Tuesday was his favourite day of the week and this abnormally sunlit Tuesday in early November had been no exception. The Hogwarts library was at its emptiest and frigid air seeped through its thick, stoney walls. Fireplaces were lit with magical flames and, intermittently, the burning wood crackled pleasantly. It was easy to secure an area without being bothered in which he could read at a relaxed pace. Days like these provided what he considered to be the perfect environment for revision.

The towering shelves that surrounded held many sentiments for him. Secluded corners gave a sense of safety and comfort. The smells from each worn tome had ample calming effects—effects he was sure somehow came from residual magic. When he unravelled an ancient scroll or laid flat a rare score, he found with just a simple touch, he would feel captivated and borderline euphoric. He frequently pondered if other students had experienced these feelings as well.

His free period before lunch was always spent in the same back corner of the History of Magic section. It had been observed long ago that no student ever willingly entered the area on a Tuesday morning. Well, except for him. He was confident the section was deserted due to Professor Binns' standing essay deadline of Friday mornings. To Binns, it mattered not whether one had his class, everything was always due on Friday. Ultimately, this meant 99% of students would procrastinate all week and begin panic-writing essays in this section on Thursday nights. He had to think that most of those assignments ended up chock-full of rubbish. Not that any of the students probably cared. And why would they? There was not any true incentive to submit one’s best work—the essays were never returned after marking. Did Binns even mark them? Could he?

‘Useless to think about it now,’ he thought to himself. History of Magic had been the first class he abandoned during sixth-year planning with his Head of House. Professor Snape seemed to support his decision of chucking Binns in the metaphorical bin since ghost-forever-stuck-in-a-loop had been the reason for his only Exceeds Expectations on his exams. Nine Outsandings and his only Exceeds was blasted History of Magic. Binns had no aptitude for sparking students’ interest in his subject, that was undeniable. Any curiosity the students may have had about magical history was completely obliterated by the ghost’s droning and literal lifelessness during his lessons. Usually, Theodore was not one to blame his failures on others, but in this particular case he did so shamelessly. How could they expect someone to do well in History of Magic when they were given absolutely nothing to work with?

With a refocusing sigh, Theodore closed his Ancient Runes textbook, rolled up his essay and debated with himself about which subject to visit next. He essentially had five to choose from, if he were to exclude his finished Runes work and the Herbology essay revision he had finished earlier that morning. Narrowing it down between Arithmancy and Charms, he hesitated. Charms was the more neglected of the two as it came fairly naturally to him, but now that he was a sixth-year, he was starting to think he should give it more attention. However, Arithmancy was due the next day, and he wanted to be sure his calculations were immaculate. After a long back-and-forth argument with himself, he finally settled on Arithmancy. The Slytherin began to pull the text from his sack when an incredibly unwelcome noise from behind the next bookshelf assaulted his ears.

SNIFF SNIFF

He scowled and his hand faltered for a moment. There was someone in his section of the library. Theodore reached for his textbook again.

The noises returned stronger this time.

SNIFFLE COUGH SNIFF

“For Salazar’s sake,” he whispered to himself. His indecisiveness had cost him precious time and the distraction-free morning he had been enjoying came to an abrupt halt. After staring at his bag for a moment, he dropped the Arithmancy text. If these noises were to continue, the only option left would be to go to lunch early before Herbology.

SNIFF SNIFFLE

Another exasperated sigh later, he slung his bag over his shoulder and slowly approached the edge of the next bookshelf. He carefully planned his movements in case there happened to be an overwhelmed younger student that needed comforting or something. Giving advice to a love-sick child or one that was being bullied was just not something for which he was equipped. Nor did he have any desire to be.

As he peeked his head around the corner, a scene—an exceedingly confusing one at that—was set before him. Instead of a young weepy child, he saw two towers of books stacked on a table. In between the stacks was what looked to be a large… owl’s nest? Who had let a bloody owl into the library? Why was it nesting here? Why hadn't he noticed it when he took his place in his corner earlier that morning? And where had the sniffling sound he had just heard come from? Too many questions swirled in his mind and he felt the beginnings of a headache. Theodore shook his head to ground himself and came to one, final conclusion: without a doubt, none of this nonsense was any of his business.

He took a couple of tentative steps forward and just as he was about to make it across to the other side of the shelves, the nest sniffled and shifted.

The Nott heir did a double take as his brain began working overtime. Whatever it was, it was decidedly not a nest for some owl in the History of Magic section. Unquestionably, there was no universe in which Madam Pince would have allowed such a thing to happen under her watch.

He studied the brown, tangled mass a moment longer. It was familiar, something he had seen before, but not in this form and certainly not as chaotic. He realised he was used to seeing it from a different angle, usually from the back. It was…

“...Granger?” he asked, mostly to himself, in disbelief. The nest sniffled again, stirred and slowly pulled itself off of the table. Theodore registered too late what was happening: that he had just found the Hermione Granger crying in the library. Surely, surely he was mistaken? But, no, there she was now looking at him with a surprised expression, her eyes red-rimmed and brimming with tears. They made eye contact and Granger seemed to get her bearings as her face shifted from stunned into one of suspicion and disdain. Her right hand moved to the pocket of her robes. Was she clutching her wand? He could not properly tell. Salazar save him, this was much worse than what he had originally imagined.

“Nott? What do you want?” her question clipped at the end with a hiccup. The aggressive use of his family name indicated she at least remembered who he was. Her glare pierced through his soul and he felt slightly fearful, not that he would ever admit such a thing. They had always operated efficiently, even cordially, when paired during a lesson, and although he had never done anything directly to her, her demeanor towards him had shifted this year. He supposed he had his father to thank for her hostility. All things considered, Albert Nott had gone around attacking teenagers in the Ministry just months before.

She looked at him expectantly. How long had they been staring at each other now? Seconds? Minutes? It was certainly crossing into socially unacceptable territory. He opened his mouth and closed it again, trying to grasp at some words to say.

“I…” he began without any idea of how to finish the sentence. Theodore glanced around as he looked for something, anything to help him out of the increasingly awkward situation. His eyes stopped on a book atop the tower to her left. A book he recognised, good.  “Are you finished with that copy of Remarkable Runes? I… need to double check something before I submit my essay…” he came up with lamely. This was going swimmingly.