Romans & histoires Harry Potter Coffee Table Book

The spines of the books seem to whisper secrets, their titles and authors a testament to the vast expanse of human knowledge and creativity. To my left, a cozy chair, its plush cushions and soft blankets an invitation to sink in and get lost in a good book. A side table holds a steaming cup of coffee, its aroma wafting up to tease his senses. The coffee shop in the corner, with its bustling baristas and gentle chatter, adds a lively touch to the otherwise peaceful atmosphere.

(Harper’s POV) “I’m sorry, what now?” I stared at Harry, dumbfounded. He flicked through some more pages of the book and then turned it to face me. I apprehensively looked down at the book. The page was titled “Bloodline” and there was a picture of a wicked-looking blade down one side. The writing was a little faded and handwritten, but despite all that, it felt so familiar and I could read it, like it was something I had read a thousand times before.

If I thought I was repulsed before, it just got a hundred times worse. "I think we've found the source of the poison magic," Knox whispers, taking in the scene of the crime. And I do mean crime. Whatever this is, it was not an accident. It was completely on purpose. Everything is placed exactly where it was supposed to be. And yet, not a drop of blood adorns the ground.

I had been living in a pit of soup cartons and medication since a few days before, and I was frankly sick and tired of feeling so… well, sick and tired. I was meeting Harry for lunch at a café not far from my place, and I was so excited about seeing him again—and handing over the presents for Winnie and him at last. I had managed to make it out to the store the day before to grab something for both of them. For Winnie, I had found this cute little book on unusual professions that women had had through the ages, and for Harry, I had selected a bottle of whiskey that I was looking forward to handing over to him. The two of them had been so attentive and sweet with me that I figured it was the

We aren’t a big one by any means, but we are powerful and rumours of our abilities have reached far and wide. As we enter the manor, the dark wood and walls greet us with the gothic chandelier hanging as we enter. The place smells of sage and rosemary as it burns in the corner. I walk us through to the spacious lounge with black leather sofas and a large glass coffee table resides in the middle. An open fire, bookcases filled with spell books and a drinks cabinet, line the back wall, a vast window on one side and a painting hanging on the other wall with the history of potions on the other.

Mr Collins instructs after he's finished his angry typing. “Reading what?” I ask. “That,” he points to a book that's on the couch where Theo had been sitting moments before. “What the…” I start to ask, then shake my head, “Right away, Professor Dumbledor,” I snark, picking up the book as he leaves the office. The book looks like a modern school textbook, but the title, ‘The Spark’ has me turning to the first page eagerly to finally get some freaking answers!

“What is so funny about Harry Potter?” “Do you know how much your mother loves Harry Potter? Those are her books.” She sets the book down and looks at me with disbelief. “No they’re not.” “Ask her. I promise you. I can tell you she is house HufflePuff and her patronus is a wolf. And she knew that before she knew of the magical world.” “Mine is a dog,” she replies and goes back to reading.

I didn’t pull away. Inside, the space was part café, part apothecary. Soft harp played from somewhere overhead, and the space smelled like cloves, orange zest, and warm bread. Crystal chandeliers sparkled above mismatched tables, hovering in the air, the crystals changing colors every time it moved. Wooden shelves were lined with dried herbs, spellbooks, and little cauldrons painted in pastels. The little jars were labeled things like moonlace powder and dragon’s breath salt. The tables were hand-carved and mismatched, each one paired with two plush chairs.

She didn't ask what kind. The coffee shop had been there since before the neighborhood around it had become the kind of neighborhood people wrote about in lifestyle magazines. Old wood. Mismatched chairs. A handwritten menu on a chalkboard. No interior decorator had ever been inside it. The coffee was strong. The tables were small. Two other customers... a man with a laptop, a woman with a paperback... both deep in their own worlds. Which was why Harry had chosen it. He was at the table in the back corner.

He pleads with me with a pouty face, and I let out a small smile before handing him the cup back. "Thank you, baby." He says, and I roll my eyes. He drinks the tea in less than five seconds and throws the cup on the floor, making a burning sound. "Fuck! What is in that stuff? It is so horrible. Ew!" Harry exclaims as he rushes over to the side table in the room and chugs on the water in the jug shamelessly. "Prussian blue seeds and water," I say in an amused tone, and he sets his jug on the table harshly to throw a murder glare my way.