CenturionEon: Heyy. Angst is Alex's middle name sadly, he's mister brooding and secretive at this point of his life. Puberty and hormones are no joke. He'll defo make up with Helen and Nia, he's just being a stupid boy but he'll come around.
MaximasMillion: Hi. Oh my god, wow. Thanks so much for your kind words, that must've been a long read. Really appreciate it!
Warnings for violence.
A faint, bright light appeared before his eyes, his vision gradually becoming clearer though the blurriness remained. Alexander groaned quietly and raised a hand to his temple, which throbbed incessantly against his fingers. Where the actual fuck was he? And what happened? His head pounded and he felt strangely disorientated. He hardly knew a thing; his mind was a blank slate.
He blinked several times, ignoring the vague dizziness spell. Why can't he remember? Is this a dream? Something conjured in his imagination perhaps? Flashes emerged like a half-forgotten memory. He remembered red hair, a sweet aroma, and multi-coloured packaging. Oh. That's right. He was in Hogsmeade trying to look for something for Harry on their trip. Ron was with him. He went outside, he was sure of that. Because. . . because he wanted to avoid — Helen. Yes, of course.
Wait. And then something hit him, hard. Or someone rather. A harsh, panting breath belonging to a man echoed in his ear.
Alexander sat up quite fast and grimaced as a dizzy wave crashed over him like fierce ocean tides upon a sandy beach. He tugged at his right hand and discovered to his shock that his wrist was wrapped around a rope tied up on a hook on the wall. What in the—? The more he tugged, the tighter it became until it was digging into his wrist painfully, cutting off his blood circulation. Alexander winced at the sharp pain.
No, no, no, no.
His breath hitched and his heart rate quickened, beating in his throat. Don't panic, he reminded himself. It'll do no good to panic. Eliot taught him that. It'll just make things worse so there's no point. No one has killed him. Yet, whispered a sinister voice. He forced it away. Where was he?
Alexander glanced around, desperate for anything that would reveal where he was. It seemed to be a rundown, ramshackle room with a single bed in the corner. A grimy cooker lay a few steps away from it, appearing like it's never been used, with a single cupboard directly parallel to it. The wallpaper was torn and dilapidated, frayed at the edges and drooping down like a flower that had fallen to its knees. Well, he certainly wasn't at Hogwarts anymore. He wondered if he was still in Hogsmeade or if whoever brought him here apparated them elsewhere.
Alexander placed his foot down on the panelled, wooden flooring to steady his balance and tried to rise to a standing position, but the noisy squeak of his shoes attracted the attention of a huddled figure in the room. He hadn't spotted him in the first place as he was hidden in the shadows, squatting in an uncomfortable position with his back turned.
Alexander was instantly on edge and narrowed his eyes. His hand reached for his wand located in his jeans pocket. Rising panic enveloped his throat as he patted the front and back of his trousers in a frantic manner, including his jacket, praying he sensed a lump somewhere, anywhere. He peered around, thinking maybe it dropped out as he was tied up, but the floor lay bare and unhelpful.
What the fuck was going on? Where was his wand? And why was he here? Who was the man?
"Oi," he yelled, mustering up as much braveness as he could, which wasn't much. He tried not to let the encroaching fear consume him — it'll eat him alive. Alexander clutched to the remnants of his anger and confusion like a ship to an anchor. "Who are you?" he demanded, "What am I doing here?"
Alexander watched as the figure turned around, movements sluggish, and rose from his squatted position, stepping into the single slant of light that beamed from the only, circular window in the room, appearing more like a ship's porthole. His gaze fell on the man and a bell of recognition shuddered through him like someone'd jerked his hand until it clicked painfully. The man's features were sunken and wrinkled, still sagging with even more exhaustion and an even older look. His clothes were still shabby, and his hair had more white streaks than before, but he was decidedly very much sober. Alexander couldn't tell if this was worse or not.
"You," Alexander breathed in disbelief. His mind raced; he didn't know where to begin.
"Me," said the man reluctantly as though forced like a gun was being held to his head. Despite the grim expression on his face, his voice was mellow and soft.
Alexander was beyond confused. "What are you doing here?" he asked with a hint of anger. "Did you bring me here?"
It was the man at the party from last year. The one who dragged him into all this, who introduced him, made him question his grandfather and shone a torch on his twisted past. The drunken, slovenly wretch. Alexander had forgotten all about him as he gaped with bewilderment. A lump lingered in the back of his throat and once again he was all too aware of the absence of his wand in his grasp. Against his wishes, a seed of fear planted itself in Alexander's chest as he stared into the wide, wild eyes of the man, who looked worse for wear.
"Looking for this I presume, lad," spoke the man, his tenor deep and raspy. He held up Alexander's wand in clear view, and Alexander's gaze burned through it as if he could wordlessly bring it to his clutches.
"What are you doing?" scowled Alexander, swallowing harshly. "Give that back, that's mine. I need it."
The man placed the wand on the side table near him. Alexander gritted his teeth.
"Oh, I think you'll find that you won't be needing it. Not right at this moment, boy."
"What are you talking about, Putain? Look, just let me go!"
"Lad, calm yerself. It won't do you any good to get all worked up about it, I can tell ya that. Now, I'll explain soon enough. Things won't go sideways if you continue to cooperate and not interfere with my plans, okay?"
