Hermione stood up, hours later, when she heard the bustle of noise around her, knowing that the castle was waking up. Slowly, she got to her feet. Long ago she had spent all of her tears, long ago had her wails died out, so that for hour upon hour all she was doing was sobbing dryly and silently, hunched over the ground, wishing upon wishes for Fred, her Fred, to come back.
Now, she stood up, her body frail, red eyes puffy from lack of sleep and from her crying, added to her disheveled feature. But, there was one thing about Hermione that nothing could change. One thing that no matter how much trauma she went though, would ever differ. And that was her need to go to the Library.
How Hermione managed to get out of the school without questioning, she didn't really know. She was in a sort of trance, she supposed, but she knew what she was doing and where she was going. Seeing him, Fred, last night in that mirror, seeing him so alive, so wonderful, so much like he had always been, had given her a wakeup call. She was determined to do the impossible. She was determined to do what everyone said was the one branch of life magic didn't cover. And she knew exactly what she needed to do.
Hermione turned down a corner, into a dusty side street. Knockturn Alley. She turned again, and found herself in the one section of Knockturn Alley that not even the most brutal witches or wizards dared to go. She wondered if even Voldemort had ventured down this path. He probably did.
She walked slowly now, her heart beating frantically with fear… and excitement. It was a quick, fleeting feeling, but it was there. It was the sort of rebellious feeling Hermione used to get when in company with Fred. It was wonderful and horrible at the same time.
Hermione then found the building she was looking for. There were one or two witches sitting around it, strange looking items in their hands; their robes ripped and dirty. She ignored them and headed to the steps that would lead her into the building. It was a musty looking place. The words LIBRARY were stuck on the top of it, but the R and Y had fallen down a long time ago, and like the many empty spots in the building where bricks used to stand, no one had bothered to replace them. Climbing the steps, Hermione found herself looking at a big brass knocker with a grotesque figure on it. She glanced at the door knob, but it seemed to be snarling, so she raised a shaky hand to the knocker instead.
As soon as her fingers brushed it, a noise only comparable but still much, much worse than that of the Golden Egg when out of water came cascading out. Instantly the watchers curled into balls, hands in their ears, or fled. But Hermione, despite the reaction to coil away as well, stood straight. She was, for once, not listening to the logical part of her brain. She was doing this for Fred. For Fred.
The wailing stopped. The door creaked open. Inside, Hermione could see row upon row of books… all of them old, bound, covered in dust or blood… and she knew she would find the answer here. She knew she was in the right place. A man was standing at the door. He grinned toothlessly at her. She felt her eyes widen and her lips tremble, but she refused to back down.
"I would like to use the Library," she said in a forced calm voice. The man let out a sharp, barking cackle. "Trying to live forever?" he questioned. Hermione could feel fear running through her, making her body cold. The more she looked at this man, the more she didn't want to. Everything about him seemed just as scary, just as awful, as death itself. In fact… the way he stood, the way he acted, smelt… it almost reminded her of Voldemort. A shiver passed through her body. She felt like leaving. Her logical self was coming back, telling her, run. Run and get back to your life. Fred is gone, there is nothing you can do about it. And for the second time that day, Hermione ignored her logical self.
"Trying to bring back the dead," she said forcefully to the man, who, with a mocking glint dancing in his eyes, let her in.
The door closed with a loud BANG, echoing around the room empty of all humans except for herself and this man. It smelt musty and something in the air reeked with Dark Magic. Hermione followed the man, who she supposed was the librarian. Briefly, Hermione wondered why more dark witches and wizards did not venture in here… it did not seem that dangerous. But then, that feel of Dark Magic in the air… The hair on the back of her neck was standing up, and there was an ever-chilling feel about her. She wanted to leave. She knew that everyone felt this way, perhaps some felt feelings worse than her… she was living in a numb sort of state, after all. She had been, ever since he had been, captured by Death.
The man lead her down an isle and she realized now that none of them were labeled. She supposed no one knew what was what or where anything was except the librarian. Hermione ran a finger along a row of books, snatching her hand back immediately as one of the books threatened to bite said finger off. She glanced nervously at the man. He laughed at her.
Scanning the books and trying to read the titles, her eye was caught on a big, redish-brown one with gold words so faded they were unreadable. Only when she had taken the books into her hands did she realized that the book was soaked in dried blood, but she knew the librarian was watching her, so, taking a deep breath, she walked carefully over to a nearby rotting table, placed the book down on it, slid into the chair threatening to break even under her underfed weight and opened the book.
She glanced back, but the librarian had walked away. She was alone. With nothing but blood-covered and biting books for company.