Part III
Harry and Hermione wished Ron well before he left to take the train back to London. Molly had called her children home for the holiday, but Hermione has respectfully declined the invitation she'd been extended. It took little more than mentioning how busy and trying the term had been for Molly to reply with instructions for her to rest up over the break and promises of a tin of biscuits.
Harry chose to stay behind as well, mainly, Hermione thought, so she wouldn't be alone. He also received explicit instructions to rest up during the break and had gotten his own promise of biscuits.
Hermione didn't plan to 'rest up'. Ares had told her to get a specific book, a book she knew to be in the Restricted Section. She recognized a challenge when she saw one. Thankfully, Harry didn't seem all that interested in why she wanted to borrow his cloak, likely assuming she was just going to spend a late night in the library. His assumptions would be partially correct, at least.
Her next task was the room. Ares told her how to get to it and how to use it. She passed the wall three times. A door appeared for her on her first try. Ares was impressed.
Well, aren't you a powerful little thing? he'd written. Next the salt circle. Then the spell. Hopefully the room is as clever as it seems and we only need to do this once or twice before it does it for us.
He still wouldn't quite tell her what 'it' was, but she made her salt circle and cast the charm. He had to draw the rune she needed to make in the center of the circle several times before she got it right. Then she set the journal down, pages open, atop the salt rune. Ares realized she was hesitating with the witchlight.
It won't burn, he promised. Magic is about intent. Your witchlight won't burn the diary unless you will it to.
It didn't burn, but the second part of the spell was hard. She struggled for twenty minutes before she got annoyed.
Am I doing something wrong? she asked him.
No, Dove. Keep trying. You nearly had it a moment ago. Be patient, it hasn't even been ten minutes.
Reminding her of the time difference helped her refocus. Her failure was wasting more of her time than his.
She closed her eyes and tried again. Vinculo iungantur…vinculo iungantur…
"Oh, you're a treat, little Dove," he said with a low chuckle. "Well done."
She jumped, wide eyes springing open and landing on the fifth year boy a meter or so in front of her, sat exactly as she was within his own salt circle. His journal, a pristine version of hers, was encased in its own ball of blue flames. The azure glow made his eyes —eyes she was certain were already blue under the witchlight— glow like sapphires and illuminated the rest of his smirking face.
His very pretty smirking face.
Very, very pretty.
Prettier than Lockhart's, even.
"Hello," she murmured shyly.
The pretty smirk widened and his eyes glinted like the silver and emerald prefect badge on his robes.
"Hello, Dove."