A Most Inconvenient Devotion - Chapter 7 | Fanfiction Adaptation + Discussion

0:00This episode is brought to you by PayPal. You know how a mom's bag has everything? Sunscreen? Snacks? A stapler? The new PayPal app is like that, but for your money. Shop, pay, manager account, and earn rewards all in one place. And with purchase protection on eligible items, biometric security, and pasquies, you're protected at every step. Download the new PayPal app to get started. See PayPal.com slash protection terms. Whenever fall comes back around, it always feels like a fresh start. This year, I've been layering in some styles from the new Lulemon fall drop, because the weather is shifting, and I find I have to be ready for the entire day and not just one part of it. Lulemon's fall line has some really versatile, transitional pieces, so I can just wake up, throw on a matching set, add a jacket or a fleece, and head out, knowing that I'll feel comfortable enough to go wherever the day takes me. Check out the new fall arrivals in-store and online now at Lulemon.com. BLEARISH AND FLOTS

1:03Blurish and flots is proud to present a most inconvenient devotion, an original adaptation of Draco Malfoy and the mortifying ordeal of being in love, written by Is This Self Care. Chapter 7, Revelations Draco's next visit to refresh the wards at Granger's Cottage was complicated by what he would later concede had been a minor lapse in judgment. Weeks had passed without producing anything resembling progress on the question of Granger's research. She remained irritatingly adept at volunteering precisely enough information to satisfy an ordinary person while withholding everything Draco actually wanted to know. Inevitably, his attention returned to one particular object of interest in her study. The battered Grimoire displayed upon its plinth, protected beneath layers of stasis magic, the book she had threatened to cry over. One morning in early March, as he prepared for his regular visit to the cottage, Draco sent her a note in forming her

2:03that he intended to go inside this time, if she had no objection. He had never warded the windows individually, he explained, and the omission had begun to bother him. Granger's answer arrived shortly afterward. If you really find it necessary. Draco did. He arranged his visit to coincide with one of her lessons at Trinity, which had the considerable advantage of ensuring that she would not be present to interfere with his entirely professional activities. Upon his arrival, her cat, perhaps possessed of some primitive instinct for detecting malfeasance, climbed onto the roof and established itself there like a century, while Draco renewed the exterior wards. Only doing my job, Kat, Draco informed it, making rather more ceremony of the spell work than was strictly required. The cat regarded him with profound cynicism. Inside, Draco dispatched the ground floor windows with admirable efficiency and then went upstairs. Granger's bedroom came first.

3:04He kept his inspection of the room to a respectable minimum, largely because the cat had somehow relocated itself from the roof to the doorway and was watching every movement he made. The yoga room followed. At last, with every other window properly secured, Draco reached the study. The grimoire remained exactly where he remembered it, lying open near its middle upon the plinth. Its ruined pages suspended beneath the green shimmer of the stasis charms. Draco warded the study window while the cat sat nearby, staring at him with an intensity that suggested it understood both criminal intent and evidentiary procedure. When the work was finished, Draco drifted toward the book. The cat's expression became distinctly more severe. He bent over the exposed pages. The stasis magic distorted the writing beneath it, blurring the ink so that words seemed to shift and swim whenever he tried to focus upon them. The script itself was heavy and painstaking.

4:05The hand of someone for whom writing had been labour rather than reflex. It was not English. Some passages looked French, or close enough to French to tease at recognition. Anglo-Norman, perhaps. If so, the volume was ancient. Five centuries old at the very least. Draco narrowed his eyes and picked through the fragments he could decipher. The passage appeared to describe a landscape in elaborate detail. A green hill strewn with dancing blue bells, shining thistle down, and the soft velvety leaves of Fale's Gossamer. Beyond that, the damage defeated him. He remembered Granger's unusual burst of openness on the mendip way when she had let slip that descriptions of plants and landscapes were providing clues to whatever mysterious pursuit occupied her. Yet none of the flora named here had appeared on the list she had shown him. A different sight then, which made the book considerably more interesting. Draco looked longingly at the hidden front cover.

5:07Then he looked at the cat. The cat's face conveyed with remarkable clarity, the answer, absolutely not. Just a quick look, Draco told it. I might be able to help her, you know. The cat flicked its tail in disapproval. Draco ignored this council. He did not touch the book. That distinction seemed important. Instead, he slipped the tip of his wand carefully beneath the cover and used it as a lever, lifting the fragile board only far enough to see what had been written on the front. The title consisted of a single word, revelations. The cat released a meow of such concentrated outrage that it sounded almost accusatory. Draco lowered the cover immediately and left the cottage with unusual speed. Draco never discovered precisely how Granger knew, but she knew. His jotter erupted first, buzzing with a succession of messages demanding to know whether he had touched her book. Draco denied it.

