Friday morning. Granger wakes up before I do, as has become usual, and wakes me up in what's become her usual way. Her eyes are puffy but dry as her fingers trace up and down me, beneath the sheets.

"Hey."

I smile at her and of course I'm interested in whatever this is about to be, but I'd like to check where her head is.

"What do you want to do today?" We could do anything. Both our projects are, for the most part, complete. We'll have tomorrow, too, but this will be our last night. I know better than to say that out loud again, though.

She'll be here Saturday night but we won't be sleeping. The attack will probably come in the dead of night and we'll be waiting to hear something - anything, from anyone. We'll need to be ready at a moment's notice with Suz to get Granger out, and potentially my mother somewhere, too.

I wonder if my father is even coming back, and then wonder if that would make things easier or harder. He'd look after my mother if he was here. Without him, I'll have to be concerned with them both.

Granger calls me on it. "You're worrying too much. Can we not worry for a few minutes and just do this instead?" She brushes her fingernails along me again and I realise I was, indeed, worrying too much. It doesn't take long to get back on track, though.

She climbs up to kiss me, pulling my shoulder to the side so I roll her onto her back. I've barely adjusted my weight to lean in and kiss her again when she's wriggling out of my pyjama pants. She reaches for me with her other hand, nothing out of the ordinary, but she starts positioning herself beneath me perfectly for me, for sex. It's obvious.

I stop her, my hand over hers, and a hurt look flashes across her face, settling into something like rejection. Twice in a row I've dodged this. Don't I want her?

I dip my forehead until it touches hers, my eyes closed. "Granger, if you really want to, let's make it be tonight. I just don't want it to be a reaction to something. That's all I ask."

"And you're still worrying. I'm not a child," she hisses at me, not remotely placated. I think how I said those exact words myself recently, also pertaining to sex.

"I know." Running my hand down her body, I nudge her hair aside with my nose to kiss her neck. As frustrated as she is with me, she's still responding beneath my hand, and I cup her full breast to lower my tongue to it.

As I swirl around her nipple, trapping it between my teeth, Granger makes a full fist in my hair. She pulls lightly in the direction of her other breast and I raise my eyebrows. Yes, ma'am.

I switch, like a good boy, placing my mouth on the one she wants and my hand on the other. I tug both nipples at once and she gives a small moan in the back of her throat.

Moving down the bed slightly, I part her legs with my hand and she immediately pulls her knees up to expose herself. She's wet. I can smell her, and I want to taste her next but she's still got my hair in her hand.

Rolling her nipple back and forth between my teeth with my jaw, Granger gives a tangible shudder that nearly becomes a jerk when I slide my finger into her. The result is a harder pull on her nipple than I usually do, more pressure from my teeth and she cries out. For a second I'm worried I hurt her but she shifts her hips down onto my hand, and the motion seems feverish.

Granger releases my hair and I slip down between her legs. Using my fingers to slick in and out of her, coating her in her own wetness, I spread her folds with my other hand and dip my face to her clit. I flick it lightly with my tongue, just a tease, letting my exhaling breath chill her wet flesh in the open air.

Pushing her legs open with my hands, I lick one long line straight up her core, stopping at her clit to suckle it. She's holding her legs open now; I'm not needed, but when I move to do other things, she interrupts me.

"Don't you dare touch yourself. I want both of your hands on me," Granger states as firmly as she can, being slightly out of breath. That's hot. I'd like to do more of the bossy instructions, and it's immediately harder not to touch myself. But I can follow directions.

And if she's finally willing to tell me what she wants, I'm not passing it up. "What do you want me to do?"

"Stop talking, for one," Granger shoots back, and I realise she's still working through some aggression.

Well, alright, then. I've been able to figure out just fine what she likes up to now, but now I'm feeling a little contrary about things.

I spread her open again and slide my fingers inside her slowly, in and out. Rhythmically, back and forth with a swirl over her clit from my thumb, then again. She starts trying to move on my fingers and I use my other hand to hold her hips in place. Not today.

