#the scared sorcerer/deadly from her cursed flames | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

bigkyloenergy · 4 years ago

Text

𝙃𝙊𝙉𝙀𝙔𝙀𝘿 𝙑𝙀𝙉𝙊𝙈

CHAPTER II.

a witcher!kylo x reader fic. dark themes, smut ahead. 18+.

summary: you are a barmaid / stablewoman at an inn in toussaint, kylo ren, one of the last of the witchers from the school of the viper regularly stays at the establishment. you wonder what keeps him coming back.

read on ao3.

Nothing could make up for Kylo, the Viper — whoever he was -- making you cum then leaving you stranded once again. At least, that was what you told yourself when you’d collected the coin from the bed, the pile he’d always left, the pay and extra that could afford him another three weeks there.

You swore under your breath, cursed the Viper who left your thighs warm with need, unable to tie your bodice without the memory of his assertive hands, demanding to see every part of you.

But those words caught in your mouth the moment you turned, running directly into his chest.

“What are you doing here?”

“Uh — what? I mean, no — I’m... was closing up your room,” you explained quickly. You could feel his gaze burning through you. “Thought you had um — checked out for the night.”

“That isn’t your job.”

It was the truth. Your duties weren’t supposed to go past the care of the horses (which you refused to give up), and the front for customer service. The tidying of the inn was left to Myra, the innkeep had hired her the moment she gained the budget for her. Not that they wouldn’t mind making you pick up an extra task. But this task-- the motivation was all your own.

“So why are you in here?”

You finally met his gaze, the connection wrapping you in a warmth so deep it burned fear into your consciousness. He heard you, he was trying to pull it out of you. You could have swore he didn’t blink the entire time he was staring at you.

The black surrounding his face brought out his eyes in a way that was deadly, framing them, charming you until there was nothing left in your brain but the galactic orgasm you’d experienced weeks (what felt like years with him in your presence) prior. He wanted you to forget. That gaze dropped to your neck, where your pulse would be, before he reached up and wrapped his hand around the entirety of your throat.

Then the innkeep was making her way in the door, and Kylo was hesitantly dropping his hold. But he never took his eyes from you. It made you feel so supernaturally bare.

“Oh. Sorry, sir — I’d thought you’d gone by now,” the woman said, though she was shooting daggers at you. Like it was your fault he’d stayed.

Was it?

“Hm.”

“Did she say something? I can have Myra take care of you, if you ne—”

“I don’t.”

And with that, he turned, and your breath was released from your chest. He ducked under the door, and Miss Betty lurched forward to snatch your arm. “Have you any idea who that is, what he is, you daft thing?”

Squinting your eyes, you leered at her, “What does it matter?” The room was fuzzy from yet another adrenaline-spiking meeting with the Viper. You looked after the doorway, then back to the woman, tearing your arm away from her, “He pays enough coin to keep us afloat. You should be thanking me.”

“He’s a Witcher. A mutant. A monster who slays monsters. Stay away from him. I can’t afford for you to lose your innards.”

If only she knew.

But you only stared, her words licking a cold up your body. And you believed her, like she had just given you a piece of the puzzle that was the Viper. Taking your hand, she picked every piece of gold from your grip, holding it for a moment too long, “You stay away from him. You hear me?” You just nodded, allowing her to collect what belonged to her before you went back to the bar. Where you belonged.

You took in the entirety of the inn, hoping you’d see him on your way downstairs, the only customer being the cook, Ruek, leaning over your spot yielding a mug heavy with ale.

Going behind the counter, you found a rag and made yourself busy, wiping glasses that didn’t need to be cleaned. You felt his eyes on you.

“What?”

“Nothin’, just… the Witcher came out, then my mother came after you… then you after her, now your cheeks are all flush and I’m just curious is all.”

“There you all go with that word again. What is that? I just thought they were sorcerers like any other. Bounty hunters. Inspiration for bards.” Your eyes rolled, rag squeezing in your hand the same way it did the night he’d made home in your subconscious.

Ruek clicked his tongue, “Might as well break your ignorance if you’re going to be changing his sheets. That man… if you even want to call him that, is Toussaint’s greatest curse..”

What you knew about the cook in the Pheasantry wasn’t much, but you did know that he had traveled inns upon inns just to cook for different breeds of people. His eyes were wise with stories, knowledged wrinkles framing his kind smile, you trusted him more than most of the folks that you worked with. Not that Beauclair was a bad city..

“Curse? You’re starting to sound like your mother.”

“I’m sorry. I’m just surprised you don’t know any of this. You look …” He searched your eyes, before sighing, “am I just scaring you?”

“No, I want to know. Your mom was trying to do that, for my own good probably,” you scrunched your nose, knowing she'd never try to purposely scare you. She looked out for you to the best of her capability, a mother to most who ended up employed here, “I mean, you said I should know. So just tell me.”

“Okay. You know about the monsters in the waters, right? The sailor special— drowners.” Ruek laughed at his own joke.

“I’m pretty sure I’ve heard about those, yeah. That’s why you don’t go into them alone, especially at night. But they’re no real threat.” Ugly blue humanoids that looked like overgrown fish, their teeth sharp enough to shred skin..

“You’re not wrong, but I’m not talking about those kind of monsters. That’s my point. Normal Witchers were made to save us from those creatures, protect our villages, keep us safe from impending doom. The only reason those monsters aren’t a threat is because of them.”

“So they’re .. guards against the supernatural?” You asked, trying to understand why you should be afraid of a man whose targets weren’t human.

“To put it lightly. Those are the stories you hear. They do it for coin, usually, contracts are pinned calling to them for help to save a child or survey a forest… all of them come from different schools, not sure why, but as boys they were all either sold off, given as rewards or to put it bluntly: taken. I’ve heard some of them don’t even know their real name, had to name themselves because Witchers aren’t exactly… you know, warm. You following along?”

You nodded, his eyes an image in your head, luring you just as they did every time you were in front of him. Ridding you of any other focus. “Different schools? Like there’s more than one kind of Witcher?”

“Sure, I’m not… really sure how many, or even if any stand. After they get initiated, if that’s what you want to call it. They go through erm.. Trials? Mutations of the bodies, to make them more apt for being able to go against these beasts. Some of them don’t make it, most of them didn’t. In fact, that Viper is probably twice — fuck, maybe even three times my age.”

“Wait, what?”

“Yeah. Mutations do a helluva lot of things to their genetics, including life span. Their senses are heightened to a way we as humans wouldn’t even be able to describe. Wouldn’t call them mages, but they can wield magic with their hands. They’re called something…”

“Signs.” Miss Betty answered as she trailed down the stairs, making you jerk from Ruek’s gaze. But she just continued on, as if she hadn’t added to your conversation.

He nodded, “Yeah. Specific magics for their fighting needs. Anyway. The necklace they have, the medallion — all of them wear it, represents the school they’re from. Pretty sure it has to do with their freaky senses too. But that one, he’s called the Viper because that is the school that taught him. And… well, they were destroyed years ago. For not submitting to the new government. Even others Witchers say to this day, they don’t even know where it was located. Many think of him as an assassin because it isn’t part of the Witcher morale to take contracts on humans, even lesser threats of beasts… but a Viper takes the deal no matter whose head it is.”

“No more.” Betty interrupted, taking the glass from in front of you to break what felt like a trance, “she can listen to the drunkards and bards to hear the rest of it. You’re off for the day, consider it a mental break.”

