Chapter 8: We All Live in a Yellow Submarine
The morning sun glinted off the surface of Lake Burley Griffin, its waters stretching in a long, elegant sweep through the heart of Canberra. Designed rather than naturally formed, the artificial lake was the centrepiece of the capital, a mirror to the stately government buildings and modern architecture that framed its shores. It was deceptively serene—a vast expanse of still water, only occasionally disrupted by the rhythmic glide of a rowing team or the lazy drift of a tourist ferry. To Hermione, it was an odd kind of beauty—clearly artificial, yet seamlessly woven into the natural contours of the land.
A thin veil of mist lingered over the surface, catching the golden light in hazy ribbons as Hermione, Draco, and Titus stood on the dock, waiting for their boat to arrive. She watched the water and tried to ignore the flutter of nerves in her stomach. As much as she was used to magical transportation, there was always something particularly unnerving about magical travel for Hermione.
Malfoy's voice broke her reverie. "How on earth do they keep the muggles away?" he drawled, hands in his pockets, looking as though he had better things to do than stand around.
"More repelling charms than you can imagine," Titus interjected. Hermione and Malfoy both turned to look at him, shocked. They had quickly grown accustomed to him being a silent mountain that just followed them from place to place and mostly took up position outside wherever they were visiting. He never usually spoke to them directly.
"Sounds efficient to maintain," Draco muttered, glancing at Hermione with raised brows.
Hermione ignored his complaint, keeping her gaze fixed on the lake. Suddenly, a ripple appeared in the center of the water, faint at first but quickly building into a circular wave. The surface bubbled, and an eerie green glow emanated from below. Draco fell silent, both of them staring as the glow grew brighter, and then, with a loud rush of water, a large, sleek boat emerged from beneath the lake.
The vessel, black and gleaming, rose steadily from the depths, water cascading from its sides in sheets. It was streamlined, with an enchanted, dark wood finish and faintly glowing runes etched along its hull. The boat was reminiscent of the Durmstrang ship Hermione had seen during the Triwizard Tournament, though this one bore an Australian Ministry emblem on its prow—a serpent coiled around a mountain, both gleaming inlaid silver against the dark wood.
The boat came to a halt in front of them, its gangway lowering gracefully onto the dock with barely a sound. The captain, a tall woman with a salt-and-pepper braid and deep crow's feet around her eyes, gave them a polite nod.
"Welcome aboard," she said, her voice calm but commanding. "I'll be your captain as we travel to Sydney this morning."
She exhaled slowly, fingers tightening around the strap of her bag. The logical part of her brain knew this would be perfectly safe—but another, fearfuk part of her resisted. The water was still, the kind of eerie, mirror-like stillness that made her stomach twist, like a spell that was just a breath away from breaking.
She reminded herself she wasn't sixteen anymore, wasn't about to be dragged to the depths with her breath locked in her lungs. Still, as the ripple spread across the lake and the green glow flickered beneath the surface, she felt the faintest prickle of unease crawl along her spine.
She exchanged a glance with Malfoy, who, for once, looked as captivated and trepidatious as she felt. He recovered quickly, raising an eyebrow as he followed her onto the gangway.
"After you, Granger," he said, feigning indifference as he stepped aside to let her board first.
She resisted the urge to roll her eyes, focusing instead on the ship's enchantments as she stepped onto the deck. The wood was smooth and polished, humming faintly beneath her feet as if alive. The magic here felt strong and intensely focused. She glanced over the edge, watching as the lake water lapped softly against the hull, somehow more aware than usual of the invisible wards that protected them.
Draco joined her at the railing, leaning over as the boat began to sink, ever so slowly, back into the water. She hadn't been expecting it to submerge so quickly, and her fingers gripped the railing tightly.
"Hold on," the captain warned, her voice carrying easily over the soft gurgle of the water. "We'll be fully submerged in less than a minute. Take a breath if you need to. The cabin's charmed for comfort."
Malfoy leaned closer to Hermione, an almost conspiratorial look in his eyes. "Breath-holding, Granger? Didn't you get enough practice when they shoved you under the lake as Krum's prize back in fourth year?"
She felt him lean in slightly, the warmth of his breath against her ear sending an involuntary shiver down her spine. She scolded herself for reacting at all—it was just Malfoy, just his usual smug, too-close way of getting under her skin. But for a brief, disorienting moment, she was back in the Black Lake, the crushing silence of the water surrounding her, limbs frozen as she waited to be saved.
