Chapter Four
An old man's manipulations
Cassian Atticus Briney
Woodrow - Berkshire London (Windsor)
November 1st, 1981
The room was a riot of colours and laughter as Cassian dove headfirst into a kingdom of his own creation. His toys were strewn across the floor, an assortment of knights and dragons, along with the occasional rogue teddy bear. A makeshift castle of cushions stood proudly in the centre, offering a fortress for his imagination to thrive.
Cassian stormed the castle with boundless energy, brandishing a wooden sword with all the gusto a 3-year-old could muster. His voice rang out in gleeful victory as he vanquished imaginary foes, his laughter echoing off the walls.
But suddenly, the creak of the front door pulled him from his epic battles. His attention snapped to the entrance, where his father stood, a smile on his face but a curious air about him. Daddy had returned, but something was different.
"Daddy!" Cassian's little legs propelled him across the room, his outstretched arms eager to embrace his father. But his father halted him with a gentle hand on his shoulder, a glint of excitement in his eyes.
"Cass," his father's voice was hushed, holding a secret that piqued the young boy's curiosity. "Hold on just a moment, my champion."
Confused but intrigued, Cassian watched as his father carefully placed a bundle on the floor. It was swaddled in soft fabric, and a sound emerged from within—soft cries that held both vulnerability and the promise of a new adventure.
His mother's expression mirrored his confusion, her eyes wide and wary. But his father held up a hand, his voice soothing as he spoke. "Margaret, my love, it's alright. Just wait a moment."
Then, with a touch of magic only grown-ups held, his father gently lifted the bundle and presented it to his mother. Cassian's eyes widened in shock. What was this? A mystery wrapped in warmth?
As his mother unwrapped the fabric, the cries grew louder, more insistent. Cassian's heart raced as the truth dawned on him. In his mother's arms lay a tiny figure, red-faced and crying—a baby.
Cassian's mouth formed an 'O' of astonishment. He looked from the crying baby to his father, his young mind racing to understand. Why was there a baby here? And why was it crying?
His father's smile was a mix of reassurance and joy as he turned to Cassian. "It's alright, my brave little knight. This is your new brother. His name is Peregrine Atlas Briney, but we'll call him Perry."
Cassian stared at Perry, his heart a whirlwind of emotions. A baby brother? He had never imagined this in all his dragon-slaying adventures. The cries continued, the baby's tiny fists waving in the air as if reaching out for something.
And then, before Cassian could fully grasp the moment, his father was there, scooping him up in a warm embrace. "You're going to be a big brother, Cassian," his father's voice was a mixture of pride and love.
"Daddy..." Cassian's voice wavered, his eyes wide as he looked up at his father. Was he a big brother? To this tiny, crying bundle?
His father's embrace tightened momentarily before he gently set Cassian back down. "Now, go back to your play, my little knight. Perry and I have some important grown-up business to take care of."
Cassian's heart swelled with the weight of the moment. With one last look at his new baby brother and the smiles shared among the adults, he returned to his castle, his playtime now interwoven with a new kind of adventure—a journey of family, growth, and the magic of a bond that would shape his world forever.
Margaret watched as her husband Conrad cradled the infant Perry in his arms, a tender smile gracing his lips. Conrad's excitement was palpable, his eyes alight with newfound purpose. She couldn't help but be amused by the situation—a homeless baby named by her husband, and now, a new addition to their family.
As Perry's cries began to subside in Conrad's soothing hold, Margaret caught his eye and raised an eyebrow, her lips curling into a gentle smile. "So, my dear, you've taken it upon yourself to name a homeless baby."
Conrad chuckled; his love for their little family was evident in his gaze. "Well, you know how I am, always one for dramatic gestures."
Margaret's amusement deepened as she observed Perry's tiny fingers clutching Conrad's shirt. "And Peregrine? That's a rather adventurous name, don't you think?"
Conrad's smile didn't waver as he met her gaze. "It suits him, I believe. A journey into the unknown, just like our little adventure."