The inkeep grinned, almost as a farewell, leaving you to give Ruek an apologetic shrug. Not that you didn’t want to listen, but it almost seemed like he was trying to scare you.

Nonetheless, you were off, your mind running through what you’d just been told. Taking the bag that hung over your shoulder, you decided to go back to your house first to change. You’d already taken a bath last night, after you’d touched yourself enough to make your wrist numb. You whimpered his name in the confines of your washroom, tested it on your tongue, hoped that you would get a glimpse of him the next day.

But all you had gotten was the interaction this morning and your rushing thoughts. Honestly, you didn’t even know that he had come back. It had been another three weeks since he’d touched you in the stables, maybe a few days more… not that you were counting.

Have you been fantasizing about some otherworldly being? Was he even human? You couldn’t verify that yourself, and his fingers had been inside of you. The only thing you’d seen of his face wasn’t exactly humane. Yet, the Viper didn’t scare you. You were curious, ready to set gasoline to the flame licking inside of you.

Another bath. That was what you needed.You’d change from your bright work gown, put on some trousers. You wished Ruek’s story had scared you, prepared you for another three weeks without seeing Kylo, another three weeks imagining your fingers were his own.

But it didn’t.

Your hand wrapped around your own throat, sighing gently before it began to trail into the water.

———

A basket was tucked low in your elbow as you made your way through the market, deciding against curling up in your bed for the rest of the evening. You knew exactly what would come of that.

The best of goods were being offered by merchants that beckoned you over, colors decorating their tents, the scent of fresh bread in the air. Children ran past you to chase one another in a game you were sure you played when you were younger.

Your hair dried at your shoulders, cheeks still flush from the scorching water you’d made in a futile attempt to shed the inn’s recent events.

“Ma’am! Fresh fish, finest in all of Toussaint!”

You turned, looking to the merchandise, scales reflecting off of the coral buildings.

“A pound for half the price!”

You gave a tight smile, but continued on — until you ran so hard into someone that your feet lost all memory of balance. They caught you at your arms, stabilizing you as if you weighed close to nothing.

“The idea of following someone is to not let them notice you.” The voice caught in your ears like a starving venus plant, unknowingly holding onto his forearms.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t see you.” You took a step back, dropping your hands, the Viper still wide in your gaze.

He had been tucking something into his bag, quick to have it blend back into the mass of black. The sun still kissed the sky, enough to see him in a different light — one that could be argued for a better view than the horizon. His armor consumed the rays, shining an iridescence off of it that you didn’t even know black could make. By the time you made it back to his gaze, you noticed him taking your body in as if it were one of the things being offered at the market. The mask carved barely above his nose, you identified a scar just over his left eye.

He seemed to suck in a long breath, and you wouldn’t have noticed if it didn’t somehow make him larger.

You wanted to make conversation, but his gaze was already bored, and you were desperately scrambling to gain his attention, “If I were to follow you, it wouldn’t be in a market.”

He quirked an eyebrow, as if to give you permission to go on. You plucked a green apple from your basket, rolling it between your fingers, “I would do it somewhere where I’d find you alone, maybe even follow you to your camp and wait there until you found me.” Teeth broke into the fruit, and you spread your lips on it, suckling the juices as they dripped down your chin. You brought your hand up to scoop it back into your mouth, keeping eye contact as if you were on trial.

“Come.”

“What?”

Again, he didn’t answer. It was growing to be a pattern between you. He simply mirrored your stare for a pinch of a moment before he turned on his heel. You scurried behind him like a starved pup.

As Kylo passed through the crowd, he didn’t bother to shift out of anyone’s way — they did it for him. He glided between bodies, never letting anyone dare to brush against him while he stomped with determined direction.

You followed him until you were tucked in an alley, but he didn’t give you a moment to question him before your front was pressed against warm brick, hips secured to the wall by his own. You gasped at the hard outline through his leather pants, nails digging into the grates in the wall. The back of your mind begged you to remember the things you were just told, but the fingers that snaked over the nape of your neck and into your hair coaxed those thoughts away.

He yanked it back, forcing you to lean against his chest as he pushed himself into your behind. Your body immediately responded to him, heart thumping in your ears like a war drum with the anticipation of feeling him again. In any way he would give you.

A dam broke, your blood was replaced with molten lava, the only thing to keep you from focusing too much on your already shuddering breath was the hand that came down on your ass. Hard.

You yelped, hips edging into the alley, but there was no escape. This only drove the Witcher on, palm, punishing the same tender spot he had just gifted you.

“Shit!”

You gasped, the warmth becoming more noticeable in the root of your most sensitive bits.

“You walk around like this and expect me not to take you?”

A frustrated huff met your confusion, his palm flat against your belly, arm wrapped over your front to grab the inside of your thighs, kneading them in appreciation. His target wasn’t particular, enjoying the way you felt.

His fingers hooked into your waistband, catching your panties in the process as he tugged them down your legs. A growl followed, one that ricocheted through the narrow space he had commandeered. You whimpered in response, blood rushing to the tips of your ears when you felt him crouch behind you.

Leaning your chest into the rock, you spread your legs as much as your trousers at your ankles would allow, and then you felt teeth sink into your cheek, free hand collecting the pillowy curves of your behind. Your eyes rolled, his leathered digits squeezing marks into your waist as he pulled you into his mouth.

And that was when it hit you.

His mask was off. Kylo’s mouth was on you.

Another moan. At first you thought it was him — you didn’t recognize it, but your mouth was gaping with proof that the foreign noise had just fled your chest. And this only enabled him.

First, it was his nose. Spreading your folds open and using it as a doorway for his tongue to explore, angling through them until he found the nub, swirling the agile muscle against it.

You so badly wanted to tug his hood down, wrap your fingers in the raven locks that that you’d glimpsed, but you had nothing but the wall for security, the roughness of the stone. And the Viper’s godly mouth luring you further into his will.

One hand stayed on your cheek, massaging and spreading it while his head ducked between your legs to send you into a pleasure frenzy.

“Yesyesyes, fuck — right there.”

He opened his jaw further to suck your swollen pussy into his mouth, your juices saturating his chin while he tamed you.

An impatient nip scathed your skin, only for him to begin to move his head in a way that you knew no other ordinary man could replicate.

Ghosting a hand up your spine, the Viper took a heavy grasp of the back of your neck, forcing you forward. Your forehead met the grainy siding, you twisted in an attempt to move your face away from it. In such quick movement the harsh stone dragged along your temple, scraping your skin, the hiss of pain melting into a cocktail of affirmations.

For the second time, something clicked.

I want to hear it the next time I make you cum.

The memory alone had you jerking down into his merciless mouth, the Viper growling in return, sending vibrations against your sensitive cunt. He stretched you open, your jaw clenching while two unforgiving fingers entered you.

Your feet were nearly lifting off of the ground from the force of his devoir.

The savory noises coming from you were just as easy as your breath, you couldn’t open your eyes at that point, your lids too heavy with carnal gratification.

No longer did you care who the Viper was, but what his name was when it would pass your lips.

Curving to the part that would absolutely demolish you, the Witcher took care in carving you out to remind you of his demand, with the same fingers he had made promises of death with. You gave it to him, your jaw slacking as incoherent encouragement for him to continue while he sucked your pulsing clit into his mouth, plunging into you so hard your body jiggled with his movements.

