Wren Hawthorne wants nothing more than a quiet seventh and final year at Hogwarts. Unfortunately what Wren wants, and what she ends up getting are two seperate things. Between increasingly difficult classes, Quidditch matches, trying to decide her f...
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Wren and Alistair Ghast stared at each other for the first time. He looked almost the same as he had in Gabriel's memory. His hair had grayed more at his temples, but other than that, not much was different. His features were still sharp and hard, and his eyes were slightly sunken in his angular face. His gaze was easily his most intense feature. She felt that look as if a physical weight were pressing down upon her shoulders. His eyes were such a pale blue that they were nearly white. His pupils were small, and the whites of his eyes seemed too large in comparison. It made her skin crawl, or perhaps that was just the critical, assessing way he looked at her.
Or maybe it was something else that had her skin crawling. It took her a moment to realize what it was, but when she did, it was undeniable. Alistair thrummed with ancient magic. The sensation made her head buzz unpleasantly. It felt similar to how Isadora's repository beneath Hogwarts felt, but not exactly the same. The difference was subtle but unmistakable. Something about it was wrong. It was as if the magic in him was somehow corrupted. Wren didn't know how it was possible and didn't want to find out.
"That was quite the display for one so young. And with only three years of schooling? Imagine what you would have been capable of if your grandfather hadn't hidden you away all those years," Alistair said. His voice was soft and precise, unhurried. He shook his head and let out a disappointed tut as his cold eyes looked her up and down again. Wren had nothing to say to that. She often wondered it herself. If her grandfather hadn't prevented her from using magic, she might be a great deal more powerful than she currently was.
"He wouldn't have had to hide her magic if you hadn't come after them," Gabriel snarled, pure venom in his tone as he stepped forward and half-pushed Wren behind him.
"I wouldn't have had to come after them if he hadn't interfered. It wasn't his business, but he stuck his nose where it didn't belong. We were perfectly happy until he overstepped. If he hadn't put ideas into Lyra's head, hadn't made up some ridiculous prophecy, and poisoned her against her own family, I wouldn't have had to do anything at all. We were happy, and then he took it all away," Alistair replied, calm in words, but there was an intensity in his voice that made Wren uneasy.
"You took it all away. You hunted her down, didn't you? Killed her? Your own wife!" Gabriel accused, voice rising.
"She left me no choice," Alistair sneered, and Wren felt as if he had sucker punched her in the stomach. Assuming he had been the one who murdered her mother and brother was one thing; hearing him admit it so casually was another. Her stomach twisted as she thought of the pool of blood her mother had been found in. How he had torn her apart. The cries of grief from her grandfather echoed in her memory.
"How could you? How could you kill your wife?" Wren asked, horrified.
"She was a craven traitor. She took my child from me and nearly brought our family to ruin," Alistair replied, emotionless save for the slight narrowing of his eyes.
