CHAPTER FOUR
Chapter Four
Law 46page 400
NEVER APPEAR TOO PERFECT
┈┈┈ ⋞ 〈 ⏣ 〉 ⋟ ┈┈┈
The wards loomed not far away, shimmering faintly in the dusk, separating the grounds of the Vale from the forest's edge. Below him, the land stretched out in a patchwork of shadows and soft light, the air heavy with the natural fragrance of damp soil and pine. The stillness of the twilight was profound and broken only by the distant songs of the nightbird and the whispering rustle of leaves.
Hadrian breathed deeply.
His eyes scanned the horizon, past the soaring castle, where the last rays of the sun oozed into the indigo shades of night. It was a moment of rare equilibrium; a stolen fragment of peace in a world that was otherwise trembling with tension.
It was quiet.
Too quiet.
A low growl emanated from the base of the tree, making Hadrian's gaze snap downward, only to meet the simmering stare of a hound. Its fur bristled, morphing into a shroud of dark thorns, as its grumble sliced through the once peaceful ambiance.
Before Hadrian could react, the hound hurled itself upwards with startling speed; its sinewy muscles coiling like springs, its claws sinking into the thick bark encircling the trunk of the tree. Startled, Hadrian’s instincts kicked in, and he lashed out with a desperate kick, his boot connecting solidly with the beast’s snout. A pained whimper escaped the hound’s chest, but it was only a brief respite.
With a feral snarl, the hound surged forward.
Sharp teeth sank into the skin of his leg, tearing through fabric and flesh to dye its maw red, abruptly halting his frantic attempt to evade the relentless predator.
Hadrian cried out as he lost his balance in the branches, the world around him spinning in a chaotic blur of green foliage and splintering wood. He plummeted downwards, crashing through the canopy with a sickening cacophony of snapping branches and rustling leaves.
He hit the ground with a thump, the impact knocking the breath from his lungs as he whimpered in pain.
The hound was on him in an instant, its weight pinning him to the ground, its hot breath washing over his face.
Hadrian braced himself for the bite, for the creature to plunge its canines into his throat and tear-
-but instead, the hound paused.
Its growl softened to a curious whine, its head tilting as it studied Hadrian with intelligent, almost human eyes. The hound sniffed at him, its wet nose pressing against his chest, then his neck.
"Get off," Hadrian grunted, each word dripping with pain as he pushed against the hound's powerful shoulders, attempting to halt its intrusive search. But the beast was immovable, its body solid and unyielding. He shoved harder, fingers digging into its coarse fur, but the hound remained; the persistent thing.
Its snout pressed against his face, breath warm and musky, making Hadrian grimace as he continued his fight. Frustration mingled with his rising worry; blood was seeping onto the forest floor, and he realised with dread that his struggle had etched him dangerously close to the wards.
If he was found—
"Off," he repeated, his voice a harsh whisper.
Summoning his strength, Hadrian kicked out, dislodging the beast to send it sprawling. He scrambled back, bracing himself against a tree, as a searing pain shot up his leg. The hound, undeterred, growled softly before it sat opposite him, a few paces away, its eyes locked onto his.
Hadrian’s heart pounded furiously whilst he wrapped his hands around the open wound on his calf. He hissed in pain as he tore a strip from his trouser leg to bind the injury, every movement a battle against the weight of his bleeding limb.
He had to move, he couldn’t—
The beast remained silent before its head cocked to one side and it shifted to take a hesitant step toward him. Instinctively, Hadrian picked up a nearby rock and hurled it at the creature with all the might he could muster.
"Stay away!" he yelled, desperation threading his voice. The rock struck the hound's skull, eliciting a pained whimper as it retreated.
Hadrian settled his head against the sturdy oak, its bark rough but familiar against his weary frame. He closed his eyes, hoping to find a brief respite from the dire exhaustion that clung to him like a second skin. The forest's murmurs faded into a gentle lullaby, the distant rustling leaves and nocturnal calls weaving a tapestry of peace.
For a moment, Hadrian allowed himself to drift, the tension easing from his muscles as the throb in his leg began to fade.
The cool evening air was a balm that soothed the rhythm of his erratic heartbeat. He took a deep breath, savouring the transient peace, the darkness behind his eyelids a momentary refuge.
But, as he often found, peace was a fleeting luxury.
He had to move, he couldn’t be found.
As he opened his eyes, the world refocused, along with it — the hound, mere inches from his face.
