Anthony and Sören materialized on the lush grounds of Wemblefrrf Academy, their feet sinking into dewy grass as the morning mist swirled around their ankles. The sprawling campus unfolded before them, a breathtaking blend of ancient stonework and modern magical architecture.
Towering oak trees lined the winding paths, their leaves shimmering with an otherworldly iridescence. In the distance, the main building of the academy loomed - a massive structure of gleaming white stone that seemed to shift and change as they watched, its spires reaching impossibly high into the cloudy Welsh sky.
As they approached, Sören couldn't help but smile at the familiar sight of the four House symbols etched into the grand archway above the entrance. Earth, a tree with deep roots. Air, a soaring eagle. Fire, a phoenix rising from flames. Water, a sinuous sea serpent. “Hello, old friends,” he said softly.
Anthony glanced at Sören, a wry smile tugging at his lips. "Feeling nostalgic already? We've barely set foot on the grounds."
"Can you blame me?" Sören replied, his brown eyes sparkling with a mix of excitement and apprehension. "It's been years since we were students here. Everything feels... different now."
As they approached the massive oak doors, they swung open silently, welcoming them into the cavernous entrance hall. The familiar scent of old books and magical energy washed over them, stirring memories of late-night study sessions and clandestine adventures.
Nicholas and Maglor stood waiting for them, their faces a study in contrasts. Nicholas's severe expression was softened by the fondness in his dark eyes, while Maglor's ageless features were lit up with joy, his grey eyes shining at the sight of his old students all grown up now and doing well. Maglor stepped forward, embracing Sören and then Anthony in turn. His touch was light, almost ethereal, but filled with warmth.
"Welcome back," Maglor said, his melodic voice carrying the weight of centuries. As he stepped back, Sören marvelled at the elf's flowing robe of shimmering silver-grey. The fabric seemed to ripple with an unseen breeze, and intricate patterns of clouds and wind swirled across its surface. At the collar, a majestic eagle spread its wings, the symbol of the House of Air rendered in delicate silver thread that caught the light with every movement.
Nicholas nodded in greeting, his own robe a stark contrast to Maglor's ethereal garment. He wore a brown cloak with a pewter Celtic knot clasp over his robe - deep, rich black fabric fell in heavy folds, embroidered with green leaves and vines that seemed to grow and shift as he moved. The symbol of the House of Earth - a great tree with roots reaching deep into the ground - was prominently displayed on his chest, its branches spreading across his shoulders.
"Anthony, Sören," Nicholas greeted them, his deep voice echoing in the vast hall. "It’s so good to see you again.”
“It’s good to see you too,” Anthony said.
“You’re looking well,” Sören said, then bit his lip, hoping that didn’t come off wrong. He’d always had a bit of a crush on both Professor Decaux and Professor Maglor - back in his days as Sigrit, he’d written silly romance stories with characters based on them - and was tickled when he’d heard they’d gotten together. Age had made Nicholas all the more handsome, with his distinguished silver hair and beard. Nicholas’s lips twitched in a small smile, and Sören noticed how his eyes crinkled at the corners when he did so. He would have hoped Anthony didn’t notice him noticing, except back then Anthony had also had a crush on both of them - one of the many things they had in common.
Maglor stepped forward, his long hair swaying with the movement. "Come, let's speak somewhere more private. The walls have ears, even here."
They followed the two professors through winding corridors, passing animated portraits that whispered and pointed as they walked by. Finally, they entered a cozy study in the House of Earth lined with floor-to-ceiling bookshelves. A crackling fire cast warm light across the room, and leather armchairs with large fluffy pillows beckoned invitingly.
As they settled into the chairs, Maglor waved his hand, and a shimmering barrier of sound-dampening magic enveloped the room.
“What’s going on?” Anthony asked. “Is everything all right?” Anthony adjusted his glasses, a nervous habit he'd never quite shaken.
Nicholas and Maglor exchanged glances; concern flickered over Maglor’s lovely features. Then they turned back to their former students.
"I'm afraid not," Nicholas said, his voice low and grave. "We've received disturbing reports from our contacts in the International Mage Police in London. There's been an alarming increase in magical incidents targeting non-magical individuals, particularly those with... certain political leanings."
Sören leaned forward, his brow furrowed. “What?”
