"Of course he wasn't alone, Harry," the crazy witch in Draco's bedroom said. "I was with him."
For a few chilling seconds, everyone in the room froze. Not a word, not a sigh. Draco felt paralyzed.
"You, Hermione? With him?" Harry gasped. "HERE?"
Hermione rolled her eyes. Draco's green pajama shirt fit her surprisingly well, and the light blush on her cheeks made her look especially charming.
"Yes, Harry, here."
Potter frowned.
"How did we save the dragon in the first year?"
"We handed him to Charlie on the Astronomy Tower."
Draco gave them an angry look and shifted his weight in his embroidered slippers. So that's what they were doing on the Astronomy Tower? Saving a bloodthirsty monster? Draco got a detention for that!
Potter still couldn't believe it.
"What were the first words you said to me?"
"'Has anyone seen a toad?' Harry, it's really me."
"No, it can't be..." Potter scanned the room for evidence to prove he was right. He stopped by the fireplace, Hermione remained by the bed, and Draco stood by his desk, and together they formed an equilateral triangle. Harry's gaze fell on the red dressing gown, and he turned sharply to Draco, his lightning bolt scar standing out like an ugly mark.
"What did you do to her?" Potter hissed.
"Harry!"
"Well, Malfoy? Amortentia? Imperius? Some nasty Death Eater potion?"
"Harry, listen..."
"He probably used a Memory Charm on you," Potter said. "Erased your memory so you'd forget who he is and what he's done." His green eyes narrowed behind his round glasses. "I'll put you behind bars, Malfoy, and for a long time."
Draco sighed.
"I have no doubt. It's stupid of her to think this changes anything. An alibi with her as a witness is worse than none at all." 'Come back to us,' the walls whispered. 'Your place is here...'
"He's not going back to Azkaban," Hermione declared just like she did back in the old DADA classroom, when Draco's wand gave her cat ears. Then the witch turned to Potter.
"And I wasn't subjected to a Memory Charm, Harry. I remember everything." She started counting on her fingers. "Draco Malfoy, a Slytherin, a former Death Eater. Let Death Eaters into Hogwarts, cursed Katie, poisoned Ron..."
"Watched you get tortured!" Potter interjected. "Broke my nose!"
"Called me a mudblood, pretended to be a Dementor, joined the Inquisitorial Squad..."
"Wished you were dead! And bewitched your teeth! And... and..."
"Leaked information to Rita Skeeter!" Hermione exclaimed triumphantly, not wanting to give up in the competition of listing Draco's sins. She glanced at him—and his expression must have been truly murderous, because she immediately stopped and returned to the matter at hand.
"Right now, Draco wouldn't hurt me," she said. "And he certainly wouldn't touch Isobel. Most likely, the attacker was Tennant."
Potter looked at Draco with a long, scrutinizing gaze.
"Malfoy did something to you, Hermione," he said slowly. "Some kind of spell. He somehow trapped you and cast a charm."
Draco felt a cold shiver run down his spine. This skinny squib was getting dangerously close to the truth. Oh, damn it, everything had already gone to hell. Maybe Potter could help her remove the Vanishing Charm after Draco left—he hadn't made any progress himself.
"You're not that far from..." Draco began, but the words got stuck in his throat. "I... I..." A spasm again. "It was..."
"Did you want to say something, Draco?" Hermione asked smugly. He stared at her, suddenly realizing—that Vanishing Charm contract she drafted contained a secret non-disclosure clause. But there was no time to deal with that, because Potter jumped in horror.
"Draco?! You're calling him Draco?!"
Draco raised an eyebrow maliciously. It seemed Hermione calling him by his first name was the last straw for Potter.
"You're up to something, Malfoy," Potter said. "Admit it."
Draco held up his hands.
"I swear, I didn't intend to harm either of the witches. Or you—either."
"Too late, Malfoy." Potter's wand was at the ready, and there was a serious threat in his voice. "You've already done so much harm to us. I was a fool to defend you at your trial, but I won't repeat that mistake."
"Harry, please, listen to him," Hermione pleaded.
Potter gave her a grim look.
"How could you, Hermione? Sleep with Draco Malfoy? Wear his..." All the color drained from his face. The black lace underwear flew across the room and fell at Hermione's feet. "Wear this?!"
