Thea Howell and The Boy Who Lived

Chapter 11: Detentions and Distractions

The Hogwarts library was filled with the musty scent of books and old candle wax, but it still was a world of wonder. Dust particles danced in the air by the soft glow of the flickering overhead lights. Aisles seemed to stretch endlessly. With the sound of pages accompanied by creaking shelves, adding to the ambiance. Sunlight pierced through the stained glass windows, casting colourful patterns on the carpet.

Madam Pince, with her stern face, prowled the aisles. Her shoes squeaked as she moved and the jingle of keys at her waist added to the symphony of sounds. They say if you feel her icy breath breathing down your neck to hope she doesn't catch your sneaking.

Honestly, it made each visit to the library a thrilling experience.

I parked myself at the main desk and waved over the librarian, "Thank you for letting me study as detention, Madam,"

"As if I could stop you," Her lips curled, feet tussling towards me, "I have never met anyone who wanted to study on their birthday,"

"OH? Would you rather have me freeze in the forbidden forest?" I pouted my lips, my head barely seeing over the desk wall.

Pince was unamused, "And what of the Unicorns, have you yet to apologise to them?"

My face fell flat, "Right, I forgot to do that."

"Well, don't forget about this," said Pince.

With the flick of her wrist, thirty or forty letters rained down from the ceiling like snowflakes, fluttering down around me as I stood on my chair, avoiding to spill ink on them. Green letters, blue letters, red letters, even purple letters. No doubt important... and boring.

"As this is detention, I need you to reorganise these letters in alphabetical order, stamped and labelled; and don't think you can use this to avoid class today - you leave for potions, no matter what," Madam Pince clapped her hands and 'POOF' a stamp at my desk, "And stay away from the restricted section."

"Like I could ever get in," muttered I. Pince snapped a hard glare, I gulped, "What order shall I organise these?"

Madam swished her cloak around her, hiding her feet, almost like she was floating, "Surprise me, you always do,"

Shockingly, that wasn't a compliment.

As I reached for the dusty treasure trove of letters, (tied together with golden ribbons) the stack shuffled from my grasp. The stamping process was a ritual, the castle's magic seeps into every fibre of stationary. With a steady hand, I pressed the stamp into the inkpad, then reached for the first envelope. It fluttered to the floor as I swiped, so I stomped it flat. The stack shivered as I brushed from the dust off, engraving the first letter.

"You, okay?" Said a girl.

I looked up; it was Miss Granger, her natural hair in a bun, curled edges and with big round glasses - very cute. And she was staring... intently.

"What? Did Flint draw doodles on my face again?" I asked.

Hermione shook her head and leaned over the desk, "Listen, what happened at Quidditch—"

"It's fine," I said, stamping another letter, "You had the right reasons, for Potter's sake,"

She came closer, "You saw it too?"

"Saw what?"

Her face went stiff, running around to my side, "So you won't tell?" As her foot tapped like a skittish hare.

"What would that prove? Not everyone follows the rules?" I heard Peeves snickering in the history section, "Besides, there's not much else they can do as punishment,"