I cross another possibility off the crushed-petal grid and note with some irony how much farther Granger's gotten than I have. No surprise there, and she'd be even faster with a wand.
"How many vials do we have left?" she asks after a prolonged, working silence and I turn to count.
"Two dozen or so," I say, and she pulls a face. Twisting her hair up off her neck, she grabs one of the wooden spoons to spin into it, stabbing it down the middle with a practised sort of manoeuvre.
"I used to do it with a wand," she explains. "It's hot in here."
It is. Lots of heated cauldrons and hours of labour. It's getting on towards dinnertime and I wonder if she's hungry. We didn't have much for lunch. "Shall we take a break?"
Reluctantly, she agrees. "Go on, then. A quick one. Put a shirt on, though."
"This can't possibly be a turn-on, Granger. I'm covered in blue ink," I state matter-of-factly, not concerned at all about staying shirtless.
I lead us into my sitting room off the lab and call for Suz, asking for something to eat - no bisque this time, if she pleases, no, no, it was lovely, just something different - and I hear Granger muffle a laugh behind me.
This room is mine, technically, but there's nothing overtly personal in it and hopefully Granger isn't uncomfortable. She can still tell. "Is this part of your rooms?"
"Yes, this is my wing, generally. I don't spend a lot of time in here, in particular, but it's more comfortable to sit and eat in than the lab. Also, must be cautious around the cauldrons, you know." I risk a wink at her and she flashes a quick, crooked smile.
"How are your quarters?" I prompt. I haven't asked before, assuming that between my mother and Suz, she's set up quite well. But I'd like to hear her assessment of it.
"Just fine," she sighs, and I don't get any details.
"I heard you had a discussion about house elves with my father a while back. Were you able to impart any educational views?"
Now, she gives a real smile. "Actually, maybe. I don't know. He's hard to read, your father. But he's not as terrible as I assumed he was. Less… hateful."
Well, she'd met him twice, to my recollection. Once in Diagon Alley when we were all very young in a public altercation with the Weasley family, and once in the Department of Mysteries, which went rather poorly.
"My father is more of an opportunist than anything else. Although he does hate Arthur Weasley, for some reason. I think he sees Arthur as having a lack of ambition, and he can't respect it."
Granger nods thoughtfully. "So, if Ginny were sitting here, instead of me…" she raises her eyebrows suggestively.
"... what? That wouldn't have happened for any number of reasons. No, he probably wouldn't have been motivated to stick his neck out for a Weasley, but also, they only bothered because it's you." I shift a little uncomfortably in the chair. "I don't - I didn't fancy Ginny."
She absorbs this in silence as Suz brings in a tray piled with tiny cut sandwiches on all sorts of different breads. It smells divine and my mouth starts to water. Also, I can't see anything on the tray that Granger could tie back to bodily fluids re: our potions and lotions.
"What was I like there? How did I act with my memory gone?" she suddenly asks. "Was I like… this?"
It's natural that she'd wonder. I wonder what I do and say during drunken escapades I can't recall, and is it really so different? I stare at her, thinking about this, for so long she starts turning a little red. "Yes and no. Give me a minute."
Looking away to spare her the awkwardness, I grab a sandwich and think while I chew. This is very hard to pin down. What, exactly, is different? Because some things are.
"Our back-and-forths were different," I finally say. "In the beginning, it was all rows, like I've said. You were angry with me and we'd fight. Over time, it became more - more like this, but not so much of it. We'd have a bit of it for fun and your mind would jump to something else."
Granger's watching me intensely and I motion to the sandwich in her hand. She takes another bite.
"You'd always circle back around to the war effort, so after a while, that's what we'd focus on. It kept you the most clear-headed. Our interactions were - scattered. I'd call it scattered. We'd be on one topic, then you'd jump to another thing or your mind would rattle something around to draw your attention. Then we'd snog, or - sorry -" I wince a little, but she rolls past it.
"But otherwise, a lot of things are the same. Does it feel different, when you look back and try to recall?"
Now Granger thinks. "I think I still lost a lot of the details, the minutiae, the individual comments or rows. I can't pull most of those up. I wish I could. I remember things we spent a lot of time on, like the Horcruxes. But mostly what I have are overarching feelings of things, impressions." She's blushing more now and bites into the sandwich. It's good to see her eat.
