The frustration was reaching critical levels. It wasn't just the usual, everyday, "Voldemort-is-trying-to-kill-me-again" kind of frustration. This was broom-related frustration.
Harry James Potter, the Boy Who Lived (and, increasingly, the Boy Who Wanted to Throw His Firebolt Out of the Nearest Window), was standing in the middle of the Hogwarts library, surrounded by an unsettling number of books. He'd been trying to practice the Summoning Charm, a spell that, in theory, should have been relatively straightforward. In practice, however, his Firebolt seemed to have developed a severe case of selective hearing.
"Accio Firebolt!" Harry yelled, for what felt like the hundredth time.
Instead of his sleek, responsive broom, a variety of other objects had appeared: a moldy-looking cheese sandwich (which immediately began to levitate ominously), a first-year student's lost quill (which promptly started writing a rather unflattering poem about Harry), and, most alarmingly, a miniature, slightly singed version of his Firebolt. It zoomed around his head erratically, leaving a trail of smoke and the distinct smell of burnt wood.
"Accio Firebolt!" Harry tried, switching to a more forceful tone. The miniature Firebolt responded by doing a loop-the-loop and then crashing into a nearby stack of books, which collapsed with a resounding thump.
"Oh, for Merlin's sake," Harry muttered, running a hand through his already untidy hair. He was starting to attract attention. Madam Pince, the formidable librarian, was glaring at him from across the room, her eyes narrowed to slits. Even the portraits on the walls seemed to be giving him disapproving looks.
It was at this point that he decided he needed a change of scenery. The Restricted Section, with its promise of forbidden knowledge and (hopefully) fewer witnesses to his magical ineptitude, seemed like a good option. He stalked off, muttering under his breath about the unfairness of it all. Why couldn't he just summon his broom like a normal wizard? Was it too much to ask for a little bit of cooperation from his inanimate objects?
Of course, Harry being Harry, he immediately got lost.
The Hogwarts library, it turned out, was less a library and more a labyrinth designed by a particularly sadistic architect with a penchant for confusing signage. Harry wandered through towering shelves, past endless rows of books with titles like "One Thousand Uses for Dragon Dung" and "The Complete History of Exploding Cauldrons," his frustration mounting with every wrong turn.
He was so engrossed in his internal monologue (which was rapidly devolving into a string of increasingly creative insults directed at his Firebolt) that he almost didn't notice the figure huddled in a shadowy corner, surrounded by an alarming number of ferrets.
"Oh, dear," a tremulous voice whispered. "I knew it. The signs were all there. The twitching curtains, the ominous clatter of cutlery in the Great Hall... it was all leading to this."
Harry blinked. The figure was Professor Trelawney, her eyes wide and unfocused, her hair even more disheveled than usual. And she was, indeed, surrounded by ferrets. Dozens of them. They were perched on her shoulders, peeking out of her voluminous robes, and scampering around her feet. One particularly bold ferret was attempting to climb her head.
"Professor Trelawney?" Harry asked, cautiously. "Are you... alright?"
Trelawney clutched her head dramatically. "Alright? My dear boy, 'alright' is a state of being for those who are blissfully unaware of the impending doom! I have foreseen it, you see. A great calamity! A disaster of unprecedented proportions!"
"A disaster?" Harry raised an eyebrow. "What kind of disaster?"
Trelawney gestured vaguely at the ferrets. "Ferrets, my dear boy! An unholy multitude of ferrets! They are the harbingers of chaos, the furry foot soldiers of the apocalypse!"
The ferrets, for their part, seemed mostly interested in grooming themselves and occasionally nipping at Trelawney's fingers.
Before Harry could point out the inherent absurdity of this situation, a new voice joined the fray.
"Mr. Potter! What is the meaning of this... this... menagerie?"
Filch, the Hogwarts caretaker, had appeared at the end of the aisle, his face a mask of fury. Mrs. Norris, his equally unpleasant cat, was perched on his shoulder, her eyes narrowed in a way that suggested she was taking notes for some future act of revenge.
"Mr. Filch," Harry said, trying to sound as innocent as possible (a difficult task, given the circumstances), "I was just... passing through. I think Professor Trelawney might be lost."
