Happy holidays to all of you who celebrate them now! I had free time since I'm celebrating Christmas on January 7th, so here you go, enjoy new chapter!

Chapter 6
"I require free access to the library."

She was beginning to seriously mess with his brain. This girl was the most impossible one of all he had ever met. Every action she took after their wedding, every little speech she made to convince him that she was no different than he was, confused him. And he was a man who didn't let confusion get to him easily. Actually, he met so many people in his life, that barely a few things surprised him anymore. Curse his bad luck, one of those things was his wife. She was too clever for her own good, he'd known that since school, alright. But her cleverness and bravery, her newfound spunk and crushed melancholy in those big doe eyes made him start to reconsider his whole belief system. This little twit, with bushy hair and squared bony shoulders,demanding something from the man who ruled England, was screwing with his mind. It was a slow process really, and he desperately tried to get a hold on himself, but she was too interesting creature. She learned to read Russian faster than himself; her project with wandless magic was successfully progressing, she was mastering it with incredible vigor, proving once again that her dirty magic didn't have any fault. But the thing which made him seriously start to worry about his own intellect was her bravery and not the classic, Gryffindor recklessness he was used to in school; no, she was waging wars of wits with him every day, she was unafraid to talk down to the woman who tortured her two years ago, she was able to play a perfect aristocrat without a blink.

Draco was starting to begrudgingly admire his wife, and he fought with all his strength not to admit it. He didn't even notice it, his little change in behavior. He didn't notice how he was talking more to her as the days flew by, how he enjoyed to fight with her about her heritage, how he crawled back to her, to their bed every single night without a fail. On the moments when he would catch himself relaxing too much with her or simply enjoying her too much he would withdraw, but he could sense he was in terrible danger. This woman had the power to break the mechanism which held his empire together-the voice of his father and Voldemort drilling into him the strong ideology of the lower breed was fading slowly in his brain, without him knowing how to stop it.

Draco Malfoy consoled himself that it was normal, that the whole marriage thing was mulling with his brain and since she was the only woman he was allowed to be close to, it was natural for him to yearn for her...in purely intellectual way. He chose to forget how he slept peacefully for the first time in his life while her scent suffocated him and her body held his warmness, he chose to forget how perfectly he held her like some safety net shielding him from nightmares. He also chose to forget how every time she was in a trouble because of her big mouth, or just simply standing in front of him skinny and unprotected, he had the urge to save her and put her under a glass bell. But he also chose not to believe in every single word she said, no matter how much it affected him. He had the picture around himself which must never change. It would be the butterfly effect- one small thing could make a ruckus. The disaster was bound to happen if he concentrated on his little doubt worming up his mind every time the Mudblood excelled in something. So he simply kept on living his troublesome and busy life and consoled himself that Granger was, as his aunt cleverly said it, just a pet. A pest or a pet, he couldn't quite figure it out.

"What do you need the library for?" He asked, sizing up her Muggle black pants and a turtle neck clinging nicely to her body, but refusing to admit that he liked it.

"Firstly, I need it for my research on wandless magic, I want to see psychological aspect of it. I want to study and control it while-"

"Granger, you can't just read the instruction. Some things just have to be handled by feeling."

"Hermione looked at him critically, refusing to validate his words, but seeing truth in them. There was something elegant radiating off him while he spoke, especially when leading the discussion.

"I learned everything I know from books, so please don't patronize me and please just give me the access to the library. I won't steal any of your precious little dark magic books on how to skin Mudbloods alive, I promise." She scoffed in the same time when he did.

"I don't think you'll steal my books, Granger. But there are some dark magic books which are very, very dangerous and I'm afraid-I suspect you will be screwed if you touch anything you shouldn't." He started and flinched on that word. Afraid. Fearing for her wellbeing. Weird.

So he quickly corrected himself, praying that she didn't hear it.

"You're worrying about me?" Her eyebrows shot up in disbelief. She knew something was wrong with him but reckoned it was simply because of her constant presence. She was getting used to him too, after all, and she even had to remind herself to loath him. It was hard when she was isolated and away from all the madness and horrors she supposed he and his lot did to Muggleborns, so she couldn't quite grasp the whole picture of his sickness. In the last couple of days she began to develop some kind of tolerance towards him, and that was what she really couldn't let happen. She had to tell herself every single day: She was a prisoner and he was her executor.

"I'm not worried about you per se, it's more that you will mother my child, so my primary concern for you is to stay out of danger's way." He shrugged, trying to act nonchalantly but he was disgusted with the knowledge that it was a lie.

