2,204A/N: I am so glad you enjoyed chapter 29! For anyone asking, there will be 40 chapters of this story.
Thank you to raven_maiden and SaintDionysus. The three of us have started a podcast called "Austen, Bronte, and Hugo Walk into a Bar..." to have a post-chapter discussion on new chapters, and a recap of the early chapters.
A sharp gasp jarred her awake. Her eyes popped open into a pitch-black room.
Her bed felt unfamiliar, and there was a person next to her — moving.
Hermione jerked upright, twisting to find Draco's pale skin in the moonlight. He jumped out of bed, dragging his trousers back on.
"Go back to sleep, Granger."
Draco. Draco getting dressed.
Because he'd been naked next to her, in his bed.
Because—
A flash of light shot into the lamp at his bedside table. Blinking at the low flame, Hermione turned back to find him lacing his boots.
"What's wrong?"
"My Mark is burning. The Dark Lord just arrived in Edinburgh."
Her heart started pounding in her ears. "He wasn't there when you left?"
"No. He and my aunt were at an event in Switzerland." He stood and buckled his belt. "Yaxley insisted we clean up the mess before calling him."
Hermione's eyes searched for the clock. Nearly five. They'd only been asleep for maybe half an hour.
Her throat tightened with panic. Suddenly she remembered she was naked, the sheets pooling around her hips. She grabbed for them, tucking them under her arms, but it hardly seemed to matter.
Draco wasn't looking at her.
He summoned a clean shirt from his closet and magicked the buttons to close as he reached for his cloak.
"Sleep," he said softly. He was already at the fireplace and reaching for the powder when she started to climb out of bed.
"Draco—"
He yanked his hand back as if burned, spinning around to face her. "Go to your room."
His voice was low and cold, nothing like the moans or whispers from just an hour ago. She inhaled sharply—
"I don't know what I'm walking into," he said. "Your room is safer."
And then he flicked his wand, closing his Floo.
He turned on his heel and strode quickly to his door. She clutched the sheets close to her as she watched him leave, her heart lodged in her throat. He pulled the door open and paused, turning his head over his shoulder.
"This isn't how I wanted to wake up with you. I'll try to return straight away and maybe we can—"
He cut himself off, his jaw clenching and his eyes flickering into stone.
Hermione watched him shut off, rolling his shoulders and pressing his lips together. She wanted to run to him. To hold him to her and beg him not to go. But he had to go back. And she'd have to wait, counting the minutes until he came home.
"Go to your room," he repeated. "Please." And with a swish of his robes and the click of the door, he was gone.
Hermione stared at the door for five seconds before slipping from the sheets and looking for her clothes. She pulled on her underthings, grabbed her shoes, and plucked up her dress. She crept through the passage between their rooms, and as soon as she passed through, she tossed her dress into the empty fireplace to burn. When she spun around to face her own bed again, the previous night came crashing down on her.
"Feel good?"
The scars carved into his chest, painting a constellation across his skin.
The way his eyes fluttered closed when she wrapped her hand around him.
"One day, I'll kiss you here until your legs shake."
His face as he pushed inside of her for the first time—
Groaning in her ear—
The shiver of pleasure cresting over her as he rocked into her body.
Hermione stared at the bed she hadn't slept in last night. Because she was in another room, making love to Draco Malfoy.
She brought her fingers to her lips, remembering the way his breath had panted over her face, and wondered if she felt any different. She certainly felt sore — there was a twinge between her thighs and a few muscles in her legs had been deeply stretched — but there was something about the world now. Like a shimmer of magic had been cast over it, or perhaps disappeared.
Peeling off her bra and knickers, she stared down at herself. There was a dried layer of sweat on her skin — hers and Draco's. A streak of dirt on her thigh that she'd missed. Her mind was dizzy with exhaustion, but there was no way she'd be able to sleep with Draco gone.
She drew a bath, needing to ease her muscles and wash away what was left of Edinburgh. Sinking back into the lavender-scented bubbles, she closed her eyes and let her mind wander.
A girl screaming. Walls splattered with blood.
Hermione bolted upright, gasping. The smell of lavender mixed with the scent of blood and smoke until she was heaving and swallowing down bile.
She jerked to her feet and let the water drain from the tub, swirling away with her fantasies. The world hadn't stopped turning just because she'd slept with Draco Malfoy. Her friends' bodies were still cold.
She turned the tap on the right, and cold water pooled around her feet. She sunk into it, shivering and clutching her knees to her chest. By the time she was submerged, the smells and sounds had vanished. There was nothing but a lake nestled between icy mountains, the waters still and calm.
Her teeth chattered as she brought each piece of information forward to examine before tucking it back into a book and sending it to the back of the library in her mind. When her books were securely bound and her shelves tidied, she summoned the most recent book to the forefront of her mind — the one with Edinburgh, Cho, and Viktor.
She'd been right. Viktor was working with the True Order. And now his cover had been blown while trying to get her out. Both he and Cho were working with that mission in mind, and they'd failed. But she hoped the Order had other victories last night.
How many had been saved? How many had died trying to get her out?
Hermione stared at her knees. They'd been covered in blood earlier, but she wasn't sure whose. Grabbing a bar of soap, she scrubbed her legs over and over, trying to organize her thoughts.
The True Order had somehow developed Portkeys that allowed them to travel in and out of heavily-warded properties — an unheard of magic. As she'd learned on Thursday, Edinburgh was for all intents and purposes a personal property, sealed with blood magic by its "owners" — the Death Eaters who'd spilled blood there. If there was a way to enter blood-sealed properties, then why hadn't the True Order hadn't just Portkeyed into the Death Eaters' estates by now? There had to be a reason.
Plan B, Angelina had shouted.
Plan A had been to take the girls out by Portkey, their owners still alive and their arms still intact. But they'd failed — the Carrow Girls had Splinched. The True Order had attacked Edinburgh knowing that Plan B might be necessary.
Hermione was confident that the owner didn't need to die in order for the Lot to escape the property, but Cho and Viktor believed otherwise. Maybe the Order had reasoned that Edinburgh was their best chance of catching owners and Lots together if Plan A failed.
Her head was still spinning when she stepped out of the bath. Her fingers and toes were numb, and her blood felt like ice in her veins.
She felt a shiver of guilt as she wrapped herself in a fluffy robe, but she was no use to anyone with hypothermia. She exited the bathroom to find Draco bent over her desk, a quill in his hand. She froze.
"You're back." Relief washed over her in waves, warming her limbs.
