The day passes in a blur. I have no idea what time it was when we started brewing; at some point, I'll need to pay more attention, but for now, Granger is alternating between heckling me and snogging me. I don't know which is more stimulating but I can't bring myself to waste a second.

The clock is ticking on this, somewhere, faster and faster.

Night finally falls and we might eat food. I'm not sure. Her hands are in my hair and my mouth is on hers and I'm trying not to tell her how desperately in love with her I am. Do I manage? I think so; I have no idea.

My misery and elation war, brutally, and elation wins out. Most of the time. She's sleeping on me now, her hair splayed everywhere smelling like lavender, fingers twitching gently, her chest breathing in and out slowly, rhythmically.

She agreed to wear my jam jams, causing a flash of intense pride somewhere deep in my lizard brain seeing her in Slytherin colours. I can't stop lightly running my hands up and down her arms, her back, down the blanket of her hair. I press kisses onto the top of her head and murmur things to her as she sleeps, and occasionally find my cheek damp.

She'll leave here. I won't. Almost certainly won't. But I have this time, here, every second, every stroke of her hair, of her skin.

But Granger will leave here, with the scar potion - the best I could make for her, and the promise of maybe more - and a wand and her wits, and she'll do fine. Better than fine. She'll be brilliant.

She'll have a brilliant, incredible life, somewhere far from here. Even if she does want to be here with me, right now, she'll be happy somewhere else, with someone else, sooner or later.

I have to sleep at some point; I know I do. But waves of nerves are running down my body head to toe, keeping me awake, keeping me present.

Granger's index finger twitches. She inhales deeply. Exhales, her breath hot on my chest.

Would I miss a single moment of this?

No.

How many days left?

I inhale a ragged breath and she mimics me in her sleep, bringing a tightly-pressed smile to my lips. Gods, I love her. I didn't think anything could hurt this badly, picturing the inevitable loss of her, but I know it can; knowing I hurt her, disappointed her, let her down. That was worse, but I'll never do it again, and in comparison I can't imagine anything worse than that.

I'll send her through the Floo and face my death proud, my chin high, if that's what it takes. I can do it. There's nothing left for me without her. I'll do anything. The loss of her will be mitigated by knowing she escaped, that I gave her every chance for survival I could - at last.

There's a strength to be found in it that surprises me. Maybe this is what drives the idiotic Gryffindor tendency of bravery, of self-sacrifice. I could never identify it before. It always seemed completely foreign. Maybe I never loved anyone else enough.

Suz pops in, gives me the closest thing to a smirk I've ever seen on a house elf's face, and vanishes again.

Rude.

Butterworth comes to visit the following day and after Jasper brings him to see Granger, I join my mother for tea.

"I must say, darling, it rather looks as though Hermione's not quite indifferent or hostile towards you any longer," my mother says with delicacy, fluttering her napkin into her lap.

"What tipped you off? Her kicking me in the shin under the table so hard it bruised?"

Giving me a knowing look, she spoons up some soup before both answering and not answering at the same time. "Mm. Among other things."

Today's soup is a clam chowder and it's giving me sharp echoes of a lobster bisque lunch only a few days ago. I catch myself smiling into the bowl and glance up to catch my mother smiling at me. I clear my throat and have some chowder.

"You seem happy, Draco," my mother comments softly. "It's nice to see."

"It's nice to feel," I reply quite honestly. No reason to be subtle about things; we all live here, after all. Can't exactly hide. I do have to wonder what my father would think or feel about it, though.

I've been thinking a lot about what Snape suspects Blaise has done for Ginny, in the event of his death. I wish I could do the same, but the Malfoy legacies and inheritance are a myriad patchwork of legalities. Changing anything about it would involve my father - my grandfather, too, if he were still living. Even what would be considered small changes cannot simply be made on the fly.

I'll have to be content with what I can give Granger - a wand and a chance - but it always seems too little, too late.

"What's wrong?" my mother inquires and I realise my mood has turned again.

Just that this blissful existence I've literally tripped and gone arse over tit into has an expiration date on it: either my death when the Resistance fails, or Granger going on to live a happy and productive life when the Resistance wins, while I'm likely tried as a war criminal from my part in the first war, right alongside my father, and for actively facilitating egregious humans rights violations in the park I was openly keeping afloat.

