Unboxing Shadows PV MS closed

Silence. One of the great paradoxes of the living world, in that a complete lack of noise was often louder than anything which might infringe upon one's eardums. Such had been the nature of their communication with Athanatos since they'd sentenced the hags to eternal reticence; and while the sounds of that night still played in his mind like a phantasmic orchestra, the ensuing stillness evoked an even deeper sense of unease.
But his discomfort was born more of discontent than fear. He had yet to receive what he'd been promised, and he had no intention of working for free, especially given the nature of what they'd been tasked with. It had been a filthy affair - far more so than any of his previous marks - and one that he and his companions could count themselves lucky to have escaped relatively intact. He'd been deadened to the sense of justice the other two might have felt upon delivering consequences for the hags' crimes. For him, it was strictly a means to an end. Athanatos was not a man to be pressured, but Halford would collect his dues.

The deafening silence was finally shattered by a knock at his door, one that he'd fully intended to ignore until the trailing utterance shot through him like a jolt of electricity. His gaze had snapped up from the crystal ball upon which he'd been entranced, severing his connection to the clouded answers swirling within. Murky irises returned to normal as he'd hurried to answer the undeniable call. Achieving insight into the future was paramount, but no amount of divining could award the malleability offered by the present.
His door had opened to reveal an agitated Orion, the man's face devoid of the childlike mischief which normally resided there, particularly when in Halford's presence. A nondescript box was presented as justification for the impromptu visit. Its origin was obvious, and served as one of very few explanations Hal would accept for a conference with the Frenchman. Still, irritation for the interruption would shine through.
"'Course ye'd drag me out me office teh go on a scavenger 'unt for your oblivious boyfriend," came the scathing retort to Orion's insistence that they find the third member of their little 'band.' No answer had followed, and Hal had trailed the other man in spite of his annoyance.

Having no earthly interest in Tuesday's evening habits, he'd deferred to Orion's judgement on where he might be found at this hour, ultimately leading to the grounds.
Rays of light painted the area gold as the sun dipped toward the distant horizon, offering a farewell to the long day it had overseen, and steadily introducing the idea of its absence to the world before leaving it bereft. Halford now squinted into its mass, musing that the next sunrise was never guaranteed. Not for those few he loved, and not for him. With every sunset came remorse for what the day hadn't seen, and hope that it would come tomorrow; but he had learned all too early in his life that hope only buoyed the ignorant, while certainly guided the wise. And so he tried - to dictate his tomorrow before being dragged into the abyss of night. Yet even for one who understood what was to come better than most, his grasp on subsequent days remained uncertain at best, leaving him feeling almost more helpless than those who could only guess at the consequences of today. It was one thing to imagine a desired object, but entirely another to see it placed before you, just outside your reach.
Sometimes even he could only cling to the hope that said object would become reachable. Tomorrow.
And right now, as he scanned the grounds for their quarry, he hoped that Orion had taken them to the right place.

Sleep was hard to come by most days, and even though it wasn't all that late, Tuesday could start to feel the dull throbbing ache behind his eyes. The man had already made a deal with one of the new hires, a certain Potions professor, to help supply him with dreamless sleep potions. However, it wasn't an endless supply, so the man had to pick and choose the times to use a minimal resource. Today, he decided that Tuesday wouldn't dig into his small reserve, so he's been damned to another night of wandering around the school grounds for hours on end.

The night was a blanket of comfort for the man. There was a sense of serenity behind the idea that he was alone, away from prying eyes, aside from those of owls and other nightly creatures. Thankfully he was okay with those nocturnals peeking at him.

Tuesday stood at the edge of the black lake, his hands stuffed into his jean pockets. The man wore his classic outfit, flannel, and jeans. However, his hair was down out of his favorite bandana. His mind had been a bit out of it as of late, thinking of what he and his colleagues had done so far here at the school. However, the soft sounds of the lake's subtle movements calmed the man, and it was like an audio therapy. But the gentle ways of nature couldn't wholly quell the persistent nervousness haunting him for weeks now. Not only were his nerves getting the better of him, but he was also still somewhat upset that his best friend, Orion, had falsely written letters under the guise of Tuesday. The Defense Against the Dark Arts professor had explained the situation, but he could tell that his friend was starting to become unhinged. Even more so than his regular excentric self.

