It was the first and Hermione was overseeing the last of her work on the library before the students arrived. Her heart was boxed in tightly as she ignored the rising anticipation associated with this place and this day, but it was an ever-present phantom breathing on the back of her neck.

Antonin was in and out of meetings; he was expected for the feast as well. Hermione suspected she would remain here until fetched for the evening, only the reluctant Draco Malfoy for company.

"It looks fine, Granger." He glanced at her from behind the thick volume in hand.

She worried at her lip and considered the books still to be sorted; there were only two and a half trolleys full, but she had wanted to get them finished. As it was, she wanted to further differentiate subsections, but had prioritized separation into the main genre. As Snape had so readily reminded her a week past, the finer details could come with time. Which Hermione had so long as Dolohov remained amenable to the current arrangement.

The reduced Restricted Section was most troubling. The Dark Lord insisted only the most advanced volumes, those that could create calamity, were set aside. However, seventh years were exempt. As though seventeen-year-old budding Death Eaters would resist creating havoc. Alas, there was little she could do except stretch the limits to include as many dangerous texts as she could.

It wasn't that Hermione believed in ridding the world of Dark literature; she only wanted to ensure it wasn't in the hands of children. And this collection… The castle had been raided for every hidden tome and others had been procured to better stock subjects on the Dark Arts. There were volumes Draco had to handle for her lest they set off a curse to poison her dirty blood.

She longed to read even those, her mind whirling with ideas on how to dismantle their wards and traps, how she could read them without any of that mess triggering. Had she her wand perhaps Hermione could levitate them and flick through the pages magically. Or had they set them so that even her dirty, stolen magic would set off curses? Hermione would not put that past any of the bigots, though she wondered how such a feat could be accomplished.

Perhaps she ought to set aside the cursed tomes, lest any be set off by a student. She could label them with a warning. It wasn't difficult to suss out cursed books; there was a certain aura that lingered on the bindings, and often those bound with what she suspected was human skin were among their number. What horrid secrets whispered through those wrinkled pages, between those leathery covers? It was certainly not magic she would perform, but it was knowledge nonetheless. And Hermione thirsted.

There was too much to be done for her to immerse herself in written word, pseudo-librarian though she may be. Organization was the heart of a good library. Students could find what they sought rather than get lost in the stacks (unless that was their intention, which was entirely possible in even the tidiest of repositories).

When not physically present, Hermione worked through her lists of books and updated the card catalogue, which was sorely in need of care after the mayhem of the summer. Madam Pince, for whom library sciences were a sacred duty, had kept immaculate records, but there was much to amend. As she carded through the crisp cards, her fingers allowed her a glimpse of the titles. Most remained in their places, but occasionally there was one that no longer belonged.

Those neat little cards sent a twitch through her heart as she pulled them. They were the lost, the disappeared, the destroyed, the sacrificed, and they made a neat little pile on the arm of her chair. And when she finished her perusal they were tucked into her side table drawer.

They weren't subversive books, per se, though some of them were decidedly against the Dark. Works by both Nicolas Flamel and Albus Dumbledore had vanished; where the lost books went, Hermione did not know. Perhaps Voldemort reduced them to ash, or spirited them somewhere only he could read them, cackling over the supposed inanity of Light wizards.

Though Tom Riddle had been a studious young man much like herself, though with that touch of genius that often accompanied madness. Yes, she'd felt the hot prick of jealousy more times than she cared to admit; at one point it had seeped into her bones and her research had been more to see what she needed to rise over his academic record than helping Harry bring him down. He had attained full Outstandings in nearly every class Hogwarts had offered at the time. Apparently without the use of Time Turner.

Hermione's ten Outstanding O.W.L.s and that one besmirching E were inadequate, and now she would never have the opportunity to measure her N.E.W.T.s against his.

Now that would be a bold request. A grin tugged at the corner of her mouth and she nearly laughed aloud.

"What has you so amused?" Hermione spun around and nearly flattened against Draco's chest.

"Oh!" She steadied herself on a shelf, fingers carefully away from the book she'd placed so lovingly. "It's just… well. You know the instructors always harped on about my abilities?" The pale youth rolled his eyes. "Well, I snuck around and found the- the Dark Lord's records and I realized I am disappointed I cannot take the N.E.W.T.s and compare our scores."

