Monty," Will whispered. It was late at night, later than was the norm for both of them. But they had a lot to talk about and time flew by, neither of them willing to let go of each other just yet, even if they still had a few days of Christmas holidays left to spend together. Will was smiling, his eyes closed; content and a little sleepy, absentmindedly drawing patterns on Andrew's chest with his fingers. What began like hearts has long turned into butts, courtesy of the artist's lazy daze. The fire was cracking in the fireplace, in stark contrast to the snow falling outside of Will's window. "Monty, what was your first sign of magic?" He was clearly grasping at any topics possible just to keep himself from drifting off to sleep.
"…Hmm?" Montrose, having been lulled into a state of sleepy content by Will's tracing fingers, groggily stirs at the question. He stretches like a tranquil cat, smiling lazily. "Oh, that one. Not a memory that I mind recalling, actually."
His eyes shift to his knuckles as they carelessly brush against a freckle on Will's shoulder. He recalls how often the same knuckles would be bruised after hours spent in the sparring room with his brother and father. Power came in many forms, but as the ultimate currency, his father never failed to remind them that it must be mastered no matter the cost.
"…I was around ten, I think."
The oppressive weight of their gilded great hall was hard to forget, even in memory. He remembered standing in the corner of the room, just a boy flexing his same bruised knuckles in an attempt to distract himself that (despite the immense space) he felt that there was a significantly limited amount of air. He hungered for a moment of fresh breath, and found that it was impossible among the swathes of witches and wizards speaking in hushed conversations around him.
"….my father was having a dinner party that evening."
The slow melodic waves of a cello threaded between the chatter of the room, smells of smoked meats and spices filled the air as fruits and assortments of cheese overflowed on the enchanted tables. No goblet was ever empty, especially as the time to bid drew closer.
That's right. It wasn't just a dinner. It had been an auction for another cursed object his father had illicitly gotten his hands on. Its worth already made considerably higher since it was currently being coveted by both his father's associates of ill repute, as well as by the Ministry. Quite like his father to try and gain favor on both sides.
Power was power after all, no matter the moral implications of it. The concept of it had bored a ten year old Andrew, already quite used to these dinners AND to the exhaustive games of old wizards with little intelligence trying to best each other.
“….I don’t remember much of who was there."
….Except one pair of eyes so dark they were almost black. Montrose wished he could forget the man that the unnerving gaze belonged to. He had been speaking to his mother, her face an impassive mask as always (a skill that she would later teach Montrose to master very well), and Montrose had felt the need to walk over.
The man would inevitably fail to gain the object he had sought that night, (though that particular object hadn't been the relic up for bid) The man would also remember Montrose too, much later, when they met for the second time (and the last). Montrose remembered stepping between them.
His thoughts pause as he shifts to draw Will closer before recounting the next part,
”…I remember feeling as though I wished that something could carry us far away for just a moment. And that’s when a great wind swept the entirety of the room…”
A strong gust ripped through the room, goblets spilling, tables overturning, and for Montrose…the air that he had so desperately been seeking finally filled him. Something was lifted from him as he felt his magic course through him, like a kite untethered. He felt lighter. He felt full of thrilling possibility.
”…Amidst the chaos, I remember turning to see my mother laughing at me. She looked happy. And far too amused for the mess around us.”
He chuckles softly, “Probably the only two in the entire damn room who smiled that night.”
And for him, there had always been enough magic in that alone.
