A vessel that leaks rather than holds
The Astronomy Tower was closed for the night. Well, it was closed technically. But technicalities had never stopped an Athanatos, or by extension in this singular case, a Hess. Especially not the ones who were clever enough to know which wards the staff actually checked and which were only there to look impressive.
Jürgen Hess stood at the edge of the astronomy tower balcony, staring out across the dark sweep of the Forbidden Forest. The woods were still this evening. Wind tugged at his robes, but the lion didn’t shiver. He liked the height and the silence. It was a luxury he found rare in Gryffindor. The sense that if someone were to fall from here, no one would hear the landing until morning.
The door creaked open behind him. He didn't turn. "Cousin," Hess said mildly. "You're late. Or I'm early. Time tends to blur when you're not quite sure if you're dreaming."
A pause. A footstep. The sound of someone hesitant, or hunted.
"Come on, Gideon. Don't make me be the only one up here pretending we're not being watched." Eventually, Gideon Athanatos emerged from the doorway, wrapped in too-large black sleeves, it was easier appearing small when the attire face half-hidden by shadow and a fall of disheveled hair. His expression was unreadable, but his presence hummed, a storm bottled in the bones of the young Hufflepuff. He had done it, he had fracture Winnie Harper and sent her rushing back to Mathias Pride.
Jürgen glanced over his shoulder. "You look worse than last time. That's promising." He smiled cordially, but it was the sort of expression that was shared but not meant. The Gryffindor turned to face Giddy fully now, leaning casually against the stone railing. A dangerous place to stand given Gideon's history but there was no fear.
"Word around is that you've been saying things in your sleep. Walking corridors you shouldn't remember. That your dreams leave bruises. Any of that true?" Jürgen didn't ask this question kindly. He asked like someone testing a thread to see if it would snap. Or sing.
"Don't worry," he raised a hand as if to hush his cousin. "I already know," he claimed. He took a slow step forward, lowering his voice. "You know the family doesn't want you to grow into it. Not properly. They want you..." a pause as if he was trying to find the right word. "Gone," yeah that sounded about right. But they were not about to murder a back-up heir no matter how out of line he became. Hess took another step forward.
"But I don't share the sentiment. I think you're more dangerous than anyone realizes. And that, dear cousin, makes you valuable. Certainly not to them, but to me." Jürgen offered a faint, knowing smile. The expression might have seemed kind to someone that did not know Hess, but he often had a soft smile gracing his face. It seemed amiable, affable, approachable. Not that he wanted or needed to be approached, he preferred to remain forgotten, overlooked.
"So tell me, how did it go with Mathias' first wife?"
Jürgen Hess stood at the edge of the astronomy tower balcony, staring out across the dark sweep of the Forbidden Forest. The woods were still this evening. Wind tugged at his robes, but the lion didn’t shiver. He liked the height and the silence. It was a luxury he found rare in Gryffindor. The sense that if someone were to fall from here, no one would hear the landing until morning.
The door creaked open behind him. He didn't turn. "Cousin," Hess said mildly. "You're late. Or I'm early. Time tends to blur when you're not quite sure if you're dreaming."
A pause. A footstep. The sound of someone hesitant, or hunted.
"Come on, Gideon. Don't make me be the only one up here pretending we're not being watched." Eventually, Gideon Athanatos emerged from the doorway, wrapped in too-large black sleeves, it was easier appearing small when the attire face half-hidden by shadow and a fall of disheveled hair. His expression was unreadable, but his presence hummed, a storm bottled in the bones of the young Hufflepuff. He had done it, he had fracture Winnie Harper and sent her rushing back to Mathias Pride.
Jürgen glanced over his shoulder. "You look worse than last time. That's promising." He smiled cordially, but it was the sort of expression that was shared but not meant. The Gryffindor turned to face Giddy fully now, leaning casually against the stone railing. A dangerous place to stand given Gideon's history but there was no fear.
"Word around is that you've been saying things in your sleep. Walking corridors you shouldn't remember. That your dreams leave bruises. Any of that true?" Jürgen didn't ask this question kindly. He asked like someone testing a thread to see if it would snap. Or sing.
