Nathaniel Babalola trudged down the cobblestone path leading to the Heron Estate, pail of dead newts in tow.

The sun hadn't yet, though it wasn't cold.

His feet were sore, he tried his best to ignore it.

Nathaniel's eyes kept flickering between the oak trees next to the path, and the dozen or so smooth newts in his bucket. Nathaniel hadn't wanted to kill the newts, but there was no budging with his mother.

Nathaniel didn't know why the woman insisted he go collect and kill a bucket's worth of newts in the middle of the night, when they had plenty of servants at home who could take the job, but no, he had to, because it would be a "learning experience."

Nathaniel rolled his eyes, continuing down the path, his hands curled into fists.

The trees were thinning out, the music of the forest dwindling.

Nathaniel turned a corner, and a Victorian Manor House, made out of reddish-brown bricks, stood before him. Impressive in appearance and well cared for, despite the oppressive undertone of that made it feel as though spirits of the past still lingered within its walls.

The house wasn't actually haunted; his mother would never allow that. But the goosebumps that crept down his neck when he was alone for more than a couple of hours at a time might have made him believe otherwise on more than one occasion.

He walked faster, hoping to get some sleep before breakfast. When he got to the front gate, he dug into his satchel, searching for keys.

It was very annoying that he'd have to wait until marriage to trade out his heir ring for his mother's matriarch ring; it would allow him to unlock any and all locks on property protected by his family's blood.

It took a minute of rummaging for him to remember that his mother had taken the trace off of him the night he had gotten home.

He took out his wand.

"Accio," Nathaniel casted.

The key flew out of one of the front pockets. Nathaniel facepalmed, the one place he forgot to look.

Nathaniel opened the gate and the ground turned to gravel. There were several pathways that led to the extensive gardens nearby. Distant hoots could be heard coming from the owlery. Nathaniel continued down the walkway. He opened the front door and walked inside.

The entrance hall was an elegant room. Its floors were made of polished mahogany, and its pale blue walls were adorned with plasterwork. There were two marble staircases leading to the first floor.

Nathaniel ignored these, and went down the long hallway connecting it to the rest of the ground floor.

The wallpaper was floral and green here; on the walls were many paintings, some made by his father, others family portraits that had been there for generations.

The most recent had been painted just before his fifteenth birthday; it was of him and his parents.

Nathaniel stopped to look at the portrait, it gave goosebumps, though he didn't know why.

Nathaniel's father, Ade Babalola, had his hand gripped on his son's left shoulder, his mother, Coventina Heron, had her hand on his right.

His father was a rather fat man, he had coily hair, and a closely cropped bread, he was in his late thirties, his skin was a dark brown, he looked wilful and assertive, though if you actually met him you'd know that was about as far from the truth as you could get.

His mother was very tall, with pale skin. Her hair was long and white-blonde, and her face was diamond-shaped. She would have said that her demeanor demonstrated elegance and poise , but Nathaniel just thought it made her look cold and intimidating. However, when did she not exemplify coldness and intimidation?

Nathaniel sat in his wheelchair, at the forefront of the painting. His hair was coily and the color of charcoal. He had a square jaw, his skin a cool, dark brown. He was stocky, but not as fat as his father.

That was accurate enough, but the artist had smoothed out all the imperfections in his skin. Nathaniel wasn't upset; he'd had a bad case of acne that week and certainly didn't want it immortalized.

Nathaniel walked away from the portrait and headed down an adjacent hallway. His feet were pulsing sharply, but he started running when he looked out a window and saw the sun on the horizon.

If the sun rose before he got there, his mother would be pissed. Nathaniel did his best to hurry up.

When he arrived in the basement, he was panting. There was a prickling sensation in his chest. He sat down on the stone floor to catch his breath.

On the opposite wall, there was a door. It led to his mother's ritual room. At the end of that room, there was another staircase, hidden behind a door. It led to the servants' quarters. Right next to the servants' quarters was the dungeon. The entrance was outside.

Nathaniel satback up, stiffly, and walked to the other side of the corridor.


Nathaniel stopped dead in the doorway, the ritual room had always given him the creeps.

It was dark, gloomy, and smelt of something sickeningly citrus, clearly intended to mask the smell of dried blood.

There was a large cauldron in the center; a wooden table stood right by the door. At the back of the room, there was a desk, and several shelves. On these shelves were jars filled with herbs, crystal powders, and various animal parts.

His mother snapped her fingers, and Nathaniel flinched, startled. He had stood motionless in the doorway for longer than he had realised.

"Nathaniel, what are you waiting in the doorway for? Come in, I didn't send you out just so you could dither in the doorway." She dragged him towards the back of the room.

"Uhh, sorry, Mother. I just... I didn't mean to zone out," Nathaniel said, placing the bucket of newts on the table. He fidgeted with his hands nervously, his eyes flickering around the room.

Nathaniel had the urge to take out the small dagger he kept in his sleeve, but decided that wouldn't win him any favors. He wasn't going to do anything with it, obviously; it was just a nervous habit he found hard to break.

