Penthuisiast
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SD: CH34 - Reckoning
🕑 Added 2023-01-22 16:19:26 +0000 UTC“Is this what you call service, you stupid sow?” said Crabbe, and slapped Penelope in the face. The girl probably tried to withstand the slap like she did everything else. Silently. Unfortunately, she underestimated her own strength, or the force of his beefed hand. Penelope fell back reeling, crashing against a chair.
Several people stood up at that.
I idly observed that despite the reaction, not one of them did or said anything about it. Instead, they just muttered among themselves. Some displayed looks of anger, while others were just flustered, listening to their more knowledgeable partners who whispered furiously under quickly cast silencing charms.
The conclusion was obvious. No one was going to do anything.
“Harry,” Susan grabbed my hand, which surprised the fuck out of me. Any quip I’d have made about her being possessive died seeing her unusually serious expression.
“Don’t,” she said, “you’ll make things worse for her.”
Oh, that I definitely would. No way I was going to limit myself to slaps. But Susan didn’t need to know that.
“Don’t worry,” I said with a smile that fooled no one, “Crabbe just looks like he’s in a bad mood. I think I’ll go see what that’s about.”
And then I got up.
It was one of those moments that would’ve been accompanied with dramatic music had my life been a movie, but all I got was minor whispering from the adjacent tables, Hannah’s furious whispers as she tried to control an unsettled Susan, and the sounds of the broken chair Penelope had crashed upon. My highly sensitive ears also caught on Penelope’s deep breaths, accompanied by an occasional sob, but most of all, I could spot the sudden stiffening postures as Malfoy and his cohorts noticed me walking towards them. No doubt our previous encounter was still fresh in their minds.
I smiled. It reminded me of things back home. You know, before I got murdered.
“Heya guys!” I said.
Malfoy blinked. I couldn’t blame him. It was not every day when your nemesis just casually strolled up to you and gave you an old-pal treatment.
“Potter,” Draco said evenly. “What are you doing here?”
I raised an eyebrow. “On an ice-cream date with Susan,” I said, jauntily waving back at Susan, who looked like she’d exchange her soul for a spell that’d open the floor and swallow her up. Hannah gave me a mean stare, so I quickly backpedaled, “and Hannah. Much like you are, I imagine?”
It took a moment for the implication to sink in.
And then a couple more for him to react.
Crabbe and Goyle… I doubt they really understood it, or maybe they did and found it normal, in which case, I had nailed it on the head. I took a second to pray for the broken hearts of all Dramione fans. Tough luck, fellas!
“Mind your tongue, half blood!” Malfoy snarled. “Pay respect to your superiors.”
“Superiors?” I asked, tilting my head slightly. “I don’t see any. But either way, sorry for the disruption. I was here for something else, actually.”
That stopped him short.
“Well?” Malfoy demanded, “finish and be off. I don’t have time for you.”
I smiled. “See, I was in the middle of this nice date with Susan and Hannah, having ice-cream which, by the way,” I gave Penelope a small smile, “was delicious. Thank you.”
The brunette blinked.
“Now,” I turned to Crabbe. “As I was saying, I was in the middle of this nice date with—”
“Oh, shut up about that already!” Susan yelled at me.
I winced. “See? She’s hard to please. So I was in the middle of this—”
“Date with Susan,” Malfoy growled, “get on with it.”
“Right, so I was having ice-cream, which by the way was—”
“Delicious,” Penelope prompted, her eyes filled with a surreal fascination even though her one hand was still attached to her cheek, which glowed an angry red.
“Yes, thank you,” I nodded, before turning to Malfoy. “And then I heard someone getting slapped, which, again, is totally fine. I mean, I understand people have predilections, and some think it as the height of pleasure, and that’s all right. I know there are places where you’ve got to pay to get slapped around, and it's totally okay if you enjoyed being slapped around by Crabbe and Goyle, what with his large beefy hands—”
Malfoy was now imitating a tomato.
It didn’t help that Hannah had snorted in the background.
