The water around them was murky as they made their way slowly down the sloping floor, but Hermione could hardly feel the cold or wet, overcome as she was by her excitement—and, more likely, by the charms they'd placed on themselves before entering the merfolk's domain.

It's getting darker, Malfoy sent over to her, and she had to put forth considerable effort to keep her eyeroll to herself. Of course it was getting darker. They were intentionally going further into the water, making their way toward the deepest depths. Instead she sent nothing back, just nodded as she moved steadily on.

I don't want to do this again, Granger.

That caught her attention. Hermione chanced a glance over at Malfoy, floating eerily within arm's reach, but his eyes were resolutely forward and his mouth was set in a grimace. She didn't understand—doing this was kind of the whole purpose of their research expedition, and really, what little experience they'd had doing this the first time, practicing their bows in the shallows of the Black Lake, hadn't gone too poorly at all. Her brow crinkled in worry. Malfoy—

When they come for you, I won't be able to help. Hermione stopped where she was, cold finally seeping into her like a slithering dread. She turned to face Malfoy but his eyes were scrunched closed now, like he was trying to block out everything around him. Please, just... hold on.

No. She didn't know what he was talking about, but this was very much not the energy she wanted around her as she journeyed deeper into an unfamiliar lodan to meet a long-forgotten merfolk colony. Listen, she sent back, let's just—

But her message was cut short as a pair of strong arms grabbed her from behind and wrenched backwards, dragging her off kilter, bubbles swirling in a frenzy around her face as she struggled to right herself. Malfoy! She called out to him in her mind and aloud, reaching with her thoughts and her arms both as her voice bounced back in a cacophony of panic. But like a cold stone door closing in her mind, she felt him shut off their connection. Her heart stopped. Her breathing became frantic and the edges of her vision clouded as she was dragged straight down into the darkness, deeper and deeper and—

But that didn't make sense. They had been close to the rocky bottom to begin with, not far enough away to be pulled down this far and certainly not backwards, where the water only got shallower. Hermione relaxed into the tight hold and brought her hand in front of her face, checking for inaccuracies and finding pretty immediately that she had an extra pinky and wasn't wearing the sleeves she knew she'd brought for their underwater excursions. A dream, then, she sighed to herself. Now to wake up.

With practiced intent, she took a deep breath and opened her eyes wide, forcing herself to bring up the picture what she knew was on the other side of her waking lids: the canvas walls of their tent, lit dusky in the pre-dawn hour; her pack in the corner with the duplicated tome resting against it and her hygiene bag off to the side; her water bottle glowing faintly with the most recent message from her supervisor. Slowly, her vision shifted, the murky waters clouding in a definitively un-water-like way as the scene she'd pictured struggled to become reality. She shook her head and blinked rapidly to help the process along, breathing a small sigh of relief when she finally felt her eyelids open heavily.

The arms, it turned out, were Malfoy's. He clutched at her like he was planning to drag her away, making it exceedingly difficult for Hermione to move at all, let alone wriggle free. But he was still in whatever hellscape of a dream his mind had created for him, and she couldn't in good conscience leave him there to claw his way out of it on his own. She'd had too many nightmares of her own, fueled by a war long since won but never truly over. So she shifted and twisted, little by little, her arms worming awkwardly around Malfoy's waist as she turned, until her chest was pressed tight to his and her eyes were level with his throat. She swallowed reactively as she saw his jaw clench and craned her head up to see his face. His eyes were squeezed shut, his mouth trembling occasionally. He was shivering.

"Malfoy," she said softly, hoping to wake him without disturbing him too badly—a long shot, to be sure, but worth trying. But the wind was howling outside their tent and, unsurprisingly, he didn't react to her voice. She tried again, one hand running softly up and down his back as far as it could reach in her constrained position as she brought her mouth closer to his ear and said more firmly, "Malfoy, wake up."

A low whine escaped his throat then, and Hermione felt her heart thud dramatically at the sound of suffering. She'd never been very strong when it came to others in pain. She couldn't ignore it, and in so many of her experiences, she hadn't been able to do anything about it. But she'd never been able to hold herself back from trying.

