A Curse's Penumbra PV Avery Closed

• GLOOMSTALKING •

Sat. 20th May | The Quidditch Pitch
wc: 640
Avery's Hex #136b5c

Outfit: Coat and Black Sweater

Reducio

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	----- A very had settled into his role as Prefect of Slytherin; in fact he felt it suited him quite well. Surely he had stepped on toes and been interpreted as having this inflated sense of self-worth but such came from substance. He was above many, better than most and eager to find challenge. By this time, he’d settled into his patrol areas and dealt with a number of detentions and illicit rule breakers. Being a first year prefect was certainly a mountain of a task, one that he had to compensate with by exemplifying his, often detestable, qualities when dealing with confrontations on his patrols. Those were easy enough too, and rarely did he find people willing to enter into confrontation when he found the skulking in the stands, and that was even rarer an occasion. The quidditch pitch at night was not for the faint hearted, not on a night like this. It was a short trek from the castle, and at night the gloomy path was certainly enough to rattle most; as the threat of dancing shadows lingered and played tricks on the mind; prompting the otherwise steeled Prefect to draw his wand and cast lumos to light his way; a ward against the dark and a beacon to those that waited within. Avery was otherwise rigid, the cold chill of the wind nabbed at his exposed face and hands; his fur-lined, brown winter jacket wasn’t enough to shield from this storms’ eve cold, spring wasn’t yet over and the highlands were unforgivable if given the chance. When he was at the pitch, he promised he’d make quick work of it; he wasn’t feeling it tonight. Something, other than the weather, seemed off. With every fibre, he willed there to be no one in the stands, no one in the towers that had a better view of the game-space. Alas, as he stepped into the boundary, he scanned the surrounds with his dark eyes. The cold of the air was nothing compared to the chill that ran down his spine at the sight of a lone silhouette. He made sure to do a double take, he thought it was a person, but his eyes were deceiving him; the figure seemed to meld with the shadows. Perhaps he was tired, but he thought it best to extinguish the light of his wand and let his eyes properly adjust so he could make a judgement. Unnerving was a word that was too, safe. Typically he found students up to no good in pairs, how could one make trouble if they were the only ones involved. Then again, Avery had encountered people who had broken curfew alone, just for a break from the loom and expectations of the castle. But it must have been nearly midnight, because he was late out on his patrols, later than usual because he had to finish an assignment due the next day. It was a lone figure indeed, and he then had a choice. Pretending he hadn’t seen anything was an option, and one that flashed across his mind for a brief moment before he collected himself. He could be driven when he didn’t let himself get swept up in emotions. He began to march across the pitch with intent to confront the stranger, breaking line of site with the man as he ascended into the stands and manoeuvred into the row that the figure was in; only then realising that they were smoking. “Breaking curfew and smoking? - You’d better have a good excuse. Name and house, now, or you’ll be scraping the remnant Drooples Best Blowing Gum from the underside of these seats- and trust me that’ll take you weeks.” He commanded of the man, yet oblivious due to the distance still between them…
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Interacting with @Vladimir Athanatos

May 20, 2023

@Avery Leveret

He could see the distant approach of the solitary prefect as he encroached upon this dark and lonesome space. He should have traveled in pairs, it was always safer to march in twos. But he was alone. In fact, he was often alone from what he had observed from his distant perch. The frigid air abuzz, the shadows a bit livelier with anticipation. As the youth approached, the dark figure would look towards him, a flicker of light played off the whites of his eyes. The calm, casual creature remained sitting until he was addressed.

“Breaking curfew and smoking? - You’d better have a good excuse. Name and house, now, or you’ll be scraping the remnant Drooples Best Blowing Gum from the underside of these seats- and trust me that’ll take you weeks.”

