Title: The Son of Death… at Hogwarts.
Summary: The wizarding world needs Nico di Angelo to help defeat Voldemort. How will our Golden Trio survive? Contains Nico kicking ass.
Booka: Hello! I'm baaack! If you're reading this, than that means you're my favorite person in the world right now! But, seriously, you should read my other fanfictions first. Guard Duty and Cigarettes to be exact, because this fanfiction contains my OC Crypta and nothing will make sense if you don't read both my profile and these stories I'm currently talking about. So, this one is about Nico being sent practically against his will to Hogwarts. It's another one of those fanfictions in which our favorite son of Hades goes to the wizard school and meets up with our own Harry, Hermione and Ron. I'm not sure if Nico's going to have a love interest in this story; if he does, she's most likely going to be Ginny, Hermione or one of the awesome characters in my head. So, read, review and, most importantly, ENJOY!
"This font is speaking aloud, in English."
"This font is speaking aloud in Ancient Greek."
"This font is speaking aloud in the language said in the text."
This font is thinking in English.
Chapter One: The Runaway Ghost
Some days can really suck for a demigod. And Nico di Angelo, the son of Hades, was no exception. Glaring up at the cloudy sky as if it was one of his personal enemies, he slinked quietly down the traffic jammed 53rd Street, two slender fingers beating out a rhythm on the hilt of his Stygian Iron sword. He spared the sky only a glance as a fork of lightning lit the dark gray haze overhead, accompanied by hard bucket-sized drops of rain and the loud boom of thunder. "Hmm," the raven haired boy mused as unmerciful raindrops splattered his face. "Zeus isn't favoring New York City today." In a way, he was grateful for the rain. It washed away his scent almost completely, so the chance that a stray monster would find him had been downgraded to near miniscule.
Blinking the oily water from his stinging eyes, Nico ignored the curious glances people were shooting him. With his dark, gothic clothing and his pale, pale skin he stuck out like a sore thumb in the mortal city, but he didn't really care. After all, what did clothing matter when you were always getting into fights with hellhounds and hydras from Ancient Greek stories? He knew his dad didn't approve; he wanted Nico to appear as unostentatious as possible; in fact, the young demigod often thought that if there was a way for Hades to make Nico permanently invisible, he would do it, even if it meant excruciating pain on Nico's part.
The teenager stopped walking as he reached Paley Park. Because of the unpleasant weather, all the humans had fled the small public square, leaving Nico alone. He glanced around suspiciously and once he was assured of his privacy, he unsheathed his sword. It was a beautiful weapon, but at the same time deadly looking. The blade was pure black, the hilt silver embedded and the air around it seemed to grow colder as shadows clung to it. The teen thrust the sword into the ground, causing it to lodge into the sticky, disgustingly soft mud, just as lightning flashed a scar across the sky.
"Yeah, yeah," Hell's son grunted, pushing his sword further into the muddy floor. "I'm on it."
He didn't blame Zeus for being angry; heck, Nico would be pretty ticked off if the ghost of an arrogant fifteen year old girl was loose in his city. Hades was pissed too; the girl had been the daughter of a famous actor, had starred in many movies and donated ridiculously large amounts of money to several charities. She would be a very valuable addition to the fields of Elysium, if she would only stay in one place; the little tramp had been avoiding his best servants for over a fortnight, always managing to escape at the last second. Finally, Hades had had enough; he sent his son, who had never managed to lose a spirit in all his days, to track her. Nico had been following her for about two days now and in that time he had managed to convince fifteen other runaway souls to pass on, using different forms of persuasion and empathy. But as for that particular nuisance, there was no sign. He knelt in the mucky dirt, not that Nico cared really; he gripped its handle tightly, muttering words in Ancient Greek.
"Show me their souls," he hissed in the beautiful language. He closed his black, black eyes and when he opened them, the entire eyeball shown pure silver, gleaming with light. His senses reached out past the park, prodding the city. The throbbing of mortal souls and their life forces filled his ears, the flashes of light that came with it blinding him. The strongest signal was coming from his own body, the sound of his living, breathing power nearly deafening him as he listened for that one particular sound. Hundreds of thousands of live spirits beat a nosy rhythm in his head, each tapping out a different tempo, some slow and patient, others quick and energetic, each separate heart matching its owner's personality. He could feel what the spirits were feeling at the moment, anger, sadness, glee and excitement filling him up to his eyeballs. The banging, constant throb hammering in his ears, Nico couldn't help but wonder how he could hear the quiet, sometimes absent hum that came with a soft shine of somewhat dulled gray. But that afternoon, he did. The sound of a ghost. It was sweet, yet sad, a melancholy melody strumming like a harp, singing like a dove. A wave of emotions crowded his head, all of them negative and intense; despair, grief, denial, depression… Most of the telltale signs a ghost is in the area.
