A/N: New pen name, same writer. Enjoy the morning after!
– RiddleMeThus/Buggo
Hermione woke up smiling, a small, contented thing, but a smile nonetheless. She couldn't remember the last time that had happened. The events of the previous day rocked gently through her mind, so crystal clear that she was sure she must have been dreaming them as well. How quickly things had gone from exasperated camaraderie to playful teasing, to undeniable attraction. Not only the previous day, but over the past—had it really only been eleven days?
She shook her head. This was all very unlike her. And yet, it felt like one of the best things she had ever done for herself. Who'd have ever thought she would be so genuinely happy, so openly encouraged to be her honest-to-goodness self, around Draco Malfoy, of all people? Her smile grew as she remembered his fingers in her hair, annoyed at first, then suddenly fervent, barely controlled. What an unexpected turn of events, she thought mildly.
At some point in her mental foray, she realized that Malfoy's breathing had changed. They didn't seem to have moved during the night, both too exhausted to do anything but sink into a bone-deep slumber. His body was still curled around hers, an arm draped heavily across her middle, his hand threaded with her own. Hermione's fingers tingled from what she began to identify as a full night's sleep's worth of limited circulation, the weight of their entwined fingers doing more physical harm than good to each other—but more emotional good for her touch-loving spirit than she knew what to do with.
His breath on her neck was shallow now, still long and slow but intentionally so, and she knew he was pretending to be asleep. Not on my watch.
"You're awake," she said, her voice rasping a bit with the night's remnants.
Another measured breath, and then, "I could feel you thinking." Malfoy's voice rumbled against her neck. And then, more softly, "Everything alright?"
Hermione settled for a contented hum and snuggled a bit lower in the bed. She wasn't having second thoughts, and she wasn't about to let him think otherwise.
She also chose not to return the question. They were adults, after all, and if he was having second thoughts, he could very well let her know. She was long past the days of wheedling the men—boys—in her life to share what they were feeling. It wasn't her job. If they had something to say—if he had something to say—he had a brain, and a mouth, and all the dialects in the world at his disposal.
As it was, she felt Malfoy relax further into her, his posture mirroring her own contentment. It was still dark in their little cabin, the light coming through the porthole grey in the late pre-dawn hour. How she had managed to wake before the sun after such an exhausting afternoon would remain a mystery, as she tended to appreciate a lie-in following extreme physical activity. But here they were, both awake and (as far as she could tell) strangely happy, and she was loathe to disrupt the silence again.
Finally, Malfoy removed his fingers from hers and she winced slightly as the blood rushed back into her neglected (or rather, too-well attended) digits. He now traced gentle patterns up her arm and back down again, a soothing and mindless motion from wrist to shoulder that lulled her gently and invited her to break the quiet after all.
"Do you think there's time to sleep some more?" she asked, and barely stifled the yawn that tried to escape.
"Probably." His voice was low, almost a whisper, but it was so close to her ear that she could hear it and feel it all at once. She sighed, not even sure if sleep was what she wanted. She'd woken up, after all. But if there was one thing she was good at (well, there were quite a lot of things she was good at), it was falling back asleep in the morning. Little-known fact about Hermione Granger, that. She sighed again.
"I suppose we could start the day instead," she announced half-heartedly. "No sense in wasting the time if we're already awake."
"Alright." But his hand didn't stop its soothing motions, and the rest of his body made no indication that it would adjust any time soon. So she smiled again and laid there a while longer, and maybe she drifted off just a little.
/\ /\ /\ /\ /\ /\
Hermione's next waking thought was that she needed the loo (head, her mind corrected) rather badly.
"Malfoy," she whispered, and was met with a half-hearted grunt. "Malfoy, wake up." She squirmed against him. "I need to get up."
"Good luck," he mumbled back, his voice muted by what Hermione estimated to be roughly two tons of hair. She sighed, but couldn't much blame him. Yesterday really had been brutal on their bodies.
