After clearing her tray, and casting a wary glance around to check if they were being watched, Hermione followed Lucius into the atrium. He chose the nearest fireplace, took a pinch from the pot of floo powder, and held out his elbow.

She took it, gingerly, and let him pull her into the cool flames.

"Malfoy Manor," he announced. He threw down the powder, the flames leaping an emerald green. After a whoosh and a yank and a mouthful of ash, Hermione stumbled out into a large entryway. Gleaming, thin-slatted floorboards stretched diagonally over the square room, interrupted only by the two curved staircases acceding up to a second-floor landing. Sconces flickered on the deep green walls, throwing pools of warm light onto the dark wood. Hermione banished the dust with her wand as she stepped further into the parlor, glancing to her right to find the wrought-iron doors. Two plain doors were set into the walls, both shut to the halls beyond. As her eyes swept the room again, landing on Lucius, a frown pulled at her mouth.

"There's no windows."

Lucius tugged at the leather cord tying his hair, obviously relieved to be free of the style now that he was home. Platinum hair shook back, shimmering like liquid silver. "Since Narcissa left, I moved the floo connection to manor's back entrance," he explained, before setting off towards the door to the right. "No need to trample London's filth over the good carpets." He said it lightly, but from the tight press of his lips, Hermione knew he didn't like mentioning his wife. Ex-wife, Hermione reminded herself. By all accounts, official or otherwise, the Malfoys had split for good.

At least this way, she could avoid the drawing room where her nightmares still played most nights.

He led her briskly down a hallway lined with doors, their footsteps a steady drum against the wooden floor. After taking a turn, Lucius glanced back and slowed; she was likely red in the face trying to keep up with his pace. Silently, Lucius set off again once she'd returned to his side, his pace deliberately slower. A tiny smile played on her mouth.

Lucius pulled to a stop before a pair of arched, double-doors, the lighter wood engraved with some kind of botanical design. "Now Miss Granger, I trust you not to panic," he said, looking down at her with an arched brow.

"Whatever for?" Worry zipped through her before a smirk crossed his face.

"I heard that you have an aggressive fondness for books. Wouldn't want you to faint, of course." Before she could ask what he meant, Lucius pushed the doors, and they swung open in a rush of golden sunlight. As Hermione took a step inside, blinking at the sudden brightness, his words echoed in her mind.

Merlin, I really could faint.

The Malfoy library was like nothing she'd ever seen, not even at Hogwarts. Two-story windows faced west, the sky outside hazy with the oranges and reds of a cloudless setting sun. Towering shelves stretched all the way back, both on the first floor and the second, where a mezzanine hung over half the room. A cherry-wood staircase spiraled upwards before fanning out into an ornately-carved railing. While most of the sturdy wood tables and velvet cushioned chairs were scattered around the entrance, Hermione spotted gorgeous leather armchairs between some of the shelves.

"It's…"

"The library of your fantasies?" Lucius offered.

She turned to glare at him, but she couldn't help the grin poking through. "Thank you for allowing me here."

He bowed his head and gestured towards the stacks. "Be my guest to browse freely, Miss Granger. Even the darkest books have had their curses lifted years prior. Anything you wish to be re-shelved, simply drop it on the credenza," he said, turning his hand to the left. The wooden piece was pushed against the wall, a large basket resting atop it. Lucius turned to go, pulling open one side of the doorway before pausing. "My study is the next door to the right. Come find me when you wish to leave." Lucius nodded once, then swept from the room.

She stared at the doors he'd closed behind himself, wondering if he always spent the evening in his study. He'd made no mention of overseeing her research, of which she was glad. Though she'd have to be careful about which books she left on the credenza—even if he did know she was researching the door to death, she didn't want him getting too close to the truth.

Hermione turned slowly back towards the library, hands on her hips, wondering how she might begin.

