Harry Potter And The Sorcerer Stone Novels & Stories

He ended up taking one whose cover had caught his attention, purple velvet, which seemed to be Ruvyn's favourite colour. He laid down on the bed again and opened the book, it was about the most famous wizards who lived, those who made history. Like Nostradamus who used to make predictions or Rasputin who was a famous healing wizard, who used his sorcery to treat the Tsar and his wife, many times, without forgetting Nicolas Flamel who was the alchemist to succeed, in creating the philosophers stone, and the elixir of life in the 17th century. All those strange people he read about in his fantasy books like Harry Potter existed also in their world and they were somehow related to his new frien

They were too perfect to exist. "Boundary spells will take time to create hence the reason I brought a dark object that will immediately drain him of his power and make him seem more humane." Suzy winked at me. "What is the dark object?" Hilda touched a large palm tree bark and the wind started swirling almost immediately. "You will see," she said and stopped mid-air to inspect our surroundings. She slowed her breathing as she tried to make a magical reading.

To test it. "Listen, everyone, that crystal-like object embedded on its forehead is something called Magic Cryst!" He said. For more, visit Novelb(i)n.NET "Magic ..... Cryst?" Bob and Chloe repeated. Mai had an 'aha' expression on her face. "Do you mean...the the magic cryst that cost lots of gold points? That it could be fused to any type of weapons or armor? With additional ability or skill?" Mai fired question after question after hearing the familiar name of such an item.

Sunshine screams as the mixture flying through the air strikes her down. I step inside the protection ring. I reach out to make an opening and pull her onto our side to protect her, but before I can pull Sunshine into my magic protection, one of the minions grabs Sunshine. He hits Sunshine one time with the salty-smelling potion, and it penetrates her body.

“They will never even realize they turned by the time they’re away from the island.” “Huh, that’s cool.” I look at the castle off in the distance. As it gets closer, I realize just how big it is. Of course it’s big. It’s a castle. “Welcome to Hogwarts,” I mumble to myself. “Hog what?” Puma asks. “Hogwarts,” I repeat. “What?” “You know,” I say. “The school from Harry Potter.” “Who’s Harry Potter?” I narrow my eyes as I look at him.

A loud shrieking sound came from the beast. If he wasn't angry before, he sure was now! Think Hazel, THINK! But what the fuck could I do? I was just a girl, a stupid girl waving a stick at a nightmarish beast. What could a stick do? Suddenly an idea popped into my mind. I lifted the stick higher and made sure it was directly pointed at the beast. "EXPELLIARMUS!" I shouted. But nothing happened. FUCK! This spell always worked for Harry Potter - most of the times.

something that she wasn’t paying attention to. Quick as a flash Levy got off the bed and started looking through the books that she brought, her eyes skimming through the title of each chapter. “ Soul resurrection, how to make Sorcerer's stone, summoning of the great wizard, making of the wand, law of Hamartia…” she read the title of each chapter before reaching the end of the book. And just like the notebooks’ there wasn’t even the slightest hint of the spell called soul fetching, how was this possible? The book had an entire thirty-page chapter on soul resurrection but not soul fetching.

Peter's POV Draco walked in front of Enzo and me as we made our way to the underground torture chambers. The journey that normally took about 1 hour took just 35 minutes to complete. Draco's deathly aura when he entered the van indicated he was in one of his worst moods, which was very surprising considering he had been with the lady boss just a few moments ago.

It was replaced by the sharp, metallic tang of blood and the heavy, ozone-scented air of a rain-soaked battlefield. I saw a boy. He wasn't the hulking, scarred Alpha who had just rescued me from certain death. He was thin, covered in grime and deep, weeping gashes that looked like they should have been fatal. He was slumped against the Moonstone—a jagged white monolith that vibrated with a low, primal humming power. He looked so small. So disposable. So utterly alone in the dark.

It was the second time I burned myself with my cup of tea. I had recently bought it when I discovered an internet store about literary articles, and I instantly fell in love with the Harry Potter-themed cup that only required the coat of arms belonging to the book when it was filled to the top by a smoking liquid. Most of the time, I just filled it with water just to have the pleasure of seeing the dark color giving way to the brightness that contained the drawing of the most famous magnificent witchcraft school in the literary world.