Harry Potter: The Boy Loved by Beasts

Chapter 12: Finale And A New Beginning!

Vira: "Finally getting out of that hellhole. Thank god."

Author: "You were out of there years ago."

Vira: "Well, yeah, but reading your crap brought back the hunger. Honestly, that's the worst situation I've ever been in—this life or the last."

Author: "It is smooth sailing after a while, huh? A pity, though. I really enjoyed writing you miserable."

Fortunately, Vira was in a good mood and simply ignored the guy.

Time passed from afternoon to night, and then morning came. The sun remained barely noticeable, hidden behind thick clouds, even though the snow had stopped sometime during the night.

As always, Vira woke up around 9 a.m. However, unlike the days and even weeks before, he no longer had the comfort of milk to sustain him. He had been sleeping more often than eating and now felt weak.

The first thing he saw upon waking was the sad eyes of the serpent staring back at him. Feeling uneasy, he asked Viper, "Is the bottle there?" The serpent's answer wasn't something he wanted to hear. Viper simply shook its head, confirming that there was no milk.

Vira, at this point, started feeling desperate. Unlike a few days prior, when he still held on to hope and might have had the strength to seek help, this time, it felt impossible. The snow had not melted even a bit from the day before, and his only hope—Viper—was also limited. The serpent could hardly move in the freezing conditions, and even if it forced itself to push through the cold, its already sluggish, cold blood would make it impossible to go far.

As for himself, the idea of crawling out into the snow was unthinkable; he knew he would freeze to death before he could make it anywhere.

His desperation only grew until his gaze fell on the kitchen stove. A grim idea began forming in his mind. If he somehow managed to turn it on and let the gas leak, perhaps he could cause an explosion or even set the house ablaze. Someone would surely notice the flames or the sound of the blast and come to investigate.

But he remained unmoving, frozen by hesitation. The risk was too great. If the stove exploded, he would have to be dangerously close to let the flame out—and that proximity could kill him instantly. While the plan was plausible, even perfect in a cruel way—with all the windows and doors tightly shut and little chance for the gas to escape—it still required him to take the first step, one that could end his life before anyone arrived to help.

There was another, darker thought lurking in his mind, one he despised even as it surfaced. It would be even more possible if he simply sacrificed the snake. Viper could light the flame instead of him. The thought sent a shiver through his body, one not caused by the cold.

But he kept hesitating. His mind kept perfecting the idea, making it seem more plausible with each passing moment. Yet his heart rebelled against it. He couldn't bring himself to follow through. Viper was more than just a snake; it was his only friend, the sole being that had kept him alive through this nightmare. To let it die for his own survival felt like a betrayal too cruel to bear.

There was another fear that gnawed at him—the risk that even if he managed to ignite the house, he might not survive long enough for anyone to arrive. What good would his sacrifice be then?

And yet, in the depths of his despair, another thought whispered to him: You've already lived once. A long life at that. Maybe if he died, he could be reborn again. But Viper... Viper wouldn't get another chance. It was unique in this world, his only family, and the one constant presence he had.

In these past days, the bond between them had grown stronger than anything he could recall from his now-fading memories of his previous life. To think of sacrificing Viper, even for his own survival, made his chest ache with a pain deeper than hunger.

The extreme conflict raging inside him paralyzed him, a clash between survival instincts and the bonds of love and loyalty. The weight of it all pressed down on him, making his heart ache, even as his body remained frozen, unable to act.

What was worse was that he wouldn't even be able to do anything. Time had slipped away during his painful internal struggle, and his body, already fragile, was starting to give up. Hunger gnawed at him relentlessly, and the weakness it brought was more than he could bear.

His eyelids grew heavier with every passing moment, and soon, even the thoughts swirling in his mind began to fade. The drowsiness crept in, not just claiming his body but dragging his very soul into its depths.

Before he could fight it off, he succumbed. His body slumped where he sat, and he fell into a restless, fitful sleep.

And the one witnessing all of this was Viper. Watching Vira's struggle was a torment unlike any the serpent had ever known. Viper's simple mind, unburdened by the complexity of human emotions, was still deeply intertwined with Vira's feelings. It didn't need words to understand its companion's pain—Vira's suffering resonated with the very core of its being.

The emotions were raw, overwhelming. The happiness it had once felt in Vira's presence was now consumed by a gnawing agony. Viper didn't have the capacity to process emotions beyond what it shared with Vira, and now it was experiencing those same emotions twisting into something darker, heavier.

Its instincts—more than just those of its body, but the very essence of its existence—screamed at it. The bond between them was fraying, and it could feel its friend slipping further and further away. Vira's pain and confusion were like waves crashing into Viper, intensifying its own sense of helplessness.

One might expect that as the intensity of the emotions faded, Viper would find some relief. But it was far from that. As the shared pain began to dull, it was replaced by confusion—then madness. Viper's instincts were frantic. It needed to wake Vira up. It had to bring him back.

It began trying everything it could remember, every interaction they'd ever shared, desperately digging into its limited memories of Vira. First, it slithered closer to Vira's still form, his pale face and closed eyes sending waves of panic through the snake. It nudged him with its head, then slapped him with its tail. The sharp thuds echoed in the quiet house as the snake's strikes turned more frantic.

Slap after slap, its efforts left red marks on Vira's cheeks, scales imprinting faintly on his skin. But nothing happened. Vira didn't stir. For the first time, what had always worked—what had woken the woman in the past—had utterly failed.

The failure only spurred Viper further. It bit down on Vira's sleeve, tugging it insistently, pulling his arm toward the scattered shards of glass nearby. In its mind, it remembered how Vira had reacted when blood flowed from his hand before, how it had seemed to awaken something in him. But even this desperate attempt failed.

