Coiled (Book 1 of 2)

Henry

The Rosier Family Estate (England).

Late Spring, 1966.

The impeccably dressed wizard and his young son apparate out of thin air with a single soft pop.

Surveying with silent admiration the sheer beauty of the country estate they've appeared on, the man wordlessly sets the child down from his hip, the two of them now standing side by side on the gravel pathway.

Before them, a mansion that rivals their own in splendour and opulence. But the real showstopper here? The grounds. Because all around them, as far as the eye can see, are the breathtaking grounds for which this estate is famed: gardens, hedges, conservatories, fountains. Grounds that are thriving and immaculately kept.

The gardens at the front of the estate are, of course, rose gardens, a nod to this house's noble namesake.

This family;

The rose-tenders.

And so, witness the roses. Roses of every colour, their petals bursting with vibrancy and perfumed fragrance.

After a quick glance around to confirm they're truly alone, the man kneels, his black eyes now at a perfectly even level with the boy's.

"Alright then, Henry. Listen here and listen well."

Remaining silent, the little boy stares back at his father. His expression, shockingly stoney for one so young, gives away no thought nor any hint of emotion.

But rather than wait for an actual reply, the boy's father brings both hands to rest lightly on his child's shoulders, "... This is a meeting - a play date - that's been long overdue for you. So whatever happens, you shall behave yourself. There will be absolutely no unpleasant incidents today, are we perfectly clear?"

Again the boy's face remains completely impassive. Finally, after a long second, he narrows his eyes and nods obediently.

Smiling indulgently, the father considers for the millionth time how in looks his little son is already the perfect miniature version of himself. The two of them: dark haired, black eyed, and exceptionally pale. Though for this family, pallor somehow works; they look as though they were cut from stone; handsome marble statues sprung to life.

Winking now, the father rises back to his feet, clapping his hand on the boy's back as he goes, "You're going to have a great deal of fun today, Henry. I promise. And as you'll soon see, you're going to form a fast friendship with Mr. Rosier's son. He's your age and by all accounts as quick as a whip. Everyone in our circle feels that you and Evan Rosier are a perfect match."

At this, the little boy's lips seem to curl ever so slightly. Though in the brilliance of the afternoon sunshine, it's hard to notice.

His father doesn't notice. His father merely squeezes the child's shoulder gently, "I daresay you'll find him the most fascinating companion."

As it should be, the man thinks to himself as he takes his son's tiny hand in his, the two of them now strolling leisurely the short distance to the guest entry of the Rosier family estate.

Yes, exactly as it should be:

Families of the same circle, of equally noble birth and upbringing forging camaraderie among the next generation.

And from their bond, they will lead as we lead.

The future is theirs;

The world is theirs.

No one else's - theirs.

The sound of father and son's expensive shoes crunching against the gravel as they continue along in silence and climb the marble steps in perfect synchronicity. And sure enough, as soon as their feet hit the top of the stairs, the door to the entry is opened.

... But what would one expect?

Nothing but the best, of course.

Their arrival, most keenly anticipated as an extremely ancient and deferential house elf scurries out to greet the wizard and his six-year-old son.

As the two of them stare down at the elf condescendingly, the tiny being bows deeply and gestures through the doorway and into the foyer of the mansion, "Master Mulciber and son. A thousand welcomes from our noble family to yours. Your presence here, celebrated. So, please, if you will - right this way."