Author's Note: This plot has been knocking around in my head for a while but I only recently figured the whole thing out. It was originally conceived as a Lumione work, but as it developed I realized Draco made more sense for the plot than Lucius did. And, since I just finished writing my melodrama that is "Love and other Misfortunes," and the other piece I'm currently working on is rather depressing and dark, I wanted to try writing something that was somewhat comedic. The needling, insulting aspects of Draco Malfoy are some that I haven't really had a chance to write, so I finally got around to trying it here.
Anyway, this is my attempt to be slightly wry and humorous, which is not something I have ever attempted while writing before, so if it's awful please say so in a gentle manner.
I'm not exactly sure how long it's going to be. I initially thought it would be a one-shot, but it grew a bit too long for that. I expect it will probably be just two or three chapters, definitely no longer than five unless I go full on Dickensian in my writing. Leave a review if you would, I always love reading them.
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Ignatius Pigglesworth thought he knew every type of bookworm there was.
He had been a librarian for ninety years. He started as an assistant back in school and then ascended the ranks, from branch to branch, all the way up to the most elite position in the world of Wizarding libraries: Head Librarian of the Library of Alexandria. He'd held the position for thirty years and fully expected to continue for another thirty more.
In that time he had met all manner of curious and clever wizards and witches who were driven by their curiosity, thirst for knowledge, desire for power, or haunted by some need or trauma in their past.
By the time they made it to his doors they had passed through the crucible as it were.
The Library of Alexandria was not for just any witch or wizard.
Contrary to the popular belief of many uninformed wizarding folk, Alexandria was not the largest selection of texts on magical knowledge and theory. That distinction belonged to London's Central Wizarding Library, which Ignatius had once headed as well. The Library of Alexandria was not particularly large, it was ancient and dangerous.
A little known fact of magic is that the written word has a sort of magnetism to the magic it references.
Write wingardium leviosa on a bit of parchment and leave it for a hundred years and you'll find it has a mysterious habit of floating off the table without any discernible breeze to move it. Perhaps it sounds like merely a curious and trifling matter but imagine writing a book of dark spells in the thirteenth century and see what happens when an unsuspecting wizard picks it up seven hundred years later.
Ancient books on magic become positively drenched with the accumulation; the more powerful the spells, the more powerful the magic drawn in. Dark spells have an especially intense sort of attraction for magic. They only need a few years before they begin getting dangerous.
Most wizarding folk thought that books on dark magic were cursed to keep thieves and meddlers out, but the truth was that most dark wizards and witches barely need to bother. Their books took care of themselves.
That was why magical textbooks got so frequently updated, it allowed the older editions to be removed from circulation and neutralized before they became inconveniences.
The International Confederation of Wizards had discovered, over the course of several hundred years, that trying to ban the books and scrolls never worked well enough.
Old wizarding families were quite protective of their magic and disinclined to surrender information on useful spells or treatises on magic theory just because it might eventually injure them. Normally, by the time they were ready to admit the problem, the books were deadly. And then it is no easy task to try destroying them, such books had an irritating habit of killing their attackers or cursing them in a manner both permanent and dreadful.
So, it had been decided long ago that, should wizarding folk choose, they could submit such works (while retaining access rights), to the Library of Alexandria, with not an eyebrow raised nor question asked. And the specialized librarians of Alexandria would ward and care for them.
All that was required in return was that the descendants of the family responsible for developing the magic come in every few years to help maintain the wards. Magic had a fondness for its progenitor, as it were, and tended to begin fading when the family lines ended.
And so, for that reason, the Library of Alexandria was both a sort of prison and home for the oldest, most powerful, and darkest magic in the wizarding world.
And that was why, if any bookworms happened to want to try accessing those books— Well, there was a list of prerequisites longer than their arm they'd need to meet. Not to mention the background checks, probing interviews, and three letters of recommendation: from a recipient of an Order of Merlin (at least second class), a head of Magical Law Enforcement, and a seated member of the International Confederation of Wizards.
