"You say that like its a bad thing—like a butterfly would ever wish to to crawl back into its chrysalis."

"Remind me," Giddy quipped, his back to her as he departed with Matthew. ["How was your first date with Mattie, I'm sure it was 'magical.'" He could not suppress a faint chuckle as he said that. He had no idea what their first date entailed, but he knew that the context of the evening would not fit the narrative because half her love story with his elder brother was a farce.

So he left with his new besty, croc-boy.

Gideon let Matthew chatter, offering him the space to ramble, to pour forth his harmless musings, eager to please. It was… endearing, in its own way.

"Thanks, man! That’s a shame. My dad bought mine for Christmas, we have matching ones—though his are black. Maybe your dad would be convinced if he saw how great they are. Also, sorry, I never actually caught your name."

"Gideon Athanatos," he answered pleasantly. His mind was always in motion, always plotting and planning, the truth of his nature hidden beneath an allegedly juvenile grin. Even now as introductions were being made, a plan ws formulating as he sought to pull Matthew from the rest of the herd. "Well, crocs are dark wizard shoes. There’s this shop in Knockturn Alley that I heard sells them." He shrugged, offering a lazy, conspiratorial smirk. "So, I dunno, I guess I find it pretty badass that you have a pair." The best he had were loafers which were the bougie, non-dark-wizard version of crocs, just slip on and go.

It was not even a lie, but the implication was there—the sort that was woven so seamlessly into the air that it settled like dust on unsuspecting minds. The sort of thing that burrowed, that festered, that became truth the longer one sat with it.

Gideon’s gaze flicked across the room, noting every detail—the acoustics, the weight of the walls, the proximity to the outside world. The ceilings mimicked the belly of a ship, wood too thin for his liking. But the walls? The walls were thick, adorned with enchanted windows that made them seem fragile when in truth, they were barriers.

Matthew chose a room with a bordering wall that led to the outside world.

Gideon had steered him there.

Good boy.

While Matthew admired the room's oceanic decor, Gideon studied the space for soundproofing potential. The white lace was a risk. It was too light, too delicate, but more importantly—it was a net. A crude one, yes, but still an instrument to hold something sharp, something dangerous, something unexpected close to a sleeping head.

Perfect. For them of course, not him. He would tear them down before the evening was underway. For now, he kicked the door to their shared quarters closed and allowed his trunk to rest against the door.

Giddy did not unpack his oversized trunk. That was never the point. Instead, he opened it, peeling away layers of exotic fabric that would have made him look like an eccentric dandy to the average onlooker. Layers of silk, brocade, velvet, fabrics woven with gold thread and embroidered with fantastical creatures.

It was a smokescreen.

Beneath the artifice lay something real.

From within, Gideon withdrew a bundle of waxed cloth, his fingers peeling it away with slow, deliberate care. The object it revealed was mundane, almost laughably so—an oversized glass jar, the kind one might find in an old apothecary, filled with dried green flakes.

In fact, it looked exactly like a budget spice bottle—the sort Matthew’s mother might have kept in her kitchen.

But the tag wrapped around the neck of the bottle—handwritten in careful, slanting script—simply read:

IVY.

Gideon placed it on the nightstand without a word and then he fished out something else. It was not as well wrapped. In fact, it looked like a perfume bottle. Like something Winnie Harper might own in fact. Blown glass, reminiscent of a pink flower. He uncorked the bottle and took a sniff, but the scent was rather obvious. The room was flooded with the smell of roses. He nodded appreciatively and replaced the cap, setting the oil alongside the bottle of something that was certainly not oregano.

Then came the question, as expected.

"So what made you want to come to the Valentine’s event? The free trip to France, or do you have someone in particular you’re here for?"

Gideon did not answer immediately. He sat down on the bed, bouncing lightly on the mattress as if to test the springs.

"For various forms of knavery," he replied at last, tone light, almost playful. Then, after a beat—the admission: "My Boyfriend," his mouth curled over the word, testing it, playing with the weight of it on his tongue. He did not dislike the word, but he did not enjoy it either. "Finnegan Connor," at least according to the papers. The name itself was a statement. A known entity. A headline. A Gryffindor. A hero to those that do not know him. A miracle to those that know of his idiocy and the fact that he lived. And to Gideon?

An indulgence.

"He’s been ghosting me since the new year."

The words should have carried bitterness—should have been tinged with resentment, anger, something vulnerable.

But Gideon did not do actual vulnerability.

Not that he was above it. He could cry at the drop of a hat if it would benefit him. Yet at this moment there was no heartbreak in his voice. No despair.

Only… mild curiosity.

Because Gideon Athanatos was not a creature of love.

No.

His sin was far more dangerous.

Gluttony.

If something pleased him, he wanted it again and again and again.

