20. Blood and Tears of the Rosiers
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PatrikWriter
Master of the Forbidden Arts
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. It motivates me really nicely! .
I woke up as early as seven, and I wasn't the only one. All my roommates were getting ready to go home, as the train was departing at nine. Sallow managed to get into a fight with Nott over some trifle, while Zabini just smirked contentedly, watching their circus. While they packed manually and struggled with their clothes, I once again thanked my foresight. A few quick hygiene spells and one casual wave of my wand – thanks to memorized formulas, I was packed in seconds.
After a quick breakfast with Agnes, we moved to the platform. We claimed an empty compartment on the Hogwarts Express, and I cast a particularly strong Colloportus on the door just in case. I didn't want anyone bothering us during the journey.
On such a long trip, we naturally discussed everything possible. Well, Agnes did ninety percent of the talking while I just nodded with a slight smile. In this regard, she reminded me incredibly of my girlfriend from the previous world – she could also talk non-stop. Later, Agnes beat me soundly in chess a few times. She looked like a cat that had just caught the ultimate treat; a sense of triumphant satisfaction literally radiated from her.
When the Hogwarts Express finally screeched to a halt at Platform 9 ¾ after hours of travel, London welcomed me with its bleak December atmosphere. Steam from the locomotive mingled with the fog, and a crowd of parents rushed eagerly toward the carriage doors.
Finally, we were in London. Agnes and I had agreed to exchange gifts back at Hogwarts. She gave me a brief hug and then disappeared into the crowd to find her father. I headed toward the platform exit. I knew Vespera wouldn't be pushing through the masses of people. Like me, she would prefer to wait somewhere off to the side.
I was right. She was leaning against one of the massive stone pillars near the entrance. She wore a long black robe stitched with gold thread and a high, elegant collar. She looked comfortable yet incredibly noble. I had to admit she was an attractive woman – if I had been older in my past life and we weren't family, I would definitely have asked for her number. I mean, if I were single!
As soon as she noticed me in the chaos, her cold and distant posture melted instantly. The stern aristocrat vanished, leaving only a gently smiling witch with kind eyes. Who wouldn't grow fond of such a woman? When I reached her, she hesitated for a fraction of a second but then hugged me tightly.
After a moment, she let me go. With one graceful flick of her wand, she shrunk my luggage and tucked it effortlessly into the folds of her robe.
"Ready to go? Have you ever Side-Along Apparated before?" she asked, pulling me away from the noisy platform without waiting for an answer.
"No, never," I admitted, trying to keep up with her energetic pace.
We climbed the stairs to the street outside the station. Muggles hurried everywhere, heads bowed against the December wind. Vespera gave another subtle wave of her wand – I felt an invisible layer of magic settle over us, something like a Disillusionment Charm that cut us off from the perception of our surroundings.
"Hold on tight to me, Patrik. Don't let go," she commanded in a serious tone.
I gripped her hand firmly. A sharp crack echoed in my ears, like a whip snapping through the air, and in the next second, I felt as if an immense force were squeezing me into a tiny ball. My stomach did a somersault, my lungs tightened, and the world turned into a blurred smear.
Suddenly, the pressure stopped. I gasped for air, trying to keep my balance on the snow-covered ground.
"Welcome to Rosier Estate," Vespera announced, her voice filled with undisguised pride.
I had expected some elegant townhouse or a modern villa in the suburbs, but certainly not this. Before us, a massive stone structure with towers and high windows reflecting the setting sun towered into the winter sky.
My jaw literally dropped. The castle was surrounded by high, massive walls with battlements, upon which I could see stone gargoyle statues. I could feel magic radiating from the castle.
"Welcome to Rosier Estate," Vespera repeated, watching my shock with blatant satisfaction. "Our family has always believed that security and privacy are the foundation of freedom. Originally, this castle served as a defense against raids by the Irish, Normans, and Vikings. Muggles tried to conquer it for centuries, but in vain."
