I'm in a slightly better head space the following morning and I manage to join my mother for tea. She's just finishing the Saturday Prophet, folding it over and getting ready to rise when she sees me walk in.

The look of unvarnished delight on her face makes me smile slightly. My mother, just happy I'm here, happy I came to find her for a change.

I should make more of an effort.

I add it to the list of things that I should do, that I should have been doing all along.

"Can we talk?" I start with. "Please."

She nods attentively, and motions towards the chair opposite. "Darling, what's wrong? We thought - I hoped - this would make you happier."

I give her a sad smile. "If this were the best it could ever be for her, I would be happier about it, yes. And I don't want to be ungrateful; she will not be hurt here -" and at this I stop, alarmed. "Father doesn't want to -"

My mother blanches. "No, Draco, no. Not at all. Never."

"Sorry," I mumble, ashamed. "I shouldn't have -"

Now she returns my sad smile, and gestures for me to go on.

I inhale deeply and try to get back on track. "She won't be hurt here. She'll have infinitely more to do, once we show her the library, and at least she can enjoy the grounds. She can -"

My mother stops me, though.

"We have to be careful, darling," she warns me intensely, her light blue eyes clear and sharp. "Very careful. She's allowed to be here by the Dark Lord because he thinks she's under complete and total lock and key. We still cannot give her a wand, of course, and as for wandering the grounds… she'll need to be carefully monitored. Yes, she will have much more freedom here. But if she were to escape, we would all be punished."

All of this is true and my despair starts to creep back in. It really is still a cage, no matter how I try to look at it.

She must see it on my face, because my mother puts her hand on mine gently. "Your father was trying to help. We could make her circumstances better and give you time with her. You've been so miserable, Draco."

"It's not about me, though," I pull my hand away, a little roughly. My mother sits back, stung. "And she doesn't want to see me, so I won't make her. The best I can do for her is give her something to pass the time, keep her mind engaged. She's been entirely alone there for almost two months now."

My mother considers this. "I'll offer to keep her company, afternoon tea or something. We can walk the grounds. It'll give her fresh air and a bit of conversation."

"I think that sounds brilliant," I tell her with moderate sincerity, kissing her cheek, "but don't be surprised if she's slow to come around to it. You've never met a more stubborn witch. Also," I go on, "I'm going to put Suz in charge of Granger's care, so don't expect to see her in her regular duties."

She nods agreeably, then gives a soft, rueful chuckle. "You really weren't trying to replicate Severus's mist formula?"

I shake my head. "It never even occurred to me to try."

"Lucius said I was overreacting," she replies with more than a dash of irritation. "The fool of a man was right after all."

I have to smile at her. "Well, either way, Mother," I stand up and she rises to match me. "I'm glad she's here, even if she won't see me. I'd rather she were here than there and I can't deny I feel better knowing for certain she's safe. But don't expect me to be happy that I'm now her captor."

My mother nods silently, her mouth twisted a little. I think she understands. I hope she does. Her primary focus was me, but that's not my primary focus. Not anymore.

It's a lovely late autumn Saturday that I have no desire to spend at home. For the second time in a matter of weeks, I go to the park to see Severus. It's time to get the other half of this story.

He's in his potions laboratory again, one of several, and he seems to be working on a few things. Different vapours are rising at different consistencies, different colours.

I feel my old interest in my potions lab flicker for a moment as I watch him check things before he turns to do the usual sort of silence and privacy wards on the room. Then he gives me his attention and we begin to talk.

"How long ago did my father come to you?" I ask directly. I want to know how long this had been in the works behind my back.

"Not long," he assures me. "Since our last talk."

Hmm. I'm not sure I believe that. He may have only spoken to Severus about it a week or two ago, but I have a feeling it's been marinating in my father's mind for some time.

"What does he mean by it?" I try to temper my suspicious tone, and then stop bothering. "It could be anything."

"Quite," Snape agrees. "But I believe he's positioning himself for maximum credit and favour. Does that surprise you?"

Not in the slightest, but I still have an unsettling feeling. "We didn't think Granger would ever be allowed to be sold. I thought you agreed with me on that. What changed the Dark Lord's mind?"

