The Watcher Finished

The morning after the tea party, Taylor Athanatos would not be hard to find. Not because she made a habit of lingering where she was expected, but because she was, by nature, a creature that left trails—of laughter, of mischief, of half-finished conversations that clung to the air like perfume. Taylor had a way of making herself both present and untouchable, flitting between roles like slipping between masks.

This morning, however, she was quiet.

A consequence of the evening prior and how it clung to her like an invisible albatross. Taylor was not chattering with the gaggle of girls that wandered the garden. She was not flirting with the very handsome and very tall Durmstrang men. She was not playing a joke on one of the chaperones, participating in the everyday merriment that defined her.

Gideon Athanatos, her cousin, would find her outside, perched at the edge of a stone fountain in the Beauxbatons courtyard, absently trailing her fingers through the water's surface. The morning light was soft, the air crisp, but Taylor was indifferent to both. She was used to the cold winters of the north where the green grass was a rare vision. She wore a simple green angora sweater with a plaid skirt and a pair of mary janes. Gideon, on the other hand, was prepared for a brisk morning, a muffler wrapped over the lower half of his face and a woolen cap over his blonde mop of hair, left only his bright blue eyes. His long coat met his knees. She wondered how southern men existed when the temperature hit below freezing. This was a spring day to her.

She did not immediately address Giddy, she was thinking about the evening before.

Her thoughts fell to last night at the welcoming tea party. she had taken Gideon there, she was interested in the pateries and Gideon was menacing someone surely. Who, she did not know nor did she care to pry. However, the moment, that moment—that flicker of something unnatural came over her... the way the sugar in her tea had dissolved too fast. Or at least she perceived it to be so. The way the room had seemed to fold in on itself—had lingered in her thoughts long after the festivities had ended and she had been escorted back to her cabin.

She had told herself that it had been a trick of the mind.

It had been nothing.

She lied to herself unconvincingly.

It had been something.

And Gideon had noticed.

She didn’t like that.

Taylor was used to people watching her—adoring her, envying her, underestimating her. But Gideon did not watch her in the way others did. He was not fooled by the glitter and the brightness, by the carelessness she wrapped around herself like a shawl.

And now?

Now he had seen something.

She was scowling at her reflection in the water when she heard him approach, all quiet steps and knowing. She was not sure if she could tense or relax, Gideon was her favorite but it did not change what they were, the wrongness of it all.

"Sleep well, Taylor?"

Taylor exhaled through her nose, a slow, deliberate thing, before flicking a handful of water in his direction without looking up.

“Like baby,” she muttered, before finally glancing at him, the ghost of a smirk tugging at her lips. “Cried three times, woke up hungry.”

This had nothing to do with his affection for her, which was as plain as day. This had to do with power and control, something that Giddy had in spades. And yet, in spite of his affluence and influence, he was hunting her and she knew it. She did not like being hunted.

And Taylor had never been particularly good at running.

Gideon had come looking for Taylor with purpose.

He knew she was not one to cower in her room, to slip into some shadow or hole to avoid him. She was an Athanatos and unlike some, she had a modicum of pride. But that did not mean that his presence did not unsettle her. It placed even his own mother on edge.

Taylor felt him the moment his presence settled beside her, all quiet menace wrapped in effortless charm. Gideon had the patience of a predator, the kind that waits, the kind that doesn’t need to chase—because he knows his prey will come to him eventually.

And Taylor?

She was not prey.

Not exactly.

But she wasn’t free of him either.

So when Gideon flicked the water back at Taylor—the exchange seemed casual, playful, predictable—and settled in beside her at the fountain, his lovely cousin did not move away. The water was icy cold. It stung his fingertips. The drops splashed on her leg. It had to be damned cold, but she did not run. Instead, Taylor sighed dramatically, shaking the droplets from her fingers as though she had just been terribly wronged despite the fact that she launched the first attack. [Godmod approved]

It took her a moment to remember English, a tongue that is rarely spoken, even if she was fluent. “You are very annoying in mornings, you know this?” Taylor drawled, her accent heavy, stretching her arms above her head before fixing him with a lopsided grin. “Sun is barely awake, and already you are scheming. Have you no shame?”