Granger whimpers as I start to curl one finger, just slightly, every couple of thrusts, and then I pull out of her altogether. Replacing my hand with my mouth, I dart my tongue in and out of her, but ignore her clit. The hand holding her hip has to steady her again as she tries to move towards my mouth and I pull away.

"You're being a prick," she murmurs from up on the bed.

I nearly ask again 'What do you want me to do?' before realising she's quite likely to say, 'fuck me, you arsehole,' and I still won't. Not now. So better not to open that door.

Instead, I kiss along the inside of her thigh to work my way back to her core with excruciating slowness.

As I do, I'm skating over her clit with my finger, barely letting my skin touch it and Granger groans in frustration. When my mouth is finally back in place, I do nothing but exhale gently on her for three long breaths. She's quivering and just as her hand finds my hair again, I plunge two fingers into her.

Granger makes a fist in my hair as she yelps in surprise. "Gods, yes. Fuck. Please," and at the 'please,' I finally decide to let her come.

Latching onto her clit with my mouth, I curl my fingers into her in what's still slow for her usual rhythm. I deliberately increase it little by little, in time with my sucking and licking, loving the tangible tension gathering in her hip under my hand.

I'm loath to leave that part but I spread her folds open with that hand while my other still works inside her. It spreads her clit slightly, too, allowing me a wider area to press into with my tongue. She's a mix of her own slick and my saliva and she tastes divine.

I work my mouth onto her with the same increasing pace as my fingers and without my hand steadying her hip, she's writhing to meet me. Her hand leaves my hair and tangles both into her own as she starts to pant.

"Come on, sweet girl," I say into her clit, and the vibrations make her groan. "Come for me. You can do it."

Granger's inner walls start to clench around me, her wetness dripping on my fingers, and she spasms hard, tight. So tight. I curl one last time and press the tip of my finger inside her wall, at the same time I press my tongue hard onto her clit and she actually screams.

She lays there limp, heaving breath, as I crawl up next to her. I am somewhat pleased with myself, looking down at her flushed face and tangled hair, and realise the slow, torturous game I was playing for her kept me quite distracted from thinking about myself. Helpful.

Now, though… I shift a little, readjusting things. She'd told me not to touch myself, and maybe this is some sort of revenge for denying her sex - again.

But Granger's eyes open at my movement and she glances over at me, head not turning. After another moment, she rolls over onto her stomach and starts moving down my body delicately.

With one practised hand, she frees me from my drawers. I'm painfully hard. It's deep red, with a tiny bead of precome at the tip and she studies it with a serious expression.

"No more green," she comments. Nothing at all, in fact. I got rid of it per her recommendation last week, and I've been pleased to see that what starts to grow back before I get rid of it again isn't green any longer. But of course she's seen it since then, many times. With her idle comment on it now, it's becoming plain what she's going to do and I swallow hard.

I don't want this to be a reaction to our circumstances anymore than I want the sex to be. But I know better than to deny her something else, make it seem like I'm rejecting her again, or otherwise make her feel like she shouldn't make the decision herself.

Snugly nestled between my legs on the bed, Granger moves closer until I can feel her breath. My cock gives a hard throb and I swallow again.

"You know, back at school, Parvati and Lavender used to talk about this in our dorm," she states conversationally. "It seemed like everyone had more experience than I did, of course, but I couldn't help but pick up a few recommendations."

She looks up at me, her gorgeous brown eyes meeting mine and without breaking eye contact, she slides one finger gently down my full length. It throbs again and the corner of her mouth turns up.

"It can't be that hard." She's still holding eye contact before mentioning almost offhandedly, "That's not a reflection on you."

It couldn't possibly be, I think distantly. I don't think I've ever been this hard. Granger moves in closer still and almost nuzzles it, running her nose along the shaft. That's so close to her mouth I think I'm going to see stars, and she flicks her tongue out at the last second, a fleeting touch.

