The first thing Draco had tried once he'd joined her was a series of unscrambling and translation spells. But the journals had resisted. So they'd continued their routine of getting to the library early, sipping their tea and coffee over the pages, and bouncing ideas back and forth about the meanings behind the passages as they worked.

Every evening around eleven, Draco would insist that they retire for the night and walk with her back to their rooms. He would listen as she shared her theories about Tolbrette's "lightning barrier," explaining why she thought he'd started with Celtic magic. He would stand with her outside her door, patiently waiting as she worked through small ideas that nagged her. He would ask questions or offer input in small ways, but truly, simply having an intelligent sounding board was invaluable. She would close her bedroom door once she'd exhausted herself, still ruminating about the order of entries and what might have killed "Pigeon No. 5."

When Friday rolled around and Draco reminded her that they had to appear at Edinburgh in two hours, she huffed in irritation that her research would be cut short that evening. For the first time, she had no interest in going to Edinburgh. She stomped upstairs to get ready, finding a short navy dress from Pansy in her closet. Putting in minimal effort towards her hair and makeup, she finished getting ready with forty-five minutes to spare and ran back down to the library.

Draco found her at ten minutes past the hour, pouring over the texts and biting her lip in concentration. When he led her out the doors to the drive, he noticed she was missing her gold collar and had to summon Boppy to fetch it. Hermione snapped it on as they walked, her mind still lost among the journals. "Do you know if Ted Nott will be at Edinburgh tonight?"

"I'm not putting you in Ted Nott's path, Granger," Draco grumbled. "Not when you look like that."

She blinked at him as the gates opened. Looking down at herself, she didn't find anything objectionable. A short dress, tall heels, curled hair, and hasty makeup. She was about to ask him to clarify when he took her arm and Disapparated them to Edinburgh.

Throughout dinner she found her mind wandering to the translation. It was easy to do, as the room was unusually muted tonight. Flint was still absent, and so was Theo. She tried not to worry about what it might mean for him and Oliver. Susan Bones was missing, as Travers had needed her that evening, so Goyle was sulky and silent. After a few hushed remarks about the latest setbacks in France — apparently the Order had retaken Groix — the boys drifted to stilted pleasantries. By the time they wandered down to the Lounge, she'd worked through several possible meanings behind the Septagram she'd found in Tolbrette's journal. When Draco pulled her down next to him on the couches, she curled her legs up onto the cushions, letting her knees fall against his. His arm fell over her shoulder, but he didn't push her to slide on top of him.