Title: Books
Author: Dichotomy
E-Mail: dichotomy@dichotomy.slashcity.net
Rating: G
Summary: Wherin Hermoine studies and thinks about books. Gen.
Disclaimer: J.K. Rowling, et all, own Harry Potter and all things Harry Potter. I just own this idea. Please don't sue as all you will get is a basket of dirty laundry and a few pennies. Please do not archive without my permission, just ask I will most likely say yes, I don't bite, really!
Author's Notes: For all the misunderstood bookworms out there. Many thanks to Lady Athena for the read through and helping me with a summary. You rock me dear!
***
Hermoine closed the large book carefully, it was an old and fragile volume; she didn't want to risk making Madame Pince mad by damaging one of the Library's books. She pushed that volume aside and pulled another one where the other book had been. The hinges on the book creaked slightly as she opened it. Settling a new, crisp sheet of parchment in front of her, she picked up her quill and started to take notes.
The library was quiet except for the scratching of her quill, it was late, nearly curfew and the library was deserted except for her. If she had been any other student, she would have had to leave hours ago. But since she was Hermoine, the top student in her class at Hogwarts, Madam Pince had allowed her to work in the Library late.
Hermoine knew that the others ridiculed and poked fun at her for being a bookworm, always wondering why she chose to spend so much time in the Library or with her nose in a book. Harry and Ron tried to understand her, they both knew what it was like to be ignored.
The others didn't understand that the books were her friends, and had been for years. Books wouldn't mock your hair or your teeth. Books didn't care if you liked them more than sports or the newest heart-throb. With books you could immerse yourself in someone else's life and forget your own for a short time. They could teach you things not taught anywhere else.
Hermoine unrolled more parchment being careful not to smudge the still tacky ink and continued writing, letting the familiar scratch of quill on parchment and the dusty smell of books comfort her.
~~finis~~
