Keep Your Enemies Close (3/?)
Title: Keep Your Enemies Close (3/?)
All disclaimers can be found in part 1.
Special note: The word "malvagita" is Italian for wickedness/darkness.
Harry approached the cell, his hands in the pockets of his slacks. He didn’t need to announce his presence to the figure lying on the cot against the back wall of the cell.
“The infamous Harry Potter come to pay me a visit.”
Lucius Malfoy sat up slowly, leveling his gaze on Harry. He stood, Harry taking note that time in Azkaban had not been good on the older man. He was lankier now, deathly skinny, his skin paler than it had ever been naturally. His blue eyes were sunken into his skull, and his long blond hair was thinning. He frankly looked like hell warmed over.
“Malfoy,” he simply greeted.
“What does this concern, Potter?” he asked as he made his way towards the front of his cell.
“Your son.”
Lucius Malfoy wrapped his long, skinny fingers around the bars of the cell, leaning against the metal as he hissed, “I have no son.”
Harry rolled his eyes in response. “Let’s pretend you do, and let’s pretend his name is Draco and he’s a Death Eater.”
Lucius simply bared his yellowing teeth.
“I know for a fact you still receive news from the Death Eaters, Malfoy,” Harry said, pulling his hands from his pockets and folding his arms. “I’m not an idiot. I know that Azkaban is as shady a place as it is good.”
“Even if I knew this information you want, boy, I have no reason to share it with you.” He motioned around his cell. “I’m already enjoying the confines of prison. You have no bargaining chip here.”
Harry hesitated for a moment, thinking. “You tell me what I need to know, and I’ll guarantee that your disgrace of a son sees a bloody, painful fate suitable of whatever it is he’s done.”
Lucius studied him for a moment before nodding curtly. “What do you want, Potter?”
“Your son claims he’s no longer a Death Eater….”
“As he shouldn’t be,” Lucius interrupted with a growl. “That disgraceful boy killed two of his own. The Death Eaters want his blood for his betrayal.”
“Any idea why he killed them?”
Lucius watched him, raising an eyebrow. “You’ve spoken with Draco, I take it. You wouldn’t be here asking questions like this if you haven’t.”
“I have, yeah.”
“Then ask him why,” Lucius snarled, pushing himself away from the bars. “I don’t care to waste anymore of my breath speaking of him.” He walked slowly back to his cot, lying back down.
Harry watched him with a frown. “But he’s your son.”
Lucius chuckled up at the ceiling, the laugh turning into a hacking cough. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “Draco was my protégé. He was my namesake. He was to carry on my legacy, the family’s legacy. I’d rather he die than my name be carried on in such a manner.”
Harry studied Lucius for a moment longer before turning and walking out without saying another word.
----------
“Hey, Weasel, make yourself useful and fix me a sandwich.”
Ron stood at the refrigerator, peering inside. His grip on the handle tightened as Draco spoke to him. “Why don’t you choke on your own spit and die, Malfoy?” he replied through gritted teeth.
Draco grinned. “Man, you and the little sister have some serious attitude problems.”
Ron slammed the refrigerator door shut, turning on Draco. “Don’t talk about Ginny.”
At that moment, Hermione and Ginny entered the kitchen. “What’s going on?” Hermione asked, glancing from Draco to Ron.
“Just Weasel throwing a temper tantrum,” Draco shrugged.
Ginny muttered under her breath as she grabbed Ron’s arm. “You need to cool down,” she said, dragging him out of the kitchen before he could launch himself at Draco.
Hermione frowned at Draco once they were alone. “Are you quite done acting like an immature jerk?”
“Hey, Weasley’s the one who decided to vent his frustration out on your appliances. I can’t do much handcuffed to your table.” He paused, yanking on his arm. “Which, by the way, has cut off circulation to my hand.”
She simply stared at him.
“Look, Granger, you have my wand locked up Merlin knows where, and you have the two Weasleys within yelling distance in the next room,” he rationalized with a frown. “All I’m asking for is a few moments to regain feeling in my hand.”
Hermione studied him with a frown before sighing quietly and approaching him. She pulled the spare set of keys from the pocket of her jeans and kneeled down beside Draco’s chair. She unlocked the cuff from around the table, Draco sighing in relief as he lifted his arm, gently massaging around the cuff still attached to him.
“You’re too trusting, Granger,” he said, watching her as she stood.
“I don’t trust you, and I definitely don’t fear you.”
Draco stood with a smirk. “Is that the case?”
“Like you said, Malfoy,” she replied in an even tone, holding his stare. “You’re wandless, and I have back up in the next room.”
“I could overpower you in a heartbeat, you know.”
“And I could say Avada Kedavra before you laid a hand on me,” she replied defiantly. “Now sit down.”
“You really *have* picked up Potter’s attitude.” He smirked. “And I’ll tell you like I tell him, I don’t take orders.” He reached out and grabbed her arm roughly, pulling her closer to him. “You really should fear me, Granger.”
“And you should really let her go.”
Draco turned slightly to see Harry standing in the kitchen doorway, wand out and aimed at him. He grinned over at him. “Potter, if you could come back in a few minutes, I was just in the process of harassing your girlfriend.”
Hermione raised her left hand to Draco’s eye level, revealing the diamond ring on her hand that he hadn’t noticed the night before. “Fiancée, you filthy prat.” And with that, she kneed him in the groin. “Get it right.”
Draco collapsed to the floor, reeling in the urge to vomit from the sudden fierce pain.
“Told you you should let her go,” Harry laughed as he grabbed Draco by the back of his robes and lifted him to his feet. He pushed Draco back into his chair as Ginny and Ron returned into the kitchen. Hermione sat across from Draco as the Weasleys lingered near the kitchen counter.
“You know,” Draco grimaced, “I think I’d prefer the Death Eaters to you lot right about now.”
“Tell me what you know about this old magic stuff, Malfoy.”
Draco watched him suspiciously as Harry walked around to the other side of the kitchen table, taking a seat next to Hermione. “You believe me now?”
“I didn’t say that,” he shrugged. “I said I wanted to know what you know.”
Draco sat silently for a moment, glancing at the four people across from him. Once upon a time, he would have struck fear in them. Or at least a level of irritation they had never felt before. And now, they simply stood there, looking down on him as if he were nothing. He really was starting to think that allowing the Death Eaters to murder him would be a better option than joining forces with this lot. At least then he’d die with a shred of dignity.
“I don’t know a lot,” he finally admitted.
From his position at the kitchen counter, Ron groaned and muttered, “Bloody unbelievable.”
