Sketchbook Harry Potter Novels & Stories

My fingers run along the scribble feeling how hard he must have pushed the pen into the paper. When I flip the page, my jaw falls. “Harvest Moon.” Then there is a horribly drawn picture of what I’m guessing is a red wolf. My eyes water, thinking back over what memories I’ve gained with the help of the witches. It isn’t anywhere near enough though. I need Skip, in front of me to get answers. The next few pages are somewhat nonsensical, but a puzzle I’m determined to break. I take the book back out to the living room area, where I pace the room staring at the pages.

She gave a slight, polite bow of her head and left as quietly as she’d come. For a moment, I just looked at the package. Then, with fingers that trembled slightly, I tore the paper away. Inside was a sketchbook. Not just any sketchbook. It was the exact large-format, heavyweight paper brand I preferred, the one with the slightly rough finish that held charcoal perfectly. Nestled in the crease was a full, untouched set of professional-grade graphite and charcoal pencils, ranging from hard to impossibly soft. There was a kneaded eraser, a blending stump, even a small, precise pencil sharpener. It was a perfect, complete kit. Better than the one I’d left at home.

And that was okay. Today I was helping Micah, a thirteen-year-old with a shaved head, hoodie sleeves always tugged down over their palms, and the eyes of someone who’d seen more than they should’ve. They weren’t chatty, but they liked drawing. Their sketchbook was filled with figures that resembled comic book heroes, quiet and fierce, with eyes always cast in shadow. They were hunched over a new page now, sketching a person standing in the center of swirling chaos. The figure held a long sword in both hands, the blade resting downward, tip touching the ground. Not raised. Not slashing. Just… there.

Another—just a stapler, some paperclips, and a half-empty box of sticky notes. I turned to leave, but something on his desk caught my eye. A sketchbook. It was thick, with a plain black cover, lying half-open as if it had been abandoned mid-use. My fingers hovered above it. I shouldn’t. This wasn’t mine. But curiosity pressed harder than caution. I flipped it open. The first page held faint pencil lines of trees and shadows, rough but confident. The next—a figure leaning over a railing, faceless but alive with motion. I turned another page.

As we continued browsing the shop, moving over to a section filled with artisanal stationery, delicate journals, and aesthetic desk accessories, my eyes suddenly landed on a gorgeous, leather-bound sketchbook with intricate gold foil detailing along the spine. I paused, picking it up. Ava loved sketching and jotting down story outlines whenever she was stressed; she had practically burned through her old notebook during the chaos of the past week. "Ooh, that's gorgeous," Stacey noted, stepping up beside me and peering over my shoulder. "Are you getting that for yourself?"

I carefully pulled out the large sketchbook, admiring the black leather cover and the silver binding. Holy crap... The ones I would get as a child were barely even as big as my hand, but this... I couldn't even think of how to describe it. My fingers ran across the soft paper before something else in the bag caught my attention. There was more. I peered into the bag again to find a whole variety of brand-new drawing supplies. Different kinds of pens, pencils, acrylics, colored pencils, and even watercolor paint and brushes. None of this stuff looked cheap either.

Rujnoiu raised his wand again, made some signs in the air and recited: “Peñota Invenient Me...” The two vanished and appeared by some shelves full of nibs of all kinds. Made of silver, gold or diamonds, water dragon scales, stone or fire dragon scales. You could even push your hand through the water nibs and they didn’t change shape. You could even pass your hand through a water pen, but it still didn’t change its pen shape. Those made of fire, had a playful nib like the flame of a candle, and those made of stone seemed to have a piece of rock on top.

Hogwarts Castle, Somewhere in the Scottish Highlands November 30th, 1992, 9:51 AM - Monday He then stored the mokeskin pouch in an inside pocket of his robes. Erik then did the same with the cup and the locket, storing them inside his mokeskin pouch and putting it inside an internal pocket inside his blazer. "So, Mr. Croaker, what do you want to do about the disembodied soul of Tom Riddle?"

His pencil sketches became more enticing as I flipped through the pages. Then I glimpsed at a figure that resembles me. It was a young girl on crop top and pantie with hands spread out and hair wind blown in the rain. This was different from the rest as it was sketched with a blue ball-pen in 3D. I looked deeper and realised it was actually me "OMG" I gasped with my hand covering my mouth. "This truly is me". I flashed back to the day I was playing in the rain.... "Oh my God" I exclaimed again. At the right hand side of the book was a written note.

Jake walked to his laptop and googled a whole lotta crazy scenarios like schezophrenia, personality disorder and even crazy itself but none of it was completely relating to what was happening to him. “Shit!” He closed his laptop and that's when he saw it. Lying just an inch away from behind the laptop; its tattered edges and broadness with the dark old cover and the distinct golden embossed symbol on top of it of the pentagram. The book.