His footsteps echoed silently throughout the empty, darkened corridor, illuminated by the full moon shining through the high, Victorian windows. His thoughts jumbled and torn. His much too large muggle clothing felt rougher and even larger than usual, now that he was accustomed to the closer–to–his–own–sized school uniforms.
What floor was he on now? Sixth? Seventh? Not one he usually wandered in any case. Too many thoughts to allow sleep. Too worried to keep still with his thoughts. He needed a place for distraction, but seclusion, he thought as he wandered slowly past a quiet bare hallway. A place where he could be alone, but still satiate his curiosity of the castle and the wizarding world. Soon he would be back in his bare room in the oh–so–normal Number 4 Privet Drive, with his normal Aunt and Uncle, and their perfectly normal son. Doing their chores and pretending to be normal too, for their comfort of course, or face the consequences. With nothing but Hedwig as a reminder that the past two years hadn't just been a dream, that magic existed and he was served absolutely brilliant food three times a day, where he got to eat as much as he wanted, and he wasn't locked up and withheld food as punishment. If only he could take a part of the wizarding world with him, more than just Hedwig, so he could continue learning and discovering during the summer instead of just longing for his school material and other nick–nacks in his trunk that got locked into his old room – the cupboard under the stairs – throughout the summer.
He stopped and looked around, his invisibility cloak making him feel calm despite being up wandering the corridors way past curfew. It didn't feel like it mattered either way, classes were over and in just a few days they'd be on the Hogwarts' Express. A small, quick smile flickered over his face at the sight of a painting where trolls were asleep, laying in a heap and snoring softly, dressed in pink tutus'. Heaving a deep sigh he turned around, ready to explore the lower levels of the castle, when a door that had not been there before was suddenly, quietly sitting there. A heavy, rustic wooden door with a simple pull–to–open handle bar, appearing as if it had always been there.
Harry cast an eye around the corridor, as if looking for the culprit of a prank, before he took quick and quiet steps towards the door, reaching a hand outside of his cloak to grasp the handle. Cool metal against his skin, sturdy in his grasp, he took a breath before slowly pulling it open to peer inside.
Piles.
Piles upon piles of stuff. Rows upon rows of stuff. Several meters high, too deep to see where it ended, looking more like a labyrinth than neat rows and spilling out onto the shining, stone floor. The smell that wafted out of the room smelled old. Like an old house, or an attic, or a seldom used garage. A thousand different smells colliding into one, to make the smell of…. Old stuff, compressed into a cramped, static room. Stuff gleaming, or matted, fabric and metals, broken or looking brand new.
Releasing a breath he hadn't realized he was holding, he opened the door wider to take a tentative step inside. Letting the heavy door slide shut quietly behind him, harry grabbed and pulled of his cloak, stuffing the thin, water–like–silk material inside a pocket, freeing his hands and movement.
The saying 'can't see the trees for the wood'* came to mind, not even knowing where to begin looking. Letting his eyes follow the flow of the room, the high, plain walls unto a dome like ceiling, with bejeweled, dusty chandeliers bathing the messy room in soft, yellow light.
Looking back at the door he came through, he felt a trickle of panic surge through him upon realizing that the door was gone, and in it's stead, a perfectly innocent bag was hanging on a simple golden hook.
Swallowing his panic and saving it for later, he reached out and plucked down the bag. Upon contact with the skin, he could feel it humming with energy, with magic, woven into the very tread of the black, tough fabric covering the bag in a simple design with gold trimming and details. Inconspicuous and absolutely perfect – something he would have bought for himself had he found it in a store.
Could he just take it as his own? Bought in a store he would estimate the cost to at least be around 15 Galleons, yet it was hanging here in a room that felt full of abandoned and lost things – things nobody would probably miss in a room he had never seen before. If somebody came looking for it, then he could just apologize and hand it over – but if nobody said anything, then, well, it was perfectly fine for Harry to lay claim on it. Can't let things just go to waste when in perfect condition now can we? Surely better if it came to use, and Harry had a feeling it would prove immensely useful.
Decision made, he threw it over his head, hanging it securely on one shoulder and across his chest, resting on his right hip for easy access. Moving a bit to get a feeling for this new article on his person, it felt good, like a part of him now. Not in the way of his right arms movement and bulky, instead it's weight gave a feeling of safety. Perhaps this is how Hermione feels when carrying around her books? A feeling of safety in the easy access of things you hold dear? In Hermione's case it's the access to knowledge, her constant companion and escape from a lonely childhood. In Harry's case it would be the feeling of magic the bag held, and being able to easier carry things around that made him feel safe, the Marauder's' map, his invisibility cloak, and perhaps snacks in case of a missed breakfast, lunch or dinner, or at the Dursley's – to keep him from the random bouts of punishments via starvation. It felt almost like a hug but much less awkward.
Tracing the band of the bag with his right hand across his chest and down to rest next to the bag, he turned back towards the piles of stuff, now having somewhere to put it in case he found something he wanted to keep.
Perhaps he'd look around just for an hour, or until he felt tired enough for the possibility of enabling sleep.
However looking closer upon the stuff in the room, he realized it actually more resembled things people needed to hide, for one or another reason, rather than a treasure throve. Most things were broken and haphazardly stacked on top or next to each other, many with damages from the looks of it from spells and even in some cases potions. Other things looked plain evil, like an axe covered in dried blood. Blood red and poison green vials swirling and shimmering that he just felt by instinct he shouldn't get close to, much less ingest.
The things of interest though, came in the form of books. All the books in the room probably exceeded the amount in Hogwarts' library, with one side effect though. Most books where in other languages he hadn't even seen before, or purely in Latin in which he was far from fluent enough to be able to read and understand, others suspiciously resembled the ones in the restricted section in the library and had an eerie vibe to them which also ruled them out.
There were however a few treasures to be rooted out amongst the rubbish;
Advanced Potion Making, a book which seemed to have belonged to a 'half–blood prince', interesting both for his own abysmal potion making skills in which it could prove useful, but also because every single page were full of scribbled notes.
A Latin dictionary that could prove useful with learning spells,
Magicae Naturalis written in slightly older but still understandable English bound in a thick green leather and silver imprinted letters.
And surprisingly a number of slightly worn versions of the books still sold in Flourish and Blotts, abookstore in Diagon Alley, like The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts that he had been eyeing for some time but didn't buy since it would, most likely, raise both eyebrows and questions.
Upon storing these books into his newly acquired bag he realized the first few benefits of the bag, the outside didn't bulge out yet the inside seemed to expand to easily accommodate the books, and neither did the weight change even though the books were heavy enough on their own where they supposedly would have made his shoulder ache.
This would definitely prove to be a useful bag. He spared a fleeting thought over how useful it had been if the book came with a manual of it's enchantments and what exactly it could do, perhaps even background information since everything else inside this room seemed to have once belonged to someone.
Yawing, the raven–haired boy stood up from his crouched position next to piles of books and dusted of his clothes, realizing by a quick tempus spell that one O'clock in the morning was high time to head back. His previous panic over the disappearing door proved unnecessary upon finding it in all it's solid glory upon turning the corner, only pausing briefly to throw on his invisibility cloak while whispering a soft thank you to the room while the door once again slid shut and melted into the wall.