A/N: Special thanks to those that left reviews, you guys motivate me!

Draco was early as usual. Stepping through the large double doors he was unpleasantly surprised to find there were several other groups of students in the library and it was far livelier that he'd seen it for the entire year. Passing by Madame Pince's desk, he was slightly taken aback to see it empty of the old woman. Continuing down through the shelves, he caught sight of her stalking between the rows attempting to hush up some of the noisier kids and deftly dipped out of her field of vision and towards his usual table at the back and out of the way. Empty as expected, he dumped his bag onto a chair and took up a seat, leaning forward to rest his chin upon his hands atop the table. It was the first moment he'd had to himself all day and just breathing felt relaxing. Not long after his arrival, he felt a tentative tap on his shoulder and peered up to see the brunette witch smiling cheerfully down at him.

"Not imposing on those deep thoughts, am I?"

"Not at all, pull up a chair."

Hermione did just that, finding a suitable position. Neither said anything for several moments and she fidgeted with her hands, unused to such unbound terrain. "So, what do you want to talk about?"

He hummed in thought for a moment before shooting her a smirk. "Well, in almost every study session we've had, you inevitably ask me a question. So, go for it, I'm sure you have plenty."

"Who's your favourite author?" She settled on an easy one to start with and he chortled.

"Seriously? Gryffindor bookworm Hermione Granger's first official question is who's my favourite author? Where's the originality? The suspense?"

"Oh, come on, Malfoy. Just answer the question." She ignored his smirk and instead kicked the leg of his chair.

"Alright, it's Tolstoy."

"As in, Leo Tolstoy? How do you know of him?"

"Honestly, Granger, I don't live under a rock. I read War and Peace over the summer but Anna Karenina is still probably my favourite of his."

She paused taking in the information, many more questions now swirling in her brain. "And you understand it?"

"While I admit the older language was at times challenging, it wasn't too difficult to get the hang of, especially by the end."

"I meant the muggle terminology, Malfoy." He raised a pale eyebrow at her and she bit the inside of her cheek, recalling his attendance of the Muggle Studies class. Still, he could hardly blame her for thinking he barely knew a thing about Muggles between his attitude and his upbringing. "I didn't even know you could get Muggle books in Wizarding bookshops."

"You can't. The Manor's library however is much better equipped. Regardless, I read the original." Draco was positive she'd be in love the first step through the doors of the Manor library and Hermione herself had always been fascinated by the rumours of how vast and widely varied the selection of literature was.

"In Russian?"

"Merlin, no. Let's not get carried away here, I'm only fluent in French and Italian."

She rolled her eyes, sinking further down into her seat. "Only. You should really be ashamed of yourself, Malfoy. What kind of aristocrat can only speak three languages?"

"Don't take the highroad with me, Princess; I know you speak French too."

Hermione stared at him for half a minute, squashing down the odd sensation in her stomach that had instantly swamped her when he'd called her Princess. It had been so casual and yet while he'd been sarcastic, it had certainly sounded more akin to affectionate. "How would you know a thing like that?"

"Fourth year, you conversed quite frequently with the Beauxbatons students." He stated factually.

She faked a dramatic gasp, a hand falling over her heart. "Draco Malfoy, spying on little old me!"

"Oh, shut it." There was none of his usual venom laced in the words and she detected a hint of a smile forming at the corner of his lips causing her to grin widely.

"So, why him?"

"Other than his obvious literary genius?"

"Obviously."

"You wouldn't believe me, even if I told you."

She snorted, leaning forward onto her elbows, her hand supporting her chin. "Try me."

"I'm related to him."

"You. Are. Not." She scoffed, a half smile covering her face.

"Oh but I am!"

"I thought the entire Malfoy line were Purebloods."

"We are. He and I are not directly related, as in he's not my great grandfather or anything. Not that he could've been worse than that arse." Hermione gave him an odd look and he immediately realised he'd given away a smidge more than he intended. "His grandmother was a Malfoy. She was the sister of Septimus Malfoy, my ancestor who was influential in the Ministry of Magic in the eighteenth century."

"I always presumed Malfoys only had one heir and they were was almost always male."

"Typically yes but decades ago, it was far more common to have multiple children although the first-born was usually male."

"So, you're telling me, Leo Tolstoy's grandmother was a witch who undoubtedly married a wizard or all hell would've broken loose and she would've been disowned resulting in us never having this conversation." Draco laughed but nodded in agreement with her statement. "So his father was also wizard?"

"I'm telling you exactly that and also that he himself was a half-blood."

"You have to be making this all up." She almost begged, disbelieving.

"Not in the slightest. His father married a muggle, so he inevitably was born a half-blood. He spent the majority of his early life in the wizarding world but accumulated mostly muggle traditions, eventually marrying Sophia Behrs, who was also non-magical. His original works were of magical text, which a great many of the wizarding world have read at least one piece of and ultimately he altered them for release in the muggle world. Themes like morality, gender and social class were almost equivalent."

"I'm amazed you know so much about your own family history."