Alexander huffed and glared up at him, wishing he could shoot daggers from his eyes. "What the fuck are you talking about? Are you insane? Why am I here? Why have you dragged me to this shitty place, wherever this is?"
The man sniffed loudly. "This is still Hogsmeade, don't worry about that. We're not in the middle of nowhere. It's a cheap lodge I rented, just on the outskirts of the village."
Alexander furrowed his brows, trying to make sense of all this.
"It's near to a muggle town if you must know."
"Why?" scoffed Alexander, taking a deep breath. He had to keep a calm head and figure out what to do next. He softened his voice. "What do I have to do with this? If you wanted to invite me round to tea you could've just asked you know. This seems a tiny bit excessive."
His tone came out dry as he wriggled his tied-up hand to make his point. The man didn't acknowledge his words as he continued like he hadn't heard Alexander. There was a faint haze in his eyes, one mysterious and unsettling enough to rattle Alexander. He needed to get out of here now.
"They won't find us here — I've made sure of that. If all goes well, boy, I'll let you go without any trouble, that sound okay? I'm not looking for any trouble, just want what I'm owed that's all. I don't wanna harm you or anyone, yer just a boy."
The man turned visibly upset with his bottom lip trembling and a glimmer cloaking his grey eyes. Alexander saw his hands shake as he clasped them together, resting them above his belly button.
"Then let me go," reasoned Alexander in a calmer manner, trying to control his voice like one would before approaching an unassuming rabbit. "There's no need for all this. Let me go and we can forget the whole thing, alright?"
The man locked eyes with him, a glint of sorrow in his eyes, his inner turmoil on clear display. "Yeah, afraid I can't do that. Y-you have to understand I don't — I never wanted this. I don't have a choice."
"There's always a choice."
"No," said the man more firmly, raising his voice. Alexander fell silent. "No, there ain't. Not for me." He sighed and rubbed his temple as he paced. "Look, you have to know I'm not a bad person, believe me. My hands have been forced" he motioned with a circular wave of his wand "these damn circumstances don't leave me with much choice."
"Help me understand whatever it is then," persuaded Alexander, watching his movements with a hawk's eye. One wrong word. "And we can avoid all this."
The man stopped in his tracks and examined Alexander with a calculating gaze. Alexander felt like he was being dissected with a pair of tweezers and shifted from his position, his bum becoming close to near numbness.
"You've never known true hardship or despair, have you? A young boy such as yerself," remarked the man suddenly.
Alexander blinked. "I don't know what—"
"That wasn't a question, boy, I'm just saying it like it is. You haven't and that's a fact. Because of Antoine Laurent and the like given to you."
What did this man know of him and his life, asked Alexander inwardly with a bitter tone. He didn't even know him, he was practically a stranger, so how could he make broad accusations like that? It wasn't all sunshine and roses.
"So, you want to prove a point, is that it?" said Alexander, shaking his head. "Because you've had a harder time than me."
"No, not necessarily, but you'll see in due time." The man glanced out of the porthole window with a furtive glance like he was waiting for something before throwing a warning look at him. "For now, I just need you to stay there until everything goes to plan. Think you can manage that?"
Alexander shrugged non-committedly, a scowl on his face. He won't be cowed by the likes of this weasel of a man. The man must have not liked his lack of reply because his features hardened, and his tone became cold.
"And if you try anything, lad, then I'll be forced to do something about it. So, for both our sakes just keep yerself quiet and don't move a muscle."
Alexander grunted, tensing at the threat, and snuck a covert peek at his wand lying on the table, next to a half-filled glass of clear liquid. Ideas ran in his head on how he was going to reach out and grab it. It was damn near impossible now as any sudden movement and the man would surely notice and besides, he couldn't move because of the rope. No, he was going to have to bid his time. Distract the man.
"How did you bring me here?" asked Alexander suddenly, drawing the man's attention to him like a startled mouse who's only just noticed him. "It can't have been easy."
He eyed the man's thin frame and stick-like arms. Carrying him seemed out of the question and anyone walking nearby must've noticed a lump-sized body in the man's arms.
"No, it wasn't," agreed the man, running his finger across his unshaven beard. "I levitated your body all the way here and hid you with a cloaking spell. To speak the truth, I was rather worried you might never wake up judging by how hard I hit you." A thoughtful expression settled on his face. "Probably underestimated just how much power I put in it. My ma used to say that I didn't know my strength half the time."
"So how did you find me?" asked Alexander with curiosity.
"Knew you were supposed to be coming to Hogsmeade today. You and the rest of the other kids. Spotted ya with yer friend, the ginger one. Stuck right out like a sore thumb. Followed ya and waited until you were alone."
Alexander gritted his teeth, cursing himself for deciding to leave the sweet shop. He should've just sucked it up and endured the awkward encounter. At least then he wouldn't be in this situation. If there was ever a time when he learnt that talking to people and getting through things was the best way to go, this was the wrong one.
The man cleared his throat and stood taller. "Now, to business."
Alexander tensed, unwilling to relent his distrust of the man no matter what sugary words he may say. The last time he was in a tied-up situation, he almost died during the first year. And he wasn't about to start right now.
"My name is Jonas," said the man. "Should've mentioned that. And I know yer name, no need to worry — Alexander Laurent, beloved grandson to Antoine Laurent I'm correct."
Alexander's first immediate reaction was to deny the notion and say that he wasn't beloved. But he simply glared, which Jonas purposely ignored as he jutted his chin out.
