Harry Potter Book Spine Novels & Stories

The vault was filled with books—some historical, some magical, and some so old their pages threatened to crumble at a single touch. She ran her hands over the leather-bound spines, feeling the weight of centuries of forgotten knowledge. Then—her fingers brushed against something different. A groove. Selene’s breath hitched. She pulled the book from the shelf, turning it in her hands. There—etched into the spine—was a symbol. A circle bisected by a jagged line, with three smaller marks along the edge. A claw. A fracture. A brand. Theoden, sensing her sudden stillness, stepped beside her.

They were too perfect to exist. "Boundary spells will take time to create hence the reason I brought a dark object that will immediately drain him of his power and make him seem more humane." Suzy winked at me. "What is the dark object?" Hilda touched a large palm tree bark and the wind started swirling almost immediately. "You will see," she said and stopped mid-air to inspect our surroundings. She slowed her breathing as she tried to make a magical reading.

I stretch up on my toes and pull it out, and seconds later I succeeded like I always do when I put my mind on things. Sending a cloud of dust motes swirling into the air while allowing it for a moment to escape from the shelf, I blew the dust from the cover. There were no words printed on the front or spine, just a simple black leather binding cracking with age, and strange symbol I do not recognize.

So we stood up from where we were hiding and roamed our eyes around the cramped room. “He almost got us,” I said and wiped the sweat on my forehead with the back of my hand. “I am truly sorry for that.” “No. No need to apologize.” I shook my head and scanned every bookshelf. “Now all we need to find is that spell book.” As soon as I mentioned it, a loud thud caught our attention, causing us to flick our eyes toward it. A worn-out book flew out of the shelf—the same one as I envisioned in my head. Leather cover, with some witches’ symbols etched on it and the pages, almost looking as though it was almost burnt to ashes.

I nod and look around. “Where is the book?” I ask. She wasn’t carrying anything when she entered the room. “I always carry it with me, you just can’t see it,” Shanna explains. She mutters a couple of strange words, holds out her hand, and a book appears and falls onto it. The cover is fine leather engraved with a vine-like design that swirls around the edges of a large picture. The picture depicts a woman standing with her arms stretched up above her head. Above her, there are stars in the sky and I swear I see one twinkle. Shanna opens to the first page and I am stunned to see a spell.

I reached for the shelves tagged Spell Books on Curses and took out one that caught my eye. It was a hardcover book. The cover was black, and on it was a gold imprint of a spell bottle. "Is it not funny how we keep meeting in unexpected places?" Prince Daryl's voice was small, careful not to enrage the librarian whose hawk eyes followed every movement of the students in the library. But even when it was a whisper, it still sent stills of caresses down my spine. "Perhaps you are stalking me, your Highness," I said, struggling to keep a blank face.

She ran her fingers along the spines, the gold lettering cool against her skin. Drawn in by the sheer volume, she hesitantly pulled a book from the shelf, a slim volume bound in dark blue leather. The title was etched in silver: The Royal Grimoire of Sacred Oaths. She opened it, her eyes skimming the ornate calligraphy, the intricate diagrams filled with arcane symbols.

I refrained in fear that if I touched it there, it might whisk me away from this magical place. As I ventured deeper, I found myself in a sprawling hallway, surrounded by another astonishing array of books. The sheer scale of the full collection left me breathless. Row upon row of bookshelves stretched out before me, the books’ silver spines glinting in the soft light. The haunting book collection seemed to stretch on beyond my line of sight. From what little I was able to read as I walked by, their topics ranged from ancient Grimoires bound in black leather to modern volumes, bound by machines with glossy edges.

It was the second time I burned myself with my cup of tea. I had recently bought it when I discovered an internet store about literary articles, and I instantly fell in love with the Harry Potter-themed cup that only required the coat of arms belonging to the book when it was filled to the top by a smoking liquid. Most of the time, I just filled it with water just to have the pleasure of seeing the dark color giving way to the brightness that contained the drawing of the most famous magnificent witchcraft school in the literary world.

Its spine was thicker than the others, bound in a dark leather that gleamed faintly in the dim light. When I pulled it from the shelf, a strange warmth radiated through my fingers, and the air around me seemed to hum as I brushed my hand over it softly. I opened the book, and the first words that caught my eye sent a shiver down my spine and I narrowed my eyes instantly: “The Chosen Bond.”