2-Pack: Racing Possum & Pug in Peanuts

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The Medi-Oscars

“Bone of the father, unwillingly given.”

It sank into the cauldron with a plunk.

“Flesh of the servant, willingly sacrificed.”

Wormtail took a deep breath and severed his hand completely, crying out in pain. Harry recoiled in his captive position. The hand sank into the cauldron as well.

With little hesitation, he turned his attention to Harry. He walked up to him as he struggled in the embrace of the stone reaper, and brandishing the same weapon with which he’d removed his own hand, cut Harry’s sleeve. “Blood of the enemy, forcibly taken.” Wormtail slashed Harry’s wrist, letting sanguine drops drip along the blade’s edge.

He returned to the cauldron and tapped the hilt of the blade so that drops of blood somehow audibly hit the bubbling mixture. “The dark lord shall rise… again!”

From the pot, a horrid figure rose, pale and writhing in the air. Its features once indistinguishable, its limbs stretched and took greater form until a new being stood in its place, clothed in congealing shadows, the last of which swirled to the top of its head like a tarry meringue.

It took in its surroundings, showing visible confusion despite having a rather expressionless face. “Where am I?” Irk sputtered at the two who appeared equally confused. “Who are you people?”

Off to the side, a small wretched thing crawled from behind a gravestone and scolded, “Wormtail, you buffoon, you used the wrong flat-nosed freak!”

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