A few days previous, Becky had stumbled upon the most absurdly hilarious, supposedly "non-fiction" documentation of muggle life. She'd checked the book out and had had to stop reading for a good half hour as she rolled on her bed laughing at the mental images the author had fabricated as fact. It was a surprisingly good remedy for the homesick melancholy that had led her into the muggle reading section in the first place. Even needing to pause between reading sessions for fits of laughter, the book didn't last long and Becky was back to find another one with hopes that it would top the last.
After returning the book to library staff, Becky walked running her fingers along the spines of the books in search of a new read. There were a few she picked off the shelf, but after reading a page or two she wasn't convinced of their worthiness and set them back in their same spots. A book titled Muggles in Media looked promising to Becky, but just as she was beginning to ponder if she should take it out another book caught her eye. This beautiful, thick, shining, green furred book by a something Skeeter had to be worthwhile. Even the binding was ridiculous, on the spine of the book were two crooked, skewed crazy eyes with green felt hanging in front of each, catching in their lashes while they blinked. The book was titled What the Muggles See.
Becky definitely wanted to know what they see.
Sitting at a nearby table, Becky began to read. Just the first chapter had Becky holding a hand in front of her mouth, trying not to laugh as she choked on the breath she held in. This woman was crazy with a capital K. The last two lines were too much for Becky-
"And with their finger lenses they're able to see into the minds of wizards- or so they think! These delusions and tiny glimpses of the wizarding world are where their crazy tales of dolphin into ape evolution begin!
Becky cracked up laughing, trying to stifle herself by biting her hand as she wheezed. After a few moments she regained her composure, but realized that she should probably move to avoid someone yelling at her for being loud. Picking up her book, she quickly hurried around the corner of a shelf.
Truth is stranger than fiction, but it is because fiction is obliged to stick to the possibilities; truth isn't.