I fourth that motion, to be honest.Originally Posted by Ergast
Partial change would be a great reminder, and would match even better to the atmosphere of an even year than a complete one.
PS. It's "thirding", Ergast. But I guess you know that.
I fourth that motion, to be honest.
Partial change would be a great reminder, and would match even better to the atmosphere of an even year than a complete one.
PS. It's "thirding", Ergast. But I guess you know that.
Why he can't exude the aura of mangrit higher than Iskander (overrrated guy much?)I say Shirou should pull a Guts and have a single tuft of his hair turn white while the rest stays red.
Kinda like this except it's Shirou, his hair's not black, and doesn't exude an aura of mangrit comparable to Iskander himself.
We are making words, so I used what sound better ito me. But yeah, it should be thirding.
Spoiler:
No, he's not. And by saying that you've proved that either A) you haven't read/watched F/Z, or B) you read/watched F/Z thinking of nothing but Iskander and with a negative bias from the start because you were fanboying out because people were calling him the manliest character in the setting.
Iskander and Guts both have auras of mangrit that are similar in strength, but they're completely different in composition and origin. It's like comparing a rocket launcher to a laser sword. Both are freaking cool, but totally different at the same time.
^this.
Choose your Guild,
Join the DARK SIDE!!!
I'm sorry to say I've found I can't RP. I just can't trust myself to stick around long enough.
QFT.
The same, by the way, can be said of EMIYA and Iskander - EMIYA is personally more badass than Iskander, but Iskander is manlier and just as awesome (if not moreso), just in a different way. Similarly, Kamina is about five yottaquadrillion times more awesome than almost any other fictional character in existence, despite being pretty damn puny and would go down to a regular human with some training and in peak physical condition.
I call Shirou SHIrou because while this is EMIYA he has mostly reerted to being more like Shirou then EMIYA hence why I call him SHIrou instead of Emiya
You've already said that.
Apparently someone did not understand what I said the first time so I tried to clarify what I said
DISCLAIMER: Lunar Legend Tsukihime, Fate/Stay Night, and all related characters and concepts are the creation and property of Kinoko Nasu and Type-Moon, along with anyone who's happened to license them, like Geneon or Funimation. Harry Potter and all related characters and concepts are the creation and property of J.K. Rowling, along with her publishers and Warner Bros., as regards the movie material.
This is a not-for-profit, just-for-fun project.
Writer's Note: Certain dialogue sequences in this story are lifted from Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince, but I trust in the intelligence of my readers (and the availability of the books) to recognise them when they see them.
Chapter 48 - Christmas Contemplations
December 25 - 27, 1996
Takara stared speechlessly at Hermione for a moment, absolutely stunned by her statement, before deciphering what the vampire had meant - and feeling anger ignite in her veins as she did so.
“So - what? You’ve decided you don’t want him, just because he’s mortal?” she challenged.
“NO!” Hermione shrieked, causing Takara to step back in surprise. The other girl shook her head violently. “Not that - I could come to terms with that . . . Eventually,” she admitted quietly. “At the very least, he’d have the time to change his mind before he missed out on too much . . . No, this is much more immediate - and, I’m sad to say, inevitable.”
“. . . Hermione, what are you talking about?”
“How old is Professor Lupin?” she suddenly challenged, her dark amber eyes flashing.
Takara’s mind froze again, surprised by the non sequitur . . . But she eventually considered the question, and replied, “Thirty-five or thirty-six - we’re never actually told his birthday, but as he was in the same class as Harry’s parents - ”
“And how old does he look?” Hermione demanded.
Takara was hopeless at guessing people’s ages, but she had to admit than in Lupin’s case . . . “At least a decade older - maybe even two.”
“And for a wizard, that’s equivalent to twice that long,” Hermione said in a pained tone. “It’s because of his lycanthropy - the strain the curse puts on his body when he changes forms is enormous, and even magic can only offset it so far. Eventually, the body just wears out.” In a small voice, she said, “Lycanthropy isn’t just a chronic condition, Takara - it’s a terminal one.”
