I should probably put this in a different category. ...But I'm fairly certain at least 99% of you know exactly what's going on. So it doesn't really matter. :'D
Dedicated to the rooster that dresses like a Hawk. Something new for you, luv. :)
Disclaimer: I own nothing.
Trapping Spirits
The boy straightened his scarf and tucked his hands into his pockets, stealing a glance around the room before returning to the mirror and watching the cast of his own eyes in the ember glows of a dying fire; he twisted, glanced at the fall of the coat, snug on his shoulders, and allowed his gaze to wander to his left pocket. Couldn't even tell. A tiny smile flickered to life and he turned to the slumped figure squashed in an arm chair next to him, leaning over and whispering, "Get up. It's time to go."
With a jerk, the ginger shot forward and looked around frantically, mumbling incoherently, "M'wake, mum, I—!" His head swiveled to the boy standing over him and his eyes asphyxiated into a scowl, "What time is it?"
"Late enough that everyone in their right mind is in bed." The first boy grinned. He walked around to the table and scooped a book off the top. "So are you coming, or not? Because if you're too tired…"
"No, no, I'm coming." He rubbed his eyes and yawned unconvincingly. "I just need a minute."
"Where are you going?" A shrill voice interrupted, causing both boys to jump and twist awkwardly in astute paranoia. However, upon recognizing the figure, they simultaneously relaxed. She wrapped her nightgown tighter about her and hurried into the dying light. "Where are you going?" She hissed again, glancing around the common room to make sure they were alone, "It's past curfew!" She added in a strained whisper.
The red headed boy yawned a second time and sat up straighter, "Hermione, if I had a sickle for every time you said that…"
She cast him only a passing glance before turning to the other boy. "Harry, is this about that spell?" When he didn't respond she clattered forward, cheeks growing hot with fury, "You don't know what it does, you don't know how dangerous it is or how dark the wizard is that created it—"
"Hermione." Harry cut off, rolling his eyes, "this is the prince we're talking about. He hasn't done wrong by me before." In response to her completely unconvinced facial expression—in fact, she'd grown more agitated; he continued with haste, "Besides, if anything goes wrong, there's a counterspell."
Her lips tightened and she flung herself to glare at the read head, who had gone back to dozing by the fire. "Ron. Certainly you can at least talk some sense into him." The boy, Ron, peered up at her through red locks, mouth opening and closing in unformed words. She grit her teeth, "Ron."
He shrugged and glanced to Harry for a small nod of consolidation, "W-well, I'm kind of with Harry on this one." He flinched as her glare deepened into molten daggers and he added, rather weakly, "W-well, I mean, what harm could it do?"
Her arms flew into the air and a deep breath of frustration blew between her teeth. "I can't believe you two! You're honestly going to go and just—for what, recreation?" She seethed, ignoring their sudden outburst of protest—such excuses about the downfall of evil was nothing new to her ears—she turned around and headed for the stairs, "Fine then, go, but don't say I didn't warn you." As she stalked up the staircase, there was a too quite mumble that floated downward in patches, unintended to be caught by the ears of the boys below, "…bad feeling about this."
Harry and Ron exchanged glances, simultaneously making the decision to gather their coats about them and head towards the door. "You think she might have a point?" Ron mumbled to his best friend. Harry shook his head and pulled an old, silky cloak from a seemingly empty pocket, "We've been talking about this for months, and you're getting cold feet now?" He shook his head and handed Ron an end of the cloth to throw over their heads. "...She'd never let us hear the end of it if we turned back now."
Under the cloak of invisibility, and with the help of a most brilliant map, it didn't take long for the boys to get outside and into the cold of October's nights. Befitting to hours such as this, the water of the black lake was eerily quiet and still when the two approached a thicket along its shore. "Lumos."
A pinprick of light sparked to life and the pale faces of two shaking forms suddenly came into crystal clear view. Glasses glinting in the wandlight, Harry opened his potions book and flipped to a page bookmarked somewhere near the middle. "So…" He whispered, "Do you want to start?"
"It's your book, mate." Ron mumbled, shifting uncomfortably in the sudden chilly atmosphere. "You do it."
Harry nodded. "Right. Remember the counterspell is devindilico, just in case…" He licked his lips and pulled his cloak closer to his shoulders, "Hermione didn't know what she was saying anyway, right?"
The other boy shrugged, "I don't know, mate. A rift into another world? I mean, who knows what could be behind that."
Harry scowled, "Now you're just repeating what she said."
The ginger grinned sheepishly and fiddled with the wand grasped too tightly between his fingers, "It sounded smart though, right?" They chuckled hollowly until a shrill blast of particularly icy wind ripped right through to their bones. Shivering, Ron nodded, "Okay, let's just get on with it."