"I'm sorry to tell you but I've lost my house and all my money quite recently. There's not one knut left to my name and my vault lays barren. My wife has also left me I should mention."
"I'm sorry to hear that, truly, but that's nothing to do with me," snapped Alexander, impatience and annoyance laced in his tone.
"Yes, yes, you're right on that account," nodded Jonas. "It's nothing to do with you and yet my very plan hinges on you and its success."
"What plan?"
"You are a tool, boy, excuse the crudeness but there's no proper way of saying it and that's the stark truth of the matter. I'm going to use you for the purposes of getting Antoine Laurent, your grandfather, to act. A sort of leverage if you will. I need something from him."
Alexander blinked and clenched his fists. "What does he have to do with this?"
Jonas clicked his tongue as if Alexander was slow on the uptake. His eyes darkened and something seemed to have shifted in his aura. "Oh, everything really. He's got everything to do with this. After all, it's because of your precious grandfather that I lost my job. His power, his unflinching influence, his all-consuming greed — all chucked me into the gutter as if I was no better than a bleeding rat." Jonas breathed harshly, his eyes lit with red-eyed fury and his body tense. He looked positively feral as strings of spit escaped his mouth. "I curse the day that Antoine Laurent was born into this world — an arrogant, blood supremacist cunt of a wizard."
Alexander flinched as Jonas spat a glob of spit onto the floor. An ever-increasing tangled knot rested in his stomach and his blood pumped furiously.
"He caught me, you know. Back when I worked in the Ministry. I took a few bits and bobs, okay, I'll admit that, and sometimes I let my temper get the better of me, yeah, but that is nothing, nothing compared to him. I'm like a goddamn saint next to yer grandfather. And then he decided to fire me, and no one wants to hire an old, drunk wizard."
He gave a sharp, mirthless laugh, bitter and loud, one that rang in Alexander's ear like a death knell.
"I have a family, don't think I mentioned that. A son and a wife I have to look after and now that's gone too." His face twisted to one of anguish and pain before shifting to unadulterated hatred. "I blame him for the pain in my life, that absolute fucker caused everything and don't I know about it. He's sneaky about it too, no doubt about that. He probably thinks no one suspected him of it, but I know — deep down in my soul I know."
Jonas spoke as if he didn't know he had an audience. He started pacing again, his shaking hands clenched into fists and a throbbing vein emerged at the top of his temple, which Alexander was unable to look away from.
"You don't know this, not many people do, but half the victims of You-Know-Who were because of Antoine Laurent. He has blood on his hands, one so large he can fill a pool and so vibrant, that he'll never be able to wash it away no matter how hard he tries. And I sure hope it haunts him for the rest of his miserable fucking life."
Alexander closed his eyes, but it didn't stop the voice that continued to wash over him like a bucket of ice.
"He supported You-Know-Who even though he wasn't a Death Eater. Seems strange that but he mostly gave insider information about Ministry officials and leaked where some of their targets were hiding out. Sick, I know, but that's him. You're wondering how I know all this, ain't ya? Well, that's a funny story that."
Jonas pointed a finger at him as he threw a crazed smile, full teeth showing.
"Well, I had a brother, you see. A younger one, my baby brother, Marky. Sweet, stupid, baby-faced Marky. Antoine gained his trust and the silly fool that he was Marky only went and spilt his guts to Antoine, who he thought the fucking world of, believing them to be on the same side and all. Suppose it wasn't his fault, Marky never questioned things. But 'course that set his fate and all he got was a knife to the back — metaphorically speaking. Next thing I know, my ma's telling me that my baby brother Marky is dead. See, I knew it was Antoine. Because my brother idolised him and every time I spoke ill of him, of that blasted Frenchman, Marky would tell me off."
Alexander hardly dared to breathe. He couldn't even move. All he could do was stare as Jonas became more and more beside himself.
"So, I did some digging because I just couldn't resist. And I didn't trust him or his word like every other wanker and mindless puppet in the Wizarding World. I found Antoine Laurent's articles that held all his dark, hateful views. Then I started to follow him, hidden in the shadows I was. And lo and behold I saw him entering some Death Eater's house and everything made sense. But I didn't confront him back then I'm ashamed to say. Cowardice maybe, I dunno. But I should've, yeah. Because he found out, oh yes, lad. Clever, clever man your grandfather is."
"What did he do?" asked Alexander in a shaky voice, unsure if he even wanted to know.
"Your dear grandfather only went and threatened my pregnant wife back then, did you know that, Alex? What do you make of that?"
"No, I. . ."
Jonas blinked in mock surprise. "No," he gasped. "He didn't tell you that he threatened to cut and rip, what were the exact words, oh yes, 'your brat son out of your whore of a wife' and kill them both in front of me? Your grandfather and his morals, Alexander, eh?"
Jonas kicked his foot against the table, rattling the glass and wand, drawing Alexander's gaze, but none of them fell much to his disappointment.
"I stood there, helpless as a bunch of Death Eaters — I still hear their laughs you know — tortured me until I gave in. There's not much you can do to a man to cause him pain like that. My wife was sobbing behind me, completely out of her mind and afraid she was going to lose the baby and so was I. So, I had to give in, I had no choice." Jonas's voice wavered before he continued after a shaky inhale. "I wanted to protect my family. And I thought that was the end of it. But oh no. That still wasn't enough for the great Antoine Laurent. He kicked me out of the Aurors for some fake misdemeanour I can't remember now. Demoted me to some shitty job where I'd clear offices instead. No one argued on my behalf, that's the beauty of it. And I did that for a few years, dealing with it in my own way, drinking more than I should've, though I didn't mean to. But now I don't even have that anymore. I've been let go thanks to him."
