Dramione Spellbound

After Tennant left, Draco surveyed his bed as if it were a hippogriff's cage, covered with cloth. One more second — and he and Granger would have been exposed. She was probably on the verge of hysterics. Draco himself wouldn't have minded a good fit of hysterics.

He deliberately drew out his preparations for bed: he meticulously folded his clothes, put away his rings, cufflinks, and tie pin in their designated places. He tidied up his already impeccable desk. He stroked the cat ears on the inkwells until the fluffy tips disappeared. Ever since the harlequin wand had turned his inkwells into kittens, tiny white ears and tails continued to appear if Draco didn't stroke them regularly. All he could do was pray Tennant hadn't noticed anything.

Finally, he was back in front of the bed, clutching his wand, watch, and pajama shirt. The bed was dark and silent, but given the protective charms cast, Granger could be setting off fireworks inside — no one would hear.

When Draco finally got inside, she, still dressed in the blue dress, was sitting on the edge of the bed, her bare feet stretched out. His book on wand-making lay on her lap, but Granger was not busy reading. She was writing something on an unrolled parchment with a strange Muggle instrument. Her wand, attached to the bedpost above a carved snake, was emitting a soft golden light.

"You're back," she said, without looking up. "Good. You can help me with the schedule."

Draco froze, still kneeling and pressing his belongings to his chest, and stared at her.

"The schedule."

"Yes." She drew vertical lines on the parchment, then horizontal ones across.

Draco mentally ordered his brain to work, and to his great relief, it obeyed.

"You want to put Tennant under surveillance," he said.

She nodded, her eyes still on the parchment.

"He can't attack girls with impunity."

"Granger, you heard what Tennant said. You can't even get near him."

She continued to scribble on the parchment.

"Granger..." Draco crawled under the covers, placing his wand, watch, and pajama shirt beside him. In the soft light of Granger's wand, the water sapphire pendant cast a faint shadow on her... Stop.

"Don't even hope you'll be able to follow Tennant," he continued. "You don't know what he is. You don't know what happened to him at the manor."

Granger finally looked up at him, and her eyes held something between sadness and anger.

"He was bitten, wasn't he?" she said quietly. "A rabid... dog."

"Yes," Draco swallowed hard.

The Dark Lord loved to punish sons for the sins of fathers, and Thorfin's failure to capture the Golden Trio in London cost him far more than a feeble Cruciatus at Draco's hand. Much more.

A memory surfaced: the sensation of Fenrir Greyback's scorching breath on his neck — impatient and greedy, but fortunately, unsatisfied. The scratching of claws on priceless family antiques. A bloody hand with long nails, falling heavily on Tennant's shoulder, leading him out of the drawing room...

"But Tennant isn't a werewolf," Granger's voice came from somewhere far away.

"I don't think so. Greyback was in his human form then... at least when I saw him." Draco's hand convulsively gripped his wand. That very scene still stood before his eyes. Greyback's paw. Tennant's wide eyes. The only time Draco had seen Rowley scared.

He with difficulty returned to reality — finding himself back in his bed, while Granger frowned, pondering something.

"But Tennant has wolf-like traits," she mused. "A love for rare meat and raw bones, heightened hearing and smell. And, I suppose, scars that cannot be removed or masked by charms. Like Bill Weasley's."

Her voice sounded distant, but Draco didn't need a reminder of who exactly allowed Greyback to get into Hogwarts to disfigure that very Weasley. He looked away from Granger, staring at the nearest bedpost. The carved snake on it seemed to mock him. You stood on one side with murderers and monsters. Don't think your cowardice changes anything.

A tender small hand unexpectedly touched his fingers, and he flinched, sharply pulling his hand away.

"Don't pity me, Granger," he blurted out.

She snorted.

"I'm not pitying you. We've all done things we have to live with."

"Oh really? You also dabbled in torture during the war? Betrayed others?"

"Certainly not torture," Granger said.

A heavy silence hung in the air as Draco scrutinized her. Who did the Golden Girl betray?

"Well then," Granger said cheerfully, poking him with a small white stick as if it were a magic wand. "Do you know Tennant's schedule?"

"No."

"You do." She thrust the parchment and the white stick at him. "This is a pen. Fill in the schedule... no, not that end, the writing end... you don't need an inkwell, just write... no, not here, here..."

"Maybe you can do it yourself?" Draco grumbled.

