The rhythmic, low ticking of the grandfather clock in the corner of the room was completely drowned out by the muffled sounds of the ongoing Gryffindor party down below.
Inside the heavy 'four-poster' bed, Hermione shifted her weight, her left shoulder pressing firmly against Lucifer's right armpit, his long arm draped securely across her back with his palm anchoring her right bicep.
Her breasts rested heavily against his upward thigh as both of her feet curled close to his buttocks, his knees propped high in the air beneath the thick crimson covers.
Her left fingers mindlessly explored his backside as she hovered in a state of drowsy, half-waking sleep. They moved around the contours of his skin, feeling the heavy musculature before pushing gently into the anus bared completely beneath the warm blankets.
Her right hand stayed firmly cup-shaped around his sack, her fingers cradling his balls within that sensitive pouch.
'Creak!'
The sharp, sudden groan of a loose floorboard echoed right outside their hangings. Lucifer tried his absolute best to ignore the intrusion, desperately wanting to sink back into sleep, but the heavy, footsteps followed immediately after. He felt incredibly tired, his mind cloudy. Where on earth had he left his wand?
'Klomp! Klomp!'
"Potter!" Lucifer rasped out into the dim space, guessing the identity of the intruder.
'Swoosh!'
In one rapid, aggressive swoop, Lucifer's heavy velvet curtains and covers were violently torn away from the frame, exposing the couple cleanly to the drafty room. Dean Thomas stood there, glaring fiercely down at the bed, his eyes locking instantly onto Hermione's right hand, which had taken immediate refuge directly beneath the boy's scrotum.
Hermione's chocolate eyes snapped wide open. She just lay there, perfectly still, feeling far too drained and hollowed out from the week's emotional turmoil to offer any kind of panicked reaction or cover-up.
"How many times do I physically have to tell you two? She is absolutely not supposed to be up in the boys' quarters!" Thomas snapped, his face twisted in pure, self-righteous indignation as he held the curtain back.
"It's my bed," Lucifer said, his voice dropping into a dangerous, icy flat register. "Kiss my dick and apologize."
Thomas instinctively glanced down at his crotch. Lucifer's balls were showing up cleanly against the sheets, alongside a monstrous, rapidly thickening length of flesh.
"No!" Thomas snapped, his jaw tightening as he looked away.
"Then let me be," Lucifer growled, pulling a corner of the sheet back over himself. "If you're so incredibly concerned with maintaining the rules tonight, go check on Potter and see if he is having another slinging match with the Irish madman."
"He is not acting like a total jerk tonight," Thomas said, his chest puffing out. "You are. I'll personally see to it that you get a formal detention from McGonagall tomorrow, because I am the one who is actually supposed to be keeping order in this tower."
"Then go do it," Hermione interjected, her voice sharp as she sat up, entirely abandoning any sense of modesty. "And buzz off, Thomas. We are the official Prefects of this house. Who exactly do you think you're going to complain to?" She let out a soft snort, her left hand deliberately cradling the heavy lumps of her boyfriend's bollocks in full view.
Her right hand reached out, firmly gripping his prick as it jutted upward, her eyes focusing directly on the dark, moist slit visible where his foreskin didn't quite cover the head.
She watched the dark flesh intently as it stiffened directly in front of her, the erection hardening into an unyielding rod.
"Doesn't grow old, does it?" he whispered.
"Strangely, no," Hermione replied, a wicked, defiant smirk breaking through her tired features. Lucifer felt her left fingers return to his anus, pushing inward to massage the sensitive muscle, while her right palm began to slowly stroke the length of his shaft.
He felt the intense, electric stimulation ripple straight up his spine, breathing deeply as his body fully complied with her touch. He felt the mounting tension, the sudden, tightening rush of blood, and then the inevitable release.
She watched with a breathless, dark fascination as the sticky white semen surged up, pouring out in thick, hot ropes across his abdomen.
"Thank you," he murmured, his chest heaving.
"Thought you'd last significantly longer than that," Hermione replied with a low purr, her index finger dipping into the fluid to paint the sticky white cream across his skin.
"Not after the marathon last night, love, you know that."
"I'll play along for now...."
"We will definitely be doing a lot more of what happened last night again in the future," Lucifer said, a half-smirk settling onto his lips as he watched her.