Jonas paused for a moment, wiping a dropped tear from his eye. He swallowed with difficulty, his Adam's apple bobbing.
"I still dream about Marky — don't think there's a night where I haven't. His death lies on my conscience, and I wasn't able to do more for him, more than he deserved, to bring his killer to justice. Make no mistake, Antoine might not have held the wand and directly killed my brother, but he was the one who gave the order, and everything circles back to him. He's the biggest killer I know, on par with You-Know-Who." Jonas shook his head, as though clearing his thoughts. "But enough is enough I say. My wife still can't speak a word, and my son hates me. I've lost everything. Everything is because of Antoine Laurent. I can't take that lying down. I must act before it's too late."
Jonas muttered a few words under his breath, his voice cracking before he closed his eyes and turned silent. He turned to stare at Alexander with a hard look, features pulled tight.
"But I can fix all that, even now. I must. Otherwise, I have nothing left to live for. Nothing," he whispered, his voice trailing off.
It was silent for a few moments before Alexander wetted his dry lips to speak. He felt unnerved at what he'd just heard. Still, something held him back.
"I'm sorry but I don't believe you. How do I know you're telling the truth — you could be selling me a bunch of lies."
Jonas snapped his head around and glared, irritation etched on his face. "You don't believe me, boy. Well, that's a damn shame. Weren't I right about your grandfather before?" Alexander kept silent as he kept staring at Jonas, who then sighed wearily. "Alright, fine, you're a tricky one, aren't you? Right then. This might convince you, don't say you never asked for it."
Jonas walked over to the stove and pulled open the door to the single, wooden cupboard. A cracked bowl lay in his hands with odd carvings around the edges: runes and symbols that Alexander faintly recognised from his Ancient Runes class. Jonas placed it in front of Alexander, who felt confused as he watched the man's movements.
"This'll show ya. It ain't as glamourous as — what'dya call it — a pensive but it'll have to do."
He took out his wand, a twisted, brown one, and placed it against the side of his head. A bright, whitish silver string emerged from the end of the wand and was placed in the bowl, turning and merging in circles ceaselessly, ruffling like the surface of water. Jonas pushed the bowl forward and pointed.
"Go on, lean down there and see for yourself seeing as you're so against believing me. It ain't gonna harm you, I promise you that."
Alexander hesitated for a moment, frozen in place, wondering how he was going to get out and away from this nonsense before it continued any longer. But the man aimed his wand at him threateningly, waving it around and jutting it close to his face and Alexander didn't have much of a choice. He was bound.
He hovered his face over the ominous, swirling bowl, nerves fluttering around in his stomach, as he pictured his fist smashing against the man's ugly face. A rough, calloused hand gripped the back of his neck and shoved him forward forcefully. Alexander cried out and flailed his arms, aching to grab onto something but he couldn't. He was falling down, down, down. Like someone had pushed him into a never-ending tunnel with no end, icy cold and dark—
Just then, his feet landed on solid flooring. He appeared to be in some kind of living room, one he didn't recognise. A violent blaze of burnished gold crackled in the fireplace; each item was overturned. A sofa was slashed to pieces, ripped paintings were strewn across the floor, and a huge mess was present in every nook. It was as if someone had come and ransacked the room.
The most curious thing, however, was that Alexander's hands were no longer bound by the ropes. He flexed his fingers and a faint ache blossomed in the back of his consciousness, almost as if he'd forgotten. Strange, very strange. A body lay in the corner — it was unmoving. His eyes widened, his breath hitched, and he was about to take a step for a closer look, already suspecting that whoever it was, was very much dead.
Then came the screaming, so loud and blood-curdling that his very blood froze in his veins. Alexander whipped his head around and saw a woman lying prostrate, her limbs in a sort of jerking motion while inconsolable, piercing sobs erupted from her mouth. Alexander watched, horror-stricken like he was viewing a screen in the cinema, as her hand rested on her stomach, acting like a puny shield. A dark, hooded figure loomed over her with a sick, hungry smile, laughing manically.
"Stop this, now! Please, enough!"
It wasn't him that said it. Alexander saw with pooling fear a younger, thinner and heavily frantic Jonas as he pleaded on his knees, other figures surrounding him, his hands clasped together while his face and white, linen shirt were smeared with shocking stains of scarlet.
"Please, just. . . just let her go, she's pregnant, you heartless fucks!" snapped Jonas, unable to control his tone.
"Mr Davis, you're only complicating this for yourself further," came a familiar bored voice. "This is becoming very tedious for you and myself, believe me." A short laugh resounded.
"Grandfather," said Alexander unthinkingly, expecting them to turn at his sudden movement and loud voice. "What are you doing here?" But no one batted an eye and his grandfather continued like he was a pesky fly, hardly twitching.
"I urge you to reconsider. There are only so many times I can warn you. Think of your poor wife here. It's her that you're hurting."