"Don't worry," he raised a hand as if to hush his cousin. "I already know," he claimed. He took a slow step forward, lowering his voice. "You know the family doesn't want you to grow into it. Not properly. They want you..." a pause as if he was trying to find the right word. "Gone," yeah that sounded about right. But they were not about to murder a back-up heir no matter how out of line he became. Hess took another step forward.
"But I don't share the sentiment. I think you're more dangerous than anyone realizes. And that, dear cousin, makes you valuable. Certainly not to them, but to me." Jürgen offered a faint, knowing smile. The expression might have seemed kind to someone that did not know Hess, but he often had a soft smile gracing his face. It seemed amiable, affable, approachable. Not that he wanted or needed to be approached, he preferred to remain forgotten, overlooked.
"So tell me, how did it go with Mathias' first wife?"
“People always clap for the wrong reasons.”
― J.D. Salinger, The Catcher in the Rye
A vessel that leaks rather than holds
Gideon did not answer Jürgen at once. Cousin was hardly a proper greeting, had his uncle truly neglected the civility of proper conversation.
Giddy stepped fully onto the balcony instead, letting the door drift shut behind him with a soft, deliberate click. That door was generally locked for good reason. Teens loved to come here at night, outside of academic sessions. The night air caught in the loose fabric of his sleeves, tugging them like impatient fingers. He bent to the left and then to the right, allowing his vertebrae to snap and click into place as he took on his full height. Shorter than his caller, but taller than he had appeared moments earlier. Now that robe looked a size too small.
For a moment the Hufflepuff stood too close to the edge, close enough that a careless nudge might have sent Gideon over, but Gideon had never been careless. He knew exactly where gravity ended and choice began.
His mouth curved, slow and crooked. "Cousin," Gideon echoed lightly, tasting the word. It tasted rude, but his words sounded sweet. He tilted his head, pale hair slipping into his eyes. "You always pick such romantic places to interrogate me. One would think you were hoping I would… slip."
He glanced down at the forest, black and unbroken beneath the tower. He hated it when the forest slept. Then back up, eyes bright in a way that suggested he was enjoying himself far too much. "You should not listen to rumours," Giddy went on, voice mild. "They bruise so easily when you squeeze them." A pause, then a chuckle as if he was sharing a small joke with an unseen guest. "Though I suppose it is rude to deny you your entertainment."[/b][/color]
Jürgen asked about the "Winnie incident." Winnie, formerly Harper, recent bride to Mathias, formerly Athanatos. Their hasty marriage, partially in response to Winnie's devastating injuries when she was so "carelessly" flung from the Owlery had sped up that timeline. With Mathias' marriage to a part-muggle, Thaddeus' political ambitions were in sight. However, he was getting old, it was unlikely he would sit in the Minister of Magic's seat in this lifetime. The belief was that the role would fall to Vladimir, the heir apparent. He did not simply wander into the role of politician's aide by accident. However, his curse, his subsequent death and his transformation into a blood thrall had changed things for the legillimens who was no longer a suitable candidate. Had Vladimir become the heir, he would have been unstoppable in the role, as the first natural Legillimens in the bloodline in numerous generations in spite of conceited effort, there would be no sanctuary, even in ones own mind from Thaddeus Athanatos. Now a more malleable, vulnerable option presented itself in Pride, named heir apparent at the wedding.
So, at the mention of Mathias, something subtle shifted. Not guilt. Not fear. Something sharper. More proprietary. "How did it go?" Gideon repeated softly, as if testing the question for flaws. "Oh, beautifully. Truly..." he exhaled as if savoring the memory. "It hurt some, but that was fun. She screamed less than I expected." The Athanatos smiled then, all teeth, so many teeth, and no warmth. "But that’s the thing about first wives, isn’t it? They are taught to be quiet. To endure. To call the cruelty and indifference love." It was truly naivety that drives a woman to become a bride.
Gideon drifted closer to the railing beside Jürgen, close enough that their shoulders nearly touched, as though this were a private confidence between family. "I didn't break her," Gideon said conversationally. "Breaking her would have ended her story and her utility, but I set a few cracks in the fine porcelain. Made mother smile too I am sure, not that mine was there. Her fear will do the rest on its own, if you give it time."