Sighing, she rested her forehead against Malfoy's chest, slowing her breathing and doing her best to clear her thoughts. Her words from that day echoed mockingly in her head as she considered what she felt she must do if she wanted to help. I promise you: I won't ever go in without your permission. Hermione cursed herself for being so frivolous with her oaths and scanned her brain for anything else she could do to pull him safely back to wakefulness. Then she felt his arms clench even tighter and heard a wretched sound rip from his throat and her mind was made up. "Forgive me," she murmured, and she pushed her way into a crack in the wall protecting his mind.

The water was crashing around her in swells as tall as houses when she entered, and it took every ounce of concentration for Hermione not to get swept away where she stood. Her nook floated ominously atop the high seas, looking like a safe haven turned nightmare. She tore her eyes away from it with a shudder and instead forced herself to relax her breathing, relax her mind, relax her body until she found herself resting atop the riotous waves. She reached out with her magic, pulsing it out to the edges of the storm as she focused on creating a beacon of herself.

Malfoy.

Hermione's message echoed in the cavernous space of his unending mind, and for a moment she thought she felt the very sea beneath her shudder.

Malfoy, please come find me.

Get out of here, Granger! Hermione barely recognized his voice, laced with panic as it was. I can't do this again!

It was with a concerted effort that she forced down the wave of emotion rearing up in her as she realized exactly what he must be dreaming right now. It wouldn't do for her to let the past drag her down when what she needed was to bring Malfoy back to the present. Now was a time to be grounded—even if she was floating through a storm on an endless sea.

You can come with me, she sent out, trailing her fingers through the dark waters, hoping that his hands would reach for hers. I want us to leave together.

A wave crashed suddenly over her, the heavy impact on her mind entirely disconcerting as her presence continued to float unimpeded.

You need to go! His voice was frantic. I won't be able to help you. You should know this by now!

I don't need your help, Malfoy. I'm okay. Hermione focused her thoughts on feelings of peace and safety, surprised at how easily those presented themselves, and pushed them out into his mind. We're both alright. We can leave whenever we want.

The waves in her immediate vicinity began to calm, a ripple that spread slowly out to the sea beyond. In the tent, Malfoy whimpered once again. Hermione wriggled uncomfortably in his vice-like grip until their noses were nearly touching, his breath coming in short pants against her mouth.

You're dreaming, she sent to him. But you don't have to be. I'm alright. Wake up and see.

His eyebrows were furrowed tightly and she saw his eyes moving rapidly beneath closed lids. Timidly, she leaned her forehead against his.

Wake up.

And then his grey eyes were open wide and locked with hers and he froze for half a moment before taking a deep, shuddering breath, his grip tightening painfully as he closed his eyes tight once more, his damp forehead still resting firmly on hers. Neither of them said anything for a long while as his breathing slowly regulated. After a number of minutes, Hermione slipped gently from his mind and felt him shiver lightly against her.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, and she felt more than heard the small laugh he let out.

"Oh yes, Granger," he huffed, and his voice sounded ragged. "Do go on apologizing for the mental horrors I just put you through." He pulled back from her with a deep breath, opening his eyes slowly to meet hers. "I didn't realize you were actually… there with me, or I never would have—I shouldn't have—"

"It's okay," Hermione said quickly, cutting him off. "I wasn't... there. Mine wasn't exactly pleasant, but I wasn't in your dream. And I got out of my own quickly enough." She swallowed heavily, refusing to indulge the bitterness that wanted to coat her words. "But I did enter your mind without your permission after explicitly promising you that I'd never do that." Her voice was small. "I'm sorry."

Malfoy let out a harsh sigh and she felt his arms loosen their hold on her, if only slightly. "I don't care about that."

She didn't believe him for an instant, but didn't press further. His breath was evening out and the creases on his forehead were smoothing back to their porcelain standard, his eyes once again closed. She would have been able to count his lashes if there'd been more light in the tent—or perhaps if his hair wasn't so translucently white.

"What time is it?"

Hermione didn't even consider moving to cast a tempus charm.

