Amadeus Avery

Tom Riddle put up such fine performance, perfect from the way Riddle set himself at the center of attention to the smoothe movements of his wrist as he said Revelio. The girls went a little crazy at that, and Amadeus couldn’t help smirking. He’d seen that charisma in Riddle a long time ago, before Riddle’s reputation of fear and back when Riddle’s appearance was a gossip topic for the girls. Well, the girls still talked about him nowadays, of course, but fright often bled through those shallow compliments. People respected Tom Riddle. They feared him.

Politics aside, Amadeus truly was excited for the first Quidditch match of the school year. He was getting antsy from the indoor environment and was hoping to get some action outside. The thought of defeating Odin’s House team was certainly attractive, for detention had been a humiliating experience, especially once his father caught word about it. Amadeus almost regretted not going through with the Crucio spell for longer but — well, he couldn’t change the past. Only the future. 

Amadeus hurried to the library, his hair a bit of a mess and his hands gripping a roll of parchment. His appearance was less neat than normal, but it was too early for him and anyone else to care, frankly. He needed to talk to Bishop, History be damned. He’d spent the whole night yesterday trying to solve the Curse of the Venetian Boat, an unfinished project from last year, and he might have figured something out! In theory, of course. He hadn’t done any physical demonstration yet because it’d be ridiculously stupid to try something so dangerous unchecked — hence the reason why he was on his way to see Bishop. 

He pushed the ornamented doors of the library open and slid inside. There were only about four early birds in the main lounge, and Amadeus took a left to head to a larger study table. He spotted Bishop’s usual seat, with all the books and quills and parchment, and instantly said, “Bishop, I’ve got to tell you something. It’s this —”

But Bishop wasn’t anywhere near, and instead next to his seat was a familiar face Amadeus had seen frequently on the Quidditch pitch. He couldn’t quite recall her name, though he knew she was a Hufflepuff. He scowled.

He should be happy. Everything went well. No one suspected a thing. But, why would they? Deceit was his greatest talent. He was always so careful, someticulous — and now more than ever before. He wouldn’t put his entire future at risk. He wouldn’t let the truth rob him from the life he deserved. As far as everyone knew, he was the heir of a respectable pureblood family and he would keep it that way. But for now, he had a club to go to. A club he had always enjoyed, but now dreaded.

He entered the room and immediately his eyes found Amadeus. His stomach dropped as guilt ate away at him. It was ridiculous. Lying had always came easily to him, but now the very thought of it brought a lump to his throat. He had never lied to Amadeus — not even once. And now he had to. He had been foolish enough to think Amadeus might accept it. Hope dashed by the duelling club’s disaster. He hadn’t been present, but he had heard enough. Enough to know he could never reveal the truth of his origins to him. Still, his feet led him to Amadeus. A small, but genuine smile settling on his lips. I missed you, his eyes said, and oh, he longed for privacy.

And he yearned.

Closer, always closer.

“Seneca!” Amadeus beamed as soon as Seneca — friend? or more? — approach him, and he stood up to give him a tight but regrettably brief hug, hands lingering on his shoulders before dropping back down. It’d been months since Amadeus last saw Seneca, a lifetime, it felt like, and he found himself cataloging every detail of Seneca’s face, every little change that had made Seneca’s appearance more defined, more settled, the wildness of puberty finally ceding its place to a kind of mature tranquility that would only grow more refined as years passed. Seneca’s smile was brilliant, and Amadeus almost wanted to touch the corners of Seneca’s lips to pull them up, knowing it would make Seneca relax and laugh more. Seneca had always seemed so tense whenever they first greeted each other, worrywart that he was, so Amadeus had made it his job to loosen up Seneca.

He motioned for Seneca to sit next to him. “How was your summer? And is that brooch from Sweden’s Spring Collection last year?” He reached out to touch the rubies on Seneca’s lapels and check out the brooch’s design — it was stunning, of course. Seneca’s fashion choice never disappointed. “Looks good on you.”

“ give you ? ” he echoes. it takes a second but apollo finds himself shaking his head. “ i don’t really have anything to offer — ” it’s true. of all things, material or otherwise, apollo is rather lacking. compared to some of the students coming from old wizarding families, he has merely pennies. there is also the idea he could have information but — again — he knows nothing that could possibly interest amadeus. “ i don’t know — maybe i could owe you a favor in the future ? ” he reaches up and scratches at his neck. this is dangerous and bold and a little stupid on his part — it’s like this where the tie around his neck becomes a chokehold, his gryffindor tendencies blinding him and rational decision.

