Chapter Text
The sound of a pair of shoes against marble floor echoed loudly as Hermione Granger walked up the stairs to the fourth floor of the Senate House, where the Senate House Library of University of London was located. Glancing at her silver wristwatch without slowing down, the young woman inwardly groaned in frustration. It was two minutes to half past seven, which meant that she was going to be late for her appointment at seven thirty – an appointment with her new supervisor on her first day of work. Perfect, she berated herself, what a great impression you’d make, Granger.
Despite the morning’s low temperature, Hermione felt beads of sweat dampening her forehead and she wiped them hastily. The brunette took a deep breath as she willed herself to not think about worst case scenarios playing in her head about being jobless for the summer. Shut it! she admonished herself when a hint of worry stubbornly clung to her, gnawing at the corner of her mind.
The twenty-year-old needed the job badly, especially now that she had told her parents she was going to work for her pocket money. Her parents had been supportive on her decision and Hermione’s pride was too high to swallow back what she had said. She was going to get the job no matter what—and she wasn’t above begging if she had to.
Hermione was very discipline and punctual as a habit; she was almost never late. And to her defence, this time it wasn’t her fault if she was late. She had left earlier than usual to catch the tube, having anticipated the morning rush and the possibility of having to wait for a later train since it was a Monday. Actually, there was a bus going straight to the Senate House from the stop across her apartment; however, if you had lived in London long enough, you would know how horrendous morning traffic was. She wasn’t taking any chances.
Of course, shit happened at the worst time ever. The klutz standing next to her accidentally spilt his coffee all over her white blouse, causing her to have to run back home and change. It was sheer luck that she got back in time to catch the train, just a split second before the doors slid shut.
Arriving at her destination a little past seven, she had to waste a precious quarter of an hour looking for a security guard—honestly, they should have employed better people; this was the Senate House, for crying out loud!—and another couple of minutes to show him her student ID and explain why she had to go to the library an hour and a half earlier than its opening hours. The bulky security guard wrote her name down in the guestbook in excruciatingly slow motion before directing her to a nearby lift, telling her that she should go straight to the fourth floor. She had only started to feel relieved when suddenly the lift decided to stop—on the third floor. She pressed the ‘4’ button over and over again but the damned thing didn’t move; it stuck. Panicked, she got off the lift and looked around, hoping to find someone she could ask about it. Alas, there was nobody around. The young woman was about to head back down to enquire the guard about the lift and if there was another access to the library when her peripheral vision caught a big sign with an arrow pointing next to marble staircase; a big “Senate House Library” was written underneath the arrow.
When she reached the top of the stairs, Hermione let out an audible sigh of relief to see that it took her only less than one minute to ran up the stairs. The brunette took a moment to control her erratic breathing in order not to sound like she was having an asthma attack, glance at her clothes to see if anything was out of place, then wiped away the sweat that clung to the skin on her forehead with the back of her hand. Taking a deep breath and counting to ten with her eyes closed, Hermione clasped her hand on the steel handle of the door and pulled it open.
Upon stepping inside the library, Hermione’s eyes were greeted by the sight she loved the most – books; hundreds—no, thousands of them all stored neatly in rows of shelves so tall they reached the ceilings on her right and left. She looked up and her eyes went wide to see a narrow passageway on either side of the upper part of the library, also filled with ceiling-high bookshelves. The middle section of the library was void of shelves, but not less impressive; there were rows of communal desks for people to study, complete with old-fashioned reading lamps attached to them. Hermione had been to a lot of libraries before, but she decided that this was, by far, the best she had seen.
The place was empty since it wasn’t open yet but the lack of people was oddly comforting instead of giving her the creeps. Hermione was always at home being surrounded with books and no one else. Well, almost no one.
“Hermione Granger, isn’t it?”
A woman’s voice broke her out of her reverie and Hermione gasped in surprise even though it was not loud. She spun around to the source of the voice, so quickly she nearly tripped on her own feet.