"...Nothing." I take another big spoonful of chowder.

"How goes your project with Hermione?"

I nearly swallow wrong on the mistaken implication that she means me inexplicably winning Granger's affections, instead of the obvious reference to our potions work together.

"Slow, as to be expected. We haven't found any effect from the Campanula rapunculus leaves, and we've started testing the Mandrake leaves with it instead. I don't mind it, though."

And of course, we are also cooking new batches of alba pellis for the Resistance. Oh, and Granger is splitting her time between both of those things and Snape's time-extender potion, and his other offering is still waiting to be tinkered with.

No, I don't think either of us mind the extreme multitasking in the lab in the least, although we didn't get a lot done yesterday post-snogging. Something tells me Granger will have a few things to say about that this afternoon when we reconvene.

Well, that's fine. A large part of my problem the first time around with this was that I completely lost my head about things. No balance whatsoever. Looking back, I was beginning to get there towards the end, I think, during the bulk of our Horcrux reading. We'd spent the vast majority of our time simply working together, clothing on. Time spent with Granger was more important than time spent snogging her, at last.

The biggest obstacle to keeping my head on straight now is this ticking clock over my head, counting down our hours together, every precious minute.

I look around almost reflexively. I should go ahead back to the lab, make sure I'm there whenever she's done with Butterworth.

"Draco." My mother is speaking to me. Has she been for a while? "You need to focus, darling."

Her words are easy enough to interpret in this context and yet there's an undertone I sense, a seriousness in her eyes.

In one sense, I've never been more focussed in my life, but she's plainly trying to communicate something.

It's becoming clear that my mother has been playing three separate conversations at once: me, my father, and Granger. I should have picked up on this sooner, perhaps, but I figured there was more overlap than there evidently is.

I'll get to it, then; get down to 'focussing.' She may regret it. I straighten up in my chair and level my eyes on her, closely reading the icy blue gaze in hers as I begin.

"Where is Father?" I ask first. He's still gone. Let's get the easy bit out of the way, shall we?

My mother disagrees, apparently. "Abroad."

Alright, then. "Should I not ask until when?"

"Until whenever he is no longer needed," she hedges, and I'm rapidly losing patience with it.

"Should I be concerned, Mother? Should Granger or I be concerned?"

"No. No concern necessary," is all she gives me and I almost walk back to the lab. Sucking in a deep breath and a prayer for patience, I stay.

"Do you know something I ought to?" is my next question and I struck gold galleons with this. She's openly conflicted.

Mother's perfect, precious popkins is proactively prescient and persistent. "Mother?"

She closes her eyes for the briefest second, but enough to tell me something. I know my mother. "Nothing, darling." Right now. "Be patient though, please."

Now comes the gamble. Would my mother side with me over my father? Would her burgeoning maternal relationship with Granger weigh in at all?

We are all playing cards, holding our cards tightly to our chest, and I've never wished harder for the ability to count the remaining cards in the decks the way Granger can.

I visibly cave, for now, but lay on the only-child guilt as thick as I can manage. "Alright. I know you'll tell me if it's important, after all. For both of us."

She gives me a look that says she knows what I'm doing. Well, fair enough; I know what she's doing - just not why. Yet.

"You might not know: Granger lost her mother near the end of the war. She sent her parents away, Obliviated her entire existence completely from their memories. She looks at you as a sort of mother-figure."

This is viciously heavy-handed, but I don't feel the slightest guilt about it. I see my mother try to hide a wince. She almost does.

"I know your primary goal is always to act as my mother, but you should know that you're Granger's primary mother right now as well."

That blow ought to resonate. I let it land and filter through, seep into every orifice. I wish I could trust my mother to act in the overall best interest of the relative masses, and not just me - but I can't. Maybe now, the scales will be slightly better balanced.

I do beat Granger back to the lab and I walk around, studying our individual cauldrons closely. One wall is taken up with our full and overwrought testing grid for the Campanula rapunculus, another with a new grid for the Mandrake leaves.

Every lab table and station is full of ingredient jars, bottles, sacks. Vials and vials of alba pellis cluster near the back ingredient cabinet, since that's nearly empty. It makes for a good holding area for both the alba pellis, but also Snape's time-extending potion that we need for the alba pellis brews. As Granger finishes a cauldron of that, she vials those up as well.

