The Library is closed; it’s actually been closed for going on five hours, and it’s no secret that the newly-appointed librarian does not condone late-night lingerers. That’s probably because the Headmaster Selwyn does not condone late-night lingerers. Who knows what kind of illicit information these sixteen-year-old witches and wizards could extract from the Ministry’s careful selection at one o’clock in the morning, right? Maja’s nihilism in the face of this paranoid stringency was nothing more than an eye roll, which was followed by another when it appeared there were no further security regulations than a quick sweep of the place by an allied Prefect.
So, Maja found what appeared to be the library’s most eloquent and boring biography of one Phillipus von Hohenheim, the wizarding world’s most eloquent and boring Alchemist. She settled herself on the upper floor in the furthest and darkest corner of the maze of bookcases, satisfied with the lack of activity in the place. For someone whose as placid and spiritual as Maja likes to be, she’s found herself growing more and more irritated with the state of the world she unwillingly lives in. Rather the people who inhabit it.
He'd blame his curiosity for bringing him to the castle, but it's his sister's fault, really. If she got up to less trouble and was easier to keep tabs on, he wouldn't have to be here so often. And if she was easier to locate, he could get up to better, more interesting ways to fill his interesting life, things that aptly fit the tastes of smirking, brooding, American werewolf boys and their many varied interests.
He didn't go to this school so the halls are long and meandering and do not forgive the unfamiliar. The fourth time along a hallway he's convinced he's been traveling in circles through, the paintings begin to watch him with various looks of amusement and concern for his grumbling state, reaching a deeper and deeper chasm of frustration every time he recognizes a statue he's seen before, or a tapestry he's begun to memorize. In fact, if he hadn't been paying so close attention in his attempt to find something he hadn't seen before, he might have missed the new door to his left, and he might not have walked through it like it was fresh air and he was a drowning man.
The door leads him into the library and when he turns to watch it close, it's gone, like it was never there to begin with. He rakes fingers through his seldom tamed hair and shakes his head. This fucking school, he muses distractedly, because the library is far more maze like and complicated than the hallways, and that's exactly what he needs right now, clearly.
Venturing through shelves takes him deeper and deeper, up staircases and past musty pages that can't all have been touched in years. His steps slow as he walks and it's just then, just when he's begun to decide which biographies to use for tinder should he end up living here for the rest of eternity when he spots her, deep in a corner, and he speaks before he recognizes.
"Hey, do you know how to get out of here?"
