A book clashed with his desk – the one which had a perfect view of her hidden alcove – and its sound stirred Malfoy awake from his half-asleep state. He calmly put down his eagle quill in pretence that the overly riled up Hermione Granger didn't scare him shitless.

"What, Granger?" he cocked a blonde brow at her in question and she answered with rolling her eyes, firmly pointing on The Book of Lethal Poisons, as if that'd be enough for Draco to know what to say. With his mind concentrating nothing but sleeping, it wasn't enough for sure.

"Explain," she snapped and pulled out a chair, its legs making a screeching noise on the floor. She sat down with the grace that could put the Queen to shame, while never letting Draco out of her sight.

Leaning back to the chair and turning his head around, cracking the joints in her neck, he was glad to put some more distance between him and the eager eyes of the deputy Head Girl. Her interrogating stare would have been scary if she hadn't been fiddling with her thumbs under the table. Draco realized in a second – she was afraid what this conversation could hold.

"I think you've figured it out yourself," he said in a condescending manner, trying to suppress a yawn with his jaw clenching. His eyes twinkled when seeing the flames ablaze in her irises. It was always fun to make her tremble in fury.

"Explain Malfoy, for fuck's sake," she hissed like a cat, not betraying the image of a lioness in his head. He really needed to be in control of his facial muscles not to let her know about his amusement.

"Essence of Spurius, you've read it, I suppose."

Her eyes glinted in the torch's light, warning him, "I know the whole recipe. Backwards,," she said with firmly sat jaws.

He nodded – trying hard not to snicker, because he could wrote it down with anagrams – and clutched his hands to put it under his neck. He started swinging on his stair, knowing it irritated her to no end. "Then you should know it can't hurt you."

"Minus it can," snapped before he could have continued on. "You get this from your library, Malfoy, you put it on the shelf right before you approached me a week ago. I just don't understand – and if you say you'd call for the Prophet I'm gonna end you right there!"

Draco Malfoy used his usual, oh-so-Malfoyish smirk that was surely coded in his DNA. "Now, now, that'd be foolish to end me as I'm the only one who can help you before your freaking die."

Her expression visibly paled, as she clutched the table for support lest she'd drop on the floor. He'd needed to be blind not to know how this simple statement upset her.

It might have been cruel from him to make up this scenario, but Draco needed to continue on to get her to agreeing.

"Wouldn't it be ridiculous that you survived a war, survived duelling several Death Eaters and be gone because of a potion, hah? I can imagine the depression of the common peop—,"

Hermione gulped audibly, before ending his tirade, "Essence of Spurius is a poison, not a potion, Malfoy." She couldn't help herself, but right the wrong, as it was essential for not acknowledging the awaiting future. She didn't dare think about further possibilities.

His smirk nearly occupied his entire, pointy face by now, "No, it's a potion. It has no effect on those of..." he made a break, waiting for her to finish it.

"Just on those of legitimate birth. But I'm not...!"

"What you don't know is that Severus'd altered that potion. The Romans gave it to the bastards of famous public figures to get the little blotch out of their perfect portfolio and get more people on their side. It was politic, by all means." His molten silver eyes hardened to steel as he told the potion's history, "It killed the victims slowly, and until the middle ages it went undetected, then some genius made an antidote, and The Dragging Death was out of the market. But Bellatrix," he noticed as she flinched even by the mention of his batshit crazy aunt. He was hardly able not to look away, "asked Snape to alter it. To something that kill those who the user deem bastard. In theory, that would mean blood traitors and mu—ggle-borns from her perspective."

"So you mean that it was on her dagger?" she asked in a small voice, shoulders slumped as the little pieces became a picture in front of her eyes. She couldn't be excited for this information at the moment, as it was nowhere mentioned in that blasted book. Instead, she focused on her will, trying to stop shaking. Even her bones seemed to clash with the tremors, and she needed to rub her sweaty palms in her school robe.