There were very few bookworms who managed to make it all the way to Ignatius Pigglesworth's door during his thirty years as head librarian in Alexandria.
So it was a surprise when Hermione Granger managed to make it there not once, not twice, but six times.
The first time she arrived was shortly after the war. Apparently being a war heroine had helped her clear the prerequisites with considerable ease and fly through the background checks and interviews at an unprecedented rate. She had an entire armful of letters to recommend her, and pulled three from the pile to present to him.
Ignatius looked over everything, put down the required stamp and signature of approval, and gave her a visitor portkey-pass that would function for the allotted three weeks permitted annually. The curious little witch practically lived in the library for those three weeks. When it came to an end she gave a small sigh, presented him with a basketful of fairy cakes and a dreadful looking hat she'd knitted, and returned her portkey.
Exactly one year later she appeared again.
She'd gone through the entire process for a second time and wanted to know if her old letters of recommendation would still qualify or if he wanted one of her newer ones. He'd given her the portkey and watched her take up residence in his library once more.
Fast forward two more years, when she came to return her portkey for the fourth time, he'd asked if she was aware she'd used up her lifetime quota of visitor passes. She'd sighed and acknowledged it. He'd wished her well, assuming he would never see her again.
So— one can imagine his surprise when, a year later, he received an application from the British Ministry of Magic to send an Unspeakable in for classified research for six months; the longest period a non-staff member was permitted access. Everything in the form has been on the up and up, the credentials were all in order right down to the name: Hermione Granger.
Somehow, when she hadn't been living in his library, the girl had gone and gotten herself into the highest classified tier in the Department of Mysteries.
There was no regulation against it, and Ignatius was both somewhat in awe and terror of the girl's tenacity. So he'd stamped his approval and sent a portkey to the Ministry of Magic for Unspeakable Granger.
After six months she came to return her portkey and he'd sincerely expected that to be the last time he ever saw her.
Unspeakables were not allowed to re-visit the library after a six month stint because there was too much of a risk that they might developed something too dark and dangerous in the Department of Mysteries.
A year passed and Ignatius felt a bit sad to see the day come and go for the first time in five years without the reappearance of Hermione Granger. He felt tempted to put up a plaque somewhere to commemorate her.
But then he got distracted by an eagle owl from the International Confederation sent to inform him of the identity of his new assistant librarian. There were some books that had grown rather touchy lately and he'd requested someone with a talent for curse breaking. The large scroll was filled with a remarkable set of qualifications; quite beyond what he'd expected, given the low pay and staff requirement that the assistant live in the library for three years.
Then he glanced up at the name at the top of the scroll and nearly fell from his seat: Hermione Granger.
The obstinate little witch had somehow managed to come back again.
A few hours later she arrived, bags in tow to settle into her small room within the library. She learned the ropes of the job with remarkable ease and proved herself to be an exceptional curse-breaker. In fact, she was quite likely the best employee he had ever had.
So, it was a slight surprise when, two years into her contract, she abruptly disappeared without any warning.
ooooooooooooooooooooooooo
Hermione Granger had never loved a place quite as much as she loved the Library of Alexandria. Not even Hogwarts. There was something just utterly entrancing and remarkable about a place so devoted to knowledge. There were no casual visitors there. Everyone who visited had a deep and sincere interest in learning.
Of course it was also a terribly dangerous place. One always had to be on the alert in case a malicious book attacked as she passed it or tried siphoning out her soul when she was distracted reading it. But, somehow that only made it more entrancing for her. She had never been anywhere that made her feel so alive. Every time she visited she left feeling compelled to return.
Every day living there was a delight.
At least—until the day Draco Malfoy appeared. That loathsome cockroach could ruin anything.
As it happened one of Hermione's many duties in the library was helping descendants re-ward the books their families had "donated" to the library.
