GARE du NORD CABOOSE
Paris, France
September 5th, 1948
WARNING: drowning attempts, mention of pneumonia, mentions of abuse. Typical Noble House stuff.
Laurent Rosier was, by all accounts, not a good man.
His bewitching exterior was crafted by the Fates up above, gifting him with a ghostly white complexion, contrasted by the shining locks of dark hair upon his head. A sharp jaw and chin so perfectly angular, and pulchritudinous eyes of emerald green.
"The good Lord favours him highly. He is too good to gift us with such a beautiful boy."
His mother had obsessed over him during his first years, crooning and rocking him back and forth in cradlesong, simply overjoyed by the gorgeous little boy that she had brought into the world.
She would show him off to other guests during their evenings of splendour, and would dress his little frame up in the most frilliest of robes, earning the baby an abundance of compliments and affection from those who circled around him.
His father cherished him too, in his own peculiar way. Quality time meant hours on end of training to become a proper Heir of House Rosier. Laurent would get tested on his smarts, his father throwing scenarios at him and expecting him to quickly name solutions within the next five seconds, and if he failed to do so on time, a little stinging jinx to his shoulder.
Wizard's Chess represented strategy, and the pair would play every night after dinner for hours on end, Laurent's father pressuring him into making the perfect move.
He was not surprised when his father came home one day after his eighth name day, an older girl by two years clutching his hand tightly.
His mother had been livid, even attempting to kick the little bastard girl out more times than once, claiming they had a perfect little boy right there in front of them.
Laurent Rosier's father rarely acknowledged his son's beauty, his wit, his charm.
He took all credit for having made the young man that Laurent was today, claiming that it was all him.
Therefore, he claimed that his work on him was done, and now, it was his new sister that needed his and his mother's attention. After all, her mother was gone, he expected Laurent to pity the poor girl, take her in and make her his friend.
Instead, he had treated her with malice.
He would never forget the one time they all promenaded outside beneath the crisp morning skies, Laurent and his sister Madeleine had run up ahead to the lake, wanting to feed the ducks bits of their bread left from breakfast.
They had leaned over the lakeside and watched their reflections wobble around in the crystal blue. Madeleine had giggled as she splashed some more water, so as to make the waves even more intense and smiling at the way her reflection looked silly.
Laurent, however, was not as pleased by her frolicking, and had scrunched his little brows and he crossed his arms over his chest.
"Stop it! You are going to scare away the ducks!" He whined, but his sister did not hear him, for her laughs were at their loudest as she stuck her tongue out at her glistening reflection.
"Laurie! Come see this, this is funny!" She squealed in delight, her grin toothy as she beckoned him over.
The boy growled lowly, and he threw the bag of bread to the ground as he marched straight over to the older girl.
"It is not funny!" He protested. He was irritated by the girl's lack of propriety, and the fact that she was hardly trained in the things she was supposed to know astonished him.
But the girl simply kept dancing over the water, too caught up in her merriment to take Laurent's words seriously.
The more she ignored him, the more his fury flared.
As Madeleine leaned over the shining body of water, Laurent could not even comprehend his next move as his hand shot out to the back of her head and he pushed.
Her scream was muffled as her head fell straight into the water, her lanky arms flailing helplessly as her body squirmed beneath Laurent's hold.
Soon, he pushed her entire frame into the lake, face red with rage as she thrashed against the icy waters and screamed for her brother.
"Laurie, please! I-" A huge wave of water spilled into her mouth, making her choke on her words as she strained to get the last few words out. "I can't swim!"
The boy had scoffed, and he merely stood there with his arms crossed as he watched her struggling figure with unfeeling eyes.
"You are a Witch. Figure it out." He spat.
The poor young boy did not know any better then, it had been the year just before he would receive his letter to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.
Before her, he had been perfect. The pride and joy of the Rosier household, always the centre of his parent's attention, always the smart one, always the handsome one.
He was the one everyone was supposed to love.
But when Madeleine came along, everything had changed.
And if he could not gain attention by playing the part of his mother's perfect little Angel, then he would slowly learn the Devil's ways.
