— AAAARGH!
Draco recoiled from the bed so sharply that he tripped over his own feet and crashed face-first onto the rug. He immediately rolled onto his back to loudly bemoan his miserable fate.
— Fucking clock! Fucking spell! — He yelled. — AAAARGH! Why did that bloody Puff decide to do something right for once in his life? What could he, Draco, accomplish in one pathetic hour?!
— Broom!
He staggered to his feet and began looking around for his boots and robe. Now he would fly up to Gryffindor Tower and…
And immediately groaned loudly. Merlin, he really was a complete cretin. To fly from the main gates to Hermione's window would take at least half an hour—if he even found the right window in the dark. And bursting into her bedroom wouldn't work—it was a school night. Most likely, she would just throw him back out.
Draco flopped onto the sofa. His own fault, wasted a bunch of time. Who cares what color the bed is? Should have just taken the witch on…
No, Hermione wouldn't have wanted that. Should have immediately carried her to the bed and given the kittens a real show. Draco's cock, still semi-aroused, came to life at the mere memory of Hermione—on all fours on that Slytherin bedspread, bare-breasted, red skirt draped over her hips. Of the witch with dark untamable curls—like that very first night she appeared here. Her eyes were so wide—had she really never seen a cock before? Draco looked down. Certainly not one that big.
But smugness was immediately replaced by the realization of his own unrestrained stupidity. He was alone again, deprived of a willing witch and ready to howl with frustration. Draco looked dejectedly at the scarlet shoes and gloves scattered on the rug. How could he and Hermione be so careless? Now the witch was probably wandering the fifth-floor corridor—half-dressed, barefoot, wandless. Draco clutched his head. Fucking clock.
At breakfast on Monday, Draco appeared with a cold mask frozen on his face. Wanking before sleep hadn't helped even briefly dull his irritation, and his dreams were full of moist red lips and disheveled curls. Better than a man-eating snake or a crazy Quidditch player, but also not conducive to rest. Another wanking session in the bathroom this morning made Draco feel even worse, and he burst into the Great Hall and collapsed into the seat opposite Theo.
Theo didn't look well either. Dark circles lay under his green eyes, and his collar was slightly askew. Nott didn't touch the pancakes on his plate, only drank tea and tried his hardest not to look at Daphne, who was ignoring him. Strange, Draco thought, at the Slug Club party they seemed closer to each other.
Draco looked to the left, saw Blaise staring at the Gryffindors, and cast a glance at them too. Hermione sat there, looking extremely composed in a black turtleneck jumper. She was reading a book and—Merlin and Morgana help him—eating a banana. Draco wanted to sob over his breakfast plate, but that might raise questions, so he limited himself to a frown and attempts not to spill his tea. Damn, he was falling apart. One would think he had never touched a woman in his life.
— See something interesting, Blaise? — Theo's voice dripped with venom. Blaise didn't answer, just continued cutting his pancakes into pieces.
Draco glanced sideways at Blaise, wondering if the sleek Slytherin would ever give up on the crazy Weasley. Draco himself would sooner go to bed with a transformed Veela—claws, beak, and all. But apparently, Blaise thought differently, since he was now cutting pancakes into such tiny pieces that they would have to be eaten with a spoon.
Draco's gaze shifted back to the Gryffindors. Hermione was still absorbed in her book, looking so prim and virtuous, as if she had never seen an erect cock in her life. Lips pursed, hair pulled into a tight knot—and Draco swallowed hard, unable to tear his eyes away from her. He poured cold pumpkin juice and immediately choked when Hermione started on her half-peeled banana. The entire Slytherin table was now staring at Draco, and he glared viciously at his pancakes, as if trying to set them on fire with a look.
Draco looked up from his plate and saw Theo watching him, but still suppressed the urge to say something suggestive to Daphne. She was attractive enough, despite her small, beady eyes and skinny figure. Long straight golden hair framed Daphne's delicate features and was pinned on one side with an exquisite emerald clip. Such an ornament, of course, would be completely unsuitable for Hermione—it would either get lost in her curls or break under their weight, and a flying piece would knock someone's eye out...
