Mid 1938, Stepney

Misfortune never comes alone, and the weeks that followed Edward Harrington's funeral proved this old adage painfully true. The rain-soaked day of the burial seemed to set the tone for what was to come, as if the heavens themselves had foretold the darkness that would soon descend upon the Harrington family.

It was early June, the air still cool and heavy with the lingering chill of spring. Leonard sat quietly beside his mother and Thomas in a small, dimly lit office at the bank. The room smelled faintly of ink and polished wood, and the ticking of a clock on the wall seemed unnaturally loud in the otherwise silent space. The man seated across from them was Mr. Smythe, a bank officer with thinning hair and round spectacles that sat precariously on the bridge of his nose. His face was impassive, almost cold, as he leafed through a stack of papers in front of him.

Margaret Harrington sat stiffly, her hands clenched in her lap, her knuckles white. She looked smaller than usual, as if the weight of the past weeks had physically diminished her. Thomas, sitting beside her, stared straight ahead, his expression unreadable, but there was a tension in his posture that Leonard recognized all too well.

Mr. Smythe cleared his throat, breaking the silence with an air of practiced formality. “Mrs. Harrington, Mr. Harrington,” he began, his voice clipped and professional. “I regret to inform you that the situation regarding your late husband’s account is… complicated. As you are aware, Edward received a small pension following his service in the Great War, which was used primarily to manage outstanding debts. However, with his passing, there has been a disruption in those payments.”

Margaret nodded slowly; her eyes downcast. “Yes, I understand,” she said quietly, her voice barely audible.

“There’s more, I’m afraid,” Mr. Smythe continued, his tone betraying no emotion. “Your husband had taken out a loan a few years ago, secured against your family’s assets. With his passing and the cessation of his pension, the bank is now concerned about the repayment of this loan. The payments have not been regular for some time, and the balance remains substantial.”

Leonard saw his mother’s face pale further, her lips pressing into a thin line. She had known they were struggling, but this was more than she had anticipated.

“We’ll do what we can,” Margaret said, though her voice trembled slightly. “We’ll find a way to make the payments. We just need some time.”

Mr. Smythe adjusted his spectacles and leaned forward slightly, his expression hardening. “Mrs. Harrington, I must be frank with you. The bank is not in the business of granting leniency without assurance. Without a stable income, the risk to the bank is too great. We have already given you more time than would typically be allotted in these circumstances.”

There was a moment of silence, heavy and suffocating, before Thomas finally spoke. His voice was tight, as if he were holding back something far more volatile. “What if I take on the payments? I’ll work double shifts if I must.”

Mr. Smythe’s gaze shifted to Thomas, and Leonard noticed the slight narrowing of the bank officer’s eyes. “Mr. Harrington,” he began slowly, “we’ve reviewed your employment history. It seems that you’ve recently lost your position at the docks, and while I understand that you’ve taken on some odd jobs since then, they do not appear to provide a consistent or sufficient income.”

Thomas’s face tightened, and Leonard could see the flicker of anger behind his brother’s eyes. “I’ll find work,” he insisted. “I’ll do whatever it takes.”

Margaret turned to Thomas; her eyes wide with surprise. “You lost your job?” she whispered, her voice cracking.

Thomas clenched his fists, his knuckles turning white. “It’s been hard to find steady work since… since the trouble at the docks,” he admitted, his voice low. “I’ve tried at the factories, but they won’t hire me. They say I’m too much of a risk.”

Mr. Smythe’s lips curled slightly, though it was unclear whether it was a smile or a grimace. “Yes, I’ve heard about the… incident,” he said, his tone laden with insinuation. “Dock work can be rough, especially when certain… unsavoury elements are involved. I suppose it runs in the family, given your father’s penchant for risk—leveraging the shop and house against those stocks, was it?”

The remark hung in the air, heavy and pointed. Margaret’s expression was one of confusion and concern, while Thomas’s brow furrowed in anger, though it seemed the full meaning of Smythe’s words went over his head.

“What do you mean by that?” Thomas asked, his tone defensive.

Mr. Smythe simply adjusted his glasses again, his gaze cool. “Let’s just say the bank has seen its share of families in… challenging situations. But as I mentioned, without a stable income, the bank’s confidence in your ability to repay the debt is severely compromised.”

Leonard’s mind raced. He had heard whispers of trouble at the docks, but the vague references to smuggling and illegal activities had seemed distant, like tales told to frighten children. Now, he wondered how much of it had touched his brother, and how much it had cost them all.

The room fell into a heavy silence, the reality of their situation sinking in like a stone. Leonard could see the defeat in his mother’s eyes, the way her shoulders slumped as if the weight of the world had finally become too much to bear.

“Is there nothing we can do?” Margaret asked, her voice small and trembling.

Mr. Smythe sighed and glanced at the papers in front of him. “There are options, but none of them are ideal. The bank could consider restructuring the debt, but it would require a significant reduction in your living expenses. Alternatively, the bank may move to seize any remaining assets, including your home, if the situation does not improve.”

The words hung in the air like a death sentence, and Leonard felt a cold knot of fear tighten in his stomach. Their home, the last thing they had, was now at risk. The thought of losing everything was almost too much to comprehend.

“We’ll figure something out,” Thomas said, though his voice lacked the conviction it had held earlier. “We have to.”

