He could do it without the distracting spells (there were no cameras in the library), and he watched with great pleasure as all the dust on the bookshelves and the books themselves gathered into a big lump, which slowly "flowed" into the old gray bucket of water. Yeah, he, as the greenest library employee yet, is sent out on various minor tasks, filling in for someone "mature" while they themselves sit around in their clothes for days on end, doing... but essentially nothing useful for the library: they're tucked away on their phones, chatting with someone on them, and just spending most of their time "at lunch." Harry would start snorting and sulking unhappily, but the thing was, he liked it himself... this way, working even in such an interesting group, he felt part of something bigger, he felt like something important. At least in such a small company consisting of an old woman, a middle-aged man, and a guy and a girl about his "official" age. Considering that he looked seventeen, or at most eighteen, in fact he was nineteen, well, and according to the documents even twenty-four. The boy chuckled softly in his fist - some spy, like Dudley in the comics, would stumble upon him and break his head counting how old he really was. "Oh, yeah," the mage thought, looking around the clean bookcases and moving on to another section, starting to clean there, "I've been working in the City Library for over six weeks now! Gotta celebrate, after all - first job (I'm still not out of it, no matter how much Snape told me otherwise at Hogwarts)."
Imitating the smile of the Cheshire cat, the one from Alice, as the young librarian once jokingly compared, the wizard nonverbally and without a wand called up a calendar and used a spell to look at the time. The smile became even wider, and the bruises under his eyes even a little more imperceptible. Tomorrow begins vacation... at the library. Renovations, so to speak. They were planned for autumn, but because of some paperwork, lots of conclusions and other stuff, the restoration of the first floor was postponed almost to the end of winter.
With a habitual movement, Harry adjusted his rectangular-rimmed glasses and began arranging the books from the "gurney. There were many visitors, and everyone wanted to read something before the long, long three months that threatened to drag on for six months or more. So people grabbed the first book, with wild frenzy flipped through it, turned over, flipped again and finally quieted, obviously finding something. However, most of them didn't last long - they put the exhausted book back or just left it on the reading tables and the guests left the library with a pure heart and a sense of accomplishment. And they say you can't breathe before you die.
Slowly the library staff began to go home, and the turn to be on duty until eleven p.m. this week fell to the wizard. With envy in his eyes, Harry glanced at the happy Emily and King Johnson (King was the first mate, but he met his wife at the end of her shift every day) as they left, then looked at the clock, which pointed mockingly at nine o'clock, and exhaled dolefully under the mocking gaze of the old woman. Who, however, did not fail to take advantage of the situation and ostentatiously slowly pulled her pastel-pink coat over her skinny shoulders, wrapped herself in a scarf and paraded toward the exit, not forgetting to wish Harry a good vacation.
Rolling his eyes, Harry finally put aside the tiresome magazine, where were written down the debtors, and held out his encyclopedia of history, which calmly waited its time on a rather weighty book on the ancient Norse myths and legends. Potter had only recently discovered that history, it turns out, can consist not only of wars and goblin rebellions, but also of myths and palace coups, of multi-track combinations in the political arena and amazing world perceptions. What about Prometheus or the shenanigans of Scandinavian Loki? Harry was especially absorbed in Celtic myths, which sometimes touched on the history of magic in some places...
The guy would never admit to himself that he missed the magical world, and nothing that the magical world wanted to give a damn about Harry himself. Sitting on the rooftops until midnight and later after hours had become a tradition. Maybe it was because of them Potter just physically didn't have time to get enough sleep and was flaunting purple bags under his eyes for the past week. And the former Hero did not deny himself the pleasure of buying a pair of notebooks and pens for writing. However, in this world they have long been sold either as a rarity or as a decorative item, which because of constant use quickly begins to change the status from working to broken. Well nothing, reparo to the rescue, so to speak.
And now, sitting alone in a multi-story library, waiting for the last minute of his day, Jasper was deep in his reading again, biting the tip of his pen. The War of the Red and White Rose fascinated him so much that the sudden chime of the chimes caused the closest bookcase to the pulpit to catch fire unplanned. However, to give the military endurance credit, Harry immediately extinguished it, and with the help of his Elder Wand restored both the damaged furniture and books, removing the suffocating smell of burning. Watching the brilliantly accomplished work, the young wizard realized all over again that he should have listened to Flitwick in Spells for nothing: he could do better now.
If only one textbook on Spells or Transfiguration... or Defense Against the Dark Arts could be summoned here. Potter so clearly pictured the very same textbook in front of him, from his freshman year. A slightly worn blue folio with oblique stripes forming an interesting but incomprehensible pattern; "Dark Powers: A Self-Defense Manual" written in Gothic script at the top, and "Newt Salamander" written in ugly handwriting with the slant to the left at the bottom. Harry covered his eyes and reached for this amazing textbook, which he had never deigned to read cover to cover. Just a little longer and he would reach... just about... now he would touch the spine of the book with his middle finger... he could almost feel it... Grabbing the air with his fingers, Harry opened his eyes and shook his leaning head forward with a sad smile. Is this what his dreams are all about?
