Dramione Spellbound

On Monday afternoon, the library was almost empty — most students were enjoying a rare day off outdoors. Sunbeams penetrated through the tall stained-glass windows, reflecting glares from the glass cabinets. Hermione settled down in one of her favorite corners, enjoying the silence in the company of gargoyles.

It always surprised her that an entire section in the library was dedicated to gargoyles. Madam Pince had placed a few stone figures among the books, but the shelves still looked rather sparse. Even Hermione didn't have much interest in the subject — all gargoyles did was sit on buttresses and spit rainwater. Besides, they had a disgusting sense of humor, so the first thing she did upon entering the gargoyle section was to cast a Silencing Charm on all the figurines. This corner of the section, with only one table, was quite secluded, though gaps between the books allowed glimpses into the neighboring section on magical creatures. Hermione had been sitting here for over an hour with a werewolf handbook open before her. The chapter on the Werewolf Code of Conduct of 1637 was quite interesting, especially the section on the brave Aurors who tracked ghastly creatures across Europe to have them sign the document.

But Hermione wasn't reading at all. She was staring into space and twisting a curl around her finger just like... like a girl.

It was time to talk to Malfoy. Spending every night in a luxurious bed with a tall, blond Slytherin was dangerous. If Hermione continued to rely on chance, she would eventually do something she wasn't ready for yet. Yes, they needed to discuss everything. Make a plan. Lay all their cards on the table. At least she needed to — Malfoy, from the looks of it, already had everything on the table, perhaps things Hermione didn't even know he possessed.

A gaze into the void. A curl on a finger. A gaze. A curl.

Hermione pulled her hand away from her hair. One way or another... they needed to talk. Yes. Talk. Maybe even draw up an algorithm: start here, then an arrow there, then an arrow here, and then way over there.

Excellent. She was thinking like a Ravenclaw. If Malfoy refused to listen to pre-prepared speeches (it was a tempting idea, unfortunately), she could imagine his reaction to visual aids. Although, perhaps he wouldn't have noticed the small memo attached to the canopy for convenience — even when he was underneath...

Hermione buried her flushed face in the cool pages of the werewolf book. Oh Merlin, how could she get so aroused in the library? Sexual dissatisfaction — that's what it was. She hadn't had the opportunity to pleasure herself for... well, eight days. Romilda flew in and out of their room without any schedule, often skipping classes (how irresponsible!), and of course Hermione couldn't allow herself to relax in Malfoy's bed, though he, clearly, wouldn't object, and most likely would even want to... Enough. Hermione couldn't breathe — both from her thoughts and from pressing her nose into the old parchment. Ron and Harry had once teased her about drooling over books, and now she was literally doing it. And all because of Malfoy. After eight days of abstinence.

She hastily removed the damp stain with a spell, feeling guilty, as if she had finished on the book or something. (She had no doubt that such things happened in a castle full of often bored teenagers, and so she always magically cleaned any book from the Hogwarts library first.) Phew. None of this helped to solve her problem.

A gaze into the void. A curl on a finger. A gaze. A curl.

Everything was utterly simple — this situation required a detailed discussion of personal boundaries. Malfoy was unlikely to like it, but, as they say, the end justifies the means. He might be used to dominating relationships with women, but he was capable of changing. The last eight days had proven this. From crude grabs and a growling "mudblood" on the first night, he had progressed to worrying about her safety and embraces in which...

Hermione twisted the curl tighter around her finger, pulling the skin above her ear taught. Had he really changed that much? Or had he always been like that — beneath the mask of a cold Slytherin? Perhaps the war had driven his humane side deeper, but had not completely destroyed him? Could it be because of her? Hermione felt her face flush again. Was she the one who brought out the real Draco? It sounded ridiculous, but other explanations were even less plausible: either she had become the victim of a multi-stage plot to humiliate her in the most sophisticated way possible, or Malfoy had experienced a sudden, Trelawney-esque epiphany — and his tiny, cold heart had tripled in size in one day.

In any case, the new variable in this equation was Hermione herself, she would have to admit it. Their relationship had definitely changed, and the nights were becoming hotter and more tense, so the conversation was overdue.

