CHAPTER 39
15 May 1993 - The Great Hall, 7:17AM
Hermione carefully bit back a giggle as she watched the ever-excitable Colin Creevey finally muster up the courage to ask Amy for an autograph and a picture. The little witch had become quite the celebrity in her House once it'd been revealed a few weeks prior that she had been the one to retrieve the famed Sword of Gryffindor and help the Harry Potter and the Boy-Who-Lived slay Slytherin's Monster. Though Amy's role was the complete truth, Harry's victory against the monster had been shared with his twin brother. All parties involved had approved the PR-oriented spin that helped bolster the reputations of both Potters, with the added benefit of demonstrating "the perfect example of inter-house cooperation" between enemies as infamously entrenched as Gryffindor and Slytherin.
Naturally, both Houses believed that their member had been the true hero with the other(s) unfairly granted credit. The Lions believed the Boy-Who-Lived had been the one to deal the death blow to the Basilisk, while the Serpents believed the younger Potter had been the one to vanquish Slytherin's Monster who'd been used against so many in their House, purebloods included. Interestingly enough, their consensus on Amy Wilkes' involvement was still undecided.
Even stranger was that Cormac McLaggen had apologized to Amy, right in the middle of the Lion's Common Room! In the midst of almost all their Housemates, the older boy had prostrated himself in front of the little witch, formally apologizing for his "unconscionable behavior" and the "insults upon her name, her virtue, and her person." With his head bowed low, he'd extolled her worth as a true Gryffindor "worthy of the Founder's famed sword", and gone on to suggest that Amy - in line with the olde traditions - could "demand satisfaction" for the insults upon her person, practically offering to be her indentured servant if she'd deemed it worthy.
Equal parts horrified and amused, the young witchling had been content to simply accept his apology. He'd further shocked everyone by repeating the same action to Hermione, who'd also been more or less willing to accept his apology amidst her shocked embarrassment at his dramatic actions.
Soon, the flapping of wings filled the massive hall, marking the arrival of the school owls delivering their daily mail. Several letters and packages rained down to eager hands, with a higher amount of care packages than expected. Since the news of the Basilisk's defeat had broken (Rita Skeeter had scored almost 8 exclusive pages in the Prophet), there had been many a worried parent reaching out to their children, equal parts relieved that their child hadn't died and absolutely furious that the school faculty had allowed the situation to escalate to such a degree. Dumbledore had received a record amount of Howlers, inspiring him to cast a special mail-redirecting ward to wean the deluge of explosive letters. The only redeeming factor was that Ron Weasley's name had been left out of the papers, a small boon considering the boy was still in a healing coma in the Infirmary.
Looking through her care package of special herbal teas and a collection of new bookmarks, Hermione was ever grateful that her subscription to the Prophet was only active during the summer. 'I reckon they'd have pulled me out of school months ago.' Shaking her head, the young witch began cataloging the teas she'd received to help prepare her for finals. 'As if that'll be happening anymore now that they're canceled.' She set aside the butterfly pea flower tea to be enjoyed later with her and Professor Evans during their weekly catch-up sessions.
A sigh from her right broke Hermione's reverie. It was Neville, holding back a wince as he read through a letter sent by his Gran. The formidable woman had been absolutely outraged to discover the news of her grandson's petrification only after the boy had been revived, a fact further compounded by discovering that Hogwarts had been on a lockdown for almost two whole days. It was only due to Neville's intervention and desperate placating of his Gran that the woman did not storm into the Headmaster's office to read him the riot act for endangering her only remaining descendant. Considering the wizened man had also been petrified, Neville didn't really think it particularly fair.
"What's the matter Neville?" asked Hermione gently.
"It's Gran." He frowned as he folded the letter and all but shoved it into his knapsack. "I was supposed to be spending summer here getting to learn more about the family business with Cousin Enid, but Gran seems to have suddenly changed her mind. I'll be spending the summer abroad in South Africa, working with Cousin Oleander on getting our mandrake farms established." He smiled appreciatively as the witchling gently rubbed his arm. "I am excited to learn about mandrakes and all, and it'll be pretty neat to get an entire farm up and running. Guess recent events will make me a bit of an expert…against my own will."
"See, the bright side of things!" The two friends broke down into giggles before suddenly jumping as a loud THWACK! reverberated on the table. The Lions quieted down at the sound, looking in alarm at a snarling Fred Weasley as he read through the Prophet. He was seated across from his twin who was also reading through the newspaper, though his expression was considerably more disappointed than naught.
