sortinghat_logs | Dragged you down below

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Dragged you down below

WHO: Rhys and Kurloz
TONE: Surreal, disturbing
RATING: Up to R, possibly, for violent imagery
WHEN: March 1st
WHERE: Rhys's office, Kurloz's head
WHAT: Rhys wants to introduce his protege/son to a particularly disturbing form of magic
STATUS: Ongoing

Rhys sat opposite his son in his office, as they had done weekly since he'd first approached the boy. It was time for the next step. The thing that could bind the boy to him, no matter where his mother took him, no matter what happened later. The thing that could open Kurloz's mind to a whole realm of possibilities previously unavailable to him.

"I think you're ready, m'bach," Rhys told the boy. "It's time for your first test."

(OOC: This was posted in the wrong comm, responses there are c&p'ed to here so it could be moved to the right one.)

Kurloz perked at that, looking eager and leaning forward slightly in his chair. The quill on the table between them began scribbling:

what is it being, sir?

"We've talked of your dreams, and taking control, and you've had some success there. I want to see for myself what you can do, and how you respond to certain ... scenarios," Rhys explained, steepling his fingers. "I'd like to come into your dreams tonight, if you'll allow me."

Kurloz's eyes widened and for a moment he looked mildly conflicted.

it's not a nice place in there.

"Lad, I've lived through two wizarding wars. I believe I can manage in a teenager's head, no matter how dark, and if you wish me to continue teaching you, I have to know certain things," Rhys said, gently.

The student fidgeted some more, needing a moment to consider it. This wasn't just his sketchbook with a few dark drawings, this was t heart of it all, the centre of his mind that he often shied away from with horror.

But, as Rhys said, if the man had survived two wizarding wars...

Mutely, Kurloz nodded, dusky skin a bit pale but eyes determined.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Rhys was stronger than the child. He could overwhelm Kurloz's mind if he chose (though he suspected, with some pride, he'd have a fight of it). But that wasn't the point of this, the point had been to see what the boy would do, when confronted with something like this - a deep terror of himself. So he did not fight being shoved back, he didn't argue. He simply nodded to the blood stained boy, and then faded back, into darkness.

The cocoon roiled and tightened into a crushing ball before Kurloz snapped awake, throwing the covers off and clapping a hand over his mouth to stop from yelling. Shoulders shaking and chest heaving, he took several deep breaths to calm himself, staring at his dream journal, wordlessly charming the quill to quickly write out what he remembered from the dream turned nightmare... which was to say everything.

He didn't even try to get back to sleep that night, spending it drawing pictures from the dream into the wee hours of morning. To say he was exhausted would be an understatement, and when his dorm-mates began to get up for the day he finally felt mind-numbingly tired enough that he slipped under his covers and fell asleep, not even bothered to think about going to classes that day.

When he did wake, he would find a note from Rhys, directing the boy to meet his professor in his office at his earliest convenience, or, alternately, he was invited to the man's chambers, if it was after seven.

Kurloz read the note and hesitated before burning it to ash, and didn't do as he was told for once. The next day he kept his head down as he attended his classes, doing his best not to be noticed.

Rhys, of course, noticed him in Potions immediately, but he didn't single him out for attention during class. What he did do was cast a subtle spell, just before the period was over, that snagged the hem of the boy's robe to one of the table legs, forcing Kurloz to spend the time to free himself as his fellow students filed out.

Which also gave the towering Potions professor time to approach him, of course. "I'm not accustomed to being ignored or disobeyed, lad," he said in a mild voice. "I thought to give you some choice in when we had this conversation, but it seems you would prefer to be cornered."

Kurloz froze as Rhys came up to him, glancing up with wary eyes as he finished freeing his robe from the table. His fingers tightened a bit at his bag strap but he held his ground, staring up at the tall man.

"Come with me. I'll write you a note for your next class, if this takes awhile," Rhys said, heading for the classroom door and then waiting for Kurloz to follow.

