The trip to the port had taken no time at all and they now stood on the upper deck of the ferry, the bracing wind wreaking havoc on Hermione's hair (and not doing Malfoy's any favors) as they faced into it, leaning side by side over the railing, packs at their feet. There weren't too many other people aboard and fewer still on the deck. Hermione kept a wary eye on the dark clouds looming overhead, but so far it hadn't rained, and she preferred being outside in practically any conditions to being stuck in a glass room with strangers surrounded by an open expanse of water.

Malfoy had just shrugged casually and followed her to the bow when she'd suggested it, shifting his pack off of his shoulders as he looked around at the various mechanisms in his field of vision. It was still a little unnerving seeing him like this: wearing comfortable muggle clothes like he hadn't spent his life in expensive dress robes and suits, fitting in with a mild curiosity as though he hadn't grown up believing that muggles were stupid and useless… shrugging casually of all things. This version of Malfoy was so far removed from the arrogant bigot Hermione had been subjected to at school. He was smart and snarky and funny and normal. Whatever malice had existed between them had found itself a proper little home in the foundation of their relationship—solid and integral, but no longer a cornerstone. They were building their growing friendship in part on that acerbic past, and somehow, that made it feel stronger.

And now they were standing quietly next to each other, civil, companionable, not interacting but not apart. It struck Hermione in that moment that she had spent the last ten days with Malfoy and she not only didn't want to get as far away from him as possible, she wanted to continue spending time with him. She liked his presence. She liked sharing experiences with him.

Smiling to herself, Hermione closed her eyes and enjoyed the occasional salty spray that managed to reach them from below.

/\ /\ /\ /\ /\ /\

She was still trying to untangle some of the more vicious knots in her hair by the time they arrived on the Isle of Lewis, and had only just managed to wrangle it into a weary braid by the time their car dropped them at their destination. Wooden steps led up the hillside. Malfoy had a partially unfolded map in his hand, their current location and planned campsite already marked, and he merely glanced at it before nodding and starting off in that direction, folding the map back up and tucking it into his shirt pocket. Hermione adjusted her pack on her shoulders and followed.

It wasn't too long before they saw the first crumbling remnants of the village that had once been. Hermione felt a whisper of a tug beckoning her oh-so-gently in, but she carried on after Malfoy instead, trudging past the feeling and sending back a small Soon in her mind.

The village of Stiomrabhaigh was documented vaguely across historical wizarding texts; not a lot was known about it. It had been a magical community that had existed for an unknown length of time in the mid-nineteenth century. The families posed as tenant farmers to muggle landowners, preferring the unassuming isolation of tending land to the bustle of wizarding society. The community had dispersed by 1860 to relocate elsewhere across Europe, the village entirely abandoned—there had been witch hunts going around then, and perhaps their crops were a little too ripe during some of the harder seasons—and its residents fading into mundane obscurity. A tale as old as time, and not one overly worth following or documenting to most of the wizarding world.

What was known, one of the absolute gems of information that Hermione had found when enthusiastically researching possible locations for this expedition, was that the village's magical community had, in their short time, established a relationship with the merfolk of Lodan Stiomrabhaigh.

It was possible that that relationship had been maintained, even after the magical folk had left, whether by intention or vow or some deeper magic that Hermione didn't know of (yet, her mind added automatically). And that meant the two of them could try to rekindle it.

Typical impossible standards, eh Granger? Malfoy's voice was so clear in her head that she couldn't be quite sure he wasn't actually in there. A quick scan confirmed he was safely in his own mind (or at least out of hers). But he—his voice—was right: they had less than two days to accomplish anything here, and that included two nights of sleeping. Best to aim for a more attainable goal.

And so Hermione was focused on the so-called consolation prize: knowledge. Historical records. Village data. First-hand accounts of the inter-colony relationship. From what she could tell, nothing substantial of that sort had ever been found before.

So, slightly less-impossible standards, but only just.

