Monday finds Blaise absent from work and while there's a slim chance he's preparing his backstory of being on holiday in the Maldives and still waiting for Severus's call, I feel confident the swap has been made.
I won't visit Blaise tonight when I stop by to see Severus, of course. Even if we could avoid the visit being logged, and we probably could, there's no reason to risk arousing suspicion when it's too soon for there to possibly be war-related news yet.
I think about Granger all day.
It's a little maddening at times, and even Occlumency won't work when I finally break down and try around mid-afternoon. She won't stay in her box in the corner of my mind I try to hold her in.
This is different from before, too; Severus had been right. Granger, too, in a different way. I hadn't loved her before, not really. It was the best approximation of it I knew, but in Severus's case, I simply didn't really know her yet. I loved what I knew, but it was still only part of her.
In Granger's case, it was because my actions weren't those of someone who loved the other person. My actions were selfish, the opposite of love.
The difference is stark.
Granger is extraordinary: brilliant and incredible, yes, but also hysterically funny, smart-arsed and cocky, clever and sharp-witted, merciless, bossy and impertinent. Beautiful, soft, wild. Pink-cheeked, sparkly-eyed, bitten-lipped, hot-tempered perfection.
She plays like a song in my head all day long.
She's at home, probably working in the lab and I'm sitting behind this desk.
I cannot, for the life of me, figure out why.
Even if it's unwise for Blaise and I to both be gone at the same time, I've been seen here today. I'll make sure I'm seen at the park off and on over the next couple of weeks, until whatever is going to happen happens.
I decide to see how much time off I've accrued.
Our time together is short; the shorter the better, in the most crucial sense of things. The faster this war is over, the faster she'll be free. I want that for her, more than I want every remaining second of my life with her by my side.
I can't help but remember something I told Ginny on the Quidditch pitch that awful night, the night Nagini died. The night that started all of this, in a way, now that I reflect back on it, the death of the Horcrux, Longbottom springing the Resistance back into action with his knowledge of the snake.
('He's going to be devastated when you leave, but he won't stand in your way. He's helping facilitate it, even though he knows he'll probably never see you again. Even if he does, you'll probably never speak to him.')
And Blaise took that so much further than any of us knew would ever be possible at the time, still doing his best for Ginny. Always for Ginny, expecting nothing in return, just wanting to make things better for her in any way he can. Everything for Ginny.
Blaise fucked up bad; he wouldn't deny it either, but he was the more emotionally mature of us from the very start. He reached this point so much faster than I did and I'm a big enough man to admit it. I hope I get the chance to tell him.
Snape, of course, reveals nothing, but nods when I ask if Butterworth can come see Granger again.
"Helpful, was he?"
"Must have been. I didn't ask what they talked about, but I'm sure he was able to fill in gaps for her, and maybe help her with the trauma of it all. I know he's not a mind Healer -" I say quickly, heading Severus off, "- but he has unique knowledge of what she went through. I asked if she wanted to talk to him more, and she said she would."
"Can you make more of that scar lotion?" Severus asks, changing the subject.
"Granger and I named it alba pellis," I state proudly, and he rolls his eyes, "and yes. We haven't sorted out how to make it less temporary, though. It still works as you've seen already. The Resistance wants it?"
He nods. "The Polyjuice masks their own personal scars, of course, but from a cosmetic standpoint, it's a revelation - and not just for Potter."
"We'll start a fresh batch when I get home. Granger's working on reversing your time-extender today, and the other thing. What was that?"
Giving me an infuriatingly superior look, he refuses to answer. "Let her play with it. If she figures it out, she can tell you."
Alright, then. "How's Blaise?"
"Fine," Severus says simply. "He's got all sorts of things to keep himself entertained, if he can concentrate on anything. His reservation book is blocked off - can you back that?"
Somehow this hadn't occurred to me. "Yeah, of course. Keep Dolohov from looking too closely at it. I'll backfill the revenue."
