Zephyrus Paladin
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| Zephyrus Paladin | ||
| Full name | Zephyrus Paladin | |
|---|---|---|
| Born | 1 January, 1923 | |
| Birthplace | Unplottable location, England | |
| Residence | London, England | |
| Nationality | English | |
| Blood Status | Pureblood | |
| Education | Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry | |
| Class | Slytherin House | |
Biography
Zephyrus, god of the west wind, jealous in his pursuit of happiness and prospering in the rush of ambition, was negotiating with his tutor.
She was a sallow little wisp of a witch, pretty in her own way or had been once when her hair was a bit thicker and her skin a little smoother. The canary yellow 'H' embroidered on the side of her worn woolen carpet bag suggested where her allegiances as a schoolgirl had lain. He scoffed, not at her House but at her stereotypical ascription to its more notable values. She, mousey, and he the serpent.
"You will not bring it up, I hope." Deliberate, direct. "There really is no need."
"You ought to tell them yourself, Mr. Paladin," she attempted, but he only offered a cold, hard stare for the trouble. "Oh, I don't wish to force you..."
"Cannot force me," he corrected. "And given the circumstances, I think that is all that will be needed to keep it between us, yes?"
He'd won, and she knew it. As the carpet bag and its owner exited, lessons over, he twirled his alder wood wand through his fingers in satisfaction. Mousey, yes, though she might have kept her authority over him if she hadn't been so careless as to get caught. Pity the woman had a weakness for spare potions supplies. Mother would wonder that she had more scoops of beetle's eyes than were in the jar, wouldn't she?
He'd never tell. Not so long as dear Miss Nibbit didn't.
Zephyrus had never doubted his ability to carry the mantle of superiority; in those tender toddler years when the Earth's axis ran through his cranium and out his feet, he was assertive in a way that spoke of promise. He had the potential, possessed an acceptable birthright.
Perhaps.
Seven was a number the young Paladin had looked forward to with growing excitement, and when the night of his seventh birthday arrived, as was tradition, he greeted it with dignified excitement. The family crypts, supposedly terrifying, enveloped him and he welcomed them until the final candle had extinguished itself and he emerged having endured nothing but a sleepless night. And his family ring -- silver and serpentine -- was given rubies for eyes.
He expected of himself no less than his parents, and from his parents he gathered that they expected much. They hired for him private tutors, gifted in teaching equally gifted witches and wizards. As bright a child as he was, there was no reason to assume that he would be anything but a model student. And he might have been, except for an unfortunate difficulty.
It was this difficulty which now found him placed in a position where blackmailing his private tutors was a bothersome necessity. He'd done it to both of them consecutively, and now the third, Miss Nibbit. It was incredible the compromising things a student could discover about their educators, if only one looked hard enough.
It first presented itself not long after he'd begun his formal schooling, with a proper wand. His performance in the wand shop had been impressively controlled, but once he'd turned to spoken spells everything changed. Sometimes, it worked perfectly well, and the spell would be cast as planned. And then sometimes...
At first the trouble was in learning the incantations, and try as he might they were nearly impossible to recall or say, even. But once the repertoire of spells had grown a little, he began to mix them up entirely, even if he knew the incantation he really wanted. It was Lumos in his mind, and Limax on his tongue, and then confusedly his wand would perform something in between. Or, more likely, there would be something entirely unexpected and not at all pleasant. The number of times he'd nearly burnt the manor to the ground was far too many to feel comfortable. He attributed his mother's continued obliviousness to a combination of sheer skill and luck, and opportunity. Neither she nor Grandfather, nor anyone else need be aware of his failings. Zephyrus would discover a fix for it on his own. And so he silenced the teachers and took charge of it himself.
In the end, he would gain the upper hand. He always did.
