THE MAGICIANS [t.r.]

TWO

act one, chapter two
the golem's morning

EARL GREY, at sunrise. at a quarter to seven to be exact. the antique porcelain cup is on the right, with a plate on top to keep the tea from losing temperature. the central space of the dark wooden desk is occupied by parchment, quills and books with annotations on the edges and outlines to use in his lectures.

despite his many flaws, Tom has a natural talent for acquiring and disseminating knowledge of all kinds. his eloquence and methodical nature allow him to clearly explain each and every concept to his students without ever losing his composure and succeeding in embedding in their young minds the spark of curiosity needed to delve into the murky world of black magic.

every morning, like a ritual, Tom makes himself a cup of Earl Grey, chooses the most suitable quill for the occasion from among his many quills, places the object of study on the table and then takes his own notes on it. no sound or interruption can spoil his work. at a quarter to nine he stops his research process because at nine o'clock the first of his students knocks on his door: a boy with bulging eyes and a snub nose who chews with his mouth open and is afraid of his own shadow.

Tom wastes seven minutes of his precious time looking out of the window, an anomaly has caught his attention since the sun has not risen this morning, the orange sky seems to be waiting for the sun to rise but it resists, hidden on the horizon, in the place that does not exist between day and night.

without further ado, Tom places the book acquired by illicit acts the previous evening on the desk. he allows his fingers to wander over the title, golden letters engraved on the cover (a dark green that resembles envy) and then carefully turns the pages worn yellow by the years and reads aloud the dedication.

            TOM
            to my dear dorian.
            i contributed to the creation
            of your vanity and stopped time
            in my brushstrokes.

            the old poets always
            asserted that it is love,
            and not any other emotion,
            what makes us immortal.

Hallward's work is a diary that scrupulously tracks the process of restoring and preserving a soul in an inert object, i.e. a horcrux. not even the ever-helpful Professor Slughorn would have imagined that such a morbid reading could exist (Tom is tempted to call him just to terrify him). after the dedication there are a couple more lines written in pencil by the author himself.

            TOM
            oh, dorian, in the process
            of worshipping you i made you
            a god, but not the kind of god
            that deserves to be worshipped.

Tom pauses for a moment trying to remember why the name dorian gray seems (in some ways) familiar to him. words always seem to take on greater meaning once they are spoken aloud, which is why he has made a habit of letting the words float in the air when he reads or simply thinks. the walls of his flat are soundproofed with spells older than the ground itself, so that no one can ever hear his abominable philosophical doctrines.