A/N: I recently scored a lovely replica of Hermione's wand at a garage sale and it's been bringing me joy. It's also been bringing me perspective on just how long 10 3/4" really is and the practicality of carrying one around all the time. Wands seem kinda cumbersome, y'all.


The time came for the pair to gather their things and board the ten-forty train to Aberdeen. Hermione stood an arm's length behind the yellow line on the ground, trying valiantly to contain her amusement while Malfoy struggled around her bulging pack to, presumably, place a guiding hand on her lower back. After a moment or two of indecision that he certainly must've hoped was discrete, he let out a small huff and instead ended up giving her bag (and therefore her) a small push forward when the doors hissed open.

"If this is your idea of chivalry, then I'd rather you didn't," she harrumphed, reaching for a hand rail and doing her best to mind the gap. He scoffed.

"Please. You haven't come close to experiencing how chivalrous I can be," he said delicately as he stepped in behind her. "But I would hate for any doting to distract you from the work we're here to do, so I suppose that side of me will have to remain hidden for now."

The train wasn't particularly crowded—their car had about fifteen people scattered throughout—and Hermione led them to a pair of blue upholstered seats somewhat toward the back and away from most of the other passengers.

"You can keep it hidden forever, as far as I care," she said, doing her best to mimic his tone as she collected her notebook and pen before sliding her bag between her legs and into the space underneath her seat. Malfoy grunted as he hoisted his onto the overhead rack, unzipping it to gather his own supplies, and Hermione might have thought the noise was in response to the weight of his pack if she hadn't known it was charmed feather light. She grinned at his pointed look when he sat down beside her.

"You're going to get courted, Granger, and you're going to like it," he sniffed, haughty, and she chuckled at Hogwarts-Malfoy's snide voice coming out of this Malfoy's much kinder mouth. Then she felt a minuscule lurch in her stomach as his words caught up with her, and she stowed away the subsequent barrage of questions (Is 'courting' an actual process? If so, how formal is it? Am I expected to follow pureblood customs? Will his family be involved?) with barely a consideration. Plenty of time for all of that after.

The train quickly reached speed. Hermione folded her leg up onto the seat and shifted sideways to prop herself against the car wall, facing Malfoy. She flipped her notebook open to the In-weight-ables page and clicked her pen. Malfoy was thumbing idly through his, stopping occasionally to re-read some of his notes before jotting a few lines on a blank page, then leaning back and looking up at her.

So, he sent. Portable buoyancy that activates with caster intention. A sardonically raised eyebrow. Should be simple enough.

I was thinking we could start by brainstorming spells and charms that we might be able to apply to the task at hand, then narrow it down from there. Hermione was already jotting down some ideas in her notebook, projecting the image through their connection so Malfoy could follow along without requiring her narration.

And so the train ride began, and continued for a long time. Malfoy added his thoughts here and there, sometimes mentally and sometimes reaching right over to scrawl on the page, forcing her to turn her notebook ninety degrees so he wasn't attempting the feat upside-down, until their final list of options was compiled and replete with uncertainties:

Duro: turn object to stone – use to create base-level weights?

- We'll need uniform objects to ensure predictable distribution of mass

- Can we actively control the weight of each stone? Likely not, but worth trying

Reducio/Engorgio: reduce/expand portable air sacs around weights?

- + Unbreakable charm to help ensure nothing bursts

- I suppose we'll need to acquire belts and pouches

Inflatus: can the inflation levels be controlled?

- I've only ever seen things expand comically large

Opportunity to utilize old magic?

- I've yet to master wandless magic, let alone "feel" the old kind, so this seems unlikely for me

- You're a bright boy with an excellent tutor, there may be hope for you yet

Hermione was surprised by her lack of annoyance at Malfoy's uneven lines interrupting her otherwise tidy notes—in fact, she found herself more impressed that he could maintain a relatively smooth script, writing sideways as he was. The train stopped a handful of times during their journey, but other than the few occasions when they needed to surreptitiously tilt their notebooks away from boarding and exiting passengers (at which points Malfoy leaned his body further into Hermione's space than was strictly necessary, and she blew impishly at the fine hair that dangled to brush against her cheek), neither of them paid much attention to the changes in their surroundings.

After a time, the cool, robotic female voice enunciated its broadcast to the train's passengers: "The next station is Aberdeen."

"Right," Hermione said, stretching her arms upward and rolling her neck languidly before carefully closing her notebook. Malfoy had shut his already and was standing to pull down his pack. "I'd like to go shopping before we make our way to the Ivywort entrance."