Pleasure, power, pain—it was all the same. His appetite was voracious, his hunger endless, his capacity for taking and taking and taking utterly without shame.

That was what Finnegan had awoken in him.

Not love.

But a craving.

A carnal, feral, insatiable hunger that had never existed before.

And now?

Now, it was his.

His to explore. His to wield. His to sharpen into something even crueler than before.

So when he finally met Matthew’s gaze, there was no heartbreak in his expression.

Only something dangerous.

"But who knows?" Gideon hummed, reaching for the IVY jar, turning it idly in his hands. "Maybe I’ll find something new to occupy my time." He passed the jar of ivy to Matt, "be careful."

The implication hung in the air like a noose.

His blue eyes glittered, unreadable.

"After all, Valentine’s is all about finding something sweet, isn’t it?"

He reached for the more delicate bottle and tapped the glass jar once before passing it to Matthew.

And smiled.

"Empty the bottle into the jar of Ivy, we have work to do before everyone settles into their beds."

Aamon had been in his own world, a dizzying mix of unease and excitement, torn between feeling trapped in a luxurious prison with his brothers and the strange warmth that came from seeing familiar faces. Even faces that poisoned him (Matthew), wanted to stab him in the eye (Nabi) or would sell him out to a sociopath (Avis). He had not, however, expected to completely lose control of his ability to function the moment Nabi entered the room.

He barely caught Nabi stepping inside—his attention had been too focused on Mathias and Gideon's squabble, on the weight of their impending battle suffocating the space. But then, there Nabi was. Quiet, composed, slipping into the periphery of the conversation like a shadow. It was a bit creepy he had to internally admit. Why couldn't she just be normal? and this was coming from Aamon of all people.

His stomach lurched, but not in the adult cider or the I’ve definitely been poisoned way he had grown accustomed to. Thanks Matt. This was... different.

This was the all-too-familiar stomach lurch of anxiety. But why was he anxious? Maybe it was because she looked... different. Not physically, but something about her presence felt sharper, heavier than before. Not that she had a softness about her, she was more like the keen edge of a knife. She used to simply look indifferent, but he had the sense that she was pissed. Maybe it was because of what had happened. The kiss. The game. The way he had been so proud of himself, like it had been some kind of personal achievement rather than... rather than... whatever it was to her.

Women were an absolute mystery. And now she was standing there, composed, unreadable as ever. He tried to greet her, she was probably fine. There was nothing wrong, that was just her face!

"Oh, uh—hey, Nabi!"

Why was his voice doing that? He did not normally sound like this did he? Well, evidence suggests that there might be an exception when speaking to girls he had kissed and subsequently ignored the implications of.

She looked at him. He swore she looked through him.

"You look—uh—not mad!"

Oh, that was terrible. That was—what was wrong with him? Aamon wanted to punch himself, or possibly just throw himself into the Beauxbatons moat and let the mermaids decide his fate. He could practically feel Avis’ laughter vibrating next to him, barely contained. He pressed his lips together and narrowed his eyes as he looked over at her unamused.

This was fine. He could recover. He could—oh Merlin, she wasn’t answering.

Abort. Abort!

Nabi had already turned away, drifting towards Avis like she had far better things to do than engage with his nonsense, and he let out a breath he didn’t realize he had been holding. His brain was still scrambled, still piecing together exactly how this was going to affect the entire rest of the trip. Was she just going to ignore him? Well, probably.

He tried to focus on something else, anything else. Winnie Harper—nope, the pink lady was too busy being an amnesiac. How much strawberry juice did Mathias feed her? That was a whole different disaster he didn’t have the bandwidth to deal with just yet. Then there was Matthew Campbell, lurking, watching, someone Aamon had never spoken much to but recognized. The Slytherin dorms were full of ghosts, and Matthew was one of them. Wait, why was he buddying up to Giddy? He would watch the pair depart with suspicion. And of course, there was Mathias, still radiating the kind of barely restrained anger that made Aamon’s skin itch.

He had to focus. He had to be careful.

Easier said than done.

He would find himself getting agitated and that was when the intrusive thoughts would start to filter in.

Mathias could not be bothered with whatever drama Aamon had gotten himself tangled in. At least he did not have to worry about his youngest Hogwarts-attending sibling in addition to Gideon this week. If anything, the kid might serve as a decent human shield or distraction for Gideon,

Mathias had barely acknowledged Bubba’s outstretched hand, the Slytherin's hand moving restlessly over the head of his silver cane. He had never relinquished his grip since his earlier, not-so-subtle attempt to trip Gideon. An image of him beating the interloper to death with that very cane painted his vision red. He blinked away the thought, not acting on it. Every inch of Pride's body was coiled tight, wound with tension so thick Matt could choke on it. Winnie’s fingers squeezed his own, grounding the ten in the moment, keeping him from acting on the violent impulses surging in his veins.