6:08When Granger persisted, he denied it again, with greater conviction. Eventually, he stunned the jotter so that it would stop vibrating across his desk. Then she somehow acquired Boethius. Draco's own owl began arriving with increasingly heated interrogations tied to his leg, which struck Draco as an outrageous misuse of his personal property. After the third such delivery, he wrote a letter to a friend in Italy and sent Boethius off with it. The journey, together with the inevitable return correspondence, ought to keep the owl safely beyond Granger's reach for at least a week. This solved the problem only briefly. A howler landed directly in Draco's lap during a briefing with Tonks. Malphoy, did you? Draco incinerated it before the sentence could develop. Across the desk, Tonks raised both eyebrows. Was that Hermione? Yes, said Draco. That explains that.

7:09She gestured toward the faux-glass standing behind her. Among the shifting gray shapes reflected in its surface, one silhouette had acquired a distressing amount of definition. A slender woman with a great mass of curls piled around her head, hands planted squarely upon her hips. Draco regarded it. Tonks did too. I suppose she's having violent thoughts about me by proximity to you. Tonks said. Her attention returned to Draco. What did you do? Nothing. This was essentially true. Tonks stared at him for so long that the silence became an accusation in its own right. Her fingers tapped against the desk in a slow, measured rhythm. I am going to assume, she said at last, that whatever you did was undertaken in your professional capacity as an aura, and for the purpose of ensuring her continued protection. That is always my primary objective. Another long look.

8:10Then Tonks turned back to Draco's report concerning the dark artifact smugglers. Be careful, Malfoy. Thus dismissed, Draco returned to his cubicle. He had scarcely lowered himself into his chair when a silver otter came hurtling out of nowhere and dived at him. He called him a nosy prat, then a bloody liar. It concluded by advising him to jump off a bridge. Draco waited until the patronus dissolved before summoning one of his own. His silver messenger departed, carrying a polite request that Granger kindly keep her loud otters to herself as some people were attempting to work. For a little while, that appeared to settle matters. Draco nevertheless began monitoring Granger's schedule with particular care, looking for suspicious gaps in her calendar during which she might decide that written abuse was inadequate and come to the ministry to murder him in person. She did not. Presumably she was occupied with saving lives or some other such Tom Foulary.

9:11It was while inspecting her appointments that Draco noticed another approaching anomaly, one of Granger's asterisk holidays, that weekend in fact, that evening he opened the jotta. So, Ostarra is coming up. Her reply appeared almost instantaneously. That book was not yours to touch. Draco ignored this deviation from the subject. Where are you going at Ostarra? You are not invited. Don't need an invitation. There was a slightly longer pause before the next message. I do not need supervision by prying knitwits. See you soon. Granger did not answer. The party sometimes was Granger. The not-invited, prying knitwit enjoyed a lovely lion on Saturday morning before getting ready to operate to Granger. Frankly, after the business with the keepers of the well, Granger had forfeited whatever right she might once have possessed to decide for herself whether aura supervision was necessary.

10:13Draco had precisely no confidence in her ability to distinguish sensible scientific inquiry from hurling herself bodily into a nest of vampires because one of them was rumoured to possess an unusually obscure flask. Those entirely virtuous considerations aside, the timing of Granger's excursions continued to be remarkably convenient. Whatever mysterious Ostarra nonsense she had planned for today happened to coincide with one of his mother's lunchions and Draco was delighted to have a professional obligation that rendered his attendance impossible. Narcissa had naturally assured him that there were no ulterior motives whatsoever and that should any attractive young witches of impeccable family and conveniently unmarried status happened to be present, it would be the purest coincidence. Draco had heard more convincing lies from Granger. He flew first to the miter, their usual Cambridge pub, and from there, operated to Granger's ring.

11:14The magic deposited him neatly in her kitchen, the ring itself sat on the kitchen table. Granger did not. Draco stared at it. Your bloody joking. The only answer came from the cat, who produced a mournful little meow from somewhere near the floor, apparently sharing Draco's opinion of his mistress' behavior. Your witch is a pain in my arse, you know that? The cat folded itself into a miserable orange loaf beside his boots. With a muttered implication, Draco snatched up the abandoned ring and shoved it into his pocket. Fortunately, unlike certain reckless swats of his acquaintance, he believed in contingency plans. He drew his wand and cast the tracking charm. A luminous map unfolded in the air before him. Its geography picked out in faint lines and several enchanted objects burning more brightly than everything around them. Granger's ancient trainers were still at her laboratory in Trinity College.

