A Safe, Devoted Darkness

Chapter 3

The Floo network spun her into a large, handsome stone hearth. Hermione took a cautious step out of the fireplace and blinked to get her bearings.

"Welcome," called a familiar voice. "I'm surprised you actually arrived via Floo."

Hermione dusted her sleeves and trousers and stepped further into the largest private library she'd ever seen. Malfoy stood some twenty paces away, in his usual ensemble of black.

"And how else would I have gotten here?"

"Are you telling me you weren't tempted to put those wings to use?"

"I'm hardly going to try flying about the countryside."

Malfoy smirked and approached her.

"Well?" He cast a hand behind him, gesturing towards the vast stacks teeming with knowledge.

"Impressive," Hermione said honestly.

"Yes, I suppose it is," he drawled. "Is it exactly how you imagined it?"

"Hmm, I thought there'd be a labyrinth and perhaps a minotaur involved. Some sort of imposing guardian over all your sacred, pureblood texts."

"Only on Wednesdays. Reliable minotaurs are so hard to find these days."

"Even with your level of wealth?"

"It's a creature scarcity issue, really. I should bring it up with the Ministry."

Her lips twitched and she thought his might have too. An odd, honest movement of a mouth that she only thought could dole out smarm, snark, or a winsome platitude meant to cajole others. Or perhaps hiss a threat. Or something darker still. A command to heed.

It inspired a moment's hesitation. The sensible choice would be to leave right now and head straight to St. Mungo's. But what if the healers there, like Ron with her skin and Harry with her fangs, couldn't see the wings either? Hermione would be stuck waiting possibly hours in a queue only to be declared mentally unsound.

The folded wings twitched beneath her blouse.

The amount of books before her lit a fire within; an excitement in chasing the unknown. Gods she hadn't felt it in so long; that thrill of researching the Sorcerer's stone, or identifying horcruxes, or... or...

"If you wanted to direct me to the Transfiguration section, I think I'll begin my search there."

Malfoy nodded briskly, all trace of genuine amusement gone. He gestured for her to follow and she dutifully fell into step behind him. He walked along several aisles, seeming unsure where to lead her.

He eventually came to a stop and waved a hand ahead towards one. "It might be best if you start here."

Hermione couldn't understand the hesitancy. This was the man's childhood home, surely he knew which shelves housed which topical sections? She withheld an unkind barb about him being so spoiled that he neglected to take advantage of all this knowledge at his fingertips.

Hermione strolled down it, still unsure of her destination. None of the tomes called to her. None of the books had that pull of the inevitable. That siren song of select me and I can show you everything.

"Would you like my help?"

The siren song wasn't coming from a book at all. It came from a man standing twenty feet down the aisle blocking the only way out.

"I wouldn't want to occupy your evening. You're probably hosting a gala or something in the opposite wing."

Malfoy huffed out a reluctant-sounding laugh and rubbed the back of his neck.