She glowered at him. "I know your family hates Voldemort."

He stared at her lazily. "Dislike doesn't mean we're willing to get ourselves killed in a pointless attempt to overthrow him."

"The point is," she said calmly, as if she hadn't heard him, "I know why I'm here, Draco."

His ribs ceased moving, his eyes locked on hers.

She took a deep, steadying breath. "I'm well aware that I'm... insurance for the Malfoy family. A bargaining chip, if you will." She lifted her chin. "I don't hold it against you. It was a clever decision, and you've treated me far better than I could have ever imagined. But don't act like it's foolish to try to defeat Voldemort when it's a possibility that you and your family prepared for."

He blinked, searching her face. His eyes slowly narrowed. "I suppose you have it all figured out, then."

She ignored the bait. "Of course I can't say when it will happen. But this regime isn't going to last. Nothing like it ever has in history." She took a cautious step forward. "I know why you've protected me. Why you've helped me. And although I'll tell anyone who will listen, I can't promise it will be enough."

He simply stared at her, his lips slightly parted.

"It may not be good enough in the eyes of a war tribunal." She took a shuddering breath. "But help me do this, and when Voldemort falls and the Order triumphs, I'll make sure they know you and your parents were the reason why."

A pause. Then he snapped to his full height. "How magnanimous of you, Granger," he sneered. "Now if you'll excuse me—"

"Please." She bit her lip, holding his gaze. "I'm asking you to help me."

The air between them crackled. She refused to back down even as she flushed, embarrassed from his intense gaze. The silence stretched as she waited, hoping, praying—

And he abruptly turned back to the table. Flipping open the nearest book with a lazy gesture, he cleared his throat. "What's the problem, then?"

Her heart leaped. She blinked at the floor, fighting the urge to cry, or laugh, or both. Slowly, she came to stand at the table next to him, reaching for Jones's journal. "We should start here."

Several hours later, she was watching him read an old journal with a quill bit between his lips, his eyes scrunched in disdain. The elves had brought the tea service with a fresh pot of coffee for her, and she was nibbling on a biscuit as she watched him read.

She was working on listing every character of the foreign alphabet, writing them out on her scroll as she happened upon them. She was up to twenty-nine. When Mippy came to force Draco to eat dinner, Hermione agreed readily, insisting he stop for the evening.

"I'll… I'll be here tomorrow as well," she said, turning over her shoulder as she paused in the library doorway. "If you'd like to keep working with me."