Ascension
The next morning, Hermione woke with a start, the faint tapping at her window blending into the echoes of a dream she couldn’t quite recall. The sharp winter light filtered through the curtains, casting long shadows across the room. Blinking blearily, her gaze fell on the Potters’ short-eared owl perched on the windowsill, its brown feathers puffed up against the cold morning air. Quaffeleef, or Queef as George had irreverently nicknamed her much to Hermione’s enduring irritation, regarded her with an almost haughty tilt of its head. A small parchment, bearing the unmistakable intertwined initials of Harry and Ginny, was tied neatly to its leg.
Sliding out of bed and pulling her dressing gown tight around her against the chill, Hermione crossed the room quickly. She unlatched the window, allowing a rush of crisp air to sweep in, and retrieved the letter. As she worked to untie the parchment, she plucked a biscuit from the small stash on her bedside table and offered it to the owl, who cooed appreciatively and nipped affectionately at her fingers.
"At least you’ve got manners," she muttered, scratching the owl behind its ear. Quaffeleef hooted softly in response, rubbing her head against Hermione’s hand with unexpected warmth before taking flight, her wings catching the sunlight as she disappeared into the morning sky.
Hermione watched her go for a moment, then turned her attention to the note. She sank back onto the edge of her bed, her fingers brushing over the familiar parchment before unrolling it. The warm, looping script felt as familiar and comforting as the writer’s voices.
Hermione,
We know today is a big day, and we wanted to remind you how proud we are of you. You’re venturing farther than any of us ever imagined possible—literally and metaphorically! Ginny says to trust your instincts (as usual), and I say don’t get caught up in whatever you’re studying and forget to eat (as usual).
Good luck, Hermione. You’ve got this.
With love,
Harry & Ginny
A soft smile tugged at her lips as Hermione refolded the letter with care, smoothing the parchment as though to preserve every word. She slipped it into the side pocket of her ESA-approved travel bag, its presence already a reassuring weight. It would be a reminder of home, a tether to her life on Earth as she ventured into the stars.
Glancing at the clock, she noted it was just before 6 a.m. The early hour gave her a chance to seize the bathroom first, an opportunity she wasn’t about to waste. Hermione cast her arms above her head to stretch, the anticipation of the day ahead already quickening her movements.
Though she had only been sharing the hotel suite with the two purebloods for a few days, one undeniable truth had emerged: Theo Nott had a penchant for leisurely—and absurdly lengthy—bathroom routines. If he got in there first, there was a very real risk that all three of them would end up running late.
Shaking her head at the thought, she slipped her feet into her slippers and crossed the room quickly, her wand in hand just in case the bathroom door required any “gentle persuasion.” The last thing she needed was to waste time waiting for Theo to finish whatever mysterious grooming rituals kept his hair looking so infuriatingly perfect.
As she entered the bathroom and closed the door behind her, she let out a small sigh of relief. It was rare to find a moment of peace amidst the chaos of their unusual mission, and she planned to make the most of it.
When Hermione emerged from the bathroom some time later, the enticing scent of fresh pastries and brewed coffee greeted her. She followed the aroma into the common area, where Theo, ever the opportunist, appeared to have orchestrated a veritable feast. Platters of golden croissants, fluffy scones, and a selection of fresh fruit adorned the table, complemented by steaming pots of coffee and tea.
Draco was already seated, holding a teacup with the effortless poise that only centuries of meticulously drilled Malfoy etiquette could produce. His expression, however, betrayed faint amusement as Theo waxed poetic about the virtues of croissants.
“Granger!” Theo called out, gesturing with exaggerated grandeur to the table. “I took the liberty of ordering a fine selection of delectable treats since my morning ritual was so cruelly disrupted by your early bathroom coup. Come, indulge before we’re subjected to powdered meals and freeze-dried horrors!”
“Good morning to you too, Theo,” she replied, her tone dry but amused as she settled into a chair. Draco gave her a curt nod of acknowledgment, though the corner of his mouth twitched upward ever so slightly before he returned his attention to his tea.