He grinned at her as he sat back down, leaning over to kiss her cheek. "I knew you'd come around, Princess," he said, and winked incorrigibly. "You just tell me what you want and it's yours."

Hermione rolled her eyes so hard it actually started a headache behind her brow. She fixed Malfoy with a glare.

"I plan to obtain supplies and information for our underwater field work," she said icily, but he just chuckled, his expression unchanged. "And I plan to do so on the Ministry's dime."

At that, his smile did falter a little.

"What's a dime?"

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

The 15-minute walk from the train station to the magical community's access point was on rather a main road and conveniently housed everything Hermione and Malfoy could think to acquire for this final stage of their expedition—which, fortunately, wasn't much. They found sturdy utility belts at a surprisingly quaint military surplus store with peace signs hanging in the windows, then purchased ten decks of cards from a nearby corner shop. Malfoy insisted on paying each time, but Hermione simply rolled her eyes and put down the DMCR-provided credit card, wearing down his indignation with drawn-out descriptions of the convoluted reimbursement process she'd force him to go through ("don't ever let the Ministry take more from you than you've agreed to give!") once their expedition was completed.

When she caught sight of their next stop, her grip tightened on Malfoy's hand (their fingers had been finding ways to touch ever since they'd gotten off the train) and she pulled him into a slightly faster pace.

"Oh, now we're on a schedule, are we?" he muttered, the plastic bag full of card decks and leather holsters swinging from his forearm at the sudden jolt.

Hermione smiled to herself, unfazed. "This part might take a bit more time," she explained. Then she steered them up the pathway and through the dark wooden doors of the Aberdeen Central Library.

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

It was quite unnerving, the way Malfoy could maintain a completely neutral outward appearance, when on the inside his mind was practically vibrating with curiosity every time he encountered a new muggle system. The idea of a library card, for example, seemed to absolutely baffle him, and Hermione struggled to keep a straight face as she showed hers (charmed to match whichever library system she might find herself in) to the librarian for access to the web, Malfoy hissing questions all the while through their still-active connection.

Why do you need to prove your eligibility if it's free for anyone to use? What's that thing she just slid your card through? It doesn't even have your picture on it—how can she be sure you're who you say you are?

The inquiries and observations continued at odd intervals as he followed her to the standing desks at the back of the main room. Hermione didn't bother answering; Malfoy seemed to be trying to puzzle things out on his own, and she wondered if he was intentionally sharing his musings or if they were simply leaking into her mind space. She immediately rejected the latter option when she chanced a sidelong glance at his face as they approached the computers and he looked so unbothered, so perfectly natural. His Occlumency skills were not in question.

Hermione set her pack gently on the ground, and Malfoy's fascination only increased as she juddered the corded mouse to disable the sleep screen before pulling up the internet browser. She could feel his breath tickling her neck as he leaned over to look at the monitor, and Hermione couldn't help but wonder what they must look like to anyone who might be paying them the slightest attention.

Malfoy was all but pressed against her back trying to discern how the actions of her hands translated to the bulky box in front of them, his chin touching her shoulder and his mouth occasionally letting out a puff of air when her exceptionally frizzy hair made its way into his line of sight. He was keeping his hands to himself, but canoodling was still the word that came to mind (locked tight in her station, of course), and despite years of forcing herself not to give a damn what others may think, she couldn't help feeling slightly uncomfortable that strangers might be put off by such a public display.

She had begun scrolling through the search results for 'decompression sickness' when Malfoy apparently decided he couldn't hold back any longer. Placing one hand on her hip, he reached around with the other and began poking randomly at the keyboard, then looking back up at the screen to see the impact of his experimenting. For the most part nothing happened, but from time to time Hermione had to stifle a growl of frustration when his attention to the space bar caused the webpage to jump-scroll to a new section.

"Why are the letters laid out like this?" he whispered against her ear, his index finger slowly pressing down on individual keys, and Hermione deduced he was trying to type out a familiar word. "It's asinine."

"What do you know about the bubble head charm?" she asked him instead, mirroring his hushed tone and hoping the question would distract him from the keyboard before he found the space bar yet again.

Malfoy did pause at that, his finger hovering over the G, and she felt his chin brush her hair as he tipped his head to the side in consideration. He was quiet for a long moment before he settled on, "Care to be more specific?"

"Right." Hermione pointed to the portion of the screen where she had selected a block of text to make it stand out from the rest of the page. "I mean, does the bubble bring in breathable air particles through the barrier from the surrounding environment? Or is it a closed, self-regulating system?"

He hummed thoughtfully, and she felt him lean closer still to read the highlighted words on the screen.

