Page 14 of Piggy
Atticus
I grip the hilt of my sword tighter, prowling forward.
If wands worked in this realm, I’d have chosen that instead. But this is the Muggle world. No magic spells. No Patronus to save me.
Just this sword, and the hope I trained hard enough.
I slash the blade through the air as I approach, knocking over a tower of plastic cups and an empty beer bottle. The men step back. All except Lord Grayson, who kneels, still bound, still trapped.
Good. I have no sympathy left for him. Not after discovering him committing vile acts against my sister’s feet earlier this week. Disgraceful. A Slytherin in disguise.
“What is this?” sneers the stranger next to Charlotte. He’s older. Greasy. “The kid gonna knight me or some shit?”
His Knockturn Alley henchmen cackle, the noise slamming into me like fireworks, too bright and loud. I blink hard as stars explode behind my eyes. But I stamp my foot, grounding myself.
Focus, Atticus. Focus.
“I’m not joking!” I announce, raising my sword again. “Unhand her! Or I’ll strike you down.”
They laugh harder.
The floor vibrates under my socks, and the clapping splinters through my skull like sharp glass.
I flinch again, but keep my sword raised.
Today, I will save a damsel.
Today, I will be a champion.
The older man lets the gun slide from Charlotte’s mouth, grinning at me. He lifts the weapon, slow and casual.
I stare at the metal barrel. I know guns since Master Brax owns some. I know what happens next, too.
“Lift it, and you lose your hand,” I say, voice steady.
“Shoot the dumbass already,” growls the painted man.
The world slows. I see the gun rise.
I am Harry Potter.
I am brave.
I raise the sword over my head and slice, shouting, “ Sectumsempra! ”
Bang.
The world explodes.
My ears fill with knives of sound. The light blinds me. I collapse, curling into a ball, palms smashing against my ears to block out the agony.
Ringing. More blinding white stars behind my eyelids. Slamming metal in my bones.
Make it stop. Make it stop.
Footsteps pound around me like earthquakes.
Voices shout, too jumbled, too many. I stay curled, breathing in short, sharp gasps.
When the chaos finally slows, I crack one eye open.
Master Brax stands at the front door, gun pressed to the older man’s head. Lord Grayson is free but staggering, clutching his throat and coughing.
Behind me, Killian and Liam hover, tense.
“Grayson owes me money!” barks the man. “So does Killian!”
“I don’t give two fucks.” Brax’s voice grumbles. “Not in my house. Not threatening my family.”
A crack of gunfire as Brax shoots the painted muggle through the arm.
Blood splatters across the carpet.
I stare in awe. My brother! More powerful than Snape himself!
The fat henchman and the painted one drag their bleeding comrade toward the door. The older man follows, his arm dripping red.
I did that, I think, wonderstruck. I cut him.
Master Brax waits, gun steady, until their battered Suburban speeds away.
Only then does he turn and say, “Somebody explain why slimy Bobby Morris was in my house.”
Charlotte huddles in a throw blanket, her legs shaking. “I thought he was Grayson’s brother.” She sniffles. “He said he just got out of prison and needed a ride. I thought… I thought it’d be a nice surprise.”
Brax’s mouth tightens. His knuckles whiten on the gun. “Prison,” he spits. “How can you be so fucking dumb?”
“Not everyone who’s been in prison is bad!” Sister Charlotte protests.
“Name one.”
She blinks. “Mom.”
Silence.
Brax glares, but it’s a different kind of anger. He’s bitter and sad.
“If she was good, she wouldn’t have left me stuck with two retards. One who fights with swords...” He throws a hand toward Charlotte. “...and you, practically begging to be raped.”
Their arguing blurs, the words crumbling like ash around me. I stare at the blood on the carpet.
“Aye, Atticus,” Liam says gently, touching my shoulder. “You alright, man?”
I nod. “I’m fine.”
He helps me up.
“You did good, man,” Liam says. He claps my back. “You saved your sister.”
I flush hot, my cheeks burning.
I saved her.
I am a hero!