“A favor?” Amadeus arched an eyebrow; now things were getting more interesting. To have a Gryffindor — and a Liberation member no less — be in his debt ... such was indeed an attractive prospect. The language of exchanging favors was something Amadeus was fluent in, for he, after all, had been a Slytherin for nearly seven years. 

TASK 002: CLASS SCHEDULE

Monday:

8am-11am: History of Magic (001)

2pm-4pm  : Potions (002)

5pm-7pm  : Divination (001)

Tuesday:

8am-11am: DADA (001)

11am-1pm: Ancient Runes (002)

Wednesday:

8am-11am: History of Magic (001)

11am-2pm: Transfiguration (002)

5pm-7pm  : Divination (001)

Thursday:

11am-1pm: Ancient Runes (002)

Amadeus tapped the end of his wand on the wooden table rhythmically. He sat in the last row of benches, closest to the doors and also conveniently the darkest corner of the room, and watched students trickle in slowly, drowsily, as if they just came out of a winter hibernation even though it was merely the second week of school. He clicked his tongue and shifted in his seat and slouched down and straightened his back, waiting forever, seemingly, for something—or rather, someone—that wouldn’t arrive. Patience had never been his strength. 

Amadeus had half a mind to leave the meeting and spent his time elsewhere—detention had taken up so much of his day lately—but he hadn’t talked to Seneca in forever, and he’d been wishing since the first day back to have a private moment with him, just the two of them. He remembered greeting Seneca in the Great Hall with a curt nod, all the while on the inside he was bursting with questions, with words, How have you been? How was summer? Would you like to hear about my new Runes project? And have you seen that article about Grindelwald and Dumbledore on the Prophet! I have pictures of Isolda in Korea!

But—not yet. Not now. Perhaps later, when there were fewer eyes around them. 

Frankly, he was ready to surrender. Odin didn’t care about winning (good thing, since he clearly wasn’t going to). It stung to be called a coward, even by Amadeus who he couldn’t respect, if only because Odin feared, for different reasons, that it was true. But that wasn’t worth any of this. He had no pride, he’d rather walk away.

Coward might be true. Because everything Amadeus said, he disagreed with and despised, but Odin didn’t have the strength to fight back anymore, or the heart for it. “You really are blind.” Maybe the problem was it made him sad more than angry, afraid more than righteous.

The disarming charm was a relief. He’d worried about how far Avery wanted to take this, but thankfully, he’d had enough too. But then Odin heard his next words, felt a flicker of fear before all was consumed by the worst pain he’d felt in his life. A white hot seething stab at every organ, Odin collapsing onto the ground. Losing all thought but how much it hurt, all capacity to act but for crying out.

Amadeus wanted to say that he enjoyed seeing the pain that he was inflicting, that the cries satisfied his desire to humiliate Odin, but that wouldn’t be true. Much as he treasured this particular moment—the Cruciatus curse, after all, was neither easy nor pleasant to cast—Amadeus just wanted the torture session to end. Amadeus was willing to put Odin back in his place, of course, but he wasn’t so sadistic that he'd prolong the pain for someone as feeble as Odin Clearwater, who definitely didn’t deserve his attention.  

Should I stop? he wondered. He grew more anxious as seconds ticked by; each moment passing weighed heavily on his conscience, if you could even call it that, and his hand began to tremble ever so lightly.

“Boys!” A voice sounded from afar, and Amadeus immediately canceled his spell. Horace Slughorn marched quickly to their place, repressed panic radiating off his body. 

“You know full well that the use of an Unforgivable is not permitted in Hogwarts!” the man exclaimed. “I suppose no one’s truly ... truly hurt ... thankfully. Mister Clearwater, please visit the Hospital Wing. I shall check on you later. Mister Avery, with me in my office, now.” Slughorn lowered his voice and murmured to Amadeus’ ears. “Detention for the rest of the month, though I may extend it to please Headmaster Dippet. How reckless! You shouldn’t have done that in public!”

Completely unsteady on his feet, even more unsteady in mind. Odin was starting to realise this had been a very bad idea. What did he think he could do? He was no fighter - and that very fact seemed to enrage Avery more.  It was his words Odin wanted to fight back against, more than his curses. “Coward because I don’t enjoy hurting people? Maybe I am simple. What’s so noble about causing pain?” The words came in between sharp breaths, he’d stopped backing away mostly out of self-preservation. Part of the question was genuine, he’d like to understand if he could.