Maglor nodded, his grey eyes darkening. "Precisely. But that's just the tip of the iceberg. There have been dozens of similar occurrences across Europe and North America. People finding themselves in impossible situations, suffering from inexplicable ailments, or experiencing vivid hallucinations."
Anthony's hand tightened on the arm of his chair. "And you think it's all connected? Some kind of organized effort?"
"We do," Nicholas confirmed. "The pattern is too consistent to be coincidence. Someone, or some group, is systematically targeting non-magical individuals with far-right political views. We fear this could escalate into a full-blown conflict between the magical and non-magical communities if it's not stopped."
Sören ran a hand through his curly hair, his mind racing. "But why? What could they possibly hope to gain by antagonizing these people?"
Maglor leaned forward, his long fingers steepled beneath his chin. "That's what we're trying to figure out. Our best theory is that they're attempting to provoke a violent response from these extremist groups, perhaps to justify some sort of pre-emptive strike or increased magical control over the non-magical population."
Anthony shivered despite the warmth of the room. "That's... terrifying. And incredibly dangerous."
Nicholas nodded grimly. "Exactly. I apologize that our reunion isn’t just for pleasantries but there’s business involved. But I thought you should know. I’m surprised you haven’t already been told.”
“I’m not,” Maglor said. “It suggests that someone working for the International Mage Police is keeping this information contained.” Maglor looked Sören in the eye. “Pardon my misquote, but something is rotten in the state of Norway.”
Sören felt a knot form in his stomach at Maglor's words. "You think there's corruption within the IMP?"
Nicholas sighed heavily. "We can't rule it out. As you know, the fact that you two haven't been briefed on this situation, given your positions, is... concerning."
Anthony leaned forward, his green eyes intense behind his wire-rimmed glasses. "What can we do to help? Surely there must be some way we can investigate without arousing suspicion."
Maglor's lips curved into a small, approving smile. "Always ready to jump into action, aren't you, Anthony? Some things never change."
"We were hoping you'd ask," Nicholas said, reaching into his pocket and pulling out two small, intricately carved wooden tokens. "These will allow you to communicate with us securely, no matter where you are. They're enchanted with ancient elven magic," Nicholas explained, his eyes flickering to Maglor with a hint of pride. "Undetectable by modern magical means."
Sören took one of the tokens, marveling at the intricate swirls and runes etched into its surface. It felt warm in his palm, thrumming with a subtle energy. "So what's our next move?" he asked, looking up at his former professors.
Maglor leaned back in his chair, his silver-grey robes shimmering in the firelight. "We need you to keep your eyes and ears open. Report any unusual magical activity, no matter how small it may seem. And..." he hesitated, exchanging a glance with Nicholas.
"And we need you to investigate your colleagues," Nicholas finished, his voice grave. "Discreetly, of course. We need to know if there are any... sympathizers within.”
Sören felt a chill run down his spine at Nicholas's words. The idea of investigating his own colleagues, people he'd worked alongside for years, was unsettling. It could cause tension and outright hostility in the office - a reminder of the bad old days when he was bullied in school, within these very walls by those who knew Sigrit was, somehow, not like the other girls. But he knew the gravity of the situation demanded it. That was a risk he just had to take.
"We'll do whatever we can," Sören said, his voice firm despite the knot of anxiety in his stomach. He glanced at Anthony, who nodded in agreement.
Maglor's eyes softened as he looked at his former students. "We know we're asking a lot of you both. But we wouldn't if we didn't believe you were capable."
“And now, we will ask something else of you. Would you care to have supper with us at our house tonight?” Nicholas smiled. “We can catch up, perhaps discuss more pleasant things.”
Sören and Anthony looked at each other and nodded, then turned back to their old professors and nodded again. “We’d love to, thank you,” Anthony said.
“Good.” Maglor looked at the antique grandfather clock ticking away. “We know you have afternoon tea scheduled with Olórin - excuse me, Headmaster Gandalf, and we both have classes soon, so we shouldn’t keep you.”
“There will be more time this evening,” Nicholas said.
“Right.” Anthony got up, and shook their hands; Sören did too, trying not to feel those tingly butterflies as he clasped Nicholas’s and Maglor’s hands in turn.
As they left Nicholas's study, Sören and Anthony walked in thoughtful silence through the familiar halls of Wemblefrrf. The weight of their new mission hung heavy between them, tempering the nostalgia of their return.
"Well," Anthony said at last, adjusting his glasses, "this certainly wasn't the homecoming I expected."