Mother tutted, and continued,

"Nathaniel, I know you don't like harvesting animals, but if you're to become a dark wizard next summer as you said you would, you'll have to get used to blood."

Nathaniel did not know what to say to that. Sure, becoming a dark wizard had been his dream for as long as he could remember, which admittedly was not that far back, as his earliest full memory had been from when he was about nine, but did that mean he was never allowed to be a little hesitant about snuffing the life out of innocent creatures?

Of course, Nathaniel would never actually say anything like that to his mother's face, and he weakly replied, "I know... it's just hard to fully, uhhh, conceptualize ."

Her face twisted in an odd way.

"Fine... just conceptualise it by Samhain. I need you that weekend," she sounded as though she were holding something back.

"Now, go get some sleep, Mr. Higgs is coming here for dinner tonight, I don't want you to be tired for that."

Mr. Higgs was a good friend of his father's, and often visited Heron Manor with his nephew Terence, who lived with him as his parents had died during the war. He was a prominent ministry official, and a member of the Most Extraordinary Society of Potioneers.

If Nathaniel was being honest, he found the man annoying, but again, he would never say that in front of his parents.

"Yes, mother."

He headed out of the ritual room, and trudged up the stairs, exhausted.

Nathaniel arrived in his bedroom, it was large, the wallpaper was cream coloured, he had a four poster bed

reminiscent of those found in the Slytherin dormitories, there were three cushy blue sofas in one of the

corners, and an intricate desk with many drawers on one of the walls.

Nathaniel started changing into his pyjamas, when his eyes wandered to his desk, where there was a half

finished letter, addressed to his boyfriend, Charlie Weasley.

Charlie.

Charlie.

A soft smile broke out on his face.

They had been dating each other for a month, though it still suprised Nathaniel that they were.

Many people would have called him exceedingly arrogant, and he could not exactly deny the fact that he had pride in just about everything he did. However, he had never considered himself deluded enough to believe that someone like Charlie Weasley would like him. Yet, for some unknown, mysterious reason, Charlie did.

Nathaniel didn't care for Quidditch, nor for the popularity one could attain by joining a house team; however, that didn't change the fact that Charlie was a star player on the Gryffindor team, and the fact that he wanted to date Nathaniel, of all people, was odd.

What was even odder, was that Nathaniel had wanted to date Charlie too.

Ignoring the fact that Charlie was a blood traitor, if anyone found out he was dating a member of the Gryffindor Quidditch team, he would be a social pariah, a recreant to his own house. Nathaniel had never been particularly drawn to rebellion; he was a Slytherin, and that was normal for Slytherins.

Yet, the day he'd met Charlie something had changed. It wasn't immediate, and Nathaniel was still terrified of the idea of open

disobedience, but when he had looked into Charlie's eyes he had seen an intelligence, like there was more going on behind them then he'd expected.

He had decided to keep coming back to their spot in the black forest, though he knew he would be in a lot of trouble of anyone found out, and Charlie kept coming back too.

Which eventually led to the evening before their first O.W.L exam, when Charlie had told him to come to their spot in the forest. Nathaniel had thought it would be like any of their other meetings, but then, Charlie kissed him.

It was not Nathaniel's first, but it was definitely his best. He could still remember the burning sensation on his lips.

The day before they went home, Charlie had asked Nathaniel to be his boyfriend, and Nathaniel had sat in his chair dumbfounded for could have only been a couple minutes, but felt like an eternity.

Of course, he had agreed, Charlie had been his best friend for the better part of two years, the only person he could be completely truthful to, the only one who loved him unconditionally.

Nathaniel had not had the chance to send Charlie a letter yet that summer, as Nathaniel was waiting for the right moment, when his parents would be away to send it. if his parents ever saw the letter, they would tell Professor Snape, and he would rarely, if ever, get to see Charlie.

Professor Snape was Nathaniel's mentor in dark magic, appointed after they learned of Nathaniel's affinity, last year. Professor Snape would, therefore, be the only other person in the room when Nathaniel would become a Dark Wizard.

Nathaniel didn't exactly know how he felt about that, on one hand, he wouldn't be allowed to repeat what Nathaniel said while they were doing the ceremony, and considering what was required of him during it, Nathaniel was relieved; On the other hand, the fact that the ceremony required him getting stabbed right below his heart, and bleeding on the floor until he either dies, or dark magic decides to heal him, part of him wished that it was father, or his uncle and mentoring him.

Of course, neither of them would have worked, as your mentor needed to be a declared Dark Wizard. Uncle Max was a Light Wizard, and his father was undeclared…

Nathaniel finished putting on his pinstriped pyjamas, and collapsed onto his bed.

Lying there, the pain in his feet having dulled, he supposed that he could've asked for a stranger to be his mentor, which wasn't unheard of, but was only done by people who didn't know a Dark Wixen, or if they did, the person was either not experienced enough to mentor them, or was unwilling too, and neither of those situations applied to Nathaniel.

Maybe he should be grateful that at the very least it wasn't his mother mentoring him, she'd probably try to kill him herself after the ceremony was over, or just give him a beating if she was feeling generous that day…

Nathaniel's thoughts trailed off, settling into a fitful sleep.