Mr. Smythe offered a curt nod, signalling the end of the conversation. “I would advise you to consider your options carefully. The bank will need to see a clear plan for repayment in the coming weeks, or we will be forced to take further action.”

The Harringtons left the bank in silence, the weight of the conversation pressing down on them like a dark cloud. Leonard walked beside his mother, her hand gripping his a little too tightly as they made their way back to the flat. The sun shone brightly in the sky, a cruel contrast to the darkness that now enveloped their lives.

The days that followed were marked by an oppressive sense of dread. The threat of losing everything loomed large, and each day brought with it a growing sense of helplessness. Leonard tried to focus on small tasks around the flat, doing what he could to keep his mind off the bleak future that seemed inevitable. But the tension was palpable, and even in the moments of silence, it was impossible to ignore the fear that hung over them like a shadow.

It was during one of these long, tense days that Thomas approached Leonard with a proposal. “There’s something I need to show you,” Thomas said quietly, his tone serious. Leonard looked up from the table, where he’d been absently pushing around the remnants of their meagre dinner.

“What is it?” Leonard asked, though a part of him already knew that whatever Thomas was about to say would change everything.

“Come with me,” Thomas replied, not offering any more details. There was something in his brother’s eyes—a mix of desperation and determination—that made Leonard follow without further question.

The narrow streets of Stepney were quieter than usual as Leonard trailed behind Thomas through the maze of alleyways that had become all too familiar to him. It was late afternoon, and the sun hung low in the sky, casting long shadows across the cobblestones. Leonard kept his head down, his hands stuffed deep into his pockets, trying to suppress the unease that had settled in his stomach since Thomas first mentioned this “opportunity.”

“This is it,” Thomas said, stopping in front of a nondescript door tucked between two boarded-up shops. The paint on the door was chipped and faded, and Leonard noticed the faint smell of damp wood and something else—something acrid that made his nose wrinkle.

Thomas turned to him, his expression serious. “Look, just keep your head down, do as you’re told, and everything will be fine. You’re smart, Leonard. You can handle this.”

Leonard nodded, though the reassurance did little to ease the knot of anxiety tightening in his chest. He followed Thomas inside, his heart pounding in his ears.

The room they entered was dimly lit, with heavy curtains drawn over the windows, shutting out the remaining daylight. A large wooden table dominated the centre of the room, cluttered with papers, bottles, and what looked like ledgers. The air was thick with the scent of tobacco and something sharper—perhaps alcohol.

Behind the table sat a man Leonard had never seen before, but the moment their eyes met, Leonard knew this was Mr. Doyle, the man Thomas had warned him about. Doyle was a burly figure, with a scar that ran down the left side of his face, disappearing into the collar of his shirt. His hair was slicked back, and his eyes were cold, calculating.

“So, this is the kid,” Doyle said, his voice rough and gravelly. He looked Leonard up and down, as if assessing him. “Heard you’ve got a good head on your shoulders. Your brother here says you can blend in, stay unnoticed. That true?”

Leonard swallowed hard, his mouth suddenly dry. “Yes, sir,” he replied, keeping his voice steady.

Doyle grunted, leaning back in his chair. “Good. We need someone like you. Nothing too dangerous at first—just keeping watch, maybe a bit of delivery work. You do what you’re told, you’ll earn a few shillings. Mess up, though…” He let the sentence hang in the air, the unspoken threat clear.

Leonard nodded again, unable to find words. Thomas placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder, though the grip was firmer than Leonard liked. “He won’t mess up. He’s got a good head on his shoulders, like I said.”

Doyle seemed satisfied with that. He pushed a small brown package across the table toward Leonard. “Take this to the address on the note. No questions, no detours. Got it?”

Leonard took the package, his fingers trembling slightly as he tucked it under his arm. “Got it,” he echoed.

Thomas led Leonard back out into the street, and the moment the door closed behind them, Leonard felt like he could finally breathe again. The air was cool against his skin, but it did little to chase away the feeling of dread that had settled deep in his gut.

“See? Nothing to it,” Thomas said, trying to sound cheerful, but there was a strain in his voice that Leonard didn’t miss. “Just get this done, and we’ll be that much closer to keeping the bank off our backs.”

Leonard didn’t respond. He just nodded and started walking, his mind racing. This was just a delivery, he told himself—nothing more. It didn’t mean he was getting involved in anything worse. It was just for the money, just to keep them afloat. He could handle that.

The deliveries continued over the next few weeks. Leonard got used to the routine—picking up packages, keeping watch during late-night exchanges, sometimes even acting as a lookout when the gang needed an extra pair of eyes. The work was dangerous, but Leonard justified it by focusing on the money. It wasn’t much, but it was more than they’d had before, and for a while, that was enough to keep his doubts at bay.

But then, one evening, everything changed.

Leonard had just finished another delivery and was making his way back to the flat when he decided to take a different route. It was something he often did, trying to avoid being followed or noticed. But this time, it led him to a side street he’d never seen before, and what he saw there made his blood run cold.

Doyle was there, standing outside a small, rundown shop with two of his men. The sign above the door was in a language Leonard didn’t understand—Yiddish, maybe, or Hebrew. But he didn’t need to know the words to understand what was happening.

