This is incredibly, incredibly short. Please forgive me; I still have finals and zero time to write. My next one will be super long, I promise.
Go see Return of the King.
The blade was sharp and deadly cold. Percy shuddered as the metal bit into his skin. Not deep, merely a scratch, but he could feel the blood trickle down the back of his neck.
"Brogan!" Penelope shrieked. Her hand flew up, still holding the basket. Then she let go, the basket continuing until it struck Brogan Marchent on the head. "What the hell do you think you're doing?"
"Don't come any closer," Brogan hissed. Percy recognized him now, though only barely. Even the temper he had displayed the other the day was nothing compared to the growl he now gave. Percy longed to look at him, to see precisely what he was thinking. Brogan had seemed fairly respectable. To act like this, why, that was unthinkable. But Brogan now had a firm grip on his shoulder, and the knife pressed closer.
"Brogan, please," Penelope begged. "This isn't funny."
"Oh, I think it's very funny," Brogan replied. Would it be funnier if I killed him, Miss Clearwater?"
"What the hell is this about?" Percy tried to sound calm, but his voice trembled even in his own ears.
"Don't talk!" Brogan roared. His fist slammed into the side of Percy's head, spinning him into the ground. Somewhere beyond the red and black Penelope screamed. "Put your wand back, girl!"
"Petrificus totalus!" Penelope shrieked. "Petrificus totalus!" It didn't seem to work, and she screamed again, her voice mixing with various curses spewing from Brogan's mouth.
That childish spell, Percy thought dimly, climbing weakly to his feet. Why didn't she try something stronger? His own wand. . . he pulled it out and turned.
Penelope was on the ground, weakly dodging the spells Brogan threw at her. He towered over her, his hair wild and his eyes bloodshot. His face was skeletal, his maniacal smile threatening to tear the skin. His wand was clutched in his hand, and seemed to quiver as he lifted it. "Avada—"
"CRUCIO!" Percy heard himself scream. A bolt of light whipped from his wand and poured into Brogan. With a howl, Brogan went down as his legs seemed to twist in on themselves. Percy stumbled back, horrified at the image before him.
Penelope pulled herself up, her face pale. "Make it stop. . ." she breathed. "Make it stop."
"Penelope," Percy began.
"Brogan is. . ."
Brogan shrieked again.
Penelope shuddered, ran to Percy, and whipped the wand from him. "I think he's under Imperious."
The shrieks stopped.
"Imperious?" Percy echoed, yanking his wand back. "Are you
sure?"
"When Mad Eye Moody taught, or supposedly taught, he told my class to look at the
eyes."
"I don't care," he snapped. "He was going to kill you."
She looked down, a sob escaping her throat. "I heard him. But you can't. . ."
"He wanted to kill you!"
"I WILL KILL YOU!" Brogan was back on his feet, wand in hand, screaming what Percy realized to be curses. He couldn't hear them, couldn't deflect them.
A blast from Brogan's wand struck him with such force he couldn't breathe. He skidded across the ground, the earth and rock scraping at his skin. Something cool, rough, and terribly hard stopped him.
Before he blacked out, he heard a wolf howl.
