The Robe Shop of Extraneous Dialogue
As his eyes adjusted to the dimmer lighting of the shop, he heard a voice saying, “Hogwarts, dear? Got the lot here – another young man being fitted up just now, in fact.” The speaker was a short, compact witch in mauve robes, and she was talking to a boy about his own age. The boy was skinny, skinnier even than Calvin, and had a mop of unruly black hair spilling over his head. He wasn’t wearing a robe, so Calvin assumed he was also from a muggle family.
The squat witch turned to Calvin. “You headed for Hogwarts too, dear? Come to the back and I’ll have you fitted as soon as I finish with this young man.” She headed to the back of the shop, where a boy with a pale, angular face and obnoxiously blond hair was standing on one of the two footstools, having his long black robes pinned up by a second witch.
“I’m Harry,” said the boy with the messy black hair as they followed the witch in mauve, who Calvin supposed was Madam Malkin. “Are you also going to Hogwarts?”
“I sure hope so! Otherwise, this is one elaborate prank. My name’s Calvin, by the way,” he responded happily.
“So you’re new to this magic stuff too?” Harry asked as they approached the footstools.
“Yep! I just got my letter this morning, and I’ve already seen someone turn into a cat! Professor McGonagall did it to prove to my mom that magic was real. It was pretty awesome.”
Harry blinked in surprise. “Wait a second, you’re American, aren’t you – do you live here?”
Calvin shook his head, and as Harry was ushered onto the vacant footstool, he explained, “Professor McGonagall had to come and teleport me here. It was nauseating, let me tell you – though at least I got to have breakfast again.”
Madam Malkin slipped a large robe over Harry’s head, and began placing pins in here and there, making sure it was the right length for him. The blond-haired boy on the footstool next to him glanced at them both.
“Hello,” he greeted airily. “Hogwarts, too?”
“There are two Hogwarts?” exclaimed Calvin. “Professor McGonagall never mentioned that – I guess I’m going to Hogwarts One, then.”
“I think he meant also, not the number two,” said Harry, holding an arm out to his side as Madam Malkin folded and then pinned some extra material.
The pale boy stared at them for a moment in incomprehension, then just shook his head dismissively. “My father’s next door buying my books and mother’s up the street looking at wands,” he drawled in a bored voice. “Then I’m going to drag them off to look at racing brooms. I don’t see why-”
“Oh, you mean the Nimbus 2000?” interrupted Calvin. “Some guy with a broken smile tried selling me one, but I told him I wasn’t into competitive sweeping and he just seemed to cease functioning completely. Professor McGonagall explained to me that it’s a flying broom, used in some wizarding sport called Quidditch, but I really don’t see how that’s any more exciting.”
“So you’re a muggleborn, then,” said the pale boy, grimacing slightly. “What about you?” he demanded, sticking his chin out towards Harry.
“I grew up with muggles, but my parents were wizards, if that’s what you mean,” Harry answered. He really didn’t like the other boy’s attitude. He reminded him a bit of Dudley.
“Well why’d you do a stupid thing like living with muggles if you have wizarding parents?” said the boy, as if repulsed by the thought.
“My parents are dead,” Harry responded a bit more crossly than he’d intended.
“Oh, sorry,” said the pale boy, his expression not changing in the slightest.
“You don’t sound very sorry,” Calvin interjected, raising an eyebrow. Man, I am so thankful I put in all that practice.
The boy turned, glaring down his nose at him. “What’s an American doing here anyway, aren’t there any wizarding schools in your country that’ll accept a muggleborn?”
“I have absolutely no idea,” replied Calvin matter-of-factly, choosing to ignore the boy’s insulting tone of voice. “But there seems to be at least one in Britain, so here I am.”
The blond boy snorted contemptuously. “I hope they don’t sort any muggleborns into Slytherin – that’s where I’m hoping to go, and all the Malfoys were there when they were in Hogwarts, so it’s bound to happen. What are your surnames?” he then asked, nodding to both of them.
“Sir Calvin,” replied Calvin instantly. What a stupid question.
“A surname means your family name,” Harry said, looking at Calvin with a wry smile. “Mine’s Potter,” he continued, turning back to the other boy.
“Potter?” the boy said, almost to himself. Then he frowned suspiciously. “What about you, then?” he asked, nodding in Calvin’s general direction.