Gideon's gaze slid back to the forest. "Mathias will spend the years he has left convincing himself she's still intact. That whatever cracks he sees are his fault, or the world's." A soft yet cruel laugh escaped him. "I've given my brother a puzzle he can never quite solve."
Then, finally, Gideon looked at Jürgen properly, this time he really looked, his pale blue eyes narrowing with something like curiosity. "As for dreams leaving bruises?" he recalled the previous statement with a furrowed brow. "You should be careful, Jürgen. Some of us do not dream at all." His smile returned, small and unsettling. "And you know what that means in this family...." Erin did.
Giddy leaned back against the stone, utterly at ease. Nobody was pushing him over this ledge today at least. "So," Gideon added, lightly, as if changing the subject, "are you here to warn me that I have made the ladies mad… or have you come to see how far I've already fallen?"
Giddy stepped fully onto the balcony instead, letting the door drift shut behind him with a soft, deliberate click. That door was generally locked for good reason. Teens loved to come here at night, outside of academic sessions. The night air caught in the loose fabric of his sleeves, tugging them like impatient fingers. He bent to the left and then to the right, allowing his vertebrae to snap and click into place as he took on his full height. Shorter than his caller, but taller than he had appeared moments earlier. Now that robe looked a size too small.
For a moment the Hufflepuff stood too close to the edge, close enough that a careless nudge might have sent Gideon over, but Gideon had never been careless. He knew exactly where gravity ended and choice began.
His mouth curved, slow and crooked. "Cousin," Gideon echoed lightly, tasting the word. It tasted rude, but his words sounded sweet. He tilted his head, pale hair slipping into his eyes. "You always pick such romantic places to interrogate me. One would think you were hoping I would… slip."
He glanced down at the forest, black and unbroken beneath the tower. He hated it when the forest slept. Then back up, eyes bright in a way that suggested he was enjoying himself far too much. "You should not listen to rumours," Giddy went on, voice mild. "They bruise so easily when you squeeze them." A pause, then a chuckle as if he was sharing a small joke with an unseen guest. "Though I suppose it is rude to deny you your entertainment."[/b][/color]
Jürgen asked about the "Winnie incident." Winnie, formerly Harper, recent bride to Mathias, formerly Athanatos. Their hasty marriage, partially in response to Winnie's devastating injuries when she was so "carelessly" flung from the Owlery had sped up that timeline. With Mathias' marriage to a part-muggle, Thaddeus' political ambitions were in sight. However, he was getting old, it was unlikely he would sit in the Minister of Magic's seat in this lifetime. The belief was that the role would fall to Vladimir, the heir apparent. He did not simply wander into the role of politician's aide by accident. However, his curse, his subsequent death and his transformation into a blood thrall had changed things for the legillimens who was no longer a suitable candidate. Had Vladimir become the heir, he would have been unstoppable in the role, as the first natural Legillimens in the bloodline in numerous generations in spite of conceited effort, there would be no sanctuary, even in ones own mind from Thaddeus Athanatos. Now a more malleable, vulnerable option presented itself in Pride, named heir apparent at the wedding.
So, at the mention of Mathias, something subtle shifted. Not guilt. Not fear. Something sharper. More proprietary. "How did it go?" Gideon repeated softly, as if testing the question for flaws. "Oh, beautifully. Truly..." he exhaled as if savoring the memory. "It hurt some, but that was fun. She screamed less than I expected." The Athanatos smiled then, all teeth, so many teeth, and no warmth. "But that’s the thing about first wives, isn’t it? They are taught to be quiet. To endure. To call the cruelty and indifference love." It was truly naivety that drives a woman to become a bride.
Gideon drifted closer to the railing beside Jürgen, close enough that their shoulders nearly touched, as though this were a private confidence between family. "I didn't break her," Gideon said conversationally. "Breaking her would have ended her story and her utility, but I set a few cracks in the fine porcelain. Made mother smile too I am sure, not that mine was there. Her fear will do the rest on its own, if you give it time."
Gideon's gaze slid back to the forest. "Mathias will spend the years he has left convincing himself she's still intact. That whatever cracks he sees are his fault, or the world's." A soft yet cruel laugh escaped him. "I've given my brother a puzzle he can never quite solve."
