December 15, 1992, 10:00 AM, West Texas, United States of America
Unknown
The landscape unfolded with rugged beauty. Hardy mesquite and juniper trees adorned the rolling, arid hills, stretched as far as the eye could see. The early morning sunlight bathed the terrain in warm hues, casting long shadows across the dusty ground.
Despite the seeming warmth, however, a noticeable chill hung in the air, typical of a mid-December morning.
The promise of the day’s warmth was there, but it would sadly be short, muted and fleeting.
The region was now firmly in winter’s grasp. A gentle breeze rustled through the sparse vegetation, creating a soft melody that harmonized with the distant calls of unseen birds.
The creek’s quiet murmur became more pronounced, as if carrying a hint of the recent frost in its flow.
A few animals, resilient in the face of the cold, cautiously gathered near the creek’s edge, seeking to refresh themselves. A gaggle of horses arrived and did the same, their elegant forms reflecting in the tranquil water.
As the horses and other animals quenched their thirst, the rhythmic sounds of water babbling over smooth stones played a gentle accompaniment.
Moments later, a distant shriek pierced the air, shattering the serene atmosphere. Startled, the wildlife bolted away from the creek, stirring up dust as they vanished into the landscape, away from the source.
Nestled beyond the creek, a large encampment emerged— a gathering of people with tents, banners, with a large, ceremonial fire at its very center.
The atmosphere in the camp was tense, and the air carried a hint of both malaise and excitement. Men and women hurriedly moved about, their expressions a mixture of awe and alarm as they toiled to make the necessary preparations.
Strangely, despite there being plenty of fuel for the flame, the great bonfire began to die down. Its flickering remnants cast dancing shadows across the faces of those gathered, revealing a determined focus etched with traces of trepidation.
Symbols adorned the rustling banners in the wind, their meanings lost to most foreigners and yet still resonating with the echoes of primordial magic from an almost forgotten, bygone era.
Among the hurried motions, whispers, incantations and prayers drifted through the air from the various gathered wizards, subtly charging the air at various intervals.
The encampment seemed to exist in a delicate balance between reverence for the ancient powers they sought and the palpable urgency of the impending ceremony, with its nearly incomprehensible complexities.
Without warning, the large, seemingly dead bonfire returned with a rage, filling the air with multicolor sparks and the sound of roaring before the fire died down again.
Everyone stopped for a moment, their movements frozen in a mix of awe and uncertainty, as the lingering warmth of the unexpected blaze dissipated.
Then, as if on cue, the encampment turned its collective attention toward someone clearing their throat. The high priest, wearing the traditional garb of their people, stepped forward with an air of authority. His attire reflected the ancient significance of the ceremony, adorned with symbols of power and reverence originating from all of their clans.
The crackling embers of the once-again dying fire cast a flickering glow upon the high priest’s face as he began to speak. His voice, steady and resonant, cut through the lingering echoes of the fiery outburst.
“Children of the ancient flame, be not swayed by the caprices of the elements. The spirits have spoken, and our sacred fire, once seemingly extinguished, will always return to us with renewed vigor, if only for a moment.” The high priest declared.
With measured gestures, he reassured the gathered assembly, calming the heightened emotions that had surged with the unexpected display.
“The ancestors watch over us, and their presence is felt in the flames. This is a sign, a blessing bestowed upon us as we embark on this sacred journey. Fear not, for our pleas are beginning to reach them. We only need to be louder, more insistent. The awakened flames are proof.”
The encampment gradually regained its composure under the guidance of their high priest. His words, infused with the weight of tradition and authority, wove a narrative that tempered the awe and alarm that had briefly taken hold.
“Now, bring in the next sacrifice.” The high priest said, his voice ominous.
The people responded promptly, presenting an offering of rare, magical, glowing roses. These ethereal blooms illuminated the ceremonial space with an otherworldly radiance, casting an enchanting glow upon the proceedings.
Alongside the radiant roses, the assembly brought forth a Mooncalf, its presence marked by a subtle struggle against the bonds that restrained it.
