The Darkwood Wand

Night Twelve-Wards

Wednesday night, Gryffindor Tower

Hermione stood in the middle of her bedroom, nervously smoothing her green silk shorts and camisole. Her beaded bag hung off one shoulder. The earlier exchange with Malfoy in the library—the whispers, the innuendos, his hot breath on her palm—had given her new confidence. Hermione was ready. At least she thought she was ready. She was definitely ready to consider being ready.

Maybe.

Was she really doing this?

With Draco Malfoy?

Hermione took a deep breath and closed her eyes. It was important to establish the right mindset with any new endeavor. Red petals. Satiny skin under her nails. Glittering eyes and full lips shaped just for her. Entice me, lioness.

And then what?

New images: Malfoy pulling away, his pale skin covered with a sheen of sweat. Lips curling into a sneer. His eyes turning cold and dismissive now that he had what he wanted.

Hermione shook her head, trying to clear her mind, She was being ridiculous. But she couldn't dismiss echoes of that familiar, fluting, mocking voice:

Buck-toothed troll ...

If you're wondering what that smell is, Mother ...

Hermione trembled, the scars on her arm burning.

You filthy little Mudblood ...

MUDBLOOD ...

Her golden mantle clock began to chime: Ting, ting ...

Hermione's eyes popped open and she leaped backward, slashing the air twice with her wand. Green silk transformed into plaid flannel, her heeled slippers turned into fluffy socks. She summoned a book and shoved the wand into her ponytail.

Yes, that was better, but still not enough, she was weak, she could still give in—

The clock rang its final chime: Ting!

"Crooky!" she called. The cat leaped into her arms and they Vanished together in a flash of white light.

***

8 a.m. Thursday, Gryffindor Tower

Hermione didn't notice that Crookshanks was missing the next morning until she filled his water bowl. After an eventful night with Malfoy, Divination and nightmares, she'd overslept after silencing her alarm. Which meant she had to rush around, and that made her crabby because there was no time to review Farley Dume's book "Death Omens: What to Do When You Know the Worst is Coming."

She was holding Crooky's ceramic bowl, which she'd filled from a bathroom tap (she wasn't convinced that Aguamenti water was healthy) when she finally realized her cat wasn't butting his head against her ankles and yowling as usual. In fact, she hadn't seen him all morning. Where could he be?

Oh no. Hermione stood stock-still, heedless of the water trickling from the smiley-face bowl down her bare leg and soaking her right knee sock. She knew where Crookshanks was. Her poor, sweet, innocent cat was trapped in the Slytherin dungeons with any number of deadly creatures and a hostile wizard who—

The bowl fell with a clatter and splash, and Hermione grabbed her bag and wand and tore out of the bedroom. Crooky!

Alone in the Fat Lady's corridor, she checked the Marauders Map she had nicked from Malfoy in the alcove along with her wand and purse. Malfoy was still in his bedroom, but the Map didn't show animals unless they were Animagi. So Hermione went to the Great Hall to wait. Neville smiled at her, but said nothing, just went on squeezing his eyedropper to drip a potion over a tiny purple cactus. Hermione opened her doomsday book and peeked over it at the Hall's big double doors.