Then, finally, Gideon looked at Jürgen properly, this time he really looked, his pale blue eyes narrowing with something like curiosity. "As for dreams leaving bruises?" he recalled the previous statement with a furrowed brow. "You should be careful, Jürgen. Some of us do not dream at all." His smile returned, small and unsettling. "And you know what that means in this family...." Erin did.
Giddy leaned back against the stone, utterly at ease. Nobody was pushing him over this ledge today at least. "So," Gideon added, lightly, as if changing the subject, "are you here to warn me that I have made the ladies mad… or have you come to see how far I've already fallen?"
A vessel that leaks rather than holds
Jürgen did not move when Gideon neared, even if there was an impulse oddly enough to jump over the rail and accept gravity's decree. Jürgen did not flinch when the boy stood beside him like some half-wild omen in house robes that did not fit right and words too smooth. Let others be unsettled by his madness. Jürgen had long ago learned to sit with it, to sip it like a bitter tea and name it, along with the idiosyncrasies of his extended family with clarity. There was something useful that could be gleaned even from the most bizarre of places
Jürgen tilted his head slightly, considering Gideon's response. Gideon really did seem to enjoy the gory elements of his duties. His grinning, sharp-toothed confession of the Winnie incident was as unsettling as one might expect. When Jürgen was younger, his cousins truly terrified him, but as he got older he saw them for what they were. Sinners dressed in cashmere, cruelty, confidence and something that almost sounded like covetousness in spite of their wealth. But they were monsters born of sin and bound to natural laws that they failed to understand or chose to ignore.
"A first wife," Jürgen echoed softly, gaze drifting back to the forest, "and already your tongue is thick with inheritance." There was no warmth in his voice, but no judgment either. He was there for Winnie's first date with Mathias, he never stopped him from dosing her drink. Had he gotten a less annoying girl, he might have also been a married man now. "I admire the artistry. Most of our kin prefer blunt instruments. You, though…" The silver-tongued youth cast a sidelong glance at the boy beside him, whose laughter still echoed faintly, "…you use a chisel. Gentle taps. A crack here, a fracture there. And then step back, let fear do the weathering. Not efficient, but ultimately effective" he conceded.
A pause, the wind tousling the hem of his coat like a restless whisper.
"Mathias always did think puzzles were meant to be solved. And he is going to believe that the solution is perfection and power. His," Hess explained. "And that he is somehow capable of it," he wasn't. "That's a product of his sin," he mused carefully. "He see's himself as a weapon that can be honed. A thing capable of more." That was the issue with pride, they underestimate world and overestimate themselves. Some call it sin, but he saw it as their fatal flaw.
The Gryffindor let that hang between them a moment. Then he stepped lightly away from the ledge, just far enough to no longer invite the question of who might fall first. "I'm not here to warn you, Gideon. You're too far gone for that." He turned now, facing the boy full-on. "I'm here because you're becoming dangerous," some might argue he is now but they did not see the pattern Jürgen did. "And unlike the others, I don't think that's a tragedy. I think it's useful."
Jürgen took a slow step forward his gaze unreadable. "The ladies are always mad. It's our favorite excuse when they see too much, become too much or undergo the change. Erin was mad. Your mother was mad. The little Harper girl? Mad, soon enough. They say mad like it means fragile, like it means broken." Another step away, just in case. A half-smile now, slow and knowing. "But you and I know better. Madness is just what it looks like when someone tells the truth too plainly."
Jürgen studied Gideon's pale blue eyes, the way they flickered at mention of dreams. "You say you don't dream at all. That's interesting," his eyes narrowed, pretending to be curious. "So no, I'm not here to stop you. I'm here to watch. Maybe guide a bit more, if I'm feeling generous."
There was something calculating now. Not predatory, but precise in his posture and expression. "And besides, Giddy, watching you fall is the closest thing I have to joy these days." His smile was soft and cruel, the kind of smile you give to family you plan to bury, not because you hate them, but because you want to see what grows from the grave.