At this, the tip starts to generate a little more precome and she eyes it with interest. Ever the thorough student, she wipes it off lightly with her finger to inspect it and I have to put my hand over my eyes. Fucking hell.

Her next touch is a slow lick, starting at the base and making its way excruciatingly towards the tip, which she pulls away from at the last minute. I both want to stare at this and can't bear to look, all at once. Her tongue appears again, swiping upwards, then disappears again.

"Less is more, Parvati used to say."

I can't help but watch, torturous though it is, when I feel something right on the tip. It's her finger, light as a ghost, and she circles it around the rim. I want to cry.

It's definitely revenge for denying her the sex. Or for slow-rolling her own orgasm. Or maybe lots of things, I don't know. I can't think straight any longer. But one thing's certain: Granger's delighted at what this is doing to me. So at least there's that consolation.

I have no idea if she's even planning to put her mouth all the way around me or not. She doesn't have to; I could come right here if I let myself. Some masochistic part of me is straining on in the vain hope that maybe, just maybe, she won't torment me forever.

Granger's looking up at me innocently, but I can see it in her eyes - relishing my clenched jaw, my fist in my own hair.

My cock is leaking precome again, desperate thing that it is, and quick as a flash she darts her tongue out to capture it. I do see stars now, great white spots in front of my vision and I let out a miserable, elated groan.

"What do you want?" she asks, mimicking me from earlier, and all I can produce is something from the back of my throat that sounds like "mrnhph."

I never want to think of myself as 'pitiable,' least of all naked on my back with my cock flying valiantly in the air, but Granger does seem to take pity on me.

She takes me in her hand, wrapping her fist around the base of it, and gives another long, slow lick up towards the tip. She flicks her tongue at the underside once, twice, watching my reactions.

It's everything I can do to hold on now, just one more lick, please, every part of me screams. Then one more? I'll do anything.

After another moment, I'm wet enough from her mouth that she starts sliding her hand up and down the shaft and I let out another audible groan at the slick contact. I can't hold on. "I'm going to -" I warn her and she squeezes as she licks a final wet circle around the tip. I shudder and start spurting what feels like half my body weight onto my stomach.

With an extremely self-satisfied look, one I'm only too happy to have played some minor role in giving her, Granger curls up against me as I lay there, panting. I can't lift my hand to reach for my wand, so she banishes the mess with hers.

"So what are we doing today?" she inquires, right back to where we were half an hour ago.

"More of this, please," I say without even thinking about it. She laughs out loud and I think we've worked through the aggression at last.

I'm reluctant to throw another rock into a currently peaceful lake, but this part has to get handled. I'd rather do it today than tomorrow, leaving our final day together unblemished by things like this.

I take out the two folded sets of parchment for Ginny, the letter from Blaise and the more official-feeling papers. Rifling around in my desk, I find a larger envelope to combine them into one and walk back into the lab.

Granger is fiddling with the pad for the mist and looks up at me. "What's that?"

I explain that I don't actually know for certain what either one says, but that they're supposed to go to Ginny. Deciding on the spur of the moment to alter the plan, I ask her what she thinks the best route is to make that happen.

"I can't trust my parents to pass it along, obviously. Even if my father were amenable to contacting a Weasley, I can't explain why it's necessary. My mother is infinitely more understanding, but even so. They don't know anything about Blaise and Ginny, and I have no reason to be contacting Ginny - or to know anyone who would. She'd ask why you can't just do it, send it off with an owl today."

"Which we wouldn't want anyhow," Granger muses. "Even if it wouldn't risk exposure of the plan, Ginny should be focusing on the attack tomorrow night."

"Blaise is - somehow - counting on me to stay alive to deliver this if he can't. I had thought that maybe you could do it, if we lose. You'll be alive."

I'm trying to deliver this idea without making Granger angry again by referencing her escape with Suz. She's thinking it over, which is good. I don't see another good alternative but I am open to one if she does. If there isn't one, hopefully she admits that my plan is the best way to go.

