Chapter 2
Mystery
On arrival at the library, Hermione and Ron set their bags down and organised all the equipment they needed. The library was quieter than normal, which was probably because many of the students hadn't finished their classes yet.
The library was as dim as the café, only much quieter and less sociable. The only noises here were scrawling quills and the dull sounds of people flicking over the pages of books. It was quite an unusual library because it was a large, octagonal room with a ceiling so high up you couldn't see it. There were seven sets of bookcases, one lined up against one of the walls. The eighth wall was the doorway, with a portrait of the founder of the University above it, who greeted unsuspecting people as they entered the room by leaning out of the picture frame and frightening them with an alarming exclamation of "BOO!" The bookcases were also too tall to see all the way up, so if you wanted a book all you had to do was to enter a description of the book you wanted onto the side of the end bookcases with your wand, as if it was a quill. Quite often, books would come flying down from in the distance so fast they had been known to knock a few people out for a little while.
Hermione went to fetch a book on Astronomy, and Ron on flying magical creatures for his Care of Magical Creatures assignment. Hermione, of course, had been careful to choose as many subjects as possible and so had the most assignments to work on than anyone else who currently attended the University. Despite this fact, she was always the first one to finish them all.
Hermione got straight to work, scribbling away furiously with her quill, seemingly never stopping to think. It looked as though she knew exactly what she was going to write, word-for-word from start to finish, like she was merely copying from a book.
Ron, on the other hand, was still worried about the events of the café and of Harry's behaviour. He wrote a short amount at first, and then began to stare aimlessly at the paper.
"Looking at it won't get the work done," Hermione stated in a matter- of-fact way. "You're still fretting about Harry aren't you?"
Ron nodded slowly. "I haven't ever seen him that depressed before, not since when You-Know-Who was around. But that was years ago. He isn't around now. I keep thinking that if something that serious made him depressed before, then what on earth can make him so depressed now?"
"I don't know," Hermione replied softly. "All we can do is make sure we're there for him. In the meantime, I think a little work wouldn't go amiss." She reset the quill in her hand, into a better writing position, and made to write some more. She stopped when Ron said:
"It's easy for you to say."
"How come?" Hermione asked, not in the least offended.
"You can always concentrate, no matter what's going on around you. You don't find exams hard and you get on well with all your teachers. You can never get depressed like we can. I need to go for a walk."
Hermione did nothing but watch as he left all his books and belongings as they were, sprawled out across the desk.
He was wrong, she thought. She did get depressed, especially when Lord Voldemort had been around - they had been the worst days of her life. The only thing that got her through was Harry, Ron and taking her mind off things by reading or working alone. They hadn't needed to know that though. They had their own problems to deal with without having to consider hers as well.
After a brief hesitation to think to herself, she continued with her work on how the arrangements of the planets affected Minotaurs and other magical creatures.
* * *
Ron's intentions were to go for a walk about the University grounds and then go up to his and Harry's apartment. He suspected Harry wanted some time alone for a while so decided it wouldn't be a good idea to go straight back home. Besides, the University gardens were a pleasant, quiet walk if you wanted to think.
Ron wandered around the tiled paths beside the many stone and ceramic water fountains that caught poor students out by spraying them with a shoot of water every now and again, and soaking them from head to foot. The mermaids and fishes sometimes came to life and swam in their own refreshing waters. Ron remembered the time a mermaid called Sandy had hidden beneath the frothing current and waited until he was near enough before pulling him in with her. Gasping for air, he had tried to surface again, but she was holding him down and all he could do was hold his breath as best he could while she inspected his magic wand with keen interest.
"H - hullp!" Ron had gulped, trying to push the mermaid's fingers away. He hadn't been able to see a thing under the water; just swarms of pale, grouped bubbles floating wildly about. The mermaid let go, but she wouldn't let him leave the pool until he had told her the answer to five riddles. The last had been the hardest - he was given three guesses to try and find out her name. It had been pure luck that saved him that time. He was fortunate enough to guess at the name 'Sandy' and then she frothed up the water until it turned red in her fury and warned him to never come back. He gladly agreed he wouldn't.