Now wallowing in the dark atmosphere, the mind of the Herbology professor couldn't help but focus on the entire reason for his being at Hogwarts in the first place. But, of course, Tuesday was a professional, and he would never let his feelings of discomfort or unsureness infect his work. They had done their job and completed their assigned task, but they were too late. Those creatures suffered, but had Tuesday gotten caught up in the whole idea of playing school? And now here they are. Waiting. For what exactly?

The shrill shriek of branches snapping underfoot yanked the man from his ponderings. Tuesday's eyes snapped away from the gentle shifting of the lake and towards the noise that had decided to break his lovely silence. "Hello?" The man called out, waiting for a student to push their way through the brush and into his line of sight.

Mentions @Orion Lécuyer

Orion was not in the mood to play his usual mind games with Halford, so he didn't bother responding to his comment about Tuesday. It was a rather sore topic for the French man anyways, as he and his best friend were going through a rough patch. A careless mistake was made while he was intoxicated and he had hurt his long-time companion. Though he had spent the past few days delivering peace offerings in the form of plants, flowers, and a large quantity of healthy baked goods, he knew the man was still hurt.

Despite his parade of gifts, he tried to give him space after initially explaining himself. Disrespecting that boundary and stepping into his personal space before he was ready was not something he was keen on doing, but given the circumstances he did not have much of a choice. He knew his friend had trouble sleeping and was prone to wander the grounds during the night, so that was where he guided Halford to. Sure enough, he found the man silently brooding over dark waters, looking as if he were ready to compose poetry on the subject of how fate had been so unkind to him.

He could have hidden his presence, could have been quiet while approaching the man. There was no point, and he knew better than to surprise a former-Auror. "Tuesday." The Defense Against the Dark Arts professor would disrupt his quiet time, his Adam's apple bobbing as he swallowed the lump in his throat. It was perhaps one of the rare moments he used the man's real name instead of his pet name. Mardi was saved for when they were on good terms. "Athanatos calls." He nodded downwards towards the package in his hands.

"I'm unsure what is in here, but I have no intention on putting the two of you in harm's way." Even Halford. He was fond of the man despite the Seer's obvious dislike of his company. He started to take several steps away from his two colleagues. There was simply no knowing what was inside the package and despite being employed by him, he had little trust in Athanatos. "There is no sense in arguing with me, it was delivered to my hands and is meant to be opened by me." He would be lying if he said he wasn't curious. Before Tuesday could argue with him, he started to rip into the packaging to see what was waiting within.

The burden of the package would weigh on Orion. What sort of package had Thaddeus Athanatos send them? Why send it via a human courier rather than by owl, leaving it at post? These were good questions to ask.

The package appeared unopened. If Erin was curious enough to try and open the package, she had sealed the package seamlessly. It would not be difficult to accomplish this, something Orion would likely realize - a simple Reparo charm would ensure this very appearance - pristine. Perhaps too pristine. A concern perhaps for later, he needed to attend to his comrades.

Beneath the simple brown paper that Orion tore through with the fervor of a young boy opening a birthday gift, he would find an uninteresting yew box. The box was made simply of yew, with a black tourmaline inlay. A strange design that they would recognize - it was the symbol that represented the Athanatos family. It was a prophecy that even they misread, divination is not a precise science. The cursed, the spider and the eye... There was a simple latch that clasped the heavy box closed. The lock and clasp were made of gold, yes actual gold. Worth more than their combined salaries, but not meant to be something traded. No, people do not generally waste gold in such a frivolous manner even if they are ridiculously wealthy. There was no key, nor was there a keyhole. A simple lock with no means of opening conventionally. A symbol was embossed on both sides of the lock and that match the inlay of Black Tourmaline.

There was also a letter, a simple sheet of heavy parchment that was folded in half. The penmanship was lovely, clean and precise. Dark red words would greet the reader unapologetically.

