"I can't believe he gives you a full meal for answering a simple question like that."
"He's big enough that it doesn't matter as much to him. Not sure why he asks those questions though. Human stuff."
"Any idea how come he can talk to us, but none of the other humans can?"
"Nope. Once again, human stuff. They're weird like that. But it's a good thing he talks to us and not, say, snakes."
A pause. They can smell the fear and sadness that statement brought on.
"...I'm sorry, I shouldn't have brought it up. Let's hope we never see that huge snake again, or better yet see her corpse."
"Let's go see if he has any other questions."
The Furthermost Depths
"Hey, I'm right here, you know?"
The gray-furred rats jumped in surprise. All seven rodents spun around to face Harry, who squatted right in front of them, elbows resting on his knees, and an easygoing smile on his face. Although he couldn't read the facial expressions of rodents, he recognized enough of their body language to know he'd scared them.
Deciding to continue the conversation, he asked, "What huge snake?"
"A huge snake lives in the sewers," one of the rats answered immediately. "It's bigger than even you! And its gaze kills you instantly. Can I have food?"
A Basilisk in the sewers? Harry pondered, and then noticed that Geist was staying suspiciously silent. He decided that he ought to file this strange occurrence away for some other time. Although, it probably wouldn't be a good idea to look around for a Basilisk without a rooster on hand.
"No, I'm afraid not yet," Harry said. He pointed with his hand at one of the rats. "You. Report."
"I found a quarter," the rat answered sheepishly. It exerted its undersized paws to roll a silver coin in Harry's direction - the boy quickly snatched it, before it clattered over, or fell into a crack in the dungeon floors. Harry examined the coin with a skeptical eye, flipping it over once he was done with its obverse, and frowned instantly.
It wasn't any form of money he recognized. It definitely wasn't copper, as it hadn't oxidized and turned green over time, and its color was silvery-gray. Its features were obscured, scrubbed away by time, as though rubbed with sandpaper. Harry could only see outlines and hints of shapes, but nothing definitive or suggesting an origin.
Although Harry wasn't very satisfied with the discovery, he withdrew a modest bite of cheese from his pocket and handed it over to the coin's finder. It was important to apply mental conditioning - the rats needed to understand that any interesting objects like this one were to be immediately recovered and delivered back to him.
"Anyone else?" he asked. "Anything?"
"We found a sleeping human," said another rat. "Among the flowers - many, many flowers."
"Alright, lead me there." A clench of the wrist, followed by a thump as the wand holster released Harry's wand into his open fingers. The new wand holster from Professor Flitwick was incredible - he'd never again need to fumble around in his pocket. "Lumos Linea Maxima."
The small coterie of rats somehow found a path through the darkness, chittering and running, as Harry followed wraithlike across the halls, gliding over the cracked floors and destroyed chambers with not even a mote of noise. There wasn't even a jingle under his shirt or school robes, either of the magical amulet gifted to him by Neville clinking on its chain, or the plated armor he'd forged and carved with runes and symbols - a suit of armor prepared specifically for lone dungeon-delves such as this one, its runes of protection and swiftness made with unexpected danger in mind. A cone of purest edelweiss shone ahead of him, illuminating the corridors and dark recesses.
His bespectacled eyes watchfully scouted around the empty halls; his every thought flashing with caution and anxiety. He was casting his mind's visual calculus over the stones and estimating the probability of hidden foes; to never again be ambushed and caught off-guard in a place like this, knowing the next time may be the last.
Harry warily stepped into an astonishingly large, airy room; similar in volume and grandeur to the Great Hall. Here, the entropy of time had been most cruel to what men had built; tearing down the stone and mortar of castle architecture. Stalagmites dripped from the ceiling like an earthdevil's horns. At some point, impossible masses of stone; large boulders, each one sized such that by carving outs its interior, it may practically be a room of its own, had fallen and clattered like ignoble debris, their uneven shapes and sizes forming something that resembled a caricature of natural beauty; landscaping art, crafted not by human hands, but mere coincidence and passage of time.
The darkest corners, where the large crack in the ceiling failed to provide light, were overgrown with viscoelastic layers of fungus and deep, dancing moss that swayed and followed the movements of the air, as though gently turning to observe Harry's advance into the room - as though he was an unwelcome guest down here.
A short walk across a hallway, a jog down a set of rough-cut stone stairs, and then an anxious walk through several, claustrophobia-inducing corridors dug into natural basalt, and Harry emerged in a somber room that was not unlike a mausoleum. Its entrance was already open, the doors clattered off their hinges, lying on the floor.
Its far end was smooth and rounded, and in the middle, where the rounded shape began, there was an iron slab, resembling a bed or wide plinth.