One of Doyle’s men kicked the door in, and the shopkeeper—a thin, elderly man with a gray beard—stumbled out, his face pale with fear. Doyle stepped forward, his voice low and threatening. “You know the deal, old man. We’ve been patient, but time’s up. Pay up, or there’ll be consequences.”

The shopkeeper shook his head, trembling. “Please, I’ve given you all I have. Business is slow… I have a family…”

Doyle sneered. “Not my problem. You’ve got until tomorrow. No more excuses.”

Leonard watched, frozen in place, as the men left the shop, laughing and joking as if nothing had happened. It was only when Doyle turned to leave that Leonard saw the recognition in his eyes—a brief flash of something, maybe guilt, or maybe just annoyance at being seen.

That night, Leonard confronted Thomas. He couldn’t keep quiet anymore. “Is this what you’ve been doing?” he demanded, his voice shaking with a mixture of anger and disbelief. “Extorting people? Hurting them?”

Thomas looked away, unable to meet Leonard’s gaze. For the first time, Leonard truly looked at his brother—not just the surface, but really saw him. Thomas was seventeen, tall and broad-shouldered, just shy of six feet. His dark hair was slightly dishevelled, and his blue eyes, so similar to Leonard’s own, were clouded with something Leonard couldn’t quite place. There was a scar on Thomas’s hand, a jagged line that Leonard hadn’t noticed before—had it always been there? Or was it something new, another mark left by the life they were being pulled into?

“It’s not like that, Leonard,” Thomas said, his voice lacking the conviction it once held. “We’re just… making sure people pay what they owe. It’s business.”

“Business?” Leonard’s voice was incredulous. “This isn’t business, Thomas. This is wrong. We’re hurting people—innocent people.”

Thomas’s face hardened, a flicker of something dark crossing his features. “We’re surviving, Leonard. That’s all that matters. You think I like doing this? You think I haven’t tried to find other work? This is all we’ve got.”

Leonard stared at him, his heart pounding. He had always seen Thomas as strong, as someone with a sense of right and wrong. It felt ludicrous now, thinking about how they went to church every Sunday, how they had listened to sermons about kindness and morality. And yet, here was his brother, doing the exact opposite of what they’d been taught. Leonard realized, with a pang of guilt, that maybe he had been naive, even hypocritical. He hadn’t cared much about the crime he was part of when it was just smuggling or pickpocketing—things that didn’t feel personal. But this… this was his red line.

In a flash of anger, Leonard’s fist connected with Thomas’s jaw, sending him stumbling back. “We don’t have to do this,” Leonard spat, his eyes blazing with fury. “I won’t be a part of it.”

Thomas staggered, visibly shocked that his younger brother had struck him. For a moment, the shock in his eyes shifted into something colder, darker. It was as if the mask Thomas had been wearing—the facade of the older brother Leonard had once known—shattered, revealing a hardness underneath that Leonard had never seen before. For a brief, terrifying moment, Leonard wondered just how deep Thomas’s involvement with the gang went. What had he done? What had he become?

Thomas’s eyes narrowed, and he clenched his fists, the muscles in his jaw tightening. Leonard could see the rage building, could almost feel the violence that was about to erupt. Thomas took a step forward, his hand raising as if to strike back, and Leonard instinctively recoiled. The fear was real, palpable—this wasn’t the brother he knew. This was someone else, someone dangerous.

But before Thomas could bring his hand down, something strange happened. Leonard felt a sudden surge of energy welling up inside him, a force that seemed to explode from deep within, raw and unrefined. He tried to suppress it, just as he had so many times before when anger or fear threatened to overwhelm him. But this time, the energy wouldn’t be contained. It pressed forward with an urgency that felt almost sentient, as if it sensed the danger Leonard was in, refusing to be held back.

Thomas’s foot suddenly slipped on the floor, as if the ground beneath him had shifted. He lost his balance, stumbling backward and crashing into the table, sending a stack of papers flying. The room seemed to shudder with the force of it, the shadows on the walls flickering wildly.

For a heartbeat, Leonard and Thomas locked eyes—Thomas’s filled with a mix of shock and fury, Leonard’s wide with fear and confusion. But then Leonard turned and ran, bolting out of the room and into the cold night air. His heart pounded in his chest as he heard Thomas’s voice behind him, shouting after him, the words filled with venom.

“Coward!” Thomas’s voice rang out, echoing through the narrow streets. “You’re dead to me, Leonard! Do you hear me? You’re dead to me!”

Leonard’s breath came in ragged gasps as he ran, the fear driving him forward, away from the person he had once trusted more than anyone. He didn’t look back. He couldn’t. The sound of Thomas’s shouts grew fainter, but the words lingered, searing into his mind.

You’re dead to me.

The world around him blurred, the familiar streets of Stepney becoming a maze of dark alleys and looming shadows. Leonard ran until his legs burned and his lungs screamed for air, until the shouts of his brother were nothing more than a distant memory.

When he finally stopped, he found himself in a small, empty park, the cold night air biting at his skin. He collapsed onto a bench, trembling, his mind racing with what had just happened. The surge of power, the way Thomas had tripped—it wasn’t natural. It wasn’t something Leonard had ever experienced before, and the realization that it had come from him filled him with both fear and awe.