Sören nodded, his brow furrowed. "I know. It's... a lot to take in."
They paused by a large window overlooking the academy grounds. Outside, students in colorful robes hurried between classes, their laughter and chatter drifting up from below. It was a scene so achingly familiar, yet now tinged with an undercurrent of unease.
"Do you think we're ready for this?" Sören asked softly, his brown eyes searching Anthony's face. "Investigating our own colleagues, uncovering potential corruption... it's not exactly what we signed up for when we joined the IMP."
Anthony reached out and took Sören's hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze. "I know. But if anyone can handle this, it's us. We've always made a good team, haven't we?"
Sören smiled, feeling some of the tension ease from his shoulders. "That we have. From late-night study sessions to saving each other's arses in Magical Combat class."
"Don't remind me," Anthony groaned, but there was a glimmer of amusement in his green eyes. "I still have nightmares about that Boggart incident in seventh year."
They shared a quiet laugh, the familiar banter helping to ground them in the face of the daunting task ahead. As they continued their walk towards the Headmaster's office for tea, Sören found himself lost in memories of their school days. The corridors seemed both familiar and strange, as if viewed through a haze of time. He could almost hear the echoes of their younger selves, rushing to class or sneaking out after curfew.
"Do you remember," Sören said suddenly, "that time in fifth year when we snuck into the kitchens at midnight?"
Anthony chuckled, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "How could I forget? We nearly got caught by Professor Radagast. If it wasn't for that timely distraction from his hedgehog..."
"Sebastian," Sören supplied with a grin. "I swear that creature was more intelligent than half our classmates."
They rounded a corner. As they approached the ornate door to the Headmaster's office, Sören felt a flutter of anticipation in his stomach. It had been years since he'd last seen Gandalf, and he wondered how the eccentric old wizard was faring.
Anthony reached out and grasped the brass knocker shaped like a phoenix, rapping it three times against the heavy oak door. For a moment, nothing happened. Then, a deep, rumbling voice called out, "Enter, my dear boys! The tea is getting cold!"
Exchanging amused glances, Sören and Anthony pushed open the door and stepped into the familiar circular office. It was just as they remembered - cluttered yet cozy, with shelves upon shelves of mysterious magical instruments whirring and puffing, and portraits of past famed mages dozing in their frames.
And there, seated behind an enormous desk of polished mahogany, was Gandalf himself. The years had been kind to the old wizard - his long white beard was perhaps a touch longer, his lined face a bit more wrinkled, but his blue eyes still twinkled with that same mischievous light Sören remembered from his school days.
"Anthony! Sören!" Gandalf boomed, rising from his chair with surprising agility. "Or should I say, Constable Hewlett-Johnson and Constable Sigurðsson? My, how you've grown!"
He swept around the desk, enveloping them both in a warm embrace that smelled of pipe smoke and parchment. As he pulled back, Gandalf's eyes twinkled. "Though I daresay some things never change. Still getting into trouble, are we?"
Sören felt his cheeks flush, but he couldn't help grinning. "We're not students anymore, Headmaster. We're here on official business."
"Ah yes, official business," Gandalf said, his eyes twinkling even more. "Which I'm sure involves copious amounts of tea and perhaps a biscuit or two?" He gestured to a small table near the window, where a steaming pot of tea and a plate of biscuits awaited.
As they settled into the plush armchairs, Gandalf poured them each a cup of fragrant Earl Grey. "Now then," he said, leaning back in his chair, "tell me all about your adventures in the big, bad world of magical law enforcement."
Anthony and Sören exchanged glances, silently debating how much to reveal. Finally, Anthony cleared his throat. "Actually, Headmaster, we were hoping to get your perspective on some... concerning developments."
Gandalf's bushy eyebrows rose as he took a sip of tea. "Oh? And what might those be?"
Sören leaned forward, lowering his voice instinctively. "There have been reports of increased magical incidents targeting non-magical individuals, particularly those with far-right political views. We're worried it could escalate tensions between the magical and non-magical communities."
Gandalf's jovial expression faded, replaced by a look of grave concern. He set down his teacup with a soft clink. "I see. And I take it you've already spoken with Nicholas and Maglor about this?"
Anthony nodded. "They're the ones who brought it to our attention. We were surprised we hadn't been briefed on it through official channels."