Margaret's heart swelled with affection for her husband. He had a way of turning even the most unexpected situations into something meaningful and heartfelt.
Later that evening, the atmosphere in the Briney household was one of celebration. The grand dining room was adorned with flickering candles and elegant decorations, a far cry from the makeshift castle of cushions in the other room. Cassian's eyes were wide with wonder as he took in the festive scene.
Margaret's eyes twinkled as she approached her husband, who held Perry in his arms once again. "You know, Conrad, if you're going to name a baby, you should also celebrate his birthday."
Conrad's brow furrowed in confusion. "But we don't know his actual birth—"
Margaret waved a hand dismissively. "Details, my love. I've decided that today shall be Perry's birthday."
Conrad chuckled, his eyes dancing with amusement. "And why is that?"
Margaret leaned in, whispering in his ear, "Because, my dear, you brought him into our lives today."
Conrad's expression softened, his gaze shifting to the infant in his arms. Perry's wide eyes blinked at him, innocence and trust in his gaze. Conrad's heart swelled as he realised the truth in Margaret's words.
"You're absolutely right," he murmured, his voice full of warmth and love.
And so, surrounded by the glow of candles and the laughter of their family, Margaret and Conrad decided to link November 1st to the start of a new chapter in their lives. As Perry's tiny hand reached out to touch Conrad's finger, they sealed their commitment to him, Cass, and the family's journey ahead.
Unseen by the adults, Cassian's eyes widened as he overheard their words. He might not have understood the depth of their conversation, but he felt the magic of their decision. November 1st wasn't just a date—it was the beginning of a celebration, a promise, and a bond that transcended time and circumstance.
As the adults continued to bask in the joy of the evening, Cassian found himself a quiet corner to play with his toys. Unbeknownst to them, he was about to overhear another conversation that would reveal the heart-wrenching origins of the newest member of their family.
His parents' hushed tones reached his ears, and he instinctively leaned closer, his curiosity piqued by their serious conversation.
Margaret's voice was gentle but probing. "Conrad, where did you find him? I can't imagine someone would just abandon a child like this."
Conrad's sigh was heavy with sorrow. "It was in an alley, Margaret. A man—fat, beefy—threw him from a car."
Cassian's eyes widened at the words, his young mind struggling to process the gravity of the situation. Someone had thrown Perry from a car? The world outside their cosy home suddenly seemed much harsher and colder.
Margaret's gasp was both horrified and sympathetic. "Thrown? Oh, Conrad, how could anyone—"
"I don't know, my dear," Conrad's voice held a touch of anger as he continued. "But I couldn't just leave him there."
As the weight of the conversation settled over Cassian, he realised that Perry's journey to their family had been one of hardship and uncertainty. But now, here in their warm home, surrounded by love and celebration, Perry had found his place.
And so, as the night continued to unfold, Cassian's heart held a newfound understanding of the importance of family and the bonds that held them together. Amid his own adventures and games, he had stumbled upon a deeper truth—that their family, with all its quirks and challenges, was a place of safety, love, and the magic of belonging.
Albus Dumbledore
Hogwarts
November 1st
Dumbledore reclined on the plush couch in his office, his gaze fixed on the enchanting patterns that danced across the ceiling. A serene smile graced his lips as he allowed himself a rare moment of relaxation. The world was at peace, and for the first time in a long while, a sense of calm seemed to envelop everything.
The prophecy had played out, and the dark forces were vanquished. Harry was safely ensconced with the Dursleys, Voldemort's power was shattered, and a decade of tranquillity was ahead. Dumbledore's fingers steepled against his chin as he savoured the satisfaction of a well-earned respite.
Just as his eyes began to droop and the edges of sleep beckoned, a shift in the air caught his attention. His eyes snapped open, and his senses heightened. There was a shift, a disturbance in the weave of magic that surrounded him.