She inhaled sharply, shaking off the memory. She wasn't helpless. Not anymore.
"Don't pretend you weren't wishing it had been you at the time. I saw the way you looked at Krum," she shot back, her voice steadier than she felt. A thrill ran through her as the water rose over the bow.
The lake closed over them, and within moments, they were completely submerged, the blue-green depths of the lake surrounding the boat on all sides. Sunlight filtered down through the water, casting shifting patterns on the deck as they glided silently beneath the surface. Hermione felt a deep, almost reverent silence settle around them, broken only by the faint hum of magic.
As they descended deeper, the daylight faded, replaced by an ethereal glow that radiated from the boat's hull. Hermione glanced up, watching as schools of fish darted past, their silvery bodies flashing like coins in the dim light.
"Feels like we're intruding," she murmured, half to herself.
"On what, exactly?" Malfoy asked, his voice softer than usual, almost contemplative.
"On… I don't know. Being underwater, I suppose. Like we're guests here." She smiled at her own words, surprised by how they sounded out loud. But to her surprise, Malfoy nodded, his expression thoughtful.
"It's easy to forget, living in a world of spells and charms," he said quietly, "that magic can still surprise us."
They stood in companionable silence for a moment longer, neither willing to break the quiet awe of the moment. The boat's glow intensified, guiding their way through the water. They travelled through the murky depths for hours, until finally, they began to rise, the surface of another body of water moving closer. Sunlight filtered down again, brighter and more golden as they ascended.
In a matter of moments, they broke through, water cascading from the hull as they emerged into the open air. Hermione took a deep breath, filling her lungs with fresh air as the boat settled atop the water. She turned to Draco, and a shared understanding passed between them.
As they approached the dock on the other side, Malfoy smirked, returning to his usual irreverence. "See, Granger? That wasn't so bad. Just a momentary bit of sightseeing on our way to 'saving the world' or whatever noble quest you think we're on."
She gave him a confused look but let it slide, feeling a light pressure on her lower back as he steered her toward the captain. It was warm, and she surprised herself by not minding it.
As the boat rose from the waters of Lake Burley Griffin, Sydney opened up before them in all its vivid, sun-drenched splendour. The iconic arches of the Harbour Bridge loomed above, casting playful shadows across the shimmering water, while the towering sails of the Opera House gleamed in the afternoon light. Draco had to admit, for a muggle-built city, it wasn't half bad.
Hermione, clearly exhilarated by the arrival, was already moving at a brisk pace as they disembarked, her gaze sweeping across the skyline. "Come on, Malfoy," she said, with an energy that made it seem as if they hadn't spent hours travelling. "The State Library is just up the road."
Malfoy was dragging his feet a bit, evidently trying to take in the sights as they moved through Circular Quay. Titus followed some paces behind, unhurried.
The smell of salt filled the air, mingling with the faint scent of coffee and fresh pastries from nearby cafes. Sunlight glinted off the water, and seabirds swooped low, calling out to each other above the bustling crowd of tourists. The atmosphere was vibrant, alive, and drenched in sunlight—a stark contrast to the chilly weather they had just come from.
"You know, Granger, you could at least pretend we're here to enjoy the view," Malfoy drawled, adjusting his pace to match her determined strides.
She didn't bother to look back, too busy scanning the streets ahead. "The view will be there tomorrow. Our research cannot wait."
Malfoy sighed loudly, casting a last wistful glance at the glittering harbour. Hermione rolled her eyes and kept walking.
They moved up Macquarie Street, the historic architecture of Sydney blending seamlessly with modern skyscrapers until they finally reached the grand steps of the State Library of New South Wales. Its imposing columns and sandstone facade stood proudly against the bright sky, as if to declare that knowledge, here, was sacrosanct. Draco, however, could only imagine the volumes of dull, muggle-books that would be found within.
"Wait," a deep, young voice intoned.
Hermione and Malfoy halted and turned to face Titus. He had a serious look on his face.
"You two go on ahead. I'm going to scan the perimeter and keep watch. I'll meet you here when it's time to leave."
"How will you know we're leaving?" Malfoy asked.
Titus gave him a genial smile in return and said, "I'll know."
Hermione exchanged a look with Malfoy and then shrugged, ushering him toward the entry to the building.