So she twisted and wriggled her way out of his hold, unable to avoid recalling how she'd first woken up in his arms less than a week ago. It was much more comfortable this time around, in part because of how both their relationship and co-sleeping habits had evolved, and because they were in an actual bed this time (bunk-style though it may be) rather than two separate sleeping bags. Either way, she managed to worm her way free with only a little trouble, one minor accidental groping that she diligently ignored, and absolutely no help from the man in question. In fact, she had all but successfully climbed over him when his heavy arm hooked out in a blind attempt to pull her back, nearly but not quite snagging her across the middle, and forcing her into a dexterous sort of belly dance to skirt his reach.
He huffed in annoyance as she evaded him.
"Well you wouldn't be pleased if you caused me to wet myself all over the both of us, now, would you?" she challenged.
Malfoy let out a noncommittal snort. "Not quite my style," he said, his voice a bit clearer now, but still rattled with sleep.
Some part of her mind filed that information away without her permission, and she shook her head to reorient her thinking and trundled off to the tiny toilet next door.
By the time Hermione returned to their cabin, having emptied her bladder and brushed her teeth and taken a quick but necessary shower, Malfoy was leaning sleepily against the small dresser that was secured to the wall by the foot of the bunk and sorting through his bag. He glanced over his shoulder with a small smile when she entered, but it grew into an amused smirk when he took in her appearance.
"Not up for the monumental task of hair care today, Granger?"
She had taken one look at her reflection and written off all attempts to control the mass of frizz as a lost cause. It looked an absolute fright, to be sure, but after the wind-battered hell (and Malfoy-tangled excitement) she'd put it through the night before, Hermione had decided that a slow, natural, day-long detangling would be much more effective than trying to wrangle it into place this morning. So she simply shrugged in response, hanging her used towel on the hook of the closed door.
"We can't both be obsessing over our looks all the time, we'd never get anything done."
When she turned back around he was much closer, his eyes skimming the area around her face—a space she knew her curls had invaded at alarming angles. He reached out a tentative hand above her head and pressed down briefly, and she felt her hair sproing against her skull and back into the open air. His amusement came out in a low chuckle and she rolled her eyes with a smile of her own.
"If you're quite finished…"
"Nearly," he said, and used his forehead and nose to shove a riotous mass of her hair out of the way so he could land a quick and gentle kiss beneath her ear. She felt her face warm. Considerate, really, seeing as he had yet to brush his teeth, and no matter how attracted she may be to him—it still felt odd to admit that—morning breath was not on Hermione's list of things to share with anyone. She huffed a laugh and turned back to the bed as he pulled away, retreating to the dresser to grab his hygiene bag and the day's clothes from his pack before making his way out the cabin door.
Her own pack lay atop the bed they'd shared (and yes, her heart did skip a little at the casual acknowledgment). The blanket and sheets were pulled back from when Malfoy had forced himself to start the day, but it looked otherwise unslept in with how little either of them had shifted during the night. Hermione couldn't recall if she'd even dreamed; with all the excitement, her typically overactive imagination would have had plenty of fodder for sweet dreams and terrors alike, but it would appear her mind had called off from doing any more work than her body after the day they'd had.
She took the next several minutes to stow her pajamas and essentials, taking care to pay extra attention to the process. Her brain just wasn't willing to stay put on the task at hand, and kept inconveniently wandering over the events of the previous day and the implications moving forward. She and Malfoy were… what? A couple? Together, at the very least. "Preferably something long-term," the memory of his voice echoed in her head. But what did that mean for the rest of their expedition? Would navigating this new level of their relationship get in the way of the research they had set out to do?
No. Of course it wouldn't. Hermione was an absolute professional, and there was no way she was going to let anything redirect the progress they'd been making on their trip so far. This was just… a bonus of sorts. Progress that she hadn't expected to make or accounted for in her meticulous planning. But she could keep her work and personal life separate, even if they did overlap rather heavily in this case.
