The Book Nook

***

Hermione woke up feeling more tired than when she went to bed. The girls' dormitory was deserted; all her dorm mates had gone home for Christmas. She would have been sorely tempted to return home as well, if not for the fact that Harry needed her.

And how he did.

Hermione thought back to the conversation at the Three Broomsticks. She had felt bad enough hearing that story; she could only undoubtedly imagine what a worse position Harry was in, being at the centre of it all. Learning that your parents died not because of the Dark Lord, but from the betrayal of one of their closest friends...

Sirius Black would have meant to James what Harry and Ron now meant to Hermione. To even entertain the thought of Ron handing her over to You-Know-Who was unthinkable, but if Sirius was capable of doing it... There was no security in anything.

So troubled was Hermione with these thoughts that she took off her pajamas and then put them straight back on again.

Ron was already up when Hermione walked down the stairs. She had brought her homework along. She glanced at him and immediately pushed all thoughts of Not-So-Nice-Ron away. They were here to help Harry.

'It's the holidays, Hermione. Must you do your homework right now, and in front of me?' said Ron, in a half-exasperated, half-pitying voice.

'There are more important things to discuss than whether or not it's acceptable to do work during the Break.'

'I know,' Ron nodded grimly. 'Black.'

Hermione put her work down, surprised. She didn't think that Ron would be thinking of him too. She pulled a footstool over and sat down next to him.

'We have to keep him away from Harry.'

'Or keep Harry away from him.'

'What do you mean by that?' said Hermione, looking puzzled. 'Harry's not going to go after him, is he?'

'He might.'

'But, but- why?' Hermione racked her brain for an answer as to why a 13 year old boy would want to chase after a murderer who killed thirteen people then laughed about it. She couldn't find one.

'Look, Hermione, there's something you have to understand.'

'I'm listening,' said Hermione attentively. 'Go on.'

'When some people are upset, they do stupid things they wouldn't normally do.'

Hermione blinked. 'But going after Black's a bit too stupid, isn't it?'

'No, it's just stupid enough.'

Hermione tried to understand. But she couldn't. She looked hopelessly at Ron.

'I'll give you an example. Say it was your parents-' (Hermione shivered) '-who got betrayed by your Godfather and as a result they died and left you as an orphan and now that traitor is running free, what would you do?'

'Well,' began Hermione, automatically forming a summary of an essay response in her head, 'initially I'd be really upset-'

'You're getting it...'

**

Thankfully, the visit to Hagrid's had somewhat dampened Harry's enthusiasm for revenge. In the few days leading up to Christmas, in-between researching a case for Buckbeak's defense with Harry and Ron, Hermione was busy formulating a letter to Oliver. It took longer than she had hoped, because frankly she didn't know how to go about it.

Should she make it formal, and just request the answers that she needed? Somehow she thought Oliver deserved better than that. But what if she came across too friendly? She didn't want him to get the wrong impression. On second thoughts...what was the right impression?

The nagging feeling in her gut told Hermione that she was repressing what she really wanted to say. All the better...her head told her, saying exactly what was on your mind was unlikely to lead to happy endings.

In the end she adopted a casual tone.

Dear Oliver,

How have your holidays been so far? I hope for your sake you were joking when you said you like practicing Quidditch in the middle of the night. (Did you notice the weather we've been having?)

Unfortunately I've got a heap of work to do over the break, and I thought I might finish Muggle Studies first.

I'm very sorry about the episode at the Three Broomsticks. As you know I hoped to have the interview completed that day, but due to my own silliness it couldn't be done. If you're not too busy, could you answer the following questions as soon as possible? Answer as truthfully as you can, don't worry about writing anything that could offend. Merlin knows I don't have any firm opinions on either Quidditch or football anyway.

Question numbe...

**

...thank you again for your help. I really couldn't think of anyone better qualified. I hope you enjoy the rest of your holidays, and I look forward to seeing you again when school resumes.

Best wishes,

Hermione

Oliver grinned and tucked the letter into his robe pocket. He grabbed some parchment from a nearby stack and started writing. Hermione had given him perfect excuse to voice all the opinions he had on Quidditch, the League, and why it was better than Muggle sports. Usually when he got started on how the Quidditch Association was going backward everyone would either ignore him or tell him to shut up.

'What's that? Don't tell me you're studying?'

Alex had drifted into the room. She summoned a chair and sat down opposite Oliver.

'It's a letter.'

'I can see that,' she answered, rolling her eyes. 'Who's it from? A girlfriend?'

'Um...I guess...actually, not really.'

Now Alex looked interested. She straightened up. 'What do you mean, "not really"?'

Oliver shrugged. He really wanted to just get on with the questions but ignore Alex for too long and she'd come down on you like a tonne of bricks.

'She's a girl, she's a friend, but the two parts don't add up.' Oliver raised his eyebrows as if to say, "Get it now?" and turned back to his work.

Alex sighed and twirled some strands of hair that had strayed. 'That's a pity. I think a girlfriend would be good for you. You need someone to stop you turning into a psycho.'

