A/N:I could have gotten this posted when it was still technically Wednesday somewhere in the world, but I wanted to do a final edit with rested eyes. Thanks for your patience!

Exhalamus pressed at the edge of her lips, her brain and heart and body all more than willing to risk the display of magic if it meant not shooting up to the surface from—from however deep they were. Before Hermione could wrench her voice free from where it had snagged in her throat, however, she felt a hand clamp around her ankle, the sudden anchor arresting her ascent with a jolt. Malfoy's other hand joined the first and he tugged her back down to his level, both hands ultimately settling in a vice on her bicep. Hermione did her best to tighten her core, willing her body to remain upright while she soothed her mind (and Malfoy's) with affirmations that seeped through her station walls as oxygen seeped back into her lungs.

I'm safe. She took a deep breath in through her nose, and let it whisper out her mouth, unwilling to hold excess air in her lungs any longer than necessary until she got her weights back. It's okay. Another breath, her heart's tempo slowing to a more reasonable one despite the continued intensity of each thud, her eyes and posture hopefully continuing to exude deference and calm. She silently willed Malfoy to relax his rigid form. I'm okay.

You're okay, he repeated. His iron hold eased just barely, hands still forming a shackle around her arm. Hermione couldn't find it in herself to be upset in the slightest. Instead, she focused on how secure she felt in his grip, the comforting knowledge that he wouldn't let her go, and the fact that the merperson in front of them was looking, as far as she could tell, the tiniest bit sheepish.

They seemed rather surprised at the order of events and now shifted their gaze between Malfoy's hold on Hermione's arm, the far-away surface above, and the hefty belt still clasped in their hands. She could practically see their mind working to put all the pieces together: the actions and reactions, what might have happened if things had gone differently. Then their eyes met hers, and Hermione tried to identify any emotion in those piercing yellow orbs. But after a handful of unreadable seconds and a miniscule tilt of the head, the merperson simply shrugged and returned their attention to the piece of equipment they'd commandeered.

And so, a bit stunned but overall unscathed, Hermione and Malfoy simply… waited. It was a level of unease wholly different from that of the earlier darkness, or the knowledge of a lurking grindylow. They weren't being aggressed, they were being examined. Or, at least, their gear was.

After peering closely at the belt and adjusting it occasionally in their hands, the merperson shifted their attention to one of the velcro pockets. Hermione watched their arm muscles flex as they shifted the belt to one hand, using the other to grip the tab covering one of the two duro decks. She forced her breath to stay even and smooth, dutifully ignoring the instinct to reach out a warning hand as the weight was gently extracted and held up to eye level for examination.

They lost interest rather quickly, or perhaps just put the pieces together and had no additional questions. Whatever the reason, the merperson brought the stone back to its pouch and tried to put the thing back where it came from.

And tried. And tried again.

Maybe it was the webbing between their fingers, or maybe it was the snugness of the weight's fit within its casing (now bloated from the water's saturation), but there seemed to be some challenge in returning the weight belt to rights. And try as she might to trust, the longer it went on, the more that little voice in Hermione's mind worked to plan out potential next steps: If they drop it, it's alright, we're near enough to the floor and it's mostly stone, so it's not like we'll lose it in the muck. Ohh but it's a stone deck as well, hm. Either way we'll need some sort of permission to retrieve it, I suppose, and with my positive buoyancy it would have to be Malfoy that got it, so then how would I stay anchored? It's not like he'll be able to bow while holding onto me… and on and on within the confines of her station as the merperson attempted (and continuously failed) to slot the hardened deck into its pouch.

After several long breathing cycles, during which the ethereal being was clearly becoming more and more frustrated (and looking, oddly, more and more relatable to Hermione), they finally let out a short, croaking sort of growl that chilled her blood, then held both the belt and the stone deck out to her. She could feel Malfoy's fingers twitch at the movement, gripping further into the muscle of her upper arm as though ready to drag her body behind his at a moment's notice.

Peace, she sent to him, and called forth a breeze from her meadow to push in a whisper across the rippling surface of his ocean. I'm safe. They mean us no harm. She didn't think she imagined the waters gentling under her words.

Whatever contrition Hermione had initially noticed in the merperson had been replaced with a huffy sort of scowl, and she retrieved the proffered items with a bemused smile, her thoughts quieting now that she was called to interact. Malfoy shifted his hands to hook firmly around either hip, never allowing his touch to leave her as he moved to hold her in place. Hermione secured the weight in its holster with a little effort and then finally, finally reattached the belt around her waist.

