Jackie Chan Adventures: Harry Potter and the Twelve Talismen

[Houndoom_Lover]

Dear friends, guests, and fellow readers! Hello! Hello! Hellooooo! As promised, I've found myself once lost in the field...feild...of lostness! Bhahaha! Anywho, you may found the first part here : http://www.pokemasters.net/forums/sh...k+Hands+Washed

It's a good story. I highly reconmend it!

This contains Harry Potter elements along with the kick butt Jackie Chan, so I rate it a T, just be be safe! Let's start this puppy up again! Forget my last soopy attempt!

“Sometimes he (Death) gets bored of running at them, flapping his arms and shrieking...”

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Fickle as a Rat

Somewhere dark and spooky

A commanding voice broke the silent of the room; “Gan-Ren-Chui.”

There was a loud poof as a purple-ish blue smoke swirled about in the darken room. An evil laughter filled this, so loud, the wooshing noise the came behind the man that was laughing was barely audible. The man opened his eyes, his right eye was grey, and the other was green.

Somewhere else dark and spooky

“Harry,” A bushy brown haired woman, dressed in a dark robe, said sharply, crawling behind two men. One of the men had fiery red hair and freckles who was long and lanky dressed in an equally dark robe, and a man with messy black hair and glasses, “This is about the stupidest idea you’ve ever had.”

“We,” The man name Harry who was up front with black hair and glasses replied briskly, a thin stick in his hand. He pointed it down at the floor of the air duct which they were crawling in, “I need a screw driver.”

“Harry-“The woman interjected, but the red head started to dig his hand into his robe.

“Um,” The red head pulled out a thick screw driver, looking boggled, “Will this do? It’s the only one I’ve got, I didn’t think we’d actually need one-“

“Because you’re a wizard!” The woman said exasperatingly, “And you’re a wizard, and I’m a witch and we have wands!”

“And?” The be-freckled man seemed a little more concerned in digging something out of the pocket of his robe. It was very awkward moving about in an air duct.

“Oh, get out of the way, Ron!” She shoved him side, crawling between him and the metal all, her own magic stick- a wand that is, out.

“You’re off your rocker, you are!” Ron insisted, moving farther down the duct. His wife was a menace when she was angry, especially when she had her wand out, which was usually, especially when she was angry, “We tried magic, already, Hermione! It won’t work-“

“Well, of course I know that,” She said, whacking Harry to move aside was stubbornly refusing to move as he tried to unscrew the screws that was holding the thin vent door with a screwdriver much too big for the wittle little holes, “But I’m not going to use magic on building.”

“What are you gonna use it on, then?” Ron asked, moving in just a little bit to see. Harry stubbornly gave the screw driver up with a grunt, his green eyes narrowed in discontent. Stupid screwdrivers, never been good with them he had.

Hermione raised an eyebrow as she took the screwdriver, sometimes…With a sigh and a flick of her wand, she shrunk the screwdriver to an appropriate size then went on a few minute rant on how even though it was late it was no reason for Ron to act so thick. Harry blocked the two out, always bickering, like always. He could feel the sweat trickle down his face as he removed the first two screws.

“Well, if you were out flyin’ all night you’d be tired to!” Ron defended himself, though he knew to was a loosing battle.

“Flying all night! The game only lasted thirty minutes, that’s hardly all night,” She retaliated, her arms folded the best she could in these cramped conditions, “Oh, do you mean that after party you lot had- I was up all night with worry!”

The third screw, Harry Potter carefully pulled it up, the vent under now holding up by its single screw. Carefully, slowly, with his tongue stuck out in concentration.

“You sound like my Mum,” Ron said, not without a tenderness in his voice, even angry, his wife was beautiful in his eyes.

“You mean-“

“Can it, guys,” Harry interrupted, turning the last screw as slowly as he could, “Do you think you could get a levitation spell on this?”

“Don’t see why not,” Ron pulled out his wand, at the ready. Harry twisted the last turn of the screw, letting the thin metal bottom square of the vent fall. Ron flicked his wand, and just in time to, as the metal plate was just about to hit the floor.