The sky was inky blue by the time Hermione decided to call it a night. She sat at one of the front tables, stacks of books beside each elbow. Snapping her last pick of the evening, Tales of the Great Romanian Necromancer, closed, Hermione leaned back and pinched her chin. This particular tome described the author's invention of and experiment with a potion that replicated the sensation of death. According to Florin Alexe The Great, as the seventeenth century wizard called himself, the potion had been created as a means of torture. Victims would feel themselves whisked off to a blissful place Alexe called "The Last Hallway," only to be jerked awake once the potion wore off. One account even described the use of the potion during intimacy in order to subdue an unwilling partner. Hermione had stopped reading at that point, sickened.

None of her other choices proved any more useful, all recounting either facades of death, or the experiences of dark wizards claiming to have visited the other side in their minds after participating in acts of violence. One witch from sixteenth-century Iceland claimed that her mind had accompanied her victim after performing fatal Legilimency. Supposedly, the witch had glimpsed a horse stables bathed in white light, before her mind was wrenched back to the present.

All dead ends. Sirius was already gone—it was too late to go with him. Even if she theoretically found a way to attach herself to another's dying mind, the experience would only last seconds. And that didn't even factor in whose dying mind she would using. In all cases thus far, the deceased had been the witch or wizard's murdered victim.

Hermione drummed her fingers on Alexe's book, thinking. Maybe there was a thread there worth pursuing—not a potion to replicate the sensation of death, but a potion…What good would a potion do? Potions affect the body or mind, not the external dimension. She sighed and pushed the book away.

"Trouble in paradise?"

Hermione's head spun to her right. Lucius stood in the open doorway, hands behind his back. She blushed, realizing she'd lost track of time. He'd probably been waiting for her to come get him for at least an hour. "I'll have to come back another time. If that's all right with you, Mr.—Lucius."

A smirk flashed across his face at her slipup, but he made no other remark. Lucius strode towards her, stopping behind her chair. Hermione stiffened as he eyed the books spread out before her. "There's further research into Alexe's work," he said quietly, reaching over her shoulder. His fingertips touched the silver lettering embossed into the red leather. Hermione shifted slightly away, flushing when her curls brushed his arm. "I can have it ready when you return, if you like. Wednesday, if you're available." He pulled away. "I assume you do not wish to cut the workday short again. I can remain at the Ministry until you get off."

"That would be good, thank you." Just in case he was about to lean over even further to reach the other tomes, Hermione abruptly stood. She gathered the books in her arms and spun around, only to find Lucius's hands waiting. When his fingers beckoned, she relented. "Er, thanks," she mumbled, pushing the stack into his arms. When he finished placing the books on the credenza, Lucius turned to her. Watching her. Waiting? Hermione shifted her weight. Her eyes slid towards the door. "I should go."

"Would you care to join me for a drink?"

She blinked, surprised. It was a custom, probably, for purebloods like Malfoy to share a glass with a guest before they returned home. A custom she was definitely not part of, though part of her warmed that he had the courtesy to ask. "No, I really must be going," she told him, giving a brief smile. "I'll see myself out too," she said, striding too quickly towards the doors. "Goodnight, Lucius."

He pulled one side open before she could reach for the knob. "Goodnight, Miss Granger."

Lucius was waiting for her that Wednesday, sitting alone in the empty cafeteria. At least he had a tray to make it look like he'd been eating an early dinner. But as soon she stepped inside, he dropped his spoon back into the bowl of cold pea soup.

"Busy day?" he murmured as they crossed the atrium and stepped into a fireplace. Hermione frowned—did she really look that tired? She'd been restless all through work, her attention on a steady stream of complicated reports instead of the Veil research. She hadn't even had time for her break in the Death Room.

Lucius tossed his handful of powder. When they were back in the parlor, he reached behind her, fingers slipping briefly into her hair. A quill twirled in his fingers, the tip still dark with ink.

"Busy day," she confirmed, heading towards the library before he could notice her blush.

He left her alone, same as before, with the offer to come get him when she wished to leave. Once Hermione found herself alone, her eyes dropped to the closest table. A neat stack of books sat waiting. So Lucius is playing librarian after all.

After an hour of mulling over the tomes, Hermione drifted into the stacks to search for a book another referenced. When she came back just minutes later, she froze. A coffee platter rested at her table, steaming and smelling of fresh biscuits. Hermione tried not to think about the house elf that surely left it, and went back to her research.