Turning a circle, I sigh happily. Full madness in here. Complete chaos.

Jasper cracks into the room loudly, holding the post. I see my wayward local apothecary finally came through and roll my eyes, offloading the bundles of ingredients and plants from the little elf and setting aside the Venomous Tentacula for my mother.

There's a return letter to Granger from Ginny, which I tuck underneath her leftmost cauldron to find when she returns. There's also a response from Morocco with a recommendation of a wandmaker.

That is exciting. I grab a quill and parchment and write out an order for a half-dozen options after doing my best to describe the witch in need - doing my best to avoid being overly poetic, dramatic, or openly biassed - then jog into my room to get the bag of galleons I'd withdrawn from Gringotts. I add a couple extra for requesting a quick turnaround, and parcel everything up to send it off.

Jasper, who has patiently waited for me to do all of this, takes the parcel and the Venomous Tentacula and toddles off to the owlery and the conservatory, in order. Or maybe not; the Tentacula, small though it is, is trying to snake a tentacle into one of Jasper's ears as he leaves the lab.

Somehow I've ended up in front of the mystery cauldron as I wander around and I take a closer look. I haven't really inspected it since Snape brewed it and Granger's said she hasn't yet.

I do now.

('If she figures it out, she can tell you')

And when does Severus ever do something without a specific purpose? I scoff now at the idea of it being solely for Granger's entertainment. One look around and Severus could tell Granger has the run of everything here: library, lab, grounds. 'Entertainment' was needed in her dorm within the park, not here.

('Draco, you need to focus')

I am.

It's not aerosolised, obviously, but this has to be the formula for the mist. Severus was… what? I grab a chair absently and sit to parse through this. So he was giving Granger the mist, or the tools for it. But she'd need a wand to both turn it into a gaseous form and contain it somehow in the right vessel, to use it when needed.

He knows Granger has no wand, but he must have known I'd get her access to one at some point. He didn't tell me about this, though.

It comes to me clearly, all at once. Severus was giving Granger an out, a way away, in case she needed one independent of me. He was leaving the decision of whether to tell me about it up to her. If she needed to do that, she'd have eventually had to get her hands on a wand. Or maybe if she didn't get it finished before the final attack, Severus would have found Granger and given her some. Who knows?

Severus and his contingency plans on contingency plans. Who knows what the actual plan was meant to be?

Well, he doesn't need to worry. Granger wouldn't have to synthesise the mist formula on the sly. If she wants to use it to escape instead of using the Floo, she can. I'm not sure if it's for my mother or for me, but she's already electively choosing to stay until we know the outcome of the assault on Dunrobin. She could have stolen my wand any number of times now.

And if we can figure it out early enough, we can make loads of it. Severus probably already has plenty of it bottled for wherever he envisions it for, but it can't hurt to have more. Who knows where we'll all be late in the game?

I wonder how we can turn it into a gas form. I need some arithmancy books. I jot out a quick note to Granger to explain the situation, leaving it somewhat vague in case my mother wanders through the lab looking for me instead. I leave it on Granger's side of the tables and head right to the library.

The Manor's best books on advanced arithmancy are still at the park, along with everything that mentioned Horcruxes, locked in Snape's third lab. There are two here that could be useful in the meantime, though. I'll get the others back when I deliver a load of vials of alba pellis to him for the Resistance's use.

Very ironic that I'd been trying to give Granger a way to figure out the mist early on, and it actually was solely to keep her mind stimulated. Maybe she'd made some progress on it; I'd never asked. When we were together those last few weeks there, we were fixating on Horcruxes.

So: we need to (1) turn it gaseous. We need to (2) be able to capture it in the (3) correct sort of bottle to spray a scent from. Something that mimics perfume or cologne should do it; a small container with a powerful, controlled spritz. And finally, we need to (4) know how to tie a specific destination to it.

I'm devouring an arithmancy text when Granger taps on my shoulder and I jump a metre in the air. She laughs, a beautiful sound, and leans in to kiss me quickly.

"What is this?" she flicks the paper in her hand as she takes the seat beside me. "What did you find?"

Her eyes dance as I explain, bright and engaged. She isn't remotely intimidated by the mound of additional work we've discovered.