Hadrian started, his heart leaping to his throat, "Oh, for the love of—" he muttered, cutting himself off as the hound sniffed his leg, its wet nose skimming his skin. It examined him deliberately before it brushed its tongue against his poorly bandaged wound.
He withdrew his leg abruptly as a burst of pain shot through his limb.
The hound whined, a plaintive sound that seemed to pierce the silence, before taking a hesitant step back. Its ears twitched, betraying a flicker of uncertainty, yet its gaze remained firmly locked on Hadrian.
Then, with a slow, deliberate move, the beast lifted its head towards the dying sky and released a long, mournful howl. It reverberated through the forest, a sorrowful lament: an eerie sound that wove through the trees, causing the leaves to tremble and the shadows to shiver in its wake.
"Stop!" Hadrian hissed, his heart racing.
The hound ignored him, its howl only growing louder and more desperate. Panicked, Hadrian scrambled forward, crying out as he did, to cover the hound's snout with both hands, in a desperate bid to silence it.
"Please, please, be quiet!" he whispered fiercely, his voice faltering, "I can't be found."
The hound's eyes met his, “If they find me, they’ll kill me. Please, I know you understand…”
Slowly, the beast stopped struggling, its howls fading into a low, resigned whimper. Hadrian, still clutching its snout, exhaled shakily, "That’s it," he muttered, relief mixing with lingering annoyance, "Now, can we agree to keep the noise down? I'm not exactly in the mood to be dissected tonight."
Hadrian released the hound cautiously, half expecting it to resume its howling. But the beast remained silent, watching him with a nearly understanding stare. Hadrian sat back, flush against the tree, trying to steady his breathing as the pain in his leg amplified.
The hound seemed to consider him, its gaze softening, before it lowered itself to the ground and settled next to Hadrian, its head resting on its paws, still watching him.
Hesitantly, Hadrian reached out and pushed his fingers through the hound's fur, the texture coarse yet comforting beneath his touch. The hound remained still, its breathing steady and calm.
He closed his eyes again, the presence of the hound a peculiar comfort. The forest around them seemed to breathe in sync with their shared silence, the night embracing them in its serene, dark fold.
He had to move, he couldn’t be found.
Abruptly, the hound's head snapped up, making Hadrian’s hand drop from its crown, as its ears pricked in the direction of the wards.
Hadrian froze, his senses sharpening.
The sound of footsteps—soft, measured—drifted through the evening.
Hadrian’s heart pounded in his chest as adrenaline surged through his veins: he knew who those steps belonged to and he knew, under no circumstances, could they find him.
Without a second thought, Hadrian scrambled to stand on his unharmed leg and quickly scaled the tree he was resting against. His movements were practised, each branch a familiar escape, but sloppy with his injury. He perched himself high, hidden among the dense foliage, trying to calm his racing heart.
Below, the hound remained at the base of the tree, looking up at him with wide eyes. It let out a soft whine - a sound that pierced Hadrian’s heart more than he would have liked to admit.
"Shh," he whispered urgently, his voice barely audible over the rustling leaves, "You have to go!"
The hound's eyes were full of awareness, but it didn't move. Instead, it sat there, refusing to leave him.
"Please," Hadrian pleaded, his voice cracking, "If he finds you here, he’ll know I’m close…"
The footsteps grew louder.
The hound, with one last reluctant look, finally turned and melted into the shadows, its form disappearing into the night.
Hadrian remained still, his back pressed against the trunk, barely daring to breathe.
He emerged at the edge of the wards, cloaked and hooded, moving with a disconcerting grace. Hadrian dug his nails into the open wound on his leg and threw a hand over his mouth to cover his soft whimpers, as the Dark Lord lowered his hood, the orange of the dusk shimmering on his translucent face.
"Anessa," the Dark Lord's voice was smooth and commanding, carrying easily through the still air, “Come.”
Hadrian's heart plummeted.
The hound belonged to him.
The hound trotted out of the shadows to pass through the wards surrounding the Vale, her tail wagging slightly as she approached her master.
Hadrian's mind raced.
The hound belonged to the Dark Lord.
If she led the Dark Lord to him, there would be no escape - not with his injury.
And if he was found, not yards away from Vale’s wards, he would slaughter him.
He couldn’t move, he couldn’t be found.
Hadrian pressed himself harder against the tree, willing himself to become invisible.
