"i had a dream about us
in the bottles and the bones of the night
i felt a pain in my shoulder blade
was like a pencil point, a love bite"
-'can't run but' by paul simon (1990)
Draco stood before his rickety potion cabinet, hands on his hips. Placed on the wooden standing desk beside it was his current notebook, open to an unquantifiable list of potion ingredients. Aloe vera, Boomslag skin, Dandelion root, Dittany, Flobberworm mucus, Hebridean Black blood, Medicinal Leech, Moly, Oysterplant nutlets/root, Powder of Vipers-Flesh, Thaumatagoria, and Wiggentree bark. Bending down into the mahogany shelves, he found himself to be in possession of a fourth of the items - the dandelion root, dittany, and Flobberworm mucus. On the top most part of the cabinet, a glass jar holding a few pieces of snowdrop, taken from Snape's office between his and Narcissa's deaths, nearly fooled him into thinking he had a third of the list done, but Snowdrop was not moly. It would, however, serve its purpose later on.
He frowned as he read over his list once, twice more. Some of the remaining ingredients were going to be much harder to find than others, trivializing the first pre-planned, but nonetheless accomplished, quarter. He wasn't even sure if some of the ingredients, specifically the Thaumatagoria, existed within the known world. Draco cast his gaze to the right, finding his broomstick propped against the wall in line with his shoulder and felt a chill go down his spine at the thought of a future endeavor to the north. what the fuck am i even doing? Locking his arms against the desk and leaning, Draco let out a tremendous sigh. Last night had been different than most since the conclusion of the war. Their dreamscape had been vivid and alive, their dialogue candid and feeling - too bloody memorable.
With the snow having gone, he and Hermione were free to sit beneath one of the towering trees in the dewless grass. They sat disgustingly close, her cross legged and him with his legs outstretched, their sides nestled together.
"How did you manage it, by the way?" He asked, his arm draped lazily around her.
Hermione peered up at him, brown eyes quizzical. "Manage what, exactly?"
"The patronus you sent, it spoke your message aloud. I had no idea they could even be used in that way, for communication."
She smiled, setting the safeguarded secrets free without a second thought. "Dumbledore invented it as a way for us, mainly The Order, to talk without any threat of interception. It's rather difficult magic; I've only done it so many times myself. I was worried it wouldn't reach you, but knew it would."
"I was in the shower when it arrived, you know. It came up right through the drain." Draco said, smirking.
"Good," Hermione grinned, resting her head between his neck and shoulder. "Best to keep you on your toes."
"I do that enough on my own - without the assistance of your shiny blue otter, thank you very much." He sniffed, turning his face to press into her hair. Hermione reached a hand into the grass between them, plucking a blade and swirling it between her fingers.
"She's not shiny, she's wispy."
"Looked pretty shiny to me,"
"Whatever, Malfoy." She rolled her eyes, a small smile slipping through feigned annoyance.
"Are they instantaneous, the patronus messages?" He wondered aloud. "Or does it take time for them to reach their destination?"
Hermione placed the grass on his kneecap, bored with it. "I do think it depends on distance, but it can be rather immediate in the proper vicinity."
He raised a brow. "Do you mean to sound so smart when you speak, or is it a part of the whole casual genius ordeal?"
"Oh, enough," she scoffed, playfully striking his chest.
He cared for her far too much. This had become obvious with time, and impossible to ignore once he started jeopardizing his own skin for her - the one he was meant to hate. Though he had already disassembled the archaic beliefs he was raised to uphold, there was still a sliver of himself that he despised: a piece that was well aware of him being a disappointment to nearly every witch and wizard in his bloodline, a piece that wanted to impress them and make them proud, a piece he detested without question that hated him right back. He was not supposed to care or display vulnerability, and was especially not meant to become besotted with anyone unlike himself. Draco pushed up from the desk and walked to the open window, gazing down the visible stretch of seaside. He had come here to avoid what could not be ignored, but it had persisted all the way to his cottage's front door, coming up and out his shower drain. She was simply too bright to fight shy of - a brilliant beacon of light sure to guide the weary home.