'Quidditch is life. Everything else is just filler.'

'Well said, Confucius.' Alex kicked the back of Oliver's chair to get his attention. 'Do you want her to be your girlfriend, then?'

Oliver paused. He would have liked to just snap "no" and try and throw Alex out of the room, but somehow it felt wrong. He swiveled so that he was now facing his sister. 'It's more complicated than that.'

'Tell me about her then. Is she smart?'

'Smartest person I know.'

'Aha! Exaggeration. That's a good sign. Do I know her?'

'She's after your time.'

'Robbing the cradle much? 2^nd year?'

'THIRD!'

Alex put her hands up in a pacifying gesture. 'Okay, I understand why you're a little reluctant then. Your friends will give you stick for the rest of your life and make lewd jokes whenever the two of you are the same line of sight.'

Oliver mumbled.

'But don't let that deter you,' Alex quickly added. 'Having a girlfriend brings many benefits.'

'Such as?'

'The pleasure of her company.'

Oliver groaned. 'That's great, but what I'm just being stupid? You can't just pursue someone...' he trailed off, waving the quill around aimlessly. A few drops of ink splattered onto his robes.

'You said you liked her, didn't you?'

'But what if I'm just being delusional? I also said I liked Falcons for a bit and look what happened!'

Alex, whose memory was not as clear as Oliver's when it came to matches, asked, 'What happened?'

'Well, last year I warmed to Falcons when they trounced Tornadoes. I even began to see the nicer side of the team, if that was possible. Next Puddlemere match was against them, but we were at home, and I wasn't too worried that they beat Tornadoes because everyone knows Tornadoes are crap.

'So I was feeling reasonably confidant, confidant enough to make a bet. I bet Ewan one dare that Puddlemere would win. So I went to the match, and we lost 310-70.

'And you know why we lost?'

'Wh-'

'It was punishment. Punishment because I was sucked in by the Falcons attractive and intelligent style of play, unable to see that they were really dirty, cheating bastards. I had strayed and I got what I deserved.'

'So what did Ewan get you to do? Skinny dip in the lake?'

'Nothing, I haven't spoken to him since.'

Alex had to laugh. 'You really think your potential relationship is going to turn out like this?'

'It might.'

'Well...' Alex tried thinking in terms that Oliver could understand, 'What if this girl-'

'Hermione.'

'-Hermione turns out to be a Puddlemere, instead of a Falcons? Make you pretty happy, wouldn't it? Two championships, eh?'

'Three.'

'I'm sorry,' said Alex, exasperated. 'But if you're not willing to take a chance, then you're going to get nothing.'

There was a brief silence.

'Think about it, okay?' She said, getting up to leave.

'Yeah, alright, alright,' Oliver grumbled, also getting up so he could shove Alex out of the room. 'I'll think about it.'

He promised her he'd think about it, but once Alex was gone, Oliver found that his mind was made up from the start, and he was just being paranoid and difficult. He resolved to be a bit more friendly and easy-going next time he saw Hermione, which he hoped would be soon as he got back.

Ignoring the numerous ink stains along his sleeve, he starting writing again with gusto.

**

Hermione sat down in her usual secluded spot in the library to put the finishing touches on her Muggle Studies assignment. It wasn't due for another two weeks, but that was no reason to put it off. Oliver had been a real gentleman by replying to her letters almost instantly, and the depth of his answers were a lot better than Hermione had expected. She still had to polish them up a bit, mainly for grammar, but what he actually said she left untouched.

It was now four o'clock on the last day of the Christmas break. In a few hours the rest of the Hogwarts student body would be back. Hermione disliked the transition; she cherished the peaceful corridors and halls, and found it awkward when the Common Room would once again be full of the cheerful, aimless prattle of the lower grades, mingled with the more cynical, gossipy tones of the older years. But, she did look forward to seeing Oliver again.

Hermione was right in the middle of her essay when her world plunged into darkness.

'Guess who?'

The melodic voice alone was a dead giveaway as to who had unmercifully just covered her eyes, but Hermione would have been mortified if she was wrong. She pleaded ignorance.

'I don't know. Who?'

There was a bemused sigh from behind her. 'You're no fun,' said Oliver Wood, removing his hands and hopping onto the table to keep her essay company.

'It's nice to see you face to face again after two weeks of owl correspondance,' said Hermione, trying to keep her grin in place so her head wouldn't fall off. 'How are you, by the way?'

'Ah, not so bad. Same as always, really. And I agree about that face to face thing.' He leaned over and lay down onto Hermione's desk, propped up on one side with an elbow. 'Might I add,' he said, his voice turning a notch lower, 'that you look very pretty in those robes today.'

Hermione blinked. 'Oliver, I'm wearing school uniform. I wear school uniform everyday, just like the rest of the school.'

'Ah, but you look much prettier in them than the rest of the school does.'

Hermione laughed. 'There was an insult in there somewhere.'

Oliver gave a 'who, me?' expression. Then he turned sincere again.

'I am a man of my word, you know. You do look lovely today, and seeing as you wear the same thing everyday, the only logical conclusion is that you must look lovely everyday.'

