Draco reluctantly woke up to dim morning light and a fluffy purring weight. An attempt to move his legs ended in a painful fall from the bed. It felt as if his head had split in two. He didn't even want to open his eyes, convinced he would see brains and blood pooling on the rug in a pattern his mother would certainly deem an ominous sign. Was it Wednesday? Damn, he had to go to classes. No, he wouldn't go to classes. He would lie here until he felt better, which he estimated would happen about two weeks after never.
— MRAOW!
Oh Salazar. That cat.
Draco opened one eye and found himself lying by the sofa in yesterday's jumper and trousers (he had somehow removed his boots).
— MRAOW! — Crookshanks was hissing and backing away from the pink round carrier. — MRAAAOW!
Draco clutched his head. It was unbearable. All that was missing was for the inkwells to turn into kittens and join the concert.
— Tully, — Draco called hoarsely.
A loud apparition crack nearly blew his skull apart. Draco managed to sit up and found himself face to face with the little house-elf.
— Mr. Malfoy! — Tully frowned, hands on hips. — You should be in class! IN CLASS!
— My head hurts, — Draco groaned, realizing how pathetic that sounded.
Tully snorted.
— Drinking-carousing with women! WOMEN! — She poked a long finger at the scarlet glove Draco, as he now realized, was clutching to his chest. Tully's frown darted to the cat, and she sneezed so loudly that Draco's skull rang.
— Tully, — Draco began, — could you transport Crookshanks...
Tully sneezed so hard it seemed the sneeze should have torn her head off—at the mere thought that she might carry some cat somewhere. Tully will bring breakfast, she announced.
— And a headache potion, Tully...
— DRINKING IS EVIL! — Tully exclaimed and vanished with another deafening crack.
The elf returned with breakfast for Draco and bowls of food and water for the cat. On the tray next to the salt shaker indeed stood a headache potion. Tully didn't stay to accept thanks, but simply vanished with another excessively loud sound.
Draco felt much better after the potion and breakfast and even managed to enjoy a third cup of tea when a new annoyance appeared in the form of his eagle owl. Mercury brought two letters, and Draco wasted no time, immediately throwing the first into the fire. Service in Umbridge's Inquisitorial Squad had taught him to immediately burn any pink envelopes.
He unfolded the other message:
Dear Son,
Clouds are gathering over the manor, covering the House of Malfoy in darkness.
Beware.
Your loving mother
Draco scribbled a quick reply:
Dear Mother,
Always glad to hear from you. Allow me to note that dark clouds can only mean it's October in England.
Love,
Draco
He tied the note to Merc's leg, then left the bedroom window open and went to take a long bath. He was still lying in the water when Merc returned and settled on the edge of the tub. Crookshanks sat above, on the towel shelf, twitching his tail nervously.
— Merc, why don't you... — Draco began.
Crookshanks jumped, missing Merc by literally an inch, and splashed into the water with a yowl. Draco yelled too and jumped out of the tub, while the wet cat shot out of the room following the frightened owl. Draco heard indignant hissing and hooting from the other room.
Not wanting to interfere, he leisurely dressed and combed his hair, and then finally entered the bedroom. Merc sat on the windowsill, angrily fluffing his reddish feathers, and Crookshanks had settled on the dresser, dripping water on it and probably scratching the varnish. Draco untied the scroll from Merc's leg:
My Son,
If you saw these clouds, you would understand. Peacock feathers are scattered across the grounds, and broken branches at the main entrance form a provocative pattern.
This sight prompted me to turn to the crystals, and I fear to share what I saw.
Love,
Mother
Draco sat at the desk to write a reply and picked up the inkwell with cat ears.
Dear Mother,
Usually I urge you to cast aside fear, but this time I strongly recommend giving in to it.
Nevertheless, glad to hear you are enjoying your gem collection.
Love,
Draco
This continued all morning—Merc returned at regular intervals with another message and fought with the still-wet Crookshanks each time. Draco almost forced himself to go to class but stayed in his room, scribbling notes to pass the time.
Mother, apparently, also had the whole day free for correspondence:
Son,
Listen to me for your own good.
When cast on your behalf, the serpentine stone yielded patterns indicating Change, Struggle, and most surprisingly, Love.
Moreover, in subsequent casts, the heart-shaped stone ended up next to the small ruby every time.
