1 The Red letter (rewritten)

Hey there, I'm Arthur Severus Belmont. Ten years old, and according to some people, 'troubled'. But hey, 'troubled' is just another word for 'interesting', right?

So, I was at this school called Carpathian Academy. Sounds spooky, doesn't it? It's this place in northern Transylvania, Romania, for kids who are, well, like me. A boarding school that's supposed to straighten us out. But if you ask me, all the best heroes have a bit of trouble in their backstory.

Anyway, let's rewind my story a bit, all the way to the beginning. I was born on a freezing December night - yep, New Year's Eve, 1980. Talk about making an entrance! My dad had already left the stage of life six months before I showed up. Drama and mystery, right from my first breath.

Mom always told me stories about Dad. How he was brave and kind. Wish I could've met him. But instead, I got his gravestone in the old churchyard and a bunch of 'what ifs'.

You know, sometimes weird stuff happens around me. Like, really weird stuff. It's as if the universe decides to throw a little magic my way when I least expect it. And that brings me back to the school trip that changed everything. We were headed to the National Museum of Art in Bucharest. A normal trip, you'd think. But when you're like me, 'normal' isn't really part of the vocabulary...

As a young kid, I had these hazy memories of stumbling upon my father's white gravestone in the churchyard. It stood there, solemn and still, like a sleeping dragon waiting to be woken up. And that was just the beginning of the weirdness. Our small parlor was warm and cozy, fire crackling and candles flickering. But somehow, it felt like it was trying to trap me in, like a bear with its paw on the door handle. 

His absence was like a ghost in the house, haunting every nook and cranny. A void that I couldn't wrap my little head around. But strangely, that gravestone brought me comfort, like a reassuring hand on my shoulder saying, "It's going to be alright, lad." It was comforting, in a ghost-story-by-the-fire kind of way.

Mom, Sonia Belmont-Prince, was a walking encyclopedia on my dad. She painted him as a hero straight out of a myth – brave, kind, and apparently loved us like a dragon loves its treasure. But the truth about his demise was locked up tighter than a dragon's hoard.

I always had this nagging feeling Mom was keeping the juiciest secrets to herself. The town's whispers were like bread crumbs leading to a gingerbread house, and I was the nosy kid who couldn't resist following the trail.

So, like a knight in slightly tarnished armor, I embarked on a quest through dusty archives. Each scrap of information about Dad was like finding a piece of a lost treasure map, revealing the secret history of our little town.

As I grew, so did my resolve, toughening up like leather in a tanner's hands. That's me – Arthur Severus Belmont, the kid with a story itching to be told, one step and one breath at a time.

during winter, summer, or spring breaks when I wasn't in school.

I found sanctuary in our small but love-filled apartment. Mom and I, we were like two peas in a pod, especially during the evenings. Those were our times, lost in the realms of books, each story spinning a thread that tied our hearts in a bond stronger than the mightiest of spells.

Mom was more than just a pretty face. She had this spark in her eyes, the kind that could light up the darkest dungeons. She didn't just guide me through life; she nourished my soul with a love that was as deep as the ocean and as unconditional as gravity.

Her approach to parenting? Think of a general leading an army. Discipline, precision, and a whole lot of love. Her expectations were as high as Mount Olympus, and when I stumbled, she was there, not to catch me, but to teach me how to land without breaking my neck.

Now, let's skip the boring parts of my childhood – you know, learning to tie my shoes, the first time I rode a bike without training wheels – and get to the good stuff.

It was a day in April, when the fourth-grade class, my class, consisting of twenty-eight kids and two teachers, took a journey to Bucharest on a white old style school bus, heading to the National Museum of Art to explore ancient Dacian and Roman artifacts. 

I know—it might sound like a punishment or torture Most trips from Carpathian Academy were. But Mr. Radu, our history teacher, was leading this expedition, so I had hopes. 

