Disclaimer: Harry Potter is the property of JK Rowling.

A/N: This is the first fic I've written truly for myself. I write this as I lie awake tonight, safe in another city, while my hometown burns. At this moment, my family is safe, but I can't sleep for fear of the weather turning and heading the fire in their direction. My heart is broken for the friends who lost everything today, and for the many more whose lives and livelihood are continuing to be threatened. I'm sad I don't have the means to be with them right now to help. So, if you're reading this, thank you for allowing me this space to distract myself as I wait for morning to arrive.

Everything and Nothing

Longbourn lay in ruins on the ground. Pieces of Middle Earth blew in the wind. Gulliver no longer had places to travel—and those were just the damages wrought in the Muggle section of the library.

Where there was once a solid, stone wall, lined with shelves taller than she could fathom; where, at one time, a charming little nook with padded, floral cushions sat prettily under a stained glass window; where, before they were all stripped of their innocence, there stood a place for her to escape from the stressors of her life; now, there was nothing.

She walked on the charred grass and over the wasted rubble—stepping through the space where a wall had been just yesterday—to enter her hallowed space. The wind followed her trail, flowing around her, and picking up loose pages from the ground. The torn papers fluttered in the airf as if the stories themselves were waving farewell before the wind carried them away.

She swallowed the lump in her throat. People had died last night—real people, friends and classmates she had grown up with, mentors and professors she had admired. The loss of life weighed on her sternum, challenging each breath that entered her lungs.

The destruction of her books was nothing compared to those losses—but, as she strode over the remains of Le Morte d'Arthur, lying spine-up on the gray floor, her chest grew heavier still.

"Why are you here?" asked a voice behind her. It sounded as tired and dejected as she felt, and her forlorn heart reached out, despite knowing to whom that voice belonged.

She turned to face him. Like her, he was covered in soot, dulling his fair complexion and turning his blond hair into ashen locks.

She wore the filth and dirt and dried mud of the battle proudly, hardening her gaze and nudging her chin up in defiance. At worst, she expected him to sneer; at best, she thought he would leave.

Instead, Draco met her eyes squarely, bobbing his head in a curt nod before picking his way through the wreckage. It wasn't long before he kneeled among the debris, his long fingers wiping the dust off the cover of a fallen tome.

Hermione angled her head to peek at the title—Casino Royale. An irreverent snort escaped her.

"Something funny, Granger?" he whispered as he straightened up. He ran his hands along the cover, turning it over and inspecting for damage before flipping through the book. The corners of his lips tugged into a small smile as his eyes danced across the pages.

Hermione shook her head but couldn't help the grin that formed on her lips. "It's—it's not a book I expected you to have read," she responded in a hushed tone.

Without taking his eyes off the object, he arched an eyebrow. "What do you think I have in my repertoire?"

She shrugged. "How to Keep Society Pure?" The mirth fell off her face. That particular manifesto of the Pureblood zealots was locked in the Restricted Section; she hoped a spell had found its way to obliterate that propaganda.

"Human beings are easier to fight for than principles," Draco stated.

"Pardon?" She pursed her lips.

Draco snapped the cover closed and lobbed the book to her. She snatched it out of the air with one hand.

"Just something for you to think about," he murmured, "along with the adage, 'Don't judge a book by its cover,' although I do hope you're more familiar with that phrase." He stuffed his hands in his pockets and wandered once again among the rubble, his gaze traveling from one corner of the library to the other. "Why are you here? Shouldn't you be off taking a victory lap in the Great Hall?"

Friends and family—survivors—huddled along the perimeter of the Great Hall. Their dead were filed in neat rows in the center, on display. Hermione shook her head before the images from the last hour stuck.

"I just wanted to see the damage here," she murmured.

He gave her a quizzical look, followed by a somber nod, as though he understood what this place meant to her.

Hermione traced the outline of his fingers on the cover of Casino Royale, remembering his gentle caress—there wasn't a better word to describe it—of the hardcover. Perhaps he had the capacity to understand her, after all.

"This place—these books—they were everything to me," she whispered. "Worlds within worlds. There wasn't a life I couldn't have lived in the pages of these books." Draco kept a steady progress around the room, his head bent down. She wasn't sure if he could hear her—if he was even listening—but it didn't stop the flow of words that fell from her lips. "After last night, I just needed to come back here and be somebody else again, even for a little while. Just for a respite." She cleared her throat as she stared at the rubbish on the ground. "And then, I find that even this place didn't remain untouched. That the battle found its way here, and now, there's nothing. Just rubble and ruin."

A light hand laid on her shoulder, yet she started from the unexpected touch. Lost in thought, she didn't realize that Draco had made his way around and now stood behind her. "It's not nothing," he murmured. She faced him, trying to discern his meaning. "This place is—a mess," he said with a soft, teasing smile, "but equip a few Hufflepuffs with brooms and hang a few tapestries to cover up the—er— new egresses, and you'd hardly tell this place saw any action."

Despite her best effort to hold on to the gravity of the situation, she chuckled. "Sounds like a solid plan," she played along. "One would say 'foolproof,' even. But this is a library, Malfoy, and brooms and tapestries won't hide the fact that there are empty shelves where there used to be books."

Draco shrugged his shoulders in a casual manner. "So, we'll rebuild the collection."

She noticed only then that his other hand held a book; he placed it on top of the copy in her hands. Hermione grinned as she glanced down at the tattered copy of The Spy Who Loved Me.

"See?" he asked. "We're one book closer to completing the set!" Once more, he picked his way through the area, his eyes searching the debris. He caught her gaping at him, and he twitched an eyebrow. "Well? Are you going to help?"

Hermione snapped her jaws shut and nodded. Satisfied with her answer, Draco went back to work, and after another moment, Hermione joined him in this first, small effort to rebuild their world.

A/N:

"Surround yourself with human beings, my dear James. They are easier to fight for than principles."
― Ian Fleming, Casino Royale