Thanks, she sent him, along with the genuine relief accompanying her words. You can let go now. I trust them not to do that again.

So do I. Malfoy's voice in her mind had only the slightest edge to it. He released her slowly, his hands hovering a hair's breadth from her sides before confirming her buoyancy was, in fact, back to neutral. Hermione let out a tiny sigh and raised her eyes to take in the scene around them.

Dozens of merpeople had gathered in the village square. They all appeared to be around the same height—which looked to be about a head taller than Malfoy—but they differed greatly in their overall bulk. The representative who had nearly sent Hermione on the worst kind of bender was built like the human-fish equivalent of a rugby player, made even more apparent when they reached out a muscular arm, pointing to Hermione and Malfoy in turn.

"Hemera." Their voice was the creak of a wooden ship on windy waters, sharper than the swelling languor of the Stiomrabhaigh folk. "Soter."

Oh my gosh. Hermione humbly inclined her chin, tears easily filling but not falling from her eyes as her thoughts tumbled within the confines of her station. They really were ready for us.

"Why have you come?"

Malfoy's voice rang out strong through their connection and faint through their individual barriers.

"Your absence has been noticed above," he said precisely, a mixture of Unn's voice and the Stiomrabhaigh speaker's but quicker than both by a notch. "We come on behalf of the humans who border with your realm with a sincere appeal to reforge a connection with your colony."

There was murmuring among the crowd of merpeople, but Hermione's bubble head was much too thick for her to make out any words—or, for that matter, whether they were muttering in English or some unknown language of the deep.

"Why?"

It was a fair question, Hermione supposed, as she cleared her throat and breathed in to her diaphragm.

"A great evil presence has been eradicated from the wizarding world," she projected, and was pleased to find her voice powerful without needing to shout. "Our people are evolving. We wish for the opportunity to begin anew with our fellow magical beings, and empower a future for our societies that centers respect and, in time, cooperation." She paused for a response. None came.

"We know that humans have reaped violence and distrust throughout our history," Malfoy added after several long seconds. "Some of us more than others. We do not claim to be worthy of a chance to prove that we are changing."

Hermione bowed her head and lifted her arms once again in gentle supplication before lowering them back to her sides as Malfoy continued.

"Yet still we humbly ask your society to grant us this chance, today or in the future, under whatever terms you deem appropriate."

A light seemed to spark in the speaker's eyes at that.

"And if we demand alternate representation for wizardkind?" Their voice groaned like a battered hull, each phrase trailing off into openness. "Surely there are other humans more suitable to parley… a leader, perhaps, an appropriate figurehead…"

Deep in her station, Hermione bristled just a little. As far as she was concerned, she was the most suitable human currently alive to be in this position, her qualifications ranging from her years of experience in the DMCR to, oh, say, critically facilitating the demise of the aforementioned great evil presence. And with Malfoy's communications expertise in the mix, the partnership was practically perfect in every way.

But of course, they weren't Harry. So they likely weren't good enough.

"Our team was deliberately selected by representatives of the school and our government alike to meet with you, because of our individual and combined traits and abilities," Malfoy said smoothly after only the briefest pause, and Hermione wondered if he'd been thinking any of the same things. "We agree with the assessment that found us to be the ideal ambassadors of our race to meet with you. But we would, of course, defer to your judgment above our own."

The representative seemed to sneer at that, though Hermione couldn't claim to understand the nuance of merperson facial expression.

"You are so trusting of us?" The question groaned, a pressure in long-weathered joists. "And what have we done to earn that of you?"

"Nothing at all," Hermione answered truthfully. "It is an investment worth making."

With an elongated "Indeed," they turned from her and Malfoy and joined the merfolk gathered in the square. Hermione could hear a faint echo of their conversation, the vowels wide and dark and rolling through the water. She strained to identify a melody, a lilt—any sort of musical charm to their speech, but even reaching as her brain was, she couldn't distinguish any song in their conversation. Next time, she told herself. If there would be a next time.

After what felt like ages, the conference ended and the speaker turned back to face them once more. "We will not deny you future visitation," they said finally, after spearing them with a long, hard look, and Hermione felt her stomach meet with her heart in a tangle of leaps and flutters. "But we make no promises and owe you no loyalty at this time. The waters change, as does the sky." They raised their eyes to the bramble crown atop the statue's head. "We will consult both before we meet again."