Little Laurent could not help but lift his chin with pride as he watched his sister's movements begin slow, her breathing frantic as she tried kicking her legs.
But his moment of pride soon ended.
It takes but a mere moment for someone's life to go terribly wrong.
"It's cold! I'm so cold!"
As the harsh waves fell over Madeleine's head, she had disappeared entirely beneath the surface.
Laurent froze.
In the distance, he heard the echo of his father's shout, and glanced over his shoulder in a panic as he watched his parents scurry over to him in a frenzied hurry.
"What's happened?" His mother asked, and her eyes widened when she took notice of a small amount of golden hair flowing just beneath the surface.
Her hand flew to her mouth, and the two both watched as Laurent's father dove straight into the water, a few moments later coming back to the surface with an unconscious Madeleine held tightly in his arms, his expression livid as he looked right at his son.
Laurent could remember every single thing that had happened after that, his father's scoldings and the sharp sting of a jinx to his stomach, his parents shouting at one another, trying to dictate what was best for the freezing girl splayed on his bed, her lips blue and face pale, with multiple blankets covering her every inch.
A Healer had come an hour later, and he stayed long after dinner, checking his sister's pulse every few minutes and pricking her skin as he checked her blood for infection.
Laurent had stayed in the corner of the room for a long time, without appetite and unable to work up the courage to leave his sister's side.
But not because he worried for her.
He watched her sleeping figure with hatred.
It was because of her, that his parents now hated him.
He did not allow himself to think otherwise.
A year later, Laurent Rosier had grown used to the feeling of loneliness.
He kept himself locked away in his room, entertaining himself with stories of dragons and heroic quests made by wizards far more powerful than him.
He had readied himself for his Hogwarts letter, for he knew that it would've been coming any day then.
The days where he could not escape his family's presence, were the days when his mother forced him to accompany her to Chapel, or to parties hosted by the other noble Pureblooded families.
One fateful day, he had been gushing with joy as he held his Hogwarts letter in his hands tightly. And he felt a surge of power as he watched the way Madeleine's face dropped as their father explained that he would not be allowing her to attend school, her mystic, sunken complexion being one that could raise questions.
Later that day however, Laurent was forced by his mother and father to attend a celebratory dinner at the Avery estate.
The eleven-year-old sat at a cloth-lined table alone, his cheek squished against his palm as he watched his mother throw her head back in delight at whatever stupid joke she had heard.
Then, his mossy irises flicked over to the group of boys his age that he had discreetly been watching the whole night.
The dinner party was being held in honour of Cyan Avery receiving his Hogwarts letter as well, and the blonde boy was the bell of the ball that night, constantly of the receiving end of praise and felicitations.
Cyan and the other boys, whom Laurent knew to be named Lysander Lestrange, Damian Mulciber, and Abraxas Malfoy, all jeered and laughed the night away, whilst the Rosier boy watched with jealousy.
It wasn't until Damian Mulciber caught the boy's gaze, and smirked smugly as he cocked his head over to where he sat, the other boys turning to look at him.
It wasn't long before the group all sauntered over to him, towering over his sulking figure.
"You're the Rosier boy aren't you?" Cyan Avery asked, his voice boisterous as he grinned down at him, his grey eyes shining.
Laurent's face had soured, "Yes." He murmured sullenly, not daring to look any of them in the eye.
"My mother told me you've gotten your letter too. How unfortunate, your glum demeanour will surely be enough to shatter the school's welcoming image." He snickered, and the other boys followed suit.
The more they all jested, the more Laurent grew more inhibited in their presence.
Damian Mulciber raised a brow at his timid demeanour, "What? Has the Rosier boy been hit by a Silencio jinx? It was not me!" He giggled, holding his hands up in mock surrender, and yet again the others laughed with him, seemingly finding anything the other said utterly hilarious, even if it was the most stupidest thing Laurent had ever heard.
Laurent huffed, "Have you ever been dropped on the head more than once as a stupid child?" He grumbled, not even understanding what it was that he had said, mentally scolding himself for blurting out words that did not make the slightest amount of sense.
