Back into harsh Occlumency practise at work the next day. I've managed to box up my kicked-puffskein feelings and shove them to the side. Yes; I'm remorseful, incredibly so. But wallowing in misery the way I've been isn't going to help anyone, least of all Granger.
Granger will forgive me or she won't. She probably won't - almost certainly won't - so I need to accept that. Accept that she's not for me and move on with my life. The self-pity needs to go. I fucked it all up worse than I'd have ever imagined doing, and all I can do now is learn from it. Never do anything like it again.
That's how I'll honour the time I spent with Granger, those precious
(stolen)
hours she'd have never voluntarily dedicated to Draco Malfoy.
I tell Blaise to clear his calendar after work and he gives me a droll look. He had no other plans.
He is, quite rightly, curious about how my recent evenings have been spent. I've been fleeing the office as if my arse was on fire for two solid weeks, nearly three, to work on the scar potion that I still haven't named.
We're supposed to go for a pint tomorrow but I wind up catching Blaise up rather thoroughly on our sojourn to the park to meet Severus. He's flabbergasted at what I managed, which I brush off as a matter of course.
"You were always the brightest in the house, Drake," he says in awe, shaking his head.
Yes, maybe, but not the brightest. And certainly not bright enough to have avoided the particular catastrophe we've found ourselves in. I don't feel particularly bright.
Dolohov lifts a hand to us from across the lobby as we stride in and I do my best to look amiable. Nothing to see here.
And really, we should be here more often. My - our - extreme presence while Granger and Ginny were here and our subsequent complete abandonment of the park speaks volumes. I've been writing it off as the park being financially stable once more, no longer of great concern, but I can't help feeling a level of distraction in the air. Maybe Dolohov isn't paying much attention.
If he isn't, what is he paying attention to?
Something we should be too, I figure, remembering my feeling last time I was here with Severus. Too many things were slipping by me and I'd vowed to be more alert. Then my focus had centred wholly on the potion-making I was doing. That did yield something great, to be sure; but I've been just as oblivious to the larger workings of things as I was a month ago.
Not good, and I'm not disappointed when Snape shoos us into a conference room and wards the door.
He begins by tossing me a small pouch that clinks as it settles in my hands. My time-lengthening potion samples. Excellent. I tuck them into my robes and settle into a chair expectantly.
"Zabini, I hope you're comfortable in the thick of this, because you're in it," Snape gravells out, and Blaise gives a solemn nod.
"Any word on Ginny?" he asks quietly and Snape hesitates.
"Some," he admits. "But nothing concrete. Ginny and the core of the Resistance are gathered outside Dunrobin, as I said to you weeks ago, Draco. They are enmeshed into the small local communities through Polyjuice, observing the castle and planning. Evidently, Weasley - Ron - has quite a penchant for Wizard's Chess. Did either of you know?"
We both look at one another in general surprise and Snape goes on. "Evidently, he's quite their strategist."
"How much does he remember?" I ask next and Snape see-saws a hand.
"Not being there, I'm not certain how much came back to him organically versus how much was explained to him upon arrival."
"Where are the books Granger had in her dorm?" I prompt suddenly, wondering how the bloody hell I'd forgotten about them.
My father told me not to have them reappear in the Manor; at the time I didn't know Granger was the pending houseguest of whom he spoke, but of course he'd rather not have the Horcrux books in the same location as Granger if the Dark Lord were to peek in on her 'accommodations'.
"Locked up here in my third lab," Severus reassures me smoothly and I heave a gusty sigh of relief.
He probably has more to tell us, but now that I'm on the subject I have to bring it up. "If they're strategising, it has to be about the final Horcrux."
Snape shoots a piercing look at Blaise, but as he said before: Blaise is already in this up to his neck like the rest of us. And I already told Blaise everything I knew when we first landed on the Quidditch pitch in the last fic either of us did.