Snape grabs something off his desk and hands it to me. "Zabini left this for you to give Ginny."
This one isn't a personal note; this one has the official feel of heavier parchment. It's also sealed and I lift an eyebrow. "I don't know why he keeps acting like I'm likely to be alive if he isn't, after all of this. Do you know what it is?"
"I do not. I can hazard a guess, though."
"Well, as it's only a guess, do share."
"My guess is that it's his formal legal affairs in order. He's an only child, the last of a wealthy family. It all has to go somewhere. I believe he's leaving everything to Ginny."
I shake my head sadly. "Well, hopefully if he dies, she doesn't. Somehow. But at least we have a chance now. I imagine the Resistance was thrilled to have Potter, were they?"
He rolls his eyes. "I think I saw six different people cry when I stuck my head through the Floo. You've no idea."
"Well, as long as they can make quick work of it all. Any idea on plans?"
"If you can imagine, they did seem more willing to share with me after I sprung Potter. The rough sketch is a nighttime stealth assault on the castle. They're using the Polyjuice for the Dark Lord's night guards."
"When?"
Severus sighs. "Depends on how soon they can get what they need for the Polyjuice of so many specific people without arousing suspicion. Using my own common sense to fill in some details, they'll need to know which guards are outside and inside, who and where. When. There are very likely other facets to the plan as well; they'd be fools to tell me everything."
I nod. "They'll only have one chance."
"They know it, too. They'd rather take their time now than risk missing some critical piece. I'd guess at least a week. Maybe two. Potter was out late Saturday, so they've had almost two days to get him caught up."
The benefit to this plan, it seems to me, is that it's unlikely to devolve into a drawn-out battle. I impart this wisdom to Severus, who agrees.
"If they can neutralise the guards in a fell swoop and replace them with Polyjuiced operatives, hopefully it will be over in the span of a few hours. Any longer than that, and we're both in trouble."
Yes, we will be. We'll both be summoned to fight.
"How was Potter when he left? You probably told him more than I did. Did he have a lot of questions?"
"A fair number," Snape admits, allowing a small smirk. "He was worried about Granger, since she's the only one left, but I think I made him feel better about the whole thing. We had… a good chat."
I snort. Sure, they did. Snape and Potter's antipathy rivalled my own with Potter. But I'm anxious to get home. That's everything I needed or wanted to know for tonight. Almost.
I nearly manage not to ask, but before I leave I blurt it out against my will. "What did you tell Granger about me?"
The smirk hasn't left his face. "Wouldn't you like to know?"
I walk into the lab and Granger's face lights up. My heart skips several beats.
"I've got it!" she cries, and it skips some more. Got what? Did she figure it out, the lotion?
She must see it in my expression because she holds up her hands in a 'stop' gesture. "Snape's time-lengthening bit. I've got it sorted, so we can make our own."
"Ah, good. Snape says the Resistance wants more of it, so let's start cooking them their own batch. Let me get changed and I'll be right in to help."
"Putting on your jim jams after work?" she snickers, her perfectly adorable nose slightly wrinkled, and I decide to do just that. I'll show her.
After re-emerging in my best pyjamas - silk, green plaid, thank you - Granger inhales half a crumpet.
"What are you doing with those?" I ask, genuinely curious.
"Oh, shut it, you," Granger coughs with effort, trying not to choke. "I've been very careful around the -"
I burst out laughing. "Not that, I mean, that's a breakfast food. Next you'll tell me they're banana-flavoured."
Her guilty look tells me everything I need to know and I cover my eyes with my hand, rubbing my temples in mock dismay.
"You said bananas were for breakfast; this is a breakfast food." She defends her plate stubbornly and I do have to respect it.
"At least you asked Suz for something, finally. You must have asked for something this random."
Clearly trying to deflect from her scandalous use of the house-elf in her service, she changes the subject. "Now, onto your jim jams. What are you wearing?"
