Sanctuary

this is heaven to no one else but me;
and I'll defend it as long as I can be

~*~*~

Engrossed as she was in her new discovery - a three hundred year old book entitled “Famous Muggleborn Witches of History” - it took Hermione a moment to realise that she was being discussed. She'd heard the footsteps, of course, but hadn't paid them any heed. When she heard her name mentioned, however, she started to make her way through the dimly lit shelves towards the table where she'd left her things.

“Typical Hermione. She knows Hagrid is expecting us for afternoon tea, and she's buried in books. Where's she got to?”

“Her bag is still here,” Harry answered in a quiet voice. “She can't be too far away.”

Later, she would wonder at the sudden impulse that overtook her. For now, though, she let her feet make the decision for her, her plan to greet her friends becoming a quick sidestep into the closest niche of heavily laden shelves. She peered through the layers of musty books, ignoring the little voice that reminded her of the age-old rule that eavesdroppers never hear good things about themselves.

Of course, she had to admit that as age-old rules went, it was a perfectly sound example. The last time she'd overheard Ron and Harry discussing her, she'd ended up crying in the toilet and almost being killed by a troll.

Hmmm. One would hope that today's effort would have a different result.

“Honestly, what is she even doing in here?” Ron may have intended his voice to be a whisper, but in the stillness of the library, he may as well have shouted. “We don't have any homework this weekend.”

Hermione frowned. Typical. Absolutely typical. Total lack of vision for their long-term study plan. She expects Harry to agree with him, but his reply takes her by surprise, as does the thoughtful expression on his face.

“It's a good place to escape from everything, I guess.” He drummed his fingers on the battered cover of the book that sat atop the pile she'd already accumulated. “I expect she finds it peaceful.”

She blinked, then realised that she was holding her breath, her fingers gripping the sharp edge of the shelf in front of her. She didn't know why the fact that Harry seemed to understand should make her feel breathless. All she knew was that it did.

Ron snorts. “Peaceful? Boring, you mean.”

“Oh, I don't know. Sometimes I think she's got the right idea. I could do with a bit of boredom myself at the moment.” Harry flashed his friend a weary smile, and Hermione's grip tightened on the bookshelf.

He looks so tired.

“You're as mad as she is.”

Harry shrugged, his hand still resting on her book. “If that means I could be as smart as she is, I wouldn't actually mind.”

Hermione bit her bottom lip. That curious breathless feeling was back again, and this time she actually felt her face grow warm.

Ron's answering snigger was quiet, having apparently finally remembered Madam Pince's strict enforcement of the library rules. “Barking, the pair of you.” He tugged at the sleeve of Harry's jumper. “Come on, Hagrid's waiting. Hermione knows where we'll be, she'll catch up.” Harry hesitated, glancing around him, and Hermione drew back into the darkness afforded by the densely packed shelves. Her face was still glowing from his words, and it suddenly seemed very important that he not know she'd heard them.

Impatient as always when it came to food, Ron nudged him in the shoulder. “Come on, I'm starving.”

Harry grinned. “When are you not?”

Hugging her book to her chest, she stayed in her hiding place until they'd gone, listening as they debated the possibility of Hagrid's rock cakes being edible today. She leaned back against the shelf behind her, replaying Harry's words in her head. He would probably never understand how soothing she found the smell of books, or how the silence helped crystallize her thoughts like nowhere else in the world, but he understood enough.

Hidden in her sanctuary, she smiled. Definitely better than a troll.





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