The mage's footsteps were heard behind him, cautious and sparing, as fighters should be, for no one knows that time spent on grand gestures (in either sense) can be put to better use. But in that gait, too, the mage sensed an undercurrent of amusement.
Harry went behind the counter and rummaged through the table littered with boxes of junk for a pen, remembering to ask for the name of the careless reader.
- Uh, Steve Rogers," was the coy reply, with a certain amount of apprehension.
Or a certain amount of justifiable caution... Deciding not to pay any attention to these oddities, the mage pulled apart the tabletop with the letter "P" and began to rummage through the pamphlets in it. Fingers full of patches from weeks of work finally found the right paper and opened it somewhere near the middle. "That's quite a Muggle read, isn't it? You don't see much of that around his age," Potter thought to himself before a rod came out of the pen, making a distinctive sound. He never quite got used to fountain pens. It took Harry a long time to get used to anything at all: magic, Quidditch, friends, owls, even the writing pens! It had taken him seven years to get the hang of a quill. He had to learn to use Muggle pens again. Anyway, Moore filled out the book deposit form in his sloppy handwriting - there were three - and slid the little book to the midnight visitor.
- Sign," the boy explained his actions succinctly, feeling the bewildered look on his face. - Yes, I know it's electronic, but what time is it now? The power in the library PC is switched off at 9 p.m... And our computer often flies - the IT guys can't write a normal program, so we have to run a paper report in parallel. And even so, in my humble opinion, it's easier, - he told me frankly for some reason (probably, from the fatigue).
The man, I had to hand it to him, was quick to orient himself and sign his handsome, flying signature. Yawning, Harry grabbed three books and headed deep into the library to set them down. Unfortunately, all the books weren't just from different directions, they were from different areas, so Harry had to spread them around the halls, find the subject indexes in those halls, and place them according to the alphabet. The last one was too thick to fit in the right row. "Morgana the Progenitress, what are you going to do," Potter thought wearily, rearranging a few books, while he made the others float in the air so they wouldn't get in the way for now.
Eventually, when an irritated Jasper returned to the front desk twenty minutes later with his left eye twitching with tension, he found the blond behind the counter to his own surprise. "Oh Loki... if he takes anything else I'll shoot myself!" - Inwardly Jasper howled, but by the laws of the library he put on another smile and walked over to Rogers.
- Did you want something? - With the softest tone that only he could at the moment, the mage asked, evenly trying to quiet his eyes.
"Merlin forbid you if the man almost as much as the Grim Reaper wants to take a single book," the boy mentally pleaded, hoping for the best outcome: that jock would just leave and they wouldn't cross paths for a few more months. But Harry Potter remembered who he was: luck just couldn't turn on him in any way other than the place he found adventures in. So the mage prepared himself for the worst.
- Oh, no... no. I just wanted to thank you for taking my books, despite the late hour.
Harry exhaled in surprise. He hadn't even realized for a moment that he'd just taken a breath. That almost childish gesture brought a brief smile to the man's face.
- And I have two questions for you," he continued.
Jasper shook his head as if to allow him to speak further, while at the same time locking all the other library lockers that had to be opened. And it didn't take long for the blond to get in.
- How old are you?
Harry, shutting the last drawer, stood up and looked at his interlocutor, smiling. Many people had asked this question because, as mentioned earlier, the wizard looked seventeen under the age of seventeen at most. And it was all because of the Deathly Hallows - Harry was almost certain of that - which had the fashion of appearing at the slightest needful moment. He thought, his shoelaces untied, and the Elder Wand already in his hands. The water in the shower was getting too cold - the Elder Wand was already warming his hand, though he just wondered, "Are there any water-warming charms?"
- I'm twenty-four, Mr. Rogers," Jasper exhaled as he stood up, and continued, noticing the incredulous squint. - I can show you my passport if you need it.
The mage saw how embarrassed the man was. He must have felt ashamed, or something, for not trusting a tired library employee. "How naive," Jasper thought to himself for some reason.
- Don't be... it's just that you look so young.
- Yes, yes, that's what a lot of people say," Jasper brushed it off as he walked toward the library exit, hearing the footsteps behind him.
As the wizard approached the door with a certain apprehension - what if another midnight snoop came along? - He opened the door, and a cold wind blew in on him. Shuddering, Harry shivered, burrowing his face better into his scarf.
- It's dark... do you live far away? - A voice came from behind him. It was full of such naked concern that it made my eyes prickle. Care...
"Has anyone ever cared for me, except that garrulous potion-maker?" - the boy asked himself sadly and shook his head.
- 'There's no need to show me any concern. I'm a stranger. It's obviously not worth it. And... what if I'm not a nice person? - Harry replied coolly, without turning around. That's right: worrying about him wouldn't do any good. - Yes, it is dark now. Would you make it all right on your own? I hear there are some thieves on the loose in the alleys around here. They don't make the news, and the police don't seem to care. Anyway, nice talking to you. Goodbye... And I don't think we'll see each other again soon.
- See you...
Harry stepped into the alley, threw a distraction charm on himself, and spun on his heels around himself. The world, spinning in different directions at once, shrank into one small dot, only to deafen the empty street with a soft pop of displacement the next moment.