From the Abyss
Dubious Hospitality
By Ruskbyte
Chapter Three
~ Dubious Hospitality ~
My head hurts.
That must mean I'm awake.
I was asleep?
No.
I was unconscious.
Someone knocked me out. Hit me from behind.
HARD.
Idiot.
I'm an idiot.
I wasn't paying attention. I burst through the doors leading into Hogwarts, striding past a few surprised and frightened looking children in the Entrance Hall. Students. I swept past them in my best immitation of Snape. He's a Death Eater. Shit Eater. Kisses Voldemort's boots.
Grand entrance into the Great Hall. Halloween decorations were still up. Everyone's eyes were on me. Teachers. Students. Others. Hundreds of them. All of them. I must have looked impressive. Didn't have a chance to say anything impressive. Everyone's eyes were on me. Unfortunately my eyes weren't on everyone. Pain. Falling. Blackness. Awake.
I try to move. Can't.
I hear talking.
Voices. Familiar. Unfamiliar.
"-could be a new recruit. You-Know-Who has been branching out to the continent lately."
Idiots. They think I'm a Death Eater. Don't recognise the voice. Sounds familiar, but I can't place it. Another voice speaks. This one I know instantly. I could never forget it.
Dumbledore. "Severus?"
Severus? Snivellus. Snape. His voice isn't as oily and smooth as I remember. Harsh. Rasping, as though hoarse from hours of screaming. Much like my own. "I don't recognise him. It's possible we've met, but if he had his mask on at the time... I'd need to hear him speak."
"Speak?"
My voice brings silence to the room. I think the raw fury contained in that single word must have surprised them. Scared them. Good. 'Cause I'm seriously pissed off. I'm really tempted to just blow the fuckers to oblivion, find Voldemort and separate every piece of him from every other piece and then go find a cute Muggle bitch to suck my cock.
Damn them.
I'm madder than Hell. Madder than I've ever been.
I open my eyes. They recoil. Except Dumbledore.
Bastard.
There's quite a few of them in the room. Dumbledore, the old fart, appears to have scarcely changed over the years. Ageless. Timeless. When I'm done with him he'll be dickless as well. If he isn't already. I entertain myself for several seconds imagining the experience of castrating the old man with my bare hands.
Behind him is McGonagall. Her hair's gone almost completely grey. Dull grey. Dull woman. More wrinkles than I remember. Still looks like she's been sucking lemons her entire life. Sodding ol' sourpuss. Nothing I ever did was good enough for her. I remember the last words she said to me.
That I was an insult to my parents' names.
She couldn't have hurt me worse if she had slapped me - like Hermione did. She looks a little apprehensive, but still stern as ever. Unrelenting.
Snape.
Damn.
Definitely uglier than I remember. Scars on his face. Looks like he was mauled by a pack of dogs. Must have hurt. A lot. Good. After all, he always took pleasure in hurting me. Not physically, but
his verbal abuse was more than enough. Turnabout's fair play, I'd say. I only wish I'd been there to witness the event. Would've brought popcorn. I've never had popcorn, but I would have brought
some. I wonder if it was just happenstance, an accident, or if maybe Voldemort did it to him as a punishment of some sort.
I try to stand.
Can't.
Something's keeping me in place. I'm in a chair. Straps around my wrists. Straps around my ankles. Magic all round. I can taste it. Smell it. Feel it. Holding me down. Binding me to the chair. What
is this thing? We're in one of the dungeons. A torture chair? No. Execution chair? No. Interogation chair. Yes, they're going to try make me tell them things. Oh, I'm going to tell them things all
right. Things that they definitely won't like hearing. Things they don't want to hear. I bare my teeth in a snarl.
"So this is the famous Hogwarts hospitality? Leaves a lot to be desired, let me fuckin' tell you that much!" I glare at Snape, a low growl in the back of my throat. "Want me to speak some more scarface? Or do you still not recognise me?"
I taunt his disfigured face by using the name Malfoy tormented me with. I doubt he remembers it, but the words slide under his pallid skin like a sharp blade. I sneer at him as his lips draw into a thin line. Yes, he's getting angry. Good. I doubt he would recognise my voice either, I sound completely different to the boy they betrayed. Azkaban left its mark on me in more ways than just my tortured mind and soul. Three years of insanity makes for a lot of screaming.
"Do we know you?"
Dumbledore again.
