Another book whipped past his shoulder, close enough that he felt the air move against his neck. He ducked and pressed his back against the astronomy shelves, watching the thing spiral toward the study tables.
Brilliant. Just brilliant.
Three hours into what should have been simple reshelfing, and half the Restricted Section had apparently decided to escape. The air smelled like old parchment and something sharper that made his nose wrinkle. He pulled out his wand but kept it low—reckless magic around irreplaceable books seemed like a good way to lose his assistant job.
A small journal with brass clasps flew overhead, trailing green smoke and making soft chittering noises that set his teeth on edge. Definitely not harmless.
Something red filled his vision, covers snapping at him with papery teeth.
A snapped out "Depulso" was barely enough to send the book spinning backward into the stacks, rather than his face.
The problem was coming from the Restricted Section entrance. The wards had failed—another one to add to the growing list of magical protections breaking down across the castle this term. Books kept streaming out, some flying in circles, others diving at anything that moved. A thick book with scaled binding had taken over the circulation desk and was shredding scrolls.
He edged along the wall toward the source, his bag strap tight against his shoulder. Most of the escaped books looked like lower-level Restricted materials—still dangerous, but manageable if he was careful.
The brass journal dove again, trailing silver sparks. He dodged sideways and bumped into a shelf. A star chart rolled to the floor.
Where was Professor Laurence?
A crash from the study tables meant the scaled book had moved on from scroll destruction. He looked toward the main entrance, then back at the chaos. The brass journal made another dive, and he ducked as it swooped past, green smoke trailing behind it.
He stepped away from the wall and rolled up his sleeves, wand held firmly in his grip. Time to get to work.
Brilliant. Just brilliant.
Three hours into what should have been simple reshelfing, and half the Restricted Section had apparently decided to escape. The air smelled like old parchment and something sharper that made his nose wrinkle. He pulled out his wand but kept it low—reckless magic around irreplaceable books seemed like a good way to lose his assistant job.
A small journal with brass clasps flew overhead, trailing green smoke and making soft chittering noises that set his teeth on edge. Definitely not harmless.
Something red filled his vision, covers snapping at him with papery teeth.
A snapped out "Depulso" was barely enough to send the book spinning backward into the stacks, rather than his face.
The problem was coming from the Restricted Section entrance. The wards had failed—another one to add to the growing list of magical protections breaking down across the castle this term. Books kept streaming out, some flying in circles, others diving at anything that moved. A thick book with scaled binding had taken over the circulation desk and was shredding scrolls.
He edged along the wall toward the source, his bag strap tight against his shoulder. Most of the escaped books looked like lower-level Restricted materials—still dangerous, but manageable if he was careful.
The brass journal dove again, trailing silver sparks. He dodged sideways and bumped into a shelf. A star chart rolled to the floor.
Where was Professor Laurence?
A crash from the study tables meant the scaled book had moved on from scroll destruction. He looked toward the main entrance, then back at the chaos. The brass journal made another dive, and he ducked as it swooped past, green smoke trailing behind it.
He stepped away from the wall and rolled up his sleeves, wand held firmly in his grip. Time to get to work.
Some secrets are worth
discovering