"Potter was a Horcrux," I say out loud after triple-checking the wards on the room. "Granger thinks the Dark Lord made six of them outside his own body, intentionally."
For their benefit and because it helps keep the list straight in my own mind, I rattle them off on my fingers even though my little audience will probably have no idea what most of them are. "The diary, the ring, the locket, the cup, the diadem, the snake, the Dark Lord himself, and Potter. She believes Harry was an accidental one, and adding him plus the Dark Lord's own shard of soul made a total of eight."
"Why do you say Potter was?" Snape asks, sharp enough to cut glass.
"It's only conjecture," I shrug. "But he was struck down by the Dark Lord. Everyone thought he'd died and when he was found to be alive, that's when their manic, half-cocked rescue attempts began. My guess is that what died was the Horcrux."
Snape considers this heavily for several long minutes. Blaise and I exchange a few looks, shrugs, head tilts. What do we know? Nothing that Granger didn't spoon-feed me.
Severus still shows no signs of speaking yet, so I fill in the gap. "Unless Granger told Weasley at some point before the end of the war, I doubt the Resistance knows about Potter as a Horcrux. Maybe he never was to begin with and his survival was a complete fluke, but it makes no difference. I think the only one left is inside the Dark Lord."
"Which makes him vulnerable," Blaise says out loud, the first and only one of us to say it.
"And the Resistance knows it," I add.
Snape is still pondering the situation, tapping a quill on the table in a rhythmic, almost musical pattern.
"What if they could end it, Severus?" I ask softly. "Do they have a chance?"
He looks at me with only his eyes, his body not turning. He probes and I let him. He sifts through my recent weeks at the Manor, details of my time spent with and - mostly - without Granger, my conversations with my parents.
I feel him leave my mind and at last, he speaks. "The Resistance, even without a formal plan of attacking Dunrobin, is causing problems here and there on purpose, I think. They're keeping the Dark Lord's focus away from his castle when they can. Dolohov has been in and out of the country to assist, as has your father, Draco, and a number of others."
News to me; in this capacity, anyway. Lucius has always travelled heavily, and I suppose I'm not surprised after he offered to house Granger for the Dark Lord's peace of mind. Even so…
"Are things so concerning?" I query. "I've heard nothing." I rub my left forearm almost reflexively. Blaise glances down. He, of course, does not have a Dark Mark to feel or hear things through.
"Mark or no, you're not in the inner circle," Snape says harshly. "The Dark Lord prefers those whose loyalty goes back decades over new or young recruits; he always has. On top of that, your father has worked quite hard on your mother's behalf to keep you as far removed from war-related issues as possible. Lucky you."
Lucky me, indeed. No skin off my back. I shudder to think how much more complicated my life might have become of late.
"They're clearly working up to something, though," I insist. "So tell me: does the Resistance have a chance?"
He raises his chin, assessing me. "It's possible. I'm not privy to their plans or tactics, so I don't know how asinine they might be. Their ranks have been greatly depleted since the first war. Some of those we've freed from here did not rejoin the active Resistance. I'm sure they're gathering new Resistance operatives and fighters who didn't participate the first time, but I don't know how successful that's been."
Letting us absorb this for a moment, he says with a tone of finality, "Potter could make the difference. I don't believe he has anything special left to give, personally; if you're right, Draco -"
"- if Granger is right," I correct.
"- and Potter was an accidental Horcrux, that's why he survived the first Killing Curse when he was a baby, and the second one almost two and a half years ago. One was the creation of the Horcrux, the other the death of it. So I don't think he has any magical miracles left to throw, but his presence alone could rally morale for the Resistance in a way they could undoubtedly leverage."
But we can't get them Potter. He's the first one who would be checked here if the Resistance starts causing real trouble, or if whispers of his reunion to the cause start to circulate, closely followed by Granger and my blood runs cold.
Silence from all of us.
"If they did have Potter," Blaise begins cautiously, "how long do you think it would take the Resistance to strike?"
