A/N: I am posting this chapter a day early because I will be away from my computer tomorrow. New chapters will typically be posted on Sundays. I also began writing an unrelated Valentine's Day one-shot, but some unexpected v-day plans popped up so I will post that later in the week. Thank you again for reading. Writing this has pulled me back into a total Potterhead phase and I am so grateful to be amongst fellow fans.

Something about Hermione Granger leaves me thinking about books beyond Crafted Creatures. I journey a visit to the library the day after her visit and remember how much of a mess it lives in. Not only are most of the books gone, but the remaining half are either in the wrong place or lying on the floor and accumulating dust.

The magic of the manor had been keeping so much of it in a perfect state, but even the portraits decorating the library walls had gone off to visit other frames around the house. The library was left feeling lonelier, more defiled, and colder than other rooms. At least it could give me something to do.

I almost lock the doors to prevent Tomsy from trying to help.

"But Tomsy can do a good job, Master Draco! Tomsy is wanting to let Master Draco rest!"

It takes half of the afternoon to convince him to leave me alone. I give him an extraordinarily tricky dinner menu for the evening to keep him busy, buying time alone in the library. Its vastness is almost suffocating, and I quickly find my way to one of the green velvet couches near the window to catch my breath.

The amount of bloody stuff that we have infuriates me again. Which Malfoy ever bothered to read even a fraction of these? Mother always had a book in her hand, but there were titles that she had never heard of sitting further down the library shelves. Even somebody like Granger would take years to make a dent in the catalogue. I think about inviting her over. Perhaps she could take some of the books for herself. Or figure out how to downsize it.

But I can't ask that of her. That would make us proper acquaintances. I wouldn't want to give her any ideas about us becoming friends. She might run off and tell Potter all about our little playdates. Knowing him, he'd be tempted to strut on over next time and rub my failures in my face. Granger could come for the odd tea, but she wasn't about to treat me like a bookshop.

The dark swirls coating the ceiling catch my attention as I zone out on the couch. For a second, I swear they're moving. They look like snakes dancing around each other, slithering closer to the tops of the bookshelves and plucking their favourites for themselves. They captivate me for longer than they should, and I've not pulled away from it until Tomsy pops into the room.

"Tomsy brought Master Draco a coffee to keep him focused on all his hard work!"

Surely, he must notice that no work has been started. But I suppose that it has been a few hours at least. The elf stands there eying me as I pull the cup to my lips.

"Does Master Draco be needing any help?"

"Still no, Tomsy," I scowl.

A light swelling of tears prickles into the corners of Tomsy's eyes as he retreats to the kitchens, leaving me alone with a few thousand books. With no clear place to begin, I start to pull all the books littering to the floor and bring them to one of the study tables. Many have been dusted with cobwebs, and I can almost hear the slaps that Lucius Malfoy would be bringing down on the elves for letting it get this bad.

Dinner is served shortly after I collect all the grounded books. There are more than a hundred titles piled on the table, from some of Gilderoy Lockhart's worst to Encyclopaedia of Toadstools. Nothing catches my eye, but I leave the collection for later sorting.

Tomsy has masterfully whipped up a glazed ham with a brown sugar glaze. It's so good that I instantly regret eating it, knowing that prisoners shouldn't get such tasty things.

"Did Tomsy do it wrong?" He senses my frustration, and I debate if it's worth it to make up a lie. It's not, so I keep eating. I even let myself have seconds. For the elf, of course.

I return to the library after dinner. The pile of books waiting to be sorted drains all my energy, and I have to wonder if I bit off more than my energy could chew by taking on any sort of project. With all the earlier protesting, it would be silly to ask for Tomsy's help now. But the idea of doing anything other than curling up in bed and sleeping away the next six months feels repulsive.

Instead of making either choice, I find myself trying to practice occlumency again. Perhaps the change of scenery might allow for an easier time escaping my head. Soon enough, the Black Lake is piercing my thoughts, and I try to push back memories into dungeons and far corners, separating myself from all of the things that are exhausting me. After a few breaths and some mental labour, I shake myself back to consciousness and feel the calming effect of an empty mind.