Kurloz tensed his jaw for a moment before following, one hand tucked in his pocket and the other still holding his bag strap tight.

Rhys led the boy to his office, closing the door behind them. He indicated the seat in front of his desk, then slid over ink and parchment before sitting down himself. He regarded Kurloz inscrutably for a long moment, then asked, "What did you expect would happen?"

He stared at the parchment but made no move to get his wand out, sitting silently and completely closed off in a way he hadn't done since perhaps the first time Rhys had approached him directly.

"Lad, you are doing no one any good with your silence. I recognize you are upset - clearly you weren't as prepared as I thought you might be. But we cannot address the problem if you won't even tell me about it," Rhys said, tapping one finger lightly on the desk top. "You told me you trusted me, but you obviously do not. If we're to proceed, you must explain why."

Kurloz's eyes narrowed and he reached out for the ink, not bothering with a quill and writing over the parchment with his fingers:

TRAITOR

"How?" Rhys asked calmly. "How was anything I did betrayal?"

Still glaring, Kurloz jerked his thumb across his lips to indicate how Rhys had torn out the stitching in his dream.

"I told you I would teach you control of your urges. The path to that it not muting them and binding them utterly. Does caging and chaining an angry dog suddenly make it more docile during the times you do release it?" The professor asked, raising an eyebrow.

"I also said you would not find this test easy. These are your deepest fears, not simple, childish anxieties." Rhys felt impatient, but he controlled it, did not let it seep into his voice. He had a suspicion that words would not be enough, that he would have to show the boy, and that was a big gamble. It could frighten Kurloz away forever. But it might be a risk he was forced to take.

CAGED CUZ CAN'T CONTROL YET

"But you will have to learn, and you can't learn by leaving things the way they are." Rhys regarded him gravely. "Nothing I could do in a dream can change you that much. You're not running around wreaking havoc on the school right now, are you? These things are your choices. But your reaction to that encounter told me a great deal about how you're managing, and I- "

The older man stopped, his gaze briefly distant as he stared at the wall behind Kurloz. "I wish to show you something. Will you permit me?"

He was still wary, but he nodded slowly, wiping the excess ink off his hands with his black robes. He couldn't be sure what Rhys would show him, but surely it wouldn't be anything he couldn't handle.

Rhys leaned over, unlocking part of his desk, and pulling forth a stone basin carved with runes that he set on the table.

"When I was a young man," he began, and took his wand out, setting the tip to his temple. "I had a similar problem to your own, though with different circumstance. I had not seriously hurt anyone I cared for, but I did have a dichotomous nature I was aware of, frightened of, and tried to suppress. It worked, for a time."

He fell silent for a moment, closing his eyes, and then pulled his wand from his temple. A long, silver, shimmering strand clung to the tip, stretching longer and longer, until it finally pulled free of his head. He set it into the bowl, where it swirled through the water, like living moonlight on the sea.

"But bricking things up, tying them down, trying to restrain certain parts of one's nature utterly has consequences. Eventually things ... crack."

He pushed the bowl toward Kurloz. "Look inside. And remember that nothing you will see therein can hurt you, it is only my memory."

Kurloz's eyes fixated on the silver thread swirling in the basin, snapping up to Rhys' face. He'd seen pensieves before, he'd just never had the opportunity to use one.

He took a moment before leaning in, staring down into the basin. He took a breath, glancing up at Rhys again before lowering his head towards the basin, entering the memory.

Kurloz tumbled down, down, down until he landed in the corner of a low ceilinged, smokey room. The wallpaper was garish and the lights were dim - mostly a few candles. There were bottles of things everywhere, and a mattress in one corner that looked less than clean. Sitting on the mattress was a long-limbed young man, his hair tied sloppily back, big bushy sideburns framing his face, though the rest of him looked like he could use a shave, too. Dark circles under his blue-purple eyes marked his lack of sleep, and his fingers were ink stained, his fingernails long and dirty. At this age, there was more resemblance between father and son - Rhys was without the lines that later marked his face with such character later on - but his state of disarray obscured that somewhat.