“But Galen’s been a werewolf since he was four,” Takara protested. “And he doesn’t look nearly as bad as you’d think he ought to - ”
“Because he’s had caretakers,” Hermione countered. “Your godmother, bringing him Veela medicines - and use of the Wolfsbane Potion, to limit the amount of damage his body needs to repair each night . . . Even the fact that children heal better than adults, and the fact that he is a wizard, plays its part in how he’s managed to endure so well, for so long. But as Galen ages, his system will eventually reach a point where it won’t be quite as efficient, and then . . .Things will start to break down.”
“Just where are you getting all this from?” Takara demanded. “There’s been nothing about it in any of the books I’ve read - ”
“Because most Healers were more interested in working out ways to cure, drive off, or kill werewolves,” Hermione answered. “They rarely bothered studying them simply for the sake of it, let alone over a period of decades. But the Black family had a lot of interests in the inherently Dark - one of them did a study, and discovered that werewolves don’t tend to live as long as wizards should, even when they aren’t killed - and mundanes who are cursed to become werewolves rarely last very long at all.”
“But Fenrir Greyback is in the prime of health,” Takara pointed out, “and he bit Lupin when the professor was a child!”
“He also barely looks human,” Hermione retorted. “He and the curse have come to some kind of accommodation - and he revels in the ability to infect others with it. Even if we could figure out exactly how it was done, would you really want to see Galen turn out that way?”
Not only no, but hell, no, was Takara’s silent but emphatic answer - and acknowledging that point, she found herself at a loss regarding what to do next. Finally, she asked Hermione quietly, “How long does he have?”
“With proper and constant medical care - such as he’s been getting so far - perhaps he could keep going for another fifty years,” Hermione said sombrely. “Or, given how long he’s already had to deal with it, perhaps as few as ten.”
Which meant, in magical terms, that he’d be dead at the equivalent of forty-two, which was, in all honesty, a shockingly young age. In real world terms, he might live long enough to see his grandchildren married, if he had any, or maybe a great-grandchild born - but sixty-seven, chronologically, was still fairly young in this day and age. Living another ten to thirty years was a possibility, even on the mundane side of things. And that was only if he’d managed to survive long enough to make the best-case scenario. Things only got worse from there.
“I could’ve lived with Galen’s choosing me, knowing what it would cost him,” Hermione whispered. “And I think I could’ve stood it if, after forty or fifty years, he left - because he would still be young enough to have a real life of his own, and I’d have the memories of what we had, and the knowledge that he was happy, that some part of him survived.” She took a deep breath. “But he won’t. Not just by choice, but because he doesn’t have the time to waste . . . Takara, please - you have to take him, before it’s too late!”
The words sent a jolt through her system, as she’d forgotten the initial thrust of Hermione’s request, and found herself forcibly reminded.
“Hermione . . .” the Japanese witch started uncertainly, not even sure where to begin replying to that.
The vampire fixed her with a glare. “Don’t you dare - ! I know you’ve started getting more physical - do you have any idea how many times I’ve smelled you on his skin? You’ve already started letting go of your inhibitions, Takara - all I’m asking you to do is finish the job!”
“By telling me that, in addition to the risk of their being born as werewolves, any of my children who are will die young?” Takara shot back. “That’s a great incentive, Hermione!”
“What else can I do?!” the British witch demanded. “I’m half dead, and the living damned besides! I can’t be his wife, or his children’s mother, like this - and if I left to try and set him free, he’d just follow me, even or especially if I killed myself! The only other girl in the world he’d even consider is you - so what other choice is there?” Hermione set herself to pacing the dojo floor in a manner that suggested that if she did so as Nala, her tail would be lashing furiously - and the growling undertone in her voice confirmed it.