They arrived at a flat expanse of land a few minutes' walk past the outer walls of the village and Malfoy dropped his pack unceremoniously.

"Here alright?" he asked as he turned to face her, the wind still whipping about him. Hermione cocked an eyebrow, glancing around before looking back at him.

"It'll be a bear in this wind, you know."

"Yes, well, I don't think it'll be letting up soon. So unless it's too much of a challenge for you…"

He let the statement trail off and Hermione rolled her eyes with a click of her tongue.

"I'm not twelve," she said. "You can convince me to do things without goading me."

"Oh I know I can," he said lowly, crossing his arms with that trademark smirk on his face. Hermione blinked at the rather abrupt shift into light flirtatious teasing but left it at a grumpy hmph and bent down to unload the rolled-up tent and tarp from her pack. Malfoy chuckled and did the same, pulling stakes and pieces of framing Mary Poppins style from his bag.

It took them nearly thirty minutes to set up their tent in the unpredictable gusts, scrambling about to stake the four corners of the tarp into the ground and weighing down the flat tent fabric with their own packs and nearby rocks as they struggled to put all of the pieces together with the wind blustering around them. When it was finally done, Hermione felt a frustrated weariness that made her want to both pout and take a nap—preferably simultaneously, as she was loathe to waste any time that could be spent productively. But instead, she beckoned to a very disheveled Malfoy and stooped to pick up her pack.

"Come on, then," she sighed, and he followed her, looking mildly bewildered, into the tent.

She immediately placed her bag off to the side and sat centered on her half of the tent, legs crossed. "Sit," she told Malfoy, pointing to the same spot on his side. He did so without a word, looking at her with crinkled brows like she was a puzzle he was trying to work out.

"Now I know we're not supposed to do magic on this trip without direct accommodations," she started quickly, and Malfoy's eyebrows unfurrowed pretty immediately to take a loftier position on his forehead. "But there's no one around, and anyway no one can see us inside the tent, and this one's really simple, no wands needed at all, actually!" Her voice had gotten noticeably higher as she spoke, and by the end of her fumbled not-really-an-explanation, Malfoy was looking at her with open amusement.

"Granger the rule-breaker," he chided, his eyes alight. "I never thought I'd see the day."

"Oh please, Malfoy, you've seen many of those days," she retorted. "Now are you comfortable doing minor convenience magic in these circumstances, or would you rather we didn't?"

His amused smile was still there, but the furrow had come back to his brow as well, as though he didn't understand where any of this was going but he was having too good a time to get off the ride.

"No, we can," he said, "but thanks for asking."

She nodded seriously. Successful partnerships depended on trust, and trust depended on knowing your agency wouldn't be overridden just because your partner thought they knew what was best.

"I'll, er, need your hands," she added, putting hers out in the center of the tent with her palms facing upwards. Malfoy just quirked his head slightly to the side and slid his hands over hers.

"What do I do in this?"

"Well, I need you here to just sort of… believe," she said, a bit hesitantly.

"Believe," he echoed dryly.

"Mhm." She forced her hesitancy to calm, her eyes drifting closed as she began concentrating her intent. "It's not the kind of magic we learned in school—its roots are more primitive, more… in tune with the energy of our world, and the stars, and the universe." She breathed deeply, imagining her spirit relaxing into its natural state: seeking connection and purpose not to prove herself to anyone, but for the sheer wonder of being a part of it all.

After she had given Malfoy a minute or two to process this almost certainly unexpected explanation, Hermione opened her eyes again. He was still looking at her, but she couldn't read his expression anymore. The smile was gone and his eyes had narrowed slightly, but he wasn't looking at her like she'd sprouted an arm out of her head, and his hands were still holding hers, so she went on.