12:16Her teamarg appeared to be somewhere inside the cottage. The handful of hairpins Draco had charmed had dispersed themselves according to the usual chaos of Granger's life. Several at the laboratory, several more at St. Mungos. One, however, was moving through Uffington. Draco narrowed his eyes at the wandering point of light. Interesting. Whatever explanation existed for a solitary Granger hairpin gambling across Oxfordshire, he was suddenly quite eager to hear it. He operated directly to it. Surprise, Draco said as the countryside snapped into existence around him. Granger leapt nearly a meter into the air. The sight was deeply satisfying. The obscenity she directed at him upon landing was even better. Only then did Draco properly inspect his surroundings. He stood near the top of a broad green hill exposed to a brisk march wind, high but strangely level across its crown.

13:16This episode is brought to you by PayPal. You know how a mom's bag has everything? Sunscreen? Snacks? A stapler? The new PayPal app is like that, but for your money. Shop, pay, manage your account, and earn rewards all in one place. And with purchase protection on eligible items, biometric security, and pasquies, you're protected at every step. Download the new PayPal app to get started. See PayPal.com slash protection terms. Whenever fall comes back around, it always feels like a fresh start. This year, I've been layering in some styles from the new Lululemon fall drop, because the weather is shifting and I find I have to be ready for the entire day and not just one part of it. Lululemon's fall line has some really versatile transitional pieces, so I can just wake up, throw on a matching set, add a jacket or a fleece, and head out, knowing that I'll feel comfortable enough to go wherever the day takes me. Check out the new fall arrivals in store and online now at Lululemon.com. The turf beneath his boots was lush and springy,

14:19broken in places by stark patches of chalk white earth. Beyond the slope rolled an open patchwork of pasture, hedge rows and sheep tracks. The countryside folding away beneath a pale spring sky. Dragon Hill, if memory served. The place where Muggle legend claimed St. George had slain his dragon, its blood supposedly scorching the grass away wherever it touched the earth and leaving the chalk beneath exposed. Draco turned from the allegedly dragon-blooded hillside to the far more immediate menace before him. Granger was dressed entirely for Muggle walking, practical layers and boots and an anna-rack against the wind. Her hair had been pulled into a high ponytail rather than its usual scholarly arrangement, giving her an unexpectedly athletic appearance. The march air had pinkened the tip of her nose. Her forehead, predictably, was arranged into a murderous frown. How the bloody hell are you here, she demanded? Where are we?

15:19How did you find me? Draco eyed the front of her anna-rack. It seemed suspiciously bulky. What have you got in there? Granger immediately zipped it higher. More tellingly, the brightness in her expression vanished behind the smooth mental shutter of occlusion. Nothing. There. I've answered one of your questions. Now answer mine. That was a lie. Well, that's all you're getting from me. She turned and started down the hill. I don't want to speak to you. Don't you? You exploded my jott-a, commandeered my owl, sent me a howler and then attacked me with an angry otter. Draco watched her continue away. Oi, where are you going? Away from you. A noyance prickled through him. Had he missed it? Whatever peculiar Ostarra activity had brought her here. Had she already finished? He must have done. Granger was practically hippity-hopping down the slope, entirely too pleased with herself for someone who had just been caught evading ministry protection measures.

16:24Draco regarded her retreating back with suspicion and the unpleasant recognition that perhaps this morning's luxurious lie in had been a tactical error. Granger, get back here. We're not done. He set off after her, reduced by the steep, uneven turf to an equally undignified sort of hippity hop. I'm done here. Granger called with an exaggerated buoyancy that instantly confirmed she had accomplished something she did not want him knowing about. I wouldn't know about you. You need to wear the bloody ring. Her ponytail bounced insulently ahead of him as she ignored him and clambered farther down the hill. Then, without the slightest warning, Granger bent abruptly at the waist. Draco nearly walked straight into her. He checked himself with inches to spare, avoiding what would otherwise have been catastrophic full pelvic contact. For one terrible instant, his mind supplied the inevitable report. Yes, Tonks. She broke her neck falling down a hill.

17:25I thrust into her too hard. Yes, it was an accident. Yes, she's dead. Please return my body to my mother in the fewest pieces possible. Granger, entirely unaware of how narrowly she had escaped death by professional misconduct, sprang upright again, holding a small sprig of greenery triumphantly between her fingers. What's this, she asked? Draco examined it. Applant. Specifically, Gossamer. Do you know what kind of Gossamer? Fff. The old tone flashed through his mind. Draco caught the syllable before it escaped. Fff, frankly, I've no idea. Granger's eyes sharpened. Fowlies, she said. It's Fowlies' Gossamer. Good for Fowly. But you knew that. Her carefully controlled expression was beginning to fracture around the edges. Beneath it she looked faintly manic. Because you read the book.

18:25Draco dismissed both plant and accusation with an impatient flick of his hand. Taking off the ring wasn't part of our agreement. You're supposed to keep it on at all times. That is the entire point of the thing. Granger had already turned to continue down the slope. But she whipped around so violently that her ponytail struck Draco across the face. He endured this grievous injury without so much as an apology from her. Do you know what else wasn't part of our agreement? She snapped. You breaching my trust and touching my things. Ah, there it was. The shrieking. I didn't do anything to your book. You weren't supposed to touch it in the first place. That book is beyond price. She spun away again. Her hair slapped him in the face a second time, which was beginning to feel deliberate. And she stormed down the hill with renewed fury. Put the damned ring back on Granger. No, I'm through with your surveillance device. Fine, Draco called after her.