A small, slightly creepy, smile on his face, he blinked; the light in his eyes dimmed until they were black again. Walking purposely out of the small park, he evenly returned the stares pointed his way, icy cold sheets of rain lashing the skin of his face and neck. He nimbly dodged the spray of dirty water that a large red Chevy truck purposely sent his way, the icky splash instead hitting two teenage girls who had been walking behind him. The redheaded one let out a vulgar curse as the blond screamed at the driver "DYLAN!" Nico laughed silently in his head as he raced down the street, his feet kicking up splashes of water from the puddles riddled underneath him. So apparently they know that jackass.
Slipping quietly into an alleyway, Nico sighed with content as darkness washed over him. He contracted and rotated his shoulders as strength poured into his veins. He always felt more powerful when in dim lighting; it had to do with his dad being the Lord of the Underworld; not a lot of sunlight down there. The demigod pressed his hand against a redbrick wall with a black, looming shadow outlined against it. Sighing slightly, he literally melted into the shadow, his figure turning gaseous and black as his was only visible for a second before it disappeared altogether.
He formed inside the gates of a huge cemetery; as far as he could see there were many acres of land covered in depressing gray stones, some set into the ground, others lodged in it, each with the names of their occupants written in a neat, yet ugly hand. The grass was a disgusting grayish green, dull and muted, overgrown in most areas. There were several dirt paths crisscrossing across the cemetery, their origin from where he was standing, two iron black gates rising around him. He frowned and turned in a full circle; this gave him several advantages if combat was needed. One, he was now fully aware of his surroundings and knew there was no mortals around except for the few exceptions paying respects to lost loved ones. None of them noticed the boy who had seemingly stepping out of oblivion.
Nico could feel a sort of violent, but not unpleasant tingle spreading from his stomach to the tips of his fingers; he had felt this feeling before and he knew what it meant. A specter was near. A shiver racing up his spine, he began to sprint away from the cemetery's entrance, down the narrow path that his instincts urged him to go down. His hands instinctively formed into fists as he raced past a teenage girl, her little brother and their mother, all of which were wearing black mourning clothes as they cast him bewildered glances as he whizzed by. He winced as he felt their strong emotions of grief and regret flowing off them in harsh waves, but he only sensed them for a moment. He blocked off the unpleasant feelings, scowling as he caught sight of a lone figure, hovering in front of a gravestone.
Jaime Foster was currently in a furious state, fruitlessly attempting to punch a hole in the tombstone in front of her; of course, this had no affect whatsoever, as her transparent fists kept going through the solid rock. The only thing she did achieve was wearing herself thoroughly out. She glared angrily at her name written on the stone, her teeth bared fiercely at her failed attempts. If she had been alive, she would've been quite pretty. As it was, when souls died, they left their colors behind. Her appearance was presented in transparent shades of gray, white and black. Her glossy straight hair was a light gray, sweeping just past her shoulders; it had most likely been a fair brown or dark blond when she was alive. Her skin was a pale grayish white while her eyes were a much darker shade. Her face was sharp and pointed, with elfin-like features and a smallish nose. She wore plain jeans, a pair of expensive sneakers and a t- shirt of a nondescript color, the latter complimenting her slender upper body. She was one of those girls who were naturally slim, but not so skinny that she resembled a living skeleton.
Nico crept up silently behind her, somehow walking in a way that his feet glided across the grassy plain, making no noise even as he slid over a group of brittle sticks. It was another demigod power. It was only until he was close enough behind her that he could reach out and tug on her hair that he spoke, scaring her out of her skin.
"It won't do anything, you know." The voice was soft and strangely comforting, as if the speaker understood what she was going through.
