Souls Ensnared
By
Carameldaydream
Book 1: The Debt of Salazar
iii) in shades of grey
Disclaimer : Harry Potter belongs to J.K Rowling. This is a work of fanfiction.
[The ties were black, the lies were white
In shades of gray and candlelight
I wanted to leave him, I needed a reason]
— Getaway Car,
Taylor Swift
࿐࿐࿐
A considerable distance away from Harry Potter, lived another boy who was called odd, in mocking whispers and derisive comments.
Antares Goldstone was simply, inexplicably different.
In the eyes of his parents, being different was an aspiration, an indication that they were regarded as superior. Kenneth and Elaine Goldstone desperately wanted to be liked and admired, and what better way was there, than to be regarded as unique?
Nonetheless, their lofty attitude only set to assuage their neighbors' fears about their self-centered selves.
They whispered taunting comments behind their backs, and grimaced when they talked about the Goldstones in Number 11.
"Odd, isn't he, the son?" They asked each other, comparing notes.
His parents loved it, interpreting the comments as envious of villagers and flaunted him, in all his glory, to the general public.
Antares hated it.
He couldn't help being odd. It was something inside him that wanted to be let free, to flow out, and it was wild, untamed when it did break out of its passage. His books arranged themselves, and Mrs. Arnold's tomatoes shriveled when the kids tried to throw them at him. The flowers beneath his fingers bloomed out, and Will Perks fell out of a tree and broke his neck, after teasing him.
It was erratic at best, freakish events that were somewhat related to him and all the children whispered "theDevil" and "cursed he is" behind his back. The adults didn't believe it, but they regarded him warily, and forbade their children from going near him.
His parents didn't do anything. They laughed and said they didn't believe it and Antares left it at that because he knew.
From a young age, he had grown up to know that he was a trophy child, to be constantly bragged about. He was a means of popularity, a prize, a weapon, a child. Sometimes, it was as if they forgot the last one entirely.
They taught him to sit up straight and talk like a businessman, ignoring altogether the usual litany of hobbies accustomed to children.
And if they discovered that he was as freakish as they said he was, they would abandon him, back at the orphanage, even though no one would ever admit it.
Sometimes, Antares thought, maybe he was the only one who remembered being Antares Lestrange.
There were memories, memories of days gone by, of Matron Hecate's resounding slaps, of hours spent exploring outside, of faded faces and names, calling out, "Ant'res, come play with us,".
And sometimes, if he tried hard enough, he could hear the cackling sounds of mad laughter and a deep exasperated voice saying, "Bella, not now."
He wondered, in the recesses of his mind, if these were the last memories of his parents. He wasn't stupid enough to say it out loud, these were secrets- warm, lovely secrets that made his stomach flutter.
How would his real parents have treated him, he thought. Would they have used him as a weapon too, or would they have loved him unconditionally?
Lost in his thoughts, it was a while before he saw the bird, fluttering behind him.
He gasped when he did see it, a tawny owl, carrying something in its beak and headed straight for him.
Do owls carry letters?, He asked himself. Am I going mad? Is the Devil making me go mad?
Without thinking, he extended a hand towards the owl and the bird dropped the letter it was carrying, straight into Antares' hand.
He regarded the owl warily.
I really am going mad. Haven't seen a trained owl before.
His gaze plummeted to the letter, lying innocently in his hands, and the postmark in black ink caught his eye.
'Mr. A.R Lestrange,
The Blue Room,
Number 11,
Arkness Lane,
Bright Sides,
Kent '
A letter to me,
he thought excitedly. He had never gotten a letter before. His grandparents wrote mostly to his parents, and the educational pamphlets went to them too. He didn't know anyone who could be writing to him.
And and.. they had used his real name!!
His heart gave a lurch at the thought. Maybe it was some long lost relative, he thought, poorly concealing his excitement.
Admiring the thick quality of the paper, he opened the envelope quickly and took out two yellowish pages.
"Dear Mr. Lestrange," he read, and he let out a bark of wild, insane laughter of someone who has held it in for so long.
His parents didn't believe it. Ofcourse he had known that they wouldn't but he had hoped —hoped with all of his heart— that maybe they would- maybe they had loved him after all.
But all of this was a pretense and he was an actor amidst it all, always hiding, always concealing.
He didn't reply to the letter at first— where the hell was he supposed to find a fucking owl?— but two letters arrived the next day, and he had never felt so nervous as he did then, swear pooling in his palms while his heart drummed in anticipation.
"What's this then, some new fad?" His Father asked, reaching for the letters in the owl's beak.
"You know teenagers," Mother replied, shaking her glamorous hair.
"They've always got some new fashion going on."
She looked at Kenneth again, tutting as he waged a war with an owl, pushing and tugging on feathers.
