Harry Potter One Shots (Vol. I)

Another Form of Communication (Hugo Weasley)

Rising to my feet, I waited as the Gryffindor stood as well. He held out the inkwell for me, offering me an apologetic smile. I took the inkwell silently, checking to make sure the lid was on properly before tucking it safely into my bag.

"I'm sorry," Weasley apologised, gesturing behind him towards a group of Gryffindors – his friends, I assumed from the way they were heckling at him to get a move on. "I didn't mean to knock into you; Mum always says I need to watch where I'm going."

He held my eyes open for a long moment as if expecting a response and Rowena, that was enough. His patient silence was enough to have my own anxiety creeping in, skyrocketing as I found myself physically able to respond. As if the words were trapped in my throat, I didn't try to speak – I just needed to get away. Knowing me well enough, Noelle and Reagan were instantly at my side, standing guard as if to defend me from him. They already started to usher me away, giving the Gryffindor a wide berth and shooting his friends an annoyed look as we walked past them.

"She's bloody rude," one of his friends murmured and I knew they were talking about me. It was obvious and Merlin I couldn't say a word to defend myself. Instead, I held on tighter to my friends and willed us to get to the safety of the Transfiguration classroom quickly.

"Arsehole!" Raegan shouted in return, completely ignoring the scandalised look she got from some of the first years who walked right past us. "Oh, grow up already." 

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One of the most impossible things to do whilst at Hogwarts was to find yourself on the good side of the librarian. The librarian, who had been working at Hogwarts for decades now, was one of the more strict and sombre members of staff, doing her best to make sure that all rules were followed by students in her domain. She ran a tight ship, often walking around the library to make sure that no students had smuggled themselves off to an abandoned corner of the library to get some privacy. Rowena knew why they were willing to risk the embarrassment of the being verbally dressed down by Pince when they could've just snuck off into one of the numerous empty classrooms that were just never used. Pince was so often having to tell students off, that she always watched us all with narrowed suspicious eyes.

But, by nothing short of a miracle, Pince liked me. At first, I'd thought that I'd been mistaken – wanting to be liked by a member of staff renowned for hating students – but then, when I saw how she addressed other students in my year, my suspicions were confirmed. I had the faint inkling that she liked me because I just didn't talk; that I followed the rules of her library and listened patiently whenever she spoke to me. In fact, she sometimes let me hang around a few minutes past curfew so I could avoid the smothering crowd on my way to the common room and even gave me a note that I could use as an excuse for being out past curfew if I was ever caught by a Professor or a Prefect. In return, I helped her by returning books that had been abandoned by students throughout the day to their rightful place. Pince was grateful for the help.

Humming quietly to myself, I pushed the trolley of books down the shelves, scanning the numbered codes on the books to find the right section. Stopping the trolley, I picked up the book – House-elf rights and Advancing Magical Britain – and returned it to the rightful space. Turning back to the trolley, I grasped the handle between dry palms and continued on my way, preparing to round the corner. Only, I stopped still – coming just short of ramming the trolley right into the Gryffindor who rounded the corner. Caught by surprise, I raised a hand to my hammering chest and taking a moment to catch my breath.

The Gryffindor – Weasley – offered me an apologetic smile that I struggled to return. Rather than lingering a moment longer, I felt that familiar anxiety creeping up my throat – being reminded of our last encounter – and I breathed out sharply. Steering the trolley around him, I hurried to continue on my way and turned into the next set of shelves. Weasley followed behind, trailing faithfully after me as I closed my eyes for a brief moment; why was he still following me?