The Darkwood Wand

Witch

Hermione knelt inside Draco's warded bed, trembling with fury. She wanted to rip the coverlet in half with her bare hands. She wanted to shred the down pillows until the curtained space swirled with fluffy white tufts. The bed's carved snakes sensed her rage and slithered down to hide under the mattress.

But no, she couldn't destroy the bed. Draco didn't deserve that, even if he was undoubtedly raving out there about her harlot ways. Fucking sexist double standard. Her hand tightened on the vinewood until she expected the wand to cry out in pain. Sleeping with her best friend, who had needed her, hardly compared with hounding around Hogwarts with ...

She squeezed her eyes shut, striving for control, and when she opened them, she blinked in surprise. The bedposts were now bone-white and the bedding had turned a virulent pink, embroidered with daisies and kittens. Purple ribbons had even replaced the silver tassels on Draco's pillows. The carved snakes slithered up the bedposts again, but now they were flowering vines, flapping their leaves in agitation.

Hermione couldn't help grinning at the sight and cast a spell to prevent Draco from reversing the colors. Only McGonagall or Flitwick could change the bed's contents back now, and Hermione doubted the Slytherin would ask either professor to help him with his kitten pillow problem. Then she turned one of the pillows into a round orange cat and propped it against a bedpost. Perfect.

Despite her mischief-making, Hermione could admit to herself that Draco's response to Harry's revelation had been better than expected. It had been a shock, and after eight years of rivalry between the two wizards, well, some lashing out was to be expected. A little hit to that big ego of yours, hmmm, Draco? He had acted poorly, that was true, but Merlin, when didn't Draco Malfoy act poorly?

Many times, actually. He didn't act poorly earlier tonight. Hermione burrowed under the pink coverlet and closed her eyes, remembering. Draco removing Tally's grip on his robe with a gentle hand. Draco looking at her over the negotiating table. Draco's hair and eyes glowing in the lamplight as he conjured silver cards with lewd suggestions.

And the wizard had stuck to her terms. He'd stuck to her terms. Hermione had expected their negotiations to be a game to him, that once she was naked beneath him, he'd throw over that table and just ... just take. And a part of her had hoped he would. Dangerous, unreformed, half-tamed ... Draco was all those things.

But he hadn't. Draco had skidded right up to the edge, but stayed on the right side of the cards, although Hermione had been helpless under his touch. It should have been nothing to him, just another underhanded deal, but it wasn't, he took it seriously. Draco took her seriously and Hermione found that sexier than anything he'd done before. He'd tried to hide her, too, even when Harry mentioned Azkaban. He'd protected her.

Hermione stretched under the coverlet and smiled in the darkness. Yes, Draco had done well enough, so if he provided an appropriate apology along with a little groveling and ...

She found herself stroking her skin under the silk pajama top, remembering his touches. How his hands and mouth and body had veered wildly from tentative to demanding, gentle to rough, biting and soothing. Her hand drifted lower and she felt a fluttering between her legs

For Merlin's sake—what are you doing? She should be planning a serious talk with Harry, not fantasizing about Draco and how he ... and what if she weakened the wards, just a little bit? Just a small provocation? He could enter all enraged and they could have a little fight and he'd say she deserved to be treated like a ...

Hermione sat up with a gasp. Well, that wasn't very evolved—why did Draco Malfoy inspire all these contradictory feelings? She pushed at the bed curtains with a bare foot and almost groaned as the cloth gave way slightly. Was this to be her thing now, accidental magic giving form to her unconscious and not-so-unconscious thoughts?