Snakes & Scoundrels

24: the adventures of horror potter

Side note: This chapter is entirely dedicated to my love for the fandom of Harry Potter. It was J K Rowling who introduced me to the world of reading when I was in sixth grade. This series played a HUGE part in the writer that I am today and this chapter is an ode of gratitude to that little influence that has made me fall in love with books and ferried me until here.
If you're not a potterhead, you can read through this chapter like any normal one but you just wouldn't understand the references. (Also, there are spoilers if you ever want to read/watch the series in the future.)
But if you are a hard-core Potterhead like me; then I see you, I feel you, and I assure you that one day, you and I will create magic like this. But for now, I dearly hope you rate this chapter 9¾ out of 10.

. . .

Time is making fools of us again. 

Competition has always been the magic formula for making me happy. The rules of its conduct, the last-minute pressure projecting like patronus charms around me, and the idea of being bound by time and topping over entrants to get the high of life make me who I am. I'm aware, conscious in the present, and completely in control of every voluntary action of my mind, heart, and body. 

It's how I know I won't err. 

There's competition, and then there is his consuming scent.

The fragrance of old cedar shelves and vintage scrapbooks, like magic mixed with lush greenery after a heavy downpour, along with delicate amber permeating the air, velvety soft, mysteriously wild, and insanely sexy—all of it magnificently wrapped in the envelope of dark and dense evergreen trees.

Rain—his name always matched his personality; and now, so does his scent.

He smells like San Fransisco and all those nights that have imprinted on my mind in such a way that I'm neither able to recall them nor am I able to fully erase them. He smells like my lingering last life, a part of my forgotten self, a bittersweet heartbreak.  

If competition gave me the thrills, his scent sunk me into serenity. One kept me in control while the other made me entirely devoid of it. A contrasting blend, both attached to the same individual who was skilled at messing with my head beyond the possibilities of reality. 

And I don't know which one I liked more; which one harmed me more; and which one would ultimately be the end of me. 

"Dumbledore isn't going to bob up and spoon-feed you the clues, Park! Search!" Grayson nudged his shoulders with mine as he sprinted past me to the other side of Moaning Myrtle's bathroom. 

All four of them were immersed in bizarre actions. I needed a moment to ascertain this was an escape room and not a lunatic asylum. Not only were the personalities a perfect match, but so were the strange enactments. 

Miles Morales was busy pressing and pushing every brick on every wall, in the hopes of a secret door. Grayson Finley was tap-dancing across every square inch of the floor in an intolerable rhythm, perhaps finding a hollow. Hailey Shaw was busy poking the statue of Moaning Myrtle, from her eyes to her shoes. And Rainer Barcross was fixated on turning every sink tap that all lacked the flow of tap water. 

Having read the book near to a million times, Moaning Myrtle's bathroom was directly shedding light on the Chamber of Secrets. Seeing the vivid bustle in the bathroom, I realized only Rainer knew what he was doing. And yet, none of the knobs gave way. 

"It's the snake-engraved tap," I spoke to myself as I rounded the center tower of wash basins inspecting for a serpent carving on the faucets. 

"All of them have snakes," Rainer responded, hurriedly turning each knob.