We walked across the courtyard, where snow swirled in the cold wind, and her voice echoed between the stone walls.
"We didn't acquire it from Muggles, though. We took it from an unnamed magical house in a cruel, bloody war. The founder of our branch of the family dominated the last living heiress. Together, they sired a son who inherited the estate and the power of both houses, and our branch has only grown since then. No one remembers the name of that original house today – we erased it from history. However, it should be noted somewhere deep in our family grimoire, should you be interested."
We crossed the threshold, and the heavy oak doors closed behind us with a muffled thud, definitively cutting off the howling winter wind. The interior of Rosier Castle was neither cold nor inhospitable, as one might expect from a stone fortress. The air was thick with the scent of old wood polished with beeswax, and somewhere in the background, I detected the faint, refreshing aroma of lemons.
Vespera led me through the main hall, its walls telling a story of strength and violence. Dozens of weapons and shields hung there – some were lavishly decorated with precious metals and gems, clearly intended for ceremonies, but others looked chillingly pragmatic. They were pieces of steel forged purely for killing, bearing the marks of ancient battles.
We walked on carpets so thick and soft they muffled every step, turning our movement into a near-ghostly silence. Finally, we arrived at a smaller, private salon that felt much cozier.
"We will have peace here," she remarked, lighting the massive black marble fireplace with a single wave of her hand.
"And what about enemies? Do we have any historical ones?" I asked curiously as soon as we sat down. History and strategy had always interested me, and in this world, they were more important than ever.
"In the sense you mean, no," Vespera replied. "Throughout history, our house, along with our allies, destroyed many competitors. Namely, for example, the Thorns, the Veyrons, or the Aldwyches – those were the more significant houses. However, if you ever meet someone from the Sayre family, be very careful."
"Why the Sayres specifically?" I frowned.
"It is a branch descending directly from Salazar Slytherin," Vespera explained, respect and hatred mingling in her voice. "While we had relatively neutral relations with the Gaunts, we were at odds with the Sayres to the death. We nearly destroyed their house. Only one woman and a small child survived, managing to escape to America..."
She paused for a moment, as if flipping through old chronicles in her mind to find the right words.
"Hm... as I tell it to you, it all sounds a bit too good, doesn't it? Victories and power," she said bitterly, her gaze drifting to the frost-burned battlements. "The truth is, we ourselves were twice on the brink of total extinction. And now we are close to it again. We are the last two members of our line. The French branch died out, and we merely inherited their empty estates. Actually, we are three... if I count your father, who is rotting away for life in Azkaban. Blood and tears, dear nephew. That is the true history of the Rosiers."
"Our house must have been truly powerful if it could destroy so many enemies," I remarked. It was a bitter subject, but I felt a dark pride stir deep in my chest.
"We weren't alone in it, Patrik," Vespera corrected me, staring into the dancing flames in the fireplace. "Magical houses have alliances bound by blood and ancient oaths. That is why so many houses fell by our hand, and together with our allies, we had a hand in a significantly larger number of extinctions."
It was fascinating to listen to her, though I could see that reminiscing about the past stirred a mixture of anger and melancholy within her. Our history clearly didn't sit well with her – perhaps because we were the last of the line.
"So who was our main ally? And where are they all now?" I asked curiously.
Vespera sighed bitterly and gazed into her glass as if searching for lost centuries within it.
"Our greatest ally was the House of Black," she began in a low, awe-inspiring voice. "You see, our house, the Rosiers, was always high nobility in France. But the Blacks? They were originally something entirely different. They were mercenaries. They led the bloodiest mercenary company on the entire continent. They loved battle, death, and blood... they literally lived for them. It is said that wherever their black banners appeared, the earth turned blood-red, and not even grass grew there for years."
She paused briefly to let the information sink in.