“Oh, I’m too much of an individual to have a family name,” Calvin responded as if stating the obvious.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” the blond-haired boy said indignantly. “Everyone has a family name!” He seemed to think family names were pretty important.
“So you said you’re probably going to Slytherin?” Calvin asked curiously. “Professor McGonagall mentioned that I’d for sure end up in Gryffindor. How many houses are there?”
“Four in total,” the boy replied, glad for the chance to prove his superior knowledge. “Slytherin, Ravenclaw, Gryffindor, and Hufflepuff. I think I’d leave if I were in Hufflepuff, don’t you?”
Harry and Calvin shrugged simultaneously, and Calvin said, “Sounds like a brand of marshmallow. What’s the difference between all the houses, anyways?”
The boy chuckled at the comparison between Hufflepuffs and marshmallows. “Well, Slytherin’s the best, obviously, then there’s Ravenclaw, where all the book nerds go, then Gryffindor, for the stu-” He stopped short, glancing at Calvin. “For all the rash people, and Hufflepuff for the nobodies.”
“Doesn’t really seem like a valid sorting system to me,” Harry said thoughtfully. “I mean, what if you’ve got a rash book nerd? Or a rash nobody? And what does ‘best’ mean? Is there an objective best, or do the teachers decide?” Calvin was nodding in agreement, but the blond boy just snorted.
“Nobody decides, the sorting hat sorts everybody into their rightful house,” he said, rolling his eyes.
“How does it know which house is their rightful house?” asked Harry.
“Magic,” Calvin guessed.
“Exactly,” the boy replied, nodding at him as if complimenting a student on a correct answer.
The witch who was working on the boy’s robes stepped back, clicking her tongue. “All right, you’re done here,” she said, and the boy stepped off the stool.
“Well, I’ll see you two at Hogwarts, I suppose,” he said, stretching.
“Not if we see you first,” replied Calvin reflexively. He stepped onto the now empty footstool as the witch went to fetch a robe to be fitted for him.
The blond boy cocked his head. “I’m…not really sure it works that way. What’s your name, anyway?”
“Calvin,” said Calvin. “It’s like Sir Calvin, but without the Sir.”
“My name’s Draco, Draco Malfoy,” said Draco Malfoy.
“Nooo,” Calvin said, mourning the loss of an opportunity. “You have to say your last name first! It’s ‘The name’s Malfoy. Draco Malfoy.’ Much more impressive that way.”
“…Right. Anyways, I have to go take care of my sanity, or at least what’s left of it after this conversation. Be seeing you, Calvin, Potter.” He gave Harry a look, then left the shop.
“That was certainly entertaining,” Harry said as the door shut behind Draco. “I hadn’t realized that the wizarding community wouldn’t know anything about James Bond, or any other muggle references, actually, though it makes sense now that I think about it – they don’t have television.”
Calvin’s chin dropped so fast it opened a vacuum in the space it had left, and Calvin started coughing. When he’d finished, he turned to Harry, eyes wide as cornfields. “No…television?”
“They don’t use any electricity, from what I’ve seen,” Harry replied. “Magic must have replaced any need for it.”
“Um, yes, we’ve established that,” Harry said, looking at Calvin worriedly. “Are you okay?”
“They’ve never…watched TV…once…in their lives…”
Madam Malkin stepped away from Harry. “That’s you done, my dear,” she said in a chipper voice. Harry stepped off the stool, and waited while the other witch was finishing up with Calvin’s robes.
“Calvin…?” Harry said, waving his hand in front of the spiky-haired boy’s dazed eyes.
“Oh, sorry,” Calvin apologized, snapping out of…whatever it was. “Anyways, why’d Draco look at you like that when he said your name?”
“Probably because he knows who I am,” Harry muttered, looking down.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
Harry sighed and a resigned expression planted itself on his face. “Apparently, when I was just one years old, the most powerful and feared dark wizard in all of Britain, Voldemort, came to my house to kill me. He killed my parents, but when he tried to kill me, something happened that made it backfire, destroying him and leaving me with this.” He lifted up the cascade of black hair covering his forehead, revealing a scar shaped like a lightning-bolt.
“Wicked!” yelled Calvin. “Way to go Harry! You defeated the most powerful and feared dark wizard, and you weren’t even potty trained! That’s talent.”
“More like luck,” Harry replied mutely. “It’s not like I did anything. I’m just famous for not dying.”