"Lost?" Filch sputtered. "Lost? She's supposed to be teaching a class! Divination! And you, Potter, are supposed to be... well, I don't care what you're supposed to be doing, as long as it's not involving ferrets!"
He glared at the ferrets, who blinked back at him with an unsettling lack of concern. Mrs. Norris, meanwhile, had dismounted from Filch's shoulder and was sniffing at the nearest ferret with an air of intense suspicion.
"They're not my ferrets," Harry said quickly.
"Indeed," Trelawney said, her voice taking on an even more dramatic tone. "They are the messengers of fate! They have come to warn us!"
"Warn us about what?" Filch demanded, his voice rising in pitch. "About the fact that someone has clearly lost their mind?"
"The tapestry!" Trelawney gasped, pointing a trembling finger down the aisle. "The tapestry will show you!"
Harry and Filch exchanged a look. The tapestry?
"There's a tapestry?" Harry asked.
"Of course, there's a tapestry!" Trelawney said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. "A tapestry of great significance! It depicts the Grumpy Troll of the Forbidden Ferrets!"
Filch blinked. "The... what?"
Harry suppressed a snort. He'd thought he'd seen some strange things in his time at Hogwarts, but a tapestry about a grumpy troll and his forbidden ferrets was definitely up there.
"It is a warning!" Trelawney insisted, her eyes gleaming with fervor. "A warning of the impending doom that awaits us all! The troll... he is a symbol, you see. A symbol of the dark forces that threaten to engulf us!"
"Right," Filch said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "And the ferrets? What do they symbolize? The relentless march of... of... fluffiness?"
Mrs. Norris, apparently deciding that the ferret was not a threat (or perhaps simply bored), had begun to groom herself with an air of regal disdain. The ferret, seemingly unfazed by her scrutiny, continued to attempt to climb Trelawney's head.
"They are the harbingers!" Trelawney declared, striking a dramatic pose. "The furry heralds of the apocalypse! Their tiny claws represent the sharp talons of fate!"
Harry glanced at the ferrets. They looked more like they represented the sharp talons of mild annoyance.
"If you'll excuse me," Harry said, deciding that he'd had quite enough of this conversation, "I'll just... be going now."
He turned to leave, but Trelawney grabbed his arm with surprising strength.
"No, my dear boy! You must see the tapestry! It is your destiny!"
"My destiny involves a grumpy troll and a bunch of ferrets?" Harry asked, his voice incredulous.
"Indeed!" Trelawney nodded vigorously. "The tapestry will reveal all! It is... just down this aisle, I believe. Or perhaps the next one. Or maybe..." Her voice trailed off as she peered uncertainly into the shadowy depths of the library.
Filch, meanwhile, was attempting to round up the ferrets, with limited success. They seemed to be enjoying the chaos, darting between his legs and generally making a nuisance of themselves. Mrs. Norris, bored with grooming, had joined the chase, adding to the general pandemonium.
As Harry watched the scene unfold – Trelawney peering vaguely into the darkness, Filch chasing after the ferrets, and Mrs. Norris stalking through the fray like a tiny, furry overlord – he couldn't help but think that this was the most bizarre thing he'd ever seen, even by Hogwarts standards.
And that's saying something.
He sighed, resigning himself to the inevitable. "Fine," he said. "Let's go see this tapestry."
Trelawney beamed, her eyes shining with an almost manic intensity. "You will not regret this, my boy! The tapestry holds the key to understanding everything!"
"I'm mostly hoping it holds the key to explaining why there are so many ferrets in the library," Harry muttered under his breath.
With Trelawney leading the way (in a rather erratic fashion, as she kept stopping to consult various "signs" she claimed to see in the patterns of the dust motes), and Filch trailing behind, still attempting to corral the ferrets, Harry found himself being dragged deeper and deeper into the labyrinthine depths of the library.
The aisle they were heading down was particularly gloomy, the towering shelves casting long, ominous shadows. The only light came from the occasional flickering torch, which seemed to emphasize the unsettling atmosphere. Harry couldn't shake the feeling that they were being watched.