It's Gideon’s fault. Always Gideon. A parasite. A sickness that latched onto anything good in Mathias’ life just to see how quickly he could make it rot.

Mathias exhaled sharply through his nose, his stormy gaze flickering over to Bubba, who seemed blissfully unaware of just how deep the cracks in the ground beneath them ran. Lucky him.

"Nice to meet you," Bubba had said, all polite. What was this guy's angle? This bloke had followed her all the way from St. Mungos. Was he following Winnie because he was romantically inclined towards her or because he was told to follow her? Mathias was slowly unraveling at the seams.

He forced himself to unclench his jaw. "Yeah," he agreed through clenched teeth. "Likewise," he agreed. He did not offer Bubba his hand.

But his voice was hollow. Because none of this was nice. This trip to Beauxbatons was supposed to be a distraction, a way to put miles between them and that fucking hellspawn. And now?

Now they were sharing a roof with Gideon, the monster who had made their lives a living hell.

Mathias barely heard Bubba’s sarcastic quip about their “romantic trip” before Winnie’s nervous laughter filled the space, her way of covering the lies; there were growing fractures in their illusion of a successful couple.

It's fine, he unconsciously mouthed.

As if an afterthought came Gideon’s voice again, dripping with that same syrupy condescension that made Pride's blood boil. Couldn't the goblin just leave and keelhaul the teen that was foolish enough as to walk off alone with him. Gideon's very voice made Mathias' stomach twist in fury.

"Do be careful. The mind is a delicate thing."

The fucking audacity.

He didn't even bother to mask his disdain, shooting Gideon a glare sharp enough to cut. If he had his way, this trip would end with Giddy-boy choking on his own words—preferably through broken teeth.

Winnie's reply felt out of place.

"You say that like it’s a bad thing—like a butterfly would ever wish to crawl back into its chrysalis."

A poetic defiance. A carefully veiled fuck you. When did she learn the word chrysalis?

And yet, when Gideon finally left, taking the younger boy with him, that defiance crumbled like brittle parchment. He wondered what that alliance was about.

Winnie latched onto Mathias, pressing her face against the Slytherin's arm, she was trembling.

"I want to go home."

Mathias turned, his free arm draped over her small shoulders, his embrace tight, protective. He exhaled against her hair, voice low and edged with quiet rage.

“We will,” he promised. Because running now meant letting Gideon win.

But fuck—he needed a plan. Fast.

Mathias would know that running was not an option—not yet. Gideon had already sunk his claws into this trip, turning it from a weeklong escape into a cruel, twisted game.

Mathias' mind would work fast, shifting from raw anger to something sharper, something colder. The Slytherin needed control. If they were to survive this week—mentally, emotionally, physically—he had to make sure they weren’t dancing to Gideon’s tune.

Gideon did not have people or things to care about. If Mathias wanted to hurt Giddy, he would have to do so directly.

_{Banner by Miss Haven Bohannon}

| Note: Thoughts, Speech, Avis, Mother |

Nabi had been looking at the girl, her expression never faltered. She had always been... blunt, there was no point in beating around the bush. "Um, I dyed it...blue" With a curt hum, she gave a slight nod, her eyebrow raising slightly as she took note of the rather... unpleasant glance. Her gaze followed the young girl's, seeing Matthew begin to follow the boy of blonde hair.

Does Mr. Campbell know him?

Nabi did not know where they were headed but decided to ask Matthew when he returned. She looked back at the girl, hair dye? She hummed in thought, Is that some sort of muggle thing?

Was the young miss a muggle-born?

She observed her closely, unfortunately, Nabi had the same habit as her mother; her gaze was... stern, some may even say methodical. Her head tilted slightly once again, "Does this... hair dye work similar to Crinus Muto?" Nabi had seen how her parents worked with the incantation growing up. The way it elevated their designs with an ease that had models going from dull-looking hair to completely different looks in a matter of mere seconds.

Nabi was looking at Avis when she saw Aamon from the corner of her eye, some part of her wanted to talk to him and her ears burned slightly at the thought. Her mind went blank and she blinked once.

No.

She is still mad at him and she had every right to be. He had stolen her first kiss and then had the audacity to think of who else to kiss. But why did her heart feel different, why was she happy when she saw him? What?

Nabi tried to focus on the girl with the blue streak, what had she said?

Feelings are like a game of cards. Her mother's voice echoed, a turmoil behind her blank porcelain mask— she could not possibly fancy Aamon... could she? Her ears turned a soft pink as she felt her pulse quicken; the same odd feeling she had when they kissed.

Bloody hell...

She looked at the girl again, "My apologies. I do not believe I asked for your name, Miss..." Nabi needed to remain focused, perhaps if she just avoided him...

But the cabin was not big enough to avoid him, she knew that; she also knew she did not want to avoid him. Merlin what is wrong with me...

