The Hollow Beneath Hogwarts

40. Escape

Sloane wasn't entirely sure when she drifted away from the others. One moment she had been standing outside Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes listening to Theo loudly accuse George Weasley of attempted murder via enchanted custard creams.

The next—

She was alone. Not lonely. Just... alone.

The boys had vanished into the Quidditch shop after Draco and Harry started debating broom models while Theo dramatically insisted he could absolutely become a professional Beater "if society appreciated genius."

Ginny and Luna disappeared into a clothing boutique after Luna became fascinated by a mannequin wearing radish-coloured winter gloves.

Hermione, Sloane thought, had wandered off toward the stationery shop muttering something about needing more quills because apparently Hermione Granger possessed the soul of an eighty-year-old academic.

So Sloane wandered quietly through the village by herself.

And honestly? She didn't mind. She was used to solitude. Most of her life had been spent learning how to entertain herself quietly while adults whispered nervously behind closed doors about protection and secrecy and danger.

Being alone had never frightened her.

Sometimes—

It was peaceful.

The little bell above the bookstore door chimed softly as Sloane stepped inside.

Warmth immediately wrapped around her. The smell hit next. Old paper. Dust. Ink. Leather bindings.

It was heaven.

Sloane visibly relaxed almost instantly.

Bookshelves stretched from floor to ceiling in narrow crooked aisles while enchanted lanterns floated overhead casting soft golden light across the shop. There was something magical about bookstores that had absolutely nothing to do with actual magic.

Safe places. Quiet places. Places where people escaped.

Sloane smiled faintly to herself as she stepped further inside.

At that exact moment—

A boy suddenly popped upright from behind the counter so quickly she nearly screamed. "Good morning," he smiled warmly.

Sloane blinked. Then laughed softly at herself. "Morning."

The boy looked a few years older than her. Tall. Brown hair falling messily into his eyes. Rolled sleeves. Ink stains on his fingers.

Cute. In a soft sort of way.

"Are you just browsing," he asked politely, "or looking for something specific?"

Sloane wandered slowly toward the counter. "Well..." she thought for a second. "I'd love some new books. Do you have a Muggle section?"

The boy's entire face lit up instantly. "Ah, a lover of Muggle literature."

"I dabble."

He pointed proudly toward one of the larger aisles. "That entire section is yours then. Any particular genre?"

Sloane considered carefully. "Victorian era mostly. Romance. Coming-of-age stories."

His eyes widened immediately in delight. "Are you an Austen fan?"

Sloane nodded. "Yes, but not my favourite."

That looked almost offensive to him.

Sloane laughed softly. "I love Louisa May Alcott."