"Are you sure you know where you're going, Professor?" Harry asked, after Trelawney had led them down several dead ends and through a particularly dusty section filled with books about ancient curses.
"Of course, I know where I'm going!" Trelawney said, though she sounded less than certain. "The tapestry... it calls to me! I can feel its mystical energy!"
"Or maybe you're just following the ferret tracks," Filch grumbled, tripping over a particularly persistent ferret that had decided to make a run for it.
Mrs. Norris, with a triumphant yowl, finally managed to corner one of the ferrets behind a bookshelf. The ferret, however, proved to be surprisingly agile, and promptly escaped by squeezing through a gap that seemed far too small for it.
"They're surprisingly slippery," Filch muttered, rubbing his shin.
After what felt like an eternity, Trelawney finally stopped in front of a particularly imposing set of shelves. "Here it is!" she declared, her voice filled with awe. "The tapestry of destiny!"
Harry and Filch stared at the shelves. There was no tapestry in sight.
"Are you sure?" Harry asked, his patience wearing thin.
Trelawney squinted at the shelves, tilting her head at various angles. "Yes! I can feel it... it's... it's behind the books!"
"Behind the books?" Filch repeated, his voice incredulous. "There's a tapestry hidden behind the books?"
"Indeed!" Trelawney nodded. "It is concealed from those who are not meant to see it! Only those with a pure heart and a... a... a keen interest in grumpy trolls may gaze upon its glory!"
Filch rolled his eyes. "Of course it is."
Harry sighed. This was going to be even more complicated than he thought.
"So," he said, "we have to... move the books?"
"Precisely!" Trelawney exclaimed, clapping her hands together. "A test of worthiness! Only those who are willing to delve into the depths of knowledge may uncover the secrets of the tapestry!"
Filch groaned. "This is going to take forever."
And it did.
The books, it turned out, were not arranged in any discernible order. Harry, Filch, and even Trelawney (who, despite her earlier pronouncements about "destiny," seemed remarkably unhelpful when it came to actual manual labor) began the arduous task of pulling books off the shelves, one by one.
Dust billowed into the air, coating them in a fine layer of grime. Harry sneezed repeatedly, nearly knocking over a precariously balanced stack of volumes. Filch grumbled incessantly, complaining about the state of the library and the general incompetence of everyone involved (including the ferrets, who continued to dart around their feet, occasionally knocking over small objects).
Mrs. Norris, however, seemed to be enjoying herself immensely. She patrolled the aisles with an air of grim satisfaction, occasionally batting at a stray ferret or supervising the book-moving operation with a critical eye.
Hours passed. The pile of books on the floor grew ever larger, threatening to engulf them entirely. Harry's arms ached, Filch's grumbling reached epic proportions, and Trelawney, after a brief burst of enthusiasm, had retreated to a corner, claiming that the dust was interfering with her "visions."
Just when Harry was about to give up entirely, his fingers brushed against something that felt... different. It wasn't the smooth, familiar texture of a book. It was rougher, coarser.
"I think I've found something!" he exclaimed, his voice hoarse from dust and exhaustion.
Filch and Trelawney perked up, their earlier complaints momentarily forgotten. They crowded around Harry, their eyes widening with a mixture of curiosity and anticipation.
Harry carefully pulled the book out of the way, revealing...
... a brick wall.
There was a collective groan.
"Are you sure this is the right place, Professor?" Harry asked, his voice dangerously level.
Trelawney squinted at the wall, tapping it thoughtfully with her wand. "Hmm," she said. "Yes, I'm quite certain. The tapestry... it must be behind this wall."
"Behind the wall?" Filch repeated, his voice incredulous. "You mean to tell me we've been moving hundreds of books for hours, only to find out that the tapestry is behind a wall?"
"Indeed!" Trelawney nodded. "A magical barrier! A test of perseverance! Only those who are truly dedicated may pass!"
Filch stared at her, his face a mask of disbelief. "You've got to be kidding me."
Harry, however, was already examining the wall. He ran his hand over the rough surface, searching for any sign of a hidden mechanism or a magical opening. He wasn't entirely convinced that Trelawney knew what she was talking about, but after everything they'd been through, he was determined to see this through.