It dawned on him as he stood, still in the space between his window and desk: his avoidance was complacency. He was giving his ancestors exactly what they wanted for him, for their lineage. They'd rather him be miserable and alone than with someone like Hermione Granger. There was a bit of dark irony there, because maybe that's what he deserved - though for entirely different reasons altogether. But then, the thought of his mother entered the forefront of his consciousness and he knew his isolation, too, would have let her down; certainly, seeing him so alone would be devastating for her, but deliberately depriving himself of some semblance of sanity would be - or have had been - her undoing.
Draco Occluded then, wiping his entire mind all at once in one swooping motion. Dizzily stumbling, he used the wall to guide himself from the bedroom and into the sitting room, miraculously finding his way to the brown leather couch. Whatever he had been focused on prior was out of his mind, eyes glazed over and peering vacantly at the wall, unconcerned.
Hermione was not too perturbed by the expected early morning pecking at her window; although achingly awake, Hermione felt more hopeful than she had in weeks. Her curtains were open and bed made, her desk finally reorganized and structured after the period of inactivity. The piles of paperback books and leather-bound tomes that had been encroaching toward the underside of her bed were now propped up, alphabetized by author's surname, on a low set wooden bookcase that Hermione had transfigured from an empty match box.
It was quite pitiful in Hermione's opinion - one parcel and a dream had the ability to positively shift her demeanor, surroundings, and outlook on what was to come.
Graciously, she got up from her desk at which she sat, untying her hair from its bun as she made her way to the edge of the glass pane. Outside the threshold, a small owl with a pudgy middle awaited with a letter secure in its beak. Hermione pushed the window open, then reached her hand forward for the creature to inspect.
"Hello there," She said, smiling. "Is that for me?"
The owl squawked, hopping once towards her and extending its neck.
"Much appreciated," Hermione breathed, her fingers trembling ever so slightly as she took the letter from its beak. Quickly, she tore into the envelope and unfolded the message.
Granger,
Feeling adventurous? Personally, I'm Nott!
You have desire, and I have answers.
Care to floo? If so, please provide
a time and place (no Wednesdays!).
TN
She rolled her eyes at the dramatics, turning to silently summon a writing instrument; there was no need for riddles when she was the one who had initially reached out. Grabbing hold of the pen from the air, she placed it down onto the desk and swapped it out for her wand, duplicating the paper then erasing the new copy's message to scrawl out her response in its place. She wrote without sitting, hunching herself over the wooden desk.
Nott,
Bit much, don't you think?
Though I do thank you for offering your help
so soon upon request. Does this mean the meeting
must occur within the confines of your mansion?
I'm able to meet at your earliest possible convenience.
HG
Satisfied with the message, Hermione folded the paper back in half and found a muggle envelope in one of her many drawers. She slotted the letter inside, then ran her tongue along the gum-lined peak of the top flap to seal it away before handing it off to the small bird, along with two owl treats, and wishing it well.
Reaching out to Theodore Nott had come to Hermione as a solution much sooner than she liked to admit - the hours of remorsefully ruminating had paid off in that way, really. It hadn't taken much to convince herself to meet the Slytherin boy, despite knowing next to nothing about him; the most interaction Hermione had ever had with Theo was within the brief moments after the main battle had drawn to a close. In their younger years, he had been just as academically driven as she, so Hermione took the gamble on him being clever, or at least capable. She knew it was foolish to go meet the son of a notorious Death Eater alone, but she was certain that he was her best option.
Besides, it wouldn't be her first time doing so.
She was growing more and more impatient for answers regarding Draco and his whereabouts as the days continued on their forward march. His handwriting was torturing her, the still life photographs frustrating her. As she awaited a response, Hermione sat upon her small bed and sorted through the various images of towns along the Scottish coast for what felt like the thousandth time. Beside her was the letter, open-faced to the ceiling upon the blankets as Ginny lightly snored from across the room. Hermione had gone over the letter and postcards relentlessly, obsessively pouring over the seaside town locations and their potential pertinence, but hadn't come up with much. Ardrossan, Cruden Bay, Durness, Forres, Fraserburgh, Inveraray, Inverness, Kinlochbervie, Kirkwall, Lochboisdale, Lochinver, Mallaig, Milovaig, Oban, Portknockie, Portree, Rothesay, Skelmorlie, Stornoway, Stromness, Tarbert, Tayvallich, Thurso, and Wick. Twenty-four postcards, twenty-four locations in which Hermione had never been - and knowing Draco, there was only a 50% chance that he resided in any one of them. It was only so likely that he would be tucked into the Scottish coast; she couldn't be sure that the cards meant anything at all.