The Mooncalf, despite its adorable appearance, seemed highly distressed. With a long neck that stretched upwards and saucer-like eyes that held the innocence of the world, it looked on with fright. Its webbed feet left imprints in the soil as it continued to struggle against its bonds.
The high priest, holding the glowing roses, moved gracefully around the ceremonial fire. With deliberate motions, he placed the enchanting blooms at various spots around the weakening embers, strengthening them once again and alighting the flames.
As the radiant roses adorned the sacred space, the priest gestured for the people to bring the Mooncalf forward. The creature, seeming sensing the imminent danger it was about to be in, struggled even more against its bonds.
Despite this, the priest approached the Mooncalf with an air of calm reassurance. With a gentle touch and soothing words, the high priest worked to calm the struggling animal.
His hands moved with practiced ease, and his voice resonated with deep assurance. Gradually, the creature’s agitation subsided, its large eyes reflecting a mixture of curiosity and trust as it stood in the flickering glow of the magical flames.
Now calmed down, the priest reached towards his side. In a swift, practiced motion, he drew his knife and made a precise cut, slitting the Mooncalf’s throat in one stroke.
Quickly, he held it down and as one of his aides positioned a large, earthen bowl beneath its neck, collecting every drop of its lifeblood as it gurgled and let out a few pitiful cries. The people, in response, dropped to their knees, their heads bowed in prayer to the gods.
“Shh…” He calmed the Mooncalf as its struggles gradually weakened to nothing.
Giving the now departed Mooncalf a mutter of gratitude, the priest, with a steady hand, gathered the large bowlful of blood in his hands, raising it high above his head.
The priest, holding the earthen bowl filled with the essence of the Mooncalf, raised his eyes to the heavens. With a solemn voice, he addressed the gods, his words carrying a blend of reverence and command.
“Great gods, accept this sacred offering of life!” He said, his eyes reflecting a connection with forces unseen. In a decisive move, he poured the contents of the bowl into the weakening flames; a plea for divine acknowledgment.
Contrary to expectation, the flames, far from being extinguished by the crimson liquid, roared to life once more, leaping higher and burning more intensely than before.
A surge of exhilaration passed through the priest, a confirmation that the gods had indeed accepted their offering. He nodded in satisfaction, the thrill of the mystical connection coursing through his veins.
However, he quickly composed himself, recognizing the sacred duty at hand and the time-sensitive nature of his work.
With a profound sense of gratitude, he thanked the gods aloud for their favor. Turning to his aides, he issued the command to bring forth the final sacrifice, the encampment now imbued with an intensified energy, as if the very elements of nature responded to the mystical communion between priest and deity.
As the final sacrifice was brought forward, the low chanting of the people steadily rose, creating a haunting rhythm that resonated through the encampment. The sacrifice, a panicked and disheveled man, dressed only in a loincloth to preserve his dignity, made a futile struggle against his bonds.
The people around him remained focused on the rhythmic chant, their voices blending in a tongue unknown to him. He began to scream at them, to threaten everyone around him.
“I’ll kill you! Let me go!” On and on he cried, and on and on he was ignored. The encampment continued their chant, their faces impassive. It was as if he didn’t even exist to them.
The disheveled man’s eyes darted around, searching for a way out, but the inhabitants of the encampment seemed unperturbed. The intensity of the chanting continued to rise, transforming the atmosphere into a surreal convergence of ancient rites and otherworldly energies. The man, now realizing the nature of the ceremony as he approached the priest by the dead Mooncalf, blanched. He understood what was about to happen to him, and this made his struggle even greater.
“There is no need to be afraid.”
“You Outsider scum! I’ll gut you like a fish!”
The priest only smiled at that, fixing the man with a steady look. “Face your death with some dignity, MACUSA lapdog. It will all be over soon.”
The disheveled man struggled even more at these words, his expression frozen in a rictus of horror. The priest, relishing in his captured foe’s terror, approached him with a false, reassuring demeanor.
“Fear not, invader.” The priest spoke, his eyes alight with unnatural zeal. “This act is a sacred offering that transcends the divisions of our people. With this, we seek to mend the wounds of centuries past, to bring justice to the tragedies that have befallen us. The blood you give today is a bridge to a future where healing and unity shall prevail.”
