His Mark [Tom Riddle's son] DISCONTINUED

Aileen- Old acquaintances

His Mark
[Knowledge is Power]

16th August  2018
Thursday

It had been snowing endlessly for days, and the pleasantly clear, fresh autumn air was filled with anticipation for the coming festivities, although trembling and vibrating under the bitter cold wind.

All Hallow's Eve was after all an important date in this world of magic.

The white coat of winter had prematurely spread over the former colorful roofs of Diagon Alley caressing them like a cold, soft blanket made of shiny velvet. The silken threads of cold, from which it was woven, shimmering crystal clear and silvery white like a glistening thin layer of icing sugar and atomized glass in the cold autumn sun.

A figure reveled in the cool, glistening white beauty of the wintery landscape- it was his third stay  in this dream like world since he had first walked through it's streets just before his first year at Hogwarts, and stood gracefully in a corridor of Ollivanders wand shop in the heart of Diagon Alley.
The icy whiff of winter poked at the glass windows as the steaming, frosty breath and biting cold painted delicate ice crystals and intricate ice flowers on the fogged glass of the high, narrow arched windows.

Behind one of these beautifully curved, arched windows, loomed the silhouette of a- for his age, rather tall boy.
Although his stature showed a young boy right in his element, one look into his eyes could tell you that he felt lost, and dreadfully out of place, as he stood there between the endless stacks of wands in the narrow corridor of his new home.

Short fire-red locks shimmered under the candlelight, flattering his pale, face with gentle, almond-shaped eyes, one walnut-brown, and the other of such a bright, crystal blue as the mirror-like surface of a mountain lake in the winter sun. It was those mismatched eyes, framed by silky fiery-red lashes, and the emotions hiding in their depths, that rendered the boy different, placing him on a higher pedestal from others of his age.

Those eyes told a story, sang a song, like a bird singing of its painful, wistful wish to escape the cage in which it is imprisoned, singing out into the world with no hope of ever being heard.
Those eyes sang and told of dreams and tears of longing, hope and pain.
The silent sound of that melody always surrounded the boy's graceful figure with a touch of loneliness and sadness, enveloping him in a silent, dark cloak of anger and longing, that seemed much too heavy for such a young soul to bear.

The boy with the mismatched eyes was already surrounded by a remarkable magical aura at the tender age of thirteen- soon to be fourteen.
It was this magical aura- that seemed to be all around him, and those mismatched eyes that seemed as though they could look into your very soul, that gave him that touch of mystery.

Those characteristics mixed with his appearance, which at first glance seemed unremarkable- yet filled by elegance and grace, was what made others flock to him.

Everything about him seemed breathtaking and charming.

When he walked, he seemed to float, carried by invisible wings, giving off an aura of longing dreams and fantasies.
When he stopped motionless and looked into the distance with his mismatched eyes, he seemed strangely remote and detached, almost invisible, as though he were not of this world.

As transparent and feathery as the wind.

A silent inhabitant of his own small, glassy lair, to which no one else had access.

It was this boy who had dared to take his first steps in Hogwarts just over two years ago.

This boy was Aileen Geraint Gaunt, and he was on his way to Azkaban.