“Ace,” Ron said under his breath as Harry shined his magical light down below.

The place looked just like any other high security place, with two desks like tables, a filing cabinet, and a computer at both tables, although it still was eerily empty. Where was everybody? On holiday? That didn’t seem likely, since all their files were so protected by firewalls that not even Hermione, their computer whiz, could break through. She herself broke down and even asked George for help, and he did give help, in the form of a map and a general location. Section 13 was as dead as a graveyard.

“Well,” Ron said breezily, pulling a thick rope from his wizardly pocket, “Let’s find those files so we can get back before breakfast, shall we?”

With some magical magicy way, they managed to stay the rope. Harry went down first, his heart pounding. Someone should be here, to stop them or otherwise, this wasn’t right…something was wrong.

“Ron, breakfast isn’t going anywhere,” Hermione hissed just before Ron slipped down the rope, Hermione right after him. He caught her as she fell, ungraceful. It was almost sickening, but no different then him and Ginny, so he really couldn’t complain. He held his wand aloft.

“Where is everyone?” Harry announced his worried, but they were quickly dismissed by Hermione, who untangled herself from Ron.

“Just be glad that no ones here,” Hermione said, shining her wand around the perimeter of the room. There indeed was no one there, “So we can get in and get out, and get on with life.”

That struck a nerve in Harry. “Get on with life?” He questioned, turning his head slightly, already moving to the computer on the left, “What’s that suppose to mean? Ron check those files.”

Ron looked back and forth from Harry to Hermione, eyes wide with terror. She had that look on her face, you know the look, but then again so did Harry. He shrugged his shoulders, hoping that was a good enough answer, and moved to the file cabinet.

“Harry…” Hermione sighed, her arms hanging by her side. She moved over to him as he started the computer up, leaning over it like an angry man, “Americans are loons- I hate to say that, but they supported him, wouldn’t you think that they’d hope to see him, even if it was a hoax? Harry…Harry…you don’t think, you can’t possible think that Voldemort (Ron made an involuntary twitch, causing his knee to thwack the file cabinet, followed by swear words under his breath) is still alive.”

Harry didn’t reply. He stared possessedly into the computer screen as it booted up.

“Harry,” She pleaded, getting closer, “We watched him die- you watched him die.”

He still didn’t reply. He punched in quickly the first code, which he remembered from pervious attempts. He didn’t even both looking up.

“Harry…” Ron said, dryly, as he dropped the files he was holding. Typical Ron any more, to pick Hermione’s side, just because they were married, didn’t mean-

The first code was accepted. Now the next one.

“You watched him die, Harry,” Hermione reiterated, and this time, when he didn’t look up, she grabbed him by the shoulder, “Harry! You killed him- he…” Her words shook, “He just can’t be, Harry…this is silly.”

He ignored this, concentrating on punching codes in, just one more. If he could get this last one, then he was in, if not, he’d move on to the next computer.

“Harry…” Ron’s voice gained a squeaky element. Harry finally looked up, his thin pale face illuminated by the computer’s light.

“What is it?” Harry went wide-eyed, it felt like a bullet tore through his innards, a bullet made out of many knifes. Fear rose up inside him, a fear that he thought he’d never feel again.

Voldemort looked blankly down at them from his incredible height, a head taller then anyone in the room, eyes red as a blooded pit, black slips for pupils, like a snake. His very snake like face framed by hair that was irradiance even in this darkness like snake scales. Voldemort. His lipless face was curved into a smile, his teeth peering through like sharp lighthouses.

Hermione let out a screech mangled by a gasp.

He wasn’t alone, no, two skull masked men stood beside him, one of them holding a wheelie computer chair that had a bald man in a trench coat and very upset looking eyebrows was tied to, bounded and gagged. Voldemort rolled his head back and forth.

“Y-you-“ Harry managed to get out, between the fear and the want to vomit.

Voldemort’s face sprang to life, as though he had just noticed them in the room, “Ah,” His sighed. That single sound shaking in the air, as though the very air was afraid of him. His eyes, those awful eyes in those deep eye sockets fell on Harry, locking, “Harry Potter…The boy that lived, Mmmm.”