"Old magic is stronger when the caster has support—people around who believe the magic will do what's intended and help them in the way they need." She had stumbled upon this most delightful piece of knowledge while researching accidental magic after receiving her Hogwarts letter, and she had actually put her book down to process the enormity of that revelation. It spoke to her of the benevolent will of the magic itself, an omnipresent energy that longed to flow through all who would welcome its presence, to connect individuals into communities that could rely on and uplift each other in turn. This discovery had shot straight to her heart and filled her with a burning desire to dig deep into her own source of magic and learn how to live more symbiotically with the energy that, apparently, always surrounded her.

"I'm going to reinforce the connection between the tent and the ground," she continued, "helping it hold strong even in the harsh winds. Do you believe that I can?"

Malfoy blinked, then nodded. "I do," he said, his expression still questioning but his words firm and strong.

Hermione's heart gave an almighty thump at the certainty in his voice, and she recognized the feeling (before storing it away for later) as relief. She nodded back and closed her eyes, settling back into her relaxed state and then reaching out her magic to stroke the floor of the tent, pressing it gently but firmly into the hard ground below at each pass, imagining the earth shifting on a molecular level below them to welcome the canvas, pressing into it with arms wide. She felt the tent settle infinitesimally into the rocky soil and let out the sigh she imagined the tent would make at the feeling of such a reception.

"Right," she said, opening her eyes and pulling her hands back out of Malfoy's. "That should do it."

"It worked?" Malfoy asked, then looked immediately apologetic and lowered his voice, leaning forward. "I didn't just fuck it up by asking that, did I?"

Hermione laughed. "It worked," she said simply. "I felt it. But for the sake of experimentation and validation, you'll get first crack at tearing down when we pack up." If Malfoy was surprised (or impressed, for that matter), he shielded it well.

They were quiet for a while, taking turns setting up their respective sides of the tent and preparing for the evening ahead. Malfoy went first while Hermione dug out the sandwiches they'd bought at the train station from her bag. When she ducked into the tent for her turn, Malfoy's sleeping bag was rolled out technically on his side, but as close to the center as it could be otherwise. She blushed (even though she knew this was a platonic arrangement they'd both agreed to) and quickly rolled out her bag next to his before spending more time than was likely necessary arranging her pack and toiletry bag off to the side. Finally, she grabbed her water bottle and sent a quick message to her boss—Made it to the Hebrides, progressing as planned—before heading back out the tent flap for a quick bite and what she hoped would be an enlightening use of the few hours they had left before sunset.

/\ /\ /\ /\ /\ /\

What little remained of the village amounted to low stone walls and a score of building ruins, scattered across the uneven ground with plenty of land between properties. The pair stopped at the outskirts, gazing over the area they'd need to cover and trying to identify any potential hiding spots for, oh, say, historical records and detailed explanations of the residents' relationship with the local merfolk. After a few minutes, Hermione couldn't wait any longer, and she gave Malfoy a nudge before moving past the walls and toward the closest crop of stones.

It wasn't entirely noticeable unless you'd spent considerable time in the muggle world, but the presence of magic added a soft, buzzing quality to the air. Hermione had first felt it, unsurprisingly, at the age of 11-nearly-12 (as she would often tell her elders at the time) as she approached a small pub on Charing Cross Road that her parents couldn't see between the bookshop and the record store. A feather-light tingling had washed over her skin and seeped into her marrow, and she had shivered with a warm electricity as she approached the gateway to the magical world.

Since her first encounter, Hermione had reached for that current whenever she'd been away from magical communities for too long—mainly during school breaks. Going to the Burrow halfway through a summer hol was a homecoming in more ways than one for her, and she'd always basked in both the bustle and the buzz for as long as she could before Ron inevitably did something stupid to annoy her.

Now, as they walked slowly into the deserted village, Malfoy squinting his eyes and looking for magical indications, she did her best to relax, imagining tendrils of her own magic vining out from her skin, weaving through the randomly whipping winds and reaching for an answering touch. She longed to close her eyes and truly give herself over to the search, but on terrain such as this, it wasn't the safest idea.

