Bee

28. Sometimes it's nice to escape into something fictional.

[ryehoneyinkstains]

Hello.

My name is Bee and this is my tentative return to writing for the Harry Potter/ Hogwarts Legacy fandom. I am aware these are dead/dying fandoms but I don't care. I'm just here to write self indulgent fics.

I write mostly about Severus Snape or Aesop Sharp, though if inspiration hits I sometimes write for others.

Most of my writing will be x female reader with no specified descriptors. I don't write MLM, sorry.

I'm always open to requests, exchanges, and collabs!

[ryehoneyinkstains]

𝔗𝔥𝔢 𝔏𝔬𝔳𝔢𝔯𝔰

𝐴𝔢𝔰𝔬𝔭 𝔖𝔥𝔞𝔯𝔭 𝔵 ℜ𝔢𝔞𝔡𝔢𝔯

Part two/?

Arranged Marriage. Marriage of convenience. Call it whatever you want, Aesop wants no part of it.

AN: Holy Shit, I found the second chapter after all. Here's some more slop I wrote years ago.

The silence between you is deafening, Aesop stuck somewhere between anger and disgust. Though neither was pointed at you. He hadn’t missed the way your eyes had widened in surprise when you realized who he was. Not that it took you very long, his name slipped past your lips the moment you both locked eyes. You had called him professor, and that had brought about Aesop’s disgust.

With how thorough it seemed that Madame Wilhelmina had looked through his files, surely, they must have known that you had been his student. Was this some sort of sick joke? By Merlin’s name he was almost twice your age! He couldn’t be the only one that realized how sick and twisted this whole thing was. Marrying off a girl who’s barely out of childhood to a man who once held a position of authority over her.

Did they really expect him to be okay with this?

“Professor Sharp?” you’ve never been the timid type, but your voice was so soft that Aesop almost didn’t hear it.

“Don’t call me that.” He snapped, a chill in his voice. The thought of a woman he was supposed to lie next to in bed calling him professor repulsed him.

Your eyes widened at his anger, your tongue slipping out to wet your lips before you pressed them into a thin line. Whatever it was that you were going to say, it seemed that you decided against it.

The silence ticked on, Aesop’s thoughts racing with no end in sight. Whenever he dared look at you, you flinched and squirmed in your seat, your eyes finding something else to look at.

He did not blame you, the thought of being married to a man as old as he was, whom you had known as a child, had to be truly unsettling.

He felt sick, what little he ate for breakfast threatening to make a reappearance. He brought his hand to his face and found it dampened with sweat. He wanted to leave, to never see you again.

“You’ve got to breathe, professor.”

At some point you had stood from your seat and stepped over to him, not that much separated his seat from yours. He almost yelled at you when your hand touched his own, fingertips gently wrapping around his and pulling his hand free, but he hadn’t the strength to do much but close his eyes, refusing to look at you.

Your hands were soft and cold as you placed the other one against his forehead, pushing his hair out of the way.

“Are you having trouble breathing?” you asked, your voice reminding him of the halls of St. Mungo. You must have gone into healing, all Medi-witches took on the same lilt after a while.

He could breathe just fine, even as his heart raced and the thought of your touch lingering on his skin brought about another wave of cold panic. He’s had his fair share of panic attacks, though most of them in private. Perhaps that’s why he’s a little harsh in gripping your wrist and pulling your hand away from his face, even though the coldness of your skin had begun to feel nice against his warm one.

But it was that very thought that had him tethering on a dangerous edge again. He had no right to think that anything about you felt nice. Nothing about this situation allowed for such an indulgence.

“Do not touch me,” he said, where his skin was flushed from his mental sickness, his voice still held no kindness. “I need no comfort, and certainly not from you.”

He could hear how harsh he sounded, just as he knew that none of this was your fault. But how angry he was in that moment, that reason seemed to leave him.

“It’s not a good feeling to know that my own husband hates the very sight of me.” You say, your own voice almost as angry as his.

Aesop’s eyes fly open when you call him ‘husband’. He finds you seated once more, your face turned away from him. Not that it does anything in dampening your radiating anger. He can feel it, slithering down to his lungs with every inhale.

“It’s not my fault you know. I didn’t get to decide who I’m forced to marry.”

Of course, you have all the right to be mad at him. He hasn’t exactly been kind to you this entire time. But in his anger, it seems that rationality has flown out the window.