After an agreeable walk between the oak trees, and a short rest in the roots of one (this reminded him of the Whomping Willow, and he got paranoid whenever the wind swayed the distant branches), he set off in the direction of the flat.
On arriving, he gasped wide-mouthed. It was filthy. It had been relatively neat that morning and now, in the space of about six hours it had become a pigsty. All of his homework and books and assignments were sprawled out on the floor, and there was water and straw everywhere. The pictures strung from the wall were hanging from a thread, the paintings on them facing to the ground, and the muffled yelling of the people in it was clearly audible. They were shouting for help.
Ron approached the nearest painting, of some ladies with umbrellas, and lifted it up so that it hung straight again.
"What happened?" he asked them. "Did you see anything?"
"Oui! Oui!" they cried. They were French.
Ron moaned. "Er - Do you speak English?" He couldn't ever recall them speaking any English, he usually avoided talking to them anyway because they were so noisy and talking would encourage them.
"Anglais? Alors, non," they said. Ron couldn't understand them but he figured that they definitely knew no English.
We wandered around the room asking the characters of the two other paintings if they had seen anything. The first was a small, old painting of a woman sitting in a chair and rocking her baby to sleep. She had only been asleep for a few minutes, she said, when she heard a commotion in the room and looked up. But before she was able to see anything she felt herself being pulled down to face the ground and then it was too late to see anything but the grey-blue carpet. The other painting, of a knight in rattling armour mounted on his white stallion, said that he was half-blind and couldn't see much in the first place. He said a dragon had spouted fire in his face, and scarred him for life, leaving him almost sightless.
Ron looked around at the mess. He began to collect his work and put it back into files, and then to make the bed and sweep away the straw. He hoped the water would dry soon.
But what in the world had caused this mess? And where was Harry?
Mystery
On arrival at the library, Hermione and Ron set their bags down and organised all the equipment they needed. The library was quieter than normal, which was probably because many of the students hadn't finished their classes yet.
The library was as dim as the café, only much quieter and less sociable. The only noises here were scrawling quills and the dull sounds of people flicking over the pages of books. It was quite an unusual library because it was a large, octagonal room with a ceiling so high up you couldn't see it. There were seven sets of bookcases, one lined up against one of the walls. The eighth wall was the doorway, with a portrait of the founder of the University above it, who greeted unsuspecting people as they entered the room by leaning out of the picture frame and frightening them with an alarming exclamation of "BOO!" The bookcases were also too tall to see all the way up, so if you wanted a book all you had to do was to enter a description of the book you wanted onto the side of the end bookcases with your wand, as if it was a quill. Quite often, books would come flying down from in the distance so fast they had been known to knock a few people out for a little while.
Hermione went to fetch a book on Astronomy, and Ron on flying magical creatures for his Care of Magical Creatures assignment. Hermione, of course, had been careful to choose as many subjects as possible and so had the most assignments to work on than anyone else who currently attended the University. Despite this fact, she was always the first one to finish them all.
Hermione got straight to work, scribbling away furiously with her quill, seemingly never stopping to think. It looked as though she knew exactly what she was going to write, word-for-word from start to finish, like she was merely copying from a book.
Ron, on the other hand, was still worried about the events of the café and of Harry's behaviour. He wrote a short amount at first, and then began to stare aimlessly at the paper.
"Looking at it won't get the work done," Hermione stated in a matter- of-fact way. "You're still fretting about Harry aren't you?"
Ron nodded slowly. "I haven't ever seen him that depressed before, not since when You-Know-Who was around. But that was years ago. He isn't around now. I keep thinking that if something that serious made him depressed before, then what on earth can make him so depressed now?"