19:26I tell Shacklebolt I'm through as well. And he can put you under actual surveillance. Proper auras round the clock. They can watch every move you make, every fucking vile of what sits you pour in that laboratory of yours. And every word you plonk into your computers. Granger stopped dead and made a strangled sound in the back of her throat. Draco chose to interpret this as capitulation and stalked towards her. Hand. He thrust it at him with all the graciousness of someone presenting a limb for amputation. Draco seized it. He had a powerful urge to shove the ring back onto her finger with sufficient force to communicate exactly how furious he was. But refrained on the practical grounds that breaking said finger would defeat the purpose. Instead, he slid the ring carefully into place. And for one blessed moment, the hillside was free of shrieking. Oh! Draco looked up. A cluster of muggle walkers had appeared around the shoulder of the hill and the site before them produced immediate, delighted chaos.

20:28An engagement. Oh, what a lovely couple. Congratulations. What a beautiful place to do it. Draco had not previously been aware that a vada cadavera could be performed solely through the eyes. But Granger demonstrated an astonishing natural aptitude. Then, with the speed of a woman choosing survival over murder, she turned to the muggles and produced several convincing noises of delighted agreement. Draco contributed nothing. He was dead. The walkers lingered interminably, showering them with good wishes for their future married life, and offering Draco a quantity of unsolicited matrimonial advice which he could only assume had been accumulated through decades of irritating strangers on hillsides. At last, they bimbled away around the bend, still looking enormously pleased with themselves. Beside him, Granger was strangling the sprig of Fali's gossamer in her fist. The instant the muggles disappeared from sight, she flung it viciously at the ground.

21:31Why is this my life? Draco judged the question rhetorical and therefore spared them both the effort of an answer. He drew his wand and started towards the point where the walkers had vanished. What are you doing, Granger demanded? I'm going to oblivate them all. Don't. The vehemence in her voice stopped him more effectively than the word itself. He turned. Memory charms are not to be used lightly, she said. But she had already hurried after him. Before he could raise his wand again, she caught his wrist and forced his arm down. Don't. It doesn't matter. Her grip remained firm around his wand hand. I promise you, those muggles are not going to tarnish your reputation or rush to the profit with news of this, this supposed development. I don't care, Draco said because he genuinely didn't. I thought you cared. You just garreted me with your eyes. Granger stared at him. For perhaps the first time in her life she appeared genuinely perplexed.

22:34You don't care? No. I thought you'd care. Why would I care? They're muggles. Something in her expression shifted, though Draco could not have said what it was. I don't know. Never mind. She released his wrist. Are we done here? Are you done here? Yes. Then so am I. Granger stamped away through the kissing gate towards the car park. Draco remained on the hillside long enough to watch her wrestle the car from the grassy verge and onto the narrow winding country road. She did not look back before driving away. Her registration plate read CRKSHNKS, with an irritated crack, Draco disapparated. A few days later Draco dressed for Wednesday night quidditch. He hosted the games on the manners immaculately maintained pitch. And by the time he kicked off from the lawn and flew down towards it, the usual collection of miscreants was already gathered beneath the magically lit sky.

23:39Zabini, Davies, Flint, Doyle, assorted old schoolmates, and whatever spare bodies they had managed to recruit to fill out the teams that evening. Oi, oi! Flint called raising a hand. The chief Toff has arrived. Doyle announced, wind your neck in Doyle, or I shall do it for you. Draco dipped his broom until he was level with them. Doyle lifted his beaters bat in cheerful threat. I'm more equipped for bashing heads in. Five on five? Davies cut in, maneuvering between them with the unmistakable impatience of a man who had not come all this way to listen to Doyle talk. Let's do it. They did. It was already past eight when they began, but the pitch glowed beneath its magical illumination as brightly as if dusk had merely paused overhead. The match stretched on through increasingly questionable interpretations of the rules, gratuitous fouling several feats of near death, and enough abuse shouted between teammates to make the whole thing thoroughly enjoyable.

24:42The snitch, however, appeared to have taken a personal dislike to everyone involved. Neither Draco nor the opposing seeker could get within reach of the bloody thing. Hours passed without so much as a promising glimpse, and both teams responded to this professional failure by subjecting their respective seekers to relentless mockery. By midnight, Davies finally swore, and announced that the misses was going to have his head if he stayed out any longer. Given the otherwise even score and the spectacular uselessness of both seekers, they agreed to call the match a draw. They would continue the following week, and once an actual winner emerged, celebrate the result by drinking considerably more than was wise. One after another, the others vanished. Pops and cracks rolled over the pitch as players disapparated home, until Draco was left alone beneath the clear night sky, the illuminated grass stretching empty around him. Now he could have some fun. He leaned back and let his broom climb.

