Let The Games Begin solo finished

This thread takes place after the events of Lessons Learned and Enemies Made, where the information Persephone knows here will be revealed to her. Permission to write this before that thread concludes was granted.

Directly pertains to @Anastasia Beckett

Breaking bad news was rarely amusing for those that loathed watching a gaze crumble before their eyes, like a city succumbing to an earthquake or an island finally falling victim to the gods of the sea. Persephone surely wasn’t one of these empathetic people, but neither was anyone else roving the castle, let alone in a steadily genuine heart. Those people, if they did exist, were weak. From the always fair perspective of Persy, that breed was more imaginary than the being of wizards, goblins, vampires, all of them. Selflessness was a trait that, though admirable in the theatrical superheroes of stored away comics, ultimately got you killed. A person couldn’t pretend to be one of those people, couldn’t talk like them, because they weren’t. Even if they wanted to be. The complexity of the human mind, the way it breaks down and processes all those intricate emotions, it couldn’t be shined in the light of goodness, blinding and white. Nor could it be completely evil, drowning in the black water that never runs clean. That was terribly non-inclusive, and today wouldn’t be the first-time thoughts such as those consumed her.

Ever since the grim March day that stole away part of Persephone’s transparent soul, the steps to the Owlery felt as though they’d lengthened. Each step was more tiresome than the last, a never-ending climb to the purgatory that await kilometers higher, today only slightly more desirable than any other. Folded neatly in her left hand, knuckles still ghostly just from the grip she held on destiny, a letter addressed to people she didn’t know. Not exclusively, anyway. Regardless of how torn from the realm of wizards Persy was for those melancholy years, names burned through gossip like wildfire, the child of a pureblood family never immune to the spread. One of the many, one of the (now this is all hear-say) snobbiest of the class, the Becketts. Memories of this name, all tied back to that dreaded house, had been suppressed until the day she met Ana, a sore reminder but one that was imperatively necessary. This, oh this, this was where the amusement came in, the grinning delivery of wicked news. To the Becketts as parents: I regret to inform you that your daughter, Ana, is a dumbass. To poor little Ana: I regret to inform you that your parents now know that you’re a dumbass.

Circling back to the point that consumed her, what kept Persy from thinking about the ache in her legs, there was a question that entangled in that point: would Ana call what Persephone planned to do the act of an evil person? Even further down that rabbit hole, was it? To someone else, it was a matter of perspective. In the eyes of Ana’s parents, it was a deed of concern, perhaps. One committed by someone with purely positive intentions. Shifting that view slightly, Ana would testify it was a deed of evil. Done by someone with untimely ill intent. Both were wrong, of course. No need to over-complicate, dress up their self-important views in a way that magnified the narcissism rather than condensed it. The answer was no. There were no evil people. Persephone was not an evil person. She did this because she had no other options; losing was not an option. It was odd, fighting for your life in a battle the other party was almost completely unaware of.

Finally reaching the landing, the wind taking her blonde hair in such a familiar manner, Persephone couldn’t prevent the reenactment. Fingers moving gracefully through the water of the birdbath, its surreal condition barely differing from months before, she once again promised herself she would be different. Never the same, never to let the fortress that protected her fall, weak and unstable. Pity, she would not. Not herself, not any person who became a victim of the way the world worked, so understandably systematic. Each person controlled their destiny. Maybe not the road that lead there, but they all knew where they were going.

“You.” The girl declared, beckoning a barn owl to approach. Its color, copper and containing melted honey, dropped her into a whirlpool of memories. That pain, that sinking into what was here before, it needed to be circumvented. Persy would do her best not to return to the Owlery anymore, except when necessary. For a fleeting moment, she questioned her own presence today; was it worth it? Was the agony of that heavy ghost on her shoulder, was that worth it? Too bad she was already here, and that voice began to merge with the rest.

Unraveling with ease, the parchment in her hand reminded her the duty to be fulfilled today. An anonymous informant, with a criminal record. It was often said that those were the most reliable, the most useful. A sinister smile moved across those lips, only widening with each word she reread, beautifully familiar in the Slytherin’s own sharp handwriting.

For the parents of Ana Beckett,

I hate telling you this, being the one to tell you this. It’s never good realizing you failed, or that someone close to you failed. But what can we do? You gave her all the necessary tools to succeed, it was Ana who chose to forsake them. Anyway, I shouldn’t be trying to soften the blow. Does Ana tell you much about what goes on with her here at Hogwarts? I’ve gotten the impression from her that she doesn’t. So, I’m taking it that you’re unaware of the multiple people she’s set on fire? Purposely, might I add. Like our own personal arsonist. But the world has a funny way with these things, I’ve also seen her set on fire before. And punching people, it seems pretty hard too. She’s got a good fist on her. Oh, wait! I’ve got another great addition—maybe you’ll be proud of this one? Ana is in this club called SWAG. They do all this crazy-thrilling stuff, from what I can gather. Sounds a bit shady to me. I thought it was within your rights to know exactly what she does.

It bent back into its shape with ease, each crease a designated line to follow. The stitches in her lips were nearly visible, a smile held up purely by the anticipation of summer, something that hadn’t overtaken Persephone all year. When it came, Ana would suffer, rightfully so, perhaps even beforehand. So many ways to deceive a person, but the slow and steady pace of careful trickery had left the blonde hungry for action, starving to bring about destruction. Poor Ana just happened to be the recipient of this vengeance; judging by the severity of this crime, that would go on for a while. Wrapping the letter around the leg of the copper owl, thoughts at last suppressed into a lockbox and overcome by the enthusiasm of anarchy, Persephone whispered, “To the Becketts, pureblood. You’ll know ‘em.” In a gush of wind, the owl was gone, off to release the dominoes and destroy lives, all a perfect pawn.

“Checkmate.”