Piled Higher and Deeper
Quirinus Quirrell during the Gringotts break-in. Written for the challenge prompt "Oh, the places you'll go!".
I closed my eyes, trying not to lose focus. "A nice jaunt into the bowels of goblin hell, with an extra special bonus of a dragon or ten. Just the thing for a bit of relaxation before the term starts."
An inexorable tide of presence flooded my thoughts. Do you have something you wish to say?
"I think I just said it," I muttered. I couldn't help myself. Flippancy had its price in my current relationship, but breaking into Gringotts was, simply put, exciting to plan in the abstract and rather wretched in the actual doing. Adventures. Pah. I was sorted into Ravenclaw for a reason, damn it all.
Stop grousing. It's tiresome. Think how few have been where we have.
"Fun and adventure in the arse of Gringotts. Oh yes, the places you go as a human familiar are just delightful. They should put it in all the brochures."
Quirinus. My name was a caress with the promise of unutterable pain behind it. Shut. Up.
I clamped my mouth shut. Which left me breathing through my nose. Which was most unfortunate, given the gargantuan pile of fewmets I was currently pressed behind.
A fine word, fewmets. Terribly underused.
I welcomed the distraction from the sensory pounding my olfactory system was giving me. Not too often you have cause to talk about dragon droppings.
Amused laughter whispered against me, dry as autumn leaves. Aren't you glad we're here then?
Oh yes. Quite. My lexicon can finally get that workout. Completely worthwhile.
It's a good thing I enjoy your sense of humor, Quirinus.
I sighed softly, iron truth pressing into me. It is indeed, my Lord.