Orbit

It had been three weeks since Hermione had sat on the little desk that stood by her bed. The snow coating the grounds of Hogwarts was ripped off the ground by furious winds, and only a few hours were left before classes resumed again after Christmas break. Hermione had developed a new habit of waking up at odd hours of the morning. She didn’t have nightmares. She didn’t have dreams either. Her eyes opened, and a few seconds later came the overwhelming emptiness. She had hoped coming back to the castle would help, but this morning had proven her otherwise.

Something had been ripped out of her. Something so large that it had left her hollow. She had interrogated every snowflake that had passed by her window, and questioned her about the dull skies, but to no avail. Ron and Lavender were still an item, but she simply could not remember what it felt like to burn inside every time they kissed. To hate the sight of them two so much she used to lose sleep over it. How she wished to go back and steal those hours.

Hermione grabbed her most precious roll of parchment. It was on that one that she took all of her extracurricular notes on the history of magic. Perhaps filling her mind back with information would make her less empty. She caressed the paper with her fingertips, tracing along every word she had written. She didn’t need to do that to follow her notes, of course. No, she just gained s certain enjoyment from imagining just how long the trail of ink would go, would it not be limited by the confounds of a roll.

Her finger stopped.

Hermione frowned. Between two lines, in the one inch margin she always left bank for clarity purposes stood a name. While handwriting was much neater than the rest of her notes, there was no doubt in her mind that she had been the one to write it.

Circe?

What could Circe, a witch having lived thousands of years ago ago possibly have to do with the Scottish mandragora drought from the 14th century? Most importantly, why could she not recall having ever written the name?

Finally, she had found something to do. A shiver travelled down her spine. She hadn’t felt the urge to do anything in weeks. This was as good as it was going to get. She grabbed her bag and exited the room making sure to not disturb her roommates. They deserved the hours of sleep that had been taken away from her after all.

Luckily for her, Ms. Pince, the school librarian, enjoyed the quietness of mornings more than anyone else in the castles. It was in Hermione’s earliest years at Hogwarts that she had figured out asking Pince any services or questions had a far higher success rate if executed before noon.

Curfew had just been lifted, and Hermione didn’t cross paths with anyone asides from the Hufflepuff quidditch team, who had apparently decided to brave the tempest that awaited them outside. Even the magic staircases seemed to be on her side, aligning perfectly in front of her. She smiled to herself. Being back home did make her feel a little more alive.

“Hermione! Didn’t expect to see you so soon. How was you break?” Ms. Pince asked, her voice almost chanting the words as she spoke them.

“Good day Ms. Pince! My break was uneventful to say the least. I have to admit I am gladI get to have access to this wonderful library again!”

“Oh Hermione, you know just the words to make this old lady happy!”

Hermione’s smiled didn’t drop as her feet led her instinctively to the “notorious witches and wizards through history” section of the library. She took out her wand a casted a conjuring spell. A rather large, leather bound book floated down from on of the highest shelves before landing in her hands. The library had a way of always knowing which book was most adequate to the spell caster’s request.

INFLUENCIAL WITCHES, VOLUME 1– 2000BC-500AD

An early breakfast accompanied with a new book to read sounded like heaven to Hermione’s ears. She’d sit in the great hall, engrossed by the pages coated with ink she had never travelled to while the tables would progressively fill up until eventually, a few minutes before class, A sleepy Ron and an anxious Harry would bring her company.

“Are you sure you want to lend this book?” Ms. Pince questionned her as Hermione handed her the volume.

“Yes, is there a problem with it? If the cover is fragile, I do not mind reading it here.”

“No, it isn’t that dear.” Pince shot her a worried look.

“Then what is it?”

“Well, you’ve told me before your desire to never read the same books twice, because of your fears of never getting to read everything you wish for.”

“Yes?”

“Hermione, you were the last person to lend this book.”

“What? Impossible!” Hermione’s eyes widened. She grabbed the copy from Pince’s hands, opening it to the third cover.

There, at the bottom of the grid was written “Hermione Granger, October 12th 1996”