"Would you like to see Butterworth again? He might be able to help with some of that," I offer quietly.
"Yes, I think so. If you can manage it." She looks off, out the window, where it's started to rain. Her jaw tightens once, then loosens.
Blaise might be in the park right now, already Polyjuiced as Potter. What will the Resistance be plotting outside Dunrobin?
"What was it like for you, there?" Granger catches me off guard with this one.
I don't know which part she means. "Strange," which covers all manner of possibilities. "The park itself was horrible. I hated it there. I went to see you anyway, early on. I felt like shit all the time anyhow, and you'd scream and rage about how awful I was and how ashamed I should be, and it fit."
"Ginny said something about that," Granger murmurs, and I remember I had told Ginny almost exactly this when we were all on the Quidditch pitch the night Nagini was killed.
"And then, later on when I started coming back, it was still strange. Every time I saw you, I wanted to make you happy, whatever I could do within the limited confines I had. But it wasn't real happiness, anything I gave you. It could never be real there."
"I don't know," she says slowly. "There were plenty of times when everything there felt real. Including you."
I want to believe that's true. It makes my heart hurt.
"It felt real to me, even though I know it was only part of you there. I wanted to believe the you I had was the full you, but it wasn't. And it's not as if I knew it would never change; I knew you were remembering, and that when you did it would be awful, but I just kept trying to squeeze out any bit of joy in the minutes and hours I had with you."
The look on her face as I say this is so sad, I can't stand it.
"Do you still think you love me?"
Ah, the pain. Exquisite. And at the very least, we can put an end to me darting around that exact fact.
"Yes. I do. Even though you told me I don't know what that is." I crack a smile, trying to mask my overall misery.
"Well, what do you think it is?" and I do smile now, because she sounds so professorial about it. I almost expect her to reference a dictionary on the word.
"You're the only person I want to see. I still want to make you happy, give you everything you want. I want to spend every minute with you, laughing or crying, or both, or arguing. Having you take a hatchet to my ego, which you're uniquely good at. I think you're brilliant and amazing and hilarious. I care about you more than I have ever cared about anything. I don't know how other people define it, but that's how I define it."
Tears are running down her face, and it's too much. I said too much, this conversation got too heavy too fast, and there's nothing either of us can do about it.
I cram a full mini sandwich into my mouth and stand up, cheeks puffed out like a chipmunk. Might as well get back to work. I extend a hand to Granger and she takes it, letting me pull her to her feet, but we both let go as soon as she's standing.
At the last minute, I grab the tray of sandwiches to bring along. Cottoning on that I've decided to trust her with the food and the lab at the same time, Granger tries to hide a smirk.
"Good. This," motioning up and down my general torso, "put me off my ham and cheese. I'll be hungry again soon."
"Shame," I comment casually after finally managing to swallow my food, and couldn't I have had some fun with that ham-and-cheese bit? "Since I'm going to be shirtless in here, too. I'm running out of testing real estate, though." I am. Looking down, I am positively covered in blue ink.
"How much more can we do tonight, do you think?"
Surveying the grid, I take a moment to consider. Two cauldrons are occupied with Granger's fiddling about with Snape's time-lengthening potion, and a third with whatever Snape left for her. We've been working on two types of the Campanula rapunculus and running low on the scar lotion to start from.
"Let's set the open cauldron to cooking more scar lotion - which, by the way, we still haven't named, and tomorrow we can have a fresh batch to work with to test the full petals in."
I should probably be embarrassed that I just told this witch that I love her and we're both pretending it never happened. But pretending it didn't happen is working so far.
"We could name it in honour of Blaise," I recommend. "He'd definitely vote for eiaculatus sperma, not caring a single twat if it was on-the-nose or not."
"He'd probably care if it was his nose," Granger notes fairly. "But we can look to Blaise for inspiration. I think my favourite combination is eiaculatus crepito. Same sort of idea and softening it a bit."
"I don't think the word 'softening' is pertinent here."
"'Hard,' then. How about durum restituo?" Granger suggests.