Granger eyes it suspiciously and I wonder if her guess as to what they contain aligns with Severus's. Taking the envelope, she taps it on the table absently. She starts for a quill but stops. More tapping.

"I thought we could send it addressed to Fleur, in France. Bill Weasley's wife," she clarifies at my puzzled expression. "But there's a good chance they're here to fight and we have no way to tell."

I still like this idea, though. "What if we did that but told the owl not to depart until tomorrow evening? We could take it to the owlery anytime today, but we'd know it wouldn't arrive too soon or into the middle of the battle. I could even give it to one of our slower, older owls for good measure."

Thoughtfully, she nods. "We'd have to give him a list of recipients, though. If Fleur -"

Well, right. If Fleur is fighting and Fleur dies, who gets it then?

"We could do that. The old matriarch owl down there is very intelligent. We could address it to Molly next. Severus says they're living here in the UK and all the former Resistance and Order members that have been here for the last couple of years must be staying. Any mass migration into Scotland would be noticed. So Molly and Arthur can't be part of the attack plan."

"Let's just send it to Molly, then," Granger decides. "Why complicate things, if you're certain she won't be fighting?"

"I'm not one hundred percent. But the logic is sound. Are you expecting any other owls from Scotland arriving today?"

"It's possible. But I won't reply at this point. I won't risk owls arriving and tipping off a hiding place. I'm sure I'm not the only one communicating with people up there, but I couldn't stand it if it was me that gave someone away."

Jasper comes in with the post eventually, and Granger does get some replies. But even after saying she wouldn't send anything back, Granger spends a great day of the day writing. Finally, I ask what she's up to.

"Well, I do still want to reply," she shrugs. "I'm just going to tell the owls to deliver things no earlier than Sunday. Maybe Monday, to be safe. It was a good idea."

I desperately want to know what Granger's plans are, where she wants to go. Where she wants to live, what she wants to do. If she leaves with Suz, it means the Resistance lost and she'll have to be on the run until she finds somewhere safe. But even so, I wish I could ask what she's planning to do. It makes me feel better to think of her out there, living her life somewhere.

Hell, even if Potter kills the Dark Lord, I want to know what her plans are. I'm just too afraid to ask, knowing there's no way they should involve her standing by a war criminal Death Eater on trial.

I watch Granger write, her hair wrestled back into a messy plait she didn't spend much time on. She chews her lower lip as she bends over the parchment, quill scribbling like mad with her tiny handwriting. I can picture her in the Hogwarts library, writing twenty-inch essays just like this, her ankles crossed and tucked under her seat as she leans into the table.

Glancing up, she sees me watching her and I give her a slow smile. When I start to walk her way, she says, "You should write down the formula for the alba pellis. The full recipe with all the alchemy."

It's the first time Granger's said anything that implies she also believes I might not live past tomorrow night.

She's right, though. I should do that. She reaches out a hand with some spare parchment in it and I take it from her. I write out three copies, not entirely sure what to do with them. Granger takes one, tucking it into the envelope for Molly Weasley with another note, and that seems like a good idea. Seeing my indecision about the other two, she gently takes them from me as well and sets them with the other mess of parchment on her table.

There are two dozen vials of it on the rear ingredients table at the back of the room. I pick up three of them and walk back to Granger, setting down one sample for each recipe.

I'm starting to feel almost wooden, the clock in my ears counting down a physical noise. "You know how to make it, too," I gesture. "You can tell people -"

But Granger shakes her head. "Don't," she pleads, taking my hand. "I don't want to talk about it again."

Neither do I. I don't want to have a row about her leaving and I don't want to ruin the day in a deep depression over how little time I have left with her.

But suddenly I want to go destroy the practise dummies, slice them into ribbons, make them unrecognisable. Anger is better than this depression and Granger's known it all along.

She tugs me out of the lab and into my room - our room - and slowly starts taking off her clothes, one item at a time. "Let's just stay in here for a while," she suggests, a little coyly, and I'm sure I know what she has up her sleeve.

