Chapter Eight
"I guess that's just part of loving people: You have to give things up. Sometimes you even have to give them up."
Lauren Oliver
28 May 1943…
Willamar pressed himself against the walls, right next to the doors of the Great Hall.
Inside Athelinda was laughing along with some people.
She had grown very popular. But even though she was always admired, she never sought for or craved the admiration until now.
It was Tom Riddle that was what Rhaegar said. But Willamar wasn't sure who to pin-point the blame apart from Athelinda herself.
Rhaegar loved his brother and sisters- he acted like the big brother everyone adored- although he had his dark sides. Rhaegar never discussed it with their sisters- Philomena would never know and Athelinda only knew that her elder brother was captured and grew strong enough to fight back. But Willamar knew more than most.
Willamar was the most unremarkable of the four, if he were to say it himself. After all, he did not have Rhaegar's remarkable skill and charisma (although people tended like him as well, he wouldn't be anyone they would follow, as in to battle), nor did he have Athelinda's sizzling and alluring charm and her fascinating ambition. Philomena was sweet, and very bright, eager to please- even she would have more to shine out than he did.
Which was why people would be forgiven if they thought him the weakest of the four. Like Hufflepuff.
Sweet Hufflepuff, was all they called her- fair and honest, but not as glamourous and attracting as the other three. She didn't prefer the brainy ones like Ravenclaw, didn't prefer the courageous and combatant ones like Gryffindor, nor did she prefer the mystery and prestige, cunning and driving ambition that was Slytherin's hallmark. She took all the rest. She took the honest ones, and the fair ones. But anyone could be honest and fair- at least that was what they thought.
They had no idea. The Sorting Hat certainly knew what he was doing when he placed him in Hufflepuff. It suited him. And he often found it useful when he was overlooked.
Such as now.
Willamar closed his eyes to concentrate. They were in the Great Hall- his sister, and her admirers- her toadies, for those who could see them for what they really were.
The girls were shrieking with giggles, sounding rather mad, he decided. The boys were grinning idiotically, hanging at her every word. And were some of them drooling? Disgusting, he decided.
He craned closer to hear what they were saying.
"Of course, I wouldn't dare make assumptions," Athelinda purred. He shuddered. This was definitely not the sister of his childhood.
"Women spend more time worrying about what men think, than men spend thinking." There was a resounding roar of laughter.
"So naturally, I can't assume to know what he likes, or whether he decides to like it at all, before tumbling me down," she smirked, and again they roared, or howled, spluttering over their sniggers as Athelinda entertained and admired them. Did they even know they were being insulted?
It saddened him. His sister had changed. Since when did she thrive on the admirations and thoughts of others?
She had a great deal of wit, and her charisma and good looks may have attracted and fascinated people, her charm kept them from taking offense and her conversation entertained them. She was intelligent, and responded quickly and well. Even if she mocked people, her wit could amuse and kept them glued to her. She was vibrant and fascinating. And she was misusing all that.
Willamar was sickened. He took a glance inside.
Athelinda may be beautiful, but she knew it. She wasn't overly-vain- she had always been arrogant- but that wasn't what people saw. She was confident. Strikingly so. She had a strong aura of mystery about her. She was always elegant and immaculately groomed. Her clothes were elegant and stylish- she looked expensive, even with her uniform, he thought with unease. No one dressed like her, and carried themselves the way she did. She had the perfect posture, and graceful, fluid movements, like the snakes she so loved. Like a Nagini. That graceful sinuous walk, that didn't look like she moved on two limbs, the way her robes swirled and seemed to float around her, and her mysterious, almost dreamy, voice- the voice of a story-teller, telling epic sagas and legends- like a Vǫlva telling the tales around a smoky fire in a dark night. Naturally she was very charismatic. The way her black eyes flashed with wit- intelligence and a knowing which made people want to find out more.
Willamar knew as well she was brilliant. Everything she did, she excelled. He could see the girls glance at her, staring at her in fascination and consternation, hoping to find out her secret- to her success and the effortless ease- unnoticed by her- which made her so attractive as well as brilliant. He could see the men gawping stupidly at her. Willamar closed his eyes.
It made him sick.
He conjured up the images in his mind- a young girl laughing and playing with her brothers. Asking questions about the use of this herb or that root in this potion or that solution. Scowling, but then laughing when she was helped up after being beaten in duelling practice.
This was not his sister.
He walked away in disgust.