A frown tugged at the corners of Dumbledore's mouth. He leaned forward, his eyes narrowing as he focused on the array of magical instruments in his office. Each one was a conduit, a link to the threads of magic that intertwined with the world beyond. And one of those threads was wavering, flickering like a candle in a gust of wind.
He watched in growing concern as the instruments that monitored Harry's well-being, his very existence as a magical being, went silent. The soft hum that had been a constant companion in the background ceased, replaced by an eerie stillness.
Dumbledore's heart quickened. His mind raced through possibilities, searching for an explanation. This was unprecedented, unforeseen. Harry was at the Dursleys, far from any immediate danger. Voldemort's power had been vanquished; the threat was diminished.
And yet, something was amiss. A disturbance in the tapestry of magic, an absence that sent ripples through the very fabric of existence.
Dumbledore's eyes darkened as he rose from the couch, his thoughts already in motion. He reached out, his fingers brushing against the edge of the Pensieve, and within moments, he was immersed in his own memories. The threads of time had unwound, revealing insights, connections, and a deeper understanding of the forces at play.
The silence of the instruments echoed in his mind, a puzzle piece that refused to fit. With a determined set to his jaw, Dumbledore stepped away from the Pensieve. He had a role to play, a mystery to unravel. The tranquillity that had settled upon the world might be threatened, and he would not rest until he understood the source of this disturbance.
As Dumbledore's footsteps carried him out of his office, the enigmatic calm that had enveloped him was replaced by a resolute determination. The world might have found a moment of peace, but the currents of magic and destiny never truly stood still. There were questions to be answered, challenges to be faced, and an unyielding resolve to protect the fragile equilibrium that had been achieved.
Dumbledore's footsteps carried him out of his office, his mind focused and determined. The echoing silence of the instruments that monitored Harry's magical presence continued to weigh on his thoughts, propelling him forward.
Down the spiralling staircase, he descended, his robes billowing with an air of purpose. He moved with an almost ethereal grace, an ageless presence that commanded respect and awe. As he passed portraits and suits of armour, even the magical artefacts seemed to stir in recognition of the powerful sorcerer in their midst.
Finally, he stood before the immense doors that led to the outside world. The warmth of his office was replaced by a chill, but his resolve remained unshaken. He raised a hand, and with a gesture, the doors swung open to reveal the world beyond—the ordinary suburban neighbourhood that housed the Dursleys.
As Dumbledore made his way through the neighbourhood, his
presence seemed to alter the atmosphere. Trees whispered secrets to the wind, and animals darted away, sensing the magic that radiated from him. People passing by might not have been able to put a finger on what was different, but a sense of awe and unease accompanied his every step.
At last, he stood before Number Four, Privet Drive—the residence of the Dursleys. He raised his hand to knock, but before his knuckles could make contact, the door swung open, revealing a startled and dismayed Vernon Dursley.
Dumbledore's gaze bore into Vernon's, a piercing blue that seemed to see beyond the surface. His voice, when it finally spoke, was both calm and commanding. "Mr. Dursley, I believe we have a matter to discuss."
Vernon stumbled back, his usually blustering demeanour faltering in the face of this formidable figure. The magic surrounding Dumbledore seemed to fill the room, pressing on Vernon's every nerve.
"Who... who are you?" Vernon's voice trembled his face a portrait of fear and uncertainty.
"Albus Dumbledore," came the reply, the weight of the name carrying a reputation that sent shivers down Vernon's spine.
Before Vernon could respond, Dumbledore's voice rose, filling the room with a presence that seemed to defy the laws of nature. "You will listen, and you will answer truthfully."
The words reverberated in the air, and a wave of compulsion washed over Vernon. He found himself unable to look away, unable to lie. Memories and thoughts seemed to rise to the surface of his mind, ready to be scrutinised by Dumbledore's all-seeing gaze.
Yet, as Dumbledore delved into Vernon's memories, he encountered an unexpected obstacle. The memories were sluggish, hazy—like trying to grasp at thoughts through a fog. It was as if they were veiled by some sort of mental barrier.
