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Hermione shows up at the entrance of Hogwarts on a cool, sunny morning in early June. You know the library better than nearly anyone, Professor McGonagall had written in her letter. The library would surely benefit from your help.
Harry and Ron have begun their Auror training and thus have no extra time to spare. Ginny is consumed by Quidditch, preparing for a training camp with the Holyhead Harpies in July. Luna is spending her summer travelling through southeastern Europe with Neville, searching for rare creatures and plants. And so as she makes the long walk from the gate to the castle, Hermione starts making mental notes on how exactly she’s going to tackle the massive undertaking that is repairing the Hogwarts library.
McGonagall meets her at the doors. “Welcome back, Miss Granger. I’m pleased you accepted my offer for the summer.”
Despite planning to come back to Hogwarts to redo her seventh year, Hermione had been unsure what to do in the meantime. She’d flown to Australia for a week, not long after the Battle of Hogwarts, but after consulting with multiple Healers—both in England and in Australia—she had determined it would be better not to attempt to restore her parents’ memories. They had already been severely affected by the trauma of her Obliviation; reversing it could be their undoing. And so Hermione had returned to England, devastated but absolved by the knowledge that her parents were happy. McGonagall’s request for her to return to Hogwarts early was an opportunity for Hermione, a sense of direction when she was a compass spinning in every direction, no True North to be found.
“I was pleased to accept it, Professor,” Hermione replies as they walk towards where she will be staying.
“You’ll be on the fifth floor,” the Transfiguration professor says. “Despite the damage done to the castle, it is still very large and remarkably resilient. Many parts of Hogwarts are already repaired. The fifth floor is one such area, particularly as minimal damage was done there.”
They arrive at Hermione’s door. “Thank you, Professor,” she says.
“Don’t even mention it.” McGonagall’s tone is firm, but not unkind. “You have done more for a world you’ve known for less than half of your lifetime than many would even if they lived for two hundred years. I will leave you to settle in, and you may begin your work tomorrow.”
───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────
In the morning, Hermione is eager to get a feel for what she will be working with. She dresses quickly, and after a quick breakfast, she heads to the first floor to the space that had been her haven during school.
She stops at the entrance. She stares and stares and stares.
One of the large doors has been blasted off its hinges, lying in pieces on the ground. Bits of glass are littered among the wood, remnants of the ancient stained glass windows. Inside, books are strewn everywhere. Shelves are tipped on their sides. Charring mars the wood, and the faint smell of smoke still lingers. A layer of ash and soot covers the entire floor. Chairs have been thrown about, some whole, some smashed to pieces against the walls where they lay.
All at once, the grief strikes her, and she sinks to her knees. She hisses as she hits the floor, tiny pieces of debris stabbing her like needles.
“Careful,” someone says.
Hermione looks up, and she’s surprised to see Percy Weasley walking toward her from wherever he had been in the library. He looks tired, dark circles shadowing his eyes and dust covering his clothing.
“Are you all right? There’s glass everywhere.” He stretches his hand out, and she takes it, standing up and brushing herself off.
“Thank you. I suppose I was just… overwhelmed by it all,” she offers. “Perhaps I should have expected something like this, but seeing it…” She shakes her head. “Are you here to help with the restoration, too?”
Percy nods. “Arrived about an hour ago. I’ve started with cleaning the floor. Nothing will stay clean if we don’t get rid of all this ash.”
“Well,” Hermione replies, “I suppose I’d better get started, then. I can start on the opposite side you’re on.”
“Yes, that sounds good. We can meet back up in a few hours, then, to report progress?”
She hums affirmatively. “Noon, say? And Percy,” she adds as he begins to walk back to his spot. He turns, eyebrows raised in question. “It’s lovely to see you.”
His lips turn up into a quick smile. “It’s good to see you, too.”