"'Hard restore?'" I snicker. "Well, we are trying to restore the skin cells. I can buy that. Alright, then, what's the conjugation of it?" which makes Granger snort.
"If you're going for 'hard restoration' it would be restitutio," she supplies at once. Swot.
"How about 'restoration of hardness?'" and I'm probably on thin ice from that combined with the splat of another healthy dollop of acne cream into the empty cauldron.
But Granger allows it, tilting her head. "More conjugation. Hang on. Restitutio duritiam, but I probably don't have the grammar correct."
"And you don't mind?" I'm aghast.
"I studied Latin as a hobby," she defends valiantly, giving me an evil look. "You're not doing any better, you know."
"We're both doing better than Zabini would be. But fine then, explain why 'conjugate' and 'conjugal' share a root."
"... I can't," she admits after a moment. "I know the root of 'conjugal' is conjux, but they seem like different things, don't they? Conjugate, to alter a word's form grammatically, and conjugal, to -"
"Boff your spouse," I provide, always helpful.
"Come together," Granger sternly corrects me, a little pink.
I approve. "Well, that's one way to put it. Ideally, yes. But we're off topic, Granger. We've covered Latin for all sorts of things, including - but not limited to - hard, restore, cream, sticky, ejaculate, viscous, and sperm. Can we think of anything more sensible?"
"Why would we?" she puzzles and I approve of this, too. "Plenty of new discoveries are named for their physical characteristics, or the person who discovered them. So, let's see -"
I'm in trouble now. I lean against the wall and cross my arms over my chest, grinning.
"'Draco' is already Latin," Granger begins.
"Well spotted."
"Hush, you. How about… eiaculatus draco"? I find this something of a cheap shot but she looks rather pleased with herself.
"If we're trying for accuracy, that's what my father did. But -"
"Eurgh."
"Indeed. Let's go for something less mentally unpleasant." Please and thank you.
"Draco eiaculatus?" Granger ventures with a mischievous look about her. Combined with the phrase, it sends a stab of heat straight to my stomach.
"That's… accurate, but seems a bit unsporting."
She breaks into giggles and covers her mouth. "Sorry, sorry."
Clearly, she could do this all night. I throw out a suggestion for a change. I'm not exactly an equal participant in this any longer. "How about 'mal foi?'"
"That sounded French. Are we going for French now?"
"Anything that gets us off various renditions of 'Draco sperm,' 'hard Draco,' or 'sticky Draco,' gods forbid."
Granger pouts, her eyes sparkling. "You're no fun. Let's see, then. 'Mal' can mean 'pale', but also 'bad.' I don't think that sends the right message if we were to actually call it that."
"And 'sticky' does?"
"Fair play," she acknowledges. "Alright. So. I think my formal suggestion is… alba pellis."
Roughly translated as 'creamy skin'. Not bad. Not bad at all, I ponder. "Impressive, Granger. Easy to say and remember compared to most of the others, describes what we're trying to achieve with a nice nod to the dirtier bits of our brainstorming. Well done, you. Alba pellis it is."
I move to give her a high five and the blue all over me catches my eye. "Oh, bugger."
Looking down, my arms are now also covered in blue ink from where I'd had them crossed over my chest. It's all smudged and I've got a generally blue hue all over. The notes I'd been making about what I tested where are now completely indecipherable and I sigh.
"Well, that's the end of my testing for the night, I think. I'm going to have a shower and then finish that third cauldron with a fresh batch for tomorrow. I'll give you… seventeen whole minutes without me, so eat some more of those mini sandwiches while you aren't hopelessly distracted."
"Caeruleum draco," Granger calls after me as I walk out of the lab, and she's not wrong. "And don't rush me. Make it eighteen minutes."
Bossy witch.
Draco will not eiaculatus in the shower, as I might once have done. I'm determined this shower is to remove the caeruleum and turn me back to a normal colour for a proper, living wizard, and not resemble the sort that would produce the corpse sperma from earlier.
This train of thought is quite helpful, really, and it's not just the Latin vocabulary lesson.
While I'm here, I go ahead and scrub my hair, making it a complete shower and giving myself a little time to think. I did promise Granger eighteen minutes of peace and quiet.
