Crucio - 01 - Useless (Wylan)
Welcome to a Mini-Series of a dysfunctional Family...
Starring: Ominis (4 years), Wylan (7 years), Marvolo (13 years)
Summary: Marvolo has to babysit his younger brothers, but has no intention on stopping then fighting. When he does, Ominis questions him about a squib and Marvolo sees an opputunity to frighten his babybrother mostly to death. (1,1k Words)
Part 02 - Normal
Part 03 - Blind
»Sit up straight, Ominis!« the cheeky little brat scolded his younger brother, as the three brothers sat at the mighty oak table on the corner bench covered in green velvet. The addressed child, only four years old, wobbled his head aimlessly in the direction of his older brother next to him. However, his childlike large eyes captured nothing as the milky steel-blue eyes stared into emptiness.
Uncertainly, Ominis crumpled the worn plush Graphorn between his small hands, which was as big as his head.
»Marvolo, say something, too!« the troublemaker turned to his older brother, who just groaned dismissively. Even though Marvolo was the only one resting his head lazily in his hand, half leaning over the table, his younger brother didn't dare to reprimand him. The eldest brother secretly wondered what he had done to deserve looking after these two.
His dark eyes wandered listlessly through the lavishly furnished living room that spoke of money and elegance. Dark, beautifully carved wooden surfaces of massive chests of drawers and cabinets covered the smooth stone walls, while shades of green in the form of knotted carpets and curtains set accents.
Marvolo boredly and impatiently examined the golden pendulum of the grandfather clock on the opposite wall. Adorned with dark wood and gaudy stucco, it was framed by glass, swinging agonizingly slowly from one side to the other, producing a constant ›tick-tock‹ sound.
As his younger brothers quarrelled again, Marvolo felt as if time was mocking him. Why couldn't the summer holidays be over already?
If only Father was here...
»What can you do, anyway?« Wylan grumbled at his younger brother again, escalating his feigned rage. »You're probably a Squib, Cloud-eye. Utterly useless!«
Ominis flinched and squeezed the mini-Graphorn a little tighter. »B-but...«
»But, but...« Wylan continued to lament and forcefully nudged his youngest brother in the shoulder. Startled by the sudden and rough contact, the little boy tipped to the side. Startled, he flailed his hands, but the dull ›thud‹ as he hit his head against the wall made the eldest brother sigh softly. »I'll tell Mother this, Wylan!«
Wylan huffed with superiority, »As if Mother would believe you. You're blind, Cloud-eye! You can't even see who pushed you. Maybe you just stupidly ran into a wall?«
Wylan's head jerked forward unexpectedly as the oldest of the three brothers gave him a rough headbutt. »Hey! What was that for, Marvolo?« the little troublemaker complained, rubbing the back of his head, further tousling his dark blond hair.
Marvolo gave Wylan a bored look from his dark eyes and raised an eyebrow in doubt. »He may not be able to see, but he can feel it. Besides, I could watch it very well. So, keep quiet.«
Wylan made a grimace. For a seven-year-old, he was a real nuisance. Not least because his magical ability had shown itself just before the summer holidays, making him even more unbearable than before. »Mother believes you even less, Marvolo. You're not even her son!«
Marvolo leaned threateningly and furrowed his eyebrows at Wylan. He didn't need a wand to put his younger brother in his place, who just didn't understand when it was better to keep his mouth shut. At thirteen years old, Marvolo already possessed an impressive charisma. He mastered the art of charm and could easily manipulate both professors and his classmates.
But Wylan had already tested his patience more than once.
»Through Ophelia's veins does not flow the blood of Salazar Slytherin, but through Father's - and I am Father's firstborn,« Marvolo snarled dangerously. »Do you really want to find out whom he believes more? A son who constantly screams and whines, or a son who is capable of rational thinking?«
Wylan hissed softly and stubbornly avoided Marvolo's gaze. Marvolo snorted and leaned back, thinking he had finally silenced him.
»You're stupid, Marvolo!« Wylan complained, but Marvolo promptly hissed in response, »And you're a little pest!«
»Hmph!« Wylan slid off the corner bench and crawled under the table, emerging on the other side. He stood up and stomped away in anger.
Marvolo sighed irritably and weighed in his mind whether he should endure Ophelia's wrath for losing sight of Wylan or continue to let his nerves be strained by that spoiled brat.
With a clear conscience, he chose the former.
Marvolo leaned back into the green velvet cushion of the massive corner bench and began tapping one foot on the floor. He stubbornly stared at the pendulum of the ostentatious grandfather clock again.
»M-Marvolo?« Ominis asked softly without facing him. Marvolo closed his eyes in annoyance and asked irritably, »What?«
His younger brother fell silent. Marvolo should be glad about it, but the weight of an unspoken question was almost worse than a dumb question being asked. »Speak, Ominis.«
Ominis squeezed the plush Graphorn even tighter. »What did Wylan mean when he said you're not Mother's son?« Ominis whispered softly.
Marvolo sighed irritably. For some inexplicable reason, the ticking of the pendulum seemed to grow louder as Marvolo remained silent. Eventually, Ominis asked, »Are you still there, Marvolo?«
»Yes,« Marvolo replied monotonously, pursing his lips. Why did he have to assume the role of this raven mother? »After my mother died, Father married Ophelia. That's why I'm not her son. End of story,« he half-heartedly mocked.
Ominis tilted his head and furrowed his brow. »What does ›died‹ mean?«
Marvolo cast a skeptical glance at his youngest brother. But what did he expect? Ominis was only four years old. Of course, he didn't know yet. From whom should he have learned it? From his stepmother? As if she would utter a single word about Father's first wife.
With an exasperated expression, Marvolo leaned back on the bench. »I'll explain what it means next year, alright?« He glanced at the small, ash-blond boy, who nodded silently.
»What's more important is that we share the same father. Through him, we have the blood of Salazar Slytherin and are his heirs. Nothing else matters. Just this fact makes you more valuable than a hundred ordinary witches or wizards, even if you're blind. Be proud of who you are.«
The little boy beside him squeezed the plush toy even tighter. »W-What if Wylan is right and I really am a Squib?« he asked softly.
»Heh, never in a million years,« Marvolo grinned mockingly. »Salazar Slytherin was the most powerful wizard of his time.«
»And what if I am?«
Marvolo scrutinized Ominis with a furrowed brow. The little boy sat rigidly on the corner bench, rocking his short legs while holding the stuffed animal tightly against himself.
»Then you are utterly useless,« Marvolo's voice sounded dark through the silence of the living room, only disturbed by the constant ›tick-tock‹ of the grandfather clock. Ominis froze.
Marvolo huffed, and his lips curled into a smug smile. »I guess,« he began in a whisper, »I'll tell you what ›died‹ means after all. Because that's what will happen to you if you really happen to be a Squib.«
The following night, the magical talent that lay dormant in the youngest of the Gaunt brothers revealed itself.
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