Theo's owl returned much sooner than Hermione had anticipated, arriving back on her windowsill in an ungraceful flurry of feathers. Its talons made a sharp sound against the metal and glass in its unbalanced landing, causing Hermione to gasp aloud and stand from her bed.
"Who's there?" Ginny woke up with a start, sitting upright while her eyes remained shut.
"Shh, don't worry about it." Hermione spoke without thinking. why did i shush her? "It's just a letter, Gin. Go back to sleep." The redhead nodded then yawned as she laid back down, appeased and trusting.
Relieved, Hermione opened the window to retrieve the reply, trading it for two more treats. "Hello again, and thank you again, too." The owl didn't wait around this time, instead taking back off into the sky. She accepted this without question, tearing open the letter quickly and casting the envelope aside.
Granger,
Tomorrow, then. Come to the estate
between seven and nine in the evening.
These are very private matters.
(Serious enough for you?)
TN
so that settles it. The paper was crisp between her fingers as she inspected his penmanship - an attempt to ignore the cresting wave of nerves just below her sternum. i'm meeting up with theodore nott.
Draco was lost, that much he was certain. As a practiced wizard with a working wand, there was only so far he could veer off course, but Draco had made the brilliant decision to both blindly trust and test himself throughout the self-assigned mission. He'd never be naive enough to completely forgo bringing his wand, but his stubborn nature kept it tucked away within the interior pocket of his jacket as he soared over the Inner Seas. He had flown in from the north via broomstick, finding his way around the Isle of Islay by following its thin, stone-lined roads from high above. Draco looked down intently, his eyes scouring the Earth for a very specific sort of environment. Stopping then, suspended high in the air, he pulled out a muggle pocket book from his leather satchel - Natural Scotland: a Guide to Scottish Flora and Fauna - and opened it to the marked page.
Reaching up to 20 cm in length, the medicinal leech (Hirudo Medicinalis) is the UK's largest leech. Recognizable with yellowish stripes stretching the length of a dark body, it inhabits small lochs with stony shores, ripe with vegetation. A near threatened and protected species, the medicinal leech is considered relatively rare, limited to three Scottish locales: Argyll, Dumfries and Galloway, and Islay.
Draco shuttered at the included photograph of the predatory worm. He had purposefully chosen to fetch this ingredient first because of his unrelenting fear and disgust of the creatures - a self loathing punishment under the guise of bravery - but the reality of collecting them was beginning to finally set in. Tucking the book back into his bag, he gripped onto the broomstick with both hands and leaned forward to continue his search, swallowing the uneasiness that came as he pondered upon the task. He flew above Islay for a good while - finding that many of the available lochs were popular destinations for the region's non-magical people - until finding one vacant enough for his liking.
Surrounded by saturated farmland and densely packed forests filled with thin trees, the water of Loch Skerrols was an opaque navy beneath the misty cloud cover. Draco landed on the loch's westernmost point, where its water flowed into a small, rocky brook, and leaned his broomstick against one of the many trees. Patches of wild carrot came up to his knees and brushed against his trousers as he approached the water, their white buds shimmying in the air behind him. The rocks that lined the shore appeared slimy with algae and muck - the perfect conditions for a leech to reside. Draco removed the brown bag from his person and sat it on a dry portion of the untamed ground, looking over both of his shoulders once before crouching down at the water's edge.