Mother
Dear Mother,
Divination is truly an amazing branch of magic. I won't deny that I Struggled with that treacherous harlequin wand you sent, and the snake wand Changed. With great Love, I ask you to send any other wands you have left, as Ollivander's wand proved a shocking disappointment.
Gratefully,
Draco
Son,
I implore you to take my words seriously.
In all the years I've cast stones on your behalf, never before have the heart-shaped stone and the ruby played such an important role.
These omens remind me of the blood-mixed slime in frog entrails a few weeks ago.
Be careful in matters of the heart.
Mother
P.S. Unfortunately, those two wands were the only ones at my disposal, as your other Malfoy ancestors were buried with their wands, and I must say, grave robbing is not in my plans for today.
Dear Mother,
I always welcome your insights regarding dripping frog slime in the context of my romantic aspirations.
Love,
Draco
Merc didn't return again, and the wizard was glad to end this baffling exchange of letters. He took out the snake wand to remove the reddish feathers from his room, and the wand reluctantly obeyed, though it set fire to half of them. The wand also kept trying to curse Crookshanks until the cat hid under the bed.
Finished with this small cleanup, Draco settled on the sofa with another cup of tea to ponder his mother's messages. Why such sudden interest in his love life? Was she plotting an engagement for him again? Draco shuddered, remembering those preliminary negotiations before the war regarding the Greengrass daughters. Theo hadn't spoken to him for a whole week.
Draco continued sipping tea, Crookshanks curled up next to him—the cat sleeping off the stressful morning. No need to worry about mother—she would return to reality when other families rejected her offer. Whatever her little heart-shaped stone said, no witch in her right mind would bind herself to a Malfoy.
The day dragged so slowly that Draco almost missed his stay in the infirmary. In desperation, he even turned to studying, and hunger drove him to the Great Hall for dinner. (Tully had stopped responding to his calls by this point.) Crookshanks left Draco in the Entrance Hall, and the wizard was able to take his seat without incident. He started eating, glancing at the Gryffindor table. Hermione.
Their eyes met, and Draco froze, gripping his fork in a fist. Then he nodded slightly, and Hermione nodded back. He wanted to bury his head in his shepherd's pie. Is this what we do now? Nod?
Hermione soon left the hall, but Draco forced himself to stay put. He thoroughly mixed the contents of his plate without swallowing another bite. by the time Draco got up from the table, the hall was almost empty. Thank Merlin, there were no classes tomorrow due to Hermione's antics with the staircases. He needed to pull himself together. After all, his problems were behind him. Tennant was gone, the spell broken, and Azkaban didn't threaten him yet. He had even almost returned to society. He just needed a normal wand.
After dinner, Draco went to the library for a book for Hagrid's creature description project. Bogart, Erkling, Erumpent, Fwooper... ah, here. Then he sat at his usual table in the corner. It was an important project. Draco wasn't waiting for anyone.
An hour later, Draco shoved the book into his bag and left the library. He found himself on the Astronomy Tower watching storm clouds gather over the mountains. Icy wind drove him from there, and Draco headed to the seventh-floor corridor. Only when he had traversed half the school, visiting one particularly vicious albeit exquisite staircase and the old DADA office, did he realize what he was doing. Fuck, I'm no better than Tennant. Draco turned around and headed down to the dungeons.
He was so distracted that he managed to take three steps into the bedroom and loosen his tie before realizing he wasn't alone. His heart pounded wildly at the sight of dark curls—until the chair by his desk turned around and Draco saw the face. Theo.
Draco made a barely perceptible hand movement, and the lamp lit up, illuminating the chubby Slytherin in an emerald jumper. His tie seemed crookedly tied to Draco, but surely that was just a trick of the light.
— How did you get in here? — Draco demanded.
Nott smirked.
— Slughorn.
Draco frowned displeasedly. That old goat would sell him out to anyone.
— Your inkwells have grown ears and whiskers, — Theo said. — Side effect of Artificial Animation Quasidominance.
Draco shifted his gaze to the bouncing inkwells on his desk.
— They just lack attention.
Theo leaned back in the chair. His gaze slid over the scattered scarlet shoes and gloves.
— I see you ignored my advice. People almost never listen to me. And always regret it.
Draco remained silent, just walked to the crystal decanter that had replaced the tea set. The wizard poured himself a glass of water and settled on the sofa, picking up the Durmstrang Guide. It would be nice if Theo took the hint.
No chance.