Besides, he had a feeling that this whole grumpy troll and forbidden ferret situation was about to get a whole lot weirder.
He cast a few diagnostic spells, muttering under his breath. "Alohomora... no. Revelio... nope. Maybe... Bombarda? No, probably not."
"Bombarda?" Filch yelped, taking a hasty step back. "Are you mad, Potter? You'll bring the whole library down!"
"Just a thought," Harry said, shrugging. "It's a pretty solid wall."
Trelawney, who had been peering at the wall with her head tilted at an odd angle, suddenly gasped. "I see it! The key! The answer to unlocking the tapestry's secrets!"
"You see what?" Harry and Filch asked in unison, squinting at the wall. It still looked like a perfectly ordinary (if slightly dusty) brick wall to them.
"The pattern!" Trelawney declared, her voice filled with excitement. "The bricks... they are not arranged randomly! They form a pattern! A mystical pattern!"
Harry and Filch looked closer. Trelawney was right. The bricks, upon closer inspection, did form a subtle pattern. It was a series of swirling lines and geometric shapes, almost like a... a very badly drawn troll face?
"It looks like a troll," Filch said, stating the obvious.
"A grumpy troll!" Trelawney corrected him, her eyes gleaming. "The Grumpy Troll of the Forbidden Ferrets! The tapestry is a map! A map to understanding the troll's secrets!"
Harry stared at the wall. A grumpy troll. Forbidden ferrets. A hidden tapestry. He had a feeling he was going to regret asking.
"So," he said, slowly, "we have to... decipher the troll-faced brick wall?"
"Precisely!" Trelawney exclaimed. "And I believe I know how! The prophecy! It spoke of a chosen one, who would unlock the secrets of the tapestry!"
"A prophecy?" Harry groaned. "Of course, there's a prophecy."
Filch, who had been attempting to catch the last remaining ferret (which was now perched on his head, taunting him with tiny, squeaky noises), finally gave up. He slumped against a bookshelf, defeated. "I'm surrounded by lunatics," he muttered.
Harry ignored him. He was used to prophecies. They usually meant trouble.
"Okay, Professor," he said, turning back to Trelawney, "what does this prophecy say?"
Trelawney closed her eyes dramatically, swaying slightly. "It speaks of one with a scar, marked by darkness, who will seek the truth behind the grumpy visage..."
Harry winced. That sounded suspiciously like him.
"... and with the aid of the furry harbingers, and the keeper of the keys..." Trelawney continued, "... the path will be revealed!"
She opened her eyes, her gaze fixed on Harry. "You, my dear boy! You are the chosen one! You must decipher the troll-faced wall!"
Harry looked at the wall, then at the ferrets (who were now engaged in a wrestling match on the floor), then at Filch (who was trying to pry the last ferret off his head), and finally back at Trelawney.
"Right," he said. "This is my life now."
He turned back to the wall, examining the troll-faced pattern more closely. It was even more bizarre than he'd initially thought. The "eyes" of the troll were made of oddly shaped bricks, the "nose" was a protruding stone, and the "mouth" was a jagged line formed by several mismatched bricks. It looked less like a mystical pattern and more like a drunken troll had attempted to draw a self-portrait using building materials.
"Any ideas?" Harry asked, running his hand over the rough surface.
Trelawney, who had been consulting her inner eye (and occasionally peeking at the pattern through her fingers), suddenly gasped. "The eyes! The eyes are the key!"
"The eyes?" Harry asked, squinting at the oddly shaped bricks. "What about them?"
"They are... they are looking in different directions!" Trelawney declared, her voice filled with excitement. "One looks to the left, one looks to the right! It is a clue, a riddle!"
Filch, who had finally managed to dislodge the ferret from his head (only to have it immediately scurry up his leg), groaned. "A riddle? Oh, for the love of..."
Harry, however, was intrigued. A riddle involving mismatched troll eyes? It was certainly... unique. He focused on the pattern, trying to make sense of Trelawney's observation. She was right. The "eyes" of the troll were indeed looking in different directions. The left eye seemed to be gazing towards the left side of the wall, while the right eye was looking towards the right.