"It won't let me have it." He finally growled, letting go, and checked over his reflected in the nearest mirror.
Antares didn't have to tell him that he looked hideous, the front of his clothes torn while scratches and feathers coated his beard.
With a choked cry, he went to change again, while the owl peered at Antares from beneath its plumage.
He extended a finger towards the majestic animal, as his Mother expressed her disapproval in open sight.
"Don't do that Antares, for Goodness' Sake, young man, you better behave. Stop coddling that beast- Shoo Shoo, get out-"
Her remarks cut off as he held up both letters, which looked exactly the same as yesterday's one.
With his fingers trembling, he extended one to his Mother while he left the other on the table, for his Father to find.
"What's this- Don't tell me it's that drama club you harassed us last week about. Our decision is final, you don't have time for extracurricular activities like that, focus on your studies, and of course, we're letting you take piano lessons aren't we?"
"'s not Like I even had a choice," he mumbled sullenly, unable to keep it in.
Elaine raised a manicured eyebrow.
"Speak up, what did you say?"
He sat up straighter.
"It's not from the drama club, Mother."
"It can wait until later, then." His Mother replied and began calmly eating her food as if nothing had happened.
All through breakfast, Antares sat tense, and nervous, a flurry of emotions constantly running through him. His father came in halfway, with a new suit and commented on how his posture wasn't right, which sparked up another fight about attending etiquette lessons.
Finally, breakfast ended and Antares slouched from his seat, eyes pressed on the letter lying on the table. But his Mother had other ideas.
"I've set up decoration for your birthday," she started and Antares groaned, slouching further in his seat.
"Antares Goldsone! Sit up, young man- now listen," she blurted out a dozen or other details which weren't even necessary.
At one point, he interrupted her to add atleast the boy he had seen on the edge of town, a few times, who was one of the children who had actually talked to Antares. He had been quite a nice fellow named Jack and though he hadn't seen him at school, their interactions were pleasant.
But Elaine firmly rebuked him, stating that he had to make friends with better connections and listed off sons of her friends Antares didn't even know.
"And it'll be a wonderful business opportunity." His Father said, and Antares thought bitterly that if it hadn't been a business opportunity, he wouldn't even have come in the first place, that was how much business mattered to Kenneth.
Finally, Mother's long rant came to a close, and she picked up the letter with some reluctance, folding it open.
"Har- har, very funny." Elaine said, smacking the letter on the table as she surveyed it.
"What- No!" Antares said as his Father looked more and more confused, finally picking the letter up himself.
"Is this your idea of a joke, Antares?" Kenneth- he wasn't his father, not really- asked in a rumbling voice and Antares' gaze fell. A flush of irritation crept up his neck as he blinked back tears.
"I'm not joking," He exclaimed, tilting his head so that they wouldn't see his eyes burning with tears.
'It isn't fair, they don't even believe me,' he thought piteously.
"Then how- how can this be, it's obviously not real." Not-Father, gesturing to the letter and Elaine nodded.
He felt like a foolish boy, stealing cookies at night, but it wasn't fair at all. They were just looking down on him, because they saw him as a little boy.
"Come on Antares, this has gone on too much, we've spoiled you." Elaine said, gesturing with one hand and he finally had enough.
"Spoiled me?" he asked in a low tone.
Anger bubbled beneath his body as he thought about it, even as tears dripped down from his lashes.
The letter burst into flame.
Elaine let out a shriek and both of them took a step back as Antares stood, lip trembling as he surveyed them.
"It's- It's an accident, come on son, the church can do something, right?" His Father blubbered and something broke inside him.
"I'm not your son." He said, quietly, and Elaine let out a choked cry.
"You've treated me like how you'd treat a son, I'm sure. You've never listened to what I want, even once it's always about your des- desires. And for that, I'm sorry, but I'm glad you never had a real child."
The glass on the table blew into several pieces and Kenneth let out a startled shout as it embedded into his skin. Elaine, still sobbing, crumpled to the ground and he felt so achingly guilty .They had never held him, and never let him cry, or even let themselves cry when near him, but they had raised him and he couldn't get that image out of his head. Still, he couldn't do anything else.
He turned on the spot and wished.
It was ironic that the place where he had willed to be was the same place he had left years ago, after so many memories. But it was the place he had been abandoned in, and perhaps that was its own kind of beauty.
Antares' last thought as he crumpled to the ground, blood spurting through his dispatched arms, was that Hope Orphanage was the same as ever.
A/N: For this week, go read:
The Changeling by annerb, in which Ginny gets sorted into Slytherin.
Harry Potter et Al and the Keystone Council by OlegGunnarson, in which five different dimension's Boy-( or in some cases Girl)-Who-Lived can communicate with each other with their minds.