Vane grabbed Draco by the hand and tugged him toward the bed.
"Let's do it quickly," she breathed.
"What, right now? Are you insane?" Draco snapped. Being in the Gryffindor tower made him nervous. He couldn't believe he'd even gone along with this. "It's two in the afternoon. Anyone could walk in."
She pressed against him, carefully removing the broom from his hand.
"My roommate's in the library."
Draco snorted at the blatant lie. Even if her roommate was actually studying on such a beautiful Sunday — which he didn't believe for a second — she'd surely be back soon, whether for a scroll, a book, or lipstick, and at the worst possible moment. He said as much to Vane, who was already moving into their usual routine, starting to peel off his Quidditch uniform.
"She won't be back," Vane said with full confidence. "She'll be gone for hours."
She began to kneel down, then changed her mind and tugged him back toward the bed.
"Come on, Draco, we can…" she shifted direction and pulled him sharply the other way. Her smile seemed thoroughly Slytherin. "This bed."
Draco rolled his eyes.
"You sure?"
"Don't you like it?" Vane pulled off her sweater and stretched out on the red bedspread, her shiny black hair spilling across the gold pillow. The bed did look appealing, Draco admitted as he stepped closer. The fine coverlet seemed soft and smooth, and the faint floral scent was rather tempting. Sometimes, this Gryffindor girl surprised him. Maybe a quick…
"You've captured me," Vane whispered.
Draco froze, pulling off his shirt. Shit, she thinks she's falling in love. He had hoped Vane was too obsessed with her broom-riding idiot to get attached to him. This could be a disaster — she'd become obsessed, try to redeem him, and the breakup would be a nightmare…
"I'm your captive," the witch said.
He frowned. That was far too poetic for Vane. And her tone was strange — too dark, too eager, and…
Vane raised her hands and clasped them above her head.
"I won't tell you anything!"
Draco silently thanked his Slytherin self-control — otherwise, he'd have gawked at her in horror.
"What the hell, Vane?"
"I've heard the stories," Vane said, looking at his left forearm. Draco resisted the urge to cover the Dark Mark.
"About Malfoy Manor," she continued enthusiastically, "about…"
"STOP!" Draco yelled. This couldn't be happening. This sweet little Gryffindor could not actually be begging him to pretend to be a Death Eater and act like he was going to assault her. His blood ran cold just thinking about it. He had nightmares already.
Vane's smile faded. If he refused her, would she go to someone else? Tennant Rowley would be happy to play along — Draco's roommate didn't have much luck with girls outside Slytherin.
Holding his shirt, Draco stared at Vane. She had no idea what she was asking for. She didn't understand what it meant. Draco made a calculated decision. He dropped the shirt and stepped toward the bed. Vane smiled, and he…
SLAP! Draco struck Vane across the cheek with an open palm — harder than he expected. Her outraged squeal cut off as he wrapped his hands around her neck, squeezing without mercy with his long fingers.
"Is this what you want, Vane?" Draco didn't recognize his own voice, filled with fury and disgust. "You really want to play this game?"
Vane shook her head as hard as she could. Draco let go and straightened, trying to maintain the Death Eater façade. She coughed and covered her face with her hands. Draco sighed. He had probably gone too far. Probably.
"Vane," he said softly. "Vane. Romilda."
She looked at him in shock, eyes brimming with tears. He had never called her by name.
"What happened at the Manor was… real evil," Draco said. "Torture. Blood. Death. It's not a game. Do you understand?"
Vane nodded, sobbing.
Merlin, he'd messed everything up. He was the idiot here. Well, one of them. He could've just said no. But he'd lost it… Draco picked up his shirt and broom, then turned to the window.
"Where are you going?" Vane asked.
He spun around.
"I'm leaving…"
"Why?" Vane sat on the bed, head tilted slightly. A red mark bloomed on her cheek, and bruises were starting to form on her neck.
Draco stared at her, speechless.
"It's fine," she said, sliding off the bed. "I won't ask you to play Death Eater anymore. Want me to come up with something else?" Her eyes lit up. "Maybe I tell you what to do…"
The broom slipped from Draco's fingers.
"You're insane."
Vane pouted.
"I think it's the least you could do for me."
He ran a hand through his hair.
"You still want to..?"
Vane just looked at him, as if demanding sex after a slap and strangling was the most natural thing in the world.
"Why not?"
Draco could think of a hundred reasons, but couldn't say a single one aloud. He opened his mouth, and the words that came out were not the ones he intended.
