Shelter Me in the Shade of Your Wings
Swish ... whack.
His father's eyes burn into him, bright and steady as the noon sun, searing his flesh in a way that feels far more potent than the leather strap, which is sailing through the air again to add gravitas to the scolding.
"You understand what you did was wrong, son?" Barty grits his teeth, determined not to answer and to hold on to some last, illusory shred of autonomy.
This was not the correct move; the scorching stare returns, followed by the whistling of the strap.
"You see, son, I cannot allow you to leave this room until I am sure that you have admitted to your wrongdoing. Be a man; come clean."
Barty's will, never strong at any time, gives up all pretences and crumples with distressing finality.
"Yes, father, I was wrong." The words, fragile in their reluctance and shame, shrivel under his father's fire; listening to them, he despises himself.
But his father barely notices; so used to his own strength of will, all others sound feeble in his ears. He begins to wind up the strap with swift, smooth movements; he turns back to his son with a face serene with compassion.
"I am as honest as daylight, and I expect the same from you. I do not think that is too much to ask."
As Barty struggles to meet his father's eyes, he has to admit that this is true. His father is indeed exactly like the light of day. The radiance of his righteousness is enough to nourish and motivate; many of the magical community live better lives, inspired by the example of dignity and integrity exemplified by this man.
But Barty himself, a fragile character, wilts under the light of his father's presence. He feels trapped, as if his every action and misdeed is scrutinized under prison lamps. He longs for shelter from the constant analysis, for a life that contains forgiveness, room to make mistakes, a sense of comfort and belonging and home.
x
Sometime later, he stands in a darkened chamber. Around him, a circle of figures stand, swathed in shapeless cowls and featureless masks, their whispered words swept away and lost in the echoes of the cavernous hall. All so different, a multifaceted cross-section of castes and clans; they most likely do not approve of each other in real life, but all is forgotten and pardoned in the highest service of their master.
The master in question stoops to meet Barty's eyes, and is mildly surprised to find his mind clean of fear, no anxiety even. He raises his venom-wooded wand to mark Barty as his own, to bind him forever in a service of the utmost compulsion.
And Barty smiles as he is set free. Slinking into the dark, he breathes a sigh of relief as he accepts a loyalty that will supersede all else, that will make his actions inscrutable and far from the demand of mortal man.
He luxuriates in the shadow of his Lord's wings.
A/N: I don't usually annotate, but it is worth noting that the title is a quote from Psalms, and refers to God's protection.