But above all, Leonard felt the sting of betrayal. His brother, the person who had always been there for him, had turned into someone he couldn’t recognize, someone who was willing to cross lines that Leonard couldn’t, wouldn’t, cross. Leonard pulled his knees up to his chest, trying to block out the cold, the fear, and the pain. The night pressed in around him, dark and unforgiving, and he knew, deep down, that things would never be the same again.

A few days after Leonard’s confrontation with Thomas, he noticed the tension in the air. It was subtle at first—cold glances from familiar faces in the street, a sense of being watched when he walked alone. But as the days wore on, the unease grew, settling into a constant, gnawing fear that something was coming.

It happened one evening, just as the sun dipped below the horizon, casting the narrow streets of Stepney in shadows. Leonard was walking home from the market, the few coins he had managed to scrounge clutched tightly in his pocket. He had hoped the walk would clear his mind, but the sense of foreboding only deepened with each step.

As he turned down a particularly desolate alley, he felt it—a presence behind him. Before he could react, strong hands grabbed him, pulling him into the darkness. His cry for help was cut short by a rough hand clamping over his mouth. Panic surged through him as he struggled, but there were too many of them.

They dragged him to a dimly lit warehouse on the edge of the district, a place Leonard had passed by countless times without a second thought. The air inside was thick with the smell of sweat and smoke, and the dim light cast long, ominous shadows across the cold concrete floor.

He was thrown to the ground, his body hitting the floor with a force that knocked the wind out of him. Before he could regain his bearings, the blows started—hard, unforgiving strikes that landed on his ribs, his back, his face. Leonard curled up, trying to shield himself, but there was no escape.

In the haze of pain, Leonard caught glimpses of his attackers—men he recognized, men he had seen working with the gang. And then, through the blur of motion and pain, he saw him.

Thomas.

His brother stood there, watching with cold eyes. There was no warmth, no hesitation. It was as if the brother Leonard had known all his life had been replaced by a stranger. When Thomas finally stepped forward, Leonard dared to hope that he might stop it—that he might end this nightmare. But instead, Thomas raised his hand and struck him, the blow landing with brutal force.

Leonard’s vision swam, the pain overwhelming, but the shock was worse. He looked up at Thomas, his eyes wide with disbelief, searching for some sign of regret, of hesitation—anything to show that his brother still cared.

But there was nothing.

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The beating continued; each strike a punctuation mark in a sentence that Leonard couldn’t comprehend. When it finally stopped, Leonard was barely conscious, his body screaming with pain. But the worst was yet to come.

A man Leonard recognized as one of the gang leaders stepped forward, his voice cold and detached. “This is what happens when you forget where your loyalties lie,” he said, his gaze boring into Leonard. “Your brother here vouched for you. Now, he’s the one who’ll make sure you remember.”

Thomas hesitated, his hand trembling slightly as he reached for something in his pocket. Leonard’s heart pounded, a new wave of fear gripping him. He saw the glint of a small blade in Thomas’s hand, and his breath caught in his throat.

“Don’t make this harder than it has to be,” Thomas muttered, his voice strained. He knelt beside Leonard, his eyes avoiding his brother’s as he prepared to do what was required. Leonard squeezed his eyes shut, trying to brace himself for what was coming.

But before Thomas could act, the leader spoke again, his voice a harsh whisper. “Or maybe we give him a choice. He either takes a little piece of himself—or he takes someone else’s life. We’ve got a loose end that needs tying up, and if the kid wants to walk away, he’ll do it with blood on his hands.”

Leonard’s eyes snapped open, terror flooding through him. His heart raced, and for a moment, he silently begged for the power he had felt before to rise and protect him, to break free and shield him from the horror unfolding. But it stayed dormant, buried deep within, offering no salvation. The silence of his power felt like the final betrayal, leaving him utterly alone to face this nightmare.

As he looked up at Thomas, he saw the conflict in his brother’s eyes— a fleeting glimmer of hesitation, of the boy who had once been his protector. But Thomas didn’t speak. He didn’t protest. He simply handed Leonard the blade, his expression unreadable, cold as the steel in his hand.

Leonard’s hands shook as he stared at the knife. The weight of the decision was crushing, the room spinning around him. His thoughts were a chaotic swirl of pain, fear, and betrayal.

For a brief, eerie moment, Leonard felt a strange calm wash over him, as if the beating, the threats, the fear had all become too much, pushing him beyond the point of panic. He mused to himself, a bitter thought forming in his mind: If I do this, if I end it here, will I wake up again as Max? Will this all be over?

The knife felt impossibly heavy, and Leonard’s grip tightened. He knew he could never point the blade at Thomas, for all his wrongs. Despite everything, despite the betrayal, Leonard couldn’t bring himself to harm his brother. Just as Leonard resolved to do it—to make the cut and end the madness—a voice cut through the tension. “That’s enough.”

Mr. Doyle stepped forward, his presence commanding the attention of everyone in the room. He looked down at Leonard, then at Thomas, his expression hard but thoughtful. “This lad’s had enough. We’re not here to push him over the edge.”

The leader, who had been watching with a cruel smile, frowned at Doyle’s interruption. “You think letting him off easy is a good idea?”

Doyle shrugged, his gaze never leaving Leonard. “Taking a finger is reminder enough. He’s Thomas’s brother, and Thomas is a good lad. We don’t need more trouble than it’s worth.”

