Obligatory statement: I do not own any of the original HP world. That sadly is JK Rawling's. I can only take credit for my take and characters in this amazing world.
"Ooof" I set out an audible sigh as I sank into the armchair in my library. I reached up to pull a book from the shelf on my right side. Setting the book on my lap I began muttering to the skull by my chair, "Worked 80 hours a week through Residency and then continued that after I became an attending all so I could build a house with a library and I never get to spend anytime in it." I start to crack open my book, a familiar refuge from stress and mental fatigue. Reading has always been a place of safety for me. As I start to pick up where I left off, my body reminds me of a classic mistake. Never get comfortable without first making sure that you don't need to use the restroom. Getting myself back out of the comfortable chair I make my way down the hall. The smell of new wood and paint fill my nose. The house was just finished last month, and pride still fills me as I take it in. Having a dream house built at 36 is a thing of pride for me. Medical School and Residency involved a lot of delayed gratification, but building a house with a library has always been a dream that I didn't want to put off any longer than necessary. My library is my pride and joy, and I I filled it with all of the worlds I have explored. Places that provided me with shelter when this world was too much to tolerate. Collectables are scattered between the books on the bookshelves, each tied to one of the books surrounding them. I love each of them; collectable swords from Lord of The Rings, a clay wine gourd from Desolate Era, a skull with occult inscriptions on a bed of trashy romance novels from The Dresden Files, and many more.
After finishing in the restroom I looked at myself in the mirror. An unexceptional face looks back at me, "but I am still proud of it" I finished the thought out loud, once again glad that I live alone. Looking more closely I see bags under my eyes, more prominent than I care to acknowledge. Once I am back in my chair I reach for my book. It has been several years since the last time that I had explored the original Harry Potter books. Growing up my family read then out loud together, and watched all the movies in theater as they came out. While the movies will never approach the wonder of the books, they were still amazing to see.
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As an adult I got into Harry Potter fanfictions as a way to explore those aspects that the books didn't address as well, as well as a way to see people to address those things that didn't make sense to me as an adult. I have lost track of how many fanfictions I have read, each with their own takes on the world. I used to spend hours discussing with my mom, dad, and little sister which parts of the fanfictions made sense and which parts seemed illogical. Since they passed it has been harder to find anyone to share that passion with… I quickly change the direction of my thoughts, the memories still too sharp to handle… Another opportunity to explore this world, even without my family to share the story with is still all I could ask for. "Well I would give anything I had to actually explore the world myself." I mused to myself as I left myself drift into a bit of childish wish-fulfillment.
A desire to explore the world told about between the pages once more and an open ended debt if completed. Could be amusing….
I open the book, "Chapter One THE BOY WHO LIVED, Mr. and Mrs. Dursley, of number four, Privet Drive, They were proud to say that they were perfectly normal, thank you very much." A sudden shudder went through the house and a shelf above my chair let out a crack. I look up and look into the bright yellow eyes of a basilisk sculpture falling. As it strikes my head and everything fades to black all I can think is at least there is no one left behind to miss my absence too terribly….
The first part of my price is your life here, the second… hmmm hopefully you enjoy the deal my son…