The next two days pass in much the same way. We sleep together at night, eat together during the day, and work on ridiculously advanced new potions/arithmancy/runes discoveries together in the lab.

Whatever my mother said or didn't say to Granger, she seems perfectly alright, so I haven't pried. Butterworth came back by this morning to see her again and I dropped off two dozen more vials of alba pellis with Snape, fetching my stack of books back in the process.

And I think I'm finally onto something with the Mandrakes.

The leaves themselves were producing the same load of nothing as the Campanula rapunculus. I'm taking a spear of inspiration from Granger's combinations of arithmancy-and-runes that she's currently torturing herself with.

The swapping of projects for fresh eyes was a good idea in theory, but it turns out that Granger is uniquely suited to her half in a way I am not. It's twofold: her knowledge of advanced arithmancy far surpasses mine, of course, but also - she works better without having to recalibrate her brain.

It's a marvel to watch, really.

She can step away and come back to it a hundred times - not without a McGonagall-level of irritation, mind you - but it's as if it stays forefront in her mind. If she changes gears to investigate my work instead, it takes her longer to get back on track with her formulaic experimentation.

Also, I told her I was going to sort out the Mandrake question specifically so I can describe every single step in excruciating, slow detail when we finally collapse into bed at night.

('promises, promises')

Indeed.

Jasper shows up with the post. Another letter from Ginny to Granger, and I'm intensely curious for news of the attack strategy, if she was willing or able to put anything in writing.

And a medium-sized boxed package from Morocco.

I actually fist-pump in the air.

Granger is increasingly delighted by each gift and it makes my heart soar. First is the letter from Ginny, which I had nothing at all to do with anyway, but it makes her so happy to hear back from her best girl friend. In regards to attack plans, all Ginny reveals in writing is that they hope to have a good reunion with some old friends a week from Sunday.

"So it'll be that Saturday night, then," I observe. Roughly ten days away. Good.

"Who all do you figure they mean?"

"Well, you, obviously. But also, people like Mr and Mrs Weasley, who have to stay visibly uninvolved, just going about their regular lives. They can't risk raising suspicions that anything is afoot, and they aren't the only ones separated from family just now."

Granger doesn't offer details from the rest of the letter and I don't ask. I do make a note to go by the park again tomorrow and make sure Severus is aware. I'm sure he is but it can't hurt to share information, and I can give Blaise a much-needed update.

Next come the books that I'd sent to the park for her to use, a stack of tomes for Horcrux research - done, now - and advanced arithmancy combined with potion-making. Granger lights up, almost tripping over her words in her enthusiasm.

"Oh, these books were fantastic. You sent the best ones, the ones left here have been helpful, but these - I had so many notes from these, too! Did Snape happen to send -"

I confirm, "He did, with a shockingly profuse - for Severus, anyway - apology that he didn't bring them by the other day. They've been locked away out of sight and he's had a lot on his mind. I believe your notes are tucked into the Ancient Numerology text."

This delivery alone has made her so happy, she dives into it immediately. She's fully absorbed, hair covering her face entirely as she bends over the books and parchment, reviewing her own work from months ago.

Finally, I decide not to interrupt it. I'll leave her to it until our next scheduled break - must respect the schedule, Granger does not deviate - and instead stuff a peanut butter and banana sandwich into her small hand while she works, making sure to keep her mass of hair out of it.

Watching her for the next several minutes, I don't even think she noticed I was the one who put it there. She absentmindedly starts gnawing on it, though, quill in one hand and sandwich in the other. I consider it a success.

Five amused minutes later, I replace it with another. Maybe this is the way to get her to eat. At least it works.

When I figure she's eaten enough to qualify as a rudimentary 'meal,' I get back to my own tasks. I've convinced myself that a combination of Mandrake and Campanula rapunculus leaves is going to be the way to go. Neither on their own is able to affect what we want. Together, maybe they have a chance.

It's becoming a stubborn point of pride, also. I set out to achieve something groundbreaking and I've managed a temporary cosmetic solution. It isn't good enough. Granger having to reapply the alba pellis twice a day to hide the scar on her arm isn't good enough.

Ten days or so until this is over. I will have this sorted.

Break time, finally. I look up to find Granger already looking at me, an excited smile on her face. "I think I've got part of it," she declares, eyes sparkling. I'm struck that she was waiting for me to come to a stopping point on my own, not wanting to interrupt.

"Show me."

