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May We Live In Interesting Times (Chapter 10: Idea)
🕑 Added 2024-09-21 01:40:31 +0000 UTCBlaise’s eyes were clouded in deeper contemplation than when I first entered the room. I couldn’t blame him. I’d handed him a puzzle, one that twisted and tightened the already heavy burden on his mind like a vise.
He was always the one to observe, to analyze, before committing to anything. In many ways, he was more dangerous than Crabbe and Goyle combined, for while they relied on brute strength, Blaise Zabini wielded his intellect like a blade.
But what truly made him formidable wasn’t his mind alone; it was his ambition, the dark glint in his eyes that revealed an insatiable hunger for power. And now, that razor-sharp mind of his would be fixated on the enigma before him—the mystery of why Draco Malfoy had changed, what had happened to make him so... different. A tantalizing enigma, one that I am sure he knew would test the limits of his cunning and ambition. He was slytherin. He would always have his best interests and preservation at heart.
I just had to align our two interests together.
That would be my chance. My chance to reel him in. Hook, line, and sinker.
I stood up, aware of the weight of his eyes on me. "I need to clean myself up,” I said, with a subtle nod to Crabbe and Goyle dismissing their escort.
Then I opened the door. And stepped out into the winding corridors of the Hogwarts Express.
The train hummed below my feet with the low murmur of students engaged in conversations, their voices a distant backdrop to my own inner dialogue. The familiar scent of the train's polished wood and aged upholstery filled the air, mingling with the faint aroma of pumpkin pasties and chocolate frogs from the trolley that had just passed.
The train’s interior itself was a labyrinth of enchantments that resonated with every step I took. The expansion charm, in particular, weaved a spell of deception. It was never mentioned in the books, but the train was far larger on the inside than it appeared on the outside. Way larger. There was enough room here to fit in a wind turbine and a ton of cars.
In retrospect, how else could all the Hogwarts students, old and new, fit into the train?
Finally, I reached the small, unassuming door that led to the bathroom. The brass handle felt cool against my palm as I turned it, stepping into the confined space.
Right on time, my nose snapped back into position and I adjusted my tie. The mirror above the sink reflected my own face back at me,
As the water flowed from the tap, I splashed my face, the coldness jolting me back to the present. I needed a clear mind for the next steps. Blaise was a crucial piece in this intricate game, and any misstep could unravel the entire plan
The serpent had always been an image of sin, of temptation, of darkness. But this was not merely an image. As I held my wand, words twisted like poison in my mouth, my breath shallow and tinged with the anticipation of what I was about to do, I knew I was crossing into a domain few dared to enter.
"Serpensortia," I whispered, and the words fell from my lips like a curse.
The air crackled as the spell unfurled, reality bending under the weight of dark magic. It wasn’t the mere conjuring of a snake, but the birth of something far more malevolent. The creature that appeared from the dark ether was no ordinary serpent. Its scales shimmered with an unearthly iridescence, a sickening, oily sheen that reflected a thousand colors, all of them wrong. Its eyes—bright, intelligent—locked onto mine, and in that moment, there was an understanding between us: I was its master, and it was my weapon.
The train's low hum, the murmur of students’ chatter—everything fell away, replaced by the oppressive silence of the task ahead. The serpent coiled, ready, but it needed more than simple guidance. It needed my essence. It needed a piece of me to become more than just a snake—to become an extension of my will.
I brought the blade to my palm, the cold metal biting into flesh with a sharpness that made me gasp. Blood welled up, crimson and vibrant, before I pressed the wound to the serpent’s head. Its scales drank in the blood, absorbing my life force, and I felt a jolt—a connection that went beyond words. The snake hissed, a sound that resonated deep in my bones, and then I began the incantation.
“Faenac Al Arun,” I chanted, and the darkness responded.
The words felt wrong, twisted, as though my mouth wasn’t meant to utter them, and yet they flowed, the grimoire’s ancient Gaelic chant filling the air with a sense of foreboding. This was no simple spell; this was soul magic, forbidden and vile. It was as if a thousand voices whispered in my ears, urging me on, promising power in exchange for the price I was willing to pay.
The serpent’s body shuddered, and I could feel my essence, my very being, flowing into it. I was the puppet master, and it was my marionette. With a mere thought, it would move. With a mere whim, it would kill.
The world shifted as I saw through its eyes, a new reality painted in scents and tastes. Everything was more vivid, more primal. The snake slithered away from me, slipping into the labyrinthine corridors of the Hogwarts Express, and I followed, my senses intertwined with the serpent’s.
As I walked back to my compartment, my physical self merely a shell, the snake moved with purpose. My mind was fractured, split between two beings—one of flesh, one of scale. I could taste the emotions of the students in the air, the excitement, the tension. It all fed the beast that I had become.
The snake reached the compartment I was after, and I hesitated. Inside were three of the most important figures in Hogwarts: Hermione Granger, Ron Weasley, and Harry Potter. The thought of what I was about to do sent a thrill through me, an intoxicating mix of anticipation and excitement.
The serpent slipped through the crack in the door, unnoticed at first. It moved silently, a shadow in the dim light of the compartment. Inside, the trio was engrossed in conversation, unaware of the death that now lurked among them.
I directed the snake towards Harry, its target clear. It moved with lethal precision, coiling itself in preparation for the strike. But then, Hermione, ever the perceptive one, sensed something amiss. She looked around, her eyes wide with a sudden fear that she didn’t yet understand, and then she saw it.
The scream that tore from her throat was one of pure, unadulterated terror. It shattered the tranquility of the train, turning the cozy compartment into a place of horror. The reaction was immediate. Harry’s wand was in his hand before I could even blink, the tip glowing with the telltale red of a Stunner.