"I certainly hope so. I completely forgot how absolutely wonderful your lips felt pressing against my clit," Hermione smirked back. Then, the reality of the morning sun hitting the glass finally registered in her brain, and her eyes went wide with panic. "Shit! I am still physically inside the boys' dormitory! Get up, quick! Quick!"
xxxxxx
'Go back to that castle and make Albus Dumbledore's life a living hell!'
Seething with a deeply suppressed, volatile anger over her recent injuries, Dolores Umbridge returned to Hogwarts that week clutching the year's first official Educational Decree, nailing it firmly to the stone wall of the Entrance Hall:
"Henceforth, all educational expenditures at Hogwarts must be executed under the direct, manual supervision of the Department of Educational Supervision. Any unauthorized spending of school gold shall be deemed an illegal transaction facing immediate prosecution."
The student body barely reacted to the new piece of paper, casting a single, bored glance at the text before continuing with their own chaotic daily affairs. But the senior professors suffered immensely. The very first victim of the audit was Professor Burbage of Muggle Studies.
She had merely wanted to replace the students' old, frayed holiday charts with updated versions, a routine administrative order costing no more than twenty Galleons in total from the vault.
Yet even this modest request was flatly rejected by Umbridge, who claimed the old charts were still perfectly usable for a classroom.
"Muggle Studies is an ever-evolving, living subject, Dolores!" Professor Burbage argued, looking completely aghast as she stood before the desk. "Many elements on these old charts are entirely obsolete. If we keep forcing the children to use these outdated versions, the students will learn incorrect, antiquated information about human technology!"
"Then they can simply purchase their own private copies from Diagon Alley," Umbridge smiled sweetly at the agitated professor, her fingers smoothing down her pink cardigan.
"The school has always fully funded chart replacements before this term!"
"Precisely why Hogwarts burns through so much government funding annually," Umbridge said comfortably, tapping her quill against her teacup. "Good day to you, Professor. This money will not be approved under any circumstances. You'll receive the formal rejection documentation later, in duplicate. One copy will remain permanently in the 'Department's historical archives.' Should you illegally... use school funds for this purchase, you will face severe legal consequences."
A furious Professor Burbage stormed out of the office, her heels slamming against the stone, making immediate way for a stern-faced Professor Sprout.
"I need Devil's Snare seeds. Three distinct varieties for the fifth-year practicals," Sprout stated flatly, tossing a requisition form onto the wood.
"That is entirely excessive. I will approve exactly half the requested amount," Umbridge scribbled a sharp line through the parchment.
"Do you honestly expect the fifth-years to learn advanced Herbology solely from textbook illustrations?" Sprout stared at her in total, unadulterated incredulity. "These plants aren't for my personal gardens, woman! They are for the school's O.W.L. curriculum!"
"Budget constraints, Pomona. You'll simply have to source the remainder of the seeds yourself from the grounds. A truly competent professor should be able to teach effectively without relying on rare raw materials, exactly as I do in my own classroom."
She handed Sprout the approved slip and gestured toward the open door. Enraged by the blatant insult, the Herbology professor rejected even the halved allocation, tearing the slip in two before slamming the heavy oak door behind her.
Having successfully dismissed two senior professors consecutively, Dolores's mood soared to new heights. This was exactly how things should be run; people ought to fear and respect her state authority. How dare Horace Slughorn not make her a Prefect during her own school years?
How dare the staff not treat her with the deference she deserved? She wouldn't let anyone act with total impunity anymore, especially not Potter.
This was merely the small beginning. Her political influence would continue to grow until she controlled every single stone of the castle. Then, she would become Fudge's most trusted lieutenant, with the position of 'Minister for Magic' itself within her physical reach someday.
A self-satisfied, wide smile crept across Umbridge's toad-like face.
Soon, almost all the professors had suffered under her constant interference, with the sole exceptions of Professor Vector and Professor Grubbly-Plank.
The former was her sort of friend, and Grubbly-Plank utilized the 'Forbidden Forest' as her backing, requiring zero additional expenses for her Creatures classes. Impressed by the two ladies' resourcefulness, Dolores actually increased their budgets without them even filing a single request.
But the silk cushions Professor McGonagall needed for her advanced class, Trelawney's specific tasting wine, Firenze's crystal balls, Professor Flitwick's anti-cheating parchment, and Snape's rare potion ingredients, all of these perfectly normal, historic expenditures were met with constant obstruction and petty behavior from Umbridge.
