Author's Note: Chapter Three is here! Yaaaaay. I hope you like it :)

Beta: katchin05


You keep it flying so high
But lock it down low so it feels right
Just look into the sky and it becomes you
Sweep young feel on a dark night
Lifting me up into arms tight
Open up my mind and it becomes you

"8896" by Låpsley


"So let me get this straight." Neville's face screwed. "You unknowingly posed for Draco Malfoy's art class, and now you need me to accompany you to some arty event that he invited you to, because you don't want him to think you're interested?"

Hermione stirred a teaspoon of sugar into her coffee and nodded. "Precisely."

"Are you interested?"

She choked on her first sip. "God, no!"

"Then why do you care what he thinks?" Neville asked, a knowing smile on his face.

Hermione glared at the young man, having asked him to lunch at a cafe not too far from the Ministry. "I don't care. I simply . . . don't want to lead him on," she replied, believably, if not for her tone of voice. It went high the way it usually did when she wasn't honest.

Neville snickered. "You're a terrible liar."

"I'm not lying."

"Oh, but you are," he smirked. "You know how I can tell?"

Her eyes narrowed. "How?" she asked, less than enthused.

"Instead of declining the invitation and telling him you can't make it like a normal person would, you've gone through the trouble of bringing me here and bribing me to be your date with a fine selection of French pastries at your arsenal." Neville folded his arms and slowly shook his head. "You, Miss Granger, are playing dirty, and you only play dirty when you're hiding something."

She opened her mouth, ready to refute his argument, only to fall short. "Fine," Hermione sighed, leaning on the back of her chair. "You want the truth? I didn't just pose for his art class. I posed nude."

Neville's jaw dropped. "Nude, as in —"

"Completely naked," she interjected, reliving the horror of it all over again.

"How in Merlin's name did that happen?"

Hermione shrugged. "I don't know. I was feeling a little . . . trapped in my life, I suppose. Point is, he saw me, and then we ran into each other at the pub . . . and I don't know if it was the alcohol or the adrenaline, but I . . . I basically told him to finish what he started. In other words, I —"

"Opened the door to no-mans-land."

"Precisely."

"And because you were the one to do it, the Quaffle is now in Malfoy's clutches."

"Exactly."

"But, by bringing a date to his art show, you're metaphorically snatching the Quaffle out of his clutches and tossing it through one of his hoops."

She rapidly nodded. "Yes, absolutely."

Neville leaned back, weighing on it. "Okay, this is far too hilarious to pass up. I'm in."

Her eyes shot open. "Really? You are?"

"Yes," he decided. " — but only on the condition that you don't run for the hills as soon as we get there."

Hermione sucked in, mildly outraged and also a little embarrassed. "Fine. Fair enough."

Evening

There were far too many scenarios playing in her mind, for her to get dressed in a timely fashion. Hermione ran in and out of the loo, hair half done and one shoe on, as her doorbell went off. "Shite!" She raced to the front door — really more of a hobble — and unlocked it using wandless magic.

On the other side stood Neville, looking mighty dapper in his tailored black dress robes and his hair combed to the side. Since Hogwarts, he'd really grown into his looks and Hermione wasn't the only witch who noticed. More than half of the girls who ignored him in school now chased after him, as though they were the stars of a John Hughes film. It was all rather embarrassing, in Hermione's opinion. She had always seen Neville was boyfriend material.

Only, he wasn't exactly interested in women.

That was the main reason she had asked him to be her faux date for the art show. Theo would have been a nice choice, but she honestly had no romantic interested in him, whereas he clearly had some feelings for her. It was wrong to lead him on. Most other options were in committed, long-term relationships, but even if they weren't, she would have felt awkward involving them. Harry would have definitely lost his mind if he found out about the art class, and things with Ron had never really recovered from their brief relationship. Neville was clearly the best candidate, and the most willing to stick it to his former bully.

Hermione gave him a once-over. "You can't wear that."

"What?" Neville glanced down at his tailor-made dress robes, bewildered. "Is it too fancy or something? I thought you said the event was black tie."

"It is. I think."

"So what's the problem?"

Before the neighbours caught wind, she pulled him into the flat and closed the door. "It's a muggle event," Hermione explained, frustrated at forgetting to tell him. "You can't wear dress robes in front of muggles. They'll think you're mad."