She sighed. It was unlikely everything would go smoothly. Their dialogues with Malfoy usually went downhill from the very first sentences. Give it here, Malfoy...

It was good that the gargoyle section was empty — Hermione couldn't stop giggling for a while. Malfoy annoyed her so much that sometimes she didn't immediately realize how amusing he actually was. "I don't need a governess," he had said then. Haha, he just killed her sometimes...

What was that?

Hermione looked up, hearing footsteps on the other side of the bookcase. Long, pale fingers pulled a book from the top shelf. Her heart skipped a beat, but when the stranger turned, she recognized Justin's haughty profile — with whom she hadn't spoken since the previous evening.

Not that Justin wanted to communicate. The Head Boy had become even more withdrawn once rumors of his drunken antics spread throughout the school. Hermione couldn't figure out if people were exaggerating everything, or if Tennant really had been so... occupied. It was unlikely that a Slytherin could truly loudly shag two girls simultaneously behind a tapestry in the Hall of Prophecy.

"Mr. Finch-Fletchley?" A female voice distinctly carried through the shelves. From yesterday, Hermione recognized it as Isobel's.

"Miss McDougall. Can I help you?" Justin inquired with cold politeness.

"I very much hope so, sir."

A short pause ensued before Justin spoke:

"I am always happy to assist my fellow students, but, as Head Boy, I am burdened with many obligations, so..."

"You may not recall, Mr. Finch-Fletchley," said Isobel, "but yesterday at the party we had a very... interesting... conversation."

"Well, yes," a hint of nervousness entered Justin's voice. "I hope you understand that I was not quite myself..."

"You offered to give me advice on how to become the Head Girl next year," Isobel continued.

"Ah, yes... Precisely. Quite so." Justin's tone became more confident. "A great honor, of course, bestowed only upon the most worthy. It requires impeccable grades and impeccable adherence to..." he cleared his throat, "ahem, the norms of decency."

"And, as I recall, you wanted something in return," Isobel said pointedly. "In order 'to become a happy boys' Head Boy'?" But, naturally, I could not even hypothetically consider the possibility of providing a service... of that kind."

Hermione covered her mouth with her hand. Merlin. Justin had clearly caught Isobel's hint (was she using gestures?). He stepped back from the bookshelf, his cheeks burning bright red.

"I must confess, your proposal shocked me, Mr. Finch-Fletchley," Isobel continued. "I had no idea you were capable of such... impropriety."

"I assure you, I'm not—" Justin's haughty mask instantly dropped, revealing a typically Hufflepuff expression. "My... my behavior was completely inappropriate, and I offer my deepest apologies. Such actions are unforgivable, Miss McDougall, and if you decide to report—"

"Oh, I am terribly offended," Isobel said. "You will definitely have to make amends, Mr. Finch-Fletchley."

Hermione and Justin's mouths fell open. Was Isobel seriously going to blackmail him? That was not Ravenclaw-like at all.

Justin disappeared from view — likely pressed against the wall, as Hermione could now only see Isobel's blonde head.

"You are so mysterious, Mr. Finch-Fletchley," the Ravenclaw woman said calmly. A rustle of parchment was heard. "I am ready to consider you as a candidate, taking into account that your immorality is balanced by an impeccable reputation and impressive academic achievements."

"My... that is... immorality—" Hermione had never heard Justin stammer like that.

"I'll be in touch. Have a nice day, Mr. Finch-Fletchley."

Isobel's footsteps faded, followed by Justin's desperate "Merlin!" and he too left. Hermione quickly gathered her books and followed him into the spacious Astronomy section with a large, floor-to-ceiling window. The shocked Hufflepuff collapsed into a chair beside a small telescope pointing outwards.

"Hermione." He sprang to his feet as soon as she entered. "Good to see you."

Although Justin's tone did not seem to be truly happy. His back was unnaturally straight, and his fingers gripped the star map so that his knuckles turned white. But there was determination in his eyes.

"Thank you for helping me last night," he said. "And I sincerely apologize..."

"You have nothing to apologize for," Hermione interrupted. She was terribly embarrassed.

"For a reason," Justin continued stubbornly. "I was told that we, uh, danced, and I behaved... too persistently."

His tone was cool, but his hands were folding the map into smaller and smaller squares, and Hermione was beginning to fear that the blue parchment would disappear altogether.