"Nose hair care"? "Basics of salivation at the sight of women?"

"That's part of the Durmstrang curriculum."

"Liar!"

Draco turned his back on her, but Granger nudged him with her forehead, like one of his kitten inkwells, and rested her chin on his shoulder. Her hair tickled his neck and chin as she read aloud:

"Seminar on 'Show... me... s-s-s...'... Malfoy!"

He turned slightly so their faces were an inch apart.

"With pleasure," he purred.

"Malfoy! Give it here!"

"I repeat: with pleasure."

"You're a big boy now!"

"Quite big."

"A-A-A-A!" Granger sprang back, shaking the bed so hard that the carved snakes trembled. "You need to take this seriously, Malfoy!"

"I am serious," he retorted sharply, suddenly losing all his playful tone. "It's you who imagined you could track a werewolf-bitten predator with a schedule and your stubbornness. I won't allow it."

He expected another outburst of indignation, but Granger's eyes suddenly flared with a fire he didn't like at all.

"I don't need your schedule," she said. "I have something better."

She stuffed her wand into her pink handbag, mumbling something under her breath. A worn piece of parchment appeared in her hand, which she extended to Draco.

He couldn't believe his eyes. Before him was a detailed map of Hogwarts, where the location of every occupant was marked with a dot. Secret passages and staircases twisted through the castle, most areas were marked, and the Ravenclaw library was still teeming with numerous dots. The Slytherin dungeons remained mostly unmarked — except for the common room, and Draco's bedroom and bathroom. He could discern a dot with Tennant's name, and very close by, so close that they merged into a shapeless blob, two more: Draco Malfoy and Hermione Granger.

His mouth went dry.

"How long have you and your cronies been using this map?" he asked hoarsely.

"Many years. It's called the Marauder's Map."

Draco looked at her self-satisfied face, and conjectures flashed through his mind — so that's how Potter... and... and... He sharply shook his head, pulling himself back to the present with an effort.

"So that's how you knew where Finch-Fletchley was today."

She nodded.

"Polyjuice Potion can't fool the Map. If I had checked it earlier, I would have immediately seen Tennant at the party."

Draco continued to examine the map with admiring bewilderment.

"Why is only a part of the dungeons marked here?"

"Because Harry and Ron only visited the common room, and I — your bedroom," she explained.

"When was Potter ever in our common room?"

Granger blushed slightly.

"In second year. I brewed Polyjuice Potion in Moaning Myrtle's toilet, and Harry and Ron turned into Crabbe and Goyle. We were trying to find out who the Heir of Slytherin was."

Draco mentally went back to those days — a whole lifetime had passed since then. He didn't remember Crabbe and Goyle behaving in any particularly strange way, but then again, they were always hopelessly stupid.

"Harry, Ron, and I are considered the new Marauders," Granger said. "Others can see the map, but only we can add new areas."

Draco avidly studied the Slytherin common room, noting that Theo's and Daphne's dots were nearby. A small group — most likely first-years violating curfew — aimlessly wandered through the labyrinth of the dungeons.

Finally, he tore himself away from the Map and frowned.

"All this is great, of course, but what's the point of just staring at the map?"

"What's the point? Isn't it obvious? We can stop him!"

"Can we?" He arched an eyebrow. "Don't you think Tennant will suspect something when his plans repeatedly fail? And each time one of us will be right there?"

"We'll be careful. A precisely aimed curse or a teacher accidentally in the way..."

"He'll quickly figure it out," Draco warned. "Not immediately, but sooner than you think. Don't underestimate him."

"We can use the Map in turns," Granger continued enthusiastically, as if she hadn't heard him. "Tomorrow I'll follow Tennant as soon as he leaves the dungeons. I need irrefutable proof before we go to McGonagall."

"We?" This time, both of Draco's eyebrows shot up.

"She needs to know you're helping," Granger stated stubbornly.

Draco almost groaned. She really was going to fix him — not just his character (which was already annoying enough), but his reputation too. Theo would go ballistic if he found out. Gryffindors...

"We won't be able to thwart Tennant every time," Draco tried to steer the conversation back to the topic. "Sometimes we'll have to let him win. Randomly."

Granger winced slightly, but nodded.

"I hate all this," she whispered. "I hate him."

Draco's hand instinctively reached for hers. You're comforting her. Had he ever comforted anyone? She moved closer, sniffling slightly, and Draco sank onto the pillows, pulling her with him.

