"I was thinking," Hermione announced shortly into their morning trek along the rocky path, their packs and gear loaded onto their backs with an unfortunate lack of lightening charm. "It really won't do for our buoyancy to be so unreliable when we enter the Black Lake. It worked out yesterday, of course, with the Stiomrabhaigh" (nailed the pronunciation, nice) "merfolk being so willing to hold us neutral below the surface, but we got lucky. We probably won't be able to count on that happening again."
Malfoy was nodding, his brow furrowed thoughtfully as he listened.
"If we could have a sort of…" Hermione knew she was heading into a ramble as she tried to pinpoint what exactly it was they needed to make this work. "I don't know, we need something like the weights that scuba divers use to make themselves heavier as they descend, but then I suppose they also have compressed air to fill their vests once they've reached their intended depth so they can maintain neutral buoyancy, and we would want to ensure our ability to resurface easily when the time comes to do so…" She trailed off as her thoughts twisted themselves in wisps around her mind.
"Alright, well I didn't understand most of that," Malfoy said, "but I think we're on the same page with the need. Now tell me more about these skoopa divers."
They spent rest of their hike in deep conversation, pausing only briefly to arrange themselves in side-by-side seated positions with the bright pink octagonal coat button between them, its size so laughably small for two people that the simplest way to ensure contact was simply to hold it between their touching palms, fingers clasped around one another's hands. They picked up their conversation as soon as they were settled, having arrived at the departure point with plenty of time to spare (the benefits of two high-functioning planners traveling together), and Malfoy was mid-sentence when the familiar navel tug yanked them to the eastern coast of Scotland. Hermione had never traveled by portkey while sitting and was pleasantly surprised when, despite her bum thumping rather hard against the pavement of the abandoned street they'd arrived on, she felt rather grounded upon landing. Malfoy continued as though he hadn't just been interrupted by sudden cross-country travel.
"—without our wands, somehow," he was saying, and Hermione's brain took a moment to catch up, kicking back into gear when she realized Malfoy was already standing and hoisting her to her feet by their still-connected hands. "Has there been any study of the application of Legilimency toward the enhancement of wandless magic? I hate to admit it, but that is an area you appear to be slightly more proficient in, and I don't think two days is quite enough time for me to get up to speed with wand-free casting."
Hermione snorted as they started walking again, while her mind catalogued how she might create a crash-course curriculum for wandless spellcasting that incorporated his mastery of Occlumency and Legilimency. "I never thought I'd see the day when Draco Malfoy acknowledged his own inferiority," she snarked, noting with a pleasant surprise that she wasn't experiencing any of the typical side-effects of portkey travel. Malfoy withdrew his hand from hers to pocket the button, nudging her with his elbow as he did so.
"And there were zero witnesses, Granger. No one would ever believe you."
/\ /\ /\ /\ /\ /\
They were welcomed aboard the Hawthorne Mocha by Captain Qaddura Ismail, a bulky woman with piercing eyes and a handshake worn rough by years pulling heavy lines from sea to deck. Her vessel had been used for fishing back in the day, but in the past several years she had transitioned her profession to the tour and research charter industry.
"These shoulders aren't what they used to be," she told them, chatting genially as they boarded. Her voice was surprisingly high and sonorous despite her size, a rounded eloquence to her Northern British accent that Hermione was sure Malfoy had already pinpointed (and would no doubt be able to replicate after only a minute or two of conversation). "Do you two have much experience at sea?"
"Only very recently," Malfoy replied, in what Hermione now recognized as his working-man's voice, as he craned his neck to take in the leftover anatomy still visible from the boat's previous life, "and we've mostly assisted with operations of the research equipment and launch dingy."
"Well you won't be much use in that sense," Qaddura chuckled. "We haven't got a dingy. No point in these parts, with the North Sea as finicky as she is."
"We're glad to help any way we can while aboard," Hermione assured her, and the captain smiled broadly.
"Let's get you settled first," she said, "and then I'll see about putting you to work."
