Harry panted hard. That summer had been unbearably hot, the world constantly heating and revolving like food in a microwave, and Harry certainly felt he was being cooked.
He couldn't even imagine how the heat must've been affecting Dudley, who had more than a few layers of extra warmth on him.
Still, many of Dudley's friends and co-bullies were quite fit, even if Dudley himself wasn't. These kids, who played football five times a week and sprinted across streets competitively just for the fun of it, would catch Harry in no time and hand him over to Dudley, who'd take him by his trousers and give him the deepest wedgie in the entirety of Britain.
Harry, lanky, unfit, built-like-a-chicken Harry, still fled from his harassers even though he knew his attempts were futile - who knew? Maybe they'd get hit by a truck while chasing him. A boy could only wish. Harry sped away, suddenly spotting a building up ahead.
This far away, on the outskirts of suburban areas like this, there weren't plenty of buildings or shops, rather just nice, maintained nature and a few kiosks with Coke appearing every once in a while. But Harry knew this way, and whenever he reached this point, he usually felt he was safe.
He saw the public library roll into his vision and prayed to whoever might be listening that he could get inside safely without being hauled by the scruff of his shirt just as he reached the door.
He could hear the other kids behind him kicking up dust as they ran toward him. Still, even though they always gained a considerable distance on him, by Harry's quick, sloppy mental calculations, he should've been able to evade them, even if it was by the skin of his teeth.
Panting, his mouth dry and his lungs to the point of bursting, he hauled open the library door - which was far too heavy for his spindly, eight-year-old arms and hauled ass inside the library.
This place had been his refuge since he had found it, and he was always grateful for its shelter when he could reach it. He always made sure to stick close to it if it was possible. The woman at the desk, Dolores, a lady with big, bug-eyes that popped out from her skull, magnified by her giant glasses, liked Harry quite a bit. He was quiet, respectful, and always brought his books back on time.
Besides, she saw her younger self reflected in him, and no doubt, she too had also suffered at the hands of bullies in her time.
She was used to Harry rushing inside, clearly struggling to avoid a beating. Harry didn't even have to flash her his library card. She just nodded him in and let him quickly make his way inside, going in no particular direction.
He heard the rest of the boys' sneakers squealing to a stop as they entered. Clearly, Dolores had halted them.
"And where are your library cards?" Harry heard her ask, using her severe tone.
Harry's bullies were still too young to be able to bully adults, as well. They all stumbled over their words, and Harry smiled a little bit as he envisioned his clear victory. "You need a library card to enter, boys," Dolores said. "How can I get one?" "Yeah, me too, I want one," began the choir. Harry's blood froze.
He had to find somewhere to hide. Fast. Already, having to file for a library card would calm the boys' inflamed bloodlust, but if they also had to search for him fruitlessly, they'd simply grow tired and find something else to do. Their attention spans weren't the greatest. Or so Harry hoped.
Harry sped to where he knew they would have the least access - the adult section. Dolores always made sure to make it clear that no children were allowed into the adult section, so maybe they'd think Harry didn't have access to it, as well.
But Harry always snuck in - adults in libraries usually minded their own business, so if they saw him poking around there, nobody would actually say anything. Luckily, or unluckily, no one was there that day. Harry wasn't even particularly interested in the books in the adult section. Anyway, they were mostly ones showcasing very muscular torsos and certain books that were deemed inappropriate for his nice, Christian neighborhood.
Even though horror books, history books, and thrillers were all available, somehow, the people of Little Whinging were terrified and didn't want their children to look at erotica or other types of religious content.
The Quran was in the adult section, together with different tomes of something that always had 'Wiccan' in the title and other religious texts from far-off places. He was almost enjoying his time there when he suddenly heard a tantalizing voice echoing through the shelves.
"Where are youuu, little orphan boy?" Dudley called out.
His very tone of voice set Harry on edge. To him, it meant endless torture.
He always waited for Dudley to grow tired of abusing him, but he never did.
It couldn't be fun watching him squeal in terror or writhe in pain time and time again, could it? Wasn't it like watching the same movie over and over?
But Harry couldn't know what sort of twisted crap went on in Dudley's brain or what gave him the energy to do such things to Harry day in and day out. Soon enough, Harry understood that he wouldn't be safe in the adult section: when the next kid found his way inside, they would all begin covering the ground, and it wouldn't be long before they found him.