She sighed. Again. Her pack was now closed, looking full (but not as full as it actually was, thanks to those handy extension charms) and ready to go, but she couldn't quite trust her inventory skills at the moment. Instead of opening it back up and digging around inside to ensure everything was accounted for, she opted for a slow, intentional sweep of the cabin. She knew all of her possessions were in that small room, so as long as she didn't find anything in her final investigation, it would reason that everything was safely packed away. She started low, looking under the bed and dresser before moving up to the lower bunk to twitch the sheets back and lift the pillow—
—and nearly smacked her palm to her forehead in exasperation. Wands. They should probably bring those with them. Hermione located her leg holster on the top bunk a few seconds later, along with a ball of her clothes from the previous day that she didn't even remember chucking there after Malfoy had forced her to change into pajamas. They were only a little damp around cuffs and collars, and Hermione made a mental note to charm them dry once they were safely away from non-magical eyes. For now, she stuffed the wad of clothing unceremoniously into her pack and strapped the holster around her thigh, disillusioning it with a nonverbal touch of her wand as she slid the wood into place.
On autopilot once more, she lifted her pack and brought the sheets and blanket back up to make the bed they'd slept in, stopping herself from tucking in the corners only when she realized Qaddura probably wouldn't appreciate the extra challenge when it came time for laundry. She dropped her bag heavily back onto the mattress and put Malfoy's wand next to it, then fluffed the pillow and returned it to its place, spending an inordinate amount of time making sure it looked nice but not flawless. It was one of the traits she'd never quite been able to shake: wanting to leave a good impression, but not wanting to come across as a perfectionist. Gee, she thought wryly as the phrase "know-it-all" bounced around her head in various voices from her past, I wonder where that behavior came from.
All told, she finished her sweep of the cabin in the roughly twenty minutes it took for Malfoy to put himself together—and he did look annoyingly put together when he came back into the room. He was wearing classic denims and a maroon jumper, and his drying hair was impeccably styled. Hermione scowled at the immaculate visage he made, especially compared to what she was now considering her own unhinged appearance. He noticed her expression and countered it with a winning smile.
"What? I thought we were switching Houses today."
Her eyebrows furrowed as her still-tired mind struggled to understand his meaning, and he waited patiently until it was clear that she wouldn't be making any connections at this point in the day. So he patiently tried to conceal an eye roll and stepped closer to her, tugging at the bottom of her sweater until she looked down. It was green, a dragon emblazoned on the front in Mrs. Weasley's classic knit style—one Hermione had nicked from Harry's closet when he'd grown too tall for it. She hadn't even remembered putting it on. Wake up, brain! she chided herself, but felt her expression relax.
"Hm," she said in exaggerated consideration. "Well it's not quite right…" And she reached up a hand and tussled it through his stupid, perfect hair.
"Oi!" His salt-of-the-earth accent was back and she laughed out loud as he grabbed her wrist and ducked his head to the side. "Unnecessary!"
"Disagree," she chuckled. "You look much more human now."
It was Malfoy who was scowling now, contrasting beautifully with Hermione's light smile.
"Yours is on the bed, by the way." She gestured over her shoulder with her chin and he followed her cue, looking a bit startled when his eyes locked on his wand. So he'd forgotten, too, she thought. Best for both of them to make an extra effort not to let this new… whatever it was get in the way of their common sense. She was about to say as much as he passed her to collect it but let out a surprised squeak instead at his abrupt change in destination when he swooped to kiss her instead—a full-on, proper kiss in the light of the nearing dawn.
His hands cupped her face, thumbs skating her jaw as his fingertips traced the edges of her hairline but (quite reasonably) thought better of diving in to the tangled mess. Hermione's mind went blank—save for the dim scream of exasperation somewhere in the background of her thoughts that a blank mind was exactly what she was trying to avoid—as his tongue meshed hungrily with hers, his body pressing against her own at nearly every accessible point. She couldn't help the whimper that escaped at the sudden intensity and the tingles it sent from her center outward to every extremity. She wasted no time slipping her hands under his jumper, the pads of her fingers finally alighting on the smooth skin she'd been taunted by the night before. He groaned, soft and low, and her grip flexed tighter against him as she returned his kiss with warm enthusiasm. But finally, the background voice in her head demanded at least a little respect, and Hermione pulled away. They were both breathing a little harder than they had been just a few moments before.
