Silence and semi-darkness reigned once again in the Hospital Wing. Draco lay on the cot, still weak from blood loss and the effects of the potions. Pomfrey had removed the swelling from his jaw and made sure he hadn't swallowed the knocked-out teeth. She then departed to search for Skele-Gro ("I don't understand—there were two full vials on Monday!"). Potter, meanwhile, went off to rescue Luna and wave his Chosen One status around.
Shortly after Potter left, McGonagall appeared. The distinct clack of her heels approached Draco's bed. He pretended to be asleep, and Hermione happily took on the role of rapporteur before the Headmistress. Draco saved her, she declared. She'd woken up in bed with Tennant, who turned into a wolf and attacked her, and Draco saved her by shielding her with his body. She hit both Slytherins with a poker, and Draco was bitten while saving her. Yes, Tennant really turned out to be an unregistered Animagus, and by the way, had she mentioned that Draco saved her?
McGonagall treated the story with a fair degree of skepticism—which, however, was not surprising—but it was the Golden Girl herself. The Headmistress of Hogwarts promised not to involve the Auror Office for now (her long-standing feud with its head, as well as her distrust of the Ministry, were well known). Yes, Miss Granger, she perfectly understood that the process for reviewing Hogwarts transfer applications needed improvement. And yes, Miss Granger, she fully grasped that Mr. Malfoy saved you.
Hermione walked out right behind the Headmistress, still talking, and Draco enjoyed a moment of blessed silence—until the witch returned.
"I know you're not asleep, Draco," she declared confidently.
Draco cautiously opened his eyes—and, to his relief, he liked what he saw. Hermione was still wearing his black jumper over her blue pyjamas, her hair piled up in a precarious tower of curls. Although her gaze did not seek out Tennant, bound and lying unconscious on the next cot, she didn't avoid looking in his direction either.
"Of course, I'm not asleep," Draco said, pleased that he could talk again. "You'd have to be Stunned senseless to sleep through that racket."
They looked at each other awkwardly, then Draco moved slightly on the bed—a silent invitation.
"Your shoulder…" Hermione began.
"The shoulder is fine. I'm fine." He felt only a slight stiffness where he had been bitten, and a strange tautness of the skin on his face—after Tennant's claws. Pomfrey's potions had left a thin scar, snaking from his forehead to his cheek, but she promised it would disappear by morning.
"Where is Madam Pomfrey?"
"Looking for Skele-Gro," Draco replied.
"You should wear a mouthguard after you drink it," Hermione said. "A crowded mouth is prone to decay."
Draco rolled his eyes, refusing to dignify that comment with a reply. His forbearance was rewarded—Hermione dropped the subject of teeth and settled next to him, stretching her legs out on the thin white blanket. Draco hugged her, burying his chin in her curls. He noticed she was wearing his slippers—and the embroidery on them was visibly threadbare. He now doubted they would ever return to him.
The semi-darkness of the Hospital Wing, the curtain, the bed, and, most importantly, the familiar warmth and floral scent—it all had a soothing effect on Draco. Hermione pressed close to him, resting her head on his shoulder, and then he noticed them—bruises in the shape of fingerprints, visible beneath the unbuttoned collar of her pyjamas.
"Tell me about Tennant," he asked calmly, erecting strong Occlumency barriers.
Hermione scoffed.
"What's there to tell? I ended up in your bed, and he was there."
It hurt to hear that his failed Vanishing Spell had practically served this witch to Rowle on a silver platter.
"Go on," he said.
"He thought it was a Portkey," Hermione said. "Which, actually, makes sense if…" Draco's body tensed, and she fell silent, then returned to the point of the conversation.
"He took my wand and said he tricked you into sending you to the Hospital Wing."
"Yes," Draco replied, and bitterness broke through the erected barriers. Busy with Isobel, listening to her idiotic theories about pea proportions and blow jobs, while Hermione…
"He broke my wand," she sobbed.
Draco nodded. Death Eaters didn't spare Muggle-borns' wands, considering them stolen.
"Tennant really did hear us that morning, Draco," Hermione looked at her clasped fingers, but he saw her cheek reddening. "He… he…"
"Go on," Draco repeated.
"He lunged at me and grabbed my neck. Then he… he…"
"Go on," Draco said, his Occlumency barriers beginning to crack.
"He… he… Do I have to tell you?" Her voice sounded so weak and vulnerable.