"I've got quite far, actually," she confides quietly, pulling me back towards the lab by my hand. "At first, I was trying to discover how he'd done it in theory, because, of course, I didn't have a sample. But I'd narrowed down the possibilities, and I remember most of the details even without the books - I think - and now I can apply them to -"

Her excitement is contagious. She's taking two steps to every one of mine.

As soon as we reach the lab, I scrape together enough tabletop real estate to fit the books I brought back with us and turn to find Granger sketching out another gigantic, intricate model of rows and columns on the wall with my wand.

Examining it for a moment until she puts some more detail on it, it finally becomes clear to me - and more's the pity. "You're putting us on a schedule?"

"I am. We need to work."

"Wait, those big blocked out times all over - those are for the potion brewing, not snogging? I'd rather hoped it was the other way around."

And she chucks a balled-up piece of parchment at my head. "You're incorrigible, and in charge of the Mandrake leaves. I'll try to find where I left off with the mist. I have a theory that runes are going to come into it somewhere."

Hm. I consider the possibilities of that and like them. She's onto something, I'm willing to bet. The right runes could be used to contain the mist into a specific vessel and potentially dictate the destination equations, if combined with the correct arithmancy.

Prodigious witch, indeed. I smile a little ruefully and shake my head, in awe of her.

"Will you go find me some books on runic magic?"

"Where was this brainwave when we were in the library, Granger? You just dragged me back here." I can't help heckling her. It's been all morning. "Also, you just gave me a very specific task and I'm loath to disappoint you. I'll have you know, I'm usually extremely obedient."

"A lying liar is what you are," she snips, trying to suppress a smile before I see it. "You aren't obedient in the slightest."

"If I were going to be for anyone, it would be you," I give a respectful half-bow. "Jasper!"

My little elf appears with a loud crack. "Yes, Master Draco?"

"Will you please check the library for books on ancient runes? Use the cross-reference system for runic magic with use in potions, or with arithmancy - two separate searches."

Jasper vanishes to do just this and I inspect the intensely complex schedule Granger has crafted on the wall.

"Did you have to use your tiniest handwriting here, too? You had the whole wall to work with."

"Hush," she grumbles, flipping rapidly through one of the arithmancy books we brought back fast enough to make me dizzy.

"Might I make one request?" I quirk an eyebrow at her and love watching her try to temper down her frustration, assuming what I'm going to go for. She presses her lips together and folds her hands in her lap, as if needing to hold onto something for strength.

"Are you going to ask if we can start with snogging time instead? Because the answer is unequivocally -"

"Can we occasionally swap projects? I think it might be good to look at each of these with fresh eyes every few hours."

Caught somewhat off-guard, Granger blinks several times. "...Yes. Yes, alright. That's probably going to be helpful. Unless you're only trying to get out of grinding more things into paste, in which case, I decline."

"Next question. Should I wear a shirt?"

"...Yes."

Oh, well. Worth a shot.

"Things were good with Butterworth?" I ask, testing another round of Mandrake leaves. I did have to take my shirt off eventually. Granger did not comment, and I'm fighting the ridiculous feeling of being jealous of her books. She's hardly looked my way once.

"Mm," she agrees absently, moving from the book splayed open in front of her to peer into the cauldron, seeming cross with it.

"Would you like to see him again?"

Now she glances at me, putting her attention on the question in full. "Yes, I think so, if we think we have time. How soon does Snape think things could happen?"

We've discussed what Severus told me the other day, but we both seem to find comfort in re-hashing what we know - whether it's certain or just suspected. She found the plan for a stealth assault at night favourable. I'm sure it's also bringing her some comfort to imagine that a full-scale battle may not be needed at all. It certainly does me.

In a different sense, of course I want as much time with Granger as possible. But I also need time for the wands to arrive from North Africa so she can have one of her own when the time comes. She uses mine when necessary here, and it works well for her. She still seems to think it could be better and I'm sure she was used to better results from her own wand.

Mine has a dragon heartstring core, known for a tolerance to certain types of darker magic. It's one of the primary reasons I'm betting that type of core will be in her new wand too; Granger, whether she'd openly admit it or not, does have some Slytherin to her. Her selfless motivations are plain, but beyond that, she's decidedly pragmatic, willing to do what needs to be done.

Her aim is to do the most good for the most people, but how she achieves it seems to be occasionally up for debate. She interprets legalities in her own way.