He could focus on little more than defensive spells, trying to maintain his shield charm. A slicing spell cut his cheek, Odin felt the blood trickling down his face with increasing panic. But surely Avery couldn’t do much worse, wasn’t allowed to do worse. Not here, in the Great Hall. Odin cast a stunning spell, hoping only it would end.  He could match the Slytherin in neither power nor ferocity.

The sight in front of him was pathetic. Odin was already giving up, weak Hufflepuff that he was, yet he still spoke as if he had the upper hand, as if he was morally superior. 

Sanctimonious bastard, Amadeus thought.

“What’s noble about causing pain?” he mouthed and side-stepped the stuning spell. “It’s not about causing anything, Clearwater. It’s about saving the Wizarding World. It’s about the mudbloods. Their lowly culture is invading ours. Their inferior blood is diluting our magical strength. Expeliarmus.”

Normally, that would be the end of the duel, but Amadeus couldn’t shake the feeling that he hadn’t won just yet. Odin was still too ... healthy, too nauseatingly righteous, and his speech was gaining the attention of people in the Great Hall. Amadeus couldn’t let Odin go, couldn’t end the duel without Amadeus being the absolute winner. Amadeus was a professional duelist, and he would not be talked down to.

“And I think you need to experience some real pain for once.”

Usually, he was a conversationalist, willing to engage with anyone, but Amadeus disgusted him. Almost as much as he was frightened of him. “I think I’d prefer you stopped talking altogether.”

He managed to dodge the ropes, Seeker reflexes but Amadeus wasn’t finished yet, relentless as Odin could have feared. “Protego,” he cried, finally drawing his wand, though either he hadn’t conjured it in enough time, or his spell simply hadn’t enough strength to stop the blast entirely, knocked off his feet. From the floor, Odin fired back the first even nearly offensive Charm he could think of, “Glacius Duo.” Hoping to give himself time to regain his footing, leveraging his hands on the stone ground, rising upwards again.

“Perseus?” Odin’s eyebrows twisted in confusion, then clarity came as he sought distance from Avery, unconsciously backing away rather than try another spell. “You mistake me. I don’t care about the purity game you’re all playing.” Just his friends.

What a terrible shield, Amadeus thought, but it was sturdy enough to absorb the worst of his spell and gave Odin time to prepare an offensive move. Amadeus murmured a fire spell to melt the ice, though it managed to slide on the tips of his shoes, a brilliant white in contrast with his black oxford shoes.

Somewhat foolishly, Odin now found himself having to admit he hadn’t expected to duel. Or, at least, he’d assumed he would be able to partner with Apollo (who would take it easy on him). Being approached - though that was too soft a word, more like assailed - by Avery was an unkind awakening.

He felt a flash of anger at Avery’s words, but underneath it, more fear. What did he mean by it? Odin had thought there was something strange in Apollo conversing with Avery at the feast - but he was just on the fringes enough to not really know what was going on. That meant he could ponder all the possibilites and feel worried by each one.

“You think you’re so clever, Avery. But all the words at your disposal and you go for the ugliest?” His usual mild tone was struggling to remain steady. It was a word that he was just ‘pure’ enough to have never been called, but had been flung at almost every person he loved most in the world. “You can leave Apollo out of it. I’m your opponent tonight, aren’t I?” He had no desire to fight, but he’d much rather he was Amadeus’ target than Apollo.  

His mind raced through every offensive spell he knew. Difficult to recall, he rarely made any space for fighting spells among all the information he packed into his mind. Was he supposed to just attack? Did they bow first? What a pointless civility. And this was supposed to be fun. Should he have raised his wand already?

Odin’s retort was almost good enough to shock Amadeus; the man did have a backbone, it seemed, even if the effects of his words were greatly diminished by the slight tremble in his voice. The insult on Amadeus’ intelligence though, that he couldn’t let slide. 

“Didn’t think you’d know what ‘atrocious’ means, of course,” Amadeus replied. “Or would you prefer me to say ‘dirty’? ‘Illiterate’? ‘Bane of society’?” Tonight was a waste, he thought. His mood grew foul and he decided to cut short the conversation. He quickly fired a couple of spells, first a rope-binding one and then Bombarda. If they were a bit more overpowered than strictly allowed — well, the President wasn’t looking. 

location: great hall, duelling club meeting date: 4th september 1945, evening status: @amadeusavery

He hated Duelling Club. Admittedly, Odin had never actually been to Duelling Club, but he hated the idea of it. It was the one club he’d never felt the slightest temptation to join and yet he was sitting here now, not paying so much as a sickle’s worth of attention to its president. Who he could only assume was expounding upon the virtues of gathering together to throw hexes at each other. What was the point of that?  When cures for illnesses could be found in Herbology. When mundane objects could become magical in Charms. When, in Astronomy, the stars could share their knowledge. He saw no reason to choose to fight.