Jürgen tilted his head slightly, considering Gideon's response. Gideon really did seem to enjoy the gory elements of his duties. His grinning, sharp-toothed confession of the Winnie incident was as unsettling as one might expect. When Jürgen was younger, his cousins truly terrified him, but as he got older he saw them for what they were. Sinners dressed in cashmere, cruelty, confidence and something that almost sounded like covetousness in spite of their wealth. But they were monsters born of sin and bound to natural laws that they failed to understand or chose to ignore.
"A first wife," Jürgen echoed softly, gaze drifting back to the forest, "and already your tongue is thick with inheritance." There was no warmth in his voice, but no judgment either. He was there for Winnie's first date with Mathias, he never stopped him from dosing her drink. Had he gotten a less annoying girl, he might have also been a married man now. "I admire the artistry. Most of our kin prefer blunt instruments. You, though…" The silver-tongued youth cast a sidelong glance at the boy beside him, whose laughter still echoed faintly, "…you use a chisel. Gentle taps. A crack here, a fracture there. And then step back, let fear do the weathering. Not efficient, but ultimately effective" he conceded.
A pause, the wind tousling the hem of his coat like a restless whisper.
"Mathias always did think puzzles were meant to be solved. And he is going to believe that the solution is perfection and power. His," Hess explained. "And that he is somehow capable of it," he wasn't. "That's a product of his sin," he mused carefully. "He see's himself as a weapon that can be honed. A thing capable of more." That was the issue with pride, they underestimate world and overestimate themselves. Some call it sin, but he saw it as their fatal flaw.
The Gryffindor let that hang between them a moment. Then he stepped lightly away from the ledge, just far enough to no longer invite the question of who might fall first. "I'm not here to warn you, Gideon. You're too far gone for that." He turned now, facing the boy full-on. "I'm here because you're becoming dangerous," some might argue he is now but they did not see the pattern Jürgen did. "And unlike the others, I don't think that's a tragedy. I think it's useful."
Jürgen took a slow step forward his gaze unreadable. "The ladies are always mad. It's our favorite excuse when they see too much, become too much or undergo the change. Erin was mad. Your mother was mad. The little Harper girl? Mad, soon enough. They say mad like it means fragile, like it means broken." Another step away, just in case. A half-smile now, slow and knowing. "But you and I know better. Madness is just what it looks like when someone tells the truth too plainly."
Jürgen studied Gideon's pale blue eyes, the way they flickered at mention of dreams. "You say you don't dream at all. That's interesting," his eyes narrowed, pretending to be curious. "So no, I'm not here to stop you. I'm here to watch. Maybe guide a bit more, if I'm feeling generous."
There was something calculating now. Not predatory, but precise in his posture and expression. "And besides, Giddy, watching you fall is the closest thing I have to joy these days." His smile was soft and cruel, the kind of smile you give to family you plan to bury, not because you hate them, but because you want to see what grows from the grave.
“People always clap for the wrong reasons.”
― J.D. Salinger, The Catcher in the Rye
A vessel that leaks rather than holds
Gideon listened to his cousin without interrupting, his chin tipped slightly downward, pale lashes shadowing pale eyes that missed very little. The wind pulled at the Hufflepuff's sleeves again, that too-large black fabric fluttering like he might simply lift and go with it if he chose. He didn't. He never did anything so simple.
When Jürgen finished, Gideon smiled. It wasn't this wide, sharp expression. It was this small, almost fond pose, like a child pleased to be understood at last. "Dangerous," Gideon echoed softly, tasting the word. It did not taste bitter or sweet, but still satisfied. "You say that like it is a recent development." Hess was a first degree cousin with Germanic heritage lending the teen his Seer skillset. They were raised differently, but they had numerous shared touchstones. Cousins were not a part of the main line, rather they were bloodlines that existed for the sole purpose of returning to the main house eventually. There was a pecking order, a caste system: it was more than simple first, second, and third in line. There was authority in the main house, the source of the wealth the family enjoyed. Without a sister, Jürgen had no hope of getting closer to the main line during his lifetime. Perhaps the next.
Gideon leaned his forearms on the cold stone rail beside Jürgen, careful not to crowd him, careful but not as much to not push. There was always that impulse, much like the call of the void but it involved others. He stared out at the forest as if it were a familiar animal resting below them, something that might stir if called by name. The forest was sleeping tonight, which was sad. Boring even.