“You are acting like there’s nothing wrong with this!” he retorted. “Do you not understand the severity of this union? What people would say when they find out?” It’s a wonder that he can keep his voice from rising until he’s shouting.

“Of course, I understand!” you turn to look at him, and while the anger is clear in the way your eyebrows knit together and your face has flushed, what Aesop hadn’t expected to see were the unshed tears that lined your eyes. “But you’re punishing me for something I can’t control! I didn’t know who was going to walk through that door, but I wasn’t expecting it to be you! And I wasn’t expecting you to be so repulsed by me that the very sight of me makes you sick!” your voice wavered, anger and hurt evident in your words.

Aesop felt a twinge of guilt as he watched you rub your eyes. Here he was, thinking only about himself when you were suffering as well.

His voice softened slightly as he retrieved a handkerchief and held it out to you. “I did not mean to make it seem that I am blaming you for this.” You don’t take the handkerchief and he crushes it into his fist, dropping his hand onto his lap.

“I know that this is difficult for you as well.” He admits, guilt growing stronger. “I didn’t expect to see you again, especially not like this. I… I need time to process, but it doesn’t excuse my behavior.”

The anger on your face seems to soften as you take a deep breath, your shoulders drooping as you exhale slowly. When you look at him again the tears are gone and you no longer look angry, but rather forlorn. Tired.

“Would it really be so awful?” You ask into the quiet that unfolded between you two. “Are you really so unwilling as to even try?”

“Try?” Aesop repeats, wishing that he had kept his mouth shut instead. He had a feeling about the words you were going to say, and he did not want to hear them. Not now. Not ever.

“I am not asking for you to love me overnight, but there is no getting out of this union. There is no divorce, no running away from this. Do you really think that it’s impossible for you to accept me? To become happy by my side?” The more you talk, your voice shakes slightly, as if you want to make this work. Or if it’s just the illusion you are trying to craft for both of you, Aesop is unsure. But you reach for him, take his hands in yours once again, as this time he doesn’t have the strength to pull away when your fingers wrap around his. You hold him lightly, but he can feel the pressure of your strength promising to keep him from pulling away.

“Will you not give me a chance to show you what good a wife I could be to you? Would you not give me, give us a chance?” You plea, leaning out of your seat. “Please, Aesop?”

He could no longer feel the chill of the late winter air, could no longer feel the tendrils of despair that had sent him reeling. In that moment, with the warmth of your hands grounding him, there was no running away from the reality that lay before him. Whether he wanted it or not, you were in his care. You were, in the eyes of everyone else, his wife.

He was terrified, terrified of what it meant, of what you were so willingly heading into. He was not a man in need of a wife, in need of anyone to nurture or care for. But how was he to say no, when you sat in front of him, begging him to take you? To let you in when he had never done such a thing in his life? He had known superficial relationships, had been with plenty of women, but none had he ever thought about sharing his life with, what little of it he had to offer.

He could already see the way people would stare at you, at him. Contempt in their eyes as he paraded you around the streets, Decree or not. Shamelessly bragging about how he was a man with no morals, marrying a recent graduate who probably still knew nothing of the world outside the halls of Hogwarts. Or perhaps they would blame you, would see you in your youth as nothing more than a leech, after what bit of coins he had. Would he be capable of comforting you then? Of wiping your tears away when their words ate at your soul and left you curled in bed, afraid of what awaited out there?

Would he kiss you until you felt better? Was a man like him able to coax a smile from your lips when you needed it most?

Aesop is gentle when he pulls his hands free. He thinks about moving back, of bringing a distance between the both of you so that you aren’t able to touch him again, but he watches the tremor of your lip, the way your skin flushes with sadness, and he pauses.

There was no denying that you were trying, more so than even he was willing to. He was not a legilimens, not that he wanted to sink into your thoughts and find out what you were thinking. He did not have to, not really. There was no woman who would be overjoyed at being told that she had to spend the rest of her life besides a man she knew nothing about.

Aesop takes your hands in his, his palms against the outside of your hands. He tries to ignore the slight tremble of his hands as he touches you, his thumbs finding the pulse of your wrists. He doesn’t know if what he feels is the erratic beat of your heart or his. Perhaps it’s both, perhaps it’s just a figment of his imagination. Either way, he presses down just a little harder, his hands firmly holding yours in place.

“I…I will try.” He finally says, hesitantly, unable to look you in the eyes, his own trailing the length of the scar across your thumb. “I cannot offer much, but this is of no one’s fault. I will not make this a burden for you to carry.”