Gandalf stroked his beard thoughtfully, his brow furrowed. "Hmm. That is troubling indeed. The fact that this information hasn't reached you through proper channels suggests a concerning level of secrecy - or perhaps even interference - within the International Mage Police."
Sören nodded grimly. "That's what we feared. But why? Who would benefit from keeping this quiet?"
"That, my dear boy, is the question we must answer," Gandalf said, his blue eyes sharp beneath his bushy eyebrows. "History has shown us time and again that those who seek to divide magical and non-magical communities often have darker motives at play."
Anthony leaned forward, his tea forgotten. "You think this could be related to... to what happened during the War?"
A shadow passed over Gandalf's face. Gandalf's voice lowered, taking on a grave tone. "I pray it is not. But we cannot ignore the parallels. The rise of extremist ideologies, the targeting of specific groups... it's all too familiar."
Sören felt a chill run down his spine. "You don't think... surely it couldn't be happening again?"
"I hope not," Gandalf said, his blue eyes clouding with worry. "But we must be vigilant. The seeds of hatred and division can take root in even the most unexpected places."
Anthony set down his teacup with a soft clink. "What can we do, Headmaster? How can we investigate this without arousing suspicion?"
Gandalf stroked his beard thoughtfully. "You must tread carefully, my dear boys. Trust no one completely, not even your closest colleagues. But do not let paranoia cloud your judgment either."
He leaned forward, his eyes intense. "Use your unique positions within the IMP to your advantage. Your youth and relative inexperience may cause some to underestimate you - let them. Observe, listen, and above all, trust your instincts."
I’m thirty-five and I’ve been working for the IMP for ten fucking years, Sören thought to himself with a small flare of annoyance - but he realized when you got to be Gandalf’s age, someone like him was indeed still an inexperienced youth - and he just nodded, feeling a mix of determination and apprehension. "And if we do uncover something? What then?"
Gandalf's expression softened slightly. "Then you come to me, or to Nicholas and Maglor. Do not act alone, no matter how dire the situation may seem. Remember, you have allies - use them."
As they finished their tea, the conversation turned to lighter topics - fond memories of their school days, updates on fellow alumni, and plans for the upcoming holidays. But beneath the pleasant reminiscing, Sören could feel the weight of their new mission settling over them like a heavy cloak.
When they finally bid farewell to Gandalf, the sun was sinking low on the horizon, painting the sky in vibrant hues of orange and pink. As they made their way across the grounds towards Nicholas and Maglor's home, Sören found himself lost in thought, mulling over everything they'd learned.
"It's a lot to take in, isn't it?" Anthony said softly, breaking the silence.
Sören nodded, running a hand through his curly hair. "I keep thinking about what Gandalf said - about the parallels to the War. It's terrifying to think we could be heading down that path again."
Anthony reached out and took Sören's hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze. "We won't let it come to that. We'll figure this out, together."
As they approached Nicholas and Maglor's cottage, nestled at the edge of the Forbidden Forest, Sören felt a flutter of anticipation in his stomach. The quaint stone building was draped in climbing ivy, with warm golden light spilling from the windows. Smoke curled lazily from the chimney, carrying the scent of woodsmoke and something deliciously savory.
Anthony raised his hand to knock, but before he could, the door swung open. Maglor stood there, a vision in flowing silver robes that shimmered in the fading daylight. His long dark hair was loose around his shoulders, and a small smile played on his lips.
"Right on time," he said, his musical voice warm with welcome. "Come in, come in. Nicholas is just finishing up in the kitchen."
They stepped into a cozy living room, filled with overstuffed armchairs and bookshelves that reached to the ceiling. A fire crackled merrily in the hearth, casting dancing shadows on the walls. The air was thick with the scent of roasting herbs and garlic.
"Make yourselves comfortable," Maglor said, gesturing to the chairs. "Can I offer you a drink? We have a lovely elvish wine that I think you'll enjoy."
"That sounds wonderful, thank you," Sören said, sinking into one of the plush armchairs. Anthony nodded in agreement, taking the seat beside him.
As Maglor busied himself with pouring the wine, Nicholas emerged from the kitchen, looking slightly flushed and wearing an apron over his robes. "Ah, you've arrived," he said, smiling warmly. "Dinner will be ready shortly," Nicholas added, wiping his hands on a towel. "I hope you're both hungry."
Sören's stomach rumbled in response, eliciting a chuckle from Anthony. "I think that answers your question," Anthony said with a grin.
