They sat opposite one another tucked away in a small alcove towards the back of the library. Draco's wand rested on the windowsill, propped against a large tome to stop it rolling, the end of it lit and casting a small halo of light over the books in front of them. Finding history books related to Edward and Mina's era had been relatively easy, with Hermione shoving book after book at Draco till he was balancing a precarious-looking pile in his arms. The pile had been painstakingly divided between them, with Hermione assuring him that they both had a relatively equal amount of literature to trawl through. Draco begged to differ, pointing out that several books on his pile were significantly bigger than those in Hermione's, but after his grumbling received nothing but a raised eyebrow from the Gryffindor, he'd sunk into the pit of research despair that Hermione seemed to revel in.

Hermione glanced up taking in the sight of the blonde Slytherin hunched over, his chin resting on his hand as he flicked through the large tome in front of him. She still couldn't quite wrap her head around how ordinary it all felt, how easy it had been to sneak away from her friends - who'd been arguing over a game of Wizard chess - and meet her long-term enemy.

"Find anything?" Draco drawled for about the fourth time that night, slowly looking up from his book. Hermione looked down quickly, her face warming as she realised she had been staring.

"No," she muttered. As wonderful as books were, there was the tendency for the infuriating case of 'finding a needle in a huge stack of needles'. "What about you?" She asked looking up.

"Nothing." He pushed the large volume away. "Pages and pages cataloguing the Battle of Snagbloom, but nothing, and I mean nothing, on Tharin Morax."

"Battle of Snag what?" Hermione questioned, her nose wrinkling as she reached forward turning the book towards her. Draco leaned back in his chair, rubbing his eyes.

"Centaurs, wood elves, big palaver over this patch of grass. Thrilling stuff really comes highly recommended." Hermione giggled as she realised, he really wasn't kidding, the book detailed every event with excruciating detail right down the specific wording of a peace treaty, outlined by Bortias Squint, a wizard who lived not far from the beautiful green hills of Snagbloom.

"Uldus Blubbort knew what mattered, huh?" she mumbled letting out another giggle. Draco covered his mouth trying to hide the smile her laughter had elicited.

"You do realise the Battle of Snagbloom was a turning point for centaurs and Wood-elves, it seriously changed the way in which both species lived." Draco tried to remain serious but found himself laughing when he saw Hermione's shoulders begin to shake. "What? It's a serious matter." He spluttered, which only served to make Hermione laugh more.

"I don't know why we are still doing this Granger, it's pointless," Draco murmured, shaking his head, watching as Hermione wiped the tears from the corner of her eyes and closed the book in front of her, her laughter dying down to a small grin.

"As much as I don't like to admit it, this is a bit infuriating." She drew the last book on her pile in front of her and flipped it open. Draco watched her curiously, wondering for about the 100th time that night why he was spending even more time with the Gryffindor. She infuriated him, made him angry, was everything he despised and yet, she made him laugh. To his utter despair, he'd found himself thinking about her all day, daydreaming about the bucktooth when he should have been working or holding some sort of conversation with his friends. When the time came to finally meet her, he'd almost bailed; he convinced himself that she probably wouldn't even miss his presence, but as soon as he'd seen her bushy hair bouncing around the corner he'd given up on the idea.

"Perhaps our evil psycho wasn't quite as well-known as we thought?" He pondered, glancing around at the darkness of the Library. He could understand why Granger liked spending her time there; the aisles of books held an easy quiet to them that was calming, even in the darkness, he found that it was comforting rather than foreboding, the black holding secrets rather than fears.

"Wait, look at this." Hermione tapped the book in front of her with the tip of her finger and Draco stood up, walking round to glance over her shoulder.

"Hmm, hair." He stated and Hermione scowled up at him shifting her frizzy hair over to one side and revealing a delicate expanse of neck that made him gulp slightly. He shook his head leaning closer and concentrating on the words in front of the Gryffindor.

"Did you see anything like this?" Hermione asked. It was a sketch, black, white, and grainy, but the pattern was unmistakable. Draco shivered as he remembered the brand seared onto the skin of Tharin's victims as they crouched in their small cages. He leant back trying to create some distance between him and the mark, almost as if the very picture of it would conjure the Sensieve's magic.

"That's the one," He said after a while, sucking air in through his teeth, "what does it say?"

"Nothing. Just that...Just that it is subject to mystery and controversy among many witches and wizards. Only archives of the oldest families would hold any details on its origins, and these are kept hidden." Draco frowned.

'Hidden?' Hermione nodded staring down at the words in bewilderment.

"Wait, look here." she gestured to the bottom of the page, loopy handwriting catching her eye. With a jolt, she realised that it was the same handwriting that had led her to information on the Sensieve.