His stormy eyes seemed to reflect a lightning as he debated, before blurting out, "That dagger is a Malfoy heirloom. Bellatrix got it when Father was in Azkaban."

She shook her head trying hard not to remember the silver of the knife as it glinted at her cruelly when Lestrange used her skin canvas. Still, she would have preferred paints instead of remaining carvings. "Do you know the recipe of the new poison? The one Snape'd made."

Draco tried not to let the confident smile slip off his lips, but failed miserably. He looked away, as if the dusty bookshelves would be more entertaining to him than this stressing discussion, "No, I haven't an idea. But we could find it out. And make the antidote."

It was an offer, seemingly one that could not be refused. Although, something was definitely not okay in Hermione's head, without doubts, his offered smelled fishy.

Granger narrowed her eyes at him, ignoring the hard, raw facts that she was as trapped as a deer in the hunters' territory. Both knew she had no choice in the matters. "Why did you tell me this, Malfoy? You're out for something, and I don't know what you could possibly earn from this...," before he could have defended himself, Hermione's piercing gaze stopped him, "and don't even try with sweet talk, seven years were enough to know that you're most certainly not the living equivalence of selflessness."

He flashed her a true, but twisted smile; even though he was aware how it made her even more nervous. She didn't disappoint him the slightest! Granger did deserve the title the Prophet gave her.

"Yeah, you're right, Granger. I have a bargain to make," to her knotted eyebrows he pulled out the flask that he'd received from the weeping Myrtle a month ago. It was battered and more importantly, empty. The metal clang to the rich oak of the table, and when Hermione opened her mouth to say 'deal', he stopped her with a motion of his hand. She obeyed without complaint.

"It'd not be that cheap," and with this, he rolled up his sleeve on his left arm, revealing the Dark Mark, perfectly in contrast with his pale skin.

Her eyes widened comically in the sizes of cauldrons, and if it wasn't for their fucked up lives, he would have chuckled. But with restraints, freezing his vocal chords to stillness, he was unable to do so.

"It does not let anything to harm it. I tried charms and those backfired. We tried the tattoo – it's fucking sparked and burned the skin underneath," he explained, his gaze fixed on the carpet and the colourful pattern of it, golden leaves, rich burgundy and deep forest green mixed in the picture, with turquoise sky towering above that. "I know the ink can be parted from the skin – I watched how Voldemort got it down from Father's arm when he was deemed unworthy of the title of Death Eater and..," he said, pretty much aware of her flabbergasted expression. He didn't dare continue the sentence, but Draco knew Hermione got the thread – that was the only reason why Lucius Malfoy still wasn't in Azkaban.

"It hurts like bitch," he admitted, his haunted expression making Hermione shudder. "If you thought receiving this shit would be painfully... getting rid of it could be lethal."

Desperate to leave this topic, although knowing that in a few days it would be inevitable, she spoke, "How much time do we... I have?"

That made Draco got out the hell, which was taking place in his head when the memories seemed to replay in his mind, "Honestly? I'd say two years at best."

"At worst?" she asked with bated breath, her nails leaving moon-shapes in her palms as she balled her fist to whitening knuckles.

"You'd not be alive by now."

Her breathe hitched, her hazel eyes in the verge of popping out of their sockets, and her cherry coloured lips hanging open. The tears rolled down on her cheeks openly as if her eyes were the sources of rivers. He could practically hear the wheels turning in her head.

And that was the time he knew he got her.

"What do you say, Granger? Allies for our lives or enemies for your death?"

"Deal," she whispered.

Okay, so this one was one of my favourite chapter to write! Hope you liked it! Essential question: what do you think? About their bargain? About the Essence of Spurius? And about Lucius Malfoy? I'm really curious because there were a lot of things going on! Also, I'm sorry, but next chapter will not come on Tuesday... My year (ehh, 3/4 of my class) is going to Prague, and won't be back until Wednesday. Hate to break the chain of updates... but also, I need to have some fun once in a while! ;D