/\ /\ /\ /\ /\ /\
The Hawthorne Mocha was chugging into its fourth hour asea when the wind began to pick up, and Hermione could tell that it was only a matter of time before it started to tug her hair free of its tight plait. In fact, she felt a coil coming loose even as the thought was crossing her mind. But nothing could stop her smile. This bracing wind, the salt whipping into the skin of her face, the brightness of the sun hidden yet amplified by the gathering clouds… it was a day of wild abandon, captained by a competent woman and set with expectations lower than the Saturday after winter exams. They hoped to encounter a local pod of pilot whales in their overnight aboard the vessel, and Hermione's eyes were scanning the ocean surface for the telltale blow. But for the first time, she didn't care if they missed their objective entirely. She and Malfoy had accomplished so much in the days leading up to this portion of their journey and made contact with merfolk that was educational beyond either of their wildest hopes. Against all odds, she had boarded the Hawthorne Mocha feeling more prepared for the final stages of their expedition than she would have thought possible.
Malfoy stood nearby, leaning casually over the deck rail and presenting an annoyingly put-together visage in his heather grey jumper and dark muggle jeans, even as his hair stuck up at angles that should have made him look ridiculous. She took him in from the corner of her eye, the railing pressing gently against her lower back and her elbows propping her up as she watched his face, blank and cool and calm and honestly quite pretty. She rolled her eyes, lips quirking down at the confusing direction her thoughts had decided to take for the second time in as many days.
He glanced over at her and gave an eyeroll of his own.
"Honestly, Granger," he said into the wind, pushing off his forearms and walking over to face her. "This hair."
He reached out for a particularly violent tendril that had begun beating her across the face quite emphatically, cheekbone to chin, sometime during her musings. But before he could catch it, she ducked her head just out of the way and grabbed his hand where it hovered. His brow furrowed and he cocked his head slightly, but Hermione just smirked, tugging his sleeve up (not a lot, not nearly far enough to make him twitch like that, and her heart rent a little when he did) to reveal the motion sickness band.
"So they work, then?" she asked, and she tried (sort of) to keep the gloating out of her voice. Malfoy rolled his eyes again with a small smile.
"You'll put one on, too, if you actually are as bright as they say." He nodded past her shoulder to the waking ocean around them. "I can't imagine these winds are prefacing calmer seas."
And then he pulled his hand free from hers and caught the errant curl, pushing it back behind her ear. It was a startlingly sweet gesture, his fingers gentle and his eyes soft. It was also completely useless. The wind captured the freed hair again in no time flat, and Hermione grinned as it resumed the battering across her face as though uninterrupted. Malfoy snorted in vaguely exasperated disbelief.
"Impossible," he groused in a low voice she could barely hear over the wind, and this time he squared off in front of her and brought up both hands, his fingers working to weave the loose strand into her braid. She couldn't help laughing at the look of concentration on his face.
"Honestly, Malfoy, what's the point?" she asked, still chuckling. He seemed to double down on his efforts, and Hermione decided enough was enough and reached up, pulling out her hair tie in a fluid, practiced movement. He realized what she'd done a moment later, when his attempted weaving started to pull everything apart, and he locked eyes with her in what appeared to be genuine horror.
"Why in Merlin's name would you do that?" he shouted—they had to shout now, Hermione realized—as her boisterous-on-a-good-day hair absolutely rioted in a chaotic pull and tangle and wave of curls in the gusting wind. She knew it must look a monstrosity, and that it would take ages to smooth without magic, but really, he was much too intent on taming it for her not to have let it wild. So she laughed again and closed her eyes, and her mane of curls twisted across her face and to the sky and toward the sea and everywhere around her.
And then his hands were in it again, catching and re-catching her hair and pulling it away from her eyes (now open) and mouth (still grinning) and holding it to the back of her head as he shook his.
"You're fucking absurd." Hermione was strangely delighted by that.
"Refreshing, isn't it?" she shouted brightly, and made to lean more comfortably against the rail.
