A/N: I'm really thankful for those who followed and faved, but a special thank is for those few who reviewed, it really means a lot for me : DracoHermionelover98, Wilhelm Wigworthy and two other guests, who wanted to remain anonymous. And yes, answering one of questions, it's Dramione :3

And guys, seriously, I need a beta-reader. Somebody, please, help me! All mistakes and fatal errors in this chapter are all mine, and I love and respect them :D

Chapter 3

There were no necessary books in library but a week later Hermione sat in the Heads' common-room, holding in front of herself a big volume. She didn't know how McGonagall managed to bring it in Hogwarts. Pages of that thick heavy book were yellowed because of age, text was teemed with ancient turnovers, and Hermione could surely say that book wasn't read for years. She knew that McGonagall checked it few times (there might have been protective wards and curses) but she still opened that book with a dread. And after opening it she wasn't able to persuade herself not only to overlook the text but also to read it attentively, analyzing and making notes for the future. In general, in first ten minutes Granger just sat with the open book on her lap.

McGonagall didn't say from where did she take that book from and Hermione didn't ask. It was enough for her to know that for the using of curses, described in that thick volume, one could be thrown into Azkaban (if not meet Dementor immediately). Correction - one could have been thrown into prison before. Now everything depended on who was throwing the curse and against whom it was thrown.

The doors opened and closed without any noise, Malfoy entered the room. Hermione didn't even notice him until he stopped right above her.

"And you still don't see anything except books... No wonder that even your Weasel started dating with that Brown girl and not with you."

Hermione raised her head and looked at Malfoy. Despite the perfect suit, accurate haircut and scornfully indifferent expression, she could have told by his eyes that he was deadly tired. That day they had no mutual classes, but Granger remembered that she didn't see him at breakfast either. She wondered briefly where he hanged around to be so spent.

"And why do you care?"

"I don't," Malfoy threw his cloak on the sofa. "But it would be interesting to look at the idiot who would date with you."

Hermione didn't say anything, returning her attention to the book. And then she suddenly realized that she couldn't have allowed Malfoy to see it. But it was too late - Slytherin read the text with a genuine interest, holding a few pages.

"Granger, have nobody told you that it's dangerous to read such books?" he smirked, taking the book form her hands and leafing through the text lazily.

"Forgot to ask you first, Malfoy," Hermione grumbled, being angry with herself for letting him to discover about the existence of the book in the first place. "Why do you give a shit at all, huh?"

"I'm just curious why the best Gryffindor student reads history of the Dark Arts."

"Malfoy, in a case you didn't notice, now we learn Dark Magic all the time," she laughed. "And I always try to learn more than school program demands."

"Dead frost," Malfoy smirked scornfully and threw the book on table. "In fact, I think it's time for you to say goodbye to your title of the smartest student in the school. You have to admit that present curriculum is a hard nut to crack, even with your badger's teeth."

"Why, Malfoy?" Hermione moved up the book, clinging to it as if she feared somebody would take it from her. "Don't want to admit that I'm better than you, do you?"

"No, Granger," he open the window and started to smoke, having sat on the sill. "It's just you're a Gryffindor."

What a simple answer! As if it was a diagnosis. A Slytherin, a Gryffindor! And for the first time in her life Malfoy seemed to say it without his habitual scorn, though his reply was filled with a strange sadness.

"And what?"

"And that!" he shrugged. "I have a hard time remembering any Gryffindor to fall over Dark Arts."

"I don't fall over it! I just want to know what it is!"

"Oh, come on!" Malfoy was now laughing overtly. "Just remember yourself in the fourth year! You had almost fainted when you was asked what Avada Kedavra meant."

Hermione felt a shiver down her spine - Malfoy pronounced the killing curse so calmly and habitually as if it was a simple 'hi'. She wondered if he had already killed somebody. Whom? Was he a wizard, muggle or a house elf, who spilled coffee on his perfectly polished shoes? And what did he feel? What did he think about, doing that?

"And now you're throwing yourself into Dark magic! Aren't you scared, huh?"

"Why, thank you, but I'll deal with it by myself, okay?" Hermione murmured, picking up the book, and then headed to the entrance door. She would always have time to think about philosophical aspects of using Dark magic at sleepless hours of the night, and at that moment she needed to talk to Harry.

"That's it."

Hermione threw the book on Ginny's table.