I hoped the trip would be okay. At least, I hoped that for once I wouldn't get in trouble. Boy, was I wrong. 

unpleasant things happen to me on school trips. Like when I was in the second grade and we went on a field trip to Rasnov Fortress, a historic site located in Brasov County, Romania. While exploring the fortress, I had an unfortunate incident with a replica of an old weapon displayed in a local history exhibition. Carelessly, I touched the interactive element, unintentionally triggering sounds and lights and causing a small commotion in the group. I didn't aim for the school bus, but, of course, I got expelled anyway. 

And after that, at my third-grade school, when we went on a trip to Bran Castle, I accidentally pressed the wrong lever on a catwalk, activating a mechanism that turned on a fountain in the inner courtyard and left us with wet clothes and a funny memory. And the last time... Well, you get the idea. 

On this trip, I was determined to behave. Right from entering the city, I endured Ana Popescu, the freckled, redheaded kleptomaniac girl, hitting my best friend Elias in the back of the head with pieces of polenta and cheese, which she bought from a small local shop. 

Elias, my best friend and partner-in-crime, was a walking, talking paradox. With a perpetual twinkle in his eye and a grin that could charm even the grumpiest of monsters, he was the kind of guy who could make a harpy reconsider its career choices. His unruly mop of hair resembled a perpetual whirlwind, as if each strand had its own agenda. Elias had this habit of running his hands through it when he was deep in thought, which only made the chaos on his head even more endearing. The only thing as unpredictable as his hair was his taste in fashion – a mix of mismatched patterns and colors that somehow always worked, leaving the rest of us mere mortals questioning our fashion choices. 

But don't let the quirky exterior fool you. Elias was the strategist, the brains behind our escapades, and Underneath the mischievous facade, Elias possessed a heart bigger than the labyrinthine twists of the Minotaur's maze. Loyalty oozed from him like nectar from a well-crafted ambrosia cookie. He'd go to the ends of the underworld and back for his friends, armed with a celestial bronze sword and a sarcastic quip. 

Elias, despite his endearing and quirky nature, had a peculiar habit that made him an unintentional bullseye for the school bullies. He had an uncanny ability to get lost in his own world of imagination, 

In a school where conformity and fitting in were considered the norm, Elias's eccentric thoughts and imaginative escapades set him apart. He could be found sketching mythological creatures in the margins of his notebooks or engrossed in a fantasy novel during lunch, oblivious to the social dynamics around him. His lack of concern for societal norms and his unapologetic embrace of his unique interests made him stand out. 

The bullies, always on the lookout for someone to mock and belittle, saw Elias's quirks as a weakness to exploit. They would mock his drawings, call him names related to mythical creatures, and disrupt his daydreams with taunts. the bullies found satisfaction in targeting him simply because he dared to be different in a world that often frowned upon such individuality. 

In any case, Ana Popescu was hurling bits of mamaliga and cheese that clung to Elias's unruly mop of curly brown hair, fully aware that I couldn't retaliate because I was already on probation. The headmaster had issued a dire warning, threatening me with in-school suspension if anything remotely bad, embarrassing, or even mildly entertaining occurred on this trip. 

"I swear I'm going to do something about this," I grumbled. 

Elias tried to pacify me. "Hey, it's okay. I happen to like mamaliga." 

He deftly avoided another projectile from Ana's makeshift lunch. 

"That's enough." I started to rise from my seat, but Elias firmly pulled me back down. 

"Remember, you're already on probation," he cautioned. "You know who'll get blamed if anything happens." 

Reflecting on it now, I wish I had confronted Ana Popescu right then and there. In-school suspension would've been a minor inconvenience compared to the tangled web I was about to weave for myself. 

"Stay together, class," he'd say, but who listens to that on a school trip? Certainly not Elias, my best buddy. 

We were weaving through the exhibits, dodging teachers and boring explanations, when suddenly, I saw it. The Coolest Thing Ever. A real-life, ancient Dacian sword. Behind glass, obviously, but still, it was calling my name. 'Arthur,' it whispered, 'come and be the next King of Romania.'

Okay, so maybe it didn't actually say that. But it would have been cool if it did.

I was just about to get a closer look when – WHAM! – I walked right into a glass case. Not my smoothest moment. I swear the statue inside gave me a look like, 'Really, dude?'