Technically, it was nearly noon, but it was morning for her. Gideon only smiled, all quiet calculation, watching her too closely, too intently for comfort.

Gideon was waiting for something.

She knew what he wanted—answers, confessions, weakness. Maybe a kiss.

But Taylor was not in the habit of giving people what they wanted.

So she stood suddenly, all fluid grace, dusting imaginary specks from her skirt, a habit that both of them shared. “Well, if you are going to stalk me like alley cat, at least make yourself useful. I require breakfast. And something sweet.”

[Godmod approved] Gideon arched a brow. “You always require something sweet.” Did she even know was protein was?

“Yes! Because I am a sweet person. Full of kindness and warmth. And maybe…” She tilted her head, flashing him a sharp, impish grin. “Maybe I wish to replace the taste of bad memories with good ones, hmm?”

There.

A test.

A challenge.

He bit. She did not need to lead him on or convince him, he was enamored with the girl and while she might be in denial, he knew she felt the same.

"So that is how that works," he mused. For a moment, Gideon's gaze flickered—just slightly, just enough for her to see it, to feel it.

He was going to push. Insist. Press until she cracked if she did not yield.

But Gideon Athanatos was patient.

So instead of pushing, instead of demanding her immediate acquiescence, Gideon merely extended an arm, his smile practiced and infuriatingly knowing. “Come, then. Let’s indulge your sugar addiction before you waste away into nothing.”

He knew that Taylor would take his arm. Not because she had to. Not because she trusted him. But because playing the game was always more fun than refusing to.



The search for a lunchtime breakfast would take time. It was not that Beauxbatons was withholding food, in fact quite the contrary. The caloric content of their butter laden food would hold him through the winter if he was willing to partake. He had warned Taylor numerous times to not eat something she did not know for certain was safely prepared, but she was blind to the threat and the danger.

The walk through the grounds was strangely normal. They moved as they always did—effortless, in sync, two halves of something that did not quite fit anywhere else.

Taylor filled the space with easy chatter, distracting, winding, pointless.

Gideon let her.

Let her talk about how the Beauxbatons uniforms were too blue, how the pastries here were better than at home, how she was fairly certain one of her cabin mates was a ghost (or at the very least, a very suspicious sleepwalker).

But Taylor was not stupid and Gideon's patience was thinning.

The issue was, they were serving lunch, and the french don't serve pastries for—

Well, I'll be damned.

Danish and bagel became macron and mille feuille. There was a heavy spread of beef bourguignon, moules marinières and blanquette de veau. There were token vegetable plates as well, but they were unsurprisingly untouched. Gideon was not going to touch the spread.

They would take a small table in the corner of the room.

Taylor leaned forward, resting her chin in her hand, feigning lazy amusement.

“You are waiting,” Taylor said simply. “Yes, yes. You are being very polite, but I see it.” She smirked, breaking off a piece of her pastry. She popped the bite into her mouth, chewing thoughtfully. “You are like cat before pounce. Very patient. Very clever. But still cat.”

Gideon’s gaze was unreadable.

His eyes darkened.

She laughed.

“I did tell you," she said, tone light, lilting. "I had strange dreams.”

A lie. A truth. Both. She shrugged her narrow shoulders.

[Godmod approved] Gideon leaned forward slightly, just enough to disrupt the space between them. “And was last night a dream, Taylor?” It seemed slightly aggressive, an uncommon interaction between them.

Taylor tilted her head like a curious bird, considering him, considering this game. She was not intimidated, not yet. She should be, that was a warning.

“Perhaps.” She leaned in as well, mirroring Gideon's behavior. Bring herself close enough that she could see the shift of his expression, the way his lips almost parted. Then, just before he could react, she plucked a macaron off her plate and popped it into her mouth instead, smirking as she chewed.

“Perhaps not.”

Gideon hated uncertainty.

Taylor thrived in it.

So she sat back, perfectly at ease, perfectly untouchable, brushing a stray crumb from her lap.

"More tea?" she offered sweetly.

Gideon allowed Taylor her little game.

Gideon let Taylor pretend she was winning. He let Taylor bat her lashes, lick sugar from her fingers, and move through the conversation with that lazy amusement that was so uniquely Taylor.