“This would be so much easier if I was the monster you think I ought to be - Galen could just kill me and move on with a mostly-clear conscience, then,” she muttered before snorting. “It would be even easier than that, really, because I wouldn’t actually care about any of this. But no, my boyfriend has to be an absolute prodigy in the field of Dark creatures, with an utterly mad hunch that by all rights should have gotten us both killed - and he turns out to be absolutely right. And now I’m like this, and he’s dying, and I just - “ She broke off, with a hiccough. “I just . . .”
Hermione broke down, literally - curling into a sudden, weeping ball on the floor. Takara blinked, surprised - she’d seen the other girl in tears before, but she was well aware of just how frayed Hermione had to be for it to happen. The girl wasn’t a stoic, but neither was she easily rattled . . . Then again, Takara herself wasn’t feeling quite as secure as she usually did, either.
As many as fifty years, or as few as ten, she thought, a cold, hollow feeling in her chest. And even that’s working under the assumption that something or someone doesn’t manage to kill him in the meantime . . . Time. It all comes down to time -
A particularly loud sob caught her attention, and Takara shifted her focus back to Hermione.
“Hermione . . . Are you - all right?” she asked, feeling ridiculous even as the words left her mouth.
“Should I be?!” Hermione cried, glaring at the Japanese witch with teary eyes. “I don’t see why. Most of the world would happily see me dead if they could manage it, I don’t attend classes anymore, you can barely stand to be in the same room with me, and now I’ve found out that my boyfriend’s dying - does that sound like I should be ‘all right’ to you?”
No, it sounded like Hermione should be a miserable, borderline suicidal wreck - and yet . . .
And yet, it’s not for herself that she came here, is it? prodded that miserable little whisper in the back of Takara’s mind, the one that liked playing devil’s advocate, switching sides depending on her thoughts. She came here for him - and you. Because she trusts you with him, because she knows that you love him, and will love him, as she wants to - as she does.
Takara gave Hermione a long, measuring look. Dark circles under her eyes, and a pale complexion - but still not the unnatural corpse-white of the vampire. Her eyes were still a dark amber, though with a reddish tint, now - but to anyone who didn’t look closely, they seemed the same brown they’d always been. Her lips were pink, and maybe a little pale, and no fangs were in evidence.
You know that’s not what she really is, taunted the voice contrarily, bringing to mind the pale huntress that had lunged at Galen to feed in a mindless frenzy, that first night . . . But Takara countered that taunt easily, with a conclusion of her own.
Maybe it’s not what she is - but it’s who she is.
Aloud, Takara said carefully, “Actually, Hermione, it sounds like . . . Well, it sounds to me like you need this.”
Hermione’s cheek was a little cool, resting against her own - not grave cold, but in the lower ranges of what Takara considered human warm, as though the other girl was potentially unwell. Her chest rose sharply in a gasp as Takara pulled the British witch to her, and if she held it more easily than a human ought to be able to, Takara let it slide - the shock of being hugged was likely enough to cause Hermione to forget to breathe, and the fact that she didn’t need to only helped. She still smelled of vanilla, and leonine fur, now layered with an overtone of rich soil. She was still soft and yielding against Takara’s body, and her heart beat steadily - if slowly - in her chest.
“. . . Takara?” Hermione asked, in a voice that was feather-soft, as though she was afraid of the answer.
Takara took a deep breath of her own. This wasn’t something easily said, for her - it ran counter to almost everything she knew, save in one respect: this was Hermione, in every way that mattered, which meant that it had to be said.
“. . . I’m sorry, Hermione. I’m so, so sorry . . .”
After gleaning a full report from his trusted friend Alastor, Albus Dumbledore considered the events of Christmas Eve quite carefully, as was his wont. Moreover, matters of such import deserved careful consideration, as such things had far-reaching implications for the future.
At first glance, he supposed that he ought to be pleased. While there were many casualties, none of the innocent Muggles had been harmed by the Death Eaters’ attack - nor the witches and wizards whom they had set out to target. Such a thing would be very costly for the Death Eaters’ morale, to say nothing of the significant losses suffered. He would be very much surprised if the bulk of Tom’s forces had not been decimated in the battles of that night - but certain elements of the night, upon reflection, disturbed him.
