The Darkwood Wand

Advice

That voice ... high, clear, venomous.

"Do you recognize our guest, Draco?"

Yes.

Sobbing. "Severus ... please ... please ..."

"Did you take the professor's classes, Draco?

No.

"She would have us all MATE with MUGGLES ..."

The snake slides down the table, rubbing dryly against the polished wood, slitted eyes unblinking. It is hungry.

Don't ...

The snake turns from the suspended figure, its red eyes on Draco.

"Dinner, Nagini."

The snake slithers toward him, mouth wide, fangs dripping—

"Malfoy! Malfoy!"

His eyes popped open. It was dark, and the rotting smell of the snake was thick in his nostrils.

"Draco!"

He blinked in confusion. He wasn't in a dining room lit by fire and red eyes. He was in his bed at Hogwarts, surrounded by a faint golden glow. Small, soft hands held his bare shoulders, shaking him. His heart pounded and he was sweating.

Draco focused. He must be still dreaming, for that couldn't be Hermione Granger, her wild hair tipped with gold, staring down at him, worried.

"Nagini ..." he croaked. "Dinner ..."

"The snake is dead." Her voice was cool, as was the hand on his forehead. "Voldemort is dead. You're safe."

Safe. He'd never felt safe, not since childhood. Was he safe now? How was that possible? Draco looked up at the face above him and wondered.

"Safe," he croaked.

"Yes." The hand withdrew from his hair and his own hand moved to capture it. His fingers tightened.

"Granger," Draco whispered, unable to ask, but she understood. The golden light blinked out. She slid under the covers and settled beside him—not touching him, but still nearby. Draco closed his eyes. Safe.

***

She was gone when Draco woke in the morning, to his great relief. The Vanishing Spell had worked again. Thank Salazar they were breaking the enchantment today.

Images of the previous night spun in his mind. Granger in his bed, wearing lacy knickers, her curls still tied up in that absurd topknot. Draco was no stranger to witches' antics: Girls began turning up in his dorm in Sixth Year, draped in the barest of clothes and the flimsiest of excuses. When Granger landed on his mattress, he had felt himself on familiar ground. She came back, he'd thought, his heart thudding against his ribs. She came back to me.

So he had toyed with her, teased her, touched the pink O of her mouth while whispering the spell, and she let him. She let him kiss her, run his hands over her body, seeking her warmth. She wants this. She wants me.

Until she didn't. Rejected by a ... could he possibly sink any lower?

Draco sat up with a groan, rubbing his face. Yes, he could. Granger had heard him cry out in his sleep. She'd comforted him. The horror. The degradation.

He wanted to stay in his room, hiding from the world in his humiliation, but that was unworthy of a Malfoy. So he staggered out of bed as best he could with a painful erection, then bathed and dressed with more care than usual. He took a few extra moments to select a silver tie pin and cufflinks and to polish his watch. Appearances were important. Appearances, apparently, were all he had left.