The Dusk Blob
Age: 4 years, 1 month, 3 weeks
Born: August 23rd, 2016
Adopted: 4 years, 1 month, 3 weeks ago
Adopted: August 23rd, 2016
- Level: 1
- Strength: 10
- Defense: 10
- Speed: 10
- Health: 11
- HP: 11/11
- Intelligence: 1
- Books Read: 1
- Food Eaten: 0
- Job: Unemployed
Paul stared at the man. “You do know who my father was, don’t you?”
“Yes, I do. But I also know who you are. I did inquiries about you, used some of my connections. Plus I am a good judge of character.”
Paul didn’t seem surprised. “I’m glad you adopted that kid. I really wanted to myself, but I couldn’t bring myself to ask my wife. She was pregnant with the twins; it was a difficult pregnancy. I checked in on him, was looking around privately to find anyone willing to adopt a werewolf. But I don’t know if you really want me as an Unspeakable, my father was a death eater…”
The man gave him a small smile, “But you, Paul, aren’t.”
“Pollux,” his mother shrilled, “get in the house this instant!”
Pollux sighed and gloomily entered the house. His house elf, Dweez bowed to him and stared combing his hair. “It is a grave day young Master,” he said to the boy.
Paul ignored the elf and looked at his mother. “Please mummy, don’t make me go.”
“You are going at that is final. If all goes well they will take one look at you and change their minds… However, if they do not,” his mother warned sternly, “don’t you dare think of dishonouring your father by not looking.”
Thirty minutes later, Pollux was dressed in long black funeral clothing—the finest money could buy. His mother clamped her hand painfully around his. She was angry this day had come. The boy could hardly believe it himself as they arrived at the Ministry of Magic in London. Pulling Pollux along, his mother thundered down the corridors, arriving at the judgement room. Dementors were near, as was the patronus to keep them at bay.
They took their seats and waited. Then a man was brought in with heavy shackles and attached to the “witness” chair. “Sol Castor, you are sentenced have the Dementor’s kiss preformed for your service with YouKnowWho. For killing and torturing muggles, witches and wizards alike. Do you have anything to say?”
Sol looked at his family and said, “I am innocent of these charges, as I have said. I say to my wife and son, remember this day of injustice.”
The speaker looked in the same direction as Sol did. “Madam Castor, I must protest. Bringing your child here to witness this…”
“You will not listen, you have condemned him based only on the rantings of a convicted killer. My son will watch as you carry out your ‘justice’ and ruin my family’s life forever.”
“Very well,” the speaker said solemnly. “Bring the dementor forward, let it kiss Sol Castor.”
The dementor floated over dropped it hood—under it was what would make Pollux Castor’s nightmares for years to come. No recognisable face, but a horrific mouth that clamped onto his father’s face. His father thrashed and screamed and then slumped. He was still alive but there was clearly nothing left.
Pollux screamed a blood curdling scream. He heard his mother say to the room, “See what you have done.” Then she grabbed her young son and pulled him out of the room. Sol Castor was brought back to their manor.
Vanessa Castor was inconsolable. She watched her husband become nothing but a living shell. Dweez fed him, cleaned him, groomed him and put him to bed every day. Otherwise the man sat in various places in the house doing nothing at all. Pollux felt the house grow cold—he was ignored for the large part. Then after two months, his mother couldn’t take it anymore. With her son watching, she performed the killing curse on her husband. “I gave him this mercy, the ministry gave us this torment,” she said with tears streaming. Then after the burial, she packed up their large estate and moved them to America, where she started teaching her son about the dark arts.
On his eleventh birthday, letters from Hogwarts and Ilvermorny arrived. He was thrilled to think about leaving. But it did not last. His mother refused to send him to either school, opting instead for private tutors.
Pollux looked at the witch in horror. “He did do it,” the fifteen year old said. He had managed to sneak away from his mother and now out from her watchful eyes he had set out to learn the truth. It had been difficult, since he had never been into the wizarding sections without his mother. Finally he found the town and subsequently, a bookshop. He poured through books about the wizarding war and the trials. With the help of the witch working at the shop he found what he was looking for—his father’s trial. Contrary to his mother’s claims, there was plenty of evidence of his father’s crimes. Several eye witnesses to him torturing muggles and killing them. He had a death eater’s tattoo on his wrist—Pollux had remember that, but until he saw the books had no idea what it was.
“He committed murder, Mother!” Pollux shouted, “I read it. You lied, you defended him! Why?”
“Don’t you take that tone with me, you ingrate. If you were half the man your father was…” She stormed, “The dark lord will come back and when he does you will be at his side.”
“He sure didn’t do anything to stop father’s sentence did he? Voldemort didn’t give a rat’s ass about Dad! And how powerful could he be if a baby undid him only a year after Dad was kissed?”
Mrs Castor slapped him so hard his head whipped back and a handprint was visible. “Don’t you DARE SPEAK OF THE DARK LORD OR YOUR FATHER LIKE THAT!”
Pollux glared at his mother and stormed off to his room. That night he packed his bags and fled. He even cast off his name, which had clung to him like an oppressive cloud.
Paul grimaced as he walked through the foggy London twilight. The werewolf had audacity to wind up in the middle of the streets of a muggle city. Paul saw the figure of a young boy no more than nine years old shimmy down a drainpipe of the muggle orphanage and onto the street. He put his telescope away and quickly followed. That boy was headed towards the werewolf and night was about to fall! Night had fallen by the time Paul reached the location of the werewolf and child. There were many things that Paul wished he could “unsee” and this was one of those times. “Protego!” he shouted and a shield charm popped up around the broken child. The werewolf snarled, but Paul was quick and rolled just as the creature sprung into the air. He grabbed the boy into his arms and apperated directly into Saint Mungo’s Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries. Healers scrambled to care for the child as Paul recounted the tale. Paul arrived at home the following morning and found himself in his wife’s arms.
“You saved his life, Paul,” Jean said, “why do you look so grim?”
Paul sighed, “I was remembering the day I told my mother I became an auror. It was the first time I had seen her in six years. She was livid. Said I was a disgrace—becoming a dark wizard catcher and not a dark wizard. Disowned me and told me never to come back.”
“If you hadn’t, he would not be alive. You did a good thing. I know I am proud of you.” She kissed his head.
“What if I’m not a good man? What if I am like my parents? What if I became an auror just for thrills or you know, to show the outside world I’m not what they think I am.”
“I’ve seen your boggart. It’s still a dementor preforming the kiss—but now, Paul, it’s me or one of the twins that are the victims—which proves you love us. Darling, you are more than triple the man your father was. If you have doubts of your goodness, you visit that boy every day for a month and watch him heal. Then when you see him smile, you will realise just how good of a man you are. You are not your parents, Paul.”
Visit the child he did. He learnt the boy was named Magnus and was also a wizard child who should be able to attend school in two years, when he turned eleven. A year later, Paul was visited by Magnus’ new adoptive father, who offered him a new job and new friendship. Jean had been right, those that knew Paul did not feel the sins of his father should be passed on to him. Paul never told Magnus he was the one to save him, just seeing the boy grow and have a chance at life that he would not have gotten was all the thanks he needed.
Based off the Harry Potter series written by JK Rowling. Story by Raven