“Kylo!”

The shriek vibrated your skull, body jerking with the restraints of his large grip while you melted in his mouth. He took a few more lazy slurps, finishing you off before he left you to pull up your pants, and for a fleeting moment you wondered if you could overpower a mutant that everyone spun tales about.

By the time you caught another glimpse of him, his muzzle was secured back. He looked at you from under half-lidded eyes, as if he hadn’t just planted another seed for your damnation.

“I thought you were leaving,” you blurted as he exited the temporary hideaway.

He quirked his head slightly, still statequsue as he considered you. “I am.”

#kylo ren x reader #kylo ren fanfic #kylo ren smut #kylo ren x you #hv.

65 notes · View notes

crystalgirl259 · 4 years ago

Text

The Flame and the Dragon Ch1

Chapter 1: The Legend of the Dragon Lord

It was many a year ago, at least by mortal reckoning when a proud and magnificent family ruled the lands from a shining castle of marble and stone. They were both fierce and protective, yet kind and loyal and fair. Their reign was a golden age and the people were eternally grateful to them. It wasn't always like this, however. The royal family had been faced with many foes over the years. The most fierce and dangerous of the enemies came from within their own castle.

The royal family had always had a royal sorcerer to protect and entertain them, but one day, the sorcerer's young, orphan apprentice found him experimenting with dark magic.

He had been planning on overthrowing the royal family for years. The apprentice immediately went to inform the King. The sorcerer was promptly exiled to the farthest mountains and his family name banished from the realm. For her heroic actions, the royal family adopted the apprentice. The townspeople and the country flourished under the peaceful and prosperous reign of the King, Queen, and their son and adopted daughter. The King, known throughout the land as Lou, though had eccentric and unorthodox manners of ruling the kingdom, was an exceptionally good King.

His wife Lily was his equal in every way, an eccentric warrior whose strong spirit and golden heart could not be tamed.

Both loved their people and made the fact known both within and outside the walls of the castle. Many of the castle's servants were wards of the king and queen who were given jobs and treated as if they were their own flesh and blood. But the most beloved of all the royal family was the only son. He was truly a handsome man both externally and within. A proud and stubborn man but with a will as strong as a dragon and a heart brighter than gold, eyes as beautiful and green as a stunning emerald.

Though it was uncommon in that day and age, the royals spent as much time among their citizens as they could.

Even their adopted daughter was loved among them. Among his people, the prince was kind and fair, and among the servants, each one was like a younger sibling to him, but when the people were in danger he defended them with the ferocity and power of a dragon, earning him a nickname. The Dragon Lord. The people loved their rulers and their rulers loved their people, but the dark destiny of all kingdoms would soon doom this peaceful paradise.

Deep in the mountains, the exiled sorcerer swore vengeance upon the royal family for their betrayal and his own thirst for the crown.

Yet above all he despised the prince. Most people believed he hated the prince was because he was jealous and believed the throne that should be his. However, that was only a small part of it. In truth, he envied the prince with all his soul. He hated how the people loved and respected him, how everyone idolized the Dragon Lord instead of him. He hated how the prince commanded the love, respect, and attention of everyone who laid eyes on him without even trying.

But he'd had to perform complex and difficult magical spells to demand their love.

He hated how, while he'd had to struggle and work for every little thing his entire life, the people simply gave the Dragon Lord their love on a silver platter. Yet the prince did nothing with it. Even if the King and Queen were the true rulers, the exiled sorcerer knew without a shadow of a doubt that it was the Dragon Lord who had the kingdom's love and respect. He vowed one day to return and rip away everything the Prince loved and treasured so deeply.

He wanted to do it in the most malicious and unforgiving manner he could concoct.

Banished to the darkest shadows and forced to live a solitary existence of seclusion, his bitterness festered until it consumed his soul. Finally, after years of training in the dark arts, his bitterness, jealousy, and rage transformed him into a more powerful sorcerer. His dark heart had all but consumed him. One dark day, after all, but signing away his soul to the darkness, he unlocked the dark, unforgiving arts of the Cursed Realm. The darkness consumed him, making him a prisoner of his own power yet affording him the ability to control some of the darkest magic.

Only one thing burned within his poisoned mind now.

His never-ending lust for vengeance...

****************

It was a day that should've been a day of great celebration. The Prince's coronation on his 21st birthday, the day he became a man, and the day he would be no longer known as the Dragon Lord, but the King. It was on this day that everything changed. The sorcerer, wearing a mask of glamour to hide his black hair and the wickedness in his eyes with an appearance more commonly seen among the people attended the new king's majesty with a terrible plan.

He was going to make the new king and his family suffer for their crimes against his person.

Only after everyone else had presented their gifts and their best wishes and promises to their beloved prince and soon-to-be king, Lou stood from his throne, holding in his hands a magnificently sculpted crown in the shape of a majestic silver dragon with eyes of emerald and powerful onyx wings. Just as the former king was about to crown his son, the Sorcerer stepped forward and spoke his impossible demands. He commanded that the Dragon Lord relinquish his crown and his throne to him or great doom would befall them all.

He cast aside his glamour as he spoke, eliciting a scream of terror from his former apprentice who was the first to recognize him, and gasps of shock and fear from the townspeople whom he had terrorized.

Naturally, the prince refused, claiming nothing would convince him to relinquish his throne and the lives of his people and loved ones to a madman. He did not fear death or enchantment. The sorcerer's eyes narrowed at the defiant family of royals before a smile struck his face; a smile that sent a shiver of fear down the spines of everyone present, chilling everyone in the room to the bone. Even as the royal guards attacked and the people rushed to escape, the Sorcerer's wicked eyes turned black as shadows and dark purple energy flooded his body like a wispy ghost.

Finally, the sorcerer unleashed a deadly wave of black magic, consuming the entire throne room.

While the townspeople had already escaped, the servants and those loyal to their royals refused to leave and screamed in anguish and fear as their very essences warped to that of the dark master's sick desires. The sorcerer's dark magic ensnared the royals, and all except for the Dragon Lord's vanished before the young king's horrified eyes. But the Sorcerer refused to reveal to the devastated Dragon Lord what had become of his parents and adopted sister.

He then invoked the magic of the Cursed Realm and placed a terrible curse upon the castle and a deadly spell upon the kingdom and all who lived there.

Proclaiming doom on the royal family and all who served them, friends and servants alike, the servants and wards of the castle were stripped of their physical forms and were warped into new ones for their loyalty, ones of creatures from the realm of fantasy. As for the prince himself, the Sorcerer wanted him to suffer the most. He wanted to see him wither away and suffer alone in solitude and anguish just as he had suffered, before extracting the final act of his vengeance.

So he cursed him with the most terrible form of all.

The form of the most magnificent and dangerous creature of myth and legend, once beloved by the royal family and the kingdom, and would now be used to doom the new King. The form of the Dragon. But his form was cursed to be neither monster nor human, but something awful in between. Trapped as a prisoner within his own body, with only his most loyal of followers in bodies no human would dare trust, he was imprisoned within his castle.

To entertain himself, the Sorcerer gave the prince an ultimatum.

The prince would have a century to find his one true love and break the curse. It couldn't just be anyone, however. It had to be a person that could accept the King for the monster he was, else his soul and the souls of all those he held dear would never know peace and would instead be trapped within the dark depths of the Cursed Realm for all eternity. With a maniacal laugh and a haunting scream, he vanished, claiming to return once his time had come, leaving behind a confused and terrified crowd who couldn't recognize themselves in a mirror.