"Hades Carlisle, The History of Dark Magick, Theory and Practice," Ron read aloud, looking over her shoulder. "Wow, what an interesting reading you have now! And don't say you found it in Hogwarts' library."

"I didn't. There is nothing like this in the library. McGonagall gave me it, and I didn't ask were did she fish it out," Granger opened the book and started leafing through pages feverishly. "Here, look. It's Elterny curse, the one I was under during the lesson. And there are given ways of protection against it, though wards are dark, too. Simple Protego or Expelliarmus are in no use against it."

"Are there collected all the curses?" Harry stared doubtfully at the title of the book.

"No, they're not," Hermione fetched a sigh, a sadness in her tone. "As you understand, the book is not new, therefore there are only the simplest curses, basic level, so to speak. But there is given a defense against them!"

"And what do you suggest?" Harry asked again. "To train on the DA meeting? For what? Against whom?"

"What's the difference?" Hermione protested heatedly. "It would be something! Otherwise they'd continue turning us into dolls for whipping!"

"They'll find it out," Ginny said thoughtfully, but her eyes were shining brightly. "It's enough for anybody of us to use such a defense and they'll tumble out that we learn it somewhere else."

"They'll find out anyway," Hermione sighed with a vex and closed the book. "Malfoy had seen it."

"And what?"

"He laughed," Head Girl shrugged.

"Uh-huh. There would be no laughing matter for us, though," Ron murmured.

"I don' get it!" Hermione exploded. "At first you want me to help you and to rummage all the library books in search of new hexes, and then, when I have really found something, you say that it doesn't suit you! If we can't use it at lessons, it will surely help us in another situation! Or do you have a better proposition?"

"Don' be mad," Harry smiled. "It's just when we asked you to find something we didn't think it would be a Dark magic."

"Fight fire with fire - isn't it somehow familiar to you?" Hermione put the book and sat down near Ginny. "Do you think I like the idea of going into Dark Arts? But I don't see another option somehow."

And she started to glare at the pullover's seam defiantly. Harry, Ron and Ginny exchanged glances silently. Hermione could have bet on anything that they all were thinking about the same thing - was the game worth it? Pawns started to play by themselves. Which figure would be the first to get rid of?

It was night when Hermione, laying in her bed, looked at the ceiling and mused about everything. At first she thought about Charms homework she didn't have time to make, and it didn't matter it was set on the next week. It was completely not in her style not to do homework in the day of getting the task. Though, there really wasn't a time for that. She snorted - did it really happen that for bookworm Granger there emerged more important things than education? Yes, it did. A survival. She had to survive despite everything, and because of present school's rules it would be oh-so harder than it could have been.

Colin Creevey was sent to the Hospital Wing that day - Carrow appointed him a sort of punishment in which Professor demonstrated Cutting curses on the example of Creevey for Slytherin third years to better understand the "subject". Laughter stuck in her throat - in third grade they learned how to turn Boggart into the clown, and her biggest nightmare was a bad mark on the McGonagall's test. And now... Hermione couldn't have even said what was able to scare her as much as a bad mark did in that time.

Terry Boot had been walking the school with a bandaging on his cheek for two days already - Alecto Carrow didn't really like one of his remarks that concerned muggles, so she decided to punish him this way. Madame Pomfrey wanted to leave Ravenclaw for a few days in the Hospital Wing but she limited herself with suturing and the demand for him to regularly change the bandage.

Even Ginny was in bandages - she refused to cast a dark curse in a Muggleborn Hufflepuff on a DADA class. Carrow made her to write a phrase "I'm a pureblood" with a magic quill. She lied to Harry and Ron that she had just pinched her hand with the doors, but she told all the truth to Hermione, who was bandaging her.

Granger wondered how much time would pass for them to be really taught how to kill.

Once again she turned her thoughts to Malfoy and their conversation that day. She was curious if she was able to kill. To wave her wand and say Avada Kedavra. Or was she really too Gryffindorish for that? If her life depended on it, would she be able to sacrifice her principles and murder someone? It seemed there was a muggle term among the lawyers - "a murder in the sake of self-defense", which wasn't even considered as an actual murder. Or was she not remembering it clearly? Hermione didn't know very well muggle jurisprudence.

She sighed and turned on her side, looking at the window - in the gap between the curtains she was able to see a few stars on the dark sky.