He watched, vigilantly, from his hidden vantage point, as the Dark Lord knelt in front of the hound, his movements graceful and fluid as a wisp of shadow. Dark tendrils of hair cascaded like midnight silk over shoulders tense with restrained power, framing a face of haunting beauty. His eyes, twin pools of crimson flames, burned against a backdrop of porcelain skin, almost translucent in the fading light.
Beside him, a second hound approached, its imposing form somehow subdued in the presence of its master's radiance. Hadrian's heart raced as he absorbed the tableau of contrasts before him: beauty and darkness, allure and threat, softness and ragged edges.
The Dark Lord’s hand moved slowly, almost tenderly, as he reached to push his fingers through the hound's fur. At a glance, it appeared to be a moment of rare affection, a glimpse of tenderness in a being that was otherwise shrouded in shadows—
Hadrian faltered, grasping where he could to keep himself attached to the tree, as his eyes rolled back and a drop of blood ran from his nostril…
A small boy, malnourished and sickly pale, sat on a modest patch of grass, surrounded by weathered walls that had witnessed countless childhoods of forgotten children.
Clutched in his hands was an old plush toy — a black dog with faded fur and one missing eye, that had been replaced with a red button. His fingers traced the well-worn seams as he whispered a delicate song to it;
~~Dear Love, in shadows deep, I wander far,
By day they take, by night I shall scar.~~
“Still playing with toys, are we?” A group of older boys emerged from behind him, their laughter harsh and mocking.
The small boy clutched his toy tighter, his heart pounding, “Leave me alone, Billy…” he said softly, his voice barely more than a whisper.
Billy lunged forward and snatched the plush dog from his grasp, holding it aloft just out of reach, “What’s the matter? Can’t reach it, Short-Arse?”
“Give it back!” the small boy pleaded, desperation creeping into his voice. He jumped and stretched, but the older boys merely tossed the toy higher. Each failed attempt to reclaim his plaything was met with more laughter and taunts.
~~Dear Love, your soul shall guide me home.
Across the river, where Kings sit their throne.~~
“Stop it!” he cried, his eyes brimming with tears. His small hands reached out, shaking with the effort, but they ignored his pleas.
“Make us,” another, scrawny and tall - Dennis - sneered, giving him a hard shove. The small boy stumbled and fell to the ground, the impact sending a jolt of pain through his bony frame. He looked up at them, his vision blurred by tears, as they continued their game.
The boy’s sobs grew louder as he watched them tear his plush dog apart, stuffing flying like wilting petals to the ground. Their laughter echoed around him, a haunting chorus that mingled with his cries. When they finally tired of their cruelty, the older boys drifted away, leaving the small boy alone on the tiny patch of grass coloured a snow white with filling.
He crawled to the scattered remains of his toy, his hands trembling as he gathered the pieces, and clutched the remnants with grievous tears that soaked into the tattered fabric.
As he sat there, hunched over in his despair, a shadow washed over him, darkening the sunlit patch of grass. He looked up, his tear-streaked face full of sorrow—
~~With different eyes, shall we meet between.
So follow, Dear Love, till red meet green.~~
┈┈┈ ⋞ 〈 ⏣ 〉 ⋟ ┈┈┈
In the dimly lit confines of his room at Order Headquarters, Hadrian blundered through the doorway, his breath laboured and his movements unsteady.
Blood trickled down his leg, from where the hound’s teeth had found purchase, leaving a trail of crimson on the wooden floor. His mind swirled with a cocktail of pain and fragmented flashes of people and places he couldn’t pinpoint; it was a turbulent storm that threatened to swallow him whole.
Frantically, he rifled through drawers cluttered with parchment and quills, half-forgotten trinkets and used potion vials, searching for anything that could cleanse his wound. His hands trembled violently, the clanking and rustling of items in his drawer becoming louder the more his delirium grew.
A sudden wave of dizziness washed over him, threatening to pull him into the abyss of unconsciousness.
He clutched at the drawer to steady himself.
Thankful, he whined as his fingers brushed against a dusty bottle of whiskey, its amber contents glinting in the muted light. Without hesitation, he uncorked it with his teeth and poured the fiery liquid over the torn flesh, his cry echoing through the room as pain flared anew. The whiskey burned like liquid fire, searing the wound but cleansing it nonetheless.