I find it extremely attractive, among other traits of hers.

Suz pops in to check on us and I ask for another tray of little finger sandwiches. Granger's plainly irritated by my interruption.

"I've seen you eat two small things in the last twenty-four hours," I insist.

"I ate this morning," she huffs impatiently. "Just because you didn't see it -"

I look at the schedule on the wall and grab my wand, shoehorning in breaks for meals. "And it is now mid-afternoon."

"You had better be cutting into the break time that's already on there," I hear bossily from across the room.

"That time is spoken for."

I get a dry look in return, in sharp contrast to the steady frizzing of her hair.

"Granger, if you think having a mouthful of sandwich will stop me snogging you for two whole minutes an hour -"

"Eurgh," she sighs, closing her eyes as if she's in actual pain. "Please don't."

"Eat some food occasionally and I'll restrain myself."

"Fine."

"You can eat while we work. Or you can eat in between me snogging you. I'm giving you options to keep you from starving." Granger not working herself to death is quite important to me, as it turns out.

Time for a project swap and she's disgruntled. It's both adorable and a little insulting by how unsettled she is when I move to review her arithmancy where she left off.

"Keep your tits on, Granger," I say automatically, reading, and her jaw drops. "It's not as if I'm going to change anything, don't worry. If I start my own calculations, I'll use my own parchment."

She crosses her arms over her chest, tits firmly in place, and leans against the lab table. She next crosses her legs at the ankle and sternly watches me muck about with her arithmantic expertise with undisguised concern.

"Do get something done over there," I toss over my shoulder and when it becomes clear that won't be happening, I sigh.

"Come here, then," I gesture to the parchment in front of me. "Show me what you did and where you stopped."

Granger practically springs into action. Shooing me aside, she grabs the quill from my hand and begins to explain each line of her work. Leaning over the table, even she has to squint at the parchment several times.

"I told you you write too small," I tell her helpfully and she kicks backward, catching my shin with her heel. My eyes water.

"So here," she goes on, as if I hadn't spoken, "the equation pertains to the gaseous component. With the correct formula, the properties of the concoction should adapt to the properties we dictate, rendering it from a liquid to a gas."

I lean over her to look. Handwriting still far too tiny, practically nonexistent, from this distance. I lean completely over her, putting my hands on either side of hers on the table and my chin on her shoulder to read.

I'm going to have to take her word for it. I'm a dab hand at potions, but there's no doubt she's much more accomplished at advanced arithmancy than I've ever been. "What's all this here?"

"Scratch work." Granger actually sounds embarrassed, as if she shouldn't have needed it.

My chin still firmly resting on her shoulder, I shake my head in mock disapproval and feel her shake in a silent laugh. There couldn't possibly be pelvic contact right now - she's so short that to have my chin here means my arse is sticking a metre out behind us - but I press a kiss to her neck and love the shiver she makes when I let it linger there.

I turn her around to kiss her properly and she starts to protest. "It's not time yet; we have more to do, and -"

"Granger," I murmur into her hair, "If you snog me for two minutes right here I'll swap back and let you work on your arithmancy."

"You're shameless," she breathes, but my bargain is acceptable. She winds her hands up around my neck, her fingernails lightly skimming across my skin, her mouth deliciously on mine.

We're interrupted when my mouth starts laughing instead. I just noticed she actually started a timer. "You don't trust me to stay on task at all, do you?"

Granger sniffs imperiously. "I don't trust what you define as the 'task.' It's your own time you're wasting, by the way."

Haughty sometimes, is Granger.

"I'll show you," I say against her mouth, talking between kisses. "I'm going to sort out this Mandrake thing today."

"Oh, yeah? Tell me more," she whispers, moving to my earlobe to nip it, and every end in my body feels like it's on fire. "Tell me every step you take when you figure it out."

I can do that. I start kissing my way down her neck and tugging the collar of her shirt to the side to reach her shoulder. "I will, but it'll take longer than two minutes."

"Promises, promises," challenges Granger and puts both her hands flat on my chest to push me back as the timer goes off.

I openly grumble and as I readjust my trousers, my mother's voice comes from behind us. Gods, that worked. How long had she been standing there? No adjusting needed now.

