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The Hogwarts Library had always been a sanctuary. A place where knowledge whispered between ancient pages, where the scent of parchment and ink curled like a warm embrace. Here, the world was simple—structured in ink and spellbooks, far removed from the chaos of everyday life.
But tonight, something was wrong.
A hush deeper than usual settled between the towering bookshelves. Not the peaceful stillness Y/N had grown accustomed to—but an unnatural silence, thick and weighted, like the castle itself was holding its breath.
The enchanted lanterns flickered erratically, their golden glow casting restless shadows along the floor.
A creeping sensation crawled up Y/N's spine, a strange awareness prickling at the edges of their senses. Something was watching. Something unseen, just beyond reach.
Their fingers ghosted along the spines of ancient books, trailing absentmindedly over the rough texture of aged leather and faded gold lettering. They weren't searching for anything in particular—just something to quiet the restlessness in their mind.
The moment their fingertips grazed against something cool and metallic, their entire body stiffened.
This wasn't parchment.
This wasn't wood.
Metal.
The cold weight of it sent a ripple of unease through their limbs. Carefully, they pried the object free from where it had been buried between the books.
It gleamed under the candlelight.
A delicate chain, golden and impossibly intricate, coiled in their palm like an untold secret. Suspended from it was a pendant—an odd, mechanical-looking device, etched with markings they did not recognize. The engravings twisted in the dim light, patterns forming and reforming like shifting constellations.
At its center, a fragile layer of sand lay encased within a thin pane of glass, suspended in time.
A whisper of recognition stirred at the back of their mind, something distant and intangible. Their thumb brushed over the delicate metalwork, the cool surface smooth beneath their touch.
The moment they pressed the center, the air around them caved inward.
And then—the world had lurched.
Not a fall. Not a violent crash.
Just a single breath, stolen away, leaving nothing but the echo of silence in its place.
The library looked the same, but something in the air felt different. It carried an edge, sharper and thinner, as if time itself had shifted beneath their feet.
They turned slightly, their eyes sweeping the long wooden study tables. The ones they had known their whole life were intricate, carved with ornate flourishes from the late 1800s. But now, they were different—simpler, polished, lacking the weight of age. The carved fireplace at the far end of the room, once adorned with the crest of the Wren family, was now bare stone, untouched by history's careful hand.