The only reason he was here was because - despite Dippet’s report of Grindelwald’s defeat and Achebe’s death, supposedly the ‘final’ casuality of Grindelwald’s war, as if that made their professor’s death any less senseless - as far as Odin could tell, the tensions that had been steadily building between certain factions of his classmates hadn’t gone anywhere. The last thing any of them needed was to engage in so-called friendly fighting. The names of the seventh year attendees alone was enough for concern. Avery. Rosier. Kassius. Apollo. (Most of all, Apollo. Losing Evan had made him fear where his friend’s bravery might lead him.) Someone to temper that was needed. His better judgement, which usually took him in the opposite direction of a fight, had suggested he come here to do precisely that.

“Clearwater, with Avery.” At the sound of his name, Odin blinked. He looked around in confusion.

Amadeus scanned the Great Hall for familiar faces. His fellow Slytherins were easy enough to spot, for they formed a small clique among themselves, excluding him, as always, but he appreciated rather than detested the gesture. He’d never been too fond of them. The Gryffindors had their own turf, intermingled by Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs, and already Amadeus was zeroing in on those he judged worthy opponents. He keeps a mental list of the fighting styles of Dueling club’s members, but it seems there were some new faces — younger faces too, how nauseating — that he was unfamiliar with. He’d give it until December to beat them. 

The President paired him up with ... Odin Clearwater? How preposterous! The Hufflepuff clearly wasn’t an official member, unless he’d grown a backbone over the summer, though the apparent confusion on his face said otherwise. Amadeus rolled his eyes and marched to where Clearwater was standing, wand twirling between his fingers.

apollo’s lips part briefly at amadeus’ first response in muted shock, words suddenly lost to him. he doesn’t quite know what to say — who flat out refuses conversation ? but then the other man stands, and some sort of relief washes over him. he isn’t sure what he would have told the rest of his house if amadeus simply refused to engage in conversation ( and it would have counted as apollo forfeiting the dare ).

apollo follows him out of the great hall, somewhat relieved ( but also anxious ) that this conversation will take place away from the ears of others. he leans against the wall of the corridor, folding his arms across his chest. “ i just wanted to know if you knew anything about grindelwald’s defeat ? ” he gives a careless shrug, as if it doesn’t really matter to him. “ it seems the sort of thing you might know about, so i thought i’d give it a whirl in asking you. ”

While Amadeus can appreciate that a Gryffindor is asking him, of all people, for information, he has to scoff at Apollo’s method of questioning. There’s no finesse, no subtle digs or power plays, no blackmails or double-meaning words. What an amateur! And that shrug was positively a feigned move to reduce the importance of the question. That begs the question: why? Is it possible that the Gryffindor resistant group is somehow involved in this? 

where: the great hall when: september 1st, 1945 ; towards the end of the feast who: @amadeusavery

apollo looks from his housemates towards the slytherins and the grin slowly slides from his face. it’s only a dare, he could say no — but his pride tells himself differently. it doesn’t matter in the scheme of things anyways. if he gets information, good, and if he doesn’t ? it’s no skin off his back. of course, the worst part of it might be who he has to ask. he knows that the slytherin tormented one of his closest friend for ages, and that does nothing to put him in apollo’s good graces. he stands up and takes a breath, nodding to reassure himself, and walks over to the slytherin table. he straightens his shoulders and raises his chin slightly. it’ll do him better to seem more sure than he is. with a firm hand, he taps on amadeus’ shoulder to get his attention. he clears his throat before saying, “ i’ve got a question for you, avery. mind giving. me a few minutes of your time ? ” from behind him, he can hear titters and laughter from the gryffindor table. in the moment, he thinks he hates his friends. in truth, he doesn’t, and never could.

Amadeus sips the hot soup that the Hogwarts’ house elves have oversalted while trying to fend off accusations from a fellow Slytherin member about him driving yet another pureblood business to bankruptcy. Is it his fault if his competitors are less sharp than he is? Certainly not. 

The sound of footsteps; whispers break out as the Slytherins stare at something behind him, their glances aggressive yet curious at the same time. Amadeus turns around to see a familiar face, though he can’t put a name to it, The stranger — who likes to hang around Ivon, probably — wants to talk him, as if the march across the Houses' boundaries isn’t attention-grabbing enough already.

No matter, for Amadeus is used to being in the spotlight.

TASK 001: CHARACTER QUESTIONNAIRE