As tears mingled with sweat, Hadrian sank to the floor, his back against the wall, as his chest rose and fell heavily. Pictures of places, sounds of voices, clawed at the edges of his consciousness, elusive and haunting. It had been a long time since he’d been drowned like that and, as distantly familiar as the feeling was, he still felt the struggle of recollecting what was real and what wasn’t.
It was just a dream.
It was just a dream.
“Just a dream…” he whispered through tears of pain. A mantra, one he would repeat over and over in his head until he could start to believe it.
The door burst open with a resounding crash as Marlene rushed in, her expression a mix of concern and urgency.
She took in the scene with a single glance — Hadrian, wide-eyed with blood smeared across his nose, and wounded, the room bathed in the scent of strong spirits.
"Hadrian!" Her voice cut through the haze, a lifeline in the storm. She crossed the room in swift strides and knelt in front of him before she took his shaking hands in hers. "What in Merlin’s name happened?" she spouted.
Hadrian blinked, trying to focus on Marlene's concerned face as waves of pain and disorientation crashed over him, "…hound…" he managed to rasp, his voice hoarse and strained, "…came out of nowhere... attacked me."
Marlene’s eyes widened with alarm, her grip compressing around his hands. With practised efficiency, she examined the wound, her expression tightening slightly at the sight of the deep gash.
"This needs to be cleaned properly, it’ll get infected, else," Marlene murmured, her voice steady despite the urgency in her tone, “I won’t be able to use magic, some creature's bites become worse when met with it, I’m going to have to do it the old-fashioned way - stay here.”
Rising swiftly, she ran out of the room to retrieve a basin of clean water and a roll of bandages.
As she tended to his leg, carefully and with whispers of apology, Hadrian leaned back against the wall, feeling the comfort of Marlene's soft touches, allowing it to calm him. He watched her sweat, her movements a dance of skill and care, as she cleaned and dressed the wound with practised ease.
She’d always been good at healing - magic or no.
Once she had finished, Marlene sat back on her heels, her gaze meeting his with unwavering concern, "You're going to be alright. Your magic should help with the healing process but keep your weight off it in the meantime," she said firmly.
Hadrian nodded weakly, a surge of gratitude welling up within him, "Thank you," he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. He braced himself as he tried to pull himself up and onto his bed, becoming increasingly uncomfortable on the hardwood floor. Marlene huffed at his attempts, before she stuffed her hands underneath his arms and heaved him up.
Hadrian lay back on his slim bed, his breathing erratic, still, but slowly calming.
“Hadrian,” she greeted, almost coldly, “Where the fuck have you been?”
Hadrian's head throbbed with pain as he struggled to meet Marlene's gaze. He felt the weight of her stare settle on him like a heavy cloak, adding to the ache in his bones.
"I...," he muttered defensively, his voice rough with exhaustion and pain, "…was dealing with something."
Marlene's jaw tightened, her hands balling into fists at her sides, "Dealing with something?" she repeated incredulously, "Do you have any idea how worried I’ve been? You vanish without a word, and then you stumble in here half-mauled!"
Hadrian winced at her words, a surge of defiance rising within him, "I don't need your lectures," he snapped, his tone sharper than intended, "I had it under control."
"Under control?" Marlene scoffed, her voice dripping with scorn, "Clearly!" She gestured pointedly to the bloody wound on his leg.
“Fucking—“ Hadrian started before he bit his lip as a flare of pain shot up his leg, “You think we can do this another time? I don’t have the bloody strength to fight with you right now.”
“Oh, of course! When would you like to do this then?” she spat sarcastically, “You know, since the Solstice is tomorrow.”
“Marle—“
“You just had to do this again, didn’t you!” Marlene seethed, “Gideon wants you nowhere near the Vale tomorrow, do you know that? He’s made all of these plans and you aren’t in them, because you weren’t here! And even if you were included in them, there’s no way you can go with that leg!“
“Oh, please, Marlene! Gideon wouldn’t have included me in any of his plans even if I had sat on his lap all day! You, of all people, should know that!”
“Should I?” she challenged, before she chuckled in disbelief, “Merlin, Hadrian, what am I supposed to think? You’re always gone, going who knows where, doing who knows what. I feel like I don’t know what to believe anymore...”
Hadrian clenched his jaw as he rubbed his forehead, feeling a headache coming along, “You know why I’m out there, Marlene. You know what I’m doing-“
“Oh, surveilling - is that it?”
“I’m doing what needs to be done,” Hadrian declared.
“What needs to be done?” she echoed, her voice trembling with rage, “Or what you want to do? Because there’s a difference, Hadrian, and right now, I’m not sure if you can see that.”
