Hermione knelt on Draco's enchanted bed, trembling with fury. She wanted to tear the comforter with her bare hands. To shred the pillows to pieces, so the air would fill with white feathers. The carved snakes on the bedposts, sensing Hermione's anger, scurried to hide under the mattress.
But no, she shouldn't destroy the bed. Draco didn't deserve that, even if he was undoubtedly reveling in his delusions about her "promiscuity." Damn sexist double standards! Her fingers squeezed her vine wand so tightly it seemed ready to cry out in pain. How could one compare intimacy with a best friend who needed her, to Malfoy's flings around Hogwarts with all those...
She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to regain control, and when she opened them, she blinked in surprise. The bedposts had become snow-white, the bedding a poisonous pink and embroidered with daisies and kittens. Even the silver tassels on Draco's pillows had been replaced with lilac ribbons. The carved snakes still coiled around the bedposts, but they were now blooming vines, their leaves rustling restlessly.
Hermione couldn't help but smirk at the sight and cast a spell so Draco couldn't change the colors back. Now only McGonagall or Flitwick would be able to return the bed to its original look, but she doubted the Slytherin would turn to them just to get rid of embroidered kittens on his pillows. She then turned one of the pillows into a round orange cat and propped it against a bedpost. Perfect.
Despite her childish behavior, Hermione had to admit to herself that Draco's reaction to Harry's revelations was better than she had expected. What was said shocked him, and after eight years of rivalry between the two wizards, some emotional outburst was inevitable. So, Draco, did your gigantic ego take a hit? He had behaved disgustingly, it was true, but, Merlin, when did Draco Malfoy ever act differently?
Though no, actually—there were many times he did. For example, he wasn't acting disgusting tonight at all. Hermione burrowed into the pink comforter and closed her eyes, sinking into her memories. Draco, carefully freeing his dressing gown from Tilly's possessive grip... Draco, looking at Hermione across the negotiation table... Draco, whose hair and eyes shimmered in the lamplight as he conjured silver cards with indecent propositions.
And this wizard had abided by her terms. He truly had. Hermione thought that the negotiations were just a game for him, that once she was naked beneath him, he would overturn the negotiation table and simply... take what he wanted. And a part of her had even hoped for it. Dangerous, unconquered, untamed... that was Draco.
But he didn't do it. Draco went right to the edge, but stayed on the right side of the cards, even when Hermione was completely lost in his touch. It shouldn't have meant anything to him—just another dirty deal, but no, he took it seriously. Draco took her seriously, and Hermione found that to be the most arousing thing he had ever done. He didn't betray her presence, not even when Harry talked about Azkaban. He tried to protect her.
Hermione reached under the comforter and smiled in the darkness. Yes, Draco had handled it well enough that if he offered a proper apology, crawled a little at her feet, and...
She fell back into memories of his touch, and her fingers began to slide over her skin under the silk pajamas. How his hands, lips, and body became more demanding, how he transitioned from tenderness to roughness, from caresses to bites. Her hand moved lower, and she felt a familiar tremor between her thighs. 'In the name of Merlin, what are you doing? Instead of planning a serious conversation with Harry, she's fantasizing about Draco and how he... What if she loosened the protective charms? Just a little bit? Just a small provocation? He could burst in, consumed by rage, they would fight, and he would say that she deserved to be treated like...
Hermione sat up abruptly, gasping for air. No, this was beyond reasonable. Why did Draco Malfoy make her feel so many conflicting emotions? She nudged the bed curtain with her bare foot—and almost moaned when the fabric yielded. Were her subconscious (or, frankly, quite conscious) desires now manifesting as bursts of spontaneous magic?
The familiar white flash felt like salvation. Hermione found herself back on her own bed, clutching her vine wand and a pink pillow. Dammit, she'd forgotten the Durmstrang book. Hermione walked over to her bed, where Crookshanks was curled up on the comforter, and settled into her cozy red-and-gold sheets. Tomorrow she would talk to Harry about his behavior and about... Isobel.
How could she have forgotten about Isobel? And about Tennant, who was clearly hiding somewhere nearby? The female students needed to take precautions. Wait, Ginny was now leading the Students' Protection Squad. Yes, that could be useful. Hermione was just thinking about how best to approach the red-haired witch and tell her about Harry's return to the castle, when sleep overtook her.
On Friday morning, Draco didn't show up for breakfast—and maybe that was for the best, considering the whole castle was buzzing about Isobel. The Ravenclaw didn't hide her new infatuation with Justin and, apparently, the whole house had helped her with a pre-written speech about breaking up with Draco, so everyone was convinced that he had attacked Isobel in a fit of jealousy.
"Be careful, Hermione," Seamus warned. "You danced with him, remember?" Hermione rolled her eyes.