When a person breathes, the air dissolves into the blood from the lungs. This takes some time, and the amount of gas that can dissolve depends on the pressure around the person. If the pressure is greater, more gas can dissolve.

When a diver goes deeper, the pressure increases. This makes more nitrogen and oxygen dissolve in the diver. At the end of the dive, the diver must return to the surface of the water where there is less pressure.

If the diver goes up slowly the pressure will change slowly, and there will be enough time for the dissolved gas to be safely removed. If the pressure change is too quick for enough of the dissolved gas to be removed, the nitrogen may form bubbles in the blood and other parts of the diver's body. These bubbles will get bigger when the pressure lessens as the diver gets nearer to the surface, and can block oxygen to crucial organs or body parts.

When he finally leaned back, she turned around to face him. His hand stayed on her hip as she rotated, but he backed off a bit further to allow them some propriety in their new position. Still, Hermione had to tilt her head up to meet his eyes in such close quarters.

"There's no known time limit on the charm," she continued quietly, "and at the very least we've used it for several hours at a time, so we should have no issues there. However, we don't exactly know how deep into the lake we'll be going. If for some reason we have to leave the colony quickly, I want to make sure we're prepared to surface as safely as possible to avoid reckless endangerment.

"If the bubble head charm drew in breathable particles from the surrounding environment, we wouldn't have to worry, because nitrogen isn't a component of water and typically registers a very low concentration in freshwater lakes. But since the charm can be used in toxic environments that may not contain any breathable particles, I imagine it must create its own enclosed system rather than one that draws from outside its barrier. And since nitrogen is a common element in the air we breathe, it's likely present in the atmosphere of the bubble head charm." Malfoy nodded, his brow furrowed as he considered this new information. Hermione wondered if he was the type to have studied the scientific makeup of the natural world; it certainly hadn't been part of the Hogwarts curriculum.

"So we'll need to make a plan for a regulated ascent," he said slowly, "and a backup plan in case we're forced to surface quickly." Hermione couldn't contain her smile as she felt a now-familiar excitement (excitement, of all things) at his ability to not only digest new concepts, but quickly apply fresh knowledge in critical ways. It struck her once again that either the bar for impressing her was incredibly low, or Malfoy was legitimately one of the few people in her life who enjoyed using his brain as much as she did hers. Or both, her mind whispered slyly in the confines of her station. She nodded to herself. Probably both.

Hermione spent the next ten minutes copying down ascent time tables for scuba divers while Malfoy noted the symptoms and treatments of decompression sickness. Try as she might, she couldn't keep him from attempting to use the mouse, which resulted in random text selection, scrolling, and right-click menu appearances that added quite a bit of time to their task and left Malfoy huffing in annoyance. He'd pulled unceremoniously out of their connection after the third fucking hell had found its way into her mind, and by the time they left the library, he was more flustered than she'd seen him since their trip began (nightmares notwithstanding). She slipped her hand into his as they walked down the relatively empty street.

"So are computers something you'd like us to add to the list, or…?" she trailed off, carefully maintaining a straight face lest he think she was mocking him and reject the technology entirely. But he just laughed, his grip already relaxed in hers.

"It can be low on the list," he replied lightly. "Possibly the lowest. I think I prefer books."

Hermione couldn't help herself. She tugged him to her and kissed him soundly on the lips, a quick but certain thing. He grinned down at her when she pulled away.

"You're too easy, Granger," he smirked. "I already know all the right buttons to push."

She chuckled and carried on in the direction of Ivywort Pharmacy, just barely holding herself back from skipping and not at all holding back her smile at the thought of giggling with her mum as a teenager, the two of them bounding down a sidewalk without a care in the world who saw, trading the phrase "Skipping is good exercise!" back and forth at random intervals, a whimsical inside joke with long-forgotten origins.

When they reached the pharmacy and made their way around to the back of the building through an alleyway, the instructional reference to the "vandalized griffon statue" fell into place. A stone carving of a beast with a lion's body and rear legs combined with the head, wings, and forelegs of an eagle came into view. It was, unsurprisingly, not to scale, only coming up to Hermione's navel with a wingspan barely wider than Malfoy's broad shoulders. One of the front legs was outstretched, muscles coiled and talons slightly curled upwards as though beckoning.

And each of the sharp foreclaws was painted a different color of the rainbow.

Hermione snorted at her supervisor's technically accurate but rather extreme application of the term vandalized—the paint job was quite tame and tastefully done—while Malfoy did a quick circuit around the sculpture. Then she heard him groan.

"What is it?" she asked, anxiety finding her more quickly than she'd have liked. She watched him school his grimace, then he lifted his eyes to meet her gaze.

