15 Dec 2024, 18:13
Special Delivery
@Elsian Cox
The morning sun cast weak rays through the frosted windows of the Great Hall, illuminating rows of students hunched over their breakfast. The quiet hum of chatter filled the space, punctuated by the occasional rustle of parchment and clink of silverware. The morning hours were often less boisterous than the evening. It would seem that many wizards were not 'morning people.'
At the Hufflepuff table, Gideon Athanatos sat with his usual air of practiced innocence, his round face lighting up as he chatted with a few Hufflepuffs nearby, all smiles and soft laughter. He was wearing on top of his gold and black robes his frog hat and scarf, giving him this aire of ridiculousness that he did not appear to mind. Gideon was the smallest of the Athanatos boys by far, but he used this physical deficit to his advantage, making himself appear younger, less imposing than his brothers.
Tucked neatly inside Giddy's bag, however, was a parcel the Hufflepuff had prepared earlier—a small, unassuming box containing his latest piece of mischief: a cursed quill.
Gideon waited until the morning owls swooped into the Great Hall. A flurry of feathers surrounded the tables as letters, packages, and newspapers were delivered to their intended recipients. He casually glanced around, making sure the usual distractions were in play. Across the hall, Elsian Cox was seated at the Gryffindor table, chatting boisterously with his friends, his pompous demeanor impossible to miss. The Quidditch Seeker was by all accounts a "good guy", the sort of fellow that others seemed to gravitate towards. Of course he achieved this by standing on the felled backs of his peers, such as Finnegan, a Gryffindor Gideon had recently encountered.
Perfect.
The plan was simple enough, drop the package amid the flurry of owls dropping packages in bowls of porridge. Honestly, if one really considered the mayhem that came with morning delivery, between the feathers and droppings in the Great Hall, the disrupted breakfast meals that would be splattered about the room would make the space look more like the aftermath of a food fight. Well, Gideon supposed, that seemed more like a house elf problem. He would take a short walk from his table, the simple package hidden under the great green scarf. With an underhanded motion when he crossed closely behind Elsian, Gideon would lob the package into the teen's morning meal, hoping to splatter some of the food on impact.
The package itself was simple, unadorned. Brown paper and a bit of cream-colored string bound the oblong package. It was lightweight and thin. There was no return address but there was a recipient clearly marked in clean, script.
The quill was enchanted, but not in the way it appeared. While at first glance it seemed like a gift designed to improve handwriting or enhance essay quality, the curse hidden within it was far more malicious. Every stroke of the quill would subtly alter the text it wrote, twisting words and sentences into damning accusations or incriminating confessions.
It would start subtly—a wrong word here, a misplaced sentence there—but as Elsian used it more, the changes would grow bolder. His eyes would read the words as intended, unaware of the error he had made until it was too late. The magic effected his eyes only and even then, that magic faded within a few few hours. By the time he noticed what was really written, the damage would already be done. The curse was designed to leave no trace of tampering, ensuring that when Elsian tried to defend himself, his protests would fall on deaf ears.
Gideon barely acknowledged the delivery as he returned to his seat and continued with his breakfast meal.
If the Gryffindor withdrew the quill, he would note it's superior craftsmanship. If he scrawled something on a scrap of parchment to test it, he would note a faint, dark shimmer that lingered on the words for a fraction of a second before fading. His penmanship perfect, no exquisite, even if he was sloppily writing out a phrase.
A Hufflepuff leaned closer to Gideon, breaking his concentration. “Giddy, you’re so quiet today! Everything alright?”
Gideon readjusted his frog hat and beamed up at them, all sunshine and innocence. “Oh, of course! Giddy was just thinking about that Charms essay—Giddy doesn’t want to let the Professor down.”
The conversation drifted on, and Gideon let it, his demeanor as harmless as ever. But in the back of his mind, he imagined Elsian’s upcoming week: the strange looks, the accusations, the confusion as his own words turned against him.
It wasn’t about Elsian, not really. Gideon didn’t care if the boy was a bully or a saint. This was about Finnegan—testing the limits of how far he could pushed the boy that demeaned him before he broke. How Finnegan might react when he saw the teen fade into nothing.
And for Gideon, the thrill wasn’t just in the chaos—it was in being the one to orchestrate it, all while wearing the mask of a harmless, golden-haired boy who wouldn’t hurt a fly.
The morning sun cast weak rays through the frosted windows of the Great Hall, illuminating rows of students hunched over their breakfast. The quiet hum of chatter filled the space, punctuated by the occasional rustle of parchment and clink of silverware. The morning hours were often less boisterous than the evening. It would seem that many wizards were not 'morning people.'
At the Hufflepuff table, Gideon Athanatos sat with his usual air of practiced innocence, his round face lighting up as he chatted with a few Hufflepuffs nearby, all smiles and soft laughter. He was wearing on top of his gold and black robes his frog hat and scarf, giving him this aire of ridiculousness that he did not appear to mind. Gideon was the smallest of the Athanatos boys by far, but he used this physical deficit to his advantage, making himself appear younger, less imposing than his brothers.