"You always did see more than the others," Giddy went on, his saccharine tone light, conversational but his vocal chords started to relax and fall into a tenor.. "They look at me and see excess. Madness. A problem that should have been… handled." The tone still strangely pleasant. Gideon's shoulders lifted in a small, careless shrug. "You look at me and see process." A small comfort oddly enough.
"I don't enjoy gore," Gideon added, almost idly, as if correcting a minor misconception. "Blood is loud. Messy," and while he was not completely adverse, "it tells people where to look." He turned his head just enough to glance at Jürgen from the corner of his eye. "What I enjoy is the wait, the inevitability. Watching someone realize the inevitable conclusion at the point of no-return."
His fingers tapped once against the stone of the tower. Tap. Thoughtful. "As for Mathias," he continued, his voice gentler now, almost amused at that game, "he needs to believe the lie you described. That he is refining himself. That power is something you earn by wanting it badly enough." The role of heir apparent had belonged to Vladimir for a reason. The role had been removed from Vladimir for another reason. Not that he did not share fault in the matter, through willful negligence he failed to share the found cure in time. But so had Mathias and Jürgen. They watched the teen die and let the void in his wake form. Now, the role had moved onto Mathias, not because he was the next favorite but because he was now in the right position. And Mathias was less threatening than Vladimir by far. A quiet huff of laughter escaped him. "If he ever understood what he actually will be, he would break. And that would be dreadfully boring."
Gideon straightened then, rolling his shoulders back, spine cracking faintly as it settled into place. For a moment, he looked taller. Older. Something feral flashed behind the childish slouch now made to stand tall. "You think you’re watching me fall," he said, not unkindly. "That's sweet."
The Hufflepuff smiled again, that small, pleased smile, and turned back toward the tower door as if the conversation had already given him everything he wanted. "Do keep watching," he encouraged as he took a few steps towards the door.
"I'd hate for you to miss the part where they all realize I was never the tragedy," Gideon added lightly over his shoulder.
If he was not stopped, Gideon would pause at the threshold, fingers brushing the doorframe as if an afterthought had caught him. "Oh," he said lightly, glancing back, that small, pleased smile returning. "I never thanked you..." He tilted his head, eyes glinting. "For the hags," the word hags was followed by a soft breath of laughter. "You were right: they were still listening."
He slouched slightly, the moment gone as quickly as it had appeared. He needed to look small once again when he returned to the halls. "Taylor will thank you eventually too," he finished, sincerity threaded with something that made the word feel wrong in his mouth. Hags had plagued their bloodline for generations, taking from them their women. A fact that never truly bothered him, he had no particular sentimentality attached to the women in their family. Perhaps that was because he knew few, never got close to most and when they were locked away or pushed away, he did not miss them. Taylor proved to be the exception.
With that final statement Gideon was gone, his footsteps fading, leaving behind only the wind and the uneasy sense that some favors, once repaid, only deepen the debt.
When Jürgen finished, Gideon smiled. It wasn't this wide, sharp expression. It was this small, almost fond pose, like a child pleased to be understood at last. "Dangerous," Gideon echoed softly, tasting the word. It did not taste bitter or sweet, but still satisfied. "You say that like it is a recent development." Hess was a first degree cousin with Germanic heritage lending the teen his Seer skillset. They were raised differently, but they had numerous shared touchstones. Cousins were not a part of the main line, rather they were bloodlines that existed for the sole purpose of returning to the main house eventually. There was a pecking order, a caste system: it was more than simple first, second, and third in line. There was authority in the main house, the source of the wealth the family enjoyed. Without a sister, Jürgen had no hope of getting closer to the main line during his lifetime. Perhaps the next.
Gideon leaned his forearms on the cold stone rail beside Jürgen, careful not to crowd him, careful but not as much to not push. There was always that impulse, much like the call of the void but it involved others. He stared out at the forest as if it were a familiar animal resting below them, something that might stir if called by name. The forest was sleeping tonight, which was sad. Boring even.