"We are talking about a period from a thousand years ago. Our French branch regularly used their services for dirty work. However, when our branch moved here to Wales, their company no longer existed. They were almost completely wiped out in endless wars until only two people remained. A man and a woman. As you correctly assume, they were the last survivors, but even then, they were respected as battle mages who bloodily massacred anyone who stood in their way."
Vespera smiled faintly at the irony of history.
"The founders of the House of Black realized they couldn't survive forever with just a wand in hand. Since the man was actually the third son of a noble house, they decided to establish a new, titled house. Our house helped them during those difficult beginnings – with money, influence, and our name. They repaid us with strength and loyalty. Thus was born our blood alliance, which functioned symbiotically for centuries. We were the brains and the elegance; they were our blade in the dark."
She paused for a moment, observing me to see if I was absorbing the information, then continued.
"To explain it to you in more detail... our house excels in Mind Arts. By pure-blood standards, we were of average magical power. Whereas the House of Black excelled in combat and Dark Arts – they were the most magically powerful. We obtained information directly from the enemies' minds and stood in the second line, while the House of Black was right in the first. That is why everyone respects our houses, even if we are weakened now. We have the money, the power, and the history."
Vespera fell silent for a moment, watching the flames.
"Currently, the House of Black is in a similar position to us. Their Head of House, Sirius Black, is in Azkaban for life and has no heir. Their house will likely die out... and then there's you."
"Me? Why me?" I asked curiously.
"We must go back to your grandfather, my father. His sister was named Druella, born Rosier, married Black. She had three daughters. One was disowned, Andromeda Black, now Tonks. Then there is Narcissa Black, now Malfoy. It is thanks to her and her son, your cousin Draco, that I know of your existence. And finally, there is Bellatrix Black, now Lestrange," she explained, eyeing me searchingly.
"Sure, I understand the family ties. But what does that have to do with me? Shouldn't Draco Malfoy be the heir?" I asked matter-of-factly.
In my head, however, other thoughts were racing. If I remembered correctly from the books, Sirius Black would later leave everything to Harry Potter. But gold in Gringotts is one thing, and a true family heritage is another. I strongly doubted Harry would have the right mental state for the Black family ring. Even if a blood adoption took place, that ancient, dark magic would probably kill him instantly given his personality.
"This is where it gets a bit complicated... You see, over the ages, the House of Black became significantly radicalized. Originally, family was everything to them, just as it is to us. But old Cygnus took it as a personal insult if someone married a Muggle-born, or if someone who wasn't a wizard appeared in the family," she paused, as if searching for the right words for the rest of the story.
After a moment, she continued, though in the back of my mind, I was already beginning to suspect where she was heading.
"Cygnus and Druella actually had four daughters, not three. Bellatrix had a twin. While Bella was an exceptionally powerful witch, her sister Carina showed no magic by the age of ten. She was a Squib, and she represented a huge shame to Cygnus. He threw her out of the house immediately and blasted her off the family tapestry. But Druella loved her daughter, so our house secretly took her in. Carina grew up here, with us at the castle."
"So Carina Black was my mother?" I asked. It would explain my craving for battle and blood. Was this the famous Black madness waking up inside me?
"Yes. I suspected it the moment I first saw you. You share features... but I wasn't sure. Your father despised your mother and mocked her at every opportunity. It was Evan who finally confirmed your true origin to me."
My throat tightened at those words. I fervently hoped that Evan hadn't raped my mother and that my existence wasn't just the result of his cruelty toward a magicless woman.
"So what did Evan tell you?"
Vespera immediately noticed that I hadn't called him 'father,' but only by his first name. However, her gaze remained understanding.
"You don't have to worry, Patrik... it's quite simple and perhaps even a cliché. Your mother may have been a Squib, but she was extremely kind, gentle, and couldn't hurt a fly. She accepted every insult or humiliation with quiet pride and a smile. No one managed to break her spirit. She was beautiful and radiated pure goodness," she explained with a slight smile.