With a whispered 'ACCIO PAPER', Hermione summoned one of the Prophets one of the owls had dropped on the table, scooting close to Neville to allow him a look. Both frowned at the headline:
(From the Front Page):
GILDEROY LOCKHART APPREHENDED IN HOGSMEADE!
CONFESSES TO HIS CRIMES!
COMMITS A MASSIVE SELF-MEMORY WIPE!
You read that right ladies and gentle-wizards!
The famed adventurer and author turned perfidious fugitive was apprehended yesterday in Hogsmeade, caught attempting to burgle the coffers of our very own Florean Fortescue! Thanks to the bravery of Senior Aurors Black and Alastor 'Mad-Eye' Moody, Gilderoy Lockhart was successfully apprehended.
According to my key eyewitnesses, the man - seemingly overcome in a moment of soul-consuming honesty - confessed to the many horrific crimes that he has committed against the innocents of our society, the same crimes alluded to in the past issue detailing the slaying of Slytherin's Monster!
How he architected the Petrifications of our precious children in a most calculated scheme before utilizing Dark explosive charms to eliminate Hogwarts' entire Mandrake crop, the very thing which would've cured them of their affliction. And worst of all, the horrifying development that Lockhart's foul machinations survived even after his fall, as nearly the entire Hogwarts staff was petrified leaving the students defenseless.
His passing an accursed object to an innocent student, one which conferred a uniquely dark and nigh unbreakable Confundus that compelled the poor soul to continue Lockhart's devious master plan after his forced expulsion from Hogwarts. The child's name is currently being withheld for privacy reasons, but authorities assure this reporter that there are no further signs of dark magic affecting the victim, a young scion of a respected Ministry official.
After spilling all of the wretchedly sordid details, Lockhart committed a shocking act of Dark self-Obliviation, a spell which I am prohibited from even repeating due to its vile nature.
For statements by Aurors Moody and Black, please see page 6.
Exchanging a nervous glance, Hermione and Neville turned to stare at the two Weasley twins to further gauge their reactions. Since Harry's revelation on Lockhart being the true source of the explosions, the Twins had been fully absolved of any wrongdoing and allowed to resume their schooling. Hermione winced as Fred actually snarled, baring his teeth in a sign of aggression as he glared at the image of Lockhart that accompanied Skeeter's article. George merely looked resigned, sighing as he tossed the offensive paper aside. Noticing his twin's reaction, the slightly older brother leaned in close and whispered something into his ear, visibly calming him down. Muttering a joint apology to Alicia Spinnet and Angelina Johnson, the two brothers bid them goodbye and made to leave.
Watching the two boys exit the Great Hall, Percy wondered (and hoped) that his brothers would be inclined to speak to him soon.
The Lair - 10:49AM
After breakfast, Miranda and Harry reconvened to discuss some important matters. Primarily, the event surrounding Jim Potter's violent beatdown perpetrated by the Five Harrys - the Polyjuiced hooligans who'd succeeded in nearly killing the Boy-Who-Lived.
Throughout her entire confession Miranda kept her eyes level with Harry's, wanting to ensure he understood the depths of her sincerity. She'd even lowered her shields, needing him to believe that she was honest in her contrition. She knew without a doubt that if she truly wanted to be a member and accepted in Potter's Inner Circle, such deception couldn't exist between the two.
In all this Luna Lovegood - seated to Miranda's right and tenderly stroking the top of the Exemplar of Ruthlessness' head as he'd draped over her shoulders - had barely blinked as she'd stared intensely in a spot above Miranda's head. "Your nargles," the blonde had said. "Yours are a delightfully warm pumpkin color, round and spiky like pufferfish. They ebb and flow like waves." The blonde shifted her penetrating gaze directly into Miranda's own. "If you're lying, the nargles will tell me." The krait had then laughed, the amused sibilance spine-chillingly terrifying. With nerves she didn't know she possessed, Miranda had told the entire sordid truth.