Whatever Tom Riddle did, Athelinda (unless she was under the Imperius Curse) agreed to it.
Maybe Rhaegar was right. Maybe there was something not right about that boy?
But what exactly did he do? A voice asked stubbornly in his head. Unless there was solid concrete evidence that Tom Riddle, a model student praised by students and teachers alike, was in some way influencing his sister in a bad way- and anyone else- then there was no proof whatsoever that he was guilty.
And since when did Rhaegar love to jump to conclusions anyway? Willamar scowled. Athelinda wasn't the only one who was changing. Well, Rhaegar somehow ended up in his nerves, one way or another.
Athelinda slept soundly. She murmured. She liked to sleep well, although she did not believe in over-indulging in such a thing. But she would be refreshed and glowing when the morning came, she was sure of it.
But she wasn't alone. There was Tom Riddle. How in the world he managed to get into the girls' dormitory- and Athelinda's room to be precise, no one would have a single clue. But he stood there- and he had something. He laid a golden and silver trinket on a table- it was beautifully wrought. But then he frowned. Perhaps he should wait a while. But he stayed silently near the doorway. And murmured something, raising his hand in the air- without a wand.
Athelinda smiled in her sleep.
Tom Riddle found himself smiling as well. Before he looked confused, as to why he did so.
The next day dawned bright and it took a few hours for the parents to have their mail sent to them.'
Rhaegar- unlike his sister in the Slytherin Dungeons- did not sleep well. There were half-circles under his eyes, and when Willamar saw them, he grimaced.
Time was taking its toll on Rhaegar- and so was the war. He had been receiving news from the front, and Merlin, did they look bad. His handsome face was pinched and pale.
He tied the letter and the package to the owl's feet and sent it on its way.
He stared at the owl for a long while, before striding to the lakeside.
He didn't care if Tom Riddle showed up just to annoy him. He was that miserable.
Shaking his head, despite it being a warm- or in the very least temperate- May day, he wrapped his robes around him, wishing he could put on a winter cloak.
He didn't notice the flock of girls who had suddenly stopped what they were doing- whatever it was- to stare and giggle silently at him.
Once at the water's edge, he breathed out a heavy sigh.
He stared at the liquid, not really seeing anything.
Well, he did see something.
Flames, and houses burning. The bloodied sword at his hand, the wand in his other. The sounds of people screaming. And finally, him, watching emotionlessly at the gruesome sight before him- a sight he himself created.
He stared and felt, for the first real time since they took him, liquid forming at the base of his tear-duct and rolling itself outwards, falling down his skin, onto the blood-soaked mud beneath.
The blood which he spilled.
He had sworn. He broke his vow then, never to cry. He kept it when they stripped the shirt from his back. He kept it when they tied him to the pole and lashed him with the whip which had different-coloured flames dancing upon its multiple leather tails. He kept it when they laughed and jeered, and humiliated and tortured him, and the ones who were unfortunate enough to be with him- slaves as he was. Children of the Endless Night- that was what they called them…
He swore his vow when he was separated from his father. And he kept it, swearing that he would never cry like a baby, the way they wanted him to- even when he killed the first innocent- an act that he knew would never leave him.
And yet… he'd cried. He cried then, when he saw what he had done. He cried when she had left after appearing in his dreams. And he'd cried then, when he saw what he did, because no matter what he did to rescue her, and despite her own freedom, even if they were to see each other again, she would not know him. He had turned into a monster.
It was a monster which he saw every time he looked into a mirror. It was a monster every time he gazed upon the surface of liquid that stared back at him. It was a monster which murdered countless innocents. And he knew it would never leave him.
No matter how many rights he did. No matter how young he was when they took him. No matter what Dumbledore said.
He snapped back into reality.
He gazed at his reflection on the water's surface. He remembered the story about a Greek man who was enchanted into falling in love with his own reflection- and then transfigured into a flower. Small chance of that for him, he thought, and it was the closest he had ever come to wanting to smile that day.
She would see him as a monster- he had no doubt. How could anyone forget what had been done to him, and what he had done, once they actually saw for themselves- like she did?
He could hear the giggles of the girls who were observing him. He didn't care. He didn't give a damn. What did they know? And if they did know they would run away.
And they weren't her. They could never replace or be her. Not even if they looked like her. He shook his head.
How many years has it been? He could almost laugh. How many years? It wasn't right for a boy to go on about his first love, surely?
And yet, here he was.
He wondered if his sister had love.
But he knew his brother did- even if he refused to talk about it.