Avery was young. It was in his voice. In his face. In his eyes. Aladimir would flick the cigarette in his had, allowing the ash to fall into the hungry darkness that roiled about him unseen in the stadium seats. "Pardon Avery Leveret," he replied loud enough for Avery to hear, choosing to address the boy his full name. Indeed, he used the boy's full name. It was intended to draw the boy's attention and perhaps concern to the situation at hand. This was most certainly something more than a late night jaunt to the distant quidditch pitch in the dead of night to enjoy a cigarette alone in the dark. Didn't Vladimir, or Avery for that matter know better? There were hags and dark creatures in these woods, sometimes on these grounds.

"I have brought some to spare, I can't stomach all this fresh air," he admitted as he pulled the box from his breast pocket and held them in the palm of his hand. It was when he stood however that his presence would become notable. Vladimir was always a bit tall for his age, even lanky. He had since filled out. His present height someplace between six foot three and six foot four by present estimation. Nobody intended that the seventeen year old boy was going to get much taller, but his stature was intimidating to most, less the part giants that had ben admitted to this school.

He would approach, a strange smile that failed to meet his eyes could be barely discerned in the dim darkness due only to the illumination afforded by the tip of his cigarette. "Vladimir Athanatos, formerly Ravenclaw," he extended the cigarette package to the boy. His opinion of how much Avery knew of him was split. his death was well publicized in the papers - a boy who died of a dark curse after months (truly years) of advanced, progressive illness. His father, a well known philanthropist primarily in London, Thaddeus Athanatos. Many pureblooded families knew his clan for something more specific, that being their psychic prowess as many of them were Seers. Beyond that, there was also the fact that he was a well-known (and reviled) student here at Hogwarts. The rumors said by the upper classmen about his life and death might have ended with the school year, but perhaps more was to be said. Afterall, they let him die.

"I'm sure you're old enough to know how to give yourself a light." he commented. However it was not the light, the cigarettes or even the man that Avery should be concerned about or for, but rather the darkness itself. The night seemed to have a life of its own.

There was a sense that he, or rather they were not alone. That something was moving just along side him, behind him. Not that he felt it, but he would be able to sense it. That strange sensation that someone was standing just behind him. Millimeters from touching him, but he would feel no such touch. No sound. No warm breath on the back of his neck. In fact, if he noticed anything at all, it would be a noticeable chill, as if the room... no the space itself had gotten colder, had dropped several degrees since meeting just now.

• GLOOMSTALKING •

Sat. 20th May | The Quidditch Pitch
wc: 670
Avery's Hex #136b5c

Outfit:

Reducio

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	----- A s if it wasn’t eerie enough, the man had seemingly smiled at him; one of those that he’d often seen shot around at the parties held by his, or the likes of his, parents. As the man approached, his expression naturally strained into a frown; another chill running down his spine so dispiriting that his body gave a physical response, a shudder that tried to shake away a threat he hadn’t yet perceived. He didn’t know how to interpret what he was sensing in the cold clutches all around him and that certainly wasn’t a comfort; pushed closer to the edge by the surprise that was this stranger knowing his name. The tone of their meeting demanded he respect the man enough to hear him out, frozen as he tried to figure out if he knew this man from somewhere. Perhaps a party guest at one of the many functions, perhaps an older student. - Though he soon clarified. He was soon to protest by the time Vladimir spoke his own name and house, and then things started to trickle into place, slowly, but it was coming. Avery wouldn’t yet verbalise a conclusion, because he hadn’t come to one yet, but he was certainly of a mind to verify his suspicions without first putting himself at risk of revealing too much, too soon. A cigarette was definitely not in the eleven year olds’ mind; having had little exposure to them aside from the occasions where his brothers were caught when they were younger by a less forgiving Cadence. It serves as a social point, he gathered. People often shared them, or at least enjoyed the ritual of taking them, alone or in groups; but he had mostly seen old, rich aristocrats puffing away and sharing good company; so that was one thing he could fall back on, and he would. With slim fingers he’d pull one of them out of the packet, his natural way of doing things making it seem as though he wasn’t a novice, or he was at least comfortable; yes that was important. Vladimir had to suspect he was comfortable. Avery did yet reply, which was a message to Vladimir of its own. He was a patient and calculative boy, and he would remain so until it didn’t benefit him in some manner; so he wouldn’t speak again until after he had placed the cigarette into his mouth and case lumos again, with an elegant flick and half-muffled incantation. His wand lit up, the simple spell seemingly controlled with mastery as he purposefully destabilised the spell and caused the very tip of the wand to warm; which he’d use to ignite the paper and tobacco within. It was, creative. The flash of light served many purposes, perhaps to light the cigarette, perhaps as an unconscious, or conscious choice to call for help in what was currently uncomfortable and then unknowingly as a bastion to beat back the tendrils that awaited beneath the seats; at his back; between the boards. Once it was lit, it was a different story trying to manage something he’d never done before. As expected of a novice, he took a full breath in, thinking that was what you did. It ended in a coughing fit and a grimace but it was sign enough that he was up to the challenge. “Ffff- these aren’t nearly as good as people make them out.” He managed on his first full in-take, the one that makes your voice deepen a little. “Vladimir Athanatos. - An ex-student on grounds, supplying students with contraband. Tsk. How do you know me?” He asked direct then, copying the motion he had seen Vladimir do; to flick off the excess burned ash. The question was one that was entirely selfish, but it was a tester; he wanted to see if he could wrestle back some control of the conversation that Vlad had so easily wrestled from him; if you could call it wrestling.
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Interacting with @Vladimir Athanatos