Afterwards, the two younger Slytherins just stared at the witch unblinkingly for a few moments, before Luna nodded firmly towards Harry. The young wizard exchanged a hissed conversation with the Throne's serpents, actually arguing for a few minutes with Nidhogg. Though Miranda hadn't understood a word of the conversation with any of the giant snakes, she was smart enough to not interrupt. After a few more tense moments of deliberation (in which the krait seemingly calmed down), the young Claimant calmly addressed the older witch:
"Thank you for being forthcoming with the truth. You have two options now; the first, which I sincerely hope you choose, will be to go Snape and confess, and together, go to the Headmaster. You will tell Dumbledore the entire truth of your involvement, but you will make sure to emphasize that Cassius was the primary instigator. That Cassius pulled rank and on you given your respective positions in your family, ensuring your participation in the sordid events. You will list every co-conspirator who participated, and to further cement your newfound honesty, you will offer up memories to correspond with your testimony. Make sure you relax your Occlumency shields enough to allow your honest emotions to bleed through. That kind of vulnerability will really drive the point home with the Headmaster. Then, you will accept whatever punishment the Headmaster doles out, ensuring that your contrition is obvious. I may not be an expert on Albus Dumbledore, but I know enough that he will be more inclined towards…reasonable forgiveness should he genuinely believe that you are sorry for what you did, which I believe you are." He paused to take a small sip of water, before leaning forward to stare directly into Miranda's eyes. From this vantage, she was startled to discover that his eyes were the exact same shade of green as the Killing Curse.
"Now, you will do everything I just painstakingly outlined because should you choose to continue lying and not come clean…well…" he smiled with all his teeth, causing a shiver to run unbidden down Miranda's spine. "You'll come to fear me more than you ever thought you could fear Cassius or…The Family. You will know nothing more than misery, be nothing more than misery. Am I understood?"
Horrified but absolutely convinced of the truth of the younger wizard's threat, Miranda readily agreed as the krait merrily chortled a menacing "Ki-ki-ki-ki-ki", all the more terrifying as Luna (quite accurately) mimicked the sound.
Slytherin Boys Dorm, 9:54PM
Disbelief.
It was the only emotion Cassius could allow himself to feel. That, coupled with his ever-present temper that had long since simmered over its threshold.
He'd just been expelled from Hogwarts, with the Headmaster demanding that he leave that very night as the deserved punishment for orchestrating his Polyjuice attack against the precious Boy-Who-Lived. Miranda - the lying, treacherous bitch! - had been the architect of his current demise, confessing her sins before the Headmaster in an effort to "do the right thing"! She'd even provided memories to Dumbledore, feigning remorse and contrition that had somehow convinced the pathetic old geezer that she was only deserving of a few-weeks long suspension, allowed to come back to school! A sneer marred his features as he felt his rage threaten to burst forth from. Breathing deeply, he slowly beat back the beast within. It was some consolation that Bonnevie would no longer be a Prefect. 'Bloody, two-timing bint!'
His parents, despite their best efforts to intervene, had not been able to convince the Headmaster that Bonnevie was lying and he was without blame. The old geezer - with Snape's influence no less! - had dared ask Cassius if he'd be willing to submit Pensieve memories to support his claim like Bonnevie had. In line with Lord and Lady Warrington's vehement denial, Cassius hadn't been obligated. Sir and Lady Bonnevie had merely sat there and comforted their lying daughter, providing even more convincing ammunition for Dumbledore and his former Head of House. Heir Warrington screeched in a rage, knocking several things around as he threw an epic tantrum. It was no small comfort that Rothley and Pershore had also been suspended for an entire semester; mewling cowards had sided with Bonnevie the second they'd been exposed.
Raging for a few more moments, Cassius finally calmed a tad to arrange his personal items. Just as he finished packing his trunk, a small tap-tap-tap sounded at his window. Turning to the sound, he froze.
It was a messenger crow, outfitted in an ornate obsidian harness covering the bird's breast and bits of its back. Cassius paled significantly, feeling a distinct chill race down his spine as he made eye contact with the terrifying visage of the death-aligned avian.
Tap-tap-tap…tap-tap-tap!
With shaking hands he feebly cast "ALOHOMORA", allowing the bird inside to deliver its missive. Its blood-red missive. 'Shite!'
Taking a deep breath he unfurled the Howler, cringing as he braced himself for the screams of Cousin Cassilda. To his surprise (or perhaps his delayed panic), the dulcet tone of the older witch sounded out:
"Dearest Cousin Cassius,
You have been warmly invited to a family dinner at Cauchemar Abbey on 6 June.
We will dine on a fine six-course meal, and once fully sated, we will discuss the events leading to your expulsion from Hogwarts, your failure to succeed in securing Harry Potter's confidence, and your recent reticence on not replying to my - and by virtue Grandfather's - correspondence, exactly three in total. We will also discuss Cousin Miranda's suspension, and how the aforementioned events lead to the latter.