That simple sound grew from the man, the creature, called Voldemort. It rose into the frighten air as a laughter. Cold and snake like, if snakes could laugh, void of any loving emotion.

[Houndoom_Lover]

Stubborn Ox fears no stick

Uncle’s Rare Finds

It was the middle of the night, and everyone inside was well asleep by this time. The sounds of sleep wafted up and down like drowsy waves on a slumber beach.

The shop was tended by an old Chinese man known to the others in this shop as Uncle, who (often by ordering others) kept the place clean.

Every night, before he went to bed, he checked the cash register, locked it, then the door, and headed up. The door should have been locked shut, that wasn’t something he’d neglected, but it was pushed open by the snout of something that just big enough to reach the pushing handle of the door. A snake. It was huge and black, as thick as a tree truck, with an ugly triangle head. It slithered into the shop, leaving behind a slug like trail of ooze. It lifted its head up, sniffing about. The door closed behind its tail, the bell attached to the door tinkled.

Jade wandered down the stairs just then, sleepy. The snake had already slipped into the next room, the next room being the kitchen. Half way down the stairs, she spotted something. From the snake ooze that glistened on the floor, eggs began to form. Shaky at first, they smoothed out, polished as fresh marbles. Jade panicked. She had to smash those eggs, they couldn’t be left unsmashed. It was just something she has to do. Without giving it another thought, she grabbed on of the rods that held the railing up, and yanked it out effortlessly. Jade raced down the rest of the stairs, making an awful racket.

She smashed the eggs, but even though she destroyed them, small snakes came out of them. Again and again, until she was covered in snakes…

Jade Chan snapped awake, jilting up, her stomach feeling sick. She looked about her room. It was just a dream…a dream, no, a nightmare. Jade really liked snakes, too...or had, as the case maybe. Urh. She shuttered, glancing over at her digital alarm clock. The digital time read 3: 23 a.m. Her very being jumped! She woke up just when she was born- now how often had that happened? Mmm, that’s right, she thought as she stretched out, it was the end first weekend of summer break- that’s double the vacation, and on top of that, it was her birthday now, officially. The thought of going back to sleep filtered through her head, but that was soon abandoned. She was too excited!

Jade Chan flipped off blankets, and jumped out of bed right into her bedside slippers that matched her cat vomit salmon nightgown. She poked her head out her door, listening for any sounds of not-asleep-ness. Deciding the coast was clear, she, carefully on her tip toes, descended down stairs.

Somewhere, in the next room over, her old great uncle who shared the room his with massive apprentice Tohru jolted awake, a chill running through him. His nightings, if everyone must know, were the colour of washed out cat vomit tuna, set in the same gift package as Jade’s knighting from Jade’s grandparents. Apparently, they didn’t think he had clothes or something; anyway, he brushed the tip of his puce colour night cap out of his eyes, getting out off his creaky old bed. It couldn’t be…it just couldn’t-

Jade walked into the kitchen, pulling open the fridge to get out the orange juice. Looking tired, she took out a glass from the cupboard and started to pour. Then, slowly, she sat down in the nearest pulled out chair- then jumped back up.

Jade had nearly sat on a pile of boxes, one that was heavily wrapped in tape.

“Aww, you shouldn’t have,” She told the imaginary gift giver, picking up the top one and placing it on the table.

“Hmmm…,” Jade licked her lips, pulling the chair from the table’s side and up by the counter where the knives were kept. Probably for the best…

Getting out a large bread knife, she placed it on the chair and put the chair back to its proper place in the world. Taking the knife steadily in her hand, she opened the box as quietly as she could. Jade gasped, wishing she never did.

A twisted dark snake, dark as the one in her dreams… It glared up at her with its black stone eyes like tiny Black Holes she learned about in Science class. Maybe, just like them, they’d suck her up as well.

“Ugh,” Jade groaned, closing the box and re-taping it the best she could, “their not getting a thank you note from me.” Rubbing her eyes, she slowly walked up stairs, back to bed with out bothering to investigating the other boxes. There’d be time for that.