May 20, 2023

@Avery Leveret

Light would erupt from the tip of his wand. A bright, warm source of illumination that would reveal the sharp, abrupt features of the male. More concerning, how the shadows that had pulled from the young man's countenance appeared to move slower than one would consider natural. Waver a bit perhaps. A shadow still cast, the light not entirely forgiving, Avery might notice something 'off' every now and then from the corner of his eye. Something dark and darting past just in his periphery, like a infestation of vermin just out of sight.

There was something comforting still, standing in this light that washed away the bleak and dire dark. That rushed the terrors of an overactive imagination out of sight, preferably also out of reach.

Vladimir was dressed well enough. His blonde hair finger combed back, away from his face. His face clean shaven, a cigarette still clenched in his teeth. He seemed by all superficial accounts to be alive, perhaps a bit pale in complexion but even that was not quite unusual considering the less than sunny region of Scotland they resided in. A simple dark, scoop necked shirt and a leather jacket that was a bit long for the current muggle trend but was considered fashionable in pureblooded circles. There was an attempt at the very least to 'dress down' but quality was easy to recognize in a peer. The only thing remotely down to earth about the man if one were to look past the faux casual attire he donned was the boots he wore. They were heavy, laced, leather boots. Clean, well kept, but a far cry from the oxfords most pretty boy purebloods seem to prefer.

He would take in a lungfull of smoke, sucking down the slender roll of paper. A series of hacking coughs would erupt from him, his lungs screamed for clean air. “Ffff- these aren’t nearly as good as people make them out.”

He took another drag off his own. "You don't partake because it is good, but because you can," he explained. Certainly a bad influence as he gestured with his hand, the glint of silvery rings would catch the light briefly. "You partake because it is a sign of your station. Who you are in comparison and consideration of the masses, as allegedly washed as they might be," he explained. As a Prefect his role was to keep order, but who was watching the watcher? The truth was, nobody really. There were some people here and there, overzealous and jealous teens whose irrelevant word was placed next to his own. Professors who had become jaded over the years, one reckless incident after another had made some grow cold to the trivialities of the day to day. "It is an exertion of authority," he insisted as he closed the lid on the package of cigarettes, only the two were missing and attempted to place the box in Avery's breast pocket if he had one. If not, in the boy's hand. Regardless, if Vladimir's fingers touched Avery's person, he would find the transient moment far from sensual. Rather a bitter coldness that could be felt through even layers of cloth.

"A token," he smirked. A cocky sort of expression that said add it to my bill if you would like.

Congenial one could argue, but certainly 'wrong', Vladimir would answer Avery's inquiries truthfully.

“Vladimir Athanatos. - An ex-student on grounds, supplying students with contraband. Tsk. How do you know me?”