"Please, forgive me."

"Of course," Hermione said. "You weren't yourself."

"But that's not an excuse," Justin said hotly. "I don't deserve such leniency." He shook his head. "No more homemade brandy. Hannah poured the rest into the sink."

Justin's gaze fell on the crumpled star map. Realizing what he had done, he smoothed it out with a spell.

"I've been thinking about your astronomical clock," he continued, still blushing. "I have several theories."

"Fine," Hermione said. "Here, take these." She took a wooden box from her purse. "Why don't you borrow them for a while? I've already strained my eyes studying the mechanism."

Justin's face brightened. He carefully took the box in his hands.

"You'll entrust them to me?"

"I trust you in everything, Justin," Hermione said firmly. "Always."

"Can I show them to my father? He's a very authoritative specialist in..."

"Yes, of course," Hermione said quickly. If Justin began to talk about the illustrious career of Dr. Alistair Finch-Fletchley, it would take all day.

Justin was too absorbed in the clock to be offended.

"I'll take them to the common room for safety. Thank you, Hermione." He gave her a rare Hufflepuff smile and walked away.

Touched, Hermione watched him go, then reached for the Map, walking over to the huge open window to get a better look at it. There were twenty minutes left before the Transfiguration team meeting, and there was hope that Tennant would continue to linger in the dungeons while she...

"Well, well, well," a familiar hateful voice announced that she didn't need a magic map to find Tennant.

Hermione looked up and saw the Slytherin leaning against the bookcase at the entrance to the section.

She met Tennant's gaze, and he smiled at her, though his eyes remained cold. They were silent, appraising each other, and in the almost empty library there were only the echoes of footsteps and the rustle of pages.

Looking at him, Hermione understood why some girls fell for this family ring and aristocratic arrogance. Even in his rumpled clothes and trembling hands, Tennant had the same vicious appeal as Malfoy and Zabini. It was strange to meet him in the library on the weekend, but, apparently, even sex-obsessed predatory psychopaths prepare for O.W.L.s. And then... Hermione had seen him almost in a vision, roaming the corridors of the Ministry, intimidating young witches, bribing everyone on his way to power, just as Lucius Malfoy had once done.

She took a deep breath and smoothed out the crumpled Map. It's okay. We won't let that happen. Her movement broke the silence. Tennant grinned.

"Our Head Boy looked quite pleased," he said. "Did you enjoy your sharp tongue?"

"You're so predictable, Rowley." She needed to leave. The Astronomy section was quite spacious, but Tennant could smell Malfoy's scent, ingrained in her skin and hair, even though she had showered twice. Hermione slipped the Map into her pocket and touched her wand. A huge gilded tome of Magical Space and Time began to slowly slide off the shelf directly above Tennant's head, its red leather binding glittering in the sun.

Tennant's gaze slowly swept over her figure.

"You're wasting your time on that puff, baby."

"I'm wasting my time on you," she retorted, taking a step closer to the window. The passage between the shelves allowed her to slip into the Herbology section — she could already smell the herbs. Hermione hated looking frightened in front of Tennant, but she couldn't let him get closer.

"You're watching me, Hermione," he growled. The book above his head moved another inch. "Interested? Looking for the right mentor?"

She snorted.

"Don't be ridiculous. Get out."

"You're giving orders," Tennant tilted his head. "I can't stand such people. But perhaps you can change my mind."

"Oh no, that's a terrible idea," she said sincerely. "The worst thing you can imagine. I am a real nightmare."

"Draco doesn't think so."

Hermione tensed, but said nothing, only taking another step back.

"You're unfair to me," Tennant grimaced, and it looked disgusting. "You're flirting with Draco and with our Head Boy... and you pay no attention to me at all."

"You're pathetic," Hermione snapped, losing patience. "Even more pathetic than your father, and I thought that was impossible."

Tennant's face darkened.

"Don't you dare insult my father."

"I'll insult any Death Eater I want, and their pathetic imitators, too." Now Hermione chuckled. "Is that all you want out of life, Rowley? To harass girls and suffer that Voldemort's time has come to an end?"

"Smug little bitch!" Tennant threw the table away, and the moon model rolled across the floor. The heavy impact of his boot turned the moon into plaster crumbs.