Dear Mr. Halford Booth, Mr. Tuesday Irons, and Mr. Orion Lécuyer:

I apologize for sending this parcel by way of teen, reliable courier services are hard to come by. I would like to extend my gratitude for your previous services this past January, your efficiency has continued to impress members of my organization and payment has been rendered. You will notice a tidy sum has been applied to your Gringotts accounts my secretary last month. Deeds to the Green Bryer Manor, Fairview Gables and the Ersandmyne Estate have been signed over to your respective names.

In completion of my payment, I send the following message to Halford Booth -- indeed you were correct regarding the death of your father. His death was no mere accident, however they were mired in something deeper and darker than one could have anticipated. Jamison Booth was transporting a dark substance known as "endless night" for Loralei Yaxley. A not particularly well-known necromancer who found her own supply of corpses by murdering her victims and then bringing them back to 'life' under her command. Endless Night being a substance that was short-lived in the 1990s as a recreational potion that caused euphoria at the expense of ones vitality which she was using to invigorate her risen creations. Your father was a willing transporter for a time, however he did ultimately betray Loralei Yaxley and his betrayal cost him his life.

Abbandon Flint, a schoolmate of Loralei had boarded your fathers ship - the Broken Horizon as a deck hand in 1994. It is believed that he poisoned your father's rations and during a rough night at sea, whilst your father was experiencing the effect of Endless Night, he was pushed overboard where he drowned. The potion was rather short-lived, by 1996 Endless Night was for the most part off the market. There might be information in the Ministry regarding Endless Night, how or why sales ceased but unfortunately due to its very short tenure there is little known regarding the substance.

The youngest among them, Gideon Bulstrode was responsible for the death of Siobhan Martin in 1998, however the true circumstances of her death were not fully discovered until after their graduation in 2001. He came into contact with this duo in 2003, by this point he had been responsible for the death of at least 8 young women. A notable Casanova, he is a serial lover as much as he is a serial murderer. As far as I am aware, he kills simply for pleasure whereas Abadon and Lorelai kill for power and profit. You will not find them in any housing registry nor any cemetery, as they are very much alive and well. You would find them among the illustrious alumni of Hogwarts. You will also find Ministry records detailing their murders, which to date include three aurors, several shopkeepers, two Ministry officials and the slaughter of at least four families in their private residence. The murders appear to be for a number of reasons, although some we suspect were "for pleasure" or to prevent being identified as we have varied accounts regarding their relative appearance ranging from lanky pale youths to bronzed fit wizards. They are presently wanted on multiple counts of murder, torture, dark magic and forgery. Their last known location was London two years ago; however they make trips to a tea house in Circe where they seek a reading.

They are already aware that you are hunting them, that this communication has transpired because it has already been seen and read to them. That is the problem with knowing what will be as well as what can be some fates are impossible to divert from. I can confirm London but nothing more in terms of a location. I can confirm that they are alive and together. I can confirm that they will kill again and that it will be successful. Such has already been written. Their next victim is a young woman, late 20's and the murder will take place in a rural region so not London. Flowers are in full bloom, so spring or summer.

______

Onto business. Harry Potter, former Auror was arrested in 2019 for the murder of Dolores Umbridge. Toss these eyes in fire made of silver lime wood and watch the scene play out before you. We need to find Potter's wand; it is somewhere in Hogwarts you just need to find out where. This could be used as a tool to exonerate him or ensure he never again sees the light of day. His former partner August VanCleaf continues to serve as an active Auror, he is presently in Ireland dealing with a dark wizard along the coast according to sources. I am less interested in his innocence or guilt and more interested in the why. Harry Potter was a known half-blooded celebrity, celebrated for taking down a Dark Lord before he had even graduated Hogwarts. His incarceration has a negative impact on the wizarding community.

So, I am looking for one of two things -- the collection of Potter's wand or a convenient lie that can be submitted to the Ministry that would prove his innocence. I need either to be publicly submitted to the Ministry of Magic. Less the possible fact that it might be a lie, I have no concern with you sharing the fact that you were commissioned to perform this valued public service.