One such element was the fact that a defence had been mounted at all. Ottery St. Catchpole was perhaps an ideal target for Voldemort, but not one the Aurors ought to have been keeping under surveillance - and yet, on the eve of attack, there they were. More of the ICW’s Security Division, and a few odds and ends amidst the British Auror Office’s retirees and disability pensions. That implied several things - the first among them being that either the ICW didn’t trust the Ministry, or Amelia didn’t, which meant that Tom’s influence was, indeed, as bad as he’d feared. In which case, it was clear that the Order’s presence would definitely be necessary, but fortunately, the Ministry and the Death Eaters were both unaware of its existence at the present time.
It was curious, however - how had the defenders known of the attack in the first place? Was it possible that some brave soul had decided to turn against him (and if so, who?), or would it be another like Severus, cloaking his malicious ambitions in the guise of righteousness? Not too long ago, Albus would’ve simply assumed the former as a matter of course - but he’d learned the lesson at a bitter cost, and would not forget it so easily. Nevertheless, he maintained some hope that there was someone who sought to improve themselves, and turn off the Dark path.
This led Dumbledore’s thought’s neatly into a second concerning element was the way the battles had actually been fought - specifically, with a preponderance of Dark-influenced spells, one in particular a unique creation of Severus’, if he recalled correctly. Quite nasty, and apparently quite effective, in the hands of young children. As the ones using it were students that Severus never would have taught the spell, he had to wonder just how they had come by the knowledge of it . . . But precisely who was using it was a matter of far greater concern than how.
Galen Salvatore’s reliance on the spell was hardly surprising - he had long acknowledged the young werewolf’s unfortunate slide into the darker aspects of magic, as he proved tragically and consistently unable to resist the lure of his curse. Hermione Granger’s similar descent into the Dark was equally dismaying, though sadly predictable. Given her resemblance to her former self, he had hoped that Mister Salvatore’s wild theories would ultimately prove correct, and Miss Granger would remain entirely herself despite her unfortunate affliction . . . But sadly, that did not seem to be the case. The bright, rule-abiding young woman of his memories would hardly dare consider the use of such a spell in combat, much less so casually.
And while it was tempting to blame desperation (against a pack of maddened werewolves, an understandable condition at her age), his experiences with such as Severus reminded Dumbledore that he did not dare dismiss her actions so lightly. Especially as the influence of the pair seemed to be spreading, to judge by the plan Ginevra had enacted. Yes, it had saved the lives of the Weasleys - he would not dismiss that - but to slay so many, and so brutally . . . It was an act of the highest cruelty, one that he would not have expected of the youngest Weasley child - and disturbing in the extreme, for that reason. It spoke volumes of the changes she, and by extension, her friends, had undergone in the company of Galen Salvatore, and his master, Shirou Einzbern.
Shirou Einzbern - the source of so many mysteries . . . the old wizard mused.
The boy had always been an enigma, but never more so than when he’d proved to be capable of performing priori incantatem against Lord Voldemort, an indication of a clear connection between them, such as he’d expected Neville to have with the Dark Lord. Yet he could find no evidence of such a connection. The revelation of the Japanese wizard’s adoption as a child had spurred his hopes, for a time - but in vain. Tom’s travels throughout that part of the world had occurred a full five years before Shirou had been born, and the only possible instance of his being “defied” in that part of the world had led to the near-destruction of the family responsible. Only three survivors remained, and only one of them had a child - but as the prophecy clearly referred to a “he,” Takara Aozaki was plainly not the one destined to be Voldemort’s nemesis, though her birthday was correct . . .