Jaime was tempted to scream, but decided against it as she whipped around to face a teenage boy, maybe a little older than herself, fifteen or sixteen years old. For some strange reason he seemed to be staring directly at her with a curious, bordering on cold air; but that was impossible. No one could see her unless they too were dead, but this boy was obviously alive. And, judging by his choice of clothing, a little depressed. Black, baggy jeans, frayed at the knee and hem clothed him from the waist down. There was a beaded leather thong pressing tightly against his throat, a total of five beads wrapped around the thick material, each painted a different design and multiple colors, popping out against the other dull colors he wore. The long sleeved black shirt he had had a neckline that came halfway up his neck; no design or pattern was imprinted on the thin material. A long sword with a silver inlaid hilt and onyx colored blade hung from a sheath on his belt. The air around the weapon seemed to grow colder, a chill penetrating the already cold air, but this chill was one Jaime could feel. She had the feeling that if the boy thrust it into her heart, she'd have no problem feeling that either. An intricately crafted skeleton ring made from white gold and two black gems for the eyes adorned his right hand's index finger. A tiny diamond glinted in the lobe of his right ear. He was relatively slim but well built with a nicely developed torso, muscular arms and lean, sinewy legs. His white, flawless skin seemed naturally pale as if he spent his spare time in dark, damp caves by choice. His hair was long for a boy's, the raven tresses wavy, curling attractively around his chin. His eyes were almond shaped and large, with long, thick lashes that women would kill for. Despite their beauty, they were also very intimidating; they were a cool obsidian color, pitch black and looking directly at her. The boy's face was awfully handsome, with elegantly sculpted features such as hallowed cheeks, a thin mouth, a chiseled nose and an oval shaped, narrow head.
"It doesn't matter if you throw a tantrum," the boy continued, twiddling idly with the ring on his finger, gazing at her thoughtfully. "You can scream and rage all you want; it's not gonna change the fact that you're dead. There's no going back; you can only go forward. You'll have to come back eventually."
Jaime, wondering if there was the slightest possibility that he could be talking to somebody else, twisted around and searched desperately behind her.
"I'm talking to you, Ghost. There's no one behind you, so stop searching. And turning around would be great, really." A dagger appeared in his hand, seemingly from nowhere as he talked. He used it to clean the dirt from under his fingernails. The blade was made out of the same metal as his sword, black as charcoal and just as glossy. The chill grew colder and the air grew darker as shadows clung to the knife eagerly.
"Who are you?" Jaime was pleasantly surprised her voice didn't quake.
The boy smirked ever so slightly and she felt a shiver of fear run up her spine as he answered "Nico di Angelo; son of Hades."
"Hades? You mean the Greek god?"
Nico nodded his eyes sharp and alert. "Yes. Lord of the Underworld. King of the Dead. The Cold Man. Grim Reaper. The Soul Taker. Most people these days know him as the Devil. Call him what you want. I don't care. But to monsters and other gods, he's Hades. It has something to do with the moving of civilization. I call him Father or Lord." The dagger in his hand disappeared as he gazed at her coldly.
"So if he's the King of the Dead…" Jaime felt pretty stupid asking this question- "What does that make you?"
Nico paused for a moment, mulling the question over before finally answering "The Son of Death, I guess." Jaime noticed that his voice had a slight accent she couldn't identify; a soft lilt that normal people didn't have. Unknown to her it was the after affects of speaking Ancient Greek with his father so much. He was now fluent in the language. He preferred it other than English. He thought the younger language slightly barbaric in his opinions.
"Well, come on." Nico turned on his heels and began to walk briskly away, his footsteps as silent as the grave.
"Wait!" Jaime exclaimed as she flew (literally) after him. Floating next to him as he walked, she asked "Come on where?"
Nico glanced at her with irritation as he said "To the Underworld of course. My orders were clear. I need to convince you to move on. To leave this behind."
"And if I don't want to go with you?" Jaime challenged, tone sharp.
Nico didn't even give her a spare glance. He said simply, in a too cold, too strong voice to not be sincere "Then, if you refuse to go with me, you shall be wasting your afterlife in a senseless daydream, holding onto the false hope that you will one day go back to the life from which you came. Eventually, just like all wandering ghosts do, you will go mad from longing for something you cannot have, the life that you can never again have. You might even attempt to commit suicide, which I should mention, is completely pointless. One who is already deceased cannot die a second time; unless they decide to be reborn. The family that is waiting for you in Elysium will be sorely disappointed… You will let them down by not being strong enough to cope with the fact you are dead." He turned abruptly to face Jaime as he spoke. "Move on, Jaime," he murmured in a slightly less hard tone. "It's not going to do anyone any good if you stay here; trust me. Let go."
Jaime stared at him for a moment before she felt the tears blurring her vision, thick and wet. A sob lodged in her throat as she nodded silently.
"Good." Nico sighed, sadness lacing his voice as he said "Come on. We need to go."