"Annoyingly so," he shot back, his expression shifting to an almost resigned acceptance as his shoulders dropped with a sigh that was carried off immediately by the whipping winds. The weight of his posture change tugged on the hair he still held, forcing her face to tilt slightly upwards, a wide smile still plastered on her face. His eyes darted quickly down then back up, as though he hadn't meant to look at her lips, as though he was hoping she hadn't seen. Hermione felt her smile tighten and her heart thud in her chest.
Oh my god, he wants to kiss me.
And then a second thought hit her like a punch to the stomach. And he's not going to.
They were colleagues. Colleagues who were sharing living quarters for the next four days and working on a profoundly tenuous mission. Colleagues with a fraught history of hatred and bullying and intentional pain. Colleagues who were just beginning to form a tentative friendship after years of discord. Of course he wasn't going to kiss her.
Why did that very rational truth bother her so much?
She knew why, of course. She was drawn to him—had been, in fact, at a surprisingly strong intensity and for an alarmingly high proportion of their expedition. Whether it made logical sense or not, Hermione was physically and mentally and emotionally attracted to Draco Malfoy, of all people, and now that she knew that he wanted to kiss her, she wanted nothing more than for him to say sod it all and just bloody go for it. But he wouldn't, because they had a history and he was an unexpectedly decent guy.
So she pushed herself off the railing and tilted her head, seeing the brief panic in his widened eyes as his brain processed the abrupt change in their proximity. She raised her eyebrows in question, a small smile still playing on her lips as her eyes flicked down to his mouth ever so briefly in what she'd confirmed across many sources to be a universal invitation. She saw rather than heard his soft exhale and felt his fingers twitch against the nape of her neck as he smirked (damn him) and closed the remaining space between them to brush his lips gently—so gently, too gently—against hers.
Before she could do anything at all, before she could even think, the boat lurched, buffeted by a particularly large wave that sent them stumbling slightly, Malfoy's hands finally leaving her hair to catch his balance against the rail she was now pressed against, effectively bracketing her in with mere inches between their bodies. They stared at each other, his eyes intent and Hermione's mind and heart and mouth absolutely burning, both of them breathing heavily from what they could explain away as the Hawthorne Mocha's rocking but was clearly the shock of magic—in whatever sense of the word—from that brief touch of his lips against hers.
And then the spell was broken by Qaddura's harsh voice carrying over what, Hermione noted vaguely, might actually be a gale at this point.
"Get below, you two!" she bellowed from her place at the helm, her commanding tone brooking no argument.
Hermione's eyes darted to the captain, whose focus had already returned to the seas around them, then back to Malfoy, still staring hard at her. He cleared his throat.
"Come on." His voice sounded coarse but strong against the wind as he stepped away from the railing and held out a hand that didn't tremble even a little. Hermione swallowed, quickly assessing the stability of her supposed sea legs before deeming them capable and pressing herself off the railing to take his hand. His grip was firm and sure as he turned and walked them steadily toward the stair, despite the increasingly unpredictable movement of the deck as they crossed it. He never slowed, but with his free hand grabbed two of the crew life jackets hanging beside the doorway that led below. Hermione's heart hiccupped behind her ribs—though whether from the reminder of their potential danger or his cool presence of mind even in an emotionally tumultuous situation, she couldn't be bothered to know. Instead, she just let him lead her through the archway and down the stairs and through the door to their (once again shared) cabin.
Hermione's aortal hiccups were threatening to become a full-on arrhythmia by the time Malfoy carelessly yet precisely tossed the life vests onto the bottom bunk and finally turned to face her again as she closed the door, steadying herself against it. He was still holding her hand, but his grip felt more tentative now, and she worried he would lose his nerve and leave her burning for it on her own. So she stepped forward and reached up, curling her other hand around the nape of his neck and bringing his mouth back to hers before either of them could change their minds.
Her mind flickered, then went completely white, her breath catching in her lungs and her heart all but stopping at the rush that suffused her face and fingertips and all up and down her body. How could something be so sweet and so explosive, all at the same time?