"Harry, please..." A tear rolled down Hermione's cheek. "Please, don't..."
"You wore all the sets for him?" Potter's voice trembled with desperation, and he lowered his wand. Draco's breath caught. Could it be...
"The red one?" The young Auror took a step towards her, but Draco still couldn't move. "The white one?"
"No," Hermione choked out, "I would never..."
Her words were drowned out by the rising roar of blood in Draco's ears. Granger and Potter. Rumors had been around for a long time, but to hear confirmation, to hear Potter's voice break with pain and fury... 'Betrayal,' the voices of the Blacks and Malfoys whispered in Draco's head. He trembled. 'Punishment.'
He tried to raise his wand, but the dark wood in his hand felt strangely heavy, as if it were resisting. A cold sweat broke out on his forehead and palms. The wand slipped from his fingers and fell onto the carpet. His vision blurred.
"Draco?"
Hermione's soft voice broke through the crimson fog of rage. Her face, pale and tear-stained, gradually came into focus. Draco took a ragged breath, trying to regain control of himself.
Potter, unlike him, didn't even try to calm down. The Auror stared again at the "SEX" card lying on the nightstand.
"This is all my fault!" Potter yelled. "I drove you to this, Hermione!"
Hermione and Draco stared at him in confusion.
"You were so innocent! And I took advantage of you!" Potter rushed to Hermione and tore at the collar of her green pajamas, revealing marks on the witch's neck. "And now you need a perverted, depraved..."
"Harry, what are you ta..."
"Who else, Hermione? Ron, Justin? They weren't enough for you, and you came to Malfoy?"
A nearby lamp crashed to the floor, toppled by a spontaneous magical outburst from Draco.
"Get your hands off her," he growled at Potter. "And shut your filthy mouth."
Potter wordlessly summoned his wand and aimed it at Draco.
"I..."
"Expelliarmus!"
In the blink of an eye, all three wands were in Hermione's hand, and she aimed them at both wizards. Her face was pale but determined.
"Harry, you're acting like a complete idiot," she said coldly. "You didn't turn me into a sex-crazed masochist. Do you even hear yourself?"
Potter ignored her words, too busy shedding his long leather cloak, revealing sinewy muscles and a long, half-healed cut. Throwing the cloak aside, he stepped towards Draco.
"I don't need a wand to teach him a lesson..."
"MEOW-MEOW-MEOW-MEOW!"
A deafening chorus of high-pitched meows came from Draco's desk. The silver inkwells now had white cat faces and, hissing, rolled towards Potter.
"Holy shit!" Potter shrieked, backing away.
Draco scooped up the half-formed kittens and put them back on the desk, stroking their white fur to restore the inkwells to their original appearance.
"I don't need your help," he told them sternly.
Draco turned to see Potter and Hermione frozen with their jaws agape.
"What?" he asked sharply.
"You... they... meowed..." Potter stammered.
Hermione tried to hide a smile. Draco gave him a fierce look.
"I believe you were going to teach me a lesson, Potter," he said, clenching his fists.
"Draco!"
Alas, Potter didn't fall for the provocation. He simply picked up his cloak.
"Here, Hermione," he said, "put this on, and we..."
Hermione shook her head.
"No, Harry."
"I can't leave you here!"
"You can and you will."
Potter froze, clutching the leather cloak. Meanwhile, Draco discreetly moved closer to the bottle of Firewhisky, at the same time positioning himself between the door and the pair. Hermione was not going anywhere with Potter.
"You don't have the authority to take me, Harry," she continued. "You're not even here officially. Besides, I'm of age. In fact, I'm older than you."
"You let him..."
"Yes."
"Why..." Potter's voice broke.
Draco was also curious to hear the answer—he had never dared to ask the question directly.
"I like Draco," Hermione said. "I'm good with him."
Draco nearly dropped the bottle. It was like hearing Wormtail, with a python gripping his paw, say, "I like the snake. I'm good with it."
Potter's reaction was predictable.
"How can anyone be good with him?" he pointed a finger at Draco, who only sneered in response. "When I told you to find someone to help, Hermione, I didn't mean him."
"I didn't plan to. It just happened," Hermione replied with a surprising evasiveness for a Gryffindor. "I sleep. I eat. I socialize. I don't have to pretend with him. He understands, Harry."
"What about Ginny? Neville?" Potter didn't give up. "They went through the war too. Don't they understand?"