She pulls me over by the hand and points me into the chair. I sit obediently and listen, hands folded in my lap. She paces in front of me, hands clasped behind her back, as if about to lecture a class.

"I can't test it yet because it's the final piece, the destinations, but I'm almost certain I've figured out how Snape was doing it. It's a numerology tactic in the arithmancy, similar to latitude and longitude - classifying a place by a series of specific numbers and incorporating it into the potion."

I wrinkle my brow. I don't want to sound sceptical, but I also can't just heap disingenuous praise on her like some mealymouthed cretin. "I don't know. It always seemed as though the mist itself was already set. Snape, or whoever was there, would dictate the location after the client stated where they wanted to go."

Granger had never seen this done.

But she grins even wider, if possible, showing two sharp dimples in her cheeks. She holds something up - something that looks impossibly like one of the pads from the cubicle walls in the park.

"He'd dictate it on this, right?"

I nod mutely, slack-jawed.

"It was in the package of books, so I knew it had to be part of things. It's tied to the arithmatic equations. It's a sort of Protean Charm, or similar; I've never seen anything like it. But the destination could be specified here, on the pad, and the numerical formula would reflect into the potion before dispersal."

"It just looks like a pad to write on," I say weakly. "Obviously there was more to it, but I never thought -"

"Who would have?" Granger practically yells, throwing her hands up. "It's genius, positively brilliant. I want to talk to Snape again. Can I?"

I reach out and snag her wrist to make her stop pacing, and tug her down until she's sitting on my knee. She's still a ball of energy, practically bouncing, and I stifle a small laugh. "You don't have to ask if you can see him. Of course you can -"

Granger backtracks at once, slightly shaking her head. "I more meant, can you please set it up?" Her eyes are shining so bright and she's so excited.

"Yes, of course I will. I'll be happy to. Now, are we ready for break time? Officially? I think we get fifteen whole minutes. Well, maybe eleven, now."

She leans into me at once, kissing me full on the mouth, and I snake one hand up behind the back of her neck and into her hair. "You're amazing, you are," I sort of say pressed against her lips, and maybe she can make it out. "But I have something else for you."

Leaning back a little, Granger eyes me warily. "What do you mean?"

I pull out the box from Morocco and hand it to her.

The wary look stays put, but I see a flicker of interest in her eyes. "Why do I get pressies?"

"Well, you are amazing and we can call it a celebratory pressie if you like. But this is also more functional; necessary. I just hope one works."

She stares at me curiously as she rips open the package, fumbling around without looking at it. I hold her gaze, drowning in her brown eyes, in the sparkle and engagement in them. The life. I can't help smiling at her as she finally dumps the lot onto the table without looking and two wands go clattering to the floor.

Granger gasps and flies off my knee.

She's snatching for them as I try to prepare her for disappointment. "I only felt safe requesting a half dozen. They're from an African wandmaker, nowhere near what's going on in the UK or Europe, but I didn't want to risk word getting around that the Malfoys were ordering mass quantities of wands. I imagine wandmakers have a fairly tight little circle. But I did my best to -"

"Oh, Draco! What did you order?"

"I don't know what he sent," I admit. "I did my best to describe you. Look in the boxes; I'm sure they're labelled. But if none of these work, we'll send off for another six. At least we'll be able to return this batch and not appear to be arming half the Resistance with another order if someone gets curious."

Granger's sitting on my knee again, a fistful of wands in her hand. Silent tears are tracking down her cheeks and she looks over at me. "Thank you." Her lower lip trembles a touch before she clamps down on it, tears starting to flow in full. "Thank you."

I rub my hand up her back beneath her hair and let her lean into my shoulder. She gives one giant sniffle as I say, "You need one. Now let's see if any of these work before you start thanking me, alright?"

Only two are complete duds, producing almost nothing at all. A third shows moderate performance, but still far below what anyone would want for their own wand. Two more work in varying degrees of success; I'd have been somewhat pleased. The hawthorn, in particular, seemed to do anything Granger needed or wanted, far outperforming what she'd been able to produce with my wand when she's been using it here.

But she shrugged it off, looking to test the final one before making a decision. I wonder if she'd want to send the hawthorn wand back as well, or keep it as the best of the lot and wait for another batch to test, when she waves the sixth one.

A gigantic flock of yellow canaries burst forth, making Granger exclaim in happy surprise. "Oh, that's - that's quite strong! I think this could be it."

"We can try for another set -" I start, but she shakes her head.