Give me the patience to survive this week...

Date: February 12th 2025

Few things could have made this cabin experience better given he was almost certain it was a literal death trap. Matthew had never been good with groups, intimidated by the mounting pressure that everyone always had different expectations and you were almost certainly failing someone. That's what standing with the cabin youths felt like, Nabi was ignoring Aamon who angry at Matthew who in turn was ignoring Aamon and through it all there was an undercurrent of ignorance. A pair of muggleborns and a pair of purebloods both wildly unaware of the differences in each others cultures. It was safe to say that Matthew was happy to escape, allowing his mouth to quirk at his fellow muggleborn when she sought out his gaze he couldn't help but be reminded of his first year friend Rowan and how their eyes always spoke conversations greater than their mouths.

Then he was off and exploration had begun with the blonde who within seconds crushed any hope of his happy little escape dreams. "Gideon Athanatos" There was a dramatic irony in the greek god of death seeking the boy out for a second time, born from death he must live with it always. Poetic really. Matthew did his best to hide his fear but there was every chance that his new friend had lured him here for revenge. Having grown up with no siblings he was forced to witness from the side-lines the protective nature of the species, no wonder there had been such tension in the room before he arrived. The bond between family was as tender as it was powerful, and he busied himself in the room décor fearing that any moment he was about to meet the true Thanatos. But the moment never came, instead all conversation was completely pleasant.

Laughing lightly to himself at the muse of dark wizards he so wished to make a self deprecating joke about being the darkest Slytherin second year the house had seen in some time but shockingly the boy didn't actually have a death wish and wasn't prepared to tip the scales out of his favour. Instead he focused his mind academically, always the curious spirit he knew he was betraying his blood status but at this point that particular fact seemed very low on the spectrum of why Gideon may want to kill him. Not to mention that his crocs and hand-me-down clothes didn't exactly paint him in the fine light of pureblood aristocracy. "I'm not sure where Knockturn Alley is but you can order pretty much anything online, any desire a few keystrokes away - as long as you have the money I guess." Why must he always speak more than he required, he chided sinking behind the walls of his.

The boy needed calming reassurance and quickly but thankfully the room that they had settled in was a safe-haven of familiar comfort. Taking one of the shells from a small mantle at the window he held it up to his ear. Gideon was seemingly busy analysing whatever it was he sought in a perfect room seemingly concluding that this one had met his standard giving Matt the reprieve for consolation. As the shell reached his ear he heard the gentle whispers of water calling to him releasing him from the binds of his anxieties. Memories of moments by the sea flashed in his mind, the feeling of sand between toes and the cool rush of the Scottish waters enveloping over him. It was a moment to catch his breath and he welcomed the water's clarity in washing away his panic.

Bringing himself to the bed the shell, now an extension of his person, remaining close he found himself filling the air with questions that only prayed on his anxiety once more but Gideon once again would prove himself to be nothing but casual and light in his response. Moving away from the lavish fabrics that spilled from his trunk, a curated reflection of his wealth Matt couldn't resist the tugging smile that appeared as Gideon bounced on the bed testing its fortitude. This one was so unlike Aamon he truly questioned their heritage but such things were not privy to him and certainly not appropriate to ask warning himself, specifically reminding his tongue against any unexpected outbursts.

"For various forms of knavery," Despite the deceitful connotations associated Matthew rather liked the knaves in stories, they always had more fun and the boy couldn't possibly mean it in any real way so it made Matthew's face glow lighter. Then after a brief pause he offered another response, "My Boyfriend, Finnegan Connor, he’s been ghosting me since the new year." The words weren't said with the upset he knew himself to be prone to but that didn't mean that it wasn't there. Matthew carried around a suffering burden of grief every day and knew the lingering sensation that could easily be yanked upon at any given moment yet he himself did not walk around the visage of mourning. Pain wasn't linear and it wasn't always surfaced but that didn't mean it wasn't there. Shifting to the edge of the bed to be across from him he offered a genuine smile with slight sorrow causing his golden flecked eyes to dull, "I'm sorry to hear that, I think I might have read about him in an article while digging through the Headliner archives. Not very heroic move to ghost but I'm sure it'll all work out."

Whatever was going through Gideon's head was unknown for his eyes remained hidden from sight, likely a protective move curtaining the windows to the soul but when they re-emerged there wasn't heartbreak no it was something more tantalising than that. "But who knows?" he hummed, reaching for the jar labelled IVY, turning it idly in his hands. "Maybe I’ll find something new to occupy my time." Then in a quick movement leaving Matthew clambering to not shatter the object he warned "be careful." Implication lay thick and suffocating while light blue eyes pierced temptation with glittering pull unreadable to their true intent. "After all, Valentine’s is all about finding something sweet, isn’t it?" Reaching for a second more delicate bottle he tapped the jar and passed it to him "Empty the bottle into the jar of Ivy, we have work to do before everyone settles into their beds."