He tended to do that a lot when he was angry.
But to the young boy's surprise, the rest of the group had broke out into an plethora of laughs.
"That- he definitely has been!" Lysander Lestrange wheezed, smacking his hand against his knee as he doubled over in laughter. Mulicber frowned and slapped him over the head.
A small smile made its way to Laurent's lips, and soon, the boys had begun to fraternize with one another more often, sharing their hopes about being sorted into Slytherin House and wondering if they'd all be assigned to the same dorm room.
Being around them was a sliver of peace in Laurent's chaotic life.
As the years passed, Laurent Rosier wore his Slytherin robes proudly, and stayed within the company of his only group of friends, save for a few new members.
When he had first met Tom Riddle, he could not help but laugh internally at the boy.
His name was not one of great notation, and the young Slytherin boy was an enigma, always keeping to himself.
His intellect was still far greater than any of the others in their year, and Laurent could not help but think of Tom Riddle as a teacher's pet, a people pleaser, a wizard far more powerful than him.
Still, as the boys began to grow more and more drawn to Riddle's sibylline aura, they began to feel the darkness that emanated from Riddle's very soul.
Laurent understood now, why he had so easily been able to acquaint himself with Tom.
Once, his mother had said that his exterior was crafted by the Angels themselves, that God had favoured him enough to gift him with such a gorgeous face.
But Laurent Rosier's interior? It was crafted by Satan. His heart and soul dipped in Hell Fire. It bubbled with hatred and resentment, an all encompassing greed for all the love and attention in the world.
Laurent Rosier understood, that he had never been destined to be his mother's perfect little Angel.
◇──◆──◇──◆
Adelaide Greengrass gazed wearily at the rolling hills and trees as she pressed her head against the train's dusty window.
The girl had enjoyed the sights of Romania's mountains, the lush green hillsides and quaint little muggle villages filled with architectural styles of pointed arches and stained glass windows that shone brightly in the sunlight.
The journey from Sighisoara to the capital of Bucharest had taken a long while, especially since she was travelling with both the Hellions and the Knights, fourteen other bodies.
After that, it was another whole day of travel to Paris, and now, Adelaide sat alone in a cramped compartment, strongly anticipating their moment of arrival in Rochefort-en-Terre.
The girl rarely travelled abroad, however she'd become incredibly conversant with almost every region of the Scottish and English countries. It was always the same old flats of land, and dead city streets, the sky ravaged by smoke and ash and the sounds of air raid sirens filling her cochleas.
She was grateful to be a Witch during the ruinous times of the war, grateful for having the privilege to a secluded home obscured from the muggle eye.
Living in that home however, was like fighting a battle of her very own—
Adelaide flinched at the soft sound of a click as the door of her compartment slid open, and she met the emerald eyes of Laurent Rosier.
He seemed to freeze when he saw her, but an easy smile made its way to his lips as he nodded her way. "Apologies, I thought Abraxas had said he was in this compartment." He chuckled, but Adelaide could only stare at him blankly, blinking rapidly as she sat there awkwardly.
Rosier's mouth opened as he scrunched his brows slightly at Adelaide's odd demeanour, though he seemed to close it only a few seconds later.
"Uh— he's not here..." Adelaide mumbled, and Laurent snorted. "Yes, clearly not. He's never been the best at giving directions. Which is odd come to think of it, him being Riddle's most trusted asset..." He thought aloud, a little giggle leaving his lips.
Suddenly, his eyes shot to meet hers, "You know, I remember you vaguely! You were a year younger than us at Hogwarts were you not?" He asked, his eyes sparkling with recognition.
Adelaide nodded, "Yes, I was." She confirmed. Laurent clapped his hands together in delight, "Of course! How could I forget such a pretty face?" He grinned, and Adelaide blushed.
He sat down on the cushioned seat across from her, dropping his luggage to the ground with a loud thud as he smiled at her brightly.
"So, may I ask what it is that has brought you here? I mean, it's rather interesting to entertain the thought of you becoming a Hellion." He jested, and Adelaide sunk the slightest bit in her seat, her brows furrowing as she broke his gaze.
