Inside, I saw books stacked impossibly high. The stacks swayed, like I've been told skyscrapers do, as if always on the cusp of falling to the floor. Behind them, the shelves of the bookcases were packed from floor to ceiling. I even saw a few books inside cages. These sprouted teeth from their covers, and were chained closed, as if to prevent the books from digging their gnashing teeth into a prospective reader's hands.
I found a display of books by an author named Gilderoy Lockhart especially intriguing.
Voyages With Vampires. Holidays With Hags. Wanderings With Werewolves. Who could fail to be entranced by titles like those? Books are heavy and bulky, and with all my bookshelves at home filled to capacity, I know I've got more books than I can ever hope to read. Nor did I relish the prospect of stuffing more books (Yes, I brought some with me) into my suitcase, and worrying that it would exceed the weight limit for the plane journey home. Yet, I had to take a closer look at those books. After all, he was a popular and charismatic author, as an advertisement for his latest book attested.
Gripping the door handle, I pushed my way inside. I simply had to know more about Gilderoy Lockhart.