"What are you suggesting, Zabini?" Snape asks silkily, his eyes narrowed.
"Put me in the dormitory as Potter," Blaise responds in a dull voice, his eyes on the floor. "I've got enough practice. Get Potter out, get this done. Get it over, whatever we need to do."
Our general mute astonishment settles over the room.
"Just do me a favour," Blaise adds weakly, "and block out Potter's reservation book. I don't fancy duelling for my skin all day with a half-arsed wand, taking curses left and right."
We exchange a quick look that acknowledges that's exactly what Potter's life has been for two years. Lovely.
I have to admire Blaise's recovery. "Unless there are any sexy witches looking to come and shag the Boy-Who-Lived. Keep those on there."
I'm far too kind - and still gobsmacked - to throw out the horrible quip that Blaise also got a lot of practice at that.
"How would you explain your absence?" I finally ask when I can process thought properly again.
He shrugs. "I've got some time off coming up at work. I can go on 'holiday,' maybe tell my mum I'm off to the Maldives with a new lady friend. But that's why the sooner the strike, the better. I couldn't keep it up indefinitely."
I mull this over, wondering if it would work for Granger, too, but discard the idea. I couldn't explain away my absence. If the Dark Lord suspected something, he'd touch his Dark Mark and I'd be summoned, even if I did try to masquerade as Granger. The ploy would fall apart immediately. Everyone in the Manor would be suspect, all presences required and accounted for. And we don't trust anyone else enough to bring them into a plan this perilous, this late.
And if she was simply gone, freed; he'd kill us all.
I don't see a way to set her free unless the Dark Lord is dead, but unless I'm missing something, I float the idea to our little brainstorming convention here anyway.
No one else can find a loophole, either.
"Well, it's Thursday now," Severus says, standing and giving a rare stretch, a very unusual acknowledgement of discomfort. "Let me reach out to Krum. They must be willing to do anything necessary to get their hands back on Potter, as soon as possible. How quickly they can move against the Dark Lord, I'm not sure, but I'm willing to bet they've been crafting their intended plan for some time. With any luck, they're just refining it around the edges."
Blaise and I stare at each other, then back at Severus. None of us seem to quite know how to process the fact that we're planning to provide the final push to the overthrow of the Dark Movement.
"Wait," I say suddenly, reaching into my robe pocket. I withdraw my last five vials of scar lotion. "It's not perfect; he'll have to reapply it every eight hours to be safe, but this could disguise Potter's scar."
Snape's eyes light up. I've never seen such an expression on him before. He snatches them from my hand and holds them up to the light.
"It's the same sort you had a peek at the other day," I confirm. "If someone is looking specifically for his scar, they could still see it. But it'll be a good fake in case he's not Polyjuiced."
"Neither of you thought about that being useful until right now?" Blaise asks, looking between us, and Snape and I share a slightly-embarrassed shrug.
We did not. Poor planners of a Resistance over here, no doubt. Or maybe we're both trying to multitask too much chaos in too many directions.
That's undoubtedly true for Snape. I'm not sure what my excuse is. Still somewhat insulted, I fire back that he didn't think of it, either.
"I just found out it existed thirty minutes ago, wanker."
Fair play, I think, grouchy.
Blaise shakes his head in wonder at my general nerve. "Well, alright, then. We'll need a good bit of Potter's hair. No clue how long I'll have to keep this up. Severus, I'll wait for your word but I'll plan on being here by Monday at the latest and we'll make the swap."
I stand as well and hold out my hand to Snape. "Give me one vial back. I'll explain things to Potter," I offer with a quick glance at Blaise, who looks rather relieved, "and get some of his hair."
Snape hesitates a final time. "Zabini, are you sure? If this fails, you'll be killed."
"Yeah, about that," Blaise struggles to sound light and almost manages. I'm impressed. "Can you leave me with something? A Draught of Living Death or something like that, something I can overdose on if it comes down to it?"
