Disclaimer: Everything belongs to J.K. Rowling and associates. No money is being made from this fanfiction; it is purely for entertainment.

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Chapter 10 – Knowledge

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"Granger!"

Hermione awoke with a start, dropping the book she had been resting on her chest on the floor with a loud bang.

"Merlin, you sleep like the dead!" Draco ran a hand through his white-blond hair as if he were exhausted from the effort.

Unlikely, she thought. She'd merely dozed off while reading in the parlour room. Outside, the sun had almost set and the last reddish rays were shining through the window.

She reached to collect the book on the floor and jumped when he suddenly dropped several copies of The Daily Prophet onto the coffee table.

"Your updates from outside," he explained with an obnoxious smirk. She was almost grateful to see him, to see anyone really, because after three empty days of boredom and isolation she'd started to think they had forgotten about her. But she was hoping Harry would have come.

Hermione snatched up the papers and flipped through the pages quickly, almost devouring the information with her fingers, while she scanned for any interesting articles. It was the usual—praise for the new Minister of Magic, announcements of new policies, and there was one particularly scathing article about a pure-blood socialite who had dared to criticize the Law Enforcement Department's policy in investigating and detaining suspects. The editorial went on to decry the need for eternal vigilance and to strike down any anti-Muggle sentiments, alleging that this sort of thing would only lead them back to the troubles of the past. That was how it was referred to now: the "troubles of the past". As if it had been decades ago and not just a few months. The newspapers still wouldn't print Voldemort's name and danced around mention of what he had tried to do, as if eradicating Muggle-born wizards was an ugly truth no one wanted to admit to. Some people wanted to forget and some, who may have borne more responsibility, wanted to pretend it had never happened. Rather than a representation of powerful evil, "Voldemort" had become a dirty word no one wanted to say.

"And there's a letter." Draco handed her a rolled up piece of parchment that was mysteriously lacking a seal. "From Potter. He's sorry for running out, hopes you're OK, wants to know if you want anything—"

"Would it have killed you not to have read it first?"

Draco shrugged.

Hermione sighed.

She held the letter in her own hands and read it through eagerly, the sound of Harry's voice rising like an echo with each word. She missed him. And Ron. Even though she felt lost wondering where they stood with each other. The three of them together had given her strength to get through the more difficult times. She wished she had that now.

Hermione summoned a fresh piece of parchment and a quill and began scribbling words in response. "I want you to take this letter back to Harry," she told Draco.

"You're not writing a novel, are you?" he asked, rolling his eyes and looking bored.

"No," she said curtly. "I'm already done." She folded the letter neatly and handed it to him. "Please."

Draco took it slowly, picking up the letter between thumb and forefinger as if it were something distasteful. "Fine. " And then he smiled at her. It was a strange, awkward smile that made her feel decidedly uncomfortable.

She wanted him to go.

As if reading her thoughts, Draco nodded to her and Disapparated.

Her eyes settled on the empty place where he had been, and she saw, on the small table that had been behind him, a plate with a half-eaten sandwich and an empty cup of tea.

Just how long had he been there?

Hermione was sitting in her bedroom, rereading her copy of A History of Goblins: Volume II. It wasn't the most interesting book she'd ever read or even particularly well-written—the author had made several mistakes, she'd noticed, and she'd pencilled in the corrections—but she was running out of things to read.

She'd received a note from Draco two days ago that read, "Potter will come soon. DM". She wished it'd been a bit more specific—it had been two days already!—but the thought was a comfort. She was going mad with no one but the House-Elf for company. And she loved House-Elves, she told herself, but it seemed Dobby was quite the exception and it was very difficult making a companion out of someone whose only want in life was to serve you.

Goblin history was having a difficult time keeping her engaged, so she easily heard the distant pop of Apparition downstairs and the rustle of robes and heavy footsteps on the carpet. Her thought was immediate: Harry. After four days without human company, she leapt off the bed and raced downstairs to meet him.

But it was not Harry's smile that greeted her in the parlour room.

"You seem rather excited to see me, Miss Granger." Lucius Malfoy stood before the fireplace, a broad smile on his face that showed off perfect rows of white teeth.

"I thought you were Harry," she returned blandly.

"Sorry to disappoint."

"What are you doing here?"

He quirked an eyebrow. "I do own this house."

"I thought you were under house arrest."

"I am, but I advised Potter that it was necessary I pay you a visit. There are parts of this house only I can open for you. And I'm sure you are already running out of things to do."

This was true. While she enjoyed sitting and reading, she was becoming anxious by being deprived of any other activities. Looking outside the window had become a form of torture.

Hermione had also noticed while exploring the house that there were six doors which she couldn't open—three on the main floor and three on the second floor. Her innate curiosity, several failed spells and Tully's steadfast refusal to tell her anything, had left her wondering what lay behind those doors and what Malfoy was trying to hide from her.

But at the moment there was something else that had been pressing on her mind.