He was bent over a mirror that he was speaking rapid Welsh into, something soft and imploring, and one hand gestured as he spoke, though the person on the other side of the magic mirror wouldn't have been able to see the gestures. His occasional pauses were punctuated with a woman's voice coming from the mirror, though from the angle Kurloz was at, he wouldn't be able to see her face. She was speaking Welsh, as well, and her tone was high and musical, and soothing, as though she were trying to calm Rhys down.

Kurloz righted himself and stared at the young man, recognising those eyes for Rhys'. The face reminded him of someone else but for the life of him, Kurloz couldn't think who.

Instead, he glanced around the room, reading the labels on some bottles in the dim light. He finally approached Rhys and waved his hand, testing to see if he'd be seen. When no recognition followed, he took a seat in front of the mattress, resting his arms on his legs and watching Rhys talk into the mirror.

The conversation seemed to be coming to some natural conclusion - when Kurloz leaned over to wave his hand in front of Rhys, a glimpse at the mirror would have shown a teenage girl with a wild mane of black hair similar to her brother's. Rhys was getting more and more agitated, and he kept glancing away from the mirror, and finally he murmured to her,"Dwi'n dy garu di."

She repeated it back, and then he deliberately picked the mirror up and smashed it against the nearby table, staring at the glittering shards on the floor for a long time, before getting up and picking up one of the bottles on the windowsill. He stared at it for a long moment, then cut open the wax seal with his thumbnail before pulling the cork out with his teeth. Then he took a few swigs, throat working, before he set the bottle down and walked over to stare at the mirror shards once more.

He sank into a crouch, mumbling to himself, "I'm sorry" over and over. And then the walls began to melt.

Kurloz flinched when the mirror was shattered, but otherwise remained still. Rhys was behaving in a way he'd glimpsed every now and then when passing the village tavern - there was always this one old man who had a half empty bottle in hand, bloodshot eyes staring at one thing for long spans of time before switching to others, muttering to himself and so on. Kurloz didn't know the man personally, and his mother didn't know his story either.

So now he sat still, watching Rhys drink whatever was in that bottle before facing the mirror pieces. He started when the walls began to melt, and narrowed his eyes, glancing back at the bottle Rhys had been drinking from.

The visions that followed were as horrific as they were fragmented, the way Rhys's memories were. None of the dimensions of the room would stay put - walls bleeding into the floor and ceiling, windows meandering. But that was by far the most innocuous thing to happen, as subtly disturbing as it was.

At first there were voices. Whispers, mumbling, screams, maddeningly on the edge of coherency, clarity, but never quite there, always just escaping before the words became clear. It was as though Rhys could hear the entire city of Cardiff, as though every voice in the whole of the town was fighting for attention.

He glanced up at the window where a smiling girl sat, maybe fifteen or sixteen. It was the girl from the mirror, but someone had plucked out her eyes and sewn up the lids. It didn't stop her from hopping down cheerfully, though, and walking up to her brother. She gently touched his jaw, tilting his head up to joke at her, still smiling beatifically. Then she began plucking the stitches out of one eye, neatly pulling the black thread from the flesh with awful little wet noises. He stared at her, transfixed, but shaking his head in denial. She placed her thumb on his chin, and opened his mouth for him as he make a soft croaking sound. Then she leaned in, and opened her eye, and the worms came pouring out, right into his mouth, squirming down his throat.

He choked and choked, but they wouldn't come back out. Writhing. Black. Just under his skin, now, all in him, pressing up against it hard enough to make it buckle outward, in some places very nearly cracking the flesh. The young man grunted - it hurt - and tried to push them back down, but they wouldn't go, they kept slipping away, only to emerge somewhere else on his body. He stripped off his shirt to stare down at his torso in despair. His chest was a writhing mass of flesh, there was some kind of nest under there. Rhian was gone, there were just these worms, and he had to get them out, the look on his face was frantic, and there were these shard of mirror ...

Dragged you down below

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