Because the best games were slow, deliberate and inevitable, like this one. It was amusing that Taylor thought that she was playing with him, when the truth was far more interesting. His cousin did not realize that she was already trapped.

Taylor had offered him more tea, playing at whatever game this was. Gideon had not touched his initial cup, and she knew that he would not. But he pretended to drink. Everything was a game, even the tea and the untouched half sandwich on his plate. These practiced lines were a better fit on just about anyone else. He was getting agitated.

Gideon exhaled slowly, his fingers drumming against the table.

Then, finally—finally—he leaned back, mirroring her posture, an amused smile ghosting across his lips. A cue that sets many at ease.

"You're insufferable," he murmured. And with that statement he let her, in this crowded public place believe that she has won.

[Godmod approved] Taylor beamed. "I know."

And that was why she was not afraid. Taylor believed that knew how to defuse him. She did not. Taylor believed that she was the one in control. She never was. But Taylor had always believed that she was good at distractions. A skill born of necessity, of knowing when to laugh, when to redirect, when to tilt her head just so and let people think she was thinking of nothing at all. But the problem was, he lived in the same family, had the same lessons and knew the games she played because he has played them before and he was better at it.

Gideon simply smiled for the victor.

And then he leaned in again, slowly, deliberately, letting his presence settle against her skin like the weight of something unseen.

Another thing...

"Was it the change?"

Yes, he knew what 'the change was' as did every man in his family. That terrible metamorphic process he had seen Erin, another cousin of his, undergo partially. Taylor’s smile did not falter—but it did freeze, just slightly, just enough.

Gideon tilted his head, watching her too closely, too curiously, too knowingly.

"Was that what it was last night?" Taylor continued, voice quiet, patient, a whisper in the vast emptiness between them that was in truth mere inches.

But they were not one in the same, the change that is and what Taylor was about to undergo. The problem with poorly documented family secrets is that one confuses the secrets. "Did you feel it creeping beneath your skin? That... itch? That pull?"

All women felt that. But not all women underwent the change. That is because they are two very different things. A pause.

"Did it whisper to you?"

Taylor's jaw tightened, barely perceptible, but he saw it.

Oh, how Gideon saw it.

The young blonde wizard smiled, slow and ruthless, blue eyes alight with something cruel and patient and entirely unkind.

"You would tell me, wouldn’t you, Taylor?" His voice dropped to a near-murmur, something that coiled and curled in the air like smoke. "If it had begun?"

He let the words sit between them, fester, grow.

Because Taylor knew what he was asking. Only he had asked the wrong question and gave the wrong supporting facts.

She knew what he meant.

The women of their family were doomed things, weren’t they?

And he had always wondered when it would come for her.

Would she fight it? Would she even recognize it for what it was?

Or would she become it before she even realized she had changed?

Gideon leaned back once more, satisfied—for now.

He lifted his cup, pretended to take another slow sip.

"More tea, indeed." He announced extending a completely full cup.

The world narrowed.

Not in the way of something dramatic—no sudden hush, no theatrical gasping silence—but in the way that mattered. The way that settled beneath her skin, that prickled, that itched. It made her shift slightly.

Gideon spoke, and Taylor heard the words, but more than that—she felt them.

That terrible, creeping feeling. Like hands.

"Was it the change?"

Taylor's smile did not falter. Oh, no. That was not the Athanatos way.

But her expression did freeze.

A fraction of a second too long. A breath too careful. The game did not slip—but for one terrible moment, it stilled. Her mind moved, but her body stayed in this temporary state of stasis.

And Gideon saw it.

Of course Gideon saw it.

Taylor inhaled lightly through her nose, a measured thing, taking the pause he had given her, the pause in her own being that she has stolen. Taylor let the words settle in her chest like stones at the bottom of a river.

Then, slowly—deliberately—she tilted her head, just so, as if humoring him, as if she were indulging some petty curiosity. “Giddy,” she exhaled, voice soft, almost fond. Her accent almost slipping away, she pronounced it giddy this time rather than geedy before the heavy accent returned. “I think you spend too much time watching our cousins. Erin, Jurgen. Your brothers. Vladimir, Aamon—” She listed them off lightly, lazily, as if they were nothing but topics of casual gossip. “Now you see shadows where there are none. Is very tragic. Perhaps you are the one changing, da?”