But Granger doesn't go for sex again. She lets me have my little cautiously-forming plan for tonight instead, though I haven't told her anything about it. Instead, she snuggles up to me under the covers, naked and perfect against my side, tracing my scar with her fingers - what little is still visible of it.

"Do you know why I get so mad when you talk about me leaving here?"

She said a few minutes ago that she doesn't want to talk about this, so I have to assume she's got something specific in mind. I shake my head and she gives an exaggerated sigh, as if she's still surprised I'm this thick.

Granger waits a moment before saying, "Are you even going to wait to hear how the attack goes before you tell Suz to take me away?" and I'm stunned.

I hadn't even fully acknowledged the likelihood of that myself, but yes; alright, it had crossed my mind. What if we don't get enough notice that Potter lost? What if the Dark Lord just shows up? Much better to make sure Granger is far from here before that ever happens.

My breath catches in my throat and she knows she has me.

"It makes me feel like…" she pauses. "Like you don't want me here. Like you'd rather I was gone anyway, like the best outcome of all would be me far away from you."

That is ridiculous and I start to tell her so, but she stops me with a hand.

"You're making plans on plans to get me out of here. You won't have sex with me. You -"

I do start speaking now, because she has both of these things wrong, too, but she gets louder and talks over me, "- you haven't said you love me since -"

And then she does stop short. I'm not sure if she was intending to say it, or if it just popped out and she's horrified. Either way, she soldiers on across my shocked silence.

"You loved the 'me' you knew all those months ago. But since we - since you kissed me again, you haven't said it again. Am I different? Is that it?"

Bloody hell. I put my hand over my face. I had no idea her mind would go here in speculative insecurity, how I'd been compounding it without meaning to.

And the bravest witch I've ever known isn't done. I still haven't managed to say anything and Granger boldly keeps going, even though tears are starting to slip down her cheeks again. "Because I love you. And if you don't -"

The best way to shut off this line of thinking, I decide, is to kiss her. So I do. I pull her up onto my chest and wrap my hands in her hair, stroking her cheeks with my thumbs. "I love you."

She looks at me blankly so I say it again. "I love you. The only reason I wasn't saying it before, every day, every hour, is because I didn't want you to feel any pressure about saying it back. I didn't want to rush how you felt. It really hasn't been very long, this." I gesture between us. "Both of us together, on purpose, at the same time. It felt like whatever happened here, now, should have a chance to stand on its own. And me reminding you of all the time we'd spent together before didn't seem right.

"And I don't want you to leave," I whisper, "but the only thing worse than watching you leave would be watching you die if the Resistance loses and the Dark Lord arrives here without warning."

Silent tears are still tracking down Granger's cheeks, and I have to combat her last point. "And I do want to have sex with you. Very much. But not because it feels like it could be our only chance. I want to think we'd have done it just the same if we had all the time in the world, not that it's a decision you're making in a rush. It's a big decision. And it's not that I think you're making it lightly; I'm trying to make sure it isn't the opposite."

With one of my hands still on her cheek, fingers tangling in her hair, Granger rests her head back down on my chest. She sniffles and nods at the same time, and I run my other hand through her hair, down her back, and up again.

Still stroking her cheek with my thumb, I nestle into her hair and whisper, "I love you. I love you more than I have ever loved anyone - anything - in my whole life. I'll do anything for you. Everything."

And then, just to lighten the mood a touch - maybe - I say, "Except have sex with you right now. After dinner, I'll shag your brains out if you like, but I'm not going to do it on the heels of you crying in bed."

"So I'm not allowed to cry later, then?" Granger asks, lifting her head from chest and narrowing her eyes at me. They're still watery and she looks beautiful.

"Well, afterwards if you like, because it was so amazing, you're welcome to cry in awe and wonder. Just not before."

"You're saying no preemptive awe is allowed?" She gives me a little smirk. "I just want to understand the rules."

"Just not the sort of awe that's tear-inducing, if you please." I'm starting to say something else but Granger cuts me off, shamelessly.

