-no one is ever here to study- {open}

[severus snape]

The library was not a place most Hogwarts students actually spent their time studying in. At least, that was Snape's perception of the building. In fact, to this professor, the library was a worthless piece of building that was going to waste. All it housed were pointless books that would only help the students here gain an ever larger head for the positive side of the wizarding world. If Hogwarts really wanted to prepare its students for adulthood, they should be letting them in on the truth. All of it, and not just the good things. But, no. All of the dark, correct, real stuff was locked away or hidden on a secret floor no one could get to. Not even Snape himself.

"You don't understand," he sneered at a young woman with big round glasses sitting behind the front desk. "I am a professor at this school. You can't tell me you don't know who I am. You don't, do you?" He placed his hands on his hips, shocked. If his tall stance, arched brow, narrowed eyes, and lifted nose didn't give him the stance of a powerhungry egomaniac, then he was convinced nothing would. "I'm Snape. Severus. Dumbledore's trusted ally. And if I ask to see the guarded books, you shall let me see them."

This was like speaking to a brick wall and Snape soon decided it was pointless to keep trying. The girl behind the counter only stared back at him, blinking occassionaly - the only sign she gave the professor to prove she was actually alive and not just a dead staffmember propped up to make the library look as if it actually had proper management. Dumbledore would hear about this. There was no doubt.

Since he had no other choice, Snape knew he would have to search the books himself. He wouldn't find the ones that were locked away, but he hoped that someone in this bloody school had at least placed a few Dark Arts books on the shelves. Or were they really that protective over their precious little wizards that they could only read about puppies and gumdrops? He hurried down the aisles, his robe flowing behind him as a result of his briskness, knocking over books as he pleased.

[ronald weasley]

On a scale of one to ten, Ron would place the idea of visiting a library at about a one. Maybe a two, depending on his mood. Today was ranking in at about a one, however, as he made his way in through the big heavy doors. There was just something gloomy about this place. He blamed it on all of the memories he had here. If he wasn't spending endless hours surrounded by these books with Hermione, he was looking for a cure to some spell gone terribly wrong. Often, Hermione would want to come here and either study or play detective on some kind of dark case, and Ron didn't like the idea of his friend being there alone and would suffer through the smell of old books mixed with the sound of overly-intelligent people talking about the latest great novel they picked up last Tuesday. Unfortunately, Ron was alone now, which made the event even worse than normal.

He sulked up to the desk, approaching it as if he was the next in line for execution on the guillotine. "Can you point me to the..." he cleared his throat, looking around to make sure no one was listening in on his embarrassing question before continuing, "... arts and crafts collection?" He had lowered his voice to avoid calling attention to his need, never one to handle embarrassment too well. But, his mother had sent him a letter requesting a certain book that she knew Hogwarts had. She had seen it when she was a student here and was just certain that it had her notes still in it. She was knitting a sweater, of course, for the next holiday and needed to remember the best kind of needle to use for this particular design. And if there was one person Ron couldn't say no to, it was his mother. Call him a softie, but he had an admittable weakness.

"Bloody books," he groaned, walking toward the shelves the woman had motioned to. He ran his finger along the spines of the books as he walked, watching as a few clumps of dust found their way to the floor. Finally reaching his destination, he began filling his arms with crafting books. Knitting For Necessity, Yarn By The Dozen, The Knitter's Paradise. He couldn't remember exactly what book his mother needed and decided the best way to find it would be to take a bunch to a table and begin the search. He filled his arms with as many as he could carry, covering his face slightly with the height of the stack, and began walking to a nearby table.

Unfortunately, Ron's vision was so hindered by his stack that the next thing he knew, he was colliding with someone coming rather quickly in the opposite direction. With a painful thump, the books came crashing down to his feet, his body stopping upon impact with the robed figure. Ron gasped, mortified, when the person in front of him came into view. Of course it had to be Professor Snape. Of course!

"I'm so sorry professor," he apologized nervously, in a near whisper, as he quickly fell to the floor, picking up his stacks. "I didn't see you, I'm terribly sorry." He awaited his punishment, hands shaking as they stacked the hardbacks on top of each other once more.