"It'll be alright," he said. "We'll keep an eye on him."

She looked at him thoughtfully, his hands on her waist holding her in place. The tiny Neptune swayed on its chain between them.

"But you'll have to stay away," Draco continued.

Granger tried to pull away.

"Very funny," he said, tightening his grip on her waist. "You have to stay away from Tennant. Don't let him see or smell you."

She nodded.

"Say 'yes'," he demanded sternly. "Otherwise I won't help, with or without the Map."

Granger rolled her eyes.

"Yes, I promise to stay away from Tennant."

Draco didn't believe a word of it. He'd have to watch both of them. But that would be tomorrow.

For now, she was next to him — her loose hair fanning out around them, and she was looking down at him. The moment stretched, both waiting... but for what? A kiss? A password? Some revelation? Malfoy's don't reveal things, a cold voice echoed in his head. Try crying a little. You idiot, Black.

Draco agreed. He raised his hand, tracing his thumb along the tender skin of her cheek, then her lower lip, mimicking its curve — in a way, he hoped, no one else did.

"Don't worry," she said softly. "I'll be careful."

His fingers slid lower along her throat, to the Neptune on its chain.

"You don't know what he's capable of."

"I'll be careful," she repeated, cupping his face in her hands, and kissed him.

He responded to the kiss instantly, pulling her closer. Salazar, how he needed this.

Draco had never seen a Patronus — in third year he had hidden under a cloak, pretending to be a Dementor, when Potter cast the spell. But he remembered that pale light, breaking through the fabric, the echoes of warming energy. He immediately stopped flailing his arms, ignoring Greg and Vincent's nudges. The light filled him, giving a sense of power and inner purity. Many spend a lifetime chasing that feeling — and he was holding it in his arms.

Not to mention, Granger now frankly smelled of his Étoile Magique. Draco bit into her neck, craving to leave his mark. Their conversation about Tennant and werewolves had awakened his own predatory instincts. His hands slid down her back, fumbling to unfasten something, and he felt the dress slipping under his fingers.

Now she was lying completely on top of him.

"Malfoy..." she whispered.

"Draco," he corrected, his hands exploring the weightless boundary between silk and skin.

"Draco..."

Oh, how he liked that yearning in her voice. A memory from the party flashed before his eyes — the shocked faces of the insufferable Gryffindors. Ah, if they could see us now... Their princess-know-it-all, practically straddling me, moaning my name...

"Draco." A sharp tone pierced through the haze of his desire, and he blinked, looking at her.

Granger pulled away, holding her dress with one hand.

"Again?!" he groaned, sitting up with a displeased look. "I'm not a toy to be bossed around, Granger."

His Black side protested: Please, please, boss me around.

Granger's face flushed even more.

"We need to talk about... about this." She waved her hand helplessly, as if that explained anything.

Draco sighed.

"I suppose so."

"But I... I haven't prepared," Granger stammered.

Draco tensed.

"I'm not going to listen to any pre-prepared speeches."

"Of course not," she replied too quickly, and he narrowed his eyes.

"I... you... we..." Granger made several inarticulate sounds before forcing out two words.

"It's late," she finally said.

Something in her voice made him swallow the sharp retort. She really did look tired, Draco noticed — almost like then, in the old DADA classroom. Shadows lay under her eyes, the corners of her mouth sagged with weariness. And now that his hands were no longer touching her, his own exhaustion weighed heavily. A long night. A long week. A long month. A long year.

"Well, fine," he said, as if granting a great mercy.

Granger grabbed his pajama shirt and began to extricate herself from her dress.

"And now, could you please turn away..."

"Turn away? You're undressing in my bed and asking me to turn away?"

"A-a-a, you're the most insolent jerk I've ever... Yes, I'm asking you to turn away!" Granger grumbled, deftly managing to remove her dress and put on his shirt without exposing an inch of extra skin. Then she slipped under the covers and gave Draco an equally displeased look.

"I hope Luna confirms your story about Isobel," she said.

"She will."

"Because, seriously, Malfoy, that was..."

"She will," Draco repeated, feeling that despite her grumbling, Granger was settling in beside him. He pulled her close, his eyelids closing, his cheek sinking into her soft curls. Consciousness drifted away, like a boat torn from its moorings, and Draco fell asleep, hugging Granger and dreaming of dancing and dots on the map.