Chương 69: Animalistic Drama
The Great Hall's long wooden tables were laden with steaming platters of sizzling sausages, fluffy scrambled eggs, and golden-brown toast. Lively chatter filled the air as students gathered for breakfast. At the Hufflepuff table, Susan Bones picked up a piece of buttered toast just as a flurry of wings announced the morning mail delivery. Owls of every size and colour soared overhead, feathers rustling as they searched for their recipients.
A large tawny owl with piercing amber eyes descended towards the Hufflepuff table, clutching a rolled-up newspaper in its beak. It released the paper, letting it land softly in front of Susan with a gentle thud. As the owl extended its leg, Susan quickly placed a knut in the small pouch tied to it.
Curiosity piqued, Susan unrolled the Daily Prophet, her eyes immediately drawn to the bold headline emblazoned across the front page:
SIRIUS BLACK DECLARED INNOCENT! MINISTRY AWARDS 10,000 GALLEON COMPENSATION!
"My God!" Hannah Abbott exclaimed, and her blonde pigtails bounced as she leaned in for a closer look. Her eyes were wide with disbelief. "Ten thousand Galleons? That's a fortune!"
The other first-years huddled close, eyes wide with amazement. Neville Longbottom stammered, "I-I can't even imagine having that much money!"
Susan nodded as she skimmed the article's details. Her aunt, Amelia Bones, was the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement and would have overseen Sirius Black's trial. She knew that her aunt would be fair, like she always was.
While Susan pondered her aunt's decision, the animated chatter of a group of older students nearby caught her attention. Their voices rose and fell in a spirited debate, and she couldn't help but overhear snippets of their conversation.
"Ten thousand Galleons?" A lanky Ravenclaw sixth-year scoffed, shaking his head. "Hardly enough for what Black endured."
A curly-haired girl nodded emphatically. "He wasted away in Azkaban for ten years! It's basically just an average salary over that time, except he suffered that nightmare instead."
The other first-years exchanged uncertain glances, their initial excitement dampened by the older students' comments. Hermione bit her lip thoughtfully. "They do have a point," she said slowly, her gaze flickering towards Susan.
Defensiveness flooded Susan's body, her back stiffening as her hands clenched into fists on the tabletop. She jutted her chin out, eyes sparking with challenge as she met Hermione's gaze. "Aunt Amelia had her reasons," she said through gritted teeth, stubborn jaw clenched tight. "She's never unjust."
Hermione pressed her lips into a tight line, holding Susan's defiant look. "I'm not saying your aunt wasn't fair," she said, picking her words with care. "But considering what Sirius Black suffered, the compensation still seems...inadequate, doesn't it?"
The clink of silverware against plates and the dull murmurs from the other House tables filled the tense silence that fell over their group. Susan felt a flush of heat creep up her neck as annoyance pricked at her - why did Hermione always have to argue?
Susan's voice rose with each cutting word. "If you think you know better than the Head of the DMLE, be my guest - march up to her office!"
Hermione's eyes widened, and she rapidly shook her head, hair swaying wildly. "No, no, that's not what I meant!" she protested, voice trembling with hurt. "I was just... I was just thinking out loud."
A hot flush crept up Susan's neck, but the spark of temper ignited by her aunt's defence refused to be smothered. Rashly, she snapped, "Just keep your thoughts to yourself. Or go pester Harry with them - you're always trying to stay glued to his side."
The accusation left her mouth, and instant regret hit Susan as Hermione's face fell, eyes glistening with hurt confusion. "That's... that's not true," she whispered, her voice trembling. "I just want to be his friend, like everyone else."
Gasps of shock came from the other girls as they quickly formed a protective circle around the teary-eyed Hermione. Sally-Anne's arm encircled her shoulders, while Lily Moon pinned Susan with a reproachful glare.
"That was a rubbish thing to say," Lily said, soft voice edged with a surprising sharpness. "Hermione hasn't done anything to deserve that."
Susan's stomach twisted with guilt, and she felt her face grow even hotter with shame. She knew she had crossed a line, letting her own jealousy get the better of her. "I... I'm sorry," she mumbled, unable to meet Hermione's eyes. The apology sounded hollow, even to her own ears.