───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────
The days stretch on as Hermione and Percy slowly clean up the library. Much of the cleaning must be done by hand in order to preserve the integrity of the surviving texts, and so the pair spend multiple days on each small section and row. They had been cautioned against using Evanesco due to the risk of Vanishing something they didn’t mean to, so brooms are enchanted to sweep tight areas of the library, while the former Gryffindors do more sweeping themselves. Hermione feels a pang in her chest every time she sweeps up the remains of what clearly had been a book.
After the floor is cleared of ash and debris, they begin righting the shelves and tables. Surviving books and scrolls are stacked to the side as the pair come across them.
As time passes, Hermione slowly coaxes Percy to open up more. He is stiff and formal at first, unsure how to act around the woman who has become an honorary daughter to his parents over the years, while he has simultaneously grown further apart from his family. But he relaxes, responding to Hermione’s attempts at conversation with short answers that turn into longer stories and memories from when he and his siblings were young. As the library progresses, so too does their friendship, and Hermione finds that while she enjoys the mundane conversations, she enjoys their intellectual ones the best.
They’re discussing Arithmancy one day while separating salvageable books into piles. “They use quite different formulas in curse-breaking compared to those regularly used in numerology. In fact, numerology was once only studied in Divination if one had taken Arithmancy before,” she’s saying.
“Oh, yes.” Percy places another book on the save pile. “I remember reading something about it in Hogwarts: A History.”
Hermione pauses. “You’ve read it?” she asks after a moment.
“Of course. Multiple times, even.”
Her mouth drops.
───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────
The wall damage is the most difficult part of the repair process. “McGonagall told me we’ll have to build by hand,” Hermione says. It’s nearly August now, and not even the extensive Cooling Charms can stave off the heat. “The materials will settle better and be stronger long-term, and they’ll hold the reinforcement spells better as well.”
“So no magic,” Percy says slowly. Sweat drips down his forehead, and he pulls out a handkerchief to wipe it off. He pushes his glasses back up his nose.
Hermione watches the movement, momentarily distracted. She shakes her head, realising she’s staring. “No magic,” she confirms.
She can already see the gears turning in Percy’s head, trying to figure out how exactly they were going to accomplish this.
“It won’t be just us!” she assures quickly. “There’s a team arriving today that specialises in construction and architecture that will be doing most of the work. We’re just assisting.”
“I see.” His expression changes from one of concern to understanding. “Well, I suppose that will be all right.”
Hermione lets out a breath. “They won’t be here until nearly lunch, so we can either continue cleaning, or…” She trails off.
“Or what?”
“Or we could go for breakfast in Hogsmeade?” She glances up at Percy. “It’s a beautiful day out. We could take our time and walk.”
His lips quirk into a smile. “That sounds like a great idea.”
───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────
She finds him under a tree near the Black Lake one day after a long day of work, book propped against his knees and a quill hovering over a piece of parchment.
“Mind if I join you?” Hermione asks. She is exhausted, and she suspects Percy is, too. Even after over two months of cleaning and repairs, she will never get used to seeing the books, preserved for centuries upon centuries, turned to nothing but piles of ash.
Percy looks up. “Of course.” He turns back to his parchment.
She sits down next to him, setting her book aside. “Writing a letter?”
He grimaces. “Trying to.” He moves his arm so she can see.
Dear Mum Mother,
Please forgive the wrongs I’ve me
“Say ‘Mum’,” Hermione suggests gently. “She loves you just the same.”
He sighs. “You really think so?” he murmurs.
“I know so.” She nudges his shoulder with hers. “Just let her dote on you when the day comes.”
Percy huffs out a laugh. They sit in silence.
After a long while, Hermione slowly leans her head against Percy’s shoulder. She half expects him to pull away, but he doesn’t. Instead, his hand finds hers, linking their fingers together.
The sun sinks slowly behind them, turning the clouds a brilliant shade of orange.