The urge to reach into his coat and grasp his wand, to cast a simple summoning charm instead of digging through the grime for leeches, greatly increased once he felt the loch's temperature. Though it wasn't enough to completely withdraw, the water was just cold enough to make his slender fingers go numb at the edges. Draco realized then, as he grasped at the first slippery stone, he had absolutely no idea how to go about this task. He brought the rock up from out of the water to examine it on all sides, finding nothing but algae and a very small snail. Placing it back from where he had pulled it, Draco retreated from the shoreline and took a seat on the ground to remove his boots. a warming charm for my feet. He cast the thought away immediately as he kicked off his socks, shrugging off his jacket.
Draco stepped back into the cool water, jumping a bit from the temperature. Wading along the shoreline felt to him like the proper direction to take towards success, bending at the waist to grab hold of more stones to look over. He repeated the process again and again in the shallow water without finding much more than what he had already seen. Reaching further into the loch's depths with his left hand, he felt around at its murky bottom, his body arced over the cool water, and thought of Hermione. Surely, she would insist on using magic for this task - she would probably find it rather ridiculous not to. Draco imagined how it would go if she found him there, wandless with water up to his knees. She'd most likely tease him, but only for so long before succumbing to her own sincerity. She would stay put on the shore and pull out a jar from her bottomless bag in preparation for the leeches, motioning for him to come closer. And he would listen in a heartbeat, stepping over the stones to stand beside her.
Draco felt something catch onto his skin then, directly on his forearm. He jerked his arm back and out of the water, feeling the unusual weight of something foreign clinging on to his body and splashing his face in the process. Sputtering and squinting the water from his eyes, he peered down in horror. Latched to his left forearm, feasting upon perhaps his greatest source of shame, was a medicinal leech.
A primal sort of screech left his throat without hesitation, echoing out past the bramble and across the rolling green distance.
"Get it- NO! How do I-?" He looked around in a panic, his feet slipping upon the algae growth. He dove back towards the shoreline, soaking the front of his clothing in the process. " ACCIO WAND! " He shouted with incredible force, causing it to zip out from within his jacket and into Draco's grasp. His hand quivered alongside his voice as he pointed his wand at the blood sucking creature, desperate for it to be detached from himself. " Petrificus Totalus! " The leech went limp, but remained upon his arm. "Oh, for Merlin's sake!" Draco looked around in anguish as he sat in the dirt, his eyes searching for a solution - he knew better than to just pry the thing off of himself, but found it hard to think beyond that sentiment.
He settled on summoning an acorn from nearby and separating the cupule from the nut to transfigure the two pieces into a mason jar and lid. Grimacing, Draco took hold of the leech's tail end and pulled its body taut before shoving the thin lid beneath its tiny jaws, finally freeing it from his skin. Left behind in its place was a swollen red ring and laceration that tore through his dark mark, gouging into one of the snake's many curves. He caught it in the glass jar as it lazily slid down his arm, his chest heaving as he screwed the lid in place and stored the jar in his satchel, out of sight. one and mother fucking done. Draco cast a hot air charm on his clothes and feet without speaking, slipping his feet back into his boots and throwing his coat over his shoulder. He apparated home without even a fleeting second of guilt, bag and broomstick clutched tightly in his hand.
Though together in the moonlight, Draco found himself wanting Hermione more than ever before. Perhaps it was because he felt marginally more worthy after what he had endured during the previous day in the waking world, but he didn't dwell upon this for long. His attention was preoccupied on much more important things, like the witch sliding herself into his lap. Peculiarly placed in the middle of a manicured clover field was the wooden chair upon which Draco sat, upon whom Hermione had decided to make herself comfortable.
"Tell me, Draco." She purred into his ear, completely shameless as she straddled him. "Tell me where you've hidden yourself away and I'll be there before you wake." She brought his earlobe into her mouth, gently lapping at his soft skin and breathing lightly through her nose. He was tingling all over, his head careening backwards and into her insistent touch.
"I'm not," He groaned then gasped, his hands finding her hips in an instant. Hermione's attention had vacated his ear and moved down, her lips and teeth working at the skin just below it. "Hermione, I'm not that easy."
For a fleeting moment, she detached herself from him to flash a wicked smile. "We'll see."
But still, he refused to crack.