Sorting books is easier this way. I arrange them alphabetically, pushing them to the side of the study table to return them to their proper places later. New Theory of Numerology, Ancient Runes Made Easy, A Beginners Guide to Transfiguration. It's mostly second copies of schoolbooks that Mother bought so that I could study over the summers. I never did.

And then there's a peculiar, familiar-looking title. Secrets of the Darkest Art. I go to put it with the rest when it hits me, and just as quickly as my occluding worked, it is working against me. An early memory of Father sneaking books on the dark arts into my nightstand or leaving them out after tea, hoping to benefit from my curiosity. Of course, I read them all. It gave more insight into what he would work on or cases he'd see in the Ministry. Eventually, I'd come to learn that he just wanted me to practice before I needed the skills.

I pull the lighter out of my pocket like it's a wand entering a duel, and the spark sets the first pages of Secrets of the Darkest Art on fire. I sit it on the table in front of me, watching the flames fight one another for dominance until the entire book is burning brightly against the night sky in the window behind it. I try to occlude while watching. Instead of the still lake or the quiet Hogwarts grounds, I picture the fire and nothing but until I'm throwing in Voldemort's corpse or Bellatrix's knives, using the flames to purify my thoughts.

"Master Draco! Tomsy did not think you would be burning the library down!"

Tomsy comes barging down the library hall, shooting streams of water out of his fingertips. They start on the book, but it's no longer the only thing on fire. The entire table is up in flames, including the rest of the titles I had spent all day sorting. They are all charred and near ruined when Tomsy's aguamenti charm is finished. I hadn't realized how long everything had been burning before, but the dark dust in the air is suspiciously abundant.

"Oh," is all that I can muster before I start coughing.

I spend the next two days away from the library, considering that house arrest might not be as comfortable if I accidentally burn down said house. The first day is spent sleeping, trying to fall back asleep, and sipping sleeping potions and lukewarm tea.

The second day is spent finishing up Crafted Creatures. It ends in tragedy. After spending so many years waiting for her lover, Elizabeth shifts into her human form and goes looking for Fitzwilliam even though she is still forbidden from looking for him. As it turns out, he had spent most of those years trying to find a way to be with her, too. But one of his spells backfired, killing him instantly. The news wrecks Elizabeth, who tries to return home to mourn his loss. But her parents are furious when they learn of how she had tried to trick them and tried to blame Fitzwilliam's death on her foolishness. She escapes their tight grip one more time and returns to the forest to live the rest of her life in animagi form until she can eventually reunite with Fitzwilliam in the afterlife.

My pillow is damp by the time it's finished, and I can't help but admit to myself that I've cried my way through the ending. Before I can even think about analyzing the conclusion or wondering what great message the book is trying to leave, I'm picking up a spare piece of parchment and bringing down my quill.

I've finished the book. What the bloody hell was that?

-D.M.

Ulysses takes the letter away shortly after, and I'm left in bed to await a response. I fall asleep in the meantime, dreaming of rivers and swans.

"Master Draco has a visitor!" Tomsy interrupts the dream.

"Is Miss Collins scheduled to arrive?" I ask, shaking the sleep from my face.

"No, Master Draco. It is Miss Hermione!"

Fuck. Only she would interpret any amount of commentary on literature as an open invitation to come by and discuss it. Why am I not surprised?

"Well, I suppose you can't tell her that I'm not home. I'll be down in a minute," I say, waving my hand until he's out the door. I pull on a green jumper and some black trousers, spending more time on myself than I had in two days. At first, I ignore the mirror and start to leave without fixing my hair, but I'm backtracking before stepping outside and into the hall. I should at least brush my hair and teeth… And then I'm straightening out every flyaway and washing impressions from the pillow out of my skin.