The magnitude of what he's volunteering for starts to hit home. He's going to be alone in that dorm with no outside contact, no news, no updates, for an indefinite amount of time, waiting to see if someone is going to show up and kill him at any moment.
It'll be like the Quidditch pitch all over again, except without a single other person there for company, sanity, help. And he can't exactly Avada himself, not with a hobbled wand.
I shiver at the helpless feeling of it all. "I'll pop in when I can to let you know what's going on, but are you sure, Blaise?"
He gives me a wry smile that looks more like his old self. "She did it for two years and remembered it for weeks, months, maybe. No wands. All fear," he sucks in a deep inhale, "and now she's out there, fighting again. If this is what I can do to help, so be it. Get it over with quickly, for her sake, for Granger's. For ours."
He looks at us sadly. "None of us have much of a future in this world if the Resistance loses for good. Not anymore."
I think Blaise still could, unless he's too heartbroken to move on. But I'm not sure I have much of a future if the Resistance wins, either. At least in that future, Granger will be safe. Ginny, too. Luna.
I have no idea what to expect when I see Potter. I had Severus send us to the Quidditch pitch again, assuming it'll throw him off enough for us not to enter immediately into a duel, like we'd always done in the bathroom.
This works, and I keep my hands raised non-threateningly as he turns a slow circle, gathering his surroundings.
I even sit down in the grass, as this always seems to put people at ease, and I almost laugh at the blatantly suspicious look on Potter's face.
"Oh, have a seat, Potter," I chortle, patting the ground next to me and he looks at me as if I've gone completely mental.
Probably, I have. Ah, well. "I have good news for you," I tease him and wonder why I'm enjoying this so much.
Potter crouches instead, elbows on his knees. It's an amusing mix of posture that allows him to stay on his toes while being closer to eye level with me. "What are we doing here?" he asks flatly, his voice coming out in almost a croak. I forgot; he's been alone a long time, now, with Weasley gone. "Why are you here, Malfoy?"
I have no desire whatsoever to explain the inner machinations of this park to yet another captive and I have no clue how much he's been remembering anyway. Ultimately, I decide neither of us would prefer to be here all night, mutual antipathy that we share, and keep to the short version.
"The war has been… in stasis," I say with delicacy, deciding this is now more true than saying the Resistance flat-out lost. "But the Resistance is rallying to make a fresh attempt on the Dark Lord's life. Your presence has been - requested, in a manner of speaking, and we're arranging your transfer back to the outside world. Congratulations."
I survey him with interest, seeing how much of his situation he has or hasn't worked out for himself, combined with my information dump. This takes some time. I'm hungry and think for another little picnic basket of snacks and yummies, plucking off a grape and popping it high into the air so I can catch it in my mouth while he ponders.
Laboriously.
Come on, Potter, I think.
It's amazing how light I feel, now that there's finally a plan to work. It's idiotic and will almost definitely fail and result in all of our horrific demise, probably across myriad forms of torture, but it's a plan. There's a chance, a very very slim chance, Granger could be freed for good.
With a lack of any indication of speaking - or processing speech, for that matter - on Potter's part, I decide to tell him some more, piling on with the most incomprehensible bits for the fun of it. "You'll be meeting up with Ron and Ginny, I believe. I don't know who precisely will come for your transfer, but it could be Viktor Krum, who's been helping us quite a lot with moving you all to freedom."
I pop another grape and catch it. I gesture at Potter, in a 'you want one?' sort of motion and he blinks twice. He definitely thinks I'm mad. I toss him one anyway and chuckle at his bobbling attempts to catch it on the fly. He loses his balance in his crouch and sits down on his arse. Apparently deciding I don't mean to duel him, he stays there.
"Now then," I go on with confidence, "I'll be needing some of your hair to pull off the swap," and reach for my wand.
