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𝐆 𝐑 𝐘 𝐅 𝐅 𝐈 𝐍 𝐃 𝐎 𝐑 𝐕.𝐒. 𝐇 𝐔 𝐅 𝐅 𝐋 𝐄 𝐏 𝐔 𝐅 𝐅
𝐌𝐄𝐋𝐎𝐃𝐘 didn't sleep that night.
It wasn't just the sound of the thunder rumbling overhead, or the pounding of wind against the castle walls — no, it was her thoughts, seething and surging like an achromatic entropy of their own. She was lost in mazes of contemplation about the true meaning of her boggart, given the storm, and if it would always haunt her in this way — that, in turn, led to worries for Professor Lupin's health and what had been in Snape's mysterious potion.
Combined, her introspection felt about three times as loud as the storm outside, and she figured there was only one resolution:
Sneaking out.
It's not like she was going to do anything bad, per se, just something against the rules of Hogwarts castle. Regrettably, going to the library at two in the morning was frowned upon, and given the absence of an Invisibility Cloak, could put her in detention for several weeks.
Anything to solve a mystery, she decided heartily as she left the dark common room, wrapping a cardigan around her shoulders to combat the chilly corridors.
The escapade didn't take long, and she was shocked by her own talent — nobody saw her, heard her, or realized she had been up, not even Peeves, who she silently darted past in the final stretch of the fourth floor corridor.
When she reached the library, she made a beeline to her prize: the Restricted Section, her favorite area. She recalled a time when she was eight, nicking books from here almost every night in an attempt to impress her grandmother with knowledge on advanced Transfiguration. Whether it had or hadn't worked, the information would eventually come in handy — Melody doubted anyone would precede her in Transfiguration rank.
Tonight, though, she was on the hunt for only one specific title. Moste Potente Potions, a beaten leather book with unspeakable contents, lay on the bottom shelf. She leaned down, snatched it up, and tucked it into her cardigan, shuddering at the thought of what she'd have to read through to find Snape's concoction.
On her way out of the library, she caught sight of the storm outside — the windows bore no curtains, but the sky was black, unleashing its dire wrath upon the castle grounds. It was a horrifying image; Hogwarts so disrupted by the gale. She jumped at a blinding flash of lightning, and saw the Whomping Willow swaying about in the strong winds.
She'd never liked that tree, she remembered, hastening out of the library before someone saw her. When she was four, it had given her a lovely scratch across the forehead that left her looking like Harry. Thanks to Madam Pomfrey, it hadn't scarred, but her intolerance of the ugly piece of bark reigned strong.