“A little jumpy, aren’t we? Careful there—wouldn’t want you to break your neck on the first day,” commented the woman lightly; there was a smirk on her face.
The young woman couldn’t help but blush at the comment; she was embarrassed of having made the fool out of herself. Great impression, Hermione Granger, great impression, she thought admonishingly. As she straightened up and did her best not to look too awkward, Hermione looked up to see her to-be supervisor. Her mouth went dry.
The woman in front of her was... stunning, for lack of better word. Totally different from what she pictured what her supervisor would be. “Thank you,” she mumbled out of context, and instantly smacking herself for acting like a stupid dork. Thank you? Thank you? Can you be any more awkward?
The woman raised an eyebrow at the out of place reply but she didn’t address it. Without missing a beat and deciding that she needed to get to business, the woman introduced herself, “I’m Bellatrix Black, the Head Librarian here.” She didn’t offer a handshake to the new apprentice but instead motioning for Hermione to follow her with a gesture of her hand. “If you please follow me, Miss Granger, I’d like to explain a little about our ground rules.”
It took Hermione a blink to understand what the woman was asking of her as she was too transfixed at the woman—Ms. Black—figure as the other woman turned around and started walking. As if she had been put under a spell, Hermione’s feet started moving without the owner realising it; her brown eyes stared unwaveringly at the hips swaying quite provocatively in front of her.
Even though not wanting to go there, Hermione couldn’t help thinking that Bellatrix Black was a very attractive woman – and she was sure every creature with eyes would agree on that. The woman had to be older than Hermione—well, duh! And Hermione thought that she was probably in her mid to late forties. And just like fine wine, Ms. Black seemed to be better as she aged. This woman had this aura that screamed confidence and Hermione would bet her arms and legs that the older woman had no trouble at all getting whomever she wanted regardless of sex and sexual orientation to fall for her.
From the look of it, Ms. Black was shorter than Hermione by a few centimetres – the high heels were quite deceiving, though, so the brunette wasn’t sure. The older woman had pale alabaster skin which gave an impression of its never being touched by the sun. The skin was in complete contrast with the beautiful jet black hair the woman had; it was tied up in such manner that looked as if it was done half-heartedly but somehow looked very elegant. The hair was curly – so curly to the point that Hermione thought the treatment of such hair could only be done by magic.
Ms. Black was wearing a blood red blouse under her black blazer and a knee-length pencil skirt, holding the woman’s shape so snugly Hermione suspected the offensive material’s purpose was to show rather than cover. Hermione swallowed hard, brown eyes were still transfixed on the curves of the older woman’s body. A part of herself told her that if she weren’t into the fairer sex she wouldn’t be staring like that; another part told her that no women, straight or not, would pass the chance to ogle this kind of sight. Simply put, Ms. Bellatrix Black was everything that a librarian was... not.
The brown-eyed woman was never one to fall to a certain stereotype of how someone of a certain profession should look like, but she was not going to deny that sometimes the stereotypes were true. Take the librarians she knew personally, for instance. Some of them were fairly well-dressed, but there were some who looked like they went to work in a potato sack. Her thoughts drifted to the old Mrs. Drussels, her secondary school librarian, and that ancient flowery dress of hers. She suppressed a smile and shook her head at the thought.
“And what is it that you don’t understand?” Bellatrix sharply asked her apprentice. They had stopped in front of a big wooden counter and she was now facing the younger woman.
Hermione’s head snapped up to meet a dark gaze looking at her impatiently. She was confused for a second before it dawned to her that she hadn’t been listening to a single word her supervisor had said.
The head librarian’s eyes flared in disapproval as she recognised the puzzled look directed at her. Her posture was stiff now and she pursed her lips into a thin line. She made a clicking annoyed sound with her tongue. “I believe you haven’t been listening to me, Miss Granger,” she stated the obvious with such coldness that made Hermione shiver. “But since today is your first day, I’m going to consider it a first day jittery and will not mention anything about it. Please put in mind, though, Miss Granger, that I won’t have my assistant working with their heads in the cloud, do you understand me?”