Hermione stepped closer to the aisle between the shelves, clutching her wand in her pocket.

"I'll make you beg," he said softly.

Hermione stared at him.

"Violence and sex are all you can do? Are you even capable of talking to a woman as a person?"

Tennant shifted his weight almost imperceptibly — and Hermione instantly raised her wand in a dueling stance.

"Just try it," she said coldly. "Take one step and you'll lose your favorite body part. That would be a shame, wouldn't it, Rowley? After all, apparently, it replaces your brains." The tip of her wand dropped slightly. "Just. Like. Thorfinn's."

Tennant sprang forward with an expression on his face as if he were about to strangle her with his bare hands — and the massive red tome crashed from the shelf directly onto his head.

"Bitch!" His roar echoed through the quiet library as Hermione quickly retreated to the aisle between the sections, not lowering her wand.

The Slytherin remained where he was, rubbing his head, but his low voice followed her between the shelves of Herbology books:

"You'll regret your words, lion cub. I'll teach you good manners, and you won't like my teaching methods."

Blood roared in her ears as Hermione hurriedly left the library. She knew she had been rash, but every word of Tennant's infuriated her. She could easily imagine him spewing the same phrases at vulnerable girls who hadn't fought the Death Eaters and couldn't...

She suddenly stopped, almost turning to run back and curse Tennant properly, but instead forced herself into a nearby classroom and placed a protective charm on the door.

According to the Map, Tennant was still in the Astronomy section — apparently, he had finally remembered his studies. Malfoy's dot was also in the library, in his favorite dark corner. Hermione snorted: it seemed he didn't trust her.

Both Slytherins remained in the library for over an hour, while an angry Hermione sat in the empty classroom. She had missed the Transfiguration group meeting — on the Map, they were clustered in the east wing of the library. Most likely, Nott was teaching the class, and now it would take her weeks to get everyone back on track.

Finally, Tennant left, and she followed both Slytherins to the dungeons. Malfoy slipped into one convenient alcove, so Hermione found another, and they both watched as Tennant whispered the password and the delicate silver grille that covered the entrance to the dungeons rose, allowing him to slip inside.

Hermione jumped out of the alcove, not caring if Malfoy had noticed her, and strode up the stairs, grumbling to herself. What part of the phrase "I'll follow him outside the dungeons" was incomprehensible? Completely ineffective.

Hermione had expected to be able to have a cup of tea in peace, but upon entering the bedroom, she found Ginny standing by the fireplace. Ginny had been aloof all day, and Hermione wondered if it had anything to do with Ginny's visit to the Burrow over the weekend. Maybe Ron was still angry despite the letter, or Molly had said something to her.

Ginny took a step forward, narrowing her eyes.

"You smell like a man. What posters do I have hanging above my bed in the Burrow?"

"Um... that all-female Quidditch team... 'Hollywood Hydras'."

"Holyhead Harpies," Ginny snapped. "Why did my mother kick me out of the kitchen at Grimmauld Place?"

"Because you wanted to infiltrate an Order meeting." Hermione took off her beaded bag and placed it on the bed. "Is this really necessary?"

"Maybe." Ginny's gaze was piercing. "A lot of strange things are happening in this castle. I heard Justin made an unforgettable impression at the Ravenclaw party."

"It's not his fault," Hermione said.

Ginny nodded.

"He was definitely drunk on something. Probably a lust potion. And they must have added Veritaserum to make him blurt out all his secret thoughts. Maybe even..."

"Ginny, stop."

"It could have been the Imperius. And I've also heard about the magical scrolls from Borgin and Burkes — instructions appear on blank parchment, and the reader is forced to follow them. You didn't see him holding in his hands..."

"Justin is fine now, absolutely."

"Now let's talk about you, Hermione. Did you just meet Justin or—" Ginny took a step closer—"someone else?" She sniffed the air. "A lovely aroma. Too strong for Justin. More... vicious."

Hermione froze in horror, then walked around the red-haired witch and headed for the fireplace to set the kettle on. Just to keep her hands occupied. And buy time to think. Ginny, with her suspicions, was as dangerous as Tennant, in her own way.