"That's enough horseplay, Arthur," Mrs. Carrow, our other teacher, scolded. She's new. Tall, kind of mysterious, with a look that says, 'I've seen things you wouldn't believe.' I nodded, but let's be real, I was already planning my next move.

Just as I was about to escape Mrs. Carrow's hawk-like gaze, Elias nudged me. "Check this out," he said, pointing to a painting that was definitely laughing at my clumsiness. Okay, maybe it wasn't, but with my luck, it wouldn't surprise me...

"So, where were we? Oh yeah, the museum trip. Right, so there we were, in the National Museum of Art, surrounded by more ancient stuff than Mr. Radu's history closet. The thing about museums is, they're supposed to be quiet, but put a bunch of ten-year-olds in there, and it's like trying to silence a band of banshees.

I was minding my own business, honest. But Ana Popescu, our resident troublemaker with a knack for chaos, decided it was the perfect time to stir things up. She was this red-haired whirlwind, always up to something. And that day, her something involved me, unfortunately.

There I was, admiring this old, dusty painting of Vlad the Impaler (cheerful guy, really), when Ana decided to throw a crumpled piece of paper at me. It hit me right on the head. Classic Ana.

'Epic aim, Popescu,' I grumbled, rubbing my head. 'What'd you use for target practice, your homework?'

Ana just stuck her tongue out. She was about to launch another paper missile when Mr. Radu appeared like a ghost. Seriously, the man could sneak up on a shadow.

'Mr. Belmont, is there a problem?' he asked, looking at me with those eyes that said, 'I know you're up to something, and I'll find out what it is.'

'No problem, Mr. Radu. Just learning about Vlad here. Interesting guy. Loved spikes.'

Mr. Radu didn't look convinced, but he moved on, probably to save some other artifact from our class's curiosity. That's when it happened. The weird part. I mean, weirder than a usual day at Carpathian Academy.

I was about to turn away from the painting when I saw something move in the corner of my eye. It was just a flicker, but when I looked back at the painting, Vlad's eyes seemed to be staring right at me. Creepy, right?

'Elias, did you see that?' I whispered, but my buddy was too busy trying to stop Ana from launching another paper attack.

That's when I heard it, a voice, coming from nowhere and everywhere at the same time. 'Arthur Severus Belmont,' it said, and chills ran down my spine. 'Your journey begins now.'

I spun around, looking for the source of the voice, but there was nothing. Just a room full of relics and a bunch of kids who were more interested in their snacks than ancient mysteries.

I knew then that something big was about to happen. Something that would take me far from Carpathian Academy and into a world I never knew existed. A world of magic, mystery, and maybe a bit of mayhem. But hey, that's just another day in the life of Arthur Belmont, right?

As I was waiting for Elias, who had made a quick detour to the bathroom, Professor Carrow, the new mystery-wrapped-in-an-enigma teacher, sauntered over. She had this look that said she knew things – things that would make your hair stand on end.

"Arthur Severus Belmont," she started, a knowing smile playing on her lips. Her gaze was intense, like she was trying to X-ray my brain.

I offered a cautious nod. "Hello, Professor Carrow. Just admiring the sword exhibit. They're... sharp."

She tilted her head thoughtfully. "Fate brings people together in the strangest places, Mr. Belmont. Especially in a museum full of ancient pointy things."

I managed a nervous chuckle. "Yeah, fate and school field trips. They both have a knack for the unexpected."

That's when Elias bounced back, looking like he'd just escaped a narrow encounter with a hand dryer. We joined Mr. Radu, who was in full historian mode, gesturing enthusiastically at a stone column crowned with a dragon.

As I was waiting for Elias, who had made a quick detour to the bathroom, Professor Carrow, the new mystery-wrapped-in-an-enigma teacher, sauntered over. She had this look that said she knew things – things that would make your hair stand on end.

"Arthur Severus Belmont," she started, a knowing smile playing on her lips. Her gaze was intense, like she was trying to X-ray my brain.

I offered a cautious nod. "Hello, Professor Carrow. Just admiring the sword exhibit. They're... sharp."

She tilted her head thoughtfully. "Fate brings people together in the strangest places, Mr. Belmont. Especially in a museum full of ancient pointy things."