“Just shut the fuck up, Potter!” he said, growling, raising his wand.
“Allright, alright, sheesh!” I said, raising my hands up in surrender. It was a deception. I could easily yank his wand away with a thought.
“What do you want, Potter?” demanded Crabbe, glaring at me. Good. Just a little more.
“Well, you see, I was in the middle of this—”
“Date with Susan having delicious ice-cream!” yelled Malfoy. “What about it?”
I blinked. “And I heard—”
“Someone slapping!” Hannah chimed in.
“Right,” I nodded, “which is perfectly fine and—”
Crabbe raised his wand.
“Oh,” I said, “you’re really quick with a wand, aren’t you? I wonder if you’re practicing after that stunt on the train. But I’ve got to wonder, is it really helpful? I mean, if your hands are boneless and jelly, you can’t really hold the wand, can you? You need fingers for that.”
Goyle flinched at the memory.
Crabbe didn’t. Instead, he attacked me. With a yell, he shoved his wand like a sword and yelled, “FURNUN—”
And paused.
Then his eyes went to his empty fingers.
“Looking for this?” I asked, idly twirling the wand in my fingers.
Crabbe blinked, shifting from a flustered to angry and then back to flustered expression.
“Willow with dragon heartstring,” I said, doing my best imitation of McGonagall, complete with the pinched nose thing she did, “Reasonably springy. You suffer from a lot of insecurity issues, don’t you? Willow wands often align themselves heavily with the fire element, and dragon heartstrings only make it worse. Tut! Tut! You have a temper problem.”
I gave Malfoy a penetrating stare. “You really should reconsider if you enjoy being slapped around. This guy can really take things far.”
Someone choked in the background. I wondered if that was Penelope.
I was really interested in wand lore, especially with my desire for the Hallows, which included the Deathstick, so I had purchased a couple of books on the subject. I was no specialist, but had enough cursory knowledge to know the basics. And so far, I was quite impressed by my progress. I knew Ron had a willow wand too, only with unicorn hair. probably suppressed the anger and instead allowed it to burn cold, only raising its ugly head as jealousy from time to time.
I reconsidered the wand. “Eight inches. Oh well, that’s unfortunate. Size issues are not uncommon, which makes me wonder if that’s the cause for the temper problem.”
I gave Crabbe a pointed look.
“Gimme my wand!” Crabbe bellowed and lunged for me.
You might have heard the expression, the larger they are, the louder they fall? Well, that’s perfect for Crabbe. He wasn’t very much on the height side, but held a lot of lateral potential. For my enhanced reflexes, he looked like he was falling in slow motion. All it took was a quick sidestepping, followed by a precise palm thrust at the joint. His elbow snapped as he slipped on the fallen ice-cream on the floor and crashed against the chair behind me.
“Oh yeah,” I said, twirling the wand. “I was so right about the temper problem.”
“Potter!” Draco all but yelled, “you’ll pay for this.”
“The ice-cream?” I feigned obliviousness. “I mean I will, but if you expect me to pay for that ice-cream, you’ve got another thing coming. It isn’t like…”
I paused, feeling his wand tip aimed between my eyes.
“You really don’t want to do that, Malfoy,” I said in an even tone, all traces of humor vanishing from my face. “Unless you’ve forgotten how it ended last time.”
He held the wand tighter. I didn’t care. All it would take was one hit at his wrist and it’d shatter. For all his brawn, Draco wasn’t the smartest tool in the shed.
“This isn’t school Malfoy,” I said, keeping my voice low and sharp, “neither is this the Express. We are in public. There are witnesses and you have your wand pointed at me. And unless you’ve messed your head by getting slapped around in the summer, let me remind you of what this looks like. I am Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived and Lord Potter, and you, a scion of Malfoy, have your wand pointed at me, just after you and your goons humiliated and harassed a muggle born in public. Do you understand what I am saying, Draco?”
The blonde just clenched his wand tighter. “Shut up! Just shut up! Think you’re so smart, Potter? If I were you, I’d worry about your life. What’s stopping me from cruciating you right now?”