"Oh. Right. Well then, I will be more careful and you will give me the permission." She stopped there, feigning disinterest but feeling like she was even smaller than some ugly insect when his words hit her. And she hated herself for uttering the following word: "Please."

Pure shock flew across his face and he didn't even try to hide it. His eyebrows shot up , almost touching his hairline.

"But-" he even stuttered, but one loud knock on the door interrupted him.

"Master, I have some bad news." One skinny, very young and pleasant looking boy burst in the drawing room hurriedly, not waiting for the approval,and just when Hermione looked at Malfoy expecting from him some reprimand, his face darkened and he nodded for the boy to continue.

"I was at Nott's just before and... he is dead. Nott is-he was murdered." The boy started talking with sharp tone but the courage drained from him and Hermione saw grief in the end of the speech. These words shocked even her own self; Nott was, after Draco, the most powerful man in Britain. Who in Merlin's name managed to do that?! Hermione even felt some weird sensation in her guts, something like pride or victory, but one look on Malfoy smothered those feelings.

He paled and blinked, all life leaving his already cold eyes. His lips twisted downwards in something akin anger or sadness, or maybe both? And his brows furrowed, making him look years older. The silence that followed was a heavy one and it wasn't even that long, but to Hermione it looked like eternity. In reality, Malfoy composed himself in the speed of light and cleared his throat, smothering every reaction with that and quickly started shooting questions at the poor boy.

Hermione felt dazed and awkward standing there and tried to concentrate on the information but her mind was elsewhere. She actually thought Malfoy was a complete psychopath. His best friend was dead and he was as calm as statue, not grieving for a second? Terrible.

"How did they manage to get into the house? Are there any trails? Still nothing?" The boy was answering as quickly as possible but Malfoy was clearly unsatisfied, because they had found Nott just ten minutes ago and the investigation was just about to start.

Draco touched the bridge of his nose in impatience and his eyes accidentally fell on Hermione who was still standing there quiet and confused, and for one fleeting moment she saw one lost boy, not knowing what to do with his life. But that passed quickly too; he stood straighter, cleared his throat again and called for Ellie, the house-elf.

"Take Granger to the library and give her the key. Be there for her and if you sense dark books, move them away." He said, not sparing even one fleeting look at Hermione and apparated away. The boy took his cue and did the same, nodding to the bewildered girl with respect. Not disgust, not hate. Simple respect for the fellow human.

A young woman, Nott's now widowed wife, was crying hysterically in the corner and one of the female Ministry officials, or more correctly Aurors was trying to soothe her. She looked like messy and afraid and the glass of water in her hands was spilling because of her constant, uncontrolled shaking. That was the first thing Draco saw when he apparated to Nott's. Next, he saw a bunch of people trying to do their work on the crime scene and in the second corner he saw Nott- no, Nott's corpse covered with white sheet. He knew he had to say something now that everyone's attention full of fear and respect was at him, but he was failing to find the words. That fucking corpse was too unnerving to him.

"Tell me everything." He simply said, but with quieter and deeper voice than usual.

One of the Aurors, younger brother of Millicent Bulstrode hurried to him and in serious and quick pace started explaining everything they had found out.

But Draco wasn't satisfied. Bulstrode said that the time of the death was roughly late night, at about three am. There was no sign of physical combat, there was no sign of wounds or wounding curses so the only explanation was Killing curse. He had his wand with him but the killer was quicker, so it was a skilled dueler making a crime. Nott's wife found him dead when she woke up in the morning and searched for him, worried because he never came to bed. He had a long night at work and then stopped by to Dolohov, for private matters. They had already questioned Dolohov too and he saw no intruder near his mansion, nor he had company when Nott came to visit. He was sent straight to Russia after talking to Nott and came back after hearing about the murder, so he was free of charge. But who else, who could have came into Nott's drawing room with easy permission? it could have been anyone. Even one of Draco's men.

"Let me see the body." Draco mumbled and Bulstrode nodded, clearing the way of buzzing aurors for him.

Hermione's day flew by in the library. It reminded her of a library in her elementary school before Hogwarts, long shelves stacked with books filling almost all of the free space, set in ten or even more rows. She buried herself in reading, ignoring the darkness of the cursed books radiating around her and concentrating on her work. She didn't manage to find everything she wanted in the first try, but it was even better that way-that way she could deal with her boredom on her favorite way, researching. The elf helped her as Malfoy ordered, shielding her from some risky situations when she would get to carried away to notice she had got too close to the dark magic. She even burned one of those books on accident, using her still uncontrolled fingers to ca st the spell on instinct, when the crazy book attacked her, reminding her of that book pf Monsters from third year on Hogwarts.