"Let me clean you up first."
They lay silently side by side afterward. The sex had been gentler than usual, and as Draco kissed her warm skin, he realized he'd never be able to sleep with Slytherin girls again — he couldn't stand those cold, calculated touches anymore. Was this his future now — a life full of flings with reckless, insane witches?
Draco sat up and looked at the girl on the rumpled bed. Now he was the one acting foolish. Suddenly, his original plan — the reason he'd even come to this damned room — seemed even more ridiculous and risky. But he had no choice. If he kept shagging Vane in classrooms, alcoves, and stairwells, sooner or later, they'd get caught. Her roommate could walk in any second, even now…
He slipped out of bed and started dressing.
"Get up," he said.
Vane sighed but obeyed, pulling on a pink silk robe. Draco dressed quickly, then waved his wand to clean and straighten the bed. A couple of stubborn lumps remained under the bedspread near the foot, but it would do.
"My hair!!" Vane cried, grabbing a brush. "Draco, you monster!"
Draco merely snorted. Slap her — and she wants to shag. Muss her hair — and he's a monster. While Vane fussed at her wardrobe, Draco stepped to the round mirror on the dresser. The frame and brass stand were tarnished, and the glass edges were cracked. Its surface was dull and cloudy, without a clear reflection — only faint shadows.
"Forget it," Vane said, curling her fringe. "That old thing doesn't work anyway."
Draco turned from the strange mirror. Time to get down to business. He stopped at Vane's bed and studied it carefully. It should work. The glossy golden maple frame looked sturdy, and the canopy closed tightly...
"What's up, Draco?" Vane asked.
"I know a way we can spend time together without sneaking around the school," he said. "Vanishing spell."
"What's that?" Vane looked more interested in her hair than any spell.
"It's magic that makes you disappear from this room… and appear in mine."
Vane looked at him, clutching a pink hair ribbon.
"In your room?"
"In my bed, actually," said Draco. Merlin, the plan sounded even more idiotic out loud. What are you doing? screamed his inner voice. Somewhere in his mind, his Black blood giggled.
Vane frowned.
"You can't Apparate inside Hogwarts."
"You know that?" Draco was surprised.
She pointed to a battered book on the table. Hogwarts: A History.
Draco forced himself to close his mouth. The girl was full of surprises.
"Well, it's not Apparition. I just need a few minutes to cast the spell."
Vane shrugged.
"Fine."
She turned away and brushed her long dark hair.
Draco stared at her back for a moment. Fine? That was it? Then he stepped between her and the full-length mirror. Vane frowned again, but he needed her full attention.
"Whatever you're doing tonight, you need to be in bed by ten," he told her.
"Why? What are you…"
The locked bedroom door rattled.
"Romilda!"
"Just a minute, Leanne!" Vane called. Draco stepped aside, and Vane began tying her hair with the ribbon.
"We're going to Diagon Alley today," she said.
"Romilda!" the door rattled again.
"You better leave, Draco."
"I need to cast the spell," he insisted.
"Well, I need to pick a dress!" she squeaked.
"I'll help you, Romilda," her friend yelled from outside. Draco shook his head.
"Then you'll have to help me, Draco." Vane threw two dresses onto her roommate's messy bed and slipped off her robe. "Tell me which one you like more." She pulled on some flashy pink panties.
"That one," Draco said, pointing. The purple dress was half the proper length, with a red flower at the bodice, but the other one — sparkly gold with pink tulle — was even worse. "Just get rid of the flower."
"I like the flower!"
Draco gave her a stern look, and Vane put on the purple dress. Even without the flower, it looked just as awful as it did on the hanger. She huffed in front of the mirror.
"It's too long."
"Then wear the gold one," Draco looked nervously at the door.
"I wore the gold one last time, and Zhou will…"
Oh for fuck's sake. Draco stomped over to the wardrobe and angrily pushed hangers aside, discarding dress after dress. They were all hideously tasteless, except one…
"Here," he said, tossing Vane a bundle of pale blue silk. "Put this on and get out."
Vane giggled.
"Seriously? This isn't even my…"
"PUT. IT. ON," Draco had had enough. "Move it, or you'll be going to London in your knickers."
His expression must have been convincing enough, because Vane slipped on the blue dress without complaint, added sparkly purple heels, and grabbed a matching clutch. Draco changed the color of her hair ribbon to silver and expanded the too-tight waistline. Years of living like a savage at Hogwarts without a house-elf had made him an expert in tailoring spells, even with a finicky wand.