"I like this one. Quite a lot, really. What is it?" she looks down at the paper, turning it the proper way up to read it. "Yew and dragon heartstring. That's interesting."

"That's…" I trail off. "That's a strong combination. A predilection towards serious magic."

Granger is turning it between two fingers, eyeing it thoroughly. "My first wand was dragon heartstring, too," she comments.

Also interesting, I think. I'd been inclined to think that wand core would perform well for her. I stand up and put my arms around her waist. "So you like it?" I murmur into her hair.

She nods, giving me a mouthful. "I was trying to conjure a fraction of those birds. I've never felt that spell so strongly."

I consider this. "Well, you said the other day that we all change as we grow. Maybe the 'you' testing wands here is going to attract a different type of wand than you did at age eleven. We can still try others, if you like. We wouldn't have to send this one back."

But Granger is visibly settling with her decision, testing out other spells. "No, I want this one. I like it. It likes me; I can tell. This one is mine."

Lucky wand. But I have to try one more time; I'd love to give her several days to test it out first, but I don't trust that we could get another order turned around in time if she needed to try more. If she wants another batch, it should be now, and I just want to be sure -

Granger is sure. She shushes me, standing on her toes to pull me down to her level.

"Thank you," she whispers. "I don't know how you described me to him, but thank you."

"I don't know if I did all that well. A third of the options were complete failures."

"I had a far higher failure rate than that in Diagon Alley, and that wand didn't perform as well as this one's done. What did you tell him about me?"

"Well, I couldn't exactly say 'the most brilliant witch I've ever known,' because it could have raised eyebrows about who it was for, so I had to resort to things like 'bossy' and 'stubborn,' 'very short,' 'inappropriate with food,' 'schedule-oriented,' and 'insufferable,' for good measure."

Granger points her brand new wand at me and I feel a nonverbal spell dissipate, a chill dripping down from the top of my head. She conjures a mirror and holds it up.

My hair is bright green.

So are my eyebrows. And eyelashes.

"Yes, very funny," I tell her, the height of maturity. "My mother might not have even said anything about the new wand, except now you've defaced her perfect popkins."

"Check your armpit hair," advises Granger.

And that just about wraps up our designated break.

Back to work.

It's a tough life, being both green-tipped and un-snogged, but I will persevere. I distract myself by watching Granger try to work on her formulas and calculations while simultaneously fidgeting with her new wand. She finally combines the two by bringing runes into her equations, drawing runes in the air, on the only blank wall we have left, and into the cauldron itself on occasion.

"Snape gave us the potion," she comments out loud, "but not so we can deconstruct and then replicate it a dozen times over."

I'm not at all certain she's talking to me but I stop and listen nevertheless.

"He gave it to us so we can finish the calculations and bottle it for our own use."

"Why not just give us bottles of it, then?" I'm playing devil's advocate and I've startled her. Ah, talking out loud after all. Oh well; now I've contributed and she's got a willing conversant. She puts one hand on a hip and gestures into the air with her wand as she speaks.

"Because we had to understand how and when to add the destination arithmancy before we could have used it. He could have tried explaining the use of the pad, but he knew we'd have a much more intuitive grasp of it this way."

This makes sense, of course. With the knowledge of the theory and composition of it, we could troubleshoot it ourselves if we needed to.

"What is the pad's part, exactly?"

Granger scrunches a fistful of hair as she thinks. "The arithmancy equations are done into the potion itself via a certain set of runes I'm still working on. It primes the potion to look for a destination - a destination that is then specified on the pad. So each destination doesn't need a specific potion; the potion stays the same."

Fascinating. Severus should have a Mastery in Arithmancy and Potions.

Maybe he does.

"How complex is the runic work?"

Granger exhales, her cheeks blowing out. "Can't be worse than the arithmancy."

"How do we get it into an aerosol form?"

At this, she looks optimistic. "I think it's basic evaporation, but trapped in a contained area or vessel by runes. Once the runes are set, we simply heat the potion until it evaporates into a gas and trap it. Then we expel it as needed, as long as we have the pad handy too."

"When are you going to start testing that? That process could be any potion. It's how the runes manipulate it that you're testing."

"After dinner, I think," she says reluctantly, and I spring out of my chair.

"You're actually stopping to eat? Voluntarily? I'll tell the elves to crack open some wine. We must celebrate."