Echoing his friend’s sentiments at the moment, Harry leaned forward in his chair. “I thought you were, as you put it, *privy* to information on the Boy Who Lived.”
“I know bits and pieces, Potter,” Draco snapped back. “These things aren’t discussed with everyone. Death Eaters don’t trust anyone, not even our own.”
“How lovely,” Ginny replied with a roll of her eyes.
“So I’m keeping you safe for bits and pieces of information?” Harry replied, annoyed. He glanced over his shoulder at Ron. “Do me a favor, mate? Apparate over to the ministry and let them know I have Draco Malfoy in holding and ready for a one-way trip to Azkaban.”
“Hey!” Draco protested as Ron stepped away from the counter. Harry turned to him with a slightly amused look. “I may not have the whole story, but I have enough.”
“Then do share, Malfoy,” Hermione replied, sitting back in her chair.
“There’s this book….” He began.
“This story is frightening already,” Ron said sarcastically. “No wonder Harry’s keeping you alive.”
Draco glared at him. “You’d do best not to insult things you obviously don’t understand, Weasel.” He turned back to Harry as he continued, “This book is the ultimate in dark magic. The beginnings of everything dark in the wizarding world. No one knows who wrote it, where it came from originally, but it’s found itself in the hands of every single dark wizard people have learned to fear. And it holds the key to your death, Potter.”
“And what is this book?”
“The Book of Malvagita.”
Harry sat back in his chair as Hermione gave him a look only he could understand. “So what’s the key to my death, Malfoy?”
“Hell if I know,” he replied with a shrug.
Harry scowled at him. He kept his eyes trained on Draco as he spoke over his shoulder. “Ron, that favor?”
“I *don’t* know,” Draco emphasized. “Something to do with a rising and a creature and your disemboweled bloody demise. Sounds like an entertaining tale really, but I told you I only knew bits and pieces.”
“Fine. Then I get the book and take a look for myself.”
“You can’t just go check this out at the library, Potter,” Draco scoffed. “This book wasn’t mass produced. There are only three copies in the wizarding world. The original, which is the one the Death Eaters have, and two copies.”
“And the copies?” Hermione asked.
“Well, one of them was lost during one of the Goblin Rebellions.”
“And the other?”
A slow smile spread across Draco’s face. “That’s where keeping me alive comes in handy.”
“You have it,” Harry frowned.
“Well, not on me obviously, but yes. Before you and your auror friends raided my father’s manor, Potter, I was given a helpful warning in order to salvage a few important items. One of which was my father’s most prized possession.”
“So where is the book now?” Ginny interjected.
“My flat which proves to be good and bad news.”
“And why is that?” Harry asked.
“Because as I stated last night as you chained me up in your basement,” he replied with an annoyed tone, “I’m enemy number one at the moment. They’re waiting for me to return to my flat so they can finish me off. I can’t exactly go waltzing in.” He shrugged his shoulders. “I can’t even guarantee the book will still be there. They’ve probably already trashed my place.”
Harry studied him for a moment before pushing away from the table, his chair scraping loudly against the tiled floor. He walked around to Draco’s side of the table, grabbing the open end of the handcuffs and forcing Draco to his feet. “The grown-ups need to talk now.”
“Your basement accommodations leave much to be desired.”
“Shut up, or you’ll be going back there.”
Draco gave him a confused look as Harry drug him out of the kitchen and up a staircase. At the end of the hallway, he pushed open a door and shoved Draco inside the guest bedroom. Draco looked around the room suspiciously as Harry approached him.
“What’s the deal, Potter?”
Harry removed a key from the pocket of his jeans and grabbed a firm hold of Draco’s arm, unlocking the cuff that had continued to dangle from his wrist. “The windows and the door are specially charmed. You even attempt anything, and I’ll know.”
Draco pulled back his arm, rubbing his tender wrist. “You’re full of surprises, huh?”
Harry simply frowned at him as he shoved the handcuffs into his back pocket.
“Call me curious here, Potter, but last night you didn’t believe a word I had to say. Why the change?”
Harry started towards the door as he replied, “Your father sends his regards.” He pulled the door closed, leaving Draco to stare after it dumbfounded.
When Harry returned to the kitchen, all three of his friends looked at him expectantly. Ron was the first to speak. “You don’t really believe that rubbish about an evil book, do you?”
In response, Harry turned to Hermione, who remained seated at the table. She’d been holding in her thoughts for a while, ever since she had given him a look at the mention of the book. “Herm?”
“It’s a real book,” she replied with a nod. “Well, I always thought it was nothing but a legend. A fable that sort of finds itself passed from generation to generation, but tidbits of proof of its existence have always been discovered here and there.” She sighed, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “Very few people have seen the book-it’s original or the copies. And if it’s been in the hands of Death Eaters and other dark wizards for ages, there’s a reason. They keep their secrets well.”
Ginny frowned. “So what he said about a creature rising?”
“For all we know,” Hermione shrugged, an unpleasant look on her face as she glanced towards Harry, “Malfoy could be telling the truth.”
“So we get the book, solve the puzzle, stop the big rising of the mystery creature, and we’re done,” Ron offered.
“Unless the rising has already begun,” Harry countered, leaning against the doorframe. “We don’t know how long Malfoy has been sitting on this information. Could be days, could be months.”
“Four years in the making,” Hermione agreed. “That’s what he said last night.”
Ron blinked. “So the creature could already be here? Hanging out around town?”
“But if that’s the case, then why am I alive?” Harry frowned. “I’d imagine its main goal would be to kill me and be done with it.”
“Should we go search his place?” Ron asked.
“Tomorrow,” Harry replied. “You and I can go, and we’ll take him with us.”
Ron nodded in agreement before asking the question that had been bugging him for a while. “So you really believe he’s being hunted by his own kind?”
Harry shrugged. “Seems that way.”
“So what do we do now?”
“Try not to murder him in the meantime.”
----------
Dressed in navy boxers and drying his hair with a towel, Harry stepped out of the bathroom, throwing a cautious glance at the closed door to the guest bedroom. For the most part, Draco had been remotely quiet since Harry had placed him in the room. Even bathroom breaks and bringing of meals didn’t get as many snarky remarks as Harry figured they would. It was a bit unnerving to say the least. Hermione had even gone as far as to suggest that Draco be allowed free reign since he didn’t seem to be much of a threat, especially without his wand. Unfortunately, Harry had to agree that she had a point. Besides, it meant less time spent supervising Draco on bathroom trips, a joy that Harry had no problems giving up.