Willamar's love was the dead girl Feodora Williams.
He wasn't a fool. Everyone did not talk about her death, because Armando Dippet didn't want any more mayhem than was necessary. Feodora Williams' death could unhinge everyone at a time when peace was desperately needed. It could turn the tide of support towards Grindelwald.
And so Willamar pushed it to the back of his mind- acted like and thought as if he did not feel anything, or even remember that a girl, he so loved, despite being born into an insane family, was brutally killed, by the ones who were supposed to love her. Who burned her alive.
Rhaegar wondered she still lived. If she made it to freedom. And most of all, if she still thought or even remembered him.
He swallowed. It was hard. It was harder than he imagined. To put the damned thoughts away from his mind, he wondered if it was possible that Tom Riddle would love his sister. But it was such a disturbing, impossible thought, if he had the heart for it, he would laugh mockingly. But then his eye caught a sight which did not please him.
He stood at the water's edge his hand on the tree trunk, and he felt his fingers close into a fist, ripping bits of bark from the tree in a rage that clawed sharper than dragon's teeth.
Tom Riddle and Athelinda.
He loathed him.
Tom smiled. Athelinda cocked her head to one side, like a cobra, surveying something with curiosity.
He merely smiled at her.
"Why did you bring me here?" She asked, her black eyes suddenly luminous.
He held out his hand. She took it, curious. No, she wasn't stupid, but she was blind to some things. Not so much for some time, now.
She had first started to become aware of certain things: firstly how he looked when he saw her. That little smile, almost teasing, indulgent- the smile he used on others who found favour with him. But then it changed into something else- something more relaxed, and calm, and… what was it? Surely it wasn't more straightforward?
But that wasn't it. He would touch her- taking her hand- not some outdated display of gallantry, but although she took it for that at first she realised, it was more warm than cordial.
She had laughed at herself. Scoffed, even. Why in the world should she, Athelinda, ever want something as ludicrous and stupid as romance?
It was just a show of how self-absorbed she had become that she thought highly of herself. She always scorned false modesty, but she had become a victim to something far worse: pride.
He held out his hand. She took it.
Yes, she admitted, in her heart of hearts (although she was too damned proud to say it to herself) that there might be something more. He drew her closer.
Then he held something out.
It was a beautifully-crafted bangle. Fashioned exquisitely of gold and silver in such beautiful, intricate patterns, small and perfect, yet flashing in the light.
She drew a sharp breath.
"How-" she stammered. "What-but-" But Tom cut her off.
"It is a gift," he said, there was something soft in his eyes, black as hers, something gentle and light.
Something that was completely alien to him, and yet belonged there right now.
There was no one else around (that she knew).
Athelinda might have been blind to businesses other than her own, but she could observe very well, once something caught her attention.
He slipped it onto her wrist. It glittered and flashed in the sunlight.
She looked up at him. She stared, wordlessly, trying to figure out why he was doing this, but with none of her usual icy, calculated ways. She was hopelessly bewildered.
"Something for you to rejoice in," he said musingly. "Something which makes you remember," he went quiet after that, staring into her eyes.
She was wordless, still.
"Remember me," he said so quietly, she barely heard him.
And strange enough, both actually forgot where they were, and that there was a war going on.
"Don't forget," he whispered and he knew she wouldn't. As for her… well, she did not say what she normally would have, a scathing, snide remark about her memory being better than most, including him.
She was silent, staring in his eyes. Black upon black.
It didn't look like they would look away.
Rhaegar's blood boiled.
Was it loathing?
Was it the over-protective nature of a loving elder brother- especially one who had known grief?
Was it jealousy? Jealousy that they had something that he and his brother had lost?
It disturbed him to think about it.
But maybe he was overreacting. His brother certainly believed so.
Willamar and Rhaegar thus ended up eavesdropping on Athelinda in the Great Hall with her new 'friends'.
They heard her laughter- a wonderful tinkling sound that they had loved in better times. But now it was accompanied by the stupid guffaws and insensitive sniggers of a large crowd of students.
They heard her say: "Sometimes when I read Bathilda Bagshot, I have the sneaking suspicion about her writing. I think she's trying to be funny!" People roared with laughter."
"No!" They heard one of them exclaim. "Absolutely not!" Was it... Nott?!
