"What position do you want to play?"
The question hung in the air, and Ciel's expression turned thoughtful. In the original story, the Seeker was, without a doubt, the most glamorous and celebrated player in any Quidditch match. As a Seeker, Harry Potter had truly shone. And it was an important position; a match could only end when the Golden Snitch was caught. Ciel recalled a line from one of the books about a World Cup match that had lasted for over three months, a grueling stalemate that had only ended when the Snitch was finally caught.
But the Seeker's role wouldn't fully utilize his physical and strength advantages. What's more, the Hufflepuff team already had an excellent Seeker: Cedric Diggory. The other positions, however, were relatively weak. Considering both his own strengths and the needs of the team, the choice was clear.
"Beater," he said, his voice firm.
It wasn't a position that bathed in the glory of the spotlight, but it was the one that controlled the rhythm of the ga. A Beater had to protect his own teammates from the rampaging Bludgers while simultaneously using those sa Bludgers to disrupt the opposing team's formations. Ciel's inhuman stamina and raw strength would allow him to dominate this role.
When Professor Sprout heard his choice, a look of profound nostalgia softened her features. Beater. That had been her brother's position. Ciel's father. So much alike, she thought. They are so much alike.
After congratulating him, she walked out of the common room in a bit of a daze. Ciel, sensing the shift in her mood, followed her out into the corridor. He found her standing by a windowsill, her shoulders slumped, gazing out at the Quidditch pitch with a face full of sorrow, tears glistening in her eyes.
"Aunt?" he asked softly. "What's wrong?"
She quickly wiped the tears from her face. "It's nothing," she whispered, her voice thick with emotion. "Just thinking about the old days. Your father was a Beater, too. He and your mother t on the Quidditch team. They fell in love right here, at Hogwarts. I used to watch their matches from this very windowsill. Every ti Hufflepuff scored, your father would turn and wave right at ."
She clenched her fist so tightly her knuckles went white. "I can still see it so clearly, as if it were yesterday. But it was all ruined. Ruined by that beast, Dolohov. Your parents… they should have had such a bright future. They were so young, and then… and then…"
Red began to seep from her palm, drops of fresh blood trickling down her fingers. She had clenched her hand so hard in her grief that she had broken the skin.
Ciel's own expression was heavy. "Aunt," he said, his voice steady, "even if Azkaban can't kill Dolohov, I promise you, he will pay the price."
But his words only seed to deepen her worry. Her eyes, red-rimd and filled with a fierce, protective light, fixed on him. She gripped his hand tightly. "No, Ciel. I will never let another child of the Sprout family face that monster. Promise . Promise you will never go looking for him. If you ever encounter him, you run. You just run, and you wait for your aunt to finish him off herself!"
Feeling the desperate strength in her grip, Ciel was silent for a mont. In everyone's eyes, he was a young wizard with weak magical talent. Antonin Dolohov was a dark wizard so feared that even elite Aurors were helpless against him. The odds were against even his aunt surviving such a confrontation. Saying he intended to kill Dolohov would sound like a child's boast. He wasn't one for grand declarations. He preferred action.
He just nodded, saying nothing more. He would show them.
He bid farewell to his aunt and returned to the greenhouse, the familiar scents of damp earth and blooming flowers a welco balm to his troubled mind. Facing the familiar fields, the rows of nascent plants with their shimring reward orbs, the distracting thoughts and emotions quickly faded. He imrsed himself once more in the quiet, thodical work that seed so boring to others.
"Lumos!"
The gentle light of the spell blood, and the mycelium of countless Lumos Shrooms seed to dance in response, their reward orbs growing with each passing minute. Weak, but continuous.
Just then, his gaze fell on his hand. He realized there were still faint traces of his aunt's blood on his palm. He hadn't noticed in his earlier agitation. He washed his hands in a nearby basin, shook them dry, and continued his work, moving deeper into the greenhouse to illuminate the next patch of mushrooms.
A week passed. After teaching Malfoy his lesson, Ciel was finally able to return to his peaceful routine. His days were filled with classes, his nights spent in the greenhouse, caring for the Lumos Shrooms. The mycelium was growing beautifully; small caps had already begun to form, a sign they were entering their final stage of growth.
"Another week or so," he murmured, a look of satisfaction on his face.
Though no new Goldfish Vines had matured in that ti, the other changes were considerable. The Pruning Charm was on the verge of advancing to the Silver tier. The Lumos charm itself would likely reach Bronze in a day or two. After he harvested the insight from the matured mushrooms, it might even jump directly to Silver. He was full of anticipation.
He cald his mind, about to continue his work, when a flash of color caught his eye. A trace of crimson, inconspicuous amidst the sea of pale, glowing mushrooms. He leaned in closer and saw that a small patch of the mycelium had turned a deep, dark red. It was a small area, easily overlooked, but it was undeniably different.
As he stared, a new line of text shimred into existence above the patch.
[The Lumos Shrooms you cultivated have undergone an unknown mutation.]
(End of Chapter)
***
[Check Out My Patreon For More Chapters On All
Of My Fanfics!!] [ [email protected]/owthtl]
[ 300 Power Stones = 1 Bonus Chapter]
[ 500 Power Stones = 1 Extra Chapter]
[Thank You For Your Support!]
Reviews
All reviews (0)