There was something so peaceful about the library at night.
Madam Pince would retire to the small office in the back to do paperwork and it would just be Hermione and the books, the way she preferred it. During revisions, there might be a few extra students but, thankfully, that was only for a short time and, normally, she had the library to herself most of the school term.
Hermione was very selfish. She knew this and had acknowledged it as one fault of many. She was also obstinate, opinionated, blunt, bossy, and sometimes suffered from tunnel vision. She had a knack of seeing things her way and disagreeing with any other way that contradicted her beliefs unless she chose to change her mind without nagging or smugness from others. She really liked having things of her own.
So often her life was shared with Harry and Ron. While she loved them both dearly (even when Ron was being a complete git and Harry was annoying her to a point of possible hexing practice) and she was grateful to have friends after several months without really having any when she’d first arrived at Hogwarts, she sometimes missed the days when she was simply Hermione. Not HarryHermioneandRon, not HarryandHermione, not RonandHermione, not MudbloodGranger, and not even HermionethebrightestwitchatHogwarts. She missed being just Hermione, a student and girl.
Here in the sanctuary provided by stacks of books, she could lose herself in knowledge and words and become simply Hermione. She loved the scent of texts, old and new. She loved the curve of letters and the beauty of them being placed together to form thoughts and ideas that intrigued her and inspired her. In the library at night, she could sit for hours until Madam Pince realized she was still there and ran her off back to her dorm, and just be consumed with the beauty of words.
It had become a retreat even more than usual lately. She worried for Harry, who was so confused and not at all ready for something as dangerous as the Triwizard tournament and looked like a lost puppy when he looked at Ron. She worried for Ron, who seemed just as lost somehow without Harry. She worried for a world that she had tried to make her own as Harry continued having bad dreams despite his reassurances that he wasn’t having nightmares about Voldemort anymore and that seemed on the brink of something so terrible that she didn’t even want to consider the possibilities.
She worried for House Elves that were treated as slaves and reminded her how many thought of her own kind, though wizards of pure blood considered House Elves higher than Muggles. She worried about everything while she was in the privacy of her library because she couldn’t very well let Harry or Ron know she was scared and didn’t have all the answers because they needed her to be strong.
While she used to seek comfort in the library between classes and during free periods, now she found very little peace before dusk. Krum had taken to spending his time there and wherever Krum went, so did his fans. The obnoxious girls chattered, twittered, primped, and giggled until it took all of her efforts to not hex them all. The majority of her time spent in the library during the day was now spent gritting her teeth, attempting to get her work accomplished, and sending glares at the group of girls as well as a few aimed at Krum for daring to bring his entourage, unwanted or not, to her library.
Tonight the library was quiet, thankfully. The first task was soon and she was trying to distract herself from worrying about Harry by doing extra research for Transfigurations. They’d discussed something recently that intrigued her so she’d decided to investigate it a bit more to see what she could learn. Her fingertips had ink on them from her quill but she didn’t notice as she scanned the text and made notes of everything that interested her.
She didn’t realize that she wasn’t alone until she finished with her book and closed it. Only then did she glance up. Her eyes widened slightly when she saw Krum lurking in the shadows near the end of the aisle watching her. She looked away and decided it was best to ignore him in hopes he’d go away before his legion of fans tracked him down and disturbed her peaceful evening.
Of all the irritating things, why must he just stand there and stare? Hadn’t he ever been taught that it was impolite to stare like that? She could feel his gaze even as she focused on her parchment to determine what book to retrieve next. She didn’t understand why so many girls followed after him. He was often scowling and seemed even moodier than her during the time before her menstrual cycle.
He wasn’t even that good-looking, not like Cedric Diggory or even Oliver Wood had been. His face was comprised of sharp angles and his nose was crooked. His hair was nearly as messy as Harry’s, which was saying something, and his jaw was firm and rigid. While some may consider him striking in a masculine sort of way, she wouldn’t think most girls would appreciate that sort of stark beauty.
Not that she did, of course.