Either more than half the requested items were withheld, or they were outright denied. Later that morning in 'Transfiguration' class, Hermione and Lucifer shared a single inkwell reviewing, her fingers moving through the exact wand motions for the 'Vanishing Spell and the Reversal Charm.'
"Does she honestly expect us to pay for the school's basic classroom materials ourselves?" Hermione muttered fiercely under her breath. She flicked her vine wand with a sharp tap. "Evanesco." The inkwell vanished without a single trace.
Lucifer tapped the empty desk lightly with his bare finger, his eyes flashing a brief red as the object cleanly reappeared. "Looks like it," he mused, resting his chin on his palm. Their pair was incredibly fortunate; they could return vanished objects intact without losing the magic. Other student groups weren't so lucky.
The 'Vanishing Spell' was one of the most advanced practical subjects in the O.W.L. examinations, and progress remained painfully slow for everyone else. Sometimes, only half an inkwell would vanish, leaving the glass shattered and the ink irretrievable.
Even after using the 'Reparo' charm, the added chaotic magical factors made vanishing the item a second time far more difficult. Thus, these basic classroom items became quick consumables, dwindling in number with every single lesson.
Watching Professor McGonagall's deeply furrowed brow as she surveyed the messy room, Hermione felt a surge of indignant anger on her behalf. "It really is excessive," she whispered.
"I'll think of a way to help the professors later today," Lucifer mused, a slow, wicked smirk playing on his lips.
"Good, good," Hermione nodded like a rapid woodpecker, her mood lifting. "You are always full of cunning, dark ideas, Lucifer. You'll definitely find a way to deal with her nonsense."
"Hmm?" He feigned displeasure, glancing sideways at the young witch.
She stuck out her tongue playfully, entirely unafraid of his imposing size, even pulling a small face to taunt him. It was official class time, and they were sitting right in McGonagall's front row, so she wasn't worried about her boyfriend's physical retaliation.
"I'll deal with your attitude tonight in our quarters," Lucifer whispered, reaching out to lightly pinch her flushing cheek.
Noticing Professor McGonagall's sharp gaze snapping toward their desk, Hermione blushed a deep crimson and shot the boy a fierce glare before instantly resuming her spell practice.
The moment the bell rang and the rest of the students filed out of the room, Lucifer deliberately lingered behind, letting his bag sling over his shoulder.
"Mr. Morningstar, is there something specific you require?" Professor McGonagall asked, sorting her parchment sheets with a weary hand.
Lucifer closed the heavy classroom door first, letting the latch click, before answering. "Professor, has Umbridge been giving you and the rest of the staff an incredibly hard time lately with the department funding?"
"It is just standard Ministry procedure," She replied stiffly, though her rigid posture and her resentful, sharp tone spoke volumes of her anger.
"I heard from Professor Sprout that almost none of the rare seeds and plants she explicitly requested were approved by Umbridge, and she even received a formal written report reprimanding her," Lucifer said leisurely, leaning against the desk. "So, when Umbridge rejects your official requests, does she have to provide such a written report to you as well?"
"Correct," Professor McGonagall nodded, her jaw tight. "As I said, it is part of the necessary bureaucratic procedure... She possesses far too many political excuses at her disposal, and they are written just plausibly enough that the faculty has no choice but to legally accept them."
"I see," he mused, a dark glint in his eyes.
"Mr. Morningstar... do you happen to have a suggestion?" Professor McGonagall ventured, her voice dropping as she looked at him. Umbridge's constant antics had thoroughly worn her down this week. Dealing with so many inept, lazy students daily was exhausting enough without a senior official actively undermining her classroom efforts from the shadows. Had it been her younger, more hot-tempered self, she would have already come to physical blows with Dolores.
But the current political situation was incredibly delicate. Professor McGonagall knew she couldn't cause any unnecessary trouble that would reflect poorly on Dumbledore's position, so she had been enduring the disrespect all this time. She had to remain within the lines but Lucifer didn't.
She suddenly realized that having an unruly, powerful troublemaker who feared absolutely nothing inside the school wasn't entirely a bad thing.
When dealing with corrupt officials like Umbridge, it was best to let Morningstar handle the business. In an instant, her stern gaze towards the boy softened considerably.