"The attack on Nagini, I presume, even though Dolohov put up quite a fuss about it. He didn't think her sale was necessary. 'Her profits are incredible,' 'she's isolated and contained here,' and all that rot. Of course, no one knows her profits were entirely funded by you, personally," he replies, turning back to check the cauldron to his right, the one emitting orange-tinged sparks. "But that's neither here nor there. Even though the Dark Lord inspected the park the night Nagini died -"

('How could you?')

('It was cruel what you did')

"- I don't think he's felt fully confident that the Resistance is not moving against him. Of course," not loud to begin with, Snape lowers his voice to a mere whisper, even behind the silencing charms, "he's correct. Your father saw an opportunity, as he is wont to do."

Indeed, he is.

"And as he's stayed at your Manor previously, the Dark Lord trusts Lucius's estate security. He's seen it himself."

All of this tracks. I suppose I should let it sit a little easier on me, but I'm still struggling with it. Maybe because it's an angle I never saw coming, couldn't possibly have prepared for. I've been caught on my back foot again and I can't get comfortable with it.

I watch as Severus moves to the next cauldron, one with clear steam rising but smells like burnt toast.

I'm beginning to get an idea but he shoves it entirely out of my mind as he sits in a rolling chair near the lab table and says something that I haven't even considered.

"So I suppose your monthly expenditure here is now complete. Now you have spending money again, hm? But I doubt you're moving away from home now," he smirks at me.

Dumbfounded, I suppose I do have the entirety of my monthly salary back. I have no idea why I would care. There's nothing else I want to do with it.

Why do people have jobs if not to dedicate the earnings to those they care about, to making and maintaining the life that could make them happy?

Watching me closely, Snape asks, "Do you love her? I told you once that you did, but you didn't believe me at the time. I wasn't certain, of course, but even so. It was an educated guess and I felt I had to make the point. So now, do you love her?"

"More than anything I ever have before," I say quietly. Snape gives me a sharp look and I elucidate. "She says… I don't know what love means, though. Maybe I don't. I just know she means more to me than anything else. To me, it's love."

He leans back in his chair and clasps his fingers together as he studies me. "I don't think you did, for a long time. There is a difference between infatuation and love, between love and being in love. I think you might… now."

I can't say anything back to this. There is nothing that fits.

"I was in love with a Muggle-born, once," Severus says quietly, his eyes now far off. "I both loved her and was in love with her, but I drove her away with my own version of your calamity with Granger. Sometimes love is… admitting to yourself that perhaps they're better off without you. That their life will be better without you in it."

"Well, hers definitely would be," I mutter, not even stumbling over Snape's admission that he was in love with a Muggle-born as well, once.

It seems natural, now, that he would say that. I am. Why should it be considered so unusual? He might as well have just said 'he was in love once.' We were both in love and we ballsed it all up, no matter who it was or the conditions of their birth.

Severus gives me a moment with this before saying, "Whether it would be or not, at the present moment in time she's better off with you. You'll look out for her in a way no one else can, even if it's only from across the Manor. Your father won't let anything happen to her, either; it'll create a vulnerability in the position he's trying to carve for himself. And your father has no desire to use her the way an animal like Dolohov would, if he'd thought of making the same sort of proposal."

I wince visibly. That hasn't occurred to me, either.

How much have I missed, how many potential dangers, how many opportunities, in my fog of recent apathy and mental lethargy over the past couple of months? More self-indulgence on my part.

I vow to stop it. Granger's more important than I am. She has to be.

Standing up sharply, I have one final question. "That leaves Potter here alone. What's next?"

Snape surveys me, his mouth tight. "Nothing yet."

Which means something eventually, but I don't press my luck. Not today. What's important is that I'm now aware of the possibility. I will not sit by, willfully ignorant, any longer.

We stare at each other for a long moment, and I remember what I had just begun to think about a few moments ago.

"Have you ever tried to craft something for scar removal? The magical kind, obviously, the sort that is usually permanent."

Snape gives me a rare smile, both sides of his mouth turning up slightly at the edges at the same time. "No. But I have a few books you can borrow."

Granger -

I won't approach you. I know you don't want me to. But please don't light this on fire quite yet.

I want you to know I had no idea my father was doing this. You may not believe me and I understand why.