"You're not going to be a distraction, are you, Malfoy?" She barely recognized the breathy quality of her voice, and from the way his eyes widened ever so slightly, he'd noticed it as well. He shook his head slowly, though whether it was in response to her question or simply to clear his thoughts, she couldn't be sure.
"When we're on the job, we're working," he finally said after the moment or so it apparently took his brain to catch up with the conversation. "When we're not…" He dipped in for one more chaste kiss, then brought his hands down from her face and turned back to his original mission of wand retrieval, still shaking his head a bit as he covered the few steps to the bed. His holster, as it turned out, was back in his pack, and Hermione felt a loopy smile form as she unashamedly watched him attach the sheath to his waist and slide the wand home.
Good intentions or no, he was definitely turning into a distraction.
/\ /\ /\ /\ /\ /\
The two of them stood on the deck of the Hawthorne Mocha, leaning side by side over the railing and idly scanning the deceptively calm seas for any signs of whales—or, at least, that's what Hermione was doing. It was rather futile at this point, of course, as they would be heading back to port in just a couple of hours, but the potential of spotting one still filled her with excitement. As luck would have it, they had woken at a truly ungodly hour and the sun was only now breaking above the horizon, spilling into the upper half of the world with a riot of pink and orange and even a tinge of green if she looked at just the right place in the cloudless sky. She shuffled closer to Malfoy as a light wind blew the crisp morning air around them, and he indulged in only a few seconds of histrionic coughing around this bloody hair before relenting and pressing his side against hers. It didn't block much of the breeze, but his warmth was palpable even through her layers, and she was grateful for it.
"You know," he said sardonically after another frizzy tangle did its level best to invade his nostrils, "I imagine a solid course of action for taming unruly hair is not to let it blow randomly in every direction for multiple days in a row."
Hermione groaned, her eyes rolling for what felt like the millionth time since they'd started this research trip together, and scowled at him for effect, but Malfoy didn't notice, caught up as he was in valiantly battling the errant locks.
"Imagine for a moment, if you will, that I'm perfectly educated in and capable of managing my own hair," she responded drily.
He took a step away to look at her, the cold filling the gap immediately, and considered her suggestion for almost a full thirty seconds as his eyes raked the space around her head and skated across her face, his own face screwed up in concentration. Finally, he shook his head, his expression one of grim resolve.
"Not even my imagination can stretch that far, Granger," he sighed dramatically, "and years of observational and anecdotal evidence tells me otherwise. But that's alright, I'm sure you'll figure it out eventually."
She poked him hard in the side and relished his surprised squawk, then burrowed back into his warmth, wishing the heat of his glare had any real effect on her temperature.
By the time Captain Ismail joined them above deck, the sun had almost cleared the ocean's surface entirely, and the sky was paling to a classic light blue.
"I'm sorry you didn't get much out of this trip, other than a workout you probably wish you'd done without," she announced in a clear voice that carried from the stairway behind them. They turned to face her and Hermione smiled warmly at the woman, and at the feeling of Malfoy's hand settling on her lower back. "But I can at least send you off with a solid breakfast before we head to shore. Come on below."
"Oh, it wasn't so bad," Malfoy responded casually, pushing Hermione gently to follow Qaddura's retreating form. "We're the sort that's glad for any type of experience we can add to our résumés. How would we summarize yesterday's activities, by the way? 'Ship wrangling assistance?'"
Hermione smacked his hand behind her and heard the captain's chuckle as she glanced back at them over her shoulder.
"I believe the phrase would be 'weathering a storm at sea,'" she said. Then she added with good-natured sarcasm, "Feel free to list me as a reference." Hermione didn't even try to hold back the indelicate snort that came out.
/\ /\ /\ /\ /\ /\
After helping tie off the Mocha to the cleats on either side of its slip in the small marina, Hermione and Malfoy said their goodbyes to Captain Ismail and began walking toward the center of town. She pulled her notebook and pen out of her pack and turned to the shaky agenda, placing a small check next to the entry for North Sea Voyages before refreshing her memory on the details of this next portion of travel.