Calvin’s eyes widened. “You’re famous?”
“Look, it’s not exactly something I’m proud of, so I’d appreciate if you didn’t bring it up.”
“No, sure, you won’t hear another word about it from me,” Calvin said quickly, miming locking his mouth and throwing the key away.
Harry gave him a crooked smile. “Thanks.”
“You’re finished too,” the witch who was fixing up Calvin’s robes said, stepping back.
“Nice!” Calvin leapt off the stool and struck a pose. “How do I look, Harry?”
“Like a boy wearing a black robe.”
“Do the words ‘mysterious and powerful’ come to mind, by any chance?”
Harry tried to cover up a laugh and failed miserably. “If you were fifty centimeters taller and had some way to cover up that hair of yours, maybe.”
“Ah well,” Calvin replied. “Can’t win ’em all. Or is it ‘can’t win a mall?’ I forget.” Harry shook his head, grinning, and headed to the front of the shop, Calvin right behind him.
The two were about to exit the shop when Calvin realized something. “Oh, wait, I’m not allowed to leave here until Professor McGonagall comes back.” Then he looked at Harry in surprise. “Wow, I can’t believe I remembered that!”
So they said goodbye, and promised to find each other at King’s Cross on September 1st. As Harry left, a ridiculously large man came by and began talking to him, and then they walked off together. Woah. That guy is seriously gigantic. I wonder if Hobbes could take him in a fight, Calvin thought seriously.
His musings were interrupted by the door opening, and he turned to watch as a bushy-haired girl with bucked-teeth walked confidently into the shop, followed by two people who could only be her parents, looking around cautiously as if they expected to be set upon by dragons at any moment. Madam Malkin walked past him to greet the three customers, and then led them to the footstools at the back. With nothing to do but wait for Professor McGonagall, Calvin decided to follow them.
“You’re a muggleborn too, right?” he asked the girl as she stepped onto the footstool.
“Yes,” she replied, pursing her lips thoughtfully and looking down at where her jeans peaked out from under the black robe Madam Malkin had given her. “I suppose you could tell from my clothes, couldn’t you. That’s why I wanted to come here first, you see, to get my robes, so that when I went around to all the other stores nobody would give me funny looks for wearing ‘muggle clothing,’ though that makes me wonder what wizards and witches wear when they go out among muggles. I mean, they can’t just wear whatever odd robes and hats and whatnot they usually wear, right? People would notice, and because of the Statute of Secrecy they can’t have people finding out about magic, which means wizards would have to do their best to blend in, though I don’t think they’d be too good at it, do you, since none of them seem to know anything about the muggle world in general. I’m Hermione Granger, by the way, what’s your name?” The girl’s parents were looking at her worriedly, and her mother was biting her bottom lip. Her father glanced at Calvin – whose face was frozen in momentary surprise – and shook his head sadly, whispering something like ‘..done it again, dear…’
The next second Calvin was grinning widely, his face practically glowing. He cracked his knuckles, stretched his neck, cleared his throat, and took a deep breath. His words were launched from his mouth like a spitball from the end of a perfectly crafted pen casing. “No actually, it was the way your parents were looking around as they walked into the shop like they expected something terrible to happen and everything was under suspicion of being dangerous. This is my first stop too, besides for Gringotts, though I guess you had to go there as well to exchange your money for wizarding currency just like Professor McGonagall did for me. I’ve gotten a lot of funny looks since entering Diagon Alley, but I don’t think they had anything to do with the clothes I’m wearing – one time it was because I interpreted a poem correctly, though I don’t know what’s so weird about that, but this other time was just because I made a James Bond reference that the wizard didn’t understand, can you believe that wizards don’t have television, or any electricity at all? I mean, sure magic can probably fill in for a lot, but look at the lighting in here – candles! There’s no way that open flames are a better alternative to fluorescents, seriously. I’m Calvin, and it’s nice to finally meet someone who knows how to talk efficiently.”
Hermione beamed at him, blushing just a little. “Actually, I asked about the lack of electricity, and it turns out that magic interferes with it, so that’s at least one of the reasons it isn’t used, though I agree that the wizarding world is woefully ignorant of technology and muggle culture as a whole. Oh, these are my parents.” She turned to said parents who were staring at the two of them in awe. “Mum, dad, this is Calvin.” Her parents babbled their greetings, clearly too astounded by the proceedings to pay any attention to fine muscle control. Hermione glanced back at Calvin as Madam Malkin fixed up the back of her robes. “Are you waiting to get more robes done?”