He rubbed the back of his head, at a loss. "Thing is, I don't have fancy muggle clothes."

"I assumed as much," she said, folding her arms, in thought, before a light bulb went off. "Oh, I've an idea! Come with me." Before he could object, she grabbed a hold of his arm and dragged him to the bedroom, where she opened her wardrobe to reveal a dark blue suit in roughly the same size as his dress robes. "Try this on!"

Neville stared at the suit wide-eyed, and then at her. "Is this . . . yours?"

"No, it's —" Her chest contracted. "It was Blaise's. He wore it last autumn, to my parents' anniversary dinner." She forced a smile and shrugged. "I, er . . . I suppose he forgot to take it with him when he moved out."

The Herbology expert fell silent, looking to her, as she nervously tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. "You OK?"

She nodded. "Yes, absolutely. I'm fine, it's just memories, you know?"

Neville breathed out, lowering the suit before clapping a hand on Hermione's shoulder and pulling her in for a sideways hug. "We'll have fun tonight," he promised. "Forget the Quaffle, yeah? We're going straight for the Golden Snitch."

Hermione laughed. "Considering neither of us can fly a broom to save our lives, I think we're in for an eventful night."

One Hour Later

The venue was surprisingly easy to find. It was a tall, glass building down the road from the red brick building in which the art class was held. Because they were in a muggle-heavy area of London, Hermione convinced Neville to take the tube with her.

It was his first time, and although they nearly missed their stop when Neville decided to check out a cute Northern European tourist, Hermione managed to pry him out of the train car and onto the glistening streets.

"This is the place?" Neville asked, hands in his pockets as they arrived at the doors.

Hermione glanced ahead, trying her best to ignore the knot in her gut. "Yes, I believe so." Just as her date reached for the door handle, she rocked back. "Wait," she blurted, evading a group of snooty looking art lovers as they brushed past. "How do I . . . how do I look?"

Neville smiled in that knowing way. "Trying to impress a certain ferret?"

She forcibly scoffed. "Pfft, no . . . I just . . . I want to look good for me."

"Well, you do. As a matter of fact, you look stunning," he said to her, honestly. "Can we go inside now?"

There was a twitch along her bottom lip before she exhaled, deeply. "Okay, yes. Let's do that," she decided, linking arms with him as he opened the door. "They'll serve drinks in there, right?"

Inside

Because the place was filled to capacity, it was difficult to move around without bumping into someone and being forced into conversation about his work. It was strange to think all those people were there to see his art. Had he any semblance of any ego, it would've popped from over inflation. The war and the many changes in his life after it, seemed to have humbled him a little bit — a lot.

"Your work is amazing," started a red-haired woman whose name he couldn't be arsed to remember. "The intricacies, the uniqueness, the raw emotion in every piece. It's all so vivid and real, yet fantastical in this indescribable way."

Draco lifted an eyebrow at the woman. "Thanks," he mustered, trying not to sound like too much of an arsehole. "Anyway, erm, I have to go . . . over there." With one hand, he motioned to no place in particular, and bowed out of the conversation in the most polite way possible.

He loved art but he hated the art crowd, because It reminded him too much of pureblood society. Nothing but arse kissing to those deemed worthy, and thinly veiled insults to the rest. It was all so rubbish and insincere, and if he had to deal with it at all, he at least reserved the right to do it tipsy.

Before he could swipe a glass of champagne off of the nearest serving tray, there was a tap on his shoulder.

Mildly annoyed, Draco turned around to find Katya, the model in most of his drawings, and her girlfriend Cheryl, a fellow artist. The tension in his features tapered away and he smiled, greeting both of them with a kiss on the cheek.

"I'm so relieved to see you two," he said, ducking behind them as the red-haired woman searched for him in the crowd. "I can't believe so many people are here."

Katya brushed his modesty aside and smacked him on the shoulder, playfully. "Believe it, Mr. Draco. You are a talented young man."

"Quite," Cheryl nodded, a woman of few words.

He scrunched his mouth to the side, meaning to play off the compliment before another server came by, holding a tray of champagne. Without a moment of thought, he swiped a flute and knocked it back, choking on it ever so slightly. Truth be told, he didn't like champagne as it reminded him too much of all the highbrow pureblood gatherings he was forced to attend in his younger years, but in that moment he would have consumed Millicent Bulstrode's bath water if it was a guaranteed buzz.