That being said, the Manor can be better for you than your dormitory. My mother would like to join you for tea in the library, or for walks around the grounds so you can get outside. It's up to you, of course, but she can explain the nature and limitations of your presence here.

If you need anything, call for Suz. She's delivering this letter for me and she's going to take care of you.

Ron is now also out safely.

I'm sorry for everything.
Draco

I set to work in my long-estranged potions lab, feeling quite like I'm greeting an old friend after a very neglectful absence.

I'm probably getting ahead of myself, probably by a wide margin. I haven't done proper research through these books, identifying options and narrowing them down by feasibility, or ingredient capture, or anything else. But I'm excited about it.

Of course there's no dust here but everything still feels stale. It's tidy, as it's always been, but I re-organise things anyway, familiarising myself with what I have and where. Some of my ingredient inventory has expired, which is a shame, but most of them last a good long while.

After thoroughly perusing every inch of the lab, I grab a chair and spread out Snape's books before me. I could do this in the library, and may have to at some point to find alternative potions books and other options. But for now, I want Granger to feel as though the library can be her place. I won't infringe.

Several hours later, I'm wondering if I'll have to go to the library after all. I have found very little in the way of scar removals. I didn't expect it to be easy; after all, if it were readily possible, somebody would have done it by now.

But I'm on the trail of a potential combination of a blemish remover for acne and pockmarks, with a glamour - the sort witches use as makeup to disguise or cover things - with some variety of time-lengthening charm, not unlike what I imagine Severus had to use for the extended Polyjuice he invented.

This sort of potions alchemy is complex and riddled with potential pitfalls, but it should be possible if I can do it properly.

It still won't remove the scar for good; I don't know if that's a realistic goal after the research I've done this afternoon. But if I could make some sort of lotion that could be reapplied every twelve hours, or even once a day, to hide it?

That could be incredible.

I make a list of the ingredients and set to checking my own inventory of what is still good and usable. Finally, I jot down what I'm missing and send an owl off to Severus, asking what he has and offering to buy it off him.

In hindsight, I could probably have simply ordered some from an apothecary, but I think I like Severus being peripherally involved. It'll be good to be able to bounce ideas off him, and he can help me navigate some of the inevitable errors I'm going to make.

But until I get a more complete set of ingredients, I can't even begin. I have to be done for tonight and I'm a little disappointed. I'm still quite motivated, energised, and awake.

Since I won't sleep yet, I decide to walk the gardens.

It's late, but not too late, cool out, but not cold. It's brisk. Invigorating.

I meander slowly through my mother's roses, which aren't my favourite pathways of the gardens, but I do enjoy my father's white peacocks. They're in the general vicinity of the roses, so I follow them along for a bit.

They aren't truly white; they're of a variety called silver pied, which could look almost entirely white or have subtle markings. My father always preferred the ones that appear uniform, and I'm sure he would rather they were actually silver.

They peck at the ground, and it seems like they're choosy but they really aren't. They're omnivorous, and marvellous at keeping ground insects out of the gardens, devouring bugs with abandon.

Making my way to the gazebo by the pond, I sit and watch them.

They're clever fowl. Most people appreciate them for beauty but they're savagely cunning as well, known to eat things with poisonous qualities on purpose, specifically to develop immunities to them. The Greeks believed they didn't decay after death, becoming an unwitting symbol of immortality.

Immortality.

Horcruxes.

Movement catches my eye in the distance, and I realise this part of the gardens border the East wing of the Manor.

Granger's standing on the balcony of her room. I know it's her, although I can't see her features. The room behind her is lit, and all I can see is her rough silhouette against it. But the visual of her hair billowing around her shoulders is unmistakably not my mother's, even if she'd plausibly be in the East wing right now.

I'm not close enough to speak with her and I wouldn't anyway. She doesn't want me to. I fight back a bizarre urge to wave, just lift a hand in greeting as if passing a colleague in Diagon Alley.

But just seeing her from this distance, being this close to her for the first time in months, makes my heart hurt.

Standing there, she reminds me of the story of Rapunzel, trapped by a witch who had bargained for her with her parents before her birth. The witch named her after the flowering plant Campanula rapunculus and thought the girl's hair could be used in potion-making for eternal youth, rejuvenating the witch's body and mind.

