Anything, Anything, Anything Solo

Thin fingers drummed against the edge of the bookshelf as her eyes scanned over title after title, occasionally pulling one of the dusty old tomes to skim through the text before moving onto the next. It was a calming, familiar task, spending an afternoon wrapped in the scent of ancient paper, ink and well worn leather. Truely, she never thought she'd spend so much time still in libraries once she'd graduated.

Last few months had been a constant collecting of moments she wouldn't have imagined even just six months ago that she would have; and nearly every one, Ruby had been at her side. It felt like she'd become a perpetual object in motion, always with something new to keep her mind occupied. The world had become a playground of adventure and study and growth. Her little flat had become more like a stop over before flitting off to where ever they decided they would go next. That had been the main purpose for coming to Bodleian today, research and prep for the next adventure.

They'd gotten back to London a few days prior with the next trip already planned for with plenty of time to rest and do whatever errands or research or visiting they might need to do before then. As such, Illowy had decided to take the motorbike up to Oxford to work on a bit of research for the trip so she would have at least a little bit of base knowledge... plus, she missed riding, and it was nice to take a leisurely trip for a change as opposed to just flooing to the wizarding wing of the library. Especially before it became too cold to be able to even bare a ride for as long as it took to get there.

The witch pursed her lips, still having not quite found what it was she was looking for as she pulled a list out of her pocket and glanced over the topics and suggested titles she'd decided on before coming. Perhaps a different section? Illowy shoved the parchment back into her pocket as she turned to wander further through the towering shelves. Her heels clicked againsts ancient floors, worn smooth as she turned into a new row of bound dust and parchment to search.

Finally, her eye caught one of the titles she'd been looking for, setting it on the banister table behind her, she carefully flipped through the brittle pages, mottled and yellowed with age. Blessedly, she was finding the information she was looking for as her eyes went quickly over the pages under the guide of her finger, lest she loose her place in the tiny script. Her fingertip paused at the mention of another title at sounded familiar. She'd been fairly certain she'd seen it while looking for this one.

Pale eyes sought it out quickly on one of the upper shelves before she pushed herself onto her tiptoes, stretching to reach for the book. The moment her fingers wrapped around the spine, a memory rushed to the front of her mind.

She was standing in the town square in what had to be Godric's Hollow. It had to be, she thought, as her eyes drifted over one of the most famous memorial statues from the last Wizarding War. She felt as though she'd been dunked underwater in a freezing lake, the cold hair cutting into her, while the sounds of the village around her were muffled, as though she were underwater. Her eyes fell away from the statue as she felt pull in her chest leading her away.

Suddenly, its as thought the world is shifting and moving past her at top speed. So quickly, she can't even hope to distinguish any real detail around her before it all comes to a stop at an old, shabby, and ruined cottage... and everything is silent. As her eyes take in the sight before her, and she recognizes Ministry-marks everywhere, but they're old and starting to wear away after so long exposed to the elements. In this place, its as if the air is colder and quieter than it was in the village. Yet, the insides seem to vibrate; like something has happened here.

She feels the pull again, leading her further up the path and drawing her inside the cottage until she finds herself gazing into a vertical shaft; and there's nothing. Just pure, unadulterated darkness staring back at her. A void, if nothing else. She feels her own arm straining, stretching deep into the darkness of the shaft until her hand finds purchase, and grips tightly around someone's wrist.

She can feel her hand, slick with a cold sweat as she tries hold fast.

But this isn't just someone. Its...its Ruby.

"Illowy...please..."

Suddenly, her hand slipped free of Illowy's grasp, and Ruby drops into the darkness.

All at once, she was back at the Bodleian Library, the book clenched tightly in her shaking hand.

It felt like an iron cloth wrapped around her lungs and heart, like a stone had lodged itself into her throat, like she couldn't remember how to breathe. The whole of her trembled, eyes blurring as she dropped the book to the floor and retracted her hands back to her chest, moving away from the shelf until she backed into the banister. Distantly, she heard the loud thump of something else hitting the floor; likely the original book she'd been looking at.

She couldn't explain it, she didn't have the capacity to even attempt an explanation. As if all sense had taken leave of her. The only thing that felt certain in the moment was that she needed to go there, and she needed to go now. Everything else was abandoned and forgotten as she tossed her bag across her chest and bolted, her shoes barely keeping traction on the smooth floors with each sharp turn as she weaved her way to the exit, wrapping her cloak around her shoulders just in time to burst through the heavy doors and into the world.

Illowy imagined she looked like a mad woman sprinting to her bike, roaring the engine to life before launching off like a bat out of hell. Maybe she was mad. Maybe this grief that settled in her chest and hung from her neck like an albatross had finally driven her mad. Losing Ruby, losing her like that, how could she ever forget the worst day of her life?

Grief, adrenaline, something else she couldn't even name, all of it pumped through her veins as she raced down the road. Ruby's last moments, the last time she would hear her voice, the last time Illowy would hold her hand in her own; all of it etched into the memory like marks on granite, stark and unmistakable...

There were too many thoughts and questions and emotions swirling in her mind to the point she couldn't find herself to do more than become all hands and feet and eyes as she pushed the bike harder. She needed to be there now.