********************** Oh, look it's a page break! *********************
The hall was dark and gloomy, with a grotesque throne seated at the front of the long, square room made of pearly white human bones. Its legs were made out of femurs, while the armrests had the look of calves. It was topped with a grinning, yellowish white skull, its teeth filed strangely to a point, its empty eye sockets forever watching over the frightening hall. The large, arched windows overlooked the Fields of Punishment, silky black curtains with embroidered patterns sewn into the material, the glass panes conveniently crystal clear, giving the viewer a perfect picture of the agonizing punishments that were inflicted upon the damned. The sky was an angry reddish orange, not the warm friendly type, but a hostile, bloodred shine that sent shivers down innocents' spines. This part of Hades's palace was supposed to appear cruel and intimidating, designed to scare demigods till they wet the bed. The rest of the castle was actually very inviting (except Hades's personal quarters. Now that's creepy.)
Kneeling at the foot of his father's throne of human bones, Nico heard him boom in his harsh voice in Ancient Greek "Well done, Nico. You have done quite well. Jaime was a particularly hard one to track."
Nico shrugged nonchalantly, but inside his heart soared with pleasure. It wasn't often he got a compliment from his father, but when he did, he felt as if Zeus himself had given him a chest full of golden drachmas. "Thank you, my Lord. I did my best."
Hades said in a distracted voice "Yes, I'm sure you did."
Nico looked up in confusion. This wasn't like Hades. He seemed… distracted somehow. As if he was thinking of a difficult decision. As he sat down on his morbid throne, Nico found himself wondering for the thousandth time whether he was even comfortable, despite the black velvet cushions. He sat stiff and straight as if he refused to relax, even in his own home. "Should I go, my Lord?" Nico asked, wondering if he needed time alone.
Suddenly, his eyes came into focus again, and he stared at me, seeming to have decided something. "As a matter of fact, Nico, Zeus happened to contact me yesterday. Brother requires a demigod to complete a quest for him. You see, it requires a demigod of a certain age, power and…" his eyes glittered ominously "You're just the right hero for the job."
Nico raised an eyebrow; his instincts told him a rat was near. "Why can't Percy or Annabeth do it? They're more experienced than I am and it's been a while since they've had an actual quest."
Hades sighed as he played with a crystalline ball he produced from the inside of his robes. Before Hades began observing it, it was completely transparent and blurry, made out of a beautiful glassy material. But as the Lord of the Underworld's eyes lit upon it, it clouded with black smoke, obscuring Nico's view of its contents. Eyeing his son like a particularly interesting science experiment, he said in an exaggerated patient tone "Like I said, it requires a demigod of a certain age. Not to mention this is the perfect opportunity for you to make some new friends."
Catching the irritated expression on Nico's face, he added "I know, I'm a bit annoyed about the situation myself, but your uncle insisted. He said something about 'socially deprived weirdo.' I have to admit, he has a point."
"What?" Nico squawked.
Hades gave him a look. "My boy, where exactly do you spend your free time?"
The Son of Death opened and closed his mouth repeatedly.
"In American graveyards and cemeteries, hanging out with the dead!" Hades scoffed. "Apparently, you don't believe that is odd for a boy your age."
"It's not odd for a son of Hades," replied Nico heatedly.
His father sighed again. "The main point is, your abilities are needed for this quest. And you will accept."
Nico rolled his eyes. "Yeah, yeah, I know the drill. So what is this quest you intend to give me?"
Hades leaned forward, his long skeletal fingers gripping his throne's armrests till they turned white, the dark eyes he and Nico shared seemed to gleam as he asked "Tell me, Nico… What do you know about Hogwarts?"
***********************Another page break! ********************
"So what you're telling me is…" I said about ten minutes later "Is that there is an entire race of magical mortals out there? Yet the gods never told us? And there is a particularly bad wizard who goes by the name of Voldemort, but no one ever calls him that. He started terrorizing wizards and mortals and gained power by turning to the Dark Arts over fifty years ago. But when he tried to murder a small baby named Harry Potter a.k.a. the Boy-Who-Lived, for some inexplicable reason, he died instead. Maybe Potter killed him. Maybe something else, some phenomenon of nature protected him. Whatever reason, You-Know-Who died or vanished, but now apparently, he's back from the dead. When we, the Greek gods and myths offered help, the Ministry of Magic, their government in England refused because we've had our fair share of differences in the past. We've been at war with each other. But now you're saying it's my job to persuade them that if any of us are going to survive, then we need to team up. I'm going to enroll as a student in the magical school of Hogwarts to talk with Professor Dumbledore, who's going to try with us to encourage the Ministry to take our help with open arms."
