human again / hp.

Chapter 85

The heavy wooden door creaked open with a groan, its hinges protesting the sudden movement. The air inside was thick with magic and possibility, an invisible weight that seemed to pull at the corners of my mind, drawing me in. I stepped over the threshold and froze, my breath catching in my throat as I took in the room before me.

It was unlike anything I had ever seen—a vast space that seemed to stretch on forever. The walls were constructed of ancient stone, their jagged surfaces softened by the warm, flickering light of numerous torches lining the stone. The flames danced in the air, casting shadows that flickered across the rough-hewn surfaces, making the room feel alive, almost as if it was breathing with us. The high, vaulted ceilings soared above us, and for a moment, it almost felt like standing inside a grand cathedral, the kind where echoes of footsteps linger in the air long after the person has passed. There was a silence here that felt sacred, and I couldn't help but be in awe.

Torches illuminated the room in a soft, golden glow, the light spilling over the stonework, softening the sharp lines and making the cold, gray rock seem less imposing. As my eyes adjusted to the dimmer light, I noticed that the walls were lined with towering bookshelves. These weren't the kind you'd find in a school library, though—no, these shelves were laden with ancient, leather-bound tomes, their spines worn by age. Some were gilded with gold lettering that shimmered faintly in the flickering torchlight, their titles a mystery to me, yet their very presence made my heart race. I had a feeling that these books held secrets, histories, and spells that had been hidden away for centuries.

In the center of the room, nestled among plush silk cushions, was a seating area that looked like something out of a dream. The cushions were arranged in loose clusters, scattered about the floor in an inviting manner, as though someone had designed this room with the express purpose of encouraging us to relax, to stay for a while, and perhaps even to talk. Each cushion was rich in color—deep reds, purples, and golds—giving the room a cozy, intimate feel, despite its vastness.

Against one wall, I spotted something that made my heart skip a beat—a long wooden shelf cluttered with magical instruments, the likes of which I had only seen glimpses of in Dumbledore's office. There were items here that I recognized and others that I could only guess at their use. A Foe-Glass, cracked along the edge, leaned precariously on a stand, its surface dull but still emanating a sense of untapped power. Nearby, a small Sneakoscope hummed faintly, its red light flickering in and out as if searching for something to warn us about. Enchanted quills and scrolls sat in neat piles, their edges glowing faintly with old magic, as though they had just been used for some forgotten purpose.

The sight of it all took my breath away. I couldn't tear my eyes away from the details, the careful arrangement of everything, and the sense that this space had been created with a purpose far beyond simple decoration. This room was meant for something greater, something bigger than we could fully understand.

A quiet whisper from behind broke my reverie.

"Wow," someone breathed, their voice hushed with awe.

I turned slightly, and there stood Hermione, her wide brown eyes taking in the room with the same sense of wonder that had overtaken me. "This is incredible," she murmured, her voice filled with the kind of reverence she usually reserved for the Hogwarts library. Her gaze darted from one bookcase to another, from the magical instruments to the soft, inviting cushions that dotted the floor.

"Bloody brilliant," Ron muttered under his breath, his voice muffled as he pushed past me, his gaze fixed on the room as a whole. I could tell from the way he was looking around that this was a place that would leave an impression on him—he'd always been drawn to things that were a little out of the ordinary, especially when they seemed to be on the edge of mystery.