Well, most of them.

"I am a terrible deviant," he chortled lightly. "And I am afraid an even worse influence," indeed supplying a young prefect with contraband. "I don't," know him that is. His name, hardly more than a moniker provided to him at birth by his parents. His name assigned him his potential, but not his nature. "I know your name," Avery Leveret. "Your curiosity," he looked into the mysterious letter when nobody else had. Or if they had they lacked the mental means to get anywhere. "Your ability to solve at least remedial problems," the puzzle was not that hard now was it? "Your ethic," which as evidenced by the fag (again, not the bad word kids) in his mouth and his willingness to take that first deep drag, was malleable.

"I have the time to waste," Avery would feel something brush the back of his legs. Like a fish that got too close in the great lake. "Although I am optimistic that you are not a wasted effort," he admitted as he eyed the young man. "I see the sorting hat found it fitting to place you in Slytherin, that means that you have an unmet ambition that will drive you on to something," perhaps greatness. "So slake my curiosity, after all you're the one with the 'power' this moment aren't you?"

• GLOOMSTALKING •

Sat. 20th May | The Quidditch Pitch
wc: 859
Avery's Hex #136b5c

Outfit:

Reducio

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	----- D anger was so close, and yet Avery seemed oddly at ease. Whether it was a show or the effects of steeling his mind, or exposure to what he thought were truly powerful witches and wizards; how ignorant he must have seemed in this moment. His dark eyes watched the man carefully, but not too much as he focused on keeping the next few breaths of smoke down. “You don't partake because it is good, but because you can. - You partake because it is a sign of your station. Who you are in comparison and consideration of the masses, as allegedly washed as they might be. - It is an exertion of authority." The man opposite seemed to have a cool edge as he puffed out a couple of rings, and his opinions were flawed but acceptable; perhaps they were alike, but that was what Vladimir likely wanted him to think as he would later reveal. True enough it was habit reserved for both ends of society, the poor and destitute with addictions and the need for vices, and the rich and wealthy who had and needed the same but had the money to disguise its harrowing effects. He had taken the plunge now, in more senses than one. The man with a much bigger frame than he stepped up and placed the near full packet into his breast pocket. Avery was still subdued and slow to formulate an attack plan; or rather any plan at all. He hadn’t pegged Vladimir yet, he was a mystery, and that wasn’t sure to change. "A token." He added, which was an even larger indicator but he was going to elect to give the man the benefit of the doubt; to let him answer. The gift itself was welcome enough for him to consider keeping it, the taste and musk that was left in his mouth was rank but the symbol it represented; a view that Vladimir had gifted unto him. He replied to the gesture with one of those smiles that saw his already thin lips, thin further; sucked in slightly over his teeth to show that he was thankful but he was waiting for something more. "I am a terrible deviant. And I am afraid, an even worse influence.” He paused; "I don't. - I know your name, your curiosity, your ability to solve at least remedial problems, your ethic. - I have the time to waste." He said, and it evoked yet more questions, but before he could voice them, he was distracted by a breeze that moved past his ankles. Every fibre of his being wanted him to turn to see what that was; his instincts were clearly keen and it took Vladimir speaking again for him to stop mid-turn of his head; his dark orbs flicking back to the blond. "Although I am optimistic that you are not a wasted effort, I see the sorting hat found it fitting to place you in Slytherin, that means that you have an unmet ambition that will drive you on to something. – So slake my curiosity, after all you're the one with the 'power' this moment aren't you?" Avery felt like that wasn’t true at all, for some reason. Something about the man spoke of a dangerous ability, a commanding presence that transcended the age he suspected him to be. To the Leveret boy, there were few people in this world that he would consider peers; intellectually and socially; but the cool edge of Vladimir demanded such. It was a quality he’d like to think they shared, but that opinion was rooted in the arrogance of privilege and not ability; and he was hoping that of Vladimir too, for birds of a feather… “Everything checks out. The initial, the details of your house- the details of the note itself. He gave, shifting his attention around the pitch again to ascertain if there was anyone else lingering; anyone else coming; anyone else being a deviant. He had only dabbled in deviancy once or twice since starting; notably in class with Ashley and Madison but nothing quite like what he suspected the man opposite was up to. He didn’t dispute that he held the power here, at least the kind of power that he was used to by now. Avery considered that just a little longer, with the help of a toke of the cigarette that provided an acuity he rather fancied; alongside the status connotations. “An unmet ambition to drive me on to something. - Huh, I suppose. In truth, I’m not sure what that will be, but I do know that whatever it is will be remarkable.” “Though, your letter suggested you suspect I am a destined ‘second coming’. - What’s it to you? Whilst the letter’s puzzle was remedial, I reckon it took much more effort than you’re letting on.” He gave, in an attempt at playing it cool; ensuring his mannerisms matched the tone he was aiming for; like someone who had the power.
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Interacting with @Vladimir Athanatos