Theo leaned in, a conspiratorial gleam lighting up his features. “Although, I did hear something yesterday that might be our saving grace. Dr. Nguyen mentioned the ship’s galley has an entire cupboard dedicated to chocolate. If that’s not a sign we’re destined to survive this mission, I don’t know what is.”
Draco rolled his eyes, the picture of long-suffering patience. “Oh, is that what you and Robert were whispering about during lunch? Truly remarkable, how you manage to trivialize interplanetary exploration with your confectionary obsessions.”
“Well,” Theo said, leaning back with an air of exaggerated nonchalance, “it wasn’t all we were talking about. Robbie was telling me that—”
“Oh, Robbie, is it?” Draco interjected smoothly, his tone edged with mockery. “Good lord, Nott, we haven’t even left Earth yet and you’re already starting in on pet names.” He set his teacup down with deliberate precision, fixing Theo with an incredulous look. “Haven’t you any semblance of professionalism?”
Theo grinned, utterly undeterred. “I don’t see why a bit of camaraderie can’t be part of professionalism. Besides,” he added with a wicked smirk, “After a bit of encouragement, Robbie seems quite keen to show me the, ah, less official features of the ship.”
Draco groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose as if physically pained. “Merlin help us,” he muttered.
Hermione, unable to suppress a smile, took a sip of coffee. The easy banter between the two men had become a strangely comforting rhythm, a reminder of humanity in the midst of the daunting unknown. As Theo launched into a lively recount of Dr. Nguyen’s “chocolate diplomacy,” she allowed herself a moment to simply enjoy the warmth of the moment before they head out to site.
Following breakfast, the trio arrived at the launch site to find it buzzing with activity. Engineers and scientists moved with precision between consoles, their voices blending into a hum of efficiency punctuated by the occasional sharp command. The air was thick with the charged anticipation of a momentous event.
Antonio Rodotà met them near the entrance, his tailored suit slightly rumpled but his demeanor calm and focused. “I trust you all rested well,” he said, though his keen eyes flicked quickly around the room, searching for any potential eavesdroppers. Without waiting for a response, he lowered his voice and added, “We’ve picked up some... anomalous readings.”
He motioned for them to follow, before leading them into a secure side room. Inside, Hambledon Quince, Archibald Throckmorton, and Soledad Cervantes waited around a table laden with maps and magical schematics.
Quince, ever the excitable optimist, skipped forward to greet them with a surprising amount of energy given his age. His eyes lit up at the sight of Hermione, and without hesitation, he enveloped her in a brief but warm hug. “Ah, my brightest protégé!” he exclaimed before immediately launching into his explanation.
“There was another appearance of the short signal resembling the Patronus charm,” he said, his voice quick and animated, as though the information couldn’t escape him fast enough. “It was faint but distinct.” His eyes gleamed with a mix of pride and wonder. “And—curiously—it was moving away from the ship this time. Back toward the direction it came from, as far as we can tell.”
Before Hermione could respond, Throckmorton stepped forward, his cane tapping sharply on the floor as he smacked a stack of papers lightly against the back of Quince’s head. “Focus, Hambledon,” he growled. His tone was gruff, but the familiar camaraderie between them softened the reprimand. Turning to address the group, he continued, “This could very well be the external communication we’ve been worried about—calling for reinforcements, perhaps.”
His eyes narrowed as he gestured to the schematics on the table. “However, there’ve been no changes to the ship’s composition, magical or otherwise. Not yet, anyway. We’ll be keeping a close eye on it, but I don’t trust coincidences, and neither should you.”
The tension in the room thickened as the weight of his words settled over the group. Hermione felt her pulse quicken, but Quince’s buoyant energy refused to wane. He turned back to her, his expression softening as he clasped her hands in his.
“I wanted to wish you good luck, my girl,” he said warmly, his voice dropping to an almost fatherly tone. “Whatever’s out there, I have no doubt you’ll make sense of it. This will be everything we hoped for and more—I can feel it.”
