The Darkwood Wand

Echoes

I'm a sucker for library scenes in Eighth Year stories, with all that hushing and hissing and Pince lurking around.

In keeping with the frequent Ravenclaw feel to this story, I'm exploring the library a little bit, with separate sections by subject. Each section has its own distinctive decorations and usually only one exit. I can't resist trapping my characters in smaller spaces in accordance with the occasionally claustrophobic feel to this story.

After leaving the Divination Tower, Draco wandered the castle looking for Tennant. Finally he gave up and headed down to the Slytherin dungeons for a nap. He was sick of walking around looking like he'd drunk a badly brewed Draught of Living Death.

He stripped down to his pants and slid into the pressed sheets with a sigh. Elves had refreshed the bedding, with Granger's blanket neatly folded by his pillow and topped with that red camellia blossom. Draco touched the petals. So soft, as soft as ... he didn't pursue the thought; just closed his eyes and fell asleep.

When he woke, the room was dark and rain lashed the windowpanes near the high ceiling. Draco untangled himself from the red blanket and groped for his pocket watch—he'd slept through most of the afternoon. Who knew what Tennant had been up to all this time. Fuck, he was a useless shit. He was supposed to have a quick kip, not sleep for four hours.

He did look better, though, after a cool bath and fresh jumper. The shadows under his eyes had receded and there was a little color in his face. Draco rumpled his hair just the right amount and applied a touch of his Etoile Magique cologne. Then he slid on his rings and tucked his grandmother's harlequin wand into his pocket. Yes, his back was straighter and the headache that had been nagging him was entirely gone.

Tennant wasn't in the Slytherin common room, of course. Draco spent a frustrating hour checking his roommate's usual haunts before heading to the library.

A quick circuit revealed Isobel in the History of Magic section with three other Ravenclaws, all poring over an enormous tome chained to a stand. She gave him a small smile, and Draco nodded back. Surely she didn't expect him to smile back. Even Vane knew better than that. He wandered through Magical Creatures, picking up a book on griffin breeding habits for Hoogie's next unit. (Why would anybody want them to breed?)

That was when he heard that familiar rumble floating through the bookshelf to his right. An answering squeak made Draco relax slightly; it wasn't Granger. Another rumble and the sound of toppling books. Draco turned to see the slim form of Astoria Greengrass rushing past, her face fiery red, books pressed to her chest.

Draco rounded the corner to see Tennant slamming a meaty fist into a shelf labeled "FAERIES." The big wizard controlled himself with an effort, retying his shirt and attempting to button his jacket with trembling fingers.

"Reading up on doxies, Tenny?" Draco drawled. "Nasty things. Venomous."

Tennant sneered back. "I prefer a different kind of doxy."

"You Durmstrang chaps are shit with women of sense."

"Really? Remember Viktor Krum?"

Draco just managed not to glare. An image in floating blue robes fluttered in Draco's mind, flushed cheeks and shining eyes and tamed curls ...

"So you don't like my games with the baby Greengrass," Tennant said, abandoning his efforts to button his jacket. "You're hard to please, Draco. I can't educate the little girls, but when I court a witch my own age, what do I hear?" He raised his voice: "Don't mess with the Golden Girl!"