But the damage was done. Hermione sniffled, wiping at her eyes with the sleeve of her robe. The other girls huddled around her, murmuring words of comfort and support, while the boys suddenly found their plates of eggs and sausages utterly fascinating with their gazes firmly fixed downward.
The uncomfortable silence stretched, broken only by Hermione's soft sniffles. Susan's gaze dropped to her untouched plate, the once-appetizing toast now an unappetizing lump. As the other girls comforted Hermione, Susan couldn't help picturing Harry off exploring the castle alone, far away from the mess she created. A knot twisted tighter in her stomach - he would surely be disgusted by her behaviour too, siding with Hermione like any true friend.
She knew she needed to make things right, to properly apologize to Hermione and try to mend the rift she had so carelessly caused. But for now, all she could do was sit in miserable silence.
oo0ooOoo0oo
The Moscow morning's icy teeth tore through the old man's tattered layers. He shivered violently, huddled against the alley's grime-streaked bricks. Matted beard and rags offered scant refuge from the bitter chill. Wrinkled eyes blinked against the glare from the snow on the ground.
A cackle, sharp and grating, pierced the stillness, reverberating against the dingy brick walls. Three unsightly figures slithered from the shadows with their faces twisted into cruel sneers as they encircled the homeless man, blocking any chance of escape.
The most grotesque of the trio was Fyodor Grozovoy. His face was horrifically misshapen, the pockmarked skin bulging outward like an overrisen lump of dough. His thin lips, cracked and dry, stretched into a mocking grin that exposed a mouthful of yellowed, crooked teeth. Beady eyes, cold and malicious, fixed on the old man in a dogged stare.
"Well, well," Fyodor rasped, his voice like rusted nails scraping against metal. He jabbed a stubby finger towards the huddled figure. "Look what we have here, brothers – a fine specimen for our amusement today."
To Fyodor's right, Igor Svinoy grunted in agreement, piggy eyes gleaming with malice as he sized up their hapless victim. He reached into the tattered pocket of his soiled overcoat, retrieving a small, innocent-looking object that began to spin and whirl in the air before him, propelled by some unseen force.
The old man flinched as the bewitched item danced around him, mere inches from his face. His eyes widened with fear. Harsh laughter erupted from the three wizards, echoing harshly against the alley walls and causing the man to curl in on himself, trembling hands raised in a futile attempt to shield his face.
"P-please..." he croaked in little more than a hoarse whisper, barely audible over the noisy jeers. "I don't want no trouble..."
"Trouble?" The third wizard, Nikolai Pestnik, stepped forward, his tall, gaunt frame towering over the cowering figure. With his sharp, hooked nose and hollow cheeks, Nikolai's gaunt features took on an avian quality, like a carrion bird eyeing its next meal. "Oh, you've already found more trouble than you can imagine, old man."
Nikolai's raspy voice carried an eager malice as he turned to his companions, thin lips curled into a cruel smirk. "Let's enhance our evening's entertainment, shall we, comrades?"
Laughter burst from the three wizards, the cruel jeers reverberating against the alley bricks. The old man shrank back, raising trembling hands in a futile attempt to shield himself.
In one fluid motion, Fyodor whipped out his wand, training it on the cowering figure with a cruel sneer. "Gallina Transfiguro!" The yellow spell burst from his wand, bathing the old man in its eerie radiance.
In an instant, the huddled figure contorted and shifted, bones crunching and flesh rippling in a grotesque display. The old man's anguished screams morphed into a series of panicked clucks as his body shrank and transformed.
Within seconds, a plump, roasted chicken sat in the spot where the old man had been, its glazed skin glistening under the dim streetlights. Tufts of grey hair and shrivelled flesh still clung to the crisp surface, charred remnants of the man's transformation that filled the air with the acrid stench of burnt hair and roasted meat.
Delight gleamed in Igor's beady eyes as he leaned closer, his hot breath causing the roasted chicken's crisp skin to shimmer. "I know just the place for our amusement," he hissed. "A true vision dwells there, a beauty with her husband. You'll see, brothers."
The others jostled Igor eagerly, exchanging lewd remarks and crude sniggers as they envisioned the woman in question. Igor grabbed their arms, his thick fingers digging into their flesh as he concentrated with his face contorted with effort.
Everything blurred, the alley distorting around them. With a crack, they vanished, the roasted chicken disappearing alongside them.