There was a tense silence, and Leonard realized that even within the gang, there were power struggles and conflicts, unspoken tensions that simmered beneath the surface. The leader seemed to consider this, his eyes narrowing as he studied Leonard. Then, with a dismissive wave, he stepped back. “Fine. Do it.”

Leonard barely had time to register what was happening before Thomas was beside him again, his hand trembling as he positioned the blade. The fear in Leonard’s chest tightened into a hard, unyielding knot as he watched the knife descend.

It wasn’t his own finger that was taken, but Thomas’s. The blade bit down, swift and merciless, and though it was Thomas’s pain, Leonard felt it too—an agony that seared through his soul, marking him forever. The sound of it, the sight of the blood, it was something Leonard knew he would never be able to forget.

As Thomas staggered back, clutching his hand, Leonard saw the look in his brother’s eyes. There was no anger, no resentment—just a hollow emptiness, a void where something human had once been. Leonard realized with a sickening certainty that whatever bond they had shared, whatever brotherly love had once existed between them, was gone. Doyle stepped forward, wiping the blade on a cloth and tucking it back into his coat. “Let this be a lesson, lad,” he said to Leonard, his voice low and even. “You’ve got a chance to walk away, but don’t think for a second that you’re free. We’ll be watching.”

Leonard didn’t respond. He couldn’t. He was too numb, too broken. The room seemed to tilt, the faces around him blurring into dark, twisted shapes as he fought to stay conscious.

When it was over, when the men finally let him go, Leonard stumbled out of the warehouse and into the cold night air. The world outside was eerily quiet, the moon casting long, pale shadows on the cobblestones. He didn’t know how long he stood there, shaking, before his feet moved on their own, carrying him away from the horror he had just endured.

The journey home was a blur. Leonard couldn’t remember how he made it back, how he navigated the winding streets, or how he managed to unlock the door to their flat. It was as though his body was on autopilot, moving without conscious thought, driven by the need to escape, to find some semblance of safety.

He was dimly aware of the familiar surroundings as he stepped inside, but they felt strange, distant, like a memory he couldn’t fully grasp. The shadows in the flat seemed to shift and stretch, warping into unsettling shapes that made his skin crawl. Each step he took was heavy, echoing with the weight of what had happened.

When he reached the small room he shared with his siblings, he paused at the doorway. Beatrice was there, sitting on the edge of her bed. Her eyes met his, and in that instant, Leonard saw something in her gaze that sent a chill through his entire body.

She knew.

She didn’t say anything, and Leonard couldn’t bring himself to speak. The silence between them was thick, oppressive, filled with everything they both knew but couldn’t voice. Beatrice’s gaze lingered on him for a moment longer before she turned away, her expression unreadable.

Leonard’s mind raced, pieces of the puzzle snapping together with terrifying clarity. She had known all along. Maybe she was even part of it, in her own way, complicit in the darkness that had swallowed their lives. Better them, than her. As he lay there, in his bed, staring at the ceiling, the weight of what they had become pressed down on him, suffocating in its intensity.

A week had passed since the night in the warehouse, but the pain lingered, both in his bruised body and in the fractured relationships that now defined his life. Every movement was a reminder of the beating he had endured, a sharp, constant ache that refused to fade. Leonard moved through each day in a fog, the world around him muted and distant. His teacher hadn’t noticed his injuries or simply didn’t care; the classroom was just another place where he went through the motions, his mind elsewhere.

At home, the silence was suffocating. Thomas ignored him completely, their once-brotherly bond now severed beyond repair. When Leonard tried to speak to Beatrice, she gave only curt answers, her eyes refusing to meet his. The warmth that had once existed between them had been replaced by something cold and unyielding, as if they were strangers living under the same roof.

His mother was more withdrawn than ever, lost in her own world of grief and worry. Leonard couldn’t tell if she was oblivious to his pain or simply unable to process the reality of what was happening to her family.

Thomas, who had once been the steady presence in their lives, was barely home. He left early in the mornings and returned late at night, often reeking of alcohol. There was no conversation, no connection—just the constant sense of being alone, even when surrounded by his family. Leonard felt more and more like a foreigner in his own home.

And then, in mid-July, something unexpected happened.

It was a hot, stifling afternoon, the kind that made the air thick and heavy. Leonard was sitting at the kitchen table, absentmindedly tracing patterns in the worn wood, when there was a sharp knock at the door. He didn’t move at first, assuming it was just another delivery or one of Thomas’s associates. But when the knock came again, more insistent this time, Leonard rose to his feet, wincing at the pain in his side.

He opened the door to find a small, wiry man standing there, dressed in an old-fashioned suit with a bowler hat perched atop his head. The man looked slightly out of place, as if he had stepped out of another era. He held a thick envelope in his hands, the paper yellowed with age, but still sturdy.

“Leonard Harrington?” the man asked, his voice clipped and precise.

Leonard nodded, too stunned to speak.

The man handed him the envelope with a slight bow. “This is for you,” he said, and without another word, he turned on his heel and walked away.

Leonard stared at the envelope in his hands, the weight of it both physical and metaphorical. The address was written in elegant, green ink, each letter carefully formed:

Mr. L. Harrington

The Smallest Bedroom,

14 Talbot Street,

Stepney, London.