"Many wealthy wizards use perfume," Ginny mused aloud. "Especially the Slytherins."

"Slytherins?" Hermione poured water into the kettle. "Like Blaise Zabini?" She noticed the dark-haired wizard squinting at Ginny as she frowned. Kindergarten.

Ginny grinned.

"I doubt you're his type."

"I'm not to the taste of any Slytherin at all."

"You danced with Draco Malfoy at the Ravenclaw party."

Hermione twitched, almost spilling the water, but still managed to hang the kettle over the fire.

"Let's have some tea first," she said calmly, pointing to the chair next to Ginny. "And then we'll talk about what you've heard."

Ginny sank carefully into her chair.

"I haven't heard of you dancing with Malfoy. I saw him."

Hermione placed the tea tray between them.

"Were you there?" She asked, trying to sound at ease.

"No, I wasn't. But don't even try to deny it."

"I don't deny it," Hermione said. "Yes, I danced with Malfoy. We are partners in the Prophecies. He's still... well, a complete jerk, but it's tolerable." She looked at Ginny intently. "How could you see this dance if you weren't there?"

"I ran into Malfoy outside," Ginny said. "It was obvious that he was hiding something, so I used Legilimency."

"And it worked?"

"For a moment," Ginny said. "I saw you dancing with Malfoy. And you smile at him."

Hermione tried her best not to blush. Yesterday she did much more than just smile. The taste of his lips, his hand under her...

The high-pitched whistle of the kettle ruined the moment, much to Hermione's relief. To be honest, Ginny had been getting really intimidating lately. Hermione hurried to the fireplace, putting on a whole show with the tea ceremony.

"So I danced with Malfoy," Hermione said, when they settled back in their chairs. "And I smell like men's perfume. Meanwhile, you break into other people's thoughts and spy on me. I want to restore our friendship, Ginny, but I don't have to report to you."

"You have a future, Malfoy," Ginny quoted with pathos, pressing her hand to her chest.

"Ginny..."

"You're trying to fix him," Ginny hissed. "You sleep with him." Hermione didn't say anything, but Tennant's voice echoed in her mind: "You can't fool me, darling. You smell like a lie. And sin. And sex. So many secrets."

"How did it happen at all?" Ginny asked. "Was the path from Harry Potter to Draco Malfoy so short?"

"I'm not going to discuss this with you." Hermione's voice froze. "You've invaded Malfoy's privacy, and now you're invading mine. As you have diligently demonstrated, we are no longer friends."

Ginny stood up abruptly, her black robes fluttering as she loomed over Hermione. But Hermione was not going to allow herself to be intimidated — she leisurely took a sip of tea, carefully put the cup on the tray. And then she too stood up to her full height.

"Admit it, Ginevra," Hermione said. "You don't really care that I danced with Malfoy. He has nothing to do with it at all..."

"You're wrong." Ginny's voice was as sharp as a whip. "I don't care. I don't give a damn precisely because he doesn't care."

"What are you talking about?"

"I wouldn't believe it if I hadn't seen it myself," Ginny said. "I am a mediocre Legilimen, but this moment was so fresh and vivid that even a child could read it. Not just the scene, but also his feelings."

Hermione felt a little dizzy, unable to comprehend what she had heard.

"To be honest, I'm shocked that Malfoy has feelings at all, let alone feelings for you," Ginny continued. "But the fact remains."

Hermione just stared at her silently, unable to get a word out.

"Malfoy doesn't believe he has a future," Ginny said. "But when you looked at him with those deer eyes and said you believed in him—" well, he melted.

"Melted," Hermione repeated hoarsely.

Ginny shrugged.

"Inside, of course. Outside, he must have continued to frown at you."

"Exactly, he did."

Their eyes met, and unbelievably, Ginny was the first to avert her eyes.

"Perhaps Malfoy is not evil incarnate," she admitted. "And certainly better than his roommate."

"Ah, so you've met Tennant Rowley."

Ginny curled her lips.

"Unfortunately. That guy is definitely watching you."

"Tennant hunts girls," Hermione snapped. "A Death Eater without a Mark. For now, it's just sex for him, but... this is just for now."

"I know. Yesterday I used the Prior Incantato on his wand. It turns out that he loves bubble baths and disappearing bras."

