Magic Makes Me Special
Title: Magic Makes Me Special
Words: 1000, written in ten 100 word drabbles
Characters: Sylar, Mr. Ollivander, Peter Petrelli
Rating: R/M for very brief gore
Notes: Written for regazzadilupo. First drabble previously posted alone.
Setting, Heroes: Roughly at the end of season 2. This is after Sylar adds Claire's ability to his repertoire and before Nathan has the press conference that he's shot during.
Setting, Harry Potter Verse: Several months after the Deathly Hallows.
Summary: Sylar tries to gain magic and finds out he's been going about this all wrong.
Sylar crouched over the prone wizard before him, fingers knuckle deep in the exposed gray matter. Wisps of information, intangible and fleeting as smoke, drifted through the killer's mind. He struggled to integrate them. On occasion, his ability failed to grasp that of another, but this was the third time he had tried to gain this 'wizardry' ability and the third time he had failed. He snarled, growling to himself in frustration as he gave it up. That is, he gave up for this time. Apparently, there were many more wizards out there. Eventually, he'd have this magic for himself.
On first inspection, it seemed no more than a slender piece of wood. Of course Sylar had learned immediately to separate the wizard from their stick. They could be very dangerous with a wand, but he'd thought of it as a mere weapon. Now he was beginning to suspect it was the key to the puzzle. It had a power all its own and he could sense it, just as he could tell who was special and who was not. He needed to learn more of the connection between wand and wizard. He'd overheard enough to know where to start.
Walking into the wand shop made his ability twinge so hard his teeth ached. He would have staggered had he not been expecting it. An old wizard ran this shop. It was freshly reopened after whatever internal schism had affected them recently. Sylar had heard some of the news, but it didn't concern him other than the lingering violence providing a cover for his activities. The old man came out and gasped, evidently seeing something startling about his customer. Sylar tilted his head. "I need a wand, Ollivander. You're going to help me get one - one way or another."
Sylar left the shop empty-handed. The wand that would allow him to channel magic had not yet been made, but Ollivander had, under some pressure, promised that it could be made, if only he would return with a critical component: a hair from someone who could contain every ability there was. Sylar had immediately offered his own, but of course it was not that simple. Although the old wizard had tried, the newly crafted wand would not work for Sylar. He needed another; that otherness would set up a harmony, a magical duality. Peter Petrelli would be getting a visit.
Sylar skulked as the EMT left work, walking down the mostly deserted street towards the subway entrance. He'd avoided Peter since the embarrassing incident at Kirby. He had no idea what Peter had been up to since, as Sylar had been busily restocking his arsenal of abilities. He'd started with Claire and a few others. He would soon add this 'magic' ability. Sylar sneered. Obviously Peter had gotten a job, but there was no doubt in Sylar's mind that Peter had been up to nothing else more interesting. How could Peter be so mundane and extraordinary at the same time?
Sylar thought through his unnecessarily elaborate plan of jumping Peter at his apartment, considering the risks and advantages, working out his strategy. He'd take Peter's ability, first and foremost. He tried not to think of any other reason he'd be there. When Peter was safely on the subway and gone, Sylar gave up the mental pretense and hurried back to the hospital. Getting in the locker room and lifting a few hairs off Peter's work clothing was fairly easy and much, much safer than fighting him directly. Thus equipped, Sylar headed for the airport. He had a plane to catch.
Sylar felt it the moment he lifted the wand - fire ran through his veins and lit him up from within. The Hunger was gone, but replacing it was a wild darkness the like of which even Sylar had never felt. It was … magical. Supernatural, extraordinary, divine. He didn't know what to call it, but he felt even more incomplete than he had before. He needed … something. Power, perhaps. Power had always serviced in the past. He looked at the haggard old wizard and saw in him a frightened awareness of what he'd unleashed. Sylar left him alive.
The idiot wizards whispered of a new dark lord. Sylar cackled at their foolishness. Their spells were simple to learn and their society was anachronistic and laughable. He had no interest in leading them or anyone else. How could he? He knew he was as unbalanced as when he killed his mother. He wanted only to be fulfilled, to find something to hold at bay the darkness that welled up inside of himself at every opportunity. He was drowning in it and in the rare moments of clarity that he had, he doubted and he feared. He'd lost himself. Again.
He should have seen it coming. He'd left behind the wand at Ollivander's that used his own hair and he'd underestimated the old wizard's resourcefulness. Now Peter Petrelli stood over him, wielding the wand that was a twin of his own. Peter knew fewer spells, but he had a full complement of abilities and Sylar's wand stubbornly refused to function properly against its mate. The emptiness within him yawned open - a pit of darkest despair that had rotted within him since the first time he'd picked up that crystal and bashed open a skull. "End this, Peter," he begged.
Yin and yang. Darkness was countered by light. Everything he wanted had been given. He was satisfied. He was healed. He was balanced, for the first time in his life. His lips found those of his lover in the grey twilight. They were soft and sweet and everything he'd ever desired, without even knowing how empty his life had been without it. Mundane and yet extraordinary - an eternal paradox that he hoped to have forever to figure out.
"Peter?"
"Yes?"
A quiet confession. "I think I love you."
A knowing, lop-sided smile. "I know you do. I love you, too."