Supper will begin at 6:00, so please ensure you and your parents are properly outfitted for the event.
Oderint dum metuunt."
The last statement was practically hummed in a girlish singsong voice, causing Cassius to shake in earnest.
"I'm absolutely doomed."
30 May 1993 - Hogwarts Express, 10:07AM
With a quiet sigh Draco leaned back in his seat, content to soak in all of the surrounding sounds of conversation that surrounded him. He was currently in Potter's cabin, invited there by Harry himself. He still marveled at the strides they'd made in their camaraderie, and for once, he was…excited to have it continue. Upon hearing about his parents' divorce and taking the necessary time to sulk about the demise of their admittedly tumultuous relationship, he'd met with Harry in the Lair to discuss the turn of events.
Mainly, his mother cutting all ties with him after he'd decided to stay with Father and continue to be his Heir. It stung tremendously that his own mother - who'd doted and seemingly loved him without question - had dropped him like he was unwashed socks because he'd dared to choose his own father. His Occlumency had kept him calm in the face of her complete rejection of him, but he'd admittedly broken down later that evening and cried silent tears in the sanctuary of his room, mourning the relationship he'd believed he had and the one he would never get.
It had been cathartic, as had chatting this over with Harry. He'd been considering taking Father up on his offer to attend Durmstrang, but after meeting with the young Claimant and assessing all of the strides he'd made to become a better-than-tentative ally with the young Potter, he'd decided to stay and carve his own legacy. He'd never be Prince, but he'd discovered he was content with being future Prince Potter's most trusted Consilierii.
At the Same Time…
As the Hogwarts Express loudly and efficiently chugged along its path, there was a most curious oddity mounted on top of the cheerily red train.
It was Mowgli, the former Lady Malfoy's demented little elf. He bore a brand new scar across his right cheek, more a brand than not. It was a cruel and permanent reminder of his Mistress' unrelenting wrath at the failure of his previous assignments. She was considerably testier since her divorce from Lord Malfoy a few weeks prior, an action that she had initiated. Still, he couldn't afford to further incur his Mistress' cruelly vengeful ire. He'd failed thrice already; a fourth was an untenable option.
Suddenly, there was a quiet ruffle in the realm space, causing Mowgli to stiffen and sharply turn around. Some ten feet away stood Dobby, his expression seemingly carved of stone. His sea-glass green eyes glinted in the bright morning sun, made all the more poignant by the fact that he was not blinking. Mowgli growled on reflex, heart skipping a beat when Dobby hissed back just as fiercely. Before he'd known the…truth about the elf that stood before him, Mowgli had treasured his time spent torturing his fellow house elf, a cruel game of cat and mouse in which Narcissa's elf believed that he was the unchallenged predator.
But now…
"Dobby cannot not stop Mowgli from harming Harry Potter." He sneered at the other elf.
Dobby's eyes flashed in a fury. "I warned you."
With an outstretched hand he made a 'come-hither' gesture at Mowgli, causing the latter's eyes to go wide as he was once-more reeled into Dobby's arms.
Exactly Four Seconds Later…
"WELCOME ASCENDED LARES OF THE THIRTEEN GREAT REALMS, TO THE SEMI-MILLENNIAL SHOW-OFF OF THE INTERDIMENSIONAL SERVITUDE AND SKULLDUGGERY GAMES! I AM YOUR EMINENT EMCEE LAR ELLADAN, AND WE HAVE A TREMENDOUS TREAT IN STORE FOR YOU ON THIS STAR-FILLED NIGHT!"
The cheers from the assembled lares was deafening, voices echoing down and across the dimensional corridor so loudly that it would have caused permanent insanity to any of the human race had they been in the vicinity to hear it. The crowd of many was gathered in a small pocket universe - nine layers removed from Reality - hewn entirely of iuspalt, the magical elemental rock that only sprung into existence after the creation of a sentient galaxy. The fighting stage was rather small - no bigger than fifty light years across - but it was plenty large to host the powerful beings who would make use of it. Surrounding the entirety of the arena was a massive half-dome shaped canopy fashioned into stadium bleachers, with the exception of tower-like formation that housed emcee Elladan, resplendent in ceremonial robes fashioned from the Eshorial Mists of the Everlight Nexus. Every other seat was filled with a Lar in their median aspect that resembled their Vanyar and Avari forms of olde.
"ON THE LEFT IS THE CHALLENGED LAR MOWGLI, ONE-TIME WINNER OF THE GAMES AND FIVE-TIME WINNER OF THE ALL-DIMENSIONAL MVP LAUREL!"