A dangerous flash of mischief and devilry flitted in his features causing his eyes to brighten once more with the shimmer of gold vibrant and alive. It seemed that Matthew was not all innocence and cute as he appeared either, there was a trickster spirit that dwelled within him and called to chaos like a lure. Before he even dared to ask the plan Matthew found himself following instructions like the good little boy he was powerless to the draw of mayhem. "Done, now what's the plan. I must say you are rather different from your brother, bolder. It rather suits an Athanatos." While the move betrayed his prior exchange with the younger heir Matthew no longer felt wary of the words for Gideon seemed removed from the bounds of familial expectations. At the very least he was game to prank them and Matthew as stupid as it may be, was never one to back down from a challenge. A being born from death would cling to life far more desperately.

Interacting with @Nabi Park, @Gideon Athanatos and @Avis Marlong
Mentioning

This shit was just weird. It looked like Mattie was about to throttle one of (who Bubba was assuming) his siblings with that cane. Too bad there were no steel chairs around, that really was the only way to do it. Maybe they could organize a cage match in the middle of the week that would spice up what was certain to be a painful and interminable experience. It just made no sense to him and felt unfair. Before her untimely death, he and Joanie had been so incredibly close. Why should he lose her when this family - who clearly hate each other - get to stick together and antagonize each other.

He decided he would try to focus on Winnie. She was a friendly face and she also seemed quite distressed about everything that was going on here. He would've liked to have helped her but since he had no idea of the situation, he was powerless to do anything. At least he could just be himself and try to raise the temperature of this frigid atmosphere. But then she spoke to him and he was confused. Did she think he was serious about watching his boyish figure? It had just been some witty repartee. Well, she did giggle, so maybe she had picked it up. "I'll refrain from passing judgment for now," he said in response to the new best friends comment because it sure didn't seem like it. The way her fiance looked at him with a combination of suspicion and downright contempt was bizarre. It normally took people at least an hour or two to hate everything about him. The boy worked fast.

"That's an outstanding idea, always have time for music," he said in response to the comment about setting his phonograph up. He would love nothing more than to do that at this precise moment. Put on some music and just vibe out for a while. Kendrick's Not Like Us seemed natural at this moment because he didn't think he wanted anything to do with this family. What was such a nice person like Winnie doing with them?

He broke away from his reverie long enough to realize Mattie was addressing him. Unsurprisingly, he had rejected Bubba's (admittedly reluctant) hand of friendship. That was fine with him as he had no interest in being friends with him. He picked up his rucksack and addressed the pair of them. "Well, I think I'm going to go check out the bedrooms, catch up with you later," he said as he turned to walk away. Now he understood why his Uncle Duncan felt compelled to sit in the corner and drink at parties.

Interacting: @Winnie Harper | @Mathias Pride
Mentioning: @N/A

"Bolder," Gideon repeated, the word curling off his tongue like a ribbon unwinding from a slow, deliberate pull. "Oh, you think so?" He did not sound surprised, amused rather.

His fingers ran slowly along the edge of the jar Matthew had so obediently prepared, manicured nails tapping against the glass with a rhythm that mimicked a slow, steady, yet inhuman heartbeat. It was endearing, really, how easily the snake had fallen into step with him.

So eager. So willing.

So very malleable.

Matthew had hesitated at first, he had resisted in his own way—casting cautious glances, offering nervous pleasantries, pretending he was unaffected by Gideon’s presence. But Gideon was aware of his name, his relative stature. Among all of the Athanatos men, he was the most aware of what he was, how others saw him and he chose to control it rather than abide by it.

Which brought them to the here and now.

Now Matthew sat before him, knees barely inches away. His hands unsullied by the crushed and dried poison ivy, now the consistency of fresh grass clippings, rehydrated by the drops of rose essence. Matthew was a willing participant.

And all it had taken was a little pull. A little bait.

He liked that about him.

The trick to handling people was never force—no, force bred resentment, made them struggle, made them fight.

He knew better. Gideon knew that you made them choose the cage.

That one does not make a clear demand but rather places before one a carefully, beautifully wrapped invitation. That one allows their accomplice to move towards it one inch at a time, each step closer to succumbing; their curiosity flaring, their fingers moving on their own it would seem, so filled with anticipation. By the time that they realized that they are trapped—

It is far too late.

Gideon leaned forward slightly, not touching, but letting his presence be felt. The air between them tightened like a violin string drawn taut, vibrating with a dark, invisible frequency.

"Athanatos," he mused softly. "You say it like the name means something grand. Like it carries weight." Perhaps it did, the name that is. But it had no bearing on the wizard that sat before Matt. All the name did in his mind was demand attention, draw expectation and of course open doors that should remain closed. All choices by others. The name itself was no incantation, it held on its own no power besides the power others granted it.

