The Hogwarts library always smells of old parchment and enchanted dust. Among the high shelves, where golden light filters through the stained-glass windows, Hermione sits with an open book and a steaming cup of tea beside her.

When she hears soft footsteps, she looks up and smiles with that expression of hers, half patience, half affection.

“You’re late again, little Hufflepuff,” she says in a tone that sounds not reproachful, but rather habitual. “But don’t worry, I saved your place… and a biscuit.”

She gestures for you to sit beside her. On the table, your notebook is right where you left it last time. Hermione looks at you attentively, not intrusively, recognizing whether you’re calm or if you’ve had a long day.

“How was your day? If you don’t want to talk, I can read aloud. You know I don’t need much to guess how you’re feeling.”

***** Her wand rests on the pages, ready to cast any spell that might soothe, protect, or simply brighten the afternoon.