What looked like a fat little monk was saying: "Forgive and forget, I say, we ought to give him a second chance–"
-Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone, page 115
The Fat Friar:
The Tainted Mug
It was a warm summer's eve, when naught but crickets dared to make a sound and disturb the peaceful stillness that was the night. The horizon glowed faintly, and the stars made desperate attempts to break through the light of the dying day. Those that did twinkled merrily, winking at the hilly landscape below.
A stout man with a balding crown watched the sun set in pleasant silence as he sipped from a wooden mug. He propped his large feet upon a cushion, weary from the troubles of the day, and sighed into his drink. He had had a rather trying day, he reflected, what with the rebelliousness of the school children and the plaguing doxy infestation. He chuckled to himself, the fact that both the young wizards and biting fairies could be much the same suddenly surfacing in his mind. What he wouldn't do to control them a bit every so often.
More stars had begun to arise, bursting forth from the vastly-spreading darkness with respectable might. The Friar, struck by a sudden fancy, raised his mug to the heavens to toast the noble light. For this, the drink was drained entirely, and his thoughts seemed muddled and clear all at once. Hiccuping pleasantly, he recalled the day's events as his mind was soothed by the music of a glorious midsummer's night.
Young Perenelle had come to him that morning. The Friar smiled at the memory. Her face had been guilt-ridden, that was certain, though it had not been without her ever-present mischievous smile, which she had attempted to disguise by lowering her gaze to the ground and shuffling her feet. She had clasped her hands behind her back as though she had held something within them which she had wished to hide.
"Friar Aaron, sir, they've sent me to tell you that Mr. Nicolas has got himself into a bit of an accident." She spoke this quickly, as though the words were either rehearsed or repeated nearly verbatim.
The stout man chuckled. "Ah, and what is it that Master Nicolas has done to himself this time, Miss Perenelle? Another exploding cauldron, perchance?" His eyes twinkled merrily, and the girl glanced up at him shyly, her toe tracing innocent circles into the earth.
"Well, I don't know exactly what," she informed him promptly. "But it isn't really that bad." Her small brow furrowed as she reconsidered this. "Well, I suppose it it. 'Tis funny, though." She giggled slightly. "You must come quickly, Friar Aaron!"
Perenelle led him to a strange sight indeed. Young Nicolas Flamel, it seemed, had sprouted an identical pair of tentacles upon his head and was attempting, without much success, to remove them. The Friar rushed to his side immediately–or rather, waddled as quickly as he could–laughing outright as he undid the spell.
"'Tis truly a wonderful look for you, Master Nicolas. I am surprised you did not wish to keep it." He winked at the girl, who had come to stand beside him.
Nicolas smiled ruefully, openly thankful to be rid of the jittering masses. "I should thank Perenelle, then, for bestowing upon me such a becoming feature." The Friar felt young Perenelle shift uneasily, and he heartily beamed.
"Ah, Miss Perenelle, have you a reason for harming the poor boy, or was it perhaps a passing fancy? Whatever Master Nicolas has done, I'm sure it would have been more fair to listen first to an explanation."
Nicolas snorted at this. "Unfortunately, that seemed to have been the trouble, Friar. I'm afraid I may have deserved it."
Perenelle wrinkled her nose and stuck out her tongue at him. "You always deserve it, Nicolas." At that, she fled, leaving the Friar to imagine for himself what the boy had done to upset her so, for the latter would not tell him.
Ah, young Perenelle, the Friar mused, still holing his mug. She was a clever witch, though quick to become annoyed, so eager to learn. And, he added as an afterthought, so infatuated with poor Nicolas. He shook his head, smiling to himself. They would make a smart pair, though he was not about to play matchmaker. Why, young Perenelle had not yet begun her first year of schooling at Hogwarts! He refilled his empty mug graciously.
Perenelle had also been the one to discover the doxy problem, although it had been entirely by accident. He had taught them a summoning charm that day, calling the small group of children inside just after Nicolas had been rid of his tentacles. They had all been delighted to larn such a useful trick. So delighted, in fact, that he feared they might incessantly use it until the entire abbey was out of place. At the thought, he chuckled merrily.
Friar Aaron patrolled the enclosed classroom, dodging airborne objects which suddenly tended to fall upon the floor halfway to their destination. He enjoyed teaching the children new things at the abandoned abbey, though he knew quite well that they would not learn such spells until far later in their schooling. Most of them had not yet even glimpsed the school, much less attended it, and so he did not think it would do them any harm to learn of what lay ahead.
Perenelle seemed to be having little difficulty mastering the charm, much to the dismay of her companion, Percival, who tended to require a bit more time than she at learning such things. Though, the Friar reflected, he seemed to excel at concocting potions. He paused to correct the boy's grasp upon his wand, then continued to the next pair.
Suddenly, Perenelle let forth a loud cry, and it seemed that the entirety of the room started. The Friar turned and saw that at her feet lay a small and rather disgruntled-looking black creature. Percival prodded it with his wand. The doxy clamped onto the tip, holding fast even when he began to hit it against a table in hopes to release his wand from the creature's jaws.
"Now, now, Master Dumbledore," the Friar said reproachfully, coming to stand beside the boy. He took the wand gently between his own pudgy fingers. "We don't want to be harming it." Followed by a small crowd, which seemed to be half frightened and half enthralled, he carried it to the door and shook it until it came loose and zoomed angrily away.
