Draco Malfoy's history of poor decision-making continues after the war, when he returns to Hogwarts under strict probation. Bored and restless, he decides to cast the infamous Vanishing Cabinet spell to link his bed with the bed of a willing witch...
I've been so looking forward to posting this chapter. New areas unlocked!
Illustration by K Writes Dramione.
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Possibly because she'd been racing down a first-floor corridor when she Vanished, Hermione crashed onto Malfoy's bed in a flash of white light and nearly brained herself on a bedpost. The momentum sent her rolling, and she burst through a break in the closed curtains and right off the bed, falling with a thud on a thick carpet.
She lay on her stomach with the breath knocked out of her, listening for Tennant's hateful, gloating voice. But all was shadowy and silent. The bedroom's occupants must still be at the party.
Hermione drew her wand anyway and rose to her knees, sweeping the room in a practiced arc. Nothing. The nearly full moon shone through a row of square windows near the high ceiling, picking out the room's silver and crystal.
It felt strange to be out here, in this open space instead of confined to Malfoy's bed. The room was about the same size as her room in Gryffindor Tower, yet entirely different. Was she in a school or on a moneyed estate? The only signs she was still at Hogwarts were the stone walls and floor as well as various piles of textbooks, parchment and quills.
She was kneeling between the bed and a green velvet armchair, which faced a black leather sofa. A grandfather clock loomed in a corner, its mother-of-pearl face another weak source of light. The furniture was heavily carved—black walnut, if Hermione had to guess, she'd developed a bit of expertise from all those woodworking magazines. A small harp, of all things, glittered in the moonlight from atop a bookshelf.
Slowly she stood, and turned to face an obsidian fireplace lined with bricks of black glass. Its mantle was crammed with silver objects: picture frames, bottles, boxes. It was outrageous, really, this lap of luxury for Slytherin's worst. Even the fire tools were topped with silver. Hermione stepped forward and pulled out the poker: It was surprisingly heavy for its size, yet as delicately balanced as a rapier.
Hermione replaced the poker, then looked down at herself, still in her silk dress and sandals, her bag in an expandable pocket. She'd been in such a rush before the party that she'd forgotten to pack her pajamas. And vitamins. And toothbrush. She couldn't go to sleep without brushing her teeth. She needed to use the loo, too.
So she lit her wand and opened the Marauders Map, looking for the nearest bathroom. "I solemnly swear I am up to no good." The rectangle-shaped bedroom was empty except for her own dot. Beside it was a small square, labeled "Private bath" and also empty.
Hermione scowled. How did those Slytherins get a private bath? She should take it up with McGonagall ...
She flushed. Go ahead, Hermione. Explain to the Headmistress how you know about Draco Malfoy and Tennant Rowle's private bath.