"This dress is so plain," Vane muttered, adjusting the hem.
The bodice was too big, but Draco didn't care. Typical girl — buying clothes for the body she wanted, not the one she had. Vane looked decent enough, if you ignored the ridiculous heels.
Draco practically shoved her out the door. Was it even worth it? But then he imagined Vane appearing in his bed with a flick of a wand — and, better yet, disappearing again. Either he cast the spell, or he kept taking risks, or he ended this ridiculous fling forever.
Standing in front of the red-and-gold bed, he took a deep breath and gripped his wand tightly. He'd already enchanted his own bed, turning it into a Vanishing Cabinet. His hawthorn wand worked perfectly this time. He just needed to do the same to this bed to link them.
Draco raised his wand, and for a moment, he was back in sixth year, in the Room of Requirement, breathless with fear, blood pounding in his veins, sweat trickling down his back. His breathing echoed in his ears. Were all Gryffindor dorms this bright and peaceful? With chirping birds and sunlight pouring through wide windows? It was distracting.
He forced his grip to loosen. Calm down. This spell needed a light hand. Aggressive or sloppy casting could cause serious damage — especially with the modifications he had made. He waved his wand, drawing the heavy crimson canopy closed, then took another deep breath.
"Harmonia Nectere Passus, Tempus…"
...And his heart skipped a beat when an orange blur shot out from under the bed. Draco turned with his wand at the ready and saw a huge cat, which had jumped onto the window seat, glaring at him with hostility. The cat was fluffy, bright orange, with a squashed face and tufts on its ears. It hissed again, its bottlebrush tail twitching furiously. For some reason, Draco knew this cat didn't belong to Vane.
"Petrificus Totalus," Draco said sharply. And once again, his wand worked as it should—the cat collapsed onto the seat with a dull thump. The wizard smirked and returned to the bed.
Harmonia Nectere Passus. Harmony. Connection. Draco knew he was acting like a madman, using powerful and dangerous magic for a foolish idea, taking a stupid risk. Then again, for as long as he could remember, his life had always been full of extremes, a constant struggle to bend the world to the will of the Malfoys.
That will, of course, had brought his family to total failure and defeat, and although Draco was thankful that his side had lost, it didn't mean he enjoyed it. Reduced to a pitiful state, trapped in a school with a lunatic roommate, having achieved nothing of significance. Vane was his only amusement, and if keeping her around required a few wand flicks toward a convenient box made of maple planks, so be it.
Creating a Vanishing Cabinet, after all, was far easier than fixing one. Draco had made a few small changes to the bed, additional calibrations of space and time in the wood's structure. After returning from Azkaban, he had perfected the enchantments at the Malfoy Manor, where Aurors watched his every move. To fool them, he began making Vanishing Cabinets (as well as Vanishing Cupboards, Vanishing Wardrobes, and even Vanishing Grandfather Clocks). Enchanting this bed was a trifle for a wizard of his talents.
And yet… something about this bed was stopping him. This untouched, strangely alluring piece of furniture radiated unfamiliar magic. A quiet voice of reason gently said: Do you really want to do this, Draco?
Yes. Draco waved the voice away and raised his wand again.
"Harmonia Nectere Passus," he repeated hoarsely, but that was only the beginning of the spell. His temporal modifications required additional words and precise wand movements.
"Tempus Nectere, Abito Nectere, Regresus Nectere... Luna et stellae circulo..."
It was a spell of time and movement—the Moon, planets, and stars. They moved in perfect harmony toward...
Draco finished the incantation and lowered his wand, breathing heavily. The four wooden bedposts carved with lions shimmered and trembled. He could almost see movement and shadows behind the scarlet canopy. Perfect.
With a nod of approval toward his wand, he shoved it back into his pocket. Then he picked up his broom and lifted the paralysis spell from the cat, barely dodging the ungrateful creature as it lunged at him with a screech and outstretched claws. Removing the Disillusionment Charm from himself and the broom, Draco flew away from the Gryffindor tower, wondering what kind of madwoman would keep such a monstrous beast.
Later that evening, Draco sat cross-legged on his bed, dressed only in black silk boxers. In one hand, he held his pocket watch, and in the other—his wand. The open watch glowed, illuminating the enclosed space. The silvery brocade canopy of the bed was tightly drawn, imbued with protective magic and spells that prevented light and sound from escaping. Not that Tennant was around anyway—he was busy with his usual filthy business.