He blinked, his heart pounding in his chest as he turned the envelope over. There, sealed with a wax stamp bearing a strange, ornate crest—a lion, a badger, an eagle, and a serpent surrounding a large letter "H"—was the name of the sender:

Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry

Headmaster: Professor Armando Dippet

Deputy Headmistress: Professor Galatea Merrythought

Leonard’s hands trembled as he broke the seal, his mind reeling. He had never heard of such a place, never imagined that something like this could exist. Magic? Wizards? It all seemed so absurd, so far removed from the grim reality of his life.

He pulled out the letter, the parchment thick and textured beneath his fingers. The words were written in the same green ink, the script flowing and elegant.

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Dear Mr. Harrington,

We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment. Term begins on 1 September. We await your owl by no later than 31 July.

Yours sincerely,

Galatea Merrythought

Deputy Headmistress

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Leonard read the letter again, disbelief warring with a strange sense of hope that he hadn’t felt in what seemed like forever. He turned the envelope upside down, and a second piece of parchment fell out—a list of books, robes, and other items he would need for his first year at Hogwarts.

For a moment, Leonard just stood there, the letter clutched in his hand, as the enormity of it all sank in. This was his way out—his escape from the darkness that had taken over his life. But it was also terrifying, the idea of leaving behind everything he had ever known, even if what he knew was filled with pain and despair.

He looked around the small, cluttered kitchen, at the silence that filled every corner, and made his decision. He would go. Whatever Hogwarts was, whatever awaited him there, it had to be better than the life he was living now.

With a deep breath, Leonard tucked the letter back into the envelope and slid it under his pillow. He didn’t tell anyone—not yet. This was something he needed to hold close, something he needed to believe in before he shared it with anyone else, if at all. For the first time in a long time, Leonard felt a glimmer of hope. And he wasn’t ready to let it go.

The next day, the air in the flat was heavy with the same stifling silence that had settled over their lives. Leonard’s mother was still asleep in her room, the weight of grief and exhaustion keeping her in bed longer than usual. Beatrice remained in her room as well, barely moving except when absolutely necessary. Whether it was the strain of her pregnancy or something else, Leonard couldn’t be sure. He had learned not to ask too many questions lately.

Thomas had already left the flat early, as he had been doing every day since the incident, leaving Leonard alone with his thoughts. He was sitting at the kitchen table, the Hogwarts letter still tucked safely under his pillow, when there was a knock at the door.

Leonard hesitated, his heart skipping a beat. Visitors were rare these days, and the memory of the warehouse still lingered too vividly in his mind. But the knock came again, and with a deep breath, Leonard rose to his feet and walked to the door.

He opened it to find a woman standing there, unlike anyone he had ever seen. She was dressed in khaki suit pants, something that seemed almost out of place in this day and age, when most women still wore dresses. Her blond hair was neatly tied back, and she wore half-rimmed glasses that gave her an air of sharp intelligence. Leonard guessed she was in her early thirties, maybe late thirties—it was hard to tell.

“Leonard Harrington?” she asked, her voice calm and clear.

Leonard nodded, unsure of what to make of her. “Yes, that’s me. Who are you?”

The woman smiled, a small, almost imperceptible curve of her lips. “My name is Eleanora Brandt. I’m with the Ministry of Magic.” She paused, waiting for Leonard’s reaction.

“The Ministry of what?” Leonard’s voice was sceptical. He had seen many strange things in the past week, but this was something entirely different. “You’re having a laugh, right?”

“I assure you, I’m quite serious,” Eleanora replied, her tone steady. “The Ministry of Magic is the governing body for the magical community in Britain. I’m here because you’ve been identified as a wizard, Leonard, and it’s my job to help you understand what that means.”

Leonard blinked, still trying to process what she was saying. “A wizard?” The word felt foreign on his tongue, like something out of a storybook. “You mean… like in the letter?”

Eleanora nodded. “Exactly. Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry has accepted you as a student, and you’ll be starting your education there in September. I’m here to answer any questions you might have and to help you with any doubts.”

There was a finality in her tone that wasn’t lost on Leonard. It was clear that not accepting this new reality wasn’t really an option—though, truth be told, he wasn’t planning to refuse. Leonard’s mind raced, a thousand questions tumbling over each other in his head. But one stood out above the rest. “If you’re really from the Ministry of Magic, then prove it. Show me something… magical.”

Eleanora smiled again, this time with a hint of amusement. “I thought you might ask for a demonstration.” She reached into the pocket of her suit jacket and pulled out a slender stick, made of some dark, polished wood that gleamed in the light.

Leonard watched, his breath catching in his throat, as she pointed the stick at a vase on the kitchen table. With a flick of her wrist and a whispered incantation, the vase lifted off the table, hovering in the air for a moment before gently settling back down. The flowers inside it bloomed instantly, their petals brightening and expanding as if they had just been plucked from a garden.

Leonard’s eyes widened in disbelief. He had felt strange things before, sensed a kind of power within him—something that responded to his emotions, especially when they were strong. But ever since the warehouse incident, he hadn’t been sure if it was real or just figments of his imagination. Now, seeing the vase float before his eyes, the reality of it all came crashing down on him.

“You’re serious,” he muttered, more to himself than to her.

“Quite serious,” Eleanora replied, lowering her wand. “Leonard, you have a gift—a rare and powerful gift. And it’s important that you learn how to control it, how to use it properly. That’s why Hogwarts is so important. It’s not just about learning magic; it’s about understanding who you are and what you’re capable of.”