"The room that I'm staying in…"

"You don't like it?" He sounded slightly offended. "I assure you, only the finest—"

"No, it's not that," she said quickly. "It's just—it seems like it's not"—she searched for the word—"appropriate for a guest."

"This is a small house, as you've no doubt noticed, and it was not meant for entertaining. There are no guest rooms, so under the circumstances, I decided that that room was the most appropriate for you."

"But it's—"

"Narcissa's room? Yes, it would be if she were here."

She furrowed her brow. "And that's not… a problem?"

"Do you think my wife might object to you using it? As I said, I decided that room was the most appropriate. Now come." He bade her follow him with a quick gesture. "I think I have something that will interest you."

Lucius lead her from the parlour room and down the hall to a room that had previously been locked. He drew his wand at the door. "Listen carefully," he said, then whispered, "volvere" and tapped the door handle. The door fell open.

It was a library. And while it was not a particularly large room, every wall was lined floor to ceiling with books, save for a small section that had been cut away to make room for the window.

"I had Tully bring a few additional volumes from the Manor I thought you might enjoy." He brushed his hand over several books on one shelf, immediately drawing her eyes towards them. There was Ancient Magical Properties of Dragon Reeds, House-Elf Magic, Arcturus' Advanced Potions, several books she had only ever heard of and yet others that sounded incredibly interesting and had her heart fluttering with anticipation. "There is, of course, a small laboratory for potion mixing I could open for you if you so wished it."

Hermione nodded dumbly.

Lucius selected a large crimson-bound volume entitled Wizarding Heritage: Blood and Lineage. "This one is particularly interesting and considered essential reading for most pure-blood children. Considering you have such strong feelings on the subject, I would like to hear your opinion on the book."

"So you can tell me that I don't know what I'm talking about—"

"No. I want to hear your opinion." He held out the book to her, but she refused to take it. "It's just a book, Miss Granger. It's not going to hurt you." He sighed heavily and placed it on a nearby table. "Read it at your leisure."

She watched him with suspicion—unwilling to accept what he was giving her, but unwilling to refuse at the same time. How could she refuse? He was offering her an incredible gift; access to the Malfoy library, even a small part, to some of the rarest and most powerful spellbooks in the wizarding world. She had always envied his knowledge and now he was handing some of it to her.

And it suddenly made the prospect of staying here much less intolerable. A few weeks with nothing but books for company? She had often joked with Harry that they could lock her in the library for the rest of her life and she'd be perfectly happy. She also didn't get the opportunity to do as much research as she would have liked while working, so this would be a welcome change and an opportunity she might never have again.

And what harm could it really do? It was just a book.

Lucius was pointing out other volumes he thought she'd be interested in as she went over to the book placed on the table and lifted it gently in her hands. The fabric was rough beneath her fingers and it creaked pleasantly as she opened it, letting the scent of old parchment tickle her nose. She could feel traces of magic from the pages. The book had a preserving charm on it. Even so, it appeared that had been a later addition as it must have already been quite old and used by the time it was done. The inside cover was signed with the name D. Malfoy and the date 1820.

She was still absorbed in turning the pages, when she felt his hand touch her cheek and the book was gently pulled from her grasp. It was like an electric shock, the smooth pads of his fingertips igniting a fire as they slid along the ridges of her scar. Instinctively, she pulled away, almost stumbling backwards to get away from him, but he continued as if he hadn't noticed.

"I hope you realise the longer those unsightly scars remain on your face, the less likely I'll be able to fix them."

"I don't need you to fix them," Hermione replied quickly. "I'm perfectly capable of finding the answer myself. And it's not as if it matters now, anyway. No one can see me here." She hadn't meant it to sound pitiable, but it did, and she regretted it instantly.

He examined her for a long moment and she felt her confidence melt under his gaze. And then he simply said, "I can see you."

Her breath caught in her throat. She was ready to protest, but he didn't follow that comment with anything, and, unwilling to pursue that avenue herself, she let it go. He turned from her to replace the book on the shelf and she restrained herself from sighing in relief. Part of her wanted to run from the room, because she felt altogether far too insecure and unsettled around him. But there was nowhere to run here and admitting that only gave him more power. No, she needed to stop feeding him her insecurities. And maybe provide him with a few of his own.

"The Ministry has seized your assets," she said.

She saw the sudden tension in his shoulders, and then, he deliberately relaxed, and turned to face her. "Did Potter tell you that?" He tried to appear indifferent, but she noted the strain in his voice and the slight sneer on his lips.

"No, I figured it out for myself."

"Very astute, Miss Granger. Listening at doors seems to be a special talent of yours. How very Slytherin."

"You lied to Harry. You told him you didn't own this house, but actually it's under a Fidelius Charm, which means they can't take it from you until the charm is removed. And I'm guessing it's not even listed under whatever properties you've admitted to having to the Ministry."

He tapped his chin thoughtfully. "I must have forgotten that detail."

"I doubt that."

Lucius smiled. "Such a clever girl. But, in reality, it does me little good. What use is this house except as a refuge? In any case, what did you expect me to do? I couldn't give it up, even if I wanted to. The magic is that strong."