Bow.

Hermione and Malfoy swept into their practiced arcs once again, this time allowing their bodies to swing like pendulums back to upright instead of holding the supplicating pose.

"We are in agreement, and we are grateful for your openness." Malfoy's voice was steady and low. "We will strive to be worthy of it."
"When may we meet you next?" Hermione added, unable to quell the creeping concern that their return might end up being somehow inconvenient to the colony.

The merperson looked unimpressed before them. "Your time is your own, humans," they sneered. "When next you make your way into our realm, we will be here still."

And just like that, after not even an hour of interaction and with no words of farewell, the leader turned and made a graceful exit. The others quickly did the same, some casting curious looks over their shoulders before disappearing, leaving Hermione and Malfoy virtually alone in the square.

Well, Malfoy's voice floated through her mind as he looked around their now-empty surroundings. I suppose that's its own show of trust, isn't it?

Hermione was straining with her eyes, trying to keep the retreating figures in her murky sight for as long as possible, but they'd vanished into the dark.

We shouldn't stay, she sent back, though she desperately wanted to. Let's go back.

She looked at Malfoy then and he was smiling as though he was having a very pleasant day. She sent him a tight one of her own—she certainly couldn't get past the bone-deep stress of the situation so quickly—and together they swam slowly in the direction they'd come from, preparing for a lengthy, controlled ascent out of the darkness.

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

By the time Hermione's head broke the surface of the lake, all she wanted to do was lay her tired body down and rest. But her logical brain was already crossing Meet with merfolk colony off of the day's agenda and shifting its focus to the next several to-dos: Dry off, Eat, Take notes, Check in. Sleep, unfortunately, was at the very end of that list.

It was a bit odd to see such a monumental undertaking grouped with others of a much less significant nature, but on particularly busy days, she found it helpful to create line items for even the smallest tasks. That way, each completed action brought her extra motivation to keep the productivity train moving.

As more of their bodies cleared the water, Hermione's legs felt the growing weight of gravity pressing at her from above. When there was no danger of incidental splashing, she canceled the bubble head charm and took in a gloriously fresh lungful of the crisp air. The sky still held remnants of the sun's rays, but not much of its heat from what Hermione could tell by the sudden chill that permeated her body. Malfoy must have noticed it, too, because before she could so much as reach for her wand, she felt the comforting slither of a warming charm wrap its way around her. She hummed gratefully and reached for his hand instead, snagging his pinky and awkwardly tangling their fingers together, laden as they both were by the heaviness of their own limbs. He flexed briefly in her grip but didn't speak, and Hermione didn't wonder why.

In a daze that she thought entirely reasonable, thank you very much, she angled them toward the tent. She breathed out a sigh of relief when she realized how close it was to where they had surfaced; they'd tried to take a similar path back up from the merfolk village, of course, but landmarks were a bit less reliable on the lake floor, and she wouldn't have been surprised to find they'd come up to an unfamiliar shoreline. But as it was, they reached their canvas shelter after less than a minute of dull plodding. She dropped her hand free of his to unzip the flap before squatting laboriously to snag their towels, which had been left intentionally by the entrance to avoid mucking up the inside in the anticipated post-adventure bumbling. She stood with a groan that seemed to come from her muscles themselves and turned to find herself face-to-chest with a Malfoy who was much closer than she'd expected. Already a little off balance, she stumbled backwards and would've tripped right into the tent if he hadn't grabbed her wrist and pulled her into him, crushing the soft towels between them. She sighed heavily and allowed him to move them a step away.

"Whoops," she said weakly, pressing one of the towels into his hands before bringing the other around her neck to drape around her arms. It was more challenging than it should have been, not just because of the leaden feeling in her arms, but also because Malfoy was still right there, like he'd suddenly lost all sense of personal space, and she had to put in extra effort to avoid hitting him in her sluggishness. She didn't even have the energy to mention it.

When she was suitably cuddled in the fluffy fabric, he swung his own towel around his shoulders and enveloped her in his encircling arms, bundling her against him as he locked her into a tight hug. The squelch that her face made against his water-logged shirt was absurd, and she huffed out a laugh that would've been a full round of giggles if she'd had it in her. But instead, she brought her arms around his ribs, holding onto her own forearms where they met at his back to anchor herself in place.