For the second day, she had little luck. The books Lucius had procured were not by Alexe himself, but by other scholars who expanded upon his findings with the 'Experiential Death Draught,' as researcher Alina Kotov called it. The potion had been tested on prisoners of war from the wizarding societies in Eastern Europe during the early nineteenth century. Unlike Alexe, Kotov had systematically dosed her victims, recording their reactions and doses.

At least a thousand prisoners had suffered under Kotov's hand, but in the end, Kotov had been able to surmise her results. While her subjects all reported different experiences of this 'experiential death', their visions had a pattern; a familiar, transit space bursting with white light. Kotov called this place 'the Edge,' as did the researchers after her. If Kotov had a hypothesis for these spaces, she gave no clues. The researchers after Kotov focused instead on breaking down the potion's torture effects; increased doses led to some kind of sickness, producing fevers, internal bleeding, and death. She stopped reading shortly after that.

Hermione fisted her hair in her hands, elbows on the desk. She just couldn't figure out how these prisoners' minds were able to go to the Edge. Surely, as they were not truly dead, their souls were not actually transported anywhere. It seemed that death sparked the magic to transport the soul to the Edge. Either the potion momentarily provided the same magic, or the potion created an illusion of the Edge.

But how can that work? Hermione mused, scratching at her scalp. All of the subjects had different visions—of roads, of church stoops, of the inside of carriages. Each unique to the subject. Does that mean that the Edge is predetermined? Or does your Edge develop overtime, and the space is created once you die? The former implied a concrete space to which the soul traveled after the magic of death; only the window dressings changed. It was already in existence, and therefore accessible to her. The latter implied a space which really was only accessible through death, or the simulation of it. Or Hermione was just losing her marbles, and none of it was even relevant to where Sirius had gone.

A headache pounded behind her eyes. Hermione regretted her second coffee. At least the chocolate biscuits had kept her mind off dinner…of which she should probably get to, she realized with a check of her watch. Harry and Ron had sworn they'd be in for a late takeout around nine.

Hermione dropped her books onto the credenza, stuffed another of the truly delicious treats into her robe pocket, and stepped into the hallway. She knocked gently on the first door to her right, and Lucius bid her to enter. Inside, she found him rising from behind a heavy wood desk, the curtains drawn to the window behind him. A bar cart sat below the window, untouched.

"Anything of use in the new books?" he asked, arm draping over the back of his chair. He gestured for her to take the seat across, and after a moment of hesitation, she slid into it. He already knew what books she'd been looking at tonight. No use hiding it. And besides, her headache would only worsen if she flooed in her current state. A short chat with someone other than her own head might do some good.

Hermione sighed and leaned back in the chair, meeting Lucius's eyes as he sat back down. With a drop of her gaze, she noticed the book spread out before him, but couldn't discern any of the words. It looked rather new, though. Perhaps something fiction. "The book from Kotov was more illuminating than the rest, but it seemed like the research I find interesting was dropped after her publication. Everyone that followed was more interested in torture than investigating what lies beyond…here," she said, with a dismissive wave towards the room.

"Ah. And you are now convinced that there is a place beyond…" He mimicked her own wave.

"Well, Kotov found that her subjects all recalled visiting an elsewhere, during their simulation with the Experiential Death Draught. This place she called the Edge. But I'm not clear if it was an afterlife, or some kind of…first stop. And I'm not even sure if people who actually die even see the Edge. What if it's just the potion creating similar hallucinations?"

Lucius nodded, absorbing what she'd said. He pressed his book closed, finger trailing up the fabric spine. Finally his hand stilled, and he held her gaze. "What about Potter?"

Hermione's brows shot up. "No offense to Harry, but he's never been my first choice for a research partner."

"No, I mean…Potter died, did he not? And then he came back." As he spoke, the realization smacked Hermione. Hard. How could I be so dense?

"Harry could confirm it for me," she breathed out. "If the Edge exists, he would have been there." She jumped to her feet, still lost in the possibilities.

