Disclaimer: Clearly, all this happened in a fanfic because I don't own the rights to the brilliant original storyline.
A/N: A short filler for my lack of updates on my current ongoing fic, I'm awfully sorry for that. But thank you to everyone who's taken the time to read and especially for leaving a nice comment or two. I promise to have the next chapter up soon. This drabble-like oneshot was just something that came to my mind when an article prompted about how attractive a guy can be when he reads - which I personally agree. It's attractive in a charming manner, really.
The Other Bookworm
Not many students in Hogwarts would proclaim their love for the great library and its thousands of tomes amidst the chilly quiet air, much less to even allow themselves to step foot in it for much longer than necessary. Most had said location on the bottom of their destinations to go within the day, unless homework came calling and help is much needed. However, for the most of it, the silent shelves holding ages old books with their crisp pages and dark ink, the wooden chairs that creaked with pressure alongside oak-colored tables that bathed under the warm glow of the lightings, the pale walls bordering it from the outside, were mostly isolated from the outside world for a majority of the months in a school year.
Hermione Granger however, is a known exception to the abovementioned facts. The third-year witch has been known to prowl the shelves of the library with stacks of books in her arms, or sitting at a large table by herself amidst tomes piled high above her. This evening was one of no difference from the rest as she sat by herself, a table of her own with books and parchments, quills and little charmed sticky notes. Her eyes eagerly took in the printed words as her writing hand absently scribbled occasional sentences on a roll of parchment. Her attention was entirely captivated by the book before her, but a sudden rustling from somewhere within close proximity, caught her ears. Distracted, caramel brown orbs gazed up momentarily to catch a movement in front of her. The corners of her lips pulled themselves wide into a thin line as she took in the figure before her.
A young lad, looking about two or three years older than her, was silently perusing a thick tome which sat on the wooden furniture with both his hands gently grasping its sides. Hermione felt a sudden yearning to keep her gaze on him, for reasons unknown to herself. She momentarily left her attention from her book and watched as the masculine fingers, fair yet slightly callused, smoothly and soundlessly tapped against the printed material. His fingers made a precise order of contact with the book below them – his ring finger grazed the paper first before his index finger came along and finally, his middle finger. They went up and down, tapping to an invisible piano tune. Hermione found herself leaning forward by a slight fraction of curiosity as her hand unconsciously placed her quill down. His fingers suddenly halt at their movement, resting for a brief second with all three atop the yellowed and aged reading material, before they suddenly moved from their position and swiftly flicked the page over to the next one. His other hand's left index finger trailed down the book, a seemingly gentle caress.
She watched as his eyebrows furrowed slightly, for a second's worth, before it straightened again. Hermione wondered what was he reading that seemed to caught much interest within him. His lips were pursed thin though a faint outline of a smile could be seen. His eyebrows furrowed again once more before his fingers turned the page. She wondered of the words that were forming in his mind, the mental pictures sketching themselves in his thoughts as he took in the words before him. With a quirk of her lips, she thought of how his mind would form his perceptions of the book's content. Hermione would like to guess he wasn't one to jump into conclusions easily, or to take anything on the first basis alone, but possibly someone who has his own thoughts conjured – a hypothesis to the ending, but he wouldn't have it set in a dead frame, no, he would keep his theory aside with an open mind as he peruse all the facts before giving a final conclusion of his own. The fingers of his right hand suddenly reached up, falling onto the lock of dark hair that reached slightly below his eyebrows. He absentmindedly ran his fingers through the lock of hair, pushing them back and only to have them falling over again. Yet his eyes remained on the book, never once averting their attention away. Hermione couldn't help but wished she knew what was the book's title so as to enable her to look for another copy of it, just so she could see what it was about that captivated the older boy.
Hermione's fingers reached for her quill again and without being full aware of what she was doing, all on her hand's own accord, her fingers twirled the quill. She bit her lower lip for a brief moment as she kept her gaze on the boy sitting at the table opposite her. There were a few other books on his table, most had rather thin spines though two of them were thicker volumes as compared to the rest.