He kissed her gently, though nowhere near as soft as the barely-there brush from minutes before, his fingers tightening on hers before flitting up her arm and resting on her shoulder. His touch was delicate, far from innocent but certainly not possessive, and as he shifted his weight his other hand found its way into her hair again, fingers twisting into the unruly curls. He let out a small groan against Hermione's mouth and she shuddered at the feel of it, the sound of it, the implications.
Then the boat lurched again and Hermione thanked whatever gods there may be when Malfoy was jostled into her and sent them both stumbling, resulting in her back against the solid door and the hard body of her research partner in front of her and his mouth taking decadent advantage of the small gasp she let out upon impact as her fingers tightened their grip in his silky hair. Any attention she was paying to the far-away voice in her head, urging her to prepare an emergency escape plan should the waves overpower the Hawthorne Mocha, scattered the moment his tongue brushed her parted lips. She teased it with her own, her free hand reaching for his hips, tugging him closer to her as the kiss deepened. Her fingers brushed the waistband of his jeans, itching to slip beneath and feel his warm skin as she all but panted into his mouth. And then one of his legs was in between hers, pressing against her (for stability, of course for stability), and she let out a low moan and was nearly ready to snap—
—when an exceptionally forceful wave slammed into the boat and their heads were knocked together by the sudden pitch of the craft.
And just like that, Hermione became keenly aware of the storm happening around them. She bolted off the door with a gasp, her widened eyes flitting wildly around the room until they landed on the life vests, still lying where they'd been thrown onto the bed. She realized she was talking as she quickly made her way over to them, accidentally bumping into an unsteady Malfoy, who was still rubbing his forehead from their collision and looking at her with a mixture of wariness and exasperation.
"Oh my god, okay, what do we do?" She grabbed the life jackets and turned around to press one of them into his chest before strapping on her own, the vest's tug on her hair irritating in a way she didn't understand after having quite enjoyed a very similar sensation only moments before. She huffed and pulled the knotted strands out and into a haphazard bun at the crown of her head—she needed to concentrate, to make sure they were prepared, that they had a survival plan—
"Put that on," she snapped at a now fully bemused Malfoy when she glanced at him again and saw he hadn't moved, other than to bring his hand down from his forehead to clutch the life jacket she'd shoved at him. She didn't acknowledge his soft "Granger" as she made a quick circuit around the cabin before poking her head out the door to confirm possible exits. When she brought her head back in and shut the door, she was oddly distressed to see that Malfoy had stepped closer to her but had still not done anything to prepare for potential disaster.
"Please, Malfoy," she said, and she didn't recognize the beseeching tone coating her words. Without waiting for him to respond, she closed the remaining space between them and took the life vest from his grasp, sliding it over his head and reaching around him to fasten the strap.
"Granger," he said again, his voice still soft, but this time he forced her to hear it, reaching up with both hands to angle her face toward his. She couldn't look away once their eyes met, his bouncing back and forth between her own as though trying to spot her reasons for acting this way—for being this way. "What the actual hell?"
Hermione felt her resolve stiffen and her back along with it.
"I'm not sure if you've noticed, Malfoy, but there's a chance we'll need to leave this vessel very suddenly and at some distance from shore." She tried to pull out of his grip and resume her planning, but his hold was firm. "I'm simply cataloguing our options for escape should water come in while we're below."
"Oh please," he said, snorting softly and rolling his eyes—why was he always doing that? "Like you haven't had all of that catalogued since the first walkthrough."
It was annoying that he was right.
It was less annoying that he was kissing her again, then more annoying once more when she realized she was shaking—just a little, but it seemed impossible that he wouldn't notice.
He pulled away after only a few seconds and rested his forehead against hers (she winced a little at the tender spot blooming there), forcing her to meet his eyes again.
"It's going to be fine," he told her, and Hermione wanted to share in his certainty.
"You can't know that," she said stubbornly. Malfoy sighed.
"Do you trust Captain Ismail?"
"Well yes, but—"
"And do you think she's dealt with weather like this before?"
"…Probably."
"Would you prefer we use our magic in the presence of this very competent and hard-working muggle to ensure no harm comes to any of us, or her craft?"