Dumbledore's brow furrowed in concentration. He delved deeper, his Legilimency probing the mental defences Vernon had unconsciously erected. And then, amidst the fog, a scene began to emerge.
He saw Vernon behind the wheel of a car, his face contorted in anger. Beside him, a bundle lay on the seat, a baby—Harry Potter—wrapped in swaddling clothes. The car stopped in a dimly lit alley, and Vernon's movements were harsh and determined as he retrieved the baby.
Dumbledore's heart clenched as he saw Vernon's actions unfold. The memories were fragmented and disjointed as if Vernon himself could barely remember the details. And yet, the essence of what had transpired was clear.
With a surge of magic, Dumbledore withdrew from Vernon's mind, his gaze heavy with sorrow and anger. "You will tell me everything," he commanded, his voice resonating with a power that couldn't be denied.
Pale and sweat-soaked, Vernon stammered out the events he could recall—the alley, the car, the act of abandonment.
Dumbledore's eyes bore into Vernon's, his voice heavy with fury. "You left him to perish like rubbish."
Vernon's shoulders sagged, the weight of his actions crashing down upon him. "I didn't know what to do. I thought he was dangerous."
"His survival was a matter of luck, not your intention," Dumbledore's voice was cold, his gaze unyielding. "You have betrayed not only a child but also the trust that was placed in you."
As the truth hung in the air, Dumbledore's heart ached, for the child left to fate. He turned, his robes billowing as he left the Dursley residence, his mind already calculating the steps that lay ahead.
The silence of the instruments, the absence of Harry's magical presence—it all made sense now. The threads of destiny had woven a new challenge that demanded action, insight, and an unflinching determination to right the wrongs of the past.
And so, as Dumbledore walked away from Number Four, Privet Drive, he knew that the tranquillity he had briefly enjoyed was shattered. The world might have tasted peace, but the currents of magic and fate were unceasing, and Dumbledore was prepared to meet them head-on.
Dumbledore's steps were brisk and purposeful as he strode through the corridors of Hogwarts. The weight of his thoughts pressed upon him, a relentless reminder of the task at hand. He entered his office, the familiar warmth and twinkle replaced by a resolute focus.
With a wave of his wand, a large parchment unfurled itself on his desk. Ancient runes, symbols of power and magic, danced across the surface. Dumbledore's fingers traced patterns in the air, his lips moving in an incantation that invoked the deepest wells of divination.
He had done this countless times before—sought out individuals, traced hidden paths, unravelled mysteries woven into the fabric of the world. But this time was different. This time, he was seeking a presence that had vanished, coordinates that eluded his grasp.
Hours turned into days as Dumbledore poured his considerable skill and wisdom into the task. But the parchment remained stubbornly blank, the symbols refusing to reveal the information he sought. His frustration grew, a knot of uncertainty that tightened in his chest.
Had he lost Harry? Was the absence of magical presence an indication of the worst outcome?
Dumbledore's mind was a tempest of conflicting thoughts. He had faced Death Eaters, ancient curses, and insurmountable odds, but the uncertainty of this moment was unlike anything he had ever encountered. He had come to rely on the steady thread of magic that connected him to the world, to the lives he sought to protect.
And yet, now, that thread had been severed. The silence echoed a void that spoke of possibilities too dire to consider.
With a heavy sigh, Dumbledore leaned back in his chair, his gaze fixed on the parchment. His fingers drummed a rhythm of contemplation on the polished wood. Harry's absence was a challenge that defied his understanding, a mystery that threatened to consume him.
But Dumbledore was not one to surrender to despair. His mind worked like clockwork, turning over every possibility and exploring every avenue. He had faced setbacks before and found a way forward each time.
Slowly, a plan began to take shape. If Albus could not find Harry through conventional means, he would need to seek alternative methods. Old allies, ancient spells, and the very fabric of the magical world itself could hold the key to discovering what had become of the young boy who had faced the darkest forces and emerged triumphant.