The prince let out a shallow gasp as he collapsed to his knees before he screamed in horror at the body that was no longer his.

Instead of human hands, black claws had replaced his fingers and scaled paws were his hands. Thick scales and black talons adorned his arms. At his feet were the back legs and claws of a dragon. Confused and scared he turned to his servants, each holding a sad expression on their faces, and when a mirror was raised to the prince's face, he screamed. Black scales adorned his body, torso, and chest, a powerful, whip-like tail sprouted from behind him; fin-like appendages grew from his shoulders.

From his shoulder blades sprouted two enormous wings large enough to consume his body, glittering with blood as they ripped from his skin.

But most terrifying of all were his eyes. No longer were they the brilliant green he'd grown up with, nor were they human. Instead, he saw the dark brown eyes and slit-like pupils of a dragon staring back at him in horror and fear. It was just as the sorcerer cursed him. He was neither dragon nor man but something terrible in-between. His servants and friends urged him not to lose hope, that they would find his love, whoever it may be, and rescue his parents and the young princess from wherever the evil Sorcerer sent them.

But it wasn't long before hope began to fade. As the years passed, he fell into despair.

His followers and the people he'd worked so hard to protect refused to leave him or abandon the castle. The rest of the world forgot as the long years of the century rolled by. Alone in the castle, the former King's heir began to chill and stiffen, angered and bitter towards the world that shunned him so cruelly as a horrible monster. As hope became an illusion scorned by the prince, his lonely heart grew cold and desolate. But his servants never lost hope.

They prayed and prayed to the FSM for aid, to save their master from the malicious fate cursed upon him and to help him find his love.

For only the Prince knew about his love and told only a select two and they swore to take the secret to their graves, keeping it from even their most trusted friends and family. They just trusted their Master to find his love, knowing that whoever it may be would have to be a special soul to earn the heart and rescue the soul of their master. Though the secret was safe, it didn't stop the servants from wonder who would lift their curse. They wondered who was the Dragon Lord's one true love...

#ninjago #ninjago zane #ninjago cole #ninjago kai #ninjago lloyd #ninjago nya #ninjago jay #lavashipping #The Flame and the Dragon

14 notes · View notes

kreetn · 7 years ago

Text

Dungeons and dragons downtime: "buying" a house

A DnD SIDE ADVENTURE starring: Rodger Lastname, our Tiefling rogue Zinnia, his Tiefling wife Matilda, his Tiefling daughter and Rodger jr, his human son IN WHICH OUR HEROES EXORCISE A GHOST SO THEY CAN SQUAT IN HIS MANSION, BICKERING ENDLESSLY ALL THE WHILE

"I was just saying they'd be useful for this job. Magic always is. I also never actually said they were a gal." "Never said they weren't," grumbled Zinnia as they crept forward. "You really wanna have this discussion? Now?" Said Rodger as Matilda closed the door behind them and began setting up the ceremonial candles she'd pulled from the family Bag of Holding. "Our children average out to bright pink and you think I'm the one who's tomcatting around?" Snapped Rodger. "It's recessive genetics!" Said Zinnia, "Like how you can get an elf from two half elves sometimes." Rodger paused as he finished unfolding his ugly, lovely, deadly crossbow. That didn't sound quite right, but he didn't know enough about elf genetics to dispute it. The wizard he worked with probably did, though. Could probably talk his ear off about it. Talked far too much by half, which was At All for someone as grumpy and used to silence as Rodger himself. "I feel like she woulda mentioned that at some point," he said to himself. "Aha!" Said Zinnia. "So there IS a SHE!" Rodger shook his head to clear it of cobwebs as his son handed him the crossbow bolt he'd paid 40 gold to have blessed. Actual cobwebs drifted down from the vaulted ceiling at the echo of their bickering. "This kind of talk is very damaging to our children," he said, retreating to the high ground as he often did.

"Our children are perfectly well-adjusted!" Said Zinnia as Rodger Jr stared at his father's crossbow and breathed heavily through his nose in a way that wasn't at all psychosexual. "I wanna be a paladin!" Said Matilda, waving a holy candle around. "Be quiet honey, don't scare your father like that," said Zinnia. "Quick reminder everyone. We're here to kill a ghost. And someone already beat us to it and it's only gonna be harder the second time around," said Rodger as sulphuric sweat beaded on his red brow. He really didn't like confrontation. He'd prefer greatly to sneak up and garrote the ghost when it wasn't looking. But the nature of the beast precluded such notions. Something shattered behind them, and Zinnia and the two Rodgers spun to face it with icy terror in their hearts. More than anything, Rodger was afraid his wife might accidentally damage something nice that had been left behind if the ghost decided to attack her first. Her days as a barbarian might be behind her, but her old axe was in front of her now. Gripped tight with practiced ease. Their daughter was cowering before them. She'd somehow managed to knock over a vase she wasn't actually standing near. Rodger sighed and rested his crossbow on his shoulder. "How many times do I gotta tell ya to be...normal, kid? At least until you're old enough to work like your old man. We don't need the neighbors hearing how the halfiend is making shit fly with her mind."

He was expecting a reprisal from his wife for using what some Tieflings might consider a slur, but she was looking behind him. His children were likewise transfixed with the space just beyond his left shoulder. A grim determination overtook him. The kind he'd only ever feel when he had to dash across a flame-scarred battlefield to force a health potion down the throat of their mad sorcerer who always thought casting spells at pointblank range was a brilliant idea. Or when he was on the toilet and there was very little paper left. He turned to face the ghost. Marley's mouth stretched too wide, like the jaws of hell. His eyes were covered by two gold coins. "In life I forged invisible chains, link by link and mile by mile. These chains shall bind you now for all-" There was a wet snap, and he flinched as a rivulet of spit ran down his forehead and hung off a ghostly knife ear. Matilda stood poised to deliver another defiant gob, both middle fingers poised upright. Her family was likewise ready for battle, each in their own way. The ghost tiredly, bitterly, wiped the spit away, leaving a smoking trail.

"Wretched thieves. Peasants! Hangers-on and bed bugs, all of you. Thinketh you capable of banishing me with some maudlin seance? There are no words of power strong enough to-" "Abra kadabra," said Rodger, and fired his crossbow. Cursed as it was, its dark magic (bound to a bolt blessed by Garl for a very decent price on a weekend) collapsed the ghost like a fucking sheet into a surprised cough and a pool of ectoplasm. Rodger lowered The Doublecross and breathed a sigh of relief. "Gee, he was tougher than the average elf. I thought for sure the spit would have done him in right there!" The whole family erupted in cheesy laughter. Rodger's laughter ended in a wet cough that came away slightly red on his sleeve. Their spirits lifted, Matilda put a hand on the magic crossbow with the intention of helping clean up. "Here daddy, let me-" Bound to the wretched thing as he was, Rodger felt as if a finger of death was touching his soul. "DONTFUCKINGTOUCHME," he snarled in a voice that wasn't quite his own as he snatched it away. His family stared at him as if he'd grown a second head. Pain and regret filled the silence like a thick broth. He coughed again, backed away. "Just...get unpacked," he breathed raggedly. "Dad..." said junior, reaching out, but paralyzed. "Just help your mother get unpacked!" Said Rodger, and retreated as he often did. He disappeared into the east wing of the mansion. There was a long moment. "Is this why daddy doesn't want to be around us," said Matilda quietly. There was a longer moment. Having found a washroom, Rodger just stared at his reflection in the mirror for a while. He'd leave before it got light. Maybe remember to kiss them all good night. Maybe not drink to forget. Maybe this time. "...What are you doing," He asked.

