— What the hell? — he groaned.
— Yeah, Malfoy, I'd like to know that too.
Hermione crossed her arms to hide her trembling. This was very, very bad. Nineteen peaceful years without a single thought of Draco Malfoy's bed, and here she was again. This wasn't going to help with her nightmares.
She expected him to insult her or even hex her, considering he seemed to have a new wand. But Malfoy just sat there, rubbing his head, looking annoyed.
Hermione stayed silent too, since screaming like a banshee wouldn't help. It hadn't last time. Besides, Malfoy had a wand, and she didn't. Foolish of her to think she could just leave her wand on the nightstand like a normal person. She'd have to start sticking it to her body again with adhesive spells.
They locked eyes in a tense stare, the cramped space filled only with their strained breathing. The golden light from Malfoy's wand cast sharp shadows on his jawline and chest.
— Well, — he finally said. — This is a surprise.
Hermione looked down at herself—she was in just a tight tank top and pink panties. Her bedding hadn't transferred with her this time, so she didn't even have a blanket.
Now Malfoy smirked.
— You didn't cast the counterspell, did you, Granger?
— Of course I did, Malfoy.
She glared at the half-naked wizard. Too bad shedding his clothes didn't get rid of his horrible personality.
— Then you botched it, — he said confidently. — On purpose.
— I did not… I...
He leaned forward, silver eyes flashing.
— You botched it.
Hermione tried to respond but could only gasp and throw up her hands. Malfoy moved closer, and she shrank back, her face burning. Her back hit the enchanted canopy.
Malfoy leaned even closer.
What was he doing? This man should be hiding under his blanket whining about her being a Mudblood, not chasing her across the bed. But he bent over her, his fringe falling over one eye. His lower lip barely brushed hers—an almost imperceptible touch.
Draco Malfoy just kissed me. On purpose!
— Admit it, — he whispered. — You wanted to come back.
— No, no, — Hermione stammered. Merlin, she needed to get a grip.
— I said the spell exactly as you told me to, — she added, a bit more firmly. — Intermissum Harmonia Nectere. Precise circle, 30-degree intervals.
— The spell requires careful casting, — Malfoy said. — A gentle hand.
He brushed his finger across her lower lip.
— Intermissum Harmonia Nectere.
His finger grazed her upper lip.
— Intermissum Harmonia Nectere.
Hermione shivered as that wicked voice repeated the incantation, as if she were the target of his spell. He lightly touched her lips again.
— Were you gentle, Granger?
— N-no, — she admitted.
— Why not? — His voice was patient.
Hermione's face burned; she could hardly look at him.
— I was angry.
Malfoy's grey eyes gleamed.
— Show me.
— Don't be ridiculous, — Hermione replied coldly. At least, that's what she thought she said. What actually came out was a squeaky, — Don't-iculous!
Malfoy raised an eyebrow.
— I didn't quite catch that.
Hermione clenched her teeth, her heart pounding in her chest. Fine. She clamped her hand over his mouth and said:
— Intermissum Harmonia Nectere!
Malfoy grabbed her wrist and gently pulled her hand away.
— Tsk-tsk, — he scolded softly. — That won't do. Intermissum Harmonia Nectere. Gently.
He kissed the palm of her hand.
Hermione felt like the wooden post of her bed, cracking under the tension.
— What do you know about gentleness? — she asked.
— Very little, — Malfoy admitted.
He leaned in again and kissed her parted lips, and at first, the kiss was something Malfoy had never been—gentle and sweet, his tongue intertwining with hers. She tilted her head, wanting more, her body pressed against him. How could this be happening? On an ordinary school night?
Then the kiss changed, becoming deliberate, filled with dark, predatory intent. A growl escaped Malfoy's throat, and his grip tightened almost painfully. Hermione's pulse quickened; she had been kissed like this before, but it never lasted—it always slipped away, leaving her...
Malfoy pushed Hermione against the enchanted canopy and began to trail rough, biting kisses down her neck, and she encouraged him, tilting her head back, burying her hands in his silky hair. But then his hand slipped under her panties, sending a heated jolt through her body.
This was too much! Hermione's eyes flew open and she shoved him away.
— No! — she half-shouted, half-squeaked. — No!
Startled, Malfoy let go of her. But within seconds he was already kneeling, his cock half out of his black boxers, swollen and ready.
Malfoy loomed over her like a god of retribution.
— Don't you dare…
— Accio wand! — she gasped. The black-and-white wand smacked into her palm, and Hermione managed to get to her knees. She pressed the wand to his throat. — I said no!
— Accio serpent wand! — he hissed back, and another wand materialized in his hand—dark and curved. He pressed it against Hermione's neck in response. — I won't let you play games with me, Granger!
— I'm not playing!
— You botched the spell on purpose, and now you're here in your panties…
— I didn't! And it's warm in my room! — she yelled. — I'm not Romilda! I didn't come here because I wanted to fuck you!