I look down and strike a ludicrous pose, one hand on a hip and the other in my hair. "These are the best jam jams I have to offer," I tell her, emphasising the term.
Granger shakes her head almost sadly, her wild curls moving side-to-side, and looks like she might need to begin rubbing her own temples. "Two things: first, come closer."
Absolutely. Yes, sure. Anytime. All the time.
She squints at the fabric, careful not to lean closer to my general groyne area as she sits while I stand. "I was right; there's actual silver threading in there. That is absurd. Are they meant to be 'Slytherin' or 'Christmas' fashion?"
"Er - I always wore them as Slytherin jam jams. They were a big hit at school. Everybody wanted some."
"I'm sure. Second thing: it's 'jim jams'. Everybody knows." This is delivered in the same swotty tone as if I'd been stupid enough to ask what a 'crumpet' was.
"'Everybody knows' nothing. It's 'jam jams'."
Granger tilts her head, apparently considering the merits of this rock-solid argument, before finally contributing a different nugget of wisdom instead. "Isn't it odd we don't say 'jahm jahms'? We pronounce it 'py-jah-mas,' after all."
This does, indeed, stop me in my argumentative tracks. "Huh."
Not exactly the height of my usual eloquence, but she has me there. Still. "Not jim-jahms, Granger? Sounds like you're admitting I'm right."
She ignores this. "Third -"
I interrupt. "A moment ago, you had only two comments," I note. "What else can you have possibly come up with in this amount of time?"
She glares at me. "Third, between the silk and the long-sleeved buttoned-up nightshirt, you look like a crotchety old wizard in those."
Ah yes, my ego has had nearly twenty-four hours off to rebuild itself. Time to cut it back down to size at once. Well, I guess I can't open a door and expect Granger not to walk through it. I would have, after all.
"You just wanted to say 'crotch' in reference to me. Don't deny it."
Granger flushes red - annoyance? embarrassment? both? - and it's delightful.
"Well, if you insist, Granger, I'll just go shirtless again. I can't imagine you could possibly think 'crotchety old wizard' if I stick with only half the ensemble."
I yank it over my head with one hand, ignoring the buttoning nonsense and Granger quickly averts her eyes, still quite pink.
"I'd get my matching silk smoking jacket instead, but that might bring new hazards in the way of dangling certain things over hot cauldrons again," I tell her seriously.
"No," she murmurs, her eyes straight in front of her, "nothing 'dangly' or 'bitty' in the potions lab. Must be sure."
"Oh, I'm sure," I stress, and her eyes flick over to me in amusement. She suppresses a grin and faces ahead again, and I grant her some relief. "Did the Mandrake leaves come today?"
Granger shakes her head and I feel a flash of annoyance. "That's a local apothecary. Fine; I'll stop by Diagon Alley tomorrow and pick some up just in case. Did you have everything you needed for Snape's potion?"
"Yes, although I'll need the newt's breath soon if we're going to be making more alba pellis for the Resistance. What are they using it for? Do you know?"
"Well, Potter for his scar, anytime he isn't Polyjuiced. But also, people just want it; hiding things they'd rather not show."
"You could sell it, you know," Granger offers. "Have you planned to?"
"Maybe after the war is over," I shrug. "If the war ends well, that is. Maybe it'll give me a tiny bit of credit for helping the Resistance. And if the war goes poorly, at least you know how to make it."
She knows I'm referring to my promise to throw her into the Floo with a wand and goes quiet, looking down at her table of cauldrons again. "You couldn't run, too?"
"I could try, I guess," I sigh. "But if the attack fails and the Dark Lord comes looking, my whole family would have to run. I don't know if we'll have enough time; if it's realistic."
"Would you try?" she looks up and back down again, quick.
"I wouldn't leave my mother to her own devices. If I knew my father had that part in hand, then maybe."
"Your mother is a prodigious witch," Granger points out.
