The Darkwood Wand

Night Five-Warnings

"Do you have any idea how you look right now?" Malfoy asked hoarsely, leaning closer.

Well, no, Hermione didn't. But what about him? Did Malfoy have any idea what he looked like, sitting there bare-chested, wearing glasses, reading a book? His hair all mussed and stubble on his pointed jaw?

She had no idea how to answer. They had maintained their distance in the old DADA room earlier that night, established boundaries. Hermione had been sure she and Malfoy could now move forward in a more ... professional way. Yes, professional. They would research the Vanishing Spell (she had already lined up separate assignments), speak civilly in Divination and perhaps have the occasional meeting. The nighttime visits were over. They were over.

Except here she was, wearing only a robe and a towel and again without her wand. She shouldn't be here. She shouldn't be looking at his chest. Draco Malfoy might not deserve prison, but he could still be cold and vile. Had he meant those apologies, or was he just trying to stay out of Azkaban? No way to know. And nothing was going to happen tonight, glasses or no.

So Hermione elected to ignore his question and clutch the robe to her chin. "I really wasn't in my bed," she repeated.

He raised a skeptical brow. "Indeed."

"I don't understand," Hermione said. She'd used the Map to sneak into the prefect's bathroom after curfew, hoping a good soak would calm her nerves. But images of Malfoy there with her had coiled up like steam, and now, as if her thoughts had brought her, here she was. "How can I be transported here without the bed?"

Malfoy shrugged. "Who knows? That spell is now wildly out of control. And you are part of it somehow, your magic ..."

"My magic?" she repeated, eyes narrowed. "You don't think I stole the magic?"

"Of course not, that's the most witless thing I've ever heard."

"But you always said—"

Malfoy sighed and looked quite put-upon. "Don't be daft. You're as magical as anyone else in the wizarding world. Probably more magical than most. The stupidest, weakest people I know are purebloods." He glowered at her over his glasses. "Any other awkward topics you care to bring up? Any other wizards' names you'd like to moan?"

Hermione swallowed. You've been very bad, Miss Granger.

"That won't be necessary," she said, slipping under the covers and placing a pillow between them. Malfoy returned to his book, which looked to be a plant nursery catalogue.

"How hard is it to grow Belladonna?" he wondered. "Let's say I keep a potted seedling under my bed, how long before it begins to droop?"

"Not long, a day or two, I suppose, if you don't water it—and that's not what I want to discuss!" Hermione took a steadying breath and sat up straight, folding her hands on her lap. "We need to talk about the spell. I don't understand how it can bring me here without using the bed."

Malfoy turned a page.

"Oh, no you don't," she snapped. "Don't act like this is only my problem. The timing continues to be unpredictable. I could Vanish from Potions class and turn up here. Tennant could see me."

That did it. Malfoy put down the catalog and gave her an almost worried look. Then he tapped the nearest bedpost with a knuckle.

"Was there any African darkwood in that bathroom?" he asked. "It's an excellent base for Vanishing Spells. That's what gave me the idea in the first place."

Hermione looked at the shining black bedposts, their carved snakes mercifully still. "I was in the prefect's bathroom on the seventh floor."

"Well, check it out." Malfoy yawned and tucked away his book and glasses.