A/N: Hey everybody! So this is a story that has been itching in the back of my head since around the time I started writing FanFiction, (it's crazy, I have a million ideas now that I've actually started…) and I really, really love this idea because it has so much potential. This story was inspired by George R. R. Martin, a man who, ironically, hates FanFiction and everything to do with it. But I'll take inspiration where I can get it.

"A reader lives a thousand lives before he dies. The man who never reads lives only one."

–George R. R. Martin

Disclaimer: There's no way an eighteen-year-old today can write a best seller novel seventeen years ago.

Chapter One:

Jason Miller sighed as he put down the twelfth book he had finished that week. Checking his clock, he sighed again; it was only four thirty in the afternoon and he had nothing to do.

Jason wasn't like most thirteen-year-old boys his age. While other boys liked to play sports or sit for hours in front of a television set playing video games, Jason would never be spotted anywhere without a book in hand. Lots of kids thought he was weird and nerdy, an image not helped by his skinny figure, somewhat long dirty-blond hair or owlish eyes that made him look like a little kid.

Fortunately, he wasn't teased too much about it and had several friends who were patient enough when he went into his slightly manic binge reading, but now that he had finished all of his books and his homework having been finished since lunch the day before, he had nothing to do because all of his friends had left for a weekend campout that he had opted out of in favor of a trip to the library.

Why go camping, he argued, when you could hunt horcruxes with Harry, Ron, and Hermione? Why go fishing when you could find dragon eggs while hunting or go to a war reenactment when you could join Frodo on his quest to destroy the ring? In short, why do anything when the lives written of within the pages of a book were so much more exciting than his own?

Sighing for the last time, Jason collected the books that were strewn all across his bedroom and stuffed them into his backpack, barely managing to completely zip it to the top. There was no way he was going to survive an entire weekend without a new collection of books to keep him company, especially with his friends out camping and his parents out on an all-day hiking trip.

Jason's bike was not in the best shape. AS far as bicycles were concerned, it had never been the greatest, and he wasn't exactly the one to fix it up. But with no other mode of transportation to cover the three-and-a-half miles to the library, Jason found himself an hour-and-a-half later pushing his bike to the top of Alabama Hill, his backpack restocked with another dozen or so novels.

Reaching the top of the hill, Jason mounted his bike and kicked off, only for his pedals to stick and freeze before he had gone more than twenty paces. Cursing his bad luck and promising himself for the umpteenth time to actually take time to really fix his bike, he pushed it across the street to the park that he hadn't visited since last summer when his friends had threatened to throw his book in the lake with him if he hadn't come. Dropping his bag to the ground, Jason plopped next to his bike and got to work.

His hands were greasy and black when a figure walked up to him.

"Having troubles there, Jason?" Looking up, Jason saw his next door neighbor smiling down at him.

"Shouldn't you be on that campout with the other boys? I know my Daniel was very excited for it," Mrs. Matthews stated, eyeing Jason curiously.

Refraining from rolling his eyes with difficulty, Jason shook his head. "I've decided that a trip to the library is much more exciting than a couple nights in front of a fire, but my bike decided to die minutes from home, so I'm fixing it now."

Mrs. Matthews gave Jason an appraising look as if debating something with herself. Nodding, she held out her arm to pull Jason to his feet.

At Jason's questioning look, Mrs. Matthews simply said, "Come along, my husband is at home and I'm sure he could help with your bike. And I have something that might interest you."

~HP~JM~HP~JM~HP~JM~HP~JM~HP~JM~HP~JM~HP~JM~HP~JM

Back at Mrs. Matthews' house, Jason was sitting at the coffee table sipping cocoa and nibbling on cookies as Mrs. Matthews searched her bookcases for something. Jason was getting antsy; here he was, a mere twenty feet from his front door, and he was stuck waiting for Mrs. Matthews. He wished he could just pull out one of the many books he had just gotten, but refrained so as to not appear rude.

"You see Jason, this is something you don't keep for yourself – you keep sharing it. I've been looking for years for someone to give this to. I'd give it to Daniel, but you know how he is. I think you are someone who could truly appreciate the value of it… If only I could remember where I put it…" Mrs. Matthews faded out as she seemed to be talking more to herself than to Jason. Suddenly she straightened as she appeared to have remembered something and she hustled quickly out of the room.

Before Jason could do more than wonder if it would be worth his time to take out his book, she was back with a very large and dusty book in her hands. Cringing slightly at the sorry state the book was in, Jason couldn't help but lean in to see as she handed him the dirty volume. Blowing off the dust and dirt and choking momentarily on the small cloud, Jason wondered how long it had been since Mrs. Matthews had touched this book. It made him oddly protective of it; books were meant to be shared, loved, read and reread – not stuck in some dusty and forgotten corner of the house.

"This is for you. It taught me more in one go than any teacher has in my entire life… well I suppose it does have a slightly unfair advantage… and it's teaching methods are rather unorthodox…" she seemed to be talking more to herself again as she reminisced, but for once Jason didn't mind. She was talking like he talked when he finished a book that had completely blown him away.

