"Somehow," said Hermione Granger, "that doesn't make me feel better."
Draco collapsed onto the mattress, unable to speak — both from shock and from the brutal blow to his stomach. He couldn't see anything — the bed was completely shrouded in darkness due to the drawn curtains. Wheezing, he tried to speak. Granger? How...
"Accio wand," the witch snapped, and he heard the sound of wood slapping into a palm. "Mors Stimulus Tuus!"
A stinging hex. Draco braced for the painful burns, but Granger was holding his hawthorn wand, and it resisted her, sparking red. Granger screamed as the sparks turned into flame, and a terrible crack echoed in the confined space before the wand's firelight died out.
Draco found his voice.
"You bitch! You broke my wand!"
He lunged forward, grabbed Granger by the leg — but a stunning blow to the face with a blunt object made him let go. Granger had found Dodonus' book of divination. The next strike hit the top of his head and nearly knocked him out — he collapsed onto his back again.
"Tempus!" he shouted.
His pocket watch, lying on the pillow, flipped open, and its dim white light revealed Granger kneeling beside him, holding the book high above her head, ready to deliver a killing blow. She wore tiny white shorts and a top, and her hair looked like a raging thundercloud. She loomed over him like a punishing goddess of vengeance, and Draco had never in his life been so shocked — or aroused. Speak, idiot, speak!
"Look, I…" His words were cut off as the book came down again, this time straight on his nose, and Draco howled in pain. Rage overpowered the shock, and he sat up, flung the book aside, and shoved Granger. In a flash, he was on top of her, pinning her wrists to the mattress.
She glared at him fiercely in the dim light, showing no fear.
"I can't wait to hear your explanation, Malfoy."
Draco struggled to comprehend the monstrosity of the situation. How could this even happen?
"See you in Azkaban, you sick bastard!" Granger spat furiously. "Creeping into witches' beds and attacking them…"
His grip on her wrists tightened at the mention of Azkaban.
"Not so fast," he said. "I'm not in your bed. You're in mine."
Granger's eyes widened, and Draco rose to his knees, dragging her upright and jerking her onto the bed. The light from the watch illuminated the silver canopy, the snake-carved bedposts, and the Slytherin crest above them.
Then he pushed her back down onto the bed.
"Yes, Granger," he purred, "you're in the Slytherin dungeons, in my hands, and in my bed."
Granger stared at him in horror, her eyes drifting to the Dark Mark just inches from her face.
Draco smirked.
"Well? Still want to keep threatening me?"
"Let me go, or I'll…"
"Or you'll what? I'm supposed to just let you walk away? Think you'll stroll out of the dungeons without a wand?" he sneered. "Hermione Granger, caught sneaking out of Draco Malfoy's bed in the middle of the night." He glanced meaningfully at her thin white top. "What will people think?"
Granger squirmed, trying to bring her knee up, but he pinned her legs with his body.
"I'll take my chances," she hissed.
Not happening. If she woke Tennant… Tennant…
"You're not going anywhere," he said. "You'll lie here and listen, or I swear I'll strangle you."
His hands clamped down harder on her wrists, but Granger only glared more fiercely.
"I can't imagine what explanation you could possibly have," she said.
"Vane," he answered immediately. "You were supposed to be Romilda Vane."
"You thought she'd be easy? Too scared to resist? You twisted, perverted son of a—"
"No!" Draco was indignant. "We had… an arrangement."
"What?" Granger blinked. "You're Romilda's mysterious lover?"
Draco nodded, watching the witch beneath him closely. The fury and horror faded from her face, replaced by a grim contemplative look. It was strangely calming. Draco took the opportunity to steady his breathing. Maybe she'd see he was telling the truth. After all, wasn't she the Brightest Witch of the Week or whatever? He slightly loosened his grip on her wrists — a calculated risk, a silent request for trust.
Granger looked at him again, and Draco felt like she could see right through him with her wide eyes. He clenched his jaw and forced himself to meet her gaze.
"I need to speak with Romilda, obviously," Granger said in a strict, judgmental tone that didn't match her current position. "Let me go."
Draco opened his mouth to say he wouldn't, that she had to follow his orders — but instead, he released her wrists and rolled to the side. Her eyes darted downward as she quickly sat up, and Draco sat up too. Yeah, little Gryffindor, I'm still half-aroused — care to help with that? No need to settle for Weasley.
Granger blushed and grabbed a pillow, hugging it to her chest, but her long legs were still stretched out in front of Draco, her toenails painted pink. Draco blinked — the pink seemed so… girly for Granger.
"So, you're screwing Romilda," she said, as if they were gossiping casually on the second-floor staircase.
"Yeah, but like every Gryffindor, she can't keep a secret. It's only a matter of time before we're caught."