Unless…

"Can we try something?" she asked suddenly. Malfoy turned his head toward her and un-squinted his eyes.

"Sure."

Hermione moved closer until she was standing at his side and picked up his arm, snaking hers around it so she was gently grasping his forearm—a physical connection that she could adjust as needed to keep herself steady. She took one last look at the layout of the small village in front of them before closing her eyes.

"Alright," she said with a small nod. "Carry on."

Malfoy snorted lightly but, to his credit, continued forward. "Still worn out from all that dancing, eh?"

"I'll explain, just not now," Hermione said calmly, pushing her feelers out once more, picturing her magic lightly brushing over and around Malfoy and cataloging his presence as an extension of herself before moving further outward, searching for older magic. She thought she felt him shudder.

After a minute or two he broke the silence. "We're coming up on the first building," he told her softly, and she felt her eyes scrunch as she concentrated on finding that other that she so hoped she would encounter. But there was nothing, and after a short meander around the ruins, Malfoy led her off toward the next closest pile of stones.

It went on much the same for a while, Hermione holding Malfoy's arm as he navigated them through what was left of the small community and informed her every time they approached a property. To his credit, he was being incredibly patient and hadn't once asked her what the hell she was expecting to find with her eyes closed.

Hermione was getting nervous. They had been at it for at least half an hour and she'd yet to feel any sort of pulse beyond the magic she and Malfoy carried with them; the whisper that had beckoned to her earlier was nowhere to be felt. If they were going to find anything magical here, any trace at all of the community's history, there weren't a lot of opportunities left.

And then, just as that thought passed through her mind, there it was—a timid pulse responding to her magic's beckoning touch. Hermione's eyes flew open and her breath caught in a choked gasp, her fingers tightening against Malfoy's arm.

He looked at her, then pointedly down at where she was gripping through his sleeve, and back at her face with raised brows.

"Alright there, Granger?"

Hermione could barely breathe for her excitement. "There's no one else here, right?" she asked, biting her lip nervously. "You haven't seen anyone else walking around the village?"

"No, I'm relatively certain we're alone. Though we are in the hills, so I couldn't say for su— Granger!"

Hermione had pulled her wand from its disillusioned sheath and was glancing around them to confirm no one was in sight.

"I know!" she hissed. "But there's magic here, Malfoy. Still! Over a century later! And I'll never forgive myself if I don't at least try to find where it's coming from! Please," she added, only barely holding herself back from casting the spell that was dancing on the tip of her tongue.

He shook his head and said incredulously, "I don't know how I keep forgetting that you have a history of intentionally going against very specific orders."

Hermione grimaced. "Only when I have to," she said, not really sure which of them she was trying to convince. "Besides, this one's not terribly conspicuous."

Malfoy sighed. "Go on then," he said finally. "Try to make it quick."

She nodded tightly and moved her wand just so, whispering, "Librorum revelio." She let out a small gasp as she felt her magic stiffen, then spring forward and anchor somewhere off to their right. She sheathed her wand and scrambled quickly in that direction, feeling the hum increase in magnitude with each step.

"Granger, wha—?" Malfoy was on her heels after only a moment's delay. "Did you seriously invent a book-finding charm?"

"Oh of course I did, don't sound so surprised," she snapped, picking her way over a ruined stone wall and approaching what she now recognized to have once been a hearth. Her heart was pounding as she homed in on where her magic's reach had rooted itself. "And," she said with a smile, "it works."

Still following the thrum of her spell and heedless of Malfoy's half-hearted attempts to pull a full explanation from her, Hermione reached forward into what appeared to be a bed of fine dust and debris, her breath catching when her hand continued unimpeded through the façade. She barely heard his muttered "Merlin," her heart thudding in her ears as her fingers closed around the unmistakable spine of a hefty tome.

