Numinous

The corridors were all dark, only to be lit by the occasional floating candle, or the tip of the workmen's wands. The halls had a musty scent to them, mixed with the pungent burnt smell leftover from the fire that had been put out merely days ago. The once regal looking school now looked worn, and entire walls had fallen down in shambles around the men tasked with repairing the school in time for the students to return.

One of these men happened to be an older man who went by merely Rory. He was the lonely old sort, who spent most of his time divulging himself into his work. He wasn't quick with his wand, nor was he too bright, but he could work a strong bit of magic, and knew how to do his job well.

He had been assigned to checking over the original sketches for Hogwarts, and comparing them to the way the building stood in its current state. It was a rather important task, one that would tell the workers exactly where they needed to focus their attention. Their goal was to finish it as quickly as possible, and they were to build it exactly as it was originally intended.

The documents containing the sketches for the school were mere copies- he didn't doubt they wouldn't trust him with the original, which was created by the four founders of the school. He didn't choose to take offense to it, either. He simply wanted to do his job, and get it done. The papers- for there were about six different sketches- were all rolled up and kept contained by a piece of fabric, poking out of the back of the satchel he was carrying with him. He held his wand out before him, his gaze lingering on scorched portraits and rubble that still needed to be cleared from the battle that had taken place there.

He thanked Merlin his children weren’t old enough to be in school, yet. These were dark times- no, he corrected himself, they were dark times. He’d seen the school right after the battle. He’d seen the bodies of children, ranging from little eleven year olds upward. It was enough to turn his stomach, and he’d felt the bitter taste of bile within the back of his throat. He could still taste it now, at just the thought of the little ones who’d given their lives for a cause they probably hardly understood.

But it was better not to think about it. Rory pushed the thoughts to the back of his mind, pausing in the middle of the hall and pulling out the parchment containing the sketches of the school. It took him a moment to unravel it from the fabric, and another moment to find the page that contained the sketch of the first floor, during which time he cleared his mind of all the negative thoughts. He’d always been grateful for his ability to shift into work mode, now more than ever.

As soon as he was prepared, he went about his job, doing everything just as he should. He checked to see which rooms would need walls reconstructed, and marked them down manually with a muggle pen he’d found to be quite nifty when trying to work quickly. He had ventured down exactly three and a half halls before he found something that didn’t quite fit with the sketch of the school.

It was a small door, one nearly a foot shorter than himself, and appeared to be charred as though it’d received the brunt end of a powerful spell. An ancient looking knocker rested nearly two-thirds down the door, a relatively normal looking iron knocker, but something looked off. Rory stepped closer, curiously, gazing down at the knocker intently. Very faintly, he could see what appeared to be scales etched into the ring.

He glanced back down to the sketched, uncertainly. Everyone knew Hogwarts had a life of its own- he’d heard tales of rooms appearing and disappearing, but he’d never experienced anything like that himself. For a moment, he thought about heading back in the direction of the other workers and revealing what he’d found, but he also knew there was no guarantee he’d ever be able to make the door appear again.

His chest was tight, and his stomach uneasy as he made his decision. He reached out for the door, attempting to push it open at first, but it wouldn’t budge. There were no knobs, or anything to assist him in entering the room. But the knocker had to be there for a reason. Reaching up, his sooty hand grabbed onto the ring, and he tapped it against the thick wood.

Almost immediately, the door creaked open. It squeaked the way old doors often do, and Rory peered into the darkness, unable to see anything at all. He held up his lit wand towards the room, and furrowed his thick eyebrows when he saw there was absolutely nothing in it. It was incredibly tiny, looking just hardly big enough to contain his body, let alone house anything else. What was the point in such a room? It didn’t make any sense to him. Curiously, he put a foot forward, ducking his head as he stepped over the threshold that led to the tiny room.

The moment both feet were inside, he heard what sounded almost like wind, howling. Then, almost within seconds, the noise grew louder. It gradually grew so loud that his ears ached, and then his head. He put his hands up to them, trying to stifle the noise any way he could. The sound was so deafening he couldn’t think, he couldn’t make a noise. All he could do was hunch down, and cover his ears, but to no avail. The sound grew, from a howl to a roar, and from a roar to a piercing screech. His ears popped, and then he felt a sharp pain deep from within them as something wet began leaking out from his ears to his hands. The noise grew, and grew, louder and shriller than anything Rory had ever heard before.

And suddenly, there was silence.

Rory remained hunched down, his hands covering his bleeding ears, his eyes clamped shut tightly. But his skin was a deathly white, and his body awkwardly stiff. Little drops of blood made their way past his hands, down along his jawbone. His teeth were clenched in a permanent grimace.

Meanwhile, the knocker from the door suddenly began twitching. Slowly, it jerked and shuddered until it could move smoothly, and it released its hold on the door, slithering down to the floor. Its heavy iron body moved loudly against the stone floor as it grew closer and closer to the stiff worker. As it reached his feet, it moved along his body, working its way up towards the neck, where it stopped and paused for a long moment.

The blood was still falling from his ears, and all it took for one little drop to land on the snake-like knocker ring for everything to change. Satisfied, the snake slowly worked its way back to the door, where it slithered up and rested once more against the knocker. The little drop of blood almost simmered as it rested against the iron skin of the knocker, before it vanished entirely.

And then, almost as if it had never existed at all, the little charred doorway vanished once again.