"So you…"
"Yes, I cast a spell to move Vane from her bed to mine. Like Vanishing Cabinets," he explained. Granger's face turned to stone at the mention of the cabinets, and Draco almost winced.
"Tonight was the first time," he said. "She agreed to it." It was important that Granger believed him, that she didn't think he was kidnapping girls from their beds. The thought disgusted Draco.
Another thought hit him.
"Why were you in Vane's bed, Granger? Wait…" Draco groaned. "Let me guess. You have an ugly orange cat, and you always make your bed."
Granger tensed, and Draco could almost see the magic crackling around her. This witch would blow them both up if he wasn't careful.
"You mean to tell me that you… you… with Romilda… in my bed?"
Her voice rose with every word, and at "in my bed," it reached an unbearably high pitch. If she had a wand right then, Draco wouldn't have bet two knuts on his life. But of course, that didn't stop him from replying.
"Oh, don't get worked up," he said with a smirk. "It's the only action your bed will ever see anyway. Where do you think you're going?"
Granger got back on her knees, tossing the pillow aside.
"I'm not staying here another second. You're sick, disgusting, and…"
"Wait." He grabbed her hand. "Are you going to report this?"
She snapped her head up.
"Of course."
"What about my wand?" he demanded. "You broke my wand!"
"YOU DON'T DESERVE A WAND!" Granger yanked her hand from his grip. "If the Ministry had snapped your wand when they should have, none of this would've happened! You belong in Azkaban!"
Draco had heard this from others many times — sometimes several times a day — but somehow her words cut deeper. Even kind, principled Granger wanted to lock him away. Well, maybe he'd end up there anyway — either from someone else's malice or his own idiotic self-destruction. Back to that old Dementor's nest, where nightmare and reality blurred until…
"Malfoy!" Granger's sharp voice snapped him out of his daze. "Listen to me!"
Draco looked at her. She was kneeling, radiating disapproval.
"I need a counterspell, Malfoy."
"What?" Draco was distracted by the tiny teapot embroidered on Granger's white top, right between her…
"You honestly think I'll sleep in a bed that's magically linked to yours?" Her voice took on a familiar lecturing tone. "After sixth year, I read everything about Vanishing Cabinets. I'll remove the charm from my bed and sever the link."
Draco gave her a skeptical look.
"That's a complex process that requires finesse…"
"If you can do it, so can I," Granger snapped. "Give me the counterspell."
Draco nodded, giving in. He definitely didn't want to go back to Gryffindor Tower. He picked up the useless shaft of his broken wand.
"Point your wand at the bed," he said, ignoring the pain in his chest at the sight of the splintered wood. "Draw a circle like this, stopping every 30 degrees. Say, Intermissum Harmonia Nectere at each pause. Precision and a light touch are key. If you—"
"I can't leave, Malfoy," Granger interrupted.
"Yeah, I should tell you—"
"No, I mean I can't get out," she repeated. And then Draco realized she was slapping the bed curtains with her palm. "This bed is protected by strong charms from inside and out," she said, "and neither of us has a working wand. I'm trapped!" She kept trying the curtains.
"Only until…" Draco began, but then looked at his open pocket watch. Strange — Granger should have vanished by now. He'd designed the spell so the witch would appear at 10 PM and disappear at 11. (He figured one hour with Vane would be plenty.) So why was Granger still here?
Doesn't matter. Obviously, he'd messed up the spell. They'd just have to wait until the magic wore off, and then Draco would try to sneak her out without waking Tennant. Unlikely, but possible. Then Granger would try removing the Vanishing Charm, and that would be that. Draco yawned, gently touched his nose — definitely swollen. His head throbbed, and breathing still hurt.
He looked at the witch still hitting the curtains with her bare hands. At least for now, she believed him. At least for now, he wouldn't be going to Azkaban. As for the wand, he'd write to his mother tomorrow. She'd figure something out.
For now, he could just lean back into the silver-tasseled pillows and enjoy watching the half-naked witch bouncing on his bed. His thoughts drifted back to that waking moment, to that soft, smooth…
"Don't you dare fall asleep!" Granger screeched.
He stared at her.
"What do you expect me to do? Bash my hands against the enchanted curtain like a total idiot? Merlin, I thought you had brains. Just wait a few hours."
Granger groaned and flopped down on the bed. Even Gryffindors hit reality eventually.
"Fine," she grumbled.
She scooted as far from Draco as she could and wrapped herself in a blanket like a little fortress. Her eyes glinted angrily over the pillow, just like her creepy kneazle.
"I'm warning you… just try touching me," she hissed.
Draco smirked and turned his back to her, closing his eyes. This little hypocrite hadn't objected when he touched her upon waking. She clearly wanted it. Well, she'd have to find another wizard willing to roll in the dirt. His breathing evened out despite the pain — he'd endured worse, after all — and he found himself drifting off to sleep surprisingly fast.