She'd cried during my blatant declaration of love. She didn't reciprocate it - obviously - but neither did she outright reject it, either verbally or by running away screaming. She's still in the lab and we're having the sort of togetherness I've come to adore on very short acquaintance.
Granger had asked what was different between here and the park, and this part is beginning to stand out. She is hilarious.
Cheeky and full of mischief in ways I only ever caught a glimpse of during rows in the park. I haven't had so much fun with anybody in… years. Maybe ever. And it comes so naturally.
I think her mind, trapped in its start-and-stop circular patterns, was hindering this part of her personality. She was never able to get fully into any one thing, not for any length of time. In a way, I also saw a small sliver of it when we were in bed together; this lack of inhibitions when she's lost in the moment, a willingness to go for it - whatever that might be. Fearlessly.
I love it. I love her.
And I have no idea what to do about it.
Well; yes, I do. Nothing. Absolutely nothing.
I haven't quite kept track of how many minutes it's been, so I spend an extra few trying to arrange my hair in a perfect post-shower muss. Yanking on a clean shirt and trousers, I definitely do not give any thought to how it looks. I do make one more pass through my bedroom, though, finding one last thing to pick up before going back into the lab.
Granger is sitting at the far lab table, the empty one, with the final sandwich in her hand. Good. "Don't worry," she calls proactively. "I kept it far away from the cauldrons."
"Actually, without me here, I think you'd do just fine. I think I'm a bad influence."
"In what way could you be a bad influence on me?" Granger asks flatly, rolling her eyes, and even through the clear sarcasm I'm offended on all sorts of levels.
"Many ways," I respond automatically, and force myself to shut up. There's excellent banter, and there's overt flirtation after dark when I'm fresh from the shower with my hair perfectly mussed. Shouldn't torment either of us.
I change tactics on the fly. "Without me around to chat to, your mouth will stay closed while you eat."
She squints at me, narrowing her eyes, but determinedly chews and swallows with her mouth tightly shut before responding. "I don't like what you're insinuating."
Ah, the game. I feel a thrill.
"What am I insinuating, exactly?"
"That my mouth is always open when you're around."
I have to physically stop myself from plunging headlong through that opening, in more than one imaginative way, dear gods. I close my eyes as if I'm in actual pain, pinching the bridge of my nose between my fingers. When I finally look back at Granger, she's shaking in silent laughter.
"You're a menace," I tell her, and isn't this flirting? Isn't it?
Perfect torture is what it is.
I still wouldn't trade it for anything, and she'll be leaving here as soon as we can all wrangle it. And I'll be devastated.
Or dead. Could be that, too.
Could be both, come to that, one after the other in tandem.
I clear my throat and refocus on the third cauldron, where I'd started preparations for another batch of our alba pellis. Granger follows suit and moves to test another variation of the chopped flower petals, and we work in a comfortable silence for a while.
Until I lose my marbles. This has been floating around in my mind all week, and I can't hold it in any longer.
"Can I ask a question?" I venture. I've asked Granger nothing about the park, leaving all queries entirely up to her, and she notices the oddity of this request. She squares her shoulders and nods, but her lower lip disappears between her teeth.
"I'm going to botch this four ways before I get it out, so give me a chance, alright?"
Granger nods again.
"You're - not alright, that's not what I mean, but more alright than - than I would expect you to be. Is it your Occlumency helping you?"
"I'm not alright at all," she says slowly. "The Occlumency keeps it - cornered, I guess you could say. But I'm - I'm not alright."
"I didn't mean that you were, I just -" I break off, frustrated. Why can't I figure out how to say it? "You seem more alright with me than I would… expect. Deserve. I don't know."
I can't look at her and I don't know why I asked. I had to ask.
She keeps speaking slowly, deliberately. "I've talked to five different people, now. After the Quidditch pitch, Ginny told me some things. Blaise told me some, too, while we were there. Your mother has told me things, and now today, with Snape and my Healer, I think I've got a fairly good picture of you - of you and the park. Of you with me."
I'm immediately mortified. Of course she has. She'd have asked, they'd have told. They might have told even if she didn't ask. This is a good thing for her but I want to flee the room.
"I'm very, very angry about what happened to me. I'm not alright at all. I would like to talk to my Healer again, probably more than once. But… over a lot of conversations, and hours and hours of time with it, I'm accepting that your role was different. You didn't put me there, and you did try to help."
