Flight of the Stars

Chapter Twenty

Disclaimer: I clearly don't own Harry Potter. Anyone who thinks that is either just plain dumb, or is complimenting me way too much.

A/N: I'd recommend Black Sea by Natasha Blume and Dark Horse by Sleeping At Last.

o-0-o

Hermione yawned and stretched, settling back into her covers as a warm feeling of contentment washed over her. She smiled, fighting back another yawn, her cheeks hot as she remembered last night. Merlin, his eyes. They were so dark. And the way he'd held her...

She blinked and climbed out of bed. She would not be fantasizing over him like a schoolgirl. She had work to do.

She yawned again. Surely a cup of coffee and a quick trip to the library wouldn't hurt. They still had time to kill before the Hogwarts Express arrived to take them home for the summer, and it was only six in the morning.

The Leaving Feast had been rather delicious. Ravenclaw had won the House Cup, with Slytherin only two points behind, but Hermione didn't entirely care; she had much more important things on her mind. Plus, having been in Gryffindor for six years, it was hard to shake the disappointment of her former House losing, even though she wasn't technically a Gryffindor anymore. It had been rather difficult to get her mind out of the Gryffindor mentality and into that of Slytherin, even if she was a proud one.

It was obvious she was tired. Her mind kept wandering.

Skipping breakfast entirely, she got dressed and headed down to the kitchens, stepping inside to see a multitude of house elves hard at work. She scowled, but politely asked one of them to bring her a much-sweetened mug of coffee, and he did so happily. Hermione much preferred tea, of course, but coffee was better for waking a person up. She just drank it with cream. A lot of cream.

She sipped from her mug, wincing at the scalding bitterness as she made her way up to the library. Pushing the heavy oak doors open, she saw that it was completely deserted.

Perfect.

The library was her happy place, her refuge. Full of fascinating ideas, and stories, and histories. Books didn't judge her because of her blood status, or her bushy hair, or her overeagerness to learn. They welcomed it. She couldn't count the number of times she had slipped in here, her cheeks wet from crying, to bury herself in a thick, dusty tome in a long-forgotten corner of the library. This place felt more like home than anywhere had felt before.

Hermione drew a deep breath, shaking herself out of the deep thoughts that had occupied her mind, and browsed the shelves, running her finger along the soft, leather-bound spines. Her hand found one, and she didn't realize until she'd pulled it from the shelf that it was the exact color of his eyes. She smiled despite herself, remembering last night, but inhaled sharply and tried to clear it from her mind. Focus, Hermione.

She browsed the shelves some more until she found a title that looked interesting, and walked through the empty aisles to the back, where she usually sat with... Tom.

Who was also there. Reading.

To her complete mortification, her cheeks flooded with color, which only deepened as he looked up from his book. His eyes met hers, and he gave her a rare smile, one she scarcely saw him show. Usually his smiles were fake. It saddened her.

She took a deep breath, gathered whatever Gryffindor courage remained, and sat down next to him, positive she looked as nervous as she felt. It had never been this way around Ron, or even Viktor. Ron she had been friends with first, so they had been comfortable around each other, and with Viktor, she had never really had feelings for him. Oh, she was thrilled she'd been asked to the Yule Ball by someone who didn't just want to cheat off of her homework, and he was very sweet and caring, but for her it had never really gone further than that.