Quickly applying an accio spell to his little backpack with an eyedropper shaped like a cat, Jasper slung his invariable dark blue coat over his shoulders and headed for the exit. "I'm running late tonight," Harry thought, tugging on the gothic ring and opening the door without even looking at it. The book on Defense never left his mind... And then all the events unfolded so fast and so quickly that Harry realized the very next second that he was sprawled out on the floor and pinned by something heavy. And while his consciousness was just trying to at least comprehend the situation, pain seized his back and neck. A muffled moan came out of my throat. What had he gotten himself into again?
- Fenrir, for crying out loud..." the mage wheezed, trying to get some air into his chest.
Meanwhile, something heavy began to move, trying to stand up. Jasper opened his eyes and noticed with regret that the glasses were not only cracked, but also seemingly warped: a break in the temples. The cracks made the image look fuzzy, but Jasper could tell with certainty that a blond man stood above him.
- Excuse me, mister, are you all right? - Jasper's voice came through at last.
- Don't ask the squashed sandwich how he's doing; he won't answer," Harry tried to joke, rolling onto his right side to make it easier to get up.
- I apologize, mister, I was just in a hurry and didn't expect the door to open by itself...
His rather oddly acquired interlocutor seemed to take the joke personally. This raised a scratchy irritation in his soul. Well, does one have to say the same thing so many times! Potter squeezed his temples and rubbed them a little.
- I may seem harsh to you, it's the end of the day after all, but would you stop it? - Harry shook his shoulder irritably. The bruised areas throbbed with pain, but he found the strength to pull a smile on, he was a librarian now, on the job after all. - One apology and all right, right? - Jasper looked at the late visitor, who was crumpling uncomfortably in front of him, adjusting his glasses purely on automatic.
And now, sitting alone in a multi-story library, waiting for the last minute of his day, Jasper was deep in his reading again, biting the tip of his pen. The War of the Red and White Rose fascinated him so much that the sudden chime of the chimes caused the closest bookcase to the pulpit to catch fire unplanned. However, to give the military endurance credit, Harry immediately extinguished it, and with the help of his Elder Wand restored both the damaged furniture and books, removing the suffocating smell of burning. Watching the brilliantly accomplished work, the young wizard realized all over again that he should have listened to Flitwick in Spells for nothing: he could do better now.
If only one textbook on Spells or Transfiguration... or Defense Against the Dark Arts could be summoned here. Potter so clearly pictured the very same textbook in front of him, from his freshman year. A slightly worn blue folio with oblique stripes forming an interesting but incomprehensible pattern; "Dark Powers: A Self-Defense Manual" written in Gothic script at the top, and "Newt Salamander" written in ugly handwriting with the slant to the left at the bottom. Harry covered his eyes and reached for this amazing textbook, which he had never deigned to read cover to cover. Just a little longer and he would reach... just about... now he would touch the spine of the book with his middle finger... he could almost feel it... Grabbing the air with his fingers, Harry opened his eyes and shook his leaning head forward with a sad smile. Is this what his dreams are all about?
Quickly applying an accio spell to his little backpack with an eyedropper shaped like a cat, Jasper slung his invariable dark blue coat over his shoulders and headed for the exit. "I'm running late tonight," Harry thought, tugging on the gothic ring and opening the door without even looking at it. The book on Defense never left his mind... And then all the events unfolded so fast and so quickly that Harry realized the very next second that he was sprawled out on the floor and pinned by something heavy. And while his consciousness was just trying to at least comprehend the situation, pain seized his back and neck. A muffled moan came out of my throat. What had he gotten himself into again?
- Fenrir, for crying out loud..." the mage wheezed, trying to get some air into his chest.
Meanwhile, something heavy began to move, trying to stand up. Jasper opened his eyes and noticed with regret that the glasses were not only cracked, but also seemingly warped: a break in the temples. The cracks made the image look fuzzy, but Jasper could tell with certainty that a blond man stood above him.
- Excuse me, mister, are you all right? - Jasper's voice came through at last.
- Don't ask the squashed sandwich how he's doing; he won't answer," Harry tried to joke, rolling onto his right side to make it easier to get up.
- I apologize, mister, I was just in a hurry and didn't expect the door to open by itself...
His rather oddly acquired interlocutor seemed to take the joke personally. This raised a scratchy irritation in his soul. Well, does one have to say the same thing so many times! Potter squeezed his temples and rubbed them a little.
- I may seem harsh to you, it's the end of the day after all, but would you stop it? - Harry shook his shoulder irritably. The bruised areas throbbed with pain, but he found the strength to pull a smile on, he was a librarian now, on the job after all. - One apology and all right, right? - Jasper looked at the late visitor, who was crumpling uncomfortably in front of him, adjusting his glasses purely on automatic.