Harry entered his bedroom, pushing the door closed with his foot. He finished drying his hair and tossed his damp towel into the lounger in the corner of the room, and he half-expected Hermione to lecture him on damp objects on the furniture. But at the moment, her attention was focused elsewhere. She sat in the middle of the bed, surrounded by books.
“What are you doing?” he asked curiously. He moved two of the books onto his nightstand to clear off a spot beside her.
“Research,” she replied, her brown eyes never moving their gaze from the book she was presently flipping through.
“Hermione, we don’t even have our hands on the book yet.”
“I know,” she said, “but I wanted to read up on the book itself. Try to separate fact from fiction.”
Harry sighed, sitting back in the bed, his back propped against the headboard. “I just don’t want you to run yourself into the ground before we even get our hands on the book.”
Hermione reached into her hair and removed the pencil that had been keeping her hair up in a messy bun. She glanced over her shoulder at him as she ran a hand through her hair, untangling it. “It’s fine, Harry,” she smiled. “You’re the hero, Ron’s the heart, and I’m the brains. Books are my thing. They always have been, you know that.”
“I could be the brains,” he replied in an offended tone.
Hermione grinned at him before returning to her books. “Of course you could,” she replied with false sincerity.
With a smirk, he ran his hand up her back, tangling his fingers in the ends of her tresses. “Only you could get away with insulting me like that.”
“I know,” she laughed, tapping the eraser of the pencil against her lips.
They sat in silence for a while, she flipping slowly through her books and jotting down notes and he watching her. It reminded him of their Hogwarts days when she would study maniacally while he would slack off with Ron. Back then, she had kept them in line when it came to their classes, and on more than one occasion, her intelligence--her love of books, knowledge, and facts-had saved their lives. Even now, she still continued to come through for him time and time again. Though they approached it in different fashions, she fought to protect him as much as he fought to protect her. There really weren’t enough words that Harry could think of to describe how grateful he was to have her on his side and in his life.
“Stop thinking,” Hermione said, not looking up from her book. “It’s distracting.”
Harry laughed, leaning forward in his seat. He pushed her hair away from the side of her neck, softly trailing kisses up her neck. “Thank you,” he said against her skin.
“For what?” she asked with a quiet laugh.
“Being the brains.”
“My pleasure.”
He slipped his hand over her cheek, turning her face towards him and kissed her on the lips. She returned the kiss fully, a hand on his lap. After a moment, she finally pulled away, her lips brushing against his as she spoke. “Research, Harry,” she said, grinning as she pulled away a bit more. “I have at least three more books to go through.”
“But they can wait until tomorrow though, right?”
He gave her an innocent smile, and she rolled her eyes at him with a laugh. “You know, times like these? I’m reminded that the Boy Who Lived is first and foremost a boy.”
He grinned at her. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”
Harry took hold of her waist and pulled her over onto him, Hermione letting out a surprised yelp. She laughed as she settled on top of him, her legs on either side of his waist. “You do remember that Malfoy is right across the hall, right?”
His hands resting on her bare thighs, Harry shrugged. “His wand is locked up tight, and he can’t get out without one of us.”
“That’s not exactly what I meant.”
Harry grinned as he realized what she had meant. “The noise factor.” He leaned forward, kissing her. “He’s an adult, Hermione. He can deal.”
She kissed him back, pulling away only long enough for Harry to pull her camisole off over her head. She moaned softly, her fingers gripping his unruly damp hair, as he kissed her just under her earlobe.
“Harry,” she breathed as he traced kisses down her neck.
He responded by kissing her heavily, his tongue slipping past her lips, and Hermione lost herself in the kiss for a moment before pulling away with a soft pant.
“Harry,” she tried again, her hands flat against his chest. “Listen.”
He frowned a bit. “Listen to what-?”
Hermione placed her fingers on his lips to silence him, and in the quiet of the room, the sounds of knocking emerged. Harry growled against her fingers, and she dropped her hand away.
“What the hell is he doing?”
“It’s Malfoy. Who knows?” she replied with a shrug. “You better go check on him.”
Harry sighed loudly, laying his forehead against her bare shoulder. “I’m going to kill him.”
Hermione laughed, smoothing down his hair. “Remember that you need him for the time being.”
“Unfortunately,” he grumbled, lifting his head. “He has bloody horrible timing.” He cupped Hermione’s face in his hands. “Could you hold this thought please? Five minutes tops.”
“Five minutes,” she grinned.
He kissed her quickly. “Thank you.” He swiftly lifted her off of him, sliding out of the bed. Hermione laughed quietly, grabbing her camisole and slipping it back on as Harry stormed out of the room to read Draco the riot act.
When Harry pushed the door to the guest bedroom open, he almost expected to see Draco trying to make a break for it. What he didn’t expect to see was Draco sitting on top of his covers, reading an outdated copy of The Daily Prophet that he had found in the room.
Draco didn’t even look up to acknowledge Harry as he spoke. “Took you long enough, Potter. Too busy laying the misses, I take it.”
“That’s proving difficult with you choosing the most brilliant moments to interrupt lately,” Harry snapped.
An amused smirk on his face, Draco finally looked up from his paper. “A sexually frustrated Boy Who Lived. I must admit this is amusing.”
Harry folded his arms angrily. “You know what else is amusing? You handcuffed in my basement. We can easily relive that amusing moment in our lives and have a good damn laugh.”
“Wow, note to self,” Draco replied with a raised eyebrow, “do not step between Potter and sex.”
“Malfoy,” Harry growled, “what the hell are you doing?”
“Trying to get your attention,” he said, folding up his paper. “And it worked.”
“Well, you bloody have it. Now what do you want?”
“If I’m taking you to my flat tomorrow to retrieve the book you need, we need a deal change.”
Harry scowled at him in response. “A deal change?”
“How thick do you think I am, Potter?” Draco tossed his paper to the side and pushed himself from the bed, approaching Harry and standing in the other man’s personal space. “As soon as you get what you need? I know I’m taking a one-way trip to Azkaban.”
“As you should,” Harry stated simply.
“Actually, I think one Malfoy wasting away in Azkaban is quite enough.”
“You think I’ll let you go?” Harry scoffed. “You’re a *killer*, Malfoy. The only reason I’m protecting you against your Death Eater friends now is because you may prove to be an asset to me. But I don’t care if you’re so-called redeemed or not, the fact still remains that you deserve whatever is coming to you.” He paused, frowning deeply. “You deserve the same fate as your father.”