Gideon's head tilted, curious, eyes drinking Matthew in—the golden flecks in Matt's otherwise very brown irises, the nervous energy beneath the boy's skin. Giddy felt he could see it in the way young Matthew held himself, like he wasn’t sure whether to run or lean in closer.

"Tell me, Matthew," Gideon would finally murmur, his voice as smooth and as soft as the satin and silk vestments in his trunk, "do you believe in fate?"

Gideon's fingers twirled the perfume vial between them, letting the glass vial catch the dim candlelight, sending fractured beams of light across the walls. The faint scent of rose filling the air between them.

"Matthew, do you believe that all of us were placed on a path that we have no control over? That every step we take, every choice we make, is simply leading us toward the inevitable?"

A slow inhale. The Hufflepuff's gaze never wavered. If Matt understood the Athanatos family, he would believe that Gideon likely subscribed to the fatalist ideal that the future ws what it would be. Diviners of fate saw only one outcome, or that was what the world had always been led to believe.

"Or do you think we carve our own way, shaping the world as we see fit?"

There was no way for Matt to know about the threads of fate. That the future was a mess of probability and that the future was able to be altered, one act at a time. That the world had endless possibility and potential.

But Gideon was not asking Matt for the truths behind fate. Giddy was asking Matt what he believed. For that, there was no right answer. No wrong one either.

There was only the reaction.

The way Matthew processed, the way he breathed, the way Matt's face or eyes might change. Gideon was left open, expectant, waiting. Was he a passenger or a driver in this uncanny adventure?

But more, Gideon loved watching people stumble over moral quandaries. Watching their minds tick, watching them battle with themselves.

And Matthew?

Matthew was so wonderfully susceptible.

"You say I am bolder," Gideon continued, tone lowering ever so slightly, shifting into something heavier, "but what you mean is that I do not pretend."

Pretend like his brothers did. Like Mathias in his game of house, a flimsy appearance of domestic bliss. Pride wanted to tell a story, a lie really. How a prince found true love with a common maid. About how a simple girl would become princess. How romantic. How enviable for the unwashed masses that would dream of similar escapes. All to bolster his pride.

Pretend like Aamon did. Pretend that this Athanatos, unlike the others was kind and sensitive, sensible even. In truth, the boy was a narcissist that could only adore his own reflection. He cared about what others believed, rather than the worth or value of his actions. But more than that, he was greed incarnate. He wanted to have and to own the world around him. Aamon wanted to hold the world's adoration in the palm of his hand. The young snake wanted their positive regard, their attention, their everything. One kiss was not enough, Aamon needed another. One friend was not enough, Aamon needed more. His wealth left no space for material want, so all that remained was to own the very people around him.

His smile curled, mocking, teasing.

"I only wear a mask when it is convenient for me," he admitted. "And I choose the mask to guide their expectation. I do not wear the mask that people expect of me." He sounded confident because he was. Demanding, because it was in his nature.

A beat.

"Not for long, anyway."

He shrugged. There was the rare exception. Like the Daily Prophet and whatever story they wished to weave and he would play along with. It was better to give the papers what they expected rather allow them to ask questions and to start digging. He exhaled, long and slow, before tapping the glass jar again.

"But enough philosophy. We have work to do."

The flicker of dangerous mischief, Gideon unsealed the vial, letting the fragrance of something earthy and floral spill into the air between them. He took a sniff. Like a hidden rose garden taken back by nature.

"You, my dear Matthew, have just become an accomplice."

The word accomplice was spoken like a secret, like a gift wrapped in dark satin and silver chains, something valuable and dangerous all at once.

And oh—how deliciously intoxicating it was to be the one who pulled those strings.

"This little concoction?" He hummed. "Nothing terribly harmful. Just an ounce of mischief, a whisper of trouble. Enough to set the week in motion."

He watched Matthew closely.

If Matt seemed hesitant, Gideon would give the boy a smirk. "What’s the matter?" Gideon whispered with mock concern. "You aren’t scared?" Almost as low as calling someone 'chicken' without the confrontational overtone.

Then—a shift.

The moment changed, twisted, turned itself inside out into something charged. Even if Matthew failed to stammer a reply, declare his protest or even simply agree with his trepidation. The poisoner of house Slytherin could afterall be a coward. But that was not where this encounter was headed.

"Or do you like the thrill of it?"

A pause. A heartbeat.

"Do you like the idea of being the villain, just for a night?"

Gideon did not move toward him. He did not touch him.

But the burden of his presence, the pull of his words, the way his eyes pinned Matthew in place—

Gideon watched Matthew, the way he breathed, did his his fingers curl just slightly, like they weren’t quite sure whether to hold on or let go of some invisible tether. Such a delicate thing, the human conscience. Giddy wondered if he would be able to see it work behind Matthew’s golden-flecked eyes, the battle between hesitation and temptation, between sense and surrender.

