Chapter Text
“And that’s the last of them!” Theodore Nott exclaimed, his voice echoing off the high, vaulted ceilings as he deposited a heavy bundle of scrolls onto the mahogany table. Dust motes danced in the flickering wandlight, disturbed by the sudden weight of the reclaimed history.
Draco Malfoy, Lead Curse-Breaker for the Ministry, adjusted his dragon-hide gloves and leaned over the collection retrieved from the Yaxley estate. “Are you sure we haven’t missed anything, Theo? This case has been months in the making. I’m not keen on coming back for a stray, soul-sucking parchment in three weeks.”
“I’m positive,” Theo said, leaning back against a bookshelf with a smug grin.
The Nott family library was not a place for the faint of heart. Unlike the airy, organized shelves of the Hogwarts library, this room felt cavernous and sentient. The walls were lined with floor-to-ceiling mahogany stacks that seemed to absorb sound, smelling of old vellum, spilled ink, and a faint, metallic tang of ancient protection charms. It was a labyrinth of shadows where the books didn't just sit; they simmered.
“It’s good to finally have the collection back where it belongs,” Theo continued, “even if the Ministry insists on 'sanitizing' it first.”
Because the collection was Nott property, Theo had been officially withdrawn from the active de-cursing due to a conflict of interest. He occupied a strange middle ground: part host, part consultant, and full-time nuisance.
Somewhere deep in the stacks, a soft gasp of delight drifted toward them.
“Merlin! You have the first edition of The Primordial Foundations of Potions!”
Hermione Granger, Lead Researcher for the Department of Mysteries, emerged from behind a row of ancient Grimoires. She wasn't holding a reclaimed scroll; she had wandered into the Nott family’s private collection during the intake. “It even has handwritten notes from the author! Theo, do you have any idea how rare this is?”
Draco watched her, a ghost of a smirk tugging at his mouth before he forced his expression into one of bored indifference. Working with Granger was a peculiar kind of penance. He had spent years trying to erase the boy who bullied her, but being near her now made him feel like a different person entirely—someone caught between the pride of his name and the undeniable pull of her brilliance.
He found her infuriatingly rigid, yet he couldn't deny the way his heart hammered against his ribs whenever she stood too close to "double-check" a de-cursed artifact. It was a constant friction; he wanted to impress her as much as he wanted to win the argument.
“I am perfectly aware of the rarity, Granger,” Draco drawled, intercepting her before she could dive back into the shelves. “But the Goldfinch book isn't on the clock. This is.” He pointed to a small, unassuming volume at the top of the pile—the Sanguis Veritatem. “It’s radiating a deep violet aura. If you’d consult your intuition for once, you’d see it’s volatile.”
“It’s not violet; it’s more of a deep mauve, and it indicates a dormant preservation charm, not a transformation hex,” Hermione snapped, her professional mask sliding into place. “If you’d actually consulted the Standard Register instead of just... waving your hands at things, you’d know that.”
“And I’ve told you for three months,” Draco stepped toward her, invading her personal space just enough to make her chin tilt upward, “that you can’t read your way through a curse. You have to understand the intent of the person who cast it. Old families don’t use logic; they use blood and spite.”
Theo watched them, his head moving back and forth as if he were observing a particularly intense Quidditch match. He knew the reclaimed books and scrolls were the reason they were on the clock, but he also knew Hermione had spent the last hour wandering away from the Ministry-mandated piles.
The air between the two was thick—charged with a friction that had been building since the first day they were paired together. It wasn't just about the books. It was the way they stood too close when they argued, the way they stayed late to "double-check" the other's work, and the way they seemed to have forgotten he was even in the room.
“Alright, alright,” Theo cut in, stepping between them with a flourish that was entirely too cheerful. “The bickering is lovely, truly. It’s like a symphony. But as much as I enjoy watching the Ministry’s finest minds melt down over the color violet, I actually have to head out.”
Hermione blinked, momentarily derailed. “Head out? Theo, we haven’t even finished the intake log.”
“Yes, well, minor emergency,” Theo said, already backing toward the heavy library doors. “A conflict of interest at the club. Just reach a consensus. On the books. Or the aura. Whatever works.”
He stepped out into the hallway, and before Hermione could protest, the massive oak doors swung shut with a resounding thud.
The second the latch clicked, the atmosphere in the room shifted. The low hum of the Sanguis Veritatem suddenly amplified, snapping open on the table as if an invisible hand had flipped the pages. A wave of heavy, ancient energy washed over the room.
The library didn't just vibrate; it inhaled.
Hermione ran to the door, pulling with all her might. “Theo! This isn't funny! Open the door!”
It didn't budge. The iron bolts didn't just slide; they fused. Behind her, the floorboards began to groan. The mahogany cases began to physically move, gliding across the floor and closing the gaps between the aisles, narrowing the room toward the central table where Draco stood.
“Malfoy,” she breathed, her voice small and tight. “Why are the shelves moving?”
Draco was staring at the glowing book, his face pale. “I think the library’s just initiated a lockdown, Granger.”
The shelves groaned again, sliding another few feet closer.
“I know I love books and libraries, Malfoy,” Hermione whispered, her back hitting the now-sealed door as the shelves moved again, “but I really don’t want to die in one.”