“Fuck you, Potter,” Draco snarled.
Harry smirked. “If this is your way of sweet talking me and trying to win me over to this idea of yours? You may want to try harder, and it wouldn’t hurt to tone down the language a bit.”
“Fine, Potter, have it your way.” He walked away and flopped back onto the bed, retrieving his discarded paper. “Please feel free to call your ministry friends tonight as you and I are officially done being partners.”
“First of all, Malfoy, we were never partners,” Harry replied. “And secondly? You don’t have an upper hand here. With or without you, I can find your place and search for the book.”
Draco flipped causally through the paper. “And if the book isn’t there?”
Harry remained quiet.
Draco waited a moment before looking over at Harry with an expectant expression. “You see, Potter, I’m the only one here who can get their hands on the original if push comes to shove. You need that book ergo you need me.” He smirked, closing up the paper. “Without that book? You could kiss your happy little life here goodbye. And once you’re gone, Potter? Guess who the Death Eaters will be gladly going for next.” He raised an eyebrow and nodded across the hall at Harry’s closed bedroom door. “Come on, Potter, you and I both know you won’t risk that.”
Draco waited patiently while Harry scowled at him.
“Fine, Malfoy,” Harry finally said. “No Azkaban, but I will personally be watching you like a damn hawk.”
Draco grinned. “That a promise?”
Harry simply glared at him before turning and storming out, slamming the door closed as he left. Draco chuckled at the door, opening his paper again.
Never let it be said that aggravating Harry ever lost its appeal. Especially when that was the only defense Draco had against the other man at the moment. He didn’t like Harry having all the cards in this game. It made him feel weak, inferior, helpless, and Draco had spent the past five years of his life being everything *but* those things.
He hadn’t felt this inferior since the last time he had talked to his father, a visit to Azkaban that had been unpleasant to say the least. The entire visit Draco spent nodding at his father as the elder Malfoy instructed him on all the ways Draco could improve. His grades against Granger. His Quidditch talent against Potter. His dark skills against those skills of Harry Potter and his Golden Army. And ever since that visit, which turned out to be his last visit to Azkaban, Draco had spent every day trying not to feel that inferior ever again.
Your father sends his regards.
Those had been Harry’s parting words earlier in the afternoon, and they had stung Draco more than he had cared for or would ever admit. His father’s regards? He was quite certain what they were. Wishes that his son hadn’t turned out the way he had, that he had actually lived up to all the expectations. Wishes that his family name had not been tainted in such a foul manner. Wishes that his son were dead and removed from the family lineage, the Malfoy name be damned.
Better the Malfoy line end with him than be procreated further into disgrace.
You deserve the same fate as your father.
Draco would have preferred the Dementor’s Kiss. Hell, he would have preferred becoming Potter’s trusty bloody sidekick before ever ending up a bitter shadow of a man like his father.
“Fucking Potter,” Draco growled into the empty room.
The damn Boy Who Lived had gotten into his subconscious without even realizing it.
Draco felt the sudden need for a release, an outlet for his frustrations. For a moment, he contemplated throwing things, hurling a few breakable objects against the walls just to watch them shatter into jagged pieces. But he didn’t want to give Harry the satisfaction of knowing that he was finally snapping, that his calm I-don’t-give-a-damn façade was cracking and cracking rather quickly at that. Besides, if Draco interrupted Harry and Hermione again, he was quite certain Harry would gladly handcuff him to the plumbing for another night without even a second thought.
Draco stared angrily at the far wall, trying his best to reel in his violent urges. Giggles and other sounds he would have been quite happy never hearing again broke through his concentration, and he closed his eyes together tightly, as if that would get the sudden visual of Hermione and Harry out of his head. He growled loudly as that did nothing but burn the image further into his subconscious-Hermione writhing underneath Harry, her nails digging into his shoulder blades….
Draco stopped that thought before it could go any further. This was *not* the release he had been wanting.
“Welcome to your hell, Draco,” he grumbled, suddenly wishing he wasn’t locked up in the damn room so he could have access to a nice cold shower.
“Beyond hell,” he muttered to himself.
Draco rubbed his temples, trying to ignore the sounds coming from across the hall through the obviously paper thin walls.
“Bloody hell, fuck it,” he said after another futile attempt at trying to focus his attention elsewhere. He started pulling off his clothing, muttering angrily under his breath.
If he couldn’t throw things to vent his pent up issues, then he’d just do the next best thing.
----------
The next morning, Draco was mindlessly pacing the carpet when the bedroom door swung open. He turned and expected to be greeted by a sarcastic Harry, but instead was greeted by a similarly sarcastic Hermione. She stood in the doorway, making no move to enter the room with him.
“Malfoy,” she greeted simply.
Draco smirked at her, giving her the once over as his thoughts traveled back to the sounds he had heard coming from her the night before. In response, she shifted slightly on her feet, giving him a nasty glare as if challenging him to give her a reason to curse him where he stood.
“Where’s the warden?” he finally asked.
“Harry and Ron went to the ministry to procure a portkey,” she replied. “They felt it’d be the easiest way to get from here to your place and back.”
Draco grinned. “He left you alone with me?”
“He did because he knows I won’t hesitate to kill you if necessary,” she said evenly. “Besides, we’re no longer holding you hostage. You’re free to move about.”
He raised a suspicious eyebrow. “Free to move about?”
“Some areas of the house are still off-limits to you, but the doors to those rooms have been specially charmed so that no one but Harry or myself can enter.”
“But what if I snoop around and get my hands on my wand?” he smirked deviously.
Hermione rolled her eyes. “Do you think we’d be thick enough to keep your wand in the house while you’re here?”
“Harry, yes,” he replied with a shrug of his shoulders. “You, apparently not.”
“You better get cleaned up before they return.” She motioned over her shoulder as she added, “Bathroom is down the hall.”
With that, she turned to leave.
“Granger, hey!” Draco called out before she could get far. He quickly approached her as she turned back to him.
“What, Malfoy?” she asked with a sigh of irritation.
He leaned into her, smirking, as he spoke in a hushed tone. “You do realize the walls in your house are paper thin, correct?”
Hermione flushed in response.
“I must commend you on your brilliant performance last night,” he said, his smirk intensifying.
She stared daggers at him for a moment before finally responding. “I would hurry up if I were you. For your sake, you really don’t want to keep Harry waiting.” With that, she turned and proceeded down the hall and towards the staircase, Draco chuckling under his breath as he watched her disappear. As soon as she disappeared down the stairs, he made his way towards the bathroom to wash up.