Mrs. Matthews turned back to Jason, smiling. "I'm sure you'll enjoy your journey through it as much as I did."

At this, Jason smiled too. That's what he always called his reading experiences for he lived them far more than he lived in the real world.

Mrs. Matthews straightened and said, "Well, I wouldn't want to keep you away from your pile any longer than I already have, and I'm sure Geoff has gotten your bike fixed by now. I do hope you enjoy that book I have you." She began to bustle him out the front door where his bike was indeed waiting.

"Oh, I will!" Jason promised, mounting his bike.

As he began to pedal over to his home, he heard Mrs. Matthews call after him, "Oh and Jason! Please remember, 'It does not do to dwell on dreams and forget to live.'"

Jason reached home never realizing that his bike had never been broken and that Geoffrey Matthews had never looked at it to fix it. His bike had in fact been stopped right in front of the park that Mrs. Mathews had been enjoying an afternoon stroll by the magic of the very book that had just been given to him and now lay in the top of his bag.

The title of this book was A Thousand Lives.

~HP~JM~HP~JM~HP~JM~HP~JM~HP~JM~HP~JM~HP~JM~HP~JM

At six-thirty, Jason finally lay down on his bed to begin his new selection. An hour later, Jason was still only on the fifth or sixth page – he couldn't remember which – and couldn't recall a thing that he had read, a fact that would've bothered him had he actually been paying attention to the book in front of him. But somehow the mysteries of the Hardy Boys just weren't holding his attention; he kept finding his eyes wandering over to the largest book in his stack on his desk.

Finally giving up on the small, blue book in his hand, Jason turned to Mrs. Matthews' gift. It was a magnificent book. The cover was larger than most of his school text books and was a deep maroon color with gilded lettering spelling out the title A Thousand Lives. Turning it over in his hands, Jason could find no signs of wear; it looked as if it had come straight from the bookshop, despite having spent the last several years in some forgotten corner in Mrs. Matthews' house and despite the grime that seemed to have disappeared from its face. It was as if nothing had ever happened to it.

Opening to the first page, Jason saw a single line stretching across the middle of the page, under which the word "name" was written. As Jason was about to move on to the next page, Jason suddenly saw movement across the page. To his amazement, as he watched, his name began to be spelt out in a handwriting that he immediately recognized. It was his own. Jason Isaac Miller, written exactly as he would have, including the squashing of the letters in a way that made it so few people were able to read it.

Jason gazed at his name for a few moments, too chocked to do anything more than stare. He half expected the words to disappear or change, but after nothing happened, Jason warily turned the page, not exactly sure what to expect. He was therefore somewhat disappointed to find only normal, non-magical words filling the page, that it, until he began to read.

Jason Isaac Miller, you may believe that you found this book, that this book now belongs to you. But after you have enjoyed your experience within its pages, you will understand that you never could have found this book on your own, and that no one could ever hope to own it. This book is a book of giving, and only those who truly need it could ever discover its secrets

There is a simple magic in the art of telling stories, a discovery first realized several thousand years ago. Over time, it was discovered that the written word is much more powerful and long-lasting than any oral presentation. Many years passed, and the wisest and cleverest scholars realized that this power, in its most concentrated form, had the potential to change the world. For centuries, these scholars, philosophers and scientists worked together in secret to attempt to harness and control this power, but to no avail.

In the tenth century CE, the great warlock Merlin stumbled upon the secret by accident and harnessed it to make this book. He then shared it with King Arthur and his knights. After Camelot's fall, the world's philosophers declared the book lost and its powers were forgotten.

Today, the world has largely forgotten magic, but magic has not forgotten the world. It is sitting in your lap, waiting to do as it was designed: to change the world, one person at a time. It is now your turn to choose; this is the reader's choice. You give the parameters, the book does the rest.

The words ended there, and Jason blinked in surprise. Turning the book over in his hands, Jason once again noted its flawlessness and perfection. This had once belonged to King Arthur. Merlin himself had created this book. How was that for crazy? How was that even possible? And what was that about changing him?

Despite himself, Jason grinned. He had always known that there was magic. Bracing himself, he picked the book back up and once again opened it to the history of the book, where he was only slightly surprised to find that the writing was no longer a history of the book but the words of a book that he had practically memorized three years before:

Mr. and Mrs. Dursley of Number Four, Private Drive were proud to say they perfectly normal, thank you very much…

Jason felt himself falling backwards into darkness, and before he could even begin to process how he could be falling when he had just been sitting, his head slammed into his pillow.

Except, it wasn't his pillow.

In fact, as his eyes adjusted to the sudden darkness, it wasn't even his room, if this little space could even be considered a room. If he was to be honest with himself, Jason would have to call this a…

A sharp rapping sound suddenly interrupted his thoughts and a shrill voice cut through the door that was to his immediate right.

"Up! Get up! Now!"

A/N: Oh my gosh! That was SO much fun to write! AHHH! I loved it, so much, and I hope you liked reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it.

What do you think of this magic book? Any theories/ ideas of what is coming up? Have any thoughts on what you'd like to see in this – I open for input. J

Please, please, please review.

I live on reviews!

See you next week!

~HiddenReaderNinja