"Translation of brand: TR," Draco muttered, leaning even closer till Hermione could feel his arm brushing against hers sending little tingles of magic dancing across her skin.

"What does that mean?" He asked.

"I don't know, but I've seen this writing before. It was in a book, it told me where to find information on the Sensieve."

"Hmmm." Draco shrugged, moving back around the table to fall heavily into his chair. With a sigh he glanced at the last book in his pile; It was a muggle book and they'd only picked it up because Hermione had insisted it was worth a shot. He had to admit, begrudgingly, that she had a point; muggle and magic history overlapped and intertwined through the ages, it would make sense that muggles might have recorded something, even if it was entirely incorrect.

He pulled the book toward him opening the cover and trawling through till he found the section on witch trials. Miniature black and white pictures of witches being burnt accompanied the text and they made him feel nauseous. The next page made him reel back, the book almost dropping to the floor. The icy blue eyes of Tharin Morax stared out at him, a small smirk curling on his lips. Whoever had sketched the picture had captured a likeness that sent shivers up Draco's spine.

"Granger." He muttered and Hermione looked up, concern flashing through her eyes as she saw how pale he'd become. "It's him," He gestured at the page.

The man was handsome in a pompous way, holding himself with a kind of pride that she knew could never be taught.

"He looks so normal," she stated, her eyes drawn to the text that listed all of his crimes.

"Yeah," Draco said, laughing bitterly, "looks can be deceiving."

"Tharin Morax, tortured, mutilated and killed thousands of innocent men, women, and children, stating that they were in fact practitioners of the dark arts. Those that he believed were witches or wizards, were branded with his initials and tortured till they confessed. This, this is terrible."

"His initials?" Draco queried, pulling at the book Hermione had been reading from. He checked the looped writing and double-checked. He supposed that Muggles could have been wrong about it, but something told him they weren't. He turned over the page wincing as a painting of Tharin looked up at him; his face set and serious, much older than he had been in the memory. Draco scanned the text quickly his heart threatening to stop. It couldn't be, the idea of it was impossible, and yet the words were real, as real as Hermione's hand resting on the table next to his.

"Look at this." He held the page up to Hermione and watched as her eyes widened.

"It...it can't be," she gasped "that's impossible surely."

"And yet, there it is."

"Tharanias Riddle, more commonly known as the bloodthirsty witch hunter, Tharin Morax." Hermione paused letting it sink in.

"But Riddle...that's...that." She didn't want to say his name, didn't want to utter it in the darkness and Draco understood why; the library that had, only moments ago, felt like a safe haven, had suddenly become dark and foreboding, evil shadows creeping in making the hairs on his arms stand on end.

"Why would he change his name?" Draco muttered, jumping slightly as he felt his little finger brush against Hermione's. He considered moving it but the warmth of magic traveling up his arm was too good to resist, so he left it there, hoping by Merlin that she wouldn't notice. He peeked at her from behind his fringe and let out a sigh of relief when it seemed as though she hadn't.

"I don't know, I guess it's no different from You Know Who, he changed his name." Hermione moved away, sitting slowly, her eyes full of sadness. "How could he get away with that?"

"Bad people tend to get away with bad things, Granger. It's the way of the world" He said with a shrug, lifting the cover of the book off the table and closing it slowly.

"That's a very cynical view."

"It's a realistic view. Bad people are bad, so they run around doing bad things to good people and, nine times out of ten, they get away with it." Hermione laughed, tucking her hair behind her ears and putting her elbows on the table letting her chin rest in her open palms.

"You can't honestly believe that?"

"And why not," he said, meeting her gaze with his grey eyes, "look at it this way. Tharin Morax, or Riddle, or whatever. Terrible psycho muggle killed thousands of innocents and somehow gets a book written about him. Probably shagged himself into oblivion and, as we know, sired a few mini psychos to carry on the family name." Hermione snorted at his wording but carried on listening.

"Now, Mina and Edward, dead. No books, no mention, not enough time for happy bonking and popping out any kids. So yeah, bad people outweigh the good and that's just one example," Draco shrugged. "It's better to just accept it and move on, let the 'good guys' and the 'bad guys' hash it out and hope there's enough world left at the end to pay groveling homage to whoever rises to be the victor."

Hermione scoffed, lifting her head out of her hands, and shooting him a wary glance. "And what about you?" Draco tipped his head slightly in curiosity.

"What about me?"

"You'd just sit back and watch it all unfold and not do anything?" Draco grinned, leaning forward.

"What else is there to do?"

"Er fight." Hermione pointed out as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

"And what good would that do?"

"I don't know, something, at least more than nothing. How could you not stand for anything?" Draco smirked a little making her skin prickle with irritation.

"Oh, I stand for things like; living, breathing, keeping my nose out of things."

"But what if...what if there was something that you had to fight for, something important?"