Hermione thought about this one for longer than she knew she should. Although they had bent the "no magic in muggle locations" rule more than once on this trip, they'd never done so in direct proximity to a non-magical person. But still, a protego totalo to shield their boat from the brutal waves, an impervius to repel even some of the water…
"No," she said sullenly, and she caught the amusement in his eyes before hers dropped with a small frown, realizing only then that her arms were still around his middle, frozen halfway through fastening his life jacket. She shook her head and brought the strap the rest of the way around his back, clipping it to the front just above his navel and leaving her fingers to fiddle with the nylon, just so they had something to do. Malfoy's hands dropped to the outsides of her shoulders with a sigh.
"So now that we're prepared for potential disaster, do you think we could…" His steady confidence seemed to flicker a bit, but he cleared his throat and gestured to the lower bunk. "Maybe we could talk."
Hermione nodded with a small sigh of her own, pulling away and walking over to the bed. But instead of sitting right away, she reached underneath for their packs, collecting their wands from where she knew each was stored. She stood, nudging the bags back where they'd come from before turning and pressing Malfoy's wand into his hand.
"Just in case," she said firmly, and he nodded seriously and slipped it into the holster around his waist. He had to lift his shirt a little to access the sheath, and Hermione's eyes strayed down to the motion before flying back up, thankful when it was clear he hadn't noticed, and trying to ignore the returning itch of her fingertips to reach out for the flash of skin she'd been so close to touching earlier. She slotted her own wand into her disillusioned leg holster and took a seat, crossing her legs and leaning against her pillow and the metal bars behind it that acted as a headboard.
Malfoy sat midway down the mattress, pressing his back against the wall and crossing his arms loosely in front of him, his long legs stretched out and over the side of the bed and meeting at the ankles. Although he was wearing the same bulky, fluorescent life preserver she was, it managed to look like a natural addition to his ensemble instead of a ridiculous but necessary device. It was a testament to Hermione's current state that she didn't even flush at the realization that she must look ludicrous, with her knotted hair and darting eyes and lumpy orange accessory.
For several long moments, they just stared at each other, and Hermione realized she had no idea what to say about something that had been going quite well until nature itself had rudely interfered. So she simply sat, trying to relax and turn off the part of her brain that was still analyzing possible life-threatening scenarios, and waited for him to say something. At long last, he did.
"I wasn't expecting that to happen." He was looking straight ahead, into whatever semblance of middle distance that could be found in such tight quarters. Hermione felt a small smile take form.
"I can't say I planned on it, either," she laughed, but it came out a bit breathy. Malfoy's eyes darted to hers, though his head never moved.
"Is it… okay that it happened?" He swallowed and looked away again, and Hermione was confused when he asked, "Are we okay?"
Oh bugger, she thought, the beginnings of that grin dropping from her face. No part of her had considered that this might feel like a mistake for him. But she could see no benefit in trying to tiptoe away from the situation when she really, really wanted it, so she cleared her throat and was pleased when her voice came out much more normally.
"To be honest, the thought hadn't crossed my mind that we wouldn't be okay," she said, trying for matter-of-fact (and doing a damn good job of it as far as she could tell). "I'm quite glad that it happened, personally, but of course you might feel differently. Whatever happens next, I don't think our partnership is in any danger."
Malfoy exhaled heavily, and Hermione saw his shoulders drop the tiniest bit.
"I definitely don't feel differently."
"Oh." Yes! "Well that's good, then, yeah?"
He let out a shaky laugh and ran a hand through his hair, the familiar motion finally settling the wind-and-Hermione-mussed locks back into place. Then he turned his head to look at her straight on.
"Are you serious, Granger?" She could practically feel the mix of vulnerability and intensity rolling off him. "Because I very much want something to happen next."
Hermione felt herself tense almost imperceptibly, unable to ignore the alarm sounding softly in the background of her mind. But before she could clarify just what he meant by that, Malfoy continued.
"Preferably something long-term. Though I'd understand if that's not what you're looking for in our… partnership."