His unwavering confidence, though touching, did little to dispel the lump of anxiety building in her throat. She nodded, mustering a small but determined smile. “Thank you, Master Quince,” she replied softly, the weight of her responsibilities pressing down on her more acutely with each passing moment.
As the group began heading for the door, Cervantes, who had remained silent but watchful for most of the meeting, stepped forward. Her sharp, dark eyes scanned the trio with a piercing intensity. “Whatever that signal is,” she said, her voice calm but edged with urgency, “we need to treat it as both a message and a warning. Keep your wits about you up there.” She hesitated briefly, as if weighing her next words. “Good luck.”
Hermione inclined her head, her nod more deliberate this time. She exchanged a glance with Draco and Theo, both of whom seemed to absorb Cervantes’ caution with varying degrees of seriousness—Draco’s face remained inscrutable, while Theo quirked a brow, his usual levity briefly subdued.
The unknown loomed ahead, and the weight of it pressed against Hermione’s thoughts, threatening to scatter them. She was about to follow the others out when an idea struck her.
“Ah—almost forgot,” she said, her voice cutting through the room just as they reached the threshold. Everyone paused, turning to look at her curiously.
“There was some concern earlier,” Hermione began, “about radio messages being intercepted if we needed to communicate magical topics discreetly.” She reached into her enchanted pouch and rummaged briefly, her movements brisk but practiced. When her hand emerged, it held two thick notebooks, clearly too large to have fit inside the bag’s modest dimensions.
Rodotá’s eyebrows shot up, and he stared at the pouch, his mouth slightly agape. “Magic…” he muttered under his breath, shaking his head in what could only be described as a mixture of awe and mild exasperation.
Hermione suppressed a smile as she held up the notebooks. “I’ve charmed these so that the messages written in one will appear instantly in the other, visible only to those of us here. I used a modified version of the Protean Charm,” she explained, flipping open one of the notebooks to show the blank, enchanted pages. “The charm should work even outside our atmosphere, though I can’t guarantee the instantaneousness given the distance. Still, it should allow for secure communication.”
Quince stepped closer, his expression bright with interest. “Ingenious, my dear! A fine application of the charm.” He reached out to take one of the notebooks, handling it with the reverence of a scholar examining a rare artifact. “This could prove invaluable.”
Rodotá, still recovering from his earlier astonishment, cleared his throat. “You’re suggesting we’ll have to check these regularly?”
Hermione nodded. “Yes. While it’s not perfect, it’s better than risking sensitive information over unsecured channels. It’s a backup plan at best, but I thought it might help.”
Draco, who had been silent, raised an eyebrow as he examined the other notebook she handed to him. “A touch archaic for my taste, but it’s effective.”
Theo smirked. “Never underestimate the power of a well-kept notebook, Draco. You might even develop an appreciation for Hermione’s compulsive note-taking by the end of this mission.”
Hermione shot Theo a pointed look but couldn’t entirely suppress a smile. “Just make sure you use it properly. Any frivolity risks compromise.”
“Frivolity? Me?” Theo clutched his chest in mock offense. “Granger, you wound me.”
Rodotá shook his head with a faint smile, his professionalism asserting itself again. “A practical solution, Miss Granger. Thank you.”
With that, the group resumed their journey, the notebooks tucked securely away. As they stepped back into the bustling corridor, Hermione allowed herself a moment of quiet satisfaction. It wasn’t much, but it was one small measure of control in an otherwise unpredictable situation.
A quick Tempus charm before they exited the room revealed the time—just enough to get suited up and into place on the ship. Hermione’s stomach twisted with anticipation as they made their way to the preparation area. The team moved with practiced precision, the air buzzing with a combination of urgency and calm professionalism.
The suits were a marvel of muggle engineering, sleek and meticulously designed to withstand the rigors of space. Hermione couldn’t help but feel a flicker of admiration as she secured her helmet, the faint hiss of the seal clicking into place a tangible reminder of the journey ahead.
“Comfortable?” Theo asked, his voice crackling through the helmet’s internal comms.
“As much as one can be in a glorified tin can,” Draco muttered, his tone clipped but betraying the faintest edge of nerves.