With a small squeak of excitement that she just couldn't hold in, she hefted the book gently up and out of its hiding place, a feeling of raw wonder coursing down to her fingertips and radiating out of her very pores as she shifted to hold it carefully in both hands. Its brown leather binding was worn and faded, but structurally sound. Grinning, she looked up at Malfoy—he was staring at her hands with undisguised shock, then looked up to meet her eyes before looking back down at the book again, and then to the hearth.

"How did you do that?" he whispered.

"Er," Hermione faltered, feeling that uncomfortable mixture of pride and the desire to be humble. "Well the spell has a radius of about fifty yards, so when I felt we were getting close—"

"I'm sorry," Malfoy interrupted, "when you felt we were getting close?"

"Ah, well, yes," she said, shifting her eyes back to the cover of the book in her lap and trying to project a casual air. "I… well, I can rather feel magical imprints more strongly than most. A benefit to being muggleborn, I imagine, which I've managed to hone over the years."

When he didn't respond, Hermione chanced another glance at him. He was staring at her directly and looking, more than anything, quite perplexed about the whole situation.

"Come on, we haven't got much daylight left," Hermione said, desperate to shift the attention away from herself and finally see what information was contained within. But before she could carefully peel open the front cover, Malfoy's hand landed firmly over both of hers and, after glancing around furtively, he took out his own wand and began casting basic revealing charms.

Right, Hermione thought. Safety first.

When she finally did open the book, she couldn't help herself from taking a deep, glorious breath in. Even surrounded by the cool island winds, the musty smell of history crept familiarly into her nostrils and seemed to light a glow within her. Malfoy chuckled knowingly and settled beside her, pulling out his notebook. Hermione did the same, her smile growing even wider on her face.

/\ /\ /\ /\ /\ /\

By the time most of the light had faded from the sky, Hermione's mind was swirling with new information about the residents of Stiomrabhaigh and their history with the merfolk of Loch Shagachain. She and Malfoy had spent the past couple hours hunched next to each other at the hearth, trying to shelter themselves and the aged book from the wild winds as they frantically scribbled down anything and everything that might help their cause. Or, at least, that would have been the case if Hermione wasn't completely overcome with the need to try to capture actually everything from this historical well of information that, as far as she knew, no one had come across before. Malfoy was admirably patient for the first hour or so but finally snapped at her after she'd held him back from turning the page for what must have been the twelfth time since they'd sat down.

"You're just going to have to skip over some parts, Granger. Unless you're planning on taking the whole thing back with us?"

Hermione's stomach dropped at his words and she couldn't contain the horror she was sure was plain on her face.

"We can't, Malfoy," she gasped. "It belongs to the magic and history that lives here!"

"Right," he said brusquely. "I'm not sure that's how unearthing historical documents actually works, but fine. We need to be sure we get all the relevant information, and that's not going to happen if you're just making an exact copy."

A low whine escaped Hermione's throat as she openly fretted over his very rational argument. Daylight was fading fast—they likely had an hour left before it became too dim to see—and with their plans to explore the loch the next day, it was very likely they wouldn't have a chance to come back and pick up wherever they left off tonight. She looked up at him in academic anguish.

"I'm not removing this text from the village," she repeated, holding back the no matter how badly I want to that was itching to escape. "But we can't just… leave all this information here!" She couldn't help the tears that were coming in the face of this impossible decision, so genuine and gut-wrenching that she didn't even feel embarrassed by her reaction. She felt her eyes darting frantically around as her brain went into overdrive trying to identify another solution, one she hadn't thought of yet that would provide maximum information with minimal sacrifice.

Malfoy dropped his face into his hands with a groan. "Oh for the love of—" his voice was muffled in his fingers. "Let's just make a copy then."

Hermione's heart leapt to attention and her eyes snapped back to his still-hidden face.

"But we're not supposed to do magic out in the open," she whispered, not daring to hope and hardly daring to breathe.

He did look up at that, snorting indelicately as he met her wide stare.

