Inside the Walls of Neverrem Manor

I'm getting closer… I have to do this…

I have to…

Standing near the massive windows that led to an extremely beautiful open balcony adorned with black roses glistening in the rain, I pondered the previous day's accomplishments. They did not seem like much to boast about, purchasing books and a wand, but now my plan was finally set in full motion. It was too bad that the light, relaxing drizzle of the early morning was replaced by heavy rainfall. Roaming the grounds of the mansion, one of my favourite pastimes, would be quite impossible until the storm had passed.

Thus, I loitered inside, going over the plan in my head once more. All of the steps I have taken so far had been systematic and intentional, I thought grimly. Nothing should go wrong.

At the show of lightning and thunder, I strode over to the curtains, intending to pull them shut. It looked such a simple task, but it was a burden too great for my weak body. After several attempts at dragging the heavy cloth across the marble floor, I gave up and, leaving them still mostly open, collapsed on the cosy velvet armchair facing the outside, my chest heaving from the exertion.

How annoying… I'm so weak.

The sky grew angry as minutes passed. Finding nothing better to do, I made myself comfortable and decided to look once more over the messy array of documents containing information on Hogwarts set on top of the desk. However, this only increased my frustration. Hogwarts this… Hogwarts that… After reading through all the files fifty-two times and counting, checking and double-checking to make sure I hadn't missed any details, still none of the information I had seemed useful in the slightest.

Moran knocked on the doorframe as he came in, which was very good timing as I was on the point of throwing every piece of paper in the burning furnace without a care. Remaining stoic and unemotional in front of him was backbreaking, but I had to do it. I couldn't show emotion, couldn't show weakness.

"Are you finished packing everything, Moran?" I asked him. "If so, please ch-"

That was when the screams started. Shouts of grief and rage, filling our ears, echoing relentlessly in our bones, because of how horribly familiar they were to both of us.

My father was awake.

"AHHHH! G-GIVE HER BA-ACK!"

I glanced at Moran. "Check on him. Please."

Moran grunted as though unwilling, but followed the order he was familiar with. It was always Moran's responsibility to tend to the tortured man because I myself could not bear to even see such a horrible sight. I knew that it ought to be my responsibility, but I could not bring myself to care for someone who had long since lost touch with reality. He was no longer the man who I had once depended on and even called…

"Father," I muttered.

Moran shut the door behind him.

The screams continued to ring throughout the mansion. Unwillingly, I felt tears begin to sting my eyes, running down my face… I tried to stop them but soon succumbed. It wasn't long before I was bawling like the child I was supposed to be. Lost, broken, abandoned.

Who am I really? The child who lost his mother. The child who lost his father. The child who lost his innocence.

And then, as always, the sorrow and grief made way for rage, anger, and hatred.

Who am I? I am the child who will destroy Hogwarts.

Hogwarts is to blame. Hogwarts took her away. And I will have my revenge.

I will destroy the place that took my mother from me.

Finally catching my breath, I leaned back and took a whiff of the warm air collecting in the room. The exhaustion from weeping too much was taking a hold of my body, and I swore I could hear individual notes begin to play. A tune in the silent air.

Mother's… song?


I dreamed.

I stood in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by a deep sea of fog. Jagged rocks sprouted from the ground. The scene was eerily familiar. Wait a minute… I've had this dream before.

As I watched, my surroundings started to come into focus. Claw-like branches touched the dark sky high above me, and thorny vines in every direction whipped at the air as if they had minds of their own. The setting was chaotic and dangerous, yet I felt entirely safe and at peace. Yes, definitely a dream… I could tell from the way the clouds above me were warping from shape to shape even as I observed them. In fact, everything seemed distorted: natural shapes twisted into something foreign to this world and back again in the blink of an eye.

In front of me, a flash of colour caught my eye… a meadow of lush grass that seemed somehow to swirl and spiral into a single hole in the distance. My interest piqued, I followed the grass towards the hole. Just like I always do.

I took a step towards the hole and was abruptly inundated by visions.

A man and a woman stand in front of me.

They hold hands. Four journals. They kiss. A music box.

She dies. The vision ends.

I wake up.


"Sir? Are you alright? Sir Aerik…!"

My eyes fluttered open. Moran was standing above me, looking concerned.

What an ending, I thought, and yet I shouldn't have been surprised. The woman always died in the end, just before I woke.

I slowly sat up. Moran was speaking to me, and I caught the gist even though I wasn't paying nearly as much attention as I should have been: that he had managed to calm my father and nurse him back to sleep, that he had come back to find me passed out on the chair and carried me all the way to my room, that he'd noticed I had tried to shift the curtains earlier and I'd no doubt overexerted myself, and didn't I know I shouldn't do strenuous work because of my sickly state… On another day I might have argued with him, but right now there was something far more urgent on my mind.

That dream. I think I know what it means!

"Moran…" I said slowly, interrupting his lecture, and Moran immediately fell silent. "Didn't the letter say they found my mother's body under the Whomping Willow?"

Moran hesitated, clearly confused. I clucked my tongue insistently. "Yes, sir," he said at last. "That's where they found her. Under the Whomping Willow."

"And when did they find her?" The older boy's gaze locked with mine. He was surely bewildered as to why I was asking something I already knew by heart. "When, Moran?" I demanded it out of him.

"On… on the first of January, sir," Moran stammered rapidly. He was fast going pale, as if he sensed my rage, as if he knew I would continue tormenting him with many more questions about my mother's death. Finally, he bleated like a terrified goat, "It was on your birthday, sir!"

Bingo.