Theo chuckled, and Hermione bit back a smile. Humor, however irreverent, seemed to be Theo’s way of diffusing the tension in the room—a tension she felt acutely as they made their way to the ship.
Inside the spacecraft, the trio found themselves in assigned observation seats near the rear of the main cabin. Their roles during launch were strictly non-operational—limited to watching, learning, and staying out of the way. Hermione buckled herself in, her hands trembling slightly as she secured the harness.
The cabin itself was compact but meticulously designed, every surface and piece of equipment serving a purpose. Panels of blinking lights and screens lined the walls, casting a faint, shifting glow that reflected off the smooth metal surfaces. Overhead, cables and conduits were secured in neat bundles, their presence a constant reminder of the complexity of the vessel. To one side of the cabin, a narrow hallway led to the crew’s sleeping quarters, small bunks stacked tightly together like compartments in a beehive. The passage was dimly lit, its utilitarian design in sharp contrast to the bright and active main cabin. The space, though functional, had a claustrophobic quality, as if the weight of their mission pressed inward along with the close quarters.
The faint hum of the ship’s systems blended with the quiet rustle of the crew’s movements, creating a tense, expectant atmosphere. Over the intercoms, the steady cadence of the muggle crew’s voices filled the cabin, a constant undercurrent of professionalism that only heightened the tension in the air.
“Final pre-launch checks complete. All systems are green,” a male voice reported with crisp precision.
“Copy that,” came a reply from the launch control operator on the ground. “Confirm readiness for engine ignition.”
“Main thruster ignition standing by,” a female voice chimed in, calm and steady. “Auxiliary systems nominal. No anomalies detected.”
Hermione tried to focus on their words, using the rhythmic exchange to center herself as the countdown commenced. The numbers echoed through the cabin, every second carving deeper into her mix of excitement and fear.
“Strapped in, Granger?” Theo’s voice came through the comms, light and teasing, but with an undertone of seriousness.
“Securely, thank you,” she replied, gripping the armrests so tightly her knuckles whitened. Despite her even tone, her nerves were evident in the way her fingers clenched.
“Good. Wouldn’t want you floating about before we even reach orbit,” Theo quipped.
“Ten seconds to launch,” the voice of the ground control operator interjected, overriding any further banter.
“Main engines primed,” another muggle team member reported. “Hydraulic pressure holding steady.”
“Roger that. Countdown commencing: T-minus ten… nine…”
As the countdown continued, Hermione felt the weight of the moment settle over her. Theo wore a crooked grin, though the slight furrow in his brow betrayed his own apprehension. She glanced at Draco, seated rigidly beside her, his expression neutral but his fingers gripping the harness just as tightly as hers.
“… four… three… two…”
He suddenly looked up, his eyes locking with hers, and for a moment Hermione felt as if she were staring into a mirror. The raw, animalistic fear in his gaze mirrored her own—the kind that stripped away every mask, every layer of composure, leaving nothing but the stark vulnerability of two people grappling with the enormity of what they were doing.
What were they thinking? Going to space? They weren’t nearly prepared enough.
“Main engine start.” The voice over the intercom was calm, almost detached, but the deafening roar that followed was anything but.
The spacecraft trembled with raw power, the vibrations coursing through Hermione’s body and reverberating in her bones. Her breath hitched, the force of the ascent pinning her back against the seat. The relentless pressure of the G-forces bore down on her chest, making it hard to breathe, to think.
“Liftoff,” came the ground control operator’s announcement, steady and precise. “We have liftoff. Arcanis is go for ascent.”
Hermione wasn’t sure why, but she couldn’t look away. She was frozen, suspended between fear and something she couldn’t quite name, and somehow, impossibly, Draco Malfoy was her tether. He didn’t look away either.
His grey eyes, so often cold and unreadable, now held an intensity that made her chest tighten further. They were both terrified, that much was clear. But there was something else there too—an unspoken promise that neither would shatter so long as the other held steady.