He hears you sigh, the breath shaky as it leaves you, your own hands trembling in his.

“I will not be a burden to you, Aesop.” The words are a promise, a vow. This time, when you squeeze his hands, Aesop looks at you. What he finds in your eyes, he isn’t sure, and he doesn’t want to decipher what it could possibly mean when you smile at him lightly, the beating of your heart underneath his fingers almost matching his own slow, heavy beats.

“I-” He did not get a chance to say anything, a harsh knock on the door startling the both of you and making him let go, his head turning to face the doors.

Whoever was interrupting did not seem to be a patient person, the door opening. When Aesop saw Wilhelmina enter, he found that he wasn’t entirely surprised at her lack of respect.

“Wonderful to see you both here. How was your first meeting?” She spoke to them as if they were colleagues from different branches of the same company, not two individuals who had just been thrown into a government-arranged marriage. Aesop jaw feathered as he clenched it in irritation, watching as she made her way across the room to shut the window and pull the curtains together. “Well, I assume?” she did not let them speak, taking a seat in the chair behind the desk.

He glanced over at you, sitting straight up, your eyes on your lap. She must have made you as uncomfortable as she made him. He makes a mental reminder to ask you what she had done to you.

“As you are both well aware of, this union was created for the good of the Wizarding World. So do try your best to make it work, the fate of our future relies on your utmost cooperation.” In front of Wilhemina, on the desk, there is a single sheet of paper; A marriage certificate. He can already see the Ministry’s golden seal on the corner. A single empty line at the very end.

Part of him understood why this was happening. He knew that the Ministry was desperate. That if the Wizarding world ceased to exist then all those wars, all that history that preceded them would have been for naught. Yet at the same time, he could not help but feel that they had taken the one thing that made him human. The woman that sat next to him, was it not so long ago that they had been given the freedom to do as men could? Had they not been forced to do enough already?

Had he not done enough for them already?

Wilhelmina droned on, but he wasn’t listening. He could hear the ghost of his mother crying and apologizing to his sister for birthing her into a world that would never care for her properly. She had been 12 at the time, homeschooled because Hogwarts had not sent her an acceptance letter, though the neighbor’s son had already received one. He hadn’t realized what it meant at the time, too naive to see what was happening in front of him.

Was this what he was doing now as well? Refusing to truly see what lay in front of him? Was he clouded by anger, by selfishness that made him impervious to the larger picture? If the world ceased to exist, would his sister’s pain have been for nothing? Would his life have been for nothing? Would your struggles have been in vain?

Aesop’s eyes narrowed, watching your discomfort. He could sense your unease, your subtle movements betraying your inner turmoil. It was infuriating.

Did you have any idea? Did you understand the weight of what was being imposed upon you? Did you feel silenced? Forced to accept, knowing nothing you did would ever be enough to free you?

His anger reaches a boiling point, finally spewing over.

“Did you know she was my student?” Aesop suddenly asks, pushing away his thoughts and looking away from you. “Did you know that she used to sit in my class late at night, practicing potions while I graded papers? That I punished her with cleaning Cauldrons and extra assignments when she misbehaved?” he doesn’t try to hold the anger from his voice.

For a second, Wilhelmina looks startled, but it disappears as she talks. “Of course. We are very thorough with our matches.”

“Then do you not see how wrong this union is, necessary or not? Do you truly think that I would be capable of taking her to bed as man and woman? When in my eyes she is nothing, will never be anything but my student?” His voice was cold, every word enunciated, his chest rising and falling rapidly.

There’s a sudden change to the atmosphere, Wilhelmina sitting up and leaning into the desk. “You will learn to move past it.” She says slowly. “To see her for the woman she is.”

“And if I find that I can’t?” Aesop spits out.

“Then close your eyes and do it anyways. Look at her, look at how beautiful your new wife is.” Aesop doesn’t turn to look at you.

“Do not act like you’re not a man with needs, with desires.”

“Enough!” you shout, rising to your feet. If Aesop’s anger had been explosive, then the only way to describe yours was that it was all consuming. He could feel it radiating off of you, stifling and hot. “You talk about me as if I am not here, as if I’m too stupid to understand!”

Even Wilhelmina keeps her mouth shut, her face a blank canvas as she waits for you to finish.