— What are you staring at? — a voice hissed.
Draco blinked in surprise. Daphne was looking at him, her pale eyebrows raised questioningly. He was disturbing her aura. Then he shifted his gaze to Theo—the source of the question. His fingers gripped the tea cup, and although his face remained impassive, spots of flush appeared on his cheeks.
— Forget it, Theo, — Blaise said.
— I don't have a chance anyway, — Draco sighed dramatically. — I don't write poetry.
— Are you mocking me? — Blaise groaned.
Theo flashed his eyes at Draco, then gathered his things and left without even touching his food.
— Damn it, Malfoy, — Blaise hissed. — Now is not the time for your shitty jokes.
Draco didn't answer, just cast another glance at the Gryffindor table. Hermione was helping Longbottom carry his Venomous Tentacula, which had grown noticeably. He'd have to catch her at lunch, maybe they could...
But his luck ran out there too. Professor Sprout detained him after class and informed him that she had cast new protective charms on Greenhouse #2, and didn't know how to remove them without breaking the glass. In the end, Draco had to miss lunch, painstakingly removing the spell from each pane. As a reward, Sprout offered him a scary-looking herb scone, and he had no choice but to eat it if he didn't want to starve until dinner. Now he smelled of rosemary.
On the way to Divination, he met Wormtail, who followed on his heels, and Draco was forced to ignore giggles and whispers. Entering the stuffy, incense-soaked classroom, he headed to his empty table and sat down, grateful to nature that cats can't climb vertical ladders.
Today they were doing card reading, and a small stack of Tarot cards lay in the center of each table. Their sight dispelled Draco's gloomy mood a bit. Cards. Maybe Granger would want to negotiate again? With a slight smirk, he pushed the pouf back, leaning against the wall. Shoved his hands in his pockets, stretched his legs under the table—his polished black boots stuck out on the other side.
And waited.
The curtain parted, revealing the doorway, and Trelawney appeared, all glittering, in a dark robe—like a bat. At the same moment, a familiar bunch of curly hair emerged from the trapdoor in the floor, followed by Hermione herself.
She still looked elegant, dressed in a black jumper, long skirt, and boots, but the tight knot of her hair was clearly holding on by a thread. Draco didn't even try to hide his smirk, watching her approach their table and sit down. She moved her pouf away from him, but of course, couldn't go far.
— Hermione, — he whispered.
— Draco.
Fine dark tendrils framed her forehead, ears, and neck. Draco's hands involuntarily reached out to free the rest of the hair from the black ribbon.
— Is everything alright? — he asked. — Did anyone stop you from getting to the tower yesterday?
She shook her head.
— There was no one. We were lucky.
They were indeed lucky—what if Hermione had appeared in front of the crazy caretaker? A teacher? Finch-Fletchley? Draco shuddered, chasing away these thoughts.
— I missed you yesterday, — he said instead.
Hermione had to tilt her head slightly back to look at him, even despite her perfectly straight back and the fact that Draco was sprawled against the wall.
— Really? — Her lips slowly stretched into a smile. — You probably wanted me to stay and...
— And what? — Draco forced out with difficulty.
The tip of her tongue slid over her lips.
— And...
— FOOL! — Trelawney shrieked, throwing up her hands. The sleeves of her robe slid down, exposing skinny arms. — Magician, Devil, Hanged Man!
Draco flinched and jerked back, hitting his head against the wall. His knee hit the table, scattering the cards. Hermione, fortunately, kept her composure—with one hand she caught him by the elbow, and with the other steadied the table.
Draco straightened up, shooting Trelawney a murderous look. Hermione was giggling quietly, and he shifted that look to her, adjusting his trousers with his free hand.
