Indifference Towards Difference || Harry Potter

9 | The Boy-Who-Lived Faces Death By Books

"Let the big world go on its sound train, we will nest here in silence."
Johann Wolfgang von Goethe

~~~

Lunch had been... tense. Horribly, horribly tense.

Harry had dragged his aching self to his quarters after training, showered, redressed his wounds and shoved on some clothes. All had been well and good until he'd realised he had about ten seconds to get to lunch.

And so the portraits of the manor had bore witness to the hopefully once-in-a-lifetime spectacle of the Boy-Who-Lived, hair dripping like a wet dog, half-limping, half-running down the stairs in over-sized denim jeans and a hoodie.

He had quite literally skidded to a stop at the dining room door, cheeks flushed and chest heaving, only to find Snape and Malfoy staring at him like a deceptive Bertie Bott's of Every Flavour Bean. And the rest of lunch had been spent with Malfoy edging away from Harry and Snape looking increasingly tired, as though frightened of catching whatever disease or mental condition that had claimed Harry.

As long as I'm stuck here, in Prince Manor, that will never happen again.

This Harry swore, as he trapised to the library for his Research session. Not that he had any idea what he would be researching.

Maybe Snape'll set an animated army of books on me, and that'll be the dismal end of the Boy Who Lived.

Although contrary to popular belief, he wasn't exactly opposed against reading; the bookshop near his Muggle primary school and the school library had saved him many a time when he'd been forced to hide from Dudley's gang.

He just didn't go around inhaling books or living in Hogwarts' library like Hermione.

A step into the manor's library and Harry quite literally had the breath sucked out of him. He'd only been able to take a glimpse at it before Malfoy had dragged him away on their tour, but it was... magnificent. Probably the only room in the manor he wouldn't be able to describe as just 'large'.

Books lined the walls for both floors, the second with an additional few rows. There was still the gothic theme of varnished wood with elaborate swirls and grey walls, but the comfy looking velvety dark grey armchairs with black floral patterns and the welcoming, musty scent of old parchment and leather covers contradicted the gloomy theme of decoration for the library.

Covering the wall of the spiral staircase leading to the second floor was a portrait of a bearded old man robed in red, seated in a hard chair, constantly glancing between a rather huge tome and an hourglass, as though his life depended on finishing the book before the timer ran out.

A crystal chandelier, larger and more detailed than the one in the dining room, hung with enchanted candles that were there more as embellishments than for practicality. But Harry wasn't complaining.

Hogwarts' library could marginally rival it by size, but by grandeur... the manor won.

Harry continued to watch the mysterious man, attention still split between the hourglass and the volume. It was quite unusual; Harry had never met a portrait that had just shut their eyes from the presence of a living being... but it was nice, playing the quiet observer. He was always noticed, always scrutinized and gossiped about in the Wizarding World. This was... nice. Normal, almost.

Unfortunately for Harry, he'd been so caught up in the mystery of the agitatedly passionate reader that he hadn't noticed Snape entrance, nor the man stand behind him.