“Oh my— I can’t see that?” Hadrian rowed, sitting up with a slight wince, “I think it’s you who can’t see, Marlene. You who can’t see that everything I do, I do to protect you.”
“…and watching the Vale every night - that’s your idea of protecting me?”
Hadrian paused, the pain running through his leg becoming suddenly bearable as Marlene’s words echoed around the room. The silence that followed was deafening. Hadrian could hear his heart in his ears as he stared at Marlene’s shaking hands and violently rising chest.
He almost felt caught out, like a petulant child, underneath the simmering rage that threatened to spill out.
“I know that’s where you go and I know that you’ve been going there for months, without orders to do so.”
“You-“
“You say that what you’re doing is to protect me but I don’t think it is! What it is, I don’t-“
“You followed me?” Hadrian asked, as he grimaced. He huffed out a disbelieving laugh as silence followed his question, “You followed me,” he confirmed.
“It was… a few times; once just after we’d met, another when I saw you sneaking out three nights in a row, a couple of months back, and the last a few nights ago.”
Hadrian tried to stand, despite his injury, but Marlene moved fluidly to stand in front of him, placing her hands on his shoulders to keep him in place, “Do you know what they would do to you if they found you? If he found you?”
Hadrian looks at her blankly as she pushes his chest to draw his attention, “Do you?!”
She places her hands on his cheeks with a sigh, “He would make a spectacle of you… he will of us.”
Hadrian scanned her face as she sighed and looked toward the ground. Her brows were drawn slightly and there were deep bags underneath her eyes. She looked exhausted as if she’d denied herself sleep for days. Hadrian presumed that she had, ever since Gideon had given the go-ahead for the raid on the Vale.
He suspected that she had been driving herself mad with all the what-ifs, as he had been.
“We’re going to raid sacred land - sacred land to them at least- on one of the most hallowed days of the year. There is nothing more dishonourable than that; they will see to our ruin if we’re found and you—“ she whispers, “You weren’t here when I needed you and now Gideon has thrown me into the thick of it!”
Hadrian softened.
Marlene’s anger was a desperate shield against her terror of the unknown. She was afraid of the threat that loomed over them, the abyss that she was going to willingly plunge into on the Solstice. Her words were a tempest, but beneath the storm, Hadrian could see how she trembled.
She was angry at him for the very risks she herself was about to take.
She was angry that her accusations made her a hypocrite.
Hadrian thought they did, but who was he to call anyone a hypocrite?
“What do you mean he’s thrown you into the thick of it?”
Marlene sighed as she clutched at him, “He wants me leading the search, for the others.”
“What?!” Hadrian barked, “Tell me you said no, Marlene, tell me you didn’t...”
Marlene looked down at him with tears in her eyes, and a chill ran through Hadrian.
He had only caught fragments of Gideon's plan, and so had assumed her boldness would place her among those being used as a distraction.
But he was wrong.
The realization washed over him like a cold tide, and dread settled in his gut. The tears in her eyes were not only from her fear but also from the crushing weight of the burden that had been forced onto her. Hadrian had planned - of course he had - to get Marlene out as soon as the distraction had run its course. He had planned to grab her - fuck the others - and flee, ensuring that Gideon’s venomous need for revenge wouldn’t get her taken from him.
But he hadn’t planned for this, nor did he have enough time to do so.
And Hadrian knew - knew with every fibre of his being - that it had been intentional.
A snide so dirty that Hadrian could imagine Gideon washing his hands of it with a smirk on his face.
“I didn’t have a choice, I—” she explained, frantically,
“Fuck, I’m going to—” Hadrian breathed out, running his hands through his hair, the weight of the situation crushing him, “Marlene, you don’t have to do this.“
“Yes, I do!” she exclaimed, “Because if I don’t, someone else will and I don’t know if I can trust anyone else!” Marlene admitted, breathless from her outburst, “How can I trust anyone when it feels like everyone has something to hide - even you.”
Hadrian’s jaw clenched, “Even me?”
“We’ve only known each other for six months!” she whispered, her voice trembling. “Six months…”
“I know, Marlene, but—”
“No, you don’t,” she cut him off, her frustration boiling over, “I don’t know anything about you. Where do you come from? Who are your friends? Your family? Are you a muggleborn? What were you running from when we met?”