She paused for a moment and then continued: "Evan, however, was a spoiled brat from childhood. He had everything he could think of, and a Squib in the house? He gave her a hard time until my father caught him once. After that thrashing, he couldn't sit on his backside for two weeks. But Carina never told on him, even though he hurt her. And as it goes, the older they got, the more he noticed her. Her beauty and unyieldingly kind nature eventually won him over completely. Evan Rosier, who until then respected almost no one, fell head over heels in love with her."
I was instantly relieved, but I had to ask: "Did my mother die during my birth, then?"
Vespera frowned at the question and slowly shook her head.
"Aurors led by Moody stormed the castle back then. They were looking for your father. My father – your grandfather – let them in, while Evan was hiding. To be clear, Aurors are forbidden from just using magic in old family estates, but Moody ignored that, and my father misjudged him. His wand pointed exactly to where Evan was hiding, and a fight broke out instantly. My father fell in that clash, and your mother was hit by one of the area-of-effect curses. It killed her on the spot. Eventually, Moody overpowered your father and got him into Azkaban."
But I felt the castle's protections – that ancient family magic that had welcomed me since I entered. It felt exceptionally powerful.
"How is it possible they got him? I can feel the castle's defenses; they're incredibly strong," I countered.
Vespera looked at me in surprise, but after a moment, she replied: "Since they were officially invited into the castle, a large part of the defensive magic remained inactive. Once the fight broke out, the castle could no longer fully stop them, only slow them down. Every spell they cast back then cost them double the magical power. Thanks to that, only Moody survived from that unit, and even he lost a leg and part of his nose. Fourteen Aurors died here that day. They didn't get your father for free."
Mentally, I added Moody to my list. One day, I would get him into his grave. I owed it to my family.
"And how is it possible I ended up in an orphanage? You were here," I asked. That last part had been bugging me the most.
I saw Vespera look down in shame. After a moment, however, she braced herself and began to explain: "I had no idea of your existence, Patrik. You see, I hadn't returned home for more than three years before that incident. I didn't even know about your parents' relationship. I ignored my father's messages because he wanted to force me into a marriage with the Lestrange family. If I had known you existed, you wouldn't have spent a single day in that orphanage."
A tomb-like silence followed for a moment, interrupted only by the crackling of the wood in the fireplace. After a while, however, my aunt continued: "During the fight, Evan ordered a house-elf to take you to safety. But the elf left you at the orphanage with only your name embroidered on a blanket. Before I could return home and find out what happened, the elf died. He was already old and... muddled."
It made sense, and I wasn't angry. Perhaps the original Patrik would have felt wronged, but this situation essentially suited me.
"I see," I replied briefly. "What now, then?"
"Now you should go to sleep. We have a long day ahead of us tomorrow! I can feel that you have active shields in your mind, so we'll test them tomorrow and then figure out what to do next."
She didn't even wait for my reaction. "Jobo!" she called out into the empty room.
Silently, almost as if he materialized from the shadows by the fireplace, a house-elf appeared. He bowed deeply and remained motionless, waiting for an order.
"Are you hungry?" my aunt asked me.
I just nodded silently.
"Jobo, prepare dinner for Patrik and then lead him to Evan's old room," she commanded him. Then she turned her gaze back to me. "The room underwent a complete renovation back in October. It belongs to you from now on. I already ate before I came to get you, so we'll meet in the morning at breakfast."
I walked behind Jobo, and in my head, pieces of the mosaic Vespera had just revealed played like an old film. I thought about my parents and the bloody history of the house I was born into.
Author's note:
We finally have the bloody history of House Rosier and the explanation of how Patrik ended up in Wool's Orphanage—it turns out Moody and a muddled old house-elf were to blame. I bet no one expected his mother to be a Black family Squib and Bellatrix's twin sister. Did I let you down?