“I am not going to sit here and let you talk about me as if I was a common whore, brought in to satisfy both of your twisted needs. I did not ask for this marriage, but I am trying. I am trying so hard even when all I get are insults thrown at me. But do not confuse my compliance with consent. This Decree has taken enough from me, I will not let it take my voice as well.”

You turned to face him; your anger palpable enough that he almost flinched. “You said that you would not make this a burden, yet all you do is make me feel guilty over and over again. I’ve been your wife for an hour, and already I’m suffocating under the weight of your expectations and judgments.“

Aesop opens his mouth, but you don’t let him speak.

“No,” you say firmly. “I won’t listen to any more excuses or false apologies. What’s done is done. From now on you show me that you’re willing to make an effort, that you’re willing to treat me with respect and dignity. We may not have chosen this situation, but we can choose how we handle it going forward.”

Aesop’s expression softens as the weight of your words sink in. He had told you he would try, only to show you that his words meant nothing, that he was untrustworthy. “I am sorry.” He says gently, “I’ve been so focused on my own frustrations… I truly am sorry.”

You nod, the tension seemingly lessening from your shoulders. He doesn’t know if that means he’s forgiven, or if you need time to process his attempt at an apology. Either way, he wasn’t going to push. He’s done enough damage already.

“Are you quite finished with your outburst?” Wilhemina asks, completely unbothered. “We’ve much to discuss, unless you want to keep going then do let me know, I’ll busy myself with something else.”

The woman was completely infuriating, but you sat down, your jaw almost as tight as his.

She wastes no time, slipping into a speech that she must have recited hundreds of times before. It was all transactional to her, Aesop noticed. She didn’t see why this was wrong because in her eyes, there was nothing wrong. They were saving the magical world, so what if there was a bit of discomfort?

She signs the certificate at the very end, sealing the union. It’s a lackluster moment, both of you silent, the scratch of her quill on paper the only noise that breaks the silence.

“Congratulations,” she says, already slipping the sheet of paper into a manila folder that gets put into a drawer in her desk. She gives them a smile, interlocking her fingers together. “You are now officially a married couple. How joyous.”

She stands and you follow her lead, waiting for her to make her way across the room and to the door, which she holds open for you and him. Her smile is still there when you pass her, her eyes following you.

“Remember,” she says after you, making Aesop pause. “Every good marriage starts with a willing wife.”

Revulsion twists Aesop’s stomach.

[ryehoneyinkstains]

𝔗𝔥𝔢 𝔏𝔬𝔳𝔢𝔯𝔰

𝐴𝔢𝔰𝔬𝔭 𝔖𝔥𝔞𝔯𝔭 𝔵 ℜ𝔢𝔞𝔡𝔢𝔯 Part one/?

Arranged Marriage. Marriage of convenience. Call it whatever you want, Aesop wants no part of it.

AN: Slow Updates. Also wrote this shit like four years ago and I didn't feel like rewriting so later chapters will probably have a different style of writing.

Aesop received the letter on the first of the second month of the year, just as the sun began to rise and he thought it was wise to call it a night. He had spent far too much time bent over his desk, jotting down notes as he worked on potion after potion until his vision became blurry and a headache began to form in a knot at his temples.

He would have ignored it, had the owl not begun to hoot and snap his beak at him, refusing to fly back until his job was completed. Out of annoyance, he stood, chair scraping against the wood of the floor and slowly made his way over to the open window. Every step made his tense muscles ache, the pain radiating up to the back of his neck, and by the time he reached the owl, Aesop was slightly out of breath, the dark magic that tainted his leg pulsing in waves that had him almost collapsing against the windowsill.

The owl nipped at the letter, pushing it towards him. Upon grabbing the letter and turning it around, Aesop’s face blanched, his pain momentarily forgotten.

The envelope was a rich crimson color, sealed with a wax stamp that showed the initials of the Ministry of Magic. A single M with a wand splitting it down the middle. Neatly written on the corner was the Department of Magical Unions and Alliances. Underneath that, he found his name.

The owl only left when Aesop shakily ripped open the envelope, the cold grip of anxiety replacing his exhaustion. It took him multiple times to comprehend what was written, almost as if he had forgotten how to read or process the words on the paper.

Dear Mr. Sharp,

We extend our warm greetings to you on behalf of the Ministry of Magic, Department of Magical Unions and Alliances. It is with great pleasure and importance that we bring to your attention Decree No. 243-CM, issued under the new law of Magical Unions Preservation Act.

