Good With Words

She sat in the library, alone at a table barely visible beneath precarious stacks of books. At the moment, she was rifling hurriedly through an enormous brick of a leather-bound antiquity, muttering to herself as she searched for some fact or figure. Pausing to scribble relevant tidbits onto a roll of parchment that was curling over the far edge of the table, she was oblivious of the steady emptying of the library as those around her headed off for dinner. Finally, with a satisfied sigh, Hermione added the final touch to her History of Magic composition and slammed shut the heavy tomes that lay in disarray around her. Glancing at a clock, she was startled for a moment, then merely exasperated, to find that once again, she had worked through dinner and into the evening. She sighed a second time. Probably there were still some energy bars in her trunk upstairs; she'd have a couple of those before starting on the Potions essay due next Monday.

Shining a rich golden chestnut in the warm glow of the library lanterns, her masses of wavy hair spilled over her shoulders as she bent over the table and began gathering up the scattered volumes to return to their shelves. Straightening up, a pile of books in her arms, she saw a flicker of movement from between the stacks. Curiously, she walked towards its source. Rounding the corner of the shelf, she came face to face with - Neville Longbottom.

"Neville?" Hermione asked in surprise. He was blushing, turning red even as she looked at him. He focused not on her, but on the flagstone at her feet, averting his gaze from the girl in front of him. "Neville, are you all right?" Hermione inquired gently, beginning to feel a flicker of concern. He swallowed, then spoke to her shoes, his voice so soft she had to strain to catch his words.

"Hi, um, I was just wondering . . . I mean, you know, the Yule Ball, it's coming up . . ." As he spoke, he turned an even deeper shade of crimson than he had previously exhibited, something the cynically (Detachedly, she thought to herself) scientific part of her mind wondered at in amusement. She caught herself. She had a sneaking suspicion she knew what this was about, and she needed to worry about how she was going to avoid hurting the self-conscious Neville's feelings. She wrenched her attention back to him as he continued speaking, after a self-steeling pause. "Anyway, you've always been so nice to me, you know, always helping me with lessons and everything . . . and I just thought . . . maybe, if you wanted to go - Hermione . . ." At this last, he raised his eyes to her face, and trailed off anxiously. She opened her mouth. "If you don't, I completely understand, and that's totally fine," he added hastily.

"You know, Neville, you're an amazing person and I would really like to spend time with you. The Yule Ball, I'm going with someone else, but we should still hang out sometime." She spoke lightly, hoping to avoid embarrassing him so he wouldn't have to regret his moment of daring. The blood drained from his cheeks, leaving him rather pale, and he nodded hurriedly and mumbled some nicety, turning away rapidly and beginning to make his way down the stacks. Damn. She stared after him, then set down the pile of books and moved after him swiftly and silently. "Neville." She spoke quietly. He spun to meet her, his eyes wide. She laid a slender hand on his arm, and drew him into the shadows of the shelves. Before he could have time to panic, Hermione gently but firmly set both hands on his shoulders, and pulled him into a kiss. He stiffened for a moment, then leaned into it. He's a fairly decent kisser, she noted in vague surprise. Not that she was the school connoisseur of kissing or anything, but she prided herself on diversity of knowledge and competence, and she had a pretty good idea of how these things were supposed to go. Neville was doing remarkably well when she gently broke the kiss. He met her eyes with more confidence than she had seen in him in a long time, and with relief she saw that he recognized the friendship in her own for what it was. He smiled at her.

"Good night, Hermione," he said softly, and left the library. She blinked a few times, then turned towards her stack of books on the floor. She'd have to work on that Potions essay another night. She blinked again. The floor where she'd left the books was occupied, not by the texts, but by a pair of fancifully decorated boots, over which fell rich robes of magnificently brocaded fabric. Her mouth fell open as she stared at Albus Dumbledore, who held the books in his arms, his eyes twinkling.

"Kissing in the stacks, Miss Granger?" he queried softly, his deep voice full of amusement. She blushed and began to stammer something, but he moved forward, startling her into silence. "Your mind is that of a Ravenclaw, it is true," he murmured. "But true nobility of heart, true friendship - they have always dwelt in Gryffindor." She blushed still deeper. "At least two of the Founders would be proud to see their library serve your numerous endeavors." He paused. "Three, come to think of it. And the fourth - even in the House and among the ancient followers and friends of the fourth - things are changing." This last was uttered so softly that Hermione was not sure she had heard him correctly. He waved a hand, and the books soared silently back to their places. "Enjoy the Yule Ball, Miss Granger." Bestowing one last twinkling glance upon her, he followed Neville's path out of the library, gold brocaded robes swirling in his wake. She sat down on the library floor with a sigh.

She was most definitely going to have to work on that Potions essay another night.