Laurent's smile dropped at her behaviour, and he quickly saved himself, "Or you do not have to tell me! My apologies, that was rather forward...I'm speaking to you as if we are actually close." He sighed.
Adelaide shook her head, "It's...fine." She whispered. The girl raised her chin to chance a quick glance at the Rosier Heir.
He was incredibly clean-cut, but she would have expected as such, with him being from one of the most respectable families of the Sacred-Twenty-Eight.
She understood as well as any of the other Heirs, the pressure to present themselves a certain way to the public. Hell, she was even wearing a lacy frock with shined up boots at that very moment, not exactly the best choice of costume for hours of travel.
As Laurent stared out at the swaying trees, Adelaide could not help but take notice of the melancholic beauty of his features.
He had seemed the usual smiley type, but she had been watching him closely back at the Hell Pit, and she had seen the slight bags under his eyes, the sunken edges of his perfect face.
And with the early morning sun shining from the window resting upon his face, his tired features were increasingly more apparent.
Adelaide cleared her throat, and when Laurent turned to glance at her she gave him a small smile. "I am sorry about your aunt. Despite her...interesting motives, it is never easy to lose a family member." She spoke sincerely.
Laurent shifted uncomfortably in his seat.
When the news of Grindelwald's uprising had reached the Rosier family a few years back, Laurent's mother and father had begun to worry.
And when his father's sister, Vinda Rosier, had come waltzing into their house and had begun begging for his parents to join their cause, the crazed woman had quickly become the black sheep of the French family.
Laurent had experienced first hand the heavy discussions at the dinner table, his parents along with his grandparents arguing about what Vinda's choices could mean for the future of their house.
Some nights, when Laurent and his sister would be sent up to bed as their family members kept on fighting over the dinner table, he would pretend not to care.
But most nights, the boy would lie awake, staring blankly up at the ceiling as he clutched his duvet tightly.
He would play over his parent's words over and over again in his mind, and he too would worry for his family's future, for his future.
And when all in his mind was quiet, he would close his eyes, and wish for his aunt to die.
Because only then would him and his family be safe from Grindelwald's forces. Only then would they not be shunned by society.
Dear Lord, if you truly are listening, you know of all the atrocities that I have committed in the past, but please, don't let Aunt Vinda ruin my family more then I already have.
Take her away. Take her away. Take her away.
Laurent merely shrugged at Adelaide, returning her smirk halfheartedly, "Well, I suppose fate cannot be changed..." he murmured, and a sickening surge of shame raked through his body as he thought of his aunt.
Laurent Rosier, the boy that had been ravaged by his anger, and his guilt.
Adelaide leaned back in her seat, a soft sigh leaving her lips as she shook her head. "It is all a bit...crazy, isn't it?" She mused, a small smile gracing her lips, despite the dejection slowly growing within the hazel of her eyes.
Laurent let out a breathy sound too, though he was not sure if he could call it a laugh. His pale hands laced together in between his long legs as he leaned forward, eyes on the floor.
"In truth, it is all one big mess."
Laurent smiled sheepishly.
Adelaide smiled too.
◇──◆──◇──◆
Alena Sarbani was not sure how long she had gone without sleep.
Frequent were her visits of the cruel world behind her closed eyes. Unrelenting memories always terrorized her slumbering self. Prosaic perception kept her awake.
For that reason alone, Alena Sarbani rarely allowed herself the tranquil pleasure sleep brought to her.
And whenever her body betrayed her, whenever her eyes fluttered shut on a sudden whim, she only ever allowed it to be behind closed doors so that others would not have to reckon with her shuddering, her screams.
The Witch watched Meena's sleeping figure with weary eyes. Their second day of travel had begun to cease, and the train's lights had dimmed to a soft glow until it was deemed easy on one's tired eyes.
Meena had thrown her cousin a blanket that she had packed along with her, fixing her with a demanding look as she wordlessly forced Alena to get comfortable and shut her eyes.
