#adult pacifier stolen art

[amityamor93]

Instagram profile @his.dainty_princess has stolen my artwork and is reselling it.

#stolenart

#stolen

#artthief

#stolenartwork

[hunterartemis]

The Assistant: Chapter 13: Blood on White (Part 2)

Word count: 2929 (as the chapter was divided)

Summary: a dark history and an unexpected guest; where the narrative is going?

warning: Some dark stuff (adult and disturbing)

Chapter Theme: A Claim to the Throne by Max Richter : https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AYk7hunqus8

Sometimes all it takes is moments, moments so unexpected and horrible than worst nightmares that sweep away the pride, expectations, hopes, dreams and reputation to leave dust, blood and ashes.

Within the sacred hall of the Saint-Chappelle, stood all the important persons of every European Magical Ministry, who were now looking up at the ceiling where cinematographic veil hovered over them to scream out the truth that was, until this very moment, hidden with utmost care and cruellest of efforts.

The dark murky tapestry sharpened its scenery from a hazy silhouette of a curly haired girl, whose doe-eyed innocence was laced with fear and equal amount of intelligence. She studied in blood red robes amongst much older students than her into the stony and cold halls of Durmstrang. She was portrayed in a manner in which the onlooker could see that she was never directly looked at, as if a following glance of an ever present entity followed her wherever she went. She rarely spoke until she was twelve of age; and that was the time when another feature in her character looked out at the world from the window of her eyes, like a demon caged for long.

It looked like it was the infamous Dark Arts class of Durmstrang, which put the German, Slovenian and the Bulgarian minister at high anxiousness as the French, British, Russian and Italian ministers looked at the scene with awe and disapproval. The moving shadows on the other hand continued to perform in the shadowy stage, where young Maxine was asked to perform a Crutiatus Curse. As soon as the young girl shot her first, flawless Unforgivable Curse, the softness of her eyes looked like the young cub of a predator which just tasted how the taste of blood feels in the mouth.

The sight that was hovering over her intensified upon her pre-pubescent figure; as if the onlooker could swallow that little girl up— the quivering shape of her lips, the clammed lily neck, the contours of her budding breasts resting upon the underbust leather corset on her white shirt, and the slightly unsteady knees wrapped closely with brown tights under the black skirt. And so mesmerised was the onlooker that he found the girl after class and introduced himself as the most charming and empathetic person the little girl has ever seen. The sixteen year old Anatole Malfoy was charmed by the little girl and soon Maxine Valois came to fall in love with him.

It was no mystery to anyone in the room what Anatole Malfoy’s intentions were; Maxine’s easy innocence was soon distorted with the most perverted way possible. The scenes melted to a cold winter evening. Young Maxine was sitting in some elevated space, facing directly to the onlooker and so near to him that it felt like she was sitting on his lap. Her face lit up with joy and there was no trace of the sadistic streak in her liquid black eyes, the one the onlooker saw in the Dark Arts class. Young Maxine then bent to kiss the onlooker, and the sound and the darkness signified that the kiss was deeper than light crush. What happened afterwards was so shocking that it mortified the core of every person’s heart present in the room.

“This—this is...STOP this immediately, this is most heinous –with a young girl—most immoral...most immoral” the Italian Foreign Minister screamed with a prominent rageful disgust and cast a reproachful eye to the French Diplomat who was standing near the front row, “Senor Valois, this is the man you formed an alliance with? I understand that it is a troubled time, but this is the most--che schifezza!”

When the mayhem broke, the obliviated brother of Anatole, Abraxas ran away from the place. It wasn’t that his memory came back, but something in him that screamed that whoever or whatever was interrupting the wedding would not spare Anatole. If it can cross the entire iron-clad boundary his shrewd brother had cast, it also can break into Anatole’s body and end his life. Therefore when Anatole tried to reach for his brother to break himself free from his spellbound state; the Memory extractor fluid immobilises the host so that until all the memory is extracted the host doesn’t resist; Maxine knew that fact from the very beginning, and chose this fluid as her last resort. She was forcing herself to relive her worst memories, a punishment reserved only for the Prisoners in Azkaban.

“The worst is yet to come, Senor...” Maxine veered her eyes towards the elderly Italian minister and spoke with a cold tone. Hrothgar Valois was standing at his own place, like a marble statue as his wife Marguerite was silently scolding him. Maxine didn’t notice how, at this point Marguerite’s eyes were streaming with tears; she pitied the sons and daughters-in law who refused to come to a bastard’s wedding, they missed a great deal about the girl they hated. Newt, Tina and Theseus looked at the ceiling like some helpless devotee waiting for the wrath of god to split the sky in two; they knew what Anatole was, but they never suspected this hellish murk of a character.

The scene changed; ghostly pale mountains stood against the inky black sky. Fast footsteps sloching on the snow could be heard very easily. Three teenage boys and one early teen girl perched up on a rock, and as the onlooker’s eyes adjusted in the dark, he lit up a light that cast a greenish yellow pallor over the dead-cold snow.