---------
All disclaimers can be found in part 1.
Special note: The word "malvagita" is Italian for wickedness/darkness.
Harry approached the cell, his hands in the pockets of his slacks. He didn’t need to announce his presence to the figure lying on the cot against the back wall of the cell.
“The infamous Harry Potter come to pay me a visit.”
Lucius Malfoy sat up slowly, leveling his gaze on Harry. He stood, Harry taking note that time in Azkaban had not been good on the older man. He was lankier now, deathly skinny, his skin paler than it had ever been naturally. His blue eyes were sunken into his skull, and his long blond hair was thinning. He frankly looked like hell warmed over.
“Malfoy,” he simply greeted.
“What does this concern, Potter?” he asked as he made his way towards the front of his cell.
“Your son.”
Lucius Malfoy wrapped his long, skinny fingers around the bars of the cell, leaning against the metal as he hissed, “I have no son.”
Harry rolled his eyes in response. “Let’s pretend you do, and let’s pretend his name is Draco and he’s a Death Eater.”
Lucius simply bared his yellowing teeth.
“I know for a fact you still receive news from the Death Eaters, Malfoy,” Harry said, pulling his hands from his pockets and folding his arms. “I’m not an idiot. I know that Azkaban is as shady a place as it is good.”
“Even if I knew this information you want, boy, I have no reason to share it with you.” He motioned around his cell. “I’m already enjoying the confines of prison. You have no bargaining chip here.”
Harry hesitated for a moment, thinking. “You tell me what I need to know, and I’ll guarantee that your disgrace of a son sees a bloody, painful fate suitable of whatever it is he’s done.”
Lucius studied him for a moment before nodding curtly. “What do you want, Potter?”
“Your son claims he’s no longer a Death Eater….”
“As he shouldn’t be,” Lucius interrupted with a growl. “That disgraceful boy killed two of his own. The Death Eaters want his blood for his betrayal.”
“Any idea why he killed them?”
Lucius watched him, raising an eyebrow. “You’ve spoken with Draco, I take it. You wouldn’t be here asking questions like this if you haven’t.”
“I have, yeah.”
“Then ask him why,” Lucius snarled, pushing himself away from the bars. “I don’t care to waste anymore of my breath speaking of him.” He walked slowly back to his cot, lying back down.
Harry watched him with a frown. “But he’s your son.”
Lucius chuckled up at the ceiling, the laugh turning into a hacking cough. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “Draco was my protégé. He was my namesake. He was to carry on my legacy, the family’s legacy. I’d rather he die than my name be carried on in such a manner.”
Harry studied Lucius for a moment longer before turning and walking out without saying another word.
----------
“Hey, Weasel, make yourself useful and fix me a sandwich.”
Ron stood at the refrigerator, peering inside. His grip on the handle tightened as Draco spoke to him. “Why don’t you choke on your own spit and die, Malfoy?” he replied through gritted teeth.
Draco grinned. “Man, you and the little sister have some serious attitude problems.”
Ron slammed the refrigerator door shut, turning on Draco. “Don’t talk about Ginny.”
At that moment, Hermione and Ginny entered the kitchen. “What’s going on?” Hermione asked, glancing from Draco to Ron.
“Just Weasel throwing a temper tantrum,” Draco shrugged.
Ginny muttered under her breath as she grabbed Ron’s arm. “You need to cool down,” she said, dragging him out of the kitchen before he could launch himself at Draco.
Hermione frowned at Draco once they were alone. “Are you quite done acting like an immature jerk?”
“Hey, Weasley’s the one who decided to vent his frustration out on your appliances. I can’t do much handcuffed to your table.” He paused, yanking on his arm. “Which, by the way, has cut off circulation to my hand.”
She simply stared at him.
“Look, Granger, you have my wand locked up Merlin knows where, and you have the two Weasleys within yelling distance in the next room,” he rationalized with a frown. “All I’m asking for is a few moments to regain feeling in my hand.”
Hermione studied him with a frown before sighing quietly and approaching him. She pulled the spare set of keys from the pocket of her jeans and kneeled down beside Draco’s chair. She unlocked the cuff from around the table, Draco sighing in relief as he lifted his arm, gently massaging around the cuff still attached to him.
“You’re too trusting, Granger,” he said, watching her as she stood.
“I don’t trust you, and I definitely don’t fear you.”
Draco stood with a smirk. “Is that the case?”
“Like you said, Malfoy,” she replied in an even tone, holding his stare. “You’re wandless, and I have back up in the next room.”
“I could overpower you in a heartbeat, you know.”
“And I could say Avada Kedavra before you laid a hand on me,” she replied defiantly. “Now sit down.”
“You really *have* picked up Potter’s attitude.” He smirked. “And I’ll tell you like I tell him, I don’t take orders.” He reached out and grabbed her arm roughly, pulling her closer to him. “You really should fear me, Granger.”
“And you should really let her go.”
Draco turned slightly to see Harry standing in the kitchen doorway, wand out and aimed at him. He grinned over at him. “Potter, if you could come back in a few minutes, I was just in the process of harassing your girlfriend.”
Hermione raised her left hand to Draco’s eye level, revealing the diamond ring on her hand that he hadn’t noticed the night before. “Fiancée, you filthy prat.” And with that, she kneed him in the groin. “Get it right.”
Draco collapsed to the floor, reeling in the urge to vomit from the sudden fierce pain.
“Told you you should let her go,” Harry laughed as he grabbed Draco by the back of his robes and lifted him to his feet. He pushed Draco back into his chair as Ginny and Ron returned into the kitchen. Hermione sat across from Draco as the Weasleys lingered near the kitchen counter.
“You know,” Draco grimaced, “I think I’d prefer the Death Eaters to you lot right about now.”
“Tell me what you know about this old magic stuff, Malfoy.”
Draco watched him suspiciously as Harry walked around to the other side of the kitchen table, taking a seat next to Hermione. “You believe me now?”
“I didn’t say that,” he shrugged. “I said I wanted to know what you know.”
Draco sat silently for a moment, glancing at the four people across from him. Once upon a time, he would have struck fear in them. Or at least a level of irritation they had never felt before. And now, they simply stood there, looking down on him as if he were nothing. He really was starting to think that allowing the Death Eaters to murder him would be a better option than joining forces with this lot. At least then he’d die with a shred of dignity.
“I don’t know a lot,” he finally admitted.
From his position at the kitchen counter, Ron groaned and muttered, “Bloody unbelievable.”
