The Huntsman II

Aamon felt the weight of their attention pressing on him, like the oppressive silence that often followed the faintest rustling of a hag’s doll. He shuddered at the memory and avoided meeting Finnegan’s gaze, his face a pale mask of apprehension.

He wasn’t sure if he could handle this much scrutiny, let alone in a room that practically screamed danger with its dark curiosities and the unnerving skulls perched so casually on a shelf. Were those his victims? Was that all that was left to them? But as Professor Lécuyer’s stern, commanding voice demanded an answer to what was on the pages filled the air, explaining the cursed intricacies of reflection dolls and blood mirrors, Aamon felt a flicker of something unexpected: clarity.

The professor’s words were cold, precise, cutting through the fog of his fear. And yet, under that, something else began to stir—a deep, simmering resentment. The edges of it gnawed at his panic, whispering truths he didn’t want to hear.

He was tired of being afraid.

“Yes,” Aamon finally muttered, his voice hoarse and barely audible. His thoughts swimming. “The dolls… they’re like the ones in the book, but not exactly. I…” He hesitated, glancing at Avis for some unspoken support before continuing. “Actually, we have," he was referencing Avis, "have seen them move, and they didn't like it...” His voice trailed off, that was not the first time he had seen them. He had seen them several times in fact, they preferred to remain out of sight when they moved and to take on the unmoving appearance of a doll when finally spied but he had seen them try to attack that other student the day they cut off his arm. He had seen them a few other times also, just out of the corner of his eye, like moving shadows or a trick of the light. Movement that was just out of focus enough for most besides himself to pass it off as imagination. But the forest was different, "I did not see them on the new moon and they were not pulling at me until I reached the wood's edge," he explained. "I was being drawn there by a force beyond my control, I knew I was going the wrong way..."[/b][/color] his voice shook "but I could not walk another direction, until something grabbed at me. It was like I was pulled from some daze, but they were crazy strong. I thought I was going to die," he concluded. And he was close, the narrator would not have let him come back from that encounter. "I was fighting these unseen hands and it wasn't until Avis," he glanced in her direction "shone a light on them." He was not able to cast lumos, or cast anything for that matter yet, so distressed by the mayhem he had faced since his admission to Hogwarts, he found himself unable to concentrate.

His hand unconsciously brushed his wrist, where a thin, pale scar lay as evidence of the first time the dolls had drawn blood. He didn’t want to elaborate further.

Instead, his gaze flitted to the Professor, then back to Avis. “There’s something else—” He broke off, his mouth pressing into a thin line before he forced the words out. “They came with a letter. From… from someone called Sister Mary.”

His lips twisted as the name passed them. Sister Mary. It burned like acid on his tongue.

“And the mirrors? My cousin Erin, not that I know her well, used to talk about mirrors, how they scream, how they pull at your mind.” He faltered, glancing at the cracked mirror on the wall as if it might suddenly lunge at him. “She is considered challenged in the head, it is a malady common among Athanatos women," he sighed, "but maybe she was right. Maybe they’re trapped souls or something like that, like you said. But why would she," Mary, "send them? Why would she send any of this?” She did not know a Mary, she had done nothing to hurt or annoy this stranger. His suffering gained this stranger nothing and she seemed to know about his perspective.

His fingers twitched at his sides, his mind racing. Resentment bubbled just below the surface, interwoven with his fear. Aamon might have been terrified, but he wasn’t a fool. He could see the patterns forming, the strings being pulled from the shadows. Sister Mary, the mirrors, the dolls—none of it was coincidence.

And perhaps, just perhaps, if he could untangle those strings, he could pull them back.

“I know that the need to be stooped,” he murmured, his voice steady despite the knot of anxiety in his chest. "But I do not know if there is or could be more," he admitted. He knew of three. He wondered if others had been given similar artifacts. His gaze shifted to the Professor, and for the first time, there was something in his expression beyond fear. Determination. “Tell me what to do.”

The resentment coiled tighter within him. Someday, he would turn it loose. But for now, he would let it grow, feeding it with every insult, every injury. Because anger was safer than fear. Anger would make him strong.

The Professor would know from the moment Aamon started to explain the forest incident, that this was not as simple as someone sending him a box of dangerous toys. The toys themself would be considered lethal, but they were tools of opportunity. They required a persistent presence, they were finite. And while Aamon had failed to explain the weirdest part of his plight, how he tried to get rid of them only to find them back on his bestand, in his trunk, on his bed mere hours later, an impossibility with these reflective dolls, he would have caught onto the pull into the forest.

That there is an active wizard that is at some level controlling these dolls. Also, the fact that there was three of them attached to the same child, that was also unusual, often the dolls branch off and find different victims. Even if Aamon was self-isolating, the dolls would have attached themselves by now to a dormmate, a classmate, someone who happened to be sitting too close to him for two long. Either of these two.

Why had that not happened yet.