Hermione had faced many dangers throughout the course of her eighteen years, but the prospect of leaving the Burrow during the summer of 1998 had her nearly quaking with anticipatory anxiety. Knowing her venture would be noted by every person in the house, Hermione had thought long and hard about a proper excuse. She had debated upon telling everyone she was going to meet a member of the Order, or even a Ministry official, but she eventually came to the conclusion that such a decision would inevitably come back to bite her in the arse. She couldn't simply say she was meeting a friend, for they all knew the same people and would question who, where, why, and if they could tag along. After much deliberation, Hermione had settled on the simplest answer: shopping.
Though it was a bit sexist, she was positive that the others would have little to no interest in the activity - especially if she were to go later in the day as she and Theo planned. She also made sure to tell everyone at the last possible second, just a couple of hours before she and Theo had decided to meet.
"I'm in need of a thinner quill." She had announced from the edge of the room dinner had wrapped up. Hermione, Harry, Ron, George, and Ginny were all gathered in the sitting room after helping Molly - who, alongside Arthur, had already turned in for the night - with the nightly chores. Her two best friends sat across from one another at a low wooden table, a game of Wizard Chess in play between them. George was sprawled out along one of the plush sofas, his feet crossed at the ankles, as he repeatedly tossed a tight ball of yarn into the air. In front of the slow burning fire, Ginny knelt onto the floor and gently pet Crookshanks, lightly humming a muggle song that Hermione had shown her under her breath. "I think I'm going to brave the shops on Diagon before they close for the night. Scrivenshaft's, then Flourish and Blotts - I've read through practically everything in this house."
"Are you sure you want to go alone?" Ron asked her, his face full of hope. Almost immediately, a flare of anxious dread shot straight through Hermione's core, then fanning out through her chest, shoulders, fingers, and face.
She nodded vigorously, swallowing the searing sensation as she took a seat on the floor beside Ginny. "Yes, I'll be fine."
"You will be," Harry smiled at her after moving one of his pieces.
"Yeah, as long as you avoid that Skeeter bint." George warned from across the room. "She's bound to be desperate for a story nowadays, probably has some goonies crawling the streets at night for even a crumb of a lead."
"Have you seen the fluff she's been writing for Witch Weekly ?" Ginny snorted in response, reclining onto her heels. "I've been paging through mum's copies. Her work is abysmal, even more so than before."
Hermione rolled her eyes. "I wouldn't waste my time on that rubbish, not even for a laugh - I detest that pest of a woman."
Still playing with the yarn, George let out a low, teasing whistle. "So we've been told… which reminds me! I really should do some product design based around that jar you kept her in for- how long was it again?"
"Long enough," Hermione replied simply, unable to hide her subtle smirk. "Can't say I'm too keen on the idea of making that story public, though."
Ron stood up, clapping his hands together once before butting in excitedly. "Well if you're sure you're alright with going alone, I say we practice quidditch out back. Even numbers and all that. George? Harry? Ginny?"
"I reckon you're just trying to get ahead for try-outs in the fall!" George said jokingly, leaping up from his spot on the sofa to ruffle his younger brother's hair.
"More like trying not to forfeit," Harry muttered into the board, only half kidding.
"Get off of me!" Ron shrieked, pushing George's hands away and cowering down.
"Tryouts?" Hermione questioned without really meaning to. Unconsciously, her hand began to nervously search for something to busy themselves with, settling on the hem of her green jumper.
Ron shot her a crooked grin of sorts. "It's not like Hogwarts is going to be open for session this next year, so I thought it'd be a good time to critically think about quidditch."
"' Critically think about quidditch? '" Hermione let out a short snort. "Is that not what already takes up most of your conscious thoughts already?"
"The unconscious ones too," Harry added, fiddling with one of the chess pieces. "He had a dream a few nights back about playing for the Pride of Portree."
portree. the postcards. theo. Her messenger bag felt hot against her thigh.
"More like a nightmare." Ron grumbled. "You couldn't pay me enough to play for that disaster of a team."