"Ginny!" Hermione was horrified. "What exactly are you doing?"

"They're up to something, Rowley and Malfoy," Ginny said, evading the question. There was a mad twinkle in her eyes — just like Harry's in his sixth year.

Hermione sighed.

"Malfoy has no sinister plans—he just wants to avoid Azkaban."

"And you should avoid him."

"I can't."

Hermione's voice was so sincere that Ginny fell silent and began pacing nervously around the room.

"I need to know more about those fancy pocket watches of Malfoy's. And about his strange wand." She stopped abruptly. "Is Harry aware about Malfoy?"

Hermione made an effort to stay calm.

"He knows we're partners in the Prophecies."

"Harry, Justin, Malfoy," the red-haired witch said coldly. "You're quick to switch alliances."

"That's enough," Hermione stood up. "If you want to talk about Harry—let's talk about Harry. The rest is my own business. And if you try to send Malfoy to Azkaban because of one dance..."

"It's more than a dance," Ginny said. "Malfoy is dangerous, and you and he are involved in something. Rowley too. And I'll find out what."

With that, she spun around, tossing up her black robes, and walked out, slamming the door loudly.

Hermione continued to stand, Ginny's words ringing in her ears: "Feelings for you... it's more than a dance..." Suddenly the room seemed stuffy and cramped to her. She needed to get out of here. She would find Luna, Hermione decided. Luna could confirm Malfoy's ridiculous story about Isobel, and Hermione would explain her disappearance last night.

A quick glance at the Map showed Luna's dot in the castle lobby — she had probably gone hunting for lunamoths in the Forbidden Forest. Disgusting creatures, if her descriptions at dinner yesterday were to be believed. Hermione never finished her beef pasta. She loved her friend, but perhaps she had better dine with the Ravenclaws.

Tennant's dot was now in his bedroom, and Luna had left the lobby, so Hermione slipped the Map into her cardigan pocket and continued down the stairs, heading for the exit.

The castle grounds, deserted at this hour, greeted her with a cold wind and long evening shadows. The sun was setting behind the mountain peaks to the right, spreading multicolored clouds across the sky like splayed fingers. Where had Luna gone? The Map did not show movement outside the castle.

A robed figure appeared ahead of her, and Hermione stopped.

It was Isobel McDougall.

"Hello, Miss Granger," Isobel said calmly. Her heavy blue robe was fastened at the chin with a bronze eagle hairpin. She held a watering can in one hand and a garden trowel in the other.

Hermione's eyes widened.

"You've been to the Forbidden Forest."

Isobel nodded.

"Draco and I planted a young belladonna there on Saturday." She frowned. "He promised to check on her, but it seems he didn't. Other belladonnas attacked the newcomer."

"That often happens," Hermione said. "If they decide that the new plant has no friends, then..."

"Yes, I know. I'm very disappointed in Draco."

"Well, apparently the plant was too young to transplant."

"I couldn't leave him in Draco's care," Isobel said. "In the Forest, he had a better chance of surviving."

Hermione couldn't argue with that, and there was a brief silence between them. Malfoy, Ginny, Tennant, now Isobel... This year, Hermione had too often had to stand in awkward silence in the company of all kinds of people. The Ravenclaw's gaze was appraising — not at all what Hermione was used to.

"I saw you and Draco at the party," Isobel said at last. "I think you'd be a good fit for him. Gryffindors, it seems, adore hopeless cases."

"Malfoy isn't hopeless," Hermione snapped.

The Ravenclaw shrugged.

"Perhaps. It seems that this year you are a little bored without Mr. Potter and Mr. Weasley to take care of."

Hermione's eyes flashed. Merlin, this girl spoke exactly like...

"Have you seen Luna?" Hermione asked.

"She was heading for the greenhouses," Isobel pointed the way with her garden trowel.

"Thank you."

"Miss Granger?" Isobel asked, unblushing. "Are you dating Mr. Finch-Fletchley?"

"No. We're just friends."

Isobel looked very pleased with the answer.

"He represents a very interesting combination of personal qualities. Great potential." The Ravenclaw nodded politely and walked away, her blue robe fluttering in the wind. Hermione froze for a moment, staring after her, then headed for the greenhouses.