Jade had just got into bed when Uncle tore in front of her door, the fastest she had ever seen the old man move. Jade had half a mind to just staying in bed, but her curiosity was too great, so once again, she jumped out of bed and headed down stairs.

She found Uncle in his workroom, surrounded by books, the room lit only by a single candle. Old man Chan was hunched over something that Jade couldn’t see from where she was standing by the doorway.

“Uncle…?” Jade said after a while. He was muttering to himself as he looked over whatever he was looking over. He looked up from it, generally surprised that Jade was there, even more so by the worried look that was on her face. A look of worried that matched her great-uncle’s. She had never seen him look so old as she did now by the light of the candle.

“Jade, what are you doing up so late,” He said, in his usual Uncle tone, but his words sounded forced, “Back to bed, you should not be up so late.” He moved slowly over to Jade, to get her back up the steps, but she wasn’t about to move.

“It’s early,” She countered, holding on to the door frame, “Why are you up?”

“AAayyia!” Uncle exclaimed, giving her a gentle push. Jade made an oomph sound, “Too many questions so early-“

Jade looked up, why had Uncle suddenly stopped. His eyes were wide as though he had just seen something terrible. With a sharp inhale of breath, he turned from Jade. The outside began to grumble; it had been so humid that day that it wasn’t a surprise that it started raining, but-

“Uncle?” Jade said again, this time much high pitched, filled with worry. She was scared. She had never seen Uncle like this, never like this- never so scared. She tried to ask what was wrong, but it got stuck inside of her. He moved back into his workroom, the thing he was looking at when Jade first came down was glowing a wicked red. He glanced at it quickly, looking out the window. Lighting streaked across the sky fleetingly.

“Uncle…” Jade started for the third time, “Wh-what is it?” She twisted at the end of her nightgown, looking vexed.

Uncle placed an old hand on the cold window, rain starting to splatter it. He took a breath in, and with that breath, he said, “Daolon Wong.”

The night gave a magnificent rumble.

That name meant nothing to Jade, it didn’t even sound scary. “Who’s that,” She asked, rather childishly, but was swiftly prodded along by Uncle up the stairs, so quickly she couldn’t even argue with him.

At six o’clock that morning, in Uncle’s Rare Finds, after Jade had finally got back to sleep, and Uncle- who was still in his work room, collapsed on his work desk, something magical happened. A letter, small and square, slipped into the mail slot of Uncle’s Rare Finds. And everyone knows there’s no post on Sunday.

[Houndoom_Lover]

The Tiger Eye’s have it

Meanwhile the storm is brewing…

Voldemort finished laughing; the lackie to his left still chuckling, thick and dumb. Under this background noise, he kicked the back of the wheelie chair, sending his poor hostage into the desk that Hermione and Harry stood behind, their own barrier from him and Voldemort, the Hitler of the wizarding world.

“But,” Harry couldn’t believe his eyes, this just wasn’t, couldn’t be, “You’re suppose to be-“

“Dead?” Voldemort finished for him, strutting farther into the room, his Deatheaters at his wake, “I bet you thought that, I bet you did.” He paused in front of the desk, his hostage thrashing about, trying to get free, “Jealous, Potter?”

“Jealous?” Harry said, quickly, ready to counter, ready to play Voldemort’s game and beat him at it, “Of what?”

“Harry, no!” Hermione whispered, frozen to her spot. She couldn’t even bring herself to get her wand out.

“Of being dead,” The snake man said lazily, flicking his fork tongue between the pale openings of his face, “Well, don’t worry, because Voldemort cares for his children.” The once dead Dark Lord pulled his wand out of his charcoal sleeve, holding the darkened wood with his long thin white fingers, attached to that pale hand of his; like pale spiders.

“Good-bye, forever, Harry Potter,” Voldemort brought his wand up, ready to strike Harry down once and for all, when the other lacky spoke swiftly.

“My Lord,” The familiar voice said swiftly, “We need the boy, remember?”