He loved this part.

That razor-thin edge where a person realized they had already crossed a line—even if they hadn’t quite admitted it to themselves yet.

Matthew was already in.

He just needed to own it.

Gideon tapped the side of the jar again, slow and rhythmic.

"Now, listen carefully, Mmai," he purred, taking Winnie's weird nickname that she had bestowed upon the boy on first meeting. He apparently had no right to even his own name because someone else, someone more important than him had already taken one similar. He could have the letter M as a consolation prize. Gideon's voice seemed to slip between the cracks of the room like velvet chains soaked in something venomous. "You see the mixture? That lovely little blend of ivy and spice?"

Gideon’s lips curled.

"I want you to take a generous handful—without using your hands—nothing too obvious. And then…" He gestured with a lazy motion towards the other bed in the room, his blue eyes flicking toward in the same direction, shining with dark mischief. "I want you to sprinkle it between the sheets. Not too much. Just enough that they won’t notice—until it’s too late."

Gideon smiled.

If Matthew asked what is was, what it would do to them. If he even cared, Gideon would answer, "that’s the fun part, isn’t it?

And then Gideon would let the question linger, let it marinate in the dim glow of the enchanted sconces flickering overhead.

"Poison ivy," he would finally admit, leaving a bit too much quit between that devious grin and a direct answer.

Regardless of whether Gideon was asked or if he gave Matthew an answer, he would egg the boy on. "You want to be a knave, don’t you, Mmai?" he murmured, voice lilting, teasing, a slow drawl that wrapped around the space between them. This time he was a bit sharper when he said Mmai, because it was not his name. It should be a source of agitation. "Then consider this your first lesson."

He held the jar out to Matthew, watching him closely, wondering if he was truly malleable to take the bait. How good, or rather bad this boy actually was.

"Go on, then," he whispered.

"Let’s see how bold you are."

Interacting: @Mathias Pride | @Bubba McGarry |

Outfit: ✿| ✿

Mentioning: @

"English" | "Irish" | Internal thoughts

Winnie's jaw clenched at Gideon's question. It was just a cheap shot at her memory loss, or so she assumed. She couldn't remember her first date with Mathias, or if she had then... The order of events was messed up. There were some memories where the Slytherin looked younger so she could take a guess, but she would need to rely on outside sourced to piece together their timeline.

Yikes, she could have cut the tension between Bubba and Mathias with a knife. It all seemed so familiar to her that she had to wonder if the Slytherin was usually this way around her male friends or if he was just being overprotective because of Gideon.

Suddenly, the younger Ravenclaw was trying to leave, and before she could let him she felt her arm shoot out to grab his wrist, "W-Wait..." What if he went to settle into his room and fell right into Gideon's web? The thought made her want to vomit.

She swallowed hard, leaning in closer so she could whisper in his ear, "Listen... I know we just met and you have no reason to believe me but... Please... Stay away from Gideon. He's not what he appears to be... H-He's... He's a monster."

Taking in a breath, she pulled back, forcing her features to look neutral. "Just... Be careful out there, okay?" She said out loud, offering him a smile.

'Do be careful. The mind is a delicate thing.' Had Gideon seen it? How her edges no longer lined up the way they used to? He had all but spelled it out for her. If knows, he'll try to send you back.

Gideon's words burrowed beneath her skin like a parasite, they would continue to fester there for the remainder of the night. She had refused to let him get to her, and had managed to stay strong in his presence, but now here she was, trembling against Mathias, feeling like she might crumble beneath the weight of her own mental deficiencies.

Smooth the cracks, don't let them see you break. Wasn't it too late? Wide eyes scanned the faces of those who remained in the cabin's main area, only for her shoulders to relax when she realized none of them were staring at her. Still, her fingers curled into the fabric of Mathias' sleeve.

Why had she played along? Offered defiance in the face of his mockery. Isn't that what got you dropped in the first place? No, she didn't know that for sure. The Ravenclaw also wasn't sure which version of her had answered him; she would never have said something like that before. Wouldn't you? No, but... She couldn't remember...

Her grip on Mathias tightened, "It won't stop," she murmured, her voice just a whisper. What though? Gideon? The anxiety of returning to her cell? Would Mathias send her back too? She was trusting him because he was the most solid person in her life.

She emitted a frustrated noise in the back of her throat. Shut up, she had to stop thinking so much, had to find a way to clear her head. "No... We can't give him the satisfaction. He wants to see us crumble. He's.... He's doing this all on purpose. He wants the reaction." It felt wrong to suggest staying when her body screamed at her to run as far away from Gideon as she could. Her mind was emersed in a fog of exhaustion after the long journey and lingering fear.