— Strange things are happening in the dungeons, — Theo said. — Ripples in the air, agitated familiars. Whispers of a new Heir of Slytherin appearing... — The wizard pursed his lips. — I don't like hearing such things. Something must be done.
— You're wasting your time, — Draco said, turning a page. — Slytherin has a shitty reputation, and quite deservedly. Your pathetic intrigues won't restore the good name of our house.
— But I can minimize the damage, — Theo said. — We don't need additional problems and unpleasant rumors.
Draco gritted his teeth but remained silent. Only the crackling of logs in the fireplace and the drumming of freezing rain on the windowpanes broke the silence. The impending storm had finally hit the castle.
Theo cast a meaningful look at the water decanter. Draco successfully ignored his classmate, so he poured himself water without invitation—sticking one's nose in other people's business was apparently tiring work.
— I heard St. Mungo's has a new patient. In the Janus Thickey Ward. — Theo returned to the chair at the desk, crossing his legs and feigning relaxation. — The same weekend you were recovering in the infirmary.
Draco wasn't surprised at all to hear this. Theo's spy network reached even hospital wards. Tennant's medical chart was probably in his pocket.
— Be glad Tennant disappeared, — Draco advised. — You won't believe what he was planning.
— Granger. — Theo's green eyes narrowed. — Rowle was stalking her. I heard them talking a couple of times.
— Tennant chased every skirt.
— Granger isn't an ordinary skirt.
— Agreed, — Draco replied readily and waved a hand toward the door. — If that's all...
— That's far from all, — Theo interrupted him. — We need to discuss Granger.
Draco rolled his eyes.
— You already explained everything clearly to me, Nott. Golden Girl, look but don't touch, embodiment of Fiendfyre, danger-danger-danger, abandon hope all ye who enter here...
— It's not a joke! — Theo snapped, his cold mask slipping. — This afternoon I had the displeasure of speaking with that witch.
Draco managed to keep a stony expression, but inside everything clenched. Fuck.
— Perhaps I made a few cracks about you, — Theo admitted. — And she defended you. Called you brave. Why would she?
— She's a compassionate Gryffindor.
— You definitely did something.
— You should follow your own advice, Nott. Stay away from Granger.
Theo shook his head.
— Malfoy, Malfoy... If you decided to go down this path, you should have consulted me. I know a cute Hufflepuff. Half-blood, lost family in the war. The very embodiment of forgiveness.
— A Hufflepuff?
— Any witch is better than Granger, except maybe that crazy Weasley girl, — Theo grimaced, and Draco wondered if he had similar conversations with Blaise. — Granger could ruin your life.
— Enough, — Draco cut him off sharply. — You don't care about my life. You only care about your precious house and future career. You calmly closed your eyes to Tennant harassing witches until he started doing it too blatantly. You might look clean and tidy, but you're just as stained as I am.
Draco leaned forward, boring into Nott's green eyes.
— Do you really think Slughorn will help you advance? Risk his reputation for a stinking Nott?
Theo remained imperturbable.
— There are more elegant ways to help. And I might be able to help you, Draco. If you stay away from Granger.
— Granger and I... — Draco faltered. — There's nothing. We don't even talk.
— You did something to Tennant. For her.
Draco couldn't bring himself to look into Theo's piercing eyes. He stood up, put down the glass, and walked to the fireplace. Took out the poker with the silver knob—the very one Hermione used against Tennant. Weighed it in his hand before sharply poking the tool into the fire. Red-gold sparks scattered across the silver-green rug. Draco pulled the poker from the flames and turned to Theo.
He stood up too.
— Stop, Malfoy. Do you think a public romance with Granger will whitewash your name? It's the opposite. You'll only drag her down with you.
— There will be no public romance, — Draco replied coldly.
Theo didn't look convinced.
— You danced with her twice. Why else, if not for that? No one takes you seriously yet. To most, Granger is a well-behaved swot, and you are an attractive dark type, maybe dangerous, maybe just misunderstood.
Draco glared at Theo.
— But are you and Granger together? — Theo rounded his eyes. — Publicly? That's a completely different story. She is the innocent Golden Girl, and you are the vile Death Eater who seduced her. You'll end up in Azkaban, mark my words. And she… well, you know Potter was always there…
The crystal decanter on the table suddenly shattered into shards. Theo jumped back, covering his face, but Draco didn't move, clutching the dark wood splinter in his pocket so hard its texture likely imprinted on his palm. His forehead burned.