She wondered on what exactly Harry's faith in the better side of every human-being was based? Or was it another one of her mistakes in people? She was sure Harry would never kill a man for saving his life. He would kill for saving his friends' life, in that case he would; but not for his own one. And what about Malfoy? Ha! Hermione couldn't have stopped a snicker. This one would kill anybody for his precious ass without a slightest hesitation, even his friends.

And did he have friends? Such friends as Harry and Ron, ready to do everything for each other? The answer was obviously simple - he didn't. It was Malfoy after all, he could have friends. He could befriend only with those who were beneficial to be friends with, and only those to which Malfoy's company was beneficial would befriend him.

She would have to go to Alecto Carrow's lesson tomorrow. She would sit on the very last row, pretending to listen to her lecture attentively and even agree with something Professor would say. Granger would listen to the speech about muggle's nothingness and the fact that they didn't deserve to live in this world. And she would hold back her feelings and try not to conjure a gun to shoot Carrow, to kill her in the simplest muggle manner for her to understand that muggles were not worse than wizards, that they too were able to kill.

Fuck, it seemed that all her thoughts were flowing around two subjects - murder and Malfoy. To murder Malfoy... Hermione smiled again - the very idea of it was really tempting but at the same time it was unrealizable. Oh, but she wanted it so much...

Malfoy. Hermione was furious with herself for thinking about him so much time lately. Slytherin Prince, ferret, scumbag and Death Eater's son, he was preparing to get the Dark Mark too, in case he hadn't got it yet. A boy who slept with the half of senior girls in school, a man who had to kill Dumbledore.

"What an ass you are..." Hermione whispered to the silence of the room, knowing perfectly well that she would never dare say those very words to Malfoy himself. Because of the elemental fear. If his earlier threats were limited to "I'll tell father about that" and there was nothing behind them, then now he was really dangerous. His father wasn't behind him now, he was all alone. And - what was really strange - he didn't brake, didn't withdraw into the shadows. On the contrary - Malfoy became even tougher, and now his words weren't just thrown to the wind. Somehow, Hermione didn't doubt that after the threat of killing would go a real murder. She wondered how much time would pass for them to get a brand new Lucius Malfoy.

Hermione turned on her back once again. It must have been past midnight already, but there was no sleep in her mind because of the blonde guy, sitting on the sill and holding a cigarette. Since he started to open the window and to smoke on the common-room it became his favorite place. Granger saw him countless times in that position - sitting on the sill, holding his hand with a cigarette on his knee, ashtray and a glass of Firewhiskey nearby. Such picture was so habitual that she started to notice the slightest changes - his hair was made in tail, though he always had it loose; he drunk brandy instead of habitual Firewhiskey, etc. She even noticed how he run his hand through his hair, combing upwards fallen locks. Somehow, that particular gesture always irritated her. It was so slovenly, so muggle-like that it just didn't fit him. Hermione got used to the thought that Malfoy's appearance was nothing but perfection - a perfect haircut, a perfect suit, even his emotionless expression was perfect. And there it was - that habit that was so familiar to her because of Ron. Ron always removed his hair in that way, too.

But, somehow, when Ron did so, she always remembered Malfoy; and when it was done by Slytherin, it never reminded her of Ron, she was just watching silently as blonde locks slid between his pale fingers.

Almost growling, Granger buried her face in the pillow and hit the blanket with her fist. It was great that she wouldn't have a first lesson tomorrow, but then she would have to sit on Ancient Runes; and if she went there sleepy, she most certainly wouldn't be able to answer the simplest question and Professor Babbling would take points from Gryffindor.

Once again she felt like laughing. There she was, returning four years backwards. Hermione again started to fear that because of her there would be less points in their cup. Only a second ago she thought about murdering and then again - the main thing in life was an education.

Hermione sat up abruptly. Oh, she would be able. She would certainly do it without a second thought. She'd wave her wand and pronounce those two scary words because of which many wizards had died. She'd kill and not necessary for only saving her life. Granger would murder if there was someone in front of her who deserved to be killed. Like Snape. Or Carrows. Her hatred and courage would be enough for that.

Somehow, because of that thought she felt a dread. Such fear that she almost shivered. Hermione embraced herself with her arms and clenched her teeth, trying to calm down. She seemed to make the decision in that moment - she'd kill a living man. As simply as if she would perform some weather charms. Although, she never felt like an addict on breaking point because of weather charms.