Irritation gave way to puzzlement. "That is barmy, you realize that, don't you?"

"Well." Hermione evened out her voice to remove the sting. "His records were the only true challenger I had at school. I wanted goals to achieve, markers to surpass. Getting Outstandings is all well and good, but what's next?" Hermione wiped sweaty palms on her skirt, fiddling over the pleats. "What made me smile was, well, it's ridiculous, I know, and it was only a passing thought, but…"

"Out with it, Granger."

"I wondered about asking the Dark Lord if I could sit my N.E.W.T.s"

It was a slow transformation that occurred before her, Draco Malfoy's condescending expression morphing to the confusion of parted lips and eyes empty of understanding. Then those silver eyes grew larger than Sickles, eyebrows pinching and rising in a wave-like motion of shock as his lip curled, face finally settling into bewilderment. "What the bloody Hell… Woman, are you mad?"

Hermione smothered her laughter with hands shuddering along to the tune of her amusement. "I told you!" she giggled, amusement bubbling through her chest, out of her lips, through her fingers and into the aisle of books where they stood. "I told you it was a ridiculous passing though. I mean, can you imagine?" Her hands dropped as she put on an affectation of sweet inquiry. "'Oh, Dark Lord, could I possibly sit my N.E.W.T.s? You see, I'm desperately endeavoring to beat your own scores which I just could not help myself to find. They are so incredible, my Lord, that they present the most beautiful challenge. And though I know that I, lowly mudblood though I am, could never hope to achieve such heights, the merest attempt would make my dirty heart soar, and I would be most indebted to you."

By the end of her sugary monologue, Hermione's hands pressed to her chest before opening in supplication to the imaginary Dark Lord.

Before Draco could make his response a sharp clapping echoed toward them.

"Bravo, Miss Granger. That was quite the show. Though I advise, should you ever make your plea to the Dark Lord, you do so from your proper place- that is, prostrated before him- and with a more even tone, as the Dark Lord is particular about accepting sycophantism."

Hermione stared wide-eyed at Draco as her hands curled into fists against her body, shoulders caving in on herself.

Her peer was unruffled, turning to greet the newcomer. "Father. Is the meeting over?"

"My part is," the older man deflected. "I am sure Severus will keep the majority as long as he can lest they cause trouble as the little brats file in." She could see him now, taller and wider of shoulder than his son; it seemed Draco had either yet to fill out completely or he had taken his mother's slender build.

"Good afternoon, Mister Malfoy," she acknowledged politely.

"Miss Granger." He inclined his head, light shining in amusement. "Is that something you truly plan on doing?" He was stepping ever-closer, his cane a delicate clack on the floor. One hand clapped his son's shoulder.

Heat fanned through her front and she shrugged helplessly. "I hadn't thought of it, really. It was more of a joke."

His features placid as a lake he replied, "You should ask. Less theatrically, of course. Though admitting you admired his own academic prowess is not a bad idea."

"Why?"

"Intelligent followers are too few. He values intelligence nearly as much as power. And though you crawled out from the mud, you are rather clever." Lucius Malfoy's fingers stroked along the silver cobra-head of his cane as though it were a living familiar.

Their previous conversations flashed like lightning over her, branching into her reason. "Why are you telling me this? What do you get from it?" More precisely, how did Hermione know he wasn't setting her up?

His pink tongue darted wetly over his top lip in thought. "You need power before you are a possible ally. And before you ask, Miss Granger, I told you that I wish more power for myself. You cannot compete with my status in the Dark Lord's ranks, but you could perhaps assist me in lowering others. And I assume you wish some power to improve your circumstances."

"You want me to help you bring down Dolohov." There. Plainly said.

He canted his head, hair falling against his shoulder like a silver stream. "Is that something you desire?"

Ah. He won't say it first, lest I've become attached.

"Yes." The softly spoken word was a key, a promise, a truth that set her heart to pounding.

Pale pink lips curved into an arrogant smirk, silver eyes like needles into her own. "Alliances have been built on less, Miss Granger."

"Then, so long as I can see how your advice will benefit this cause, I will be amenable to your suggestions toward that end." And Hermione Granger, Gryffindor muggleborn, held out her hand.

"May we rise as our rivals fall." And Lucius Malfoy, Pureblood Death Eater, engulfed her small hand in his own. A jolt of electric magic thrilled through her as they sealed their pact.