25:46Higher he went in long, lazy loops, circling farther into the darkness until the quidditch pitch had dwindled to a neat green rectangle far below, and Malfoy Manor looked almost like a doll's house, its windows glowing softly against the night. Then Draco tipped the broom forward. The earth rushed up. He plunged into a ronsky faint, wind tearing at his robes and cold air burning against his face while the pitch expanded beneath him at sickening speed. For several glorious seconds he gave himself entirely to the fall, then wrenched the broom upward at the final possible instant. This episode is brought to you by PayPal. You know how a mom's bag has everything? Sunscreen, snacks, a stapler, the new PayPal app is like that, but for your money. Shop, pay, manage your account, and earn rewards all in one place, and with purchase protection on eligible items, biometric security and pasquies, you're protected at every step.

26:47Download the new PayPal app to get started. See PayPal.com slash protection terms. When fall comes back around, there's a sense of a reset. And new pieces from Lululemon's fall drop are an inspiration to push your goals and elevate your routines. As your calendar fills, easy to layer styles meet the demands of your day. And as you challenge yourself to try even more, versatile sets transition with you. The Lululemon fall lineup brings new levels of comfort and confidence, whether you're starting something fresh or starting something over. Check out the latest arrivals in store and on Lululemon.com now. A whoop strained against his teeth. He swallowed it, grinning, and spiraled back towards the stars. Again, the pitch shrank beneath him. This time he climbed higher still until he fancied there might actually be whips of cloud drifting somewhere between himself and the earth. Then he dropped. The wind roared in his ears. His stomach seemed to remain somewhere above him while the rest of his body hurtled downwards, adrenaline detonating through his veins.

27:52The sensation bordered on paralysis. The terrible exquisite certainty that he was falling too fast and too far and had already waited too long. It was glorious. It was freedom. Draco held the dive until no sensible person would have done so. Then hauled himself out of it with his heart pounding so violently he could hear the pulse in his ears. His toes skimmed the grass. A soft, unmistakable pop sounded across the pitch. Draco turned half expecting Davies to have returned and already preparing something suitably vile about a grown man fleeing his own wife. It was not Davies. It was granger. Draco stared. Had she apparated all the way to Wiltshire merely to continue shouting at him about that damned book? He swooped low over the grass and brought his broom to a hovering stop in front of her. What the hell are you doing here? But Granger did not look furious. She looked confused. Her wand was raised. Green healing sparks still glittering from its tip. And she was staring around at the unfamiliar pitch as though she herself had not entirely understood how she had arrived there.

29:01In fact, she looked as if she had come directly from bed. Her hair had been dragged into a long plat. Though curls were escaping it in every direction. She wore muggle shorts beneath an oversized, thoroughly worn university of Edinburgh jumper and both her legs and feet were completely bare. I felt you, she stammered, still glancing around in bewilderment. Your heart rate was through the roof and your adrenaline spiked and it was horrid. I know it was wicked. Draco corrected, still catching his breath. I thought you were about to die. How did you feel any of that? Draco demanded. And how in hell did you get here? The bloody ring! Granger thrust her hand towards him, the offending piece of jewelry catching the moonlight. Draco gave it a dismissive look. Impossible. The connection only runs one way. Then explain how I'm standing in Wiltshire you utter crump it. Annoyingly she had him there. Draco frowned at the ring, already turning over the charm work in his head. Some part of the spell had plainly behaved in a manner it had never been intended to behave, which meant he would have to examine the whole damned thing again.

30:15The possibility that his own work might be at fault lasted approximately two seconds before a far more satisfactory explanation presented itself. This is obviously because you took it off when you weren't supposed to, he said. You've damaged something. That spell work is delicate. Granger flung both hands into the air. I did not operate halfway across the country to debate which of us is the greater crump it. You are. Draco steadied his broom beneath him. And since you came charging here in your pajamas to establish whether I was alive, you may consider the matter settled. I'm perfectly fine. Go home. Surely you have something better to do. This apparently was catastrophic. Something better to do? A voice climbed. Me? Oh certainly. My life is one long, lovely, plinky, plonky holiday. Granger! I adore popping down to quidditch pitches in the middle of the night, in March, barefoot, especially when the entertainment consists of trading insults with Draco fucking malfoy. She was gathering momentum now, each word sharper than the last. In fact, I have so much leisure time that I've been considering lawn bowling. Perhaps ships in bottles. Perhaps I'll...