"You always did see more than the others," Giddy went on, his saccharine tone light, conversational but his vocal chords started to relax and fall into a tenor.. "They look at me and see excess. Madness. A problem that should have been… handled." The tone still strangely pleasant. Gideon's shoulders lifted in a small, careless shrug. "You look at me and see process." A small comfort oddly enough.
"I don't enjoy gore," Gideon added, almost idly, as if correcting a minor misconception. "Blood is loud. Messy," and while he was not completely adverse, "it tells people where to look." He turned his head just enough to glance at Jürgen from the corner of his eye. "What I enjoy is the wait, the inevitability. Watching someone realize the inevitable conclusion at the point of no-return."
His fingers tapped once against the stone of the tower. Tap. Thoughtful. "As for Mathias," he continued, his voice gentler now, almost amused at that game, "he needs to believe the lie you described. That he is refining himself. That power is something you earn by wanting it badly enough." The role of heir apparent had belonged to Vladimir for a reason. The role had been removed from Vladimir for another reason. Not that he did not share fault in the matter, through willful negligence he failed to share the found cure in time. But so had Mathias and Jürgen. They watched the teen die and let the void in his wake form. Now, the role had moved onto Mathias, not because he was the next favorite but because he was now in the right position. And Mathias was less threatening than Vladimir by far. A quiet huff of laughter escaped him. "If he ever understood what he actually will be, he would break. And that would be dreadfully boring."
Gideon straightened then, rolling his shoulders back, spine cracking faintly as it settled into place. For a moment, he looked taller. Older. Something feral flashed behind the childish slouch now made to stand tall. "You think you’re watching me fall," he said, not unkindly. "That's sweet."
The Hufflepuff smiled again, that small, pleased smile, and turned back toward the tower door as if the conversation had already given him everything he wanted. "Do keep watching," he encouraged as he took a few steps towards the door.
"I'd hate for you to miss the part where they all realize I was never the tragedy," Gideon added lightly over his shoulder.
If he was not stopped, Gideon would pause at the threshold, fingers brushing the doorframe as if an afterthought had caught him. "Oh," he said lightly, glancing back, that small, pleased smile returning. "I never thanked you..." He tilted his head, eyes glinting. "For the hags," the word hags was followed by a soft breath of laughter. "You were right: they were still listening."
He slouched slightly, the moment gone as quickly as it had appeared. He needed to look small once again when he returned to the halls. "Taylor will thank you eventually too," he finished, sincerity threaded with something that made the word feel wrong in his mouth. Hags had plagued their bloodline for generations, taking from them their women. A fact that never truly bothered him, he had no particular sentimentality attached to the women in their family. Perhaps that was because he knew few, never got close to most and when they were locked away or pushed away, he did not miss them. Taylor proved to be the exception.
With that final statement Gideon was gone, his footsteps fading, leaving behind only the wind and the uneasy sense that some favors, once repaid, only deepen the debt.
Left Topic
A vessel that leaks rather than holds
Jürgen stood exactly as Gideon left him, his coat unmoved by the wind, his hands clasped behind his back like a statue carved in patience and subtle disdain. Hess knew his place in the pecking order of this family, but he also knew the advantages he enjoyed were worth the tribulations he endured. He would suffer under their thumb only as long as he had to and not a moment longer. His dark eyes followed the Hufflepuff's retreat, tracking each step. Gideon played small like an actor preparing for his final, ascendant act, wasn't he getting a bit old for something so performative?
Yes, of course he was and he had been standing tall on occasion. Was it because he forgot? Or was if because his twisted spine could endure no more?
The moment the Astronomy Tower door clicked shut, Jürgen exhaled once, through his nose. The Gryffindor could relax if for but a moment. While he was near-certain that Gideon would not lash out, the boy was remarkably unpredictable and that was a long drop. Long enough to think about how he foolishly trusted the mad dog of the Athanatos clan to not drop him from the tower. "You never needed to thank me," he murmured to the cold air, as if Gideon were still listening, which knowing Gideon, he might be.
He turned, slow and deliberate, placing his palms on the chilled stone where Gideon had rested his own. The warmth was still fading. Like an echo, not of kindness, but of presence now lost. Proof he was once there. "I didn't give you the hags," Jürgen continued softly, to no one at all. "I just didn't get in their way." if he truly cared for the boy, he would have stopped him. he would have tried to stop him now. But Hess had no love for soon to be dead things.
