Dramione Spellbound

Draco stood alone in the Ravenclaw library's lab, glaring after Granger and Lovegood. Malfoys do not get dismissed. They are not given orders.

He was tempted to ignore Granger's demand to find Tennant and just return to the dormitory. That witch would show up in his bed in forty minutes, and he'd make her understand. He'd make her...

"Draco?" Isobel was standing in front of him, squinting through the glasses she had put back on.

"What?" he snapped at her, and she flinched. Draco sighed—this wasn't her fault, and yelling at a Ravenclaw was a good way to get thrown out of the party.

"What is it, Isobel?" he asked more gently.

Isobel lowered her gaze to the transparent sleeve of her black dress, under which Draco spotted the outline of a small scrap of parchment. Salazar, what now?

"Draco…" The witch took a deep breath and began again. "Draco, I really enjoyed getting to know you, and I'm glad to see that you're not the embodiment of evil."

Draco frowned.

"Also, you can be rather charming," Isobel continued shyly. "Though I am surprised at how hopeless you are in academics. But I'm sure you'll manage if you put in the effort," she added quickly, afraid she'd offended him.

Draco merely nodded dutifully, and she went on.

"I believe the current circumstances call for… for… oh, excuse me."

The Ravenclaw glanced at her sleeve, reading the text through the fabric, and nodded. Draco nearly groaned—she'd clearly written a whole speech. Bloody Ravenclaws.

"Ah yes," she continued with more confidence, "the circumstances call for a more thoughtful approach to…" She peeked at her crib sheet again.

"Isobel, for Salazar's sake, just read whatever it is you want to say," Draco muttered, glancing at the door that led deeper into the library.

"Oh, thank you." The witch gratefully pulled the parchment from her sleeve.

"Draco, it's been a pleasure getting to know you better, and I'm glad the rumors about your wickedness and depravity were… somewhat exaggerated."

"Only somewhat?" Draco drawled lazily.

Isobel ignored him and plowed on:

"I'm also grateful that you came to me for help with your studies, which you so desperately need. Dealing with your… primitive problems has actually been quite enjoyable."

"Isobel," Draco growled.

"However, in my personal opinion, and after consulting with others, I believe that a romantic relationship with you—despite its tempting potential and your seductive 'bad boy' image who's just dying to be reformed by a good girl…"

Draco stared at her, too stunned to speak.

"…And though such a relationship would no doubt benefit you, given your struggle to reintegrate into polite society, not to mention your regrettable lack of academic or social skills…"

Isobel lowered the parchment.

"Frankly, Draco," she said, "it's hard to believe you fixed that Vanishing Cabinet yourself and let all those Death Eaters into the school. Someone must have helped you."

"No one helped me," he snapped.

"Those Vanishing spells are rather temperamental—if your incantation or wand movement isn't perfectly precise, it can trigger unintended side effects or backlashes—"

"I know," Draco ground out through clenched teeth. "Are you done?"

"Almost." Isobel's glasses slid to the tip of her nose as she glanced once more at the parchment.

"As I said, it's unlikely such a relationship would support my own goals, and my time is better spent pursuing a more stable—if less charismatic—romantic partner."

She gave him a strange look—almost regretful—then added:

"In conclusion, trying to keep you in check would be exhausting and yield unpredictable results. That task is better suited to a stricter and more dominant witch."

Isobel folded the parchment and tucked it back into her sleeve. She squinted at Draco again.

"Have you considered any Gryffindor girls?"

"No," Draco lied.

"Gryffindor girls love hopeless cases and—"

"Thank you for the valuable advice," Draco said in a glacial tone.

— I didn't mean… Isobel faltered, looking upset. — I was just trying to…

— I know, Draco said. Thank you, Isobel.

He lightly touched her hand. Draco himself didn't know what he was thanking her for—spending time with her hadn't brought him any closer to his goals—but Isobel seemed reassured and lifted her head with a hopeful expression.

Draco blinked. She didn't expect him to kiss her, did she? In front of everyone? After delivering such a direct and absurd ending to their… whatever it had been?

Confused, Draco gave her a vague nod—ambiguous enough to be interpreted however she wanted—and stepped back, feeling awkward but also deeply relieved.