Lucius smiled broadly. "I assume this means you won't join me for a drink?"

"No thank you, Lucius." She turned to go, then turned back to give him a hopeful smile. "Friday?"

"Friday."

Hermione stumbled home to find both boys in the kitchen, shoveling Lo Mein into their mouths with chopsticks. A third container sat waiting, still steaming with a warming charm. Hermione smiled at the sight, pleased they hadn't forgotten her portion. Or ate it, for that matter. "Harry, can we speak?" Hermione asked, stopping short at the threshold.

"Hey!" Ron protested through a mouthful. He swallowed thickly and said hotly, "What am I?"

Hermione rolled her eyes and danced inside to kiss him quickly on the slippery mouth. "My boyfriend who I know would rather be eating right now than discussing girl stuff."

"Harry's not a girl."

"No," Hermione said, hands on her hips as she met Harry's eye. "But he is dating my best girlfriend, which means he's the next best thing." She grabbed Harry's arm before he could protest further, dragging him from the room.

"What's this about?" Harry asked as she shut the creaking sitting room doors. They rarely kept them closed anymore, since Kreacher always muttered about the filthy stale air. She spun around, finding him already sunk into the couch, takeout box and chopsticks in hand.

"I wanted to ask you something…personal."

"About Ginny?" His ears pinkened.

"No, not actual girl stuff. About you, actually."

His ears only worsened. "Uh, okay I guess. What's up?"

Hermione paced twice across the room before realizing Harry had stopped eating. She dropped onto the couch beside him and shifted to face him. "I'd like to know what happened after you died. In the forest," she clarified.

Harry shoved another bite into his mouth, then set the box down on the carpet. He stared down at her legs for a moment, before Hermione looked too and saw the hole running up her stocking. She quickly pulled the leg under the other. Must have happened at Lucius's.

"It was pretty normal," Harry said slowly.

"Really?"

"Yeah, I mean…it was still bloody strange, but I remember feeling oddly comfortable there."

"There?"

"King's Cross, actually. Or someplace that looked like it, at least. Even smelled the same. Crisps and metal and magic." She smiled at the fond look on Harry's face, nodding for him to continue. "Dumbledore was there too. And Voldemort, but he was just this ugly baby thing."

Hermione's heart stuttered faster. Harry had spoken to someone, then. Kotov never mentioned any of her subjects meeting another person in the Edge. Perhaps it was unique to Harry? Or the other person only shows up at the actual Edge, and not the simulated one? "What did Dumbledore want?"

"Just to talk, mostly. But then he gave me a choice. Wait for the train, or go back."

Hermione blinked away the sudden stinging in her eyes. The thought of Harry boarding that train…She reached out, grasping his hand. Harry squeezed back. "Thank you, Harry," she said softly, dropping his fingers.

He leaned down, grabbing his takeout off the floor. "This isn't some trick to get me into muggle therapy, is it?"

She chuckled. "Not today, Harry Potter."

Hermione joined them in the kitchen while she ate, listening to their heated conversation on some scandal in the French quidditch world. She'd wanted to ask about their own work in France, but between her mild headache, and the one she'd get from interrupting their bickering, Hermione decided to hold off. After excusing herself to shower and dress for bed, again in the Weird Sisters t-shirt, Hermione muttered a locking spell on her bedroom door from the outside, then crept into Sirius's room. She locked his door too. Now even if Ron wanted to ask her to bed, he'd be barred from finding her.

Once tucked into the soft bed, Hermione ran over the conversation with Harry. Lucius had been right, of course. Harry's account was proof that the Edge existed. All those subjects in Kotov's experiments went somewhere. And if she was interpreting Harry's story correctly, the Edge was indeed some kind of pitstop on the way to death. While Harry had the option to return fully back to life, due to the complicated nature of him being a horcrux, most people must have a different choice. Either they became a ghost, like the ones at Hogwarts, or they went…on. Most chose on. She could even ask the ghosts if they remembered the Edge, though many seemed disoriented whenever she asked them personal questions in the past. She'd follow that thread at a later time, if necessary.