The girl herself, being locked away, was virginal and pure. Her hair, the primary fixation of the story - and of the witch - was said to be magical. In addition to providing restorative properties, it grew far beyond the length and lustre of normal hair and drew the attention of men who would try to free her from her tower.

The bargain for the girl happened in the first place because her father was trying to steal from the witch's garden, things to which he had no right.

Certain similarities are not lost on me.

But the Campanula rapunculus is making me wonder, now. Was there a reason the witch named her after that plant, specifically, believing what she did about the girl's magical qualities?

We have some in another part of the gardens, though they don't bloom this late in the year. Both the roots and stems are edible, and the petals -

I stand up abruptly and head to the library. I know Granger is in her room; I won't be disturbing her unexpectedly, reading by candlelight in a corner, surrounded by books. I need to do some Herbology research.

Over the next week, I manage to collect the ingredients I need. I had to send off a request abroad for a blooming sample of Campanula rapunculus from warmer climates, and it finally arrived yesterday. I'd been working without it up until now, not even sure it would be able to fill the gap I suspect it could.

I've continued refining the combination of potions and spells, but with alchemy like this, it's nearly impossible to tell what differences affect what changes - unless you have a series of cauldrons to work with, testing minute variations a little at a time.

It's backbreaking work and I find myself fiddling with different samples and options long into the night.

The blemish remover is a potion; more of a salve, really, but glamours are spells.

Severus had to provide me with the time-lengthening potion he concocted for the Polyjuice. I'd wondered if that was a spell or charm as well, but he'd created a potion for it, something to manually add to the Polyjuice depending on how much additional time was needed.

Of course, that reacted differently to the blemish remover than it did to the Polyjuice, necessitating another round of testing and tweaks.

I think I mostly have that bit worked out, now, thanks to Severus's help. I'd sent him several vials of the most-promising few for him to assess the time-lengthening portion, since he created it. He made a few adjustments and now I have a handful of options to start testing the glamour spells on.

This is trickier; the spells will need to be cast on the concoction at a certain point in the brewing process. What point? I don't know yet, not without trying it across multiple variations. Early in the process, the middle? Right at the end?

I've been taking my evening meals in my lab for nearly all of the past week and I miss Suz, who always knows what I need and when. My mother must have replaced her with Jasper.

Jasper is quite good, too, and he's been taking good care of me - and I'm glad I sent Suz to look after Granger, but I do miss her. She's the best cook in the Manor.

Last night I had a mental urge to tell Suz to take Granger a banana split for pudding, before remembering those mean good things to Granger. Nothing about her circumstances qualify as 'a good thing,' so I stop myself at the last second. I want to give her her favourite things, but not if it'll ruin them for her in future.

For all I know, I did that already in Diagon Alley sitting outside Florean Fortescue's.

I tell Suz to make it a Butterbeer float instead.

In another week, I'm reasonably pleased with what I've managed to cobble together. I haven't done the first thing with the Campanula rapunculus yet. I thought I might have by now, but it's a true wild card and what I am trying to do without it is complex enough.

I'll be thrilled if this works, much less consider adding a fourth component to this peculiar alchemy - with an ingredient I can't find a record of anyone else having tried before.

I'm bottling up a large vial of it to send off to Severus when my mother lightly clears her throat from the door to the lab. Turning around in surprise, I crack my shin and nearly drop the vial.

"Sorry, sorry," she rushes to say. "I was trying not to startle you, and look. I wanted to ask if you'd have dinner with your father and I this evening."

"What time is it now?" I respond, sealing the vial that I successfully avoided spilling on the floor, and struggling to ignore the shooting pain up my shin.

"Nearly four," my mother says, following me out of my lab and down towards the nearest exit to the gardens to locate an owl.

And so I found myself, several hours later, at a dinner table too large for only three and wishing there was a fourth seated with us.

But Granger would never want to eat here, anyway; even if she didn't utterly despise me, even if she wasn't tortured in more than one way just down the hall from here, even if she wasn't one of the premiere hazards to the Dark Lord's continued reign - she just wouldn't want to.

It's time I accepted that. I think I had, already, over the past several weeks; but it's time I thought it outright.