The man roared out in defiance, even as the priest slid his already bloody knife across his enemy’s throat. With the same earthen bowl as before, the man’s blood was collected by one of the aides, but the priest was not done.
His beatific smile had long since turned bloodthirsty, and with a cry of glee, the priest drove the knife into his prisoner’s chest. The air filled with the sounds of bones snapping as he mercilessly clove through his ribs, carving the hole to the left of his sternum. A moment later, he withdrew the knife, pried the skin, flesh and bone aside and ripped the man’s still-beating heart out.
The priest turned towards the people, displaying the offering before them. The encampment responded with an intensification of their chanting, their voices rising in a feverish zeal. The rhythmic incantations echoed through the air, creating an atmosphere charged with spiritual energy.
With a solemn gesture, the priest acknowledged the collective devotion of the people. He then approached the sacred fire, the heart of the ceremony, and raised the offering to the god of war. The chanting reached a crescendo, a manifestation of their shared dedication to the ancient rites.
“In battle’s embrace, your strength we implore, Huitzilopochtli.”
As the priest made the offering, tossing it, the blood, as well as the man’s body into the flames, a transformation occurred. The fire, once orange-red, burst into a brilliant shade of purple. The encampment, now bathed in the surreal glow, felt the palpable surge of energy coursing from the land to this sacred spot.
They continued to chant, getting louder and louder. “In battle’s embrace, your strength we implore, Huitzilopochtli!”
The priest, standing amid the ethereal radiance, could sense it all. The energy that pulsed through the encampment represented not only the culmination of their ritual but also a powerful communion with the forces that governed their world. The land itself responded to their collective devotion, signaling a potential shift in the balance of ancient powers.
“It is done.” He proclaimed at last even as his aides poured the remainder of the man’s blood in a circle around the flames, ensuring that they would burn forevermore— or until they needed to make use of them. He turned to his followers again. “It is done!!”
A roar of victory met his words, and the priest smiled.
Soon. He thought, not even caring as the blood dripped from his hands onto the earth. Our preparations will be complete, and the MACUSA will be no more.
That would be a day of days.
oooo
December 15, 1992, 5:30 PM, Hogwarts Grounds, Scotland
Adam Clarke
The evening hues casting a serene ambience over the winter wonderland which Hogwarts had become.
My hands deftly guided my trusted wheelbarrow full of fertilizer bags. Beside me, Harry walked with purpose, shouldering an additional bag that spared me the trouble of an extra trip. The muffled crunch of our boots on the snow-laden path provided a pleasant break in the tranquil surroundings. Our destination: the Greenhouses.
“So, you do this every day?” Harry asked, incredulous as he shifted the bag from one shoulder to the other. He rolled his now free shoulder. “How do you deal with the pain?”
I chuckled, glancing at Harry as we made our way through the snow-draped landscape. “Well, not every day, but quite often. It keeps me busy, and I find a certain satisfaction in the work. That’s not even talking about the obvious health benefits.”
Harry smirked, his breath visible in the cold air. “I suppose it’s less grueling than Quidditch practice.”
“Plus it’s good work experience— you never know when you might need that sort of thing.” I replied, navigating the path with practiced ease. “And you also never know when a well-cared-for Venomous Tentacula might come in handy.”
Harry’s eyes widened in mock horror. “You’re not growing those, are you? Neville’s been obsessed with them, recently.”
“I know— who do you think told me about them?” I said and chuckled again. “Relax, Harry. They’re well-contained in the more secure sections of the greenhouse. We don’t want another incident like yesterday.”
The previous day had seen a peculiar incident involving a Venomous Tentacula in the greenhouse.
A Sixth Year from Ilvermorny had found herself entangled in its vines, getting some nasty injections in the process. In an unexpected turn of events, Neville Longbottom, of all people, became her unlikely savior. With quick thinking, he rescued her from the plant’s clutches and ensured she received prompt treatment in the Hospital Wing.
The story of Neville’s heroic act had circulated through Hogwarts, sparking both surprise and admiration.
