Legends of Frost: the Battle of Ancient Magic

9. the Lernaean Serpent Cave

Sleep had taken him deep beneath its murky waters, pinning his aching body into the sheets he had settled upon. The horrors of yesterday came to him in a dream: an amalgamation of memory and the brain's creative exaggeration. Alfie dreamt of red glowing wisps of magic, the crumbling ceiling of a ruined castle, the faces of Kisuri Yamamoto, his features twisted into a sneer; George Osric, lodged between the dragon's jaws; Ranrok, with his red armour, the goblin banker dead at his feet. In the dream, Ranrok had spoken in a low growling voice that echoed through a cavern.

Give me what I need or everyone you love... dies.

When he woke, Alfie sucked in a breath as he lifted his face from the pillow. A shiver ran down his spine, whether from the cold of the dorm room or the chills that his nightmare brought into the waking world. He found the room alight, casting a cool morning glow. Alfie lifted himself up from his bed, noticing that he was still dressed in his uniform from the night before and had soon recalled he hadn't the energy to carry out his nightly routine.

He pushed himself up from the bed, taking in the interior of the dorm room. There were four poster beds around a heater placed in the centre of the room; study desks that are filled with books and press-down parchment, took up alternating space between the right side of the beds while the left held its own nightstand; closets and full-length mirrors were tucked in the large space at the crest of the circular room and nearest the door. Alfie noticed that all the beds were empty, it seemed as if everyone had gone already.

Sighing, Alfie mustered up all his strength to stand, his aching body protested. This was when he noticed a chair nearest to his bed, that was angled towards him, sits a freshly pressed Slytherin uniform. He moved towards it, reaching out to trace his fingertips against the fabric of the robes that rested against the armchair as if the wearer had simply dissolved into air where they sat.

~*~

The Slytherin Common Room is a bustling place where students would cluster in groups, gossiping or simply enjoying their chosen pastime. The chatter that had once filled the air with bright laughter now dwindled to hushed whispers as Alfie entered the Common Room.

"Must be – different – starting Hogwarts in your fifth year." said one, a fourth-year.

"I wonder where he's from?" queried another, his voice gentle that bore curiosity.

The boy's friend interjected, "He's lucky he didn't end up as dragon food, like that poor man from the Ministry."

Oh, it seems the news of Alfie's arrival had disseminated rather quickly in the halls of the Slytherin Common Room.

"Did you see the way he just waltzed in at the end of the Sorting Ceremony last night?" Another Slytherin student spoke with a hint of disbelief as if he couldn't fathom Alfie's audacity, taking the attention away from the first years.

"Can't imagine starting school this late," a softer voice said with pity though Alfie didn't quite feel comforted by the sympathy.

Alfie had enough of listening to the gossip among students and started forward, hearing another student calling for the crowd to part for him as if that would make him feel any better. He adjusted the cuffs of his sleeves, if it only gave him the excuse of seeking comfort from the bracelet he wears.

Then, he spotted a Slytherin boy from afar, paying more attention to his book than the chatter that filled the Common Room. As Alfie drew closer, he saw that the Slytherin boy was curled up on one of the armchairs facing the fireplace, the boy had a book in his hand, thumbing the page as he was deep in thought about the contents of the page.