Out of the corner of her eye, she glimpsed the Earth shrinking rapidly outside the small porthole, its vibrant blues and greens fading into the vast black void of space. She was sure it was beautiful, awe-inspiring, and utterly surreal. But she couldn’t pull her gaze from Draco.
In that moment, it felt as if their locked eyes were the only thing holding the ship—and perhaps themselves—together. The roar of the engines, the pull of gravity, even the chatter over the intercoms seemed to fade into the background.
The unspoken question hung between them, louder than words: Can we do this?
“Initiating pitch program,” another muggle voice suddenly cut through the intercom. “Guidance systems nominal. Attitude stabilization confirmed.”
“Copy. Throttle adjustment to sixty percent for Max Q.”
The apprehension coursing through Hermione made it impossible for her to recall what “Max Q” meant, but the subtle shift in the engines, the increasing pressure against her chest, and the corresponding murmurs from the crew told her it was something critical.
“Approaching Max Q. Structural integrity holding. All systems stable,” the first voice continued.
“Good,” a different voice chimed in. “We’re through.. Throttle increasing to seventy-five percent. Prepare for stage separation.”
Draco muttered something under his breath, too low to hear over the comm chatter, and Hermione’s eyes flitted down to catch the tightening of his jaw. Even Theo seemed momentarily subdued, his wide-eyed gaze fixed on the controls ahead.
“Stage separation in three… two… one… confirm staging complete. Second-stage ignition nominal.”
The force of the second-stage ignition hit them like a tidal wave, thrusting Hermione back into her seat with an intensity that left her gasping. It felt as though her entire body was being compressed, every muscle tensed against the unyielding pressure.
She closed her eyes briefly, her fleeting sense of safety evaporating under the relentless force. Her breathing was shallow, each inhale sharp and tight, as if her chest couldn’t quite expand fully under the weight of it all. The rhythmic exchange over the intercoms became her anchor, grounding her in the chaos.
“Stage separation confirmed,” a calm voice reported. “Second-stage ignition nominal. All systems green.”
“Telemetry stable,” another voice chimed in. “Flight path holding. Adjusting pitch for orbital insertion.”
The sterile, precise tones of the muggle crew were almost hypnotic, a steady metronome against the storm raging within her. Hermione latched onto it, her mind grasping for any semblance of normalcy in the surreal and overwhelming moment.
“We have achieved nominal orbit,” a voice announced, the calmness of it almost incongruous with the monumental feat they had just accomplished.
Hermione opened her eyes, the tension in her body slowly giving way to an odd, floating sensation that felt similar, but paled in comparison to what they had experienced during training. The cabin had settled into a strange, weightless silence, broken only by the soft hum of the ship’s systems. Tentatively, she turned her head, peering out of the small porthole beside her. The sight took her breath away.
The Earth hung far below them, a vivid sphere of swirling blue oceans, green and brown landmasses, and the soft white wisps of clouds, all framed by the vast, impenetrable blackness of space. It looked fragile, like a gem suspended in an endless void.
A sense of awe flooded her, briefly replacing the tension of the launch. For all the risks and doubts, this moment—the privilege of seeing their world from this perspective—felt worth it.
Around her, the crew began adjusting to microgravity, their movements deliberate and slightly awkward as they tested their footing—or lack thereof. Supplies and tools floated in secure compartments, tethered or magnetized to prevent chaos in the confined space.
Draco’s usual composure, however, faltered during a particularly tense moment. An unexpected vibration shuddered through the ship’s systems, jarring him from his usual air of control. He muttered under his breath, his voice low but audible in the quiet cabin.
“Merlin’s beard.”
The phrase lingered awkwardly, hanging in the air for a second too long. Dr. Carter, stationed nearby, looked up sharply, her expression a mix of curiosity and confusion. One eyebrow arched as she fixed her gaze on him.
“Merlin’s what?”
Draco froze, the sharp line of his jaw tightening as his mind scrambled for an answer. The color in his cheeks deepened, a rare crack in his usually polished exterior. Hermione opened her mouth, ready to offer a plausible excuse, but Theo beat her to it, his voice cutting smoothly into the silence.