Hades nodded, his fingers laced together neatly as he looked down at me from his creepy perch. "Any questions?"
For me, this whole thing sounded idiotic. I mean, we just finished the war with the Giants and the war with Kronos a couple of years ago and now we're volunteering to get involved in another one? Two wars were more than enough, but three? No, no, no, no! Not happening, man! England could deal with their psychopath wizards on their own. I was about to open my mouth to say so, when Hades interrupted.
"I know what you're thinking," Hades said seriously. "Why are we getting dragged into yet another mess? But this is just like the Second Titan War, Nico. Mortals and demigods will be affected by this. Voldemort will find us all, eventually." If possible, his eyes grew even darker. "I always knew he would come back; he never showed up in the Underworld to go through judgment. But, now we're all at risk. You need to do this, Nico. So many people have died already. I'm having a major blockage in the waiting lines down here. If more people die, the death toll could compete with the Civil War."
Damn my conscience! I thought as I said in a grudging voice "Fine. But there's just one problem."
"What would that be?"
"I'm not a wizard. I don't know how to cast sixth year spells and I certainly don't have a twig locked up in my closet, if that's what you expect."
"Hey!" cried a reproachful voice in English that called down from the far end of the hall. "It's called a wand, Death Spawn!"
I turned to see a pretty girl of around thirteen with messy dark brown hair tinged with red and large narrowed eyes of the same color march down the hall, arms crossed over her chest angrily. She was garbed in a white, traditional Greek dress with a triangular neckline, the skirt long enough to brush against the floor. Her face was rounded with a slender nose, long thick eyelashes and plump, bright red lips sported in a saucy way. She wore no makeup or jewelry other than a silver chain wrapped around her head, a glossy charm hanging in the middle of her forehead like an Indian bindi. The affect was the chain bunched her hair on the crown of her head into a raised pile.
I got ready to retort, but then I saw the humor twinkling in her eyes.
"Nico," said Hades in a bored monotone "Meet Hecate, the goddess of Magic."
At first I was a bit skeptical. This girl was the powerful goddess who bore Circe and sided with Kronos during the second Titan War? Weird…
To my surprise, the tiny immortal gave me a good-natured grin and hugged my midriff, seeing as she was about three heads smaller than me. "Good to see you, cousin!" she exclaimed. I hugged her back awkwardly. Yeah, children of Hades aren't exactly used to physical contact. We're used to people backing away when we approach, not tackling us with admiring hugs or anything like that. Sure, I guess people warmed up to me to me a little bit after the Great Siege of Olympus during the Titan War, but only a little. Like snow is a little warmer than ice.
"Nice to meet you," I said hiding my discomfort as I patted her back. Surprisingly, she was pretty strong and my ribcage was beginning to ache from her skinny, little yet lean arms wrapped around my torso.
Upon releasing me, I didn't wince and rub my chest like I wanted to. Number One Rule for children of Hades; never, ever show weakness. Instead, I coughed lightly and said curiously "So, you're going to help me?"
Hecate's oddly colored eyes lit up like a kiddy's at Christmas. "Of course! Now, let's see what I can do…" She slowly started to walk in a circle around me, examining me with her unreadable eyes. I itched to turn around and see what she was doing, but I couldn't; not while Hecate was doing her evaluation. But that didn't mean I had to like not knowing if she was going to attack or not. Finally, she came to a stop right in front of me. "Hmm…" she mused softly. Then, without warning, she leapt forward, stood on tiptoe and planted a swift rap on my neck, right under the right side of my jaw.
I felt my face burn red and I began to say "What -" when I felt a sort of tingling in the place her knuckle had touched. The shivering vibration coursed through my body; it wasn't painful. It actually felt kind of pleasant in a way. Trembling, I felt it; a sort of light brighter than any sun I had ever seen settling in my very core, my heart. It was more than a spark; it was a glare. A brilliant golden light. Magic. Words – incantations I never knew before popped into my mind. Suddenly, I was at ease; I was pretty comfortable that I was a wizard. Magic seemed like a second sense already.
"So, you want an old twig now, do you?" laughed Hecate, a nice rich sound in the dark and depressing hall. Still smiling, she reached into the bodice of her dress and pulled out a long dark gray wand, intricately carved and beautifully designed. "This is made out of wood of ash (A/N Yes, ash is a type of tree. Not soot or dust or any of that crap) and the feather of a phoenix. It's a powerful combination, fit for any child of the Big Three." She shot me a look as she handed it over. "I hope you take good care of it."