I arched an eyebrow. “The cruciatus? Do you even know how to cast it? And what would people say?” I raised my voice, “Son of the famous philanthropist pureblood Lucius Malfoy, casting an unforgivable on Harry Potter.”
I should tell you that Crabbe in the meantime wasn’t exactly silent. He was grabbing his elbow and whimpering in agony. Draco looked one step away from an aneurysm. I wondered how long it would take for him to explode. Goyle just looked confused.
“My father has the ear of the Minister,” he snarled, and pushed the wand against my temples.”
“Oh, right,” I said, “that makes sense. The imperius defense. Your Pa’s infamous for that one.”
Between the shock that flitted across his face, and the moment it took for the realization to settle in, I casually grabbed the wand close to the tip, and plucked it out of his face. “See, there’s this thing, Malfoy. When you have someone at wand point, you better curse. You never know when the tables might turn against you.”
And then I casually flipped his wand away behind my shoulder. It hit the floor and rolled away.
“You son of a mudblood whore!” Draco swore, and grabbed Goyle’s wand, and yelled—
“Reducto!”
Too slow. I casually side-stepped again, letting the curse hit a nearby table, which exploded into splinters. I took careful note of where Hannah and Susan were and stepped away from their direction. Both girls had stood up and had their wands ready. The other customers quickly rose and moved away, sheep that they were.
Or maybe they just didn’t want to get in the way between two political powerhouses.
“Vandalism, Malfoy,” I taunted. “Maybe I should complain to the DMLE about that. I’ve even got witnesses. Tell me, would it work? It didn’t the last time you filed it, or so I heard.”
“FURNUNCULUS!”
I dodged it. “Or maybe it was because you didn’t have witnesses? I mean, goons that look like a baboon’s backside don’t classify as witnesses, right? You’ve got to have brains for that, I think.”
“Shut up! Shut the fuck up! EVERTE STATUM!”
More destruction. “Oooh! Someone’s done his homework. What? Daddy planned a Let’s-torture-muggles summer session for you? Was it private or just Death-Eater exclusive?”
This was fun. Between his sloppy casting speed and rage, it was hilariously easy to get out of the way. His spell selection was limited to blasting curses and common hexes, the kind with too many wand motions to be of use in direct combat.
“GOYLE! Get him!”
“Oh? Having problems, Malfoy? Maybe I should stand blindfolded? Would that help you score a hit?”
“Shut. Your. Fucking. Mouth!”
Goyle grunted and threw a heavy-handed meaty blow at my face. Amateurs! The way they were projecting their every move could be made into a course about the number of things one must not do while fighting. I side-stepped and grabbed his wrist and yanked him further, slipping my leg between his feet. Between his own weight and momentum, Goyle crashed into Crabbe with an even louder grunt.
What? I know I’m a wizard now, but did you really expect me to forget my entire life’s worth of habits and shoot coloured lights out of a twig all the time? Give me a break. Sides, there was a strange satisfaction in kicking these pureblood arses the muggle way.
“That’s two for zero,” I grinned at Draco. “Or wait, should that be… seven for zero? You’ve yet to make a hit.”
It was just around the corner. I could feel it. There I was, wandless, while he was casting curses at me non-stop. Given I had Susan and Hannah as my primary witness, things were heading to an interesting turn. Really Draco, you shouldn’t have given me the DMLE idea. But turnabout, as they say, is fair play.
“Admit it, Draco,” I said, “there is no shame in admitting your inferiority. Your father is a shining example. Politician extraordinaire, leader of the Malfoy-Black Alliance, and a proud card-carrying Death Eater, I’m sorry, I meant member of the weak-willed Imperius Victim Association.”
Susan snorted in the background.
“Enough!” He yelled, and aimed the wand at me.
Then it came.
“CRUCIO!”
The twisting red beam sprang out of his wand like a living thing, and within a fraction of a second, crossed the distance between us.
I didn’t move.
The curse touched me, and then came the pain.