Granger is waiting for me at the bottom of the staircase, with her copy of Crafted Creatures in hand.

"I re-read it when I saw that you were working your way through it," she says, noticing where my eyes had landed first. "That way, I would have a fresher memory of it. I needed some light reading, anyway."

I start leading Granger into the sitting room where we had talked earlier in the week, but Tomsy interrupts us.

"Tomsy was thinking that Master Draco might like to eat his dinner!"

"You haven't eaten yet?" Granger questions.

"I suppose I haven't."

"Master Draco has not eaten in two days, Miss Hermione!"

I shoot a glance at Tomsy, warning him to stop oversharing with our guest.

"Just bring us some tea and scones, Tomsy." This seems to satisfy him enough, and he beats us to the sitting room with a hefty platter of snacks.

"Thank you, Tomsy," Granger says softly. I nod in agreement, my eyes still hard.

"So, Crafted Creatures," she begins, pulling out her copy. "I'd love to hear your thoughts on the book."

She studies me carefully as if my face would tell her everything she needs to know. For a moment, it looks like she's trying to practice legilimency to pull the opinions straight out of my head.

"It was good."

"Good? I'm sure you're capable of more complex thought than that."

"Okay… I liked most of it. But I feel like it was all a waste, considering how there was never any proper resolution in the end."

"What do you mean, 'proper resolution'? He died! She spent years waiting for him and still didn't give up on believing in him! And even after he dies, she refuses to betray their initial ideas and leaves her entire family behind! What more would you have wanted?"

"I don't know, a happy ending."

"I'm surprised you still believe in those."

She looks regretful as soon as it finishes coming from her lips. I purse mine in return, wondering how she was right.

"It's fiction, Granger. If I can't have my own happy ending, I'd at least like to read about one."

"Well, I can't really argue with that, now can I?"

But she wants to, and I don't want to be the one to stop her.

"Please, go on. Tell me all your thoughts on Crafted Creatures. And don't hold back because I'll know," I mockingly instruct her.

She certainly doesn't hold back and spends what feels like an hour diving into character motivations and how the novel effectively shares the difficulty in learning the magic of animagi. She swoons over the angst-filled love story and comments on how she agrees that it would be a more popular book if it had a happy ending but that she knows any other would take away from the power of the story. I can't tell if I'm listening or just watching her talk by the end of her analysis.

"Wow."

"Sorry, nobody ever lets me go on for that long," she laughs at herself. "What are you going to be reading next?" She asks.

"Granger, you're not trying to start a book club with me, are you?"

"No… But I don't entirely hate the idea."

"I don't know what I'm reading next. I've started re-organizing the library, so I suppose it depends if I stumble on one worth reading."

Her eyes go wide at the word 'library,' and it makes me want to take her there. She asks before I can offer, and by the time we're almost to the room I remember the state that it had been left in. Would she notice my destruction, or had Tomsy cleaned it up in time?

We open the tall black doors to reveal the space, and her eyes simultaneously light up and furrow in questioning. She notices that something is wrong, beyond how many books are missing from the shelves.

"The Ministry took a lot of our books."

"Yes, yes. I heard."

"I'm trying to sort through them and find a way for it to look full again. I haven't quite decided how to do that yet."

We eventually reach the far end of the room, where my study table sits in front of the glass. Tomsy has done a fine job at mopping away most of the remains of my fire making, but a few are still there. My hand dips into my pocket, hoping to fish out my wand and send the evidence away.

"Burning books? Who are you, Guy Montag?" She asks, noticing the remains of a charred transfiguration book.

"Who?"

"Never mind."

She takes the rest of the library in, dancing her eyes across the dozens of bookshelves and various sitting areas.

"How can I help?"

"Help what?"

"Your… renovations."

"I don't need your help."

"What are you going to do without me? Burn all of your books away?"

She has a point. Her magic would undoubtedly make the job easier, considering that I can't reach the highest shelves and that summoning ladders is also out of the question.