The forest below was still asleep, and that, he agreed, was dull. But the real storm had already been named, and its name was Gideon. And yet… Something had changed tonight. Not in Gideon, that one was always spiraling, always somewhere between art and weapon. No, it was something else. Certainty. Purpose. Gideon had spoken like a boy who no longer needed to test the waters, because he had already poisoned the well.
Jürgen smiled then: the real kind. There was something strange, cold and crooked about the expression. Thin enough to slip between the ribs.
"You're right, Giddy," he murmured. "You were never the tragedy," he let that truth settle like dust. "You're the show." That was always the danger of a bloodline so obsessed with perfection. It didn't care what vessel it poured into, only that it survived.
Jürgen straightened his coat, adjusted his cuffs. There was no need to chase him. Not yet. Let him think he had the last word because he had. When the time came, Jürgen would be exactly where he always was: watching. He no longer felt compelled to intervene, he was no longer "ethically compromised" as he mother used to call it. He understood his place, where he fit better than the heirs did. As they played their game of thrones, believing that they would somehow wear a crown only a ghost could don, he was preparing for a throne of bone.
And as for Gideon. For all his cleverness, had just revealed something crucial. He cared. And it was not just infatuation, or lust, about Taylor. He knew she was his favorite, but there was a difference between favor and making a deal with hags. They understood, especially at their age and after what happened to Vladimir, the dangers of hags. The risk that Gideon had taken for her sake was suicidal. Which meant if Gideon survived, Jürgen now knew where to press.
Yes, of course he was and he had been standing tall on occasion. Was it because he forgot? Or was if because his twisted spine could endure no more?
The moment the Astronomy Tower door clicked shut, Jürgen exhaled once, through his nose. The Gryffindor could relax if for but a moment. While he was near-certain that Gideon would not lash out, the boy was remarkably unpredictable and that was a long drop. Long enough to think about how he foolishly trusted the mad dog of the Athanatos clan to not drop him from the tower. "You never needed to thank me," he murmured to the cold air, as if Gideon were still listening, which knowing Gideon, he might be.
He turned, slow and deliberate, placing his palms on the chilled stone where Gideon had rested his own. The warmth was still fading. Like an echo, not of kindness, but of presence now lost. Proof he was once there. "I didn't give you the hags," Jürgen continued softly, to no one at all. "I just didn't get in their way." if he truly cared for the boy, he would have stopped him. he would have tried to stop him now. But Hess had no love for soon to be dead things.
The forest below was still asleep, and that, he agreed, was dull. But the real storm had already been named, and its name was Gideon. And yet… Something had changed tonight. Not in Gideon, that one was always spiraling, always somewhere between art and weapon. No, it was something else. Certainty. Purpose. Gideon had spoken like a boy who no longer needed to test the waters, because he had already poisoned the well.
Jürgen smiled then: the real kind. There was something strange, cold and crooked about the expression. Thin enough to slip between the ribs.
"You're right, Giddy," he murmured. "You were never the tragedy," he let that truth settle like dust. "You're the show." That was always the danger of a bloodline so obsessed with perfection. It didn't care what vessel it poured into, only that it survived.
Jürgen straightened his coat, adjusted his cuffs. There was no need to chase him. Not yet. Let him think he had the last word because he had. When the time came, Jürgen would be exactly where he always was: watching. He no longer felt compelled to intervene, he was no longer "ethically compromised" as he mother used to call it. He understood his place, where he fit better than the heirs did. As they played their game of thrones, believing that they would somehow wear a crown only a ghost could don, he was preparing for a throne of bone.
And as for Gideon. For all his cleverness, had just revealed something crucial. He cared. And it was not just infatuation, or lust, about Taylor. He knew she was his favorite, but there was a difference between favor and making a deal with hags. They understood, especially at their age and after what happened to Vladimir, the dangers of hags. The risk that Gideon had taken for her sake was suicidal. Which meant if Gideon survived, Jürgen now knew where to press.
Left Topic
“People always clap for the wrong reasons.”
― J.D. Salinger, The Catcher in the Rye