The Avari-like elves unleashed thunderous chants in favor of their chosen one, whose form thrummed in time with their voices. Lar Mowgli had manifested as an enormous spectral jackal resembling Anubis, his massive form (almost several thousand vertical miles long) comprised entirely of a seemingly infinite number of color-shifting obsidian scarab beetles. Their symbology spoke of the funerary practices of ancient Lost Kemet that had venerated the jackal-god's name, and the Lar's desire to bring lasting death in the service of his Mistress's unyielding nihilism.
"ON THE RIGHT IS THE CHALLENGER LAR DOBBY, THE EIGHT-CENTURIES CHAMPION OF THE INTERDIMENSIONAL SERVITUDE AND SKULLDUGGERY GAMES, AND CURRENT LAUREL-BEARER MVP!"
The Vanyar-like elves bellowed their support in their infinitely trilling voices, the sound so otherworldly melodic the truly devout of the Material World would have believed them to be angels of the heavens above. Lar Dobby had manifested as a titanic golden humanoid figure with two pairs of flaming wings, each spanning a thousand miles and covered with a sea of unblinking eyes that were each the size of a small city. His head morphed constantly between the shape of a man, an ox, a lion, and an eagle, the top of which bore a massive non-blinking golden eye. He represented the ever-present invisible power and radiant light of the divine force that sustains life, the very essence of Amun-Re before he was wiped from the mortal realm into the Ascended Plane of the Divine Wild.
"LET THE GAMES…BEGIN!"
The spectral jackal viciously lashed out at the golden winged figure, the scarabs in his left arm forming into a mighty Was-sceptre angled to deliver a killing blow.
Lar Dobby was faster. He quickly wrapped his wings around his colossal mass to shield against the attack. He retaliated by unleashing a burst of ultra-heated UV rays from each unblinking eye that would have exterminated all life within this pocket universe had it been inhabited by anyone other than a Lar.
Lar Mowgli screamed in pain and anger as the rays pierced through the attacking arm and forced it to disintegrate, his voice echoing in time to his enraged Avari supporters. In a fury, Lar Mowgli willed the scarabs which comprised part of his vast bulk to solidify into spider-like tendrils that pierced through the surrounding starstuff into the neighboring realm to grasp several blue giants, yanking out their hyperdense cores and hurling them at Lar Dobby with a surprising amount of precision and almost as fast as the speed of light.
The impacts caught Dobby by surprise, the spheres crashing painfully into his eye-form and blinding some of them. He yelled in anguished fury, imbuing his wings with greater will to expand and shield the bulk of his body. Pressing his advantage, Mowgli willed his scarabs to create a second and third head as his mass expanded and tripled in density, conferring a black-hole like effect that pulled at Dobby's form and consumed it. The Dark Lar howled to the fathomless skies above as this occurred, the sound so frightfully fiendish it licked at the ears of the Hounds of Tindalos who dwelt nine more Realities away. With a running kick he charged at the seemingly-struggling golden figure, all three heads snarling as they dripped acid saliva on the ground below.
Mowgli jumped through the lightyear-space in one powerful leap, all three sets of jaws snapping in a killing bite…only to freeze as they realized the space was empty.
Because at the last minute Lar Dobby used his eternal golden flame form to burn a temporary rift in the realm space, allowing him to disappear through one end…then reappear directly behind Mowgli! With an extension of his will, a pure gold Sekhem scepter appeared in his right hand and with great downward force, brought it down thrice to smack Mowgli hard at the top of each jackal head. 'Bad dog!' A swinging motion slammed directly into the Dark Lar center-mass, pushing him several lightyear lengths back and away from the golden figure.
Growling viciously, Lar Mowgli abandoned his jackal form and transformed into a behemoth black hole mass that constantly increased its density, forming a massive mouth-like maw at the top of its figurative head as it charged at Lar Dobby, intent and eager to consume him whole, to end his wretched existence from every fabric of Reality. Parts of Dobby were pulled from his golden figure into the boundless and greedy mouth, seemingly successful as Dobby screamed in agony.
In his eagerness at this brief victory, Lar Mowgli gravely miscalculated.
Drawing more power into his golden humanoid form that grew more ever taller and solid, Dobby willed all the eyes to traverse the path of his body join the golden unblinking eye sat atop his head, causing its light to pulse and thrum in time to the ascending hymns of the Vanyar and the diametric chants of the Avari. Deepening his ever-present connection to the Ialleanem and all its echoes through the Divine Wild, Dobby plunged his hand into the golden eye and pulled out a tremendous golden-black sword that caused almost all in the assembled crowd to gasp in shocked amazement.
