| Night books |
[Jul. 26th, 2008|04:05 pm] |
Who:Hermione Granger, Draco Malfoy, and whoever else drops by or eavesdrops.
Where: Hogwarts library.
When: Late Saturday evening.
What: Words.
His pale white hand clenched involuntarily as he reached for the knob of an office door. He was staring at the small plate: "Professor Hermione Granger, Charms." It was a place he'd hoped not to be, at a time not of his choosing. He rather hoped that the professor wouldn't be in... but on the other hand, what were his other choices?
A cool, flat voice emanated from the door as his hand brushed the knob. "Professor Granger is in the library." It paused. "Mr..."
But he had already turned and was gone back down the passage.
The fourth floor library was dim and silent at this late hour of night, but a light still flickered in its dim recesses. The locked door presented him with no difficulty; but as he passed, shadow-like, down the narrow aisles between the tall, leaning bookcases, he could hear the books whispering and rustling at him. All books have a memory, and can sense when someone they know comes near them; but magical books, more than most, are able to express their feelings. These ones did not like him.
The aisle ended. There she was, seated at a table, a large heap of books piled beside her and two or three open in the light of the lamp. He tried to say something, to alert her to his presence -- but no words would come. His mouth was utterly dry. In this place of all places, rich with the magic of centuries, he felt lost and diminished, his own power a mere drop in an ocean filled by ten thousand wizards over a thousand years. His cane fell from nerveless fingers onto the floor; and in the echoes of its ringing fall, he could hear the hushed and scandalized whispers of the books, louder than ever. |
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