What Are Batteries, Anyway? [Open]
May 1, 2014 12:31:28 GMT -4
Post by Polar on May 1, 2014 12:31:28 GMT -4
Living amongst the stars doesn't mean that, occasionally, we can't walk this earthMirabel "Elle" Blishwick
It was midday on one of the warmest summer weekends that Hogwarts had seen so far. Yet one particular Hufflepuff was cooped up in the furthest reached of the library, where the only light was from a burning torch charmed specifically so that the flames could not escape confines and devour the precious library books with their fiery tongues.
This section of the library was dedicated to Muggles, their histories and their inventions, if it could even be considered a section. In comparison with the other sections within the library which were overflowing with books and resource materials, it could be considered lacking.
The bookcases that were home to the books were tall and imposing, but their shelves were decidedly bare. Some of the sparse tomes that inhabited the shelves had crept in from other overflowing sections and weren't even dedicated to Muggles in the slightest but the History of the Ministry of Magic and such.
The few that bore the secrets of the muggle world wore a thick layer of dust like an armour. It would take a brave warrior to liberate them from their shelves and study from them.
There was but one small table that had been crammed between the looming cases, the carvings of idle students scarred its surface and the spilt ink resting in its grooves had long since dried. The table had two chairs to call company, one of which had been pushed back against the shelves allowing Elle access to the book whose pages she cherished so gently with her fingers. The second was the one upon which she was seated, a rickety little chair with one leg short than the rest, it sloped sharply to the left.
In turn the Hufflepuff leaned to the right to keep from being thrown against the stone floor. Her head rested in the crook of her elbow as she carefully turned the pages.
Various other thin volumes had gradually laid siege to the table, stacked in crooked piles, they had been read and proved wanting.
Near her right hand rested a simple muggle torch that no longer worked. A beloved treasure, she had dedicated the majority of her sunny weekend to finding a solution within the pages but so far none had yielded.
The questions swirled through her mind, distracting her from every word she read. 'Why had it stopped working? Would it ever work again?' Her granddad had once told her that a flame burned behind the glass, perhaps the flame had gone out, but not a single book made mention of how to relight it.
Elle picked it up delicately, as if it was the finest, most delicate and expensive vase in the world and turned it slowly in her hand, her eyes drawing in every single detail, searching desperately for some solution that had eluded her.
The possibility that the flame had been extinguished forever frightened her, she needed this torch, Merlin's beard she needed it.