Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince - J.K. Rowling

J.K. Rowling
HARRY POTTER AND THE HALF-BLOOD PRINCE
He gasped. Despite his haste, his panic, his fear of what awaited him back
in the bathroom, he could not help but be overawed by what he was looking
at. He was standing in a room the size of a large cathedral, whose high windows
were sending shafts of light down upon what looked like a city with
towering walls, built of what Harry knew must be objects hidden by generations
of Hogwarts inhabitants. There were alleyways and roads bordered
by teetering piles of broken and damaged furniture, stowed away, perhaps,
to hide the evidence of mishandled magic, or else hidden by castle-proud
house-elves. There were thousands and thousands of books, no doubt banned
or graffitied or stolen. There were winged catapults and Fanged Frisbees,
some still with enough life in them to hover halfheartedly over the
mountains of other forbidden items; there were chipped bottles of congealed
potions, hats, jewels, cloaks; there were what looked like dragon eggshells,
corked bottles whose contents still shimmered evilly, several rusting swords,
and a heavy, bloodstained axe.
Harry hurried forward into one of the many alleyways between all this
hidden treasure. He turned right past an enormous stuffed troll, ran on a
short way, took a left at the broken Vanishing Cabinet in which Montague
had got lost the previous year, finally pausing beside a large cupboard that
seemed to have had acid thrown at its blistered surface. He opened one of
the cupboard’s creaking doors: It had already been used as a hiding place
for something in a cage that had long since died; its skeleton had five legs.
He stuffed the Half-Blood Prince’s book behind the cage and slammed the
door. He paused for a moment, his heart thumping horribly, gazing around
at all the clutter... Would he be able to find this spot again amidst all this
junk? Seizing the chipped bust of an ugly old warlock from on top of a nearby
crate, he stood it on top of the cupboard where the book was now hidden,
perched a dusty old wig and a tarnished tiara on the statue’s head to make
it more distinctive, then sprinted back through the alleyways of hidden junk
as fast as he could go, back to the door, back out onto the corridor, where
he slammed the door behind him, and it turned at once back into stone.
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