But, as Meena slowly dozed off, Alena had simply held the soft clump in her lap and traced the huge, intricate flower patterns with her fingers. Auntie Naima could've picked any other blanket, yet she just had to go for this complete eyesore?
After an hour of waiting for sleep to embrace her with its warm, welcoming hands, Alena found herself groaning in frustration as she shoved the cover off her legs and marched out into the narrow hall of the shaking train.
As she quickly made her way over to the buffet compartment on the other side of the caboose, she held her head low as she scrunched her brows in deep thought.
The past two days had most certainly not been what she had expected.
She almost failed to believe it had even been that long ago, for the past was gripping her by the throat, and she found herself still trying to process his extremely sudden appearance.
She already knew of his motives, his selfish, selfish reason for coming to her.
It had been nearly three years.
Three. Years.
As she poured herself a glass of lukewarm water, she leaned against the crescent island stood up against the wall of the compartment. She set the pitcher down and rested her chin down onto her arms, merely watching the way her water softly swished to the rhythm of the train's swaying, her lonesome self sheltered by the darkness.
Her eyes began to slowly close...
The door slid open.
Alena jolted awake as she turned to see Tom Riddle enter the cramped room, and as his eyes met the Witch's, his body seemed to fully turn itself to face her direction as his fingers gently slid the door back in place.
He raised a brow at her, "I thought you were advised to stay within your cabin. It was you who was worried about getting caught, was it not?" He asked softly, slowly striding toward her. Alena merely narrowed her eyes at him before turning away and pressing her whole forehead against the cold marble of the island's surface, her eyes squeezing shut as she yawned deeply.
She heard the faint sound of liquid smoothly flowing to the bottom of a glass beside her, the tingly sound of the droplets bouncing off the sides making her ears hurt.
She groaned, lifting her head from the marble and taking her two index fingers to rub at her eyes harshly until she saw little lights float across her vision.
"Have you always been so restless?" Tom questioned, tilting his head as he took a sip of the water. His face scrunched ever so slightly as the acidic taste of warm tap water hit his tongue, and he languidly set the cup down before pushing it away.
Alena merely sniffled, "It is hard to find sleep when you instead find yourself being put in such a peculiar situation as I have." She spoke blandly.
Tom merely hummed halfheartedly, twirling his wand between his long digits as he peered at her with wonder.
"You never did answer Abraxas' question, back at the Pit." He mused suddenly, and Alena could not help but raise her brows at his casualness.
"....excuse me?" She faltered, but Riddle looked back at her knowingly, his cerulean eyes slowly coaxing the true answer out of her, he pushed his wand back into his pocket, instead lacing his hands together and resting them on the island as he gazed at her expectantly.
She scoffed, "It is as I said, the ministries are lying to us and are attempting to cover up Grindelwald's death by—"
"Malfoy did not wish to know what the Congress did, Sarbani. If I can recall correctly, he asked how you knew of Grindelwald's death. After all...the ministries knew they had to keep their dirty little secret contained." He grinned.
Alena's face went pale again, her form frozen as if she had just been caught sneaking cookies from the jar.
Tom Riddle tsked, "My my, Alena." Her nostrils flared at his use of her first name, "Who knew you held so many secrets?" He jested. This was clearly incredibly amusing to him.
Alena's downturned glower slowly morphed into a sour grin, "I hold many secrets, Tom." She whispered, emphasizing the way she spat out his name.
His stupid name.
His stupid, stupid name.
Riddle's jaw clenched.
"The world is not yet ready for such atrocities to be shared."
Their roles changed, and now, Tom's growing wrath was that of a raging flame, whilst Alena took on a different mantle, one of nature's harsh winds, pushing the flames aside, slowly snuffing them out.
The elements lived in a constant motion, one taking the place of another in an endless cycle of movement, each product of nature fighting for the high ground, forcing their strengths to the surface.
The two silently fought their tempestuous battle.
The door behind them slid open with a loud bang.
"Hey!" A low voice shouted from behind Riddle, and the pair spun around to face the tall, robust wizard towering over them, his wand out and pointed directly at Alena.