One thing was certain: there was a train, a road, a staircase, a carriage, that led elsewhere. Now, she just needed to find out where it went, and how to get herself a ticket.

Excitement bubbled inside her all Thursday. Not even her nightmare could quell it (she'd been in the drawing room again, but this time it was Draco who held the blade—Sirius had saved her before she woke up, gasping). Hermione could hardly focus on her work of scheduling next month's interdepartmental meetings, her mind solely on her research. She was sure that she knew more about the wizarding afterlife than any witch or wizard before her, if the lack of books on the topic had any merit. She wondered if the lack of interest came from the magical community's distaste for religion. Who needed God when miracles came from a wand?

That night, her mind whirling with the need to research, Hermione locked herself in Sirius's room again. She fell asleep dreaming of Sirius, hoping for answers. But as the dream stretched into something sun-filled and hazy for once, he gave her no answers. Only smiles.

At least she woke up Friday rested, the man's lazy grin still fresh in her mind.

After Lucius left her in the library that evening with his familiar offer to let him know when she'd finished, Hermione stared resolutely out at the stacks. If her ticket was anywhere, it would be here. Or at least instructions on how to get it.

Hermione spent the rest of November and into December researching, her schedule now a firm Monday, Wednesday, Friday at the Malfoy library. If Lucius was ever busy, he gave no indication. Even if he was, it didn't seem to matter—he never bothered her in the library, only conversing with her after particularly difficult research sessions. Some days, they hardly spoke at all. It did ease her, though, knowing he sat just on the other side of the wall. Just in case she had a need.

The coffee and biscuits continued as well, to her slightly guilty delight.

As the weeks ticked on, Hermione began to grow restless. With each new inquiry into the afterlife beyond the Edge, she fell two steps back. It was like swimming in the dark, and the pool's edges kept shifting. No way out. Now that she had established that the Edge did in fact exist, she had to figure out two things.

First, if the Edge remained tangible at all times, or if it was instantly created during a person's death. If it always was in existence, Hermione could travel there without dying, then continue on into the afterlife to find Sirius. She assumed that only her Edge would be accessible, but she supposed it may be possible to go directly into Sirius's. Or it may not matter, since every Edge seemed to lead to the same afterlife.

Second, how she could stay alive while getting there. Harry had managed it by being part-horcrux, which was out of the question and likely impossible to replicate. But if Hermione could stay alive while traveling to the Edge and beyond—either through a potion longer-lasting than the Experiential Death Draught, or through some means she hadn't figured out yet—then she should be able to return to the land of the living. With Sirius in tow, of course. That was a problem she didn't even want to think of yet.

Then there was the Veil. Hermione had hardly begun her research into where exactly the Veil led to. Either it led directly to a person's Edge, as a doorway that then locked behind the person who went through, or the Veil led directly to the afterlife. If it was the latter, then her weeks researching the Edge would be pointless.

Some days it all felt pointless.

Hermione was nestled sideways into one of the mezzanine's armchairs, trying to read but actually just staring out the window. Snow had fallen the previous night, and the grounds of Malfoy manor had transformed into a sea of white. The view from the library looked out at a sprawling lawn, an oddly manicured forest just beyond. Even with the blanket of snow, she could make out a winding path beginning in the tree line. She wondered if the family had strolled there, or if they preferred the fancy gardens and hedges at the front of the manor.

The evening sun winked out from behind the treetops. She'd been watching it drop lower for ten minutes now, her current book on goblin folktales forgotten in her lap. Beside her sat a napkin of cookies she planned to stuff in her pocket for later. The house-elves made a delightful oatmeal raisin, which they'd apparently found out were her favorite. Every day came with coffee and cookies, now, though she never saw the tray come in.

"Miss Granger?"

Hermione jumped, eyes widening on Lucius as he stood at the top of the stairs. She'd never seen him step further into the room that the seating area. Deep blue robes swept around his long legs, the fabric quilted for the winter season. "Should I go? I didn't think I'd been up here too long—"

He stopped her with a hand. "There's been a floo-call for you, actually. Someone seems quite insistent that I've locked you in my dungeon."