She took a breath, pressing her lips together, and said, "Surely you are aware that I was planning to get my findings to the Order."

"Through your spy network."

"I wouldn't call it 'mine,' but yes."

"And when you make your escape," he said slowly, "do you plan to do so in the middle of the night, without a word to us? Or will you be asking for my wand before you go?"

She felt the words crawl over her skin, like beetles. "Draco—"

"Of course if it is a counter-curse, you'll be needing my wand to perform it. So we'll have this conversation then, I suppose."

It sounded so cold and calculated. Unfeeling.

She stood, feeling the need to be on his level. "Where's this coming from?"

"I suppose I just want to know what my hours of research are building toward. What's your plan, Granger?"

A scornful laugh escaped her. "My friends are being held captive, raped, and tortured. And you want to know why you're helping them?"

"I wasn't helping them. I was helping you." His face was still a mask, cool and unperturbed. "And what is your plan for yourself? Assuming you plan to seek out the Order once you escape — wherever they are — how do you intend to avoid a world full of Death Eaters?"

"I—I don't know! If you're so worried that I'll be recaptured and implicate your family, you shouldn't have destroyed that pill!" She snapped a book closed in frustration. "I'm thinking of how to help the hundreds of people that are in unthinkable circumstances right now. I'm not considering myself. That seems to be the primary difference between us!"

His clouded eyes looked straight through her.

"Yes, I suppose you're right," he said. "I don't care about the rest of them. I never have."

His words sunk into her chest like icicles. That wasn't true. She knew it wasn't. She opened her mouth to argue it.

"I won't be able to assist you in your research anymore," he said. "Not until you've thought this through and decided what you want."

She blinked, dazed. "What I want?"

There were words caught in her throat, wedging there like a rock as he nodded to her and swept from the library. The doors slammed closed, and she flopped back in her chair and glared at the books until she began crying, her sobs echoing through the walls.

~*~

Draco didn't come back to the library for the next six days. She didn't seek him out, too angry and sad, and confused above all. She buried herself in translations during the day. But at night, she'd toss and turn, replaying their conversation. Wondering what he'd meant when he said she had to decide what she wanted.

The problem was that things had shifted between them, even though their own goals remained the same. Hermione wanted to free her friends and help defeat Voldemort once and for all. Draco wanted to stay alive and protect his family. But she cared for him — possibly more than she'd ever admit. And she knew he'd begun to care for her, too. Going to bed in the evenings with that familiar longing for him the next day was the worst part.