“Bloody hell Tolya, could we use some light now... it’s fucking dark around here--” the girl growled in a low voice, her tone raspy and hoarse, but it was clear from the light that was cast from Anatole’s hand that she was not the same innocent girl—there was something cigarette-like between her fingers, but the mother-of-pearl sheen that was wafting from the burning end distinguished that it was no ordinary smoke.

“Shut your face Max—I have the hand of glory, I can see everything, we don’t wanna signal anyone round here—keep me updated on the road.” Maxine scoffed and smoked deeply, “this is bullshit... shit’s isn’t strong enough today--” she whined, while the other three laughed, “quiet!” Anatole snapped raspily, as his Hand of Glory brightened with a flicker. Signs of movement could be heard from under the cliff, one of the boys rapidly descended after looking at Anatole briefly and came up quiet soon, with his hair covered in powdery snow. After huffing the boy informed

“Wizard...mudblood...” he paused for a while, “and he is loaded”

As soon as the speech finished, Maxine briefly looked at Anatole, and with what cruel eyes. Her crooked smile towards Anatole signalled that she knew what she needed to do. She jumped off the cliff with the swiftness of wind, while the four started to run upon the rocky cliff. The Hand of Glory lit up only a little ahead, but even in the slight light, it could be seen that the powdery flakes of dead-night snow flying towards the runner with the swiftness of bullet. No footsteps could be heard, not even a breath, and after a while the view settled and light was cast down towards the deep cliff down at the deep forest.

“Maxine should be there by now... c’mon let us settle” it was no doubt who was speaking these lines.

“A lot of people in this room, including my father know where this narrative is going” Maxine’s calm and cold voice broke the horrified silence; “you are currently seeing one of the infamous murders of the Black Forest. The official account states that the kill count is nearly 15, that makes three kills per head, all these done by children--” Maxine gripped the stolen wand in her hand and whipped out some of her own memories from her temple, and in that silvery blue wisp, a tinge of red lingered, “now to add my point of view, to clarify the entire truth.”

The capture of the wizards that was roaming in the forest was a simple bait game, but what was most sinister was the predetorship of the group. After their wands were snatched and snapped they were tortured most brutally before they were looted. Anatole’s pale’s face emerged from the dark like an infernal shape and started to whisper into Maxine’s ears.

“You know what to do Maxine...” his voice echoed with the gravity of a bass drum into Maxine’s ears, “you know what they are—Mudbloods, born of filthy muggles for whom we, the old pureblood wizards are suffering and hiding like rats in forests and mountains... we are the better beings, we are more advanced, stronger and more intelligent than them, our soul are different and unique, and yet they—they rule us... do it, show them their place--”

The words, even to the onlookers felt like ammunition. A collective chill ran through everyone’s spine as they looked how the low deep footsteps were taking Maxine towards the wizard couple. Her vision settled with an uncommon stillness as the couple begged for mercy, but their whimper turned to a heart-wrenching scream and the little girl whispered “Crucio”

“—it is not Anatole Malfoy who should be punished; it is clear that Madame Malfoy--”

“Quiet, you fool...” a heavy scream pacified the agitated room, which could not take the scenary of a young girl torturing people to death. Theseus Scamander was trying to break free from the arm lock of his brother and Tina Goldstein, and his blood chilling scream even made Travers and British Prime Minister sheepishly look at each other.

However the memory narrative that was being displayed above had more things to say than the cruelty of five youngsters and the murderous antics of the minds laced with power-hunger and dark magic. The scene changed again. This time, fast yet subdued footsteps were rushing through dark, seldomly lit corridor; the vision confirmed it was of a young and short person and undoubtedly it was of Maxine’s. Her pants suggested that she was out of breath and equally excited for something. But the time she reached her destination, she saw the bare back of Anatole’s, sweaty and glistening, even in the cold of Durmstrang. The hip of his trousers loose and threatening to fall off his bottom and two legs that was obviously not his own were propped at either side of his waist. Maxine could not understand was going on, especially when the other two legs were shaking like they had some kind of spasm in them. However the growl and the motions of Anatole’s grinding looked awfully familiar. When she came at Anatole’s side and saw how he was slapping his groin with another upskirted older girl, Maxine started to scream so loudly, that the girl ran away and Anatole frustratingly zipped his pant.

“Max... I can explain...”

“You said when a boy and girl are in love only then they do it...”

“Max please... calm down, it’s not what you think... we were just playing a game--”

“You said the same thing to me when I was sitting on your lap... you told me to prove that I loved you and only you... it hurt for several days, but you didn’t stop... you didn’t stop—I know it, you don’t love me anymore...”

“Max, my sweet little honeysuckle--”

“DON’T YOU DARE TO TOUCH ME” Maxine slapped Anatole’s face and hexed him to walk out of the room, “I don’t love you anymore... you treat me the same as everyone else, as my family, my teachers... you are THE SAME AS EVERYONE, AND I AM SICK OF IT”

The scene whirled again and this time two people were running into the dark forest side by side. The wet sloches of setting ice and debris on the forest floor made a distinct wild sound. Although it was dark, it wasn’t easy to pick out that they were Maxine and Anatole, now content with each other and kissing. They laughed in a low tone and nuzzled face with each other.