Right.
She turned her head and glanced at him quickly before she looked back at her notes. He seemed to have moved closer. His hair was falling across his forehead and he was hunched over like he was trying to make himself disappear into the stacks of books. It was really rather startling to see such posture displayed when he normally carried himself with a sort of grace that some might consider appealing. He was too tall to be a seeker, she decided as she tapped her parchment with her quill.
She’d read up on Quidditch and Harry’s position after she’d started going to his games and knew that the best seekers were an average height and lithe. Viktor Krum was anything but lithe. While he was slender, she’d seen him with his robes off in the library and knew he had nice shoulders and arms that were rather muscular. His hands were too large and she had no idea how he could catch the Snitch so easily when he seemed far too everything that contradicted everything she’d read.
“It is nice evening.”
The words spoken in a low voice that was deeper than she’d imagined interrupted her assault on her parchment. He spoke slowly as if he was trying to form the words perfectly and his accent was rather pronounced. She glanced up and saw that he was standing near her table and obviously speaking to her. It would be impolite to ignore him, she decided.
“Yes, it is.”
“Vot are you reading?” he asked as he stared at her intently.
She shifted in her chair and resisted the urge to touch her face to see if she had ink on her chin or something. “I just finished my book,” she told him politely. “It is ‘A Mastery Guide to Transfiguration’. What are you reading?”
He glanced at the book in his hand as if he’d forgotten he was holding it, which was all quite confusing. And somewhat intriguing. “It is called ‘Magic and You’.”
She arched a brow as she recognized a first year-text. He frowned at the book and then looked up at her. She was surprised to see what looked like red staining his cheeks. “An informative text,” she said carefully. Intriguing was beating out confusing.
“I vanted speak vit you for avile now,” he said slowly as if he’d practiced those very words many times.
“Whatever for?” she asked with a snort. He was staring at her again and he seemed to be far too close. She pushed her chair back and picked up her book and wand.
“My name is Viktor,” he told her as he seemed to hold the book in his hands even more tightly. “Viktor Krum. That is me. Vot your name?”
“My name is Hermione Granger, and I know who you are, Mister Krum. I saw you catch the Snitch against Ireland during the World Cup this summer,” she told him matter-of-factly as she turned to walk further down the aisle to get away from his stare and the confusion his presence had caused.
“You like Quidditch?” he asked somewhat guardedly as he failed to get the hint and followed her.
“Not particularly,” she said with a glance over her shoulder at him. “It bores me, to be quite honest. My best friend plays, however, and my other friend is a huge fan so I’m somewhat forced to tolerate it at certain times.”
“I am glad you no like Quidditch. Vill you stop valking now?” He ran his free hand through his hair and then his long fingers tugged at the collar of his robe. He was wearing burgundy robes that looked as if they’d be perfectly at home in the Gryffindor common room, she realized, and they looked rather nice against his dark hair and skin tone.
At that thought, she turned to face the stack of books, not even sure what section she was in now. “Lumos,” she said before she raised her wand and acted as if she were searching for a book. It was just her bloody luck that she was in the Divination section. She resisted the impulse to stick her tongue out at the books as it wasn’t their fault the words written beneath their covers were a bunch of utter tripe. “Why would you care one way or another what my feelings about Quidditch happened to be, Mister Krum?”
“Herm-own-ninny,” he stumbled over her name and she chewed on her bottom lip to prevent herself from either correcting him or sighing as he attempted to say it in a way that made her feel almost girly. “I vant speak vit you.”
She put her book down and reached up to get another, not caring what it happened to be as she just needed the distraction. “You’re speaking to me now, Mister Krum.”
“Viktor. You vill call me Viktor,” he said in a slightly frustrated voice. “I vish, how you say? Converge vit you?”
She frowned and repeated, “Converge?”
He cursed in Bulgarian and she closed her eyes at the first sound of his native language. Her grip tightened on the spine of the book she was removing from the shelf and she told herself that she was not going to become some silly fan of his just because he had a deep voice that was rather soothing and he’d tried to say her name, which sounded rather nice in broken English.