"Not yet dawn," she replied softly. "We have a few hours, if you'd like to rest…" Her voice trailed off, knowing her own likelihood of falling asleep after waking from a night terror.

Malfoy was already shaking his head tightly against hers.

"I won't be able to sleep," he said immediately. "But you should try. I can—" he cut off and took a deep breath. "I'd like to stay with you a while, if you don't mind."

She didn't mind.

"Let me just get a little more comfortable," Hermione nodded, and she felt his hands tense around her before he slid them awkwardly back toward himself.

"Here," she said, leaning back and reaching for the arm that had until now been pinned beneath her. He watched blankly as she adjusted it to bend at the elbow and tucked his hand under his head. Then she scooted her sleeping bag close to him again and, without thinking too much about it, snuggled face first into his chest, letting her temple rest against the relaxed muscle of his bicep, her hand between them gripping gently at his t-shirt, her top arm slung over his waist.

"Alright?" she asked, her voice muffled by his layers.

Malfoy exhaled slowly. "Sure," he said. "This is fine."

Hermione was certain she'd be keeping him company for his early morning vigil, but before she knew it, her eyes were drooping once again with a deep weariness. She barely registered his hand coming up her arm and around her shoulder to tangle lightly in the hair at the base of her neck—or the contented sigh that made its way from her throat without anyone's permission.

This is fine, she agreed, and then drifted off to sleep.

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

It was mid-morning when Hermione and Malfoy actually entered the chilly waters of Lodan Stiomrabhaigh, warming charms activated, bubble head charms intentionally left off. They were in muggle territory, after all, and couldn't afford to draw any undue attention to their already-questionable choices of Scottish lake swimming in early spring. It would have been worth the risk to cast disillusionment charms had their main objective not been to introduce themselves to an isolated and potentially dangerous community of magical beings. So the two of them had agreed: neutral-colored base layers, bodies charmed warm, wands visible in holsters, and fingers crossed that no muggles happened to be nearby on this blustery Monday.

Oh, and a water bottle, magically inscribed with a softly glowing drawing of a torch.

They'd learned the day before that the villagers of Stiomrabhaigh had made their initial connection with the merfolk of Lodan Stiomrabhaigh entirely by accident. An isolated magical community, there had been no strict laws or regulations on the use of magic by the younger generations. In fact, the practice of magic was encouraged in children as young as two, so long as they did so responsibly—which typically meant under the direct supervision of an established practitioner. But the society had not been all that stern, and oftentimes magical youth learned to develop their abilities through group trial and error.

Such were the conditions surrounding the first meeting of the two populations. A group of children, all of whom would have had yet to receive their Hogwarts letters in Hermione's time, had come up with a clever way to both test and train the range of their magic. They swam to a small platform far out from shore with items of various sizes and spent hours taking turns using a magical hold to lower their items down the mooring line, which had been charmed years ago to track the trajectory of anything passing down its length. The idea was to drop an object as deep as one could while still maintaining the magical connection to return it to the surface. The child who lowered their object the deepest and brought it back was the winner.

It had been one of the few parts of the historical text that Hermione couldn't help but slow down for, her pen moving languidly as her mind had processed the description. She was obviously delighted at the detailed recollection of the beginning of such an important relationship. But more than anything, in the first moments that the words were sinking in, Hermione had felt a strong pang of envy. These kids had not only grown up knowing and learning about their own magical abilities, but they had worked together to strengthen that magic, establishing their own standards of education and creative ways to challenge themselves. Until that time, the charmed line had primarily been used by fishermen to identify the depths of their lures at the time a fish was caught, or by the older village children while holding diving contests. And here these young magical folk had looked at their environment and used it to learn.

Of course, not all attempts had been successful. The text vaguely referenced "many instances" when trinkets, toys, and even small coins sheepishly pilfered from the family saving jar had been lost to the depths as these children played at strengthening their skills.

They had been practicing for a little over a fortnight when they noticed something strange: one day, upon arriving at the platform, they found a handful of their lost trinkets arranged into a neat pile by the water's edge, drying in the sun.