"Bizarre Malfoy pride, I suppose. The Black family have a tapestry; the Malfoys have a million and one books." He sunk down into the wooden chair in an attempt to get comfortable; his head resting back to view the high ceiling.

"And you just dive into them recreationally?"

"It's nice to know my entire family isn't doomed."

"You might be a Malfoy but you're part Black too." Hermione pointed out quietly.

"Double doomed?" He offered with a hint of amusement but she all she could manage was a touch of a smile. "Maybe it's genetics; we're simply destined to be the worst of humanity."

"You're not your father."

Malfoy's head lolled to the side to look at her, a wistful smile creeping onto his features as he regarded her carefully. "I'd like to believe that."

"I do believe that. We wouldn't be here otherwise. You're so very different from the boy I used to know." She mused, her head tilting to the side as she held his soft gaze, her mass of curls tumbling over her shoulder.

There was an odd silence hanging between them and it was starting to nag at something deep inside him. He'd never imagined he'd be having this kind of conversation with a girl he used to hate. If anyone had suggested a shot at friendship with the war heroine six months earlier, it would have sent him into a hilarious meltdown and yet here they were sitting at the back of a library voluntarily, their knees touching lightly under the table with no hint of distrust, distaste or disgust. It was the most relaxed he'd felt in days, maybe even weeks.

"You should know I'm keeping tabs on how often you compliment me." He poked her arm, lightening the mood and relieving the tension.

A smile instantly brightened her face and she prodded him back. "Don't get used to it."

The new momentary quiet that fell between them was considerably more comfortable. "Can I ask you something more personal?" The Gryffindor uttered after a minute or so.

"I'm not ready to talk about my mother so if you're going to ask…" He responded defensively.

"I wasn't. It was…about the war actually. Not that you have to answer it."

He was in treacherous waters, he could sense it but there was also a part of him that was thrilled by their newfound honesty. "Out with it then."

"What was he like?" He looked at her sceptically, like she hadn't fought an entire war against the maniac and she chewed on her lip as she continued. "I mean, he stayed in the Manor, right? Was he always so…"

"Deathly terrifying? Most definitely. There's no off switch for global domination and homicidal rage." He answered honestly, his gaze returning to the ceiling so he missed her visibly wince at his curt comment. "It's almost funny though, he wasn't what I was most afraid of."

"Really?" She pressed, now intrigued, leaning fractionally closer to the blond.

"He was the worst Dark Wizard since Grindelwald and of course he could dispose of you in the blink of an eye but at the very least, he was predictable. If he assigned you a task and you failed, he was going to kill you but if you succeeded, you'd be rewarded. It's the only way a leader can keep order: to reward loyalty."

"So what was the scariest part?"

Turning his grey eyes to capture her gaze, he said sadly. "Bellatrix." She faced the floor, taking a breath to compose herself. Even the sound of her name was enough to make Hermione's entire skin crawl and she pressed the palm of her hand over the scar deep in her arm as he continued. "She was insane and she did whatever she wanted in the moment she felt like doing it. The only exception was following the Dark Lord's wishes but even then they were rough guidelines. He enjoyed her rage and letting her loose on innocents. Naturally she was in charge of punishments." Malfoy trailed off, taking a breather before he faced the brunette again.

Her gaze was fixed on a knot in the wooden table, unconsciously dragging her nails over the knitted wool of her jumper on her arm. Hermione's movements only ceased when a warm hand pulled her fingers away and her brown eyes met concerned grey ones. "Granger, I didn't mean to-."

"You still call him the Dark Lord." Attempting to distract him, she smiled weakly but his brows furrowed in concern.

"It's just habit. We never called him anything else apart from 'my lord' and he sure as hell isn't that anymore."

Her smile brightened at his firm tone. "I'm surprised, he chose the name himself."

"But it's a name. He was always to be addressed by his title." His lip pulled up in disgust before he chuckled lightly. "Imagine walking up to Professor McGonagall and calling her Minerva."

She laughed and Draco was reminded of just how much he enjoyed the sound.

"Not interrupting you two, am I?"

The two students looked up to find Dean Thomas beaming down at them like he'd just won the Quidditch World Cup all by himself. It was only at that moment, under the scrutiny of the Gryffindor boy that the Slytherin had the realisation he was still holding Hermione's hand and the two of them separated in a flash.

"My apologies indeed, it seems I was intruding." Hermione was silently begging him to stop while Dean simply shot her a wink and took amusement from Draco's meagre attempt to avoid his gaze.

"Just tell us what you want, Dean."

"Ah." He bit his lip, leaning against the edge of the table, flicking his gaze between the two of them. "There's been a small altercation."

"Meaning?" Draco pushed, sharing a confused glance with Hermione.

"Well, it appears Parkinson was on the receiving end of a Bat-Bogey Hex from Ginny."

Malfoy groaned, dragging a hand over his face. "This is going to end well."

A/N: Oh the power of creative freedom. There's a lot of dialogue in this one but I felt like these two just needed a good chat. Little warning I'm away on holiday at the end of the week so next week's chapter won't be on Tuesday but shouldn't be later than Thursday. Have a great week!