"No," I correct sternly. "You're a prodigious witch. My mother is extremely capable, I agree, but she was no prodigy. She's also one hell of a Legilimens, for the record, but she's too polite to ever use it," I smirk at Granger's worried look. "But I still couldn't leave her to fight her way out of something I created."
Granger says quietly, "She would rather you ran."
They've discussed it, then.
"I'm sure she would," I reply honestly. "That's a mother for you. But I'm done putting myself first, especially from messes I helped make."
Moving over to the ingredient cabinet, I start gathering what I need for fresh batches of alba pellis. "I'll do two cauldrons here, and keep testing the full petals of the Campanula rapunculus in the third, of whatever we have left until the next order arrives. You're going to work on Snape's thing, yeah?"
Granger nods once, sharp and crisp.
"Did you make any progress on what the other thing is?" I point towards Snape's mystery cauldron.
"No," she admits, a little heavily, as if I'm going to chastise her for it like a student who's late on a homework assignment. "I worked on this one today."
I shrug. "Well, this is the one we need more of, so more power to you. He said that one's for your entertainment, so it seems discretionary. If you get bored, go for it." I wink at her and she brightens a little.
Realising at the last possible second that I'm about to lose my jam jam pants in the middle of the lab, I tie the drawstring a bit tighter and see Granger catching an eyeful from my peripheral vision. Well, she very nearly got a much bigger look and then I snort to myself at the double entendre. Then cough to cover it up.
Smooth, I think, turning a little pink myself. But Granger's semi-frequent furtive glances my way are doing wonders to recover my decimated ego from 'crotchety old wizard.'
Deciding I should hurry up and necessitate being shirtless, just so it isn't gratuitous, I set the timer on the first two cauldrons for a ninety-three minute simmer, and return to testing the full petal Campanula rapunculus. This won't last too long, as we're running low on both vials of alba pellis to test and full petals of the flower we need, but maybe it'll get me through an hour and a half.
"What's the brew time on those?" I inquire to Granger.
She considers. "Better than the alba pellis. Still well over an hour, but better. I can make this before you're done there."
Excellent. We work in companionable silence for a while and I think how I've never been more comfortable with another person just being around.
My gamble paid off. I stride through the corridor of the Manor straight past the solarium, and my mother and Granger are taking morning tea. My mother is facing me and has one hand on the folded paper on the table, maybe discussing something in it, and Granger's tea cup is near her lips as she nods attentively, her hair in a plait as thick as my wrist down her back.
Then, they see me: my mother first, then Granger turning in her chair to get a look at what, exactly, is so horrifying.
"Draco!" my mother gasps, hand to her throat. "Whatever are you doing? Get dressed!"
I grin. That was a bit dramatic for the situation, even for my mother, but this is beautiful. "Well, Mother, I promised Granger I'd stay shirtless when brewing potions."
Granger gasps, hand to her throat. I cackle with glee.
"This is not my fault," she hisses with a scandalised look at my mother. "How dare you blame me for this? Narcissa, I never -"
My mother is still working on her proper appalled reaction, very undignified from Narcissa Malfoy, and this morning is shaping up perfectly. Granger continues on in my mother's verbal absence, as she is wont to do.
"And we aren't 'brewing potions!' Aren't you headed to work? Like that?" This sounds rather like Minerva McGonagall, actually, and I feel my bollocks shrivel up slightly. Yikes.
I recover admirably - I think. "I took a few days off," I tell them both in my best casual tone. "I'm headed to Diagon Alley, in fact, looking for Mandrake leaves."
And with that, I leave them both: Granger furiously indignant, lips tightly pressed together, horrified at the implication that this was her doing, and my mother, hands over her face in mortification at her only son - her perfect, precious popkins.
As I walk around the corner, I yank on a shirt, still grinning.
Unfortunately, the Diagon Alley apothecary isn't the one I'd ordered ingredients from, as I'd have rather liked telling someone off about the tardy delivery service they have. As it is, I'll end up with double newt's breath and Mandrake leaves when my original order finally arrives, but that's alright.
