Out of Time

Chapter 56

Draco manoeuvres them to the closest bunk where her calves hit the frame. She sits as he pauses, holding up one hand, and says, "Let me try something."

She's curious, naturally. He frowns, deep in thought, and his shoulders give a twitch. His shadow separates from himself and Hermione instinctively leans back. She's not afraid of it; not exactly. But there's no denying that it's odd. More than that - it feels unnatural, and this feeling is somehow more in this enclosed space.

It's already dim inside here compared to outdoors, or even in the cottage. It makes the shadow seem to loom bigger, drawing darkness from nearby nooks and crannies into itself.

Why is he playing with it now? She'd thought they were about to have some fun.

As if reading her mind, Draco gives his head a small shake. "This was dumb, I think. Now he almost feels like a voyeur. But I didn't want to do it when - well, just lay back."

Hermione's properly stuck on Draco's use of 'he,' as if the shadow is a person. It's a little funny.

"Alright," she says, moving to lean back on the pillows. She needs a bit more and stuffs the other two behind her.

"Take your shirt off first."

"I'd hoped you might be doing this part," she challenges, getting comfortable.

"I'm about to be doing a lot."

Oh? Now she is intrigued.

"Help me out and get naked, won't you?"

Hermione pouts, but her excitement is beginning to mount. "Fine, but I'm not putting on a show for you and... and him."

Draco's eyes sparkle. "One day? How about just me?"

"We'll see."

She lays back, gaining an inkling of what he might be about to try. Reminding herself not to get too excited too soon, it's still futile to quell the warming heat rippling all the way to her toes.

It's also rare that she's just laying here before him, exposed and waiting. She'll never tire of the way he looks at her - and for a brief flash, she's tempted to remove the last bit covering her. But the carving on her arm has no place here, and she'd rather see the bandage than the wound.

One day.

Draco extinguishes the candles, dipping the tent into the last bit of ambient daylight from outside, but nothing can hide the heat in his gaze. His shadow moves up to keep pace and a thrill goes through her.

"Now, I'm not very good at it," he warns, "but I remember you saying something about wishing I had more hands."

This has honestly never occurred to her. She doesn't know why it would have, being a truly bizarre type of magic she'd never heard of until now. When he'd described how he'd been able to grasp the wands, Hermione could be forgiven for thinking more about the manor than about the shadow. But even when she'd seen it turn the doorknob earlier, this sort of possibility hadn't crossed her mind.

She's glad he hasn't turned this encounter into something about Theo, and Theo having hands. It wouldn't have been a big leap to connect Hermione's wish for extra groping with Ron's pronouncement the other day. Since he said that to Draco outside the bathroom, Hermione hasn't wanted to bring it back up. Draco hasn't seemed stuck on it and she's relieved that he's taking it in this direction instead.

He doesn't have any dexterity with it. Not yet. But as if he can read her mind about this, too, he smirks at her. "This is a motivating way to practise. So can I?"