And there, held against the wall of his body, Hermione (quite unsurprisingly) began to cry.

Her tears were gentle and steady, a cleansing of the emotion she'd needed to keep inside of her from the moment they'd entered the Black Lake. Malfoy didn't say anything for a long while, and his only movement was a placid swaying back and forth where they stood. But when she started trembling against him, he brought a hand to the back of her neck, and she felt the pressure of his palm and the corner of the towel he held.

"You're still in there, love," he whispered against her head as his fingers began to stroke a path from her hairline to the start of her spine. "Don't forget to come out."

Hermione nodded stiffly into his chest and tried to focus on her mind, on where she was shut up tight in her station. She visualized the meadow outside her door, the trailing branches of lovely strong trees and the soft grasses kissing the wildflowers that burst from the ground. Malfoy walking through it or sitting on a fallen log, or lying in a clearing she'd made. She exhaled, and pictured a breeze sighing from her lungs and whispering through her mind, rustling the leaves and blades and petals and tousling the obnoxious perfection of his hair. And when she opened the door to peek out, she felt and saw all of it there, just as she'd imagined, and the breath that came next brought a swelling of life to everything her mind grew.

Oh my god, we did it, she sent him, and she was still weeping quietly but the tremors had stopped. Malfoy let out a strained sort of chuckle.

Right up to the Granger standard, eh? his voice rocked in gentle waves around her clearing. But she pulled away sharply, unhooking her arms and reaching up to grab his face with both hands. He looked at her, surprised at the sudden shift, his eyebrows raised.

"We did it," she repeated, too loud, but she stared defiantly into his eyes, daring him to disagree. His lips quirked, and he nodded.

"I suppose the Malfoy-Granger standard has a nice ring to it," he mused. Hermione laughed and disentangled herself, finally ready to dry off properly and change out of her wet clothes.

"Granger-Malfoy," she said over her shoulder as she ducked into their shelter. "Alphabetical order and all that."

"I could be convinced," he called after her.

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

Success.

Malfoy tried to persuade her that the poor man deserved more than that, but Hermione knew him better. By the time she got into the office Monday morning, her supervisor would be positively jittery with anticipation. He'd give her hell for making him wait the whole weekend with so little to go on, but she knew he found real delight in a bit of happy-ending suspense. So she crossed the penultimate item off of her mental checklist and stretched her legs out from their pretzel shape, finding a giddy sort of amusement in the swishing sound her sweatpants made against the sleeping bag.

"I'll tell him everything in excruciating detail in three days. He can wait." She cleared her throat and drank some water. "We could go in together, on Monday, if you'd like."

Malfoy grinned. "You mean from the same place, Granger? Think of the scandal."

"I know," she groaned, and it was genuine. "I'm just so tired. I don't feel like trying that hard right now. What I want is to finally have a slow couple of days, and to be with you, and it'd be quite nice to get both of those things at the same time." She put on a coy smile as a memory niggled at her. "You did say you'd get me anything."

Malfoy's surprised laugh carried a hint of the creaking ships they'd left behind, and Hermione damn near felt her insides light up and her brain short-circuit.

"Well then," he conceded, "yours or mine?"

Her smile turned sincere in an instant.

"Definitely mine," she said, reaching to lean her water bottle against a wall. "I have a cat."

"When can I come?"

Hermione snorted—a habit she'd picked up from Ginny and George somewhere along the way—and Malfoy rolled his eyes, looking legitimately disappointed in her.

"Honestly, Granger."

"Oh, lighten up," she chided. "Come over any time. Right off the train tomorrow, if you'd like."

"I'm absolutely going home for a proper shower and fresh clothes first," he told her flatly. "But I'll be there after."

And it was only a little strange that Draco Malfoy was going to be spending the weekend at Hermione Granger's house. She could show him the cassette player.

"Shall we disconnect then?" she asked, her heart content and her movements dragging as she tucked her feet into the sleeping bag, sliding her body in after. Despite their carefully regulated ascent, her every limb felt laden with fatigue. She spared a moment of gratitude that their remaining travel tickets were simple weekend passes to London, charmed to be accepted for any departure time they chose. She could go for a lie-in.