“Nah, I’m finished here – I’m just waiting for my escort. I’m not allowed to leave the shop before she comes back. Aren’t you going to point out that I’m American and ask why I’m here?”
The bushy-haired witch looked at him curiously, then her expression turned mildly annoyed and she said, “Oh, I can’t believe I didn’t think of that – it would make sense for there to be more than just one wizarding school in the entire world. So why are you here?”
She received the Calvin Shrug in answer. “No clue, but I plan on asking Professor McGonagall when she comes to get me.”
“Professor McGonagall?” said Hermione, eyes growing wide. “She’s a professor at Hogwarts, isn’t she? Oh I just can’t wait to meet all of them – what subject does she teach?”
“You know, I’m not quite sure. I don’t think that came up during her visit to my house. Bet it has something to do with turning into a cat, though.”
“She can turn into a cat!?” asked Hermione incredulously.
“Well, I didn’t say that, but yes, she can. Gave Hobbes quite the scare.”
“My best friend. He’s a tiger,” Calvin added offhandedly.
“Of- of course he is. Yes. I see.” She was eyeing him cautiously now, much like her parents had been eyeing their surrounding when they’d entered the shop. “And how long have you two been best friends?”
“Ever since I caught him with a tuna fish sandwich trap.”
Hermione stared at him, then just shook her head as if to clear it.
“Your robes are finished, dear,” Madam Malkin announced, tucking the extra pins into her hair distractedly.
“Oh, thank you,” Hermione said, stepping down from the stool and examining her robe. “It fits perfectly,” she added, smiling at the seamstress.
“You’re such a dear, dear,” Madam Malkin replied graciously. “Do come say hello next time you’re in Diagon Alley, won’t you?”
“I will. Thank you again.” Hermione turned to Calvin. “It was great meeting you, Calvin…” She trailed off.
“Oh, I don’t have a last name,” Calvin said, guessing that she was waiting for him to supply one.
She cocked an eyebrow. “Don’t have a last name? How’d that happen?”
“Hobbes ate it,” he said with a shrug. “I’m sure he got more out of it than me, anyways, so no loss there.”
“I’ll have to meet this Hobbes fellow,” Hermione said suspiciously.
“No problem, I’m taking him to Hogwarts with me – you can meet him there. I’d say you could meet him at King’s Cross, but I asked Professor McGonagall and it seems tigers aren’t allowed on the train. Pity, too – Hobbes loves train rides.”
“Well, Calvin of the tiger-eaten last name, I have to go get the rest of my school supplies now. I’ll see you on September 1st?” she asked hopefully.
“Count on it,” replied Calvin with a nod. “I’m happy I met you – I’ve never talked to a female before that hasn’t tried to have me sent to either the principal’s office or my room.” Hermione giggled and tried to cover it up, causing it to become a full-blown laugh. Then she waved at him, and her parents led her outside, peering worriedly over their shoulders at Calvin. And everything else.
How ironic would it be if Hermione got me sent to the Headmaster’s office at Hogwarts, Calvin thought with a quiet chuckle. He glanced around the now empty shop, wondering what was keeping Professor McGonagall. He was about to step out of the shop for a quick look around when the door opened again, this time ushering in a brown-skinned boy with short black hair, and a woman who could only be his mother. Calvin deliberated for a moment. Well, it’s not like there’s anything else to do…
He walked up to the pair as the door closed behind them, giving a little bow and a smile. “Another one for Hogwarts, I suppose? Right this way, then.” Looking a bit unsure, they followed him to the back of the shop. What is it, muggleborn hour? Calvin mused as he noticed the muggle clothing the mother and son were both sporting, and the curious glances they gave every part of the shop as they walked past it.
Madam Malkin looked up in surprise as they approached, then smiled warmly. “Another one for Hogwarts, dear? This way, then,” she said, gesturing to the footstool. The pair looked back and forth between Calvin and Madam Malkin in confusion. “What’s the matter, dear?” the squat witch said when she noticed that the boy had yet to make a move toward the stool. The boy shook his head and stepped up onto stool, where Madam Malkin slipped a billowing black robe over his head.