___________

The other issue I bring to you involves the curse. You will find a bottle of the blood, my son's blood from the day he died in an opaque bottle. Do not open this without taking proper precautions. His blood was very much alive and by all accounts worse than what we saw in the student body. It is the suspected progenitor. The hags are the believed source of this curse, while it is possible that they did so for no reason beyond the fact that they are vile creatures... I have my doubts that they are so simple.

Another set of eyes do not worry they are labeled. These a bit more dangerous, you might need to restrain the gazer. They might give you the insight you need to bring these villains to justice.

I am certain I will not be disappointed, and you will be well-compensated for your efforts. Please take care these next several months as the Hexwizard Tournament is hosted at Hogwarts. The outcome of this competition will serve as political fuel for those with grand aspirations. Not everyone will be playing "fair."

Appreciated;

Thaddeus Athanatos

It was written in blood. The signature brighter than the rest. The scent of iron, like Tuesday's namesake wafted in the air. The letters would darken, turn almost black before the letter would begin to combust. The message delivered, there would be no papertrail left in its wake. No attachments. No proof that he was there, pulling the strings from behind the scenes. A woosh and a bright light, an incredible heat would immolate the heavy parchment reducing the message to a pile of ash. Hopefully they understood and recalled most of it, there would be no follow-up message.

The chill of the night air would contrast with the heat from the flames, but they did not burn flesh and they did not burn the yew box that held artifacts of some kind.

A lone figure became apparent by the water’s edge, affirming the credence Hal had given to Orion’s knowledge of his companion. The American seemed painted by a much more forlorn hand than usual, as corresponding shades to the darkening vista cast his features in melancholy hues, while strokes of the brush which gave him life adopted a subdued quality. This was the picture of a man provided contrast through extenuating circumstances. Perhaps there were other variables taxing his conscience, but the events of recent months had left distinct imprints upon all three of them, as was evidenced by Orion’s formal address of the man where an onerous nickname would normally be employed.
Halford awarded the privilege of talking to the Frenchman, who so adored the practice. There was no sense in adding unnecessary clutter to a conversation with a specific end goal in mind, that being to get Tuesday’s attention and turn their focus toward the subject in Orion’s hands. As far as he was concerned, the fewer words, the better. And as fortune would have it, it seemed his colleague entertained similar sentiments on a day marred with mystery and anticipation.

He watched passively as Orion took several precautionary steps away from them, understanding the intention immediately and making no move to stop it. It made good sense, after all; there could be no predicting what might populate an unmarked package from the likes of Thaddeus Athanatos. Why should any more than one of them be affected in the possible scenario of foul play?
He merely removed his wand from its place in his sleeve when the other man started into the package, readying himself for the worst. But no such preparation proved essential just yet. Removing the outermost layer, Orion revealed a rather uninteresting box, accompanied by a letter which presumably explained the purpose of its contents.
Still not speaking a word, Halford would approach warily as the Frenchman broke the letter’s seal and proceeded to read it aloud.

The introduction was meaningless - empty accolades, token recognition of funds rendered, and notice of an awarded estate that meant nothing to him. All of it devoid of worth. Hardly even notable enough to include in a message that had come too late.
It wasn’t until the mention of his father’s death that his interest was captured, more completely than any words he could recall. Heart skipping a beat, he moved a step closer, brown eyes roving obsessively across the page even as Orion continued reading.
He’d been right. Not that doubt had ever infiltrated his mind; his knowledge concerning the nature of his father’s death had been fact, not theory, but to have it confirmed by an outside source left him breathless. Tears threatened the edges of his vision, but he refused them. Emotion only blurred sense, and he wouldn’t allow himself to proceed without full clarity of mind.
Scanning ahead of Orion’s recitation, he devoured the contents of the next two paragraphs, stopping at the conclusion of information regarding his father only to start again, brow furrowed in disbelief. How could it be possible? His father, mingling with those who laughed at death’s door and stole its denizens from their eternal slumber? Transporting dangerous substances upon the ship he so lovingly cared for?
It couldn’t be. Halford refused to accept it. The words simply didn’t align with the idealistic view he held of his father, crafted carefully by a six-year-old mind, and preserved as a perfect image which he compared the entire world against. Beside it, all was gray and dull; life carried no meaning deeper than the smile on the man’s face; love bore no weight against that which had died with him at sea.