Small town, small library. Harry understood he hadn't escaped at all and that the only place which had, to this point, been his refuge, was now infested. Harry was almost about to hit his head against the wall and turn himself in, just so as not to prolong the torture when he noticed a door at the far end of the hall.
It read: 'RESTRICTED,' but he didn't care, at that point. If it were not locked, he would prefer facing Dolores' wrath rather than Dudley's and his posse. Looking around him and ducking his head, Harry crept to the door. Please don't be locked, please don't be locked, he begged it. He turned the doorknob.
It was locked. He wanted to scream, hit it in the flurry of anger and injustice that he felt, but he just kept on trying, foolishly.
Please, please, please, just open.
He asked, desperate. He shut his eyes and wrinkled his forehead, begging the door entity to open even though he knew it was useless.
The door suddenly clicked open. Shocked, Harry quickly made his way inside and shut the door behind him. Maybe he was delirious, dehydrated, dying of heat stroke or something of the sort. After turning on the light, he looked behind him and found exactly what he expected - just a bunch of old books.
The place smelled musty and ancient, and he reckoned that that was where they probably kept valuable editions or very fragile, expensive books. He made sure not to touch anything. He could still hear Dudley's taunting voice calling to him from the outside, but Harry felt unreachable in there for some reason.
He wound his way around the shelves, looking about to see if he recognized anything he'd read, but they all just seemed a little boring.
He was thoughtfully perusing when one jumped out at him. It wasn't on the shelf with the others but rather propped up on a tall, old lectern.
It was darker than the others - deep blue, but such a deep blue that it seemed to absorb all the light from the room.
It opaqued the rest of the volumes with its sheer obscurity. It had symbols similar to those found on the Wiccan tomes, but they looked more rustic, older.
It was closed, and on the cover, aside from the engraved golden letters, there was a massive ruby.
Harry was completely entranced by it. He touched its spine and felt something move within him.
Though he didn't know about the magic that he carried within himself, his attraction towards the book came from it, and that was why he opened it.
He knew he shouldn't even have been touching this book, but he somehow felt he needed to do it - in fact, he felt that the book had such a deep, magnetic pull that it was the reason why he frequented the library so much, like everything he had done until now had been to lead him to that book. Inside, there were more incomprehensible symbols.
Harry didn't even try to understand them, but he trailed a finger through the ink and felt himself shudder.
He thought that the symbols were words, and he looked hard at them.
They seemed to shift under his gaze, moving and twirling between one another, until they finally formed letters that Harry could read. Amazed, he said it: "Lacus-" he pronounced choppily, but he didn't get to read the rest of it, because just as he had been pronouncing the words, he had grabbed the book, and the world became a swirl below his feet, a whirlpool of purple and navy blue ink.
The void sucked him in. And just like that, Harry was gone.
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"And it sent you to Hell…" Millie murmured her hand over her mouth, the same position she'd had since Moxxie had begun his story.
"Stolas' book." Loona pieced together, looking quite pensive. "I'm sure of it," Moxxie replied. "So, let me get this straight," Blitzo said, stroking his chin, "you aren't just a stinking human, but you're also capable of all this crazy magic juju?" "Blitzo!" Millie growled. "I think so… but whatever I'm capable of, it didn't develop right.
My magic… it became different when I became an imp." "How did you become an imp?" Loona asked, suspicious. "Well-" Moxxie began, but there suddenly came a knock on the door. A second later, professor McGonagall entered the room, looking quite tired. Moxxie hadn't realized it, but it was rather late.
"Mr. Potter?" She asked, looking at Moxxie. "Professor Dumbledore would like a word with you if you don't mind." Moxxie exhaled. "Alright. Could I have a minute?" "Certainly," she replied, but she looked like she had just sucked on a lemon. "You have to go again?" Millie asked, exasperated. She clearly wanted to be close to him, to get all the truth out of him.
She was out of her element, and she needed some explanations. "I won't let him keep me long." "I gotta know what's going on, Moxx. I gotta," she told him, her wide eyes looking up at him. "Well, maybe we would know if Harry here hadn't suddenly turned into Jane Austen telling his story." "I swear on the nine circles, Blitzo-" Millie snarled. "Yeah, yeah, I know, you'll decapitate me. What's new?" "I'll be back soon," Moxxie assured them.
He knelt to let Millie give him a kiss on the head and then left the room to go with Professor McGonagall. "Are you ready, Mr. Potter?"