It was Grandfather and yet a stranger wearing his face. Unlike the rest of what Alexander assumed with sickening dread were Death Eaters, his grandfather leaned against a wall with his arms crossed languidly like he was telling his grandson to hurry up otherwise he was going to be late for school. Grandfather looked much younger with darker, thicker blond hair, his curls slicked back and combed with gel. He donned a blue three-piece suit as usual as he tapped one of his patent leather shoes repeatedly — so shiny that you could see your reflection in them.
"You sick fuck! I'll get you for this, mark my words — d'ya hear me?" snarled Jonas, his grey eyes bulging unnaturally, but Grandfather merely rolled his eyes, sighed, and gave a look at a hooded figure near him.
Alexander's hands flew to his ears, pressing hard to block out the repeated screaming from the woman. His eyes were transfixed on his grandfather. There was none of the familiarity that he was used to. This was cold, calculating, uncaring of the fury, wailing and brutal savagery that splattered the whole room like a knife slash. Tears stung at his eyes and bile rose to his throat.
"Stop it," Alexander muttered, though no one could hear him. He felt as helpless as he had in the Chamber last year and his fears threatened to engulf him. Hell had descended once again. "Stop this."
Jonas writhed in agony as a wand was held over him. Pleading shrieks escaped him as he hunched over in pain and then whimpered into a huddled ball when they released him. Alexander had never heard such ear-shattering, harrowing wails before. It was like someone was stabbing him a thousand times and twisting the knife repeatedly to reach the deeper core, to his very soul. Grandfather squatted in front of Jonas and lifted his chin with a light finger, a winsome smile playing on his lips. Alexander shut his eyes, unable to take anymore, to listen to the anguish and pain and fear. But the voices continued.
"Look, Mr Davis, try to understand my position. It is imperative that you must accept these conditions. You're in no position to negotiate over here. May I remind you that the Dark Lord himself will be very interested in you and, uh, your new bundle of joy over there I presume? Congratulations, by the way. Yes, very much pleased he'll be I guarantee it."
"I-I-I. . ."
Jonas had lost the ability to speak, his words were slurred.
Grandfather exhaled loudly as if this was all a minor inconvenience for him. "Ah, merde. You Muggleborns always create trouble for yourselves. Why does it have to be like this? We could've solved this with a little more civility, more diplomacy, no?"
Alexander felt himself rising into the air with the living room dissolving all around him like a streaked painting and Grandfather's voice became fainter and fainter; all was blackness, and then like he'd done a slow somersault, a loud gasp left him as he landed back into the cramped room in the present, his hand still physically tied to the hook, much to his dismay.
He suddenly realised that he was shaking, and wet tears had run down his cheeks without knowing. He gazed around in delirium.
"Horrible, isn't it?" said Jonas quietly, a faraway look in his gaze and all the weary, painful years etched into his face, fully transparent. "You see him, don't you? Antoine Laurent as he really is. I tried to warn you before, but the truth can never be hidden. My wife told me that on the very first day, I met her, back when she could speak. Antoine can try as much as he likes but he'll never be able to wash it away. It stays like an unhealing scar."
Alexander couldn't think straight. The perverse, apathetic expression of his grandfather played over in his mind like a movie on repeat, the screams of Jonas and his wife echoing. He wanted it all to be a dream, for him to wake up in his bed safe and sound instead of here, in this hopeless, infernal place where he was all alone and his fears were toying with him like a child in a nursery. He wanted to wash all this away.
But the rough, bruising scrap of the rope against his wrists is horrifyingly real and so was the memory he saw.
An intense wave of revulsion and horror ran through him. He'd come face-to-face with who his grandfather is and always was: a cold-blooded murderer, a pure monster. He wanted to scream, to beat his fists on the floor until they stained as bloody as the scarf he was wearing. Up until now, he's somehow pushed away the idea of his grandfather and his reality, thinking that if he didn't acknowledge it, he could pretend all was right. Locked away in a cupboard somewhere.
But this. . . this was hard to erase.
Jonas sharply inhaled and rose from his seat on the bed, his boots stamping against the flooring. Alexander was alert. A bundle of distrust still encompassed him regarding the other man despite the stark truth being unveiled. His head pounded fiercely, and his body was dehydrated. He didn't trust any water Jonas would give him to not be poisoned.
His wand, still lying on the table, next to the glass of water he kept his gaze fixed on like a bait to a fishhook, afraid his only chance of escaping would disappear. If he could just reach it somehow, feel the smoothly polished wood against his palms. . . His hand brushed up against the lighter in his pocket. He thought for an instance that perhaps it could be his way out, he could burn the ropes, slowly but gradually until a few loose stringy bits remained. But no. No, the smell of burning would alarm Jonas, and who knew what he'd do; it was risky.
His eyes settled on the glass of water. He stared, pondering, chewing his bottom lip. Jonas cast a suspicious glance at him, and Alexander instantly met his eyes. The older man tutted and mumbled under his breath as he took out his wand. A feeble, silver light appeared. Alexander couldn't make out what it was. Jonas started speaking.
"I happen to be addressing this message for Mr Antoine Laurent, sir, and him only. I would like to relay a something to him. This is a warning, the first and only one he's gonna get, I promise that. My demands are simple. I would like my money — my hard-earned money — by nightfall at the address I will soon be sending after this. If Mr Antoine fails to fulfil my demand, then I hope he's aware that I will be sending every piece of his grandson to him until he sees sense."
Alexander's heart rate increased, his panting heavier, as a cold icy feeling soaked itself throughout his body at Jonas's words. There was not one stutter or sign of shaky nerves present in his voice and that terrified Alexander more than ever.