31:33Something brushed the back of her neck. Granger jerked sideways her tirade collapsing at once. What is? A glimmer of gold hoved at the nape of her neck. Draco stared. The snitch hung there with insufferable innocence. It's tiny wings fluttering beside an escaped curl as though it had spent the evening nowhere else. He glided towards her and caught it neatly between his fingers. Been looking for this little bugger all night. Wonderful! Granger's reply came strangely tight. See? So pleased I could be useful. Draco was still admiring the recovered snitch when the tremor in her voice registered. He looked at her properly. Her jaw was clenched, but not with anger. Her shoulders were drawn in, her bare feet planted rigidly in the cold grass, and a shiver ran through her hard enough to shake the oversized jumper hanging from her frame. Cold. Of course she was bloody cold. Granger inhaled through her nose as though attempting to collect whatever dignity remained available to her. Since you are clearly not dying, would you mind taking me to the nearest flu? Why in Merlin's name did she need him for that? Draco swung down from the broom, irritation already forming a suitable answer, but it died as soon as his boots hit the grass. Up close, Granger looked considerably worse.

33:00The color had drained from her lips. Her face was pale beneath the moonlight and the shivering had become almost continuous. A suspicion occurred to him. Did you operate here from bloody Cambridgeshire? It took a few sits. Her teeth clicked faintly around the words. I worked a double shift at St. Mungo's this morning, and between that and the long distance apparition, I'm rather, rather drained. Draco stared at her. Then he cast a warming charm over her with considerably more force than necessary. His annoyance had changed shape altogether. She had exhausted herself, not merely tired herself, not merely inconvenienced herself. She had burned through enough magic to leave herself shaking in a field in Wiltshire in March, without shoes because she had believed he was in danger, the reckless idiot. And what, he asked, each word clipped, was the plan once you arrived to save my life with practically no magical reserves? I thought I might put a plaster on it. The sarcasm would have been better if another violent shudder had not overtaken her halfway through.

34:10Sod off with the lecture. I wasn't thinking. I was asleep, and then that damned ring started screaming at me that you were about to die. Something in Draco ought perhaps to have been moved by this. It might have been, had it not been substantially occupied by outrage at her complete lack of self-preservation. Right. So for all you knew, I was dueling a gang of dark wizards, and your response was to appear barefoot, half-magic-less, and in your gym jams. He gave her a disbelieving look. Inspired. It was a reaction. Granger hissed. Forgive me for failing to conduct a risk assessment while I thought you were actively dying. I'm a healer. There was a very good chance I could have done something about your... your... My grievous injury that does not exist. Yes. Draco mounted his broom again and brought it alongside her. Get on. I'll take you to the manor, and you can flew home from there.

35:11Granger stepped backwards. No. Draco shut his eyes briefly. Naturally. The broom. Fine. He dismounted again, planted both feet on the ground and held out his elbow. Then I'll side along you to the manor. Come on. You look as though you're about to faint. Granger retreated another step. This time there was no irritation in her face. If anything she had gone paler. No. Not the manor. Her voice had dropped. Please. Take me to the swan. I can flew from there. Draco's patience. Already thin. Freed further. What is wrong with my flu? My mother is in France this week. If that's what you're worried about, it isn't your mother. Granger folded her arms tightly across herself, though the warming charm had begun to soften the worst of her trembling. I just... I don't want to go back there. All right? Draco stopped. She looked diminished somehow, standing there beneath the open night sky. Not merely exhausted. Not merely cold.

36:18The witch who argued with him over everything who charged towards danger as though it had personally offended her had folded in upon herself. Small, pale, afraid. Understanding arrived with sickening lateness. The manor. Not his mother. Not the inconvenience. Not even him. Malphoy manor itself. Whatever it was to Draco, home, inheritance, obligation, it was something entirely different to Hermione Granger. Its rooms still belonged in part to the war and to the things that had happened there. He was an idiot. Draco lowered his arm, then offered it again without argument. The swan then. Granger hesitated only a moment before taking it. Her fingers rested lightly against his forearm, startlingly cold through the damp, sweat-soaked fabric of his quidditch kit. They vanished from the pitch. The swans' cloakroom received them with the cramped warmth of an overused public house.

37:20Beyond the closed door came the muffled roar of conversation, bursts of laughter and the heavy clatter of glasses from the boisterous, wizarding pub that served as one of Wiltshire's principal flu stops. Before leading Granger out, Draco cast a notice me not over them both. Attention seemed to slide harmlessly away as they entered the main room, allowing two dishevelled figures, one in quidditch gear, the other barefoot and dressed for bed, to cross towards the hearth without attracting the questions they richly deserved. Halfway there, Draco became aware that Granger had not released his arm. More concernedingly, she was no longer merely holding it. She was leaning on him. He said nothing. At the hearth, he took a handful of flu powder and scattered it into the flames. Green fire surged upwards. The miter, Granger said, naming the wizarding pub near as to cottage. Draco looked down at her. You haven't enough magic left to apparate home from there. My cottage isn't connected to the flu network. She sounded as though this were perfectly reasonable. I was going to walk. It's only a few minutes. A noise of pure disbelief escaped him.