“Yes, Ms. Black; I’m sorry – won’t happen again,” replied Hermione apologetically. She blushed again at the harsh words.
“We’ll see about that,” responded the librarian coolly. She fixed her gaze at the squirming young woman for a second longer before looking away, slightly annoyed. She had been made to deal with brainless, incompetent part-timers (every year was worse than the previous) every summer since she started working with the library; this year she told the boards that she was going to review the applicants’ files herself because she was fed up to put up with yet another spoilt brat for three months. She had chosen this young woman before her herself based on her resume and flying-coloured references written by her previous employers; maybe Bellatrix had decided too quickly.
“Sit down, Miss Granger,” she ordered, pointing at a high stool nearby. She reached over the desk and grabbed a piece of paper then handed it to Hermione. “Here are the written rules of what I tediously explained to you before,” Bellatrix spoke still in a cold tone, “read it.”
Taking the paper from the woman’s slender hand, Hermione started to read immediately. It was very basic rules, nothing Hermione hadn’t known before, so she only scanned the important points of them. What interested her more was the way the notes were written. She had expected printed rules; instead the paper she was holding was neatly handwritten. The strokes of every letter were slightly curvy but firm and precise; no ‘i’ was left un-dotted and no ‘t’ was left un-crossed. Clearly the person who wrote it was meticulous. It didn’t take long for Hermione to assume that it was the dark woman’s handwriting.
“Any questions?”
Hermione shook her head. “No, Ma’am,” she responded readily, trying to change the negative image in her boss’ mind, if any. Her answer seemed to aggravate her boss as it earned her another clicking of the tongue.
“Don’t ‘ma’am’ me, Miss Granger, I am not the queen of England,” Bellatrix reproached flatly.
A confused look crossed the apprentice’s face; unsure whether to take it seriously or if the librarian was trying to lighten her nervousness. She shook her head again. “I’m sorry, Ms. Black.”
“And none of that, either,” the older woman cut off, “If we’re to work together, I won’t have you walking around addressing me like I’m my mother. I told you my name is Bellatrix, and thus you should call me.”
Fearing that she would make yet another wrong move, Hermione only nodded.
“There are four main desks on this floor: Membership Desk which is located outside on the hall, Enquiry Desk by the door, Return Desk on the South Block, and this one, the Circulation Desk,” Bellatrix then proceeded telling Hermione about her daily job descriptions, including checking their online library service and inspecting for damage on the books before and after people borrow them. “We usually have someone to take the uncollected books back to their respective shelves, but since it is summer holiday and the library won’t be as busy, it will be your additional job as well. Now, do you think that is too much or can you handle it fine?” she asked in the most condescending tone Hermione had ever heard in a person.
Hermione smiled at this, relieved that they reverted to the topic she was familiar with. “It’s fine, Ms. Bla–.. Bellatrix,” she answered, stumbling on the name as the boss raised an eyebrow at her. She cringed as she was not used to calling people she just knew (especially her supervisors) using their first names. Weird as it was, Hermione couldn’t help but admit that she like the sound of the older woman’s name on her tongue. Wait, what?
“Good,” Bellatrix responded quickly. She paused for a moment before adding, “Miss Granger, this is not a child’s play so I hope that you will inform me as soon as you find the task overwhelming. I will not judge if you decide that you can’t handle it.”
“I’m fine,” repeated Hermione confidently. This was not her first time working in a library and she knew what to do. Somehow the doubt in Bellatrix’s tone made her want to prove the librarian wrong.
The dark woman kept stared at Hermione for a while before nodding. “Then I don’t see why we can’t work well together,” she remarked. Holding out her hand to her subordinate, she said in a warm tone that Hermione hadn’t heard before, “Welcome to the Senate House Library, Miss Granger.”
Hermione took the pale hand offered to her and shook it, feeling the softness and coolness of the other woman’s skin. “Thank you. And please, call me Hermione.”