“It’s nice to see Neville coming out of his shell.” I said.
The crunch of snow under our boots softened as Harry and I reached the entrance of the greenhouses. The warmth emanating from the glass structures offered a welcome contrast to the winter chill outside. As we set down the sacks of fertilizer in the correct spot, Harry chuckled, his eyes sparkling with amusement as he recalled something.
“What’s so funny?” I asked, perplexed by the sudden outburst.
Harry wiped a tear from the corner of his eye, still chuckling. “It’s Neville. After he saved that girl from the Venomous Tentacula, she got released today, and she gave him a kiss as a thank you.”
“What? When?” My eyebrows shot up in surprise.
“This morning.” Harry explained. “She waited for him outside of the Common Room.”
“I… Wow.” I said, somewhat astonished. “A kiss!”
Harry nodded, still grinning. “Yep, right on the cheek. Poor guy went as red as you can imagine. It was quite a sight.”
I couldn’t help but join in the laughter, imagining Neville’s embarrassed reaction. “Good for him, though. He needs a little confidence boost.”
“Yeah, he does.” Harry agreed, shaking his head. “It’s just funny how he reacted. I don’t think he was expecting it at all.”
As we finished the last of the fertilizer bags, Harry dropped it off with a thud, dusting his hands as thoughts of Ophelia began to cross my mind.
“What now?” He asked, his breath visible in the crisp air. “Anything to do here?”
I shook my head, failing to banish the thoughts away.
“No.” I replied, redirecting my attention to Harry. “Now we go for some stew.”
“Perfect.” Harry said, a grin playing on his lips.
“Oh, since you’ve done a little work with me here, you’ll see just how amazing it is when you’re tired and cold.” I added with a chuckle.
And so, we started back, with me pushing the wheelbarrow while Harry trailed ahead, occasionally making small talk. The winter air stung my face, but the prospect of warm stew and the company of my friends made the journey back quite appealing.
As we walked, I couldn’t help but wonder if there was anything behind Ophelia’s kiss again. She could have kissed me on the cheek, but she’d chosen my lips instead. Was there any reason behind it?
Spur of the moment? I thought before dismissing that idea. No, she’s been thinking about her response probably since we beat Quirrell.
What was it, then? Perhaps the severity of Quirrell’s crime was such that she thought it needed a better reward than a simple kiss? The girl Neville had saved— her ordeal had been traumatic, but quick and easily healed.
Ophelia, on the other hand, had been groomed and then quite literally mind-controlled; I could only imagine what she’d been forced to do.
Harry’s friendly banter provided a welcome distraction from my dark thoughts, and I found solace in the simple rhythm of our steps and the anticipation of a hearty meal.
Whatever it is, it’s behind me now. I thought to myself, deciding to close the matter. She’s now an adult and can make her own decisions, whatever her reasoning.
As we made our way back, the wheelbarrow’s creaking wheel cutting through the quiet winter air, we spotted Hagrid coming towards us. His massive figure and wild beard were unmistakable even from a distance.
“Adam, Harry!” He boomed as he approached, a wide grin splitting his face. “How’s it goin’? Done with the fertilizer, are yeh?”
We exchanged greetings with Hagrid, assuring him that the task was completed. Hagrid clapped a hand on each of our shoulders, the warmth of his giant palm seeping through our robes and nearly sending us to the ground.
Guy just doesn’t know his own strength.
“Well, I was plannin’ on treatin’ ya to some stew.” He said, though his look turned sheepish as he spoke. “But I forgot to do somethin’ back at my house. Somethin’ important. Might take a while.”
“No problem, Hagrid. We can wait.” Harry assured him, echoing my sentiment.
Hagrid beamed at us. “You boys are the best. I won’t be long. Just sit tight.”
With that, Hagrid lumbered off in the direction of his hut, leaving Harry and I alone once more.
With a nod and a grin, I decided to drop off the wheelbarrow before linking up with Absol. As I began walking, I turned to Harry and suggested. “You should use this time to visit Astrid. She’s probably missing you.”
Harry grinned back. “Good idea, Adam. I haven’t seen her in a while.”