Echoing his friend’s sentiments at the moment, Harry leaned forward in his chair. “I thought you were, as you put it, *privy* to information on the Boy Who Lived.”
“I know bits and pieces, Potter,” Draco snapped back. “These things aren’t discussed with everyone. Death Eaters don’t trust anyone, not even our own.”
“How lovely,” Ginny replied with a roll of her eyes.
“So I’m keeping you safe for bits and pieces of information?” Harry replied, annoyed. He glanced over his shoulder at Ron. “Do me a favor, mate? Apparate over to the ministry and let them know I have Draco Malfoy in holding and ready for a one-way trip to Azkaban.”
“Hey!” Draco protested as Ron stepped away from the counter. Harry turned to him with a slightly amused look. “I may not have the whole story, but I have enough.”
“Then do share, Malfoy,” Hermione replied, sitting back in her chair.
“There’s this book….” He began.
“This story is frightening already,” Ron said sarcastically. “No wonder Harry’s keeping you alive.”
Draco glared at him. “You’d do best not to insult things you obviously don’t understand, Weasel.” He turned back to Harry as he continued, “This book is the ultimate in dark magic. The beginnings of everything dark in the wizarding world. No one knows who wrote it, where it came from originally, but it’s found itself in the hands of every single dark wizard people have learned to fear. And it holds the key to your death, Potter.”
“And what is this book?”
“The Book of Malvagita.”
Harry sat back in his chair as Hermione gave him a look only he could understand. “So what’s the key to my death, Malfoy?”
“Hell if I know,” he replied with a shrug.
Harry scowled at him. He kept his eyes trained on Draco as he spoke over his shoulder. “Ron, that favor?”
“I *don’t* know,” Draco emphasized. “Something to do with a rising and a creature and your disemboweled bloody demise. Sounds like an entertaining tale really, but I told you I only knew bits and pieces.”
“Fine. Then I get the book and take a look for myself.”
“You can’t just go check this out at the library, Potter,” Draco scoffed. “This book wasn’t mass produced. There are only three copies in the wizarding world. The original, which is the one the Death Eaters have, and two copies.”
“And the copies?” Hermione asked.
“Well, one of them was lost during one of the Goblin Rebellions.”
“And the other?”
A slow smile spread across Draco’s face. “That’s where keeping me alive comes in handy.”
“You have it,” Harry frowned.
“Well, not on me obviously, but yes. Before you and your auror friends raided my father’s manor, Potter, I was given a helpful warning in order to salvage a few important items. One of which was my father’s most prized possession.”
“So where is the book now?” Ginny interjected.
“My flat which proves to be good and bad news.”
“And why is that?” Harry asked.
“Because as I stated last night as you chained me up in your basement,” he replied with an annoyed tone, “I’m enemy number one at the moment. They’re waiting for me to return to my flat so they can finish me off. I can’t exactly go waltzing in.” He shrugged his shoulders. “I can’t even guarantee the book will still be there. They’ve probably already trashed my place.”
Harry studied him for a moment before pushing away from the table, his chair scraping loudly against the tiled floor. He walked around to Draco’s side of the table, grabbing the open end of the handcuffs and forcing Draco to his feet. “The grown-ups need to talk now.”
“Your basement accommodations leave much to be desired.”
“Shut up, or you’ll be going back there.”
Draco gave him a confused look as Harry drug him out of the kitchen and up a staircase. At the end of the hallway, he pushed open a door and shoved Draco inside the guest bedroom. Draco looked around the room suspiciously as Harry approached him.
“What’s the deal, Potter?”
Harry removed a key from the pocket of his jeans and grabbed a firm hold of Draco’s arm, unlocking the cuff that had continued to dangle from his wrist. “The windows and the door are specially charmed. You even attempt anything, and I’ll know.”
Draco pulled back his arm, rubbing his tender wrist. “You’re full of surprises, huh?”
Harry simply frowned at him as he shoved the handcuffs into his back pocket.
“Call me curious here, Potter, but last night you didn’t believe a word I had to say. Why the change?”
Harry started towards the door as he replied, “Your father sends his regards.” He pulled the door closed, leaving Draco to stare after it dumbfounded.
When Harry returned to the kitchen, all three of his friends looked at him expectantly. Ron was the first to speak. “You don’t really believe that rubbish about an evil book, do you?”
In response, Harry turned to Hermione, who remained seated at the table. She’d been holding in her thoughts for a while, ever since she had given him a look at the mention of the book. “Herm?”
“It’s a real book,” she replied with a nod. “Well, I always thought it was nothing but a legend. A fable that sort of finds itself passed from generation to generation, but tidbits of proof of its existence have always been discovered here and there.” She sighed, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “Very few people have seen the book-it’s original or the copies. And if it’s been in the hands of Death Eaters and other dark wizards for ages, there’s a reason. They keep their secrets well.”
Ginny frowned. “So what he said about a creature rising?”
“For all we know,” Hermione shrugged, an unpleasant look on her face as she glanced towards Harry, “Malfoy could be telling the truth.”
“So we get the book, solve the puzzle, stop the big rising of the mystery creature, and we’re done,” Ron offered.
“Unless the rising has already begun,” Harry countered, leaning against the doorframe. “We don’t know how long Malfoy has been sitting on this information. Could be days, could be months.”
“Four years in the making,” Hermione agreed. “That’s what he said last night.”
Ron blinked. “So the creature could already be here? Hanging out around town?”
“But if that’s the case, then why am I alive?” Harry frowned. “I’d imagine its main goal would be to kill me and be done with it.”
“Should we go search his place?” Ron asked.
“Tomorrow,” Harry replied. “You and I can go, and we’ll take him with us.”
Ron nodded in agreement before asking the question that had been bugging him for a while. “So you really believe he’s being hunted by his own kind?”
Harry shrugged. “Seems that way.”
“So what do we do now?”
“Try not to murder him in the meantime.”
----------
Dressed in navy boxers and drying his hair with a towel, Harry stepped out of the bathroom, throwing a cautious glance at the closed door to the guest bedroom. For the most part, Draco had been remotely quiet since Harry had placed him in the room. Even bathroom breaks and bringing of meals didn’t get as many snarky remarks as Harry figured they would. It was a bit unnerving to say the least. Hermione had even gone as far as to suggest that Draco be allowed free reign since he didn’t seem to be much of a threat, especially without his wand. Unfortunately, Harry had to agree that she had a point. Besides, it meant less time spent supervising Draco on bathroom trips, a joy that Harry had no problems giving up.
