Time and Tide

Chapter 5

Chapter 5

Hermione sped toward Inchgarvie's black, igneous shoreline, beaching herself with a clatter of stone. Draco rolled off her and fell into the surf with a splash. He dragged himself out of the frigid water hand-over-hand, pale and already shivering. Hermione rolled onto her back and shed her ill-fitting skin with a groan. She hadn't realized how much the poor fit had hurt her arms and legs. How much Draco's extra weight would drain her.

Breathless, they crawled up the island's easternmost point, pushing past spider webs and creeping weeds to take refuge in the nearest fortification. Draco collapsed as soon as they were out of sight. He dropped both bags and rolled onto his back, completely soaked. Hermione joined him on the stone floor, her limbs heavy with exhaustion.

"A Selkie," Draco said on a gasp. "I'll be damned."

"You would have been damned," she corrected. "A few times over. Saved by a Mudblood and a half-breed." She looked over at him and finished with a pointed, "You're welcome."

He frowned, an arm resting across his forehead. "Lecture me later. I need to sleep."

"No, you don't. That water was freezing. Your lips are blue, and you're still bleeding everywhere. If you sleep now, you might not wake up again."

"Would that be so bad?"

She canted an eyebrow. "After all I just went through to save you?"

He released a slow breath, which she interpreted as agreement. She pulled her drawstring bag over and reached inside for her wand. Feeling it against her fingers gave her a rush of relief. She hadn't realized how much she missed it. How much she needed it.

Hermione cast a large, bluebell fire between them, its warmth immediate and welcome, and then transfigured a small pile of old twigs into a flimsy drying rack. She set it up beside him, half surprised that it remained upright.

"I'm going to ward the island. You need to get out of those clothes. You can wrap yourself in my cloak."

"Your skin?" he asked, somewhere between curious and repulsed.

"Or stay cold and naked for all I care," she bit out. "It's your own fault if you die of exposure. I've done my part to save you."

She stormed from the fortress and picked her way across the island, casting all the property wards and identifier spells she could remember. She explored the remaining fortifications and learned that they were all connected through a series of subterranean tunnels and covered paths. She knew the structures originated from before the modern era, and that they had been used and re-used by Muggles over the years. She understood why: the place was practically impenetrable. Combined with her wards, she felt reasonably confident that they could survive a Death Eater attack. Or at least their opening salvo.

Her final task was to transfigure clumsy shades from handfuls of grass, which she affixed to the fortification's carved windows. She backed away to survey her work. They were far from perfect, but they would hide their firelight from Muggles and menaces alike when it grew dark.

Once Inchgarvie was as secure as she could make it, Hermione rejoined Draco. He had taken her advice: his clothes hung across the improvised drying rack, and he sat with her sealskin draped across his back and over his arms, his legs tented on either side of the bluebell bonfire.

She blushed at the sight of him, at the humanizing parts she'd never seen before. Strong calves that shone with dark gold hair. A thick, pink scar on the inside of his left knee—the leg with the limp. Delicately boned ankles and pale feet. Long toes with evenly trimmed nails.