The Darkwood Wand

Night Fifteen-Signs

Hermione closed Slughorn's office door and ran halfway down the corridor before stopping to catch her breath. Merlin, she'd barely gotten out of there. The invitation had listed 7 p.m. to 9 p.m., but Slughorn kept finding ways to draw out the evening. Thank Merlin for Trelawney, who'd woken from a nap on the sofa and began grabbing people and wailing about the Cold White Hands of Fate. That helped clear the room.

She checked her wristwatch: nine-forty. There was an alcove at the end of the corridor where she could wait until ten, when she'd Vanish to ...

To Draco. The wizard had left the party long before, but Hermione still flushed to think how handsome he'd looked in black robes with steel-grey ruffs at his wrists and throat. Hermione's red-and-gold nails, which had shortened as she reviewed Isobel's party study, had lengthened again with only a few words from him. She hadn't expected such a striking recovery and immediately began babbling ...

Shaking her head to clear it, Hermione yanked the alcove's curtains aside to reveal Romilda and Cormac. "Sorry!"

She moved down the corridor to another alcove, this one warded against entry, but not sound: "Don't push me, Isobel ..." No, that growl couldn't be Justin's! "Or you'll find how demanding I can be. I like everything just so ..."

Hermione fled again and discovered that every alcove and classroom on the Fifth Floor was occupied by couples snogging, or more. It was nearly ten—someone was going to see her Vanish if she didn't—

"Granger?"

Oh Sweet Merlin, what had she ever done in her life to deserve repeated encounters with Theodore Nott? Hermione spun around with a fake smile and a quick look at her watch. Nine-fifty-two.

Nott looked irritated, although Hermione couldn't imagine why. Slughorn's party appeared to be a success, even by Isobel's metrics, and Nott's scheming had benefited both Draco and his House.

"Patrolling to report tipsy couples?" Nott sneered. "And here I thought you Gryffindors were hopeless romantics."

"I was ... I was ..." Hermione couldn't help staring at a distinct handprint on his round cheek. Someone had slapped Nott. Good for them.

"What happened to you?" she asked.

Nott looked shifty. "Nothing."

"Daphne Greengrass?" Hermione guessed.

The wizard just glared.

Hermione crossed her arms, amused. "I suppose you tried to kiss her. Or insulted her. Which was it?"

"You don't know what you're talking about," Nott snapped. "And it wasn't an insult!"

"What did you say?"

Nott looked up and down the empty corridor and was silent.

"Clearly, you were an idiot somehow." Hermione said. "I won't tell anyone. Hopeless romantic, remember?"

Nott visibly warred with himself before snapping: "I told her that Divination was rubbish."

"You what?" Hermione dropped her arms, aghast.

"Well it is, Granger!"

"Of course it is! But you don't tell her that! What kind of Slytherin are you?"

"I had to say something!" Nott sounded almost desperate. "She told me we weren't in the stars and that my aura was all wrong and that the cards warned her against me. Then she started describing frog entrails!"

"Erg," Hermione said, revolted.

"Quite so," Nott agreed. "Who does that? She just stood there, right in the middle of the party, and listed all the spells and scries and sticks she'd cast for us and how every single one spoke against me!"