“so...” Anatole spoke, “I am so glad you forgave me, and that’s why I got you a surprise...” and he started to step backwards a little by little with a playful smile. When the young girl was relatively distanced and the curtain of darkness and inky canopied shadowed their faces, a blue spark sent a ring of livid flames across Maxine. Her screams of betrayal covered the crackling sound of blue fire around her, and somewhere from far away a voice came towards her.

“I don’t need you anymore...”

With the five words and the accompanying crackling sapphire flames, all of the cinematographic tapestry dissolved into the thin air, leaving behind the ear-deafening scream of a thirteen year old, alone and afraid in the dark forest amongst the mountains. The entire room was holding its breath until now, and when they got their airs back in their chest, uproar ensued when Anatole Malfoy, who had been immobilised, stood up firmly.

“These are all lies... I—I had been framed... I would never associate myself with any of them... if there is anyone to blame, it is her—Maxine Valois and her father... they cheated me to marry such a criminal girl—” Anatole screamed pointlessly, and spewing other nonsense to prove his innocence, however it was too late. The British Prime Minister stepped forward with a frown on his face along with his Defence Head, Travers and their face clearly spoke of their intention.

“We all saw what happened here Mr. Malfoy, and we already know everything there was to know.” The Prime Minister said grimly, “before I came here, I had received a letter confirming the documents of your guiltiness, which you have shrewdly concealed from the British and French Ministry of Magic—a transcript from the Trans-Siberian Wizarding Prison under the Ministry of Russia where you have been registered under the name Vasily Malakov--” it didn’t gone unnoticed that Travers glanced briefly towards Theseus and smiled shrewdly. With the lasting four hours in hand, Theseus flooed the Editor of the Daily Prophet, showing Newt’s letter from Dumbledore and tipping him off about Vasily aka Anatole Malfoy; it wasn’t hard to track prison records and decode them since the transcripts may be crypted but never fully concealed because they are written with truth ink, which rejects any false information. Travers knew from the beginning that Theseus was behind this and felt annoyed, but after the grand confession, he certainly felt proud.

“—as you have already served your sentence, legally you cannot be imprisoned for the same reason again, but from now you are discharged from your office and banned from joining British Ministry. Your interrogation on falsifying accounts will be held on a tentative time—Scamander!”

The voice signalled that the minister looked for Theseus, he spared no disapproving glance towards Theseus for breaking the prison, or perhaps he chose not to prioritise the fact for now, “since you are the only Auror present here... I order you to apprehend--”

Before the British minister could finish his words, a jet of emerald green light hit Anatole’s chest square and pushed him at the bottom of the altar unconscious. His icy blue eyes now glassy and aghast and the disturbed anxiety that plagued his face froze like he was trapped into a forever surprised state. The crudeness and feudal pride softened into a mild wonder as his fixed eyes looked at the ceiling towards the heavenly paintings.

Newt rushed over and pushed the cuff off his wrist; it was the first physical action he did after the shocking revelations, as others stood like statues, as if the aura of the green light petrified them along with Malfoy. The fleeting human warmth and the complete stillness of his pulse meant the obvious thing.

“He’s dead... Anatole’s dead, someone hit him with a killing curse--” Newt admitted hoarsely and along with everyone looked at the direction from where the killing curse was hit. A figure could be distinguished from the rows of people, undoubtedly a woman, now coming forward with her low heels clicking on the marble floor. Her footsteps paved her way in the jumble of important wedding guests, as everyone looked at the incognito figure, dressed austerely and rather oddly. She dressed peculiarly for a winter wedding, in springlike Cornflower blue; her face covered with a translucent veil and secured with a small hat. With her appearance, the colour from Hrothgar’s face drained and he grabbed Marguerite’s shoulder so that he wouldn’t fall down on the floor. When she was three feet apart from the main parties, she gently lift her face covering, and the sight of her face felt like a crack of thunder inside the cold and bright church.

“It can’t be...” Newt gasped at the sight of the woman; he knew him briefly but very well, it was approximately a month ago when she stepped inside his doors in a cold evening for the interview of his assistant post, it was the same neat blond ringlets, the wide blue eyes, soft features and thin lips but the skin was more wrinkled and the softness of her eyes seemed unable to hold the amount of cruelty that her dilated pupils stored in the depth of her soul.

“Mum...” Maxine whimpered in the tears of joy, “is that you?”

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Tags: @my-current-fandom-is

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So that’s Maxine’s entire backstory revealed. But (un)fortunately this is not the final chapter. The story is still yet to finish. 

I was greatly inspired by the concept of Wizard’s Chess when I wrote the Blood On White parts, and I dropped some imagery of Chess in ‘The Truth Must Perish’. I really enjoyed writing Anatole’s death. He was an ignoble character who died like an insect. It was hard for me to write Maxine’s backstory and to include something shameful, trust me, I hated writing it.