"I don't know," Hermione replied softly. "All we can do is make sure we're there for him. In the meantime, I think a little work wouldn't go amiss." She reset the quill in her hand, into a better writing position, and made to write some more. She stopped when Ron said:
"It's easy for you to say."
"How come?" Hermione asked, not in the least offended.
"You can always concentrate, no matter what's going on around you. You don't find exams hard and you get on well with all your teachers. You can never get depressed like we can. I need to go for a walk."
Hermione did nothing but watch as he left all his books and belongings as they were, sprawled out across the desk.
He was wrong, she thought. She did get depressed, especially when Lord Voldemort had been around - they had been the worst days of her life. The only thing that got her through was Harry, Ron and taking her mind off things by reading or working alone. They hadn't needed to know that though. They had their own problems to deal with without having to consider hers as well.
After a brief hesitation to think to herself, she continued with her work on how the arrangements of the planets affected Minotaurs and other magical creatures.
* * *
Ron's intentions were to go for a walk about the University grounds and then go up to his and Harry's apartment. He suspected Harry wanted some time alone for a while so decided it wouldn't be a good idea to go straight back home. Besides, the University gardens were a pleasant, quiet walk if you wanted to think.
Ron wandered around the tiled paths beside the many stone and ceramic water fountains that caught poor students out by spraying them with a shoot of water every now and again, and soaking them from head to foot. The mermaids and fishes sometimes came to life and swam in their own refreshing waters. Ron remembered the time a mermaid called Sandy had hidden beneath the frothing current and waited until he was near enough before pulling him in with her. Gasping for air, he had tried to surface again, but she was holding him down and all he could do was hold his breath as best he could while she inspected his magic wand with keen interest.
"H - hullp!" Ron had gulped, trying to push the mermaid's fingers away. He hadn't been able to see a thing under the water; just swarms of pale, grouped bubbles floating wildly about. The mermaid let go, but she wouldn't let him leave the pool until he had told her the answer to five riddles. The last had been the hardest - he was given three guesses to try and find out her name. It had been pure luck that saved him that time. He was fortunate enough to guess at the name 'Sandy' and then she frothed up the water until it turned red in her fury and warned him to never come back. He gladly agreed he wouldn't.
After an agreeable walk between the oak trees, and a short rest in the roots of one (this reminded him of the Whomping Willow, and he got paranoid whenever the wind swayed the distant branches), he set off in the direction of the flat.
On arriving, he gasped wide-mouthed. It was filthy. It had been relatively neat that morning and now, in the space of about six hours it had become a pigsty. All of his homework and books and assignments were sprawled out on the floor, and there was water and straw everywhere. The pictures strung from the wall were hanging from a thread, the paintings on them facing to the ground, and the muffled yelling of the people in it was clearly audible. They were shouting for help.
Ron approached the nearest painting, of some ladies with umbrellas, and lifted it up so that it hung straight again.
"What happened?" he asked them. "Did you see anything?"
"Oui! Oui!" they cried. They were French.
Ron moaned. "Er - Do you speak English?" He couldn't ever recall them speaking any English, he usually avoided talking to them anyway because they were so noisy and talking would encourage them.
"Anglais? Alors, non," they said. Ron couldn't understand them but he figured that they definitely knew no English.
We wandered around the room asking the characters of the two other paintings if they had seen anything. The first was a small, old painting of a woman sitting in a chair and rocking her baby to sleep. She had only been asleep for a few minutes, she said, when she heard a commotion in the room and looked up. But before she was able to see anything she felt herself being pulled down to face the ground and then it was too late to see anything but the grey-blue carpet. The other painting, of a knight in rattling armour mounted on his white stallion, said that he was half-blind and couldn't see much in the first place. He said a dragon had spouted fire in his face, and scarred him for life, leaving him almost sightless.
Ron looked around at the mess. He began to collect his work and put it back into files, and then to make the bed and sweep away the straw. He hoped the water would dry soon.
But what in the world had caused this mess? And where was Harry?