Granger isn't amused and I'm immediately concerned for the integrity of my appearance, after the last time I insulted her today. "Beautiful, brilliant witch," I tell her, moving to put my arms around her. "You're incredible, you are. You're doing amazing things here."

Even though I can tell she's trying not to let it, this does soften her up a bit and I lean back with an optimistic plea. "Can you turn me normal-coloured again? Just so we can go eat without putting my mother in an early grave?"

She sighs, rather unenthusiastic about the idea. "I suppose. I've been enjoying looking up and seeing you with bright green hair."

"'Looking up,'" I repeat. "You haven't looked up from that lab station in two hours, at least. I've felt quite ignored."

"You could have fixed it yourself," Granger points out, not taking the bait on my neglected feelings.

"That's not very sporting. If you want me green, I'll stay green. I'll at least ask if you'd prefer me back to normal." I give her a mischievous grin and that seems to do the trick. She sighs and lifts the enchantment, the feeling of a chill rising up to the top of my head this time.

"Does this count as work time or break time?"

Granger surveys the schedule. "Talking about the work qualifies as work, I say."

"When's dinner?"

She swaps two blocks of time on the wall. "Now. Let's go."

I meant it about the wine and when we come across Suz, she's more than happy to oblige. Granger protests that it will make dinner take longer but I insist.

"You're making loads of progress over there. We can take an extra half hour to enjoy dinner. I'm just excited that you're coming downstairs to eat a real meal of your own accord."

She shoots me a flat look as I pull out her chair for her, but something else is sparking my curiosity.

"When we were just brewing and testing the alba pellis, you weren't nearly so immersed. What is it about this project that has you so much more enthralled?"

Granger looks off, considering. Her mouth scrunches a little and I see a shadow of a dimple on her left cheek. "I do enjoy the potions work, especially with something completely new; the alchemy of it. But arithmancy and runes were two of my favourite subjects. I find it that much more interesting. Also, I know it can be done. Snape's done it. So I know it's possible. The answers are there somewhere."

Suz delivers a perfect fillet mignon and red wine and I'm pleased to see Granger eat with gusto.

Stubborn to the last, she won't admit she likes my green silk pyjamas. She legitimately doesn't like the shirt; says she gets tangled up in it. That's how I know she secretly likes the pants, because she voices no such opposition to those. And to be fair about the shirt, she does move a lot when she sleeps, unless she's sleeping on me. Maybe it's my arms physically stabilising her, because I clutch at her like a stuffed animal when I sleep - apparently - or maybe she's just comfortable. I prefer to think it's the latter.

So she ends up sleeping in the silk pants, one leg thrown haphazardly over mine, and in a sports bra. I wouldn't think that's comfortable in the least, but she insists it's the right blend of containment

('you don't know what it's like to have bits spilling out all over the place unbidden whenever you roll over'

as if I couldn't possibly imagine)

and comfort to let her sleep.

Her hair is everywhere.

I'm far less concerned with consuming it in my sleep than I am with rolling over on it and pulling it by accident. Much better to keep her on top of me - I think.

She's on top of me at the moment, but she's not asleep and neither am I. We've done nothing at all but snog and sleep in this bed for nights on end but Granger seems to have something else in mind.

Come to think of it - not that my brain is firing properly just now - she seems somewhat purposeful. We snog all sorts of ways, hands fumbling around, mouths nipping lips and kissing necks, fingernails scraping across skin and through hair. Tonight has more direction and I'm not going to complain.

I've been anxious about it, really, wanting to make sure she takes every step on her own. She'd always seemed to remember these things and she said she thought she did - but what if she didn't? What if I do something she doesn't recall, know something about her that I wouldn't otherwise? I couldn't bear to remind her of something like that now. Much, much better to act like it's the first time for us both and let her choose every pace. We both know we've been in this general position before; might as well not paint it in neon on the walls.

Of course I have a multitude of memories of my own and I've done my best to wall those up in a corner of my mind, banish them completely. I don't even know if those were Granger being Granger.

I want this fresh from the start, for both of us.

This mental resolve is immediately tested tonight as Granger moves one hand slowly down my chest and beneath my own set of pyjamas pants while I'm kissing behind her ear.

I force my occlumency back into play as the wall in the corner of my mind starts to rattle violently with memories of Granger doing exactly this, and of how good she'd gotten at it.

She reaches one hand down to stroke me and my mind goes blank, no occlumency or rattling walls. But she doesn't go right for it; she traces up and down with her fingernails, making me shiver and I bury my face into her neck.

