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HP: Going To Record (Hermione & Draco)

Inspired by BPAL's Urd.

Title: Going To Record
Author: voleuse
Fandom: HP
Pairing: Hermione & Draco
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: Not mine.
Summary: I was always afraid of things that worked the first time.
Notes: Set during the war, no spoilers

The Order dispatches her to Alexandria, to the library that the Muggles think burned down, centuries ago.

When she steps through the door, Hermione takes a deep and loving breath. She can smell the passage of time, within these walls, and the potentiality of knowledge buzzes against her skin.

"I didn't think they let your kind in here, Granger," a voice says from the side.

Hermione whips her wand out immediately, and it flies out of her hand.

Draco smirks, but he's not the one who's disarmed her.

"No dueling in the library," a wizened man scolds, before disappearing (literally) with her wand.

Hermione clenches her fists, thinks to use them.

"They'll give it back," Draco remarks casually, "when you leave."


She makes her way hearthside, sprinkles a bit of Floo powder to contact Professor McGonagall.

To her surprise, she's instructed to let Draco be.

"But," she protests, "he's one of them."

Professor McGonagall's eyes shift, though it could be a crackle of the flames.

"It's complicated, Miss Granger," she replies.

And then she's gone.


Hermione debates whether to start her research or hunt her quarry down.

When she reaches the library proper, however, her decision is made for her, because Draco is waiting.

"Malfoy," she greets, imbuing the name with as much disdain as she can muster.

He leers and says, "Granger." What he imbues her name with is not something she expects.

She turns her back to him and strolls in the opposite direction of the scrolls she needs.

As expected, he follows her, cuts in front of her and halts. "What are you doing here?"

"Isn't it obvious?" she asks, and veers randomly into a deserted aisle. "Looking for ways to defeat him. The Dark Lord, or whatever you call him."

Draco leans against a shelf. "Not mine," he bites out. "Not anymore."

She stops short, forgets she's pretending to peruse the titles surrounding her.

"Didn't you know why I'm here?" Draco asks. His smirk is a ghost of what she remembers. "This library. Its wards."

Her mind races back, around, strikes the answer. "Sanctuary."

"Yes." Draco's eyes trail over her, then past, up the stacks and to the ceiling. "Never shall it burn. Never shall it fall."

"Non omnis moriar," she completes, and watches him.

Under her gaze, Draco shrugs, all elegance again.

So she puts herself to task.


She still loathes him, revisits that feeling as she does her work.

He is both confusing and cooperative, those days she spends at the library.

If her quill runs dry, he is there with ink. If she needs to cross-reference, he appears with an index.

She resents him. She respects him.

She wishes he'd leave her alone.

And every morning, when she enters the library, she wordlessly hands him a croissant.

He doesn't thank her. She never thanks him.

To do that would acknowledge something they refuse.


Late one afternoon, she rolls her shoulders, lets out a long sigh.

Across the table, Draco looks up from his notes, and for a second, she forgets who they have been.

"What is it?" he questions, and his fingers are smudged with ink.

She smiles. "I think I have it. The spell we need."

"The spell the Order needs," Draco corrects.

Hermione blinks. "Of course." She stands.

"You're going back," he observes.

She gathers her notes, pulls her hair back. Doesn't answer, even as she collects her wand from the ever-present librarian.

He follows her to the hearth. "You'll Floo directly?"

She nods. "They'll want this immediately." She clutches her scroll tightly. "I can return for my things."

He looks at her, and she wonders why she hasn't stepped into the fire yet.

He purses his lips, and when he doesn't ask when she'll be back, she tosses the Floo powder into the flames.

"Goodbye, Malfoy," she says.

"Granger," he replies.

The fire crackles to green. She strides forward.

And doesn't look back.


A/N: Title and summary adapted from I Did'nt Have Much Faith by Thomas Edison, ed. Blaine McCormick. Link courtesy of breathe_poetry.

And a bit of background:

In Norse mythology, the Norns are the demi-goddesses of destiny. They control the destinies of both gods and men, as well as the unchanging laws of the cosmos. They are represented as three sisters: Urd ("fate"), Verdandi ("necessity") and Skuld ("being"). They live at the base of the World Tree Yggdrasil in the realm of Asgard.

Nothing lasts forever, and even the mighty Yggdrasil is subject to decay. The Norns try to stop this process, or at least slow it down, by pouring mud and water from the Well of Fate over its branches.

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