"Just for ten minutes," he said, and she watched his eyes flick over her bare legs. "I didn't want to disturb you."
"What happened? Were they suspicious of you? Did they question Charlotte?"
"Not to my knowledge, no. Charlotte was interrogated by my aunt, who determined she had no useful information."
Hermione blinked, hardly daring to breathe. He was here, and he was safe. "What are you writing?"
"I'm making you a list. Because I know you'll ask me for one." He turned his eyes back to the parchment and continued writing.
Her brow furrowed. "A list?"
"Of the dead."
A jolt passed through her skin. Her heart squeezed, and she stepped toward him.
"George? George Weasley?"
"No." His hand continued the list with a flourish. It was lengthy.
"Fleur Delacour?"
"No."
"Angelina—?"
"Granger, just let me finish."
She stood there with panic sparking along her veins, compiling a list in her head of the other names that would ruin her if they appeared in his handwriting. She let him continue in silence until a sudden idea made her jump.
"Did Blaise and Pansy make it out?"
His quill paused, and he glanced up at her again. "Yes. I made sure of it when I went back for Charlotte." He studied her face. "I'm sorry, I would have told you last night if I'd known you were concerned."
She opened her mouth to insist that she wasn't concerned about Pansy Parkinson and Blaise Zabini, but the loosening knot in her stomach said otherwise. She closed her mouth and nodded.
Draco finished his list two minutes later. The scroll was almost a foot long. He handed it off to her and stared at the floor, twirling the quill between his fingertips.
Hermione's fingers shook as she held the parchment. He hadn't buried the lead. At the top of the list was the name Katie Bell. Her vision blurred, but she tightened her jaw and continued.
Three Carrow Girls that had been Splinched in the Lounge, unnamed. Cho Chang. Mulciber, Mr. Parkinson, Warrington, Pucey, and Gregory Goyle. Nineteen Death Eaters and thirty-one guards — none of their names important enough to specify. Two Muggle groundskeepers. The Hungarian Minister.
Several dozen True Order members, and six werewolves — none of them named. Sixty-eight guests, their identities "to be determined." He'd scribbled at the bottom of the page, 172 dead.
She took a deep breath before she looked up at him. "Voldemort must be furious."
"He is." Draco's throat bobbed. "When I was excused, Yaxley was begging for his life."
Her eyes widened. "Did he torture you as well? Any of you could have called him—"
"No. It's the responsibility of the highest-ranking officer to call for the Dark Lord. Yaxley should have done it immediately." He set the quill down and leaned back on the desk. "The only reason he might be spared is that he and Dolohov got out Minister Cirillo, Minister Santos, and all other visitors in the Burgundy Room." He gestured to the list. "The Hungarian Minister was gambling in the Lounge at the time of the attack."
She nodded and scanned the list again.
"But who you won't find on that list might be more interesting."
Glancing back up at him, she held her breath. He slid his hands in his pockets, watching her closely.
"Susan Bones escaped with them. They only found her arm."
Relief settled over her. And then she frowned. She looked down at the list of dead again, searching.
Travers' name wasn't there.
"They must have thought she was Goyle's. You're sure she wasn't Splinched?"
"Positive. And Travers is still alive."
Her eyes snapped up to him. "I was right. The owner doesn't need to die for the Lots to escape. It's just the arm."
Draco nodded. "There's something else though. Angelina Johnson and George Weasley left the castle by way of the front gate. They were pursuing several Death Eaters." He paused, and her heartbeat quickened. "A witness claims that Angelina fell when she followed George over the estate line."
She blinked at him. "Fell."
"The guard said she 'dropped like a sack of flour.'" He swallowed, staring intently at her. "Apparently she was convulsing."
Hermione's ears were ringing. "But she—"
"Got out, yes. George saw what was happening and vanished with her by Portkey. But I thought you'd find that… interesting."
Her eyes flitted about the room, her mind working in overdrive. Angelina's tattooed arm had been removed. She shouldn't be affected by the estate lines any longer.
"Was she conscious?" She twisted her fingers in the tie of her robe. "Was it just a momentary shock, or was she still convulsing when—"
"I don't know, Granger," he said gently. "And to ask about it would be too suspicious."
She chewed on her lower lip. "Maybe there's some… trace of the tattoo still. Some latent effect of the potion."
"I thought the same. She was able to Portkey inside with no issue. It's only when she tried to leave that she collapsed."
"Yes." Hermione began pacing. "It couldn't have happened when she escaped from Macnair's, or she wouldn't have tried to cross Edinburgh's estate line."
Draco ran a hand through his hair. "Not necessarily. Maybe she just didn't think it would happen at Edinburgh."
"No. They wouldn't have risked it. Which means that the potion is still active and showing novel properties almost a year later." A chill ran down her spine. "There's no precedent for this magic. We have no idea what its long-term consequences are, or if"— she drew a sharp breath—"if Angelina is even still alive. We need an antidote." She paused to look up at him. "The potion needs to be counteracted."
He nodded, following her logic. Pushing off the desk, he scratched a hand over his jaw and stared down at the carpets. "There's one last thing. On my way out of the Manor this morning, I found the body of a house-elf on the other side of the gates. Not one of ours."
"A house-elf?" she frowned. "You didn't recognize him?"
He shook his head. "He was Splinched."
Her brows pulled together. She'd never even heard of a house-elf being Splinched before. "He was trying to Apparate in?"
He paused. "That's what I assume."
She opened her mouth to ask why, and it dawned on her.
Her.
The True Order had sent a house-elf to cut off her arm and escape with her. And for some reason, the wards didn't allow it.
"But Dobby—"
"The wards were fortified to bar non-familial elves after the events of last year." Draco's jaw tightened. "I know Father did something to ours. Nott Sr. helped other pureblood families."
She ran her fingers over her lips, thinking quickly. If they'd sent a house-elf, it had to be because they didn't think an Order member could safely enter the Manor using one of their new Portkeys. The Portkeys were only able to penetrate Edinburgh's wards.
She let her mind run for several minutes before looking back up at him. He was watching her, his eyes traveling the lines of her robe, tracing her wet curls. He looked dead on his feet, but his gaze was glued to her.
"Did they ask where you went last night?"
He blinked and shook his head. "Father told them that I was hit by an unknown curse, and that he had to send me home for treatment."
Nodding absently, she let her mind drift to what he'd actually been doing when he'd come home last night. Specifically, what he'd been doing to her.
A blush rose to her cheeks at the memory of his breath between her thighs — the slide of their bodies together, and the press of his face into her hair.