"Oh yes, please, remind me of the rules surrounding magic that we both agreed to and have certainly not broken even once on our expedition so far, to say nothing of today."

She was bubbling with too much excitement to feel as chastened as she knew she should, but she did her best to show some level of contrition anyway as she nodded.

"I think it's worth it," she said quietly.

"Of course you do, Granger, it's a book," Malfoy said, rolling his eyes before looking around them to confirm they were still alone. Then he surreptitiously pulled out his wand and waved it over the book with a muttered Geminio.

And then there were two.

Hermione let out a delighted squeal and reached for the copy, carefully opening it to the same page that the original tome was opened to and comparing the text. She skimmed the remaining pages in a similar comparison, her excitement mounting with each confirmation until, finally satisfied, she carefully passed the original back to Malfoy and sank back into the deliberate recording of information in her notebook. She turned each page with delicate intention, treating the book as reverently as if it were the original, doing all she could to encourage it to stay structurally intact and true to form for as long as possible.

Finally, when it was almost too dark to read by, she heard Malfoy close his book next to her. She finished copying down the section she was almost finished with anyway before doing the same, looking up to find him watching her. She smiled, and he rolled his eyes again but gave her a small smile back.

"Ready?"

"No," she said, reaching out to stroke the aged cover, her eyes filling with tears again at the thought of parting with this piece of written history that no one else had found. Malfoy sighed loudly.

"Come on, Granger, we either return it or we take it back to the tent with us."

Her laugh was watery, and she didn't even care. It felt like saying goodbye to a soulmate she had just met. They were both lucky she wasn't bawling.

"You do it," she said instead, forcing herself to pull her hand away. He raised an eyebrow at her.

"What if it doesn't... what if I can't get into the hiding spot?"

Hermione only shrugged and said, "I guess you'll just have to believe it's there."

Malfoy nodded, looking suddenly nervous despite his wry smile. He lifted the tome in both hands and closed his eyes, breathing in and out deeply. Then he slowly lifted the book, moving it towards the hearth with deliberate care, his eyes open now and focused on the place she had pulled it from only a couple of hours ago. She heard his breathing shift as the book reached what should have been solid ground and passed out of sight into the space beyond, watching his hands disappear to the wrists and sensing the gentle flutter of magic welcoming the artifact home.

"Do you feel it?" She had to ask—she couldn't help herself. She'd never known anyone who could sense magic in the air, and she so wanted someone to share it with. But Malfoy was shaking his head.

"It doesn't feel like anything at all," he said. "I thought I'd at least feel the surface I'm passing through."

Hermione let out a wistful sigh as he withdrew his hands. It had probably been too much to hope for, but that had never stopped her heart from hoping in the past. Still, the disappointment was quickly acknowledged and let go, and she instead turned her attention to the magical field that was once again protecting its hidden treasure.

"Thank you for letting me find you," she said to it softly. Then she carefully stowed her notebook and their copy of the records in her pack and stood up, gingerly stretching out the stiff muscles in her legs and back. Malfoy stared at the space a moment longer before packing up and standing to join her.

"Ready?" he said again, and this time she nodded, and they turned to walk out of the abandoned village and make their way back to camp.

/\ /\ /\ /\ /\ /\

It was close to nine o'clock by the time they arrived back at their tent. Hermione went right in, pulling out a battery-powered lantern and opening the copied tome and her notebook as soon as she'd made herself comfortable, prepared to spend as long as it took copying over the details from the village historians into her own records. After all, a copied item might last a century or more if cared for properly—or it might not. And she wasn't about to let this newly-acquired knowledge fade back into obscurity.

She hadn't been at it for fifteen minutes before Malfoy opened the tent flap and threatened to pull the book out of her hands if she didn't put it away right now and have something to eat. Almost as if on cue, her stomach rumbled grouchily, and she conceded with no more than a scandalized glare in his direction.