"Well, I think she does try," Athelinda said mockingly. Rhaegar felt himself tense in rage. She was mocking others without them being around! He had heard from Dumbledore that Bathilda Bagshot was not feeling well recently. She had been teaching and writing for students and those that wanted to learn, and here was Athelinda, so full of herself, younger and more inexperienced, yet thinking she could do a better job and openly implying this to students who were likely to have been assisted by Ms. Bagshot herself- and their parents before them!
He never had patience with gossip and backstabbing. Nor with rumour-mongering and spreading lies. It didn't matter that the person they are talking about, was unlikely to meet them! It was cruel, and he doubted anyone would like to be talked about and mocked in such a way.
"Are you mocking her?" tittered Lucretia Greengrass- another sycophant that Athelinda would not have normally associated herself with.
He gritted his teeth as his sister made a reply.
"Of course, I don't mock her works- the way she writes things down, the way she sees history," Athelinda said casually, but he could almost see the glittering in her eye. "I see people's opinions the way I see their pets: I may like them, I may be disgusted, but I don't want to take them home with me."
They roared with laughter.
Rhaegar had had enough. He marched into the Great Hall, whereupon everybody noticed his arrival.
He had a gift for that- for inspiring in others what he wanted them to feel.
Except for his sister. She was dressed in an evening gown, black as usual, more suited for ball or a feast, than for an after-hours gathering with friends. It was just proof to show that she was different. She never used to care about what others thought. Now she was flamboyant and showed off.
He stood still and ice radiated from his form and filled the group of 'friends' with terror.
"Brother," Athelinda acknowledged, intentionally sounding unimpressed, and standing.
"Quite the gathering," he began icily. "But I fear I might have to break this up. You see, curfew will be enforced quite soon." he said soft and dangerous. Athelinda started when she thought he might be mocking her. "And thus students that aren't in their common rooms in a few minutes time, will face detention. It will be the responsibility of any prefect or Head Student to report such things- of course, the prefect will need to remember," he finished his eyes glinting.
Athelinda flushed in humiliated rage as the students hurriedly stood and filed out the Great Hall, as quick as they could. When the last of the students had left, Rhaegar turned to Athelinda.
She looked like a rearing, hissing, about-to-strike-venom-and-constrict Naga. The Atlantean-witch Nagini queen hissed at her brother.
"How dare you humiliate me in front of-" "In front of who?" Rhaegar gave a harsh laugh. "Your friends?" It was the closest he had ever come to a sneer.
"It is quite funny, how you were never stupid or senseless enough to consider them your friends until now," he finished in a mocking tone.
"Don't you dare insult me," she hissed. There was so much venom in her voice that anyone would have flinched and even fled, but Rhaegar had suffered far worse than any tantrum she could ever throw up. The idea that she might try to chase him away was laughable. "It is more than enough that you should humiliate me, either in public or private-"
Rhaegar scoffed and laughed out loud. "Like you?" he shot back. "Don't be such a hypocrite. You can't stand what you gladly give to others?"
She narrowed her eyes. "Bathilda Bagshot was never around when I discuss her."
"Neither are you when others talk about you," her brother shot back. "I suppose you like it then, when others do that? Because they do, Athelinda. They most certainly do."
Athelinda hissed and flushed further. "They would never dare-"
"Oh, so now you decide to care about something which was normally so beneath you?" he snapped. "The opinions of others? Any of your business?"
"It is my business when they discuss me," she hissed.
"And it's Bathilda's business when you discuss her work," he countered acidly. "Are you so high and mighty, that you hold yourself above the common folk? The ones that you so 'want to change the world' for?" He snarled.
She hissed at him. 'Get to bed," he snapped. "You're becoming more despicable by the day, Athelinda. It's a good thing Father and Mother aren't here to see you- it's a good thing no one really sees you for who you really are now."
He turned and left.
Athelinda almost shrieked behind him: "Don't think you are better than me, Rhaegar! You were abducted and fought to escape, and just because of that, we've had to live in your shadow for the whole of our lives! Well, don't get too comfortable with this arrangement," she snarled. "I was chosen to change the world. What did you do Rhaegar? Ear glory for Father's mishap in taking you to Europe?" She almost screamed.
But Rhaegar was already gone, the blood rising within him, and something more- the pain.
"This has just made it worse," Willamar mumbled. And it had. Now Rhaegar and Athelinda had officially drawn the battle lines- at least that was how she thought.
Rhaegar shook his head. "Why did you do it? You know it was going to turn her against you, the way she is going now." Willamar asked.