She bit her lip and glanced at him. His eyes were focused on the modest triangle of skin visible at her collarbones, where the robe closed. His gaze drifted upward, pausing on the lip pulled between her teeth.
She swallowed. "About last night…"
His eyes jerked to hers, wide and guilty. She opened her mouth to continue, but he was spinning on his heel and striding to the window.
"Don't worry, Granger." His voice was flat and distant. "It won't happen again."
Her chest tightened. "That's not what I—"
"There were a lot of... emotions involved. I should have had more self-control."
"Draco, I don't regret it."
She heard his breath catch across the room.
Last night, they hadn't known if they'd live to see the morning. But as he turned to face her, sunlight catching on his hair just as it used to in Fifth Year Transfiguration, she was certain she'd do it again. They might be running on borrowed time, but she'd take these moments with him while she still could. She'd take them, because without them her shelves might crumble and bury her in grief.
Something writhed inside of her, begging for him to release it again. She crossed the room and stepped into him, rising on her toes to press her mouth to his. His arms rose to her elbows — soft, tentative — as his lips parted for her. She brushed her tongue inside his mouth, and a small sound escaped from his throat.
Pulling away from him, she met his glassy gaze and reached for the tie on her robe. The moment the knot loosened, he pushed her back against the wall, kissing her deeply and running his hands over her stomach and hips. She sighed and threw her arms over his shoulders.
The quick slide of his palms over her body awoke every memory of last night, and her skin caught fire as his hands rounded her hips and dipped down to squeeze her backside. She gasped into his mouth, and he moved to kiss her neck. He pressed his hips forward, pinning her to the wall, and she could feel the outline of him, growing harder.
His hands slipped over her stomach as she dug her fingers into his hair, and when they settled on her breasts, he let his thumbs circle her tightly and press down on her aching nipples.
She sagged against the wall, the robe hanging off her shoulders as he sucked on her neck and played with her breasts. He rolled his hips against her stomach, and she moaned.
The door banged open, and they sprang apart. Hermione yelped and spun to face the wall, cinching her robe tight while Draco cursed.
"Lovely."
Her heart thumped wildly as she turned to find Lucius Malfoy scowling in her doorway. He swept into the room without waiting for permission and stood near her fireplace.
"Father."
"It's good to know that if I ever need to speak to one of you, I should check the opposite bedroom first." Lucius's hair and sneer were in place, but he looked exhausted. Deep purple shadows lined his eyes as he gestured for the two of them to sit in the armchairs before him.
Hermione glanced at Draco, who cleared his throat.
"Father—"
"Sit." The word was low and dangerous. "I'll only ask once."
Hermione tightened her robe again, her heart thumping wildly. She moved to the chair with her eyes turned toward the floor, and Draco silently did the same.
Lucius clasped his hands behind his back and stared down at them both. "So. You've been playing revolution, have you? Passing notes and playing games?" His voice trembled with anger.
Hermione said nothing, her gaze still trained on the carpets. Panic bubbled in her chest as his footsteps came closer.
Lucius paused in front of her knees, and Draco stiffened next to her. She could count her heartbeats as Lucius tilted her chin up to meet his eyes.
"What have you been up to, Miss Granger?"
The smooth knife prodded through her mind, slicing on empty air as Hermione tugged her bookshelf deep into the recesses of her mind. He pressed further, but she was ready for him now. She grunted and pushed his mind back.
There was a clatter of movement, and Hermione gasped as Lucius released her. When the spots in her vision cleared, she found Draco on his feet, and Lucius staring down at her.
Lucius sneered and turned to his son. "Sit down, Draco. I hardly touched her."
Draco obeyed, clenching his jaw.
"I see you're as obstinate and foolish as my son." Lucius's lip curled, his expression almost disappointed. "I'll make myself very clear, Miss Granger. Whatever you've been working on in my library stops today. You are not to set foot in there again. If you do, I'll know about it."
Her mind spun as her heart dropped in her chest. She needed those books—
"Father, you can't ban her from the library. She is my— mine, and she—"
"And the library is mine. As is every book inside of it. If a single book is touched, I will know." There was a long silence. "Besides," he said, turning to the shelves that Draco had restocked for her, "it seems she has plenty of books to entertain herself with — which I'm sure will be very useful, seeing as neither of you will be going anywhere for quite some time."
A chill crept down her spine. Draco sat very still next to her.
"Father—"
"Draco was hit by an unknown curse last night." He began strolling around the chairs, his hands behind his back. "Its effects are still unclear, but when he returned from Edinburgh this morning, he fell into a deep fever. We are taking every step to see that he is healthy for the next task the Dark Lord asks of him"—Lucius stepped around Hermione's chair, bringing him back into sight—"but according to the family Healer, he is in no state to be in the field right now."
Lucius returned to his position in front of the fireplace, challenging them with his gaze.
"You can't be serious." Draco's knuckles were white clutching at the armrest. "You can't ground me—"
"Think of it more as a holiday, Draco." Lucius smiled. "Edinburgh is closed indefinitely, and the Dark Lord will be monitoring his followers closely for the foreseeable future. And I trust you and Miss Granger have discovered a new indoor activity to keep you occupied for several weeks."
Hermione's jaw dropped in a silent gasp. She closed her eyes, wishing the armchair would swallow her whole.
Draco sputtered to her left. "We—Father!"
"I have neither the time nor interest in your excuses. As long as Miss Granger continues to take her Contraceptive Potions, I'm happy to have you fixated on anything other than committing treason."
Hermione covered her face — she could feel it burning beet red through her fingertips.
"Now if you'll excuse me," Lucius lilted, "I have to go speak to your mother. I'm sure she'll be thrilled to have you at home for the indefinite future."
Hermione listened as Lucius strode to the door, wrenched it open, and slammed it closed. The air in the room felt thick and heavy.
"Are you alright."
She nodded, still unable to speak.
"You… er—" Draco cleared his throat. "You've been taking potions? I haven't— I should have asked before, but—"
"Yes, no. No, it's covered. We're… yes." Her eyes flew open and she swiftly stood. "I need to… Um… yes."
She darted for her bathroom, sealing herself inside and leaning against the oak. After several calming breaths, she checked the cabinets above her sink, triple-checking that she'd taken her potion this month. And just as suspected, she was fine. Potion taken.
As the humiliation ebbed, she focused on the pressing matter: Lucius had barred her from the library. She was so close to breaking the tattoos. She could feel it. And now all her resources had been snatched away. Splashing cold water on her face, she tried to think of solutions.