Hadrian sighed heavily, his shoulders slumping, “It’s complicated, Marlene. I can’t just—”
“Complicated?” she scoffed, tears threatening to spill from her eyes, “You disappear, to go to that tyrants stronghold, and you expect me to just accept that because it’s complicated?”
“It’s not like that,” Hadrian insisted, his voice tinged with desperation, “I have my reasons—”
“Reasons? What reasons?” Marlene shot back, her voice rising, “Tell me, Hadrian, because I’m done playing this guessing game!”
Hadrian hesitated, his jaw tightening with the weight of his secrets, “I can’t tell you.”
“Of course you can’t!” Marlene cried, hurt and anger flashing in her eyes, “Because trust isn’t a two-way street for you, is it? It’s a one-way ticket that sees me defending you whilst you’re waltzing straight into enemy territory!”
“That’s not fair,” Hadrian hissed, feeling the sting of her accusations along with the throb of his leg, “Especially when you’re the one who followed me!”
“Fair?” Marlene laughed bitterly. “Do you really want to know what’s not fair? Me putting my life on the line, time and time again, for someone who can’t even be honest with me.”
“I am honest with you - about the things that matter,” Hadrian protested, standing his ground, as he winced, “I care about you, Marlene, so there are things I can’t drag you into, things I can’t tell you about, but ask me anything else and I’ll tell you the truth, I swear.”
“Maybe that’s true,” Marlene shot back, her voice trembling with hurt, “…but maybe I should have known better than to blindly trust you.”
Hadrian recoiled, feeling as if he’d just been punched, “Marlene, please,” he pleaded, reaching out to her as much as he could, but she stepped back, her eyes filled with a mixture of pain and resolve.
“I need time,” she said softly, her voice breaking, “I can’t think about this if I want to survive this thrice-damned mission...”
Hadrian tried to reach for her again, his heart sinking, as she turned away to walk out of his room with her head hung low. As his door clicked shut, he sat, leg trembling, alone in the silence that followed, grappling with the bitter taste of regret.
Outside, he could hear the scuttering sound of footsteps as the rest of the Order prepared for the raid on the Solstice that coming day. Hadrian sank into his bed, running a hand through his hair as he replayed their words in his mind.
He knew he had, and continued to, hurt her.
That his inability to open up had driven a wedge between them.
But as the hours passed and darkness settled in, he couldn’t shake the feeling that his cautiousness was for the best. He allowed the weight of his loneliness settle over him, hoping against hope that someday, he would be grateful that he had kept his cards close to his chest.
With a sigh, he undressed slowly, feeling suddenly exhausted as he tried not to think about his near capture - how he’d woken to silence at the top of a tree - or of hounds and aware eyes… of little boys and broken toys, surrounded by stone walls that seemed so very familiar.
“It was just a dream…” he whispered to no one, and willed himself to believe it, as his eyes fluttered shut.
Their shared room was dimly lit, the only source of light a small, flickering candle that cast long shadows across the walls. The little boy sat on his bed, bruised knees pulled up to his chest, eyes wide and filled with hot tears. Across from him, perched on the edge of the desk chair, was another boy, older by a few years. His posture was rigid, as he looked at the younger boy with eyes hard set, like stone.
"I warned you," the older boy said, his voice devoid of sympathy, "I told you to stay away from them."
The little boy sniffled, burying his face in his knees. "I did but they found me…"
"Found you?" The boy scoffed, "In your hiding spot in the middle of the courtyard?"
"The sun shines brightest there — Miss Cole says that the sunshine’s good for us…" the little boy mumbled, his voice barely audible as a blush covered his face.
The boy leaned forward, his eyes narrowing, "And getting roughed up; is that good for you, too?"
There was a long silence, broken only by the little boy's stifled sobs. The older boy sighed, leaning back in the chair, as he crossed his arms, "You have to be smarter than this - good things always come with consequences, especially good things that come for free."
Before the little boy could respond, a soft thumping sound filled the quiet. Both boys turned to see a small bunny hopping into their room, following a trail of tiny pellets of food scattered across the floor. The bunny's nose twitched as it sniffed the air, its soft pearly fur catching the light from the candle.
The older boy's cold demeanour melted, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his mouth, as a glint entered his eyes, "Looks like someone left a trail,” he whispered, as he lowered his hand toward the ground, to drop another pellet onto the floor.
The little boy's eyes lit up, a small giggle escaping his lips as he watched the bunny hop closer, its movements quick and curious.