But then, was that picture drawn by the naive hand of a heartbroken child, nothing more than abstract scribblings without the contrast and shading which gave reality its depth? All these years he’d scrutinized the scene surrounding the accident, but had he ever taken a moment to look closer at his father’s portrait?
The more he considered it, the more his doubts shifted away from the contents of the letter, and instead toward the credibility of his own investigations. Perhaps he’d simply been too close to the issue, unable to accept the possibility that his father had been exactly like the world he’d grown to hate so much - secretive, manipulative, and fake.

Pulse seeming to quicken and freeze all at once, Halford turned his back to the other two men, gaze finding the twilight sky as countless emotions battered him from separate angles. Anguish turned with rage, and fear paired with uncertainty in a disorienting dance within his chest.
Were either of his companions to make any attempt at comfort, he would raise one hand in an abrupt signal for silence. No manner of words they could say would repel the storm, and he was smart enough to know that the rash actions coursing through his mind only led to a future without any real satisfaction. All he could do now was consider the information he’d gained, absorb the remainder of the letter’s contents as best he could, and push aside a thought more horrifying than any other, which had been born between the lines of information concerning his father.

Yaxley and Flint were both significant names he knew, though Bulstrode didn’t ring such a resonant bell.
The next bits to demand his attention were mentions of the dreaded trio’s last known location, as well as the apparent use of a seer for their own purposes. So there was another player in his game, then. That was perfectly alright.
The reverse of a popular adage regarding traditional sight wafted bitterly through his head: if they could see him, then he could see them.

The letter also addressed the idea of burning eyes in a fire set upon silver lime wood. Though the practice wasn’t terribly common, it did not escape his knowledge in the ways of divination.
Once the letter’s signature was read, there were a great many things to address, but a difficulty breathing still hindered his ability to speak, so he chose to force out a statement on the simplest subject at hand.
”Tha’ ritual wi’ the eyes an’ yew,” he began haltingly without turning to face the others, tone scarcely loud enough to reach them. ”Ge’ em’ out and I’ll do it.” The sound of hissing flames drifted by, provoking the man to place both hands on his hips, eyes closing in resignation. ”Paper’s gone, aye?”

To assume that the serenity of night would never be broken was to think that wind would never blow. However, he had expected a student out for a small exploratory excursion across the Hogwarts grounds and not the two professors and colleagues who had entered this subversive mission with him. Their faces were that of a funeral procession, and the faces of his friends were just as grave as the proverbial corpse they carried with them. Two words were all it took for Mr. Irons to join in the solemn air, which was growing like a fat tick that had found itself an oblivious host. "Anthanatos calls."

Pulling away from the dark water of the moonlit lake, Tuesday looked between his two closest allies and friends. The thought did cross the former Auror's mind that Hal would hate that Tuesday thought of him as a close friend, but the man quickly swept it to the side as he opened his mouth to speak. Yet, only silence escaped from his lips. It was as if cotton balls had been shoved down his gullet. Looking at the parcel in Orion's hands, Tuesday knew that he should open the package. Yet the chance to voice that opinion had quickly passed. Before the words could form in his head, the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor tore through the dull, uninspired paper wrapped around the package. "No, hold it-" but of course, the deed was already done, and the parcel was open. Damn it, Orion. Tuesday could feel his annoyance with Orion resurface, yet the professor knew it was not the right time.

Expecting something extreme from Mr. Athanatos, the silence that awaited his held breath was crippling. Only after that moment of hesitation was over did Tuesday allow himself to breathe. "Well, that's a strong start." Was all he managed to force out. What was formerly a mass of brown wrapping paper was now a light-colored wood box with a greenish-blue stone inlay. The symbology was clear enough as it was embossed on the sides. As Tuesday continued to study the chest, Orion spoke aloud the contents of the letter that came with it.