Katya folded her slender arms and smiled at him. "I take it your friend has yet to arrive?"

Draco wiped his lips, looking to the Russian woman. "Hmm?"

"The girl in the drawing," she furthered. "Curly hair, big eyes, perky br —"

"Oh." He swallowed the beverage, tossing a look around the venue. "Right, er, I don't think she's coming."

Katya sipped lightly on her glass of champagne. "Why do you say that?" she asked, darting a look over his shoulder, towards the door.

He shrugged. "I don't know. She's a busy person. In fact, I'm pretty sure she's an Aur —" His throat clenched around the word before he could utter the second syllable. "An . . . aur . . . aur . . . orthodontist," he fabricated, vaguely aware that the occupancy had something to do with teeth. This way, if Granger did turn up, her perfect teeth would support the false job title. Merlin knew what his muggle friends would have thought if he told them Granger spent her days taking down evil witches and wizards.

Katya nodded along, oblivious. "So why haven't you told us about this Harmony Granger before?"

"Hermione," he corrected, falling silent as he realized it was the first time he had uttered that name out loud. "Erm, I don't know. We went to school together, but we were never friends. Come to think of it, I kind of tormented her a little bit."

"Typical," Cheryl voiced, earning looks from the other two before they carried on.

Katya refocused. "And why did you torment this poor girl?"

Because she was a Muggle-born, know-it-all bint and a great pain in my bigoted arse.

Draco cleared his throat, if only to buy time. "I, er . . . I wasn't the nicest person when I was a teenager," he explained, honestly. "I was actually kind of a bully, and Granger was an easy target. So was a boy named Neville. They were friends."

"Neville?" Katya repeated, looking over his shoulder again. "Does this Neville have dark hair, a long nose and a . . . forgetful look on his face?"

Draco narrowed his eyes a moment. "Yes, he does. How the bloody hell did you guess that?"

Katya opened her mouth to clue him in, before Cheryl beat her to the punch.

"Behind you," she said.

Before he could properly register the last minute of conversation, Draco turned around and laid eyes on the curly-haired brunette by the door. His jaw tensed. That night, her hair was down in tight spirals, the ends of which bounced a little with every step she took, and she was adorned in a knee-length black dress that hugged her shapely hips in just the right way. There wasn't an eye in the room she didn't catch.

It took him a good, long moment to realize he was staring.

Draco shook his head, attempting to clear muddled thoughts, until his eyes darted to the person whose arm was linked with the brunette's.

Longbottom?!

"What in the flying fuck . . . " He gaped at them, shamelessly. "Is that possible?"

Katya found his side and took another sip of champagne. "Is what possible?" she asked, casually.

"That," he blurted, face screwing. "Them."

"Oh, dear. Is Mr. Draco jealous?" she teased.

He narrowed his eyes at the woman, forcing down some more champagne. "I don't get jealous." Except I do; hence the six years of animosity between myself and Harry Potter. "I'll be in the back if anyone needs me."

Katya spun around to face him. "You are not going to say hello to your friends?" she asked, sounding vaguely like his mother.

Draco ignored the knot in his gut. "In a bit."

"No, no, no. You must do it now," the Russian decided, looking to the door and raising her slender arms. "Harmony!" she called out in a delightfully thick accent, catching the brunette's attention. "Harmony, over here!"

"Hermione," Cheryl quietly corrected.

"Yes, this is what I'm saying. Harmony."

Before Draco could make a run for it, Granger and her date (?) had already started from the door to the space by the bar, where he and his friends stood. It took them a moment to weave through the crowd. By the time they arrived, he'd already started on a second glass of champagne.

"Harmony," Katya greeted, leaning in to kiss Granger on the cheek, as she and Neville made it to the bar. "It is so good to finally meet you. Mr. Draco tells us a lot about the runaway model."

He snapped a hard look at Katya, to which she remained blissfully ignorant.

Granger, on the other hand, seemed to tense up a bit, still reeling from what happened a couple days ago, before a small smile found her lips. "It's good to meet you, as well. I had the pleasure of flipping through Mal—Draco's portfolio. It astounds me that you're able to hold such challenging poses for so long."

Katya brushed the compliment aside. "It is all a matter of practice. Come to my yoga class and I can teach you everything there is to know," she offered, glancing around their small circle of people. "Oh, where are my manners? This is Cheryl, my girlfriend."