I do ask, on a wild chance, whether they have Campanula rapunculus, but they don't. It doesn't bloom this far north this late in the year; if it did, I'd be able to pluck flowers from the Manor gardens, after all. But it was worth a shot.
On my way back to the Apparition point, the sign for Ollivanders catches my eye.
Yes, indeed; I do need to prepare for Granger to have a wand. But I can't simply walk in there and pick out a new one. Old Ollivander will assume it's for me and want me to test three dozen options, and if I say it's for my mother or father he'll ask what happened. Word would get around. This will have to be done with some care.
I decide to send a note to my Moroccan botanist, with whom I'm corresponding quite a lot. He's far enough away to use a wandmaker other than Ollivander or Gregorovitch. The North African and Middle Eastern markets must have their own trusted wand options.
Might as well swing through Gringotts and be prepared, and this is turning into a full errand-running sort of day. Good thing I have a shirt on.
Stopping by the Owl Post next to Eeylops Owl Emporium, I jot off a quick message for the information of the best wandmaker in his area. I'm planning to ask for a variety of choices, feeling intrinsically that a dragon heartstring core will suit Granger well, but we'll find out.
"You really did a number on her, you know," Granger says idly, stirring her cauldron.
"Mm?" I prompt, going for absently inquisitive and not sure if I pull it off.
"I thought she was going to have a nervy b," Granger continues, then clarifies at my confused look. "You know - soon to need an 'extended stay' in a 'spa'."
This still takes me longer than I should; then, I start to laugh. "Like a sanatorium?"
"Oh, please," she dismisses with a devilish smirk. "It's not exactly politically correct, but as if people who live in manors wouldn't refer to it like I just did."
I wouldn't know. "Maybe girls have their own delicate terms for it," and that's undoubtedly true.
The Campanula rapunculus arrived before my local apothecary's Mandrake leaves, et al, making me even more grouchy about their service. Peregrine falcon delivery from Morocco or no, they should be embarrassed.
On the bright side, I can finish testing the full petals. Once this is over, we're really going to have to go back to brainstorming whether this is even likely to work. Maybe the Mandrake leaves will be the way to go after all.
"Did you see the falcon?" I ask. I'd missed this arrival.
Granger looks disappointed. "No. Suz brought it to me."
"Ah, well. Maybe next time," I offer and think there will be one sooner than she thinks: the reply to my inquiry about North African wandmakers will be inbound soon.
"So… what made you take a few days off?" Granger asks next, trying valiantly to sound nonchalant.
Hmm. How honest to be? I decide I may have only a week left with her. I'll go the full monty. You only live once, and all that rot.
My chickenshit self-preservation instinct still tries to split the difference, seeming to prefer Blaise's former advice from the casino/strip club, 'quit while you're ahead, and all that rot.'
"You're here working. I felt like I should be here, too. We should get this," I wave a hand at the alba pellis, "to the Resistance as soon as we can. And we might only have a few days to work on the rest of it, so we should use what we have."
Granger looks very serious at this, nodding studiously like a good girl, but there's something else there. Is there?
No; probably not.
My mouth won't shut up anyway and I've gotten tangled as to which instinct I should follow just now - among getting tangled in other impulses.
"I wanted to be proactive with our potions project, to maximise the potential of the provocative public… er, protuberance…"
Granger breaks down laughing, a hand covering her mouth. "Wait, what was that last bit? 'Protuberance?' The public protuberance?"
"- no, it's practically always my own personal protuberance -"
Eyes dancing towards my crotch, Granger starts to wheeze, but I'm on a roll.
"- the peripherally promising potential of the project to provide for -"
"- to provide purposeful pleasure to a poncey population of pricks?" She's howling, nearly doubled over, and I can barely make out her words now.