3 notes · View notes

readbookywooks · 8 years ago

Text

The Man With Two Faces

It was Quirrell.　　

"You!" gasped Harry.　　

Quirrell smiled. His face wasn't twitching at all.　　

"Me," he said calmly. "I wondered whether I'd be meeting you here, Potter."　　

"But I thought -- Snape --"　　

"Severus?" Quirrell laughed, and it wasn't his usual quivering treble, either, but cold and sharp. "Yes, Severus does seem the type, doesn't he? So useful to have him swooping around like an overgrown bat. Next to him, who would suspect p-p-poor, st-stuttering P-Professor Quirrell?"　　

Harry couldn't take it in. This couldn't be true, it couldn't.　　"But Snape tried to kill me!"　　

"No, no, no. I tried to kill you. Your friend Miss Granger accidentally knocked me over as she rushed to set fire to Snape at that Quidditch match. She broke my eye contact with you. Another few seconds and I'd have got you off that broom. I'd have managed it before then if Snape hadn't been muttering a countercurse, trying to save you."　　

"Snape was trying to save me?"　　

"Of course," said Quirrell coolly. "\Why do you think he wanted to referee your next match? He was trying to make sure I didn't do it again. Funny, really... he needn't have bothered. I couldn't do anything with Dumbledore watching. All the other teachers thought Snape was trying to stop Gryffindor from winning, he did make himself unpopular... and what a waste of time, when after all that, I'm going to kill you tonight."　　

Quirrell snapped his fingers. Ropes sprang out of thin air and wrapped themselves tightly around Harry.　　

"You're too nosy to live, Potter. Scurrying around the school on Halloween like that, for all I knew you'd seen me coming to look at what was guarding the Stone."　　

"You let the troll in?"　　

"Certainly. I have a special gift with trolls -- you must have seen what I did to the one in the chamber back there? Unfortunately, while everyone else was running around looking for it, Snape, who already suspected me, went straight to the third floor to head me off -- and not only did my troll fail to beat you to death, that three-headed dog didn't even manage to bite Snape's leg off properly.　　

"Now, wait quietly, Potter. I need to examine this interesting mirror.　　

It was only then that Harry realized what was standing behind Quirrell. It was the Mirror of Erised.　　

"This mirror is the key to finding the Stone," Quirrell murmured, tapping his way around the frame. "Trust Dumbledore to come up with something like this... but he's in London... I'll be far awayby the time he gets back...."　　

All Harry could think of doing was to keep Quirrell talking and stop him from concentrating on the mirror.　　

"I saw you and Snape in the forest --" he blurted out.　　

"Yes," said Quirrell idly, walking around the mirror to look at the back. "He was on to me by that time, trying to find out how far I'd got. He suspected me all along. Tried to frighten me - as though he could, when I had Lord Voldemort on my side...."　　

Quirrell came back out from behind the mirror and stared hungrily into it.　　

"I see the Stone... I'm presenting it to my master... but where is it?"　　

Harry struggled against the ropes binding him, but they didn't give. He had to keep Quirrell from giving his whole attention to the mirror.　　

"But Snape always seemed to hate me so much."　　

"Oh, he does," said Quirrell casually, "heavens, yes. He was at Hogwarts with your father, didn't you know? They loathed each other. But he never wanted you dead."　　

"But I heard you a few days ago, sobbing -- I thought Snape was threatening you...."　　

For the first time, a spasm of fear flitted across Quirrell's face.　　

"Sometimes," he said, "I find it hard to follow my master's instructions -- he is a great wizard and I am weak --"　　

"You mean he was there in the classroom with you?" Harry gasped.　　

"He is with me wherever I go," said Quirrell quietly. "I met him when I traveled around the world. A foolish young man I was then, full of ridiculous ideas about good and evil. Lord Voldemort showed me how wrong I was. There is no good and evil, there is only power, and those too weak to seek it.... Since then, I have served him faithfully, although I have let him down many times. He has had to be very hard on me." Quirrell shivered suddenly. "He does not forgive mistakes easily. When I failed to steal the stone from Gringotts, he was most displeased. He punished me... decided he would have to keep a closer watch on me...."　　

Quirrell's voice trailed away. Harry was remembering his trip to Diagon Alley -how could he have been so stupid? He'd seen Quirrell there that very day, shaken hands with him in the Leaky Cauldron.　　

Quirrell cursed under his breath.　　

"I don't understand... is the Stone inside the mirror? Should I break it?"　　Harry's mind was racing.　　

What I want more than anything else in the world at the moment, he thought, is to find the Stone before Quirrell does. So if I look in the mirror, I should see myseff finding it -- which means I'll see where it's hidden! But how can I look without Quirrell realizing what I'm up to?　　

He tried to edge to the left, to get in front of the glass without Quirrell noticing, but the ropes around his ankles were too tight: he tripped and fell over. Quirrell ignored him. He was still talking to himself. "What does this mirror do? How does it work? Help me, Master!"　　

And to Harry's horror, a voice answered, and the voice seemed to come from Quirrell himself　　"Use the boy... Use the boy..."　　

Quirrell rounded on Harry.　　

"Yes -- Potter -- come here."　　

He clapped his hands once, and the ropes binding Harry fell off. Harry got slowly to his feet.　　

"Come here," Quirrell repeated. "Look in the mirror and tell me what you see."　　

Harry walked toward him.　　

I must lie, he thought desperately. I must look and lie about what I see, that's all.　　

Quirrell moved close behind him. Harry breathed in the funny smell that seemed to come from Quirrell's turban. He closed his eyes, stepped in front of the mirror, and opened them again.　　

He saw his reflection, pale and scared-looking at first. But a moment later, the reflection smiled at him. It put its hand into its pocket and pulled out a blood-red stone. It winked and put the Stone back in its pocket -- and as it did so, Harry felt something heavy drop into his real pocket. Somehow -- incredibly -- he'd gotten the Stone.　　

"Well?" said Quirrell impatiently. "What do you see?"　　

Harry screwed up his courage.　　

"I see myself shaking hands with Dumbledore," he invented. "I -- I've won the house cup for Gryffindor."　　

Quirrell cursed again.　　

"Get out of the way," he said. As Harry moved aside, he felt the Sorcerer's Stone against his leg. Dare he make a break for it?　　

But he hadn't walked five paces before a high voice spoke, though Quirrell wasn't moving his lips.　　

"He lies... He lies..."　　

"Potter, come back here!" Quirrell shouted. "Tell me the truth! What did you just see?"　　

The high voice spoke again.　　

"Let me speak to him... face-to-face..."　　

"Master, you are not strong enough!"　　

"I have strength enough... for this...."　　

Harry felt as if Devil's Snare was rooting him to the spot. He couldn't move a muscle. Petrified, he watched as Quirrell reached up and began to unwrap his turban. What was going on? The turban fell away. Quirrell's head looked strangely small without it. Then he turned slowly on the spot.　　