"Oh, yes. I remember you from Agatha's class," the brunette recalled, smiling. "It's nice to see you again."

Cheryl nodded once. "Pleasure."

Following that, Granger looked to her left, where Neville stood, and urged him forward a few inches. "This is Neville," she introduced, waiting as Katya and Cheryl greeted him in much the same way as they had her. "He's my, erm . . ." Her eyes veered to him and her lips curved around unspoken words.

"I'm her plus one," Neville swiftly interjected. "Good to meet you both."

Seconds later, all four of them fixed their eyes on Draco, who remained quiet throughout the introductions. He swallowed his mouthful of champagne, acutely aware that Katya was making a face at him as if to suggest that he do something ludicrous like open his mouth and talk.

Draco cleared his throat. "Thanks for coming," he managed to say, looking to Granger in a way that he hoped was normal. "Both of you," he added, darting a look at Longbottom, who was glaring daggers at him. Rightly so, voiced his conscience. In an effort to deter the awkwardness for even a moment, he reached out to shake Longbottom's hand. "Been ages, hasn't it?"

Longbottom nodded curtly, and shook his hand in a similar manner. "Yeah. Haven't seen you since the battle."

"Battle?" Katya repeated, lifting her eyebrow at them. "What battle?"

The magic folk froze for a moment, after which Granger put that quick thinking to good use.

"They're talking about Battleship, the tabletop game," she explained, voicing the words as they came to her. "It was very popular in the boarding school we went to. There was a massive tournament at the end of the term, and these two were the best players."

"I won the tournament," Neville quickly added.

Draco resisted the urge to roll his eyes. "Yes, that's right. You did. I assume there was a lot of time to practice whilst your friends were constantly doing things without you."

Granger's mouth flew open as if to scold him for being rude, before she remembered that Katya and Cheryl were still watching. "To my knowledge, his talent came naturally."

Katya stared between the lot of them, confused but aware. "On that note, I think it's time for me and Cheryl to say hello to Agatha and then go home."

Draco's lip twitched. "Already?"

She nodded. "I'm afraid so. I've an early flight to St. Petersburg in the morning, but it was very nice meeting all of you."

"You, too," Granger and Longbottom said, in unison.

In a blink, telephone numbers were exchanged and hugs were given out, before Cheryl and Katya waved farewell; the latter of whom darted a look at Neville, from an angle that only Draco could see, and quickly winked. For a second, Draco hadn't the faintest idea what she was suggesting, but everything clicked the moment he looked to Neville and noticed that the bloke was making eyes with another bloke. A thirty-something Swede by the name of Markus, who happened to be a regular model for Agatha's class.

Interesting.

"I'll be right back," Longbottom mumbled, ignoring Granger's looks of protest as Markus nodded him over.

The second he left, disappearing into the crowd, Granger's warm, brown eyes darted to Draco in a sweep of uncertainty. She looked nervous, almost as nervous as when she'd been spread across that chaise lounge in the buff.

"Thanks for coming," he said again, if only to fill the silence. "I appreciate the, er, support."

"Looks to me like you have a ton of support as it is," she said, motioning to the crowd of people around them.

He laughed uncomfortably. "Oh, trust me. I know less than half of these people."

"Where did the others come from?"

"No idea," he shrugged. "I suspect they're just following the herd. Come tomorrow, I'll be old news and they'll be fawning over someone else's work."

"Oh, I doubt that. Your work is actually quite mesmerizing," she described, looking to the nearest painting and falling into step with him, as they strolled towards it. "Take this one, for example. It's a portrait of a beautiful older woman, dressed like royalty and surrounded by the finest antique furniture money can buy. She's smiling, yes, but when you take a second to really look in her eyes, you can see that everything around her, the furniture and the clothes on her back, it's all just a façade; an illusion to distract from the fact that, for some reason, her heart is either broken or breaking at that very moment and . . . and you managed to capture all of that with just a paint brush," the brunette said to him, breathing gently. "I find that pretty remarkable."

Draco blinked, only then realizing his eyes had been on Granger the entire time.

"Wait," she suddenly said, looking to him. "That's — that's your mother. The woman in the painting."

With no choice, he fixed his eyes on the portrait. "Yes, that's her. Narcissa Malfoy."