“I know it’s a good idea.” I said, smirking. “I said it, after all.”
Harry didn’t even acknowledge what I said aside from a roll of the eyes that was instinctive to him at this point. As we parted ways, I watched him make his way towards the edge of the Forbidden Forest, where Astrid was kept. It intrigued me, this unique bond he had with the dragon.
Poor Hedwig. I chuckled to myself, recalling the amusing dynamics between Harry and Hedwig in the aftermath. The owl had been initially upset with Harry for what he’d done, but it seemed the feathery creature had eventually come to terms with the new addition to their magical family.
I suppose after she got a few bites in, she realized there was nothing to be done.
Reaching the drop-off point, I put the wheelbarrow in its right spot before turning with a smile as I felt a familiar presence near me.
Absol, my Thestral companion, greeted me with a soft nuzzle as I approached.
“Hey, girl.” I said, caressing her neck in the way she liked. Her large, expressive eyes conveyed a mix of affection and a more straightforward demand.
~Come more often.~ Absol stated, her voice soft, yet firm as it resonated in my mind.
I chuckled, feeling a twinge of guilt. “Not even a hello, huh?”
She shifted restlessly, and I could sense her impatience.
~You’re always busy.~ She added, a clear indication of her discontent with my recent absence.
I sighed, realizing that Absol, in her own way, wanted more of my time. Soothing her with continued neck scratches, I promised. “I’ll try to be more present, Absol. I know I’ve been busy, but I’ll try to do better.”
Her response was a soft, almost contented huff, and I couldn’t help but feel happy at her reaction. She’d become such an integral part of my life, that I couldn’t imagine a world without her around.
With some time to spare before Hagrid would begin preparing his stew, Absol and I took a leisurely stroll along the edge of the Forest. As we walked, Absol shared her adventures with me, the details of her hunts and the creatures that inhabited the forest. As she spoke to me, vivid images would flash in my mind, and I could almost taste the blood and flesh of her prey on the tip of my tongue.
~It tried to run, but I gobbled it down before it could even think!~ Absol said, and I gave her some more neck scratches. She almost warbled in pleasure to me for a moment before freezing and craning her head to look behind me.
The peaceful trek with Absol came to an abrupt halt as a scarlet jet of light crashed into me, sending me sprawling face-first into the snowy ground. The impact jarred me, leaving me disoriented as I rolled onto my back, instinctively reaching for my wand.
To my dismay, my fingers fumbled in my pockets, and then the snow, unable to locate it. Panic and confusion set in as I scanned the surroundings, trying to make sense of the sudden attack. Absol stood nearby, her posture tense and alert, ready for the incoming danger.
I strained to see who or what had launched the attack, but my vision blurred momentarily from the impact. As I lay on the snowy ground, disoriented and wandless, a mocking voice cut through the air.
“Looking for this?” The sound was accompanied by laughter, and I strained to focus my attention on the source. Four boys were approaching, their faces twisted in amusement. Among them, I recognized one as a Fourth Year boy who’d been on the Quidditch Team last year, and the lead, a Seventh Year, held my ebony wand in his grasp.
The realization hit me— this was no random attack.
Higher up Ravenclaws. Daphne was right. I thought; now, my wand was in their hands. A surge of frustration and anger welled up within me.
None of the boys seemed to notice Absol, who stood nearby, tension radiating from her as she prepared to defend. I sensed her readiness to charge, but I quickly sent her a mental command to wait.
There is no need to be hasty. I thought. No one sees you, so I want you to be as quiet as possible. Don’t tip them off.
~…Yes. Yes.~ Absol said, and I could feel her fury barely being restrained. ~I will do as you say.~
With that out of the way, I struggled to my feet. Facing the group, my jaw clenched.
“What’s this about? Why attack me?” I demanded, my voice firm despite the unease that lingered in the air.
The lead boy sneered at me, dismissing my confusion. “Don’t act like you don’t know, Clarke.”
“Humor me.” I retorted, stalling for time as I subtly signaled Absol to check our surroundings. I needed to know if there were others lurking nearby, potentially adding to the danger. “I haven’t done anything to you. Don’t think I’ve ever talked to any of you, even.”