"What time is it?" she asked, scrunching her eyes up at the overcast sky as though she'd be able to discern such information by the sun's angle if it were shining—a skill she'd always wanted to master, but never remembered to actually develop outside of the individual moments when she lamented how convenient it would be.
She didn't think she would ever get over how natural Malfoy looked, casually checking his muggle wristwatch.
"Quarter of nine," he replied, stifling a yawn that seemed to come about as soon as he was forced to acknowledge how long they'd been awake this morning already. Hermione nodded and returned to the agenda in her hand.
"Alright, it's about a ten-minute walk to the station, so we'll have around half an hour once we arrive before our train departs. Then it's a little less than a two-hour ride to our next stop, followed by a short walk to the access point." She glanced sidelong at Malfoy as she closed her notebook, opting to hold onto it as they continued down the uneven sidewalk. "Have you ever been to a hybrid town before?"
He shook his head. "I honestly didn't realize something like that could be functional, what with the level of secrecy involved." He looked around and, seeing no one nearby, continued. "How do they stop muggles from noticing?"
Hermione smiled and did her own visual sweep of the area. "It really is quite remarkable what the human mind is capable of explaining away when logical answers don't present themselves. Muggles in particular have historically given their imaginations credit for much of what they've seen, especially when they've been led to believe such a thing couldn't possibly exist." She had spent countless hours theorizing different ways that muggle and magical communities might coexist: the ability to finally provide non-magical folk with answers to questions they'd been turning away from, and likewise the education of the wizarding population to understand how muggles had managed to thrive (scientifically, at least) without the aid of magic. But that was a rabbit hole for another time—today, they would arrive at Aberdeen's train station at eleven forty-three, walk 'round the back of Ivywort Pharmacy, and pass through the magical barrier at the "vandalized griffon statue," whatever that meant.
They spent the rest of the short walk quietly theorizing how Aberdeen kept its magical and muggle communities harmoniously separated in their cohabitation. After a few minutes, Hermione shifted her notebook to her other hand so she could grab ahold of Malfoy's on the not-quite-natural backswing of his arm. His fingers squeezed hers gently once they had situated their grips, but otherwise didn't draw attention to it. It felt delightfully normal, comfortable, like how she might behave with Harry when they explored muggle London after too long without spending time together. Except with Malfoy, there was the added tingle of grin-inducing attraction.
They arrived at the station with plenty of time before departure, and Hermione fished out the tickets that had been provided by the department, pocketing hers for easy access and handing the other to Malfoy. He took it (literally) in stride, locating their platform on the board and leading them to a pair of seats near enough to see when the train pulled in. Hermione pulled her hand away to remove her pack and sat down heavily, her body still feeling the efforts of the previous day. Malfoy dropped down next to her and immediately reached for her hand again, pulling it gently from its place on her leg and bringing both back to his own lap before leaning his head back and closing his eyes.
"We have a lot to discuss," he said quietly, and Hermione's heart jumped a little in her chest. We do? she thought, trying to hold back her annoyance at the idea of doing even more talking about this shift in their dynamic when they could just choose to experience it instead. Malfoy continued, eyes still closed. "It's not just that we have to create the weight system, we have to figure out how to—" he opened his eyes now, glancing around and craning his neck half-heartedly to look behind them "—operate them in unique situations."
Hermione almost laughed. Of course they had a lot to discuss. Get it together, Granger, she chided herself, and this time the voice in her head mirrored his haughtiest. She opened her notebook in her lap and clicked her pen.
"Right, yes," she said, excited at the prospect of exploring new applications of magic. "Shall we…" Hermione's tired brain struggled for a few seconds to find a muggle-friendly way to say it before giving up entirely, instead opting for a simple, "Feel free to set up the connection."
His eyebrows shot upwards and he glanced around again to catalogue their potential audience. When he seemed to conclude that they weren't risking all that much he shifted in his seat, not releasing her hand entirely as he turned to face her but letting his fingers trail to the inside of her wrist. Her breath caught at his feather-light touch and she forced her mind into gear, trying to sift through all of these new thoughts floating around and tugging them into her station with her. It wasn't easy, and she couldn't be certain that one or two wouldn't leak out once he was fully inside her mind.