Granger's lips parted, as if she meant to apologize for the bit about the façade, even though she was absolutely right, but those words didn't come out. "How is she? Your mother, I mean."

"I think you got the gist of it," he offered, hands in his pockets.

"What about you?" she then asked, earning a vaguely surprised look from him. "How are you?"

Draco wasn't sure how to respond to that question. I'm doing well in terms of career and hobbies, and I've recently purchased an enormous penthouse flat in the most expensive part of wizarding London, but I'm also insanely fucking depressed and you can probably tell just by looking at me that it's been ages since anyone has taken the time to ask me how I am.

"I'm good," he lied.

Granger was too perceptive to believe him, and too empathetic of his hangups to pry. "I think this one might be my favourite," she said, putting on a smile as she directed him to another painting.

It was a simple, streetscape view of what muggles presumed to be a quaint, countryside village — but Granger knew better.

"Hogsmeade," she smiled, recognizing the thatched roofs, village square, layout of the nameless shops, and in the distance, the slim shadow of The Shrieking Shack. "Merlin, it's been ages since I was last there."

"Do you miss it?" he asked, for whatever reason.

"The village? Yes, I suppose I do. I'd love to visit, but it wouldn't feel the same as an adult, would it?"

Draco nodded in thought. There was something to be said about the youthful innocence of one's adolescence, and how places like Hogsmeade and Diagon Alley weren't nearly as bewitching, once that innocence started to fade. "I haven't been there since the war," he admitted.

Her eyes slowly drifted to him. "They banned you, didn't they?"

For a moment, he was surprised, and then he remembered she worked for the Ministry. Of course, she knew. "Hogsmeade and most shops in Diagon Alley, save for Ollivander's and Gringotts."

"Is that why you've — "

"Thrown myself into muggle society?" he smirked. "Yes. It's nice having a clean slate."

Granger absorbed the information, sipping lightly on her champagne. "Katya and Cheryl seem lovely," she said. "I still can't believe Katya can bend like that. In fact, I might have to take her up on that offer to join yoga. Maybe then I'll make for an interesting figure to draw," she laughed.

"Oh, you're plenty interesting," Draco countered, smiling sideways as he took another drink of champagne. "It's not everyday a model bolts out of the class at top speed."

The brunette grimaced. "I'm never going to live that down, am I?" she asked, the faintest note of humour in her eyes.

"Not if I can help it."

She laughed. "I'll have you know it was a horrific experience. I'll never be able to wear that dress again, without thinking of —"

Me?

" — the look on that snobby receptionist's face when I sprinted through the corridor half-naked."

"You know I chased after you, right?"

"Did you?" she mused, looking to him. "Why?"

The blonde shrugged. "I wanted to find out what you were doing in that class to begin with," he explained. "I mean, you pretty much know my story, so it's only fair that I know yours."

Granger nodded slowly, sipping on her champagne. "Okay, sure," she decided. "It was two parts work leave, three parts horrible breakup, and a standard garnish of boredom, monotony, and blind optimism."

"Sounds like a fine little cocktail."

"If by 'fine' you mean 'the most mortifying experience of all time', then yes," she nodded, laughing and shaking her head. "Of all the art classes in the city, I simply had to walk directly into yours."

"Maybe it was fate," he winked.

She rolled her eyes, smiling nonetheless. "Fate, torture — they're one in the same, really."

"Oh, come now. It wasn't that bad, was it?"

"Posing nude for over twenty minutes, only to discover my schoolyard rival in the same vicinity? There are few things more horrific than that, I'm afraid."

Draco laughed. "Okay, I suppose that does sound a little mortifying," he offered. "In any case, it takes a lot of courage to bare all for a bunch of strangers. Boredom, monotony and blind optimism aside, it was a ballsy move and I commend you for it."

There was a slight lift to her eyebrows, as she looked to him. No words left her lips, and yet a solid thanks was delivered.

Moments later Draco snorted, nodding to the bar. "Looks like your date is having a good time," he remarked.

Granger spun around, following his line of vision to find her 'date' knocking back what looked like his third or fourth shot. Markus was next to him, chatting him up and nursing a drink that appeared as though it hadn't been touched all night.

She tensed. "I should probably see if he's OK."

"Yeah, might be a good idea," Draco advised. "I'll . . . catch up with you later?"