— Major Arcaaaaana, — Trelawney drawled. — Twenty-two of the most powerful cards in the deck. Before you lie they, free from the petty cups, pentacles, swords, and wands. Is your magic strong enough to tame them?
The students froze, many looking openly frightened. Draco suppressed a shiver—remembering how his mother during the war bent over the table, laying out card after card, tears rolling down her cheeks…
A snort brought him back to reality. A quiet but distinct sound in the ensuing silence. Trelawney spun around, her bulging eyes fixed on Hermione.
— UNBELIEVER! — the professor screamed piercingly so that even Hermione flinched. Trelawney flew to their table, her claw-like fingers grabbing the cards. She shuffled them, divided them into three piles, then gathered them into one and fanned them out in front of them.
— Choose, — Trelawney proclaimed, and Draco caught a faint whiff of sherry. — Doubter.
Hermione made a pained face, then blindly pulled a card and turned it over. It depicted two intertwining figures—gold and silver—and a winged creature above them.
— THE LOVERS! — Trelawney thundered. — Sweet nectar of love!
— A-a-a-a-ah! — the class gasped in unison.
This time Draco was saved by Death Eater composure—praise Salazar. He continued to sit imperturbably on the pink pouf, being publicly linked by the Lovers card with his sworn enemy. However, he couldn't resist glancing at Hermione, expecting to see a bashful blush.
But disappointment awaited him here—the witch only rolled her eyes.
— Hardly, — she snorted. — The card is reversed.
— A-a-a-a-a-ah! — the class recoiled in horror.
Draco looked at the card. She was right. The figures, although appearing upright to him and Trelawney, looked reversed from Hermione's position.
— Discord, — the Seer rasped. — Fears and suspicions…
— And strong carnal attraction, — Hermione added cheerfully.
The class gasped.
— It says so here, — Hermione took a Divination textbook from her tiny bag and unerringly opened the right page. — Bound by a power struggle, — she read aloud, — suppressed by strong carnal desires, trapped by dark magic.
Dead silence hung in the classroom. Draco stared at Hermione in horror. Why the hell is she airing their secrets for everyone to see?
— But that's just Vablatsky, — Hermione pulled out a scroll. — According to esoteric economist Pixie Divit, reversed Lovers only signify unwise financial decisions. Cassandra Trelawney considered them a sign of poor health and recommended a good night's sleep.
— What arrogance, — Trelawney sneered. — As if you, Miss Granger, are capable of comprehending the subtleties of the spirit world.
The class froze, not knowing whom to believe.
— Of course I am capable, — Hermione said. — I know exactly what this card means.
Tension mounted. Everyone, including Draco, held their breath in anticipation.
— I've been neglecting my cat, — Hermione announced. — I urgently need to mend my relationship with him so he stops following Malfoy around.
A short pause—and then came the first stifled chuckle, which quickly grew into giggles, and then into open laughter. Trelawney turned purple.
— Miss Granger, — her voice trembled with rage, — your presence disturbs the Inner Eye of everyone present. Obviously, another... would suit you better...
— Of course you foresaw this, — Hermione's icy voice interrupted Trelawney. — Of course I am here for this very reason. Of course you are ready to accept the challenge.
The whole class stared at Trelawney, who now looked cornered.
— Naturally, — the professor hissed. — Caustic words and petty disagreements mean nothing to the Spirit World.
She moved to the center of the room, her robe sleeves fluttering like bat wings.
— All of you, shuffle your cards and do a three-card spread according to the textbook. But first... SAGE!
Trelawney flew to the fireplace, grabbed a white log, and raised it above her head. The other students, including Draco, watched mesmerized as she muttered spells and swayed on the spot. Hermione ignored this performance and unrolled another scroll—no doubt looking for new ways to sabotage the lesson.
The professor threw the log into the fireplace, and clouds of smoke enveloped the nearest tables, causing coughing fits among the students sitting there. Wonderful, now Draco had a splitting headache.