She grimaced as another dilemma rose to the surface: what to do about Charlotte's memories. Draco had said the Malfoys didn't own a Pensieve, so they would have to go about finding one. And now he was forbidden from leaving the Manor.
After several more minutes of stalling, Hermione peeked out of the bathroom to find she was alone except for her morning coffee tray. She changed out of her robe, ignoring the memory of Draco's hands underneath it less than an hour ago, and into comfortable denims and a jumper.
When she found no Prophet on her tray, she ventured out of her room and down to the dining room. Narcissa sat in her chair, sipping her tea and turning pages in the paper. She looked up when Hermione entered.
"Hello, dear." She smiled tightly. "I'm glad that you're safe."
"Thank you," Hermione said, taking her chair. She wasn't sure what else to say, so she poured herself a cup of coffee.
"I received a message from Lucius in the middle of the night that the castle had been attacked, but that you and Draco had made it home. I've been extremely worried, but thought it was best to let you both rest." Narcissa paused, her expression soft. "Are you alright, Hermione?"
Hermione set her coffee down and forced a smile. "I'm fine. I'll be fine. I spent a few hours Occluding, which helped quite a bit." Hermione shifted in her seat. "But I was wondering about the paper—"
"Feel free." Narcissa waved flippantly at the newspaper. "Not that Skeeter had anything useful to say, unfortunately. Every detail Lucius gave me contradicted what she wrote."
Hermione nodded. "What did she say?"
"Small band of rebels, minimal losses, Swiss terrorists." Narcissa rolled her eyes. "Perhaps tomorrow the Ghost will have more information, but I think this is going to be kept tightly under wraps."
Hermione stared at the crinkled corner of the Prophet, thinking of Cho and Katie Bell and those who would get no obituary in their paper.
"Where is Lucius?"
"Gone again." Narcissa pressed her lips together. "As the best Legilimens in the Dark Lord's army, he and my sister have been sent to interrogate recent visitors at Edinburgh and search for possible collusion. They will be gone for some time." She paused before folding her napkin delicately. "But before he left, he made it clear to me that you are now expressly forbidden from entering our library."
Hermione swallowed and grabbed a scone from the serving plate. "I'm sorry, Narcissa. I'm sure he's told you all about it, but he's... not very happy with us."
"A tantrum," said Narcissa with a wave of her hand. "All Malfoy men are prone to them." She smiled, and after blinking at her, Hermione did the same. But there was a tightness around Narcissa's mouth as she picked up her teacup and brought the porcelain to her lips. "He's not wrong about one thing. The next few weeks will be dangerous, Hermione. The Dark Lord is likely suspicious of everyone in his circle."
Nodding, Hermione crumbled the scone between her fingertips.
"But if you need anything," Narcissa said, casting her eyes down to the Prophet and turning a page.
The rest was left unsaid, hanging on a string between them as they drank their coffee and tea.
Hermione stood before Draco's bedroom door that afternoon, hesitating before finally rapping her knuckles against the wood. There was a shuffling behind the door, and then he pulled it open, blinking at her drowsily. He rubbed his eyes, and her gaze caught on the plain cotton shirt he'd worn to bed, and the way his hair was still drying from an earlier bath.
"What time is it?"
She shook her head. "Er, it's after two in the afternoon. Are you alright?"
"Just catching up on some rest. Practicing for this fictional ailment I'm supposed to have."
He stepped aside for her, and as she moved past him she remembered that he'd had quite a trying evening, and then very little sleep due to…
Her eyes caught on the rumpled bed.
"Sorry to bolt earlier," she said, tearing her eyes away. "I was… uncomfortable."
"It's fine. My father has that effect on people."
He shut the door and turned to face her. She forced herself to focus. "Charlotte's memories?"
Nodding, he moved to his bedside drawer and produced the vial of gossamer memories. She took it from him.
"We need to find out who her contacts are first. We can explain what happened, and let the Order decide what to do with the rest of her memories." A crease appeared between her brows as she watched the threads dance together. "The Manor doesn't have a Pensieve?"
"No," his voice rumbled. "My father never had use for one."
"Do you know anyone who does have one?"
"No." He ran his hand through his damp hair. "My understanding is that they are hard to come by now. There were only two people who made them in Europe, and both have gone into hiding."
She sighed, her shoulders sagging. "There might be another way to view her memories, but I won't be able to research them without a library." Her eyes swept over Draco's bookshelves. "I don't want to get you in even more trouble, but—"
"You need the library. I know."
She rubbed her temples, thinking. "Perhaps the catalog could be charmed like the Hogwarts' book finder. It sends books traveling to their requestors."
"If I know my father, he also made it impossible for books to leave the library."
She shook her head. "No, you're right." After a few moments, an idea sparked. "Viktor told me a bit about the catalog at Durmstrang." Her mind was spinning too fast to worry about Draco's scowl. "It's typically freezing inside the castle, and the library is far from the dormitories. The catalog is enchanted so that if you focus on it, you can communicate with it anywhere within the castle."
"What good is that? If it doesn't send the book to you—"
"I had the same question. Transcription spells." Hermione began pacing as her voice grew quicker, more excited. "You can ask the catalog to transcribe entire books for you. The copies would go blank when he left for the holidays, but Viktor said he had an entire mini-library in his bedroom for the school year. We don't need the books to leave the library — we just need their contents."
Draco shifted behind her. "That's very convenient, Granger, but there must be a special enchantment on it. The catalog at Hogwarts didn't—"
"I know. But in Hogwarts: A History, they discuss revisions to the library when they added the Restricted Section in the 14th century. They mention "safeguards" to stop students from cheating or accessing forbidden material. It's why the catalog there is far more restricted than the one here in the Manor. If I had to guess, the Durmstrang catalog is standard."
She spun to him and found the hint of a smile on his lips, his eyes intent on her.
Twenty minutes later, she stood at the foot of his bed, staring at a dozen empty journals that Draco had conjured on the floor. She peered around his shoulder, wringing her hands.
"Remember to think clearly of the catalog. And then—"
Draco turned to her, extending his wand with a lifted brow. She cleared her throat and took it from him. "Right. Thanks."
Closing her eyes, she focused on the catalog. "Access Hogwarts: A History."
Magic thrummed in her blood as she pointed the wand at the first blank journal. "Transcribo."
The pages shivered for a moment before the ink bloomed, rearranging itself until she was staring down at the familiar pages of her childhood. She grinned and tried several of the Scourer journals, making sure they would appear as well.