The warmth Hermione saw momentarily in the older woman’s dark eyes was gone in an instant. “Miss Granger,” Bellatrix repeated her own words, not so subtly telling Hermione that Bellatrix wouldn’t be dictated.
It was as if Hermione was slapped. Her cheeks reddened again, embarrassed at her own boldness and the heartless rejection from the other woman. It was wondrous, she thought, how Bellatrix could establish a distance between them in two words only – reminding Hermione on her place as a subordinate rather than an equal colleague.
Before she could do anything to safe herself from further embarrassment, a movement at the far corner of the library caught her attention. She turned her head to the direction of the library entrance, the one she used earlier, and saw someone get in.
There across the room was a tall and slightly thin woman. The figure wasn’t that attention catching but for the hair as it was... pink. Bright pink. The said woman was wearing a very casual outfit—a denim jacket on top of a faded yellow tee, and a pair of jeans which was torn in several places. Hermione was rendered speechless.
“That’s my other assistant, Nymphadora Tonks,” informed Bellatrix; she was amused to see the new girl’s expression but maintain a straight face. “She is a little bit eccentric but very efficient. I don’t suggest you follow her dress code, though, Miss Granger. One artist is more than enough in a library.”
“Yo, Bells!” the woman greeted Bellatrix as she advanced at them. When she was close enough, Hermione noticed that the woman was only a few years older than she was – probably in her mid twenties or slightly older.
“Good morning, Dora,” the supervisor greeted back, smiling at her assistant. Dora had been Bellatrix’s assistant since the younger woman was still a student in UL and they were good colleagues. “You’re early.”
Hermione glanced at the large clock on the wall. It was half past eight – wasn’t the staff supposed to come earlier?
“My boyfriend snored,” the pink-haired woman grumbled casually. She looked at Hermione. “You’re the new girl? I’m Dora Tonks. Feel free not to call me Nymphadora,” she said.
“This is Hermione Granger, Dora. She will be working with you,” Bellatrix told the other woman.
At this point Hermione didn’t know if she should tell Miss Tonks to call her Hermione or not; she didn’t want to repeat the same mistake. She opted to do what her parents always taught her to do instead. “How do you do?”
Dora stared at Hermione for a second before glancing at Bellatrix, exchanging an is-she-for-real look with the older woman, who had to grit her teeth so as not to laugh.
“Oh, lighten up a bit, Hermione, you sound like my grandmother!” Dora openly laughed, patting the young woman on her shoulder.
It was a small but friendly gesture and Hermione felt instantly at ease. Her shoulders relaxed and not until then did she realise how tense she had been previously. Nymphadora Tonks had this charm to make people feel relaxed; something that couldn’t be said about Bellatrix Black.
After another few casual banters as well as job-related talk between the two older librarians, Bellatrix left for her office, which was located on the seventh floor next to the archive room.
Without being able to stop herself, Hermione’s eyes followed Bellatrix’s form as the dark woman walked away. A part of her was glad that she was now out of the prying dark eyes but the other part was a little disappointed to know that Bellatrix was not going to be working with them. Hermione had this weird urge to prove herself to the head librarian and how would she do that if the person was not going to see her work?
“She’s not scary as she looks, promise,” the pink haired woman said, “You’ll see.”
The young woman forced a smile. “Yes,” she whispered, throwing another fleeting look at retreating Belatrix before following Dora to their post and focusing herself on the woman’s explanation. Yes, I’ll see.
The rest of her first day went smoothly afterward; she was introduced to the rest of the staff but didn’t really have the chance to talk to them much because she had a lot to process into her brain. She didn’t see her supervisor again that day. She found it strange that the older woman didn’t even come to check her work but she kept it to herself. When she clocked out that evening, Hermione felt so exhausted that she couldn’t think. The work itself wasn’t tiring physically so it had to be all the excitement of adjusting to a new workplace and also due to the nervousness she had had this morning.
By the time Hermione climbed into her bed, she had no energy left to think. It didn’t take long for her to fall asleep.