"I do have an idea," Lucifer said with a light chuckle, his fingers reaching out to pick up a heavy, ink-stained wooden pen holder from her table, his crimson eyes flashing to life. "A very efficient one."
xxxxxxx
Amid the clamor of the Great Hall, Lucifer sat at the Gryffindor table, steadfastly focused on catching up on his new 'Ancient Runes' homework. The advanced class met just once a week, but the massive workload never let up.
The fifteen-inch essays were easily manageable for his intellect, but the real headache came from the lengthy translation assignments. These consisted of tedious, dense records of seemingly irrelevant historical events, and he was determined to get them finished.
Hermione watched him from across the table, her fingers tapping anxiously against her goblet of pumpkin juice. "Lucifer, do you think Umbridge will actually be removed from her position after that Quibbler article?" she asked, her voice tinged with a faint ray of hope.
"Unlikely," Lucifer replied, setting his dragon-feather quill down and sliding the translated parchment sheets into his textbook. "Hogwarts and the Ministry of Magic operate on completely different political dynamics... Fudge must be thoroughly aware of what is happening here by now, and he certainly wouldn't be happy about the Quibbler's embarrassing claims. But for a politician like him, it doesn't matter whether the media's claims are true or not. He will protect his own vanguard."
"What a total pity," she muttered, her profound dislike for the woman evident in her sharp tone.
That woman had only been the 'Defense Against the Dark Arts' professor for less than a month, but in that incredibly short time, her class had already surpassed 'History of Magic ' as the most widely disliked subject at Hogwarts. At least in Binns's room, students could quietly take a quick nap or work on assignments for other subjects as long as they stayed peaceful.
But in 'Defense Against the Dark Arts,' they were strictly forced to read the exact same dull textbook passages repeatedly and copy long, excruciating excerpts of meaningless drivel. There was absolutely no escape from her gaze.
"I honestly hope Professor Umbridge doesn't come back to the hall on Friday," Rolf Scamander said wistfully from the Hufflepuff table, leaning over to speak to Susan Bones. Their next joint Defense lesson was scheduled for Friday morning, and the students were already desperately praying for another reprieve, hoping his localized bad-luck curse would activate again and make the professor disappear early back to the Hospital wing.
xxxxxx
Up in the Defense office, the air was thick with the scent of dried lavender and the irritating, tinny 'meows' of the enchanted kitten plates on the wall.
'Knock, knock!'
"Come in!" Umbridge called out, quickly adjusting her plastic expression into her usual sickly-sweet affectation. The heavy oak door opened, and Professor McGonagall entered the room, her tartan cloak rustling against the stone.
"What can I do for you, Minerva?" She asked with a wide, smug smile, leaning back in her chintz chair.
"This is exactly what I need for the upcoming week," Professor McGonagall said flatly, handing over a short, rolled-up list. The written contents were incredibly sparse, just a few copies of specialized periodicals and a handful of basic brass snuffboxes for the third-year practicals.
Umbridge felt a massive surge of pure satisfaction wash through her chest. She was thoroughly convinced this minuscule request was definitive proof that her recent financial iron fist had finally borne fruit. Previously, McGonagall's department purchases had been in the dozens or hundreds of Galleons, but this time, the entire total wouldn't even exceed two or three gold coins.
She eagerly signed her official approval across the bottom of the list with a flourish, returning it to McGonagall. Feigning a motherly, generous concern, she asked, "Minerva, is this truly enough? If you are short on materials, I would be more than happy to approve a few more items for your Gryffindors."
"No need at all," Professor McGonagall replied smoothly. To Umbridge's surprise, the stern witch didn't take any offense to the patronizing tone. In fact, a small, knowing smile actually made its way onto her lips as she took the parchment back. "We'll see about the rest next time, Dolores."
"Mmm," Umbridge nodded dismissively, waving her short hand to signal the end of the meeting.
Little did the 'Senior Undersecretary' know just how incredibly soon McGonagall's "next time" would actually be, or that this tiny, successful transaction officially marked the absolute beginning of her nightmare.
xxxxxxx
It wasn't until after dinner when Lucifer challenged Hermione to a few games of Wizards Chess. She accepted and he proved to be the better Chess Player, but she did win two games against him, she had serious doubts about those.
But he gave her an innocent face. She asked if he let her win, and he said who knows. It was half-past eleven when Hermione was tired of the game, stood up, yawning, and walked over to Harry.