"Will you… stay? In here, I mean." Malfoy seemed suddenly awkward as he darted his eyes upward to indicate his mind, but he pressed resolutely forward as he shifted into his own sleep sack. "I've never read or heard anything about maintaining a connection unconsciously, and I don't know if it'll break when one or both of us fall asleep. But today was…" He trailed off, propped up on one elbow now, and his eyes were unfocused and aimed somewhere around her middle. "I'd like to keep it going for longer. If you're open to it."

Hermione's smile felt like honey, oozing purposefully into place. "I'll stay," she nodded, and then, because she just couldn't help herself, "—if you promise we can add unconscious Legilimency to our future-research list."

Malfoy snorted, but he laid down fully on his side and pulled her to him, her forehead tucking comfortably underneath his chin.

"Unn was right," Hermione murmured as she allowed her body to sink against his, her weariness finally overpowering the rest of her functions.

"I'm certain of it," Malfoy whispered back against her temple, "but you'll need to be more specific, darling."

She warmed at the endearment, and her mind allowed the memories already floating around her station to seep out into the meadow: Malfoy pointing her to the more isolated tables in the back of a café; Malfoy in their tent, carefully passing his wand to her, widening her tunneled vision one intentional breath at a time; Malfoy's grip on her wrist holding her back from splashing face-first into an enchanted pond; Malfoy guiding her through ruins as she shut off her physical senses to the world; Malfoy's steady hand leading her down narrow steps as the sea heaved around them, his body pressing hers firmly against the cabin door; Malfoy sitting quietly with her in her grief, offering comfort by sharing his own small moments of lived joy; Malfoy's sudden grasp on her ankle, almost inhuman in his reflexes, his hands holding her so securely where she needed to be.

Unn considering Malfoy carefully in the twilight before finally naming him.

Soter. Safety. Deliverance. Preservation from harm.

He shifted back onto his elbow so he was looking down at her, the hand that had found its way to the nape of her neck now pulling back to cup her face. There was the smallest of knits to his brow, and Hermione wanted to smooth it away with a brush of her thumb. But she was well trapped by his embrace, so she reached up with her head instead and flicked the tip of her nose along the path her finger would have taken before settling her forehead against his own.

"Thank you for saving me," she said, feeling his breath puff against her cheek as she spoke into the air between them, his ocean lapping serenely against all the places her presence met with his mind.

When he pressed forward to close the small space between their mouths, it was like a swell that rose in Hermione and pulled the air from her lungs all at once. His lips were insistent against hers, a conduit channeling a nearly overwhelming amount of assurance and affection and desire into her very being. All the while his fingers cradled her jaw, his thumb pressing lightly into her cheekbone as though for all that he was pouring into his kisses, he was afraid his touch might bruise her. Hermione felt her body rise instinctively to meet him, a rough sound breaking through her throat and into his hungry, awaiting mouth. She couldn't tell where in their minds she was anymore, and quite frankly she didn't care—it was her physical self that claimed her focus right now, experiencing Malfoy's attentions and the responses they were drawing out of her. The sighs and whimpers, the tingling and pounding, and (she was once again unsurprised to notice) the tears leaking from the corners of her eyes at the sincerity of the moment.

It wasn't long before Malfoy noticed her tears, too, his thumbs brushing them away as he slowed his kisses, hard intensity softening to chaste presses of lips that lingered with emotion and promise. Finally, Hermione couldn't help the laugh that bubbled up from somewhere near her belly, tumbling out of her and into the miniscule space between them. It was a soft thing, but rich and weighted with genuine gladness. She felt Malfoy smile against her, still holding her face, his forehead now resting against hers.

"Thank you for giving me a chance," he said into the falling dark.

"'d be stupid not to," Hermione replied through a yawn, though she knew immediately that it wasn't true. If she'd chosen to keep her heart closed to him it would have been valid, a form of protection following years of pain. But her blissed-out brain had officially made an executive decision to shut down for the night, and she let it. She pushed against Malfoy's chest until he rolled to lay on his back, then scooted her bundled form to drape comfortably across his torso. It took a few tries to get it just right, and then she asked, "Alright?"

"Perfect," Malfoy whispered, tugging gently on a coil of hair that draped languidly along her back, and the last thing Hermione remembered before she fell asleep was the peace that came with the smile on her face.

A/N: One more chapter, fronds. Since I apparently was not blessed with the gift of being able to look ahead at a heck-darn calendar, the final post is slated to go live on Christmas/the first day of Hanukkah. Truly, what a gift that would be for all of us!