───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────
The August heat beats into the library as Hermione and Percy get closer to finishing their restoration efforts. The floors are spotless, polished to a shine. The shelves have been repaired and righted, books and scrolls sorted and placed back in their rightful spots. The walls are as good as new, with no trace of damage from the war any longer. The stained glass windows sparkle in the sun, restored to their former glory.
They’ve grown closer in these long summer months. The hours often crawl by slowly, the work tedious and not especially interesting, but they keep each other company.
They’re stargazing on the grounds late one evening, watching the Perseids streak across the sky. It’s a moonless night, perfect for viewing the meteor shower.
“Like you,” Hermione remarks as they’re walking to a spot near the Astronomy tower, referring to the constellation the shower is named after.
Percy chuckles. “Indeed.”
They lay in silence for a while, admiring the meteor shower and the beautiful evening. But after some time, Hermione is restless.
“Do you ever wonder what might have happened if things had occurred differently when we were young?” she asks. “If Ron and I hadn’t become friends with Harry?”
Percy doesn’t answer right away. “Not often in that respect,” he says finally. “I must admit I’m much more preoccupied with my own past actions.” He pauses, shifting uncomfortably. “But to be frank,” he continues, “I think we’d be dead. Especially if you weren’t around to save those boys every other month.”
Hermione stifles a giggle. “We really did run into trouble quite often, didn’t we?”
“Yes,” Percy says drily, “you did. And it caused me an endless number of headaches during my last years of school.”
“For what it’s worth, I’m sorry,” Hermione says ruefully. “I never wanted to break the rules, but somehow I think I ended up breaking just about every one over the years.”
“I’ve learned over time that rules aren’t always what they’re chalked up to be,” Percy replies. “I’m still very much a rule-follower—don’t mistake that—but sometimes it’s prudent to consider whether you should follow the rules or do what is right.”
They fall silent, pondering. Hermione appreciates that the lapses in conversation never feel awkward, only companionable. Eventually, she turns her head to look at the man next to her, only to find him already looking back. She blushes, glad the darkness hides her flushed face. “I’ve been meaning to ask…” she starts. What are we? More than friends, less than lovers. “That is, I was wondering…”
“What we might be?” He finishes the question for her.
She nods, but then realises he can’t see her. She clears her throat. “Well, yes,” she says shyly.
“I know what I would like,” Percy replies, “but what would you like this to be?”
“I think…” She meets his eyes in the darkness. “I think I’d like this to be something.”
“I’d like that, too,” he murmurs.
The pair goes quiet again, watching the sky, until suddenly a bright ball of light shoots across the sky. They both sit up, pointing and marvelling and grinning at each other. When they settle back down, Hermione feels Percy nudge her hand with his own. She smiles into the stars, entwining their fingers.
───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────
They lounge next to the Black Lake, soaking up their last days at Hogwarts before school starts up again. The library is fully restored, with only the final finishing touches remaining. It’s a fine day, but it’s sweltering. Even deep in the Highlands, the sun beats down relentlessly, causing even Percy, normally not one to swim much, to be agreeable to a lake day.
They haven’t been out long, but Percy’s fair skin has reddened already from previous days of spending time on the grounds, and when he reaches Hermione’s spot under the tree and sits down next to her, she can practically feel the heat radiating from him. She rummages in her beaded bag, pulling out a green tube.
“What’s this?” Percy asks.
“A Muggle remedy for sunburn.” She giggles, shifting closer to him. “You’ve turned into somewhat of a lobster.”
Percy snorts. Hermione finds it endearing—a departure from the normally stoic and serious man he usually is. He reaches for the tube, but she pulls back slightly, shaking her head.
Her hands lift to hover near his shirt collar. “May I?” she murmurs.
“Yes.” Hands lift to her hair, winding around his fingers before they draw her even closer, cupping the back of her neck. He stops just so, lips tantalisingly close. “May I?” he echoes.
The aloe is dropped onto the blanket, forgotten.
“Yes.” She tilts her face to close the distance.