The funds were a nice added benefit, but in all honesty, Tuesday cared more about keeping folks safe and punishing those who actively sought the harm of others. But as Orion spoke the words, the addition of property in their names made Tuesday grimace. They had never agreed upon an estate as a reward, so why would Anthanatos give something so extra? But the letter was far from over. Irons had little stake in the words next written, but he couldn't help but let his eyes drag over to Hal. The intense look of concentration that altered the man's usually apathetic expression was significant enough to tell how much he truly cared. This information is dangerous; that much wasn't hard enough to decipher. If he was in Hal's place, Tuesday could only imagine the anger and shock he would be feeling. Necromancy was a very evil form of magic, and to have your father so deeply ingrained in the trade of nefarious substances... it must have been like taking a haymaker to the side of the head.

But the revelation was superseded by a new objective—the wand of the illustrious and infamous Harry Potter was to be found. So how on earth had a student got their hands on such a thing? It's an annoyance at best, but the second... the second was going to be an issue. Who would have the motive if the hags weren't the source of this vile curse plaguing the school? It made his blood boil, the idea of somebody targeting children as the ground zero of this disgusting curse.

As the words faded from Orion's lips, Tuesday could only look up at his friends. "Hal..." There weren't any words that Tuesday felt could help the situation, but even as Booth raised his hand to snuff any light of comfort, Tuesday still continued "We'll be right by your side for this." The words were simple, but it conveyed what he and hopefully Orion both felt. Yet, Hal was already back to the business at hand. The eyes. Reaching towards the yew box, Tuesday took it into his hands. Whether Orion would object, he would attempt to render control nonetheless.

Gently running his fingers across the inlay of the box, the man closed his eyes to sus out any discrepancies against the wood's surface. Of course, there was no lock to open via normal means, but the embossed symbols that sat adjacent to the golden clasp did catch his attention. Touching and pressing on both simultaneously, the man assumed it would be just that simple. "Let's just hope that these visions won't mess you up even more than you already are, Hal." But of course, Hal was the obvious choice for the ritual. Visions were kind of his forte, to say the least.

Interaction with @Halford Booth & @Orion Lécuyer

"I'll be fine." Orion was quick to assure Tuesday. He had already known he would object and try to open it himself. His decision might have been reckless but it left his friend safe and that was good enough for him.

The package did not contain something that instantly harmed him, but he wasn't certain he could say the same for the box that was within it. His brow furrowed at the mere sight of the mysterious container, fingers sliding over its form. He focused on the letter which had accompanied the package. Calloused fingers ripped open the envelope and he squinted down at the text. It was in red, never a good sign, especially given the sender.

He paused now and then as he translated the text in his head to his native tongue and when a certain surname had been written. Martin. Santario's Aunt. Surely Athanatos had information on her parents too. Bastard. His eyes flickered over to Halford when the man drew closer to him, a small frown tugging on his lips when he saw his reaction. Damn Athanatos. He really had all this information and refused to properly report it? This is why Orion never messed with politicians. A hand reached up to attempt to comfort Halford, should the other allow it to (doubtful).

He already knew the letter would end up self destructing the moment he opened it, so he wasn't surprised when it did just that. He allowed Tuesday to take the box from him, although keeping an eye out should the man attempt to open it on his own. The Frenchman quickly reached into his pocket to withdraw a notepad he often left on his person. It was where he jotted notes down, reminders for himself for when he hadn't slept well enough for his memory to function properly. He had slid a pencil into the coils that held the notepad together. A muggle device, but easier to carry than a quill and ink when you needed to write something down quickly. He started to scribble some key points in the letter, the name of the manors, surnames, things that might have seemed like useless information without context if anyone were to steal his notepad.

"Fine, but we're staying with you during the ritual." It wasn't a choice. There was no way he would allow Halford to do this without them by his side. As he finished his notes, he shoved the notepad and pencil back into his pocket. "Any ideas on how to open this, gentlemen? Here's hoping it has nothing to do with our damn eyes."

Indeed, Halford was "right" but being right came with a price. A tragedy became a crime at the expense of a 'good man' because imperfect in the mind of his son. How children idolize their parents when they are young - for their wisdom, wealth and power. It is not until children become older that they understand how fallible and how human parents truly are.