"Well, I was thinking that clearing out the shelves and then counting and sorting the books would be a good place to start."

"Then let's get started," she smiles, taking on the task like a piece of homework that she needs to ace for her own validation.

She pulls out a long vine wood wand and wordlessly starts summoning books from the highest shelf, sorting them alphabetically as she goes. They push themselves past me until towering piles fill the table.

Granger smirks to herself, sliding the wand back in her pocket and walking to the books.

"Shall we?" She grabs at a book about ancient runes and lets out a piercing scream, dropping the book back down and backing away from the table.

I push my eyebrows down at her, waiting for her to explain her outburst, and quickly realize what had happened. Many books are cursed to prevent Mudbloods from touching them.

"I'm fine. It just burns a little bit," she softens, looking down at her red palms.

"It's not fine," I whisper to myself and then loudly to her. "Tomsy!"

Tomsy pops into the room with a worried expression on his face. It grows even more fearsome when he sees Granger caressing her hands and me standing between her and the rest of the books.

"Get Granger a healing salve. Now!"

"I'm fine, Malfoy. Really."

Tomsy is back before I can reply, and he takes the liberty of smoothing the salve across her skin. I watch, mystified by the tenderness displayed in her reactions to the touch.

"Thank you, Tomsy," she says as he finishes.

"See? All better." She holds her hands up to my face, a calm expression splashing across hers.

"I should have known," I tell her, knowing that it's true. How could I have forgotten? Was it possible that I did remember and hoped that she would experience such pain? "I think you need to leave."

"What? No! We can keep going. I can avoid touching them, I promise."

"Tomsy, please escort Granger to the fireplace."

I know that I am about to lose my temper. I feel the familiarity brewing inside of me and start visualizing all of the walls in the room ablaze. But I can't let her see it come out, and if I have to threaten Tomsy to drag her out, then so be it. He senses my rising anger and grabs at her hand, apparating her out of the room when it becomes clear that she won't go willingly.

I had tried wandless magic in Azkaban, assuming that it wouldn't work. I was right because it hadn't. But as I visualize Granger aching from the pain that I caused, purposeful or not, my hands are pushing towards the back of the room, begging for something to come out of them.

"Please," I beg my own body, and still nothing happens.

I focus my eyes on the field beyond the window and let my mind wander. As if I've fallen asleep in place, a familiar nightmare begins playing in front of my eyes. We're still in the manor, and Granger is lying outstretched on the floors, screaming in pain and claiming that she didn't take anything. But it's not Bellatrix that's lying over her, carving her identity into her forearm. It's me, and I'm smiling.

Suddenly, I'm pulled back to alertness. The room is on fire. It looks like the Room of Requirement did when filled with Crabbe's Fiendfyre, but this time there is no Potter to save the day. The flames pull forward, promising to lick at me until I'm a part of their blaze. All the books that Granger pulled down are gone, burned to a crisp, and the fire is slowly moving towards the entrance. Whatever spell I cast was weak, but enough to catch.

I begin walking toward the open flames willingly, wondering how it will feel when it consumes me. And then I see it. Tucked in plain sight, upside-down next to a chair untouched by flames, is a copy of Crafted Creatures. It can't be mine because that one is sitting on my nightstand.

Granger. It must be hers. She must have dropped it while Tomsy apparated her. I can't help but wonder if she'll miss it. Suppose she'll even notice that it's gone. I start to imagine how she felt when she read it for the first time and picture her crying at the end as I did. But she finishes it with a slight smile as if pleased knowing that each of them had died filled with the knowledge of love. My heart starts to ache, knowing that I wouldn't leave this place the same as them, and everything starts getting darker and warmer.

"Master Draco, not again!" I hear as the heat starts creeping up my legs.

Tomsy conjures far more than a stream of water this time. A wave comes rushing through the library, slapping against the fire as if in battle. The liquid wins, leaving us soaked and standing amidst puddles. And there, in my hands, is Hermione Granger's now-burned copy of Crafted Creatures.