Draco checked the watch, on the inside of whose lid was engraved: "Romilda Vane, 10:00 PM." One minute and twenty seconds remained.
The voice of reason returned, whispering in Draco's mind: You don't have to do this. He had full control of the situation. No one was breathing down his neck this time, threatening his family. He could put the wand and watch away and simply go to sleep. Besides, it might not even work—his instructions to Vane were rushed and vague, and she'd probably find a way to mess it up.
But the overwhelming need to act drowned out the voice of reason. They all thought Draco had lost his spirit. They thought he was defeated. Well, he wasn't. This little rebellion might have been beneath his dignity, but it was his rebellion. He took what he wanted, right under everyone's nose, and no one could stop him. Not even himself.
Draco straightened and raised his wand. He'd better hurry, or Vane might lose patience and even come down to the dungeons to whine. Gryffindors were capable of anything. Draco flicked his wand in a precise circle just as the minute hand hit twelve:
"Venio Harmonia!"
A flash followed, and everything plunged into darkness. Something heavy fell on top of him, and a blunt object hit him in the head. Draco thrashed, gasping for air and trying to free himself. His heart pounded in his throat, he clutched his wand desperately—was the spell too strong? Had the bed collapsed on him? Draco poked his head out from under the blankets and gulped down air.
"Tempus," he gasped. The pocket watch opened again, illuminating the space, and Draco saw he was buried under Gryffindor bed linens: blankets, pillows, a heavy red coverlet. The watch had fallen sideways between two pillows.
Draco cursed and rubbed his head, tossing the book aside. How could he be so stupid? The cabinets and cupboards he used at the Malfoy Manor had been empty—the only object transported was himself. Of course the bed had moved all its contents...
All of them. Draco rummaged through the blankets and pillows, but Vane wasn't there. The idiot hadn't even been in bed—there could be no other explanation. He kicked the book into the canopy, which was as solid as a stone wall. The book lay there, battered, its spine torn.
Had something gone wrong with the temporal part of the spell? Draco had designed the enchantment so that the connection between the beds would only work between ten and eleven at night. He just didn't feel comfortable leaving an always-open, even if secret, channel between the Slytherin dungeons and the Gryffindor tower. One hour was enough.
No, it was definitely Vane's fault. She was probably still lingering in Diagon Alley. Draco frowned—he'd wait another half hour, then try again.
Leaning back into the pile of bedding, he picked up the heavy book that had nearly crushed his skull and flipped through it. The Prophecies of Tycho Dodonus. More prophetic nonsense.
The old goat's prophecies started hopefully but became increasingly grim, and the final prophecy sounded downright pompous—about lost souls sinking into liquid fire. The ink figures writhing on page 298 were drawn with painful detail.
He set the book aside again, more disturbed by what he saw than he wanted to admit, and burrowed into the soft red coverlet. A light floral scent surrounded him. Draco's breathing slowed, and his eyes began to close.
Clouds, swirling clouds... green lightning flashes.
A dry rustling sound, a poisonous hiss...
Screams and more screams.
A dark figure turns in the clouds, head tilting, smelling of death:
"Yessss..."
The scene changes... the clouds and shadows vanish into darkness.
Softness, warmth... safety...
Safety?
Draco opened his eyes and saw the dark outlines of pillows and blankets surrounding him. He felt delightful warmth, a rare sensation in the dungeons. His cheek was pressed to soft hair, his arms wrapped around something even softer and more enticing. She was here.
His sleep-dazed mind tried to process it. Had the spell been so strong that just lying down was enough to bring her? No matter, she was here now. Draco had never woken up next to another person. That wasn't part of his plan.
I love magic, he thought dreamily, pulling the pliant body closer. He heard a soft, barely audible sigh and let his lips touch the silky skin under her ear. So warm. Still half-asleep, Draco shifted and lowered his head again, his lips trailing along her jawline, turning her toward him in search of her lips. His hands slid down her bare arms, finding thin straps he easily slid off her shoulders.
Was her skin always like this? Was this part of his dream? The skin beneath his hands and lips was so smooth, so intoxicating to taste. How could he have forgotten? His tongue found the pulse in her neck, drawing another sigh.
He shifted again and covered her lips with his. So sweet—had they always been this sweet?..
The body tensed under his touch, and Draco pulled back from her lips.
"You have nothing to fear," he whispered. "You're with me."
He kissed her lips again, but the body beneath him twisted out of his embrace, and a sharp knee to his stomach made him gasp.
"Strangely," said Hermione Granger, "that doesn't make me feel better."