And it wasn't just the items the children had lost to the depths that had found their ways back to the surface. Over time, new objects were added to the treasure pile as well. The tome recalled woven lake weeds, fanciful stones, and, quite disturbingly, the skull of an unidentifiable long-fanged creature "best not pondered too intently." It was when the latter made its appearance that one of the older children decided to tell the village council what had been happening.

The council had taken immediate action. All five members had swum out to the platform and combined their magic to gently lower the traditional blese, an ever-lit torch that had been mounted in a place of honor over the doorway of the village elder, down the mooring line. After waiting nearly an hour, they had heard music welling up from beneath—a beckoning call to the depths of Lodan Stiomrabhaigh. Three had swum down, two had remained topside, and a new bond had been formed between two populations.

Hermione felt a torrent of emotions well inside of her as she swam ahead of Malfoy at a steady pace, somehow anchoring herself in the strange feeling of the water lapping against her face with no change in temperature. The platform was long gone by now, but the historical text had provided a general indication of where it had been located. When they were about 60 meters from shore, she bobbed in place and turned in a slow circle to scan the surrounding shorelines and hills for any sign of human life. None, she was pleased to note as Malfoy swam up to her with a blank look on his face. Whether he was already preparing for their mental connection or trying to avoid one wasn't clear, but Hermione knew whatever awkwardness might be between them from the morning's experience wouldn't get in the way of today's mission. She focused on clearing her mind and sat in her mental study space, legs folded comfortably underneath.

"Ready," she said evenly when he paused, treading water beside her. He met her gaze and nodded.

"Legilimens."

Malfoy eased gently into her mind and Hermione couldn't ignore the relief she felt at his presence. He seemed relaxed and open, and though she knew that could just be his Occlumency skills at work, she was still glad for any indication that he wasn't dwelling on the dredges of his nightmare.

Alright? his thought filled her mental space. She nodded.

No complaints.

Without another word—verbal or otherwise—Malfoy lifted a hand out of the water to hold up his bottle, and Hermione took a moment to confirm the magical etching was intact. The handle of the torch pulsed a soft blue, the flame a vibrant green. To Hermione's delight, Malfoy had even done a clever little charm to animate the drawn fire so it flickered realistically. It was almost definitely unnecessary, but attention to detail was always something she appreciated.

He nodded—her cue to add her power to his. She reached out with her magic, feeling where his coiled around the handle of the bottle, and pushed gently forward so the strands of hers wove delicately through his. Malfoy's eyes widened infinitesimally when their tethers met.

"Okay," she breathed when her connection felt secure. He exhaled next to her and closed his eyes. "Lower away."

Malfoy began loosening the slack on his magic, slowly allowing the water bottle to sink in a controlled descent. Hermione watched it until the glowing image was no longer visible in the darkness, then shifted her gaze back to the man across from her. His eyes were still closed, his face blank, but he was sending her mental updates from time to time.

10 meters.

20 meters.

35 meters.

As he provided updates, Hermione could feel the ongoing movement of their magical line as it dropped deeper into the waters of Lodan Stiomrabhaigh—until she couldn't. Shortly after Malfoy's 160 meters, the water bottle had stopped its descent. Their eyes locked, and Hermione realized she was holding her breath. She didn't let it out. Not yet.

Not until she heard the music coming up to meet them from the depths.


A/N: The past six months have been an unintentional hiatus. I've experienced a rather astounding amount of loss during that time; it took me at least five months and two very intentional attempts to even begin writing this story again. I remain committed to my original plan: I will complete this story, and will do so on whatever timeline I am able to maintain. If you want to be sure you get chapter updates when they happen, feel free to follow the story and/or add it to your favorites.

I also have a one-shot floating around my brain that I'm hoping to purge soon. It'll be wholly separate from this story but will likely include the same pairing. Feel free to follow my author page if you'd like to know when that goes live.

Thank you for the support you sent my way—whether in the comments to this story or just in your thoughts—during the past six months. I'm glad to be back.

Fact-check note: If anyone knows the actual max depth of Lodan Stiomrabhaigh, please do let me know and I'll update the numbers in this chapter. I tried to find them myself but couldn't, and I refused to let that inaccuracy keep me even longer from publishing this chapter.