"No, Ron. I won't." She glared at him, her eyes narrowed.
"You don't listen, that's the problem with you!" The fiery redhead shouted back at his brunette friend.
Hermione huffed, and stormed out of the room. Ron didn't follow.
The nerve! Ever since Harry had ran off to elope with Ginny in Italy (which had put Molly Weasley in a state of such anger that all of the Weasley household had to pretend they didn't know anyone by the name of 'Harry' or 'Ginny' for a week) Ron had been tempermental. It was undertstandable, of course. But only to an extent. And a small one, at that.
She smoothened out her skirt, counting her breathing as she calmed herself down. Oh, how infuriating he was! One would think he would grow up. But no, not Ronald Weasley. She shook her head in a Molly like fashion, and proceeded her way towards Diagon Alley. She needed some shopping to do, and a small visit to the bookstore as well, to calm her nerves.
Of course, one would think that only the insane would visit bookstores to alleviate headaches. Well, if so, you could call Hermione the ring leader of all the insane fellows out there. She adored the smell of books, and loved the feeling of the spine of one running across her palm. We'll stop there, though, before we make her sound like too much of a freak.
She heard the euphorious sound of the tinkling windchimes as she pushed open the door leading into Flourish and Blotts.
"Dear, you know I love you, but you're always here." Said a woman with her hands on her hips, her annoyed tone of voice contrasting against the playful flicker she had in her eyes.
"Oh Madam Prince!" Hermione smiled, embracing the elderly woman in a hug. She had preferred the calm demeanor Madam Prince held when school wasn't in session to the stern, austere countenance she had as the Librarian of Hogwarts' library. She, Hermione found out just this summer, liked working at Flourish and Blotts during the summer vacation of the school year.
Coincidentally, Hermione also loved the place. And from her conversations with Madam Prince, she had found out a few juicy details of the school library that she had not known before, despite being there nearly every waking second that wasn't spent in class.
"So darling, what are you looking for today?" Madam Prince asked, busying about the shop. Not many people came at this hour, since it was mid noon, a time when everyone was at lunch or work. She expected Hermione to respond with a bizarre topic, for she knew that the young girl loved gaining knowledge.
"Oh, Madam Prince, it's Ron again." Hermione sighed. "He's such a brat!"
Madam Prince crinkled her nose. "That annoyingly loud redhead?" She frowned. Madam Prince was not the type of person who liked to complicate things. She had several ways of characterizing a person: loud, very loud, nice (which meant quiet), and unusual (everything else goes in this category). As simple as these characterizations sounded, they worked. It was sad to say though, that Ron far surpassed the loudness scale that Madam Prince used to characterize people. The numerous times Ron had gotten kicked out of the library by her proved this.
"Yes." Hermione frowned. She had, to Ron, simply stated that she was not interested in going after Harry and Ginny. Ron, being nosy as he was, wanted to floo to Italy to 'check up on them'. She didn't blame him, really, for it was just him being, well, himself. But what irked her was that when she politely declined in accompanying him, he had thrown a fit. Which made her mad, of course. Which made two mad people. In the borrow. With Molly Weasley, who was already mad enough to feed ten families of horned headed hergers (Luna claimed these beasts feasted on anger, which is why you shouldn't be angry that often lest they infest your home).
Madam Prince raised an eyebrow and, seeing as Hermione didn't continue to elaborate, dropped the subject. "So dear, will you be interested in helping me shelve these?" She said, shoving a mountain of books into Hermione's hands without the girl's consent.
Hermione smiled, nodding and making her way towards the desk to put the books down. She knew this was Madam Prince's way of comforting her, since the elderly lady knew very well how soothing the company of books were. As she sorted through the pile of books on the table, one certain title caught her eye.
How To. That's all the cover had said. The simple words, 'How To'. Hermione frowned. How to what? Her fingers tingled with curiousity and she gave in to her desire. Transfixed, she sat down in a chair and turned the cover.
There was not a deep, dark, hidden secret in there. There was not a picture that revealed the secrets of life in there. There was, however, several blank pages. Hermione was thoroughly confused.
"How to," Hermione murmured to herself, the wheels in her head turning so fast that steam may well have been emitting from her hair.
Time stopped. Well, no, time did not stop. But this story, for now, will. Now, let's picture it, shall we? Let's imagine Hermione suspended in motion, her mouth forming the 'ooo' in 'to'. The birds don't chirp, the books don't breath (as they often like to do), and Madam Prince is also stopped in her tracks.
Now, this stop in time, as I will say again, did not happen. But as the author, I believe I have a right to control this story as I control my television. As I am the play writer and them my puppet, I now declare with utmost authoritive air: cut.
Without much furthur ado, I shall make this short. Fate has trickery in its hands, and no one ever said Magic didn't have a sense of humor. For what more than a stage was the world? What more than puppets to Fate were the people? And what more, may I ask, than utmost absurdity is the most pronounced logic? Fate, humming its merrily tune, also had its own special remote control. It could press not only forward, rewind, and stop; It could also do many things that we can't fathom, in order to amuse itself. And this is where the magic of this story comes into play.
Now we will hit the 'play' button, and commence with the story again.
Hermione grabbed the book, curious about it. Maybe, a small voice in the back of her mind eagerly exclaimed, it held some sort of secret inside it. Maybe it was something that she could even decipher. She smiled broadly at that thought, her delight immense.
She did not consider herself to be 'bookish', but instead, to be 'eager to learn'. Few things in life delighted her more than aquiring knowledge; one of such things was the execution of her aquired knowledge to other inquiring minds. She smiled as she shoved the book in her bag, planning to leave a sum of money on the counter with a note to Madam Prince about it.
And that, was the highlight of her day. Not to say that the rest was boring, for it was far from boring. But it was nothing new, just simply the daily routine of assissting Madam Prince. That makes no statement, though, of the interesting (if you can call it that) happenings waiting to happen that night.
Throwing her bags in a heap somewhere near the general vicinity of the corner of her room, she slumped onto her couch and closed her eyes. Aaah. Home. She had missed this place, despite being gone for, what, little less than a week? She had stayed at the Burrow due to Molly's invitation, but now she felt as if it was time to take her departure, lest one overstays their welcome.
It was wrong of her to say that, though. She knew full well the reason she did not want to stay at the Burrow was because of one person: Ronald Weasley. She did no justice to Molly Weasley's benign character by saying that it was even fathomable to overstay her welcome, for her welcome to the Burrow felt as if it would never be worn out. Yet, Hermione was tired, so she let out a groan of disatisfication at the jumbledness of her thoughts.
"It's not nice to throw one in the corner like that." A very irked voice rang through the room. Hermione opened her eyes, and held very still. Her hands swiftly and soundlessly pulled out her wand. Her eyes did not shift from her bags, where the voice had seemed to originate from.
"Too slow." A male voice called out, startling her as it came from behind her. Hermione whirled around, her eyes (if possible) growing even bigger at what she saw. Or rather, who she saw.
"Riddle!"
Authors Note: Thank you for taking your time to read this! Please know that Harry Potter and its respectful characters do not belong to me, but to a wonderful person named J.K. Rowling.
Read and review causes faster updates!