Leonard nodded slowly, still trying to wrap his mind around everything. The reality of it was beginning to sink in, but with it came a flood of emotions—excitement, fear, and a deep, gnawing uncertainty. “I… I don’t know if I’m ready for this,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper.

Eleanora’s expression softened even further, a gentle smile playing at the corners of her lips. “We start by speaking with your guardian, Leonard. They’ll need to agree to you attending Hogwarts. It’s important that they understand what this means for you and that they’re supportive of your journey.”

Leonard’s heart sank at the mention of his guardian. The thought of involving his mother—or worse, Beatrice—filled him with dread. His mother had been so withdrawn lately, barely able to process the day-to-day realities of their lives, and Beatrice… well, she had her own reasons for wanting to keep him close. He feared that Thomas, if he found out, might try to convince their mother not to let him go.

The idea of losing this chance—this lifeline out of the darkness that had consumed their lives—was unbearable. Leonard swallowed hard, trying to keep the anxiety from showing on his face. “Do we have to do that right now?” he asked, his voice wavering slightly. “I mean, can’t we… you know, sort it all out today? Without… anyone else?”

Eleanora studied him for a moment, her keen eyes seeing through the layers of his hesitation. She nodded, understanding the urgency in his voice. “We’ll see what we can do. It’s important that this is handled properly, but I understand your concerns. Let’s talk to your mother first.”

Leonard led Eleanora down the narrow hallway to his mother’s room, his stomach twisting in knots with every step. He knocked softly on the door before pushing it open. His mother was lying in bed, her face pale and drawn, her eyes half-lidded with exhaustion. Beatrice was sitting by her side, a protective hand resting on their mother’s arm.

“Mother,” Leonard began hesitantly, “there’s someone here to see you. It’s about… school.”

Beatrice’s eyes narrowed as she looked up, immediately suspicious. “School? What’s going on, Leonard?”

Before Leonard could answer, Eleanora stepped forward, her presence commanding the small room. “Mrs. Harrington, my name is Eleanora Brandt, and I’m with the Ministry of Magic. I’m here to discuss Leonard’s acceptance into Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.”

Beatrice stood up abruptly, her posture tense and defensive. “Magic? What are you talking about? Leonard’s not going anywhere. We can’t afford some fancy school, let alone one that doesn’t even sound real.”

Eleanora’s smile remained, though there was a slight edge to it now. “I assure you, Miss Harrington, Hogwarts is very real. And as for the cost, you needn’t worry. All expenses, including tuition, supplies, and even travel, are fully covered by the school.”

Beatrice crossed her arms, her expression one of deep scepticism. “There’s no such thing as a free lunch. What’s the catch? What do you people want with Leonard?”

Eleanora’s patience was clearly being tested, but she remained composed. “There’s no catch, Miss Harrington. Hogwarts exists to educate young witches and wizards, to teach them how to control and use their magic responsibly. Leonard has been identified as one of these individuals, and it’s crucial that he receives proper training.”

Beatrice’s eyes flashed with frustration, and she glanced at her mother, who had remained silent throughout the exchange. “Mother, you can’t seriously be considering this. We need Leonard here, with us. Who knows what kind of nonsense these people are feeding him? This isn’t our world, and it’s certainly not his.”

Leonard’s mother shifted in bed; her expression troubled. She looked from Beatrice to Leonard, her eyes filled with confusion and worry. “I… I don’t know,” she murmured, her voice weak. “It’s all so much… so sudden…”

Eleanora stepped closer; her voice gentle but firm. “Mrs. Harrington, I understand this is overwhelming. But Leonard has a rare gift, one that needs to be nurtured and guided. This is an opportunity for him to have a better life, to learn and grow in ways that wouldn’t be possible otherwise. Hogwarts can offer him that, and more.”

Beatrice’s frustration boiled over. “We’ve been through enough already! We don’t need more uncertainty, more strangers coming into our lives and taking Leonard away from us. What happens if this all goes wrong? What if he gets hurt? Or worse?”

Eleanora’s calm demeanour finally cracked, just a little. “Miss Harrington, with all due respect, this isn’t your decision to make. Leonard is under the care of his mother, and it is her decision, not yours. We’re not here to take Leonard away. We’re here to give him the education he deserves, the education he needs.”

Beatrice turned back to her mother, her voice pleading now. “Mother, please… don’t let them do this. We need Leonard here.”

Mrs. Harrington hesitated, the weight of the decision pressing down on her frail shoulders. She looked at Leonard, who stood there silently, his heart pounding in his chest. He couldn’t bear to lose this chance, but he knew he was powerless if his mother refused.

Finally, Mrs. Harrington took a deep breath, her voice trembling. “Leonard… do you want to go? Is this what you want?”

Leonard’s throat felt tight, but he forced himself to speak, his voice steady despite the turmoil inside him. “Yes, Mother. I want to go. I think… I think it could be a new start for me. For all of us.”

Mrs. Harrington nodded slowly, as if coming to terms with the idea. “Then… then I suppose you should go. If it’s what you want… and if it’s all paid for, like she says…”

Beatrice opened her mouth to protest, but Eleanora cut her off, her voice firm and final. “It is paid for, and Leonard will be in good hands. You have my word.”