"Bollocks!" Ginny exclaimed from her spot on the ground. "The Prides have some decent players, and they've won the league cup at least twice. And may I remind you, you're not on any team, Ron. Portree would be better than nothing."
"Quite defensive, aren't we?" George snickered.
The youngest Weasley crossed her arms. "Don't defend him! And were we not talking about Catriona McCormack just last week? If I recall correctly, I'd say you're the smitten one. I'll save your dignity by not repeating what you said about her daughter."
As the banter continued on, the scene faded away for Hermione, all but stuck on the mention of Portree - it was as though she were viewing the present through a smudged window pane, a jarring distortion of reality. theodore nott, and the postcards. and portree. draco.
"Hermione,"
"Hm?" Hermione responded only halfway out of her daze, the rest of herself lingering behind in a mirage of what-ifs. Quickly though, reality slid back into place and she was once again surrounded by her friends, all of whom were staring at her with concerned creases in their brows, Ginny's foot prodding at hers repeatedly.
"They're going to go outside now," Ginny said, tilting her head ever so slightly. "You alright?"
Hermione nodded a bit too quickly, retracting her foot. "Yes - yes, of course. I was just thinking of everything I'll be needing to pick up tonight." The men accepted her statement as it was, quickly turning their focus away and heading out the door. Ginny, on the other hand, refused to look away from her friend, remaining with Hermione in silence as George, Harry, and Ron's quidditch talk faded into the distance.
Time passed slowly as she waited for an opportune time to depart; Hermione felt rather distorted, still not quite in line with the present. It was a strange sensation, to constantly feel like the top of a large pond or lake. Most of the time she felt still, stagnant, overtaken by algae, but once these moments were cast away with the toss of a stone, the produced ripples overtook her as though it was nothing. Once a bottom-dwelling creature flopped just a bit too harshly, the sediment would swirl and form a small push of a wave designed specifically to disrupt the stillness.
At some point, Ginny excused herself to go to the loo, leaving Hermione alone in the sitting room. Daylight was slipping through her fingers like sand, each grain falling towards her inevitable departure. Not a single tie was strong enough to tether the witch to the Burrow; when Hermione became curious, there was a fire inside her that burned just for the solution, regardless of fear.
There was nothing left to do besides leave. Tentatively, she stood up from the floor and stepped towards the fireplace, reaching into the bowl of powder that sat upon the mantle. Through the nearby window, she could see the sun slipping away, the orange-gold glow fading as its tendrils slid further past the horizon. It was time.
"Hermione,"
She faltered at the sound of her name, the handful of floo powder growing heavier in her grasp. Slowly, she peered over her shoulder to acknowledge a furrow-browed Ginny. "Yes?"
"Where are you going?"
"To Diagon Alle-"
"No," Ginny's voice was soft, her gaze firm. "Where are you really going?"
The Golden Girl had never been good at lying. There was always an awkward attempt at concealment before her defenses completely caved in and made room for an overwhelming sense of guilt. Even in dire moments such as this, it was nearly impossible for Hermione to uphold a false reality. She was beginning to panic, her brain clunking and stuttering as though a gear had slipped out of place.
"Ginny, I-"
"You say his name in your sleep."
Hermione, frozen, so badly wished there was a trap door beneath her feet, with an attached lever on the wall that she could yank down to fall out and away from the embarrassment at hand. "Pardon?"
"Malfoy. You," Ginny paused to lick her lips. "You say his name in your sleep."
Hermione had absolutely no idea how to respond, staring blankly at her younger friend. Appearing a bit bashful after the confession, Ginny's eyes moved to the wooden floor and anxiously traced the outline of Hermione's shoes. The air between them felt thick - as though it were made of porridge - until finally, the redhead spoke. "Are you going to meet up with him?"
"I have no idea where he is." Hermione quietly confessed. "I'm… I'm seeing what I can do about it."
"They won't know." Ginny promised, her expression kind. "Especially not Ron."
Hermione solemnly nodded, stifling a flinch. The day they found out any of this would be the end of her. "Especially not Ron."
They exchanged a look of mutual understanding for a few moments before Hermione swiftly turned to the floo and disappeared without hesitation.