This snaps Potter from whatever mental fog of confusion he's been in as he grabs reflexively to protect his hair. I feel a strange sort of kinship, as I am quite fond of my own hair, and bite back a smirk.
"You're… going to be me? A swap? It's Polyjuice, then? What is this, Malfoy?" His voice is still gravelly and he clears his throat. His look of bafflement is worth every minute of this.
"Oh, bollocks, no. I'm not going to be you. Blaise Zabini is going to stay here as you, so no one knows you're dangerously back on the loose. I'm in charge of keeping Granger safe, in a way. We all have our parts to play, it would seem, and yours is to speed this revolution along post haste. Do try your best," I advise, cocking an eyebrow at him.
Potter's starting to catch up now. Shame, really. Bit of a pity.
"It really would be better to get rid of your hair entirely, I think," I muse. "The more drastic the disguise, the better."
"My hair hides my scar," he retorts, sounding quite a bit more normal, and I perk up.
"Aha! I have something for that, too," and I toss him the vial from my pocket.
He inspects it closely. Of course, there's no label, so he opens it and gives a cautious sniff. I think for a mirror, and tell him to get a little lotion on his finger and rub it on the scar.
He does this, just as suspicious as before, but he does it. I think it really is stupid that he does it. I wouldn't do it. I wouldn't trust it. But Potter is a good, kind sort of person, evidently, who doesn't lean towards the nefarious sides of things by nature.
Holding up the mirror, I peer around it to see. Sure enough, the scar is fading. "Put on more, a thicker coat, and it'll last longer. I've gotten ten hours out of it before, but I wouldn't trust it for more than eight. Probably seven if you're in public, to be safe."
"Where did this come from?" he inquires and I find I also don't mind bragging about my accomplishments when it's to Potter.
"I invented it. It was a rather complex bit of potions and spell alchemy, loads of testing, arduous scheduling, nearly lost a limb. It's mine."
"Why?" he asks now, puzzled, and I shouldn't be surprised that he lacks the mental nuances to grasp how groundbreaking this discovery of mine actually was. "Because of the sectumsempra on your chest?" he motions at my sternum as if I don't know precisely where it is or how it got there.
Shaking my head, I respond with what I hope comes off nonchalant, "Nah. It's for Granger, for her arm, where my aunt cut her."
Potter's inspecting me closely, now. "You said something about her a minute ago, that you're keeping her safe."
"As safe as I can," I agree, "but she won't be able to join you on the run."
The new seriousness of my tone makes him stop and look at me again. Our playtime is coming to an end.
"She always had a soft spot for you, you know," Potter says, his nose slightly wrinkled.
I did not know. Not really. She might have found me attractive, but I haven't dared to believe anything more could have been to it. She fancied me; that was it.
"No, she did," he insists, correctly interpreting my sceptical expression. "When you got that scar, she went to see you in the hospital wing. She was so mad at me for using that curse," he shook his head. "I always hated that feeling of having disappointed her."
Tell me about it, Potter. Hating disappointing Granger and a fondness for our own hair. We have more in common than I thought.
This is getting uncomfortably nostalgic for me, especially as I had no idea she'd tried to come visit me in hospital, essentially siding with me over her best friend in that particular skirmish.
"Well, at any rate," I interject with a false bravado, "try to make short work of the mission, if you please. By my calculations - and a load of Granger's studious help throughout - the Dark Lord is the only Horcrux left."
Potter blanches.
"Did you know you were one?" I ask casually, rather enjoying his speechlessness, and his mouth drops open.
"Close your hinge there, Potter," I gesture, "or you'll catch flies." Popping another grape into my mouth, I give him a chance to respond, but he doesn't. He just goggles at me.
This is considerably less fun than with a true sparring partner, and I miss mine terribly. Well, one must go on. I carry on with a valiant effort.
"Yes, Granger is sure that you were, that the Dark Lord made you into one accidentally on the night he killed your parents. But I think it's gone now; I think he killed it when he tried to kill you."