But at least the class wasn't discussing the Lovers card anymore—which, apparently, was Hermione's goal. Now everyone was enthusiastically bent over their cards, oohing and aahing over the results. Trelawney, kneeling before the fireplace, begged the spirits to cleanse the room of Hermione's negative energy.
— Merlin, — Draco whispered, leaning toward the witch. — You take no prisoners, do you?
He rubbed his temples, wondering what caused the worse headache—his partner, the professor, or the sage smoke. Looks like all three at once.
— Complete rubbish, — Hermione snorted, putting away the scrolls and taking out a Potions textbook. — A very unscientific branch of magic.
— You should meet my mother, — Draco said. — She would change your mind.
Hermione's jaw dropped, and Draco froze, shocked by his own words. Did he really just suggest Hermione Granger, a prominent Muggle-born witch, meet his mother? The mere thought was terrifying. Not that he was worried about Hermione's or his mother's safety—rather, his own. He definitely wouldn't survive such a meeting.
— Is your mother a Seer? — Hermione asked.
— Um, yes. Sometimes. She prefers mirrors and crystal balls. — Draco grimaced. — And frog guts.
Hermione nodded thoughtfully.
— Perhaps I shouldn't judge the whole field of magic by one old fraud. Some of Vablatsky's works were quite logical.
She returned to taking notes on Felix Felicis, closing the topic, and Draco was grateful for that. Leaning back against the wall, he watched classmates shriek, hug, or sob depending on the cards drawn. The only one keeping her composure (besides Hermione) was Lovegood—she laid out cards in increasingly intricate patterns and comforted sobbing partners, describing in detail the horrors awaiting them.
A quiet pause calmed both Draco and Hermione. (Apparently, their romance would require frequent periods of peaceful silence.) Then Hermione began stealing glances at him, and Draco's right hand reached for her leg again.
— Perhaps we need a different set of cards for this table, — Draco suggested.
She raised her eyebrows.
— Seriously? Want to do it right here?
— No one is looking at us, — Draco noted. The other students were absorbed in their cards, and Trelawney, eyes closed, was sprawled in her chair. — Meet me after dinner, — he whispered.
Hermione shook her head, causing her voluminous bun to bounce dangerously.
— Can't. Justin and I are presenting the astrarium clock project in Astronomy tonight.
Draco frowned at the mention of the annoying Hufflepuff and that damn, now perfectly working clock, but didn't argue. Hermione never missed a chance to shine with knowledge.
The Gryffindor looked at him appraisingly, then took out a quill, inkwell, and a piece of parchment.
— We need to make a schedule.
— What for?
She was already ruling the page with horizontal lines.
— For tonight. Break our activity into ten-minute intervals to get everything done.
Draco straightened up.
— You're insane. I'm not going to follow some stupid schedule.
— Then how will we get everything done? We only have an hour.
She began filling the lines one by one. Draco leaned in to see what she was writing.
Kissing/petting
Spells
Oral 1
Oral 2
Sex
Discussion
The world around Draco swam.
— Are you saying item #5 will be on the table?
Hermione rolled her eyes.
— Of course, that's what you latched onto. Yes, on the table.
— And you allocated time for... discussion?
— I hope we'll both have something to say.
Draco goggled at her, then abruptly snatched his wand and set the parchment on fire.
— DRACO! — Hermione squealed, causing half the class to turn around. — How dare you burn my... Potions notes! Jerk!
The other students, satisfied that everything was in its place in the world, returned to their cards.
— What is wrong with you? — Draco hissed. He couldn't believe this witch hadn't been sorted into Ravenclaw.
Hermione took out a new parchment and restored the list.
— It's just a draft.
Draco clutched his head, then straightened abruptly.
— I'm not going to fuck you in ten-minute intervals!
— Fine, — she said sharply and crossed out oral under items #3 and #4.
— What are you doing? — Draco's indignant voice rang through the room, making even Trelawney stir. — Put them back!