“It’s an old boarding school joke,” Theo said, leaning casually against the side of his seat as though experiencing microgravity were an everyday affair. “Something to do with an eccentric professor who loved antiquated English phrases. We used it as a... stress-relief thing, and it just stuck. Nostalgia, you know?”
Elena’s skeptical gaze shifted to Theo, her brow furrowing slightly as she considered the explanation. “Right. A stress-relief thing. Boarding school.” she echoed, her tone making it clear she wasn’t entirely buying the explanation but was willing to let it slide—for now.
Before the moment could stretch any further, a sudden alarm blared, its sharp tone cutting through the tension. Dr. Carter immediately turned her attention back to her console, her focus narrowing as she keyed in commands.
Hermione let out a quiet breath of relief, shooting a sidelong glance at Draco. His cheeks were faintly pink, but his expression had already slipped back into his usual neutral mask. His grey eyes flicked to hers for a moment, unreadable, before he turned back to the floating diagnostic screen in front of him.
Theo, meanwhile, gave Hermione a sly wink, the corner of his mouth quirking up in triumph as if to say, Crisis averted.
“Nice save,” Hermione mouthed, her words deliberately slow, hoping Theo could read them through the narrow view window of her helmet.
Theo grinned, pushing off the console and floating effortlessly back to his seat. “Always happy to keep things interesting,” he replied over the comms, his voice light but tinged with amusement.
Draco rolled his eyes, though the tension in his shoulders seemed to have eased slightly. He said nothing, instead focusing intently on the data scrolling across his screen.
Hermione allowed herself a faint smile. For all their quirks, flaws, and occasional clashes, they were in this together.
Before long, the alarm silenced, and the cabin settled into a tense, anticipatory quiet. Dr. Carter straightened at her console, her sharp eyes sweeping across the team as she keyed into the comm system, her voice carrying the calm authority of someone used to high-pressure situations.
“Alright, everyone,” she began, her tone brisk but clear, “we’ve officially entered cruise mode, and we have approximately 68 hours until we reach the target vessel. Let’s get organized and start running the preliminary checks.” She tapped a few buttons on her console, and a schematic of the spacecraft lit up on the central screen.
“First,” she continued, glancing around, “you can remove your spacesuits for now. We’re stable and operating under standard cabin pressure. Just remember to stow your suits properly for quick access if needed.”
The team members nodded, and a faint rustling filled the cabin as everyone unfastened helmets and peeled back the layers of their suits. Hermione relished the moment of relief, the cool air brushing against her flushed cheeks. Around her, the crew moved with deliberate precision, securing their suits in designated storage to prevent anything from drifting aimlessly in the microgravity.
Dr. Carter waited a beat before continuing, her gaze fixed firmly on the display. “Each of you will be assigned a specific station to monitor and operate for the remainder of this phase. For now, we’ll focus on long-range scans of the target vessel to ensure everything aligns with the data received from ground control.”
She pointed to the screen, where several labeled zones of the spacecraft lit up. “Nguyen, you’ll oversee telemetry and propulsion readings at Station 1. Report any discrepancies immediately. Prakash, verify communications integrity at Station 2—ensure encryption protocols are active and stable. Reyes, begin a preliminary assessment of environmental controls at Station 3; we need to confirm all systems can sustain extended operations.”
She turned to the trio. “Granger, you’re assigned to Station 4 for sensor analysis. Focus on collecting and correlating data from the long-range scans of the vessel. If there’s anything unusual, flag it immediately. Malfoy, you’ll be at Station 5, monitoring structural integrity systems and the external hull scans. Nott, you’re at Station 6 for secondary diagnostics. Coordinate with Granger and Malfoy as needed.”
Dr. Carter paused, her gaze briefly settling on the trio. “Thoroughness is non-negotiable. These scans will confirm whether the data we’ve been given is accurate. Any discrepancies must be identified immediately.”
Hermione and Draco responded with curt, professional nods. Theo, in contrast, saluted lazily, his trademark grin firmly in place. Draco sighed audibly, his expression hovering between exasperation and resignation, while Hermione hid a small smirk behind a carefully neutral expression.
