Harry Potter Audiobook Original -

He was lying on his back on the hearthrug, his head resting on a copy of One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi , staring at the enchanted ceiling. The ceiling reflected the sky outside: bruised purple and deep navy, with a single, fat star winking near the tattered edge of a tapestry depicting Barnabas the Barmy teaching trolls to ballet.

The common room was silent. Even the portrait of the Fat Lady, visible through the open doorway, had stopped pretending to snore.

“D’you reckon Peeves ever sleeps?” Ron asked, abandoning the levitating card. It fell onto his knee, and the warlock gave him a rude gesture before the magic faded.

Ron drew his wand with a clumsy thwack . “Who the bloody hell are you?” harry potter audiobook original

“Harry Potter,” said the man. His voice was low, dry, and carried the weight of old libraries and older secrets. “You are not easy to find when you wish to be left alone.”

“It is if you believe hard enough,” said Ron Weasley from the armchair to Harry’s left. He was attempting to levitate a Chocolate Frog card—the portrait of an old warlock with a nose like a kumquat—using only his eyebrows. It was not going well.

And the fire went out. End of Chapter One. He was lying on his back on the

It happened without sound. One moment it was a robust orange, the next it was a silent, icy azure. The temperature in the room dropped ten degrees. Ron’s breath fogged in front of his face. Hermione froze, her quill hovering mid-stroke.

“That’s not normal,” she whispered.

“I’m absorbing knowledge through osmosis,” Harry said, his voice muffled by the book. Even the portrait of the Fat Lady, visible

Harry’s scar seared. White-hot. He staggered, and Ron caught his arm.

“That’s not a real thing.”

“Of course it is,” muttered Ron. He stretched, his long legs nudging Harry’s ribs. “Move over, you’re like a horizontal wardrobe.”

Harry was already on his feet. His hand had moved to his hip, where his wand should have been, but it was upstairs, tucked under his pillow. Stupid. Careless.

“This,” said the man, holding it up so the firelight shone through, “is the memory you lost. The night Voldemort came to Godric’s Hollow. Your mother’s final word. Your father’s last spell. You have never remembered it because a child’s mind is merciful. But mercy, Mr. Potter, is a luxury you can no longer afford.”