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HP: Fairy Tale Wizard - 132
🕑 Added 2025-10-13 11:15:30 +0000 UTCChapter 132: Emissary of Solitude
"So Harry is here then? With so many mirrors, how does he stand it?"
After hearing about Sterling's recent encounters, Ron poked the nearest mirror surface with his lance.
The spear tip passed straight through the mirror surface, as if plunging into water.
"Merlin' beard, bloody hell—" Ron quickly pulled it out, examining the unsharpened part of the spear tip.
Right. When he'd hastily pulled out the spear just now, he'd casually tossed his wand on the ground.
That wand had miraculously remained intact on the floor. Sterling had to admire wandmaker Ollivander's exceptional craftsmanship.
Sterling conjured a box, placed the wand carefully inside, and tucked it into the hide pouch at Ron's waist.
"Are you planning to never use your wand again?"
"Of course not! But holding a wand doesn't seem very practical for wielding a lance simultaneously—"
"In that case—Ron!"
Sterling suddenly spotted a shadow lurking behind a mirror. A burst of Incendio shot from his hand. Ron also displayed impressive reflexes—he very skilfully performed a defensive crouch with his head covered.
That posture was so familiar, as if rehearsed a thousand times, almost instinctive—Sterling felt that even using Scholar of Stars to analyse wouldn't yield a more perfect crouch.
The spinning fireball flew over Ron's head, striking straight at the shadow just emerging from behind the mirror. The firelight revealed its appearance—a writhing mass of shifting, clawing blocks of colour.
Its main body was purple, with three green circular spots on what appeared to be its head, right where the fireball had struck.
It seemed to have no fixed shape. Its upper body was blown away by the fireball, but the lower body continued to writhe, growing a new "head" from the severed section.
"What is this thing—ahhh!" Ron leapt up.
He reflexively grabbed his lance and thrust forward. But the moment the spear tip made contact, Ron suddenly stopped, staggered a few steps, then collapsed to the ground.
Sterling immediately pulled Ron behind him, facing this strange creature himself.
Thorns burst from Sterling's feet like octopus tentacles. He cautiously wrapped them around this ugly thing first. Seeing it imprisoned without resistance, Sterling barely relaxed his guard.
Then it moved forward as if the thorns were nothing.
The instant its body was scratched by thorns, Sterling's head felt like it had been hit by a lorry, followed by prolonged silence.
He couldn't see. He couldn't hear.
The only sensation was floating lightly in some warm liquid, just floating, only floating—like being in his mother's womb.
This should have been a comfortable, relaxing experience—if Sterling still possessed normal cognition, and if this illusion hadn't lasted for what felt like an eternity.
"Huff..."
Sterling, waking from the illusion, immediately cancelled the thorns surrounding the ugly thing, then looked at Ron.
His condition was considerably better than Sterling's, though his already round eyes were rounder still, his eyeballs nearly popping from their sockets.
Seeing him raise his lance again, apparently planning to skewer the ugly thing, Sterling quickly stopped him.
"Don't attack that thing!"
Ron's spear barely stopped before striking, but the ugly thing actually began slowly raising its head, about to touch the spear tip.
In his urgency, Sterling didn't think carefully, using a powerful Stunning Spell to knock the spear from Ron's hand. It spun through the air, embedding itself in the corner between two mirrors.
"I reckon it might have some counterattack magic. Both you and I encountered abnormalities after attacking it."
"That's completely unfair!" Ron jumped in frustration.
The distant lance disappeared, reappearing in Ron's hand.
"Then how do we defeat it?"
Sterling shook his head. "Ron, why did we come here?"
"To find Harry?" Ron looked at him as if it were obvious.
"Then why should we care about it? Is Harry behind it or inside its body?"
Sterling spread his hands, looking at Ron with disappointment.
"Just run."
With that, Sterling turned and ran. Ron initially froze but quickly followed Sterling's footsteps.
Whilst running, he removed all armour except gauntlets and war boots, since this armour had real weight. Wearing it whilst running, he'd soon be on the ground begging Sterling to carry him.
After just a few steps, Sterling discovered heaven and earth were rotating.
Literally rotating.
They'd originally been on a completely flat plane—this plane also seemed to be a blackened mirror. Countless large and small mirror surfaces randomly stood at various places on this plane, whilst the sky was a dim, lightless "night".
After they began running, the sky brightened.
Like a curtain being pulled back, the sky revealed vast, brilliant colours. They either gathered or scattered like fireworks, flowing ceaselessly.
Ron's war boots landing on mirrors produced a rhythmic series of sounds.
Sterling glanced back—that ugly thing was still pursuing, unhurriedly following behind them. No matter how they accelerated, it maintained a certain distance—a distance that couldn't bring any security.
Sterling pondered whether to find ways to restrict its movement. Just then, Ron forcefully pulled him, nearly causing him to fall.
He turned back, discovering a mirror had risen on his just-travelled path, reflecting a painfully familiar face.
"Harry?" Ron exclaimed in surprise.
This Harry seemed younger—or rather more childish—than the Harry they knew, still carrying the innocence of a seven- or eight-year-old.
He sat curled up, hugging his legs in his "small room". From beyond the mouldy-smelling cupboard door came waves of laughter. Through the crack in the door, a tall, thin woman hurried past carrying a large plate of cake, not even glancing in his direction.
The snores of a somewhat obese middle-aged man came from the sofa, mixed with unclear muttering. The ruddy-faced chubby child had his eyes squeezed into tiny slits. He wore a birthday hat; toys on the table were so numerous they nearly fell off.