Taylor smirked, leaning forward slightly. It was as playful as it ever was, but her presence was more a gentle counter to his. Like a cat brushing against something sharp but unwilling to bleed. She had not answered his question.

So Gideon persisted, the hunter in stalking pursuit. "Did you feel it creeping beneath your skin? That... itch? That pull?"

Oh, Gideon.

That was not the right question.

Taylor had always felt it. Not just last night. Not just in moments of weakness or in moments of strength. Not when she was tired, or weak, when she was lonesome or afraid. She had felt it always. Since she was small. Since before she even had words for it.

It was not a change or even the change. It was a knowing. A sickness that was not sickness, a call that was not a voice. And it was hers. Not his. This was not something he could name for her. It was not something he could control and it was nit something that she wanted him to control.

"Did it whisper to you?"

For just a second—half a second—Taylor's jaw tightened. A barely-there shift, a tension in her fingers against the porcelain of her teacup.

Taylor wanted to laugh. If Giddy only knew.

The whispering did not come as some great revelation, some looming shadow crawling over her like it did with Erin or some of the others. Erin was not one of them, not really. Did they really think that they were the black sheeps of the Athanatos clan because the children were half breeds. They were useless because they lacked the gift of prophecy, not because their blood was tainted. Their family made plans decades in advance. Within a few generations of careful bloodline cultivation they would be considered 'pure' once again with the valuable aesthetic that the veela line provided them. They were pragmatic enough to understand the difference between prejudice and frivolity.

The issue was their failure to accept the gift of change. The fact that they needed to be changed at all.

They were nothing alike.

As for Taylor, the whispering had been with her since birth. In her bones. In her blood. And still—Gideon had it wrong. The change was not her problem. The change belonged to the others. Taylor was something else entirely.

So she laughed. Bright. Musical. A little sharp at the edges, but only just.

"Bozhe moi, Gideon!" she gasped between chuckles, acting as if her cousin had just told the most ridiculous joke. “You are watching too many horror plays! What is this? You try to scare me?”

She grinned at him, delightful and terrible with a few too many teeth, her blue eyes gleaming with something that was not fear. Perhaps it should have been, Gideon was not one to be meddled with but she was fearless next to him.

“You think if something came for me—I would not notice?” Taylor took her cup, swirling the untouched tea absently. “That it would sneak up like spider on wall? Giddy, please.” She dismissed his inquiry and his concern as if it was ridiculous.

She leaned forward again, just enough to press the moment back against him, her voice a soft purr of amusement. “If I was changing, you would not need to ask.”

A beat. A pause. A slow blink.

Then, just as effortlessly as she had let him think she had cracked, she sat back, smoothing out her skirts as though this conversation had been nothing more than idle chitchat.

"More tea, indeed," she echoed, her lips curling into something mockingly sweet as she extended her cup. And for the first time in their long, winding game—Taylor thought, perhaps, she had unsettled him.

Date: 13th February 2025

With his poisoning shenanigans revealed Matthew knew it was only a matter of time until Bubba or Mathias or anyone really would enact their revenge and while he undoubtedly deserved it the boy didn't quite have a death wish. To avoid the seniors wrath he had fled the cabin seeking an escape from, well from a lot of things if he was being honest.

This trip was meant to be a reset, a breath of air to escape all of the crappiness the last month and a bit had inflicted upon him. With multiple hospital trips, a new venomous persona and being hounded for answers to questions he didn't even know himself the world had felt like it was violently spinning out of control and he had no idea how to stop it. Now he had travelled hundreds of miles away in search of some serendipity some peace and instead he had instantly let himself be caught up in the wicked wiles of another Athanatos, a lesson he should have learned from S.N.O.G but clearly hadn't. He was far too impulsive for his own good and it was catching up with him.

Mind a mess his breath started to catch in his throat and he could feel his heart beginning to race, head light with dizziness he knew he had to get away from all the noise. People had begun heading for refreshments in the hall but it would be far too many for him to handle. The boy who grew up so isolated and alone was not one for large crowds, they overwhelmed him more than he cared to admit and would only further intensify his rising panic.