Generally speaking descendants were mild mannered wizarding folk, full of blushes over their ancestral connection to any even remotely dark form of magic. To them Hermione was charming and reassuring. She showed them around and demonstrated just what spells they needed to perform to in order to reenforce the wards. She told them kindly that it was hardly their fault great-great-great-Aunt Hepzibia was someone whose actions they now needed to be responsible for.
Malfoy however was greatly lacking in blushes.
He swept into the library foyer as though he owned it. Which was perhaps not entirely inaccurate. The Malfoy Family had married into a great many old wizarding families over the last many hundreds of years. And due to how many pure-blood families had died or were imprisoned following the War, Draco Malfoy was currently the last surviving heir to so many ancient families he was responsible for re-warding an entire wing of the Library.
No—wait. She checked the paperwork again. Two. Two wings. Nearly a quarter of the books.
He looked completely unapologetic about it. There was not even a trace of penitence in his face over the quantity of dark magic his ancestors had brought into the world.
What was on his face was an expression of utter dismay when he realized just who would be helping him with the re-warding.
"Merlin's moldy socks, I have to worst luck on earth!" He whined, slumping dramatically against the wall when he caught sight of her. "Good god, Granger, you make Madam Pince worthy of gracing Playwitch magazine by comparison."
She glared at him.
"Isn't there anyone more attractive I could do this with?" Malfoy practically begged the head librarian, Ignatius Pigglesworth, who had come down to welcome him. "How about her?"
He pointed at Mordred Maylock, who was a hundred and fifty years old if she was a day and could have handily won an ugliest hag competition based solely on the state of her teeth. Mordred looked up from her filing and cackled.
"Sorry, sweetling, I don't do re-warding," she sniggered.
"Ah, but you should," Malfoy cajoled, draping himself over her desk in a manner both desperate and sensual while helpfully handing files to her. "I'm sure you'd have a natural talent for it. I think we could make wonderful magic together."
He smiled and Hermione wanted to hex him. Draco Malfoy, who never did anything but smirk condescendingly, was smiling adoringly at Mordred.
Mordred laid long nailed hand on his cheek.
"You're so sweet I could eat your liver," she crooned.
Malfoy blanched slightly. Mordred wasn't a haglike witch, she was an actual hag.
Hermione burst out onto peals of laughter as Draco undraped himself from desk resignedly.
"I see how it is." He said plaintively. "I will have to love you from afar."
He turned and stared down at Hermione.
"I'm going to deserve an Order of Merlin for doing so much re-warding under tribulation," he announced.
"If you can keep quiet while you do it I'll give you mine," she snapped, turning sharply to lead him to the rooms they most urgently needed him to perform the spells in.
He followed her in an aggrieved manner.
"God, Granger, you could have done anything after the war. How on earth did you turn into a librarian? Last I heard you were an Unspeakable in the ministry."
"This opportunity came up, so I quit." Hermione shrugged. "It's not as though there are very many ways to stay here for long. I can always go back to being an Unspeakable in a year when my contract here ends."
"Only you would choose to be a librarian rather than an Unspeakable," he snorted. "How is it that you're only twenty-five and yet you are somehow the most unattractive woman I have ever laid eyes on? Shouldn't you be brimming with appeal and fertility at this age?"
Hermione ground her jaw and fought the urge to hex him nastily. The library had strict rules about casual use of magic, it tended to make the books act up.
"Twenty-six," she simply said.
"Pardon?"
"I'm twenty-six. I'm almost a full year older than anyone else our year at school."
"Ah. That explains it," Malfoy said in a lofty and knowing tone. "You're already menopausal."
One tiny hex would surely not be too much of a library violation, Hermione mused. She was sure that talking to Malfoy counted as such duress that it would make hexing him qualify as a form of self-defense. Even if taken to court, she was sure her case would be compelling to anyone who had ever been obliged to speak to Malfoy.
She stormed on down the hallways until she reached the first room he was needed in.
"Do you know how the spell works?" she inquired, trying to maintain a sort of businesslike distance. If she started sniping back at him she would probably not be able to stop until he was dead.