Granger starts tugging my pyjama pants down and numbly, I let her. But then, of course, once my drawers are off she doubles over laughing; not the exact reaction one wants when a girl is in the area, and I can tell it's going to sulk a good long while.

"You left that on purpose," I accuse, and she's laughing too hard to deny it.

Every hair below the belt is bright green, and this is what I get for simply yanking on pyjamas over my boxer briefs before bed. Should never trust normalcy around here: that's what I'm learning.

"S - sorry," Granger hiccups. "I didn't think I'd still find it this funny, but it - it really is -"

"You're a horrible witch," I tell her, secretly a little relieved. If she wants to take things further, I'd much rather focus on her.

Her forehead is resting on my chest as she giggles and I take the opportunity to run my hands over her, instead. Her bare ribcage to the band of her sports bra, the smooth skin on the small of her back, all quivering as she tries to quell her laughter, and I tip her face back up to mine.

Kissing me deeply again, she moves one hand back to my neck, her thumb near my ear. She tugs a little on my earlobe while she bites down on my lower lip, and I can feel her moving her other hand back toward my green nether regions.

To fend off being embarrassed about what was legitimately a very funny prank - if Zabini had told me this story had happened to him I'd have cried laughing in public in broad daylight - I whisper into Granger's ear, "What do you like? What would you like me to do?"

This same question used to embarrass her, but I want us to get to know each other. I want the openness, the trust. "You don't have to tell me. You can show me if you'd rather." I pull the covers up over her back, giving us the illusion of privacy, and then take her hand and place it over my own.

Granger does not respond right away, choosing to keep kissing me instead. I keep my hand still underneath hers and let my other do exactly what we were doing before, lightly skating over her skin, tracing her ribs and the small of her back.

She starts to move my hand up until it's over one of her breasts. "Please?" she sighs against my mouth, and her eyes open to look at mine. They're large, her pupils wide, and I grip behind her neck to kiss her again.

Tugging the bra off over her head, she doesn't wait before bringing my hands back up and I roll her over gently so she's on the pillow, her wild mass of hair askew. I trace my fingers along her cheek and kiss her gently. I've told her that I love her; not in bed, that's a bit much, but how often have I told her other things I think?

"You're gorgeous," I say into her neck, dropping light kisses down her collarbone, and Granger puts her hands over her face.

"Don't," she starts, "I know I'm no -"

"No. You're perfect." I cradle one breast in my hand, feeling the weight of it against my fingers, and flick the nipple with my tongue. The noise she makes goes straight back to my brain, sending hot sparks rippling down me, and I tug at it gently with my teeth.

Memories are coming back now, whether I want them to or not, and I do my best not to pay attention. But I do know some things she likes; I can't help it. And it's not as if I would do the opposite on purpose. I know she likes these little tugs, the insistent teasing of her peaked nipple, the cold air on it when I take my mouth away. Her breath still hitches at the same points, her chest moving unintentionally up to my grip as she inhales.

"Please, Draco…" Granger whispers, and my eyes fly up to her face.

It's her, all her, moving one of my hands farther down her stomach. She closes her eyes as if she's still embarrassed to be direct about it, and that's ok. This is supposed to be new and she's far less experienced than I am. I pull the covers up over us again so she might feel hidden, and move closer to her, kissing her jaw, her neck, her collarbone. My other hand follows hers down, underneath the silk and she doesn't have knickers on.

She'd planned something like this, the saucy minx, even if she's still shy in the details. I groan softly into her neck with the realisation, and tug the pyjamas down. They get stuck on one ankle under the sheets and Granger ends up kicking almost violently to get rid of them, both of us laughing against the other's mouth.

Resting my hand right against her bare hip bones, I go back to her breasts with my mouth, looking up at her to check she's alright. Her head is back on the pillow, eyes closed and mouth slightly open. "You're so sexy," I tell her before I know it's going to come out, and she presses her lips together, flushing a little pink.

She puts her hand back on mine. "Please?" she asks again, shutting her eyes and pressing her face into the pillow as she moves us both further down, releasing my hand when it reaches her desired destination and I start skimming soft fingers over her core, back and forth. Up and down. I can feel the heat coming off her and smell her arousal, trapped under the cave of the sheets, and she starts trying to move towards my hand. I press gently down and she makes a soft noise that almost makes my heart stop.