"No. There's you, and there's Draco. And you weren't there."
Draco's heart ached in his chest. Of course. He was just a temporary replacement for Potter. Who, it seemed, was peeling off a whole range of her colored lace sets...
"I'm going to be sick," Potter's scar pulsed like a swollen vein on his forehead. "Give me my wand back, Hermione."
"What will you do to Draco?"
"What can I do? Malfoy has an alibi." Potter's voice dripped with poison.
"What about Tennant Rowley?"
Potter was still drilling them with his gaze, but his tone had become professional again.
"One of the Aurors has a sister who goes to Durmstrang. I'll ask him to write to her, check if Rowley was really there. I'll be back tomorrow."
"Give us some notice, would you?" Draco drawled. "We value our privacy."
"Draco!" Hermione gave him an angry look, then returned Potter's wand.
Potter was furiously pulling on his cloak.
"I won't leave you alone with him in this castle, Hermione, even if I have to quit the Auror Office and come back to Hogwarts!"
"Harry! You wouldn't dare!"
"Oh yeah? Let's see!"
Potter rushed past Draco and stormed out of the bedroom. Hermione let out a long wail of fury, like a long "Meeeeeennnnn..." Then she closed her eyes, took a few deep breaths, opened them again, and looked at Draco.
For a moment, they froze, looking at each other, not knowing what to say. Then Draco's gaze fell on the cursed lace underwear, still lying on the carpet.
"Well," Draco said in a silky tone. "Looks like I got the pathetic leftovers from Potter's table."
He expected tears or excuses, but Hermione just gave him a look as if he had handed in a shoddy Divination homework assignment.
"Stop it, Draco," she said. "There was nothing vulgar or pathetic about what was between me and Harry. I'm not the one who used a dangerous spell to get sex on demand."
Draco's temper flared.
"You... you..."
Hermione's gaze hardened.
"Yes, I slept with Harry. He needed me, and I needed him. We needed each other because we were running from your Master who wanted to exterminate us like animals."
Sparks flew from her wand, and she seemed to glow from within.
Draco gave her a fierce look in return. He had every right to be angry. It was Potter. Potter was her ultimate goal—perhaps all this time. And Hermione... she was just lonely, exhausted, trapped by a spell. But now Potter was back. And it seemed he planned to stay.
Hermione watched him expectantly. But Draco felt as if he had signed some kind of magical contract again—his tongue felt stuck to the roof of his mouth. The seconds dragged on, and he felt he was missing... something. He didn't know what. But he couldn't utter a word.
Finally, she snorted.
"You're both unbearable! I guess I was a fool to hope for a single drop of understanding from either of you!"
Grabbing a book from the sofa, she climbed back into Draco's bed and yanked the curtains shut. And as soon as she stopped looking at him, he regained the gift of speech.
"Hermione!"
He dropped the glass and pounded his hands against the curtains, but they were reinforced with invisible charms—which he couldn't even detect, let alone remove.
"Hermione!" Draco screamed her name and pounded the curtains until the skin on his palms turned red and burned. There was no answer.
Leaning his back against the bed, Draco slid to the carpet and closed his eyes. Salazar, what was wrong with him? He was no better than Potter. He also thought Hermione was an innocent maiden whose sexual experience was probably limited to Ron's clumsy fumblings. Draco thought he was the only one—a strong, powerful wizard who had truly unlocked her... But Potter, the Savior, the Boy-Who-Lived-Then-Died-And-Rose-Again-To-Annoy-Us-All...
Surely she hadn't made him go through several rounds of negotiations.
Hermione's haughty voice echoed in his head: 'You should be grateful. I expect you to agree to anything I see fit to offer you.'
She was right, of course. Draco was greedy and selfish, like all Malfoys. He wanted what he wanted—and he took it. At first, he hated her. Then he desired her. And then... did he start needing her? Did she need him, like she once needed Potter? 'I like Draco. I'm good with him.'
He instinctively shuddered at the thought of being similar to Potter, but well, they both messed up. If Hermione had even a fraction of the intelligence she was famous for, she would have gotten rid of both of them a long time ago. And as Draco slid further down the carpet, sprawled by the bed, his last conscious thought was that she probably would.
"Malfoy!"