"I'm not afraid of Draco Malfoy. Is this the last muffin?"
"Don't touch it!" Neville covered a blueberry muffin with his hand. "I saw it move."
"D... Malfoy would never have attacked Isobel," Hermione continued, spreading jam on a scone instead of a muffin. "He would be immediately thrown back into Azkaban."
"You think he was framed," Ginny raised her eyebrows. Hermione nodded.
"Then Seamus is right. You should be more careful."
"And Luna too," Neville added. "She was with Malfoy and she swears he's very polite... Romilda, no!"
Romilda flinched and dropped the muffin onto her plate. The Gryffindors watched as it bounced, rolled off the table, and flew out the door. Meanwhile, Ginny was examining another muffin with a magnifying glass.
"A Ravenclaw conspiracy," she muttered.
"What for? A plan for world domination through baking?" Hermione asked.
"Stranger things have happened," Ginny said grimly.
There was no arguing with that, so the Gryffindors moved on to other topics (mostly Quidditch).
Hermione pondered, sipping her pumpkin juice. Tennant wasn't on the Map, which meant he was probably somewhere on the grounds outside the castle, in a secret passage, or... in the Room of Requirement. The whole castle now knew about the Room, and so many students were sneaking in there to plan their dark deeds (or kisses) that McGonagall had put a portrait to guard the entrance. But Tennant could easily outwit a painting. She'd have to warn Harry.
After breakfast, Hermione pulled Ginny aside in the castle foyer and told her that Harry would be conducting an unofficial investigation at Hogwarts. Hermione was worried that the Auror's appearance would ruin their fragile truce, but Ginny took the news calmly.
"Justin contacted Harry last night?" she asked. "Smart."
Her sharp gaze scanned the hall.
"What are you looking for, Ginny?"
"What isn't there," she replied. "Like that story with the dog that didn't bark."
Hermione barely stopped herself from rolling her eyes. Ginny was clearly too into her Sherlock Holmes books.
"So you're not against Harry being here?" she asked.
Ginny's gaze snapped back to Hermione.
"No. I'm glad to have an extra pair of eyes while McGonagall is away."
Hermione knew she should be happy with that answer, but curiosity got the better of her.
"Are you still mad at him?" she asked. "And at me?"
She expected the witch to flare up and her eyes to flash, but Ginny just shook her head.
"No. You're both idiots. Ron and I are glad we're staying away from you two."
"Harry and I aren't together," Hermione stated firmly, wanting to make things clear.
Ginny snorted.
"That's for sure. That would be too sensible. You want the Walking Hogwarts Disaster, and only Merlin knows what crazy witch Harry will rush to save from herself."
Now Hermione was displeased.
"Draco isn't..."
"Do you have the Map on you?" Ginny interrupted.
"Yes."
Ginny nodded.
"I'll tell the Squad to keep asking control questions. Rowley could be anyone right now."
Hermione gasped. How could she have forgotten that? Where had her head been lately?
"I need to tell Harry about Polyjuice Potion," she said.
"Yes," Ginny agreed. "If I don't find him first."
She pulled out her wand and created a light, pale cloud that floated across the hall.
"A Detection Fog," she explained. "One of Mad-Eye's spells. Useful for finding invisible targets."
Hermione was intrigued.
"It can be used for..."
Her voice trailed off—Ginny was already gone. She was confidently climbing the Marble Staircase as if she had caught Harry's or Tennant's scent. Hermione shook her head, slightly bewildered, and headed for her double period of advanced Herbology.
The greenhouse was quiet—all the students were bent over two-foot essays about Fast-Growing Dandicors, which looked like large dandelions with teeth. Hermione had already written four feet of text, so she sat silently next to Neville, propping her chin on her hand, watching the tall yellow flowers sway and snap their jaws.
The lack of active work allowed memories of last night to seep into her consciousness, wrap themselves around her thoughts, and lead her astray. Draco, lying on the fluffy red dressing gown in front of the fireplace, his head thrown back, exposing his long, pale, toned neck. His half-closed eyes as Hermione touched him again and again, and his palm covered her hands, guiding them. Pleading. Had he ever pleaded with another woman, or were they all too impatient, too eager to please...
"Miss Granger?"
Hermione blinked at Professor Sprout's voice.
"Your essay?" Professor Sprout held out a rough, soil-stained hand, and Hermione handed her the scroll.
"Her eyes are strange," Neville frowned. "Her pupils are dilated."
"Are you alright, Miss Granger?" Sprout asked.
"No," Hermione answered quietly. "I'm not alright. I have become different. I don't know how yet, but I have changed."
"Why don't you go somewhere quiet to rest until lunch, dear." The Herbology professor's raspy voice was kindly.
"Should I walk you, Hermione?" Neville offered.