I'm staring down her body and she uses one hand to tip my face back towards hers. Caught off guard, I stop. "Is everything -"

Granger's red and flushed. "Will you please stop torturing me? Do the thing -"

But she breaks off again, shy, and I know that's all I'm going to get out of her. Doesn't matter. She does remember, does know what we did; enough to know there were good things here. Things she liked, things she wants. And this is familiar in another way - she used to get bossy, impatient, if I took too long. This is Granger, this is her.

"Alright," I breathe, and latch onto her nipple again with my teeth, flicking and coating it with my tongue in between. I let my other hand go to work properly and Granger opens her legs, clutching a fist behind her head into her own hair.

"Oh, gods, yes," she sighs. "Thank you, finally -" and then she gives a delicious squeak as I circle her clit with her own wetness, sliding my finger in and out of her tight heat.

I want to know she's an active participant here, throughout. "Harder?" I prompt. "Softer?"

Granger lets out a whining exhale. "Just do the thing -"

I'm fairly certain I know which thing she means, but I give it a test to be sure. Inserting a second finger, and relishing the little cry she makes, I curl one against her as I move them both in and out.

"Yes, please," she says into the pillow, hair across her face, and she starts her own rhythm with her hips the way she always used to. My job now is to maintain, which is exactly what I do. Putting my thumb to work on her clit, her hips jerk in surprise and she adjusts her pressure on my hand, her inner walls tightening on my fingers.

I latch onto her nipple again, rolling it between my teeth and giving little pulls with every other movement of her hips. She speeds up slightly, and wanting to draw things out a bit, I add a third finger going deep while the first one curls. Granger gasps in surprise.

"Slower," she manages, but her hips are already doing this, and she swears colourfully at me when I hold my thumb punishingly in place for her to rock onto. She lingers on it for an extra beat and her walls clamp down again, twitching hard on my fingers.

I know she's close, even without prior knowledge. Her movements are getting jerky and I take over leading the motion. She comes down harsh on my hand twice more, wet and hot, gripping my fingers and when I look up, she's drawn blood on her lower lip.

She's staring at the ceiling, somewhat out of breath. I don't think she's even noticed but when I lean in to kiss her, she pulls me in with both hands.

Parting my lips with her tongue, Granger goes in deep, pulling back with a bite to my own lower lip that mixes in blood and sweat and saliva. She reaches down to my own drawers again, and the sulking happening there is long past.

I nearly stop breathing again when Granger runs her second hand down also, using both, and she remembers everything about this. I have no shame left in front of this witch, not really - notwithstanding her laughing three inches from my cock - and I let this come as it will. She strokes me and clasps me, rolls me in her hand, flicks over the tip with a little twist.

Three strokes, four, and it's over, and we're both breathing hard. She tucks into the nook of my arm, her hair slightly damp and she brushes it behind her shoulder.

I press a kiss to her temple and we both lay there for a minute. "Did you write back to Ginny?"

"Not yet," she exhales sleepily. "I will tomorrow."

"You haven't said anything about writing to Harry, now that he's out. Why not?"

She lifts up a little to look at me. "I thought… if I asked about Harry, I'd be asking about Ron too. I didn't know -"

"Granger, he was one of your best friends for years. You should write if you want to. You don't have to ask. Next weekend, hopefully you'll be seeing them both in person."

The idea of her choosing to be with Weasley still makes my heart break. But she's going to do what she's going to do. Isn't that the whole point of freedom? And what will I be able to offer her, anyway, if they win?

Granger's starting to drift off but one other thing has been percolating in my brain ever since dinner and it pops back up now. "I know you love the arithmancy puzzle, but why are you working so hard on the mist? I know the Floo isn't your favourite method of travel, but it'll work. You'll be able to leave either way. Is it just the challenge of it?"

"Well, some, yes," she admits. "But the gas could give you and your mother a way out, undetected, untraceable. To anywhere."

I try to think of something to say but can't. I'm rendered speechless. She's doing it for me?

She envisions a potential future in which I need to be on the run, my mother and I both, and she's -

I bite back the words 'I love you' just in time, but I do. She knows I do and I wouldn't expect her to say it back. But there's an intrinsic pressure to return the sentiment when someone says it, especially naked in bed together - regardless of the conversation that prompted it. That's not fair to put on her.

So I don't tell this incredible witch that I love her. I just push another kiss into her hair and smooth it down her back until I feel her breathing even out, slow and steady, asleep.

Her fingertips twitch.