"I'd like that."

Two Hours Later

By the time Hermione dragged Neville away from Markus, out of the glass building, and onto the Knight Bus, she realized he didn't have his keys or his wand on him, as he had probably left them in the pockets of the dress robes that he originally planned to wear. It was a minor blip that she decided to ignore, opting instead to take him to her own flat, where she could at least keep an eye on him and make sure he didn't choke on his own vomit.

Given the circumstances, she wasn't too annoyed at Neville. Of course, he didn't have to drink so much, and he should honestly have remembered to bring his keys and wand with him, but the former was easily forgiven. As far as the wizarding community in Britain was concerned, there weren't many romantic options for Neville. On the rare occasion that he did find someone, his body would seize up in a fit of nerves, and he would deal with it by drinking — a bit too much, sometimes.

Apparently, Markus was no exception.

That in mind, Hermione helped him through the door of her tiny, one bedroom flat and onto her brand new bedding.

Neville moaned as his body made contact with the soft, Egyptian cotton sheets. "Mmm. Thanks, nan."

"I'm not your —"

Ring, ring.

Hermione spun around, bumping her knee into the nightstand. "Damn it!" Face twisting, she clapped a hand over her left kneecap and looked to her desk, where the mobile she used to contact her parents lay to rest. Because electronic devices went haywire in magic-heavy zones, it took some tweaking for the phone to work. Dumb luck combined with a few tips from Arthur Weasley, and she managed.

One glance at the time on her wristwatch and she knew that her parents definitely were not on the other side of that call. And if it wasn't them, it had to be . . .

Malfoy.

Because Neville was in such a state, and because it was her responsibility to make sure he was all right since she dragged him to the event in the first place, she left the art show a little early. Malfoy took notice, ran over, thanked her for coming and weirdly enough, asked for her mobile number. For a few seconds, she stood speechless, shocked that he knew of mobile phones, before the digits came pouring out of her mouth. It was all such a blur that she nearly forgot it happened.

That was, until, the sound of that sharp ringtone tore through the silence of her flat.

She quickly hobbled to the desk, careful not to wake Neville, and juggled with the phone a moment before flipping it open.

"H — Hello?"

There was music in the background, but it wasn't the soft jazz music from the art show. It sounded more like the radio. "Hey, it's Draco," spoke a familiar voice. "I hope I haven't caught you at a bad time, but I'm just in a taxi heading home right now and I wanted to know if you got back safely. This neighbourhood isn't the greatest at night."

Something tugged at her chest. "Oh, erm, I'm in my flat, so . . . nothing to worry about," she said, scrunching her face out of embarrassment. "Thanks for . . . wanting to know."

"No problem. Longbottom still in one piece?"

Hermione looked to the bed, a sharp pang in her gut as she realized he was drooling on her new pillow case. "He's alive."

Malfoy laughed. "Good to know," he offered. "Anyway, er . . . I was wondering if maybe you'd like to grab a drink or something?"

She opened her mouth, holding it like that for a few seconds. "Now?"

"Yeah. I know it's late but —"

"Neville's here," she interrupted. "I probably shouldn't leave him on his own when he's passed out like this."

"Oh, right. I forgot."

She squeezed her eyes closed, for whatever reason. "Sorry."

"What? No, no, no. Don't be sorry. I, er, I don't know why I asked. Wishful thinking, I suppose. I'm sure you have work in the morning, anyway."

Something tugged at her chest again. "Actually, no. I don't have to be at work until noon," she explained. "If you want, you could always come over."

There was a moment of silence on his end. "To yours?"

"Yes," Hermione answered, rather quickly. "Unless that's weird."

"No —" he blurted. "I, erm . . . no. Definitely not weird."

She chewed on her bottom lip. "Okay, well, I'll text you my address."

"Sounds good. See you in a few?"

"Yeah," Hermione said back, quickly closing her phone.

She wasn't naive enough to think there wasn't a sexual connotation to such a late night visit, but he surely hadn't accepted with hopes of getting laid. Neville was passed out in her bedroom, for Merlin's sake. No, she decided, freeing her mind of those thoughts as she sent him the address. Nothing will happen. We'll have a few drinks and chat. Nothing else.

As if to second her decision, Neville mumbled in his sleep a moment and changed the rhythm of his snoring.


Thanks for reading this chapter!