Harry Potter Male Reader Insert - Book 3

Chapter 8.

1

There was no light from the gray sky when arrived these haggard early hours of Sunday. All people were inside and resting before Monday. They were shuffling about the common rooms and corridors and dungeons. An orange light washed the darkness and grayness of corridors where some were. Sometimes Filch would bark at someone without a reason. What there was to care. The man wouldn't bother them. Insane indifference in the paradise.

Their morning feed was hot and rich and whatever they could think of was there to eat as every other day before that. They were said to study but only some would do that. They weren't overseen much. They had the freedom to do all the things they could desire to do. Some would engage in acts illegal, there was no one to check and select those students and lay them arraigned. Some wouldn't think even about that. And some were impervious and didn't mind yet that tableau had not their interest possessing. But most of them under the false sky ate and drank with books and quills or nothing, speaking of matters unneeded yet so important while never was the sky outside glad, crying and gray and sunless as if it matched the facade of some king stained by the inevitable curse and then death shortly after. Not should they care so they didn't. In the afternoon there was no food left on the table and already cleaned away the dishes and only some students remained because the Great Hall was an efficient place to study. Always had been. Now there was no Ron but there were Y/N and Hermione.

"How do you like Hogwarts?" Y/N said.

She was writing an essay assigned by Snape. She was nearly done and now started the conclusion after a thorough body. Y/N's chosen not to write it.

"I like it," she said.

"What do you like about it?"

She turned her eyes to him from her parchment and rested the quill on the table. "Why do you ask?"

"You shouldn't be in a place you don't want."

"Sometimes you should."

"I'd suppose," he said and shrugged. "What do you like about it?"

"I like studying magic. We've got nice teachers. And I like the look of the castle."

"Yeah."

"What do you like about it?" she said.

"I don't know. I like that I'm not home."

"That's sad." She touched his arm.

"It's not."

"You don't like the orphanage."

"I don't like it worth far. Who does?"

"I wouldn't know. I've never been nor lived in an orphanage."

They sat in silence for some time and Hermione returned to writing. He was studying her. She was doing that thing with her brows going down whereas her eyes squinted while she was noting down on the paper. For some minutes. He became her. A quarter of an hour later the Great Hall was almost deserted and only about five people across all the four tables remained, quiet and brooding and writing or thinking or counting. The sky inside turned golden as if there was the sun itself where it shouldn't be squeezed. It was about half an hour past midday. Y/N and Hermione rested shoulder to shoulder, touching lightly. He opened his mouth and closed it a second later and reopened.

"Do you want to be mine, Hermione?" Y/N said.

"Excuse me?"

"You be mine."

"As whom?"

"As a lover."

Hermione's face gained color rose and pink and she stared ahead for some time as if under the influence of some mind control spell. She'd dreamed. The dreams told the truth. Was that all? Not wholly yet–They not wholly yet–as if she herself knew the future exuberant.