Inside, Hermione moved with swift purpose, glancing at the placards and directories as if they held a personal invitation. She caught Malfoy's gaze moving upward at the expansive, ornate ceiling as she led him through the library's famous reading room. She could tell he was impressed, despite his whingeing.
At the very back of the room, tucked into a corner, Hermione spotted the subtly marked bronze plaque by a desk—a sign only those in the know would recognize as the librarian's point of contact for magical visitors.
Hermione approached the desk with confidence, clearing her throat as the librarian, a middle-aged woman with glasses perched low on her nose, looked up.
"I'm looking for a first edition of Bézier's Bestiary Compendium," Hermione said quietly, enunciating the fictional title with the precision of someone well-versed in magical codes.
The librarian's eyes flickered knowingly. She gave a slow, assessing nod. "I see. And… would that be the 1947 edition?" she asked, her voice carefully neutral.
"Indeed, the 1947," Hermione replied, slipping a slight emphasis onto "1947."
The librarian's mouth quirked in approval. She reached for her pen, tapping it twice against the counter. A hidden latch clicked, and the scent of parchment and old leather drifted into the air as a nearby door unlocked and slowly swung open. "Right this way."
Hermione turned to her companion who raised an eyebrow, seemingly impressed despite himself as Hermione led the way through the door into the library's hidden wizarding archives.
"Here we are, just tap twice on the door when you want to come back through and I'll cast a quick notice-me-not," the librarian told them quietly.
"Excuse me," Hermione cut in before the librarian had a chance to move away, "I'm looking for early wizarding explorer records—or notes on coastal landmarks from the late 1700s."
The librarian's eyes widened. "Oh, you must be referring to the Captain's Chronicles collection. Early European exploration records are in that section." She pointed down a long row of shelves lined with thick, well-worn volumes. "Just let me know if you need assistance."
"Thank you," Hermione replied, already moving towards the shelves, leaving Draco to follow at a slower pace.
Why not just Accio the entire lot and call it a day?"
Hermione sighed, rolling her eyes. "Because that's not how research works, Malfoy. And because some of these books are likely warded against Summoning Charms."
He quirked an eyebrow. "Of course they are. Leave it to wizards to make accessing knowledge an obstacle course."
Ignoring him, Hermione started down the nearest aisle, scanning the titles. The silence between them was almost companionable as Draco trailed behind her, his hands tucked casually into his pockets.
Eyeing Malfoy, she took out her wand and cast a muffilato on them both as a precaution before shifting her attention back to the stacks.
She stopped abruptly when her gaze fixed on a particular shelf laden with dusty old volumes. "Here," she said, her voice barely above a whisper as she reverently pulled a thick, leather-bound book from the shelf. "This is a record maintained by one of Fairweather's rival crews."
Malfoy raised an eyebrow, glancing sceptically at the book. "That was quick. Looks riveting judging by the cover."
Hermione had already cracked open the book, her eyes scanning the lines. "If it gets us closer to the fountain, yes. I'd read ten more of these if that's what it takes. Don't tell me you're bored already?"
"Oh, not at all," Draco replied with a smirk, leaning lazily against a nearby shelf. "I'm thrilled to be witnessing you in your natural habitat once again."
Hermione ignored him, her fingers tracing down the page as she read with rapt focus. "This particular passage mentions encounters with locals who guided them to springs in the Blue Mountains. And here—" she pointed at a specific line, her excitement building, "there's a reference to an 'enchanted water source' that was only visible to those who understood the land's magic."
He snorted, peering over her shoulder. "Sounds like a creative way of saying they got lost and then got lucky with some help from the locals."
Hermione shot him a glare. "Don't you ever get tired of pretending to be uninterested?"
"Not particularly," he replied with a smirk, although his eyes lingered on the page with genuine curiosity.
They continued like this, Hermione paging through one reference after another, cross-referencing every mention of water sources or mythical landmarks that could potentially point to their goal. Malfoy seemed content watching her attack the pages, rather than actually making himself useful.
"What's that one say?" he asked, gesturing to a section she'd paused on.
Hermione read aloud, her voice soft in the quiet of the library. "There's a line about certain springs being hidden by enchantments only the locals could see through."
"Convenient," he murmured. "An entire continent, Granger, and we're supposed to believe that one clueless Brit stumbled upon what we're after?"