— Oh, alright. — She wrote the crossed-out items back in, but crossed out item #1.
Draco shot her a dark look.
— Are you mocking me? — he said, trying to keep his voice down. — Do you seriously think I'll just pounce on you as soon as you appear and shove my...
— I can prepare beforehand...
— For Salazar's sake, just look at...
— WHAT HAVE YOU BEHELD, MR. MALFOY?! — Trelawney's voice cut through the air, suddenly looming over them.
Draco flinched again, but Hermione just deftly shoved the parchment into her Potions textbook and folded her hands on the table, feigning polite interest.
— I beheld pure madness, — Draco answered with absolute sincerity, addressing both witches.
Their table was a mess: Hermione's books, scrolls, and scattered Tarot cards. One card, separated from the rest, lay face down in front of Draco.
— Turn the card over, Mr. Malfoy, — Trelawney breathed. — Let it speak to you.
The whole class stared at them again, and Draco had no choice. He turned the card over.
— O-O-O-O-OH! — Trelawney shrieked. — The Devil!
For a moment, Draco wished the dark wood wand would let him Avada everyone present. Azkaban suddenly seemed like a tempting prospect.
— The Devil represents your shadow side, Mr. Malfoy, — Trelawney broadcast. — Addiction, unhealthy attachment...
— And sexuality, — Hermione put in cheerfully.
— How sad that darkness still clings to you, — the professor continued, ignoring Granger. — But do not despair! I will help you—an infusion of sage and dill with the addition of rue...
Trelawney fluttered away again, probably to refill her incense or brew a posset.
— It won't matter if you smell of rue, — Hermione declared. — I don't like my wizards smelling of mothballs and bitterness.
Draco put a hand to his forehead—his head was throbbing.
— Tell me this lesson will be over soon.
— A few minutes left. But we still haven't agreed on anything.
— And we won't, — Draco snapped. — Tonight everything will be completely spontaneous, so don't even think about bringing your stupid schedule.
Hermione frowned.
— Are you sure? If we lose track of time, yesterday might repeat itself—I'll disappear right before we...
— I'm sure, — Draco said firmly. — We'll take the risk.
She opened her mouth to argue, but at that moment Trelawney received owl post and demanded silence.
— I must pass on a school announcement to you, — she said, unfolding a parchment with the Hogwarts seal. — Classes this Thursday are cancelled due to… — The professor frowned and continued: — outrageously overdue staircase maintenance.
Draco blinked, then noticed Hermione's overly innocent expression.
— What did you do? — he asked.
She smiled.
— If you think about the vital role staircases play in daily Hogwarts life, a little extra polishing and repair isn't such a big request.
— What...
— They threatened to stop between floors if their demands weren't met, — Hermione explained, raising a clenched fist. — Squeak for Solidarity!
— Hermione, do I understand correctly that you... — Draco searched for the right word from Muggle Studies, — organized a union of Hogwarts staircases?
The witch nodded, her face flushed with pleasure—and it was terrifying. She lowered her hand.
— The Grumpy Staircase and I discussed everything yesterday. I helped them present demands to McGonagall.
Draco was speechless for a moment, so shocked was he.
— McGonagall? — he finally forced out. Several classmates turned around, and he lowered his voice. — The same McGonagall who two days ago covered up a very questionable incident involving me? And you decided inciting furniture to riot was a good idea?
— Such movements are the result not of days, but of years of oppression.
— They're staircases! They're made to be under wizards' feet!
Hermione laughed.
— You sound just like Ron.
Draco narrowed his eyes.
— No insults, please.
A small gong announced the end of the lesson, and Draco could only thank fate. He jumped to his feet and grabbed his bag, while Hermione leisurely gathered her things, managing to jot down last thoughts on the go. Trelawney held a smoking bowl of herbs, clearing a path through the crowd. Draco pushed forward and literally tumbled down the ladder. A broken neck seemed a small price to pay for escaping union activists and rue infusion.