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Alistair Morgan finds the Edris family manor strangely quiet. The front door’s unlocked and ajar state, a troubling sight. No one greets him as he passes through, empty rooms echoing with his footsteps and the tap of his cane on the wooden floors. When he calls out a cautious, “Hello?” he is only met with the ticking of a grandfather clock that stands witness in the hallway.
Eventually, he finds a familiar hall leading up to Benedict Edris’s office, the door left wide open. The meeting that was scheduled for today was meant to be brief, just a review with Benedict over the papers he brought. Alistair has a hunch that they won’t be needed anymore, if the ominous signs so far are to be any indication.
He’s no stranger to circumstances like this in his line of work. It is such situations that have taught him to be prepared for anything. He adjusts his grip on his cane, shifting his thumb to the hidden button on the handle that would free the concealed sword blade within before crossing the threshold.
The office looks no different from his last visit, aside from a few papers scattered on the floor. That is, until he discovers the two bodies sprawled on the rug behind the grand, mahogany desk. One of them lies face up, and he recognizes the sharp, angled face of Evelyn Edris staring up at him with lifeless eyes, her wand clenched in a death grip as if she had tried defending herself.
A grimace flits across Alistair’s face as he kneels next to Benedict’s body to check for vital signs, and is unsurprised when he does not find any. He is, however, startled when his fingertips are met with freezing cold skin, as if the man had died from frostbite in a winter storm instead of inside his own home during early autumn. He continues his search with Evelyn’s body and confirms that her body is in the same state.
As far as he can tell, it’s only been about a few hours since they’ve been left like this and, while the days have been getting chillier, it is nowhere close to extreme freezing temperatures. This is not the work of any of his own people, and it shouldn’t be. Yes, the Edris family is interested in Dark Market affairs—hence why Alistair had been meeting with Benedict—but that was only recently. They weren’t even properly involved yet, much less had the time to make any enemies. During his last visit with the head of the family, he had been working on finalizing a contract that would make their business official.
Alistair also recalls running into the man’s young daughter as he was leaving. Variessa, he believes her name was. She looked to be around twelve, maybe thirteen years old, and was well-mannered, if a bit guarded during their brief encounter. Before that, he had heard the whispered rumors that swirled around her. A grim blood curse that keeps her ostracized from most of the other wealthy, pureblood families who didn’t want her tainting their precious bloodlines.
While he has a distaste for gossip, much less the unsavory views of blood purists, the unusual circumstances of her parents’ deaths have him consider if perhaps there is some truth to them.
A quick search through the rest of the office confirms that the girl is missing. His bad leg protests as he straightens up and a heavy sigh escapes him. He had thought that this would be a quick trip that would have him back home within the hour. Now, it doesn’t seem very likely. He leaves the bodies where they remain and returns to the hallway.
The manor is not too large but still, it takes Alistair some time to search the rooms until the sound of soft sobs and sniffles catches his attention. Cautiously, he moves toward it, treading lightly to make as little noise as possible.
It leads to what appears to be a study. Bookshelves line the walls, and a set of plush chairs occupy the space before a cold, empty fireplace. There is no light aside from the one in the hallway behind him spilling in the doorway around his shadow, so it takes him a moment to see the small, dark-haired figure huddled on the floor next to the window.
The sobs stop as the girl notices him standing in the doorway, a few stray tears running over her cheeks. She turns away from him to wipe them, the familiar guarded expression from their first meeting coming up like a wall to hide the moment of vulnerability. This time, though, it can’t hide the puffiness of her eyes or the slight tremor of her hands despite being balled into fists.
Alistair shifts uncertainly, not entirely sure how to address a distressed child. When she does not move, he enters the room, approaching her slowly.
“Hello. You’re Variessa, correct? I believe we’ve met before.” She watches him as he stops, keeping some distance between them. When she still doesn’t reply, he kneels to be more level with her, adjusting his cane as he bends down.
“I had a meeting with your father today. Can you tell me what happened?”
Variessa meets his eyes now in some sort of recognition, studying him before resting on his cane. She had nearly ran into it before, during their brief encounter. Still, she remains quiet.
A lock of dark hair falls in her face and she reaches to brush it back, only to jerk her hand away and hiss in pain. The movement has her turn just enough for him to see a vicious, red mess of lacerations branching up the other side of her face.
The frozen state of Evelyn Edris gripping her wand in death flashes through his mind as though in a reminder.
“Did your mother do that to you?”
The glare she aims at him is weak, not enough to hide the pain and the flash of fear in her eyes. Her trembling hand hovers over the wound to block it from his sight.
Alistair sighs, wrapping an arm around his cane to free his hands before reaching into his pocket. Pulling out a handkerchief and a small bottle, he pours the liquid onto the cloth. Her eyes follow his every movement; he can feel her gaze bore into him as he extends it to her.
“Here, keep this against it.”
She eyes the handkerchief skeptically, the intensity of her glare diminished with the way she winces. From what he can see, the injury likely only looks worse than it actually is, provided that it does not get infected.
“I poured a healing potion on it. You’ll most likely have a scar still, but it should help with the pain.” Again, he extends the handkerchief to her and she reluctantly shifts forward just enough to reach out and take it from him. She presses the cloth to her cheek with grimace, then a sigh escapes her as she relaxes.