Yaxley, Flint and Bulstrode -- his enemies were named just then in such a simple letter. Murders, sadists, monsters. It was easy to see the world in black and white, good and bad but the world was full of shades of grey. Grey like perhaps his father.

It would not end there, perhaps their benefactor was feeling particularly generous. Estates in London of all places, that could not possibly be cheap and moreover it was not a compensation that they had agreed upon. They were already paid for services rendered according to the letter, but there was a box and a trio of estates waiting for them. What would Athanatos want in exchange. When you make a deal with the devil, the devil always makes sure that you pay.

There was a ritual at play: a fire made from silver lime wood. In Baltic mythology, the linden tree was sacred to Laima, a goddess of fate, of luck and prophecy. Of fate already determined. Of what was, what is and what will be. Yet the ritual detailed while only vaguely was dark and dangerous, morbid and frowned upon in most civil circles. Rituals with blood, entrails, or in this case the eyes of the dead were not meant for the faint of heat but Athanatos would have been a fool to believe Halford as delicate or squeamish. ”Tha’ ritual wi’ the eyes an’ yew... Ge’ em’ out and I’ll do it.”

This was really Halford's fight, his origin story really about how the tragic loss of his father had made Hal the man that he was. That if such a pivotal event did not occur, Halford would have been a different man. A softer man perhaps. Probably not the sort of man that would be looking through the eyes of the dead in a dark ritual in search of answers. It would be his intense want for answers, perhaps vengeance for a crime a childish mind never fully understood but never needed to as it became a core memory that forged the wizard.

But what of Tuesday and Orion. Friends? Curious companions that would answer the call to adventure? Perhaps, not that Halford earned their loyalty or friendship with his gentle, warm or kind demeanor. He was standoffish and sour, intensely private and focused. Perhaps it was simply the red string of fate pulling them closer, together as it always had. A dangerous prospect, the possibility of being drawn to one another by external forces beyond their understanding or purview.

"Fine, but we're staying with you during the ritual." Orion insisted.

"Hal... We'll be right by your side for this." Or perhaps friendship was the greatest magic of all. Tuesday would fiddle with the box, fondle the strange insignias simultaneously with the pads of his fingers.

"Any ideas on how to open this, gentlemen? Here's hoping it has nothing to do with our damn eyes." Orion would inquire. without a keyhole, an obvious clasp or hinge the strange box was a mystery.

Thankfully Tuesday was the master of just falling face first into the answer. Either that or a secret genius, he made it look casual, thoughtless and simple. "Let's just hope that these visions won't mess you up even more than you already are, Hal." An idle hope truly, it was a part of the curse -- seeing what could have been be them good or bad, knowing what one had lost or what could have been one is enough to truly haunt a man,

The box would snap open as his fingers pressed the images. A hard, almost mechanical-sounding click but this was no machine. The lid was no longer locked onto the box, it could be pulled away with relative ease less the awesome weight. The lid was incredibly heavy and as soon as the lid was pried away they would understand why. Lined with almost three inches of lead, the wood nothing more than a thin veneer. The box was rife with symbolism -- yew symbolizes death and resurrection in various cultures. Lead is the metal of redemption and transformation; it is the base, degraded material that’s both the carrier of death, and eternal, incorruptible life.

A rolling, thick fog would escape from the newly opened vessel giving the air an uncanny, unnatural chill. More fog inside than the vessel should technically be capable of containing, but the space within remained small unlike the dimensional pocket space trunks and bags that are commonplace in Hogwarts. The fog would obfuscate their (the collective their, not merely the bearer of the box) vision, leaving only a silhouette of their companions. The fog would distort their image, making them appear taller, with longer, thinner, gangly limbs. A disembodied laughter, not from the box, not recognized either. It came from outside the fog, distinctly feminine. Was it playful or cruel?

The fog would thin and the three would remain unmolested. All seeing the same vision, all hearing the same laugh. All of them isolated momentarily if they tried to call out for one another.