"Made much progress?" She asked, Lucifer coming up on her left.
"Not at all..." Harry said dismally.
She looked over his Astronomy paper, but said nothing. Lucifer saw her face make some weird twitches, indicating he had wrong information written down, but like she said, she wasn't helping.
She looked up at her boyfriend, then looked past him, "Damn..."
"If you're just going to tell me I've made mistakes---"
"No, look," She pointed to the window, "Hermes."
Um, Ron stopped writing and looked and sure enough, Percy's Owl was at the window, gazing at him, he got to his feet and walked over to him, "What's Percy writing to me for?"
He opened the window, and Hermes flew in and onto Ron's essay, holding out his leg. Once he took the letter, the Owl departed and he looked it over. "This is definitely Percy's handwriting, what do you think?" After saying, he glanced up at his friends.
"Open it," Lucifer said and Hermione nodded eagerly, wanting to know what he had to say. Ron unrolled the scroll and began to read.
The farther down his eyes traveled, the more pronounced his scowl became. When he finished reading, he looked disgusted. He thrust the letter to Hermione, Harry and Lucifer read over her shoulder:
'Dear Ron,
I have only just heard (from no less a person than the Minister of Magic himself, who has it from your new teacher, Professor Umbridge) that you didn't become Prefect.
I was most displeased when I heard this news and must firstly express how disappointed I am. I heard that Morningstar got Prefect, and while I don't think he'll make a bad Prefect, you should've strived harder for it. I fear you are taking a "Fred and George" path at Hogwarts. You need to learn to shoulder responsibility, Ron.
But I wanted to express more than my displeasure, I want to give you some advice, which is why I am sending this at night rather than my usual morning post. Hopefully you'll be able to read this away from prying eyes and avoid awkward questions.
From something the Minister let slip when telling me you failed to make Prefect, I gather you are still seeing a lot of Harry Potter. I must tell you, Ron, that nothing could put you in danger of failing your O.W.L.S more than continued fraternization with that boy. Yes, I am sure you are surprised to hear this- no doubt you will say that Potter has always been Dumbledore's favorite - but I feel bound to tell you that Dumbledore may not be in charge at Hogwarts much longer and the people who count have a very different - and probably more accurate -view of Potter's behavior. I shall say no more here, but if you look at the Daily Prophet tomorrow you will get a good idea of the way the wind is blowing- and see if you can spot yours truly!
Seriously, Ron, you do not want to be tarred with the same brush as Potter, it could be very damaging to your future prospects, and I am talking here about life after school, too. As you must be aware, given that our father escorted him to court, Potter had a disciplinary hearing this summer in front of the whole Wizengamot, and he did not come out of it looking too good. He got off on a mere technicality if you ask me and many of the people I've spoken to remain convinced of his guilt.
It may be that you are afraid to sever ties with Potter-- I know that he can be unbalanced and, for all I know, violent - but if you have any worries about this, or have spotted anything else in Potter's behavior that is troubling you, I urge you to speak to Dolores Umbridge, a really delightful woman, who I know will only be too happy to advise you.
This leads me to my other bit of advice. As I have hinted above, Dumbledore's regime at Hogwarts may be over soon. Your loyalty, Ron, should not be to him, but to the school and the Ministry. I am very sorry to hear that so far Professor Umbridge is encountering very little cooperation from the staff as she strives to make those necessary changes within Hogwarts that the Ministry so ardently desire (although, she should find this easier from next week - again, see the Prophet tomorrow!). I shall say only this - a student who shows himself willing to help Professor Umbridge now may be very well placed for Head Boyship a couple years down the line.
I am sorry I was unable to see more of you over the summer. It pains me to criticize our parents, but I am afraid I can no longer live under their roof while they remain mixed up with the dangerous crowd around Dumbledore (if you are writing to Mother at any point, you might tell her that a certain Sturgis Podmore, who is a great friend of Dumbledore's, has recently been sent to Azkaban for trespassing at the Ministry. Perhaps that will open their eyes to the kind of petty criminals with whom they are currently rubbing shoulders). I count myself very lucky to have escaped the stigma of association with such people - the Minister really could not be more gracious to me - and I do hope, Ron, that you will not allow family ties to blind you to the misguided nature of our parents' beliefs and actions either. I sincerely hope that, in time, they will realize how mistaken they were and I shall, of course, be ready to accept a full apology when that day comes.
