A tribute to the place I have called my home away from home, my escape and paradise.
Disclaimer: All notable characters are not mine. Plot is mine, though.
IN THE L I B R A R Y
It started in the library. It always did.
The war was over now. Seven years, no, her life, justified. And now that the world was no longer colored in black and white, everything was fine and everyone was content.
Well, almost.
He was there. Always there like her. Maybe, it was because there was too much life around him, or because he no longer feels life, that he seeks solace in the library after dinner.
She sought solace too.
Everyone was marked by war. Most had a missing link to their once complete family tree, some had to spent countless hours hiding from a halfblood tyrant and others- others were brave enough to fight. But everyone grew up.
They were marked more than any other.
She was no longer the buckteeth know-it-all that she once was. Knowledge still held an appeal to her- she was still a Philomath, yet she no longer craved it like air. She was changed, and she spent every moment- no matter when and where, like it was her last.
Life was just too precious to waste.
He was transformed differently. He was on the black side of the war. He has spent his whole life under an invisible hand, and when he first glimpsed Him he was more than terrified and ashamed. But he still led that life, for the sake of his family. He was luckier than the others, he wasn't in a lifetime sentence in Azkaban, but he was still tainted.
If he learned anything in this war, it was to make something of what you've got.
But beyond all that, they were just two fragmented souls. Both working for some peace in this hellhole, one getting away from the lack of true life, and the other escaping because of suffocation.
It was then, and it was there.
They never spoke, never held a conversation; war over or not, there was still something between them, perhaps a deep rooted enmity built from six years of teasing and taunting, not helped by the incident of her torture, at his home, before his eyes.
It wasn't something easily forgotten after all.
So they sat there, breathing in the scent of books, the scent of each other.
There was a change in routine today, a change in atmosphere. The quills were still scratching, murmurs from other tables still heard, but this- this was different. It could be blamed on the fact that she came here before him, or that he sat at her table, beside her chair.
There was definitely a change.
And then something happened that they weren't expecting. There was a silence. Not an awkward or uncomfortable one, it was companionable, peaceful.
It gave them solace.
It continued for a few days, with him sitting down with her, with them simply breathing in the sense of peace almost tangible in the air.
And then another thing changed.
She was leaving earlier than usual, and perhaps that was why his eyes looked up to see her. It wasn't planned, nor was it an accident, but their eyes met.
And slowly something flashed in their eyes. A spark.
A spark of life.
The promise of more to come. Maybe they'd share a quick smile, a conversation if they're lucky, and laughter if it was fate.
It was only the beginning.
They were in a library after all.
Sadly, I have not yet developed the art of writing conversations. I'll hone it some time.
Reviews, please. Constructive criticisms are welcome.