The Living Ghost at Hogwarts
Three.
It was rare that anyone voluntarily ventured to the back of the library.
Harper, of course, did not mind the solitude. She enjoyed the isolation from the dull and mind-numbing conversations of her peers.
While others spent much time outside—soaking up the autumn weather before it faded into frost—Harper clung to the quiet and serene air of the library. She did not care for sitting outside with friends—not that she had any friends to sit with. It must be known that Harper did not want for friends; she found friendship to be a worthless endeavor. Forsaking as much human contact as possible, Harper clung to the quiet of the library and the glory of the written word.
However, Harper’s much beloved solitude had been interrupted almost every weekend and some weekdays since late September. No one ever came to the back of the library; that is why Harper sat there. It appeared to Harper, however, that a particular black-haired boy had been frequenting the dustier depths of the library as of late.
She knew who he was, of course. Harper distained social contact, however that did not imply a general ignorance of the world around her.
Harper had seen that boy in the library but only usually accompanied by friends. Harper never purposefully listened in, of course. She always managed to hear what others were talking about because she went unnoticed. Harper stayed under the radar of her peers and thus managed to hear a lot of the shadier gossip floating around Hogwarts.
Harper knew exactly who that boy was. She didn’t understand why the boy was alone in the library; from what she knew of him, he had two best friends that he was usually with. Harper knew all about the boy. She knew his name but everyone in the wizarding world knew that. It seems that most of the gossip surrounded the boy, especially last year when everyone claimed he was insane.
The boy always sat at the same table next to hers; he always sat in the same seat facing her. Harper had never bothered to meet his eyes but she saw him in her peripheral vision. She had heard at her house—as it was anything but a home—about what had happened to the boy’s godfather. If Harper had a heart she might have felt sympathy for the boy.
But she did not—or at least she repressed it very well. For now, all she cared about was the boy intruding on her space—not that he ever said anything to her. He just stared. She could feel his gaze. And it bothered her; it unnerved her. Harper was always invisible at Hogwarts. She didn’t want anyone to see her, especially Harry Potter.
Harper, of course, did not mind the solitude. She enjoyed the isolation from the dull and mind-numbing conversations of her peers.
While others spent much time outside—soaking up the autumn weather before it faded into frost—Harper clung to the quiet and serene air of the library. She did not care for sitting outside with friends—not that she had any friends to sit with. It must be known that Harper did not want for friends; she found friendship to be a worthless endeavor. Forsaking as much human contact as possible, Harper clung to the quiet of the library and the glory of the written word.
However, Harper’s much beloved solitude had been interrupted almost every weekend and some weekdays since late September. No one ever came to the back of the library; that is why Harper sat there. It appeared to Harper, however, that a particular black-haired boy had been frequenting the dustier depths of the library as of late.
She knew who he was, of course. Harper distained social contact, however that did not imply a general ignorance of the world around her.
Harper had seen that boy in the library but only usually accompanied by friends. Harper never purposefully listened in, of course. She always managed to hear what others were talking about because she went unnoticed. Harper stayed under the radar of her peers and thus managed to hear a lot of the shadier gossip floating around Hogwarts.
Harper knew exactly who that boy was. She didn’t understand why the boy was alone in the library; from what she knew of him, he had two best friends that he was usually with. Harper knew all about the boy. She knew his name but everyone in the wizarding world knew that. It seems that most of the gossip surrounded the boy, especially last year when everyone claimed he was insane.
The boy always sat at the same table next to hers; he always sat in the same seat facing her. Harper had never bothered to meet his eyes but she saw him in her peripheral vision. She had heard at her house—as it was anything but a home—about what had happened to the boy’s godfather. If Harper had a heart she might have felt sympathy for the boy.
But she did not—or at least she repressed it very well. For now, all she cared about was the boy intruding on her space—not that he ever said anything to her. He just stared. She could feel his gaze. And it bothered her; it unnerved her. Harper was always invisible at Hogwarts. She didn’t want anyone to see her, especially Harry Potter.