Her lips opened in slow horror, but he was already walking away, crossing to the doors.

He paused as he pushed them open. "I'll think on that potion bit," he said over his shoulder.

Her chest felt heavy as lead as she listened to the doors click closed.

~*~

The next day he found her in the library just before noon. His face was unreadable as he approached, and she stood like a statue until he stopped in front of her and dropped a book on her research table.

"Perhaps this helps."

She ran her fingers over the cover. An old dark magic book. "What is it?"

"It's a replica of a book in Ted Nott's private potions laboratory."

She stared at it, hardly daring to believe. Her eyes snapped up to him. "Theo gave this to you?"

Draco shrugged and ran a hand through his hair. "I took the opportunity to drop in on Theo and Oliver this morning. Theo hadn't heard about a potion either, but Oliver confirmed he'd drank one. So he went looking."

Hermione's mouth fell open. "But won't his father find out?"

"Ted is still in Zürich celebrating his success. Apparently he's been too drunk to keep track of his privacy charms lately."

Blood rushed in her ears as she flipped through the pages, finding Nott Sr.'s notes in the margins. "Oh my God. This is— brilliant. This is incredible, Draco."

She turned an exhilarated smile on him, her chest heaving in excitement. Something familiar flashed in his eyes. And then her heart stopped as he pulled up a chair across from her like no time had passed and asked to see her notes on the potion. Her pulse thrummed with the promise that he would help her again. That maybe things might return to normal.

While she dove into Nott Sr.'s book, Draco read over her theories and notes. Hermione tried to focus on his logic and problem-solving. Did her best to ignore her traitorous mind when it floated up soft memories of his hands and his lips.

They worked together for two weeks, passing books back and forth like they used to, drinking their tea and coffee in the mornings and rereading yesterday's notes. She hesitated to ask about Edinburgh, but she was itching to go back. She hadn't been since the end of October, and it was the second week of March now. She'd read in the Prophet that the celebrations had been muted, but she still turned cold at the thought of what she might have missed.

One morning she cleared her throat and turned to him before her second cup of coffee. "Would you assume that the tattoo has the same properties when we are at Edinburgh?"

He lifted his head out of his notes and considered her. "I'd say so. I need to take you over the boundary when we enter and exit."

She huffed, crossing her arms in frustration. "That's just the problem, isn't it?"

His mouth opened. "Sorry?"