Again, someone was pounding on the door, and again, Draco woke up on the carpet, trying to get his bearings. But this time, the sun was shining through the square windows near the ceiling, and there was no naked witch in his arms.
"Malfoy!"
Draco staggered to his feet and stumbled towards the door.
"To-ta?" he mumbled, still not fully awake.
"Let me in, Draco." To his surprise, it was Theo's voice, low and tense.
"Jus' a sec." Draco glanced at the floor clock—half past eight. Hermione had undoubtedly already vanished. He summoned his wand and opened the door.
Theo quickly entered and closed the door behind him, and Draco, still half-asleep, slumped into the green armchair and gestured to the guest to sit on the sofa.
"You look like crap," Theo said, sitting with his legs crossed. He was wearing an impeccably tailored green jumper and a matching tie, and his polished shoes had silver buckles.
Draco tugged at his crumpled paisley dressing gown.
"Go to hell."
"Did you hear about Isobel MacDougal?"
"Yes," Draco glared at Theo. "Did you come to lecture me again about embarrassing the house? I didn't attack that poor girl, if that's what you mean."
"I don't think you did at all," Theo replied, and if Draco didn't know him, he might have thought he was sincere. "But your association with her hasn't gone unnoticed. You need an alibi."
Draco managed to hide his surprise. What was this madness? Theodore Nott was sitting on his sofa, all neat and prim, with a perceptive gaze that was frighteningly similar to Potter's, and offering to fabricate a fake alibi for the Ministry?
"I already have an alibi," Draco said. "Piss off."
"And what is..." Theo stopped short, noticing the crumpled bed and the red dressing gown on the carpet. His gaze lingered on the cursed lace bodysuit, and Theo's eyebrows shot up. Did she wear it for...
"Ah, I see," Theo said. "And is that alibi good enough?"
"Good enough for Harry-fucking-Potter."
Theo nodded.
"Heard he's in the castle."
Draco forced himself to his feet.
"Now, if you don't mind, I have a class in..." he glanced at the clock, "thirty minutes."
Theo also stood up, smirking as he looked at Draco's bare chest and neck under the open silk gown.
"You must have had a very... convincing alibi. Did you find a wildcat, Draco?"
Draco gave him a malevolent look, knowing full well that his choice of words was no accident. Theo just shook his head and headed for the exit.
"Nothing but trouble," he threw over his shoulder. "Don't say I didn't warn you."
On Friday morning, Draco felt as if the school year had just begun. The news of the attack on Isobel had spread through the school, and he was once again harsh, cold, and hated by all. Scabbers was nowhere to be seen, and students shied away from Draco as they passed, or hissed that he belonged in Azkaban.
His body and mind were once again exhausted, his eyes red from lack of sleep. Those hours when he had touched Hermione, explored every inch of her body, listened to her whispers, moans, laughter—left Draco bare to his very soul. He lay with her on that carpet completely exposed, but before he could recover, that fucking Potter appeared, cutting Draco into pieces again.
The worst part was that Potter wasn't the main problem. Hermione would be able to keep that idiot in check. The real threat was Tennant, who had probably already returned to the castle to destroy Draco and get revenge on Hermione. And poor Isobel just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. Draco desperately wanted to visit her, to find out the details, but it seemed Finch-Fletchley had already taken her under his care.
So Draco went to class, and then to lunch, though he didn't feel like eating at all. From the Gryffindor table, Hermione gave him a suspicious look. The only bright spot in his day was Theo, who demonstratively sat next to Draco at lunch and asked him to pass the salt.
Lunch was still awful, and Barnaby's complaints about "Huggy" and "Squeezy" made it even more unbearable. His boneless pythons couldn't eat, and every morning Barnaby had to mash small animals into a puree to feed his pets. He continued to whine until Pansy stood up and announced that both he and his snakes were disgusting, and if he didn't shut up immediately, she would personally remove all his bones—without the help of magic. The entire table applauded, and Draco even managed to swallow a few bites of steak and kidney pie.
Then his owl, Merke, appeared with another message from his mother: 'Dear Draco, Your ancestral home, keenly attuned to the spirit of the new Master, speaks through stone, wood, and glass. Danger follows in your wake, my son. Shutters are flapping, Lamps are flickering, Clocks are running backward, And gargoyles are watching with unease. I seek counsel. With love, Mother.'
