be t̶h̶e̶i̶r the saviour

POWERS HE KNOWS NOT

Myrddin Cavern, Carndonagh

He was born minutes before midnight, the seventh month dying as it entered the month of creation. His hair stark white, terrifying the midwives who delivered the child and his eyes unlike ordinary babies, revealed glassy pale eyes that resembled the moonlight. He was a creepy child, abnormal, unnatural, and the world responds to society's disgust.

The mother, frightening and mad, tore apart dozens of safehouses belonging to Grindelwald and razed more than three hundred of his fortune to ash. She looked him in the eye and told him to drown himself. She summoned the wand straight from his hand and burned it to ash; had Grindelwald not been using a wand stolen minutes ago , he would be wandless today.

Everyone knew he rarely used a wand now because of Auriga Black. The Blacks would have loved to own her once more, the eldest daughter married off with no children, the heir engaged to family without regard, and the youngest threw her family away before they could do anything to her.

Ran away, met someone, married someone who was as mad as her.

The father, Ziven Silverstorm, came thundering in all his glory, laughing in the face of death and mocking in the presence of madness. Scornful at the notion of blood purity, spat on the idea of dominion over muggles, claims of having muggle parents but everyone knew a Silverstorm as they are born. Pale like silver, white like moonlight, and madness that would render the Blacks to be a joke.

He tore apart the entirety of Magical Russia to pieces in order to burn Grindelwald, the Dark Lord got away with his entire left arm burned to ash whereas Ziven smiles with promise of worse. The Silverstorm was madness, they are the oncoming storm, the terrifying Thestrals, the inevitable nightmare that returned to the world of magic without any warning.

And oh, did they need a warning, because Aven Vesper Silverstorm was born into chaos and shall rule it.

"My son is lovely," Ziven stated firmly. "If anything happens to him, I'll tear the world to pieces to accompany him."

"Oh dear," Auriga laughed at him as if he wasn't serious, as if she didn't agree with his statement, "One world isn't enough, I think our darling Aven would be bored with just a single world, don't you think?"

"You're right," Ziven agreed because his son, his darling son who is only a few weeks old; ripped the stuffed toy to pieces with the strength no toddler should have before finding ways to melt the remains into something else. Frightening, Ziven thinks, but mine. His son.

"Where's your brother, Ziven?" Auriga asked, placing Aven back into the crib where he vanished several blankets and made them reappear. Neither parents seemed shocked nor bothered by the blatant display of accidental magic, instead beginning to speak of another topic.

"Dead," Ziven said. "He joined the remnant of revolution under the name of Grindelwald, as they childishly named themselves, seeking to break him out of Numergard. He came to me, threatened my family, and claimed that he would hurt what is mine if I do not comply."

"Oh," Auriga said airily, "What a fool."

"Yes," Ziven had a smile with too many teeth and was far too wide, "So I slit his throat and threw his head to the juvenile army. They scampered off after that, and it's a wonder the ICW even takes them seriously."

"How charming," Auriga kissed her husband's cheek. "My knight in shining armour."

"Hardly," Ziven hugged her, arms around her waist drawing her close to his frame, pressing a soft kiss on her lips. He rested his head against hers, their nose touching and eyes losing into each other. "No, you're mine instead. You saved me, my beloved star, by offering your love and expecting nothing in return."