Above it hung a single cast-iron round chandelier; its ancient, yellowed candles weeping a flame that was on the precipice of going out, fizzling and sparking with pathetic effort, but one that nonetheless provided ample illumination for the small room. Around the slab, the floor had been scrubbed away to reveal large pockets of soft loam, speckled with short, thin grass and, somehow, a dazzling, blooming garden of petite roses in various shades of color. Their distressingly feeble stems barely survived in the gloom and shadow of the room, and their flowers looked weak and dry, deprived of brightness and color by an absence of hydration.
Harry wasn't focused on any of that. They were minor details, that his irises drank in but promptly ignored. His eyes were stuck on the young girl lying on the iron slab, hands placed gingerly yet tightly over her stomach. The girl was shockingly beautiful, with a clear, spotless face and cute button nose - a shock of dark brown hair spilling around onto the slab under her. Although she was pretty, Harry wasn't convinced she was supernaturally so. And she was clearly a former student, as Harry immediately noticed the familiar badge of House Gryffindor emblazoned on her robe's breast. Her appearance, asleep down here in the darkness, surrounded by flowers, was incredibly peaceful.
"Hm."
"Food? Food?" the rats chirped.
As distracted as he was, Harry reached into his pocket and tossed down a spray of cheese pieces over the floor. The rats scampered to pick as many of them up as they could, fighting over the crumbs, as Harry walked closer to the slab.
"Nox," he said, extinguishing his wand's light. "I don't understand. Who is this?"
She's pretty, so maybe a part-Veela or something. I do not know why she's asleep down here, though. Is she even alive? Check her pulse.
He pressed two fingers against her pale, cold neck, with enough strength to push against the muscles. A second passed by, then another, then another, with no evidence of anything resembling a heartbeat. Harry placed a hand right over her mouth and nose and confirmed there was no discernible breath either. No warmth on her skin.
"No. I don't think so."
There was something despicable and profane about interacting with a dead girl's body, even simply to confirm that she was dead. Even being in the same room as her body felt a little wrong, but Harry was inured to death - partially through his daily and nightly exposure to ghosts who casually floated around with visible marks of their demise, and partially through what he glumly considered to be life experience. It wouldn't be his first time seeing a corpse - he recalled the ambulance taking away the Dursleys' bodies, the night he'd spent crying in Aberforth Dumbledore's guest room afterward, kicking at furniture and cursing that his family was dead. It felt like so long ago.
Do you have any Wiggenweld on you?
"Yeah, of course." Harry swiftly reached into his pouch and pulled out a finger-sized flask. It was filled almost to its brim with a lime-green concoction; clearly translucent and unmovingly calm; similar to water in a pool, save for its unnatural color.
As Professor Snape had described it, Wiggenweld Potion was one of the simplest, yet most optimal, healing tonics to ever be invented. Although there were innumerable healing potions more powerful, more thorough, or easier and cheaper to brew, the strength of Wiggenweld was such that it effectively combined many of the best healing traits for the cheapest price and lowest time and effort invested into the brewing process. It was, in a word, an efficient potion. Its most useful trait, however, according to the Professor, was its effectively unlimited shelf life - once bottled and corked, the fluid would never lose even the tiniest amount of its effectiveness until the cork was removed.
All of these amalgamated characteristics made Wiggenweld a remarkably exquisite potion to place into any personal first-aid kits, as the go-to choice for any broad category of infirmity or sickness - a piece of advice that Harry decided to apply, in spite of its demeaning source.
Alright. Apply some to your lips, and then kiss her.
Harry thoughtlessly moved to comply for a fraction of a second, then stopped immediately, as his heart skipped a beat the moment he understood the command; a second away from uncorking the potion. A sudden, uncomfortable heat rose in his chest like a volcanic eruption, going down his arms like the shiver-inducing frisson of dust storm's lightning, then rising back again to set his cheeks on fire and make him sputter and cough uncontrollably.
"Huh?! What are you saying?!"
It's so obvious, you dweeb. I don't know any other way to preserve a corpse this perfectly, without any rotting, without any signs of death other than an absence of a pulse or breath. There's not even any rigor mortis. It'd require an active chemical formula to hold together the body. She's taken a Draught of Living Death - and you have the antidote.
"I-" Harry stammered with sudden laughter, cheeks heating up even more. He sheepishly looked away from the girl, as though simply the act of gawking at her was an unforgivable sin of some kind. "Come on, Geist! Don't be stupid. I can't, like, kiss a random girl I found sleeping in the dungeon. That's so stupid. A-And besides, she's unconscious right now, so, like, it's also really weird. I'd be a really weird person if I did that." He shuffled with his feet.
It's a win-win scenario. This Gryffindor student gets to wake up and continue her education, and you get to kiss a pretty girl and be the hero.
"Nuh-uh. No way, I'm not doing it. I mean, girls are yucky, anyway! I bet
you kissed girls, and look how
you turned out - you're dead and always complaining about how much life has cruelly mistreated you," Harry said, folding his arms. He cast his gaze down as much as he could, the heat in his body practically throbbing and hammering into his cheeks; like bolts of lightning running through his muscles and twisting his mouth forcefully into a stupid rictus of a grin. As though he were on a rush of adrenaline, Harry's heart was beating in his chest, so strong and fast he could feel it, even without placing a hand on his chest.