Draco frowned, reading the parchment and ignoring the anxious looks at the Slytherin table. 'I seek counsel'?
Though he could understand his mother. It must be quite creepy to live alone with flapping shutters, exploding lamps, and growling gargoyles. It was almost the same thing that happened when the Dark Lord lived in the manor. His parents then feared that the manor itself would rebel against the uninvited guests, and then the Malfoys would truly be finished. The window drapes were especially unruly—the velvet curtains would suffocate unsuspecting Death Eaters, and the silver curtain rods would fall on their heads.
But that didn't mean that the danger threatening Draco was so great that his house hundreds of miles away was suddenly falling apart. Most likely, Draco reasoned, the manor was just protesting the renovations his mother had started. She used a tape measure without ceremony and, seeing house arrest as the perfect excuse, began redoing every desecrated inch of the manor.
So Draco wrote a short note, advising his mother to put away the blueprints and tell the house-elves to set up the luxurious tent from the Quidditch World Cup in the garden. Of course, she would ignore every word he said, but he had done his duty.
After lunch, Draco skipped class and began exploring the secret Slytherin passages in the castle. None of them were marked on Hermione's Map—which she had never returned—and Tennant was probably hiding in one of them. Unfortunately, Draco's every move was watched by vigilant students (Ginny Weasley was quite persistent), and by dinner, he had only managed to check a few possible hideouts.
Dinner was just like lunch, except that Draco sat with his back to the Gryffindor table, and Nott passed him a bowl of fried mushrooms. Draco hated mushrooms, but still took a few. After dinner, he continued searching the castle. By 9:30 PM, Draco had checked all the secret passages, except for the one that led from the alcove across from Moaning Myrtle's bathroom to the grounds outside the castle.
He hurried to the deserted second-floor corridor, keeping an eye on the time and managing to shake off a few curious prefects. Soon he was walking down the dimly lit corridor, his darkwood wand erasing spots and marks from the stone floor as he moved.
But the figure at the secret passage was not Tennant Rowley at all. Luna Lovegood was circling in front of Moaning Myrtle's bathroom.
The wide windows facing east stretched along the entire corridor, and the light of the full moon enveloped the dancing witch in a ghostly glow. Her loose blonde hair billowed freely, her bare feet glided easily across the floor, and through her thin, translucent robe, it was clear that there was absolutely nothing underneath. Hadn't she heard about Isobel? These witches have no self-preservation instinct at all.
"Lovegood," he called sharply.
The Ravenclaw stopped, noticing him, and broke into a wide smile.
"Draco! I was just looking for you! Can you hear it? Can you hear it?" The witch began to bounce in place. "The Gulp-Guts are talking! Cuckoo! Cuckoo!"
Draco frowned.
"Did you see anyone in this corridor?" he asked.
"No, just the freshwater Gulp-Guts." She stopped bouncing and stood still in front of him, only waving her arms slightly. Despite her flighty behavior, there was no hint of dreaminess in her large blue eyes. Luna lowered her lashes coquettishly.
"We're all alone here," Lovegood breathed out.
Draco frowned even harder.
"Have you been drinking?"
Lovegood giggled.
"Oh no, I'm drunk... drunk on your aaaaaauuura."
She drew out the last word dramatically and started twirling again.
"Oh, well that's great," Draco muttered distractedly, looking at the Medusa tapestry behind her. He knew that if he pulled the green thread in the Gorgon's snake hair, the tapestry would slide away, revealing a passage. Draco began to slowly back away from Lovegood.
"Well, good night..."
"Wait!" Lovegood suddenly gave him a piercing look. "Isobel has woken up."
"Really?" The stupid witch, why didn't she say so sooner? He stepped closer. "How is she?" Draco demanded.
"She's fine. She wants to see you!"
"Okay," he said.
Lovegood put a finger to his lips.
"The Gulp-Guts think you're pretty!"
Draco just shook his head, watching the blonde witch in the billowing translucent robe run away. Obviously, something had finally snapped the last hinges in her already unstable mind.
Draco clicked his pocket watch—ten to ten. He would check this passage, then visit Isobel, and then return to his bedroom. 'Go now,' a voice of reason whispered. 'Hermione will be waiting.' Draco waved the thought away and tugged at the green thread. But the voice didn't stop. 'You're stalling, Draco. What will you say to her?'