She's not for me.

My seeping melancholy obviously affects the two dinner companions I do have, and I don't miss the look of concern that keeps fleeting between them.

"What have you been working on in your lab, Draco?" my mother asks, and I have a sudden desire to say 'Snape's mist' just to see her reaction. I temper that down, simply relieved to have the more characteristic impulse rear its head for a change.

"A concoction to remove magical scarring," I say instead, reaching for the gorgeous platter of cod between us all.

I can't help but notice the look they share here, either, and this piques my interest a bit more. My mother seems to catch this, and says, "What a wonderful idea, darling. I'm sure you'll be thrilled to have that scar on your chest gone."

I look up at her sharply. "That's not why - but that's a good idea. The next step is testing it, so yes, Mother, hopefully it works for that. Much better to test it on me, anyway," I mumble, almost to myself at this point.

I rather enjoy her restrained look of alarm at me testing my own potions on myself, but who else? Well, to be fair, my father probably has myriad magical scars, but he never seems much bothered by them.

I'm likewise not fussed about my own. It's there; the inciting incident was unfortunate and I'd rather it hadn't happened. I'd lashed out in my own humiliation - with an Unforgivable, let's not forget - and Potter used something in return that he didn't understand. But of all the things I'd go back and do differently, ending up with this scar doesn't crack the list.

My father's done nothing but observe this exchange as my mother provides the natural follow up. "What is it for, then? You've been working almost nonstop for two weeks."

"Granger's forearm scar," I say, around a mouthful of cod and somewhat relishing her visible flinch. I'm not sure whether it's from the object of my labours or me speaking around my food.

"It happened right over there, you know," and at this, I jab my fork in the direction of the drawing room as if both of my parents are idiots.

The pair of them look delightfully uncomfortable and I'm becoming quite glad I came down for dinner tonight. I had nothing else to do anyway, forced to wait for Snape's assessment on my latest result before trying anything else, anything including the Campanula rapunculus.

My mother changes the subject - sort of - as my father continues to watch the proceedings. Soon I'm going to lose patience with that and force him to participate, one way or another. Let's play.

"She's had tea with me nearly every day this week," Narcissa says finally, placing her napkin delicately back in her lap.

At this, my mounting glee with the evening's games gives way to a legitimate concern. "How is she?"

Surveying me cautiously, my mother says, "Fine. Alright, I suppose. She's reserved, as you said she might be. After a few days, she agreed to come with me to walk about the grounds. She's very… alert, on our walks."

"How do you mean?" I swallow my fish with some chilled wine and try to be patient.

"I think…" my mother hesitates. "I don't want to presume. But I think she's looking around for you."

I snort into my napkin as subtly as I can manage. "Next time she seems to, tell her not to worry. I won't be anywhere around."

Narcissa starts to speak, but I cut her off before she gets going. "I won't pop in and see her, I won't stage a run-in. She can decide if she wants to see me. All she has to do is tell you or Suz. I won't push myself on her."

"What about the scar potion?" my father finally contributes.

"It'll end up being more of a lotion, I think," I clarify, "and Mother can bring it to her. I'll have tested it by then, of course. She can use it or not use it, but at least…" I swallow and try to mask it by drinking more wine, "at least she'll have the option."

Lucius doesn't seem to think much of this plan and I'm not sure why. Is it my presumed modesty, my disinclination to take credit for the invention?

"And beyond that, it'll have commercial applications as well. We can sell it. If Severus agrees that this version is stable and effective, I have one further component to test out, something to make it less temporary. If I succeed, it'll be life-changing for lots of people."

This argument probably began as a Lucius-approved angle and then devolved into 'helping people.' Oh well.

He doesn't take the bait or volunteer detail of what's causing the expression on his features. I can wait him out.

Everyone seems done with dinner, sitting back in our chairs slightly and moving our silverware into the appropriate positions of 'I've finished with the plate, now, thank you.'

"Draco, what happened?" my mother asks quietly, her hands folded patiently in her lap as we wait for pudding. "Hermione won't tell me. She is quite stubborn, as you described." A small smile crosses her face and I think my mother might be fond of Granger. Fond of having some company, at any rate. Perhaps they have that somewhat in common.