Nicholas's eyes crinkled with amusement. "Excellent. I've prepared a roast with all the trimmings - an old family recipe."
Maglor returned, gracefully handing out glasses of shimmering golden wine. As Sören took a sip, he was struck by the complex flavors - notes of honey, summer fruits, and something ethereal he couldn't quite place. It warmed him from the inside out, easing some of the tension he'd been carrying.
"This is delicious," he said appreciatively.
"I'm glad you like it," Maglor smiled, settling into an armchair across from them. "It was from my personal vineyard, way back in Valinor. A special vintage I've been holding onto for a very, very long time… saving for an occasion like this."
As they sipped their wine, the conversation flowed easily - fond memories of Sören and Anthony's school days, updates on mutual acquaintances, and plans for the upcoming holidays. But there was still an undercurrent of tension, a weight of unspoken concerns.
Nicholas soon excused himself to finish preparing dinner, and Maglor leaned forward, his grey eyes intense. "Now, tell me truthfully - how are you both feeling about everything we discussed earlier?"
Sören exchanged a glance with Anthony before answering. "Honestly? It's overwhelming. The idea that we might be facing another conflict like the War... it's terrifying."
Anthony nodded in agreement. "And the possibility of corruption within the IMP itself... it's hard to know who we can trust."
Maglor's expression softened, a flicker of ancient sorrow passing through his eyes. "I understand. Believe me, I do. The weight of such knowledge is not easy to bear." He leaned forward, his voice low and intense. "But remember this - you are not alone in this fight. Nicholas and I, Gandalf, and others you may not even be aware of yet - we are all working towards the same goal. To prevent history from repeating itself."
Sören felt a lump form in his throat at Maglor's words. The elf's eyes held a depth of experience and sorrow that Sören could scarcely fathom. He found himself wondering, not for the first time, about the countless wars and conflicts Maglor must have witnessed over his long life.
"Thank you," Sören said softly. "It means a lot to know we have allies in this."
Anthony nodded in agreement. "We'll do everything we can to uncover the truth and prevent any escalation."
Maglor smiled, a hint of pride in his ageless features. "I have no doubt you will. You were always among our most promising students, both of you."
Just then, Nicholas's voice called from the kitchen. "Dinner's ready!"
They made their way to the dining room, where a feast awaited them. The large oak table was laden with steaming dishes - a golden-brown roast chicken nestled among roasted potatoes and carrots, a bowl of vibrant green peas, freshly baked rolls, and a tureen of rich gravy. The scent was mouthwatering.
Nicholas stood at the head of the table, having shed his apron. He gestured for them to take their seats. "I hope you'll forgive the simple fare," he said with a hint of self-deprecation. "I'm afraid my culinary skills are rather mundane compared to my magical ones."
"It looks and smells wonderful," Sören assured him as they settled into their chairs.
Maglor took his seat beside Nicholas, his silver-grey robes shimmering in the warm candlelight.
As they began to fill their plates, the rich aroma of roasted herbs and garlic filled the air. Sören took a bite of the tender chicken and let out a small moan of appreciation. “This is truly excellent.”
Nicholas's cheeks flushed slightly at the compliment. "I'm glad you're enjoying it."
“Prrp?”
Sören looked down, and a brown tabby rubbed against his legs, purring loudly, then glanced up at him with big eyes and another inquisitive chirp. “Well, hello,” Sören said, reaching to pet the cat. “What a good… boy? Girl?”
"That's Tora," Nicholas said with a fond smile. "She's quite the little beggar when it comes to dinner time."
"Tora," Sören repeated, scratching behind the cat's ears. "What a pretty girl you are."
Tora purred louder, clearly pleased with the attention. She wound herself around Sören's legs once more before moving on to Anthony, giving him an expectant look.
Anthony chuckled, tearing off a small piece of chicken. "I suppose one little morsel won't hurt," he said, offering it to the cat.
Maglor raised an eyebrow, his lips quirking in amusement. "You'll regret that. Now she'll never leave you alone."
Sure enough, Tora gobbled up the chicken and immediately began meowing for more, her eyes fixed on Anthony's plate.
"No more for you, little one," Anthony said, gently shooing the cat away. "Go on now."
Tora gave him a reproachful look before sauntering off, tail held high.