Harry entered his bedroom, pushing the door closed with his foot. He finished drying his hair and tossed his damp towel into the lounger in the corner of the room, and he half-expected Hermione to lecture him on damp objects on the furniture. But at the moment, her attention was focused elsewhere. She sat in the middle of the bed, surrounded by books.
“What are you doing?” he asked curiously. He moved two of the books onto his nightstand to clear off a spot beside her.
“Research,” she replied, her brown eyes never moving their gaze from the book she was presently flipping through.
“Hermione, we don’t even have our hands on the book yet.”
“I know,” she said, “but I wanted to read up on the book itself. Try to separate fact from fiction.”
Harry sighed, sitting back in the bed, his back propped against the headboard. “I just don’t want you to run yourself into the ground before we even get our hands on the book.”
Hermione reached into her hair and removed the pencil that had been keeping her hair up in a messy bun. She glanced over her shoulder at him as she ran a hand through her hair, untangling it. “It’s fine, Harry,” she smiled. “You’re the hero, Ron’s the heart, and I’m the brains. Books are my thing. They always have been, you know that.”
“I could be the brains,” he replied in an offended tone.
Hermione grinned at him before returning to her books. “Of course you could,” she replied with false sincerity.
With a smirk, he ran his hand up her back, tangling his fingers in the ends of her tresses. “Only you could get away with insulting me like that.”
“I know,” she laughed, tapping the eraser of the pencil against her lips.
They sat in silence for a while, she flipping slowly through her books and jotting down notes and he watching her. It reminded him of their Hogwarts days when she would study maniacally while he would slack off with Ron. Back then, she had kept them in line when it came to their classes, and on more than one occasion, her intelligence--her love of books, knowledge, and facts-had saved their lives. Even now, she still continued to come through for him time and time again. Though they approached it in different fashions, she fought to protect him as much as he fought to protect her. There really weren’t enough words that Harry could think of to describe how grateful he was to have her on his side and in his life.
“Stop thinking,” Hermione said, not looking up from her book. “It’s distracting.”
Harry laughed, leaning forward in his seat. He pushed her hair away from the side of her neck, softly trailing kisses up her neck. “Thank you,” he said against her skin.
“For what?” she asked with a quiet laugh.
“Being the brains.”
“My pleasure.”
He slipped his hand over her cheek, turning her face towards him and kissed her on the lips. She returned the kiss fully, a hand on his lap. After a moment, she finally pulled away, her lips brushing against his as she spoke. “Research, Harry,” she said, grinning as she pulled away a bit more. “I have at least three more books to go through.”
“But they can wait until tomorrow though, right?”
He gave her an innocent smile, and she rolled her eyes at him with a laugh. “You know, times like these? I’m reminded that the Boy Who Lived is first and foremost a boy.”
He grinned at her. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”
Harry took hold of her waist and pulled her over onto him, Hermione letting out a surprised yelp. She laughed as she settled on top of him, her legs on either side of his waist. “You do remember that Malfoy is right across the hall, right?”
His hands resting on her bare thighs, Harry shrugged. “His wand is locked up tight, and he can’t get out without one of us.”
“That’s not exactly what I meant.”
Harry grinned as he realized what she had meant. “The noise factor.” He leaned forward, kissing her. “He’s an adult, Hermione. He can deal.”
She kissed him back, pulling away only long enough for Harry to pull her camisole off over her head. She moaned softly, her fingers gripping his unruly damp hair, as he kissed her just under her earlobe.
“Harry,” she breathed as he traced kisses down her neck.
He responded by kissing her heavily, his tongue slipping past her lips, and Hermione lost herself in the kiss for a moment before pulling away with a soft pant.
“Harry,” she tried again, her hands flat against his chest. “Listen.”
He frowned a bit. “Listen to what-?”
Hermione placed her fingers on his lips to silence him, and in the quiet of the room, the sounds of knocking emerged. Harry growled against her fingers, and she dropped her hand away.
“What the hell is he doing?”
“It’s Malfoy. Who knows?” she replied with a shrug. “You better go check on him.”
Harry sighed loudly, laying his forehead against her bare shoulder. “I’m going to kill him.”
Hermione laughed, smoothing down his hair. “Remember that you need him for the time being.”
“Unfortunately,” he grumbled, lifting his head. “He has bloody horrible timing.” He cupped Hermione’s face in his hands. “Could you hold this thought please? Five minutes tops.”
“Five minutes,” she grinned.
He kissed her quickly. “Thank you.” He swiftly lifted her off of him, sliding out of the bed. Hermione laughed quietly, grabbing her camisole and slipping it back on as Harry stormed out of the room to read Draco the riot act.
When Harry pushed the door to the guest bedroom open, he almost expected to see Draco trying to make a break for it. What he didn’t expect to see was Draco sitting on top of his covers, reading an outdated copy of The Daily Prophet that he had found in the room.
Draco didn’t even look up to acknowledge Harry as he spoke. “Took you long enough, Potter. Too busy laying the misses, I take it.”
“That’s proving difficult with you choosing the most brilliant moments to interrupt lately,” Harry snapped.
An amused smirk on his face, Draco finally looked up from his paper. “A sexually frustrated Boy Who Lived. I must admit this is amusing.”
Harry folded his arms angrily. “You know what else is amusing? You handcuffed in my basement. We can easily relive that amusing moment in our lives and have a good damn laugh.”
“Wow, note to self,” Draco replied with a raised eyebrow, “do not step between Potter and sex.”
“Malfoy,” Harry growled, “what the hell are you doing?”
“Trying to get your attention,” he said, folding up his paper. “And it worked.”
“Well, you bloody have it. Now what do you want?”
“If I’m taking you to my flat tomorrow to retrieve the book you need, we need a deal change.”
Harry scowled at him in response. “A deal change?”
“How thick do you think I am, Potter?” Draco tossed his paper to the side and pushed himself from the bed, approaching Harry and standing in the other man’s personal space. “As soon as you get what you need? I know I’m taking a one-way trip to Azkaban.”
“As you should,” Harry stated simply.
“Actually, I think one Malfoy wasting away in Azkaban is quite enough.”
“You think I’ll let you go?” Harry scoffed. “You’re a *killer*, Malfoy. The only reason I’m protecting you against your Death Eater friends now is because you may prove to be an asset to me. But I don’t care if you’re so-called redeemed or not, the fact still remains that you deserve whatever is coming to you.” He paused, frowning deeply. “You deserve the same fate as your father.”
“Fuck you, Potter,” Draco snarled.