Voldemort considered this for a moment, his red eyes shifting up and down, the only expression on his face. Harry felt his body relax, they were safe for now- just as soon as that thought processed through his head, Voldemort brought down his wand.

Pain erupted into Harry’s side, traveling down through his organs right up to his brain. Right before he passed out into a warm fuzzy blackness, he heard Hermione beside him let out a squeal of pain, dropping beside him and Ron’s cry of rage. His last thought was that he hoped Ron didn’t do anything too stupid, Voldemort wouldn’t spare him…Voldemort shouldn’t have been there. Harry was supposed to be wrong…

Voldemort’s eyes flickered to the monitor for a moment, before falling on the fallen Harry. The thin membrane that served as his eyelids blinked crossed his eyes as he stared. His Deatheaters didn’t dare breathe too loud, or move for that matter. Voldemort finally tore himself away, whatever he was thinking had became too much.

“Tie them up,” He said weakly, storming out of the room, grabbing the man in the chair, dragging him with him.

The lunkish Deatheater made quick wand work of the fallen trio, binding them tight together. The red headed one groaned as he checked the ropes. This was fun, thought Gregore, as he stood up awkwardly, his bad knee throbbing. Servitude to this Dark Lord fella was nothing compared to low rank prison living, he got his own room in this gig.

“Hey, Lucius,” Gergore started, waiting for Lucius to ask what, when he didn’t, he just shrugged, and continued to talk, “You think the old Lord wants us to carry them with us?”

When Lucius didn’t reply this time, Gregore turned around. Lucius was gone! Gregore was too slow to pursue a chase, then again, he could have just dissapparated, so he did the only thing he knew what to do. Report to boss.

“Master! Master!” He called out to Voldemort, barreling out of the room. Voldemort was still in the hall, taking his time, talking to the captive bald man about this and that. Voldemort turned his head, just barely, acknowledging Gregore.

“What is it?” Voldemort asked, impatiently, he hated being interrupted in a story as good as this one. Not that he was in any hurry; anyone that could have stopped them was already killed.

“It’s Lucius!” Gregore announced, using the frames of the door to hold himself up. Oh, his knees! When Voldemort turned about, crocking his head confused like, Gregore continued, “He’s gone, or something, Master.”

“Gone or something?” His Master replied, mockingly, “No matter, just grab the thorns in my side, we’ll snatch that little rebel up, and then snatch us a bite to eat, what do you think about that?”

“Well, I, uh-“ Gergore said, baffled. One moment he was a tower of fearsome rage, the next he was a jolly old man, ready to share all the wisdom of the world to someone lucky, however, that someone lucky may just be killed the next second.

“That’s right,” Voldemort snipped, “Now, go get them, this won’t take long.” He added menacingly, rounding his very bony shoulders as he pulled the unfortunate Captain Black down the empty hallway.

Gregore nodded, and was on his way. Voldemort turned his full attention down to the struggling Black.

“Now, where were we?” He looked down at Black fondly, as though he was a child dear to him. Black struggled, scowling up at the eyebrowless man, “Ah, yes, that’s right. Well, you see, when I thought my goose was cooked, dear Potter boy made a grave miscalculation. Well, several, actually. But, I think the gravest of all was believing the soul drivel force fed to him by that old fool, Dumbledore…What do you think?”

Black grunted in reply, trying with all his might to remove the gag from his mouth, but to no avail, for it was magically placed there. And you know what they say, only magic can defeat magic.

“Exactly!” Voldemort kicked the back of Black’s chair, sending him flying. The chair ricocheted off the wall, bouncing the chair bound man right in front of the circular door that blocked entry to the powerful talisman and the dangerous statue of Shendu. It was closed shut like a broccoli strainer, but not for long…

Voldemort flicked his wand, releasing the gag from Captain Black’s mouth. As swift as a snake, he moved behind the chair, gripping Black’s shoulders painfully hard, “I’ve killed many a Black in my day, don’t make me add you to the toll!”

“You’re out of your mind,” Black said, fearlessly, this was a dangerous situation; “If you think I’m giving you the code to the vault!”

Voldemort narrowed his eyes, moving his wand up and down in front of Black’s face.