"I didn't stop you from being put there either," I whisper, just like every other time I stood around and did nothing.
Granger stops and thinks for several long moments, looking beyond me to the grid on the wall. "I'm not saying there was nothing you could do, ever. I'm just saying that we… grow. Evolve. How I would have reacted to things at seventeen is not how I would react to them today. None of us is ever blameless. But of everyone who has actively tried to harm me, I can't put you on the list. School bullying doesn't quite rank at this point."
I don't deserve any of this and I still want to flee.
"I think that you did what you could as options became apparent to you. No; you didn't seek them out, but you took advantage of them when you realised they were there. Now I'm here, and my situation has improved a thousand times over, and it's because of you."
"Ten times over, maybe," I mutter, sullen and childish.
"I'm not absolving you; I'm not trying to be a 'Gryffindor' about it. I'm just saying that none of us is born with a perfect sense of what to do and when, and how. Things aren't just black and white, every minute of every day."
She finally sets down the spoon and looks at me directly. "If you want to keep castigating yourself about it, go ahead. But I think we have bigger things to worry over now, don't you?"
Well, if she can, I guess I can. Maybe the best thing I can do in my life is follow Granger's examples. One last thing is nagging at me, though.
"Everything you've said - fine. I can get on board with all of that. But what about the time we spent together? How do you feel about that?"
Do you still think I was with you when you didn't know it?
Was I?
Granger inhales deeply and takes her time. I try to brace myself, but I don't think I really can. "You said the first time was only snogging, and I seemed to remember it."
It's my turn to nod silently.
"That's what I remember. I remember loads of times after that, but nothing - nothing that I didn't do because I wanted to."
This all comes out in a huge rush and she's bright red and I have to give her credit, once again, for bravery. I almost collapse against the lab table in relief.
"I was so happy that you remembered that first time we snogged, I never would have wanted - I would never - I swear, I never -"
Granger, still flaming red and beginning to perspire, says, "I need the loo," and flees out of the lab and right into my room, face scrunched in embarrassment.
I mentally scramble, trying to think if there's anything in there I wouldn't want her to see. Probably nothing more awkward than this conversation. Then I remember what I put in my pocket, and think that would have been bad for her to see. I'll proactively show her when she returns; far better than her stumbling across it. Far less creepy.
She takes her time and I try not to feel anxious.
The minutes tick by and I brought this up. I feel bad. I pledge to avoid any further bantering sexual innuendo tonight, no matter how fun it is. I don't want her to feel uncomfortable about it given the most recent topic of conversation.
And really, not even two days ago I was still determined to avoid highlighting the fact that I fancy the pants off her. Gah - wrong turn of phrase. Mustn't throw that one out there. I fancy her and I had been trying to avoid shoving it in her face. That fell off a cliff this afternoon when I told her I'm still in love with her, but she handled that astonishingly well.
In fact, this whole day - and last night - has been… a dream.
But what is Granger doing in there? Should I check on her?
I won't interrupt her, I decide, but I do want to see if she's alright. If she's sobbing hysterically, for instance, I'll give her some privacy and send Suz in to her, maybe. She wouldn't want me comforting her, not when I'm the one who brought up that stupid line of questioning.
I step quietly around the corner, then stop being quiet. Shouldn't act like I'm sneaking up on her. I walk with a false confidence into my own bedroom and eye the closed bathroom door.
I don't even have to get close enough to listen for crying; I can hear water plainly from a few feet away.
Granger is taking a shower.
In my shower.
Thank the gods I didn't crack one off in there an hour ago - not like she would know, but I would know.
What now?
Did she just need time to herself to think, under the hot water? That helps me, sometimes. Or did she take a shower to hide the fact that she's crying? Possible. Maybe probable.
I back out into the hallway between the lab and my room. What now? And what's the towel situation in there like? I can't recall. I don't usually pay much notice, but I know for sure my own towel would still be wet. I call for Suz, who appears at once and gives me a low bow.
"Suz, can you get Granger's shower toiletries for her? A fresh towel and whatever she uses, from her own room? And a change of clothes, too. And - see if she's alright, will you?"