But more to the point, what a stupid question. My mother is not such a fool.

"Aside from the obvious?" I can't keep the sarcasm down. "She's been remembering for months, gaining awareness about where she is and why. The Obliviation stopped working. So aside from everything I was deliberately not telling her, aside from how she'd been used in that park for the past two years, I took advantage of the fact that -"

- that she evidently fancied me back, I think, but do not say. Both my parents are staring at me. Had they not known that some of the captives were remembering things? They must have, at least to some degree, through Severus.

"What fact did you take advantage of, Draco?" my mother inquires.

I shake my head. "I'm not going to tell you things Granger might not. It's enough that I was going in to see her during a time she could only partially remember. She doesn't trust what I did with her and when. Nothing I tell her can take away the ambiguity in her mind of what she was aware of and I won't force her to listen to any more explanations from me."

Pudding has arrived and it's strawberry shortcake, a morbid callback to my strawberry sundae that distant afternoon. I sigh and stab at it half-heartedly anyway. "Granger has a dozen reasons to never speak to me again. And now she's trapped here, indefinitely."

"You did a lot of good for that girl, Draco," my father says slowly. "You still are, what you're working on in your laboratory."

"I did what I could for her two years too late," I spit, the strawberry flavour dying on my tongue. "And what I did do, I was also doing for me."

This has never been considered problematic in the Malfoy family but I appreciate that they're both visibly trying to weigh the negative aspects of it.

"At the very least," I sigh impatiently, "she doesn't trust my motivations any longer."

"Did she ever?" my father asks, his brow furrowed.

"I think she did. For a while, anyway. And my motivations were good. They just also happened to be self-interested and she can't trust her memory enough to parse out what was real. Any interaction we had before she could remember clearly is suspect."

My parents exchange a look I can't decipher and I'm getting tired of the conversation, anyway. "I can try -" my mother begins, and I cut my hand sharply through the air.

"Don't you dare," I breathe with an unexpected surge of hostility. "The last thing she needs is to feel like her sole source of company is only trying to get her to speak to me again. She can make her own choices."

Then, the complete absurdity of that last sentence makes me rub my temples. I'm getting a thudding tension headache. "No, she really can't make her own choices, not most of them. Not the ones she'd most like to make. But she can make this one."

"What is your plan, Draco?" my father inquires, steepling his fingers. "She's here. You're here. We brought her here, housing her for the Dark Lord for the foreseeable future. Are you going to ignore her forever?"

"I'm not ignoring her," I insist impatiently. "I'm respecting her wishes. You're doing the same thing I'd been doing all along, by the way; something that might benefit her but really benefits you. And to answer your question, it's probably time I get my own flat."

Doing my best to maintain general decorum rather than imitate a hissy fit, I place my napkin on my largely-untouched shortcake and rise from the table, over my mother's sharp noises of dismay at the idea of me moving out.

I couldn't actually get my own flat. Even if Granger never speaks to me again, I can't bear the thought of moving farther away from her. I'm just glad the Manor is large enough to provide her any privacy she needs from me, while still allowing me to be peripherally in her presence.

I do try the salve on my own scar that very night, and it does work. It fades it significantly, at any rate; a massive improvement by anyone's standards. It also reappears overnight, as I'd expected it would. I don't have an exact time on it but I've been using Snape's longest Polyjuice extender for roughly twelve hours of transformation.

Reapplying it to my chest this morning, I make a mental note to check on it throughout the day and begin to pin down a more specific estimation of how long it lasts.

Snape sends back the vial I'd sent him to inspect with a simple note of 'Well done.'

High praise, indeed. No commentary. Well, at least he doesn't seem to think I've made anything dangerous by accident. I'd been sure enough of that on my own to test it last night anyway.

In a wildly mental moment, I wonder what it would do to my Dark Mark - would it blur it, fade it? Something else entirely? Nothing at all? - but that idea I am too afraid to test. What if it somehow notified the Dark Lord I was tampering with it? They are a Protean Charm, after all. Risky business.

Over the next several days, I continue to test it on myself. I can extend the duration that it works slightly by applying a thicker layer of it, but I can't get it to stretch much past the ten-hour mark. And since I know the scar is there, I can still somewhat make it out if I squint at it in the right light.