Draco tried a different volume on potions, and then asked the catalog to transcribe the titles of all books with references to blood magic. Hermione's eyes lit up as the pages filled, one after another. Ten minutes had barely passed before Draco had to conjure another dozen blank journals.
An hour later, she was sitting on the floor of Draco's bedroom with books spread out in every direction, deep into research for creating a Pensieve from scratch while Draco looked into spells on memory transfer.
She huffed when she finished reading a two-page list of materials that were either unfamiliar or extremely rare. "This is impossible." Her neck ached, and she rubbed it before looking up at him. "Will you write to Theo?"
His jaw clenched as he lifted his eyes to her. "And say what, exactly? 'Got a spare Pensieve?'"
"We need help, Draco." Hermione pressed her lips together. "Perhaps he could come visit. You're very ill with this unknown curse, and you'd like to see some friendly faces."
"That's not suspicious at all," he said, flipping a page.
"Well, I'm getting nowhere. And every hour we spend on this is one less hour we spend on the tattoos. I can look at alternative ways of viewing memories, or you can write to a friend who may save us months of research."
Draco heaved a dramatic sigh, just as he used to at Hogwarts, and Hermione hid a smile when he dragged himself to his feet and out the door to post the letter.
They researched late through the evening. Draco apologized to Narcissa on their behalf and had the elves send dinner up to them, but Hermione barely picked at it, too caught up in her notes. She switched back and forth between tattoo research and memory research, picking up one when the other frustrated her.
As the clock ticked toward one in the morning, she glanced at Draco, in his armchair still flipping pages with a frown. Her eyelids were beginning to droop, but she could get through the rest of this chapter on the Runes used in the first Pensieve creation before calling it a night. She rubbed her eyes, struggling against yawning, and read until her head dropped onto her chest.
She woke the next morning snuggled into warm sheets with her head firmly supported by soft pillows. Blinking awake, she stared up at a green canopy speckled with daylight. She was in Draco's room still.
She whipped her head to the side and discovered that half of the delicious warmth was due to Draco's arm across her waist and his head on her shoulder.
Her chin brushed the hair on top of his head, the strands fluttering with her surprised breath. He curled himself tighter around her middle, bringing his hips in contact with her thigh, and her eyes widened to feel his morning erection. The hand on her waist slid under her jumper, and she stifled a gasp.
Hermione bit back a smile. So this was what waking up next to Draco Malfoy was like. She brought her fingers to his hair and drifted through the locks, relishing the feeling of his every exhale.
She felt it the moment he woke up. His fingers twitched against her stomach, and his breath caught in his throat. He lifted his head just an inch.
"Sorry." His voice was scratchy and deep. "I didn't mean to…"
And before she could stop him, his hand was lifting off her stomach, his hips pulling away from hers. He leaned up on his arm and stared down at her. There was a pattern etched into his face from where he'd slept on her knit jumper.
"I'm sorry I fell asleep here." He shook his head, like it was no trouble. "You didn't have to… I mean, I could have been moved back to my own room."
He blinked down at her. "Yes. Sorry, I should have… I just…"
And his words from yesterday morning floated back to her:
This isn't how I wanted to wake up with you.
She bit her lip, and his gaze was drawn down to her mouth. She watched his eyes grow heated before she pushed up on one elbow and placed one hand on his neck, guiding their lips together.
Their mouths were tentative, brushing softly with barely-there sighs. His hand returned to her waist, and she let out a quiet moan. Her fingers tangled in his hair, running patterns across his scalp as his tongue slipped between her lips.
She whispered his name into his mouth and sat up, tugging her jumper off. He watched in stupefied wonder as she leaned over him, kissing him again and rolling him onto his back.
His hands roved over her spine, playing with her bra clasp, as if he was afraid to undress her. She huffed and sat up again, reaching behind her back to unclasp it. He licked his lips as her breasts were freed.
She tossed the covers away and lifted her thigh over his hips, straddling him, but then looked down to her comfortable sleep clothes in confusion. She'd been wearing jeans—
"I transfigured them. I promise," Draco said hastily.
She glanced back up at him. He was having trouble keeping his eyes off her breasts.
"For sleeping, I just thought…"
She smiled and leaned into him again, scattering kisses over his jaw and neck. "Just admit it," she whispered. "You hate Muggle denims."
He laughed softly, his hands gliding down her waist. "Only when you're wearing them."
She sucked on a spot that had his fingers curling into her hips. "And why's that?"
He hissed as she widened her thighs and pressed their centers together. "Because I can't keep my eyes off your perfect arse in those damned denims."
A blush spread up her cheeks, and she tucked her face into his neck. "Oh."
He slipped his fingers under the waistband of her pajama bottoms, reaching down to fill his hands with her backside. She gasped as he squeezed and tugged her against his erection, rolling her body against his in slow waves. Her nipples tightened, her breasts brushing over his shirt with every movement.
"I think about your arse a lot, Granger," he groaned into her ear. "A lot."
She dropped her forehead to his shoulder, her fingers digging in the pillows as he moved her body how he wanted it. Every roll of her hips dragged his cock against her clit, tearing sighs from her throat.
She grabbed the collar of his shirt—"Take this off"—and sat up tall to help him. The muscles in his stomach pulled taut as he ripped his shirt off, and before she could think of the next step, his lips descended on her breast.
Her fingers sunk into his hair, throwing her neck back as he kissed and grazed at her skin. One of his hands played with her other breast, his fingers tweaking and rolling her nipple until she whimpered.
"Please," she begged. "Please touch me—"
He groaned with her nipple in his mouth, and the vibrations made her gasp. His lips popped off of her skin and he rolled them over, pinning her to the mattress. She clutched at his shoulders and pressed their mouths together as he shoved her pajamas down her hips. She tried to kick them off, but then his fingers were slipping through her folds and all other thoughts fled her mind.
Her eyes fluttered closed, her lips parting in a sigh. He circled her entrance and dragged his fingertips up to her clit, his strokes light and teasing as her thighs tensed.
"Draco, I need—"
He kissed her neck, and her mind blanked. She twisted beneath him as he sucked bruises across her skin, adding to the collection from their first time as he slowly worked her clit.
"More." Her heels dug into his calves. "Faster—"
Skillful fingers began rubbing her, circling and pressing down. Her nails raked down his back and her legs struggled to writhe.
"Like this?"
