Libraries: The medicine chest of the soul. ~Library at Thebes, inscription over the door

Libraries are the wardrobes of literature, whence men, properly informed may bring forth something for ornament, much for curiosity, and more for use. ~William Dyer

A library is many things. It's a place to go if you want to sit and think. It is a place where books live, and where you can get in touch with other people, and other thoughts, through books. Books hold most of the secrets of the world, most of the thoughts that men and women have had. And when you are reading a book, you and the author are alone together—just the two of you. A library is a good place to go when you feel unhappy, for there, in a book, you may find encouragement and comfort. A library is a good place to go when you feel bewildered or undecided, for there, in a book, you may have your question answered. Books are good company, in sad times and happy times, for books are people—people who have managed to stay alive by hiding between the covers of a book. ~E.B. White

To students and lovers of books, the word library possesses a charm which scarcely any other can claim; and there are few associations so pleasant as those excited by it. To them it means a place where one may withdraw from the hurry and bustle of every-day life, from the cares of commerce and the strife of politics, and hold communion with the saints and heroes of the past; a place where the good and true men of bygone ages, being dead, yet speak, and reprove the vanity and littleness of our lives, where they may excite us to noble deeds, may cheer and console us in defeat, may teach us magnanimity in victory... There we may listen to "the fairy tales of science," or to the voices of the poets singing their undying songs.

To those with ears to hear, libraries are really very noisy places. On their shelves we hear the captured voices of the centuries-old conversation that makes up our civilization. ~Timothy Healy

A great library contains the diary of the human race. ~George Mercer Dawson

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It took Hermione a few minutes to leave the platform.

She stood amongst the crush of strangers and let the hot air of the tunnel rush before her. The space Luna's face had disappeared from was swallowed with the overhead announcement in muffled french.

For a fleeting moment, she had thought of going to the library.

The thought of the old, towering tomes, the air still with the chill of the stone that denied the trickling dusty sunlight any purchase of warmth. She thought of her spot, all but declared by the fortresses of parchment she created. Of how quiet it had grown in that last year as students did their utmost to avoid her, learning quickly that the prefect would not tolerate any distractions approaching exams.

Hermione Granger stood on a far off metro station, ostentatious robe floating around her, and realized for a moment, even as she held two magic books in her hand, she was alone and stranded once more.

She shoved the books into her satchel, and stormed off the platform for the first public restroom.

The bile rose from her throat and she tried to shake off the wave of anxiety and visions that swept across the inside of her eyelids. The ministry. Snatchers. Belatrix. Grignotts. The inside of the steel toilet bowl. The feel of tiles pressing patterned markings into her knees. Her breakfast swam in the bowl before her, and her retching soon came up dry. Hermione let air finally flood her lungs and peeled Luna's elaborate robe from her skin, ignoring the clammy sweat of her limbs. Her arm disappeared into the beaded bag and her fingers closed around the muggle clothes Luna had altered, and she watched the denim jacket her mum had bought her before third year emerge from the impossibly small bag. The denim had the faded softness of a long worn and packed item, and as Hermione shrugged it on over the flowing sleeveless robe, she calmed and her mind focused once more.

Hermione emerged from the bathroom into a crowded metro tunnel, and dawdled for a moment at the newsagents that foisted maps and guided and plastic ponchos at the throngs of tourists, and quietly stocked the counter with the regular's morning papers. Capital was tight and Hermione weighed her options before buying a bottle of water, a pack of blue biros and a muggle wedding magazine. There was no point checking into a backpackers before she knew the facts and one way or another, with or without the safety of Hogwarts library around her, Hermione had reading to do.

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He arrived back at the Malfoi estate at 2. Draco had admittedly held himself well. He had led Severus from an apparation point at the bottom of a hill with confidence, and the two wizards had entered the magical greenhouse under the curious watch of workers and gardeners milling about. A stout french wizard wearing tweed of all things had met them at the gates of the large glass warehouse and Severus had tried to ignore the sounds of movement about them as they were lead into a maze of green, moving aisles of plants, metal tables and brass climbing troughs. Every inch of space, both vertical and horizontal was accounted for and swarming with a humid presence of life and Draco walked before him with ease, flattering and discussing the greenhouses material output and reach of influence. Severus trailed and kept silent, partly to play his role of dubious overseer, and partly to disguise the tremor racking through his left hand. He clenched the traitorous limb behind his back and feel deep within his occlumency walls as he scrutinized the space about him.

After a private aside, Draco asked him to accompany one of the groundskeepers to the relevant aisle, while he spoke with Sutcliffe, their burly tweed Frenchman, alone. Severus nodded, and tried not to finger his wand too obviously as a tanned bearded wizard, a few years his senior, led him to the more reclusive sector of the greenhouse. Here he began to recognise the tendrils of _, as well as a health crop of mandrake. The wizard led him through a darkened corridor where mushrooms glowed and clung to the heavy hot stench of soil.