"Of course. I've done this every other year since I graduated," he said rolling his eyes.
"Right. Well, most of the rooms are the typical re-warding. But in the history room we'll have to devise a tandem ward. It only has to be redone every thirty years, and of course we have the lucky opportunity to do it together." She smiled falsely at him.
With a quick flick of her wand she made an opening in the wards and cast a spell that made the books related to Malfoy glow golden.
It took him two hours to work through all the books in that room, Hermione beside him. He would cast a ward specifically keyed to his magical signature and then she would recast and seal the library's own wards around each of the books.
He worked impressively fast, Hermione was obliged to admit. It irritated her to make such a concession, even internally. But there was no way to deny it.
Casting warding spells should require a wizard's full attention. The wand movement and incantation were categorically tricky to get right. A few descendants had taken an entire weekend before they managed to get it right even once. But apparently Malfoy was not that type. He did it non-verbally, barely even looking to see the golden glow fade away in indication that the ward had taken.
And he talked constantly.
Hermione was ready to curse him across the room by the time they reached the end of the first shelf.
He was brimming with gossip, which he apparently assumed she would be eager to hear, given that she literally lived inside a library.
It was aggravating that he was right.
Harry and Ron wrote occasionally but they were neither of them very good at imparting general information. She tried to stay appraised of things out in the world. But it was an admittedly difficult thing to do. She was quite busy using every spare minute trying to read her way through the entire library before her contract ended.
However, what Hermione considered pertinent information and what Malfoy did was dramatically different. He was, quite possibly, the most unapologetically inane gossip on the entire planet.
Did she know, he inquired, that Pansy had gotten married to Theo Nott? Lovely wedding. Social event of the year. He recited the seating arrangements of the entire guest list. All five hundred of them. And then described in extensive detail how Theo had worn the seasons latest robes in midnight blue with veela hair stars embroidered in various auspicious constellations.
Pansy had worn a lovely boatneck gown with a dropped waist made entirely of layers of pixie lace and a crown of garden roses in her hair. Pansy had been beautiful. Far more beautiful than Hermione would ever be. Hermione was dreadful to look upon and would surely become only more so as time progressed.
Did she know that Amelia Bones had been elected Minister of Magic? Quite the electoral upset. Malfoy had attended her swearing in and could list everyone else who had gotten to attend it too; which he did. Minister Bones's approval ratings were exceptional. She'd gone toe to toe several times already with the Supreme Mugwump. He recited every legal and parliamentary loophole that Amelia had exploited in order to pass her legislation over the objections of the international confederation. The woman was a veritable battle-axe. She was also more attractive than Hermione, despite being a good forty-five years older and with a face about as nondescript as a beige wall.
Luna Lovegood had just published a book on magical creatures. He wasn't sure if any of the creatures were actually real, but it had made for some fascinating reading. It also included a charm which, if you activated it, had Luna's voice narrate the contents. Luna had a very relaxing voice, unlike Hermione's, which always sounded like someone scraping a fork over a chalkboard.
There was a new statue of the Golden Trio now standing in the middle of Diagon Alley. It was done in the subtractive sculpting style, which he was sure Hermione knew, was the most difficult variety. It was an impressively accurate depiction of Harry and Ron, but the sculptor had apparently never seen a picture of Hermione.
Her statue was insufficiently painful to look upon. The face lacked the sour, puckered expression that was her natural state, and her hair was carved to look like normal human hair, rather than the doxy nest that was its true form. It also implied that she had the proportions of an actual woman. The ministry had probably required it out of concern that if the statue truly resembled her, people would be inclined to cast blinding hexes on themselves in order to avoid looking at it.
Neville Longbottom had just won a botany award for successfully cross-breeding a mandrake with a mimbulus mimbletonia. Longbottom had grown out of his school-age awkwardness to a truly astonishing degree. He had also grown into his teeth, unlike Hermione who had to have hers shrunk or she'd probably be regularly mistaken for a long haired beaver.