Harry smirked. “If this is your way of sweet talking me and trying to win me over to this idea of yours? You may want to try harder, and it wouldn’t hurt to tone down the language a bit.”
“Fine, Potter, have it your way.” He walked away and flopped back onto the bed, retrieving his discarded paper. “Please feel free to call your ministry friends tonight as you and I are officially done being partners.”
“First of all, Malfoy, we were never partners,” Harry replied. “And secondly? You don’t have an upper hand here. With or without you, I can find your place and search for the book.”
Draco flipped causally through the paper. “And if the book isn’t there?”
Harry remained quiet.
Draco waited a moment before looking over at Harry with an expectant expression. “You see, Potter, I’m the only one here who can get their hands on the original if push comes to shove. You need that book ergo you need me.” He smirked, closing up the paper. “Without that book? You could kiss your happy little life here goodbye. And once you’re gone, Potter? Guess who the Death Eaters will be gladly going for next.” He raised an eyebrow and nodded across the hall at Harry’s closed bedroom door. “Come on, Potter, you and I both know you won’t risk that.”
Draco waited patiently while Harry scowled at him.
“Fine, Malfoy,” Harry finally said. “No Azkaban, but I will personally be watching you like a damn hawk.”
Draco grinned. “That a promise?”
Harry simply glared at him before turning and storming out, slamming the door closed as he left. Draco chuckled at the door, opening his paper again.
Never let it be said that aggravating Harry ever lost its appeal. Especially when that was the only defense Draco had against the other man at the moment. He didn’t like Harry having all the cards in this game. It made him feel weak, inferior, helpless, and Draco had spent the past five years of his life being everything *but* those things.
He hadn’t felt this inferior since the last time he had talked to his father, a visit to Azkaban that had been unpleasant to say the least. The entire visit Draco spent nodding at his father as the elder Malfoy instructed him on all the ways Draco could improve. His grades against Granger. His Quidditch talent against Potter. His dark skills against those skills of Harry Potter and his Golden Army. And ever since that visit, which turned out to be his last visit to Azkaban, Draco had spent every day trying not to feel that inferior ever again.
Your father sends his regards.
Those had been Harry’s parting words earlier in the afternoon, and they had stung Draco more than he had cared for or would ever admit. His father’s regards? He was quite certain what they were. Wishes that his son hadn’t turned out the way he had, that he had actually lived up to all the expectations. Wishes that his family name had not been tainted in such a foul manner. Wishes that his son were dead and removed from the family lineage, the Malfoy name be damned.
Better the Malfoy line end with him than be procreated further into disgrace.
You deserve the same fate as your father.
Draco would have preferred the Dementor’s Kiss. Hell, he would have preferred becoming Potter’s trusty bloody sidekick before ever ending up a bitter shadow of a man like his father.
“Fucking Potter,” Draco growled into the empty room.
The damn Boy Who Lived had gotten into his subconscious without even realizing it.
Draco felt the sudden need for a release, an outlet for his frustrations. For a moment, he contemplated throwing things, hurling a few breakable objects against the walls just to watch them shatter into jagged pieces. But he didn’t want to give Harry the satisfaction of knowing that he was finally snapping, that his calm I-don’t-give-a-damn façade was cracking and cracking rather quickly at that. Besides, if Draco interrupted Harry and Hermione again, he was quite certain Harry would gladly handcuff him to the plumbing for another night without even a second thought.
Draco stared angrily at the far wall, trying his best to reel in his violent urges. Giggles and other sounds he would have been quite happy never hearing again broke through his concentration, and he closed his eyes together tightly, as if that would get the sudden visual of Hermione and Harry out of his head. He growled loudly as that did nothing but burn the image further into his subconscious-Hermione writhing underneath Harry, her nails digging into his shoulder blades….
Draco stopped that thought before it could go any further. This was *not* the release he had been wanting.
“Welcome to your hell, Draco,” he grumbled, suddenly wishing he wasn’t locked up in the damn room so he could have access to a nice cold shower.
“Beyond hell,” he muttered to himself.
Draco rubbed his temples, trying to ignore the sounds coming from across the hall through the obviously paper thin walls.
“Bloody hell, fuck it,” he said after another futile attempt at trying to focus his attention elsewhere. He started pulling off his clothing, muttering angrily under his breath.
If he couldn’t throw things to vent his pent up issues, then he’d just do the next best thing.
----------
The next morning, Draco was mindlessly pacing the carpet when the bedroom door swung open. He turned and expected to be greeted by a sarcastic Harry, but instead was greeted by a similarly sarcastic Hermione. She stood in the doorway, making no move to enter the room with him.
“Malfoy,” she greeted simply.
Draco smirked at her, giving her the once over as his thoughts traveled back to the sounds he had heard coming from her the night before. In response, she shifted slightly on her feet, giving him a nasty glare as if challenging him to give her a reason to curse him where he stood.
“Where’s the warden?” he finally asked.
“Harry and Ron went to the ministry to procure a portkey,” she replied. “They felt it’d be the easiest way to get from here to your place and back.”
Draco grinned. “He left you alone with me?”
“He did because he knows I won’t hesitate to kill you if necessary,” she said evenly. “Besides, we’re no longer holding you hostage. You’re free to move about.”
He raised a suspicious eyebrow. “Free to move about?”
“Some areas of the house are still off-limits to you, but the doors to those rooms have been specially charmed so that no one but Harry or myself can enter.”
“But what if I snoop around and get my hands on my wand?” he smirked deviously.
Hermione rolled her eyes. “Do you think we’d be thick enough to keep your wand in the house while you’re here?”
“Harry, yes,” he replied with a shrug of his shoulders. “You, apparently not.”
“You better get cleaned up before they return.” She motioned over her shoulder as she added, “Bathroom is down the hall.”
With that, she turned to leave.
“Granger, hey!” Draco called out before she could get far. He quickly approached her as she turned back to him.
“What, Malfoy?” she asked with a sigh of irritation.
He leaned into her, smirking, as he spoke in a hushed tone. “You do realize the walls in your house are paper thin, correct?”
Hermione flushed in response.
“I must commend you on your brilliant performance last night,” he said, his smirk intensifying.
She stared daggers at him for a moment before finally responding. “I would hurry up if I were you. For your sake, you really don’t want to keep Harry waiting.” With that, she turned and proceeded down the hall and towards the staircase, Draco chuckling under his breath as he watched her disappear. As soon as she disappeared down the stairs, he made his way towards the bathroom to wash up.
---------