Harry would have screamed, but he couldn't make a sound. Where there should have been a back to Quirrell's head, there was a face, the most terrible face Harry had ever seen. It was chalk white with glaring red eyes and slits for nostrils, like a snake.　　

"Harry Potter..." it whispered.　　

Harry tried to take a step backward but his legs wouldn't move.　　

"See what I have become?" the face said. "Mere shadow and vapor ... I have form only when I can share another's body... but there have always been those willing to let me into their hearts and minds.... Unicorn blood has strengthened me, these past weeks... you saw faithful Quirrell drinking it for me in the forest... and once I have the Elixir of Life, I will be able to create a body of my own.... Now... why don't you give me that Stone in your pocket?"　　

So he knew. The feeling suddenly surged back into Harry's legs. He stumbled backward.　　

"Don't be a fool," snarled the face. "Better save your own life and join me... or you'll meet the same end as your parents.... They died begging me for mercy..."　　

"LIAR!" Harry shouted suddenly.　　

Quirrell was walking backward at him, so that Voldemort could still see him. The evil face was now smiling.　　

"How touching..." it hissed. "I always value bravery... Yes, boy, your parents were brave.... I killed your father first; and he put up a courageous fight... but your mother needn't have died... she was trying to protect you.... Now give me the Stone, unless you want her to have died in vain."　　

"NEVER!"　　

Harry sprang toward the flame door, but Voldemort screamed "SEIZE HIM!" and the next second, Harry felt Quirrell's hand close on his wrist. At once, a needle-sharp pain seared across Harry's scar; his head felt as though it was about to split in two; he yelled, struggling with all his might, and to his surprise, Quirrell let go of him. The pain in his head lessened -- he looked around wildly to see where Quirrell had gone, and saw him hunched in pain, looking at his fingers -- they were blistering before his eyes.　　

"Seize him! SEIZE HIM!" shrieked Voldemort again, and Quirrell lunged, knocking Harry clean off his feet' landing on top of him, both hands around Harry's neck -- Harry's scar was almost blinding him with pain, yet he could see Quirrell howling in agony.　　

"Master, I cannot hold him -- my hands -- my hands!"　　

And Quirrell, though pinning Harry to the ground with his knees, let go of his neck and stared, bewildered, at his own palms -- Harry could see they looked burned, raw, red, and shiny.　　

"Then kill him, fool, and be done!" screeched Voldemort.　　

Quirrell raised his hand to perform a deadly curse, but Harry, by instinct, reached up and grabbed Quirrell's face --　　

"AAAARGH!"　　Quirrell rolled off him, his face blistering, too, and then Harry knew: Quirrell couldn't touch his bare skin, not without suffering terrible pain -- his only chance was to keep hold of Quirrell, keep him in enough pain to stop him from doing a curse.　　

Harry jumped to his feet, caught Quirrell by the arm, and hung on as tight as he could. Quirrell screamed and tried to throw Harry off -- the pain in Harry's head was building -- he couldn't see -- he could only hear Quirrell's terrible shrieks and Voldemort's yells of, "KILL HIM! KILL HIM!" and other voices, maybe in Harry's own head, crying, "Harry! Harry!"　　

He felt Quirrell's arm wrenched from his grasp, knew all was lost, and fell into blackness, down ... down... down...　　

Something gold was glinting just above him. The Snitch! He tried to catch it, but his arms were too heavy.　　

He blinked. It wasn't the Snitch at all. It was a pair of glasses. How strange.　　He blinked again. The smiling face of Albus Dumbledore swam into view above him.　　

"Good afternoon, Harry," said Dumbledore. Harry stared at him. Then he remembered: "Sir! The Stone! It was Quirrell! He's got the Stone! Sir, quick --"　　

"Calm yourself, dear boy, you are a little behind the times," said Dumbledore. "Quirrell does not have the Stone."　　

"Then who does? Sir, I --"　　

"Harry, please relax, or Madam Pomfrey will have me thrown out.　　

Harry swallowed and looked around him. He realized he must be in the hospital wing. He was lying in a bed with white linen sheets, and next to him was a table piled high with what looked like half the candy shop.　　

"Tokens from your friends and admirers," said Dumbledore, beaming. "What happened down in the dungeons between you and Professor Quirrell is a complete secret, so, naturally, the whole school knows. I believe your friends Misters Fred and George Weasley were responsible for trying to send you a toilet seat. No doubt they thought it would amuse you. Madam Pomfrey, however, felt it might not be very hygienic, and confiscated it."　　

"How long have I been in here?"　　

"Three days. Mr. Ronald Weasley and Miss Granger will be most relieved you have come round, they have been extremely worried."　　

"But sit, the Stone　　

I see you are not to be distracted. Very well, the Stone. Professor Quirrell did not manage to take it from you. I arrived in time to prevent that, although you were doing very well on your own, I must say.　　

"You got there? You got Hermione's owl?"　　

"We must have crossed in midair. No sooner had I reached London than it became clear to me that the place I should be was the one I had just left. I arrived just in time to pull Quirrell off you."　　

"It was you."　　

"I feared I might be too late."　　

"You nearly were, I couldn't have kept him off the Stone much longer --"　　"Not the Stone, boy, you -- the effort involved nearly killed you. For one terrible moment there, I was afraid it had. As for the Stone, it has been destroyed."　　

"Destroyed?" said Harry blankly. "But your friend -- Nicolas Flamel --"　　

"Oh, you know about Nicolas?" said Dumbledore, sounding quite delighted. "You did do the thing properly, didn't you? Well, Nicolas and I have had a little chat, and agreed it's all for the best."　　

"But that means he and his wife will die, won't they?"　　

"They have enough Elixir stored to set their affairs in order and then, yes, they will die."　　

Dumbledore smiled at the look of amazement on Harry's face.　　

"To one as young as you, I'm sure it seems incredible, but to Nicolas and Perenelle, it really is like going to bed after a very, very long day. After all, to the well-organized mind, death is but the next great adventure. You know, the Stone was really not such a wonderful thing. As much money and life as you could want! The two things most human beings would choose above all -- the trouble is, humans do have a knack of choosing precisely those things that are worst for them." Harry lay there, lost for words. Dumbledore hummed a little and smiled at the ceiling.　　

"Sir?" said Harry. "I've been thinking... sir -- even if the Stone's gone, Vol-, I mean, You-Know- Who --"　　

"Call him Voldemort, Harry. Always use the proper name for things. Fear of a name increases fear of the thing itself."　　

"Yes, sir. Well, Voldemort's going to try other ways of coming back, isn't he? I mean, he hasn't gone, has he?"　　

"No, Harry, he has not. He is still out there somewhere, perhaps looking for another body to share... not being truly alive, he cannot be killed. He left Quirrell to die; he shows just as little mercy to his followers as his enemies. Nevertheless, Harry, while you may only have delayed his return to power, it will merely take someone else who is prepared to fight what seems a losing battle next time -- and if he is delayed again, and again, why, he may never return to power."　　

Harry nodded, but stopped quickly, because it made his head hurt. Then he said, "Sir, there are some other things I'd like to know, if you can tell me... things I want to know the truth about...."　　

"The truth." Dumbledore sighed. "It is a beautiful and terrible thing, and should therefore be treated with great caution. However, I shall answer your questions unless I have a very good reason not to, in which case I beg you'll forgive me. I shall not, of course, lie."　　

"Well... Voldemort said that he only killed my mother because she tried to stop him from killing me. But why would he want to kill me in the first place?"　　Dumbledore sighed very deeply this time.　　