The boys laughed, finding my attempt to resolve the conflict without violence amusing. I was well aware that it was almost assuredly not going to work, but I wasn’t one to immediately resort to aggression.
“Just playing innocent, are you?” The lead boy taunted, my wand still in his possession. The others shared glances, a malicious gleam in their eyes.
As Absol relayed through our mental connection that there were no immediate threats around, I weighed my options.
“I really have no idea.” I insisted, my voice steady despite the unsettling tension. The lead boy bristled at my response, his eyes narrowing in jealous anger.
“Stay away from Ophelia.” He demanded, his tone threatening as he took a step forward, pinning me with angry brown eyes. “We’ve all heard about what happened; she’s mine, got it?”
My eyes widened in surprise and confusion.
“What? There’s nothing between us.” I protested, genuinely taken aback by the accusation for a moment before my expression darkened. “Besides, she’s her own woman and can make any choice she wants.”
This, of course, seemed to have been the wrong thing to say. “You’re not going to get away with what you did so easily.”
As the situation escalated, a mix of frustration and disbelief surged within me.
Has this guy lost his mind? I wondered silently, my thoughts racing as I tried to make sense of the accusations and the hostile confrontation. The air now felt charged with an ominous energy, and I braced myself for whatever would unfold next.
And so it began.
The dam of tension finally burst as the boys launched their attack. Jinxes, curses, and hexes flew towards me, each spell seeking to humiliate rather than harm. I moved swiftly, my instincts driving me to dodge and weave through the onslaught.
The air crackled with magical energy, flurries of snow erupting around me as the jinxes that missed their target crashed against the ground.
The hexes painted trails of colorful light through the impromptu clouds of disturbed snowflakes, illuminating everything with bursts of magic. I dodged as well as I could, but it was four to one.
I took a few hits. I could feel the stinging hexes graze my skin, leaving uncomfortable burning sensations all over. With every successful hit they landed on me, I could hear their mocking laughter, taunting me while I couldn’t even fight back.
Barely managing to avoid a Slug-vomiting Charm, I continued to navigate through the storm of spells, my focus on survival and evading the humiliating onslaught being thrown my way.
As the boys continued their relentless assault, I subtly commanded Absol to get into position behind the lead boy.
With a plan forming in my mind, I sought refuge behind a tree, nursing the stinging injuries from the hexes.
“Running away! Not so impressive without your wand, are you, Clarke? So much for the Rising Star!“
The mocking laughter of the boys echoed through the forest, but I ignored their taunts, my focus squarely on the impending counterattack.
I huddled behind the tree, drawing on my will and desire to reunite with my wand. The cold determination welled within me, drowning out the pain and frustration. The blood beneath my skin seemed to sing with anticipation as I prepared for what came next.
Absol, ever loyal, moved silently into position, her instincts attuned to my unspoken command. They would get what was coming to them.
With a few deep breaths, I hardened my gaze.
Now! I mentally roared to Absol. The Thestral leaped into action, rushing the lead boy with savage intent. I heard the distinct sound of someone being knocked down and smiled.
Payback time.
Emerging from behind the tree, I immediately began to focus my thoughts and magic, miming the act of giving something a hard yank.
“Accio!” I cried out, my voice harsh and quick. My ebony wand responded to the Summoning Charm, flying back to me with swift precision. I luxuriated in the surge of warmth it gave me as I took it in hand.
Did these morons not see my fight? I thought as the dynamics of the confrontation shifted in my favor. The boys, momentarily stunned by the unexpected turn of events, scrambled to regroup. As the confusion settled, I stood my ground, wand in hand.
Their retaliation was swift, vicious and desperate, with them sending more dangerous curses my way. However, my determination held firm.
With a wordless incantation, a stout Shield Charm materialized, absorbing their attacks effortlessly. The magical barrier held against the onslaught, and I could sense the growing frustration in their movements.
Seizing the opportunity, I redirected my focus to the lead boy’s allies.
“Stupefy!” I cried out three times, striking each boy in the midsection while they stood like deer faced with headlights. The thuds of their unconscious bodies hitting the snowy ground was heard moments later.
