Her satchel was heavy. Not to the point where one would feel the need to use terms the likes of cumbersome, but still,the sight of a young, fresh-facedgirl carrying a voluminous satchel was disconcerting to say the least. The bespectacled college student strode briskly down the teeming streets, ever mindful of how late she was running.

Jean was a hopeless, incorrigible bookworm, and though she normally arrived in college way on time, her everyday stint at the library had finally caught up with her. Utterly engrossed in a book that had caught her attention—it could easily be said that the library's stock was running low for her, given that she had nearly devoured her favorite sections since starting the degree—, she had lost track of time and the next time she had checked her phone, her best friend, who she was supposed to grab a drink with, was bombarding her with messages, worried sick about her.

Conveniently enough, she somehow always managed to never flake out on her friends despite her proclivity to daydreaming. Nonetheless, this time around she had failed spectacularly and now was sweating profusely, acutely aware of her slip-up. She was walking so frantically that her already unkempt bun grew messier. Not precisely a sport enthusiast, she huffed and puffed, weaving her way through the overflowing avenue. Her mind reeling with lingering thoughts of the peculiar, yet compelling book she had been so taken by.

Earlier in the day, she hadpadded into the library and headed off for the sci-fi section. Jean was not a sci-fi fiend, but had started frequenting that section as it was not her main domain. Therefore, she had thought there could still be uncharted territories biding their time in hopes of being navigated. Once she made it there, she had taken ona simple, unambitious venture: finding a book she had not yet gotten her hands on. Having set expectations so low, any average book would do.

She started skimming her fingers over endlessspinesof all sizes and textures, deciding on a spur-of-the-moment decision that to spice things up,she would make her choice as random as possible. Her gaze roughly fixed on the worn wooden shelves. All of a sudden, a book she thought she had already discarded started twinkling faintly. She looked around, surprised at the fact that no one else seemed to notice. She rubbed her eyes, skeptical of the information her brain was registering. When her vision focused again, the book's twinkle had grown into a glow. Its existence was blindingly obvious and yet, her peers continued about her day, completely overlooking the volume, which Jean thought would catch on fire any second if she did not grab it. Thus, the copper-haired student snatched the book, quickly pulled out a chair and sat down. Then shegrazed the book, feeling it with her fingertips.

The cover was damp and though it was not ragged, its surface felt uneven. The book was leather-bound and once she opened it, she noted the pages were dog-eared. She quirked an eyebrow. How could a book this neglected and old have been sorted into the sci-fi section of a student library? She would not say such event was unprecedented for a lack of evidence but in her book, quite literally, volumes like that would have gone straight up to an antique store in the least patronized alcove of an alley. Just when she thought she had seen it all, the letters slowly flickered out of existence. Jean gasped audibly, earning a myriad of annoyed looks she paid no attention to. She was too busy flipping the pages of the apparent antiquity, her eyes betraying a hint of unadulterated shock. This soon turned into fear when the words returned in the eeriest fashion: little by little, the book roared back to life with haphazardly written words.

"I must be going out of my mind", Jean mused, "How is this even possible?"

She could not find it in herself to be more articulate. Whatever was occurring was beyond her. It was unheard-of. Indescribable. But her eyes remained fixated on the pages watching all unfold, thinking that the only plausible explanation for such an odd happening was her brain tricking her. It also existed the possibility of being in a deep slumber and that she actually was snoring loudly on her desk, having fallen asleep unbeknownst to her on her keyboard. She would have sighed, distressed by the notion that her days would soon be fraught with exams, but her attention returned to the present when she felt a certain wetness in her fingertips. She rubbed her fingers together for clarification purposes to ascertain the nature of the stain and found that her tips had been soiled by jet-black ink. She had the urge to recoil, terrified.

She flipped the pages back and forth until setting on one close to the beginning, after which she gulped and braved a read.

Back then, it baffled me to no end the reason why the SortingHat placedme into Gryffindor. Although I was coming to grips with magic and had seized all the information I could possibly get, its choice still disconcerted me. From what I had gathered, diligent and hard-working students had a proclivity to end up in Ravenclaw. Seeing as I had always taken absolute delight in literature —despite my tender age—, I was expecting for that soiree to finish alongside the members of said house. However, going off all the perilous feats I was to perform and the two boys I would soon befriend, it only made sense that the Sorting Hat thought of Gryffindor as the most fitting environment for me to bathe in.