As you are undoubtedly aware, the wizarding world has faced a significant decline in birthrates among witches and wizards in recent years. The Ministry of Magic, recognizing the imminent threat this poses to the magical community, has implemented measures to safeguard the future of our society. The Magical Unions Preservation Act aims to address this issue by encouraging responsible and strategic unions among eligible witches and wizards.

In accordance with the aforementioned Act, it has been determined by the Ministry that you, Mr. Aesop Sharp, are to be united in matrimony with a witch found to be most suitable to you, based on a thorough assessment of magical compatibility, shared values, and backgrounds.

The selected partner, whose identity will be revealed to you at a later date, has been chosen with utmost care to ensure the prosperity and continuation of magical heritage. The wedding ceremony is scheduled to take place on February 23, 1897 and we anticipate your cooperation in making this event a success.

It is crucial to understand that this union is not only a personal commitment but a noble contribution to the preservation of our magical society. We trust that you will approach this arrangement with the gravity it deserves, recognizing the greater purpose it serves for the future of our magical community.

Should you have any concerns or inquiries regarding this matter, please do not hesitate to contact the Department of Magical Unions and Alliances. Your cooperation and understanding in this vital endeavor are greatly appreciated.

Wishing you a future filled with magical harmony and prosperity.

Sincerely,

Wilhelmina Quillington

Undersecretary to the Minister for Magical Law Enforcement

Department of Magical Unions and Alliances

Bile rose in his throat as he slammed the letter face down against the windowsill. For some reason, Aesop thought that he was somehow exempt from selection. Sure, he had been told that it was mandatory for every single witch or wizard to register, but he had seen the way the ministry clerk looked at him with pity in her eyes. He was in his forties, crippled and bordering on becoming an alcoholic. Just like he had caught her whispering to her coworker when he was making his way out of the office, Aesop agreed that there was no way the ministry would force a woman to marry him when he couldn’t even take care of himself. Declining population or not, some people were just meant to be alone.

But the letter was right there in front of him, telling him that in some cruel way, his solitude was not to be his own.

Part of him is tempted to throw the letter in the fire and act like he had never received it. But he wasn’t a child, able to throw a tantrum about the things he didn’t like until someone took what discomforted him away. He would have to face reality eventually.

With a shaky breath he takes the letter and folds it back up. He could reach out to Wilhelmina... and tell her what exactly? That he had only entered his name in the registry because the law called for it? Tell her thank you, but no, he was uninterested? They wouldn’t care. He’d probably end up in the catacombs of the Ministry jail if he was lucky, Azkaban if they decided to use him to prove a point.

No longer tired, Aesop reached for the vial of Wiggenweld he kept on him. It wouldn’t exactly heal the aching in his muscles, but it would make it a bit more manageable. At least enough for him to make it to his classroom to be able to concoct something stronger.

The letter is a heavy weight in the pocket of his slacks as he finds his coat and wand. He leaves the window open, just in case another Ministry Owl decides to fly in and drop a letter onto his desk telling him that there had been a mix up in the system and they hadn’t meant to pull his name.

Hopeful thinking, of course, not that it would get him anywhere to set his expectations on such unlikely outcomes.

There was a different keeper sitting behind the desk when Aesop Sharp entered the Department of Magical Unions and Alliances on the 23rd day of February. She was younger, with cornsilk colored hair that was elegantly pulled into a braid that seemed to snake around her scalp. She was dressed in the same crimson shade as the envelope he handed her, a ministry pin on her left shoulder.

Her eyes grew wide as she took the envelope from him and pulled out a ledger from underneath the desk. “Congratulations,” she said, her voice syrupy sweet and thick with an accent he couldn’t quite place. “I’m sure you’re excited to meet your new bride.”

He did not flinch, though he wanted to, and instead gave her a curt nod, his face tense.

He had been here a week earlier, scheduled for a meeting with the head of the department herself.  He had pulled strings and called in owed favors to secure himself the meeting. But the moment he walked into her office and tried to justify why wanted nothing to do with his arranged union, he knew that he had made a mistake in coming here.

“Are you not lonely?” she had asked him, ignoring everything he had said. She was an older woman, with short silver curls and dark skin. Her uniform was a darker shade of red, tailored specifically to her.

“Pardon me?” was his only response, not expecting her to ask him such a personal question.

She motioned to the papers neatly laid in front of her. “I have your files here Aesop, I can call you Aesop, can’t I?”