She met his gaze, a small smile on her face. "This particular crew may not have found the fountain, but they knew it existed. And if they knew, maybe others did too. That's how research works, Malfoy."
He raised his hands in mock surrender. "Oh, forgive me, Professor. I had no idea research involved blindly following vague rumors from two centuries ago."
Hermione rolled her eyes but kept reading. The library seemed to grow quieter around them as they fell into a rhythm, the sounds of the city fading to a murmur in the background. At some point, Malfoy disappeared.
He was gone. Of course, he was gone.
Hermione's fingers clenched around the parchment in front of her, her frustration rising in waves. She had told herself—sternly, rationally—that she didn't care what he did, that it wasn't her business if he found more entertainment in chatting up some local witch than actually doing the Merlin, could he not at least pretend to be helpful?
She tried not to stew on it. She really did. But it was hard. You would think with all her practice being stuck in the library alone while trying to save Harry's neck, that she would be used to it. But it rankled because it was Malfoy and well… it was easy to be annoyed with his stupid, pointy face.
Her annoyance only grew when she heard whispers from the shelves and turned to see Malfoy himself, leaning in towards a younger-looking woman with honey-blonde hair. They were whispering so Hermione couldn't hear what they were saying, but she did hear the witch give a throaty laugh and then saw her gesture for Malfoy to follow her further into the stacks.
Well… Australia was a free country. Malfoy was certainly free to go off and have his dalliances while she did all the work. She imagined them somewhere, not too far from where she was seated, in a passionate embrace. Malfoy pushing the woman up against a shelf full of books.
Her pen hovered over her notes, but her mind betrayed her, picturing them instead—Malfoy with that lazy, practised smirk, some blonde woman giggling, brushing her hair over one shoulder, leaning in—
Hermione slammed her book shut.
She was not thinking about this.
Except that she was.
Why am I thinking about this? Stop. This is none of your business, Hermione!Her cheeks heated as she forcefully shoved the thought away.
She busied herself once more with the books. Not five minutes later, Malfoy sidled out looking smug and took a seat across from her at a low, comfortable table lit by a beautiful stained-glass window. She would not do him the service of mentioning it.
She did not ask where he had been.
She absolutely, resolutely refused to ask.
Instead, she kept her eyes on the documents in front of her, ignoring the way he sprawled into the chair across from her, looking irritatingly self-satisfied. She refused to give him the satisfaction of even a glance, refused to acknowledge the way her stomach twisted in something sharp and unfamiliar.
She focused on her notes, only on her notes.
But when he finally spoke, that smug drawl cutting through the quiet, her hands curled into fists.
He placed some papers in front of her, right over her book in fact. Actually, it looked like photocopies, which really had Hermione intrigued.
"You know, Granger," he drawled, "There are these amazing people whose job it is to find information from books. I hear they are called librarians."
She wanted to punch him. She wouldn't because violence was never the answer, as she had repeatedly told Rose over the years. But she wanted to.
"Oh, is that what you were doing? Collecting information? Rather looked like flirting from where I'm sitting."
He gave her a devilish smile, "The two aren't necessarily mutually exclusive."
"She looked very pretty," Hermione blurted and then immediately flushed, lowering her gaze.
Malfoy merely shrugged casually. "I suppose. I wasn't really paying attention."
Hermione's mouth fell open in shock. She felt rather offended on the poor witch's behalf.
"So, what's this then?" she asked, thinking it better to change the subject completely.
"Beryl had a delightful Muggle contraption that can make duplicates. I had her copy us a map from the late 1800s—quite different, you see, to the maps we use nowadays. I thought we should cross-reference."
Hermione's gaze snapped up to him sharply. He was looking very pleased with himself, but she had to concede that it had been clever and a detail she had overlooked.
"Also, Beryl said that Fairweather's journal from his expedition to Australia is in the Brisbane Maritime Museum up in Queensland," Malfoy dropped casually.
Hermione's mouth fell open a second time. "What?!" she almost screeched.
Malfoy shrugged. "Beryl is Muggle-born and she did her dissertation on early wizarding communities in colonial Australia. Apparently, she cited an extract from the journal, which is how she knows where it is."
Hermione could kiss him. She really could. Except that would be weird—and also weird because he had probably been kissing some random librarian about five minutes ago. But honestly, she could probably overlook that because he had found them such a strong lead!
"I can almost forgive you for seducing that young girl to get that information. She looked about 20 years younger than you!" Hermione said.
