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...
This is a pivotal chapter—one of the five chapters I outlined before I began writing this story. It gets a bit dark, and by coincidence, it also happens to be Night Thirteen. Sometimes I think this story has a mind of its own.
Trigger Warnings: This chapter contains violence, blood and a sexual attack. I've summarized events in the notes at the bottom of the chapter, if anyone would like to read that instead.
Thebe
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Hermione stared at her wand in Tennant's fist, its carved tip sticking out between thick fingers. The pink bed's curtains were open and his stone-cut face shone in the light of a standing lamp.
She stilled her twitching fingers. "Give me back my wand, Rowle," she said calmly.
Tennant just rolled closer, his half-naked form and wicked smirk a horrible parody of Draco's. "Ah, ah, ah," he scolded. "Now tell me the trick. A portkey?"
Hermione tossed her head but said nothing.
"I was looking for you tonight." Tennant stroked a blunt finger along her throat. "Wanted to send Drakey a little message."
She couldn't help cringing away from his touch. Keep him talking.
"But all I could find was that little eagle." He shook his head. "Wish I'd had more time."
Hermione swallowed, but didn't look away. The wizard still held her vinewood tightly in his hand and she didn't dare try a wandless accio yet.
Tennant looked her over, pursing his lips at her pajamas. "Is this what you wear for him, Hermione? Poor bastard." He sneered at the bed. "I assume this candy box is for you. Fuck, that boy is a disappointment this year."
"Draco will be here any minute," Hermione couldn't help saying.
"I think not." Tennant rolled her wand on his palm. "Draco is busy nursing his little Ravenclaw. But don't worry. I'll keep you occupied."
He reached for her again, this time to capture a long, loose curl that had worked free of her ponytail. Tennant began to tug, first gently, then insistently, drawing Hermione closer. His cologne—a hot, musky scent, washed over her.
"Draco ran right off to her," Tennant murmured. "Pure blood will always tell, oh yes."
"I doubt Malfoy would go anywhere you'd send him," Hermione said. Then she blinked. "But then, he didn't know it was you, did he?"
"So very clever," Tennant rumbled, still pulling on the curl, and Hermione couldn't tell if he was complimenting her or himself. Probably himself, the violent, egomaniacal Death Eater sex fiend ...
"This is fun," he went on. "I don't usually spend time talking." Tennant released the curl and lay back, an incongruous sight on the pink, flowered pillows. He placed a dimpled elbow behind his head and stretched out his thick bands of muscle under a mat of brown hair.