I wave a hand, brushing this aside. "Either way, I don't think it makes any difference to you now, at this point. You have the knowledge now, but I don't think it'll affect the outcome. I told you in case you knew you were, but didn't remember being struck down by the Dark Lord.
"It would be catastrophic if Harry Potter walked right back up to the Dark Lord in the next battle, intending for the Horcrux to die, and have it already gone. Then you'd just die yourself. Tragic, after all this effort, wouldn't you say?"
Potter blinks several times but at least he's closed his mouth. Shame; I was going to try and throw a grape into it. He swallows hard. "So - so everybody else is free again? Free and fighting?"
"Nearly everyone," I confirm. "Some of the previous captives did not rejoin the war effort, but I don't exactly have a roster. Our intelligence is saying that Ginny and Ron are back at the fight, though. I imagine they'll be thrilled to see you," and my mouth twists in sadness for Blaise and everything he's still trying to do for Ginny.
"But not Hermione?" His eyes are sharp, suspicious.
"Not Granger. I'm sorry. My father is 'holding' her for the Dark Lord, the same way you're being 'held' here. We have a unique opportunity to spring you that we don't have with her."
"You keep saying 'we.' You're… with us, now?"
"I'm with Granger," I specify. "Well, not with Granger, not - but she is safe, unharmed. The way Granger gets free is for you to kill the Dark Lord. If the Resistance wins, she's free."
Potter nods, his jaw set. "Alright then. When do I go?"
"Hopefully within a day or two. I do need some of your hair, though, and maybe a good bit of it. We don't know how long Zabini will have to impersonate you." I poke the air in his direction with my wand and he reluctantly exposes the back of his neck, turning to keep me in sight until the last possible moment.
I can't help myself. I shave a wide path right up the back and he yelps in horror, nearly a squeak. Funny, really.
"Oh, Potter, just commit," I sigh. "No hair and no scar. You won't even need the Polyjuice, even with those absurdly distinctive glasses you have."
I swat away his furious look, rolling my eyes. "Hair is easy enough to grow back. Just keep it up until the battle is over. Another motivator for you to get on with it."
"Why is Zabini doing this?" he asks distrustfully, still looking like he'd rather hex me over his mutilated hair. "Why would he help me?"
I shift a little, not wanting to reveal more than Blaise would want me to, but also weighing that this will very likely reach Ginny. I lean towards the cliff of helping my friend, rather than protecting his privacy or dignity, or whatever this is.
"Zabini has… red in his ledger. Let's just say that. He's got things to make up for, and this is a heroic part for the war effort. More than just heroic. I hope -" I stop and think a moment before continuing. "I hope people know what he does here, one day."
Potter looks at me, alarmed. "What do you mean?"
"Don't be thick, you tosser," I snap. "If you lose, if the Resistance loses, Zabini will be killed. He'll be the first one inspected when the Dark Lord rages through, looking for where Potter is and why you aren't where you were supposed to be. I'll be next, standing in front of Granger, I'm sure."
He stares at me, and I suppose I should be a little more patient. I've dumped an awful lot on him in the past twenty or thirty minutes.
To be honest, I'm impressed a little despite myself at Potter's ability to focus on what's important right now rather than get bogged down in what happened - or didn't happen, depending on his memory - two and a half years ago. I'm not worried about it; once he's out, his friends can get him fully caught up.
"And why are you doing this?" he asks shrewdly, his green eyes so like Ginny's on a completely different face.
I struggle not to sound impatient. "You know why, Potter. I know you do. Because I love her. I'm in love with her. I can't set her free without endangering my family, but helping you win helps her. It's all for her."
Pushing myself to my feet, I start to pace. My inability to keep still annoys me and I rake my hand through my hair, bringing myself some small glee at Potter's newly-shaved rear scalp. "I know Weasley is probably in love with her, too, and she'll run right to him if she can, but there's nothing left if you lose. Either she'll be in captivity forever or the Dark Lord will end up killing us both."