Alistair gives her a moment to settle before continuing. “Now, would you care to tell me what happened?”
Variessa glances at him, no longer a frightened, cornered animal but a sort of hesitation seems to linger still. It takes her a moment to gather herself to speak.
“I…I didn’t mean to.” She says hoarsely, avoiding his gaze.
His intrigue grows as he recalls the unusual state of her parents’ bodies, the answer to his questions taking shape.
“What do you mean?”
“Mother and Father. I didn’t mean to…” Her free hand starts to tremble and she fists it in her skirt. “It’s my fault. I…” she trails off, face twisted in a different kind of pain now. “I’m the reason they’re gone,” she says in a small voice.
A faint whispering starts, building from a single voice into a whole chorus. Nothing they say is intelligible, even as they slowly rise in volume. Alistair only spares the empty room a sweeping glance, unease crawling up his spine. He ignores the way the voices seem to curl into his ears, raising goosebumps on the back of his neck.
“They’re dead because of me.”
The room is suddenly frigid, the white fog of their breaths now visible. Frost rapidly climbs up the glass of the window as the evening sun outside continues its descent. The light in the hallway flickers. Alistair finds himself tightening his grip on his cane, as she continues.
“And Primmy doesn’t remember me. She’s afraid of me.” Her hollow eyes bore into him—reminding him of the dead gaze of her mother. The green of her irises pale until they’re glowing white, the dark center of her pupils like twin voids drawing him in.
The lights go out completely, the remaining fading sunlight through the window just barely enough to see by. The hand holding the handkerchief to her face drops in her lap, as if she doesn’t have the strength to hold it up anymore. If the whispering hadn’t suddenly ceased altogether, Alistair doubts he would have caught what she says next, her voice reduced to a near-whisper.
“Like I’m a monster.”
Suddenly, the shadows swirl rapidly, thickening and condensing into towering shapes. The whispering voices return and intensify, morphing into droning groans. The shapes form into figures with eyeless faces and gaping mouths, clothed in swirling, dark tatters of a hooded cloak with long, grotesquely skeletal hands emerging from them.
The room feels considerably darker with the presence of the dementors. Summoned, Alistair thinks, by her.
“Variessa, can you hear me?” He says uneasily. The girl remains still, her vacant eyes lost in the turmoil of her mind. The Dementors start to draw close as they take notice of him. “Listen to me,” He says calmly, masking the fear that courses through him. “You can control this, you just need to focus.”
The droning calls of the creatures voices grow louder. Alistair should draw his wand but something in him tells him it won’t help. That it would only make things worse to confirm the girl’s fears by drawing a weapon. He steels himself then, ignoring the things stalking his back. “Do not let what happened to your parents break you. It serves no one. Not their deaths, and certainly not you.”
Variessa remains still as a statue, not even so much as blinking. Alistair continues on. “This power of yours is not something that you need to fear. All you have to do is learn to master it so that it does not control you.”
No response. The groaning voices are much closer now—too close to ignore. The cold bites through his gloves, chilling him to the bone. Alistair grits his teeth and clutches at his cane tighter. “I know what it is like to be looked at with fear and hatred,” he says, fighting to keep his voice steady. “To feel like an abomination.” The twin incision scars crossing his chest ache in response. Alistair’s only ever spoken like this to one person before. To someone that betrayed him and paid for it with their life. He wonders if this girl will be the end of him.
Variessa flinches and the dementors advancement seems to slow just slightly. Alistair seizes the moment to continue. “You are not a monster.”
The room suddenly falls quiet. The looming presence of the dementors at his back vanish, taking the cold with them. Alistair sighs quietly in relief. Variessa blinks, her eyes returning to their original jade green. She turns to him with wide eyes.
“W-what?” She says, full of disbelief.
“You just made a mistake. It was an accident.” Alistair replies gently.
“I…but…”
“It’s alright.”
She stares at him, as if waiting for him to take it all back. When he doesn’t, she looks down at her lap, bunching and unbunching the fabric of her skirt in her fist.
They sit in silence for a moment before Alistair speaks again. “Do you have any other family?”
“…No.”
“Would you like to come with me then? I can help you with your curse.”
This gets her to lift her head, surprise evident in her face. “I’ll take care of things here.” Alistair says as he stands, his bad leg protesting once more as he straightens up with his cane in hand. “If the Ministry knew what happened, I doubt they’d be lenient towards you, even if you are only a child.” He holds her gaze and offers a hand to her. “What do you say?”
She looks from him to his outstretched hand, studying it. Alistair waits, letting her decide when she’s ready. His patience is rewarded when she reaches for his hand and allows him to help her up. She lets go once she’s on her feet.
“Um…” Variessa says hesitantly.
“Yes?” He asks, prompting her to speak.
“What is your name, sir?”
“Alistair Morgan. You may call me Alistair if you’d like.”
She only nods in response. Alistair turns towards the door, lightly pressing a hand to the back of her shoulder to guide her out of the room. “Come now, let’s get you out of here. I’ll have someone bring you your things.”
Variessa allows him to lead her out, casting the room one last glance and catching the last of the dying sunlight as it bleeds into the darkening night sky.