Harry looked at a badly crumpled greeting card, water drops falling on his glasses. He stubbornly raised his head, counting spiders in the crevices of the brick wall with reddened eyes.
"Solitude, unable to fit in—"
The ugly thing behind them spoke. Its appearance seemed more humanoid now, at least with torso and limbs extended, though still a soft mass without visible joints.
Simultaneously, it pursued faster. Sterling and Ron also ran faster.
But before they'd run far, a large mirror fell from the sky, landing with a sharp crack beside Ron's right hand.
The Harry in this mirror looked little different from their familiar friend.
In the classroom, Harry shrank alone in the last row's corner. He breathed on his lenses, then wiped them with his somewhat worn jumper, and when he put them on again, the tape on his glasses loosened. He quickly pressed it back down.
Soon the bell rang. Others gathered in twos and threes sharing snacks or chatting, whilst he just silently chewed dry bread, pretending great interest in the pitch-black clouds outside.
Occasionally someone glanced at him, their looks full of alienation, as if he were a freak who shouldn't exist—just like the lightning-shaped scar his fringe didn't completely hide.
"Solitude—not accepted—"
After speaking this time, the ugly thing possessed a normal person's body, but its body surface still flowed purple. The three green circular spots on its face transformed into eyes and mouth, moving around on its head.
"Sterling—are these fake?"
Ron clenched his fists. Just watching made him extremely angry—those people wearing the same clothes as Harry, their eyes filled with uncomfortable things, just like what Ron felt from Malfoy's eyes every time.
"No reason for them to be fake."
Sterling shook his head. But compared to emotional Ron, he was calmer. He held Ron's hand, making him stop, then turned to directly face that ugly thing.
"You should be able to communicate, right?"
The ugly thing remained silent, just opening wide its "mouth"—using two hands to pull that circular spot larger than the head portion, then drilling out a hand from above the waist, reaching in to rummage, pulling out a mirror.
Still Harry.
Through the narrow door crack came a line of moonlight. Harry curled into a ball, sitting on the creaking bed board. A fluffy little spider crawled from the wall crack, lingering beside his hand.
"Dudley ruined my homework again today." He softly told the spider, gently pushing it a small breadcrumb with his pencil tip. "But at least he didn't discover my hidden clay figure."
The spider touched his finger. Harry's mouth corners lifted in a bitter smile. Sharp scolding came from upstairs. He immediately held his breath, quietly closing his eyes, enduring the empty feeling in his stomach, pulling the smelly blanket over his head.
"Solitude... only solitude..."
The ugly thing lowered its head. When raising it again, its features became nine-tenths similar to Harry's.
"This is what Harry experienced," it said.
"And this is what he's now enjoying."
It tore open its chest. Three mirror surfaces shot out.
In the small town where Sterling was a neighbour, Harry embraced James and Lily. On the dining table sat a candlelit cake. Gift boxes popped from the burning fireplace, piling into a small mountain on the floor. Harry smiled, holding a brand new Nimbus 2000.
In Hogwarts, where Sterling was the Potions professor, Harry with Ron and Hermione earned fifty points for Gryffindor in Transfiguration. Young wizards all applauded them. After class, they happily high-fived each other. Harry invited Ron and Hermione to watch his training at the Quidditch pitch.
The last one was the smallest, looking like a playing card.
The "ugly thing" cupped it in its palm, showing Sterling and Ron—Harry quietly lay in a pool of water, his mouth corners brimming with a happy smile.
The moment Ron saw the last mirror surface, his intuition told him that the Harry inside was his friend, the real Harry Potter.
He instantly wanted to rush forward, but though the "ugly thing" didn't move at all, the distance between them couldn't shorten—no matter how hard he ran, the creature was just there.
"Who are you? Harry's protector?"
Sterling's hands were behind his back. "Witness of the Author" quietly emerged from the void, grasped by him.
"Guardian—perhaps—"
Write "Ron Weasley"!
The text appearing on the book page this time also appeared in Sterling's mind—"Ron Weasley is facing the Emissary of Solitude, this alchemical creation created by the Queen, bearing Harry Potter's temporarily stored solitude. It used the Queen's control over Utopia to issue a command preventing Ron Weasley from approaching."
Emissary of Solitude... so it's just an alchemical creation?
"Ron!" Sterling suddenly called Ron's name loudly. He turned back somewhat confused, meeting Sterling's confident eyes.
"Take your spear; thrust out with full force!"
Simultaneously, Sterling changed "unable to approach" four characters to "completely fitted".
Sterling's and Ron's vision blurred. Then Ron discovered himself already face-to-face with the Emissary of Solitude, his right hand pressed against its waist. That mirror "imprisoning" Harry was before his left hand, firmly grasped by the creature.
No time to process how he'd got here—Ron's simple mind operated at full speed.
Sterling said to stab it.
But I couldn't reach.
Can reach now.
But it might have counterattack magic.
Sterling said to stab it.
Stab!
After this series of judgements, sparks burst from Ron's eyes. The lance was created in his left palm. Holding determination to bear such solitude again, he pierced through the Emissary of Solitude's hand and the mirror in its grasp.
Water flowed from the shattered mirror. Harry Potter also fell to the ground with a wet splat, not waking for quite some time.
As for Ron, he put on a heroic martyrdom expression but was quickly pulled over by Thorns behind Sterling, together with the similarly unconscious Harry for protection.
Sterling exhaled, putting down the nearly spark-producing quill.
"The Emissary of Solitude will punish Ron Weasley's offence, not granting him the solitude he most fears."
In that brief time, Sterling had first written "Emissary of Solitude's" name, then added a "not" before "granting".