“Come now,” Voldemort said soothingly, pointing his wand to the number pad, “I’m sure you remember it…”

Captain Black’s mind felt wondrously warm, like he hadn’t a care in the world. Staring owl eyed at the pad, numbers shot out at him from his subconscious.

“Four…seven, five,” Voldemort plunked those numbers in with the head of his wand as Black rattled them off, “Nine, one, zero, five, five, eight.”

“You know, Old Sport,” He continued, watching the door open up like a silver spiral, “You should really invent in a finger print pad instead.” As soon as the door was completely open, he tossed Black aside with a flick of his wand, sending the poor man flying against the wall.

As Voldemort entered the chamber, Black came to. Thanks to years of training, his brain snapped back to fight or flight mode, the first thing he did was pull out his celliphone, and hit the speed dial. Whoever he put as his number one had better be up. His phone gave a beep, suddenly, loudly. A low battery beep. Black squeezes the phone to silence it, and the last thing he knew was a sudden flash of green light.

Voldemort placed his wand back into the sleeve of his robe, just then lightening flashed across the sky outside. He took the snake talisman into his pale white fingers, examining it with a certain glee. He pocketed it. Surely this was the immortality one that the old man spoke of, what other one could it be? Not the goat, or the horse, or the dog- what a silly notion. The rest of these animals meant nothing to him. He was ordered to gather them all, but…he didn’t take orders from him anymore. Not since he was younger, foolish…naive.

He heard the sounds of Gregore’s cries outside the vault. A loud shuffling and a bang. He folded his hand swiftly around the snake talisman, sweeping a few of them into the darkness of his robe, and existed the vault.

No one was there. Just the wisps of three newly dissaperated people, one of them carrying a large man, apparently. Voldemort grumbled under his breath, before vanishing himself.

[Houndoom_Lover]

Hoppy Times

Valmont was a busy man in many regards, he often found himself making lists in his head before going to bed, dreaming about those lists being played out, waking up bright and early in the morning, and setting about to do those plans. And ever since that unfortunate move that had taken place, he was busier then ever. But even so, he just couldn’t bring himself to yank himself out of bed that morning. He woke up, and glanced at the clock, feeling wide awake at the usual eight fifteen he woke up at, but there was a nagging feeling in his head that he usually repressed. He just didn’t want to get out of bed.

Moments passed. He glanced over at the clock again after a blissful moment of nothing. Eighty twenty. Five minuets was long enough to loll about in bed. There was just too much to do for that kind of nonsense. So, using all his will power (and he had a nice supply of will power) he forced himself out of his temporary bed.

Bheh, his thoughts shifted to the unfortunate circumstance he found himself in currently as get got dressed for the busy day. After the euphoria of being free from Shendu wore off, his plight came to light. There was a sizable chunk of his vast ill gotten wealth gone, vanished, missing! Since when did travelling cost that much!? This was distressing enough, without the Chan’s and the infernal Captain Black knowing where his precious secret Headquarters’ was. But never mind that, he was quick, resourceful even in finding a new one. It was a shab of a place, built by a man who was obvious impaired in some matter, and over looked quaintly China Town. Well, you know what they say, keep your friends close, and your enemies closer.

Patting himself on the back then, he wondered if it was time to look for someplace new. This was virtually the Headquarters equivalent of a Roach Motel, God help any roaches he saw in here. After grooming in his shoebox of a bathroom, he walked through the barley furbished living room which was connected to the kitchen, the dinning room assumingly in the middle, and walked down the inane amount of stairs that this building posses to get the mail he had neglected to pick up the day before. He had taken the jolly of alias of Nigel Peabody for this particular resident. This was a strangely pleasing ring to that name, Nigel Peabody.

He made his way back up stairs, finding himself strangely out of breath at the end of them this time. Was he getting out of shape? Parish the thought! He was just tired, he reasoned with himself. That’s why he lingered in bed so long, he was just tired. He stopped at the closest wall to the refrigerator, and yanked it open. Seamlessly, flawlessly, as if by magic, the wall was really a door, and behind that door was a room large enough for a good sized filing cabinet, a fairly sized desk and three telephones and a coat rack. That was something he loved about the Chinese, they made fabulous secret compartments, rooms, and the like. He entered, as he was shuffling through the mail.