“Alright,” Dr. Carter concluded, straightening. “Let’s get to it. I want initial reports completed within two hours.”
The team dispersed to their stations, each movement purposeful as the hum of activity resumed. Hermione floated toward Station 4, her mind already whirring with possibilities. The long-range scan display flickered to life as she keyed in her login credentials, streams of data cascading across the screen.
Behind her, she could hear Theo humming softly as he drifted to his station and Draco muttering something under his breath as he adjusted his console settings. Despite the unorthodox team dynamics, they were settling into the rhythm of the mission.
Despite the occasional slip, the trio adapted well to their new environment and found themselves building strong rapport with the muggle team. Theo’s easy humor was his calling card, quickly endearing him to everyone. His ability to diffuse tension with a well-timed quip or a charming grin made him a favorite, even as he occasionally pushed the boundaries of professionalism.
Draco, for his part, surprised Hermione with his ability to win respect through sheer competence. His precision, whether in analyzing technical readouts or offering suggestions during team discussions, quickly marked him as a valuable contributor. Though his demeanor remained reserved, his sharp mind didn’t go unnoticed, and several team members began seeking his input.
Hermione found her niche easily enough, her depth of knowledge and ability to think critically garnering admiration. Her meticulous notes and clear, concise explanations often smoothed over any communication gaps between the magical and muggle teams, and her willingness to collaborate made her indispensable.
That evening, after a particularly grueling session of data analysis, the cabin was filled with a rare moment of stillness. With nearly 60 hours left before their arrival at the mysterious ship, there was little to do but meticulously triple-check their analyses and finalize plans for the encounter. Most of the crew had turned in, their bunks softly illuminated by the low lighting set for the artificial night cycle.
Hermione remained at her console, her focus sharp despite the fatigue that pressed heavily on her shoulders. The sensor logs in front of her were dense with data, but she combed through them methodically, unwilling to miss even the smallest anomaly. For Hermione, the quiet hum of the ship and the steady rhythm of her work offered a strange kind of solace amid the uncertainty.
Draco approached silently, his movements fluid as he glided through the cabin, his trajectory marked by a practiced ease in the zero-gravity environment. He drifted close and caught hold of the console’s edge to steady himself, leaning just enough to speak. His tone was uncharacteristically soft.
“You’re handling this well, Granger.”
Hermione blinked, startled by the unexpected comment. She turned, her movements slower in the weightless environment, to find his grey eyes fixed on her. There was no trace of mockery in his expression—just an intensity that momentarily stole her response.
“Thank you,” she replied cautiously, her voice neutral as she tried to gauge his intent. The possibility of a hidden barb lingered in her mind, but his demeanor didn’t carry the usual sharp edges.
“There’s a... steadiness about you,” he continued, his voice low and almost hesitant. The usual sharp edge of his tone was absent, replaced by something quieter, more sincere. “It’s... admirable.”
The words lingered in the air, weightless like the space around them. Hermione’s breath caught for a moment, her chest fluttering with a sensation as unsettling as it was unexpected. She dismissed it quickly, attributing the feeling to exhaustion rather than any real meaning in his compliment.
“I’ve had practice,” she said lightly, unwilling to let her guard down. Her tone was deliberately breezy, but the faint heat creeping into her cheeks betrayed her composure.
Draco’s lips twitched into a faint smirk, the brief moment of vulnerability slipping away as he straightened, pushing off the console with easy grace. His aloof demeanor slid back into place like a well-worn shield.
“Of course you have,” he said, the barest hint of amusement lacing his voice, signaling the return of their familiar banter.
As he pushed off the console and drifted back toward his seat, Hermione found herself momentarily distracted, her gaze lingering where he had been. Her thoughts trailed after him, unbidden and unsettling. For all his flaws—and there were many—there were moments, rare but undeniable, when Draco Malfoy seemed like more than the sum of his past.
With a sharp breath, she shook her head, forcing her focus back to the console in front of her. There was no time for distractions, least of all from him.