"It's a griffon door," he deadpanned.

Hermione blinked, the simple delight of the pun dawning slowly and bringing with it a goofy grin that threatened to burst free. She took a beat to rein in her expression. When she had herself under control, she asked with a casual air, "Well that's clever, isn't it?"

Her analysis was not appreciated, if Malfoy's pointed look was anything to go by. Really, Granger? his expression seemed to say, and it was so loud that Hermione could almost hear it bouncing around her mind, no mental connection required. No point in stopping now.

"Alright then," she said, her voice crisp and her senses shifting back to high alert for any nonmagical passers-by. "Best not waste time. Shall we slither in?"

Malfoy groaned again, louder, and his shoulders actually sagged with the weight of her (as she saw it) witty repartee. She was, after all, only trying to ensure he felt properly represented in this part of their expedition. Yet he looked visibly crestfallen as he glared at her halfheartedly.

"I want you to know I'm decidedly less attracted to you right now," he grumbled, then reached down to place his hand on the griffon's outstretched palm—and disappeared from view.

Hermione took one more look around the back alley where she now stood alone and, confirming there was no one else in sight, followed Malfoy through the passage to the magical portion of Aberdeen.

She emerged in a serene village with sunlit mist clinging to the stones of the shops, the griffon's rough claw passing her gently through the threshold and into Malfoy's awaiting hand. Hermione would have groused at his gallantry if she hadn't been downright impressed by such a seamless execution of pass-the-Granger between statue and man. Instead, she cast her eyes about the cozy main street, reveling in the buzz of magic around her before lifting her unclaimed hand to glance at her watch.

"Two o'clock," she announced with a nod. "I'm glad we got the shopping done on the muggle side of things. We're right on schedule for our arrival at Hogwarts."

"Okay." Malfoy's voice sounded odd and she glanced up at him inquisitively. He was eying her warily. "So no more stops before apparating? Just straight to Hogsmeade?"

"Yeeees…" Hermione's brow furrowed as she considered him. His gaze was determined, unbreaking as it seemed to search her face, and she could see a mild trepidation there. "What is it, Malfoy?"

He sighed and turned her, his grip on her hand tightening. Heart thudding in her chest, she looked around with more than a little dread pumping through her veins. And that's when she saw it.

TWO WEEKS ONLY!

CLOSING THE SHOPPE!

EVERYTHING MUST GO!

It was straight out of one of Hermione's favorite daydreams: a gnarled stone building at least four stories tall with wide, polished windows glinting cheerfully out into the street, beckoning passersby to enter its quiet wonder. And shelved just inside the door, stacked against the windows, and piled overflowing into a small cart next to the griffon statue (which on this side was fully tie-dyed in rainbow colors except for the foreclaws) were hundreds and hundreds of books.

Hermione felt a tug on her hand and realized, unsurprisingly, that her feet had already decided to take her through the door to what she now saw was Humdinger's Hybrid Book Shoppe, and the only thing stopping her was Malfoy's unmoving form. She whimpered at the resistance and turned back to him.

"I'm sure we have time," she breathed, and he had the audacity to chuckle. She felt her face take on a pleading expression as she tried pulling him toward her—or, barring that, escaping his grip. Neither worked. The whimper came out as a whine this time.

"You know we don't," he said gently, and of course he was right, but how could he be smiling at such a tragedy? She turned quickly and tried for it again, but he held firm.

"I'm decidedly less attracted to you right now," she muttered, and he laughed openly. She knew she was pouting, but she also knew this was a high-level offense from someone who claimed to care about her at all, even if he'd only started doing so over the past week.

"Tell you what, Granger," he said, and he pulled at her hand until her body reluctantly allowed itself to be drawn backwards, her back meeting with his chest. She let out an angry huff at the impact. "The sale seems to be on at least through the weekend." His free hand had moved to her arm, rubbing up and down gently as he spoke. But he wasn't fool enough to let go of her hand and risk her escaping. "Why don't we plan to come back on Saturday? Assuming we survive the grindylows, that is." He paused while she begrudgingly thought it over. Then he added, "And only if you agree to let me buy you a book."

Hermione sighed wistfully and considered offering to let him buy her all the books she wanted if it meant that much to him, so long as they could go in now. But he was right, obnoxious smile and all. There wasn't time.

"Fine," she allowed. "But if you die in that lake and don't come back as a ghost and find a way to escort me here, I'm going to be absolutely furious."

His subsequent kiss to her temple only made things a little better.


A/N: Decompression sickness description leveraged heavily from the Simple Wikipedia page on the topic, which is one of my favorite resources for basic explanations of complex topics.