Also, did she know? His mother had started a new charity. His mother was a lovely woman. Beautiful and refined and well mannered and possessing all the qualities that Hermione lacked. But then again, Hermione didn't really possess any qualities besides being an insufferable know-it-all, so that probably explained the disparity.
Hermione's molars were about to shatter as she ground her jaw tighter and tighter endeavoring not to curse him.
"For Merlin sake!" She finally exploded in the fourth room they had re-warded together. "Shut up, Malfoy, or I will punch you in the face the way I did third year."
Malfoy paused from his non-stop prattling.
"You wouldn't. I'm too beautiful," he declared.
Hermione guffawed.
"You are not attractive, Malfoy. Have you seen yourself? Your face is so pointy if I hit you it would probably break the tip of your nose off. You sneer so much you're already getting wrinkles from it." She laughed. "Most people have laugh lines first, I imagine you'll be the first person in the world who develops sneer lines a decade before."
Malfoy's face grew slightly tense with irritation.
"You find my voice aggravating. You should hear your own. Poor little rich boy. Everything about you soft, pathetic and pampered. You'll probably sob and snivel for weeks when you find your first grey hair. All that money, all this history—" she gestured toward the books around them before continuing,
"—and all it's made is you: a man-child who fills his head and conversation with nothing but vapid information. If all our accomplishments were lined up beside each other, do you really think your inbred face, inherited money, and endless gossip would outweigh what I have accomplished by my own personal effort?"
She scoffed and continued, "The only people who care solely about appearances, are the ones who know deep down they haven't got anything else to offer. But please, go on about how unattractive you find me. It only proves the point."
Malfoy seemed to pale slightly and Hermione sniffed and turned back to re-warding. He worked silently after that.
Ugh. Somehow that was worse. She felt that perhaps she had gone a bit overboard in insulting him. He was just so irritating. Now that he was silent, she started feeling guilty and worried that maybe she had hurt his feelings.
It wasn't as though his insults were actually hurtful to her. She didn't care what he thought of her. It was mostly annoying. But the subdued manner in which he was now performing the spell made her wonder if perhaps she'd actually poked deeply into a real insecurity of his.
She kept glancing surreptitiously over at him, trying to gauge whether he was really upset.
"Stop looking at me!" he abruptly snarled. She jumped slightly.
He leaned against the shelf.
"Is there really no one else in the entire library with whom I can do this?" he groaned.
Apparently she had hurt his feelings.
"Um." She wracked her mind to trying to remember everyone else's schedules. "Not really."
He hissed.
"Fine."
They continued to work in silence and Hermione mulled over whether she ought to apologize. Trouble was, she wasn't sure which insult had hurt his feelings. She wasn't sure she was sorry enough to necessarily take back the whole thing. But, maybe she could consider retracting the most hurtful bit, whatever that was.
Was he upset that she said he wasn't attractive? She supposed maybe he was a little bit—if you liked pointy featured, practically albino men who were too tall, and had unnatural looking eyes.
Maybe it was because she had called him pampered. It hardly untrue. But maybe calling him soft and pathetic had been a bit much. Or maybe when she called him a man-child that was quite a disappointing result for hundreds of years of purebred breeding. Or said that he had nothing but his appearance to offer the world.
She had maybe been a tiny bit too unrestrained in her verbal smackdown.
She sighed to herself and continued to try pinning down the moment when her insults had hit their mark.
But really, he was an utter prat if he thought he should be allowed to insult her endlessly and then get moody and sulk when she retorted.
Although, his insults had all been mostly restricted to how unattractive she was, while hers had ranged somewhat broadly across his entire character.
Well, it was hardly her fault that there was so much to criticize him about. He was the most vapid conversationalist she had ever encountered. If he was going go memorize something, one would think he would choose something that was actually interesting.
As they walked into the History room she was abruptly interrupted from her reverie when the library shook and a loud, angry roar was heard in the distance.