"Alas, the first thing you ask me, I cannot tell you. Not today. Not now. You will know, one day... put it from your mind for now, Harry. When you are older... I know you hate to hear this... when you are ready, you will know."　　

And Harry knew it would be no good to argue.　　

"But why couldn't Quirrell touch me?"　　

"Your mother died to save you. If there is one thing Voldemort cannot understand, it is love. He didn't realize that love as powerful as your mother's for you leaves its own mark. Not a scar, no visible sign... to have been loved so deeply, even though the person who loved us is gone, will give us some protection forever. It is in your very skin. Quirrell, full of hatred, greed, and ambition, sharing his soul with Voldemort, could not touch you for this reason. It was agony to touch a person marked by something so good."　

Dumbledore now became very interested in a bird out on the windowsill, which gave Harry time to dry his eyes on the sheet. When he had found his voice again, Harry said, "And the invisibility cloak - do you know who sent it to me?"　　

"Ah - your father happened to leave it in my possession, and I thought you might like it." Dumbledore's eyes twinkled. "Useful things... your father used it mainly for sneaking off to the kitchens to steal food when he was here."　　

"And there's something else..."　　

"Fire away."　　

"Quirrell said Snape --"　　

"Professor Snape, Harry." "Yes, him -- Quirrell said he hates me because he hated my father. Is that true?"　　

"Well, they did rather detest each other. Not unlike yourself and Mr. Malfoy. And then, your father did something Snape could never forgive."　　

"What?"　　

"He saved his life."　　

"What?"　　

"Yes..." said Dumbledore dreamily. "Funny, the way people's minds work, isn't it? Professor Snape couldn't bear being in your father's debt.... I do believe he worked so hard to protect you this year because he felt that would make him and your father even. Then he could go back to hating your father's memory in peace...."　　

Harry tried to understand this but it made his head pound, so he stopped.　　

"And sir, there's one more thing..."　　

"Just the one?"　　

"How did I get the Stone out of the mirror?"　　

"Ah, now, I'm glad you asked me that. It was one of my more brilliant ideas, and between you and me, that's saying something. You see, only one who wanted to find the Stone -- find it, but not use it -- would be able to get it, otherwise they'd just see themselves making gold or drinking Elixir of Life. My brain surprises even me sometimes.... Now, enough questions. I suggest you make a start on these sweets. Ah! Bettie Bott's Every Flavor Beans! I was unfortunate enough in my youth to come across a vomitflavored one, and since then I'm afraid I've rather lost my liking for them -- but I think I'll be safe with a nice toffee, don't you?"　　

He smiled and popped the golden-brown bean into his mouth. Then he choked and said, "Alas! Ear wax!"　　

Madam Pomfrey, the nurse, was a nice woman, but very strict.　　

"Just five minutes," Harry pleaded.　　

"Absolutely not."　　

"You let Professor Dumbledore in..."　　

"Well, of course, that was the headmaster, quite different. You need rest."　　

"I am resting, look, lying down and everything. Oh, go on, Madam Pomfrey..."　　

"Oh, very well," she said. "But five minutes only."　　

And she let Ron and Hermione in.　　

"Harry!"　　

Hermione looked ready to fling her arms around him again, but Harry was glad she held herself in as his head was still very sore.　　

"Oh, Harry, we were sure you were going to -- Dumbledore was so worried --"　　

"The whole school's talking about it," said Ron. "What really happened?"　　

It was one of those rare occasions when the true story is even more strange and exciting than the wild rumors. Harry told them everything: Quirrell; the mirror; the Stone; and Voldemort. Ron and Hermione were a very good audience; they gasped in all the right places, and when Harry told them what was under Quirrell's turban, Hermione screamed out loud.　　

"So the Stone's gone?" said Ron finally. "Flamel's just going to die?"　　"That's what I said, but Dumbledore thinks that -- what was it? -- 'to the well-organized mind, death is but the next great adventure.　　

"I always said he was off his rocker," said Ron, looking quite impressed at how crazy his hero was.　　

"So what happened to you two?" said Harry.　　

"Well, I got back all right," said Hermione. "I brought Ron round -- that took a while -- and we were dashing up to the owlery to contact Dumbledore when we met him in the entrance hall -- he already knew -- he just said, 'Harry's gone after him, hasn't he?' and hurtled off to the third floor."　　

"D'you think he meant you to do it?" said Ron. "Sending you your father's cloak and everything?"　　

"Well, " Hermione exploded, "if he did -- I mean to say that's terrible -- you could have been killed."　　

"No, it isn't," said Harry thoughtfully. "He's a funny man, Dumbledore. I think he sort of wanted to give me a chance. I think he knows more or less everything that goes on here, you know. I reckon he had a pretty good idea we were going to try, and instead of stopping us, he just taught us enough to help. I don't think it was an accident he let me find out how the mirror worked. It's almost like he thought I had the right to face Voldemort if I could...."　　

"Yeah, Dumbledore's off his rocker, all right," said Ron proudly. "Listen, you've got to be up for the end-of-year feast tomorrow. The points are all in and Slytherin won, of course -- you missed the last Quidditch match, we were steamrollered by Ravenclaw without you -- but the food'll be good."　　

At that moment, Madam Pomfrey bustled over.　　

"You've had nearly fifteen minutes, now OUT" she said firmly.　　

After a good night's sleep, Harry felt nearly back to normal.　　

I want to go to the feast," he told Madam Pomfrey as she straightened his many candy boxes. I can, can't I?"　　

"Professor Dumbledore says you are to be allowed to go," she said stiffily, as though in her opinion Professor Dumbledore didn't realize how risky feasts could be. "And you have another visitor."　　

"Oh, good," said Harry. "Who is it?"　　

Hagrid sidled through the door as he spoke. As usual when he was indoors, Hagrid looked too big to be allowed. He sat down next to Harry, took one look at him, and burst into tears.　　

"It's -- all -- my -- ruddy -- fault!" he sobbed, his face in his hands. I told the evil git how ter get past Fluffy! I told him! It was the only thing he didn't know, an' I told him! Yeh could've died! All fer a dragon egg! I'll never drink again! I should be chucked out an' made ter live as a Muggle!"　　

"Hagrid!" said Harry, shocked to see Hagrid shaking with grief and remorse, great tears leaking down into his beard. "Hagrid, he'd have found out somehow, this is Voldemort we're talking about, he'd have found out even if you hadn't told him."　　

"Yeh could've died!" sobbed Hagrid. "An' don' say the name!"　　

"VOLDEMORT!" Harry bellowed, and Hagrid was so shocked, he stopped crying. "I've met him and I'm calling him by his name. Please cheer up, Hagrid, we saved the Stone, it's gone, he can't use it. Have a Chocolate Frog, I've got loads...."　　

Hagrid wiped his nose on the back of his hand and said, "That reminds me. I've got yeh a present."　　

"It's not a stoat sandwich, is it?" said Harry anxiously, and at last Hagrid gave a weak chuckle. "Nah. Dumbledore gave me the day off yesterday ter fix it. 'Course, he shoulda sacked me instead -- anyway, got yeh this..."　　

It seemed to be a handsome, leather-covered book. Harry opened it curiously. It was full of wizard photographs. Smiling and waving at him from every page were his mother and father.　　

"Sent owls off ter all yer parents' old school friends, askin' fer photos... knew yeh didn' have any... d'yeh like it?"　　