"Yes," Draco answered coldly, his mind still detached.
"Fine," Hermione exhaled through clenched teeth. "He squeezed my chest and started kissing… lower down… and I grabbed the bedpost… Draco Malfoy, don't you dare get off that cot!"
"Let go of me," Draco sharply snapped, not taking his eyes off Tennant. Hermione rolled over him, bracing her hands on either side of his head. Her face was an inch from his, and a long curl touched his cheek.
"Listen, Draco," she breathed out. "I grabbed the bedpost made of African blackwood."
Something in the way she pronounced "African blackwood" pierced through Draco's crimson haze of rage. He turned his head, staring at the witch, one bare foot already touching the cold floor.
"What are you talking about?" he demanded.
"It's incredibly magical wood," Hermione explained. "The bedpost wasn't a wand in the literal sense—because it doesn't have a magical core, but it resonated. I was able to focus my magic and push Tennant away."
Draco continued to stare at her, trying to process her words, frozen halfway to getting out of bed.
"I'll tell you everything," she said, "but only if you don't end up in Azkaban for killing Tennant with your bare hands."
Draco considered the prison sentence worth it, but allowed her to pull him back under the covers.
"Go on," he repeated.
Hermione was still hovering over him.
"I rolled off the bed and was able to summon your chess wand," she continued, her eyes flashing. "A horrible wand!"
Draco groaned.
"What did it do?"
Hermione looked genuinely indignant.
"First I tried to paralyse Tennant, then Stun him, but instead… that bloody wand turned his legs into noodles and his hair into daisies!"
She looked so outraged that Draco almost laughed, but then quickly sobered. Tennant couldn't stand ridicule.
"Yes," Hermione said quietly. "That's where the fun and games ended."
She sighed, moved away from him, settled beside him, and turned to face him.
"Tennant broke my wand, Draco. And then he turned into a wolf."
She shivered. Draco hugged her so tightly that he himself wondered how she was still breathing, but Hermione didn't complain, just clung tightly to him in response. He slid down with her in his arms, and they stretched out on the bed, holding each other close.
"Then you appeared and tried to cast Avada on Tennant."
Hermione frowned at him.
"Why did the darkwood refuse to obey you?"
"No idea," Draco grumbled. "Shitty wand."
Hermione yawned.
"I'm glad you didn't kill Tennant." She closed her eyes.
Draco disagreed. Tennant deserved to die, deserved it a hundred times over—not just for today, but for everything he had done in the castle, not to mention the war. Had Draco thought to summon the serpentine wand at that moment, all that would be left of that fucking wolf would be a stain on the carpet.
"Enough," Hermione cut him off. "I won't let you kill him."
For a moment, his familiar fury filled his veins again. How dare she? Deny me the right to kill him! Malfoy will not tolerate such an insult—another wizard dared to touch his… His… what? Draco blinked, looking at the witch in his arms, and suddenly felt doubt. He opened his mouth to say something, but saw that Hermione had closed her eyes again, her breathing even. He didn't want to argue anyway. He had almost lost her because of his own stupidity.
"Thank you," she murmured in her sleep, pressing closer. "Thank you for saving me."
Draco snorted silently. Oh yes, he deserved thanks. Maybe the next spell he casts should send her straight into the tentacles of the giant squid every morning. His gaze slid to the motionless figure on the next cot. Draco might be to blame for this mess, but Tennant would be the one to pay. Tennant would pay for Hermione's suffering, for Draco's mistakes and his ruined life, for the mischievous wand that was now broken. He hadn't decided how yet, but Tennant would pay with everything he had.***
"I don't know," Pomfrey repeated for the third time.
Potter returned to the Hospital Wing with McGonagall, and now everyone except Draco was gathered around Tennant's bed, arguing about what to do with the still-unconscious wizard.
"Mr. Rowle has sustained both a severe blow to the head and a powerful Stunning Spell simultaneously," Madam Pomfrey explained. "But his pupils are less dilated than an hour ago, and his reflexes are normal. There's a chance he, like Miss MacDougal, will wake up naturally."
McGonagall frowned.
"What will happen if we contact the Auror Office, Mr. Potter?"
"Head Auror Robards will immediately rush here, and Malfoy and Rowle will be taken to the Ministry."
"Draco?" Hermione exclaimed. "But he saved…"
"Yes, we know," McGonagall and Potter replied in unison.