"That doesn't excuse—"

"You believe I lied about it? I can't give up the secret. Or do you think the Ministry should eliminate the entire Malfoy line just to acquire this house? I'm sure you'd agree that's a bit extreme."

"You could have admitted it to Harry," she returned. "He's already been here, so it wouldn't make any difference."

He looked away, smiling to himself as if he were laughing at some private joke. "Ah, dear Miss Granger, you have me at a disadvantage. I'm sure you see some devious plot forming, but if you will allow me my bit of foolishness? The Ministry has, indeed, seized everything I own and frozen my vault. Except, of course, for when they want to help themselves to it," he added bitterly. "'Compensation for war crimes', they claim. It is only by Mr Potter's intervention that my family has not been thrown out of the Manor. But I am a vain man. I wanted to keep this house to myself. As it couldn't be taken, I did not see the harm in neglecting to mention it."

"So much for the Malfoy fortune," Hermione quipped.

"I don't believe everything is lost, as of yet."

"Not yet," she said slowly. She let the unspoken words hang in the air. Until Harry learned of it. She could see his jaw set and the way his eyes darkened—this was definitely a sore spot for him. She smiled to herself in smug satisfaction.

"As I recall, you are benefitting from my little deceit. Really, Miss Granger, I thought you of all people would appreciate access to my library." He waited for her to answer, and when she didn't, he continued, "But if that is not the case, perhaps I should rescind my offer?"

Hermione bit her lip in annoyance and looked away. He knew her well enough to know that she did appreciate the library, probably more than anyone. But that didn't explain why he would offer it to her. "Why?" she asked.

Lucius cocked an eyebrow. "Why what? I think you could stand to be a bit more articulate."

"Why are you doing this? What's in it for you?"

"Your kind regard, obviously," he drawled. Her face was a mask of scepticism, so he continued, "Am I so thoroughly evil that I am incapable of offering you something at no expense to myself?"

"Not incapable. Just unlikely."

"Very well then, Miss Granger, let me make myself perfectly clear. I am attempting to rebuild my reputation and find a place for myself and my family in this new world. And if that means putting aside notions of blood purity and working with Muggle-borns, I have no objections to doing that. Despite what you may think, I do not have any particular dislike of you."

"Really? Because it seems you had a great dislike of me not so long ago. Now, suddenly, my dirty blood isn't a problem for you?" Did it really mean that little to him? It was almost horrific to think that just a few months ago he had been willing to kill her for something that he could toss aside when it became inconvenient.

"No, it isn't," Lucius said simply.

"How can you just—"

"Because I am a practical man and because I believe," he continued, stepping closer, "that we could be of great help to one another."

Hermione stepped back, trying to maintain the distance between them, but for every backward step she took, he took another one forward, until she felt a shelf of books against her shoulders.

"You should stop trying to run from me, Miss Granger."

"I'm not running—"

His hand shot out and she jumped as it hit the shelf beside her head. "No, you're not."

"Mr Malfoy—"

He shushed her with a finger to her lips, and her heart fluttered madly in response. Don't react, she told herself firmly. It's what he wants.

"We rarely get a chance to talk privately, don't you think?"

"That's because we have nothing to talk about," she returned sharply. She crossed her arms over her chest, her emotions flitting between fear and anger. His body language was disturbing her. She had become accustomed to his cool, controlled mannerisms, his deliberate attempts to keep her off-balance, but something was different this time. There was a slight tremble to his movements.

Lucius moved to touch her face and she slapped his hand away.

"I'm not playing your games. "

"Of course not," he mused. He was looking down at her with eyes that seemed brightly lit from within. "But I'm not playing games." He reached towards her again and when she moved to stop him, he grabbed her wrist and held it. "And you shouldn't be either."

"Stop it," she said quietly, attempting to yank her wrist from his grasp and failing.

He laughed, shaking his head so that wisps of blond hair danced around his shoulders. "Stop what, Miss Granger? I can't fathom what has you so upset."

She reached for her wand with her free hand and he grabbed that wrist too before she could reach it. "You're not going to threaten to hex me again, are you? As much as I admire your spirit, it's becoming tiresome." He had drawn closer while she struggled to free herself. She could smell his cologne, feel his breath on her face and his heart—she could swear it was beating as fast as her own.

"What are you doing?" she demanded, obvious disgust dripping in her tone. His thumb had begun absently stroking the inside of her wrist. The movement was less threatening, but so much more intimate.

A peculiar expression crossed his features, as if he'd realised something he wasn't happy about. "You—" he began. He snarled and released her with a force that would have shoved her back if she hadn't already been against the bookshelf.

She watched him. He seemed to be considering, calculating, and then he looked at her as if she'd done something offensive to him. It was gone almost as quickly as it came. A moment later, his face was a charming mask of cool elegance.

"I must return to the Manor," he said simply. With a sweep of his wand, he Disapparated.

Hermione was left standing in the library, feeling absolutely lost in a room full of knowledge.