"There just beyond here. They like the temperature and, well, it's not exactly a crop we advertise."

"When were they established?"

Severus eyes the rows of plants, their leaves slowly developing the deep hue of purple, the tips wrinkly into almost inky blackness. The mass of saplings sat in a metal trough above a set of magical pallets.

"Last June. We've another two pallets maturing at our nursery."

Severus only nodded. Draco would have to have the nursery checked out as well.

After a moments taciturn silence the groundskeeper left with an awkward, overly formal nod-turned-bow, before he was called back by the taciturn, infamous Englishman.

"I'll need four plants immediately. Separate punnets, I'll handle transportation."

"Yes sir."

Severus watched the wizard scurry away* his fear and for a moment, felt the comfort that being the fearsome potions master brought.

It evaporated of course, once the man set the plants before him with another fidgety bow. He exchanged a stack of gold from his own pouch for the sheaves of parchment the man held nervously, and tried to ignore the curious glance it earned him. Ignoring the man beside him, he conjured a box for the first two saplings, and as the box filled and sealed itself, he gave it a tap with his wand, sending it disappearing from sight. The man didn't comment as he removed the second lot in the same manner,

"I'm sure my colleague will be securing his own transactions."

"Yes sir."

Severus followed the wizard to the gates of the greenhouse, wondering what Minerva would make of the unscheduled potions delivery. He tried to ignore the scowl that lined his face as he lit another of the foul muggle death sticks and waited outside the compounds office for Draco. Minerva had always been a clever woman and he was sure she would be offering her precious Gryffindor cubs any help she could. And to him, after the war, she could at least offer a modicum of privacy. The thought of George Weasley interpreting the offer was simply too disdainful to contemplate.

Fool.

Running his Slytherin students errands was one thing. Embroiling himself in yet another Gryffindor mess was another.

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The old edition was at least partially informative so far as Caligula went.
Hermione still was plagued with questions and the dry lines of the textbook seemed only to add to her reservations. Snape was, unfortunately and unsurprisingly right. She needed fresh information and there wasn't a book on the subject ready with the answers she needed.
She tried not to dwell on the lines of heavily slanted script that ran across the page. So far as she knew, they were just the annotations made years and years ago by another adolescent swot. None of them had the relevant meaning to hint they were in fact the recent writing of Serverus Snape. It was odd, to Hermione, in a way that she couldn't place, that the man had relinquished the book back to her.

She supposed she had admitted to him in her letter that she found some of the commentary personable.

Still, that was before.

Before he'd provoked you into displaying your usual Gryffindor histronics.

The empty diary sat heavy in her lap, and Hermione was just as reluctant to open it as she was the magazine that sat beneath it, all glossy pages and airbrushed smiles, happiness and matrimonial bliss. For models sizes 4-12, who apparently got quite a lot of sun and could breathe wrapped in layers upon layers of floating white bead-work and ruffles.

At least the journal held no taunting reference to Ron, to Molly, to the life Hermione had left behind. The train emerged above ground and she took in the streets and alleys and lunchtime crowds of Paris, before opening the journal and determinedly clasping the muggle ball point pen. She could hardly have sat scribbling on the train with an elaborate quill.

Somewhere throughout Paris, a bell tolled midday, and Hermione let her questions begin.


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Narcissa was away, apparently, and Draco ordered the pair of them lunch even as he made his way to the drawing room's liquor cabinet, and poured two ample glasses.

"So?"

"Nothing seemed untowards. You might think of examining their nursery. Have you settled on your course of action then Draco?"

Severus watched the youth, the young man really, as he emptied his glass. Setting it once more on the table, he flicked through the morning's post.

"More or less. I had planned a run of nurseries tomorrow. His main competitor of course."

Severus only nodded. He looked distastefully at the glass he hadn't asked for and drank it obligingly.

"And this afternoon?"

Draco only shrugged.

"I've got nothing else for the day. Did you want to join me for dinner, there's this rather wonderful club-"

"I think not. I'll dispose myself of your library, if it's not too much trouble."

Draco eyed him and Severus noted the look of concern before the boy had banished it away.

"I'll send the house elf there with something to eat. Thank you for doing this, Godfather."

The term of endearment rang in the room with a heavy gratitude that Severus only waved aside, leaving the boy to his whiskey as he climbed the old buildings staircase, his hand only faintly shaking upon the polished banister. He tried not to think of the journal he'd left sitting on the library's desk, that would be waiting for him.


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"Ginerva are coming home with me, and you're bringing your dear friend here. Oh is that Mafalda I see? I must catch her before we leave. Ah and we'll need to pop by George's of course.