May 20, 2023

@Avery Leveret

It was for the best that they were not see. Just a single, lonesome, solitary light that was not much more than a flickering flame on the end of the wick of a candle to a distant observer. A small fragment of light, like a speck of sand or the glint of a gem. From the castle they would not see it at all, this indication that there was someone left behind, that had failed to travel back to the safety of his bed.

He would not see what was just behind him, snapping at his heels. Lurking, stalking, lurching along the periphery. The mark of delineation, the penumbra of his wand's light. Rather, he would feel it or rather them so terribly close. Brushing past him, but never making a sound. Why they waited and they watched, there was no breath to be felt hot or cold on the nape of his neck. No scrape of soles, no rustle of clothes, no beating heart or raspy breath.

“Everything checks out. The initial, the details of your house- the details of the note itself." He announced as if he had easily solved the great mystery. And perhaps he had. Vladimir Athanatos, a former Hogwarts student from House Ravenclaw who had taken ill during his fifth year secondary to a wasting curse that had afflicted him the better part of four years. He had died in St. Mungos a little over a year ago according to the well-documented reports. A potential fraudster claiming to be the first born, legitimate scion of a wealthy and ancient Greek pureblooded family. That was not the mystery solved in truth, dead men have little relevance in a world of boys endeavoring to become men. Vladimir was merely a boy that would never come of age if the stories were true and not something that the house elves told the children to keep them in their beds at night. Not that it seemed to work well if that was the case. No, the mystery solved was the fact that this man, whoever he was, had sent this letter by way of Clark Baird.

Vladimir only nodded in reply, a confirmation of sorts.

"An unmet ambition to drive me on to something. - Huh, I suppose. In truth, I’m not sure what that will be, but I do know that whatever it is will be remarkable.” The problem with ambition is that people often think that it is systematic and specific, but it is rather pervasive and imprecise. it is more a vague yearning that develops color in one's mind after the blanks are filled in with conveniences of sorts. A want to be loved, to have a wife or a friend will bear the face of something 'close enough' in little time. The ambitions one always has are ever-shifting, evolving and changing.

In Avery's case, it was the ambition to be remarkable. There is the noted and the noteworthy. The meandering, mediocre men who live out their unremarkable lives. Who live well enough, comfortably, but just live. They are hardly alive and when they are no longer alive, what would they leave behind? Unlikely even a legacy. Just a warm seat that would cool in minutes if it is not immediately filled. To be average and to be forgotten for some is a nightmare. A travesty. A loss of not only promise but opportunity."Seems so," he would simply respond.

“Though, your letter suggested you suspect I am a destined ‘second coming’. - What’s it to you? Whilst the letter’s puzzle was remedial, I reckon it took much more effort than you’re letting on.”

He shook his head. "No, not really," he admitted. "I am in the business of prophecies even if I have no talent of my own," he claimed. A partial truth, but still a lie. He was not a Seer, an oddity in his family as they prided themselves on more than their pureblooded bloodline but also a specific skill that was bred into them -- Seers. Their fortune was based on their predictions, their relative accuracy and the sorts of people who seek forewarning of their tomorrow. He simply left out the fact that he took after his father rather than his mother, a second generation Legillimens. Something that was not quite as public but there were those that knew and those that could guess had they been given the resources to learn such intimate detail about the strange youth.