Harry licked his lips, "Right, okay…" He took in a deep breath and steadied his wand up in the air, a sequence of whispers falling into the darkness as the wand's tip grew brighter. "Spectancana nocturnia…"
Ron's eyes widened and he took a full step back as the edge of Harry's wand blazed a sickly green and spat sparks at the ground in wild, swirling patterns. It wobbled there, waiting. Harry glanced once at his best friend (who was mumbling something along the lines of "wicked") and then turned back to what was in front of him, continuing to whisper the same enchantment over and over, curving his wand up and around, and then taking it to the ground, marking a fiery green path that crackled and glowed against the tide of the turning night.
When the incantation was finished, his wand completed the circle—or, rather, door-like rectangle—and he stood back, glancing at the book and reading aloud the curvy handwriting, "Make a doorway out of light, and wait until the moment is right—when you know, say the word; Hillasthos."
Ron squinted down at the text, "Harry, that's not an h, that's a k." Harry's brow furrowed and he knelt closer to the book, not paying any attention to his outstretched wand as it began to fuel a swirling cloud of palpable green smoke that flowed into their makeshift doorway, popping and sizzling as it hit. "No, Ron, you just don't know how to read his handwriting, clearly…"
He trailed off in response to a particularly loud popping noise. Ron's gaze shot up at the sudden influx of fizzling sound, "H-Harry." Harry's gaze followed that of his friend's and he hissed, jumping back as a large bolt of flaming hot energy jumped away from the swirling doorway of thick greens and onto the sand, roasting what little vegetation had clung there. Ron swallowed and backed away slowly, "Maybe we should close it?"
"I don't even know if it's open." Harry replied, steadily backing away behind the thicket of thorn bushes they had chosen to contract their spell next to. "The prince said not to try to close it when it's still opening."
"Why not?" Ron snapped.
"Something about trapping spirits." Harry mumbled, "I don't know. It got weird, I didn't fully understand it."
Ron swallowed, "I don't think we have a choice, mate. It's going to set the forest on fire at this rate!" Indeed, as if agreeing with the boy's words, the portal began to grow, hissing edges throwing tremors of roaring energy at everything nearby and reducing it to a smoking pile of ash.
"Okay, then." Harry shrugged, shakily bringing his wand back up to point at the sparkling mass—"Devindil—" Weather or not the rest of the spell was said became suddenly unclear as a roar shook the forest. As if on cue one sharp, giant claw slammed out of the portal and dug itself into the dirt. A growl deeper then the sea escaped into the air as a snout sharper and larger than any dragon they had ever seen pushed the swirling green pedicles aside like a lavish and other worldly curtain.
It sniffed at the wind and then like a demon out of Hell the creature rocketed forward, faster than fast and a blur of pure motion—they caught only the stampede of feet and the crack of snapping wood as the glowing thing with wings leapt into the sky, shrieking at the top of its massive lungs. They watched it go, faces pale, and did not seem to notice the unstable portal produce another creature with gangly arms and legs that glared up at the sky in fury—that is, until it shouted over the roars of the dragon. "THAT'S RIGHT! RUN HOME TO MOMMY!"
The wizards ducked low and watched the newcomer fold his glowing arms and chuckle, "Then again, I don't see the big deal; I hear she's more of a pain then you are." The dragon's great wings beat at the trees as it swooped around with a snarl that echoed across the forest. "You dare," A new, sinister voice accused, "Mention MY mother!" Harry realized with a start the voice was coming from the hovering dragon itself. Rather than give time for a response, it strangled out a howl and dove for the other floating anomaly, whips of violet fire beating at the darkness.
Harry snagged the cuff of Ron's cloak and yanked him as close to the brush as possible when the pounding of the dragon's wild wings drew maddeningly closer—feral shrieks filled the air and a blue light engulfed the area. A heartbeat, a swell of blinding sound, and then suddenly, nothing. The calm of October's night fell back into place as though a button had been pushed to erase it all.
Shaking, Harry lifted his head to view the last dying pop of the portal closing. "R-Ron, it's gone." He whispered, standing up and glancing around, "I think it just—" He froze when met with an unnatural green gaze that glowed against the pull of the nightscape. A silver device was being fitted onto his back as the glowing creature (nothing more than a boy—almost), in kind, inspected the boy who lived.
"Is that British?" I thick, American accent drawled uncertainly. Ron slowly joined the still form of his best friend, staring in wonder at the thing before them. The creature tilted his head, "Am I in England?" Almost unconsciously, the thing turned around and staggered at the sight of a castle looming up the hill, "…Um, w-what year is it?" It added weakly.
Amongst the shouts of wizards racing out of the castle towards the commotion, and the growing panic of the questions fired off by the creature they had, accidentally, just trapped in their own world; Ron leaned in and whispered into Harry's ear, "Hate to say it, but, I think Hermione was right."
See? This hardly has a whisper of Phantom. It belongs in the crossovers. OH WELL. :) Thanks to DragonDancer for editing~
~Catalyst