Malfoy's face did a strange, drooping thing. His mouth turned down into a most serious and confused frown. It was odd; she was used to the spectrum of his facial features only ranging from amused smirk to smug smirk.
"Granger!" he hissed, "I did not sleep with that girl. I was charming, yes, but she was basically a child. Not that much older than Scorpius! I just asked her to do her goddamn job and help me find some information!"
They were buoyed by the prospect of the journal itself, but Hermione also wasn't going to let that get in the way of a good time.
Hours passed as they combed through the collection, each passage feeding Hermione's quiet enthusiasm and deepening Malfoy's reluctant curiosity. The sun dipped lower, casting golden light through the library's stained-glass windows and painting the magical archives in warm hues. She realized she'd lost track of time entirely when she glanced over to find Malfoy snoozing, uncomfortably folded into the armchair across from her.
Finally, Hermione closed the book in front of her with a satisfying thud, her face alight with triumph. "We've got enough leads here to start forming a route. I haven't found a primary source, but there are plenty of secondary references to Fairweather's route up the east coast. And we know for certain he was in the Blue Mountains."
Malfoy stretched, cracking his neck with an audible pop. "Thank Salazar for that," he muttered before loudly snapping his book shut.
Hermione winced. "Honestly, Malfoy, could you be any louder?" she whispered sharply, glancing around. Fortunately, the magical section was empty except for them.
He gave her a lazy smirk, standing and rolling his shoulders like he'd been subjected to some terrible punishment. "You're lucky I didn't start snoring hours ago. I think I lost the will to live somewhere around page four hundred."
"Oh, please," she shot back, gathering her notes. "I'd have thought all that lounging around on your family's estate would have prepared you for at least an afternoon in the library."
"Believe it or not, Granger, even I have limits to the drudgery I can tolerate."
"Have lots of hobbies, do you? To fill your days while the plebs work to fill your coffers?" she asked sweetly, stacking her papers with an air of exaggerated nonchalance.
"Hobbies?" He gave her a flat look. "Isn't that a bit rich coming from the woman who hijacked my quest because she was bored and feeling a bit directionless?"
"You needed help," she snapped.
"I needed you to send an owl and ask for a favour on my behalf. You needed help," he replied succinctly.
They stared at each other for a moment, the weight of the bookshelves amplifying the tension between them. Hermione clutched her notes tighter as Malfoy leaned against the table with that insufferable smirk of his. The late-afternoon light cast long shadows across his face, making her nostalgic for the days she could just deck him without consequence.
Instead, she squared her shoulders and refused to be baited. "You wouldn't have made it this far without me."
"Perhaps," he admitted with an infuriatingly casual shrug. "But I'd be enjoying the peace and quiet."
"Peace and quiet?" she huffed, pushing past him toward the exit. "Somehow, I doubt it. From what I recall, there was nothing peaceful about your Hogwarts days."
Draco raised an eyebrow, a glint of something unreadable in his expression. "Oh, I had my fair share of adventure," he replied, his voice suddenly softer. "Not that I had people to chum about with like you did when the dark times rolled in."
The words hung in the air, weighted with something heavier than usual. Hermione slowed her pace, glancing back at him. "Again with the jealousy angle," she said, perhaps too sharply.
He scoffed, averting his gaze, but she caught the flicker of something genuine beneath his usual mask of indifference. "It's not an angle, Granger. Let's just say… it would've been nice to have friends who'd risk something for me. Friends who weren't being forced, I mean." His voice dropped, almost like he didn't want to say it aloud.
Hermione felt an unexpected pang of sympathy, and for a fleeting moment, the memories of all the adventures she'd shared with Harry and Ron flooded her mind. Dangerous, terrifying, and exhausting—but shared. Always shared. She opened her mouth to respond, but before she could, he straightened up and snapped back into his usual tone.
"Well, that was a bit too earnest for me, wasn't it? Shall we go, or would you rather bask in the glow of your newest brilliant discoveries?"
"I should like to bask for a moment, if you please," she replied loftily, holding out a hand to stop them in their tracks and puffing out her chest in mock self-importance. The display broke the tension, and she caught the slight crinkle at the corners of his eyes as he fought off an actual smile.
Satisfied, she tapped on the door to let the librarian know they were ready to leave.
Moments later, they stepped out into the cool evening air, Draco trailing a step behind her. As they walked side by side down the quiet street, Hermione reflected on what she had just witnessed—a crack in his armor, fleeting but undeniable.