Right there and then, Hermione decided that that was the best compliment that she had ever heard and was probably ever going to hear. So many people focused on her academic accomplishments as items to praise, nobody seemed aware of what every girl longs to hear.

'Gee, that's...awfully sweet.' She started, not knowing how to go on. This was beyond blush territory, if she was the sappy type, she'd be in the break-down-and-cry-tears-of-joy stage right now. Thankfully she didn't; that would have ruined her essay for sure, but her eyes were rather moist.

'Yeah, I was a bit wary when I thought of it,' said Oliver, trying to break the tension with a bit of humour, 'but now I know that it works I can use it on a few other girls.'

Hermione didn't know whether to laugh or cry or do both.

'That's mean,' she finally sniffed. 'You can't use the same compliment twice.'

'I don't plan to. Defeats the purpose.' He suddenly leaped off the desk and twirled around to face Hermione's back. She turned around. 'Do you think I get my compliments from books, or something?' Oliver asked, teasing. Before Hermione could reply, he added, 'I mean, I'm sure that you do, knowing the value of a good book, but average blokes like me have to make things up.'

'Now I'm certain that was an insult,' grinned Hermione. 'I'm going to have to get you back sometime.'

'An insult from a book, no doubt.'

He yelped and dived under the desk as Hermione threw "Muggle Sports for Wizards and Witches" at him.

'Yep, you guessed correctly, an "insult from a book", as you so cleverly put it.' She smirked at him when he crawled out. He knelt on the carpet to brush some dust off his kneecaps before taking his usual spot next to Hermione.

'Nice comeback, but you missed.' He caught sight of Hermione's essay. 'What's this?'

'My assignment.' Hermione answered, but Oliver wasn't listening. He was flicking through Hermione's many pieces of parchment at rapid speed, taking pauses now and then to read certain passages and raise his eyebrows. 'You got all this from my answers?' he asked after a few minutes had passed.

'Yes - well, I know it's not much, and I haven't finished yet, but-'

'Not much? Not finished?' Oliver was finding it hard to express himself. 'This is - this is - some serious stuff. You make me sound like an intellectual.' He shook his head and smiled to himself. 'I just hope this doesn't get out.'

'Why?' asked Hermione. He didn't sound too happy. 'I'd think it'd be good for people to regard you as smart.'

'Not at all. Then all the girls would be chasing after me. They want the whole deal. Brains, looks, muscle, money's nice too. Thankfully I can get away from all that by acting like a maniac.'

Hermione was about to disagree but shut her mouth when she thought of Lavender and Parvati.

'So you're not just a Quidditch jock,' She said. It wasn't a question.

'No, that stuff's true. I'm also a ruthless scroundrel,' He said with a straight face. Hermione didn't know whether to believe that or not. He didn't look like he was lying. He was looking right at her, almost through her with his 'warm tea' eyes. He was on the verge of disclosing some information Hermione didn't particularly feel she would want to hear.

'Broken many girls' hearts, have you?' she said nonchalantly, determined to keep the tone light.

'No, I haven't actually. Is that a scoundrel requirement?' asked Oliver, leaning back and looking at her sideways.

'Some might say, yes,' she answered quietly. Certainly all the scoundrels in the books she had read had been devilishly handsome cads. She didn't like the way the conversation was going. She turned back to tidy up the pieces of parchment Oliver had scattered over the desk.

'Might have to work on that a bit, then.'

There was an awkward silence that only Hermione seem to feel. Oliver didn't look any different. He got up slowly and stretched, giving her a very close-up view of his tall frame, before wandering out of sight.

'Are you tired?' asked Hermione disbelievingly. To her it seemed he had an unlimited supply of energy.

'I was up all weekend,' replied Oliver, pinching his nose. 'I walked to school this afternoon.'

'Why were you up all weekend? It's not good for your health, you know.'

'You're one to talk.'

Hermione blushed and looked away. She had hoped that he didn't notice the bags under her eyes. Normally it would have been a lot easier to charm them away, but she never had any time for that, and it felt like cheating, in an odd kind of way.

'Why were you up so late anyway?'

'Quidditch. Was hiking one day and a fantastic idea came to me. It'll really knock Slytherin's socks off.'

Hermione didn't bother to ask what his fantastic idea was. Most likely he wouldn't say, and she wouldn't understand if he did.

Oliver tried to smother another gigantic yawn. 'I've got to be going.' He started to walk away, but then swiveled back on his heels and grinned lopsidedly at her. 'I'll see you at the Feast. Save me a seat?'

Hermione nodded. 'Of course.'

Oliver made a thumbs-up sign. 'By the way, has Harry got a new broomstick?'

Hermione hesitated. She wasn't quite sure what to say. On one hand, Harry did get a new broomstick, but he didn't have it anymore. So theoretically, he doesn't have a new broomstick.

'No, he hasn't.'

Oliver rolled his eyes before jogging off.

Hermione was left mulling over what she had said, furiously trying to stop the guilt that was creeping in, all the while feeling very, very sleepy.

**