Why her? Was it just her connection to her brother?

She finally pulled her head back, as if she were a turtle sticking its head out of its shell. "... Lets go find our room..." They had to plot their next move, and she had to redecorate her bed before she could even lay down in it to relax. "We're sharing a bed tonight, by the way." There was no way she was sleeping on her own after facing her living nightmare.

As she pulled the Slytherin towards their room, she let out a slow breath, releasing the last of the tension built up in her chest.

Aamon’s stare cut through her laughter like a blade, and Avis stopped instantly. Partly because he was embarrassed and she felt bad for having laughed, but partly because he looked unpredictable. Not that he was scary, but that moments before he had been stumbling over his words, and now he had flipped a switch, his eyes narrowed sharply, sending Avis' thoughts spiraling.

Mathias was still clenching his cane as if it were the neck of his brother. Gideon, on the other hand, had some pretty interesting hobbies. And Aamon, with his eyes narrowed, annoyed, looked for the first time like an Athanatos. Like the "proper" boy he was meant to be. Like the family that was on the front page of the paper for too many right reasons.

To Avis, Aamon was a sheep in a pack full of wolves. Not all bad wolves, after all, Gideon simply had some strange hobbies (at least as far as Avis knew), but Aamon was the innocent little scapegoat of it all. But he had been brought up in a pack of wolves, and for the first time, Avis wondered if there might be a little bit of wolf in him.

But even if there was, Avis was pretty confident that he was still mostly a sheep.

Avis exhaled a sharp sigh of relief as Gideon exited the room. Maybe now Mathias could stop looking as if he was seconds away from murdering someone, and Aamon could breathe at least a little bit easier now that only one of his brothers was in the room. There seemed to be, however, no decrease in the levels of Aamon's agitation. If anything, he seemed to be getting more agitated by the second. Was it Nabi, who was now standing in front of them, talking to Avis?

She hadn't responded to his awkward attempts at interaction; instead, she ignored him for Avis. An interesting decision considering she was directly next to Aamon. She tilted her own head, mirroring Nabi's, and returning the stern glance, but her eyes gave her away. Avis, though good, was not the master of snuffing out her emotions that Nabi seemed to be, and her fingers fidgeting, itching to reach for her clarinet and escape from this awkward conversation.

Gideon and Matthew were gone, Mathias and Winnie had retreated into their Lover's Paradise, and the older boy who Avis hadn't actually noticed until now was making some excuses and heading towards the bedrooms, leaving the weight of the room lingering, but no longer suffocating. Which left Aamon, Avis, and Nabi. The first years.

Nabi's voice cut through the silence. "Does this... hair dye work similar to Crinus Muto?" Avis cast a quick glance toward Aamon, who was being much too quiet. He was generally pretty talkative, at least in the conversations she had had with him. Granted, those conversations were generally either him being half-dead, with the exception of when she ended up being injured. Were they just going to leave him out of the conversation? "Sorry, I don't know what Crinus Muto is."

"My apologies. I do not believe I asked for your name, Miss..." Avis bounced up and offered a practiced handshake. Whether or not Nabi would take it, Avis didn't really mind. She had practice with purebloods refusing handshakes and didn't really care anymore. "Avis Marlong. What's yours?" She already knew the girl's name, as Aamon had already said it, but it was only polite. Once Nabi shook (or didn't shake) her hand, Avis moved to pick up her clarinet and sling her satchel over her shoulder. "I guess we're finding bedrooms huh?"

@Aamon Athanatos, @Nabi Park

Aamon was being ignored by Nabi and Avis was being commandeered. He had tried to say something, but his foot was lodged thoroughly between his canines. He let out a sigh, allowing the awkwardness to wash over him. Something about hair color, he was not even able to feign interest as he restlessly shifted where he sat, feeling like a small kid at the store who ran into someone they knew in the aisle.

He would wordlessly extricate himself from the sofa, leaving the girls to their chatter. It would be easier to ignore him when he was not in the room. He spied Bubba, a relative unknown wandering off on his own. He was not tied to his brother Giddy, nor was he gaslighting one of the girls. He seemed like the 'safest option' to pursue.

He did not leave his trunk unattended. It was too heavy for him to carry, so he would drag it after him. He waited for Bubba to enter one of the room and he would not-so-smoothly follow Bubba into whichever room he had chosen. "Hey, roomies?" He said quickly with a hopeful tone and a nervous smile. "You seem like the only normal one here," he grunted as he pulled his trunk into the room "so if you do not mind..."

He was not going to room with Giddy, he would need to bleach his eyes if he shared a room with Mathias or Winnie, and he was pretty sure that one of the girls hated him and the other while she would be fine, it would just be weird. He was too young to be bunking with some girl. So that left him with Bubba he reasoned. The least dramatic, lowest risk option.