"Friar Aaron?" Perenelle asked timidly. "What if. . . What if there are more of them?" She grimaced and looked absolutely horrified at the thought.
"Then we shall have to find them and set them free, will we not?" he said amiably, and the girl's eyes widened as she shuddered noticeably. After that, she seemed to have disappeared in one of the far corners of the room, muttering quietly to Percival, who appeared not to be in the least bit interested in what she had to tell him.
The Friar settled more comfortably into his chair, the only light save for that of the heavens being the flickering of candles inside of the abbey. Yet, as it lay in the valley below, he was engulfed nearly entirely in darkness. He did not mind, however, for it was peaceful enough as such. Perhaps he would bring the children later that night, and he would teach them a bit of astronomy. No doubt if they learned a bit now, it would not be so very difficult in a few year's time. Not, of course, that he expected them to understand it just yet, for it was far too complex for their young minds. Even he, who had always been fascinated by the stars, did not always fully comprehend. The man gazed at the sky in wonder.
Soon, he heard the soft sound of approaching footsteps. "Friar Aaron?" It was Perenelle.
"Ah, Miss Perenelle," he greeted pleasantly. "What is it that brings you here this fine summer's eve? Should you not be abed?"
She sat upon the grass at his feet. "I did try, Friar. Really, I did. But I'm not all that tired, and Nicolas is badgering me." The girl crossed her arms and sighed, silent for a moment thereafter. "What are you looking at?"
He glanced at the sky, and Perenelle lay flat upon her back to do the same. She chewed at her lip; her eyes were wide in awe.
"They're so pretty," she murmured, quieted by the wondrous sight.
"Indeed," he nodded, looking at the girl and smiling. As she stayed at the abbey during summers whilst her parents were away, the Friar had come to think of Perenelle as the daughter he never had. He had not yet told her this, though he imagined she knew somehow. In the many years he had been acquainted with her, she had always been extremely perceptive. No doubt he would find her placed into Ravenclaw someday, and while it was not his own House, he knew it was one in which she belonged.
His eyes danced and he glanced at his mug. Strange, he thought, furrowing his brow. For it had been filled as though from it he had never drank. The Friar dipped his finger into it as though to test its contents, and found that he was by no means imagining its presence. Perhaps he had refilled it and did not remember. With a shrug, he sipped it gingerly.
He instantly withdrew his lips from the brim. The drink had been of a more bitter quality than he recalled it being before. Although, beneath the bitterness lay still the familiar sweet taste of his favorite mead.
It must have been sitting for too long, he decided. Some of the flavor had settled to the bottom, and he had forgotten to mix it before he drank. That was it. Friar Aaron nodded discreetly as though to reinforce this idea to himself. It was too dark to distinguish the color of the liquid within his faithful mug, and the thought that perhaps such was an important thing to do did cross his mind. He consumed the drink generously, smacking his lips and sighing in contentment.
"What's that star called, Friar Aaron?" young Perenelle inquired, pointing at a particularly bright prick of light.
He glanced upward, following the direction of her gaze, and suddenly felt a spell of dizziness. He shook his head, hoping to rid himself of the feeling, yet it would not cease. The star seemed to fade and become blurred, until it was naught but an unfocused white spot before his eyes. "I-I'm not quite sure," he managed to say, and had the faint notion that the girl was watching him curiously.
"Friar, are you alright?" There was concern in her tone, though he was nearly unable to take notice. He had suddenly become exceedingly warm, and the dense summer air seemed to press in at him. He could feel the fat drops of perspiration swell and trickle down his flesh.
That was when his breath ceased to come entirely. He coughed, attempting to clear his throat of whatever it was which had caused it to become as such. He made to draw in air, yet found there to be none. His eyes bulged and he promptly stood, knocking over the bench upon which he had previously seated himself.
"Friar?"
He turned to her, bile bubbling into his constricted airway, yet he could not seem to release it. Perenelle looked on at him in horror, her face starkly white beneath her fingers. Her feet staggered backward and she nearly stumbled. "I'll-I'll fetch some help!" she cried, breaking into a sprint.
"Bezoar!" the Friar managed to gurgle. "Be. . .zoar!"
Where was his wand? He frantically searched the pockets of his brown robes. In his panic, he could not locate it. His mind spun more quickly, and his chest throbbed. The scenery surrounding him merged into one large mass, shadows leering at him from their darkened coves. Spots forming before his eyes, and he tripped, landing with a loud thump that resonated within his ears.
Suddenly, he was not choking any longer. In fact, he could feel nothing, yet everything seemed perfectly clear. It was as though the accursed drink he had never consumed. The Friar sighed in relief, laughing now at the terrible fright he had just experienced. He would have to tell young Perenelle that he fared well, and not to worry her poor little head.
As he started down the hill, he was overcome with the strange sensation that his feet were not coming in contact with the ground. What a peculiar night! he thought to himself. He could see the girl running toward him.
"Miss Perenelle!" he called merrily, waving. "Not to worry, I'm quite all right!"
She stopped dead, her face perhaps whiter than it had been the time he had last seen her. "F-Fr–" She seemed unable to speak.
The Friar brought his hand forward to pat her shoulder comfortingly. "There now," he told her. "What ever is the matter?" Then he paused. His hand, suddenly colorless, had gone directly through her. She gave a shudder, and fainted.