Atropos → george weasley

ix. empathy for the dark

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nine

empathy for the dark

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By the time Ottilie left for dinner, she had decided she'd much rather live in Hogwarts's library than her own dorm.

It was everything she ever wanted. Her primary school's library had been a consistent source of disappointment in her life, from the ugly, always dirty, grey-blue carpets to the faint scent of spoiled milk that lingered between the stark metal bookshelves. Not to mention, it was a primary school, so the selection of literature tended to be heavy on picture books and light on her subjects of interest.

The Hogwarts library, by contrast, was enormous, with reddish-brown wood floors that creaked beneath her feet. It was an airy room with three levels but seemed smaller due to the hundreds of cramped rows of towering shelves. Ottilie thought there had to be nearly a hundred thousand books in all.

As always in this world of magic, it was overwhelming and thrilling all at once.

When she left for the Great Hall, she was feeling slightly less disgruntled, but that state didn't last long when she remembered she had to speak to Dumbledore that evening. Not to mention she had detention after that.

After dinner, she dropped off her books in her room and then arrived outside Snape's office a few minutes past seven.

Snape answered the door seconds after she knocked. He looked down his nose at her disapprovingly. "You are late."

"At least I'm here," she muttered at his back while he closed his office door.

Snape moved briskly through the dungeons, and Ottilie had to alternate between running and walking in order to keep up with him. She was a bit out of breath by the time they climbed up to the third floor. With a glance over her shoulder at the forbidden corridor, she followed Snape as he turned to walk down the one opposite.

She had to bite her tongue to stop herself from asking Snape why it was forbidden, even though she wanted to know desperately.

They turned another corner at the end of the corridor, and Snape stopped walking when they reached an ugly stone gargoyle perched inside an enclave in the wall.

"Chocolate cauldrons," said Snape authoritatively to the gargoyle. Ottilie laughed in astonishment as the gargoyle responded by coming to life and jumping to the side. Behind it, the wall split apart to reveal a spiral staircase.

They climbed until the stairs ended at an oak door. Snape gave it a couple of decisive knocks, and, seconds later, the door seemed to open on its own. Without so much as another word, Snape walked into the room. Ottilie followed a few steps behind so she could get a good look at the office.

It was far nicer than Snape's, that was to be certain.

Firstly, it was twice as big and, secondly, it was much brighter and airier. It was circular and lining all of the walls were shelves of books, odd instruments, and objects with unrecognizable identities. Soft whirring and ticking sounds drifted to her from unidentified sources.

Above the shelves were dozens of portraits of elderly witches and wizards, some peering at her curiously and others sleeping. At the back of the room, behind Dumbledore's desk, was a portrait of Armando Dippet, whose name Ottilie recognized as Hogwarts's headmaster before Dumbledore.

Snape had gone straight to Dumbledore's desk, upon which still more strange gadgets lay. Professor Dumbledore himself was sitting behind the desk wearing his purple robes and half-moon glasses low on the bridge of his nose.