Was I ever this stupid during puberty? Look, you utter meathead - you're the handsome prince, and she's the sleeping princess. Kiss the damn girl, Harry.
A heavy frost; like a blizzard contained in a marble; settled into his heart - a sudden awareness that, at this rate, Geist might end up winning the discussion.
"Can't I, just, like, pour the Wiggenweld down her throat?"
No. It doesn't work like that.
"Can't I pour some on my fingers and then rub them over her mouth?" Even that sounded a notch better than kissing.
No. Why are you making such a huge deal out of this?
"Because it is!" Harry stomped his foot. "I'm not kissing her, and that's final!"
Jesus Christ, why are you so hesitant? What's going on? Hey, are you...
Harry thought about it. "No," he decided. "I like girls, I'm just not prepared for kissing and all the other stuff!"
So yelled the boy in the dungeon's depths. And yet, sadly, he was unable to prove his masculinity, because he was a coward. A timid, twitching shrimp. Heh, I suppose it's a fortunate occurrence you weren't sorted into House Gryffindor, because you're clearly a clucking little chicken! Bawk, bawk, bawk! I bet you could kill the Basilisk all on your own, couldn't you? All it'd take is one bitchy little cry-
"Shut up! You're lying to me again, like when you told me I could make a tree levitate with a stick." Harry quieted down. "You only want to see me kiss a corpse, because you think it's morbidly amusing, or something."
Jesus Christ, kid. What is wrong with your brain? If you'd ever read Advanced Potion-Making by Libatius Borage, you'd know I'm saying the actual truth. If you want, you can attempt your other methods - pouring Wiggenweld down her throat or rubbing it on her lips - and demonstrate for yourself that it doesn't work. Only a kiss does. I'm not manipulating you for personal amusement, I actually want to figure out what's going on here as much as you do. Why do you even assume I'd do something horrible like make you kiss a corpse? I realize what people said about me, but I thought you knew me better than that, Harry.
"I- I'm sorry," Harry said, finally, with a sigh. Although he very much hated to admit it, Geist made a fair point there. Harry uncorked the bottle of Wiggenweld. "I'll do it. Just stop calling me a coward."
Harry dabbed some of the Wiggenweld liquid on his lips, making sure to smear it evenly, then looked down.
And yet, in this critical moment - another doubt seized him, like a demon's talons clamping down on his heart. Was this really the right move?
Bawk, bawk.
His eye twitched.
---
What a stupid dilemma.
Your current
Gnosis is
29.5.
[ ] Kiss The Girl [2 Gnosis] - Overcome your hormonal insecurity right this moment - to defeat a boy's puberty so early in its course is a commendable thing. Harry adjusts his glasses to make sure they don't get in the way, checks his breath to make sure it's alright, and then kisses the sleeping beauty.
*Geist is pleased that you've accepted his words as the truth.
*Harry finds out that kissing girls isn't that big of a deal. Actually, girls aren't that big a deal, period. Why did he ever get so fidgety around them?
*If the girl actually isn't a magically-preserved corpse, she wakes up.
*Word of Fallacy, who helped proofread and edit this chapter: "2 Gnosis to defeat puberty? What a bargain."
[ ] No Kissing Before Marriage - Actually, no, you can't! Aaaaaaaaaaaah, it's a girl and she's pretty, run for the hills, everyone!
*Geist facepalms and sighs, disappointed in you.
*Harry continues to doubt himself and gets uncomfortably flustered around pretty or kind girls he doesn't know very well.
*The anonymous Gryffindor girl keeps lying there. You can either report her presence there anonymously to the faculty, get Neville or someone to wake her up instead, or leave her asleep there.
[ ] Ice Bucket Challenge - Who knows, maybe it'll work?
*Geist is shocked. You've asserted your dominance without kissing anyone, so he can't even call you a coward anymore.
*Harry isn't sure how to feel about girls anymore.
*The anonymous Gryffindor girl keeps lying there, now drenched in cold water. (Or maybe she wakes up, who knows?)
[ ] Use the Dark Arts Instead - If life presents you with a set of two, unacceptable choices, then simply make the third one.
*Geist is highly disappointed that you'd go for such a high-effort solution instead of the immediate option. You really aren't cut out for Gryffindor.
*Harry is now confident the Dark Arts can resolve any problem, including teenage dating.
*Harry uses an altered version of the Wound-Transferring Spell; the Toxin-Transferring Spell, in order to wake up the girl. He'll summon a patsy demon to load the magic off to.
*However, as elegant as this option is, the process of figuring out a new spell and finding, then summoning a demon that can resist such a potion will take a while. Another turn will pass before you can wake the girl up.
[ ] Write-in