I nodded, eyes fixed on the slender piece of wood. "It's very beautiful," I commented as I took it from her grip and twirled it expertly between my fingertips. Almost immediately, black and silver sparks skipped out of the tip and shot into the air, blurring slightly with its muted colors. Grinning, I turned to the goddess. "It's perfect."
She smirked, a little sadly. "Good. I'm glad you like it." She patted my forearm and her gaze seemed wistful as she stared at the wand in my hand, giving me another hug and kiss on the cheek. She said in a serious voice, as different from the laugh heard only a moment ago "Good luck, Nico di Angelo. Take my advice though. Don't get too attached to the Wizarding World. All good things must come to an end, so enjoy this one." With that, she disappeared in a cloud of russet smoke, leaving behind the distinct aroma of nutmeg and cinnamon.
The sigh of my father bounced across the barren room as he said "Hecate can be a little melodramatic at times, but I suppose she is right." Frowning, he turned toward me. Pulling out a crisp gray envelope from the folds of his robe, he handed it to me. Because it was in English, it took me a little while to decipher it. When I did it read in a neat slim handwriting that I knew belonged to my dad
Addressed to Professor B. Dumbledore
Office Behind the Gargoyles.
From: God Hades, Lord of the Underworld
Hades said "Take this to Dumbledore as soon as you get there. Once he reads it, he'll know what to do."
"So," I began carefully "If this is a school, doesn't that mean that I'm going to need books and pencils and all that crap."
Hades gestured beside me and I turned to see a large trunk that was not there before. "Your school supplies. Cauldron, school books, parchment, quills, ink; the works. Your robes are there too. You'll be sorted into one of the four houses: Gryffindor, Slytherin, Ravenclaw or Hufflepuff."
"Ink? Quills?" I asked incredulously. "What are we, in the 16th century? And what's this about robes? I have to walk around wearing bathrobes?"
Hades grimaced. "It's an old fashioned school, okay? Some traditions die hard. Of course, Hecate doesn't help the issue at all. She thinks it's 'cute' that some things never change." He shuddered.
I had to ask. "Which house do you think I'll be sorted into?"
He fixed me with a thoughtful gaze. "That depends."
I wanted to ask that meant, but I let it slide. "So when do I go?"
The Lord of the Underworld thought for a moment. "Well, today's the first of September, it's around 3:45 pm, so… yes, you go today."
"Today!" I blanched.
"Yes, today. Go on; that is all." He turned away from me as if to make the point clearer that I was dismissed.
Rolling my eyes, I stuffed my wand into my pocket and turned to the fourth wall of the room we were in. The trunk was pretty heavy, but when you run into battle dressed in full Greek armor, everything feels light as air after that. At first glance, people might have thought the wall I was facing at the moment was just painted in different shades of gray, black and dulled green, but the truth was the wall wasn't painted. In fact it wasn't even a wall. It was simply a collection of shadows, swarming and churning in different patterns and designs. For anyone other than a child of Hades it would have seemed pretty creepy, but hey, we're creepy people. For me, it was the perfect place for shadow travel. Literally melting into the darkness, one hand holding the trunk, the other resting on the hilt of my sword that swung on my belt, I traveled to Scotland. For any of you who haven't shadow traveled before, I just wanted to point out, it's completely wicked! Melting into the shades, it feels like something wet and cold is trickling down your back, kind of like icy water down your neck. You're going so fast, you can't even feel the wind; you're just outracing it to get to your destination. And I took my first step into the Wizarding world of The-Boy-Who-Lived.
Booka: I'm finally done! Phew, that's a load off my mind. It took FOREVER to get this on the damn computer. Finally. Anyways, hoped you guys liked it. I'm sorry if I take forever to get another update in less than a month, but I just started 7th grade and I'm focusing on keeping my grades up since the parent teacher conferences didn't go so well. *Wince*. But, hey, what can you do? But I'm doing good in the general sense, but my parents expect my grades to be in the 90s since I read so much. So far the only classes my grades are in the 80s are Math and Social Studies. (Kind of depressing since I usually rock at History. I messed up on a couple of homeworks, so that brought my average down.) How stupid is that? I mean, just because I read day and night doesn't mean I'm some kind of genius, does it? Humph. Well, enough about that. Read and Review, please! I'm begging! I need reviews otherwise I'll starve to death! Save me…!