Harry Potter Cormac Novels & Stories

He pushed the door open like he’d done it before, the hinges creaking in protest. The warmth inside hit me first, followed by the scent woodsmoke, leather, and something older, sharper. Cormac Vale was standing by the hearth, a glass of amber liquid in his hand. He looked… nothing like I expected. No scars, no monstrous sneer. Just a tall man with pale eyes that seemed to cut through the air between us. His hair was silver at the temples, though he couldn’t have been more than forty. And he was smiling. The Letter’s Shadow

“ I am not some frail toys that will break in a fight I can…“ Her father raised his hand she never got to finish her sentence because he interrupted her. “ you have no power to speak of. Your more mortal then immortal I keep hoping that will change as you mature but only time will tell. Until then you will follow the rest of the non-battle members of the court out of harms way. No matter how different you are you’re still one of the cauldron born and we cannot afford anything happening to you.” “M’Lord.” Interrupted Connor her father’s chief guard “ The lady was the only one who manage to kill one of the creatures.“ Cernunnous looked down at Connor “ is that so… Make sure it’s brought to the

What kind of ear does it have? “Goat?” I can’t believe he said that. He addressed me quickly and nodded without hesitation. “You son of a–” “Good morning, Sister.” I felt like a fool who quickly closed her mouth when she saw another nun. I quickly felt embarrassed because of this man. A girl had already pulled Cormac towards some of her other friends, so I didn’t try to chase them. I’d better just sit aside so I can watch them from afar. Cormac was unable to deny that he loves the children. They seem to be very close. He’s even called ‘dada’ and that girl. . . she makes him smile.

The door to the hall opened, a man entered the hall. He moved like shadow even though he was over 7 feet tall, he was wrapped in a dark cloak that was the color of shadows and it flowed behind him like he commanded the wind. His hair was raven-black, falling just past his sharp jawline, then his eyes like frozen silver swept over the room like he owned it yet did not want to be here, and for one terrible moment, he locked with hers. My breath caught, then my heart stuttered once, then resumed in a faster rhythm. I could smell him. Ash. Pine. The unmistakable scent of moon-kissed fur and pure lust. I don’t believe I have smelled anything more exotic.

I said, which made Cyrus’ eyes grow wide. “You’ve actually seen Harry fucking Potter?!” “I’ve read it. I have kids and grandkids. I need to know the things they know. Besides, even though the author was a dumbass, it’s a pretty cool story.” Cyrus nodded, “it is, right?” He winked at me. “But don’t fucking worry. I’ll die first, so I’ll let you know what it’s like.” “Don’t make jokes about that!” April said, slapping Cyrus’ arm, who pretended to be more hurt than he actually was.

An hour later, I arrived at the police station in my wheelchair. Hearing my voice, the person handcuffed to the chair slowly looked up. Upon seeing that familiar face, I felt a mix of emotions. “Ms. Spector.” My homeroom teacher looked me up and down. A flash of hatred crossed her eyes. “How are you still alive?” I rolled my wheelchair up to face the homeroom teacher. “Ms. Spector, can you tell me why you killed so many valedictorians?” My homeroom teacher scoffed coldly and turned her head away.

"I promised nothing." The door behind me opened. I turned, expecting guards, expecting Dimitri, expecting anyone. But it wasn't anyone. It was a man. He was tall—taller than Dimitri, taller than the Alaskan. His hair was the color of dark honey, falling across a face that looked like it had been carved by a sculptor who hated softness. His jaw was sharp. His cheekbones were sharper. And his eyes… His eyes were the color of the sea before a storm. Gray-green. Cold. And they were locked on me like I was prey.

We said goodbye and I headed to the address Nick had texted me. As I walked into the shop a friendly gentleman greeted me. “Miss Clarke, Mr. Thorn said to expect you.” “He did,” I sounded surprised. “I have the bottles ready for you.” We walked over to the counter, and he showed me the bottles. First was Chateau Montelena chardonnay and the second was a bottle of Macallan 18-year-old double cask whiskey. I nodded, not having a clue. I watched as he boxed the bottles up and placed a gift ribbon around each of them.

Low. Bastardly melodious. Unmistakably Irish. I step into the dim light, and there he is. Cormac Donnelly. The Irish Consigliere. He’s taller than I expected. Maybe six two. With broad shoulders filling out a dark gray coat that looks more suited for a winter funeral than a meeting in the stinky sewers.

"Words are, in my not-so-humble opinion, our most inexhaustible source of magic. Capable of both inflicting injury, and remedying it." ― Albus Dumbledore, Harry Potter, and the Deathly Hallows * H U N T E R J O N E S | The Lovestruck Bad Boy I unlocked the door and hold it open so the girls could get in. After having lunch and getting desserts with the girls, I felt bad for leaving Nat alone at home so we had cut our Christmas shopping short and gone home afterward.