Total nonsense, all of it. And I can't help it. I've tried my hardest to muffle it, smother it, suffocate it, but I can't any longer. I step forward two great strides and take her perfect face in my hands, placing my mouth on hers.
And panic. Panicking poncey prick, head pounding with pessimistic and prejudicial pain from the past, proactively penetrating this particular -
But Granger's kissing me back and my entire mind goes blank as I feel her hands reach up to the back of my neck. She steps back and gropes behind her with one hand until she finds an empty spot of table, her other hand clipped tight behind my neck to pull me along.
She doesn't need to; I'll never let her go if she doesn't want. Granger's rear hits the table and she boosts herself onto it so she's sitting, slightly higher up with me standing, and she grabs my belt loops to pull me in closer.
I deepen the kiss automatically, her lips opening to mine and her tongue darting tentatively to meet my own. My hands are in her hair and I've never felt a more ecstatic sensation, fingers wrapped gently at the back of her head.
But after another moment, I step back automatically. "Fuck," I breathe, "I'm sorry, I didn't want to -"
Granger's own fingers are still hooked in my belt loops. "Don't apologise. And don't say you didn't want to," she whispers as she tugs on them once, insistently. "Please don't do that now. Please. Because I wanted to, and -"
My own brain can't stop getting in the way, now. I didn't use it enough before and now, it's getting proper revenge. "I thought it wasn't - wasn't the same, that -"
Granger takes a finger tragically out of a belt loop and puts a finger to my mouth, quite effectively shushing me, and says, "It wasn't; not quite. Because I'm all here now, and you're all here now. This is you, here, and you're different. And I'm different. And - it feels -"
She hitches a breath and I'm terrified that she's crying; I don't want her to be upset, not ever again, but then she gathers herself. Brave, incredible witch. "It feels - it feels right. It's not that it felt bad, or wrong before; it feels - different, but good. Right."
I feel like there was more to it in her mind, but she'll tell me if she wants to. If she can put words to it. When she's ready; if she's ready.
"I always want you to decide," I tell her softly, fervently. "I shouldn't have -"
She shuts me up with another kiss, pulling me back in by my belt loop.
The heat of the pull goes right to my stomach and I step obediently between her knees, wrapping one hand around the back of her neck to tip her head back and up to me, my other entangled gloriously in her hair. Gods, I've missed her hair. I've missed every centimetre of her.
Granger's heels are pressing on the backs of my knees, pushing me further into her as she clasps my lower lip between her teeth.
Chills run up my spine and her hands slide under my shirt - why is this on? somehow I'm not shirtless in the lab just now - and I reluctantly relinquish her hair so she can pull it off over my head with my help. She traces one fingernail across my scar, nipple to lower ribcage, and I shiver again, a full shudder starting at my shoulders. I can't help it.
"I don't mind it," I whisper in her ear. "I deserved it."
"Why did you start the lotion, then?"
"For you," I say honestly, breathlessly, gently capturing her earlobe between my teeth and the shiver she gives in response goes straight down my body, coiling heat. "Always for you."
Granger's hands flat on my stomach, slowly moving up and down, her heels hooked stridently behind my legs, we snog like desperate teenagers until our timer finally goes off.
I curse it. I'd die of starvation, dehydration, right here. She's everything I want.
Responsible swot that she is, she hops off the table and moves to the cauldrons, looking over her shoulder at me, lips red and a little swollen, cheeks red, eyes slightly hooded. "Come on," she taunts ruthlessly. "I've only got two hands."
Shirtless and tantalised by her very presence, by the challenge in her voice, and breathing a little too hard, I raise my wand. I prepare to stir a cauldron and cast as she readies near the other. I brutally force my thoughts back in line to pat my head and rub my tummy, which almost makes me lose the whole thing all over again.
The incandescent swoosh of the blend, the glamour to the potion, after the sixth figure-eight flutters her hair off her flushed face, her eyes sparkling, and I've never seen anything more beautiful.
