The Art of Love and Regality | Sirius and Regulus Black

Chapter 5: Identity Crisis 101

Warning: This chapter contains both mature language and themes. And so, if you don't have a penchant for reading those, I wouldn't advice you to read this.

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Who the fuck was Lawrence Avery?

This question was one, the boy himself did not know the answer to.

The closest he had come to a definition was when Viktor Rosier labelled him a "mother-fucking thief."

And Rosier couldn't have been more veracious, as ever  since the Avery heir had mastered the arduous and  painful art of shapeshifting, he had slowly started losing vestiges of his identity, and in lieu acquired fragments of those into whom he shifted.

In fact, if Lawrence would have been told by someone to recall a time where he was just him, he would have guffawed at their face and brusquely informed them that it wasn't possible to do so.

However, kindly do not let this monologue be mistaken for bragging. The gift of shapeshifting was a blessing as much as it was a curse. It gave Avery the quintessential platform for  duping and deceiving the pupils of Hogwarts into believing he was their comrades or even their swains.
And Lawrence would have been lying if he stated that he hadn't exploited this platform numerous times.

Once, just to vex Anna, in his fourth year, Lawrence had shifted into her former crush, Eugene Felixus, and had asked her out on a date at Three Broomsticks Inn. The expression on Anna's face from Lawrence's vantage point, when she discovered her crush who had asked her out was but a shape-shifted version of Lawrence, was unforgettably hilarious!

That was until Anna grabbed the nearest, most lanceolate knife atop a wooden counter and flung it vigorously at Lawrence. Fortuitously, Anna wasn't as adept in the art of neither archery, nor javelin as she was in executing spells. Unfortunately, Anna had the might of all the deities of Olympus combined. Thus, the knife deeply scraped his right elbow.

Yet of-course, this talent, mind you an inimitable one, could never be adequate enough to appease mommy and daddy dearest. Of-course, nothing could come close to Squib Benjamin's "divine ability" to memorise the Mudblood's Numeric System. And not to be condescending, but Lawrence knew that the Numeric System was what the mudbloods called " a piece of cake".

However, let's cut the crap, Lawrence abhorred crying over split milk, after all this was Benjamin's infantile habit. And please do not mistake this soliloquy for one that arouses pity, for Lawrence Avery does not need anyone's sympathy.

And though Lawrence did verily loathe Benjamin with every fibre in his being, he had realised at the age of eleven, that Benjmain's sky-rocketing ego was the emanation of the incessant molly-coddling of their parents. They fed him sugar-coated lies dipped in syrupy honey, which made even his rotten habit of picking boggers seem like the heroic act of becoming a fucking "martyr" amidst a skirmish.

However, fortuitously the same wasn't the circumstance at Hogwarts. He was quite literally worshipped by a throng of doltish Slytherin ruffians, inclusive of Mulciber. The Slytherin common room was practically his throne hall, where all his "subjects" reported to him regarding the daily goings-on at Hogwarts.

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The rain droplets pelted against the stained-glass moasics, reflecting a puissant stained-glass mural  
of a crowned snake of brilliant veridian hue on the tiled marble floor of the Slytherin common room.

A crisp click reverberated across the room, almost made inaudible by pitter-patter of water droplets, as the doors at the threshold parted to reveal Valentina Hawthorne, who without hesitation strut towards the nearest vanity table, her chin held up high, the blades of her shoulders rotating with pride.

Avery sunk deeper into his plush velvet throne, an exasperated groan escaping from his parted lips as he rolled his eyes at the sight of Valentina preening herself every time she looked in the mirror. But he wouldn't blame her for doing so; she possessed luscious mocha-coloured ringlets, which complemented her olive skin. A feline nose sat betwixt the crispness of her eyes, which looked as though they were drowning in condescesion and confidence.

Lawrence looked amusedly at the austere, unadorned vanity table, "Where are all your jewelries, accessories, and crystal sets? Better yet where are your rhinestone tiaras? I thought bitches needed ornaments of brilliant beauty and luminosity to distract from their hideosity and vulgarity!"

The petite teenager giggled dangerously, sparing a sly stare at the languid boy, "Well, it isn't required in the vicinity of bastards like you."

Avery chuckled. "Well played, Hawthorne", he applauded while tossing her a cigarette and a lighter, both of which she caught betwixt her index and middle finger. "So, did you hear about Black? They say he's been in the hospital for two days now and has no prospect of being discharged in the next two days either."

The girl lit her cigarette in one sharp move before tossing it back to Lawrence and proceeding with her daily catharsis. "Why though? Didn't he just pass out?"

Avery stealthily drew closer, lowering his voice to an audible, hoarse whisper, "You didn't hear or see him like I did Valentina. He wailed as though he'd seen death, his eyes frozen as though he was trapped in his memories, and limbs unable to move not because of fear.... but because of a foreign control. This kind of stuff doesn't happen often. Rarely do students drop unconscious in the midst of the day, and rarely do patients, who just faint require longer than two days of bedrest. If I'd know any better, I'd conjecture some phantom is after him."

The Slytherin Prefect's nose scrunched in confusion, eyes narrowing in ignorance, face marred by the blade of perplexity, "So? Can't someone just simply exorcise that goddamn being out of him, if it were to possess him?"

A derisive snort resonated across the room, followed by a bemused glare from the shape-shifter, "Are you not privy to the whole concept of Phantom Possession? Once a mortal is under the influence of ghouls, he is compelled by his puppeteer to sacrifice nine lives in the name of the Devil. These nine lives are specifically chosen due to their characteristics. They are categorised into three clusters, each of which belong to different genera. And only once all these nine lives have been sacrificed does the ghoul decided to vacate the body of the innocuous mortal. However, by doing, the ghoul renders the body weak and vulnerable, resulting in the mortal's demise."

The rain began to belabour the windows more vigorously, the sound of each water droplet plummeting on the window sill became more audible and distinguishable. Subsequently, the incoherent cracking of the flames adopted a more strident voice and emitted a suffocating heat, on which caused beads of sweat to adorn the upper half of Valentina's forehead.

"So, not only is Sirius's animation now a threat to literally the well-being of every pupil at Hogwarts, but also there is no scope for simultaneously exorcising the ghoul out of him as well as sustaining his life", Valentina whispered hesitantly, barely able to prevent trepidation and pity from lacing her enunciation.

Avery stared at the girl with a renewed sense of clarity, her specific words put the whole circumstance into context. He had presumed that Sirius' "Phantom Possession" would wreak havoc and stir mass hysteria, but he hadn't contemplated what this meant for the whole of Hogwarts and Sirius himself.

Death was going to ensue.