— She won't go to Potter, — Draco stepped forward, not releasing the poker from his hand. Theo had already drawn his wand, but Draco loomed over the shorter wizard.
— Yes, I'm hopeless. Yes, I'm vicious. Yes, I'm tainted, — he poked the red-hot end of the poker at Theo's chest with each word: hopeless... vicious... tainted, — But unlike you, my so-called friend, I am not a complete coward.
Theo retreated, a black spot smoldering on his emerald jumper—right over his heart. Draco lowered the poker. The word coward hung in the air, and Theo's face burned.
— Granger called me a coward too, — Theo said quietly. — Did you tell her what I did during the war?
— I didn't tell her a word.
Theo took a deep breath, clearly gathering his thoughts, then looked at Draco.
— Fine. Have it your way, — he finally said. — Court this walking disaster. Ruin both your lives and reputations. You'll see for yourself—it's not worth it.
Draco smirked.
— Sounds rehearsed. Do you have soul-saving chats with Blaise too?
— You both act like fools.
— Unlike you, of course, — Draco drawled. — After all, faking patterns is the height of prudence.
— I refuse to discuss...
Draco's patience snapped.
— Oh, how you love to rant about terrible Gryffindors! How they harm our reputation! But what about you, Nott? I still consider Daphne a friend. And what good have you brought into her life?
Theo paled, but Draco didn't stop.
— Look at yourself. You mock what is dear to her. Lie to her face. Behave like a total...
Theo's wand shot up. Draco tensed, keenly aware that his defense was only a hot poker and a dark wood splinter. But Theo just cursed (a rarity for him) and ran out of the room, slamming the door.
Draco blinked, stunned by the sudden departure. Should have brought up Daphne sooner.
The bedroom plunged into silence again, broken only by the crackling of the fire and the drumming of rain on the glass. Draco's gaze slid over carved wood, green silk, brocade, and the translucent silver canopy. These interior items could well be in the manor—only the embroidered "M"s were missing, which his ancestors felt necessary to put on all available surfaces. The silver brocade-upholstered walls seemed to close in on him.
Draco's gaze fell on the black leather sofa where the shoes and gloves still lay. She doesn't want to hear a bad word about you. She thinks you're brave.
Theo lied easily when it was beneficial, but these words sounded true. She'll go far in the Ministry. All the way to the top.
Draco remembered the bitterness in Theo's voice. A public romance with Draco could harm not only Hermione's ambitious Ministry career but Theo's own career. Theo didn't need dangerous rumors about insidious Death Eaters sowing discord and craving power. No one needed such a scandalous union.
Should Draco push Hermione away? End their something along with the spell? Draco paced the room nervously. The very thought of giving up Hermione caused him anxiety. It wouldn't work. While they lived in the same castle—and it was only October—she would haunt Draco like her annoying cat. She would appear in his dreams. Too late. She was already in his head.
Draco remembered her shining face under the Sorting Hat. Her hand shooting up year after year in classes as she outshone everyone with her brilliant mind. That same hand punching him in the jaw with all her might in third year. Her fingers convulsively clenching as his mad aunt carved letters into her arm. Perhaps Hermione had always lived in his head.
And now she had infiltrated his blood too. No woman aroused him like this. Desire, need, awakened over these weeks of their sudden intimacy, now flowed in his veins. Had there been no Vanishing Spell, Draco might have ignored these feelings, though his behavior in that first Divination lesson—staring at her freckles and curls, then spilling the teapot on himself—suggested otherwise.
Draco looked at the poker in his hand—a straight iron rod with an elegant silver knob gleaming in the lamplight.
Four words sounded in his head. Not the mad Black voice, not the caustic Malfoy voice. But a reasonable, rational voice proposing something completely unreasonable and irrational.
Go to her. Now.
It was almost nine when Draco finally gathered his courage and stood before the Medusa Gorgon tapestry. The weather had worsened: howling wind and freezing rain beat against the corridor windows. Draco was dressed in Quidditch leather gear, a jumper, and a heavy cloak, clutching a broom in his hand. He pulled the loose long thread of the tapestry and froze before the opened passage to the Hogwarts grounds. Come on. Don't be Theo. Don't be a complete coward.
— MRAOW!
Crookshanks had returned, trotting toward him down the corridor. Seeing the dangling green thread, the cat began catching it with his paw.
— Piss off! — Draco blocked the passage with his body. — And no, you're not coming with me!
— MRAOW! — The cat bristled, tail twitching.