But he replied. "Yes, she's never going to forgive me. But at least I said something to warn her- or try to do something- even if it fails- even if she turns against me, it's worth it. At least she won't go to the wrong path, believing completely that it's the right. She might choose not to hear it, but somewhere, she remembers what I said. No matter what anyone else might lead her to believe- the ones that will lead her to ruin. It's worth her hating me."
He sighed. "We have to make sacrifices sometimes," he said. "For the people we love. Even if it is at our expense. Even if it is them."
His mind and heart jolted back against his will, years ago, when he set a young girl free.
He stopped and stared blankly.
Willamar stared at him.
"Do you still think of her?" he asked numbly. Rhaegar looked down and nodded his head.
Willamar stared blankly into space. He saw it then. He refused to think about it for so long. The flames rising, growing and curling around her slender form as she begged for mercy. The flames devouring her, and crisping her flesh, skin, eyes and hair. The curses of the Muggles, including the parents who were supposed to love her.
Tears threatened to fall, but he held them back. He closed his eyes.
When he opened them, Rhaegar was looking at him in grief. "She would want you to be happy," he said numbly.
But was it possible?
Willamar made his way to the Hufflepuff Basement. He turned right from the kitchen corridor and tapped the stack of barrels in the passcode of the Hufflepuffs. It was always the same. Hufflepuffs were constant- loyal and fair. It never changed.
The Gryffindors' common room and the Slytherins' had passwords that kept changing. Ravenclaws' riddles changed every time someone managed to answer correctly. But Hufflepuffs were constant. And although they were seen as the weakest in all four houses, no one had any idea what loyalty, honesty and justice was worth until the time came to test it and one's friends. Loyalty and justice could save just as much as courage, cunning and intelligence.
The doors swung open. It was warm, cosy and welcoming like a mother whose children are arriving home just in time for the evening meal. It was by far not grand, but it was safe. These were always the feelings Willamar had when arriving.
The wonderful, earthy room was a home in which one could be content and happy.
Round, with circular windows (now drawn with curtains) that showed the lawns of grass and wildflowers, the room also had plants that could dance and talk, as well as ones that merely looked cosy and welcoming, and black and yellow overstuffed armchairs and sofas on which students were sitting.
Many fell silent and gazed at him, stopping in whatever they were doing. But it wasn't a silence based upon ostracization, but on pity. They like Rhaegar knew, about his feeling and heartbreak for Feodora. Unlike Athelinda. Pity might not be desired, but he unlike his sister, knew better than to take it in humiliation. Pity was by far, better than rejection, mockery and hatred. So he tolerated it, even though it was not desired.
He went through the tunnels and into his private room. He used the colloportus charm on the door, so everyone would get the message and leaned against it.
There, he allowed himself to sob and to nurse his broken heart. Others might laugh, but they did not know the pain she endured burning to ash, while her parents wished her to hell. And they did not know how he felt.
And neither would Athelinda, who had yet to learn the true worth of love.
In the very same evening, the youngest- and thus the most overlooked until now- of the four siblings was also eavesdropping.
She had no choice.
Little Philomena loved learning new things more than anything. Everything was so fascinating. She was eager- and the more she learned, the more she wanted to learn. It was insatiable, and she marvelled at it herself.
She was eager to start Hogwarts. But she had been too young until August would come that year. And by then, beloved Rhaegar, would have left. At least she would have Willamar. And Athelinda.
But Athelinda she barely saw. The two were close when she was little, but eventually Athelinda grew absorbed in her studies, spending hours rewriting essays and Philomena had nothing against it, she tried to emulate and enthusiastically so, understanding and admiring and idolising her elder sister and her brothers. But Athelinda no longer had the time to answer her endless questions, or explain what this and that meant in books. And if she was not studying, then she was locked in her room, with her snakes, whose company she preferred.
And there were other things. Things that frustrated her- and if there was something that frustrated her in the world, it was the inability to answer a question.
She could not understand why Willamar looked depressed and shattered during his stay over the Christmas holidays. She could not understand why she heard her sweet, wonderful, loving brother sobbing, shattered sobs, locked in his bedroom. Why he looked so dead when he emerged.
And she could not understand Rhaegar's nightmares.
When she was little, she always went to Rhaegar, wonderful, golden, flawless Rhaegar whenever she had a nightmare. And he would comfort her, hand on her back when she was small, her on his chest, and when she was bigger, curling up next to him on his bed, while he gently stroked her hair and back, murmuring stories to get her to sleep. But Rhaegar when she learned to cope on her own, had nightmares too. He fought violently with some invisible force in his sleep, even screamed in what sounded like pain and gave shouts and cries like the soldiers in battle. He begged and pleaded and screamed someone's name and woke up in tears. Her brother who was undefeated and invincible. It was not possible.