Owing to the ordeal that has befallen me and my friends, I dare say that the Hat must have been tampered with, for all the valiance that blossomed along the way would not have ever done so had I not been sorted into Gryffindor, where the biggest thrill-seekers resided. I had always been introverted and serene and such traits had to be dimmed in order for me to be able to rise up to the pursuits we kept encountering. As a child, always getting dragged into such adventures struck me as strange merely. With the passage of time and as different mysteries kept unraveling, I came to the following realization:thoughour exploits had beencoincidental for some time, at some point the respected Albus Dumbledore had set his sight on us. And when the Second Wizarding War strayed from plain speculations and became a looming, horrifying menace on our world, there was no denying I had strategically been placed in the lion's house.

To this day, I still have not gotten the full picture of Dumbledore's machinations. I am not of the opinion that his most noticeable attribute only wasdeviousness, but I believe he was so intent on his never-ending quest for the prevailing of good, that he must have forgotten about the nature of his errand runners. Harry, Ron and I were of-age according to our legislation, but at heart we were still teenagers and being shoved into the thick of a grislywar took a toll on us. Nonetheless, let me recapitulate. If you have found this, it is ofpivotal importance that you understand all the ins and outs to how the Wizarding World fell off its axis.

Jean stopped reading. Her first thought being that whoever had deemedadequate to put that book in the sci-fi section must have been off her rocker. Although she could understand that not much could be taken from a dull, empty cover and backcover. Growing less unnerved —though still bewildered—, Jean eyed the book conscientiously, desperately looking for a name or at least a pseudonym she could look up on the internet. To her dismay, the book was devoid of pictures and included no author. She shuffled on her chair, becoming anxious. First off, she had stumbled across a book that radiated a shine of its own and as if that had not been perplexing enough, it then had rewritten itself through and through, blowing her mind. Everything that her brain had registered so far could only be classified as downright madness. It was preposterous and unfeasible. And most of all, it was scary. All the hair on her arms remained stood up and her face had adopted a worrying shade of white.

She breathed in and out a couple times, trying to pull herself together. In the light of things, it would not do much to dwell on how many rules what she witnessed had just broken. Had she found herself in a different situation, her mind would have dived headfirst into such a gripping and promising plot, but she was way too agitated to make sense of anything.

Jean got up straight away and purposefully strode up to the librarian's counter. In a matter of seconds, she came face to face with an old lady she had grown fond of over the course of the years. She went by Mrs. Williams. They had become acquainted the first day a wide-eyed Jean had visited the library. Mrs. Williams had offered hera couple of book recommendations and after finishing them, Jean had given them back, gushing about one in particular she had read in one sitting. Mrs. Williams and her had shared a bunch of polite, yet endearing exchanges that had eventually developedinto the rapport they had now.Believing this to be the case of a reading famine, Mrs. Williams addressed Jeanfondly.

"Good afternoon, honey", she greeted her with a swift, acknowledging bob, "How can I help you?"

Jean had managed to stutter out what she wanted, but since the old lady was hard of hearing, sheleant carefully into the counter and beckoned for the young woman to repeat her speech.

"Good afternoon to you too, Mrs. Williams", she replied in kind. A wide smile etched its way onto the librarian's face, "I happened to run into this book and would like to know its title and author."

Mrs. Williams frowned, thinking it uncharacteristically of Jean to formulate such a question. She provided a response all the same.

"Hand it over and I'll look at it briefly", she requested.

Jean nodded, feeling relief wash over her as she would finally be able to elucidate the book's antics. Or so she thought until the librarian returned the book to her almost mindlessly as she told her about a title and an author whose lack was conspicuous. The student did not relent and asked the same thing again. Mrs. Williams was taken back by Jean's atypical endeavor but regardless compliedwith the demand. Realizing that Jean looked unsettled, she beckoned her over behind the counter and showed her a very much convincing name that she thought would appease her favorite discipule. Seeing that something was awry, Jean thanked the agreeable librarian, retrieved the book and made a beeline for the spot she had been sitting in.

The ounce of tranquility that she had mustered ebbed away as she returned to her original position. Once it was completely gone, panic seized her.

"This must be some kind of sick joke. There is no way Mrs. Williams saw words that clearly are not written on the cover".

The thought of it gave her shivers.

Seemingly oblivious to the torment that ravaged Jean's mind, the book remained unperturbed. Jean cast an apprehensive look at the haunted volume. Eventually, she scowled at the book and on a rush of bravery she did not know she possessed, she took the book, held it in place and rose to the occasion.

"I can't find an explanation to anything that has happened, but as ridiculous as it may sound, the book stopped glowing when I grabbed it", she stopped dead in her tracks, "Well, damn. That sounds more stupid than I thought."

As worn and as old as it looked, the book was inviting, posing a silent challenge Jean simply could not pass up.