Draco started shooing the cat away with the broom, wishing for a wand or the pink carrier.
— Get lost!
Crookshanks howled loud enough to wake the dead, making Draco look around nervously for Moaning Myrtle. Merlin witness, he had no time for her today. Draco managed to push the cat away from the secret passage and slip inside, pulling the tapestry shut behind him.
The cat's wails subsided, replaced by the dead silence of stone walls. Draco calmed his ragged breathing and began descending the winding stairs by touch.
Pulling on thick gloves, he pushed the stone door and stepped out into the icy squall wind and lashing rain. The roar of ice drops against the castle walls was deafening; pitch darkness reigned all around. Cold jets of rain cut his face like thousands of knives, and every breath filled his lungs with ice grains. Could he withstand this?
Draco turned to the wall and opened the pocket watch, which, to his surprise, shone brightly in the swirling storm. Twice he tried to attach the watch to the broom handle with a wandless spell and twice failed. Why hadn't he brought magical adhesive tape? The cloak flapped furiously, slapping the back of his head. If only he had at least one wand, even a broken one...
A sudden thought made Draco silently summon the dark wood splinter he had shoved into his glove. The warmth of the splinter heated his palm. Trying the spell again, he finally secured the watch to the broom, leaving its lid open.
Lightning flashed, eclipsing the faint light of the watch, but in the next moment, it shone again in the darkness.
Draco mounted the broom, pushed off hard from the ground, and took off. A gust of icy wind nearly threw him off. Clinging to the wooden handle, he rose higher: ten feet, twenty... Without a magic wand, falling from such a height meant certain death. A new squall of wind slammed Draco into the stone wall. You're crazy, the Malfoy voice hissed in his head. Why now? Why risk it?
Ignoring the icy jets of rain lashing his hood, Draco continued the ascent, yard by yard, until he leveled the broom, keeping close to the walls. In the open space, he wouldn't last. Cautiously moving forward, Draco slid his shoulder along the cold stone, and the tiny beam of light from the watch showed the way. Just needed to fly along the walls—past the Grand Staircase tower, then—the Divination tower, until Draco (literally) crashed into Gryffindor. Salazar, how would he find Granger's window?
The staircase tower, fortunately, was brightly lit; garlands of flags hung along the railings. Draco flew along the stained glass, not afraid of being seen from inside. Who the hell would believe it? A new gust threw him into the glass with such force it nearly cracked. By the end of this flight, Draco would be one big bruise, but he kept flying, pressing against the castle walls.
He stopped briefly under the bridge leading to the Clock Tower, where he could shelter from the wind and freezing rain. Pressing against a stone... beam (he actually did well on that Muggle engineering test), Draco tried not to succumb to panic. In calm weather without a wand, the risk of falling was minimal, but he had already been nearly blown off the broom twice, and he couldn't feel his fingers in the gloves at all. What if the next gust of wind slammed his head against the stone and he lost consciousness? You're crazy. Acting like a Gryffindor.
He didn't care.
Another blow against the stone parapet forced Draco to focus. He left his shelter under the bridge, and now Gryffindor Tower loomed above him, black against the furious gray clouds. Only a few windows were lit—most tower inhabitants had drawn their curtains tight against the cold. Draco shivered so violently he feared falling off the broom, but his legs and arms seemed frozen to the shaft. The faint light of the watch couldn't compete with the intensifying storm as Draco rose higher and higher. What if her curtains were drawn? Would he recognize her window? Everything looked different in the dark...
It seemed he was rising agonizingly slowly, but in fact, he reached the top of the tower faster than he thought. Soon he approached the upper floors, where lit windows shone like golden eyes. Light from the watch left a tiny white dot on the dark stone. Which one?
And then he saw something orange flash in one of the windows. Maybe it was Crookshanks, maybe not, but Draco headed there, mentally commanding the broom to rise even higher. Twice the icy wind threw him into the glass, making his head ring. Please, Salazar...
A new gust of wind threw him back, away from the tower. Draco was in open space again, but now at a height of a hundred feet. Wind battered him from all sides like stone walls, and he saw nothing. Draco remembered the window, the orange glint, the glass—imprinted everything in his memory. Felt the warmth of the wooden splinter inside his glove. Inside. Inside. Inside...
Draco never understood how, but felt he lunged forward—and hit his shoulder on stone. Missed! He screamed in pain, and then fell from the broom into the darkness.
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