I managed a nervous chuckle. "Yeah, fate and school field trips. They both have a knack for the unexpected."

That's when Elias bounced back, looking like he'd just escaped a narrow encounter with a hand dryer. We joined Mr. Radu, who was in full historian mode, gesturing enthusiastically at a stone column crowned with a dragon.

I tried to listen, but Ana Popescu and her gang were making it hard with their whispered jokes. Losing my patience, I snapped, "Could you guys zip it for two seconds?"

The words echoed louder than I intended. The whole group, including Mr. Radu, turned to stare. Oops.

"Something on your mind, Mr. Belmont?" Mr. Radu asked, one eyebrow quirkily raised.

I felt my cheeks warm up. "Uh, no, sir. Just... enjoying the lecture." my face probably matching the color of the reddest Roman cloak in the exhibit. But he wasn't done. He pointed to a carving. "Perhaps you can tell us about this gentleman?"

I glanced at the carving, feeling a wave of relief because I recognized it. "That's Vlad the Impaler, right? the local celebrity for scary bedtime stories." 

"Yes," Mr. Radu nodded, not entirely satisfied. "And he did this because..." 

I wracked my brain to recall. "Well, Vlad was a ruler, and—" 

"Ruler?" Mr. Radu prompted. 

"Well," I started, "Vlad was a voivode who really didn't like his enemies. So much so, he turned them into human kebabs. Not exactly a people person."But his wife hid their son, and he later returned to avenge his family—" 

"Eww!" a girl behind me exclaimed. 

"—leading to a conflict between the voivodes and the invaders," I finished, feeling a few snickers from the group. 

Ana Popescu muttered to a friend, "Like we're ever going to use this in real life. Like a job application will ask, 'Please explain why Vlad the Impaler impaled his enemies.'" 

"And why, Mr. Belmont," Mr. Radu said, echoing Miss Popescu's question, "does this matter in real life?" 

" Busted,"," Elias mumbled. 

"Quiet," Ana hissed, her face redder than her hair. 

At least Ana got reprimanded too. Mr. Radu was the only one who ever. caught her saying anything wrong. He had radar ears. I thought about his question, and With a slight furrow in my brow, I turned my attention back to the carving of Vlad the Impaler, determined to provide a more comprehensive response. 

"Vlad the Impaler," I began, my voice more focused, "took extreme measures like impaling his enemies as a form of psychological warfare. It wasn't just about punishing those who opposed him; it was about instilling fear and sending a brutal message to potential adversaries. His ruthless tactics were a means of maintaining control and deterring opposition, even if it meant resorting to barbaric methods." 

Mr. Radu nodded approvingly, acknowledging the more nuanced explanation. The group's hushed whispers seemed to reflect a newfound interest in the historical context, as if they were realizing that the past held lessons that transcended the boundaries of the classroom. 

"History is often complex," Mr. Radu continued, "woven with threads of power, fear, and survival. Vlad the Impaler's actions, gruesome as they were, provide us with a glimpse into the harsh realities of the time and the lengths to which leaders would go to secure their positions. On that happy note, it's time for lunch. Mrs. Carrow , would you lead us back outside?" The class drifted off, the girls holding their stomachs, the guys pushing each other around and acting like doofuses. 

The students gathered on the front steps of the museum in Bucharest, where we could watch the pedestrian traffic along Unirii Boulevard. Overhead, a massive storm was brewing, with clouds darker than I had ever seen over the city. I figured maybe it was due to global warming or something We had massive snowstorms, flooding, wildfires from lightning strikes. I wouldn't have been surprised if this was a hurricane approaching. 

Nobody else seemed to notice. Some of the guys were pelting pigeons with Lunchables crackers. Ana Popescu was trying to pickpocket something from a lady's purse, and, of course, Mrs. Carrow wasn't seeing a thing. Elias and I sat on the edge of the fountain, away from the others. We thought that maybe if we did that, nobody would know we were from that school—the school for lost oddballs who couldn't make it elsewhere. Elias and I leaned against the edge of the fountain, observing the unfolding scenes with a mix of detachment and curiosity. In the midst of the mundane activities playing out around us, there was an unspoken understanding between Elias and me. We were both outsiders, navigating a world that often felt indifferent to our struggles and quirks. 