Always asking the stupidest questions. Must be a talent of his.
"Of course you know me you blithering idiot!" I snap.
The supersillious old fool actually blinks.
"Here now, just a minute!" exclaims one of those I don't recognise.
"Oh, I'll give you a minute," I tell the little shit. He is a little shit. Littler than I was before I changed my appearance. Littler? Ah, who cares about correct grammar at a time like this. I'm bloody pissed off. I give Dumbledore's lackey a glare that not even scarfaced Snape could match in his best foul mood. "I'll give you a minute that will last a fuckin' eternity!"
Motion. Movement.
I snap my head in that direction.
Dumbledore shifting about.
Leaning in. Looking at me.
Closely.
Like a bug scientist disecting a butterfly.
Or a wasp. Or a scorpion.
I'm far too dangerous now to be a harmless little butterfly.
Scrutinising my face, as if he knows this is not my true appearance. He straightens and looks pensively at me. Pensive. Pensieve. I got lost in one of those --his pensieve-- during my fourth year. Before the third task. Before Cedric died. Before the first part of my innocence died with him. If I was ever innocent to begin with. Ten years in a cupboard under the stairs...
What right does he have to look at me like this?
"What are you
looking at, old man?"
After what he let happen to me?
"Disrespectful whelp!" Snape growls. He's reaching for his wand. Perfect. Dumbledore stops him before he can do something stupid. Damn. Pity - I wanted him to do something stupid. Then I could have an excuse to hurt him. I already have one, an excuse, but they don't know that.
Dumbledore's looking at me. Curious. What does he think... Ah. Like that time in my fourth year again, when he captured Barty Crouch Junior. Phhhffft. Like that's going to intimidate me.
I had my mind raped and tortured and all but destroyed by the Dementors.
Compared to that; Dumbledore--
even Voldemort
--is nothing but an amateur. Nothing he can do will be able to hurt me.
Not anymore.
I'm beyond pain.
I survive on pain.
I use it to feed my anger.
My hunger.
My thirst.
Revenge.
"I gather you do not plan on co-operating with us?"
Yes, it's a talent.
I sneer by way of reply, "What was your first clue, oh bearded one?"
Oh yes, I think I'm starting to get to him. Oh yes, I'm definitely starting to work my way under that thick skin of his. Imagine that, I'm managing to do what no-one else ever has. I'm pissing the famous-for-his-cool-under-fire Dumbledore off.
Am I good or what?
I'm not good.
Not anymore.
Not after what they did to me.
But I'm not evil, either.
Not yet.
"Severus," he orders, back straightening almost imperceptably in annoyance. I'm probably the only one in the room that notices. The only one that can notice. I'm more than a simple little wizard anymore. I'm better than the rest of them. I'm better than all of them will ever be.
Dumbledore continues, "Veritaserum."
I start to laugh.
I laugh.
I laugh to the point that I'm almost in tears.
I laugh until I am in tears.
Hilarious.
Veritaserum.
Truth potion.
Oh yes, like that's going to work.
"Might I ask what it is you find so amusing?"
My laughter slowly dies. Chuckles. Giggles. Gone. I look up, catching my breath and glare at Dumbledore with such venom that he actually takes a step back. Yes, I am good. Better even.
"'Amusing'? Screw amusing - this is fucking hilarious," I tell him.
"There's no need for such language," states McGonagall primly.
I leer at her, "Just 'cause you ain't been laid in this lifetime doesn't mean you have to be all sour about it, Min. Or maybe it's the other way round? You being shagged too much, getting your hips cricked outta place? By who? This old wanker? Huh, there's a laugh - almost as funny as using Veritaserum on me."
Hee hee... Dumbledore's absolutely livid.
I think he's actually considering hexing me.
Please. Try.
I don't think I've ever had so much fun in my life.
Before and after I was insane.
"Severus."
Snape begins to move, but I stop him with a sharp bark of laughter. I giggle insanely --perhaps not entirely an act on my part-- and grin like a maniac.
"Won't work."
"Nobody is immune to Veritaserum," declares Snape.
So staunch.
So confident.
So firm in his belief.
I'm going to enjoy shattering his illusions.
illusions? allusions? delusions?
whatever.
"Except for Harry Potter."
I discovered that early in my sixth year.
Caused quite a stir with the Ministry.
It struck a nerve.
Still strikes a nerve I see.