"I know how much his grandson means to him," continued Jonas. "So, I suggest he carries out my demands without any hassle, yes? But if you're hearing this and you're doubting my words then this may change your mind a bit as I'm not one to make empty threats."
Jonas walked over to Alexander, who crawled back as far as possible, huddling against the wall, his throat tight and muscles tense. The older man drew out his own wand and a sharp, stinging pain raged all over Alexander's arm, blood gushing fervently like a fountain. He yelled like he'd been stabbed with a knife, unable to help the tears rising to his eye ducts.
"You see," declared Jonas with a sick sense of satisfaction, "That's your grandson's voice, no? And I assure you that you won't be able to find us, there's a strong magical border around us, so do think twice, sir."
The light waned and flew out of the porthole, disappearing from sight. Alexander watched the cut pause and only tiny needle pricks of blood pooled up.
"You're fucking insane," spat Alexander, pain and loathing mixed in his tone. "You're just as bad as my grandfather."
Jonas's eyes flashed blood-red like a demon had taken hold of him. He dashed forward to grip Alexander's collar in his fist, bringing his face closer, teeth gritted so tight it was a wonder his jaw hadn't broken yet until Alexander could smell garlic and something bitter waft in his face. He fought the urge to gag and though he struggled against the hold, Jonas was a grown man and his strength overpowered Alexander's feeble one.
"I am nothing like him," snarled Jonas, holding his gaze, "I will never be half as bad as he is."
"Yeah, Putain, keep telling yourself that."
Jonas smacked him across the face and fresh pain bloomed, rising and throbbing like the tide. Alexander was disorientated for a while and his arm flung out to clutch his face. The older man groaned exasperatedly and turned to slam his foot on the leg of the table, causing the glass of water to roll and then shatter all over the floor. Alexander crawled as far back as he could, feeling faintly dizzy as blood poured from his nose. He must've looked a sight.
"Fuck's sake, now look what you've done," scolded Jonas, and rubbed his wrinkly forehead. He waved his wand and cleaned the mess.
Alexander didn't dare move, keeping as still as a statue and his breathing steady to not give himself away and draw attention to a shard of glass hidden underneath his foot. He lifted his foot, dragging the glass until he picked it up and clutched it in his hands, behind his back, ignoring the sharp stings as he dug it deep into his palm, if only to remind himself that it was there.
He refused to be cowed despite the waves of terror rushing through him as Jonas glared at him. He didn't know if his grandfather cared enough to come for him, for all he knew Grandfather would leave him in the hands of this pathetic, nasty man. He barely trusted any of the Professors at Hogwarts deeply enough; his friends, surely, would realise something was wrong when he'd disappeared, and Hermione was smart enough to recognise a sinister undertone. But who knew how long it'd take for them to find him — if anything was left of him that is. He couldn't afford that risk.
No, this was all on him.
"And now we wait," muttered Jonas, moving to lie down on the bed, jaw tight and features sagging, haggard.
Alexander couldn't hear anything but his heavy breathing and the drumming of his heart. He watched Jonas, who rested his arm against his shut eyes. The chance couldn't be more perfect. He started his ministrations, slowly cutting away, not too hasty or he'd give himself away.
Up, down, up, down. Again, and again.
It must have been a few minutes, a couple of hours maybe, until the silvery light appeared again, brighter than the previous one. Jonas sat up and Alexander stopped, attention drawn for a moment.
"Mr Davis, I urge you to reconsider," came Grandfather's voice, and so surprising it was that Alexander nearly dropped the glass edge. It was so cold with a humming vow of wrath and fury laced into it, a promise of things turning ugly. Alexander shivered despite himself. "We will bring the full force of the Aurors against you, and the Minister has my full support on this." Antoine lowered his voice. "But I promise you, if you harm a hair on my grandson then I will find you and bury you so deep a place where not even Dementors would be able to scourge you out. And we know that out of the two of us, my plans seem to work with greater success, isn't that right, Mr Davis?"
Alexander blinked, hardly daring to believe his ears. Jonas stood frozen as he gaped at the silver light, eyes wide.
"Your wife — whom I've just spoken to — is very disappointed in you I'm sorry to say. What a shame, for she is a truly remarkable woman, on that we both agree. For her sake, consider this as your warning. Let my grandson go and abandon this foolish plan otherwise, we will hunt you down."
The light fizzled out and died. Jonas stood there for a moment, glancing at the floor with a blank expression. His head turned to Alexander and a look of pure, diabolical hatred overspread his face, gaze positively spitting and a vein looking to burst from his temple. Alexander panicked and flattened against the wall, shielding himself as if it could protect him.
"Crucio," growled Jonas.
It was pain beyond anything; his very bones were on fire; his eyes rolled to the back of his head. Alexander wanted it all to finish, to flee, to blackout, to die even. He felt his body shudder and tremble while he cried out for Jonas to stop—
And then it was all over.
"Sorry, I'm sorry, I didn't m-mean—" Jonas blubbered into a sobbing mess as he collapsed onto the bed, head held in his hands, his hair sticking out at odd ends.
Alexander barely heard him. He was so weak that he almost couldn't lift his arm, let alone cut into the strong rope. And yet a determination, so powerful that it cut the air from his lungs, gripped hold of him. He's going to get out of this hellhole, he promised himself. Even if he had to cut his fucking hand off. He's been in more dangerous situations and even helped fight a basilisk. This had to be a walk in the park.