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25. 25. Cousins and Choices
. It motivates me really nicely! .I woke up as early as seven, and I wasn't the only one. All my roommates were getting ready to go home, as the train was departing at nine. Sallow managed to get into a fight with Nott over some trifle, while Zabini just smirked contentedly, watching their circus. While they packed manually and struggled with their clothes, I once again thanked my foresight. A few quick hygiene spells and one casual wave of my wand – thanks to memorized formulas, I was packed in seconds.
After a quick breakfast with Agnes, we moved to the platform. We claimed an empty compartment on the Hogwarts Express, and I cast a particularly strong Colloportus on the door just in case. I didn't want anyone bothering us during the journey.
On such a long trip, we naturally discussed everything possible. Well, Agnes did ninety percent of the talking while I just nodded with a slight smile. In this regard, she reminded me incredibly of my girlfriend from the previous world – she could also talk non-stop. Later, Agnes beat me soundly in chess a few times. She looked like a cat that had just caught the ultimate treat; a sense of triumphant satisfaction literally radiated from her.
When the Hogwarts Express finally screeched to a halt at Platform 9 ¾ after hours of travel, London welcomed me with its bleak December atmosphere. Steam from the locomotive mingled with the fog, and a crowd of parents rushed eagerly toward the carriage doors.
Finally, we were in London. Agnes and I had agreed to exchange gifts back at Hogwarts. She gave me a brief hug and then disappeared into the crowd to find her father. I headed toward the platform exit. I knew Vespera wouldn't be pushing through the masses of people. Like me, she would prefer to wait somewhere off to the side.
I was right. She was leaning against one of the massive stone pillars near the entrance. She wore a long black robe stitched with gold thread and a high, elegant collar. She looked comfortable yet incredibly noble. I had to admit she was an attractive woman – if I had been older in my past life and we weren't family, I would definitely have asked for her number. I mean, if I were single!
As soon as she noticed me in the chaos, her cold and distant posture melted instantly. The stern aristocrat vanished, leaving only a gently smiling witch with kind eyes. Who wouldn't grow fond of such a woman? When I reached her, she hesitated for a fraction of a second but then hugged me tightly.
After a moment, she let me go. With one graceful flick of her wand, she shrunk my luggage and tucked it effortlessly into the folds of her robe.
"Ready to go? Have you ever Side-Along Apparated before?" she asked, pulling me away from the noisy platform without waiting for an answer.
"No, never," I admitted, trying to keep up with her energetic pace.
We climbed the stairs to the street outside the station. Muggles hurried everywhere, heads bowed against the December wind. Vespera gave another subtle wave of her wand – I felt an invisible layer of magic settle over us, something like a Disillusionment Charm that cut us off from the perception of our surroundings.
"Hold on tight to me, Patrik. Don't let go," she commanded in a serious tone.
I gripped her hand firmly. A sharp crack echoed in my ears, like a whip snapping through the air, and in the next second, I felt as if an immense force were squeezing me into a tiny ball. My stomach did a somersault, my lungs tightened, and the world turned into a blurred smear.
Suddenly, the pressure stopped. I gasped for air, trying to keep my balance on the snow-covered ground.
"Welcome to Rosier Estate," Vespera announced, her voice filled with undisguised pride.
I had expected some elegant townhouse or a modern villa in the suburbs, but certainly not this. Before us, a massive stone structure with towers and high windows reflecting the setting sun towered into the winter sky.
My jaw literally dropped. The castle was surrounded by high, massive walls with battlements, upon which I could see stone gargoyle statues. I could feel magic radiating from the castle.
"Welcome to Rosier Estate," Vespera repeated, watching my shock with blatant satisfaction. "Our family has always believed that security and privacy are the foundation of freedom. Originally, this castle served as a defense against raids by the Irish, Normans, and Vikings. Muggles tried to conquer it for centuries, but in vain."
We walked across the courtyard, where snow swirled in the cold wind, and her voice echoed between the stone walls.