She jerked her head in a nod. "Yes. Please—"
"Fuck—"
"Yes—"
His fingers pressed down, faster and faster. Her body shook, her insides clenching and thighs straining. The stretched muscles inside of her clamped down on nothing as she followed the blinding flash behind her eyes into the crystal starlight.
She floated, drifting down as Draco slowly rubbed her through her aftershocks. He was hard against her hip, and she shivered as he ground against her.
When her breathing returned and her mind reentered her body, he was kissing her shoulder, rolling his hips into hers. He caught her lips, grunting as his tongue tangled with hers, and she felt the spark catch again.
"Draco—"
"I'm close," he ground out.
"Draco. Inside."
He paused, his forearms shaking as he glanced up at her. "What?"
"Please," she whispered. "Be inside of me again?"
His lips parted, his pupils blown wide. "I won't… I can't last—"
"I don't care." She tilted her hips up. "I feel so good, I promise—"
He shoved his pajama bottoms down and fumbled to yank hers off one leg. She brushed her fingers through his hair as he slipped between her thighs, pressing the tip at her entrance.
"Just slow. I'm a bit sore."
He nodded, sweat beading at his temples. He pressed forward, and she clawed at his shoulders, gasping for air against the intrusion and the sting.
His head dropped as he groaned low and deep into her shoulder. It echoed against her ear, curling through her belly and relaxing her sore muscles as he pulled out and filled her again.
Her face burned at the sounds they made.
"So fucking wet."
She kissed his jaw, and he wrapped an arm under her shoulder, pressing his torso to hers, rocking their hips together.
He whispered curses into her ear as she closed her eyes, trying to catch her breath. The thick slide of him was just this side of too much, but then he shifted, and her eyes shot open as his pelvis rocked against her clit. He caught it again, and again, until she was mewling with every thrust. His teeth grazed her neck, biting and scraping, marking her skin.
He slid a hand between them and strummed her clit. Her legs trembled and she writhed into the sheets.
"You don't have to—"
"I need to," he growled. "I need to feel it."
Her eyes rolled back as his fingers rubbed faster, matching the pace of his hips. She moaned and pulled her knees to his chest, and he breathed hotly against her neck when he slid back in.
"Fuck, fuck—"
His hips drove quicker, harder, and she whined as his fingers coiled her tighter and tighter.
"Draco. Draco, please—"
"Need to feel you—"
Her body trembled as it swelled inside her. She curled her fingers in his hair and dragged his face to hers, swallowing his moaning. His lips were hot and panting as his hips snapped deep inside of her, his fingers pressing hard on her clit, and she shattered, crying out into his mouth.
He fucked her through two more seconds of it before he shook and moaned low, pumping into her. She was still shivering with it as he kissed her deep, tongue slipping along hers and teeth biting her lips.
He pulled back to stare down at her, his hair falling across his face, his skin pale with the morning light. She gasped as her walls contracted around him one last time, her eyelids fluttering as her cunt pulsed. His mouth opened, and he licked his lips.
"You're so beautiful," he whispered.
Her eyes closed again as she clutched his arms, focusing on her breathing.
He slipped out of her slowly, and she moaned at the ache and the mess. He kissed every bruise he'd left behind, apologizing for being too rough, and she shook her head and said, "You weren't."
The next few days were much of the same: she and Draco would research in his room throughout the day, and at night, fall into bed together. Theo was scheduled to visit at the end of the week, so they refocused on the tattoos, dissecting Nott Sr.'s journal line by line. Draco soon found that the quickest way to distract her from the books was by kissing the spot under her ear, and she soon found that there was little she could do to keep him focused when he was wanting her. She woke up with his arms and sheets tangled around her, and if Narcissa suspected anything, she didn't say so.
The Prophet now listed Viktor Krum as Undesirable No. 1, printing his face on the front page daily and calling for his immediate capture should he be found in the U.K. On Wednesday, another small article caught her eye:
Minister Grubov of Bulgaria has been thoroughly vetted by the Dark Lord's interrogators, and was found innocent of all collusion. When asked for a statement, Minister Grubov told the Prophet, "I am deeply saddened by the betrayal of one of our brightest. Bulgaria remains loyal to the Great Order."
She frowned down at the paper, wondering how Viktor had accomplished such a deep undercover task without allies. The only other Bulgarian Hermione knew to be at Edinburgh was Draco's friend Katya.
Her breath caught. She'd been so wrapped up in the tattoos that she'd forgotten that critical detail. Katya had been the one to ensure that Draco would bring her to Edinburgh on the night of the attack. She'd promised to be there, but hadn't showed up.
Hermione mumbled an apology to Narcissa as she bolted from the breakfast table and ran up the stairs. Draco was poring over a book on blood magic when she burst through the door.
"Katya."
He stared at her. "Sorry?"
"She was the one who made sure we were there that night, even though she didn't show up herself. It's highly likely that she's working with the Order. And perhaps Viktor as well."
His throat bobbed. "It's possible, yes."
Hermione's lungs dragged in air. "Can you write to her and ask her to visit? If she has ties to the True Order, we might be able to pass a message through her. We could tell them what happened with Charlotte."
Draco closed his book and stood, his eyes fixed over her shoulder. "Alright."
When he returned, he was quiet for the rest of the morning and afternoon.
Theo Nott arrived on Thursday evening. As he stepped through the Floo and into Draco's bedroom, he didn't seem at all surprised to find Draco perfectly healthy.
"Ah. That curse did some serious damage, Draco," he said with a smirk. "You've never looked worse."
"I'm still ten times more handsome than you, so—"
"That's enough," said Hermione sharply. "Have a seat, Theo. Please."
Theo smirked and plopped down in one of Draco's armchairs, swinging his leg up to cross at the knee. Hermione sat down in the chair opposite him, giving Draco a meaningful look.
Draco mumbled under his breath before shuffling over to his desk, where they'd call for a serving tray with a bottle of Firewhisky. He filled a glass with Firewhisky and returned to Theo's side, offering it to him.
Theo looked at the glass, then up to Draco, and said with an innocent smile, "Ice, please."
Draco glared down at him, and his knuckles turned white around the tumbler. Hermione rolled her eyes as he nodded stiffly and walked back to the serving tray to add ice.
"A strange location for a friend to pay a call, Draco," Theo said, glancing around the bedroom. They'd tidied up earlier, making the bed and putting away their books. "I'm flattered, but I really don't think introducing a third partner will help your sex life—"
The Firewhisky tumbler slammed down on the tray, and Hermione jumped.
"We just didn't want to be overheard," she said with a scowl as Draco returned with Theo's glass.