Please think over what I have said most carefully, particularly the bit about Harry Potter, and strive to be Head Boy, since you couldn't make Prefect.
Your brother,
Percy
PS. I failed to mention above, but keep an eye on Lucifer Morningstar while you're at it. Professor Umbridge said he caused a disturbance in her class that was quite telling, given he is the most dangerous person in that school.
The postscript on Percy's letter had explicitly warned Ron to keep an eye on Lucifer Morningstar, claiming the boy had caused an explosive disturbance in Umbridge's class that was highly telling. To the Ministry, Lucifer was already branded the single most dangerous entity currently inside Hogwarts.
"If I ever see your brother again, Weasley, I'm clocking him right in the nose," Lucifer said, his deep voice carrying a dangerously calm, level vibration that made the drafty Common Room feel instantly smaller.
"Well," Harry said, trying to sound as though he found the whole thing a hilarious joke, though his voice cracked slightly under the weight of the stress. "If you want to, er, what is it?" He squinted, looking back at the wrinkled parchment. "Oh yeah, if you want to sever all ties with me to protect your career, I swear I won't get violent."
"Give it back," Ron growled, holding out a shaking hand.
Hermione handed the document back over to him with absolute disgust, her nose scrunched up as if the letter itself carried a foul, physical stench.
"He is—" Ron started jerkily, his face turning as red as his hair. He violently tore the parchment completely in half. "...the absolute world's—" He tore the thick sheets into quarters, the sound of ripping paper crisp in the quiet room. "...biggest—" He tore it into eighths, his knuckles whitening. "...git!"
With a sharp motion, Ron threw the shredded pieces of his brother's letter directly into the roaring fireplace, watching the magical green and orange flames aggressively consume the ink. He turned his eyes toward Harry, his chest heaving. "Come on... we've physically got to finish this bloody Potions essay some time before dawn..."
"Give it here," Lucifer said smoothly, waving a pale finger toward the boys' incomplete, ink-stained rolls of parchment.
Ron blinked, cradling his essay closer to his chest. "You... you are not going to torch it right in front of us, are you?"
"Potter. Weasley. I won't ask a second time."
"R-Right!" Harry blurted out, a primitive instinct of absolute submission overriding his pride.
"Thanks a million, Lucifer..." Harry said weakly, handing over his messy scroll, while Ron quickly did the same, letting out a heavy breath of pure relief.
It was now well past midnight, and the grand circular Common Room was completely deserted, except for the four of them and Crookshanks, who lay curled like an orange ball near the hearth. The only sound vibrating through the darkness was the rapid 'scratch-scratch' of Lucifer's silver quill.
His hand moved with an inhuman, blinding speed across the parchment, correcting their flawed theories and restructuring sentences with an effortless grace. Hermione leaned her chin on her hand, her amber eyes continually glancing over at her boyfriend's profile as he worked under the dim candlelight.
Harry and Ron were both thoroughly occupied with their own dark thoughts, staring blankly at the floorboards, so she took the quiet opportunity to whisper to him. "Why?"
"Why what, pet?" He didn't look up from the parchment, his quill never missing a beat.
"We explicitly decided at lunch that we weren't going to help them with their notes this year," she murmured, her voice soft. "What exactly changed your mind tonight?"
"I am not helping them study, Hermione. This is simply me keeping our slate on perfectly equal terms," Lucifer explained smoothly, a dry smirk playing on his lips. "I don't ever want to owe either of them any kind of favor, whether it's magical, political, or personal. Consider this a transaction."
"Right... I completely forgot that this is just another one of your jobs," she whispered, a faint, complicated smile touching her lips as she looked down at her lap.
A moment later, Lucifer stopped his quill with a neat flourish, turning his face to look at Harry. "Oye, your introductory stargazing chart was mostly okay, Potter. Except for this ridiculous bit near the conclusion. I think you probably misheard Professor Sinistra's lecture on the solar system. Europa is entirely covered in thick ice, not multiple mice." He held the paper out. "Harry?"
Harry wasn't paying a single shred of attention to his words. The messy-haired boy had silently slid completely off his velvet chair and was now kneeling directly in front of the stone fireplace, his green eyes wide and staring fixedly into the dancing flames.
xxxxxx
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