This is the most logical conversation about a potential romantic relationship I think anyone's ever had, Hermione mused, and the thought was positively charming.
But before she could say any of what she was thinking—Yes, I'd like that or Gosh this is all a bit formal, isn't it or You can fuck right off if you think I'm just going to hook up with Draco bloody Malfoy and then pretend nothing happened—there was a sharp knock on their cabin door, and without waiting for an invitation, Qaddura poked her dripping head inside.
"Good," she said crisply, nodding at their life jackets in approval. "It looks like the storm is slowing down out there, and I could use a hand above if you're up for it."
"Of course," Hermione responded automatically and slid off the bed to join the captain, jerked back to a reality that made much more sense, where she had survived a potentially life-threatening situation and was once again being called upon to help. Malfoy seemed to linger in their previous reality a bit longer, but he had pushed himself away from the wall and off the bed by the time she exited their quarters.
/\ /\ /\ /\ /\ /\
The next couple of hours were frantic, but ultimately went as smoothly as anyone could hope for. In addition to the wind and waves, rain now pelted at them from what seemed like all sides. Captain Ismail put them to work clearing the deck of incoming water, fastening down various pieces of equipment that she hadn't had time to secure, and fetching anything she asked for. The waves kept Hermione off-kilter for most of the time, and she used every muscle she could control to try and maintain her balance as she followed orders. Her stomach handled it all surprisingly well, even if her legs did not, which was deeply fortunate since she hadn't actually had time to put one of the motion-sickness bands on before the storm had forced them below and she'd gotten… distracted.
But not distracted enough that you didn't think to grab your wand, she reminded herself gently. It was a comfortable presence against her leg, and while Hermione didn't anticipate using it, she felt safe knowing she had the option should things get dire.
She and Malfoy had been provided rain slickers before coming above, but they really only did so much, and it wasn't long before Hermione's face and hair were damp under her yellow hood, her hands slick and cold. But with three of them, they were able to take regular breaks to dry off and warm up, and hydrate or have a bit of food before jumping back into the spray. By the time the wind and sea had calmed to more reasonable levels, Hermione was exhausted to her bones.
"Alright, you two," Qaddura said brusquely, the afternoon's effort visibly trying to force her shoulders into a hunch, "that's all I'll ask of you tonight. Go and get some rest before you fall asleep standing up. I appreciate your help."
Hermione nodded dumbly and reached blindly behind her as she made her way toward the stairs. She felt Malfoy's hand slip into hers after a few weary steps, the weight of their heavy arms dragging on the connection between them not anywhere near enough to make her let go. As they shuffled through the archway, she realized with as much of a guilty jolt as her body could muster that she'd never actually responded to his… proposal. To be remedied, she assured herself. Just need to sit.
By the time she'd opened the door to their cabin, she had let go of Malfoy's hand and focused on the buttons of the rain slicker, grateful for the pull snaps but distressed at how much effort it seemed to take for her to tug them apart so she could wiggle out of the sticky-wet sleeves. Finally, her stiff fingers were working the strap of her life jacket and clicking the buckle open, and she let out an audible sigh as she pulled it over her head and dropped it onto the floor with the yellow coat. Next step: bed.
"Don't even think about it," Malfoy said sharply from somewhere off to her left, and her mind did a double-take, trying to recall if they had set up a connection sometime that day.
I didn't realize you were in here, Hermione sent out experimentally, but he gave no indication that it had reached him. So she was just easy to read, then.
"Take these—" Malfoy stepped in front of her and pressed her pajamas into her hands "—to the loo and get changed. I don't trust you to dry off before passing out if you're left alone with a bed."
She resented him so much in that moment. All she wanted was to lie down and sleep until she had to be awake again. But she knew he was right, and she steeled herself for the long walk to the room directly next to theirs.
"It's called a head when you're on a boat," she groused, unable to resist. Malfoy groaned.
"Shut up and go, Granger. I'm coming to check on you in three minutes to make sure don't fall asleep against the sink."