Theo took it with a smile. "So what's this about?"
Draco sat down, took a deep breath, and said, "Does your father have a Pensieve."
Theo blinked at him. "Whose memories are you looking at?"
"None of your—"
"The less you know the better, Theo," Hermione interrupted. "Trust me."
He looked between them and furrowed his brow. "He doesn't, no."
Disappointment churned in her stomach, but she quickly recovered.
"Would you help us obtain one?"
His eyes narrowed at her. "Why? Does this have to do with the tattoos?"
"Yes." The room was silent, apart from the swirling of Theo's ice. "We wouldn't ask if it wasn't important."
Theo hesitated for another moment, then blew out a quick breath. "Alright. The most I can do is ask around when I'm in Knockturn this weekend." He eyed Draco as he brought the glass to his lips. "Owls are being monitored, so I'll have to visit again if I have news."
Draco nodded. "Of course."
"Your father won't be suspicious?"
"No. He's out of the country. The Dark Lord isn't happy about Edinburgh, but my father has sworn that his new wards will be 'even more powerful.'" Theo's expression darkened. "He's working with an old associate of his. Some Swiss bloke."
Hermione took this in, her stomach turning at the idea of stronger wards at Edinburgh.
"Is anyone else in hot water?" Draco asked.
"Yaxley, you know. The Carrows were next. They were negotiating with a new Lot seller on the night of the attack, but they were expected to be at Edinburgh, so the Dark Lord was suspicious. He had them interrogated and tortured. Your aunt cleared them just yesterday." Theo sipped from his glass. "I know they used Legilimency on every Carrow Girl, but couldn't find a leak."
Hermione drew a sharp breath, her chest loosening in relief. There was still no suspicion of Charlotte or the other girls. But as Theo finished his Firewhisky and chatted with Draco, she couldn't help but think that there was a True Order member somewhere waiting on crucial information that only Charlotte's memories held.
Hermione threw herself into researching the tattoo potion while they waited to hear back from Theo. She and Draco holed up in his room and argued over interpretations of Nott Sr.'s scribbled handwriting until their dinner had gone cold.
Earlier in the week, Narcissa had informed her that Lucius had forbidden Mippy from retrieving the Ghost. So Hermione spent the mornings poring over the Prophet, trying to piece together what Skeeter wasn't saying instead of what she was. Viktor remained Undesirable No. 1 as the days went on, and when there was no response from Katya by the following week, Hermione felt her suspicions confirmed that she'd been working for the Order.
Ten days after the attack on Edinburgh, the Prophet reported the public execution of Nott Sr. His crimes included "a failure to carry out orders."
Hermione stared down at the moving picture of Ted Nott being dragged up on a platform, his eyes wide with terror as Voldemort stepped forward.
Behind Voldemort stood the Swiss colleague that Nott Sr. had been working with, who now would take over all his duties for protective wards, the U.K.'s Anti-Apparition line, and offense against the French and True Order: Albrecht Berge.
Theo was there, ashen and wild-eyed. Skeeter reported that Theo would go with Berge to the French border and apprentice under him. Berge stood beside Theo as the Dark Lord swiftly killed his predecessor, his hand on his shoulder.
Draco paled when she told him the news, and Hermione slipped from the room, leaving him with his thoughts. They couldn't depend on Theo's help anymore. Not when his father was dead and he was trying to stay alive.
She wandered through the east wing, thinking. If she and Draco couldn't view Charlotte's memories, locate a contact, and turn them over to the Order somehow, then their only other option was to find a way to return them. They'd discussed the possibility once, but trying to find an intermediary in the Order had seemed less risky than Draco walking back into Edinburgh and attempting to give Charlotte her memories back. But now they had no other choice.
When she returned to Draco's room a few hours later, he brought up the option before she did. They paused their research on the tattoo potion that day, looking instead into restoring extracted memories.
It only took a few hours to find an answer. Hermione had found a potion in One Thousand Magical Potions and Their Uses that was well-documented to successfully restore memories by imbibing them. The catch was that the memories had to belong to the owner — people had tried to imbibe others' memories with no success. But it was a simple potion, its brew time under two hours, and Draco confirmed that they had all the ingredients at the Manor.
Draco jumped to his feet once she found it, expecting she'd want to brew it right away. But she told him to wait.
Even if Lucius hadn't hinted he'd know the instant Draco tried to leave the property, she wasn't sure it was the right time. She was so close to figuring out the tattoo potion. There was a certainty in her blood, like Harry's confidence when he was close to a Horcrux. She'd begun dreaming about watching the letters vanish from her skin. But she needed more time.
The Dark Lord was still watching his followers, and Edinburgh was still closed. It was an enormous risk for Draco to go there once, let alone twice. If she was able to crack the tattoo antidote quickly, she reduced the risk by half. He could kill two birds with one stone — give Charlotte her memories back and give her the directions for the tattoo antidote to pass to the True Order.
When she explained why they had to wait—"It's safer for you"—Draco tugged her to her feet and kissed her until everything was lost to her except for his lips against hers.
Early the next morning, Draco received word from Lucius that his "grounding" was up. The Dark Lord had recently asked about his recovery. There were rumors that a band of True Order fighters still remained in the U.K., and he was to join half a dozen other Death Eaters in a mission to snuff them out. He was to leave the day after next.
She hadn't been able to speak when he first told her, staring out the window as he assured her it was only for two weeks. He told her it would be far less dangerous than Switzerland. He might come back even sooner, if the Dark Lord was satisfied that the True Order had run back to France. She tried to take comfort in what he was telling her, but saying goodbye to him again was a bitter pill to swallow.
He kissed her slowly on the morning he had to leave, pressing her into his mattress and sliding his thigh between hers. She rocked against him as he pinned her hands and sucked at her skin. Only when she was begging him did he push into her, swallowing her moans as he played with her breasts, and biting down on her shoulder as he rolled their bodies together.
After he left, she Occluded for half the day before focusing her mind on the tattoos. She had several ideas for the potion that she was ready to try, so she took her notes down to the laboratory and set to work. The first task would be to recreate the inky potion the Lots had ingested or been injected with, and test it on a mouse. Once she was confident she'd gotten the potion correct, it would be easy to create an antidote.
Her lips pressed together as she stared at the ingredients on the lab shelves. Of course, the day after Draco's wand was no longer available to her, that was the day she was ready to use magic again. Brewing potions without a wand was possible, of course, but infinitely harder.