"But the Head Auror won't believe it. He'll want to place both of them in cells pending investigation," Potter stated with full certainty.
"We can't allow that!" Hermione cried. "They could both end up in Azkaban!"
Draco couldn't suppress a quiet moan. He couldn't go back to Azkaban—his mother's letters would become unbearable. Dear Son, the azaleas are wilting, and the peacocks are moulting. I seek your advice.
"Neither of these young men is going anywhere tonight," Madam Pomfrey announced. "Especially Mr. Rowle. It would be extremely dangerous."
McGonagall agreed. She would return in the morning to check Rowle's condition and then decide whether to inform the Auror Office. For now, everyone should get a good night's sleep.
"I'm sure Luna can testify…" Hermione gasped. "Luna! Oh, Harry, is she all right?"
Potter nodded.
"I found her on the floor of Myrtle's bathroom—Stunned." The Auror flushed slightly, and Draco could guess why.
"You should have brought her here, Mr. Potter," Pomfrey chided him. "Stunning Spells are no joke."
"I tried!" Potter countered. "I managed to lift her off the floor, but she refused to come here, kept rambling about malicious Flutterbies roaming the Hospital Wing."
Pomfrey practically fumed with indignation, and Draco barely suppressed a smile, catching Potter's eye.
"Did Luna say anything about Tennant?" Hermione asked.
"She didn't see him. She said she was calling Myrtle in the bathroom, and then woke up on the wet floor." Harry flushed again.
"Perhaps the late Miss Warren noticed something," McGonagall suggested.
Hermione shook her head.
"Myrtle avoids Luna like the plague."
"Where is Miss Lovegood now, Mr. Potter?" the Headmistress asked.
"Well, she ran off and…"
"Harry! You should have gone after her…"
"I did go," Potter snapped. "All the way to Ravenclaw Tower. She didn't even stop to get dressed!"
The three witches stared at him disapprovingly.
"Miss Lovegood could have caught a cold," Pomfrey stated.
Draco snorted, and Potter gave him a gloomy look that he didn't dare direct at the others. McGonagall told everyone to go to bed and left the Hospital Wing, her black hat bouncing on her head. Pomfrey bustled around Tennant's bed, rearranging vials.
Potter pulled Hermione aside, whispering something under his breath and examining her hands and neck. Draco rose from the bed, intending to put an end to it, but stopped when Potter started shouting at Pomfrey, demanding an immediate examination of Hermione. Pomfrey, of course, was outraged, but the nurse still led her to another part of the Hospital Wing.
Draco was left alone with this idiot who was looking at him as if this whole mess was Malfoy's fault. Which, in a way, was true, but Potter didn't know that, and Draco felt unfairly accused. They silently glared at each other until Draco remembered his ridiculous hospital gown and returned to his cot.
"I went back to the bedroom and found Tennant's wand glued to the table," Potter tried to sound professional. "Several dangerous spells were cast with it, including the Cruciatus, but Hermione claims he only used Expelliarmus and Flipendo on her."
Draco clenched his teeth, feeling the heat rush to his cheeks. Why hadn't he asked Hermione about the spells? Why hadn't he sent her back to Pomfrey for an examination? Because she looked like she was fine, that's why. Malfoys don't run to healers over a few bruises. His mother would never have thought of such a thing, and Salazar alone knew what she had gone through while the Dark Lord lived in their house. Hermione was moving, talking, commanding—she should be grateful she was still in one piece… Grateful? She spent weeks in the same bed as a Death Eater, and then she was attacked by a lunatic—a wolf-obsessed rapist neighbour—and you think she should be grateful?
Draco didn't know what was worse—being a complete piece of shit or having Harry Potter make him out to be a complete piece of shit.
A sudden thought made him frown.
"By the way, Potter, I know about your spy Map. Are you incompetent? If you saw Tennant's dot near Myrtle's bathroom, why the fuck didn't you notice him in the bedroom with Hermione?"
"Yes, I'm wondering the same thing," Hermione said, drawing the curtain back with a clang of iron rings. Draco looked over the witch again. She really did look better—less pale and shaky. Hermione really should have seen Pomfrey right away.
"Well, Harry?" she asked, and Draco winced at that familiar tone. "Why didn't you see Tennant in the bedroom with me?"
