Harry and Hermione had finally managed to find some time to themselves over the weekend. In the library, because where else would Ron Weasley never be seen willingly?
It was an odd experience, working together. Rather, they were researching different things, but stopping to point out interesting bits. Harry found what Hermione wanted to research to be quixotical, and frankly weird (she was researching transfiguration of the body, but minor stuff, like changing the length and color of your teeth).* Still, he certainly didn't want to be explaining why parts three four and five of his study session were privacy spells, and the sixth was detection spells. Hermione seemed interested enough in, well, everything - and that was nice.
He hadn't realized how lonely it had been, being alone. You didn't, not when that was normal. Not when you didn't dare let yourself picture something different. Well, he'd done so now, and he rather found he liked it.
"I think I'm almost there on Quirrel," Hermione said quietly.
"Thank you, from the bottom of my heart." Harry said just as quietly. "What worked?"
"Questions. Neverending, endless questions. And the patience to just sit there until he stutteringly answered them." Hermione said, "It's strange, at least a few times, I got the impression he had someplace to be..."
"That is a little odd, he doesn't brew Potions like Snape, or have a House like Flitwick," Harry said, frowning, "Maybe he had an assignment to craft for his upperclassmen?"
Weasley showed up, but luckily enough he'd not managed to dehex his shoes, which clinked like tap shoes on the floor of the library. Hurriedly, Harry shoved all his books towards Hermione, and made like he was making faces at her. She cracked up, less from his faces, and more from him trying to come up with hilarious faces. Not one of his specialties he had to admit.
*Harry, unlike Malfoy, is used to people coming in different sized packages. He's not actually aware that she's got an overbite.
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