"Why don't you show me now just how much you love me?" She rolls me over on top of her and gives me an unceremonious shove towards the bottom of the bed.

Well, alright. Don't mind if I do. She is already naked, after all. And I was so preoccupied with reassuring her that it hasn't even really sunk in.

She loves me, too. It makes what's going to happen tomorrow night better and worse, all at once.

I don't tease her mercilessly this time. I give her what she wants from my hands, swift and sure. In what feels like minutes Granger comes apart beneath me and all I can think of is she loves me, too.

I put my mouth on her, gentle and slow, until she's writhing again and ready for more. She clutches at me and cries out, and all I can think is she loves me, too, as she shatters again.

I want to make her come a third time but I don't want her to be too sensitive or sore for after dinner. I want her to enjoy the sex, our first time.

Instead, I content myself with playing with her breasts, her hard nipples, pebbled in the air even now as she comes down. Between nibbles and nips, I tell Granger how perfect she is, how beautiful. I roll her breasts in my hands almost idly, kissing them and moving kisses up and down between them, the deep valley in their middle.

But after a few minutes it's clear I'm not helping her come down; she's moving beneath me again, pressing her body into my hands, my mouth.

"Please, Draco?" she asks, her eyes dark and locked onto mine, the sexiest thing I've ever seen.

This witch will be the death of me, I think for the hundredth time, but she loves me, too.

I can be as gentle as I need to be later. I'll give her what she wants now. I make it quick, using her clit sensitivity in the best ways under my tongue, softer by nature than my fingers. I curl into her again, my fingers dancing deep and I bring her over the edge a third time minutes later.

"Those had better be tears of awe and wonder," I say with a self-satisfied smirk after I crawl back up to the pillows.

"They are," Granger gasps, limp on the bed. I tuck the sheet up around her middle and brush a strand of hair off her face. She looks decidedly sleepy now, as she probably should be. Leaning in to kiss her forehead, I whisper, "I love you," as I get up and turn on the shower.

In which I crack off one of my own. I'm determined to make it good for her tonight. It'll involve lasting longer than four minutes.

When I get out, Granger is fast asleep. Her face is tipped to the side, her hair askew. Her left forearm lays exposed and perfectly smooth. On top of the sheet, her index finger twitches.

After my shower, I slide under the covers with her but I don't sleep. I can't stand to waste a second. I'm not sure what time I laid down or exactly how long I spent there, but I wind a curl around my finger and try not to think about the timer hanging over my shoulder.

A day left. A night and a day.

In the early evening, I gently shake Granger's shoulder to wake her. "Hey," I whisper, kissing her temple. "It's almost half seven. Let's run down to the owlery before dinner."

Granger yawns and stretches and it's adorable. "You let me sleep for… hours," she comments, looking around and blinking herself awake.

"No, not that long. Just long enough for us to be able to stay up late without getting tired. I'm sure we can find something to do."

At my words, she gives me a devious grin.

Granger has a quick shower, manages her hair expertly and works on plaiting it while we walk to the owlery. I carry our variety of post - quite the stack, as it turns out; Granger has been busy - and parcels of finalised alba pellis vials.

I'm not sure what she did with the other samples and instructions I wrote out. Tucked them into various different letters, I expect. Suits me fine, I had no preference.

I wish she'd finish with her complicated plait so I could hold her hand. I want to spend every remaining second touching her in some way.

Selecting an assortment of owls, we give the package for Ginny - Molly Weasley - to the smartest of the lot, the old matriarch owl. As I tie it to her leg, I tell her if she can't find Molly or Arthur on Monday, try Fleur. She looks a little annoyed at having to wait two extra days before delivery, but I give her some treacle tart as a bribe.

"I won't tie it to you if you can clutch it to deliver Monday. I know it's a thicker parcel." She nips my finger for more tart and seems reasonably satisfied with the compromise.

"What's her name?" Granger asks, tying one of her own thinner rolled letters to yet another owl with similar instructions for delayed arrival. I bung her some treacle tart to share around.