Harry couldn't speak, but Hagrid understood.　　

Harry made his way down to the end-of-year feast alone that night. He had been held up by Madam Pomfrey's fussing about, insisting on giving him one last checkup, so the Great Hall was already full. It was decked out in the Slytherin colors of green and silver to celebrate Slytherin's winning the house cup for the seventh year in a row. A huge banner showing the Slytherin serpent covered the wall behind the High Table.　　

When Harry walked in there was a sudden hush, and then everybody started talking loudly at once. He slipped into a seat between Ron and Hermione at the Gryffindor table and tried to ignore the fact that people were standing up to look at him.　　

Fortunately, Dumbledore arrived moments later. The babble died away.　　

"Another year gone!" Dumbledore said cheerfully. "And I must trouble you with an old man's wheezing waffle before we sink our teeth into our delicious feast. What a year it has been! Hopefully your heads are all a little fuller than they were... you have the whole summer ahead to get them nice and empty before next year starts....　　

"Now, as I understand it, the house cup here needs awarding, and the points stand thus: In fourth place, Gryffindor, with three hundred and twelve points; in third, Hufflepuff, with three hundred and fifty-two; Ravenclaw has four hundred and twenty-six and Slytherin, four hundred and seventy- two."　　

A storm of cheering and stamping broke out from the Slytherin table. Harry could see Draco Malfoy banging his goblet on the table. It was a sickening sight.　　

"Yes, Yes, well done, Slytherin," said Dumbledore. "However, recent events must be taken into account."　　

The room went very still. The Slytherins' smiles faded a little.　　

"Ahem," said Dumbledore. "I have a few last-minute points to dish out. Let me see. Yes...　　

"First -- to Mr. Ronald Weasley..."　　

Ron went purple in the face; he looked like a radish with a bad sunburn.　　

"...for the best-played game of chess Hogwarts has seen in many years, I award Gryffindor house fifty points."　　

Gryffindor cheers nearly raised the bewitched ceiling; the stars overhead seemed to quiver. Percy could be heard telling the other prefects, "My brother, you know! My youngest brother! Got past McGonagall's giant chess set!"　　

At last there was silence again.　　

"Second -- to Miss Hermione Granger... for the use of cool logic in the face of fire, I award Gryffindor house fifty points."　　

Hermione buried her face in her arms; Harry strongly suspected she had burst into tears. Gryffindors up and down the table were beside themselves -- they were a hundred points up. "Third -- to Mr. Harry Potter..." said Dumbledore. The room went deadly quiet for pure nerve and outstanding courage, I award Gryffindor house sixty points."　　

The din was deafening. Those who could add up while yelling themselves hoarse knew that Gryffindor now had four hundred and seventy-two points -- exactly the same as Slytherin. They had tied for the house cup -- if only Dumbledore had given Harry just one more point.　　

Dumbledore raised his hand. The room gradually fell silent.　　

"There are all kinds of courage," said Dumbledore, smiling. "It takes a great deal of bravery to stand up to our enemies, but just as much to stand up to our friends. I therefore award ten points to Mr. Neville Longbottom."　　

Someone standing outside the Great Hall might well have thought some sort of explosion had taken place, so loud was the noise that erupted from the Gryffindor table. Harry, Ron, and Hermione stood up to yell and cheer as Neville, white with shock, disappeared under a pile of people hugging him. He had never won so much as a point for Gryffindor before. Harry, still cheering, nudged Ron in the ribs and pointed at Malfoy, who couldn't have looked more stunned and horrified if he'd just had the Body-Bind Curse put on him.　　

"Which means, Dumbledore called over the storm of applause, for even Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff were celebrating the downfall of Slytherin, "we need a little change of decoration."　　

He clapped his hands. In an instant, the green hangings became scarlet and the silver became gold; the huge Slytherin serpent vanished and a towering Gryffindor lion took its place. Snape was shaking Professor McGonagall's hand, with a horrible, forced smile. He caught Harry's eye and Harry knew at once that Snape's feelings toward him hadn't changed one jot. This didn't worry Harry. It seemed as though life would be back to normal next year, or as normal as it ever was at Hogwarts.　　

It was the best evening of Harry's life, better than winning at Quidditch, or Christmas, or knocking out mountain trolls... he would never, ever forget tonight.　　

Harry had almost forgotten that the exam results were still to come, but come they did. To their great surprise, both he and Ron passed with good marks; Hermione, of course, had the best grades of the first years. Even Neville scraped through, his good Herbology mark making up for his abysmal Potions one. They had hoped that Goyle, who was almost as stupid as he was mean, might be thrown out, but he had passed, too. It was a shame, but as Ron said, you couldn't have everything in life.　　

And suddenly, their wardrobes were empty, their trunks were packed, Neville's toad was found lurking in a corner of the toilets; notes were handed out to all students, warning them not to use magic over the holidays ("I always hope they'll forget to give us these," said Fred Weasley sadly); Hagrid was there to take them down to the fleet of boats that sailed across the lake; they were boarding the Hogwarts Express; talking and laughing as the countryside became greener and tidier; eating Bettie Bott's Every Flavor Beans as they sped past Muggle towns; pulling off their wizard robes and putting on jackets and coats; pulling into platform nine and three-quarters at King's Cross Station.　　

It took quite a while for them all to get off the platform. A wizened old guard was up by the ticket barrier, letting them go through the gate in twos and threes so they didn't attract attention by all bursting out of a solid wall at once and alarming the Muggles.　　

"You must come and stay this summer," said Ron, "both of you -- I'll send you an owl."　　

"Thanks," said Harry, "I'll need something to look forward to." People jostled them as they moved forward toward the gateway back to the Muggle world. Some of them called:　　

"Bye, Harry!"　　

"See you, Potter!"　　

"Still famous," said Ron, grinning at him.　　

"Not where I'm going, I promise you," said Harry.　　

He, Ron, and Hermione passed through the gateway together. "There he is, Mom, there he is, look!"　　

It was Ginny Weasley, Ron's younger sister, but she wasn't pointing at Ron.　　

"Harry Potter!" she squealed. "Look, Mom! I can see　　

"Be quiet, Ginny, and it's rude to point."　　

Mrs. Weasley smiled down at them.　　

"Busy year?" she said.　　

"Very," said Harry. "Thanks for the fudge and the sweater, Mrs. Weasley."　　

"Oh, it was nothing, dear."　　

"Ready, are you?"　　

It was Uncle Vernon, still purple-faced, still mustached, still looking furious at the nerve of Harry, carrying an owl in a cage in a station full of ordinary people. Behind him stood Aunt Petunia and Dudley, looking terrified at the very sight of Harry.　　

"You must be Harry's family!" said Mrs. Weasley.　　

"In a manner of speaking," said Uncle Vernon. "Hurry up, boy, we haven't got all day." He walked away.　　

Harry hung back for a last word with Ron and Hermione.　　

"See you over the summer, then."　　

"Hope you have -- er -- a good holiday," said Hermione, looking uncertainly after Uncle Vernon, shocked that anyone could be so unpleasant.　　

"Oh, I will," said Harry, and they were surprised at the grin that was spreading over his face. "They don't know we're not allowed to use magic at home. I'm going to have a lot of fun with Dudley this summer...."

#PhilosophersStone #HarryPotter #SorcerersStone #books

0 notes