Somehow, despite it all, he's never felt so incredibly alone. The walls were closing in on him. But he knew. Back then even when things seemed impossible at least he had Harry with him, a light in the dark, a sprinkle of hope within his breast that just maybe they'd get out of this because they'd been together. And now. . .
Now, it was just him. Not for the first time, he wished dearly to see Hermione again. Seeing her would be so sweet, even only for a moment. Her expressive brown eyes danced before him.
Alexander glanced at his watch. His vision had turned blurry as he blinked to remove the white spots dashing before him. It was nearly dusk; the light was fading and pretty soon the moonlight would be here. He had to hurry. There was no guarantee that his grandfather was going to stop all this — it was because of him that he was in this whole mess — and Jonas sounded very convincing in his threats. He couldn't wait around to find out.
In a frenzy of haste and fervour, he began cutting away, his wrists working double the effort, and slowly, to his overwhelming elation, he was nearly there with the rope being held by a few hanging bits of string. He peered up, catching sight of Jonas pacing angrily and muttering under his breath as he shot paranoid looks at the porthole. The man stopped and then hobbled over to the window, staring, his back turned.
Suddenly, the ropes tumbled without a sound to the ground and Alexander's wrist was freed. They were aching and he could see faint purple, bruise marks at the edges but the bare sight of them, unbridled and weighing like a feather, had his heart leap and tumble all around his body until it reached his throat. Now was his chance.
With his eyes fixed on Jonas, he moved towards the table, crouching low, and reached out for his wand. Almost there. But something must've caught Jonas's eye because he swiftly turned around and widened his eyes, but before he could shout or lunge towards Alexander, a red, stunning spell was hurtling at him at record speed, so bright and powerful that it could've knocked him out. Jonas flew back, his body thrown like a sack of potatoes onto the bed and his head slammed against the wall. He groaned painfully, clutching his head.
Alexander didn't wait around to hear or see the aftermath; he dashed towards the door, and seeing that it was locked, cast a quick 'Alohomora' to unlock it — pushing away the silly brief thought of how stupid Jonas was that he didn't ensure there were more defences than a simple locked door — and darted down the steep stairs. The biting chill of the rageful wind on his tearful, flushed face was a welcome reprieve. Thin, flakes fell all around him; he hadn't noticed that it'd started to snow.
"Oi, stop," yelled Jonas behind him, his expression thunderous and full of panic.
Alexander pointed his wand back as he kept running, not stopping even when he felt a slight cramp at his side and his feet ached from sitting down too long on a hard, wooden floor. But he could barely aim properly, his body was lead and his muscles were heavy as if he were carrying bulky metal armour. Jonas dodged the spell and gave an enraged shout. The village was up ahead, tall, frosted tips of the houses and shops in the distance, and Alexander kept his eyes peeled on them.
The snow was falling faster and thicker, huge chunks of it landing in his eyes and hair. He blew it away with a puff of air and wiped his face, but it wouldn't stop. Ba dum, ba dum. His heart was beating like a wild animal trying to break from his chest. And then, then—
Alexander slipped on ice; his body flailed as he hit the ground with a loud thud. Pain erupted and he felt sure that he'd broken something as he landed wrong. Cradling his right hand against his chest, he stumbled to his feet, eager to get away, to make it to the village, which never seemed to get any closer no matter how far he ran. But he couldn't give up.
Then, he was hit by a spell, and thrown a few metres back until he landed, once again on his twisted wrist. Alexander opened his mouth and cried out, his voice echoing as his wrist felt like it was on fire, burning him from the inside of his skin. His wand had dropped and rolled away. An intense feeling of despair and misery consumed him whole. He wanted to lie there and cry, to his heart's desire, and keep sobbing and sobbing until he had no tears left to give. Until he gave up from exhaustion. He didn't know how much longer he could do this, how he could keep going.
A dark shadow loomed over him, and Alexander opened his eyes blearily to see Jonas's wild, crazed appearance, like one of a rabid dog, staring down at him hungrily, angrily. His eyes glowed like hot coals.
"Oh, hell no, lad. You're not gonna get away so fast and so soon, oh no," said Jonas, gripping Alexander's hands and slamming them down as he sat on top of his body, cutting the very breath from his chest. Jonas's voice grew with each word, his teeth gritted, sharp canines on display like kitchen knives. "You are not ruining my plans! Not today! No, sir! I will not let Antoine Laurent win and get the better of me again!"
"Let — go — of — me—" choked Alexander, writhing around and doing all he could to buck the older man away from him.
"No!" roared the older man, wrapping his hands around his neck and squeezing, causing Alexander's face to turn purple. "I am going to win, d'ya hear me, Laurent? I'm winning, Antoine, and there's not one goddamn thing you can do!"
Alexander's hands gripped a handful of snow and smeared it all over Jonas's face, making sure to poke him in the eye with it. The man yelled in sudden shock as his eyes shut. Alexander threw him off and gave him one large kick as he staggered to his feet, coughing and choking, spit trailing from his mouth. His chest was aching, and his neck was sore to the touch. He knew his face was caked with dried blood and his wrist was likely broken. He realised at that moment that this was never going to stop. It'd just keep happening.