The lead boy, now realizing the gravity of the situation, stood alone, his previous confidence shaken, swiftly replaced by fear.
No mercy. I thought to myself, hardening my gaze as I focused on him.
With a swift motion, I stabbed my wand forward, summoning a thick set of silver chains. Odgovor!
The chains surged forward, responding to my command as they burst forth from the tip of my ebony wand. My foe attempted to Banish them away, but his fear seemed to overpower his concentration, and he was only able to work the spell twice before he became ensnared.
The glowing chains, now meeting no resistance, wrapped around the boy’s body. He was lifted in the air for a moment before being securely tied to a nearby tree.
Taking a deep breath, I surveyed my surroundings as I walked towards the immobilized boy. The forest, once a place of serenity, now bore witness to the aftermath of chaos. The once pristine canopy of snow had been greatly disturbed, the trees battered, scratched and some even splintered in places.
With a wave of my wand, I put out a few fires before turning my attention to the fools who were backing this ringleader up. The lead fool’s allies lay Stunned on the snowy ground, and his arrogant demeanor had been replaced by a mixture of fear and defeat.
As I turned my gaze to him, he began to plead.
“I didn’t mean it, I’m sorry.” He begged. “It was just supposed to be a lesson to stay away from my girl. We weren’t going to do anything permanent to you— you don’t have to do this.”
However, as I stared at him, the soul thread above him jittered with barely suppressed rage. I could see the deception in his eyes, but after many seconds of this fake blubbering, I decided to humor him.
“Very well. I’ll let you go.” I said, my tone measured as I loosened the chains just enough for the boy to move. A hint of a smirk crossed his face, likely thinking that he’d outsmarted me and was about to snatch victory from the jaws of defeat.
He extended his wand arm toward me, leveling his wand straight at my head. “Confringo!”
With wide, shocked eyes, I deflected the orange flash off to the side with a swift motion of my wand. The explosive force hit a snow-covered bush, instantly melting and evaporating the snow and turning it into a smoldering heap whose ashes scattered in the cold air.
My gaze hardened as I saw the boy’s true intentions. The simmering rage within me flared.
If that had hit, I would have died right then and there— nevermind the fact that I’d been expecting it. What if he’d ambushed me with that spell? What then?
He would have killed both me and Absol.
Fury overtook me. With a swift mental command, I directed the chains to wrap tightly around his wand arm before he could react. He cried out in pain as the chains constricted, forcing him to release his wand. Ignoring his pleas, I intensified the pressure, a series of loud snaps echoing through the forest.
I held him in the grip of the magical chains, a visual manifestation of the consequences he had brought upon himself. The fool’s defiance crumbled, and as the final snap echoed, I released him, letting him crumple to the snowy ground.
Without missing a beat, I walked over to where he had dropped his wand. Taking it in hand, I snapped it right in front of his wide, horrified and pained eyes. His shock only lasted for a moment before he dropped his gaze. The once defiant, arrogant fool now lay defeated, completely and utterly.
Staring down at the pitiful sight, disgust welled up within me.
“Enough of this.” I muttered to myself, resolving to end the confrontation. Pointing my wand at one of his friends and ignoring his sudden exclamation of fear, I incanted a spell. “Rennervate!”
The Fourth Year boy awoke with a start, scrambling to get to his feet, jolted into full wakefulness by the cold snow he’d been lying in for a while. He frantically looked around, taking in the sight of his downed allies and his broken leader.
“Wh— What—”
“Take him to the Hospital Wing.” I ordered, my tone firm. Saying no more, I turned away and left.
I rushed towards Hagrid, intending to inform him of what had happened before that guy could try and get me into trouble for failing to exact his revenge.
~No stew?~ Absol asked a few minutes later, and I could feel her disappointment in our bond.
No stew, sorry Absol. I thought, pursing my lips in dissatisfaction as I made my way to the lit campfire in the distance, where I saw Hagrid and Harry seated. Or, maybe we can get a quick bite in?
I never noticed the beetle hidden in the warmth of one of the boys’ robes, having witnessed every single second of the battle.
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