The room fell silent, the tension slowly ebbing away as the decision was made. Beatrice turned away, her shoulders slumping in defeat, while Mrs. Harrington leaned back into her pillows, her expression a mixture of resignation and hope.

Eleanora turned to Leonard, her gaze softening once more. “We’ll make the necessary arrangements, and I’ll be back to help you prepare for your journey to Hogwarts. You’ve made the right choice, Leonard.”

Leonard nodded, relief flooding through him. He had been given a way out, a path that could lead him away from the darkness that had consumed his life. And for the first time in a long time, he allowed himself to feel a flicker of hope.

After the decision was made, Eleanora offered a polite nod to Mrs. Harrington and Beatrice before gently guiding Leonard out of the room. They left mother and daughter in the quiet, tense space and returned to the small kitchen, where the remnants of breakfast still lingered on the table. Leonard sat down, feeling the weight of the conversation settling heavily on his shoulders.

Eleanora remained standing, her presence still commanding despite the small confines of the flat. “I’ll be back on Monday,” she said, her tone now all business. “There’s some paperwork to be filled out due to your family’s modest means. I’ll help you get everything in order, and we’ll also need to purchase your supplies.”

Only then did it strike Leonard that he hadn’t offered the woman anything—a cup of tea, a place to sit. The realization made him feel a bit foolish, as if he had somehow failed in a basic courtesy. But before he could voice his regret, Eleanora waved it away with a small smile, sensing his thoughts. “Don’t worry about it, Leonard. You’ve had a lot to process today. We’ll have plenty of time to talk more when I return.”

She bid him farewell, her footsteps echoing lightly in the hallway before the door clicked shut behind her. Leonard remained at the kitchen table, staring at the empty space where she had stood just moments before. The flat seemed even quieter now, the silence almost deafening in its intensity.

As he sat there, Leonard realized something unsettling: his mother hadn’t asked Eleanora to prove herself. She hadn’t demanded a demonstration of magic, nor had she questioned the validity of Eleanora’s claims. She had simply… accepted it. That, more than anything, made Leonard uneasy. His mother had always been a cautious woman, one who questioned everything, especially when it came to the welfare of her children. But today, she had seemed almost… passive.

Weak.

Leonard’s heart ached at the thought. His mother had looked so frail, so worn down by the burdens of their lives. He couldn’t help but wonder if leaving her, leaving them all, was truly the right decision. How could he go off to some magical school, far away from the struggles of his family, and not feel like he was abandoning them?

But then his thoughts turned to Thomas—the coldness in his brother’s eyes, the violence that had shattered any semblance of their relationship. The fear and anger he felt toward Thomas were still fresh, a raw wound that refused to heal. Could he really continue living under the same roof as him, knowing what had happened, knowing that Thomas had been complicit in his pain?

No, Leonard decided. He couldn’t. The thought of staying, of enduring more days and nights under the same roof as Thomas, made his stomach churn. The only reason he hadn’t been kicked out of the house, he realized, was because of his mother. If it weren’t for her presence, he was sure Thomas would have found a way to force him out, or worse.

With a deep breath, Leonard steeled himself. As much as he cared for his mother, as much as he feared what would become of her and Beatrice without him, he knew that he couldn’t stay. Hogwarts was more than just a school—it was an escape, a lifeline that he desperately needed. If he stayed, he would only be dragged deeper into the darkness that had consumed his family. But if he left, maybe, just maybe, he could find a way to pull himself out of it.

As he sat alone in the kitchen, the decision he had made earlier that day solidified in his mind. He would go to Hogwarts. He would take this chance, not just for himself, but because he knew deep down that it was the only way to survive.

As the day wore on, Leonard couldn’t shake the gnawing anxiety that settled deep in his chest. With every passing hour, his mind drifted back to Thomas, and the fear of what his brother would say when he found out about the decision that had been made. Leonard imagined the anger in Thomas’s eyes, the harsh words that would follow, or worse—the possibility that Thomas might convince their mother to change her mind, to forbid him from going to Hogwarts.

But as the evening darkened into night, Thomas still hadn’t come home. The hours ticked by in an uneasy silence, the flat enveloped in a stillness that only heightened Leonard’s tension. Part of him was relieved, glad that he didn’t have to face his brother’s wrath, not tonight. But another part of him—a part he hated to acknowledge—was worried.

Despite everything, despite the betrayal, Leonard couldn’t entirely erase the years of good memories they had shared. Thomas was his brother, and there had been a time when Leonard had looked up to him, trusted him. Those memories lingered, haunting him even as he tried to push them away.

But life, Leonard knew, was a series of choices, each with its own set of consequences. Thomas had made his choice, and Leonard had made his. There was no going back now, no undoing what had been done. They would both have to live with the paths they had chosen, and the price that came with them.

As he lay in bed that night, staring at the ceiling, a single tear slid down Leonard’s cheek. He brushed it away, trying to hold back the flood of emotions threatening to overwhelm him. The flat was eerily quiet, the only sound his own breathing, steady but heavy with the weight of the day’s events.

Eventually, exhaustion claimed him, and Leonard drifted off to sleep, his mind filled with thoughts of what lay ahead—the unknown, the possibilities, and the hope that maybe, just maybe, he had made the right choice.