As the sun set beyond his office windows, Dumbledore's resolve remained unyielding. The world might have grown quiet, but he knew forces were in motion beneath the surface. He would not rest until he had answers until he knew the fate of the child who had become a symbol of hope and resilience.
With a renewed determination, Dumbledore rose from his chair. The silence that had gripped him was a challenge, but it was a challenge he was prepared to face. The echoes of uncertainty would not define his actions. Instead, he would shape the future, uncover the truth, and ensure that the legacy of Harry Potter lived on—whether in the present or in memory.
Albus Dumbledore
January 1st 1985
Scotland, Wizarding Orphanage
Dumbledore's world was a tapestry of shadows, each thread woven with uncertainty and longing. The steady rhythm of the machines that had once reassured him had been replaced by an unsettling silence—a void that mirrored the emptiness left by the disappearance of his greatest hope. Harry Potter, the boy who had faced the darkest forces, had vanished without a trace, leaving a world desperate for its saviour.
More than three years had passed since that fateful day, yet the ache in Dumbledore's heart had not dulled. His study, once filled with books and artefacts, was now a chamber of echoes—each footfall a reminder of Harry's absence. The world outside continued to turn, but for Dumbledore, time had stalled, frozen in the moment when hope had slipped through his fingers.
His quest for a successor had been nothing short of relentless. He had combed through every page of every book, explored the farthest corners of the magical world, and journeyed to every wizarding orphanage in search of a child who could bear the weight of Harry's legacy. The drama of each encounter had played out like a series of tragic vignettes, with each child falling short of the mark.
Child after child had come before him, each offering a glimmer of promise—a spark that flickered in their eyes or a trait that echoed Harry's essence. Some had inherited the vibrant green eyes that symbolised hope, while others had hair as dark as night. Yet, no matter how close they came, none could capture the totality of Harry's spirit—the blend of innocence and wisdom, courage and vulnerability.
The weight of each letdown was etched on Dumbledore's face, a map of battles fought and hope rekindled. He was a seeker of stars, tirelessly scanning each horizon for the glimmer of possibility, the chance to reclaim the world from darkness. And yet, as each day turned into night and each night into day, the silence of the machines cast a shadow over his resolve.
Now, standing at the precipice of the final wizarding orphanage, Dumbledore's heart was heavy with anticipation and fear. This place, nestled in Scotland, seemed to hold the promise of a definitive answer—a promise that carried the world's weight on its shoulders.
Dumbledore's footsteps carried him through the doors into a world of possibility and uncertainty. The air was thick with the scent of magic and the cries of children, a symphony of life that contrasted sharply with the void he carried within him. As he looked upon the hopeful faces that turned to greet him, he couldn't help but wonder if one of them held the key to filling the chasm that had been left behind.
Yet, each child that came before him was a mirror to his emptiness—a reminder that the puzzle pieces remained scattered, elusive. The drama of his search played out anew as hopeful faces transformed into expressions of disappointment and yearning. Dumbledore's heart clenched with each letdown, his hope flickering in the face of repeated disappointment.
As the day turned to dusk and the orphanage grew quiet, Dumbledore stood at the threshold of a realm where hope and desperation converged.
With a sigh that carried the weight of countless sleepless nights, Dumbledore turned to leave the orphanage. The journey had not ended; instead, it had become a symphony of beginnings and endings—a search that stretched beyond the boundaries of time and space. Harry had been his pawn, a champion destined to face a destiny he had not chosen. And now, without him, the world was a darker place, longing for a light that had been extinguished.
Dumbledore's footsteps carried him out of the orphanage, the heavy doors closing behind him with a finality that echoed in his heart. The world was different now, a landscape of uncertainties and shadows. And yet, as he looked up at the sky, he couldn't help but hold onto a glimmer of hope that somewhere, amidst the vast expanse of magic and mystery, a new light would emerge to guide the way.
