Who: Maja and William When: Wednesday, November 4 (Week 9) Where: the Library What: There has got to be a map of this place.
Looking for a runestone in the drafty halls of Hogwarts, Maja found, was like looking for a bowtruckle in a beech tree. The castle was overflowing with cursed objects; on her first day of searching (nearly a week behind her self-imposed schedule, thanks to the house elf infestation) she found a coil of Hangman’s Rope, a nastily enchanted doorknob, a Ming vase promising a very grim death to whoever broke it (the curse was a poorly done thing for such a delicate artifact, and had clearly been tacked on in the early nineteenth century), an exceedingly ugly candelabra of poisonous candles, three petrified dodo birds, and a Snake Snare. The last was something of a close call, but she managed to extricate herself with all her limbs intact, so she considered it a success.
Forget beech trees – it was like looking for a single bowtruckle in the Ed Forest; there were cursed objects anywhere and everywhere, and it was impossible to know where to start. Her attempts at a locating spell had failed miserably, but that was hardly surprising; you didn’t hide something that dangerous without making it Unlocateable. She had expected a difficult task, but it was frustrating nonetheless. Nor did it help that she kept getting turned around in the castle. The suits of armor were constantly relocating, and the moving staircases seemed to have a personal grudge against her; again and again she found herself arriving in the same corridors, while entire floors went unsearched because she couldn’t find a way to access them. It was almost as if the castle itself was trying to keep her out, and the thought niggled at her uneasily.
On the third day of her search, she lost patience and went to look for a map. Finding the library turned out to be a relatively simple job; she just waited for the students to come out of class, and then followed a couple of girls whose bags looked like they were about to burst at the seams from the weight of the books.
The library was impressive – high ceiling, giant windows, towering bookshelves, teetering book piles – but Maja had a mission, so admiring the book selection would have to wait for another time. She strode quickly over to the front desk, and the young man who was sitting there. “I’m looking for maps of the school,” she said. “Blueprints, floor schemes, whatever you have.” Belatedly, she realized she hadn’t introduced herself, and stuck out her hand. “Maja Ivarsson, Swedish Police.”