So when she finally got back to her bedroom after spending whole day locked up in the library, with singed clothes, hair even bushier than usual and face smudged with tar, she felt exhausted and dirty, but very satisfied with her own productivity. She even felt nice tingling of tiredness and couldn't wait to get to her comfy bed.

It perplexed her a little that Malfoy wasn't there, since they where now sharing the bed as the normal thing (Don't even go there, she reprimanded her brain while putting on her nightdress), but she shrugged and accepted her solace, remembering the events of the morning. After her brain tormented her with infinite questions, she finally managed to shut it off and float into a light slumber.

BANG!

She jumped up startled, for some reason afraid for her life, but relaxed a little when she saw familiar tall figure of Malfoy slamming the bedroom door shut. But her ease was cut short when he hurried into the bathroom and she heard him retching. Hermione ran in small steps to the bathroom and turned on the light with the wave of her hand, afraid to come closer and just stood on the doorframe.

Malfoy was shaking uncontrollably, kneeling on the floor by the toilet, with head hung low and eyes closed. His hair was mused and matted with sweat, his impeccable uniform was wrinkled with robe carelessly thrown somewhere back in the bedroom and he was dangerously pale. Hermione never saw him this unhinged.

When he sensed her near he looked at her with those dead eyes and she wanted to run and hide. There was something so depressing, so chill in his look that even Hermione felt a little broken. It glued her to her place, and she felt like she remembered every single bad thing that she had witnessed in her life just looking at him.

"Malfoy- are you-?" Stupid question. "Do you need anything?" she whispered and he nodded slowly, not taking his eyes off her. She finally left her spot on the doorframe and came closer to him.

"Do you have some potions for nausea in here? I can-"

"No, I-" he started with scratchy voice but shut up, looking away and looking like he just then realized where he was. He blinked slowly.

"I need to shower." He whispered and she nodded, leaving him in the bathroom and going back to bed. She hadn't even realized until then that she was shaking too, and if she looked in the mirror she could see herself considerably paler than minutes ago. So he was human, after all.

She heard the water running and then she heard movements, but when the water was shut there was only silence. And just when she started getting worried that he had maybe fallen ill or unconscious, he emerged, still in his black trousers, but without his blouse. He looked clean, but still very lost and depressed.

He sat down on the edge of the bed and hung his head low, almost touching his knees and Hermione had a clear view of his slim back, looking beautiful in the moonlight. But the scene somehow shook her and she wanted desperately to console, to console her enemy and tell him it was alright. Stupid girl. She didn't do exactly that, it would be too much, but she joined him on the edge of the bed, her bare feet barely touching the floor, and chose to put respectful distance between them.

And she did something silly. She said, and meant it honestly,

"I'm sorry for your loss."

His head slowly turned to her and she saw again those haunting eyes, although now they weren't as empty as before. She could see a terrifying mix of fury, acceptance and grief. His jaw clenched and lips went downwards, and he opened his mouth and closed it again, in the loss of words.

She averted her eyes to the wall, trying not to be rude and almost forgot that she even spoke at all when she heard a soft, broken whisper,

"He was my best friend." And she closed her eyes too. She thought she would be glad, she would be victorious when this man felt even a zilch of horrors she felt and survived. But she just remembered her own loss and loneliness, her own losing of everything close to her and instead of spite she felt pure empathy.

A twinge of sadness was slowly rising from the stomach to her throat, occupying every fiber of her body and when she looked at him again, she saw him holding his head in his hands and shaking. Merlin, he was crying.

She touched his shoulder with her palm slowly, feeling awkwardness at the touch. Their bodies touched when they slept in the same bed of course, but it was always his body seeking for her, and this right now was her first attempt of getting physically closer to him.

On the feel of her hand Draco looked at her with bloodshot eyes and shame written on his face, but she was fast.

"It's okay." She whispered. His eyes flashed.

"Nothing's okay, Granger! Nothing's fucking okay!" he yelled and she stared at him unflinching. It was pain of grief. She wasn't afraid.

"Yeah, and it's not fair! It's so fucking wrong and twisted, I know!" She shouted back, feeling exhilarated for the first time of her stay in this prison.

"HE WAS MY BEST FRIEND!" He roared and his voice broke, and his face broke and his heart broke.
And he wept. He wept like never before. Theo was his brother. He loved Theo. He'd lost Theo.
 Hermione caught him on reflex when he started to lose his sitting stance and he was crying in her shoulder, he was shaking with fury and fucking hell everything's fucked up, and she just held him and approved, and understood, and kept quiet.

They had fallen asleep on the foot of the bed, their bodies awkwardly tangled and desperate to cling to one another. For the first time in their lives, they were the same.