He headed for the Transfiguration classroom, but Tennant was no longer in the chair Granger had thrown him into. Had the wizard really managed to slip past while Draco was listening to Isobel's speech? He paced around the room, pulling back curtains and tapestries, checking cozy reading nooks—most of them occupied by couples.

Ahead of him was a long, narrow tapestry depicting the Sorceress Melisande offering her husband wine from the Doomed Goblet. Melisande's face was twisted in rage, but her husband looked almost delighted to receive the drink. Probably because, by that point, he was already longing for death.

Draco pulled back the tapestry and found it concealed a narrow passage that led to the largest reading nook of all. Inside was a small sofa, and on it sat Tennant—still in the guise of Finch-Fletchley. On either side of him were two witches gently stroking his hair.

— It's just awful, Justin, that someone cursed you like that, cooed the brunette. And you were only trying to protect Granger from that dreadful… Malfoy!

Both girls squeaked and snuggled closer to Tennant. Draco rolled his eyes. Tennant winked at Draco and pulled the girls in even tighter.

— Don't curse him! the other witch exclaimed.

— Yes, please don't hurt me, Mister Malfoy, Tennant said.

Draco froze, unsure what to do. What would Granger do?—whispered a quiet voice of reason he didn't hear often. The tension in his body began to ebb. Touching his wand in his pocket, he murmured a barely audible spell.

— Justin, what's happening to your hair? the dark-haired witch asked worriedly.

— It's going blond, said the other. I liked it better when it was dark.

Tennant's eyes widened, and he immediately pulled away from the girls' arms.

— I need to go, darlings, he said, standing up. Not feeling too well.

He slapped the nearest girl's behind and headed for the exit of the alcove. Draco stepped back, allowing Tennant to squeeze past—only possible thanks to Finch-Fletchley's slim frame.

The girls followed him, but Draco trailed Tennant closely. As they passed through the Magical Creatures Hall, Draco whispered another spell—Engorgio—on Tennant's left hand. The man picked up his pace.

Tennant darted through the portrait entrance, and Draco rushed after him, only to be blocked by Ginny Weasley, who stepped into his path on the spiral staircase to the Ravenclaw tower.

Draco blinked reflexively. Today the Weaslette was wearing a skirt and a knitted jumper that clashed horrendously with her braided hair. The giant golden letter G on her sweater shimmered in the lamp light.

— Malfoy! Weasley yelled, and he nearly groaned. Great, the redhead probably thought he was staring at her chest. Just perfect—way to end up with a worse reputation than Tennant. Idiot.

— Move, Draco snapped.

— Trying to sneak into the party, huh? Weasley pulled out her wand. Get lost, and don't let me see you here again.

— I am trying to leave the party, you psycho…

— Where's Rowle? I'm sure he snuck in too.

Salazar, this witch had terrifyingly good instincts.

— You two did something, and now you're trying to run away, the redhead hissed. What did you do?

— I didn't do anything, Draco said, doing his best not to fidget. He considered just pushing Weasley aside, but she was tall for a girl, had her wand out, and attacking a war heroine was a straight ticket back to Azkaban.

Weasley narrowed her eyes.

— Legilimens!

Caught off guard, Draco raised his shields a moment too late, and the image blazed before his mind's eye: Hermione spinning in his arms, smiling, her curls bouncing playfully around her face. "You have a future…"

Weasley recoiled, eyes wide:

— Hermione?!

Draco took advantage of her shock, lunged forward, and shoved the Gryffindor aside, casting a shield charm behind him. He had zero interest in getting hit with her famous Bat-Bogey Hex.

He raced down the spiral staircase of the tower, glancing into corridors on each landing. Tennant had surely stashed clothes somewhere—Finch-Fletchley's form wouldn't fit after the transformation wore off. Unless he headed straight…

To our dorm.

Draco pulled out his watch: 9:50 PM.

He cursed loudly, causing a few students on the staircase to jump aside. He remembered drawing the bed curtains but hadn't cast any protective spells—any flash of white light might be visible, not to mention Tennant could hear Hermione appear.

Merlin, this is a disaster.

Hermione had no idea of the danger. She could end up alone with Tennant—and that would be entirely Draco's fault.