It was half past first on grandfather clock. Hermione uncovered herself and exited the room in a quick pace. It was dark in the common-room - fire in the chimney was went off long ago, and Hermione didn't felt like lighting it again - she did orientate well in the room, besides, there was enough light form the moon. She made her way to the table, then she opened the locker and raked papers. Behind them there was a bottle of Firewhiskey - Malfoy didn't take it in his room for some reason, he didn't charm it to be invisible or something else; instead of that he hid it from teachers in such a dilettantish manner. Though, who would check, anyway? The password to the common-room was known only by the two of them, and by McGonagall and Snape. The first one, Minerva, would never fall so low as to rummage students' things; and the second one, Snape, would only laugh at the sight of it.

Having Accio'ed the glass, she pulled the cork out of the bottle.

"Would you mind to pour it in for me, too?" she heard behind her back, his voice husky, familiarly drawling.

Hermione turned back harshly, having thrown the glass with her elbow - it fell on the floor and broke, but Hermione didn't pay attention - there, sitting on the sill, was Draco Malfoy.

Draco's reaction was faster then hers - he immediately got his wand and waved it,

"Reparo."

Crystal shards gathered back in the glass and returned to their place on the table. And Gryffindor just continued staring at him, holding o bottle of Firewhiskey in her hand.

"What an amazing picture - the first killjoy of the school drinks alcohol at night. I'm dreaming," Malfoy smirked, eyeing her from head to toes.

She didn't even put on a robe. Granger exited her room in the clothes in which she usually slept - sleeveless shirt and soft breeches. He hair was made in the braid for a night, but, obviously, she was too much tossing and turning in her bed so that the braid disheveled.

"What are you doing here?" Hermione asked.

"I'm smoking," Draco took a cigarette and lighted it, his lighter clicked softly. He could have lighted it with his wand, but somehow he liked doing it in a muggle way. It allowed him to distract himself and stop thinking.

He still remembered his first cigarette - it was half a year ago. Though, he didn't remember from where did he get those cigarettes. Perhaps, he was regaled by Slytherin seven year, or perhaps he found a pack in the common-room. Though, no; most likely he had bought it by himself when he was in London. On the first puff Draco had a fit of coughing as any beginner did, from the second one he felt dizziness and on the last one his fingers became cold. When father discovered that he started to smoke, he winced scornfully and said that this habit was completely mugglish and it would have been better if he smoked a pipe as every self-respecting pureblood wizard did, he also told him not to smoke in the living-room, dining-room, in the library and "in the entire house except his own room". Perhaps, he started to smoke particularly muggle cigarettes because of silent protest, he even bought them in muggle London, charming himself with Glamour charms for sellers not to ask questions - in muggle world nobody sold cigarettes to the sixteen-seventeen years old buddies.

"So would you pour me whiskey or not?"

Hermione, having awaken from stupor, poured whiskey in the glass and gave it to him.

"And why didn't you pour to yourself?"

"I don't want to drink."

"You wanted it a minute ago. Or was it me who screwed it up for you?"

She didn't reply and continued silently staring at him. A girl looked unusually - disheveled, in crumpled suit and soft sneakers. She looked like home.

"Why are you not sleeping?" she asked.

"Because I'm not sleeping."

"It's almost one o'clock now."

"And what?"

"Nothing," Hermione shrugged. "I'm just surprised, that's all."

"Of course, you couldn't believe that somebody can have a work at this period of night," Malfoy snorted, taking a sip. Whiskey burned his throat familiarly, leaving after itself a strange bittersweet taste in his mouth. Draco took a long drag. Nevertheless, he still was tired, though he was sitting there in front of Granger, pretending that everything was as usually as ever. He wanted to drink as hell, but it was too lazy for him to even go to the bottle by himself - so thanks Merlin that Mudblood had got out of her bed at all.

"Have you just come back?" Hermione's eyes widened - apparently, only now she noticed that he was wearing his warm suit and road cloak.

"Five points to Gryffindor for shrewdness," Malfoy snorted once again, folding back the hair from his forehead.

Granger looked at his hand strangely, a glimpse in her eyes, and then turned abruptly, Accio'ed the second glass and poured in the whiskey, that time for herself.

"Where were you?"

"And that's none of your business," he said with a sudden fury, this splash of anger was abrupt even for himself.