Growing more desperate, Viper recalled vira sucking his hands,ones ozzing blood before .So, it slammed its tail against the shards of glass, the sharp edges cutting into its scales. Dark blood oozed from the wound, staining the floor. With painstaking determination, it curled its tail and brought it to Vira's lips, letting the blood drip into his mouth. It watched, motionless and trembling, as the liquid trickled in.

When it had done all it could, Viper climbed onto Vira's chest, coiling its body around him. It kept its tail pressed near his mouth, as if willing him to drink, to respond. The snake didn't know what else to do. Its intelligence was limited—it didn't have the capacity to think beyond what it had observed in Vira.

In its frantic focus, only a few memories came to mind. When Vira was exposed to the cold, he would bury himself in piles of clothes and sleep. When he was injured, he rested until he could move again. When he ate, he slept afterward. Everything Vira did seemed to end with sleep.

Viper coiled tighter, trembling as it tried to mimic those moments, hoping—praying in its own instinctual way—that this time would be no different.

Luckily, Viper didn't have to do anything more. The energy from its blood proved potent enough to rouse Vira, even in his weakened state.

Vira's eyes fluttered open, and he immediately felt a searing pain radiating from his cheeks. His right arm felt like it was on fire, blood draining from it, the sensation far too intense for him to ignore. As his mind began to clear, he could taste something sweet—a liquid flowing across his throat and down into his stomach. His body instinctively began to digest it at a rapid pace, the warmth of it seeping through him.

He tried to make sense of what was happening, his body fighting to remain conscious despite the overwhelming agony. His vision was blurry, and he felt like he was drifting in and out of a feverish haze. The pain from his arm and cheeks mixed with the strange sensation of the liquid filling him, but it was enough to snap him back from the edge of unconsciousness.

The mixture of physical pain and the strange nourishment seemed to be just what he needed to survive. His mind began to clear as he struggled to focus, and his body—still fragile—finally began to recover.

But what had happened? He tried to remember, but the memories were cloudy. He blinked and glanced around, feeling a growing sense of confusion. Why did he feel so weak yet...alive?

As Vira's eyes scanned his surroundings, his gaze fell upon Viper, weakly curled up on his chest. The sight of his serpent friend, barely moving, sent a jolt of realization through him. The sweet liquid in his mouth was not only the source of his return to consciousness, but it was also solved his internal struggle. Vira had been hesitant before, wrestling with thoughts of sacrifice, but now... the decision felt different.

No, he wouldn't sacrifice Viper. That was not the plan. But there was still a way forward. A risk, a chance, something bigger.

He felt the urgency of their situation. Time was slipping away, and the cold from outside pressed in like an invisible wall. The house would be their tomb if nothing changed. The milk, the hope, everything seemed to be slipping from his grasp. But he wasn't going to die without a fight.

With a swift motion, he locked his eyes on the clock on the wall, the ticking sound somehow mocking his helplessness. The solution was simple, in a way—he just had to make something work. His fingers, though weak and stiff, reached for the multiplug nearby. He knew active wires could be connected to create sparks. Could he make a spark large enough to start the fire?

He glanced back at Viper, then down at his own body, feeling the freezing cold settling in deeper. The risk was heavy. A small contraption made of the clock's hands and the multiplug wire, the perfect mechanism to create that spark. If it worked, it could cause a fire. But if it failed... they would freeze to death in the cold, waiting for the impossible.

Vira knew the odds. The window for rescue was slim. The idea of dying in this freezing, suffocating silence gnawed at him. But he refused to give up. They had made it this far. And now, it was time to take the biggest risk of all.

Vira made up his mind, his thoughts sharp and clear now. He turned to Viper, his voice steady despite the growing panic inside. "Go, take the clock down," he commanded, trying to push the anxiety away. Viper, with its weak form, hesitated for a moment but understood and moved toward the wall.

Meanwhile, Vira's trembling hands reached for the shattered glass from the broken milk bottles, his fingers scraping against the sharp edges as he worked to cut the rubber casing of the wire. He couldn't afford to make a mistake. One wrong move, and he would be electrocuted—death by shock, not fire. The outlet was hidden behind the sofa without a switch, with no easy way to turn off the power. He didn't have time to figure out the safer route, so this was his only option.

But as he focused, something tugged at his senses—something he couldn't see or hear, but he felt it. It was subtle at first, a presence near him. He instinctively thought it was Viper, still pushing at the clock. But then, something larger—an even more overwhelming presence. And with it, a knowing. If he called, they would come.

His focus broke as the sensation washed over him. Confusion and uncertainty followed, but before the feeling completely vanished, he had managed to let out a call—his voice weak but determined.

Still feeling a bit weird, He shook his head, refocused, and began cutting the wire again. But before he could pick up another shard of glass, he saw Viper staring at him. The clock, still hanging on the wall, was untouched.

"Why don't you pull the clock down?" Vira asked.

Viper tilted its head, the confusion evident in its large, sad eyes. "Huh? What do you mean, I called you?"

Vira stared back, bewildered. "No, I didn't—"

Before he could finish, there was a loud noise—a series of bangs echoed from the door. "Bang. Bang. Bang!" The noise rattled through the quiet room, causing Vira to flinch and crawl toward the dog hole. He pushed the flap up cautiously, the noise ceasing as he peered out, his breath catching in his throat.

What he saw shocked him.

A large dog head, mostly white with a black patch near the right eye, was coming straight toward him. Its mouth was wide open, tongue hanging out. For a split second, fear surged through him, thinking the creature might attack. With a desperate shout, Vira flung himself away from the hole, scrambling backward ignoring the strange feeling from his hear one that made him feel as if the creature up front was harmless and filled with kindness.