38:34You've already proved you're an idiot once tonight. Draco said, and apparently you're determined to establish the point beyond dispute. I'm coming with you. The clearest evidence of Granger's exhaustion was that she did not argue. They stepped into the miter's flu together, and the green flames seized them at once, whipping them through a succession of hearths in a blur of soot, heat and elbows. Draco counted perhaps two dozen before the journey finally disgorge them into the pub. He recovered first. Granger attempted to do the same, but what began as an effort to stand ended in a slow sideways collapse against him. Draco caught her around the waist before she reached the floor. That was enough of that. With one arm still braced securely around her, he apparated them straight into her kitchen. The crack had scarcely finished echoing before something orange shot through the doorway. Granger's cat skidded into the room, took one look at his mistress sagging against Draco's side and released an urgent accusing meow.

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41:01I spent all day healing and then the long distance apparitions were. She drew a shallow breath. Stupid. Get me a replenishing potion. Reddish vile. On the worktop there. Draco guided her to a chair and lowered her into it. She sank back with a long sigh while he summoned the indicated vile, caught it in one hand and snapped the waxy stopper free. I'm the utter crumpet, Granger murmured and drank the entire potion in one go. Draco regarded her. He really ought to get that in writing. The cat had begun circling her ankles, weaving anxiously between the chair legs while delivering a running commentary of plaintive meows. I quite agree, Draco told him. She needs rest. You don't understand him. Granger let the empty vile fall onto the table with what appeared to be the last strength in her wrist. Stop pretending. He says there's a sofa buried somewhere beneath the archaeological site of books in your front room and you should go and lie down on it. Her eyes sharpened despite everything.

42:08Do not touch those books. The cat emitted a long, mournful wail. Bed then, Draco said. Excellent suggestion. I concur. He did not give her time to produce another objection. Taking her by the crook of the elbow, he operated them upstairs and deposited her carefully onto the mattress. The bedroom confirmed every word of her claim that she had left in a frantic hurry. The bedclothes were in chaos. The blanket thrown aside as though she had leapt out of bed without remembering it was over her. The bedside lamp listed drunkenly, apparently knocked in her haste and her muggle mobile lay face down on the floor. A few flicks of Draco's wand set matters right. The lamp straightened. The mobile rose from the carpet and returned to its place. The worst of the bedding smoothed itself out beneath Granger just as the cat came pounding up the stairs, sprang onto the mattress and greeted her with another reproachful noise. He burrowed himself into the space beneath Granger's arm like a furry hot water bottle. Granger dragged the cover over herself with one weak hand while the other found the cat's head and began stroking automatically between his ears.

43:21Draco remained where he was for another moment, ostensibly to make certain the potion was taking effect and that she was not about to expire as a consequence of having come to rescue him from a completely imaginary catastrophe. But with Granger tucked beneath the covers and the cat pressed possessively against her side, the room had abruptly acquired the private stillness of somewhere he did not belong. He edged towards the door. Right, I'm going then. He paused with one hand near the frame. Try not to do that again. I'm sorry, Granger said. Draco glanced back for being complicated about your house. I don't care. It doesn't matter. I know the awful things that happened there are ancient history. You don't have to keep excusing yourself. He took another more determined step towards freedom. Go to sleep. I know it isn't rational. She made an indistinct gesture towards the ceiling as though the rest of the explanation might be written there.

44:24But stop thinking, Granger. An oxymoron if ever there was one. Draco turned and walked out. By. It was only to use the flu, she said softly behind him, mostly to herself now. Bit pathetic, really. Draco stopped. He took one long step backwards into the room. Apparently he could leave her to insult herself in many ways, but not that one. It is not pathetic, he said, to avoid revisiting the place where you were tortured. The words you idiot presented themselves with considerable force, but he suspected he had exhausted his allowance for the evening. Granger answered with an absent little, hmm. Draco lingered despite himself. Anyway, much of the manner was destroyed at the end of the war. That whole half of the house is gone. The drawing room too. Her gaze remained fixed on the ceiling. It's gone. Yes, there are gardens there now. Greenhouses, flowers, medicinal herbs. What herbs? Of course. Why did she have to know everything in such excruciating bloody detail? Even half conscious, she required footnotes.

45:43I don't know, Draco said. My mother sends the useful ones to apothecaries. Go to sleep. That's good. Her voice had softened further. Each word losing a little of its hold on wakefulness. The potion was beginning to pull her under so it could do its work. Yes, I'm happy something good could come out of such a terrible place. Draco supplied. Yes. For a while she said nothing. Moonlight spilled through the window and rested softly across her face. She was still pale. Her eyes too wide for someone so close to sleep, while her hair lay in a dark coil across the pillow and slowly loosened around her. The sight produced an odd doubling in Draco's mind. Curled beneath the blanket in an oversized jumper, hands resting above the covers, she resembled with unnerving clarity the girl he remembered from school. For a moment he could almost see that younger granger beneath the years between them. Then the impression shifted. The schoolgirl vanished and in her place was the witch before him now.

