The Rise of Harry Potter

"Harry," James started, looking serious once more, "Your aunt's family are muggles, that means that most magical objects have to be hidden out of eyesight of any visitors or not exposed muggles,"

"Can I hide it in my trunk?" He asked quietly, James gave a firm nod. Harry rose quietly, sliding off the chair and walking across the floor out of the room. He knew James and Lily were startled but unsure what else to say.

"We won't be able to meet up often, just in case somebody is following us." James explained tersely, "It-"

"Take everything you want to." Lily sweetly yet abruptly added, "Is there anything we can get you? Before you leave?"

Harry swallowed.

They wouldn't have otherwise offered, realistically they were supposed to have all focus aimed at Skylar, who was in the most immediate danger. There wasn't time nor was it worth the hassle to consciously worry about his welfare. Harry would be fine, he had long since learned that it was better to be independent and quiet than to seek attention when there was none to receive.

"No," he shook his head, leaving from where he had paused in the entryway. The stairs were creaky and seemed much more ominous than he had ever felt in the house. Suddenly, it felt far more imposing against his small body. The portraits seemed foreign and although they moved loudly in the frames, he heard nothing besides the pulsating rush in his ears. It pounded rhythmically and seemed to lull his state of mind into something soothing.

'This isn't real.' His mind assured him. He felt like he was watching the world through the eyes of an imposter, watching as his body moved without his conscious control, 'This is all fake.'

He found some sort of perverse comfort in the knowledge that it was all most likely an illusion afterall.

(It likely didn't ever matter.)

His trunk had had been enchanted and decorated with gaudy silver fasteners over the rich wood. It was larger on the inside, yet Harry didn't have any difficulty in sliding his multitude of personal belongings inside the confines and clicking the small clasp shut. The trunk was still large, as high as his torso and as long as his arm span. Sliding it out of his closet, he felt that his room had become alien to him. The few figurines or drawings he had taken from various newspapers were removed from the shelves and folded or stacked away safely. His walls were now bare and his bookshelf was lonely.

He paused at the doorway unsure. If they were to be leaving the house and traveling somewhere new, would anyone actually notice if he had snuck a few tomes from the many shelves of his mother's library? The collection wasn't as elaborate as the family libraries or studies of Skylar's friend's families, yet it did contain a fair number of books and novels.

The study was on the second floor on the other side of the house. It was furthest from the bedrooms, yet still a fairly well versed path. Harry looked up and down the hallway before trotting off quickly along the hallway. He wasn't particularly sure if he was allowed to take any of the books.

'If I ask, they may say no.' He thought to himself, pressing against the grandiose doors, 'So why ask at all?'

Obviously his thinking was morally ambiguous, given any other situation or scenario he would most likely think or decide against. Considering with the ease both his mother and father expressed with his volunteering to be sent to live with family he had never met before; he felt the slow burning fire of irritation. He felt smug that the least he could do for himself, was to snatch a few books to entertain himself with wherever he ended up.

Harry didn't drag the heavy trunk through the hallways with him, so he was limited with the amount of books he could carry back to his room without being obvious with what exactly he had done. He was confident that he would have enough time to browse through the collection, since both parents were assisting Skylar at the moment.

So he was left with the suddenly overwhelming question of which books to take.

The more elaborate and complex books on runes or other mathematics had been sorted and placed on the bookshelves above his natural height. Just as well, he didn't think that reading about maths would at all be satisfying. Nor would History, or potions in his opinion.

His small fingers trailed along the thick covers of the many books on the magically enhanced bookshelves. He spotted volumes with strange titles or words he couldn't pronounce, let alone understand the meaning of.

There was a collection of spell books all published by a woman, Miranda Goshawk. Harry didn't know who the woman was, but if his parents had a complete collection of her works she must be impressive.

He tugged out one of the books which didn't seem to be a part of the main volume. Goshawks Assortment of Spells and Charms, a decently thick book with a leather cover and black ink. It seemed fancy enough, yet didn't have the sparkling font or the mass production feel that the other books had. He set it aside in the pile.

Magical Theory and Phenomena, written by Hasfalda Brickens, and Scalding Scales written by Silvanus Kettleburn, joined his pile and formed a rather thick stack.

....

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