Varlet: a knavish person; rascal.
May 29, 2018
"Hello? Is someone there? I could really use some help!" Albus Potter called desperately, fighting with the cloak that had been pulled up over his head and tied like that. He couldn't see anything and it was becoming hard to breathe through the material smothering his face. He had never hated Connor McLaggen more.
"Take care your footing!" a voice cried from somewhere to his left.
Albus froze, and it was lucky he did because if he'd taken one more step he would have tumbled down a steep flight of stairs.
"Who's there?" he asked cautiously, voice muffled by the fabric of his cloak.
"It is I, good sir!" the voice informed him rather… uninformatively.
"And can you, good sir, help me get this thing off me?" Albus asked, clawing at his cloak uselessly.
"I am afraid not," said the voice apologetically. "But fear not! Light will be yours again valiant traveler. Step back three paces and allow the bicorn to set you free."
"Um… what?" Albus asked, thoroughly confused. The only person around to help him would be completely mad, he thought resignedly. Or else it was one of McLaggen's lackeys messing him.
"Backwards! Three paces!" the voice instructed impatiently.
Albus put a hand out to find the wall. "Look, I'm really starting to lose oxygen here, so if you could just untie me that would be great. I won't go to squealing to McGonagall and you won't have to drag my unconscious body to Madam Pomfrey and explain what happened, deal?"
"I cannot drag you anywhere. Now backwards three paces or your life shall be lost to the clutches of that fearsome beast upon your head."
Albus would have sighed if he'd had the air in his lungs to do so. But he did as the voice instructed and moved three careful steps backward along the corridor. Something very sharp jabbed him in the back.
"Aha! You have found the bicorn!" the voice said jubiliantly. "Now tear yourself free of your attacker!"
"But can't you just –"
"Find your courage! Your life lies in your hands alone!"
Feeling slightly lightheaded, Albus hooked a corner of his trussed cloak to the sharp object jabbing him in the back and pulled with all his might until, with a loud ripping sound, it tore a wide hole in his cloak. Gasping at the fresh air, Albus yanked his shredded cloak off with some difficulty and hurled it away from him.
"A victory!" the voice cheered. "I had faith in your success in the darkest hours!"
Breathing hard, Albus looked around, ready to give his 'faithful' aid a piece of his mind. But there was no one around. He stood on a completely unfamiliar and deserted landing with nothing but a portrait of a fat gray pony and the statue of the bicorn he'd used to cut away his claok to decorate the walls.
Someone cleared their throat. "Over here, good sir!"
Albus took a step closer, squinting at the bottom edge of the pony's frame. A little knight crouched in the corner, leaning against his frame and looking expectantly at Albus.
"Haven't you some words of thanks to offer?" the knight asked indignantly and it was the voice that had guided him to freedom.
"Er, thanks?" Albus ventured.
The knight immediately waved a hand. "It was a deed any noble man would have undertaken. No gratitude is necessary."
"But you said –"
"Quickly, tell me what villainous rogue set the specter upon you?" the knight demanded, pulling out his sward with a flourish that nearly overbalanced him.
"Specter? Oh, it was just my cloak. Connor McLaggen tied it round my head with a permanent knotting spell, then he dragged me up a bunch of steps, spun me around and left me there. Must've wondered around for twenty minutes and no one was around. S'pose you might've saved my life," Albus added, looking nervously at the flight of stairs he had nearly tumbled down.
"Tell me where to find this rascal and I shall tear him to ribbons like your cloak-specter!"
Albus laughed and the red-faced little knight looked somewhat offended.
"Sorry," Albus apologized quickly, sitting down cross-legged and looking up at the knight's painting. "I'm sure you'd do him a number, but he's probably cackling away in his cave of a four poster, and there aren't any pictures there."
The knight's expression changed to disappointment for a fleeting moment before excitement lit his face once more and he made a flying leap for his pony (he bounced off its flank and landed sprawled on the grass, but it didn't seem to faze him).
"Lead the way, sir, and I shall stand guard in the nearest painting to the scoundrel, lie in wait for his first appearance!"
Albus considered trying to explain the whole painted-sword thing, but decided against it. He rather liked this mad little knight and didn't want to upset him by informing him his two-dimensional attack would be futile.
"Certainly, but, er… I don't know where I am. Do you know the way to Gryffindor Tower?" he asked hopefully.
"Gryffindor Tower? A quest to my old fortress! Stay near and we shall brave any peril that stands between us and our goal!"
And with Albus jogging to keep up with him, Sir Cadogan (leaving his pony to graze contentedly in its frame) dashed off down the corridor from painting to painting.
A/N: Ah, Al. He has a certain affinity with paintings in my head. As well as something of a bullying problem with Connor McLaggen with whom he is forced to share a dorm along with McLaggen's lackeys, a weird kid called Max who looks like an owl and stares at people a lot, and a kid called Eric Compson who's okay. Al doesn't spend a lot of time in his dorm.
Sorry for the lack of updates :/ Graduation tomorrow so life's a little crazy!