27 Sep 2024, 01:55
Secrets and Spiders
The manor of the famed Greek pureblood wizard family, the Athanatos, stood as a testament to ancient power and unimaginable wealth. Its towering marble columns, gilded halls, and enchanted artifacts exuded opulence and excess. Every inch of the home seemed to thrum with magic, from floating chandeliers of enchanted fire to tapestries that whispered in forgotten tongues. The grounds stretched endlessly, with manicured lawns, lavish gardens that grew rare herbs, trees bearing forbidden fruits, and fountains that sparkled with liquid gold. Inside, rooms expanded and contracted at will, and vaults filled with cursed treasures pulsed with latent energy. This house, more palace or a showpiece than home, belonged to the famed philanthropist Thaddeus Athanatos, known for his charitable deeds according to the positive media he pays quite well for as well as a clan of Seers whose wealth comes from the thread of fate itself. Yet this family held darker secrets than most dared to imagine.
In the dim glow of a late evening, a figure moved silently through the corridors, of shadows—spidery, elongated, and almost insubstantial. Like a rolling mist, the figure of a tall man would take form from the bleak ether. This was Vladimir Athanatos, eldest of this pureblooded brood. He could no longer bear the light of day. His arrival in the empty room was quiet, deliberate. The bedroom belonged to his younger brother Aamon, who had left for Hogwarts only days prior, but Vladimir hadn’t come to visit out of nostalgia or brotherly love. He was there for something else.
As a Legilimens from birth, Vladimir had always been able to peer into the thoughts of others, even when they were shielded. Yet lately, when he gazed into Aamon’s mind, something disturbed him. Strange thoughts, half-formed whispers that weren’t unlike his brother's usual ramblings, and something else that flickered beneath the surface. Something shared. Something watching. He was not able to quite define it because it was quite alien. It was as if someone—or something—was intruding on Aamon's mind, pushing him toward a dangerous course. And the name that surfaced most often: "they." But even Vladimir was wrong about this one, they were not pushing the boy, they were taking something instead.
His blue lenses scanned the room with a practiced ease, knowing full well where a child might hide secrets. In the grand setting of this house, with rooms larger than most ordinary homes, Aamon had chosen a rather obvious hiding spot. Vladimir smirked as he slipped a hand beneath the boy’s mattress and found a crumpled letter. [color=d0dgerblue]A terrible hiding place,[/color] he thought.
He unfolded the paper and began to read, his expression hardening as his suspicions deepened. The handwriting was lovely, with looping letters of cursive in a thin, fine script.
The room, despite its lavish décor, suddenly felt even emptier—cold, lifeless, a far cry from the vibrancy of Aamon’s presence. But Vladimir knew this emptiness had nothing to do with Aamon's absence at Hogwarts.
No, there was something much darker at play. And whatever it was, he intended to find it.
In the dim glow of a late evening, a figure moved silently through the corridors, of shadows—spidery, elongated, and almost insubstantial. Like a rolling mist, the figure of a tall man would take form from the bleak ether. This was Vladimir Athanatos, eldest of this pureblooded brood. He could no longer bear the light of day. His arrival in the empty room was quiet, deliberate. The bedroom belonged to his younger brother Aamon, who had left for Hogwarts only days prior, but Vladimir hadn’t come to visit out of nostalgia or brotherly love. He was there for something else.
As a Legilimens from birth, Vladimir had always been able to peer into the thoughts of others, even when they were shielded. Yet lately, when he gazed into Aamon’s mind, something disturbed him. Strange thoughts, half-formed whispers that weren’t unlike his brother's usual ramblings, and something else that flickered beneath the surface. Something shared. Something watching. He was not able to quite define it because it was quite alien. It was as if someone—or something—was intruding on Aamon's mind, pushing him toward a dangerous course. And the name that surfaced most often: "they." But even Vladimir was wrong about this one, they were not pushing the boy, they were taking something instead.
His blue lenses scanned the room with a practiced ease, knowing full well where a child might hide secrets. In the grand setting of this house, with rooms larger than most ordinary homes, Aamon had chosen a rather obvious hiding spot. Vladimir smirked as he slipped a hand beneath the boy’s mattress and found a crumpled letter. [color=d0dgerblue]A terrible hiding place,[/color] he thought.
He unfolded the paper and began to read, his expression hardening as his suspicions deepened. The handwriting was lovely, with looping letters of cursive in a thin, fine script.
Vladimir’s heart sank. The dread he had felt upon entering the room now weighed heavily on him. Sister Mary? No, it can't be. She is dead. He would know, he killed her. And these "friends"—where are they? His family was full of secrets, but this was something different, something that felt like it had slipped out from the shadows of their carefully managed legacy.My Dearest Aamon,
I hope this letter finds you before your departure from this terrible place, but you are about the venture to a place where you will feel even more alone than you do now. I can only imagine how heavy your heart must be. You have known for some time, haven't you? That your family has left you a legacy filled with darkness, a path you are expected to follow without question, without understanding. It’s unfair, isn’t it, my sweet boy? No one cares, no one sees the real you. Not your family. Not your so-called friends. But I do. I always have.
I know the weight of their expectations, their demands. You are not blind to what they want from you, and you know in your heart that you can never truly be free under their shadow. They pretend to care for you, but deep down, they only care for the legacy—the bloodline, the power. Not you, Aamon. But we are different, you and I. I understand your pain, your loneliness. I care for you in ways they never will.
That is why I’m sending you something very special—some friends. They’ll be there with you, to help you, to take care of you when no one else will. They will give you the freedom you so yearn for. I know how hard it is to be in a place where no one understands. But these friends will. You’ll never be alone again, my dear. I promise. They are a gift, just for you.
But remember, this is our little secret. You mustn’t tell anyone, not even your brothers. Especially not them. He would never understand, just like the rest of them. They’d only take these friends away from you. Tell you that they are evil. That you are. This is between us. You can trust me, Aamon. I’ve been watching over you for so long, and now, finally, we’ll have a way to keep you safe. A way to make sure you are never lost in that terrible world they’ve dragged you into.
Write to me, when you can. But don’t say anything about this to others or in your letters. In fact, destroy this letter once you have read it. Stay strong. You are more special than they know, and I’m here for you. Always.
With care and love,
Sister Mary
The room, despite its lavish décor, suddenly felt even emptier—cold, lifeless, a far cry from the vibrancy of Aamon’s presence. But Vladimir knew this emptiness had nothing to do with Aamon's absence at Hogwarts.
No, there was something much darker at play. And whatever it was, he intended to find it.
Aamon