"Alright, stop reading those Order of the Phoenix reports. Aren't you heading to Godric's Hollow tomorrow?"
Anne came out of the bathroom, her damp hair loosely tied back, and gently pulled Hermione away from the desk toward the bed.
Hermione glanced at her watch. "But it's still early to sleep, isn't it? And besides, we're going at night."
"I'm not asking you to sleep right now," Anne said matter-of-factly. "I know you're leaving at night. But I can't go with you tomorrow or the day after, the decoy plan's been canceled. Showing up in Godric's Hollow is going to draw attention; the Death Eaters are watching the place closely. I'll need to clean up the intel after you leave."
"Then, um… what should we do now?" Hermione asked, her voice a little nervous for reasons she couldn't name.
"Something I've been wanting to do for a long time, but never found the right chance," Anne replied casually, glancing around the room.
"Wait, did I leave my backpack in the living room?" she muttered, then turned to Hermione. "I'll go grab something. Hermione, get on the bed first."
Before Hermione could say anything, Anne turned and walked to the door.
"Anne?"
"I'll be right back, and don't you dare sneak another look at those reports!"
She didn't look back, just opened the door, stepped out, and closed it behind her.
Hermione stared at the closed door, then at the bed, then back at the pile of parchment on the desk.
Her ears were warm. With a small sigh, she lifted the blanket and slipped under it, lying straight and stiff on her back as she stared at the crystal chandelier above.
Was it… too bright in here?
Propping herself up on one elbow, Hermione reached for her wand on the nightstand. She raised it to dim the chandelier, but hesitated.
Still holding the wand, she lay back down, head sinking into the pillow, her cheeks flushed.
Would turning off the light make it too… obvious?
But it was really bright, and you could see everything in the room perfectly clearly.
She raised the wand again, lowered it, then finally flicked it once. The chandelier dimmed, leaving only the two small bedside lamps glowing a soft, warm gold.
The room grew cozy, almost intimate. Hermione's palms were damp where she gripped her wand. Her face felt hotter by the second.
Was it suddenly warm in here?
The door opened with a soft click. Anne came back in, carrying her backpack.
"Wow," Anne said, glancing around with amusement, "this lighting's pretty nice."
She hung her bag on the coat rack by the door and walked toward the bed.
Hermione quickly put her wand back on the nightstand and pulled the blanket up to her chin.
Anne stopped at the edge of the bed. Hermione's eyes were the only thing visible above the blanket, her fingers clutching it tightly.
Puzzled, Anne asked, "Hermione, are you cold? It's only early September—"
"I—" Hermione began, but before she could finish, Anne kicked off her slippers and climbed into bed.
Hermione instinctively scooted a little farther away.
"It's fine, just keep the blanket if you're cold," Anne said cheerfully. "I just got out of the shower; I'm not cold at all."
Settling in, Anne plumped a pillow and propped it upright behind her, leaning comfortably against it.
"Um, Anne… what exactly are you planning to do?" Hermione asked, her earlier embarrassment giving way to curiosity.
Anne picked up the book from the nightstand and held it up proudly. "Fair's fair, you read me The Tales of Beedle the Bard last time. So tonight, it's my turn to tell you a bedtime story."
Hermione blinked, then flushed scarlet.
Completely unaware of her reaction, Anne flipped the book open. "This one's my childhood favorite, The Little Prince. I never read the original French version back then, of course, I didn't understand a word of it. But now that I can speak French, and you can understand it too, it's perfect. After you read me Beedle's tales, I couldn't stop thinking about it. And today, when I passed a little bookshop in London, I saw this French edition in the window. I bought it right away. So… bedtime story time!"
Her eyes lit up as she turned the pages. "I didn't realize there were so many illustrations in the original! My old copy was almost all text. But even then, I used to imagine pictures just like these. Guess my imagination wasn't too far off."
She glanced sideways. "Still cold?"
Hermione, now leaning lightly against her, smiled. "No, I'm fine."
"Then lean on me, it's more comfortable this way." Anne shifted the pillow sideways to support them both, slipped an arm behind Hermione's shoulders, and gently drew her close.
"Have you read it before?" she asked, raising the book so both could see.
"Yes," Hermione said, tugging the blanket a bit higher and wrapping an arm around Anne's waist. "But that was the English version, when I was little."
"Then let me read you the French version," Anne said brightly. "Ready?"
"Mm-hm," Hermione murmured, smiling.
Anne began:
"When I was six years old, I once saw a magnificent picture in a book about the jungle called 'True Stories.' It showed a boa constrictor swallowing a wild animal…"
Anne's French rolled softly off her tongue, her accent slightly lilting, a bit hushed at the syllables, melodic in an oddly endearing way. It was a little unusual at first, but after a while Hermione found it mesmerizing, warm, rhythmic, and soothing.
Anne read on, the tale of the little prince and the fox.
"You are very beautiful," said the little prince.
"I am a fox," the fox replied.
"Come and play with me," the little prince suggested. "I'm so unhappy."
"I cannot play with you," said the fox. "I have not been tamed."
"Ah! I'm sorry," said the little prince…
She read every word patiently, voice lowering when the fox spoke, soft and thoughtful as if she'd stepped right into the story.
When Anne finally closed the book and set it on the nightstand, the room was quiet again.
"My favorite story," she whispered, holding Hermione close. "Nothing compares. The French version… feels magical, like it was meant to be read in French. And honestly, my favorite character isn't the little prince. It's the fox."
Hermione smiled. "Because your Patronus is a fox too?"
"I don't know…" Anne admitted, "you can't choose your Patronus, right? But maybe it's related. The first time I cast the spell and saw that tiny fox, I was so confused."
"Why?" Hermione asked, intrigued.
"Here, look." Anne lifted her wand. "Expecto Patronum!"
A silver fox, no bigger than her palm, leapt from the wand's tip. It tumbled in midair, rubbed its little nose with a paw, and floated before them, its tail flicking playfully.
Hermione giggled and reached out, trying to touch it. The fox darted forward first, circling them and wagging its tail in the air.
"It's so small," Anne said in mock disbelief. "Can something this tiny really scare off Dementors? That's my first question. The second is, do you know what 'fox' usually means to me?"
"Of course it can!" Hermione said, running her fingers through the silvery light of the fox's fur. "What does it mean to you?"
"Tricky. Deceitful," Anne said, scratching her head. "I get the 'tricky' part, maybe. But deceitful? That's just unfair."
Hermione laughed harder, reaching up to pinch Anne's cheek. "I think your Patronus is adorable. It feels clever, not deceitful."
"Clever?" Anne echoed skeptically, pointing her wand at the fox. The tiny creature flipped onto its back and kicked its short legs in protest.
"See?" Anne said indignantly. "It's small, sure, but fat! Look at those stubby legs and that round belly! All that fluff hides the truth!"
Hermione buried her face in Anne's neck, laughing helplessly. "No one else would ever talk about their Patronus like that!"
Anne waved her wand, and the silver fox shimmered and vanished.
"I've actually thought a lot about it," she said quietly, holding Hermione closer.
"Mm?" Hermione smiled against her shoulder.
"I think maybe it reflects how lazy I really am deep down. And once I accepted that, I felt better about it." She chuckled. "Still, I try not to summon it unless I have to. What if someone sees it and realizes it's not only tiny but chubby?"
That made Hermione laugh again, really laugh.
Later, when the lights were out and the room had gone dark and peaceful, the smile still lingered on her face. She nestled close, whispering, "I want more bedtime stories in the future."
Anne's voice came softly in the dark. "Deal. Whenever we get the chance… I'll tell you one."