“That is no right vord. Conversate?” he tried again. His hand touched her elbow and Hermione’s eyes flew open at the gentle touch of warm fingers through the material of her shirt. “Herm-own-ninny, I vish conversate vit you.”
This was not the time to be reminded that she was, indeed, fifteen and that he was attractive in a striking way that appealed to the aesthetic side of her. She felt him move closer and it was like the air around her was full of electricity and heat and she wasn’t sure what to do. She turned her head slightly to glance down at her arm and saw his fingers against her blouse and was suddenly even more confused as she became even more aware of his presence behind her. She licked her lips as she tried to figure out what to say.
“I vatch you for veeks. You no like other girls. You special,” he continued quietly. “I practice vay of speaking vit you and vant know more of you. It take veeks studying for me learn how conversate and vords confuse me but now ve speak and I am vishing ve sit and you tell me more of you. Is right vords?”
“Those are the right words,” she whispered as she swayed back towards him unconsciously.
“Good,” he said proudly. “I learn vords for you. Silly girls, they no leave me peace so I conversate sooner vit you. They follow me here ven I vish, how you say, introduce myself? Tonight, I must sneak avay from them because I say ‘Viktor, time conversate vit pretty girl’. I speak too many vords. I do so ven I nervous.”
“Why are you nervous?” she asked before she realized what else he’d said. “You think I’m pretty?”
“I speak that no in my mind?” His breath was warm against her neck as he took several breaths, his fingers moving from her elbow to brush back and forth along her arm. “I find you beautiful, Herm-own-ninny.”
He must have been hit by too many bludgers, she decided as she ran her tongue over her too large teeth and suddenly became far too aware of her bushy hair. For once, she found herself rather speechless. Finally, she stared at the spines of books in front of her and said, “You have interesting ideas of beauty, Mist---Viktor.”
He inhaled sharply and she felt him press closer against her. “Vill you say again? My name?”
“Viktor?”
“I like vay you say my name,” he said softly. “Vat is vord interesting?”
“Nothing important.”
“Vhy you no tink you beautiful?” he asked curiously. “I love vild hair and pretty smile and kind eyes.”
“You’re going to make me blush if you continue,” she muttered as she let go of the Divination book and simply touched the shelf as she took one step back and felt solid warmth against her back. Her eyes fluttered and she enjoyed the brief contact that she allowed herself as she indulged this unknown side of herself, this feminine side that wanted to touch and possibly kiss the striking man behind her that found her, of all people, beautiful.
She heard a book fall to the ground but didn’t have time to flinch at the idea of it being hurt by the fall because his hands were suddenly on her arms as he urged her to turn and face him. She looked at the buttons of his robe, her cheeks flushed as she felt a tingle in her tummy and wondered what she should do now. His fingertips were rough against her cheek but his touch was gentle as he raised her chin so she was forced to look at him.
“Herm-own-ninny,” he stumbled over her name once again and cringed at his mistake before he focused on her, “I vant know better of you. I vish ve become friends. I vish muchly earn kiss one day. Vill you sit and conversate vit me so I have, how you say? A chance?”
Her grip tightened around her wand and she was glad the aisles were dark save for the pale glow from her lumos so he couldn’t see her gaze dart to his lips when he mentioned a kiss. She shouldn’t be thinking about kissing him, certainly not shortly after they’d spoken their first words to each other. Hermione nodded slowly. “I think I’d like that, Viktor.”
“Really?” He smiled then and seemed to relax as he said something in Bulgarian. “I happy man vit those vords you speak. Ve sit now and conversate?”
Hermione smiled as she retrieved her Transfiguration text from the shelf. “Pick up the book you dropped, Viktor, and then we’ll sit and talk.”
He did so and followed her down the aisle back to her table, where he sat beside her and began to tell her about his country in a low, quiet voice that seemed perfectly at home in her library.
The End
The Library at Night
Story Notes:
12/22/05