Chapter 22

From there, it was to the back across the room, lightly tracing her hand along the top of the coffee table, made by a man in a small village in the depths of the congo from a rich dark wood.

The pile of photo albums sitting on one of the side tables beside the couch caught her attention though, and with a mischievous grin in his direction, she picked up the top one and plopped herself down on the couch, expectantly looking between the couch and Harry still leaning in the doorframe.

"You don't want to see your room or freshen up first?" Harry asked as he crossed to her.

"When there's something to learn instead?" she replied, wrinkling her nose.

"What exactly are you hoping to learn?" Harry asked, barely resisting from mentioning the library that he'd accumulated over his travels.

"All about your last five years, Harry. Where you've been, what you've done, what you've seen, the people you've talked to," her expression switch to one of mild disapproval. "You didn't honestly think that those brief letters that you've sent me, so erratically I might add, was sufficient, did you?"

"Um, no?" Harry replied.

After checking the date on the first of the album and then her watch (which Harry was unsurprised to see was set to New York time), she gave a nod.

"There should be more than enough time to get through this one before you go and make me dinner while I get unpacked," she stated.

As he settled back into the couch, Hermione shuffled closer to him and opened the album on their combined laps.

"Well, I didn't really know where I wanted to go at first, which I have no doubt that you remember, which is how I ended up beginning my journey in Europe, Bulgaria, to be precise," Harry began, pointing to a picture of he and Viktor Krum standing together in front of an iced-over quidditch pitch.

ooo00ooo

With the chicken parmigiana placed on the angel hair pasta and the mixed salad in the large bowl on the table, Harry looked up and around for his houseguest. A quick warming and stasis charm later and he headed off to find her.

"Hermione?" he called, lightly tapping on her bedroom door.

When there was no answer, he tentatively opened the door and took a quick look around. From what he could tell, she was completely unpacked, but totally absent from said room. Obviously, her curiosity had gotten the better of her and she'd wandered off to explore.

An instant grin formed on his face. There was one place in any house or building in any country or continent that Hermione was sure to gravitate to, even subconsciously. With quick steps, Harry crossed the small hall and bounded up the stairs to the second floor of his apartment.

Yep, exactly where I thought she'd be, he smiled to himself.

The library. He'd had floor to ceiling shelves installed throughout most of the room, with only a few spaces left vacant for windows and the occasional set of photos. In the centre of the room, atop the genuine Persian rug, was a set of comfy armchairs, big enough for one person to curl up in or for two to sit side by side if they didn't mind snuggling up together.

Extra small bookshelves, set back to back ran in a row near the back, leaving an aisle between it and the back shelves. An ancient desk with the wear and tear of centuries marring its top sat under the window.

Hermione, as Harry would have expected, was currently perusing the shelves, one hand lightly running over the tomes while the other arm held what looked to be at least eight volumes.

"Having fun?" he asked lightly.

Her response was so sudden and the glower on her face so pronounced that he involuntarily took a step backwards. Her empty hand balled and landed on her hip even as one foot began tapping.

"Exactly when, Harry James Potter, were you going to mention this library that you've created here?" she asked.

For a few seconds, Harry's mouth moved without a sound coming out.

"Surprise?" he eventually managed to squeak before continuing in a rush. "I had you in mind when I created this room, thought that it'd be something that you'd enjoy. There's books here from every continent and nearly every country that I've visited in the last five years."

Quickly, he crossed the room and tapped his wand against one particular bookshelf, which obediently slid forward and to the side. With an impish grin, he beckoned her to follow him.

The gasp that she let out as she entered told Harry all he needed to know.

The room was almost an identical size to the main part of his library, but where the other was open, airy and relaxing, this room was filled with rows upon rows of tall bookshelves, with nearly every one of them filled to capacity.

"This is my magical library," Harry explained. "There's books in here in languages that I can't even read, but I got them anyway. Figured it'd give me incentive to learn an extra language or two."

"If you'd told me about this, I would have come months and months ago," Hermione said as, eyes wide, she began wandering down the first aisle.

"Um, Hermione," he called before he lost sight of her, "dinner's ready."

She turned back to look pointedly at him. "You're not forgiven for keeping me from this, you know. But if you bring my dinner to me up here, I'll consider it."

Obediently, Harry turned to head down to the dining room. Now that she'd found his library, he wondered whether he'd ever be able to pry her out of it again.

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