Dumbledore shook his head. Regardless, it did not explain Shirou Einzbern, or his nature - though what Albus knew of it was certainly disturbing. The Einzberns had played a subtle but powerful role in supporting Gellert, during his war, and had an obvious knowledge and predilection for Dark magic. Moreover, as a family they were dedicated to breeding superior wizards, much as Muggles bred cattle, or horses - so they stood beyond even the usual pure-blood mania. And Shirou Einzbern, if not of their blood, certainly fit their ideal. As damaging as it had apparently been to do, the boy had Conjured several tonnes of metal - all in the shape of swords, or other weapons . . . And yet, he had done so to save the lives of a village full of Muggles - an odd act, for a pure-blood supremacist.
The contradictions swirling around Shirou Einzbern were many, and dangerous - and he found himself conflicted in certain areas over the proper course of action in response. He would hope that the love of his wife, and the birth of their child, might yet turn the boy from his dangerous path - for he was a great believer in the power of love to work miracles. It was the basis for many a working of the old magic . . . But at the same time, he knew that he had to be prepared for the worst. All indications were that Shirou Einzbern’s connection to Tom Riddle was one of destiny - that he was to be the Dark Lord’s eventual successor. In that case, the child would mean nothing to him, and Miss von Einzbern could easily be blinded to his fall by the instinctive devotion conferred upon her by her Veela blood . . .
Should that happen, the child must be protected, Dumbledore concluded. Not merely because it will be an innocent, and deserving of it, but because with the proper wand, the child will be best positioned to stop his reign of terror, being capable of invoking priori incantatem through their blood connection . . . And above all else, I absolutely cannot allow Shirou Einzbern to lay his hands upon the Elder Wand - lest we are all doomed.
Once again, the old wizard cursed himself for the misstep two years ago which had allowed him to be disarmed by the boy. It had been a mistake on his part not to expect some kind of action, and he had paid the price of it. The Elder Wand had thus far been content to remain in his possession - despite Shirou’s nominal ownership, Dumbledore was far older and more powerful than the boy, and whatever his potential, and the wand’s preferences went always to the most powerful wizard it could find. At the time of Gellert’s defeat, that had been him - and he had yet retained a slight edge over Tom, allowing him to come out of their duels victorious, despite not truly possessing the Elder Wand’s allegiance.
Now, however, it had a master to serve, at long last, and it was quite eager to do so. Albus had only managed to retain the wand thus far because that master had not yet called for it. And given all that had gone before, he feared what Shirou Einzbern would do, should the boy ever learn that he was the rightful wielder of the most powerful wand in the world . . .
It would likely be better for all of us if young Einzbern did not wake from his present condition, Dumbledore mused. If nothing else, the Elder Wand’s power would likely die with him, removing a temptation and an instrument of terrible power from the world. Such a cold-blooded act of murder, however, was repellent to his ideals, a move that would make him no better than Voldemort himself. Albus would admit to having occasionally made a virtue of expedience, over the years - however regretfully - but he would hope that he had not sunk so far.
Regardless, that was a problem for the future, and his attention would be far better focussed on the here and now. With the Death Eaters’ attack so soundly defeated, Tom would no doubt find his forces in too much disarray to mount a second one upon New Year’s Eve - though Dumbledore would nevertheless be vigilant in regards to one. Voldemort had surprised him more than once, over the years, and confronted with so tempting a target as the bulk of his enemies gathered in one place, he might make an attempt on them himself, regardless of the risk . . . And that thought led to the most troubling aspect of the whole night - that Lord Voldemort and his inner circle had been noticeably absent from all three of the attacks in Ottery St. Catchpole that night.
Which, of course, begs the question - where were they?
After gleaning a full report from his agent in the Ministry, Lord Voldemort considered the events of Christmas Eve quite carefully, as was his wont. Moreover, matters of such import deserved careful consideration, as such things had far-reaching implications for the future.
At first glance, he supposed that he ought to be furious. While there were many casualties, the bulk of them were comprised of his own forces, and neither the blood traitors nor the Muggles he’d sought to target had been harmed. He had eliminated a handful of enemies - and not even the officially sanctioned ones, but a group of retirees and foreigners - at the cost of nearly his entire troop. Nor could he recoup his losses easily, as the majority of them were dead, not captured. And indeed, Lord Voldemort was displeased, highly so, at such a colossal waste of time and resources - but he would not go so far as to call the operation a failure.