But I was ready. The serpent dodged with supernatural speed, sliding under the seats, evading the spell that would have ended it. The red light struck the wall instead, fading into nothingness, plunging the compartment back into darkness.
Panic gripped them. Ron’s hands shook as he fumbled with his wand, his face pale with fear. Hermione backed away, her bravery momentarily eclipsed by the primal instinct to survive. Her wand slipped from her fingers, clattering to the floor, and as she bent to retrieve it, I struck.
The serpent lunged, its sleek body a blur of motion, and before anyone could react, it had wrapped itself around Hermione’s arm. I could feel her pulse, frantic and wild, beneath the serpent’s coils. She screamed again, louder this time.
The snake tightened its grip, squeezing the life out of her with a slow, deliberate pressure. It was like watching a predator toy with its prey, the cruelty of the act as much a part of the ritual as the kill itself.
Its coils wound tighter, shifting from her arm to her torso, locking her in place as it looped around her chest, squeezing until she could barely draw a breath.
Ron’s wand was halfway raised, his eyes wide with panic, but he hesitated. The fear was palpable, raw, and it wasn’t just fear for himself. It was fear for her. One wrong move, one poorly aimed spell, and the snake might crush her ribs or snap her neck. The realization struck him like a blow, freezing him in place.
Harry’s wand was also at the ready, but the same paralyzing thought kept his hand steady. If they attacked the snake, if they tried to free Hermione with force, they might end up killing her instead
The very idea of launching a spell at the creature became unthinkable; it would be like playing Russian roulette with Hermione’s life.
The compartment seemed to shrink, the air thick with the tension of the moment. Every breath was shallow, every second stretched into an eternity. The snake was still now, its fangs inches from Hermione’s neck, its eyes locked onto hers, waiting, as if it knew it had the upper hand. It was in control, and it could take her life with a mere squeeze, a simple bite. The message was clear: one false move, and she would die.
Harry and Ron were helpless. They couldn’t risk it. They couldn’t take the shot. Hermione’s life hung in the balance, and the snake knew it. The terror in the room was suffocating, the silence heavy, only broken by Hermione’s ragged breathing and the soft, sinister hiss of the serpent as it tasted the air.
The scene was a standoff, and the serpent had won.
Then Harry Potter did the next best thing he could do, he started hissing in Parseltongue, exactly as intended “Sssstop! Let her go.”
For a moment, the snake hesitated, the ancient language reaching into the depths of its mind, touching the primal part that recognized the command. The coils loosened, just slightly, around Hermione’s neck, giving her a moment to gasp for air.
But I wasn’t finished. I needed more. I channeled more of my essence into the serpent, overriding Harry’s influence, commanding it to strike. And it did. The snake’s fangs sank into Hermione’s flesh, piercing the soft skin of her neck with a sickening crunch. Blood welled up, dark and thick, staining the snake’s fangs as it bit down, its grip tightening once more.
Time seemed to freeze. The compartment fell into an eerie silence, broken only by the sound of Hermione’s labored breathing and the drip of blood onto the floor. The look in Harry’s eyes was one of pure horror. He was powerless, and he knew it. The fear in the air was palpable, suffocating, as the reality of the situation sank in.
Ron didn’t move. He couldn’t. His wand hung limp in his hand, his face ashen as he stared at his friend, caught in the serpent’s death grip. Hermione’s eyes were wide, filled with pain and terror, as she realized that death was but a breath away.
And then, Harry took a step forward. His voice was low, almost pleading, as he hissed again, “Open your jaw.”
The command was simple, but the magic behind it was powerful. I could feel it tugging at me, pulling at the connection I had with the serpent, trying to sever the link that bound us. The snake’s jaws began to loosen, its fangs slowly retracting, but I fought back, channeling every ounce of my will into keeping the connection intact. The snake resisted, its jaws clamping down harder, drawing more blood, its body coiling tighter around Hermione.
Harry’s face contorted with a mix of desperation and determination. He was losing her, and he knew it. With a final, forceful push, his voice rang out again, louder this time, vibrating with magic that crackled in the air around them. “Open!”
The word echoed with an unstoppable force, shattering the remnants of my control. The serpent’s jaws snapped open, releasing Hermione as if an invisible hand had torn them apart. She slumped forward, gasping for breath, her hands clutching the wounds at her neck.
In that split second of release, before I could even register what was happening, Harry’s wand slashed through the air. “Incendio!” The incantation was sharp, a wordless scream of rage and fear. A burst of fire erupted from his wand, a blazing inferno that engulfed the serpent in a matter of seconds.
The flames seared through the snake’s body, the heat so intense that my connection was severed instantly. Pain, white-hot and blinding, tore through my mind as my consciousness was violently ejected from the serpent’s form. The rebound was like being ripped out of my own skin, leaving me gasping and disoriented in the wake of the spell’s aftermath.
With a grunt of effort, I righted myself, forcing my legs to steady beneath me
Finally, I reached the door, my hand trembling slightly as I grasped the handle. I took a deep breath, pushing down the lingering dizziness, and stepped inside. The familiar sight of Crabbe, Goyle, and Blaise greeted me, but there was an edge of concern in Blaise’s gaze as he observed me closely.
“Everything okay?” Blaise asked, his voice carefully neutral, though his eyes flicked to the way I was rubbing my forehead, trying to dispel the remnants of the spell’s backlash.
I managed a smirk, though it felt strained. “Just peachy,” I replied, the words dripping with a sardonic edge.
“Just Peachy”
Still….I had gotten what I wanted.
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