Even Dumbledore flinches at the mention of my name. I find that a little bit amusing. Always the one that's unafraid to call Voldemort just that; Voldemort. Dumbledore's respected, almost famous, for
it.
Yet he cringes at the name Harry Potter.
Does he now revile me so much that he cannot bear to hear my name? Or perhaps he fears me, what I might have become? Have become. What they made me. Perhaps he's even feeling a little guilty? He should. I'm sure he considers my "failure" to be a reflection on him. Maybe he's ashamed to be associated with me?
So do the others, particularly McGonagall. Snape clenches the little vial he's holding so tightly I wonder that it doesn't shatter. I hope it does. It'll hurt him. Just as he always went out of his way to hurt me - if not physically then emotionally. Our new celebrity indeed.
"Fortunately Potter," Snape almost spits my name, "is dead."
"Really?"
I smile.
It's an evil smile.
I know.
I practiced it last night.
The change back slowly rolls over me.
It starts with the eyes.
Windows to the soul.
If I have one.
I don't know anymore.
Maybe the Dementors took mine away.
My eyes were the last part of me that changed. From green to black. Now they slowly change from black to green. Bright green. Unnaturally bright. Like emeralds sparkling in firelight. I can feel the change as my irises revert, a strange tugging and pinching sensation.
My face is next, the lines and angles of it shifting slowly about. My chin. My cheeks. My nose. It feels like my skin is both growing tighter but at the same time looser on my skull. A slight burning prickle across my left cheek, teasing almost, as the trio of scars Hermione gifted me with, slash into existance again. I can't really feel my hair changing from straight and blonde to unruly and black, but I feel the change anyway. The shift in the reality of it.
I think it is the hair and the eyes that do it.
They recognise those features of me.
The black hair of my father.
James.
The green eyes of my mother.
Lily.
The last thing to change back is my scar. That damned scar. It's a horrible painful burning that stabs through my head - rather like having a flaming hot poker stuffed up a nostril and used to stir my brain up. I revel in it, use it to speed my transformation back. I can feel it acutely as that acursed lightning scar cuts and burns its way over, across and through my forehead.
I wonder, briefly, if my phoenix tattoo is still on my shoulder blade or not. I certainly don't need it anymore. Not with my most famous feature once again prominently displayed for all and sundry to gawk at.
I smirk up at their dumbstruck faces.
And confirm their disbelief.
"'Fraid not."
.
.
.
Hmmm, not quite the reaction I was anticipating. I'd've thought they would be screaming in both terror and outrage by now. Throwing hexes and curses and spells and kitchen sinks at me and acting like the heroes --traitors-- they believe themselves to be.
It's rather disappointing how quiet it is.
I was hoping to get to kill someone in "self-defence".
.
.
.
"Harry."
I let my blazing --I know they're blazing; I can feel the power filling them-- green eyes slide to where Dumbledore is standing. He's ashen, looking for all the world as if he's just seen a ghost. I almost giggle at the thought. Hogwarts is full of ghosts. By the time I'm done here it will be full with a good deal more, hopefully.
"Give the man a cigar," I drawl. Damn, I sound like Malfoy. Both Malfoys. I smirk just like both Malfoys as well. Wiggle the fingers of one hand. Heh, the look on their faces is priceless as those Havannas suddenly appear in their mouths. Wish I had a camera. Gods below, how could I even think of something like that? I will not turn into Colin Creevey!
Disbelief.
Amazement.
Confusion.
Understanding.
Mounting horror.
Blind terror.
I bare my teeth in a savage grin. I wish I had a mirror, 'cause I'm sure I've never looked so utterly evil or vicious in my life. Yes, a mirror. Not a bloody camera. Chuckling. Crazy sounding giggle really, an insane amusment at their reaction.
I stand up.
Oh ho, that's funny. One of the lackeys just pissed himself! Must have something to do with the fact that I got to my feet in spite of all those silly restraints, physical and magical, that were supposedly binding me to the interogation chair.
Heh. Nothing can bind me anymore.
The shackles around my wrists and ankles evaporated.
The wards and charms holding me down disassociated.
Nothing can stop me anymore.
Heh.
Ooh, they've got their wands pointed at me.
How... unimpressive.
"Potter," Snape growls, some colour returning to his sallow cheeks.
"Snape," I return, dismissively.
He's nothing to me, as I am now.
I will pay attention to him when it's his turn.
Not before. His turn.