She didn’t let him answer.

“And while I am impressed and thankful for all you have done for the security of the Magical World, why is it that a man such as yourself remains alone?”

“I’ve dedicated my life to my work.” He answers bitterly, feeling the need to defend his choices.

“Yes, but at what cost?” She flips over a page and taps on it with her fingernail. “You haven’t been an Auror in almost five years. Are you so busy as a school teacher that you’ve been unable to find a bride?”

Frustration rises in the pit of his belly as he sits up straighter. “I have no interest in marriage. In building a family.”

“Oh, that’s nonsense. Everyone craves someone to love them. It is simply human nature. Are you trying to tell me that somehow that doesn’t apply to you?”

The weight of her words seemed to press down on him, his collar suddenly tight around his neck.

“It’s not that I am incapable of love,” he begins, clearing his throat and finding the way she stared at him uncomfortable. “I simply want to spend my time in solitude.”

Wilhelmina leaned forward in her seat, interlocking her fingers in front of her. “Want is such a selfish word don’t you think, Aesop? I want… We as a society need to stop thinking about ourselves as individuals. We need to start thinking about what we,” she made sure to emphasize the word, “need as a society. It’s selfishness that got us into this situation, and its only selflessness that can save us.”

Aesop felt his frustration turn into simmering anger as Wilhelmina continued to talk. The room seemed to close in around him and the air seemed to thicken with tension. He fought the urge to get up and walk away, knowing that doing so would only reap heavy consequences.

“The Ministry has invested in you, Aesop, and it’s time for you to invest in the future of our magical community. Solitude, as you call it, is a luxury we can no longer afford. You have the power to make a difference, not just in your life but in the destiny of our world. Would you really throw all that away because you’re afraid of sacrificing a bit of your personal comfort?”

Wilhelmina spoke with admonition; the way leaders spoke to their supporters. He would not walk out of here having changed anything. It had all been a waste of time, thinking that he had a choice in the matter.

His anger flared as he clenched his jaw and took a deep breath. “I’ve dedicated my life to the service of magic and the security of our world. Sacrifice is not a foreign concept to me,“ Aesop replied, his words laced with a stubborn resolve.

Wilhelmina’s gaze held firm, unyielding. “Then consider this the next chapter in your dedication.”

That was it, what was left of his resolve shattered.

She thanked him for his time and wished him well in life with his soon-to-be wife as she walked him out of his office.

He could still taste the lingering bitterness of defeat on his tongue as he followed the blonde to a room at the very back of the building. She tried to talk to him, but he ignored her, not in the mood to be friendly.

He had shaved that morning, donned his finest suit and even went as far as to spray a bit of cologne upon himself. While he wanted nothing to do with his predicament, Aesop was still a man of honor. He would not show up looking disheveled and dirty. He would not punish whoever awaited him behind those chestnut doors for something that she had no control over.

If he was to bind himself to another human being, the least he could do was try. Though, one look at the way he limped and carried his lame leg, and he knew that all his efforts would have been for naught. No one in their right mind wanted to be with a man damaged as he was.

“Here we are, Mr. Sharp.” the woman said, no longer looking at him. He must have hurt her feelings, ignoring her like that.

He thanked her, but she stayed put, waiting for him to enter the room. He wonders how many men had tried to run away that she felt obligated to stay. Or maybe she was waiting until he entered the room to lock him in there.

“Best not keep her waiting.” She says, urging him to move past his nerves and get it over with. When he looks over at her, she smiles at him encouragingly.

With a deep breath that does nothing to settle his frayed nerves, Aesop takes the delicately curved handle of the door and pushes it open.

The room inside is smaller than he envisioned, windows lined the wall right in front of him, the curtains drawn to the side to let the morning light in. Someone had opened one of them, the gentle morning breeze of a slow winter comfortably chilled the room. There was a desk in front of the window and two plush chairs in front of that. The one to his left was empty. On the right sat a young woman, who turned around to face him as the doors creaked open.

Perhaps this was the world punishing him for his wrong doings. For the cockiness of his youth, the recklessness that followed. Whatever it was that sat above in the heavens and watched down at him must have been angry at him because he knew the young woman that locked eyes with him. He had taught her how to create potions that would make a man turn into stone, poisons that would make one fall into an endless slumber.

You, at one point, had been a star pupil. A young girl with great skill and potential, his favored student.

And now you stood in front of him, his wife.