's in there?"
"No one."
Potter turned back to him.
"You're lying, Malfoy, and I have no idea why," he said. "I found some... inconsistencies in Tennant Rowley's case, and I'll definitely talk to the Durmstrang representatives, but it's not enough. There's no evidence that Rowley is connected to MacDougal. Unlike you. Rowley, as far as we know, isn't in the castle. Unlike you.
Potter took a step forward, using a rare moment of height advantage while Draco was sitting in the chair.
"And Rowley isn't..."
"Rowley isn't branded with the Dark Mark," Draco finished dryly. "Unlike me."
Potter nodded, and his face showed annoyance. Maybe the Boy Wonder wasn't so bad as an Auror. Draco was glad of that—he didn't want to go to Azkaban because of some incompetent idiot. But the familiar cold of despair was already seeping into his bones, reminding him of the whispers of the prison walls. Well, school had been fun. The only thing Draco regretted was that he hadn't had a chance to...
"Give me something to work with, Malfoy," Potter said tensely. "I'm not here as an Auror. I'm just... visiting the Head Boy on my day off. Help me get you out of this."
Draco remained silent.
"Do you want to be expelled? Do you want to go back to Azkaban while we gather circumstantial evidence against you? Go through a new trial and get a longer sentence?"
Draco clenched his fists but remained silent.
"Tell the truth," Potter insisted. "Were you here alone tonight?"
The rustle of the curtains made Potter turn sharply with his wand at the ready, and Draco jump to his feet.
A small figure in an oversized green pajama shirt emerged from behind the bed curtains.
"Of course he wasn't alone, Harry," Hermione said calmly. "I was with him."