Yet, as he walked, a flicker of movement caught Dumbledore's attention—a crevice on the outskirts of the institution, a hidden enclave away from prying eyes. Instinct guided his gaze, and he saw them—a pair of children, their presence both unexpected and compelling. They huddled together like kindred spirits, seeking solace in each other's company.
The boy's hair was a cascade of dirty blond, illuminated by the sun's gentle touch. His icy blue eyes held a crystalline quality that reflected the vast expanse of the magical world. Though he bore no physical resemblance to Harry, there was an air of potential about him—an untamed energy suggesting a different destiny.
Beside him stood his sister, her hair a radiant blend of strawberry and white-blond, reminiscent of a sunrise breaking through the morning mist. Her hair was a tapestry of colours, a unique combination that painted her as a creature of fire and sun. The connection to Lily was close but could have been closer.
But Albus could see the way her eyes flashed that she had the same spirit of fierce independence that had defined the late witch.
As Dumbledore observed the pair, hidden away in their sanctuary, he sensed the boy's determination—a determination that mirrored his own. There was something about these children, a whisper of destiny that tugged at his heartstrings. It was as if the world had conspired to present him with this moment, a moment that held the potential to change the course of their lives and, perhaps, the fate of the wizarding world.
But Albus understood the weight of his choices—the moral dilemma he faced in manipulating their lives to fit a narrative. He turned away, a sigh escaping his lips, knowing the road ahead would be fraught with challenges and uncertainties. He walked away, each step an echo of his longing, each footfall a reminder of the boy who had been his pawn.
Yet, even as he distanced himself, Dumbledore couldn't shake the sense that fate had not finished with him. He retraced his steps, returning to the crevice where the siblings sought refuge. This time, he met the boy's gaze—eyes that held a flicker of recognition, a glimmer of connection. Albus's gaze was a mix of sadness and determination, a silent promise of a future yet to be written.
Scotland - Wizarding Orphanage
Asher Abercrombie
January 1st - 2nd, 1985
Asher Abercrombie felt an unusual sense of anticipation bubbling within him. In just twelve short hours, he would officially be five years old, a milestone that filled him with excitement. He lay sprawled on the grass, his tiny fingers tracing patterns in the earth as he imagined the adventures that awaited him.
The sun's warm embrace enveloped him, and a contented smile graced his face. Aislynn giggled nearby, her laughter like a soothing melody that joined the symphony of the outdoors. In this fleeting moment, he revelled in the simple joys of childhood, blissfully unaware of the profound changes that loomed on the horizon.
Deciding he wanted to curl up, he went to the small area he considered his hideout. Beckoning to Aislynn, he went inside, curling up, enjoying the gentle wafting of air tickling his face.
Asher sat in the enclave nestled on the outskirts of the wizarding orphanage, his young frame hidden from the world's prying eyes. Despite his youngness, Asher's eyes held a depth that belied his age. Empathic by nature, he was able to perceive the emotions and intentions of people around him, an ability that set him apart from his peers.
The day unfolded like many before it, the gentle breeze rustling the leaves, whispering secrets of a world unknown. Despite the frost of January, Asher had always preferred the outdoors and had never minded being cold, even if it meant curling up with a more giant blanket. Aislynn, it seemed, was the same way, but perhaps that was borne of constantly following him around.
Asher's eyes tracked a figure, a stranger, who entered and exited the orphanage, his presence an anomaly in the otherwise routine day. Asher's keen perception caught the man's fleeting glance in his direction, but he did not react. Instead, he continued to occupy himself, pretending not to have noticed, for he had sensed something about the stranger that made his heart race.
It wasn't merely the man's physical appearance but the complex tapestry of emotions surrounding him. Asher's mind was a mosaic of feelings, and he had an uncanny ability to read the unspoken intentions of those he encountered. It was a talent that had served him well in understanding the world beyond his years.