"Nefertiti," I say and Granger stifles a snort. "The real power behind the Egyptian throne at the time."

"Didn't she change their whole religious outlook to worshipping the sun god Aton? She took their society from polytheistic to monotheistic."

Of course Granger knows the details. "Half their society viewed that as a cult, of sorts, but she did it. And that's what Nefertiti does here in our owlery, wrangling the masses."

"I have every confidence in her," Granger nods in approval. "She'll make sure everything goes out on time."

We walk back up to the Manor, me successfully holding her hand this time, and I swing it a little with our strides. "What do you want for dinner?"

"Let's go… seafood tonight. And white wine."

I love how accustomed she's gotten to choosing, asking, showing a preference. I want to give her all of it.

Jasper is perfectly happy to oblige the chosen menu; thrilled, in fact, to not be choosing the dinner selections himself. He vanishes to go manage the kitchen and Granger says there's one more thing she can do in the lab while Jasper gets things ready for us in the dining room.

She picks up three bottles of the mist and the pad, then rummages through her stacks of parchment notes. I see mass quantities of arithmancy formulas and equations, far too tiny to read from a distance, and she skims through several pages before finding what she wants.

Taking out her wand, she squints at the formula one last time before sketching a complex series of runes in the air, then prodding at the pad in a similar way. Nothing visibly happens and I wonder if she was expecting it to.

Evidently not. She seems satisfied, taking a small cloth bag from the ingredient cabinet behind us and tucking the pad and all three bottles into it, along with a folded-up parchment. She ties it all together tightly and hands it to me.

"I don't know the best way to explain to your mother what this is. We'll figure that out tomorrow, I suppose, but this is the means to get her safely out of here if she needs to run. The pad will send all three vials of mist to your family chateau in France."

"How do you even know where that is?" I'm flabbergasted.

"I'd asked, during one of our teas," Granger shrugs. "The French chateau is her favourite. I'd asked about it. But I don't know how to explain to her why she needs this without explaining that the Resistance is about to make a move."

"I might not be able to explain until it happens."

She pulls a face at this wrinkle, then recovers. "Also in the bag are detailed instructions on the arithmancy and runes needed to change the destination on the pad to somewhere else. One bottle of mist is worth a lot of trips."

"Ordinarily, in the park, the pad would stay behind so the person could be brought back out."

Granger shakes her head. "It doesn't have to, though. It was just specifying the next destination. It can go along, as long as it's in your hand when you inhale the mist, just like anything else you're holding. So if you send Narcissa somewhere, you can keep the pad with you. Or you all run and you take it along."

I tuck it into a pocket. She's amazing. I don't know how - if - I'll be able to use it, but I will use it for my mother if I need to.

Dinner is perfect, of course, smoked haddock over greens, and the best bottle of white elvish wine we had in the cellar. I tell Jasper in a quiet aside to have a second bottle of it taken to the room and kept chilled.

Granger and I both know what's coming. I keep catching her eye, hers dancing around and a little shy, face slightly pink, giggling a bit. Looking down at her plate with her lower lip delicately trapped in her teeth for the briefest second.

And that's exactly how I want it to be for her, something she's looking forward to. Anticipating it, for the right reasons.

I unintentionally make her a little self-conscious by openly staring at her. She looks so beautiful in the candlelight, I want to remember her exactly like this.

On the whole, dinner provokes an amusing mix of desires to savour it and hurry through it at once. In the end we hurry enough that we aren't done with the wine, and I grab the bottle to bring along, my other hand tucked firmly around Granger's.

But once in my - our - room, I barely manage to set it down on the dresser without turning it over as she pulls my shirt towards her in her fist. I wrap my hand around the back of her neck and feel the curls escaping her plait.

Gods, I love her.

She's just starting to tug my shirt up when my fireplace lights up green and Severus's gravelly voice lands in the middle of the room, making us both jump in a confusing blend of shock, fear, and dread.

"Don't mind me. It's important."