"Do you also have red in your ledger, Malfoy?" Potter asks with a knowing look and I think I've underestimated him. Only a little, though.
"Of course, I do." I'm trying not to be snappish again and coming up short. "At any rate, don't lose. And do get it over with, won't you?"
Bypassing my wildly vacillating moods with Potter, I still feel lighter than I have in months. A lesser man would be skipping back into the Manor from the Floo, maybe even wobbling a little from the spinning required, and when I run into Granger outside my - our - lab, I almost grab her and swing her around.
I want to share in my hopeful optimism, and if I'm being honest, I want to just feel my arms around her again, her hair in my face. Her. Generally her.
Sanity reasserts itself at the last moment, thank the gods, but I still don't back down with my recent mix of skittish embarrassment and deference. I just back off, saying, "Sorry, sorry," and scoot myself past Granger into the lab, trying to ignore how pretty her hair looks from the light off the wall sconces. Almost ethereal.
It's late and I didn't expect her to be here. Some tiny part of me registers that she must have been waiting for me to show up, but then I think, no. She's probably been puttering around here just to keep entertained. I really ought to set up her own lab, but I remember that hopefully she'll be able to leave soon.
I park the new vials of Snape's time-lengthening potion on the table and set to examining what I have to work with. The cauldrons are all still full - of course they are; Granger has no wand - and I glance over to see what she's up to.
She is leaning against the doorway with her arms crossed over her chest, watching me curiously. I don't think once about her chest or how much I miss her.
This giddy mood is messing with my head.
"Can I Vanish these?" I prompt, gesturing with my left hand. "We can dedicate four cauldrons to testing and the other to producing more of this," I point at the vials I brought. Seems like a good project for Granger, if she wants it. I can always get more from Severus, but maybe she'll like the offering of another deconstruction attempt. I don't even know how Severus made it.
She does. Granger moves next to me, closer than she's been of her own accord in months, and lifts one to examine it. "Vanish them," she murmurs, "but let's only do three tests. One for whole petals, one for chopped, and one for ground. The other two can work on deconstructing this."
Seems like a solid plan to me and I quickly Vanish the lot. Rubbing my hands together in anticipation, I gather the ingredients to brew the scar lotion the way I've been doing. I tell Granger I'll show her how it goes, when to add the glamour, how to include Snape's contribution.
This seems like a superfluous set of detail to add to Granger's task of reverse-engineering Snape's bit, but not to Granger. I know she'll want to see it.
Lighting the first three cauldrons, I set to work. I get several minutes into it before I realise Granger is just standing there, still watching me with that curious look. I almost ask what's the matter before realising this is probably what she meant by 'stop acting strange' and to a lesser degree, 'don't be solicitous.'
I'm not overly worried about her presence, unintentionally making her feel awkward or uncomfortable. We're just doing two different tasks in the same lab, working away. Or we could be, if she'd start, but that's up to her. Whatever she wants to do.
"What do you need?" I query. "The ingredients are all in the cabinet back there on the wall; well, whatever I have. You know that, though. Let me know if you find something unexpected and we can send off for it."
Granger's still watching me, but a small smile is beginning to creep across her face. She stifles it before it gets too far but I see it. It makes my heart jump in an unreliable manner that could be concerning if I were concerned. I'm not. It feels good. "Nothing. I don't need anything. How… how did your meeting go? Is Snape still coming this weekend?"
"He is," I confirm happily, "Saturday morning." But I'm realising I've skipped over the most important part of the evening. I wasn't expecting to find her here, I was anticipating working on this potion until late in the night to maybe get rid of her scar for good, and I just hit the ground running.
I set my wand on the table and turn to face her squarely, grinning at her, soaking in her hopeful, optimistic expression. Finally, finally, I can give her something positive.
"I've got something to tell you."