As the man left and returned, their eyes met once more. Asher's stare remained fixed on his surroundings, yet he knew that the man had come back specifically to meet his eyes. The air seemed to crackle with tension as the two locked gazes, but Asher remained outwardly composed. He understood that something significant was about to unfold and needed to be cautious.
Beside him, his younger sister, Aislynn, clung to him like a lifeline. In a world that often overwhelmed him with emotions, she was the only person he could tolerate. Her presence was a soothing balm in the cacophony of feelings that constantly bombarded him.
As the sun set and the air grew impossibly cold, Asher knew it was time to leave their sanctuary and return to the chaos of the orphanage, however reluctant he may be. Being around people was a challenge for him, as he absorbed their emotions like a sponge, often overwhelmed by the turbulent sea of feelings surrounding him.
As evening descended, he settled into his small bed, Aislynn curled up beside him, her presence a source of comfort. Nightmares often plagued him, visions of a scar etched in darkness that he never understood the reason for, but tonight, he hoped for a peaceful slumber.
Morning arrived, bringing with it the routine of breakfast and the clamour of children. The warden, a stern figure who had grown used to Asher's peculiarities, approached him with an air of irritation. Perhaps a visitor had been cold and unyielding in his interactions with the warden, causing the man to be particularly gruff.
"Your presence is wanted," the warden stated brusquely, not bothering to hide his annoyance.
Asher's young voice was surprisingly firm as he replied, "I won't go without Aislynn."
The warden, accustomed to such demands, merely shrugged. "Very well, bring her along."
And so, the two children followed the warden, their small hands tightly intertwined as they ventured into the heart of the orphanage, where an encounter with a stranger awaited them.
Asher sat in the small office, the man's piercing blue eyes fixed upon him. From the moment they had met, something had felt off about this man. He projected a grandfatherly demeanour, complete with a twinkle in his eye, but Asher's empathic senses told a different story. The man's emotions didn't align with the kindly appearance he presented.
The twinkle, Asher quickly realised, was a façade, a charm aimed at Aislynn and him to captivate their trust. It was evident to Asher that some form of compulsion must be woven into that twinkle. Aislynn gazed at the man with adoration, but Asher saw through the illusion, his sharp mind refusing to be swayed.
But Aislynn, having been born a year after him, possibly had yet to learn to dodge these kinds of tricks.
The man's patience wore thin as the warden lingered in the room, refusing to leave them alone, and for the first time, Asher found himself grateful to the grumpy man who always cared for them every day. Under his breath, the stranger muttered an incantation, a subtle and secretive gesture only Asher noticed. Suddenly, the warden's expression shifted, and he declared that he had forgotten an urgent task he needed to attend to. Asher knew better, having memorised the man's schedule out of sheer boredom one day. He tensed, feeling the weight of deception in the air.
Now alone with the man, Asher found himself overwhelmed by a sense of foreboding, but his young life experience had already instilled in him the art of remaining silent and composed. The man, however, didn't seem to appreciate Asher's calm demeanour.
"I'd like to take you with me," the man said, a thinly veiled command and threat. Asher's refusal was immediate. "No thanks," he replied, rising from his chair, taking Aislynn's hand protectively, and turning towards the door.
The man's façade crumbled, replaced by cold fury, his twinkling eyes gone. "I think what I have to say is something you'll find works out in your favour," he stated, attempting to regain control. But Asher didn't yield.
"I don't really care," Asher retorted, his tone strangely adult for a child his age. He could sense the man's frustration but revelled in the feeling of having the upper hand.
Hidden beneath the man's stern exterior, Asher could detect the gritted teeth and concealed a smile. The man relished in power and control, but Asher had learned to play this game well.
"If you do what I say and come where I want, I'll allow your sister to come too," the man patronisingly offered, underestimating Asher's intelligence and determination.
Asher gnashed his teeth internally but maintained an emotionless exterior. "What do you have to offer then?" he inquired, his gaze never wavering.