"Maybe you're right," she said after a beat, her voice light but tinged with sincerity. "Maybe I did need to get away from… everything. But I'm here now, Malfoy, and we're doing this together. So don't act like I dragged you into anything you didn't want to be a part of."
He glanced at her, one corner of his mouth twitching into a reluctant smirk. "Fine, Granger. Just don't get too used to me letting you run the show."
"Oh, don't worry," she replied, grinning. "I know it's killing you."
They reached their hotel, a quaint building tucked on a quieter street, still within earshot of the bustling harbor. Hermione handled the check-in with practiced efficiency, trading pleasant conversation with the receptionist and double-checking their arrangements. Draco, meanwhile, lingered by the walls, eyeing the art with a kind of detached disdain, as if he were evaluating the taste of whoever curated it. He perked up only slightly when she handed him his key.
"Our rooms are adjacent," she said, flashing him a pointed look as they moved toward the lift. "Try not to snore too loudly."
"Very funny," he muttered, pocketing the key. "I'll have you know, Malfoys do not snore. We are genetically incapable of snoring, in fact."
"Must be all the inbreeding," she quipped without missing a beat.
"Oi!" He paused, then gave a reluctant nod. "Well, I suppose I did set you up for that."
The elevator hummed softly as it carried them upward, and the doors opened with a chime onto their floor. The comfortable silence between them lingered as they walked toward their rooms. Hermione stopped outside his door, her fingers fidgeting with her key.
"Fancy grabbing something to eat in a bit?" she asked, surprising herself with the casual invitation. "We passed a pub just down the road that looked promising."
Draco gave her a curt nod, already halfway peeling off toward his door. "Send me a text on the Apple," he replied, his hand lazily waving behind him as he unlocked his suite.
An hour later, Hermione sat on the edge of her hotel bed, her phone cradled in her hands. The faint, steady hum of Sydney's nightlife filtered through the window, the occasional laughter or car horn breaking the silence of her room. She stared at her open suitcase—half-packed, half-forgotten—and let out a soft sigh.
She scrolled absently through her messages, her thumb hovering over her last thread with Ron. His most recent text was days old, a quick discussion about Hugo mastering some absurdly complicated Quidditch move and Rose's latest exam results. Hermione couldn't help but smile, picturing them so vividly—her son with his wild hair and boundless energy, her daughter with that fierce determination that felt like looking into a mirror.
Just a quick hello, she thought. Something to let him know she was fine. That she'd arrived safely. That she was still thinking of them all.
She tapped the keyboard, hesitating before typing:
Hey. Hope everything's all right on your end.
No, that sounded weird. She erased it.
She tried again:
Hi, Ron. I…
And there she stopped, staring at the blinking cursor. What could she say that didn't feel hollow? What could she say that wouldn't make things worse? The tug-of-war inside her felt unbearable—between wanting to reach out and needing the space to figure out who she was, away from everything she'd always defined herself by. Ron. The kids. The Ministry. It was almost laughable: Hermione Granger, the woman with all the answers, was lost.
Her heart ached with the sheer weight of it, this widening gulf between them, this strange limbo where she wasn't his wife but stillwashis family. She missed him. Not in the way she once had, not in a way that made her wish she could go back—but in a way that made her long for the simplicity of knowing where she belonged.
She deleted everything. Then she dropped the phone onto her lap with a sigh. For all her planning and intelligence, this was one problem she couldn't logic her way out of.
She tilted her head, gazing out the window at the harbour lights. The skyline twinkled in the distance, a glittering sprawl of life and movement. Was Ron thinking of her too? Even now, with all the distance and the hurt between them? A pang of longing struck her chest, but she pushed it down. What good would it do to dwell on what she couldn't fix?
With a shake of her head, Hermione picked up her phone again, scrolling through her contacts until she landed on the name she wanted. Her fingers danced over the keyboard.
Hello Ferret. Fancy a walk around the harbour before dinner?
She hit send without overthinking it, her lips curving into a small, defiant smile.
Standing, she crossed the room to the mirror, absentmindedly humming as she began to braid her hair back for the evening. The tension in her shoulders eased slightly as she focused on the rhythm of her fingers, her mind already anticipating the banter to come. Draco Malfoy might be infuriating, but at least he was a puzzle she could handle.