3. THE HALF-BLOOD PRINCE

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The library was bright from the sunlight piercing through the large glass windows, and the smell of old books, hot tea, and cocoa formed a magical mix in Alice's senses, luring her deeper and deeper into the History of Magic. She dived into the pages of the centuries-old book with an eagerness to find out more. At first, she had turned the pages with a certain reluctance, as she had come across with not the friendliest of notes:

"A warning: If you rip, tear, shred, bend, fold, deface, disfigure, smear, smudge, throw, drop, or in any other manner damage, mistreat, or show lack of respect towards this book, the consequences will be as awful as it is within my power to make them."

The vulture-like countenance of Madam Pince, the librarian of Hogwarts, with her sunken cheeks, her skin like parchment, and her long, hooked nose, had left a lasting impression on Alice. She never meant to harm a book, and as frightening as Madam Pince's eyes might be, they were not enough to keep her away from this or any other book.

She stood on top of the stone ledge of a glass window, somewhere deep in the library, next to a pile of books, turning page after page, absorbing as much information as she could. She had a lot to catch up with. From being completely ignorant to keeping up with senior year students, there was far too much for her to read and learn.

And she did. Day after day, she'd spend endless hours in the library, scribbling down notes, turning pages, and testing Madam Pince's patience with the number of books she was borrowing to study. Her weekends were spent there, amongst the piles of old manuscripts and leather-bound books, sometimes falling asleep from exhaustion, long after the library had closed.

She jolted up after falling face down onto her book. A veil of darkness and quiet covered the library of the castle. Somehow Madam Pince had either spared her and let her read until this hour, or miraculously didn't notice her as she was all curled up in the corner beneath a window, sitting on the floor. Her cold skin matched the chilled stone beneath her and she tried to get up, placing the book on the wooden study near her. She rubbed her eyes and yawned. Not a single soul seemed to be there.

Alice delighted in the quiet of the night. She did know that Mr. Filch and his fluffy cat were surely somewhere around the castle, searching for any rule-breaking students, but she felt quite confident that he would most likely look for sleep-walking students in the kitchens of Hogwarts than in the library. Besides, she was pretty sure she caught him stealing fish from the kitchen at night, which he shared with Mrs. Norris – of course.

Mimicking Mrs. Norris' soundless footsteps, Alice found her way out of the library and wandered about the castle. Her eyes had gotten used to the absence of light and, though she couldn't notice too much, she found it easy to wander in the night.

She passed the stairs to the Ravenclaw tower, but instead of climbing up, Alice took the stairs down, her splayed palm pressed against the stone wall for both support and guidance. The cold, moist air of the dungeon pierced her skin the deeper she was carried by her calculated steps, the colder it got.

A scent of cedarwood lured her deeper down, down, down in the depths of the castle and led her in a dungeon with a closed door. Her senses were unmistakenly guiding her. She knew the source was right behind this door and she leaned against the thick old wood, trying to listen to the subtle sound of something boiling. Cedarwood, smoke, musk, and amber tickled her senses as the scent leaked from the keyhole and the crooks of the wooden door.

Her ear rested onto the wood, eavesdropping and lured by curiosity, veiled by the darkness of the night. She could hear the rhythmic sound of steel hitting a wooden surface. A clatter and a snipping sound of careful, measured moves. She fought the urge to open the door and tried to guess what it might be that was being boiled and cooked up in the wee hours of the night.

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