No, far from it, the Dark Lord mused. There are many opportunities to take advantage of in this, if I do so carefully . . .
The first advantage was that his defeat had been orchestrated at the hands of outsiders, and not by the Ministry or its agents. Many of them might have been ex-Aurors, but ultimately the bulk of the force had been Veela and werewolves, directed by the ICW. While the international organisation and the creatures were allied to the Ministry, they were ultimately foreigners, and not those to whom the British wizarding public looked to for protection - nor ought they to. In acting thus, that man and his allies (for who else could it have been?) might finally have stepped beyond the boundaries of their authority - an offense which could see them recalled, if the proper pressure was applied.
Moreover, the DMLE had failed to respond to an obvious crisis - which would not reflect well on Amelia Bones at all. He need only have that point emphasised, that it had fallen to foreigners to protect them where the Ministry - her Ministry - had failed. Even if she was reelected, it would be a black mark on her record. Public opinion would be very uncertain about her capabilities - and the longer his remaining forces stayed at liberty, the worse it would be. Eventually, they would oust her themselves, as they had Fudge, by which time he would likely be in a position to arrange a suitable replacement.
Sometimes simplicity is all that is called for, in order to achieve success. At this point in time, then, all I need to do is nothing, save for perhaps the occasional reminder of my presence.
Lord Voldemort smiled. That was good - because of course, it would take time to rebuild his forces again. This loss represented a significant setback, equivalent to those he’d suffered attacking the Ministry, and that man’s home, last year. There was simply no denying that fact. But the time he’d spent visiting with young Crouch had allowed him to do more than simply obtain a progress report on the status of his mission - he’d also taken the opportunity to move Fenrir Greyback and his pack into the general area. There, beyond the Ministry’s normal sight - and reach - they could resume increasing their numbers, and likely do so far more successfully, as LAPIS would not be available to interfere. Moreover, by providing a potential threat, Crouch’s mission would likely prove more successful (and more swiftly successful), as well.
And it is absolutely critical that Crouch succeed - my entire operational plan depends upon it!
In the meantime, his remaining Death Eaters could focus on gathering and training new recruits, as well as keeping tabs on the captives - he would have to rescue them from Azkaban, of course. Not only did he despise letting potential resources go to waste, the effort would help ensure their loyalty, as well - and Azkaban’s failure to impede him a second time would also help him as he worked to discredit Bones and her government. Nor did the Dark Lord intend to ignore the fact that Albus Dumbledore had failed to show up in time to do any of the work of battling his forces, either. It was simply too good an opening not to take advantage of it.
A pity that Ms. Skeeter was captured, Lord Voldemort reflected. Even if he freed her again, it was unlikely that she would be able to resume that task again, under any alias. Which was truly a shame, as “Kate Reister” had been the best available tool for this sort of thing - though not the only one, to be sure. He still had people that he could influence at the Daily Prophet, such that his intended message would be sent out to the public. And there were other followers, with other tasks, which would further his agenda - certainly, young Malfoy’s scheme held promise . . .
Let Britain grow confident of my inevitable defeat for now, touched by only the faintest shadow of my existence - let it linger, and irritate them, as time and effort fails to banish the spectre of Lord Voldemort’s presence. Eventually, they will turn on their would-be protectors for their inevitable failures to eliminate me, and while they divide themselves, I will have spent time gathering and honing my strength once more. And when they have finished tearing themselves to shreds, I will strike - and the weary and battered remnants of my enemies will be reduced to less than ash before me. Very soon, now, this country will finally, truly belong to me - as it was always meant to.
And afterwards, the world will know the power of Lord Voldemort - and know to fear it . . .
Last edited by Kieran; December 17th, 2011 at 11:57 PM.
“Love will be cruel to who it entices — love will have its sacrifices.”