"The threads of fate remain intact still, so it is a maybe," he admitted but he kept what that maybe was close to his chest. However if and when Avery seeks out a Seer [year 3 or above] in coming weeks after this meeting, they might have a vision of something that would keep them up at night. "I had sent correspondence to several, you're the one who answered the summons," if the others had they had not solved it in time, allowed their slothful nature to overwhelm them or they had never gotten the message at all. They either lacked the potential or fate itself had other plans.

"What I can say is - I am black and you are red. I am the black because I was already dead. You're red because of the dead." At least that was the alleged prophecy, and while he followed the cryptic language common among his immediate and extended family, there were always certain details omitted. The descriptions given - of wealth and prestige, of clean blood, of new blood... when all he truly needed as a bloody name. To save the boy the mystery of the meaning, "in short it means you are going to be hurting a lot of people." This time he is just there for the ride.

Opeila was doing her final rounds of curfew. She had gotten used to extending the duration of her patrols, since some children seemed to wait for the prefects to return to slip out into the dark then, so she simply waited longer, in the hopes that every mischievous mind didn't stay awake for long enough to actually realize these plans. This often resulted in Opeila being tired like hell in the mornings, but she found it more than worth it.
As long as all these children stayed in their beds, where they belonged...

Although it was generally getting warmer with the beginning of summer, the later evenings were still cool as heck and the young prefect had grabbed a sweater for her last rounds over the grounds, but she still felt a bit chilly. The temptation to walk past the Quidditch Pitch and pretend to have noticed nothing was strong, but there were undeniably voices, faint but definitely there, carried to her by a light breeze of wind.
It was the memory of Victor that stopped her, the same image that was still sometimes burnt into her nightmares and had her waking up covered in sweat. The screams that were still a vivid echo in her head, when Ava Winchect attempted to murder this other boy in his sleep... No one was safe with anyone in this place.

It was these memories that had the fourth year clutch her illuminated wand a little tighter when she entered the Quidditch Pitch, following the voices. It didn't take her a long time to find the source, the two young men near the stands. Were the two of them prefects? One of them definitely sounded older than the other, maybe a professor?
As she approached the scene, it was Avery's voice she recognized first. Seconds later she abruptly stopped, as if she hit a wall. It couldn't be- It just... couldn't.

Only a few seconds, but they were enough to recognize the face, the voice, enough to make her heart skip a beat. Enough to conjure up memories and fears that had faded away over the months of his absen- his... death. Her held breath escaped with a call, high with suppressed panic.

"Avery!"

She broke into a run to get to the first year, her wand held out, ready to attack, defend, whatever necessary, even after he had gone. And a disappearance it was. Spiders, large, black spiders that resembled the spiders of that one night in disturbing way, covered Vladimir, crawled up his body, made Opeila want to turn, run, or simply set all of it on fire. Instead she would force herself to get to the first year, just like she had in the night of the attempted murder in January. Protect them.

The fourth year was pale, turned a few times, scanned the stands for the tall figure, the face she had not believed she would see again in live, one hand stretched out, ready to push Avery behind her. Her breath escaped her in high gasps, while she desperately tried to keep it together, stop her hands from trembling. Finally she would turn to the first year, observing his expression, quickly checking him for injuries or... worse.
"Are you alright? "

May 20, 2023

@Avery Leveret & @Opeila Winters

Victor was a sore spot for more than just Opeila. The hags were known for their boundless cruelty and indeed whatever terrible predispositions Vladimir might have had only grew darker with time. A need to wrest control and admiration from others. A selfish want to keep that which was dead, was wrong and a civil duty to destroy the 'thing' he had become time and time again. It made killing easier he had come to learn, one could love the very thing that they destroyed. One could revile the very thing that they lifted up. His regret was laced with a strange peace that went further than the old saying - I did what I had to. Yet now, in the wake of learning his own boundless cruelty as well as that of the world's, he would have to admit that he had a few regret. One of them was Victor.