"Ready," she nodded when she felt as close to it as she would get, pleased that her voice didn't seem to betray her. Not that it would've mattered; his fingers pressed gently on her pulse point and she was sure he could feel her blood pounding.
"Legilimens."
Hermione smiled at the familiar feeling that returned to her consciousness with his soft incantation and Malfoy shifted back in his seat and closed his eyes once more, looking rather serene. She focused on her notebook again, the page almost entirely blank save for one word at the top: In-weight-ables. Her smile quirked further at her own silly nugget of cleverness. Then she was struck by a realization.
You know, she sent through their connection, feeling his presence spread gently through her mind as though he were running his fingers through tall grasses and breathing in fresh air, you already do that spell wandlessly, and there's a similar mindset with nonverbal magic.
I suppose I do. He sounded less than excited about the revelation.
Were you taught without a wand? Harry only ever talked about how difficult it was to clear his mind with Snape's wand pointed at his face.
Malfoy snorted, causing an elderly muggle man who was settling into a seat nearby to look up at the sudden noise. But Malfoy's eyes stayed closed, and Hermione was abruptly reminded of her father "resting his eyes" on the sofa, only to startle himself awake with a snore.
Severus had much less faith in Potter's abilities than mine. Even after all this time, and even through a mental connection, he seemed to spit Harry's name as though it were something acrid in his mouth. When he found out my aunt was teaching me Occlumency, he insisted I develop the ability to turn the tables in case her methods became too… He trailed off without completing what was sure to be a horrific sentence, and Hermione's thoughts were left floating unanchored between the unexpected pang of her own unremarkable family memory, and the core revulsion that accompanied any mention of Bellatrix Lestrange.
Is it… did it just get colder in here?
Her eyes refocused and snapped to Malfoy. His gaze was already on her.
I'm sorry to bring her up. His fingers trailed from her wrist down to her palm in a soft, winding path. Are you alright?
She nodded once and turned her head to face forward again, trying valiantly to center the love instead of the pain. I miss my dad.
His hand paused for only a moment, then continued its circuit. Oh.
They sat silently for a little while, neither voices nor minds speaking. Hermione was drifting in a melancholy she hadn't felt in quite some time, and she found herself wishing she were drifting on the empty waters of Malfoy's mind instead. But then, new images started pushing into her consciousness.
A pale hand with familiar, slender fingers reaching toward a bookshelf filled to perfection with aged tomes bound in colorful leather backings, selecting one of deep blue and easing it open so as not to crack the well-preserved spine. A heavenly scent of must and time spread from the pages, seeping from the hand-inked words into the air. Hermione breathed deeply, her eyes fluttering closed.
The same hand, only much smaller, lifting a trailing bedsheet up from the floor to reveal a mother kneazle and her litter of six sleeping kittens, each already the size of Pigwidgeon even though their eyes had yet to open, their pointed ears still pinned flat against their heads. As she watched in delight, one of the kittens awoke with a squeak and began plomping awkwardly toward the new source of light. Hermione all but squeaked herself when the mother reached out with a massive paw to scoop the little one back to her belly, the newborn responding by stepping on two of its siblings and beginning to nurse enthusiastically. A chorus of tiny mews soon filled the space and Hermione smiled through trembling lips.
Then it was a memory of Hermione herself, leaning over Samuel's dingy and letting out a small squeal as Mabel bumped them from below, not for the first time that day, judging by the lack of real apprehension on her face. She tasted the salt in the air and laughed along with the joy, so recently experienced, as it filled her mind and heart again. She saw the old man observing them suspiciously (How dare young people have fun in public? she thought sarcastically within her station) when she opened her eyes, but she didn't much care. Instead, she let out all of the air in her lungs and leaned to lay her head on Malfoy's shoulder, obnoxious hair be damned.
"Thanks," she said quietly, holding tight to his hand. "Can I see the books again?"
He chuckled softly, and they wandered around the Malfoy family library until their train arrived.
A/N: Welp, I just realized that in all this time, I've never once had Hermione floss. Let's just all collectively assume she's been doing so once a day, shall we?