Can feel the magic flowing through the room. About the room. Shifting here and there. Gathering in their wands. Why would it do that? Are they...? Yes, they're calling the magic to the wands. To them. They're going to curse me. Going to hex me. They want to send me back. Back to Azkaban. Back to hell itself. To oblivion. The abyss.
Won't let them.
I snap my fingers (melodramatic, I know) and all their wands explode in a spray of splinters. Howls. Screams. Pain. I smile at the sound of it. I wouldn't have, before. But now I do. One wizard's death rattle is my symphony. A symphony of pain. Of revenge. That's all I want. All I need.
...how is he, poppy?
not well i'm afraid, albus. the potion has...
What? Potion?
Dumbledore frowns and looks at the others with concern. He didn't draw his wand. Bastard. That means his hand isn't torn and bleeding and filled with shards of wood. He isn't hurt. He isn't in pain. I want him to be hurt. Hurt as much as I was hurt. I want him to know a shadow of the pain he forced upon me. I want to kill him. He turns back to me. No twinkle. He used to twinkle a lot, I remember. Now his eyes (as blue as mine are green) look so solemn. Sad almost. Disappointed.
Disappointed?
Disappointed?
I can feel the power surging within me, rising up and up and up until it's bubbling and frothing and writhing and churning just below the surface.
How dare he.
How dare he.
HOW DARE HE!
HOW DARE HE!!
no
No.
Calm.
Not yet. Not yet. Not now. Later. Time. Take your time. Take my time. Can't kill him now. Can't kill him yet. Have to make him suffer first. Show him. Show him what he has done to me. Make him understand that it was his betrayal that destroyed me. His betrayal that made me what I am, what he can never become. Will never become. Kill him. Yes, I'll kill him. I'll kill him and all the others too. All the ones that abandoned me without reason, without cause, without warning.
But not now.
No.
First he must suffer.
As I suffered.
As I still suffer.
As will they all.
Painfully.
Slowly.
"Harry."
He's trying it again. He always tries it. That oh so wonderful grandfather routine. As if he really cares. If he cared, would he have sent me to Azkaban like that? Would he have believed those lies about me without question? Would he have abandoned me without a fight? Without even listening to my pleas? Would he?
I bare my teeth and hiss. "You cannot comprehend how close I am to killing you, traitor."
Grandfather is gone. Ah, here comes the ever concerned and caring headmaster act. Another of the facades he wears. The man has more masks to cover his face than a theatre company. I know what he's going to try next. Be reasonable, Harry. Stay calm, Harry. Hear me out, Harry. Don't do anything you might regret later, Harry. Don't rip my balls off and stuff them up my arse, Harry.
"Why do you want to kill me, Harry?"
A finely honed talent. He must practice.
"You never told me what I wanted to know, what I needed to know," I tell him. The loathing and hatred I feel for him fills my voice. I spit at his feet, show my contempt. "Why shouldn't I return the favour?"
"Harry--" Raise a hand, cut him off.
"I don't want to listen to your false platitudes, traitor."
Ooooh, I'm using big words.
"You have nothing to say that I'm willing to hear."
I push past him, knock him out of my way with a nudge of my shoulder.
"And I have nothing to say to the likes of you. Not yet."
"Potter!" Snape?
Look behind me. What? How did he get a wand? I destroyed their wands. It's in his other hand, his wand hand is hurt too much. Did he have it concealed in his robes. But I don't... my wand. He's using my wand. My wand. No. Not my wand. The wand I bought from Ollivander earlier today. I altered his memory. Easy. Getting the wand back from Snape would be even easier. Easy, but I don't need it. I don't want it.
I scare them more, doing what I can do, without a wand.
Such a primitive tool.
Child's toy.
He's walking towards me now. Wand's unsteady. He wants to be close enough to know that he won't miss. I don't have the time, nor patience for this bullshit wand waving. I'm beyond such childish games. I'm so much more than this. So much.
"Oh, shut the fuck up, Snape, and stay right where you are," I tell him.
That's funny, he actually listened.
Oh.
Oh, yes.
Of course.
He doesn't exactly have a choice now, does he?
I look past him --Snivellus-- and catch Dumbledore's gaze. The others are too busy worrying about their injuries or the slimey git to notice. I smirk --should've let the Hat put me in Slytherin-- and lift my hands up. He can see they're empty. Misleading that. He must think this means I can do wandless magic. Close. But not. It's not magic. It's power. It's me.