"I know you..." He grinned, his eyes lighting up with selfish glee as they met with those of the two others entering the room.
Three wands were pointed at Alena.
The Witch stood tall and ever so slightly moved closer to Riddle, whose eyes were skimming back and forth between the Ministry officials and...a suddenly very close Alena.
One of the men chuckled, "this ought to give us a raise, eh boys?" He smiled, his rusty golden tooth on display.
Tom stood there tensely as he felt Sarbani's hand reach inside his side pocket, slowly closing her fingers around his wand.
The trio of Aurors began to round on the two, and Alena held her breath as she cursed herself for agreeing to follow Riddle.
Damned Riddle. Ruining my fucking life every time—
"Expelliarmus!" Alena shouted before harshly grabbing Tom's wrist and dragging him out of the compartment.
Her blow was powerful enough to have knocked over all three of the grown men, and Riddle gawked at the angered men as they scrambled to back to their feet, shouting orders of rage.
The two ran down the aisle, many other passengers sliding their doors open and rubbing their weary eyes as they grumbled on about the sudden noise.
"Go get the others!" Alena panted, and Tom looked over his shoulder, the Aurors were closing in on them.
"You truly suspect me to know where they all are?" He shook his head, and Alena rolled her eyes as she let go of his wrist and pushed him to keep going. "Just go! God, useless." She murmured, and with Riddle's wand still in hand she turned to face the three men that had stopped before her.
"Well well, Alena Sarbani." One of the men mused, the Witch winced at the way he very terribly pronounced her surname.
He pointed a finger at her, "We've been looking for you, you know. Where's your little group of misfits, then?" He drawled.
Alena shot a curse that hit him straight in the eye.
"Ah! You bitch—"
Another howl of pain, this time from the man beside him.
"What the—" A cut reaching all the way down from his forehead to his collarbone. When he went to go touch his face, his hand came back the rustic colour of sanguine.
He fainted.
Alena turned to the last man, a younger one. He stood there watching her with bug-like eyes, shuddering as he began to step away from her.
The first man, still holding his eye, shouted at the boy. "What're you doing? Go get her you useless sack of— oh come on!"
Alena hit him straight into his other eye before turning back to the young boy, most likely her own age. "I see how they treat you." She said softly, "If you let me go, I promise I'll put an end to treatment such as this. You have my word." She smiled softly, and the boy merely widened his eyes at her, his mouth agape as he nodded.
Sarbani took her chance, and ran down to where her and Meena had been seated, just as others had begun to poke their heads into the hall to gawk at the three fallen men.
Alena neared the sound of muffled argument, and she soon caught a glimpse of dark auburn hair as she ran over to Meena, and her cousin gasped as she reached them, pulling the Witch into her arms. "Oh Alena, we thought those men had perhaps taken you!" She exclaimed.
"What has happened? What do we do?" Dominic gulped. Alena caught her breath, "Ministry officials they— they recognized me and tried to take me as prisoner. Now this vessel is no longer safe, we need to leave." She explained, and she made sure everyone held on tightly to their bags as she struggled to think of a quick escape.
"Wait...I know where we can go! Who else here knows how to apparate?" Alena questioned, and Nora, Rosier, Avery and Artur stepped forward.
"We should be able to go in groups..." she murmured, scrunching her brows as she considered their numbers. "Alright, Meena, Greengrass and Francis you can come with me. The rest of you settle into groups and fucking deal with it! We rendezvous near the edge of Elven, Morbihan!"
The groups began to form, and Alena ordered her three partners to join hands and be sure grip their luggage tightly. She painted an elaborate picture of the place she needed to go in her mind, and she shut her eyes as she felt a pulsating surge of power begin to surface.
A sharp twist made her feel as if her brain had been split in two. She felt dizzy as her side hit solid ground harshly. She heard the groans of the others scattered all around her as they slowly made their way up from the ground and rapidly blinked their eyes as they tried to adjust to their darkened surroundings.
"Where are we?" She heard Meena moan, and they all looked up at the towering house stood before them.
"Welcome, to House Bellchant."