"Left and right..." Harry muttered to himself. "What could that mean?"
He tried pressing the bricks that formed the eyes, but they didn't budge. He tried tapping them with his wand, but nothing happened. He even tried whispering the words "left" and "right" at the wall, but that only earned him a strange look from Filch (and a snicker from one of the ferrets).
"Think, Potter, think," Harry told himself. He knew there had to be some kind of logic to this. It couldn't just be a random arrangement of bricks. There had to be a reason for the mismatched eyes.
He glanced at Trelawney, who was now swaying back and forth, chanting something about "the convergence of celestial energies" and occasionally throwing handfuls of dust into the air. He decided she wasn't going to be much help.
He looked at Filch, who was still trying to catch the last ferret, which was now performing a series of acrobatic flips on a nearby bookshelf. He definitely wasn't going to be any help.
Harry was on his own.
He stared at the wall again, focusing on the troll's eyes. Left and right... left and right... what could it mean?
Then, it hit him.
"Left and right," he said aloud. "As in... directions!"
He looked at the wall again, this time focusing on the bricks that the troll's eyes were "looking" towards. The left eye was looking at a specific brick on the left side of the wall, while the right eye was looking at a different brick on the right side.
"Maybe..." Harry said slowly, "maybe those bricks are important?"
He moved closer to the wall, examining the two bricks. They looked slightly different from the others. They were a bit more protruding, and they had a faint, almost imperceptible glow to them.
"Those two," Harry said, pointing at the bricks. "I think those are the key."
Trelawney stopped her chanting and peered at the wall. "The chosen one has seen the truth!" she exclaimed, her voice filled with awe.
Filch, who had finally managed to corner the ferret (which promptly bit him on the ankle), limped over to join them. "About time," he grumbled.
Harry ignored them. He reached out and pressed the two bricks simultaneously.
A low rumbling sound filled the air. The wall began to shake, dust and small pebbles falling from the ceiling. Filch yelped and jumped back, while Trelawney gasped dramatically, clutching her chest.
"The tapestry awakens!" she cried. "The prophecy is unfolding!"
Harry, however, was too focused on the wall to pay them any attention. He watched in amazement as the bricks slowly slid apart, revealing a hidden passage behind them.
The passage was dark and narrow, lit only by a faint, flickering light at the far end. It looked ancient and mysterious, and Harry felt a thrill of excitement mixed with a healthy dose of trepidation.
"Well, I'll be," Filch muttered, staring at the opening in disbelief. Even Mrs. Norris seemed impressed, her tail twitching with curiosity.
"This is it," Trelawney whispered, her voice filled with reverence. "The path to the tapestry."
Harry took a deep breath. He had a feeling that whatever lay ahead, it was going to be even stranger than anything he had encountered so far. And considering he'd just spent the last few hours chasing ferrets and deciphering troll-faced walls, that was saying something.
"After you," Harry said to Trelawney, gesturing towards the passage.
Trelawney hesitated for a moment, her eyes widening as she peered into the darkness. "Are you sure?" she asked, her voice uncharacteristically small. "It... it feels rather ominous."
"Ominous is my middle name," Harry said, with a wry grin. "Besides, we've come this far. We might as well see what all the fuss is about."
With a deep breath, Trelawney stepped into the passage, her figure disappearing into the gloom. Harry followed close behind, his wand held at the ready. Filch, after a moment of hesitation, reluctantly brought up the rear, muttering under his breath about the dangers of ancient prophecies and the general unpleasantness of ferrets. Mrs. Norris, however, seemed quite eager to explore, darting ahead with a confident air.
As they ventured deeper into the passage, the air grew colder and the flickering light at the end seemed to recede further and further away. The walls were damp and rough, and the silence was broken only by the occasional drip of water and the sound of their own footsteps.
Harry couldn't shake the feeling that they were being watched. The passage seemed to twist and turn, leading them deeper into the heart of the library. He wondered what kind of magic had been used to create such a hidden place, and what secrets it held.
Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the passage opened into a small, circular chamber. And there, in the center of the room, hanging from the ceiling, was the tapestry.
It was even more bizarre than Harry had imagined.