Silence. Malfoy's heavy wand pressed against her jaw, almost breaking the skin, and Hermione could feel its dark nature. She tried to make out his expression, but his face was in shadow, and she couldn't see his eyes. Hermione was powerful, but this chess-piece wand was no match for the larger wand pressed to her throat. If Malfoy decided to force her into something, if she had misjudged him, if he was that kind of wizard, she wouldn't be able to stop him.
Everything froze for a moment, then the moment stretched. Finally, Malfoy exhaled sharply and lowered his wand.
— Fine, — he snapped, moving back. He tucked himself back into his boxers and shifted as far from her as possible. Now Hermione could see his face—harsh, like it was carved from stone.
Hermione carefully lowered her wand, still gripping it tightly. What in Godric's name—along with all his goats—had just happened?
She swallowed.
— Let's approach this rationally.
— Rationally, — Malfoy chuckled, but there wasn't a drop of humor in his short laugh.
— Yes, rationally, — Hermione hugged a pillow to herself, trying to cover her trembling body. They needed to handle this with logic and reason.
Malfoy crossed his arms over his chest.
— So now I'm supposed to believe that Hermione Granger, the brightest witch of her age, couldn't cast the spell correctly?
— Yes, that's right, — she admitted. — I should have listened to you.
— Was that an apology? — he asked.
— No.
Malfoy stared at her for a while, then sighed:
— Maybe I didn't think this all the way through.
— Was that an apology? — Hermione asked.
— No.
Silence again, this time slightly less tense. But calling it comfortable would be a stretch—Malfoy was still too close, and his cologne made Hermione's head spin. Merlin, she could still taste him on her lips. But at least there was now some level of mutual understanding. She hoped so.
— Well, — she said quickly. — You'll have to cast the counterspell on my bed. Come to my room tomorrow.
Malfoy's gaze was cold.
— And how do you suppose I do that?
— The same way you did it before?
— Through the window. I used disillusionment charms on myself and my broom.
She nodded.
— That could work. We can skip lunch and meet there.
— Skip lunch? — Malfoy protested.
— It's the perfect time—no one will be around, — Hermione felt better. Calmer. Having a plan always helped. — Now send me back.
Malfoy held out his hand.
— My wand.
She looked at the wand in her hand. Its bright pattern didn't suit Malfoy at all. It seemed… happy.
— Where did you get it?
— It belonged to my grandmother.
Oh. The wand twitched in her hand, like it wanted to go back to Malfoy, and she gave it to him, careful not to touch his fingers.
The wizard lifted the chess-piece wand and pointed it at Hermione.
— Harmonia Nectere Departo.
Hermione tried not to blush at the words, but all her embarrassment dissolved when she realized she was still there.
— Why didn't it work?
Malfoy frowned.
— I don't know.
— Fine, I'm not waiting till midnight, — she declared. — I'm walking back to Gryffindor Tower. Just lift the spell from this bed.
Malfoy shook his head.
— Tennant will hear you. He's here, and after last night he'll be alert.
— I can be quiet.
— Not that quiet. — His voice had a hint of concern. — Tennant's shown interest in you.
Hermione shrugged.
— I don't care.
— You should. — He glanced at his dorm mate's bed. — I know some things about Tennant, and believe me, I can't get you out of here without waking him.
— I'm not afraid of anyone from Rowle's crowd.
Malfoy's eyes flashed.
— You're not leaving this bed, Granger. Or I'll cast a binding spell on you.
Hermione opened her mouth to argue but then realized—he had two wands, and she had none.
— In any case, it doesn't matter, — he continued. — I think you'll end up back in your bed sooner or later.
— A time element in the spell? — she asked.
— Yes, — Malfoy leaned back against the pillows, twirling both wands in his hands. The harsh lines of his face softened a little, and he smirked. — I designed the spell to bring Vane here at ten and send her back automatically in an hour.
— Why not... — She stopped. She didn't want to hear his disgusting explanations.
— The spell's structure was broken, — he continued. — I can't control your movements, neither the arrival nor the departure. And the moment to send you back has already passed.
Malfoy suddenly shifted, and Hermione flinched.
— What are you doing? — she cried.
— I'm going to sleep, — he said. — Try not to kill me in the night, alright? If I'm dead, I won't be able to help you break this connection.
— I should've just burned my bed to ashes, — Hermione muttered.
— That would've been stupid, — he said, sliding under the blanket, shooting her one last angry look before turning his back to her.
Hermione snorted. Of course, burning enchanted objects was stupid. She didn't need his confirmation. Now Malfoy was under the blanket, only his platinum hair peeking out. Good. Maybe she could pretend he wasn't there.
She curled up on top of the cover, facing away from the canopy. Her lips still tingled, and her panties were damp. She exhaled slowly and quietly—half disappointed, half relieved. She couldn't believe things had spiraled this far out of control. They really needed to break this spell.
Hermione tried to steady her breathing, willing her muscles to relax despite the cold. She rubbed her cheek against the silky pillow, which smelled faintly of a rich scent. Romilda was wrong, she thought sleepily, closing her eyes. He really does like games. And they're not vanilla at all.