That’s certainly a lot of billowing. Does mine billow like that? Calvin twisted his head, trying to get a good look at the back end of his robe. When he turned back around in defeat, the short-haired boy was talking to Madam Malkin, pointing to a place on his sleeve.
“Do you think I could get some maroon and yellow accents along this spot here?” Madam Malkin just kept pinning. “And maybe the West Ham logo on the back – that’d look great. Don’t you think?” he added, looking at Calvin.
“What’s a West Ham?” Calvin asked. “Is it like ham, but only cooked on one end or something?”
“What’s West Ham!?” the boy guffawed. “Only the greatest team in football! I mean, sure, they finished bottom of the league last year, but they’ve always been a bit inconsistent – this year I bet they’ll go up twenty places, at least!” He noticed Calvin’s expression of mild bafflement and stopped. The boy’s mother cleared her throat loudly. “Wha- oh, right, forgot to introduce myself, sorry. I’m Dean Thomas, and this is my mum,” he said, nodding towards the woman on his left. Why do I always wait for the other person to introduce themselves first? That’s got to change, Calvin decided silently.
The woman lifted her hand in greeting and smiled. “Are you also going to Hogwarts, dear? We were so surprised when Dean got his letter – though now that I think back on it, his father was probably a wizard. Can’t know for sure though.” Dean looked uncomfortable at the topic being discussed, and was studying the carpet intensely.
“Yep, I’m going to Hogwarts too!” Calvin said quickly. “My name’s Calvin. My mom didn’t believe it was for real when I showed her the letter, or even when a Hogwarts professor showed up at our door. After she saw Professor McGonagall turn into a cat, though, she was convinced. And dumbstruck, too, at least at first.”
“We have a teacher who can turn into a cat!?” said Dean, face lighting up in amazement. “Cool! I wonder what type of magic she teaches. Maybe we all get to learn how to turn into animals!” he said enthusiastically.
“That would be epic!” agreed Calvin just as enthusiastically.
“It would be so totally wicked!” Dean enthused, yelling.
“It would be beyond wicked!” yelled Calvin loudly.
“It would be flippin’ amazing!” Dean loudly declared.
“It would be amazingly fantastic!” Calvin declared excitedly.
“It would be fantastically incredible!” Dean excitedly screamed.
“It would be incredibly mind-blowing!” Calvin screamed boisterously.
“It would be mind-blowingly magnificent!” Dean boisterously proclaimed.
Dean shrugged apologetically.
“All right, you’re finished, young man,” Madam Malkin interjected, massaging her temples. The other witch and Dean’s mother were both yawning determinately, trying to pop their ears.
“Great!” said Dean, hopping off of the stool. He turned to Calvin, smiling happily. “See you at Hogwarts then?”
“I’ll look for you at King’s Cross. See if we can’t get a group of muggleborns together for the train ride,” Calvin told him, thinking of Hermione and Harry (so Harry wasn’t technically a muggleborn, but he was where it counted – namely, recognizing movie references).
“Sounds good! It was first-rate meeting you, Calvin!” Dean smiled and waved as his mother pulled him to the door.
“It was whiz-bang meeting you, Dean!” Calvin shot back as loud as he could before the door closed behind them. He smiled to himself. That kid’s great. Hope he’s in Gryffindor.
The door slammed open again, and the silhouette framed by the doorway seemed to exude anger like a slug exudes…that slime stuff. I’ve got to work on my similes, really. That was just completely unsatisfactory. “Mr. Calvin. If your yelling wasn’t heard all the way back to your house then I shall eat my hat!” The stern Scottish witch stomped into the shop, teeth barred, and judging by her clenching and unclenching fists she appeared to be trying to get her emotions under control. Maybe. It was possible. “And if it wasn’t the only reason I finally found you, I do not know what punishment I would be giving you! But know this,” she seethed, leaning in close. “It would. Have. Been. Terrible.”
Calvin gulped and tried to moisten his suddenly dry mouth. “Um, what do mean, found me?”
Professor McGonagall seemed to deflate, and she stared up at the ceiling, shoulders limp. “I had assumed,” she began tiredly, “that since I’d spend a little over ten minutes away, you would certainly wander off, ignoring my instructions to wait. I started my pre-emptive search, which, of course, yielded nothing, as you were apparently here the entire time.” She looked at him and frowned. “I continued this search anyway, thinking that by then you’d definitely have wandered off. It went on like that for a while. You really did listen to my instructions?” she asked as they left the robe shop, blinking in the afternoon sunlight.