For a moment, a soft silence took up the room as the little boy watched the bunny explore.
As the rabbit approached the older boy, he grabbed the bunny by the scruff of its neck, lifting it off the ground. He stroked its fur rigidly, holding the fluffy creature at arm's length as if he didn’t want it near him at all. His doe eyes, hickory brown, were oddly devoid of warmth, their depths cold and distant.
It was like he was putting on a show, imitating the gentleness one would use when petting a small animal.
With a quick, brutal motion, he snapped the bunny's neck, the soft crack echoing in the room. The little boy screamed, his hands hurrying towards his ears, as he began to weep.
The older boy dropped the lifeless body of the bunny onto the floor.
He didn't move immediately, his gaze distant as if he were looking at something far away. Then, with a slow exhale, he looked back at the little boy and carefully removed his hands from his ears, “Boys like them will grow into greedy men who will do anything to take from us. They believe it’s their right to do so.”
The little boy struggled to breathe as violent hiccups wracked through his body. He looked at the other boy as audible moans of distress bled through his teeth. He was shushed, gently, by lips that lied and gazed at with eyes that seemed distant but so very aware, "They will try to take you because you’re good and they don’t think they need to pay a price to have you…"
“…but they do and they will,” he whispered, as he swiped away at the tears running down the boy's face. Green met brown, which glinted red under the candlelight, and an eerie silence took hold, “They will.”
Hadrian bolted upright in his bed.
The remnants of the dream clung to him, vivid and disorienting. His eyes darted around the dark room, struggling to distinguish the shadows from the figments of his imagination; brown eyes, latent magic, strong and familiar.
He rubbed his face with trembling hands, only to pull them away and see the sticky, dark stain of blood.
His nose was bleeding - again.
Hadrian swung his legs over the side of the bed, placing his bare feet on the cool wooden floor. He grabbed a tissue from the nightstand and pinched his nose, trying to stem the flow of blood.
Inhale, exhale.
Inhale, exhale.
Gradually, his frantic gasps turned into steadier, more controlled breaths.
The dream had been so real.
He shook his head, trying to dislodge the images that played through his mind; abrupt and disorientating.
It was just a dream, he told himself.
Hadrian glanced at the clock on his nightstand.
The minute hand moved slowly, informing him it was barely past three in the morning. He let out a frustrated sigh, knowing sleep would be elusive for the rest of the night. With a groan, he stood up, keeping the tissue pressed to his nose, and flicked his bedside lamp on.
Hadrian stared at his reflection in the mirror above his drawer, his pale face and bloodstained tissue a stark contrast to the darkness of his room. A glint of metal caught his eye as he stared; he reached up and gently pulled out the chain from beneath his shirt.
A silver ring on a delicate chain rested in his hand.
He closed his fingers around it.
…good things always come with consequences...
…they don’t think they need to pay a price to have you…
…they will…
Hadrian dropped the silver, allowing it to bounce off his chest, as he leaned heavily against the drawer, "Shut up," he muttered aloud, pressing his palms against his ears as if to physically block out the noise.
The idea formed slowly, like a distant beacon of hope in the storm of his thoughts.
He didn't acknowledge it outright, besides a slow move to lift himself from where he’d keeled over his drawer, but the notion took root deep within him anyhow.
Turning away from the mirror, Hadrian moved with purpose, grabbing clothes and slipping them on with hurried motions. He tied his boots tightly, ensuring each lace was secure, before he ran out of his door, cloak in hand.
The night shrouded Hadrian in its cool embrace, the moonlight painting the world shades of silver as he slipped silently through the wards encircling the Order’s underground Headquarters. His movements were swift and sure, a shadow weaving through the darkness, as he fled through the dense canopy of trees, each step carrying him closer to the only place that offered a flicker of familiarity. The forest whispered around him, branches swaying in a gentle dance to an old song;
~~Dear Love, in shadows deep, I wander far, ~~
Yet, in his haste, Hadrian failed to notice the absence of pain in his leg or that the bandages that once wrapped the wounds of a hound's attack, now dressed fresh skin.
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It was a faceless voice that spoke to him, sometimes.
Don’t do this, they’d whisper.
If he were a lesser man, he’d have called them his conscience.
But he was neither lesser, nor was he a man.
And so he ignored the starkly familiar symphonies of their voice, which was now a mere melancholic croon, after being shunned for so long and had bared witness to the aberration he had fashioned himself into.