"We didn't acquire it from Muggles, though. We took it from an unnamed magical house in a cruel, bloody war. The founder of our branch of the family dominated the last living heiress. Together, they sired a son who inherited the estate and the power of both houses, and our branch has only grown since then. No one remembers the name of that original house today – we erased it from history. However, it should be noted somewhere deep in our family grimoire, should you be interested."
We crossed the threshold, and the heavy oak doors closed behind us with a muffled thud, definitively cutting off the howling winter wind. The interior of Rosier Castle was neither cold nor inhospitable, as one might expect from a stone fortress. The air was thick with the scent of old wood polished with beeswax, and somewhere in the background, I detected the faint, refreshing aroma of lemons.
Vespera led me through the main hall, its walls telling a story of strength and violence. Dozens of weapons and shields hung there – some were lavishly decorated with precious metals and gems, clearly intended for ceremonies, but others looked chillingly pragmatic. They were pieces of steel forged purely for killing, bearing the marks of ancient battles.
We walked on carpets so thick and soft they muffled every step, turning our movement into a near-ghostly silence. Finally, we arrived at a smaller, private salon that felt much cozier.
"We will have peace here," she remarked, lighting the massive black marble fireplace with a single wave of her hand.
"And what about enemies? Do we have any historical ones?" I asked curiously as soon as we sat down. History and strategy had always interested me, and in this world, they were more important than ever.
"In the sense you mean, no," Vespera replied. "Throughout history, our house, along with our allies, destroyed many competitors. Namely, for example, the Thorns, the Veyrons, or the Aldwyches – those were the more significant houses. However, if you ever meet someone from the Sayre family, be very careful."
"Why the Sayres specifically?" I frowned.
"It is a branch descending directly from Salazar Slytherin," Vespera explained, respect and hatred mingling in her voice. "While we had relatively neutral relations with the Gaunts, we were at odds with the Sayres to the death. We nearly destroyed their house. Only one woman and a small child survived, managing to escape to America..."
She paused for a moment, as if flipping through old chronicles in her mind to find the right words.
"Hm... as I tell it to you, it all sounds a bit too good, doesn't it? Victories and power," she said bitterly, her gaze drifting to the frost-burned battlements. "The truth is, we ourselves were twice on the brink of total extinction. And now we are close to it again. We are the last two members of our line. The French branch died out, and we merely inherited their empty estates. Actually, we are three... if I count your father, who is rotting away for life in Azkaban. Blood and tears, dear nephew. That is the true history of the Rosiers."
"Our house must have been truly powerful if it could destroy so many enemies," I remarked. It was a bitter subject, but I felt a dark pride stir deep in my chest.
"We weren't alone in it, Patrik," Vespera corrected me, staring into the dancing flames in the fireplace. "Magical houses have alliances bound by blood and ancient oaths. That is why so many houses fell by our hand, and together with our allies, we had a hand in a significantly larger number of extinctions."
It was fascinating to listen to her, though I could see that reminiscing about the past stirred a mixture of anger and melancholy within her. Our history clearly didn't sit well with her – perhaps because we were the last of the line.
"So who was our main ally? And where are they all now?" I asked curiously.
Vespera sighed bitterly and gazed into her glass as if searching for lost centuries within it.
"Our greatest ally was the House of Black," she began in a low, awe-inspiring voice. "You see, our house, the Rosiers, was always high nobility in France. But the Blacks? They were originally something entirely different. They were mercenaries. They led the bloodiest mercenary company on the entire continent. They loved battle, death, and blood... they literally lived for them. It is said that wherever their black banners appeared, the earth turned blood-red, and not even grass grew there for years."
She paused briefly to let the information sink in.
"We are talking about a period from a thousand years ago. Our French branch regularly used their services for dirty work. However, when our branch moved here to Wales, their company no longer existed. They were almost completely wiped out in endless wars until only two people remained. A man and a woman. As you correctly assume, they were the last survivors, but even then, they were respected as battle mages who bloodily massacred anyone who stood in their way."