Credit card offering, and other various junk mail bet the waste bin besides the desk as he sat down behind it in a push red chair he had scooped off the street. Maybe it was high time to go back to the old place and snatch his old belonging back up, that is, if they were still there. Valmont threw another slice of junk mail into the bin before coming to the very last letter in the stack. A small square letter, white as butter, with jabby aggressive handwriting that stabbed across the centre of the letter that read as thus:

To Miss Emma Cilona

From Hexminsters

Open Immediately

He shook his head. It couldn’t be...but it was. Oh, it was. It couldn’t- He just couldn’t believe it. This (slightly less) wealth business man was flooded with memories he long since suppressed. Memories- along with family, religion, and friendship were demon’s you needed to slay if you were to be successful. But looking at this envelope awoken what he long thought was dead-

A young boy, just shy of the age of twelve, stood in front of a soda machine, with a crumpled dollar in his small hand, and a nasty scowl on his face. The infernal machine wouldn’t take his filthy American dollars. He rubbed George’s face across the side panelling that meets the drink option buttons again, and stood up on his tip toes as hiiiiiigh as he could. Just barely, this pale blond haired boy with a rather pointed face and a slightly dark complexion reached the money slot and fed the machine his dollar.

He held his breath, eagerly watching as his dollar disappeared into the machine. Digital numbers came up red right above the selections. With boyish charm and utter glee he picked the first selection. Something or other called Prof. Moon. The Machine clanked and clinked before spitting out a can as big as a dinner glass. He reached down for it when a voice penetrated his happy moment.

“Never seen a pop machine before, kid,?” Said the voice, a mewly one, spoken through a very nasally nose, “I swear, could the Yuppies be any more obvious?”

Young Valmont was taken aback, how dare this scum speak to him this way! Did this punk have any idea who he was talking to?!

“Excuse me,” Valmont snapped curtly, glancing over this boy. His clothes were to big for him, his eyes were pricing, like a hawk, only off, teal- a frightful stare, but other then that this boy was a moppy blond haired, baggy clothes no-name to Valmont. A filthy upstart about to be put in his place, “But I don’t think you have the faintest idea who you’re dealing with-”

“Chill it, kid,” The baggy clothed boy said offhandedly, “Not like you’re any different the Scrant back here,” He nugged his head towards a tall, sickly tall boy on his side. He looked rather affronted by his, his milky eyes wide with resentment.

“At least I know how to use a pop machine,” His voice cracked in subtenant glory as he jumped to defend himself. The girls around them giggles at this, clearly they hung around this group to poke fun at the misery of others, all set up to make fun of the new kids.

“Who are you then?” The thin boy demanded, trying to regain control of the group he thought was his, but Valmont could see that the baggy clothes boy had more control over it then the thin boy could have ever imagined, “Can’t be more important then Cilona or Scrant.” He added, huffily.

Valmont didn’t even bother trying to repress his sneer, “I’m a Malfoy,” He said magnificently. Surely they’d all bow to his might in wonderment!

They didn’t.

The whole group, minus the baggy clothed ashened face boy who spoke in the first place, exploded in cattle walls that sounded something like this, “Malfoy at Hexes! Squib! Squib, Squib-alert!”

Valmont could feel the rage rush warningly to his face, flushing.

“Enough guys,” The boy said, dully, raising his knoby hands up. When they didn’t stop , he took three steps towards a very angry and confused Valmont, who was clenching his Prof. Moon for protection.

The thin boy caught himself in mid-laughter, “What are you doing, Clive?”

“Whatever I want,” Clive, the baggy clothed boy retorted, “Now get gone.”

The thin boy gave a scowl and a shrug, taking control of the pack once and for all. They moved from the empty cafeteria, with its disarray of chairs and strange cleaner emptiness like a massive herd. Before they were gone, Valmont heard the tall boy mutter, “Squib”.