"Were you trying to say something with this, Draco? Sometimes it's hard to tell." Narcissa holds up the Venomous Tentacula and I see Granger duck to the side, hiding a smile behind her hand.

"Just trying to balance out your orchids."

"A swing and a miss," notes Granger, and I don't understand the phrase but the tone is condescending. I narrow my eyes at her. "You tried," she tells me, starting to laugh. "It's the thought that counts."

Now my mother and I have both cottoned on to the meaning if not the reference itself. "No, no, Draco, thank you. It's - erm - lovely, and I don't already have one. So, thank you, darling."

She looks around at the general disarray of the room, at grids and charts and schedules mapped on three out of four walls. I see her eye the work/snog schedule and make the smallest double-take, blinking several times. I stifle an absurd urge to ask if she approves of the ratio.

"You might not be close enough to see that one properly," I offer, always considerate. "Granger's handwriting is miniature. I think she does it on purpose, but isn't her colour-coding particularly neat and tidy? Take a look. All of this over here," I wave a hand at the walls to my right, "is my chicken scratch."

Behind my mother, Granger's eyes are bugged out and she's shaking her head violently. 'What are you doing?' she mouths at me in horrified panic.

My mother, however, has the jist of things. She purses her lips slightly, but I can see the side closest to me turning up at the corner. She glances over at Granger, who is bright red in humiliation, hair akimbo, eyes still far too large.

"I'm sorry, Narcissa," she whispers, closing her eyes.

"Whatever for, dear?" my mother replies smoothly, well-mannered as always. "I came to ask if you'd like to have tea with me this afternoon."

Granger and I both start to speak. I decline while she accepts and my mother graces me with an annoyed look. "Not you, Draco. You can stay here and do… whatever it is you're doing."

Properly excluded then, I turn back my cauldron while Granger tries to quiet a chuckle under her breath.

"Lovely," Narcissa continues, then peers at the wall schedule a bit more closely. Every spare hour on it is allocated and Granger lunges towards it to either block my mother's view of it or suggest a time proactively. Probably both.

They settle on a time roughly two hours hence and my mother departs as swiftly as she appeared. The look on Granger's face says I'm about to be murdered, likely by evisceration.

"How dare you blame that schedule on me?" she seethes, practically wringing her hands together and I gently force them apart so I can hold them. If she's this embarrassed now, she'll need the support after what I'm going to say next.

"Well, you both thought it up and put it on the wall," I point out, loving the feel of her tiny hands in mine even as they try to tighten into aggravated fists. "So me taking credit for it would have been dishonest. But also, there's no way on earth she doesn't know you spent last night in my room."

Granger goes alarmingly pale and gulps before trying to get a rational grip on things again. "H- How could she know that?"

"Well, the elves, for one. Your room was undisturbed, no meals taken there."

"Suz wouldn't -" she gulps again and it's adorable.

"Suz will answer questions if asked, though," I say calmly. "And I'm willing to bet my mother has been curious."

"I can't meet her for tea. I can't look at her now," she whispers, eyes wide and fixed on the wall. She went from blinking quite a lot to not blinking at all. "This is mortifying."

I shake one hand gently to get her attention. "Granger." I wait until she looks back at me, still an unhealthy shade of white. "They both know I've fancied you for years. If anything, my mother has been hoping for this. She's certainly stopped trying to push eligible witches on me every chance she gets."

"But I'm staying in her home," she whispers, back to staring at the wall, and I feel a visceral rush of happiness that she doesn't consider this true captivity. I hope it isn't for much longer. "It's the height of impropriety. And she's been so wonderful to me."

"Everything is fine. Anyway, we're both of age," I insist. "Have some tea. You'll see. I'm sure she doesn't even mention it."

The look I get in return says Granger doesn't believe a word of that, so I do the next best thing: I go for the swotty redirect.

"Well, that took up almost fifteen minutes. Time to get back to it, wouldn't you say? We're going to get quite off-schedule." I shoo her back to her own lab table and once she's finally back to looking at her notes, I start another timer just for the tea. Can't have her miss it, after all.

I'm rather pleased with the invitation. With Granger in the lab with me all the time, she and Narcissa have spent less time together lately. I hope the conversation I had with my mother - about being the closest thing Granger has to a maternal figure right now - resonated. More time spent together can only be good.

I don't want to be the only one looking out for Granger in this Manor.