With a practised flourish, the man produced a document, a contract of sorts. "I need you to become someone else," he declared, his eyes locking onto Asher's with an intensity that couldn't be ignored.
As Asher held the contract, his small fingers trembled ever so slightly. The words on the page were a cryptic code, an adult world he couldn't decipher. Does the man really need me to become someone else? His mind raced with questions, but curiosity was a treacherous emotion he rarely indulged in. He clenched his jaw, accepting the document, though he knew its contents remained a mystery to him. After all, he was only learning some of the easy books in the library. Anything more than that was too difficult for him.
"I'll only be a moment," Asher declared, his voice unwavering as he whisked Aislynn away, her hand safely nestled in his grip. He didn't dare look back at the man they left behind, the fear of hesitation hanging heavy on his heart. It skipped a beat when he felt the resounding thud of the man's hand slamming onto the table.
Gasping for breath, Asher guided Aislynn, her innocent eyes filled with bewilderment. He blinked away tears of frustration, the burden of responsibility weighing heavily on his young shoulders. "I just need the bathroom, cutie," The young boy whispered to his sister, masking his anxiety. Clutching the mysterious contract tightly, he couldn't risk revealing his unique abilities in the man's presence.
Aislynn nodded, her trust in Asher unwavering. She perched on one of the sofas, curling up in a familiar pose, seeking comfort amid uncertainty.
Left alone in the bathroom, Asher leaned against the window seat, his eyes closed in contemplation. With a careful hand, he unfolded the contract. He harnessed his unique empathic powers in the darkness behind his closed eyelids. Instantly, the man's intentions unfolded before him—an insidious agreement meant to bind his very essence, reducing him to a mere pawn in a twisted game. If he agreed, he'd be worse than a slave, never having any freedom again. The man's word would be law, even if it meant hurting himself or someone else. It was unthinkable that an older man would request something like this of a child. It was the darkest contract he had ever encountered, a virtual collar around his neck, with the man firmly gripping the leash on the other end, yanking him like a badly behaved animal.
With a heavy sigh, Asher knew what he must do.
Exiting the bathroom, he resumed his hold on Aislynn's hand. Leaning down to her level, he whispered, "I need you to stay quiet no matter what I say, alright?" Aislynn nodded, her trust shining in her eyes. She hugged him tightly, affirming, "Of course, Ash." He smiled reassuringly and whispered, "Then, be a good girl and listen, okay?" With another nod from Aislynn, they walked back to the man together.
The man's face displayed a fleeting fury, swiftly concealed behind a mask of geniality that Asher had come to despise.
"I won't do it," Asher stated firmly, tossing the contract onto the table.
The man's reaction was unexpected; his composure momentarily shattered.
"It'll be so good for you!" the man insisted, but Asher's laughter rang out—a cold, unwavering sound that seemed to startle the man. "Again, no thanks," Asher replied, grabbing Aislynn's hand and winking at her. She hopped off her chair, and the two began to walk away. Asher moved backwards, unwilling to turn his back on someone he had no reason to trust.
A heavy sigh escaped the man's lips as if the weight of the world rested on his shoulders. "What do you want, then?" he asked, his tone laced with resignation.
Asher's voice remained resolute. "I'll be your Harry Potter," he stated, defiance flashing in his eyes. "But it's going to be on my terms."
The man sighed again and nodded. "As you wish."
Suddenly, in a heart-pounding blur, the man rose from his seat with astonishing speed. Asher's heart raced in terror for a split second, but he had Aislynn safely behind him. That split second proved sufficient for the man's sinister intentions. Asher's scream of agonising pain filled the room as he collapsed to his knees, unable to fathom the torment he endured.
The last words Asher heard before slipping into unconsciousness were the man's condescending tones. "I'll see myself out. And I'll assume you can figure out where to stay. Seeing as you're so smart."
And then, everything faded into an abyss of darkness.
End of Part 1 (end of the prequel)