46:50Lovely and exhausted. Her face softened by fatigue. Her magic drained nearly to nothing because she had believed he was in danger and had come for him without hesitation. She had done this to herself for him. Draco found he did not know what to do with that. The sensation sat strangely beneath his ribs unfamiliar enough that he preferred not to examine it. Granger's eyelids were beginning to sink. Taking this as his opportunity, Draco moved quietly towards the door. He could leave the cottage on foot, put a little distance between himself and the wards, and disapparate outside without waking her. She had certainly fallen asleep now. She had been silent for far too long. Malfoy, Draco muttered a curse and stopped. You're supposed to be sleeping. Whatever answer she was assembling came slowly now. The edges of her speech had begun to blur. The potion drawing her steadily towards unconsciousness, even as Granger, with entirely characteristic stubbornness, continued trying to resist it.

47:55Your Patronus is lovely, Granger murmured. Her eyes remained closed, and the words emerged with the dreamy solemnity of someone already halfway to sleep. Draco caught off guard by the compliment, hesitated. Er, thanks. What is it? Go to sleep, Granger. But what is it, she persisted, apparently prepared to conduct the interrogation without ever opening her eyes. Sleep. There was a drowsy pause. Is it a kind of dog? Yes, go to sleep. What kind? Draco exhaled through his nose. A Boazoy. An excellent choice, objectively speaking. Boazoy's were rare, aristocratic Russian wolf hounds once kept by royalty. Tall, aloof, elegant, and possessed of exceptionally good hair. There were worse creatures with which a man might find his soul inexplicably associated. Oh, Granger said, sounding faintly pleased with herself. The zars used to have those. They did. Go to sleep. This isn't a pub quiz. He's a rude thing, she murmured after another moment. Though he's pretty.

49:09I'm leaving now, Draco informed her. His fur looked so soft. Her voice faded with the last word, and this time no further question followed. Draco waited suspicious of the silence after so much determined resistance, but at last it held. Granger was asleep. The cottage settled around them, quiet beneath the moonlight. Of its occupants, only the cat remained awake. It sat watching Draco with its steady yellow stare, and he regarded it back with customary distrust. Oddly, however, the creature did not appear to hate him quite as much as usual. If anything, Draco thought it looked approving. Draco spends an impressive amount of this chapter insisting that his worst decisions are somehow part of his job, sneaking a look at the grimoire, professional curiosity, tracking Hermione after she deliberately leaves the ring behind. Security procedure. Threatening her with round the clock or a surveillance until she puts it back on. Entirely reasonable, obviously. And the funny thing is, he isn't completely lying. He really is trying to protect her.

50:22He's just also using that responsibility to bulldoze straight through every boundary she puts in front of him, which makes Hermione's midnight appearance on his quidditch pitch such a strange reversal. The ring Draco created to keep watch over her suddenly lets her feel him, and she doesn't stop to investigate how or why. She wakes up believing he's dying and immediately starts apparating across the country barefoot. That is spectacularly reckless. It is also very Hermione. She spends so much of her life behaving as though there's always one more reserve of energy available if the situation is important enough. Another shift, another apparition, another person who needs help. Draco is furious because for once he's watching that habit from the receiving end. She hasn't exhausted herself for a patient or a research problem. She's done it because she thought he needed her. And he has absolutely no idea where to put that information. The moment at Malfoy Manor lands differently because neither of them is fighting on equal footing anymore. Hermione doesn't give him a lecture. She doesn't accuse him. She just says she doesn't want to go there.

51:30Draco takes far too long to understand why, but once he does, something important changes. He stops arguing. Even later, when Hermione starts apologizing for being complicated about the house, Draco won't let her reduce what happened to an embarrassing irrationality. He can tolerate her calling herself an idiot for plenty of things. Apparently this isn't one of them. It is not pathetic, he tells her, to avoid revisiting the place where you were tortured. That may be one of the clearest moments we've had yet of Draco understanding that his version of the past and Hermione's can occupy the same physical place and still be completely different histories. And then, almost accidentally, he tells her what became of that part of the Manor. The rooms are gone. There are gardens there now, greenhouses, medicinal herbs. Hermione's answer is very important. Very small. That's good. By the time she falls asleep, Draco still hasn't solved the problem sitting under his ribs. Hermione crossed half the country because she thought he was in danger. He stayed because she wasn't all right. Neither of them seems particularly prepared to call either action what it is. The cat apparently has reached his own conclusions.

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