Calvin gave an exaggerated shrug and held his arms out to the sides, his expression saying clearly, ‘Who knew?’ “I even surprised myself, Professor McGonagall. So, where to? We getting some gloves made out of dragons? A dragon made out of gloves? A cauldron made out of chocolate, perhaps?” he said eagerly, rubbing his hands together like a mad scientist mouse with a genius yet dastardly plan to take over the world.
Professor McGonagall shook her head and gave him a weary smile. “During my prolonged trip around Diagon Alley looking for you, Mr. Calvin, I took the opportunity to purchase the rest of the items on your list. All that’s left now is your wand.”
“Oh, thank goodness, this scene was dragging on forever,” Calvin sighed, placing the back of his right hand against his forehead dramatically.
“Excuse me?” Professor McGonagall asked, eyebrows furrowed in confusion.
Huh. Seems everyone’s eyebrows get some good exercise when talking to me. “Nothing,” he replied dismissively. “Wow, is that an ocean blue ferret!?” he then exclaimed, rushing over to a nearby shop window.
Professor McGonagall took a deep breath and exhaled slowly through her nose. “Mr. Calvin, please do try to stay on task. We are going to Ollivanders, now, to buy you a wand.”
Calvin whirled around and pumped his fist in the air. “All right! Magic time!”
The Scottish witch sighed. “Yes, Mr, Calvin, it is indeed,” she rolled her eyes resignedly. “…Magic time.”
Ollivanders was a run-down looking place, and much more narrow than the shops around it. The golden letters on the door were peeling, but Calvin could still read it just fine. ‘Ollivanders: Makers of Fine Wands since 382 B.C.’ it said.
Calvin whistled appreciatively. “That is old. How is this guy still alive?” he asked, looking up at Professor McGonagall. She just snorted half-heartedly and opened the door, gesturing for Calvin to go inside.
Somewhere deep inside the store a tinkling bell sounded faintly. The quiet that followed was so complete it seemed almost suffocating. Calvin shivered, wishing he’d brought a jacket. It was significantly colder in here than it had been in the other shop, though he didn’t see how that was possible. He looked around.
Aside from a spindly chair near the entrance, the rest of the shop was dominated by row upon row of old wooden shelves, dust coating them like varnish. Crowding every level of every shelf were heaps of narrow boxes, and in some places the heaps had spilled over onto the floor, piling up until the ones on top scraped against the the ceiling.
The quiet stretched until it somehow felt as if it had reached a breaking point. The air appeared to crackle with mysterious energy. The hairs on Calvin’s neck and arms stood on end. He gulped nervously, waiting, waiting for…something, he wasn’t sure what, but something had to happen, or he’d snap.
“Good afternoon,” said a voice softly from somewhere above his left shoulder.
“GAHH!” Calvin yelped, jumping and twisting in the air. He landed heavily on his side, and looked up to see an old man with wide, pale eyes shining like headlights through the dim air of the shop. The man was staring at him, smiling blankly.
Calvin turned his head to Professor McGonagall, fear still frozen in his stomach. “Is- is he… safe?” he squeaked, the air barely escaping his lips.
“Gah indeed,” the old man breathed, still staring at Calvin. Oh god. I’m going to be taken and sacrificed to the Zargord King, I’m going to be burned alive and fed to his pet pterodactyl morsel by morsel, strip of flesh by bleeding strip of flesh…He’s going to torture me until I tell him all my secrets, and then he’ll continue torturing me because he has nothing better to do and he finds it amusing and he’s utterly insane and I’M GOING TO DIE.
The old man slowly raised a hand to the side of his mouth, and leaned in until he was about two inches from Calvin’s nose. His eyes were still locked on Calvin’s. “Periwinkle,” he whispered, winking.
“Wh- wha…” Calvin tried to find enough oxygen to speak, but his throat kept closing up. “What?” he finally choked out.
The old man leaned in closer, until his nose was almost brushing Calvin’s. Still his eyes stared. “That’s the color of the pterodactyl you were imagining being fed to. Periwinkle.”
Calvin blinked. He swallowed, shaking. He tried to collect his thoughts. They blurred and shook, flashes of colour overtaking his vision; white, black, orange-
And then he fainted.
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