"Avery!"

And there was another one.

A regret forged just now when she saw him for what he was. For the dark and terrible creature he had become. Beyond the radiant perimeter of the single light held by the Prefect who dared go too far. Who dared to allow his curiosity to bring him to this fearsome corner. It was like before, that night those years ago in the common room. Only worse.

She always suspected, perhaps knew that they came from him. The dark spiders that came in the dead of night to consume them. The carnage that they had wracked and the children whose lives and innocence was shattered by the vile curse that had plagued them for years. A pain, like a fire in their veins that failed to relent until they consumed the thick golden potion but the drink was hardly more than a cheap salve that prevented a stubborn wound from becoming worse but failing to remedy the condition.

As large as Acromantula, just beyond light's edge it skittered side to side. It seemed to refuse to go any further, but it was there. So deadly close that its long, dark fangs were mere inches away. From it's massive cephalothorax, a moving tide of smaller spiderlings, numerous and dark. Made of pure shadow that seemed to swallow the light.

Vladimir's gaze would turn towards the voice. His pale, angular features would catch a glimpse of the girl who broke into a jog. An audible sigh would escape his lips. "I guess not today then," he announced.

It would be then that the most troubling revelation for Opeila would transpire. Beyond seeing a boy back from the dead, she had oddly enough seen that once before. Father the spiderlings that would breech the perimeter of Leveret's spell. that would amble across the cold, unyielding, illuminated ground in droves. The massive arachnid to his rear diminishing in size as the darkness pierced through the aura of light and they crawled up the tall man who called himself Vladimir. Not one or two, but all of them. Like a living blanket of hairy legs made of darkness and gloom. The shadows would eventually envelope the man and then...

There was no one there.

In his wake, nobody stood before Avery who was for the most part unharmed, just perhaps bewildered. The man had disappeared without a word of parting and now it was as if he was never there. Just the lingering scent of burnt tobacco that lingered in the air as well as a slightly floral cologne reminiscent of the lotus and cypress.

Perhaps it was nothing but the work of an overactive imagination. A nightmare made real in the dark of night at the end of a long day.

• GLOOMSTALKING •

Sat. 20th May | The Quidditch Pitch
wc: 859
Avery's Hex #136b5c

Outfit:

Reducio

· || ────────────────── ────────────────── || ·

┏		┓
	----- E nraptured was the viper, who now looked no more threatening than a grass snake. It was hard to compare himself to the man before him when he awarded Avery with the knowledge that he was in the business of prophecies. Even with all of the shared traits that he had presented just moments ago, Avery was increasingly out of his depth; and the extent of such was enough to terrify him bad he become aware of it; had he just turned his back. To anyone who had the context of the conversation they were having, and just a little less arrogance, they would realise that the one who held the power wasn’t Avery Leveret at all; despite his self-assuredness. Vladimir Athanatos had come away with a number of prizes this evening. The first was a renewed sense of still having that charm he had used to orchestrate the events of years long since past, perhaps similar to those he employed in this ‘fated’ meeting. Avery had taken the plunge, the first toke of a cigarette, he had seemingly ignored that an ex-student was on the grounds without question; all for the knowledge Vladimir kept on a tight leash; akin to a prey in the depths, guided only by the light of an angler. The second, of course, was that he could be confident in Avery’s capability and his desire to align with Vladimir’s interests for the sake of his own. He had admitted it himself, Avery had deciphered the note with relative ease, he had performed the signalling spell and answered the summons when others had failed; that should be enough for the pair of them. “I am black and you are red. I am the black because I was already dead. You're red because of the dead.” Vladimir had said, which sounded rather threatening, but the fact that there was a prophecy stipulated around his birth was all his mind could focus on at present. Another strut to prop up that growing ego, though his face knitted as he tried to determine the true meaning of such; this was likely the next puzzle and he was sure to need to spend much more time in the library if he was to crack it this time; there would be no chancing upon the answer like last time. Prophecies weren’t his thing, that was reserved for seers and those that wanted to get out of their dull ‘nows’ and get to the exciting ‘thens’. Though even then, the language used was odder than odd, but that was something he would have to contemplate later as Vladimir awarded him what an answer, but perhaps not ‘the’ answer: “In short it means you are going to be hurting a lot of people.” He said, with that same cold edge he’d held throughout the conversation. It chilled Avery more than the cold of the brisk air ever could, figuratively frozen as he tried to swallow the disbelief; and yet something was internally accepting of this, suspending it in his throat and choking him. That part of him was borne of the fear his mother had instilled in him; of his father and what he had become. Man, yet still, but a good one? Certainly not. Rumours fly around through whispers at functions, and although a court of law may not have found him guilty of a particular crime that was perhaps linked to Vladimir’s revelation; the court of public perception seemed eager enough to accept it as truth. Avery couldn’t well reason that he would actively hurt people, could he? Well, he did go out of his way to compete with people of worth; to put down those who he didn’t deem worthy of a seat above the bar, to demean and place himself above most he came across. Seldom did people get his respect without work, something he enforced with regimental candour; his respect was to be earned by all but even then there were those that defied the rule, those like Vladimir Athanatos, like June Selwyn and even a number of people of insufficient blood; like Fang Hui-Ming, Raizel Voltrouz and Caoimhe Kyle. Even then, he could see now he he had acted against each of the latter names, how he could have been perceived to have ‘hurt’ them. That’s what Vladimir meant, right? It was an awful question to end the conversation on, especially to a young mind whose ego had been inflated with each passing day within the castle, and yet that would be the case as his name was shouted out over the pitch. Had his subconscious desire for aid been answered? How he wished now for a few more moments in the clutches of an imperceptible evil. “Avery!” A voice shouted. His dark pools shifted from Vladimir for what could have been the last time, to spot Opeila jogging through the pitch black pitch and making for them. Obviously she was doubtful of his patrolling skills, and rightfully so now that she had caught them. Though her expression was not that of someone who was ‘just checking in’, the girl looked as pale as a ghost, and she pulled out her wand when she was relatively near. She was aware of the ‘otherwise’ that was being carried out, that which was out of the norm and entirely dangerous. Avery was willing to forego that, to step into the dark; and yet she had a look that spoke of experience with such. She recognised a danger he chose not to see, and that alone was enough of a difference between them. As she ascended into the seats, having to break line of sight just as he had, he flicked what was the cigarette over his shoulder and over the bounds of the pitch seats. When she was with them, she looked around, before landing her green eyes on him in what looked like confusion… “Are you alright?” She said. It was an odd reaction for someone previously running with such purpose, to then seem so purposeless was entirely out of character and there was no chance he had misjudged the fear in her face and voice. His fine, dark, brows shifted; with one arching high into his forehead as he tried to figure out the unspoken details of her reaction. Avery turned his eyes to the stands with her, just about to begin weaving a worthy and credible tale that would mask the situation; and there he was stunned. The man he had been speaking with was no longer there. In that instant he was assaulted by a mind-rending spear of confusion. A victim of questions that would probably remain unanswered. ‘How?’ was probably the most prevalent of them. There was a man here, wasn’t there? How had he disappeared? Disapparating was certainly out of the question, as Avery had been around his older brothers since they had turned seventeen and the distinctive arcane th-whoosh of displaced air would surely have sounded just as it did all those times they had left Moredell. – The manner of this disappearance was odd, and unnatural; which felt even more odd to think in a world of magic and mysteries. His lips pursed together, as he probed a path forward. “Opeila?” He said, in a concerned tone. He wasn’t so sure he had even had this conversation, so how could she be? “I’m fine, is everything alright?” – Tonight would be another first for the boy, he would take another step into the dark; he would elect to gaslight her recollection of events, to poke holes in the narrative so that it omitted anything suspect. If he played it right, she would think herself into a spiral.
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Interacting with @Vladimir Athanatos & @Opeila Winters