— Carmilla Theme
"Evil isn't the real threat to the world. Stupid is just as destructive as Evil, maybe more so, and it's a hell of a lot more common. What we really need is a crusade against Stupid. That might actually make a difference."
―Jim Butcher, Vignette
Ooh. Lovely contrast between Dumbledore and Voldemort Kieran - you've deliberately echoed the introduction to both sections.
If they were any more equal-yet-opposite, you could stick hilts up their asses and have Shirou dual-wield them.
Which is an odd, if apposite, mental image.
GOD DAMMIT DUMBLEDORE! You know what, he should just die already. That would be less troublesome in the long run.
And where does Voldemort find those recruits anyway? It's not like there can be that many people just waiting for DEs to come talk them into joining them.
I think I need to take notes on how to write Dark Lords from you.
Choose your Guild,
Join the DARK SIDE!!!
I'm sorry to say I've found I can't RP. I just can't trust myself to stick around long enough.
Someone kick Dumber-than-a-door in the freaking nuts already!!! Follow said nut shot with a why you suck speech as well before chucking him to be tortured by monsters of all kinds!!!
Words to live by: Fate is a B****, Destiny is a whore, while Karma is just doing her job.
Violence solves all problems. If its not working then you are not using enough.
Even though I am male after taking a 'Which Fate/stay night Character are you?' quiz I am...
Tohsaka Rin You are Rin. Cool and collected, you think logically about most situations. You strive for self-perfection, and rely on others only for your benefit. You may be cold toward most people, but you can be friendly when you try. Indeed, it could be said you enjoy helping others that you care for. Whatever the case, you tend to think logically and don't let emotions cloud your judgement.
Dumbledore's insane troll logic never ceases to amuse me.
Rule-abiding, he says. I wonder if he's blind to the fact that she is a griffindor, and thus breaking the rules isn't something he can easily dismiss as impossible, but merely improbably, or if he simply never broke any rules himself while still at Hogwarts.
I think his reaction to finding out just who is his real mother would be quite amusing. If he does find out, that is.
And Shirou is still sleeping (probably visiting his mental forge in the meantime), kind of a shame but I guess we complain too much about that.
You'll always find enough close-sighted idiots if you bother looking. And I guess this Tom does bother.
Yeah, the guy is pretty amusing. One would reckon that after all that time he would try to get more information instead of acting on incomplete info like a fool.
But hey, he's Dumb-as-a-door for a reason.
Dumbledore's attitude reminds me, in a rather odd fashion, of Shirou's attitude towards sex and the like.
It's not that he's stupid, per se, it's just... Well... Not quite sure how to put it...
D'aww, Takara and Hermione finally made up!
Yes, I did. Thank you for noticing.
Oh look, the perfect souls for a new version of Bakuya and Kansho! (Kidding.)If they were any more equal-yet-opposite, you could stick hilts up their asses and have Shirou dual-wield them.
Which is an odd, if apposite, mental image.
Seems that way, doesn't it?
And where does Voldemort find those recruits anyway? It's not like there can be that many people just waiting for DEs to come talk them into joining them.
This made me laugh. You'll find out why later.
Well, he supposedly set fire to his bed curtains once . . . *shrug*
I don't know - we'll find out together.I think his reaction to finding out just who is his real mother would be quite amusing. If he does find out, that is.
Sorry, I felt it deserved its own scene/chapter, rather than just tacking it on at the end.And Shirou is still sleeping (probably visiting his mental forge in the meantime), kind of a shame but I guess we complain too much about that.
Thank you.
He's a Victorian-era man, with all the stuck-in-his-ways capability of a senior citizen?
And you'd think that would be the end of their problems - but nooooo . . .
“Love will be cruel to who it entices — love will have its sacrifices.”
— Carmilla Theme
"Evil isn't the real threat to the world. Stupid is just as destructive as Evil, maybe more so, and it's a hell of a lot more common. What we really need is a crusade against Stupid. That might actually make a difference."
―Jim Butcher, Vignette
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