He moved with a measured, deliberate grace through the grand halls of his castle. His steps were silent, yet servants and soldiers alike sensed his approach. They froze, heads bowed low and eyes averted, as they fell to their knees and whispered a reverent, My Lord.
The descent to the dungeons was to journey into the depths of despair; each step toward the belly of the castle was marked by the rising chill of the stone walls. The torches along the narrow staircase flickered weakly, their flames struggling against the encroaching darkness, much akin to the spirits of those trapped below. The macabre symphony of chains clinking and distant, anguished murmurs grew louder, greeting him as he continued his slow approach.
The dungeon doors, iron-cladded and formidable, groaned in protest as they were swung open by two masked guards on either side of the entryway. Within, a labyrinth of cells lay in oppressive sorrow, sheathed in air thick with the stench of decay. At the sight of him, prisoners recoiled, retreating into the farthest corners of their confines. Their terror was a palpable, living thing that filled the space between the bars and made the air almost unbreathable.
His footsteps bounced off the walls, echoing through the undergrounds, as he paused before a particular cell, his gaze piercing the darkness to rest upon the trembling figures within.
With a mere nod, a guard unlocked the cell door.
The Dark Lord stepped inside.
Two figures were huddled together, their eyes wide with hysteria. A woman kneeled, chains around her wrists, in front of a small girl who clung to the cloth of her threadbare shirt, her tear-streaked face peeking out from behind her mother.
With deliberate grace, he crouched before them.
His eyes, cold and so awfullyred, locked onto the mother's, "She must be precious to you," he said softly, his voice a silken whisper, "Your child."
The woman's lips quivered, her fear palpable amidst her obduracy, "Please," she whispered, despite the defiance lingering in her eyes, “She’s just a baby…”
“The bond between a mother and her child is such a powerful thing, so beyond the laws of magic,” the Lord replied, his gaze shifting to the little girl briefly before returning to the mother's.
The mother's breath hitched, tears welling in her eyes. She tried to shield her daughter more, with the little movement she could make.
Slowly, he lifted his hand, watching as the woman flinched, to cup the tiny face of the child, “Even now, under the will of my walls, I can feel it flaring - your magic.”
“It just can’t help it, seeing the sight of something so wholly its own in danger, it would do anything to protect it - this small, defenceless thing.”
The Lord's focus never wavered from the mother, "There are few things in this world so precious as a child," he continued softly, his tone almost gentle.
“…and few things so easily taken away.”
The guard, stationed by the cell door, moved forward, his hands reaching for the child who clung desperately to her mother. The woman screamed, her voice raw with terror, "No! Please, don't take her!"
He watched as her hands trembled as she tried to summon her magic, but the Lord’s own was a suffocating weight that crushed her attempts. Tears streamed down her face as she desperately pulled on the chains behind her.
The child wailed, reaching out for her mother as she was dragged away by her matted hair, her cries echoing through the dungeon.
The mother’s scream was wrenching as she collapsed onto the cold stone floor, "Please," she pleaded hoarsely, her voice cracking with grief, "…spare her. I will do anything you ask, I swear it!"
The Dark Lord took her chin between his fingers, cruelly, "Remember this moment. Remember my mercy. If I had wished to, I’d have snapped your dirty-blooded bastard's neck and left her here, for you to look upon until you starve."
She wept, open-mouthed with disbelief as tears fell through her ajar lips, “Instead, I need from you only one thing and, if you and your child obey, I will release you.”
“A-Anything, please, anything, I—”
The Lord hushed her softly as he caressed her face, wiping away the tears that rolled down her cheeks uncontrollably. With a sudden move, he grasped her by the neck, his fingers tightening with a vice-like grip, while his other hand swiftly plucked a lock of hair from her head.
She winced, a cry of pain escaping her lips as she struggled against his hold, "Remember this moment, remember your oath."
Releasing her abruptly, the Lord stepped back, his eyes fixed on her with a chilling vehemence. He held the wisp of hair between his fingers; blonde, dirty, a lock of an Abbott - something that should have held meaning but was now sullied by the blood of the muggle.
Without another word, he turned and strode away, leaving the mother crumpled on the cold stone floor. Her throaty cries and mournful whines chased after him as he, followed by a cluster of masked men, left the dungeons, each man clutching their own strand of rebel hair.
~~So follow, Dear Love, till red meet green.~~
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You thus wave your red cape before the Horns of Envy, in order to save your immortality.