The older boy's left hand suddenly pulled itself away from its position atop his book, curling his fingers before tucking themselves below the edge of his jaw on the left side. Hermione recognized how captivated he was with the book before him – his posture leaned forward with his broad shoulders turning inwards and his right hand grazed the corner top of the page, as if eager to flip the page and find what happens next. Hermione wondered of the knowledge the older boy had within him – she was assuming it was nothing less than Harry's and Ron's combined together. A studious aura, an aura both of her said best friends didn't have, was seemingly evident from him. He flipped the page with a smooth yet gentle flick – a considerate gesture Hermione seldom saw in most males she came across. She imagined of the books he would have in the bookshelf of his home, or even his dormitory. She liked to think his bookshelves were full with several genres, neatly arranged in a systematic order of some sort – perhaps by author, or genre, or even his personal favorites. So caught up was she in her thoughts that she failed to notice the boy had suddenly looked up.
Quite likely having felt someone watching him, the young wizard felt a sudden urge to look up and see who it was. Inquisitive steel grey orbs met startled caramel brown ones.
Hermione hadn't expected him to look up with such a sudden move. Her throat suddenly felt dry as she searched for something to say – a word or two to allow her to diffuse the awkwardness of the situation. She had been staring at him after all. Before Hermione could part her lips, a small smile crossed the boy's lips. Hermione realized she had seen him rather often around Hogwarts though they were two years apart. His active participation in Quidditch was what enabled her glimpses of the boy. She had heard of him of course, from friends, housemates and the students of other houses as she passed the corridors, or in classes, or within her house's common room. Still, she had never spoken to him – neither did it ever crossed her mind to do so nor to even acknowledge much of his presence. Yet here he was, in a place she had least expected to see him, sitting opposite and waiting for an acknowledgment of some sort of his existence, and an explanation of her apparent staring.
"I'm sorry, I hadn't meant to stare." Hermione offered in a low voice, audibly soft to prevent a disruption of the library's quiet ambiance yet enough to have her be heard by the boy.
He nodded good-naturedly and smiled. She recognized that smile; it was the smile that apparently charmed most of Hogwarts' female student population. However, Hermione wasn't the least bit enamored by the smile, instead – it felt perfectly normal, a warm and friendly gesture from someone she barely know enough to even refer to him as an acquaintance. Her lips curved upwards in a mirror of his gesture. The steel grey eyes shone briefly, as if a shared amusement between him and her, before he looked away and his gaze fell onto his book once more.
Hermione looked down at her book again. Her smile was still playing upon her lips as she read where she had last left. Suddenly it didn't seem as if the library was a cold and lonely place, but a warm and comfortable setting of silence with the company of a fellow reader. Hermione sneaked a gaze and found a diminutive feeling of embarrassment flushing at her cheeks when her eyes caught the boy's once more. A bashful smile appeared at the boy's lips, having unexpectedly been caught gazing at the girl opposite him. He tipped his head in a short nod of greeting, which Hermione replied with a brief nod. The boy closed his book and began to clear his belongings. Hermione looked away to her book once more.
Seconds passed before a shadow loomed over her book and Hermione looked up in surprise.
"This is a great book to read if you are interested in Transfiguration." He simply said as he held out the book Hermione recognized as the one he had been reading. The boy placed the book softly onto her table. The silver words of 'Advanced Transfiguration That Even Idiots Can't Messed Up' caught her eye. "I know it's for sixth and seventh-years, but it's really useful, and rather interesting to read. I'm in the fifth year myself but Professor McGonagall had mentioned it during class and I reckoned I could give it a try." He smiled, "I think you'd enjoy it just as much too." With that, the boy turned around and left.
Hermione's hand reached out for the book. She smiled as her fingers grazed the embossed words on the thick tome. The third-year looked up again and saw the leaving visage of the boy. It was nice to know there was someone else who liked books as much as she does, another bookworm perhaps. She smiled.