The easiest explanation is because someone at some level is actively casting some sort of magic. That for whatever reason, this person wants Aamon specifically dead. This is not what hags normally do. They may focus on a singular victim, but they also tend to 'share the wealth' one might say. While the dolls themselves are most certainly hag in creation, there is something else, something darker at work.

"Thought it best... for safekeeping..." Right, okay. Because Finn was just a kind helpful friend. Avis rolled her eyes. Sure. She watched Lécuyer, curious of his opinion on the matter, at least until she got distracted by Aamon glancing at her. Right, back on track.

She nodded her affirmation - she had seen them, yes - and tried to send little wordless bullets of encouragement toward Aamon. She would prefer it if Finn would scram, but besides that, she had to admit this was probably the best place for Aamon to be right now, presuming Lécuyer's past was truly in the past. Being a hit wizard didn't exactly seem like a retirable job, but Avis sure hoped it was.

At least Aamon was talking now. At least now someone could help him. There really wasn't much she could do now. Her eyes fell back to the book, reading and rereading the pages available. It was fascinating, in a way that only nightmares can be. Terrible, but also really interesting. It would make a good fiction book. Although...it wasn't quite fiction.

Once again she was pulled back to the room as her name was mentioned. He was talking about the forest now, about Lumos. It had worked. It was strange, Avis thought, that one of the simplest of spells could dispel the creatures, but it wasn't as if she was complaining.

As Aamon glanced at her again, she looked at him, trying to catch his eye, offering a small smile. “They came with a letter. From… from someone called Sister Mary.” A nun? He was sent his nightmare from a nun? Avis could just imagine it. An old lady in a pure black habit, at the black wrought gates of a convent, an old cobblestone building without windows looming behind. Habits were slightly sort of creepy, really. They were like loose black cloaks where no one could see any of you.

As enthralled as Avis was by her imagination, she had a feeling Aamon didn't really care about where Sister Mary lived. “Tell me what to do.” Ooh, there was his bark again. She held back a grin. Anger might be better than fear, but determination (with a bit of sarcasm) was better than both.

@Finnegan Connor, @Aamon Athanatos, @Orion Lécuyer

"Thought it best... for safekeeping..." The Conner child had claimed.

"Do you make a habit of 'safekeeping' your petrification opponent's belongings?" Orion's brow quirked in amusement, it was a quick deflection, one that even the younger students would likely find hard to believe. "It seems you have a knack for... Creative problem solving, I'll give you that, but a flair for spell-casting won't get you too far if you don't work on your slight of hand." A bit ironic, given he had just missed the child pocketing some knives. The professor had been too caught up in his own thoughts to bother monitoring the sticky-fingered third year. The boy would be his own undoing, it wasn't Orion's fault he refused to listen.

At least Aamon didn't seem too bothered by the stolen objects; he had something much worse to focus on. Orion's eyes flickered from the Athanatos child over to Marlong as he further explained what they had seen. The more he spoke, the more Orion was convinced about his theories about the dolls.

The French man lowered his voice, his tone grave and urgent, "There is something else that concerns me... Only a single doll can replace someone, if you received the dolls that long ago, the others should have branched off and found new victims, likely Ms. Marlong or even Mr. Conner, but they haven't. This level of magic requires... precision. These dolls aren't just hexed; someone is actively controlling them to ensure they keep their focus on you, and you alone."

Orion slowly stood to his feet, his gaze passing Finnegan as he walked towards one of the book shelves. "Then there is the aspect about the New Moon. Is this the only time you are able to see the dolls? What is the significance behind this?" He mumbled the end part mostly to himself.

"I need you to think hard about this, Aamon, think about who this person, Sister Mary, could be. We know your family is not without enemies, but if they were just targeting your family surely your brother would have the same issue. Or... Mathias Pride?" The article about his engagement to the Harper girl had been surprising; Orion had no idea the kid was even related to the Athanatos, "Do you have other cousins at Hogwarts? Have they been targeted as well?"

He withdrew the rippling mirror from the top of a bookshelf. "Although... You are not the first in your family to deal with hags. I do recall your older brother had a near-death experience too. Whispers of run-ins with hags and curses. It is the first I am hearing about Ms. Ryan's cursed mirror, but I would assume it is more hag magic." What the hell had Thaddeus done to piss off so many hags?

Crossing back towards his desk, he lay the mirror flat against it. He reached forward, his hand disappearing into the rippling reflection. A simple illusion charm mixed with Capacious Extremis had created a handy hiding place. The first object he withdrew was a silver rimmed Monocle, the second was a long brown twist cord necklace that had a silver coin amulet attached to the end.

"This is a Foe Glass. Well, a travel version of one." He explained, passing the object to the Slytherin, "If you peer through the glass you will see your enemies as shadows. They become clearer the closer they get. You should be able to track the doll's location with this."

He passed the amulet necklace over next, the silver coin had the image of a wolf etched into the metal, as well as a crescent moon and stars. "This is an amulet that I have charmed with several protection charms," He explained, his gaze flickering down to the pendent. He had made it several years prior for someone who no longer attended Hogwarts. "The protection spells will only work once. Afterwards it is only as useful as any other accessory."