Inside the box they would find humble components -- two jars. One labeled Moore and the other Vladimir. They were sealed, semi-opaque but each had something round and marble-like within. The jars resembled jars for preserves. There was also a bottle that was completely opaque, painted black and labeled - open with caution. The bottle was stoppered with a simple cork. Indeed, it would appear that the contents were just as Athanatos had claimed. Eyes and blood. The base of the rather shallow box, lined on all other sides with lead was hawthorn, stained and varnished to a gleaming shine.

The upraised hand may as well have been cast to the empty breeze for all the good it did, as both of his companions deemed to disregard the clear signal and instead oppose the implied request. How much simpler it would have been to process this information on his own, left with naught but his thoughts and the violent throb of his pulsating heart, both echoing against a crumbling wall of childish idealism before disappearing into depths that no others could see. But world-shattering news never did seem to accommodate one’s optimal circumstance. So here he stood, his pain on display before two individuals who had no place witnessing him in such a fragile state. And what was worse, they failed to simply honor his silent attempt to brush the anguish aside, to swallow any vulnerability infringing upon the edges of his mind.
He had never faltered in his lifelong mission, and wouldn’t do so now, despite his world being turned upside-down. He’d come too far - sacrificed everything for this purpose; what did it matter if he abandoned his soul?

No response would meet their heartfelt assurances, save for the curl of his trembling hand into a fist as he lowered it to his side, resisting the urge to snap back at them. Grief, loneliness, regret… all of it could so easily be buried beneath the simpler concepts of anger and apathy, and Halford would do exactly that as his hunt continued, re-invigorated by new information, regardless of the shaking contents thereof. What did he care if his father had dealt with those who resided in the darkest recesses of the world?

What did he care?

A minute stretched on before the man turned to face his colleagues, a typical scowl fixed upon his features once more, though if they paid close heed, they would note that it reached a deeper place within his eyes than normal.
His intention was to single his focus on opening the box, but it seemed the bandanna-clad wonder had already blundered into the solution. Halford’s eyes lifted to the heavens as the latch clicked open. Simple minds devised simple answers, he supposed; and in some cases, there was no substitute for a more… direct approach.
A moment more saw Tuesday wresting the lid open with apparent difficulty, and as quickly as a gap was created, it became clear that something wasn’t right. A deep fog escaped from within, before extending toward them like a groping cloud of gloom. Afforded no time to react, Halford was engulfed, vaporous tendrils coiling around his form and cutting off his vision. Taking an involuntary breath of surprise, he was racked by a fit of coughing as the substance forced itself down his throat, its thickness threatening to suffocate him.
Fighting to expel it from his lungs, he cast his eyes about in an attempt to locate his comrades, but they were nowhere to be seen. Instead, his obscured gaze would alight upon two grotesque shadows, humanoid in nature but bearing elongated, twisted figures. Logic told him the creatures occupied the same spaces where Orion and Tuesday had stood moments before, indicating that the fog was merely deforming their silhouettes, yet the unsettling image still set him on edge. His wand was swiftly drawn once more when a haunting laugh echoed through the mist, seeming to come from everywhere and nowhere as it bounced about the air and rattled in his skull.
He lifted his weapon in the direction he thought the voice to have originated from, then spun around once, and again, the mirthful melody mocking him from every side. Though even as he aimed, his accuracy would likely be challenged by the shaking of his hand, wrought not by fear, but an unnatural cold which penetrated his very bones.

”Do it, then,” he growled into the murk. ”Come a’ me so I can kill you.”
Yet nobody came. As quickly as the fog had enshrouded them, it dispersed until nothing remained but his companions - their appearance restored to normal - and that accursed box. A quick glance around revealed that the three of them were still alone.
”Curse you an’ your riddles, Athanatos.”

With that, Halford’s mind was quickly made up. Storming over to Tuesday, he scanned the contents of the box and snatched the jars without a word. Turning away, he then stalked off toward the Forbidden Forest.
Were the others to inquire what he was up to, he would reply over his shoulder, ”I’m goin’ t’ star’ a fire. We need kindlin’, an’ there are far too many pryin’ eyes ‘round ‘ere. You two made like ye’d be willin’ to lay down your lives for me, so pu’ some fire in your step and keep up. Yer just migh’ ge’ t’ chance to star’ practicin’.”