There was suddenly a great deal of shrieking as hundreds of the library's wards activated and started divvying the library into containment areas.
"What is going on?" Malfoy inquired quizzically as a grinding sound occurred and the stone door to the history room abruptly dropped into place behind them.
Hermione sighed with irritation.
"It's book in the transfiguration room," she explained shortly. "It's recently started transforming itself into a Antipodean Opaleye and wreaking havoc. It can't cause any permanent damage, but it's quite large and fast and tends to get into the other rooms and upset the books. It normally takes an hour to catch and subdue it until it re-transfigures."
She glanced around the history room.
"Well, at least we made it here. The tandem ward is going to take quite a bit of work to get into place." She sighed impatiently. "I'd hoped to ask Ignatius to come down and oversee, but I suppose we can just do it ourselves. It's wearing a bit thin, so we probably shouldn't wait."
She pulled out a page from her file and handed it to Malfoy to study.
"We have to hold hands?" he bleated in dismay as soon as he started reading.
"Just at the very end. That bit takes less than a minute— so just— close your eyes and think of England," she retorted, rolling her eyes.
Malfoy choked slightly and kept reading.
"Fine." He said flatly after less than a minute. "I'm ready."
"You are not," Hermione retorted. "There's no way you already memorized the entire incantation and wand motion."
Malfoy rolled his eyes proceeded to recite it while miming the wand motion.
Hermione stared. It had taken her half a day to learn the whole thing. The pronunciation was fidgety and some of the words were very similar, so as to make you easily mix up one with the other and get it all out of order.
It was the most difficult ward she'd ever had to learn.
"How—?" She demanded in astonishment.
"Eidetic memory," Malfoy said shortly.
Hermione stood blinking at him as she absorbed the revelation.
Well— wasn't that the most unfair thing in the world?
Draco Malfoy had an eidetic memory? She was wailing internally with jealousy.
Of all the things she had ever wished for, it topped her list by a long shot. She'd give her left hand to have one.
So, that was how he had never appeared to study even though he constantly got excellent marks in school. Of all the injustice in life, this one truly grated. She'd never cared that he was rich, but why did he get to have a photographic memory too?
Her estimation of Draco Malfoy shifted suddenly.
No wonder he was constantly brimming with an absurd amount of detail and information on everything: from the guest list, cut of Pansy's wedding gown, and floral selection, to all the particulars of Amelia Bones' legislative battles against the International Confederation. The man remembered literally everything.
She wanted to weep from the unfairness of it. Hermione had to commit information to memory through sheer obstinance and determination. And Malfoy just got to float through life absorbing it endlessly— like a sponge.
She wanted to barrage him with questions. She had never met anyone with the ability before. Sweet Circe, why had she insulted him earlier? He'd probably never tell her now. She would have to apologize. She had a sudden and desperate need to interrogate him about what exactly it was like.
"Whenever you're quite done gaping," he said snidely.
She shook herself.
"Right," she said lamely. "So, I guess we'll start with the first form and move through to the end."
They both got into position and began. It was almost like a sort of magical dance between their wands as they wove the ward together. Repeating the incantation over and over so that it grew larger and larger until it was big enough to cover the entire room.
It was rather like knitting, one row after the next, hooking the newly cast magic into the strands of the previously made sections.
Malfoy was very good at spell work.
The ward steadily flowed from the tips of their wands, their magical power perfectly balanced and even. She'd expected that they'd have to make several tries before they'd be able to resonate enough magically to complete it. But steadily, steadily, on the first try, they built the entire thing without a single mistake.
Then, at the end, as they had to cast the magic off their wands to settle over the books, she reached out toward Malfoy. He hesitated slightly and then entwined his fingers with hers, gripping her hand firmly.
Just as they reached the final incantation the library shook—
Violently.
Hermione was so concentrated on the spell that the sudden movement caught her off guard. She stumbled and—dragging Malfoy with her—fell straight into the net of magic they'd just made.