It was Æsahættr.
Few of the mortal human realm only knew the fabled legend in its minimum form; that which could cut through the slimmest gaps in the fabric that bound the adjoining multiversal dimensions, allowing for uninhibited travel.
This was not its true purpose.
Æsahættr was forged in the burning light of pure Justice, nestled deep in the Primordial Kiln that sat in the Great Nexus of Immortality. Goddess Fate - the Third of the Eldest Gods - always poured of herself into this kiln, as did The Seventh of the Eldest Gods.
Death.
Together in the primeval flames the two merged to become one, the Only One that could be wielded by those of righteous heart and virtuous intention to destroy those who sought to willfully corrupt the innocent, to willfully cheat Fate from her intended path of design, and willfully deliver unto Death anyone whose timely demise had not yet arrived.
It could be drawn by only those acting as Fate's Hand and bestowed her true Blessing to be the ultimate undoing of those who so flagrantly acted against her and abused Death's gift.
It could not be allowed to stand.
Breaking into a mighty run, Lar Dobby leapt and jumped directly down Lar Mowgli's open gullet, Æsahættr angled downward and tearing through the fundamental essence of Lar Mowgli's very existence. Æsahættr's strike was accompanied by triumphant music that recounted the stirring tale of Lar Dobby's victory over his enemy, a glorious six-word mantra that rendered the Dark Lar to nothingness:
You shall not harm Harry Potter.
Back on the Express…
Mowgli swayed and his knees buckled. A gurgling cough erupted from his mouth as pale-blue blood (the color of house elf blood) poured from his mouth and a deep wound that manifested in the murderous' elf's body. The dripping blood turned to dust as it hit the air, and very soon all of Mowgli turned to dust as every single atom that comprised his being was Banished to Nonexistence.
Lightly tilting his head, Dobby could hear the thunderous cheers of the Ascended Vanyar as they toasted the victory of their Champion, nothing more than a gentle whispered caress in the current Reality. Emcee Elladan's voice - like the soft rustling of leaves - announced Lar Dobby's victory over Lar Mowgli, coinciding with the distinct sound of three-repeating pings that signified his 1,000,000 point-gain and solidified his Top 5 ranking to win the next millennia's All-Dimensional Golden MVP Laurel.
"Onward to the semifinals." With a sharp snap, a smirking Dobby disappeared.
7 June 1993 - Madame Milburga's School of Etiquette, 1:21PM
The trilling voice of Madame Zenith Xeep echoed through the 2nd floor as the woman effortlessly sang her way through Martern aller Arten, the bird-like melody flowing from the amphitheater and into the adjoining rooms.
One such room was the Rest and Powder Room, directly situated in the corner adjacent to the auditorium. One bathroom stall was occupied by a young witch hunched over the toilet seat (covered with a Permasanitation Charm) as she groaned in discomfort. She'd felt off-kilter all day as she'd been uncommonly distracted in her music lessons, the same sense of malaise she usually experienced upon starting her menstruation. She couldn't believe when her mother had gently explained to her that she would experience this every month for the next three decades. She could only groan.
A sudden wave of vertigo overcame the girl as she clutched at her head, feeling as though her head was being split into two! The sensation persisted for almost a minute as the witchling screamed in pain, certain her brain was bleeding at the sheer onslaught of agony.
Eyes flashed open as the pain suddenly disappeared. In a sharp motion she shouldn't have been capable of, the witch unsheathed her wand and cast an impressive slew of privacy charms at the door, ensuring it was properly locked and unbreachable until she took down the varying locks. Rummaging through her fashionably petite mokeskin pouch she retrieved a set of talking parchment exclusively linked to another. With a series of taps with her wand she sent a special message, smiling in grim satisfaction when she received a response.
Retrieving a quill, she quickly set to making a much-needed list.
After all, she had a lot to accomplish with very little time.
AN 1: I am a major His Dark Materials fan, it's inevitable some of its lore would be included in this chapter and a few future ones.
AN 2: I just realized I've been spelling 'Mogli' as 'Mowgli', but it's been too far gone and I don't intend on changing it.
AN 3: One (1) more chapter until we're done with Book 2! The next chapter is quite pivotal to the plot, and I had quite a bit of fun writing it.