When Sören felt like he couldn’t eat another bite or he would pop, then it was time for dessert. Nicholas disappeared into the kitchen and returned moments later with a steaming apple crumble, the scent of cinnamon and nutmeg wafting through the air. He set it down on the table with a flourish. "I hope you've saved room for dessert," he said, a hint of pride in his voice. "This is Maglor's specialty."
Maglor's eyes crinkled with pleasure. "Though I must admit, Nicholas has perfected it over the years."
As Nicholas began to serve the crumble, Sören observed the easy domesticity between the two men. It was a side of his former professors he'd never seen before, and it warmed his heart to witness their obvious affection for each other.
"So," Maglor said as they dug into the dessert, “you two are getting married.”
Nicholas raised his glass of wine. “Mazel tov,” he said to Anthony, followed by “Skál,” to Sören.
Maglor added, “Almien.”
"Thank you," Sören said, beaming. "We're very excited."
"Have you set a date yet?" Nicholas asked, taking a bite of the crumble.
Anthony nodded, swallowing a mouthful of the delicious dessert. "We're thinking in the spring at the equinox, actually. We'd love for you both to be there, if you're able."
Maglor's eyes lit up. "We wouldn't miss it for the world. Would we, Nicholas?"
Nicholas smiled warmly. "Of course not. We'd be honored to attend."
Sören felt a rush of affection for his former professors. "That means so much to us. Thank you."
"Speaking of celebrations," Maglor said, a mischievous glint in his eye, "we were wondering if you two might be interested in joining us here for the upcoming winter holidays?”
Sören's eyes widened in surprise and delight. "Really? You'd have us here for the holidays?"
"Of course," Nicholas said warmly. "As you know, we have plenty of room, and it would be lovely to spend more time together outside of work and... other concerns."
“You can even bring your cats along,” Maglor said.
Anthony glanced at Sören, a smile tugging at his lips. "What do you think, love? A cozy holiday at Wemblefrrf?"
Sören felt a surge of warmth in his chest. The idea of spending the holidays here, surrounded by the magic and memories of their school days, was incredibly appealing. "I think it sounds wonderful," he said softly.
"Excellent," Maglor said, clapping his hands together. "It's settled then. We'll make all the arrangements."
Sören's mind raced as they finished their dessert. On one hand, there was a dangerous situation waiting for them in Oslo. But on the other hand, they would have the opportunity to spend more time with their favorite professors, now as equals among equals.
I hope I don’t make a total ass of myself, Sören thought, his cheeks suddenly burning with a wave of embarrassment as he he thought about potentially walking in on Maglor or Nicholas changing or engaged in intimate activities. The mere idea of Maglor and Nicholas making love together stirred up desire within him, threatening to stiffen his cock, causing Sören to glare down at his pants. Down, boy.
As Nicholas began clearing the dessert plates, something else stirred in Sören’s pants - his IMP pager vibrated. Sören used telekinesis to pull it out and stepped off to the side; he hit the button for the projector and a screen appeared on the wall, with the face of Jonas Hagen, their supervisor, a balding fat man with a perpetually sour expression.
“Inquisitor Sigurðsson,” Hagen said, all formality. “I apologize if this is a bad time.”
“You know we’re on vacation for a few days, Chief,” Sören said, the pit of his stomach rising. Anthony came over and stood beside him. “What’s up?”
“I need you and Inquisitor Hewlett-Johnson to return to Oslo immediately. There’s been a situation.”
“Oh?” Sören cocked his head to one side. “Such as?”
“I’ll explain further when you get back,” Hagen said. “Please return at your earliest convenience.”
Anthony gave a mock salute, then the finger when the call ended. He glowered. “Seriously?”
“Wonder if this is about… all the everything,” Sören said. “If they’re finally gonna clue us into…” His voice trailed off, not wanting to think about the implications of what they’d been told today.
“You should still be careful, even if they tell you what we told you today,” Maglor said. “It’s concerning the news has been this slow to reach you.”
“Indeed,” Nicholas said.
“I’ll tell Mum,” Anthony said, taking out his cell phone and walking towards the door. “We might as well just use the portal to get back to Oslo and collect our stuff from Mum and Dad’s at a later, less urgent, date.”
“So much for going to Spain,” Sören huffed.
“Hopefully, this won’t ruin our holidays in a few weeks,” Nicholas said.
“Here’s hoping,” Sören said, but he wasn’t so sure.
next | return to story index | return to Maglor Fanfic | return to index