Ginny tried not to gag as her mother hid her ire with the warm molly in public persona, and she felt a chill as Rita shot her a smug grin. Lucy accross the table ate her ice cream, dutifully afraid and with her mouth firmly shut.

Ginny thought of her antics at St Mungo's and sighed.

Hexing Harry and sobbing for the ministry had been far easier than this.

She finished her ice cream with the knowledge that every bite made the shopping trip with her mother fly by quicker. At least George would be better back up than the shrinking Slytherin beside her. Skeeter left with her notepad and quill in tow, but not before her photographer took a final shot of the two witches.

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Dennis left the office of Le Mercure fois with a lilt in his step and made his way back to the tree lined avenue with ease. Hermione was a genius and she really had nothing to worry about. The french reporters, in a mix of high end and casual robes let him in with bewilderment, and saw him out with a pocket full of gold and a range of contacts he could alert, to avoid any front end misconception. He'd been shown out the back door, and with the gold lining his pocket, he apparated from behind a parked truck.

The orange awning greeted him as he appeared at the top of the street, hidden by the rush of a passing motorbike and the squabble of afternoon traffic.

Hermione really had to relax.

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Emmanuel eyed the young auror with distaste. Trainee auror really, but of course Potter would pull his due strings with his best friend on the line.
Convenient really, that she be updated on every stage of the investigation.

Insightful of Potter to point out the recent record of a magical contract.

The fact it was with yet another Order chum was apparently more than believable for Burgess to let the boy tag along on the retrieval run.

Still, Enough of the lads here knew what was good for them, and Potter might have a tad more difficulty in the field than he was prepared for.

00000

Luna had navigated her way through the marble halls of the Louvre with ease. She turned right at the Ancient Egypt exhibit, just as Hermione said, and turned into what appeared to be a ladies water closet. The large wall to floor mirror rested between a rather gaudy arch way and Luna stepped through her reflection with the mild unease she felt each year at Platform 9 and 3/4. Or the trick step on the third floor staircase.

Still, her inquires had met with standard paperwork applications, she had been handed a number and waited, just as Hermione said.

She nodded and smiled at the french wizard who took her security check and she deposited her wand with ease.

She waited around fifteen minutes, and was handed another avalanche of paperwork,

It was only as Luna finished the final sheet and approached the desk, that Harry's Patronus came.

It was extraordinary magic really. To get a message without regards to distance or definitive knowledge of her locations.

The urgency in his voice betrayed the official Ministry diatribe.

"Luna Lovegood, you've been linked to an address at 4 rue aux Ours, please return to address for Ministry confirmation."

Luna's dazed look was interpreted by confusion, and the older wizard, long brown curly hair and shiny new robes, assured her this was standard bureaucracy between the two nations, and if she would wait, he could find a member of the Auror personell to assist her.

The french accent truly was to die for. Luna nodded and handed him her paper work with a grateful smile.

As he walked away, Luna dashed out, through the ladies room, and took shelter behind a cabinet of disintegrating papyri, texting Hermione all the while.

00000

The Malfoi libraries were not as elaborate as those of the Manor, and they'd been neglected from the 17th century onwards. They housed nothing worth reading and still Severus retreated behind the wall of texts with a familiarity that hung in the air of the dusty room, and seeped through the dark oak paneling. Still nothing about the overly elaborate space or the pure blood pomposity matched the feeling of a room set aside purely for reading.

He felt less guilty, opening the research journal amidst the other magical tome, and still Severus could only marvel at the words in front of him, and he had to don his reading glasses before he truly appreciated their meaning.

Did Albus Dumbledore play chess?

And do you remember his dealings with Skeeter? What did he talk about, the year of the twi-wizard tournament?

They were not the questions he was expecting, and Severus retreated to the fireplace, retrieved his bottle of firewhiskey, and picked up one of Narcissa's, or rather her house elves', delectable ham and pickle sandwiches.

Granger was insane. Completely and utterly mad. He had truly thrown his lot back into the fray of the Gryffindors and their never ending questions.

0000

Hermione received Luna's text at the precise moment a recognizable script crawled across the diary.

"This journal is a means of transmitting research notes only, Kindly desist from using it as an adolescent diary of your own rambling questions."

Hermione smiled, as she texted Luna instructions, before slowly putting the diary away.

She got of at Gare Du Nord, and texted the platform number to Dennis.

For a moment she was any other muggle, off from a long journey, woken from the sleep of reading, the slumber of turned pages and hurling windows and the quiet of the crowd. She didn't need any other thought to explain her smile and perhaps it was the lull of safety that let her ignore the lack of Dennis' usually prompt reply. She waited at the platform, and in her daze, mindlessly ran the muggle biro through her fingers. Perhaps it was time someone provoked Severus Snape for a change, and rid the insufferable man of the habit.