"Of course, Master Draco. Suz will check on the Miss."
She vanishes and I hear the crack of her Apparition into the bathroom a few moments later, accompanied by Granger's blood-curdling shriek.
Ah, well, yes. Probably fair. Hadn't considered that.
Suz reappears in the hallway and bows again. "Suz thinks the Miss is fine, Master Draco."
Well, at least she didn't fall down in shock and break her tailbone on the floor of the shower stall. That's something, anyway. If she had, Suz would be doing some magical repair work because I'm quite certain that me rescuing Granger naked from the bottom of the shower wouldn't be Granger's first choice.
What next? What time is it, anyway? It's getting late.
"What does Granger like for pudding, Suz?"
"The Miss likes the chocolate lava cake, sir. She never asks but she eats it the most."
Banana splits haven't made an appearance, then, not that Granger would ask for something specific anyway. "Would you make her one, Suz? You can bring it to the lab."
Suz gives her deepest bow yet and disappears again after I thank her, and I go back into the lab to wait. The lava cake has the added benefit of taking a little longer to prepare, so maybe Granger will be done by the time Suz gets back with it.
I try to get organised in the meantime. This is… out of the blue, but it doesn't mean anything. If anything, it means she's comfortable around me. Not because she told me what she was doing, but that she didn't. Either she trusted me to leave her alone for the duration, or she trusted me not to barge in if I realised she was in the shower.
Both possibilities are good and I stick with that.
Now, what next for the lab? I try to take stock. I'd stopped testing the crushed-petal options before I took my own shower. Granger had made more progress with the chopped ones and had kept working longer than I did. Her testing grid is much more full.
We haven't started testing on the full petals at all, and I have one cauldron currently brewing toward its ninety-third minute simmer for a fresh batch of alba pellis for tomorrow. The other three are occupied with Snape-related potions for Granger's entertainment.
I lean back in the chair and prop my feet on the lab table, crossing my legs at the ankles. We're in decent shape here. I hadn't expected a breakthrough this soon, anyway. Plenty left to try.
And Blaise might be in the park right now, alone in Potter's dormitory. He said not to visit, and I wouldn't this soon anyhow. And no sense going in with no news, nothing to give him hope for an endpoint. But I can't help wondering what it's like in there, and what it's like for Potter being smuggled into Scotland to rejoin the Resistance, maybe only having half a clue what's going on.
Surely, Severus explained more to him than I did when he was ready to pull Potter out for good. He did say he evened up Potter's haircut - or lack thereof. Shame. It could have been a reverse mohawk if I'd been able to go all the way up.
Probably would have drawn too much attention, though. Pity.
Maybe she was almost done anyway, but Suz's abrupt arrival must have jolted Granger into action. She emerges back into the lab a few minutes later, looking sheepish and still flushed from the heat of the shower.
"Sorry…" she trails. "Sorry, I just - I needed a few minutes."
"You're welcome to it," I venture, trying not to sound solicitous and failing miserably. "You're welcome to anything here, in fact."
We both stand there. I'm not sure which one of us is more awkward. Granger. I think it's Granger, based entirely off what she says next.
"Would you - can I ask a favour?"
I raise my eyebrows. I just said she was welcome to anything. "Yes."
"Would you dry my hair?" she whispers, still beet red but I don't think it's from the shower anymore.
I have no idea how to do that. I'm stumped.
"I can't do a drying charm and it really is a nuisance on its own."
Well, I can do a drying charm. I shrug, indicating I'll do my best, and she comes to stand in front of me. Her hair smells like lavender and it's intoxicating. I swallow hard. "Right. Just a - er, standard drying charm, then?"
Granger nods, her head bobbing. The curls wet and heavy, her hair hangs almost to her hips. I start from the bottom, which seems to be a mistake, and switch to the top.
Also a mistake. The bottom was better. As it dries, it floofs, and the floof beginning at her scalp is absurd. At least from the bottom, it sort of looks intentional - wet and reasonably sleek, then completely floofed.
"This isn't going very well," I confess.
"I usually add in some smoothing charms, or some Sleek-eezy hair potion if I have any, but I didn't want to make you get fancy with it."