"Look, ma, no wand!"
I turn to leave. The door leading out of the room is sealed. Locked. Bolted. That won't stop me from leaving. Nothing can stop me. Not even myself. The door explodes outwards, clearing the way for me. Took part of the wall with it. Lots of dust in the air. Stings at my eyes as I walk out. Wisely none of the idiots try to stop me. I almost wish they would.
I want to kill them.
All of them.
Everyone in this forsaken castle.
This forsaken school.
All the teachers.
All the students.
Every single wizard.
Every single witch.
All of them.
Without exception.
None deserve to be spare.
None.
Not even their owls, their cats or even any toads they might have.
Maybe, before I leave today, I'll turn anyone that gets between me and the front door into toads. Like Trevor. Neville never could keep track of where that stupid creature was. I wonder if any toads
I might create would be lost just as easily. I doubt it, nobody was as absent minded as Neville. Quiet, shy, timid, underachieving, cauldron melting Neville. I considered him a friend after my
fifth-year. After the Ministry of Magic. After the Department of Mysteries. I would have trusted him with my life after that night.
I did.
That was a mistake.
He betrayed me.
Abandoned me.
Just like the others.
He will pay, though.
Just like the others.
All of them.
Vaguely aware of shapes, students, scrambling to get out of my way. Maybe some of them recognise me. I don't know. I don't think so. At least I don't hear anyone screaming, "Run for your lives, it's Harry Potter! Aaaeeeiii!"
Pity. That would have been funny. Might've lightened my mood.
As it is, I still want to hurt something. Kill something. Someone.
"Stupefy!!"
Someone up there must be smiling down on me right now. Thank you, whoever you are.
Aurors. Five of them. One of them tried to stun me. Idiot. I might've been bloody pissed off and a wee bit distracted by thoughts of carnage and revenge, but it'll take more than that for anything so pathetic to catch me unawares. I learn from my mistakes. What happened when I got here won't happen again. Fool me once; shame on me. Try to fool me twice; I'll kill the fuckers before they get the chance.
Spreading out around me. Circling me. Blocking my way out. I could just leave. I don't need to Apparate. The wards around the school can't stop me. They can't stop me. Should I? No. I think an object lesson in my power might be in order here. Show that old bastard Dumbledore a preview of things to come. A taste of what the destruction of Azkaban has unleashed.
"Let. Me. Through," I grind out. They must recognise me by now. Black hair. Green eyes. Great bleeding lightning bolt scar on his head. Gee, I wonder what that could be. Pity they're not as intimidated I would've hoped they'd be - facing down the infamous rapist and murderer; Harry Potter.
"I don't think so, sir. You're not going anywhere," says the leader, the eldest of the five. Sir? Who the fuck is he calling sir? Me? There's a laugh. Maybe they don't recognise me after all. Their funeral. He lifts his wand to my face. The rest keep their weapons --wands?-- trained on my body.
Very professional.
Very intimidating.
Very fucking annoying.
I'm not in the mood.
"Let. Me -- fuck it."
Red. White. Grey.
Blood. Bone. Brains.
I'm rather surprised, as the Aurors' bodies fall to the floor, that none of the gore landed on me. The five of them were standing in a circle, with me in the middle. It really stretchs credibility that not a single speck came my way. Of course, since it was their spinal columns that exploded upwards and out the top of their skulls, perhaps the assorted mush was deflected away from me. Or maybe --more likely I think-- my own fastidous need to be clean and neat is what sheltered me from the spray of fluids and flesh. My power turned it away from me, directing the mess outwards.
Onto the students gather round.
Watching.
They're not going to forget this show.
Silence.
A long moment.
They don't understand what's happened. It hasn't sunk in. Slowly. Slowly the comprehension begins to dawn in them all. The older students first, but not by much. Soon. Soon one of them will break the silence. Shatter it with a scream and then everything will dissolve into chaos. Anarchy. Bedlam. Music to my ears. Another symphony. Yes, it starts. A girl. She screams enough to rival the Hogwarts Express. I'm tempted to repeat what I did to Snape, but restrain myself. This is supposed to be a lesson to them all.
How will they learn if they can't panic properly?
Lots of screams now. My symphony is beautiful. Each section of the orchestra plays in perfect harmony with the other. Horror. Terror. Disgust. Revulsion. It's a wonder to hear. Magnificent.