There was an awkward moment of silence between the two remaining boys. Clive broke it by yanking the pop can from Valmont’s hand, and opening it loudly over Valmont’s protests with a loud snap and a hiss. He grinned, handing it back to him.

“I had trouble opening it on my first time too,” He said, looking down at Valmont. That was the trouble with America, Valmont thought, all the steroids in meat, making the boys his age taller then him. He hated it. Little Valmont avoided eye contact with this boy’s piercing eyes.

“Why’d you do that?” He simpered.

“I was a Yuppie too,” His voice was beginning to annoy Valmont, who replied with an eyebrow raise.

“A Yuppie...?” Clive said again, but when Valmont just scowled at him, he quickly explained, “Its when a magical dude from a magic family starts out learning with Mug’ stuff, see?”

“I see very well,” Valmont sneered, “I don‘t speak American.” Briskly, he took a drink from his sofa, thinking him self right ace there, when the liquid he put in his mouth caused his tongue to rebel, spitting the vile stuff right out. Clive burst into laughter, a loud blusterous laughter that filled the empty cafeteria.

“That was awful!” Valmont exclaimed after he was done choking on the liquid evil.

“Wait ‘till you try Diet!” Clive said under his great big belly laughter, clamping a knobby hand on Valmont’s thin shoulder, and for once Valmont didn’t really mind being touched.

Valmont finished opening the letter, clamping a hand tightly over top for a moment of to as the measure sort of wiggle like in his hand before taking out the contents. He glanced at the introductory letter. It was just a copy, not even hand-written, what sort of scum ran the building now? How lazy! That thought crossed his mind when he heard a thunderous clamour from somewhere in the front of the building. Terrified that something was broken, he swiftly moved out from behind his desk, and was out of his secret room as quick as you can say flapjack. And I’m sure you can say flapjack pretty quick.

There was no damage to the front room, so, he reasoned, that someone was trying to break in. Well, that was one crook who was about to regret his choice in docile dearly.

He threw open the ill painted door that blocked the upstairs from those devil stairs, leaning back with his arms folded, striking an impressive pose to who ever had the gall to break in. At the bottom of the steps was no a robber, however, but a mass of black robes that slowly crawled up the steps, using the railing to pull himself up.

“Well, well, well,” Valmont said softly, but his voice carried down the stairs, “So the prodigal eldest brother has come to the young castaway for help, isn’t this a biblical moment?”

“Oh, due shut up, Valmont,” The mass of black retaliated, working his way up to the second step. Valmont was waiting in anticipation for his older brother to ask for help, but his waiting was in vain. He would no sooner ask for help from him then hold his breath and die. So Valmont, sickened to the core by this display of weakness, bounded down the stairs to help him. His older brother was only on the third step when Valmont reached him, hunched over like, well, a hunch back. An old crippled hunch back.

Valmont pulled his free arm of his brother over his shoulder and started to lug him up the stairs. He cased a glance at him, once, before setting his eyes on the door, reach had decided to creak itself shut right then. Lucius’s face looked bad, once full of pride and glory was now swallow and grey. His eyes had lost that gleam of ambition. Valmont shuttered inwardly. That could have been him.

“Magic not as useful as it was?” Valmont said snidely, having a funny feeling that Lucius wasn’t even trying to get up the stairs.

“Crime not paying what is use too?” Lucius countered masterfully, putting Valmont right in his place. It took a moment for Valmont to think of something (“Don’t make me drop you down these stairs”) but Lucius knew he had won that repartee, just like he always did.

Just a few more steps. “But now that you’re here,” Valmont started, slyly. What an opportune visit, it was almost, pardon the pun, by magic, “You can take your niece shoping.”

Lucius’s lacklustre face looked confused for a comment, before the light of realisation shone through. No...that couldn’t be. He was about to ask, when he suddenly grabbed his left arm, placing all his weight on Valmont, who wasn’t expecting it, was trusted into the door, causing Lucius to topple on to him.

“Exactly what I wanted to do with my summer,” Lucius groaned, rubbing his upper left arm.