"Okay. Here goes nothing."

And in had she plunged into the intriguing world of wizards and witches, a realm brimming with magic. Even in her unpolluted fear, she had found the couple of pharagraphs she had read to be quite interesting and had thought that they could have perfectly been her handiwork. Jean was a voracious reader, but this time the story the author narrated in the form of a memoir made her ravenous. She could not get enough.

As she quickly discovered when turning onto the first page, the artifice of the novel was a girl who refused to disclose her name. Jean thought such secrecy on that matter was futile given that the story was ridden with other specifics, but did not freat about it. Instead, she was spellbound by the girl's writing and the world she so eloquently brought to life. Only ten pages in, she was reacting strongly to the main character's vicissitudes and as the tale furthered, she got the disturbing feeling that, in spite of the two boys' shortcomings, she pictured herself getting along with them.

Harry Potter, dubbed the Boy Who Lived after vanquishing as a baby a man who the girl referred to as a 'despicable scoundrel', was a good-natured boy Jean instantly pictured as the brother she never had. Harry was a jet-black haired lad who wore big round glasses and sported a scar, a testament to the tragedy that orphaned him. He was described as loyal, fearless and loving and was the protagonist's partner in crime. Her ride or die.

Ronald Weasley was a quirky, ungainly kid who was described as well-meant, kind-hearted but klutzy and sometimes fickle. At first, he did not fall into her graces but ended up making the grade when he fiercely stood up for the protagonist when she got called a foul name in the wizarding world. She did not pick up on it right off the bat but inevitably ended familiarized with it after the foreboding lines the girl would write about it once in a while. From the sound of it, 'mudblood' was a disgusting derogatory term that had caused the Gryffindor an unutterable grief.

It alludes to a person whose existence taints our realm just for the sake of daring possess magic. My world did not turn upside down when Draco Malfoy shot that name at me with such hatred. It had been long time since I had encountered that word. I always knew I was being unfairly discriminated against, but did not fathom the scope of the term, nor did I imagine that the war I would have to fight in would come to be on the grounds of blood purity.

Wizards and witches that have been born from magical parents are believed to be the rightful owners of magic, for which they self-proclaimed themselves 'purebloods'. I have attempted vigorously for my loathing of them to subdue but I just can't. Not after all the pain Voldemort's most fanatical followers have inflicted on me and our society. The oppressed may abide by the rules but will never find a way to soothe their minds.

During my teenage years, the predominant mindset did not favor them, which is why I was able to study magic at all. You must bear in mind that these hateful acts were not kept at bay and that, if reported, the pureblood would rarely pay the piper. Reading my own words over and over I feel sick. I have realized I am as unforgiving with them as they are with me and to make matters worse, that feeling of righteous sickness fizzles out when I remember the current set of affairs. The old me would be repulsed by my radical views, as she used to believe everyone should be given a second chance, but some human beings are just so ruthless you could not fit a modicum of mercy in them.

The mudblood and pureblood dissertation reminded Jean of racism and was utterly distressed by it, finding at the same time that the author had cleverly portrayed the painstaking reality of a lot of people. However, she was shocked to read that the girl, who she surmised would have written her memoir as a grown woman, sounded as hateful as she made out to be those supremacists and was appalled by the following diatribes the protagonist indulged herself in. She did not believe those purebloods were any better —in fact, they struck her as deranged bigoted zealots—; nonetheless, it was so disheartening to see that such senseless aversion had rebounded off and mercilessly taken root in the girl.

She left off a little after the author had laid the foundations of her society, but even an hour later, now well into a trivial, lighthearted conversation with her best friend, Jean's mind was restless, swarmed with thoughts of the enthralling imaginary world and an uncontainable wish to know the Gryffindor bookworm which would follow her into the land of Morpheus.

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Hey! Welcome to my story and thanks for clicking on it:). So, first off I'd like to clarify that English is not my first language. Please be gentle with me. I'm still learning. I kind of have the main idea of where I want to take the story outlined in my head but as I'm making up the details as I go, all bets are off. I came up with this idea today and couldn't get it out of my head so I had to put it down.

For the record, it is a Bellamione story. I'm not sure if they will be endgame just because of how crazy the story's gonna get (their relationship won't be toxic) but I swear I'll go the extra mile to try and make it happen because the gays must stick together. Also if you're like homophobic or some shit you may leave now. The door's that way.

All spelling and writing mistakes are my own and I in no way would take offense if you pointed them out. It actually would help a lot.

Pls comment lol. Do you like It? Where do you think I'm getting with the story? I'd love to hear your insight