Some of the weaker stomachs cannot contain themselves anymore. The acrid stench of vomit joins the bitter tang of blood as the sound of retching blends into the music. I'll bet it's a bunch of duffy Hufflepuffs. They never had the stomach for the real world -- except Cedric, but he was an exception. He was a hero. I was supposed to be a hero. They turned me into a villain. That's what I am now. I kill people. Heroes don't murder people. I do. Because of them. Because of what they did to me. Because they abandoned me --betrayed me-- to a fate worse than death.
The symphony is rising to a cresendo. Panic is spreading throughout the school. Pathetic really, how easily these children fall into disarray. They always have and always will. They are weak. Not like I was. I was strong. When there was a troll in the dungeons (how stupid we were to fall for that) I was the one that kept his cool and though of Hermione. When everyone panicked at the bloody message Tom left by a petrified Mrs Norris, I was the one that remained focused. I was always apart from the rest of those feeble children. Surrounded by "friends" and housemates and acquaintences and enemies, but always alone. Always. I've never known anything else.
They're running now.
Running from me.
They needn't bother.
They cannot run from me.
They cannot run from the inevitable.
And it is inevitable.
My vengence.
I step around the bloody remains of the lead Auror, careful not to slip in the spreading pool of blood surrounding his headless corpse. Headless. I bet ol' Nick will be jealous. The children, those that have not already fled, scream even louder and finally turn tail. They must think I'm coming after them now. I laugh as I stride through the corridors, leaving a trail of bloody footprints in my wake.
The doors have been locked shut. Because of my escape? Maybe. Can't stop me. Nothing can stop me. I'm about to blast them off their hinges, but stop. A thought, following on from before. Tom. Mrs Norris. The basilisk. The message. A message. I should leave a message. Let them know who it was that came a visiting this day. I think about using the same spot Tom did in my second year. No. No. I don't want to follow in that bastard's footsteps. This place, here, will be a much better canvas for me to paint my message.
Harry Potter has returned to Hogwarts.
Let the traitors beware.
My justice. My revenge.
I leave that burned into the Entrance Hall floor. Burning. The flames, burning as green as my eyes, are as eternal as my hatred for those who betrayed me. Nothing they try will be able to extinguish the fiery words proclaiming my return. I shall not permit that. Not until my thirst for vengence has been slaked. Then... then I will let the flames die. But for now they will burn. A warning. A reminder.
Footsteps.
Pounding on stone.
Drawing closer.
Reinforcements?
I'm still not in the mood.
I wait until the Aurors come bursting into the room. They come at me from three sides. Wands drawn. Curses and hexes on their lips. I stay just long enough for them to see me. To know that I am
standing there. Then I go to Hogsmeade. I imagine the panic that must cause. Such a sudden disappearance, right before their eyes. They don't know what I can do. They don't know that I'm no longer
using their pitiful magic. They don't know that I'm beyond that. They will draw their conclusions from what little they do know. It isn't much. If they knew anything they would never have believed me
capable of what they accused me off. Rape and murder.
Fools.
They can't imagine what I am capable of now. Which means that they will, once again, start making idiotic and uninformed assumptions. They will believe that I escaped them by Apparating. That is what a wizard would do. I was a wizard. Not any more, but they don't know. Yet. If they believe that I can Apparate, then they will believe that I can Apparate through the anti-Apparation barrier that enshrouded their precious school. That will scare them. Not even Voldemort can Apparate through such an obstacle. They will think that I can. That I am more powerful than Voldemort - which I am, though in a different way than they think.
That will terrify them.
Hogsmeade. I remember it fondly. More or less. There's Honeydukes. The Three Broomsticks is around the corner. People are milling about. Not as many as before. The war has made people cautious. They don't venture out anymore unless dictated by neccessity. Some have noticed me, but none seem to recognise who I am yet.
Time to catch their attention. I was always good at that. Being a celebrity and all. Now I'm even better. In some ways being infamous is better than being famous. I'm in one of the main throughfares of the village. Pretty much in the middle of everything. Perfect place to put down roots, don't you think? I throw my hands into the air, not consciously thinking about what I want. My power doesn't need explicit instructions. It knows what I need more than I do. My new home appears with a concussive blast of air, a clap of thunder.
Definitely caught their attention.
I smile and step inside.
Things didn't go quite as I had planned.
But that's all right.
I think I got my point across.
TBC...