A heartbeat later, they rematerialized with another soft pop, finding themselves outside a quaint cottage nestled in the outskirts of the city. Without a moment's hesitation, Igor disillusioned himself, his form flickering and fading from sight as he crept towards the front door, his footsteps silent on the frosty ground.
A flick of his wand, and the lock clicked open with a quiet snick. Slipping inside, Igor moved with invisible footsteps that made no sound on the hardwood floors as he navigated the entryway.
A worn, sagging sofa cradled the young couple in the living room with their faces illuminated by the TV's flickering glow. Soft and delicate features pressed against her husband's shoulder as the woman basked in his warmth, eyes heavy with contentment.
With a twitch of his wand, a subtle haze glazed the couple's eyes, the Confundus Charm taking insidious hold. Satisfied, Igor retreated, cracking the front door to beckon his brothers in with lewd gestures and obscene whispers.
Fyodor and Nikolai disillusioned themselves as well, their forms shimmering and fading until only their twisted grins remained visible as they followed Igor into the cottage. The door swung shut behind them with a soft click, sealing the hapless couple inside with their malicious intruders.
Dazed eyes met in a puzzled glance as the Confundus Charm's haze persisted over the couple. The man's brow creased in confusion as he scratched his head, squinting at the roasted chicken that had materialized on the coffee table before them.
"Where did...?" he mumbled, trailing off as his wife simply shrugged, her gaze vacant and unfocused.
Desperation tinged the man's voice as he reached for the chicken, and his fingers began tearing into the crisp skin with growing frustration. "Times have been tough since the conflicts over oil started," he muttered, mostly to himself. "At least we'll have a decent meal today."
His wife nodded absently with a blank expression, her eyes glassy and unfocused, as she watched her husband begin to carve into the chicken. Dark juices oozed forth, staining the coffee table with streaks of crimson that glistened like fresh blood in the dim light. Flecks of blackened flesh and jagged shards of bone speckled the congealing puddle, remnants of the old man's body that they unwittingly carved up.
Chunks of gristle and sinew clung to the knife's serrated blade, the stringy meat quivering with each sawing motion as he hacked through what remained of the transfigured corpse. Flecks of desiccated flesh and shards of splintered bone sprayed across the table with every savage thrust of the blade, leaving a gruesome trail of carnage in their wake.
In the corner of the room, the three disillusioned wizards barely contained their glee, their invisible forms trembling with stifled laughter as they observed the scene unfolding before them. Fyodor's twisted grin stretched wider, and his bulging eyes glittered with malice as he drank in the couple's confusion.
The man and woman began to eat in slow and mechanical movements, when the wizards suddenly allowed their disillusionment to fade, revealing their grotesque forms once more. The couple went rigid, eyes widening in terror as they finally registered the intruders' grotesque forms.
Before either could react, Fyodor flicked his wand, and thick ropes burst forth from the tip, coiling themselves around the man and woman's bodies, binding them tightly to the sofa. Their screams were muffled, reduced to pathetic whimpers as they struggled against their bonds with faces twisted in fear and panic.
With a casual wave of his wand, he lifted the Confundus Charm, and clarity returned to the couple's eyes in an instant.
Fyodor leaned in close, his fetid breath hot against the woman's face as he fixed her with a predatory stare. "Enjoyed your meal?" he rasped, voice dripping with venom. "That was no chicken, but an old man from the streets whose bones and flesh you so eagerly consumed."
Fyodor's harsh laughter exploded as the couple recoiled, the man's cheeks bulging before he retched, expelling a foul stream across the table. Flecks spattered the wizards' boots.
The woman's face contorted in a grimace of horror, and her mouth stretched wide in a silent scream as she stared at the mutilated remains on the table before her. Bile rose in her throat, burning with acidic intensity that seared her gullet, but the ropes binding her prevented her from recoiling or turning away from the nightmarish sight. A thin trickle of vomit escaped the corner of her lips, dribbling down her chin in a gooey stream that soaked into the collar of her blouse.
Cruel barbs were exchanged, taunts dripping with depraved amusement at the couple's anguish. Nikolai's rasping voice sliced through the din, dark promise lacing his words as he leered at the woman.