Vespera smiled faintly at the irony of history.
"The founders of the House of Black realized they couldn't survive forever with just a wand in hand. Since the man was actually the third son of a noble house, they decided to establish a new, titled house. Our house helped them during those difficult beginnings – with money, influence, and our name. They repaid us with strength and loyalty. Thus was born our blood alliance, which functioned symbiotically for centuries. We were the brains and the elegance; they were our blade in the dark."
She paused for a moment, observing me to see if I was absorbing the information, then continued.
"To explain it to you in more detail... our house excels in Mind Arts. By pure-blood standards, we were of average magical power. Whereas the House of Black excelled in combat and Dark Arts – they were the most magically powerful. We obtained information directly from the enemies' minds and stood in the second line, while the House of Black was right in the first. That is why everyone respects our houses, even if we are weakened now. We have the money, the power, and the history."
Vespera fell silent for a moment, watching the flames.
"Currently, the House of Black is in a similar position to us. Their Head of House, Sirius Black, is in Azkaban for life and has no heir. Their house will likely die out... and then there's you."
"Me? Why me?" I asked curiously.
"We must go back to your grandfather, my father. His sister was named Druella, born Rosier, married Black. She had three daughters. One was disowned, Andromeda Black, now Tonks. Then there is Narcissa Black, now Malfoy. It is thanks to her and her son, your cousin Draco, that I know of your existence. And finally, there is Bellatrix Black, now Lestrange," she explained, eyeing me searchingly.
"Sure, I understand the family ties. But what does that have to do with me? Shouldn't Draco Malfoy be the heir?" I asked matter-of-factly.
In my head, however, other thoughts were racing. If I remembered correctly from the books, Sirius Black would later leave everything to Harry Potter. But gold in Gringotts is one thing, and a true family heritage is another. I strongly doubted Harry would have the right mental state for the Black family ring. Even if a blood adoption took place, that ancient, dark magic would probably kill him instantly given his personality.
"This is where it gets a bit complicated... You see, over the ages, the House of Black became significantly radicalized. Originally, family was everything to them, just as it is to us. But old Cygnus took it as a personal insult if someone married a Muggle-born, or if someone who wasn't a wizard appeared in the family," she paused, as if searching for the right words for the rest of the story.
After a moment, she continued, though in the back of my mind, I was already beginning to suspect where she was heading.
"Cygnus and Druella actually had four daughters, not three. Bellatrix had a twin. While Bella was an exceptionally powerful witch, her sister Carina showed no magic by the age of ten. She was a Squib, and she represented a huge shame to Cygnus. He threw her out of the house immediately and blasted her off the family tapestry. But Druella loved her daughter, so our house secretly took her in. Carina grew up here, with us at the castle."
"So Carina Black was my mother?" I asked. It would explain my craving for battle and blood. Was this the famous Black madness waking up inside me?
"Yes. I suspected it the moment I first saw you. You share features... but I wasn't sure. Your father despised your mother and mocked her at every opportunity. It was Evan who finally confirmed your true origin to me."
My throat tightened at those words. I fervently hoped that Evan hadn't raped my mother and that my existence wasn't just the result of his cruelty toward a magicless woman.
"So what did Evan tell you?"
Vespera immediately noticed that I hadn't called him 'father,' but only by his first name. However, her gaze remained understanding.
"You don't have to worry, Patrik... it's quite simple and perhaps even a cliché. Your mother may have been a Squib, but she was extremely kind, gentle, and couldn't hurt a fly. She accepted every insult or humiliation with quiet pride and a smile. No one managed to break her spirit. She was beautiful and radiated pure goodness," she explained with a slight smile.
