Book
In the heath of the summer, Harry reads in the library.
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And
for a minute there, I lost myself, I lost myself
For
a minute there, I lost myself, I lost myself
Radiohead – Karma Police
The library smelled like smoke and old books, and he loved it. There in a dark corner behind the rows of books, he would sit on an old couch. Sinking in the cushions all made of different materials, he would lean back and flutter fresh air in to his face with an old Chinese fan, courtesy of an great, great aunt of his godfather.
The fan was a beautiful piece of handcraft, little flowers decorated the dark background. It also relieved him of the incredible heat that dominated the summer.
His snake had curled her lithe body around his, and was dozing on his shoulder, her tongue tickled his ear.
Parsletongue filled the room with it melodious sounds and words. The book that he was reading was old and worn. The leather was soft, the pages yellowed, the words spoken in parsletongue.