Hermione sighed heavily and shuffled to the door, and had just reached out to open it when the thought nudged her once again that she still hadn't given Malfoy a response. So she sighed again—she really was so tired—and turned back around, reaching him mid-exasperated eyeroll and pressing a brief and rather poorly aimed kiss against his lips.
"Preferably something long-term," she said, as definitively as she could in her exhausted state. His smile was lovely.
/\ /\ /\ /\ /\ /\
True to his word, Hermione heard a knock on the door to the cramped bathroom not five minutes later. She reached for the handle from her seat on the closed toilet lid where she was robotically brushing her teeth and swung the door inward. It bounced lightly off the wall across from her and Malfoy stepped in, wearing the same sweat pants and thermal he'd worn every night and looking dead on his feet, toothbrush in hand. He entered the tiny room—my goodness, it was so tiny with two people in it—and set up in front of the sink to start brushing.
Good dental habits, too, isn't that splendid? Hermione almost smiled at the return of her mother's voice in her mind. But instead, she finished her mental catalogue of runes, knowing she'd spent longer than usual brushing tonight since her mind was moving slower, and nudged Malfoy with her foot from where she sat. Only when he was out of her way did she stand, leaning over the sink to spit and rinse her mouth. I did it, she thought, and for the first time in her life she felt truly proud that she'd accomplished—accomplished, for goodness' sake—something as mundane as brushing her teeth.
She left the tiny bathroom and went back to their cabin, noticing their wet things hanging on hooks in the galley as she trudged past.
And tidy, the voice added slyly, and this time Hermione did smile, actually swatting at the air beside her the way she used to when her mother commented on boys.
Miss you, Mum.
She tugged out her hair tie, muscles protesting the simple task, and finally, finally sat on the bed with low groan. She shoved her wand under her pillow and pulled the sheets back, flopping herself face-up on the mattress and as close to the wall as she could make her body go in that one heavy attempt. She could only hope Malfoy would see the invitation for what it was if she fell asleep before she could make it any clearer.
Lying down felt like that "eternal rest" funeral leaders were always talking about: peaceful and secure, like she had no other earthly purpose but to slumber. But while her body was oh-so ready to sink deeply into sleep, her brain seemed intent on preventing her from doing so, pricking her with visceral memories of Malfoy's strong hand as he led her below, the feeling of him pressing her against the door, the way her heart jolted when his hand slithered into her hair.
And so, Hermione was still awake when he came in less than two minutes later, easing the door open as though he might disturb her, then giving up any pretense when he saw she was still conscious. She waited for him to close the door and approach the bunk before reaching her hand out to him—then letting it drop back to the bed after only a second or two, her eyes closing on their own. She groaned again and heard him chuckle.
"I suppose that means I'm joining you?"
But by then, words somehow felt harder than movement, so Hermione just reached out again, blindly, and this time she felt Malfoy take her hand. She tightened her grip (not very tightly at all) and used her own dead weight to heave him toward the bed. He laughed and let her, and soon she felt his body land on the mattress next to her.
By the sounds of it, he barely had the energy to move at all, but he used what little he had to bring himself close to her prone body, his nose brushing against her neck behind her ear, his breath soft against the skin there. His hand reached for hers, threading their fingers together before draping both of their arms over her midsection. Hermione felt the briefest moment of regret that she was too bone-tired to register how he felt wrapped around her like this, no cushioned bags between their bodies, before she was swept away, finally, into a deep and restful sleep.
A/N: It happened! And it only took 16 months and 20 chapters to finally get there! Though in "reality" it's only been 11 days for them, so is it really a slow burn? Either way, yay!
I actually had about 60% of this chapter written back in August when my laptop got stolen. I'd been inspired to write the first-kiss (and then some) scene early on and was really excited about how it was coming along. Losing my progress on that really hurt my heart, and it set my productivity back in a huge way; I didn't touch the story for close to six months after that happened. Now, I've found some peace by recognizing that this version is better than what I lost. Thank you all for your continued support, and your patience while I took time to get back into a headspace where I wanted to write again. I'm happy to report that I'm enjoying the journey once more =)