"This is merely an appetizer, my dear," he hissed, sunken eyes devouring her trembling form with undisguised hunger. A bony finger traced along her jaw as she recoiled, her eyes wide with terror. "We have far more... intimate entertainments prepared for you."
He turned his sneer towards the husband, who strained futilely against his bonds. "And you, my friend, will have the best seat in the house to witness your wife's defilement over..." His tongue darted out to moisten cracked lips. "...and over again."
The woman's muffled screams echoed through the cottage as Nikolai's bony fingers tore at her blouse, exposing pale flesh that glistened with a sheen of cold sweat. Her husband thrashed against his bonds, face contorted in rage and terror as he witnessed the violation happen before his eyes.
oo0ooOoo0oo
The early morning light penetrated through the narrow alleyway, casting long shadows that danced across the hardened cobblestones. With a series of muffled pops, the wizards apparated into a secluded side street with their tattered robes reeking of stale beer and cheap vodka.
Fyodor staggered forward, ugly face twisted into a grotesque sneer as he zipped up his fly, the zipper glistening with unknown fluids. "That'll teach that wench to try to deny us our fun," he rasped.
Igor grunted in agreement, eyes glazed over in drunkenness and post-coital haze. "Aye, but we'll need somethin' stronger to properly celebrate our conquest." He emphasized the statement with a crude wink.
They turned towards the entrance of Chernobog's Den that had a battered wooden sign depicting a horned figure with its maw stretched wide in a silent roar.
Nikolai paused, looking over the familiar establishment that lined the Krasnaya Ploshchad – Moscow's hidden wizarding quarter. A bony finger jabbed towards the doorway. "In here," he rasped. "This is where we'll find what we need to properly celebrate."
The trio lurched forward, and their scuffed boots scraped against the cobblestones. They pushed through the weathered door, greeted by a thick haze of smoke and the pungent aroma of stale sweat and spilled liquor. Wizened faces turned in their direction, eyes narrowing with suspicion as the patrons sized up the newcomers.
Fyodor met their glares with a twisted sneer, leading his companions towards the bar with an exaggerated swagger. "Relax, you miserable sods," he called out, his voice slicing through the din. "We're just here for a drink or two."
The hulking barkeep that had a scar-filled face with a thick beard obscuring most of it, grunted in acknowledgment as they approached. His one good eye swept over them with undisguised disdain.
"What'll it be?" The gruff demand made it clear he expected no trouble.
Nikolai leaned forward, and rested his bony elbows on the greasy surface of the bar. "Three shots of your finest Ogre's Breath," he said drunkenly.
The barkeep snorted but turned to retrieve a dusty bottle from the shelves behind him. With a twist of his thick wrist, he uncorked it, and the pungent aroma of potent spirits wafted through the air, causing the wizards' nostrils to flare.
Three shot glasses were filled with the viscous, amber liquid, and the barkeep slid them across the counter with a grunt. Fyodor snatched one up, downing the contents in a single gulp. He slammed the empty glass back on the bar with a satisfied gasp, face grimacing as the fiery liquid burned its way down his throat.
"Now that's what I call a proper drink!" His voice was already growing hoarse from the potent alcohol.
The others followed suit, draining their glasses with matching expressions of satisfaction. As the Ogre's Breath coursed through their veins, the wizards felt a renewed sense of vigour, their earlier exhaustion swept away by the invigorating effects of the potent spirits.
They turned to leave, swaggering towards the exit with a renewed spring in their step. But as they stumbled out into the alleyway once more, a sudden wave of disorientation washed over them.
Fyodor stumbled as the world seemed to spin around him. "Wha'... what's happenin'?" he slurred.
Igor and Nikolai fared no better, their movements growing sluggish and uncoordinated as an invisible force seemed to weigh them down. One by one, they collapsed to the cobblestones with a series of dull thumps as their bodies hit the ground like sacks of potatoes.
From the shadows of the alleyway, a figure emerged. Lucas regarded the incapacitated wizards with a slight curl of his lip.
"These animals will serve as adequate test subjects," he whispered. "It seems many wizards really think nothing of muggles…"
With a casual flick of his wrist, the wizards' bodies, previously lying prone, began to levitate, rising into the air as if suspended by unseen strings. As they drew nearer, Lucas grasped their floating forms. Then, with a swift turn on his heel, he vanished into thin air.
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