"I… I'm sorry, Hermione," Potter stammered. He pulled the Map from the inner pocket of his cloak. "I kind of… didn't want to see…"
He unrolled the parchment, and everyone saw the unfortunate blue square pasted over Draco and Tennant's bedroom.
"The Sticker of Fate," Hermione whispered quietly.
Silence fell, then Draco braced himself for the storm. He didn't have to wait long.
"You covered Draco's bedroom with a sticker?" Hermione's voice hit the upper octaves and went beyond.
Potter backed away.
"I didn't want to see you… and Malfoy…"
"I was nearly killed because you were embarrassed to look at our dots?!" The darkwood wand in Hermione's hand sparked, and the witch's gaze promised Harrycide right there on the spot.
Draco, to his surprise, found himself nodding in agreement with Potter. He was furious, but he wouldn't want to see Potter and Hermione's dots together either. Pressing his lips together, Draco suppressed a sudden urge to defend the idiot. It was nice to watch another wizard receive his share of squeaks and screeches.
"I… I…" Potter's gaze darted around as he retreated. "Um… well… privacy?"
Draco thought that was a decent excuse, but Hermione didn't buy it.
"You never cared about my privacy," she snapped. "You let personal feelings interfere with the protection of the school and the students…"
Potter paled and dropped the Map.
"Yes!" he exclaimed. "He was waiting for you, and I didn't see him! It's all my fault! Oh, Hermione!"
Draco watched, slack-jawed, as Potter slumped onto the visitor's bench, burying his face in his hands, and Hermione was now comforting the idiot—sitting next to him and hugging him. Potter wrapped his arms around her, and she stroked his hair and said how brave and clever he was. How brave and clever Potter was.
Did Potter figure out Tennant's location? No. Did Potter throw himself in front of the fucking wolf to save her? No. So where were the extra hugs and compliments for Draco?
"…And it's so sweet that you use my stickers for work…" Hermione cooed while Potter continued to put on a show.
"I use them every day," Potter sobbed. "In all my reports…"
Oh, Salazar, how much more of this did Draco have to endure?
"If I may, I'd like to return to the matter at hand," Draco said coldly.
Potter and Hermione blinked in surprise—as no "matter at hand" had been mentioned until this point.
"Personally," Draco continued, "I would like to hear Pomfrey's conclusion on Hermione's condition."
He genuinely wanted to know, and the question diverted Potter.
"Yes, Hermione, what did she say?" Potter immediately picked up. "Did she remove the bruises? Maybe I should take you to St Mungo's? I…"
"I'm fine," Hermione replied, stroking the Auror's hand as if Potter had inquired about her well-being. "Really, Harry. All the bruises are healed, and she gave me a calming draught."
"If you want to talk about it," Potter said, "I promise I won't lose it, no matter what Rowle…"
"It's all right," Hermione kept stroking his hand. "I already talked to Draco. He was very kind and supportive."
Potter stared at Draco in disbelief, while Draco could only adopt a smug look. Only Hermione could mistake a couple of cold questions and a murder threat for kindness and support.
"You're not serious, he's…" Potter began, but Hermione's face darkened.
"Maybe we should all get some rest?" she suggested.
Potter froze for a second, then nodded.
"Y-yes." He pulled a long object from his pocket. "I also picked this up, Hermione. The crack isn't deep, maybe…"
"My wand!" Hermione's face lit up; she pressed the vine wood to her chest, then ran to Draco's bed. "Look, the heartstring core is intact! What do you think, Draco?"
Draco took the wand, smiling slightly at Hermione's beaming face, and turned it over in his hands.
"Possibly," he said. "I've read that wands can recover if the damage isn't too severe…"
Hermione hugged Draco, and now Potter looked irritated. The Auror's thoughts were easily readable on his silly face: I found the bloody wand, why is she hugging him? Draco didn't understand either, but that didn't stop him from flashing a mocking smirk at Potter over her curls.
"As you said, Hermione, I should go." Potter stood up and picked up the Map. "Walk me out?"
"Of course." Hermione exchanged wands with Draco, then leaned in and touched his cheek with her lips. Draco looked at her in surprise. It was the second time she had kissed him in front of Potter.
The friends left the Hospital Wing, Hermione soothingly stroking Potter's arm. Draco rolled over on the bed and shoved the darkwood wand into the bedside cabinet. He didn't even want to look at it. Leaning back against the pillows, he stared at the ceiling, waiting for Hermione to return. She really wasn't fine.