Still, it's groundbreaking, if only from a cosmetic standpoint.

Once, I'd have taken a perverse amount of pride in the discovery, the invention, the unique and perfect alchemy for something that's always bedevilled the wizarding community. This is… truly astonishing. But I don't really care. I'm glad it works and now I can begin testing a variety of it that includes the Campanula rapunculus.

I give my mother some to pass along to Granger. I don't bother including a note. She'll explain it well enough and Granger doesn't need to hear anything else from me.

Having just finished setting up my fifth cauldron of - of my potion, the salve, the - I'm really going to have to come up with a name for it. At any rate, I'm preparing to start testing different types of Campanula rapunculus ingredients after work for probably the next week when there's a soft rapping on the doorframe of my lab.

I'm just sticking my wand behind my ear when I turn to find Granger standing there.

My wand clatters to the ground.

"I - sorry, I - I can go," I sort of cobble together as I bend to scoop it up, even though she clearly sought me out here. My eyes skate over her wildly and dart away.

"Don't," she tells me in a stern voice, her eyes narrowed. "I want to know how you made it."

I shouldn't wonder that she's curious, but I certainly wouldn't have expected it to override any other pending questions she must have or screaming she'd prefer to do.

Blinking several times, I motion towards the table closest to Granger with one of the cauldrons sitting at a nice, even simmer. She steps into the room and I step back on reflex, behind the table I was working at when she knocked, giving her more room.

I let myself look at her as she inspects the cauldron.

She looks… fine. Good. No worse than she looked in the park, so at least she's eating. I've tried not to pester Suz for updates, but I've heard no word of her needing Dreamless Sleep potions, so she must be sleeping alright.

She glances up at me and my eyes immediately fly to the cauldron in front of her instead.

"Look at me," she says. It's quiet but firm. Steady.

I do and her brown eyes are still walled off. "I won't try to… I won't use Legilimency," I tell her, wondering why on earth she'd believe me anyway.

"It's not that," Granger startles, "it - it helps me… focus. That's all."

Ah. Well, that's nearly always what I use it for. I try not to be pleased that it wasn't a fear of me looking into her mind.

"It's been very useful, actually," she continues softly, looking over my shoulder now. "I'm glad I… learned it."

'Why' and 'how' she learned it were topics I'd prefer to leave behind us, but I know I can't.

"I'm sorry you had to," I manage. "But you wanted to know about the lotion I made; that's why you came. We don't have to - to talk about anything else. Unless you want to, I mean. Then -"

I shut up with effort. My heart is pounding at her proximity to me, her seeking me out, the conversation. I think Granger looks somewhat flustered, too, Occlumency or no.

But no; that's the old Draco looking. Thinking. Pinning down imaginary things I wish were so.

I want to think I fluster her, make her heart beat faster. But I have no right to any of those things and I swallow hard, looking back at the first cauldron.

She seems to gather herself. "I want to know how you made it. I'm - I've -" she stops, clearly frustrated, and sets her jaw. "I'd like something to focus on and I'm curious."

That's perfectly reasonable. And, of course, I'll deny her nothing. But…

"Do you want me to tell you exactly what I did, or would you like the chance to inspect it and see if you can reverse-engineer it?" I offer instead. "I can go down to eat with my parents and leave you with it for as long as you like."

This proposal intrigues Granger and her brown eyes show a little flash of sparkle. She nods once, a quick motion.

"Have you eaten?" I ask with a bit of hesitation. "I'll have Suz bring up dinner."

Granger's appalled. "I won't eat in the lab!" and I feel a vicious rush of relief at the swot in her voice.

"Alright, then," I make to leave the room as she starts putting her hair back in a plait. She's staring at the cauldrons, focused and intent on the puzzle before her, and I almost lose my train of thought. "I'll come back in an hour or so. Or - nevermind, I won't come back. Take as long as you need. You don't have to -"

This inane babbling earns me a sharp look of thinly-veiled annoyance. "No, come back after dinner. If I haven't figured it out, I still want to know how you did it."

Bossy and swotty, is Granger. I dip my head at her politely and make my way downstairs to our dining room, marvelling at the efficient takeover of my potions lab.

She can have it, if she wants.