With hurried feet he made it to the room his back to the grand lavish hall and strained hands pressed on the doors holding them for a moment of stability. In a second people would be flooding in to the room seeking their lunch or brunch for those who had failed to rise, he had to think quick. Throwing himself low so as to not be seen when the crowd emerged he moved through the room manoeuvring under table clothes until he was far enough into the room that he hoped no one would bother him. The moment the doors opened and the roar of students entered he closed his eyes and consoled himself rubbing his hands across his knees counting his breathing in his head slowly.

It was a technique he had been taught to silence the world around him but when all was silenced he heard a soft voice dismissively brushing off some comment he had missed, "You think if something came for me—I would not notice? That it would sneak up like spider on wall? Giddy, please.” With the mention of the voice Matthew's last shred of calm snapped and he found himself cursing in his head, "Fuck" only the second it registered he realised that the word had come out entirely audible. Slapping his hands over his mouth he hoped the pair hadn't heard him. The last thing Matthew needed was Gideon catching him stalking his 'date' or whatever this was, he'd probably chop off his head and leave it on the table for the rest of the cabin to enjoy.

“If I was changing, you would not need to ask. More tea, indeed," As the girl continued speaking it eased his suffering that she at least likely hadn't hear him but learning goddamn nothing he refused to tame his curiosity and like the idiot he was peaked out under the cloth to see her. Call it morbid curiosity, mostly as he didn't want to think it could possibly be anything else he frowned tensely as he pulled back the cover to reveal his table was right behind Gideon's chair. Yet the boy wasn't watching him so there was hope still right. After all it wasn't like Gideon was some all knowing prophetic god, at least he hadn't seemed that way until this morning. Once again the word "Fuck!" slipped from his mouth as he practically strangled himself disappearing under the table once more.

Gideon allowed Taylor her little game.

He let his cousin pretend that she was winning. Let her bat her lashes, lick sugar from her fingers, move through the conversation with that lazy amusement that was so uniquely Taylor. Lies said often enough are indistinguishable from the truth.

She thought she was playing with him. But the truth was far more interesting.

Gideon pretended to sip his tea—not because he cared for it, or even because he wanted to feign belonging. It gave Giddy something to do, something to anchor his amusement as she tried, valiantly, to deflect him with half-truths and empty smiles. He was by far the better liar.

"More tea?"

Gideon's fingers drummed against the table, methodical, calculating, a beat that meant nothing—a beat that meant everything.

Then—a slow exhale. A shift. A change. Taylor Athanatos might have thought she'd gained ground, but she had made a mistake. She had acknowledged the game by lying, by trying and that just means that this was another thing for him to win. It also meant it was his turn.

A smirk would eclipse his youthful visage. "You're insufferable." That was it, a surrender to her. She 'won' the game. This is what winning looked right, right?

No, this is not what winning looked like.

Gideon leaned in again. This time slowly, deliberately. He let his presence settle against her pale skin like the weight of something dark and unseen.

"Is this the change?"

Gideon tilted his head, assessing her. His blue eyes were watching her, perhaps a bit too closely. Too curiously. Too knowingly.

"Was the change what I saw last night?" Gideon continued, his voice serious and low enough that the spy he knew nothing of would be barely able to hear. "Did you feel it creeping beneath your skin? That... itch? That pull?" A pause. A breath of air between. An instance to think about what he had asked, to weigh his inquiries. "Did it whisper to you?"

There was something cruel and patient in his words, a tone that was unkind. "You would tell me." His hand reached out and he attempted to touch her arm. It was not a friendly gesture, there was an air of possession in the gesture. His voice dropped to a near-murmur, something that coiled and curled in the air like smoke. "If it had begun."

Gideon let the words sit between them, fester, grow. Because Taylor knew what he was asking and she knew what he meant.

Pity how the women of the Athanatos family were doomed things, weren’t they? Giddy always wondered when it would come for her. He hoped that she had more time. Would she fight it? Did she even recognize it for what it was? Or would she become it before she even realized she had changed?