He reached for his wand first, grateful for the smooth feel in his left wrist, the power that coursed through it. He spotted a heavy-set rock nearby and picked it up; it weighed the size of a dumbbell and was sharp enough to cut skin. Jonas glanced up at him from his spot on the floor, blinking and wiping his eyes, and then laughed, a shrill, loud type when he noticed the look on Alexander's face and the rock in his hand.
"Ah, how fitting," he grinned with a taunting expression. "How similar you are — don't you see? The grandson just as bloodthirsty as the grandfather. This is the huge joke of it all. Are you going to kill me, boy?"
"Shut up," said Alexander, clenching his jaw and stalking closer to the older man.
He leaned over and lifted his arm, their position now switched. He was the predator while Jonas was his prey. Jonas watched with a glint of delight in his eyes, one that infuriated Alexander, and made no move to defend himself like he was a captured lamb, his neck bared on display for the lion to devour and rip, tear, shred. . . Alexander hesitated for a second but steeled his resolve and whacked the rock onto the other man's face. He could taste blood on his lips, so sweet and intoxicating like the fragrant perfume he'd smell from Hermione's neck, and he wanted more.
Again, and again. Over and over. Until there was nothing, but a bloody mesh of flesh and skin. Faint, barely audibly wheezing came from the man's lips. Alexander gripped the rock harder, his arm desperate to fall. He realised he was crying, great, ugly, fat tears and felt overflowing snot from his nose. He heard urgent voices, and then the rock was knocked away from his hand.
Alexander collapsed to the side, a great relief overcoming him. It was over. Horrified faces, including the Minister's, landed on the scene. Come, he thought savagely, come and bathe in the masterpiece. He squinted and it was then that he met his grandfather's sombre eyes. Only a wrinkle in his upper brow indicated any emotion as he drew closer to his grandson.
Grandfather stood close and spared a single, disgusted glance at the mess that was Jonas, barely resembling anyone human. Even then, Alexander noted a comparison of the look to the person he saw in the memory. But Grandfather kneeled in front of him and reached out to touch Alexander's shoulder with a gentle touch. The latter didn't have the strength to push him away. His grandfather's hand moved to the back of his head, and he pushed it to nestle in his shoulder.
"I'll fix this, Alexander, I promise," murmured Grandfather softly like he was singing a lullaby, "I'll make this all go away."
Alexander didn't hear anymore except his grandfather's fading voice as he fell into a welcome abyss.
August 5th, 1977
It's odd but we're sort of friends now, Prince and me. He apologised for treating me so callously, and I, of course, said sorry for participating in such a cruel prank on him. I should've put a stop to it, no matter how much I hated him back then. It was wrong. Only I don't think I fully hated him, maybe I was just hurt and upset, and so I lashed out.
The ache in my chest has soothed a tad, now that we've struck up a tentative friendship. It is better to be friends and not lead into any thorny complications like before. Perhaps it'll be much smoother going and we can actually have a conversation without wanting to tear each other's heads apart.
And look, do I miss his soft touch and the feel of his lips, which usually tasted like peppermint humbugs, sure. I'll long for the proximity of him and it'll kill me not to do anything, but it was also nice to just talk and listen to his voice like friends do. We exchange witty banter, and sometimes I'll tease him for his endless devotion to rules and traditions seeing as he's the only heir to his family's title and wealth.
So, yes, it's fun, we're having fun like two mates.
We get to the deeper topics often now. Maybe I shouldn't but I told him about how much I distrust my father and how our relationship has grown strained to the point where I can't stand to be in the same room as him without tearing my hair out. He listens, which is pleasant, and doesn't glare or make me feel bad for having these types of feelings.
He tells me that parents are complicated, and he understands how much of a pain they can be. He struggles with the weight of their expectations arising from his brother being disowned. He feels crushed by it because he misses his brother even though he's not supposed to, he can't help it. In a way, he says, he envies me because although I might not see eye to eye with him, my father will love me in his own way, and I'll be his daughter no matter what. He didn't have that luxury. I don't know if I agreed with him there; after all, I was the one who lived with my father but didn't think it was worth it to interrupt. I mean, sure, my father isn't as harsh as Prince's mother, and even if I hate it, he's the one constant in my life.
When the long-awaited summer holiday arrived, we exchanged long-written letters which my owl had to secretly bring to my room, through the upper lattice window without my father seeing. I don't think he'd approve. But speaking of my father, I've noticed he's becoming more secretive lately. His office is always locked, and the key hangs from his neck all the time. Random witches and wizards enter our house and I'll catch glimpses of their pale faces before the doors shut with a wave of a wand.
I must admit, I'm very curious about what's going on. What's my father up to? He's happier than usual as well and very much his arrogant self though there's a smugness to the smile that plays on the edge of his lips when he reads the Prophet. Something's happened, I'm sure of it. But I don't know if I want to know the whole truth. He's my father, we share the same blood, but he's not a good person. I'm very unsettled by this idea and together fearful of what could happen.
Thank you for reading, I really hope you enjoyed what I'm sure was a fun and eventful chapter. I actually felt bad putting Alexander through this, but when your grandfather has made many enemies in his life chances are they can come back and bit. It could've been Sirius but I don't think he's vicious enough to harm a child even at this point in his life.
Let me know what you think, this was one of my favourite chapters ever. I updated this before my trip to Bath to celebrate my best friend's birthday, so very excited about that.
Anyway, but come see me on Twitter/Tumblr if it interests you at DefectivelyFlawless.