"This," said Malfoy, smirking as he pushed open a set of wooden doors on the third floor, "is the biggest Wizarding fiction library in the whole of Europe."

It was, indeed, another library. The Malfoy manor had a total of 6 libraries, Harry had been told; One for scrolls, books and files on Wizarding history; one for spellbooks; one for other assorted non-fiction works; this one for fiction; and Lucius' personal library. Malfoy didn't mention what the sixth one contained and Harry assumed that it was full of books on the Dark Arts. Malfoy said it was enchanted; no one but Lucius could find it.

"It's, uh... quite something," muttered Harry. "But, as much as I love libraries..."

"Sarcasm doesn't suit you, Potter. But then, I wouldn't expect you to understand the value of literature anyway. I'm not even sure the Weasleys can read. I always imagined-" he cut himself short as Harry's wand pressed into his cheek.

Malfoy stepped back, but his eyes focused on the wand.

"They locked up my father without a trial. I think I'm entitled to some free jabs."

"I can still burn your house down," said Harry through gritted teeth.

"You'd burn with it."

Harry pushed Malfoy hard against the wall.

"Why am I here?" Harry asked. "Am I a hostage, a prisoner, a play-thing-"

Malfoy tried to push Harry off him. His face was flushed, but he couldn't meet Harry's eyes. Harry refrained from wincing as Malfoy's nails bug into his forearm, but was suprised when Malfoy gave up and sunk into the wall.

"I'm just so sick of everything."

Harry relaxed his grip.

"We all are," Harry muttered back, but stepped back and let Malfoy walk away.

"Mother, this is insane. I can't do this."

Draco paced his mother's room later that evening. He sat on the end of Narcissa's bed, legs crossed and back straight. Narcissa sat propped up with some pillows, her eyes on a thick ogre skin book.

"Do what, darling?"

"Be friends with him. Or even act like that will ever be a possibility."

Narcissa raised her eyes to Draco, her brow furrowed and her lips pursed. "Why not?" she asked. Draco sighed and looked out of the window.

"We have... conflicting interests." To say the least, Draco added grimly to himself.

"You both like Quidditch."

"It's hard to play Quidditch when the opposing team is locked inside."

"Don't take that tone with me," Narcissa snapped. "You know him better. Choose something he likes, and make yourself like it too." She said it as though it were simple.

"I don't know what he likes."

"Well ask him, then."

"How do you not get it?" Malfoy didn't often lose his temper at his mother, and he tried to level his tone. "We're holding him prisoner. We have Harry Potter, the Chosen One, the Golden Boy, The Savior of the Wizarding World, locked away, with our trials just a few months away. You've sentanced us to life and you don't even care."

Narcissa slammed her book shut and glared up at Draco. "Don't you want your father out of prison?"

"Of course I do, but this doesn't make sense. This won't work."

"Don't you have any idea what it's like for me without him?" Draco looked away from his mother's icy glare. "How lonely it is?"

"I didn't mean -"

"Do you have any idea how hard it is running this estate by myself?"

"I-"

"Do you know how much stress I've been under?"

"Mother-"

"Get out!" Narcissa began to sob, and she put her hands to her face. "Just go, Draco... please."

Draco rose to his feet silently. There was barely a crease in the bedspread where he had been sitting.

"Good night, Mother," he said quietly. He fell back against the door as it shut behind him, listening to her cry.