I try for another few passes of ridiculous floof before I give up and turn her around by the shoulder. "I can't believe this could be better than when you leave it alone. You do it."
Should have gone this route from the start, I think. Granger stares at me for a moment before realising I'm handing her the wand.
"Go on, then. I'm butchering things, and I should stop before that stops being metaphorical."
"Don't be dramatic," she huffs, recovering nicely and snatching the wand from my hand. She expertly tames her own hair with a few non-verbal charms.
"No, I'm being serious. I shaved a wide path up the back of Potter's head on Thursday." I give her a mischievous wink when she whirls on me, appalled. "Of course, that was justified. Completely necessary. For the Polyjuice, remember."
Granger shakes her head in disapproval and hands me back the wand. "You're horrible. But thank you, it really is troublesome when left to its own devices."
"So am I," I offer kindly. "So are you, come to that."
She gives me a black look as if it wasn't a compliment, and chooses to focus on our various cauldron projects. "What have we got left here?"
"Depends on how late we want to be up, I expect. I've got a little over an hour left on the simmer over there," I point to the fresh batch of alba pellis. "We can go back to testing the remaining chopped and crushed varieties -"
Granger doesn't seem to think much of this plan. She walks over to Snape's two differing potions and taps her fingernail on the tabletop.
"What was the ingredient you were missing?"
"Mandrake leaves," she murmurs, then looks at me sharply. "Mandrakes also have restorative properties. Do you think -"
The last thing we need is yet another component to test, but she might be onto something. "We don't have any in our conservatory. We don't fancy the noise complaints."
"Oh, please," Granger scoffs. "There's no one in screaming distance of this Manor, even if the Mandrakes wouldn't kill them on first listen."
"If there were, they'd have heard you from the shower. Sorry about Suz, by the way. Wasn't trying to call the neighbours."
Granger smiles into her hand. "It's alright. I should probably have expected - well, something. I'm just not used to having house elves around."
"Still?" I raise my eyebrows, genuinely curious.
"Well, more so," she admits. "But it still never occurs to me to expect them to just pop in unprovoked. I usually can't even tell Suz is there, and of course, I never call her."
I boost myself up onto the lab table. "You can, you know -"
And Suz pops into the room. Granger jumps again but withholds a shriek this time.
Suz, my favourite, is an impertinent little elf and has made a large chocolate lava cake plated with two spoons. I sigh and gesture towards Granger who looks delighted. Good. "How did you know?"
"I asked. You can, too. She likes helping."
Suz nods.
"Do you want some?" Granger gestures to the cake with her spoon and I want to think she sounds a little hopeful but it's probably just politeness.
"No, Granger. That's yours."
I don't think it's a good idea for us to share it. I'm determined to keep things fun enough, but not openly flirtatious. That will go out the window fast if we're both dipping into chocolate lava with competing spoons over the same small plate.
Suz gives me an extremely derisive look that says I've greatly disappointed both her and Granger, and what sort of idiot am I, anyway, before vanishing from the room.
While Granger divests the plate of the cake, I write out two more orders - one to my Moroccan for more Campanula rapunculus and the other to a local apothecary for a bundle of Mandrake leaves.
"Is there anything else you need for Snape's mysteries over there?"
Granger swallows her mouthful - I'm impressed - and says, "Newt's breath, please, and you're low on Gurdyroots. And you could probably use a refill on powdered goat horns."
Can I? I stride over to the cabinet and inspect the rest of the inventory. I'm also a touch low on salamander skins and Devil's Snare clippings, and on a whim, I ask for a Venomous Tentacula for my mother. It should balance out her orchid tending nicely.
At least I'm not ordering actual Mandrakes.
Granger eats her cake.
The longer I stand here with nothing to do, waiting on the timer slowly counting down on the simmer, the more I wish I could just say goodnight and go to bed.
Granger and I have been through a lot today; covered a lot of ground. My heart physically hurts at how close we are in this room and every amazing minute I spend with her is hammering home how she's going to leave here soon. I might have a week, maybe two. On the outside, maybe three, before the other shoe drops. And then it'll all be over.
I want to spend every second with her, but this night has to end sometime. Might as well be while we both have a modicum of dignity left.
But I still have over forty-five minutes left on the damn timer.