So she searched the books, her father had brought, coaxed on by her, for 'educational purposes' and 'to prepare myself for Hogwarts' to try and find out what malevolent creature was tormenting her golden brother.
But she found nothing. Try as she might. So she searched for potions instead. She tried to find out if Rhaegar had been taking something undesirable. But she discarded the notion almost immediately. Rhaegar wasn't stupid. And furthermore he took Dreamless Sleep Potions, which he timed to wake him up when he planned. So Rhaegar wouldn't take something only to try to counter its effects, later on.
She eavesdropped on her parents.
"-no attacks since in Hogwarts," she heard her father say. "And there's a stalemate, from what my comrades have told me." Hogwarts? Who was attacking who? It was the safest building in the country.
"Our children- they are safe?" Her mother choked. Her voice sounded strained. "Will they come home?"
"They are not targeted," her father said. "They are safe there."
"Are they alright?" Her mother kept saying choking on her tears.
"Will they come home? I don't care what comes, I just want them home!"
"Katerina, love," he said gently. "Hogwarts is the safest place by far. I trust Dumbledore. I might have had misgivings about Dippet, but Dumbledore is another matter entirely. Furthermore, our children have suffered worse."
"I don't give a damn!" Her mother wailed. "I want them, now! I want them home! I lost two of them already- we was lucky to get them back, beyond reason! But what if they don't come back?" She started to choke on her sobs.
What happened to her brother? She already knew what happened to Athelinda, from what she coaxed Winny into telling, but what about her brother- and which one?
For the first time in her life, Philomena felt more than just frustration for her unanswered questions. She felt fear.
Her father found her that evening, reading a book, she smiled brightly at him, revealing she heard nothing. He smiled and for a moment, all the pain, worry and anxiety disappeared. But only for a moment.
"Little One," he said. "Rhaegar is having his coming-of-age ceremony- I am taking him to the elders this year. But sadly, you won't be able to see him then. You must prepare for Hogwarts. You need to buy spellbooks with your mother, cauldron, robes and a wand among other things. But there is something you need to know."
He came into the room. Closing the door with a sigh, he came and sat on the bed. "For years your mother and I have protected you, ever since you were born. But now we will be forced to let you go- whether we want to or not. And it is always painful. And we shall worry. You are too young to know many things. But you have to know," he said when she looked at him indignantly "that what you read and prepare yourself for, is nothing like what happens when you face the situation face to face. Nothing can prepare you for that- for the joys, triumphs, and pain and sorrow you shall feel. But I think I can warn you. You are too young. But I don't think that you should go, despite your youth, without knowing some answers. You are not to discuss this with anyone. But you need to know, otherwise, you will find yourself even more in trouble, perhaps. We have tried to protect you, Little One. But I fear that you need to learn more in order to protect yourself. I do not think that it is what you want, to stay at home all your life. But please understand. What we try to keep, we do so for your sake." He looked at her sadly.
And you must discuss this with no one." He finished. She nodded. For the first time, she felt fear, even though she always dreamt of answers.
Well, this damn thing accidentally deleted much of the first two copies! And sorry it took so long. I'll be very busy from now. But I can explain some things. Rhaegar was a child soldier- taken captive, tortured and brutalized, forced to fight and kill, before he managed to escape and before he did so, released the one he loved from captivity- a young girl, different from anyone and anything he had ever met. I don't know whether you'll see her, but she is important- perhaps in sequels, who knows? But as a member of the Children of the Endless Night, Rhaegar was left scarred and haunted for life. Will he heal? Will Willamar? And what if Willamar tries and finds revenge? I didn't elaborate about him and Feodora, the girl he loved who was burnt on the stake by her Muggle parents- lynched. But this is important, because things are about to go insane in the next chapter. The war is about to step up- and something happens in June- something we know about. And something more in July. And we will also learn more about Atlantean Culture. However, the relationship between the siblings is diving towards a break, and Athelinda is headed for disaster- and eventual regret. Because everything goes insane soon enough. We will have more attacks- and the war will be escalated- on whose terms, I don't know.
P.s : Is she turning into a b***h, as I hoped? Someone people will want to slap? I hope so, because things are about to get deadly.