Tucked neatly inside Giddy's bag, however, was a parcel the Hufflepuff had prepared earlier—a small, unassuming box containing his latest piece of mischief: a cursed quill.
Gideon waited until the morning owls swooped into the Great Hall. A flurry of feathers surrounded the tables as letters, packages, and newspapers were delivered to their intended recipients. He casually glanced around, making sure the usual distractions were in play. Across the hall, Elsian Cox was seated at the Gryffindor table, chatting boisterously with his friends, his pompous demeanor impossible to miss. The Quidditch Seeker was by all accounts a "good guy", the sort of fellow that others seemed to gravitate towards. Of course he achieved this by standing on the felled backs of his peers, such as Finnegan, a Gryffindor Gideon had recently encountered.
Perfect.
The plan was simple enough, drop the package amid the flurry of owls dropping packages in bowls of porridge. Honestly, if one really considered the mayhem that came with morning delivery, between the feathers and droppings in the Great Hall, the disrupted breakfast meals that would be splattered about the room would make the space look more like the aftermath of a food fight. Well, Gideon supposed, that seemed more like a house elf problem. He would take a short walk from his table, the simple package hidden under the great green scarf. With an underhanded motion when he crossed closely behind Elsian, Gideon would lob the package into the teen's morning meal, hoping to splatter some of the food on impact.
The package itself was simple, unadorned. Brown paper and a bit of cream-colored string bound the oblong package. It was lightweight and thin. There was no return address but there was a recipient clearly marked in clean, script.
Inside was an elegant quill, sleek and dark, the feathers shimmering faintly as though enchanted. A small note accompanied it, written in the same handwriting:ᴇʟꜱɪᴀɴ ᴄᴏx
Gideon didn’t need to look to know the exact expression that would cross Elsian’s face—smug satisfaction, a belief that someone, somewhere, recognized his supposed brilliance. It was almost poetic really, Gideon mused. He was so swift to belittle Finn and his own stupidity would be his ultimate downfall."ꜰᴏʀ ᴛʜᴇ ʙʀɪɢʜᴛᴇꜱᴛ ᴍɪɴᴅꜱ ᴀᴛ ʜᴏɢᴡᴀʀᴛꜱ. ᴛʜᴏᴜɢʜᴛ ʏᴏᴜ'ᴅ ᴀᴘᴘʀᴇᴄɪᴀᴛᴇ ꜱᴏᴍᴇᴛʜɪɴɢ ᴡᴏʀᴛʜʏ ᴏꜰ ʏᴏᴜʀ ɪɴᴛᴇʟʟᴇᴄᴛ. — ᴀ ꜰʀɪᴇɴᴅ"
The quill was enchanted, but not in the way it appeared. While at first glance it seemed like a gift designed to improve handwriting or enhance essay quality, the curse hidden within it was far more malicious. Every stroke of the quill would subtly alter the text it wrote, twisting words and sentences into damning accusations or incriminating confessions.
It would start subtly—a wrong word here, a misplaced sentence there—but as Elsian used it more, the changes would grow bolder. His eyes would read the words as intended, unaware of the error he had made until it was too late. The magic effected his eyes only and even then, that magic faded within a few few hours. By the time he noticed what was really written, the damage would already be done. The curse was designed to leave no trace of tampering, ensuring that when Elsian tried to defend himself, his protests would fall on deaf ears.
Gideon barely acknowledged the delivery as he returned to his seat and continued with his breakfast meal.
If the Gryffindor withdrew the quill, he would note it's superior craftsmanship. If he scrawled something on a scrap of parchment to test it, he would note a faint, dark shimmer that lingered on the words for a fraction of a second before fading. His penmanship perfect, no exquisite, even if he was sloppily writing out a phrase.
A Hufflepuff leaned closer to Gideon, breaking his concentration. “Giddy, you’re so quiet today! Everything alright?”
Gideon readjusted his frog hat and beamed up at them, all sunshine and innocence. “Oh, of course! Giddy was just thinking about that Charms essay—Giddy doesn’t want to let the Professor down.”
The conversation drifted on, and Gideon let it, his demeanor as harmless as ever. But in the back of his mind, he imagined Elsian’s upcoming week: the strange looks, the accusations, the confusion as his own words turned against him.
It wasn’t about Elsian, not really. Gideon didn’t care if the boy was a bully or a saint. This was about Finnegan—testing the limits of how far he could pushed the boy that demeaned him before he broke. How Finnegan might react when he saw the teen fade into nothing.
And for Gideon, the thrill wasn’t just in the chaos—it was in being the one to orchestrate it, all while wearing the mask of a harmless, golden-haired boy who wouldn’t hurt a fly.