She paused for a moment and then continued: "Evan, however, was a spoiled brat from childhood. He had everything he could think of, and a Squib in the house? He gave her a hard time until my father caught him once. After that thrashing, he couldn't sit on his backside for two weeks. But Carina never told on him, even though he hurt her. And as it goes, the older they got, the more he noticed her. Her beauty and unyieldingly kind nature eventually won him over completely. Evan Rosier, who until then respected almost no one, fell head over heels in love with her."
I was instantly relieved, but I had to ask: "Did my mother die during my birth, then?"
Vespera frowned at the question and slowly shook her head.
"Aurors led by Moody stormed the castle back then. They were looking for your father. My father – your grandfather – let them in, while Evan was hiding. To be clear, Aurors are forbidden from just using magic in old family estates, but Moody ignored that, and my father misjudged him. His wand pointed exactly to where Evan was hiding, and a fight broke out instantly. My father fell in that clash, and your mother was hit by one of the area-of-effect curses. It killed her on the spot. Eventually, Moody overpowered your father and got him into Azkaban."
But I felt the castle's protections – that ancient family magic that had welcomed me since I entered. It felt exceptionally powerful.
"How is it possible they got him? I can feel the castle's defenses; they're incredibly strong," I countered.
Vespera looked at me in surprise, but after a moment, she replied: "Since they were officially invited into the castle, a large part of the defensive magic remained inactive. Once the fight broke out, the castle could no longer fully stop them, only slow them down. Every spell they cast back then cost them double the magical power. Thanks to that, only Moody survived from that unit, and even he lost a leg and part of his nose. Fourteen Aurors died here that day. They didn't get your father for free."
Mentally, I added Moody to my list. One day, I would get him into his grave. I owed it to my family.
"And how is it possible I ended up in an orphanage? You were here," I asked. That last part had been bugging me the most.
I saw Vespera look down in shame. After a moment, however, she braced herself and began to explain: "I had no idea of your existence, Patrik. You see, I hadn't returned home for more than three years before that incident. I didn't even know about your parents' relationship. I ignored my father's messages because he wanted to force me into a marriage with the Lestrange family. If I had known you existed, you wouldn't have spent a single day in that orphanage."
A tomb-like silence followed for a moment, interrupted only by the crackling of the wood in the fireplace. After a while, however, my aunt continued: "During the fight, Evan ordered a house-elf to take you to safety. But the elf left you at the orphanage with only your name embroidered on a blanket. Before I could return home and find out what happened, the elf died. He was already old and... muddled."
It made sense, and I wasn't angry. Perhaps the original Patrik would have felt wronged, but this situation essentially suited me.
"I see," I replied briefly. "What now, then?"
"Now you should go to sleep. We have a long day ahead of us tomorrow! I can feel that you have active shields in your mind, so we'll test them tomorrow and then figure out what to do next."
She didn't even wait for my reaction. "Jobo!" she called out into the empty room.
Silently, almost as if he materialized from the shadows by the fireplace, a house-elf appeared. He bowed deeply and remained motionless, waiting for an order.
"Are you hungry?" my aunt asked me.
I just nodded silently.
"Jobo, prepare dinner for Patrik and then lead him to Evan's old room," she commanded him. Then she turned her gaze back to me. "The room underwent a complete renovation back in October. It belongs to you from now on. I already ate before I came to get you, so we'll meet in the morning at breakfast."
I walked behind Jobo, and in my head, pieces of the mosaic Vespera had just revealed played like an old film. I thought about my parents and the bloody history of the house I was born into.
Author's note:
We finally have the bloody history of House Rosier and the explanation of how Patrik ended up in Wool's Orphanage—it turns out Moody and a muddled old house-elf were to blame. I bet no one expected his mother to be a Black family Squib and Bellatrix's twin sister. Did I let you down?
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Upcoming Chapters:
21. Storms Within
22. Precision, Power, and Purification
23. Of Euphoria and Gifts
24. Blood, Ash, and Roses
25. 25. Cousins and Choices