She spent until two in the morning working at a fraction of her normal pace before giving up. She tossed and turned in Draco's bed that night, pressing her face into his pillow. There were so many things she should have asked him before he left. So many things she wished she had a partner for. But now he was gone, and she was on her own. After four in the morning, she finally drifted.
Hermione slept in the next day, and breakfast was waiting for her on Draco's desk. She downed a cup of coffee and managed a few bites of toast before she headed downstairs to find Narcissa. She found her in the conservatory, carefully clipping flowers and pruning bushes.
Narcissa drifted her fingers across a blossom and smiled up at her. "Good morning, dear."
"Good morning. I'm sorry I missed breakfast. I had trouble sleeping."
Narcissa paused, frowning. "I'm sorry to hear that. I can ask Mippy to bring you a potion—"
"Actually, I— I need to ask you a favor." She moved closer to the rose bushes and let her practiced story rattle from her lips. "I think I've built a tolerance to the generic kind. It helps me fall asleep, but I can't stay asleep. I was hoping to brew a new potion. You see, I found an old recipe for a Dreamless Sleep potion that—"
Plucking her wand from her robes, Narcissa extended it to Hermione. Hermione blinked down at it, then glanced back up to her.
"Whatever you need, Hermione." Her tone was gentle and her gaze was warm.
Hermione gingerly took the offered wand. "I— yes, thank you. I'll just be an hour, if that's alright."
"You know," she said lightly, "I will be spending most afternoons down here now that spring is upon us, either pruning or enjoying a book. I would say I won't be in need of a wand for several hours a day… for the foreseeable future."
Hermione gaped at her, struggling to come up with words. "Thank you, Narcissa. I could maybe try brewing multiple versions to rotate between—"
"If it's alright with you, dear, I'd prefer to drop the pretense." Hermione's heart skipped as Narcissa clipped a perfect white rose from the bush, the long stem littered with thorns. She turned to face Hermione as she ran her fingers over the sharp edges. "You're attempting to remove your tattoo, aren't you?"
"I…" She swallowed thickly, opening and closing her mouth. "I am." The words hung heavy in the air. "Why would you help me… if you knew?"
Narcissa looked up at her, her eyes a piercing shade of blue. "It's time," she said softly.
Before Hermione could ask further, Narcissa turned away, humming quietly and clipping away the dead leaves.
"Thank you, Narcissa." She stood there for a moment before she spun on her heel and ran back to the potions lab.
Her veins pumped with magic and adrenaline as she set the cauldron to boil and summoned the ingredients from the shelves. An hour later, as she watched it simmer, her mind drifted to her theory that the Malfoys had purchased her as insurance, should the Order win the war.
The explanation still fit, of course. But perhaps his wife was more inclined toward rebellion than Lucius Malfoy thought.
Hermione worked tirelessly over the next week to recreate the original tattoo potion used on the Lots. Every morning she would wake up and have breakfast with Narcissa before asking to borrow her wand. She'd be in the potions lab by nine o'clock to brew a new potion, altered slightly from the day before. By the late afternoon, when the potion had finished brewing, she'd transfigure a mouse from a teacup and test the potion on it. She'd signed a scroll in her own blood, just as the Death Eaters had, and a scribbled line would appear on the mouse's left leg.
Utilizing blood magic, she dropped her own blood into the circular ring she drew on the laboratory floor. Every day she'd numb the mouse and monitor its vitals as it dashed out of the blood boundary, huffing in frustration as it barely registered a twitch. But on the tenth day, the vital graph spiked.
She gasped at the angry red spikes, whipping her head to watch the numbed mouse creep further and further out of the blood boundary line.
She blinked, holding her breath. When she had jumped past the Manor's boundary and rolled down the hill, the shocks had continued sizzling her nervous system until Lucius brought her back.
The mouse's path grew jagged, stumbling as if it were drunk. She quickly summoned it back into the blood boundary circle. Her head was spinning as she watched the flaring red lines on the mouse's vitals ebb, slowly returning to a healthy green.
Her fingers twitched with nervous energy, and her pulse pounded. This might be it. She might have successfully recreated the tattoo. Forcing herself not to celebrate just yet, she set to work on an antidote, focusing on counteracting the primary ingredients in the first potion.
A few hours later and her antidote was simmering in the cauldron, but it wouldn't be ready until the smoke was rising in perfect spirals, indicating the poison in the bloodroot was neutralized. She tested her tattoo potion three more times on different mice as she waited, perfectly replicating the results of her first trial.
As the hours stretched on, she took small bites of the dinner Narcissa sent to the laboratory, and fed the mice from a hunk of cheese she'd requested from the elves. It was four in the morning when the smoke rose in perfect spirals, and fifteen past when all four mice ran through the blood boundary with no change in their vitals.
Hermione rubbed her eyes, sagging against the counter. She tried again, dropping the first mouse back into the barrier alone, and watching it successfully leave with no ink on its leg or shocks to its system.
She tried it with the second mouse, and had the same results — the mouse was free.
At five a.m., she was on her fourth mouse when there was a knock on the potions laboratory door.
She held her breath as the door pushed open, and when Draco poked his head inside, she threw herself into his arms. He lifted her off the floor as she pressed their lips together and cupped his face. He set her down slowly, looking exhausted but bright-eyed. Then one of the mice caught his attention, scurrying over his shoes and out the door.
He jumped. "What—?"
She pressed her lips to his again, smiling and winding her arms around his shoulders.
"You're back. Are you alright?"
"Granger, there are mice everywhere—"
"It works," she said breathlessly. "Draco, it works. I've broken the tattoos."
He blinked at her, his eyes wide in astonishment. There was a flicker of something else, but it vanished quickly. His expression was soft as he pushed her curls out of her face and tucked them behind her ear.
"Of course you did."
He kissed her deeply and she grinned against his lips.
Pulling away, she closed the door and ran to the tabletop.
"I'll show you. It's incredible. I tried so many things, but you'll see. This time it worked—"
"I'm sure it does. You don't need to prove it." He flipped to the most recent page of her notebook, skimming at her list of ingredients. "So, now we get this to Charlotte."
"Almost," she said, resting her head on his shoulder as she stared down at her notes. "First, we need to test the antidote on a Lot."
His fingers froze on the pages, and he slowly brought his eyes to hers.
She bit her lip. "We need to test it on me."
.
.
A/N: Updates on Sundays. (Next update DELAYED TO 7/12/20)
Follow me on tumblr, twitter, and join the Facebook Group "Rights & Wrongs."