She shrugged nonchalantly, making it clear that she didn't expect him to reply at all. Hermione brought the glass to her lips and took a careful sip, after which she winced - flavor was not really that tasty. Draco took a drag on his cigarette hastily to hide a smirk. Granger, the Golden girl, in the late hours of night stole Firewhiskey from abhorrent Slytherin and now was even trying to get information from him.

He reverted his eyes to the window. What was going on in that world?.. He was in the same room with Gryffindor Mudblood, wining and dining her with Firewhiskey from Family reserves, answering her questions. Not all, of course. He would have never told her that he visited their family lawyer. Granger didn't need to know it at all. And still...

In the corner of his eyes Malfoy noticed that she moved - a girl sat at the table across from him, having bent her leg, and put her arm with the glass on her knee. And now she was eyeing him. She looked at him with a barely hidden smirk, little imps in her eyes which were perfectly clear even in the Moon's light.

"What are you staring at?"

"I may not, if you want," Hermione shrugged indifferently and took another sip. Now it was Malfoy who was eyeing her. It was strange that he had never really seen her that way. Though, did he had time to look at her, when all previous years they lived in different Houses, and in this year they were avoiding each other diligently, even living as neighbors? He got used to her, wearing school uniform all the time, tightening around her neatly buttoned shirt that hateful golden-red tie and hiding her figure under her cloak. And it turned out that she had beautiful legs, besides, her figure was nice in general - not anorexic one as in Pansy Parkinson version and not "sandglass" as Daphna Greengrass, no, just a slim lady with normal breasts for seventeen years old girl, who had thin waist. Though figure was not the main thing, she had another wealth - her hair. Long, almost to the waist, heavy and with deep dark brown color, Draco knew that almost all girls in Hogwarts envied Granger for her hair, although Slytherins would better bear Crucio than to admit it.

Merlin pants, what am I doing? Malfoy noticed that his cigarette was almost smoldered. He throw a cigarette butt out the window. Sitting there and viewing Granger as a girl.

Though, he had to admit that she became prettier. From funny girl with bushy hair she turned into nice young woman. If she wanted she could have become the First Beauty of the school, every guy could have been hers. But no, books were more important for her. That was why she was always alone. He wondered if Potter and Weasley had ever noticed that Granger was a girl, or was she a Brain first of all? And indeed it was interesting if she ever had a boyfriend, except of that Bulgarian hunter.

Those thoughts brought him a sort of perverse and twisted pleasure. Malfoy rarely allowed himself to think about Mudbloods as of human-beings. And if he did, then he always followed with a sincere interest the course of his musings. It was a pleasure for him to break the rules.

"Malfoy, do tell, have you ever killed?" that question was like a bucket of cold water. She turned harshly from the beautiful girl to the Mudblood Granger, Gryffindor killjoy and Potter's friend with her moral principles and everlasting faith in the Greater Good.

"Why do you want to know?"

She shrugged, took another sip and winced once again,

"I don't. I just try to understand."

"To understand what, Granger? On which side am I? Isn't it obvious?"

"Well, you're not the one you pretend to be. After all, you wasn't able to kill Dumbledore," did he mishear or was her voice really trembling?

"Granger, do not be a holy. You're not Potter, after all. I thought it was his privilege to carry on those teary conversations."

"Is it so hard to reply?"

"Do think if you really want to hear the answer."

He almost regretted saying so. Hermione's expression, at first thoughtful and calm, changed abruptly to the alert and inclement one. No, Granger was definitely not Potter, she wasn't so bound to Good-Evil concepts as fucking Golden Boy was.

"Granger, don't bother me with your questions, alright?" Draco sighed and titled his head back. "I'm not asking how many guys you have, am I? Actually, I don't understand at all why the fuck I'm sitting here with you, answering your stupid questions."

Tuck. The glass with Firewhiskey fell on the tabletop; Granger jumped from the table. Draco mowed glance on her. She stood in front of him, eyes narrowed, and he suddenly realized that if she had a wand with her he would most certainly be writhing on the floor under some nasty curses. He even got the wind up on an instance, but then he smirked inside his head - it was Granger, after all, a great peacemaker; one need to really try to piss her off so he could get something more than a simple slap, and that wasn't a case.

"Then I shall deliver you from my company," she hissed and headed to her room, having left unfinished glass of Firewhiskey. Malfoy waited the door to shut, then he got a new cigarette from a pack. It was the last one for that day. He'd finish smoking and then he had to sleep.