Forget everything you think you know about the cruciatus. No matter how Rowling might describe it, not that she ever did, or how imaginative fanfiction authors might put it, trust me, they’ve got nothing on the cruciatus. The curse flared the victim’s nervous system, causing untold agony in every single nerve-ending. A properly cast cruciatus didn’t need to be cast for minutes or even seconds. Just a single second was enough to turn a fighter into a writhing, quivering mess on the ground.
More than that? Your brain’s toast, and you’re lying down at St. Mungo’s.
Fortunately, it's not that easy to cast a perfect Cruciatus. You needed a specific mindset for that. Anger, especially righteous anger, was not just inadequate, but also a subpar mindset for the cruciatus. You needed a mind that delighted at the idea of someone in pain. Walburga had admitted, with glowing praise, how she had some of her best orgasms while cruciating mudblood filth.
Yes. They’re all cuckoo. Trust me, I know.
But here’s the thing. Subpar mindset or not, rage does produce an Imperius, no matter how weak. And I had Draco casting the unforgivable in broad daylight, with multiple witnesses, one of which was the niece of the DMLE Head.
I’d love to see how Lucius got his son out of this mess.
But that was for later. For now, I was down on the ground, pretending to be the aforementioned quivering wreck. Honestly, I had had worse. This had nothing on Walburga’s cilice belt, and I volunteered for that thrice a week. Plus, with my enhanced reflexes and healing, the pain had reduced to a throbbing in the background. But I stayed on the ground while Draco casually strolled up to me, his pea-brain still unable to register what he had just done. He stood right before me as I tried to get up, his wand pointed at my head.
Several people gasped at what was about to happen. I could hear Susan yell out my name, only for Hannah to hold her back.
Hannah had good instincts.
“Who’s smiling now, asshole?” Draco snarled, pushing his wand against my skull.
I looked him in the eye and smiled. “I am.”
I took my weight on my left elbow and slammed the heel of my right palm into the jackass’s knee.
I’m not sure how much stronger I am than the average person, since my sparring partner is a werewolf with enhanced physical strength, and I am able to put her through the paces. But that just might be because of my natural agility and quidditch-training over the past years. So I didn’t have an excellent idea of how I stacked against plain, old Harry Potter. Or plain old anybody.
But I’m pretty sure it isn’t pretty bad.
Draco’s knee popped like a balloon from the force of the strike, and bent in towards the other knee. Too bad witches and wizards could heal fractures like nobody’s business. It was such a cheat. He howled in startled agony, and like an amateur, stayed in his place, bending downwards to clutch his broken appendage. I pushed myself up in one go, grabbed him by his hair and slammed his head down upon my timely-raised knee.
And then I let him go.
Draco staggered and fell upon his back, whimpering. His eyes were bloodshot, and blood was oozing out his mouth.
“You filthy muggle!” His voice slurred, as he tried to get up, only to fail every single time.
“Go home, Draco,” I said. “Keep in mind that there are bigger fish in the ocean than you. Remember that before…” My gaze shifted to Penelope who was watching me with a flushed expression, “slapping someone.”
“You— you—” he slurred like a drunk, and kept yelling spells at me. Half of them produced fizzling sparks, while half didn’t work in the first place. Disorientation was not a good thing for a spellcaster, as he was listening. And the best part? His wand would register all of them as perfectly cast spells, when examined under Priori Incantatem.
The kind of things you know when your Secretary as an Auror as a BFF.
Finally, I flicked my wrist, my wand spinning into my palm as I walked towards Draco and held it to his face, fear vivid in his eyes.
“No—No—”
“Vulnera Sanentur!” I intoned. “Vulnera Sanentur! Vulnera Sanentur!”
The triple-fold healing spell. The first would stop the blood from oozing out, the second kickstart the healing and the third would re-knit injured tissue. The only trade-off was that it was a magic-intensive spell, one that took its toll not from the caster, but from the victim. I saw Malfoy’s eyes roll up as he dropped to the floor.
Unconscious.
“Well?” I chirped, looking around. “Is there anybody else?”