"Apart from myself?"

"Oh, come on, even you're not that selfish." Hermione admonished, not quite able to make her statement sound believable.

"Who says I'm not? You see you Gryffindors you're all about running in, wands blazing and leaving important questions like, 'will I survive this?" till afterward. Here's a little advice for you, it's a tad too late then."

"But what if there was something you really cared about, something that you had to fight for no matter what." Draco stared at Hermione for some time hating the ache in his heart when she said those words. He felt as though he was walking down a dangerous path and now was a pretty good time to run back the other way.

"I don't have anything even remotely close to that important in my life." Hermione scoffed and crossed her arms.

"I think you'd fight if you found something important to you."

"Oh really?" Draco said, lifting one eyebrow. "And in this hypothetical fight, which side would I be fighting on?"

Hermione paused, her mouth opening and closing as she found herself unable to answer his question.

"Whichever side you thought was right." Hermione jumped as Draco let out a loud laugh.

"Nice one, Granger. Such a diplomatic answer." Hermione rolled her eyes.

"Look, all I'm saying is that when you find something important, you'd do anything to protect it. It's not about being good or bad, it's about fighting for what you believe in. I mean, look at Harry, he doesn't ask for all the crazy things that happen to him, but he deals with them because he wants to keep those he cares about, safe." Hermione said with a shrug.

Draco's smile dropped as soon as she mentioned his name, he hated the fact that once again the spectacled Scarface was muscling in on their time together. He tried not to focus too much on what that actually meant.

"Yes, because hurtling from one dangerous situation to the next is a sure-fire way of keeping the people you care about safe." He mocked, shaking his head. Hermione bristled in irritation, he really did have an uncanny way of making her feel like a complete idiot.

"He does what he has to." Hermione asserted through gritted teeth.

"I'm sure he does, all the fame and butt-kissing, that's just an enjoyable side benefit."

"You know all that actually annoys him?"

"Yes, I imagine amassing the entire wizarding world's adoration does put a bee in one's bonnet," He scoffed sarcastically.

"Why are you so bitter about everything?"

"Because there's plenty to be bitter about, like jumped up little orphans who manage to fall in an out of all manner of crazy situations without so much as breaking his sodding glasses."

"What is it you have against my friends? I don't go around insulting your friends every five seconds."

"That's because my friends are normal, Granger," Draco said smugly, taking his wand from the windowsill and getting up out of his chair.

"Normal?" Hermione scoffed, jumping up to follow him. "Normal? You think that the bullying of pretty much every person that doesn't meet their snootily high standards, normal?"

"You don't know anything about my friends, Granger," Draco growled defensively.

"And you don't know anything about mine." Hermione defended, lowering her voice when she realised, she'd begun to shout.

"Oh, I know plenty, Granger. Potty is all anyone can harp on about."

"Because of course, everything that anyone has ever said about Harry is almost entirely true." Hermione bit back, sarcastically.

"Honestly I couldn't give a Leprechaun's green ass what is or isn't true about Potty, just leave my friends out of it."

Hermione drew back slightly, shocked a little by Draco's furious defence of people that she herself couldn't really stand. At first, she'd thought that the gap between them had once again opened up, making space for all their crazy differences to muscle in and create problems. Now she realised they were just the same. Though he didn't always show it Malfoy's defence of the idiots he called friends seemed something close to caring.

"So, it's okay for you to drag my friend's name through the mud but woe betide I so much as slightly hint that your little cronies are less than perfect."

"Wow, so they're my little cronies now, what does that make you Potty's sidekick?" Hermione growled in frustration, rubbing her forehead.

"Why are we even fighting?" She breathed, shaking her head and looking up at him, tiredness sitting in little bags under her eyes.

"I don't know, you're the Know-it-all." Hermione felt too drained to retort so instead settled on glaring at him, letting her shoulders drop in defeat, "Maybe we should just agree not to talk about our friends." Draco considered this for a while before giving her a small nod of affirmation.

"And that means keeping your petty little insults to yourself." Hermione chastised, pointing her finger at him angrily.

"So, patronising," Draco sneered.

"And so right, look whatever differences we have we are just going to have to...shelve them for a bit."

"Whatever, Granger," Draco said with a shrug, turning to walk away.

"At least we know one thing," Hermione said smugly, moving to follow him.

"And what is that exactly?" Draco asked, completely uninterested. She had annoyed him more than he wanted to admit, simply because during the whole argument, even past the anger and seething hatred for all her sickly-sweet views of her friends, she'd looked phenomenal. The sight of her all fierce and glary made his mouth go a little dry because the look suited her so darn much.

"Well, we know you at least care about something." Draco rolled his eyes before pausing in horror.

"Not again?" He sighed as the library melted away, and they were once again stood in the room with the emerald pillars.