"No, thank you," Hermione said distractedly. She took her wand and bag and left without another word.
The castle grounds greeted her with a cold wind, but Hermione still looked around, searching for Tennant, as she hurried toward the great oak doors. However, she only saw Hagrid, who was loading huge pumpkins into a cart—his breath turning into white clouds of vapor.
Hermione entered the castle, shivering from the cold, and headed to the prefects' bathroom to wash her face. But she never turned on the tap, just stared at her reflection in the full-length mirror. She was dressed in black clothes that almost completely hid her body: a form-fitting sweater with a high collar, a long, straight skirt, and heeled leather boots. Her hair was braided into a tight plait—as much as her curls would allow. The few spots of color were her purple handbag and silver triangle earrings with a line and a circle inside—a symbol of the Deathly Hallows, a birthday gift from Luna. 'Today I look like a true witch, not a girl with magic in modern clothes.'
A purple mark was visible below her collar. What had he turned her into?
Hermione turned away abruptly and walked with a determined stride toward the Great Hall, trying to clear her mind. Focus. She couldn't afford to be in a daze all day—she had to prove that Tennant was in the castle. He was the real threat. After checking the Map (Tennant's dot wasn't showing anywhere, and Harry was in the Owlery), she joined the other students.
Two tall goblets of icy pumpkin juice helped her cool down a bit, and Hermione was able to calm Neville and answer Parvati's questions about Numerology in a steady, clear voice. She sat with her back to the large double doors, but when a sudden silence fell over the hall—among students and teachers alike—she knew that Draco Malfoy had entered the room.
He came into her line of sight, heading toward the Slytherin table with a straight back and a sharp chin held high. Taking his seat, he cast a cold gaze over the hall and stopped on Hermione. 'He looks... devastated. I should at least smile.'
But Draco turned away before she could react. His pale bangs fell over his eyes as he poured tea. He looked almost sick. Had he overdone it with Firewhisky? The whole Slytherin table looked unwell. Maybe they all had too much to drink? Maybe they had a debauched party last night? Maybe Draco was there. A debauched party with witches...
"Um, Hermione? Are you okay?" Neville asked, concerned.
Hermione flinched and came back to her senses. Half the Gryffindor table was staring at her, and no wonder—her steak and kidney pie had turned into a dish of pink daisies. Why pink of all colors? Would her inkwells become kittens too now? Her vine wand was in her hand—had she learned tricks from Draco's chessboard wand, or was Hermione just losing her mind?
She moved the plate of daisies to the center of the table, as if it were a centerpiece, and a new pie appeared in front of her.
"Just a little color on this beautiful day!" she squeaked.
Her classmates looked at the enchanted ceiling of the Great Hall, which was covered in ominous rain clouds, but said nothing. Hermione nibbled on the pie crust and scolded herself. 'I'm acting like an idiot.' Of course he didn't go to a party with witches. Her gaze slid back to the Slytherin table—Pansy Parkinson had stood up to give a little lecture. Scattered words, delivered in an arrogant tone, reached Hermione: "Chewing... disgusting... bones..." Who would have thought that Parkinson was so into etiquette? Not that the Gryffindors wouldn't benefit from it too—Seamus was trying to stuff a whole pie into his mouth just like Ron used to. The Slytherins applauded their classmate's words, which warmed Hermione's heart. How nice to see people striving for self-improvement.
A few minutes later, owls flew into the hall, delivering letters and packages. Hermione noticed with interest that Draco also received a letter. He looked almost scared as he unrolled it. Was it a threat? An order from Tennant? Draco frowned as he scanned the text, then sighed and wrote a short reply. His motley owl flew away, after nipping Malfoy's finger—a clear sign of affection.
"I wonder who Malfoy is corresponding with?" Ginny whispered. "Suspicious."
"Receiving letters isn't a crime."
Ginny's eyes sparkled.
"A conspiracy."
Hermione put down her fork and lowered her voice:
"Did you talk to Harry yet?"
The red-haired witch nodded.
"Found him in the kitchen. Didn't even pull out his wand. Some Auror." Her lips twisted in contempt.
"Did you tell him about Tennant and Polyjuice Potion?"
"No, a house-elf showed up." Ginny bit into her pie thoughtfully. "If it really was a house-elf."
Hermione shook her head. A pure-blood fanatic like Tennant would sooner Avada himself than pretend to be a house-elf. Was it even possible? But there was no point in arguing with Ginny, so Hermione simply unrolled the Map under the table and whispered a spell. Harry's dot was in classroom 'C'—he was probably checking Justin's story about being stunned.
"I'm going to go talk to Harry," she whispered. Ginny nodded, her eyes still fixed on Draco, but Hermione didn't look in his direction and simply walked out of the Great Hall. Draco was fine, and she had unfinished business with her best friend.