He had managed to start a fire in a small circle of stones by the time Hermione emerged from the tent (though she had no idea how he'd done it in this wind), and she sat gratefully down in the ring of warmth and quietly accepted one of the train station sandwiches that Malfoy handed her. Her thoughts were moving at breakneck speed, chasing each other around as she contemplated what she'd learned from the text so far and fantasized about what else there was to discover in the remaining pages. She only had about ten pages left to copy over, and her completionist brain was having an absolute field day fretting over the highly unlikely possibility that their reproduction would up and vanish before she could finish her work.

She ate her dinner quickly and jumped up to return to the tent, Malfoy's eyes following her when she emerged a moment later in her pajamas with her toothbrush in hand. She paid him no mind and moved downwind of their camp, scrubbing at her teeth and forcing herself to count a full two minutes before swishing out her mouth with water and spitting it hurriedly onto the rocks. She clocked his narrowed gaze tracking her as she rushed back into the tent but didn't bother saying anything—it would only waste time.

When he came in behind her a few minutes later, she was sitting on her sleeping bag with the book open in front of her on a pile of sweaters, her notebook propped up on her lap, her pen flying over the page with practiced speed.

"I swear to Merlin, Granger," he huffed, and she all but heard his eyes rolling in his skull. "Don't you ever quit?"

"I'm almost done," she said, vaguely aware that she was waving her other hand dismissively.

"If you're still at it when I get back, I'm going to pry that precious new old book away from you and force you to stop."

"Once again, I'm not a child, Malfoy," she told him coolly, her eyes flashing back and forth between the book and her notes. She had barely taken in what she'd written over the past few hours, so intent on making sure to copy it word for word that her brain hadn't had any time to process what it actually said. "I'll finish when I finish."

"I mean it," he growled, and she forced herself to stop long enough to give him a long, pointed, exasperated look.

"Consider me warned," she deadpanned, then turned back to her work without another word. He made an incredulous noise but left the tent shortly thereafter.

Hermione didn't doubt that he'd hold true to his word, though, no matter her age. She spent the next handful of minutes writing even more frantically, and was halfway through the final page when the tent flap opened again. Malfoy stalked toward her, and it took quite a bit of self-control not to look up at him as he neared. She was so close.

"Alright," he said firmly. "Time's up."

She couldn't help her knee-jerk response to his rather believable impression of a strict parent.

"Two more minutes, daddy?"

That stopped him, at least for a few seconds, and he coughed uncomfortably as though not sure how he was supposed to respond to that. Hermione smirked, the delay all she needed to copy over the last sentence.

"Done," she said, smiling sweetly up at his brief confusion and closing the book carefully. He shook himself out of it and glared.

"And they all say I'm spoiled."

"You are spoiled, you prick," she said brightly as she stowed the items safely back in her pack. Then she shuffled into her sleeping bag with a contented sigh. He let out a long-suffering one of his own and laid down beside her, nudging her with his arm so she could lift her head. As platonic as she was convinced this was, Hermione was still glad to have her back to him as they situated themselves into comfort, because despite the logical intentions behind their sleeping arrangements, she couldn't stop the heat rising to her face as his body molded snugly behind hers—regardless of the layers of sleeping bag between them.

She was just drifting off when her eyes snapped open with a jolt, her heart suddenly pounding.

"Malfoy?" she asked quietly. His gruff "Hm?" was practically lost in her curls. She hesitated.

"As it turns out, I was so focused on copying down the text that I didn't… well, I didn't quite absorb all the information we'll need for tomorrow."

Malfoy groaned loudly, the hand on her waist flexing, and she imagined he very much wanted to strangle her in that moment.

"Alright," he said finally in a defeated tone. "But I'm only saying it once, and then I'm going to sleep."

She smiled to herself and breathed a quick "Thank you," snuggling further back into him and letting his voice wash over her as her brain did its best to process the words that came with the soothing sound.