Elias didn't say anything for a while. Then, when I thought he was going to give me some deep philosophical comment to make me feel better, he said, "Can I have your apple?" I didn't have much of an appetite, so I let him take it. 

I watched the stream of cars going up and down , and thought about my mom's apartment, only a little ways uptown from where we sat. I hadn't seen her since Christmas. I wanted so bad to jump in a taxi and head home. She'd hug me and be glad to see me, but she'd be disappointed, too. She'd send me right back to Carpathian Academy, remind me that I had to try harder I wouldn't be able to stand that sad look she'd give me. 

I was about to unwrap my sandwich when Ana Popescu appeared in front of me with her group of friends—I guess she'd gotten tired of her usual mischief—and deliberately dropped her half-eaten lunch in Elias's lap. 

"Oops," she grinned at me, revealing her crooked teeth. The cafeteria incident was becoming a regular occurrence, a manifestation of the unspoken tension that simmered between different cliques in the school. Elias shot her an exasperated look, his patience clearly tested by the repeated acts of provocation. 

Without thinking, my frustration reached a boiling point. In a reflex fueled by a surge of nerves, I grabbed Ana by the wrist, hoping to convey my displeasure.

But then, something weird happened. There was a spark, a sizzle, and suddenly Ana's hair was on fire. She dove into the fountain, and everyone just froze, staring.

"What did you do, Arthur?" Elias whispered, wide-eyed.

"I have no idea," I said, equally stunned.

Mrs. Carrow was on us in a second. "What's happening here?"

Ana, sopping wet and furious, pointed at me. "He's crazy, that's what!"

I tried to explain, but it sounded lame even to my ears. "I didn't mean to... I don't know how..."

The next day in the headmaster's office felt like a tribunal. Mr. Radu and Mrs. Carrow were there, looking at me like I was a puzzle missing a few pieces.

"Mr. Belmont, we need to discuss the events that transpired at the museum yesterday," the headmaster began, peering over his glasses with a penetrating gaze.

I recounted the bizarre occurrence with Ana's hair catching fire, emphasizing my lack of intent and understanding of how it had happened. However, my explanations seemed to fall on deaf ears. Mrs. Carrow, in particular, maintained a skeptical demeanor throughout.

"Extraordinary claims require extraordinary evidence, Mr. Belmont," she remarked dryly.

Despite my protestations, the decision was swift and unforgiving. I was to be suspended from Carpathian Academy pending further investigation into the incident. The gravity of the situation hit me, realizing that my already precarious standing at the school had taken a nosedive.

Elias, standing beside me in solidarity, tried to interject, but Mr. Radu silenced him with a stern look. As the weight of the suspension settled on my shoulders, I couldn't help but wonder if the peculiar abilities I displayed were the cause or merely a symptom of the strange path my life was taking.

Within hours, I found myself packing my belongings under the watchful eyes of the staff. The whispers of my peers echoed in the hallways, a mixture of gossip and speculation, dragging my bags through the hall, I could almost hear the whispers of my classmates behind me. "There goes Arthur, our resident pyrotechnician," they'd probably say. I've always been the odd one, but accidentally setting Ana's hair on fire was like unlocking a new level in the Weirdness Olympics. - like that time I found a juice box just as I was thinking about how thirsty I was, or when Jenny's hair turned rainbow colors after she stole my sandwich. But lately, those weird occurrences had been as rare as a fun history class.

I longed for a place where 'Weird Arthur' was just 'Arthur'. The walk home felt like I was the main character in a mystery novel – the kind where you're not sure if the protagonist is the hero or the villain. Every shadow seemed to watch me, every breeze felt like a whispered secret. But as soon as I stepped into the apartment, it was like someone hit the mute button on the spooky soundtrack.

"Mom, I'm back," I called out, but the only reply was the echo of my own voice bouncing off the walls. Creepy much? The place was as silent as a library after hours, the kind of quiet that makes your skin crawl.

A shiver ran down my spine as I ventured further inside. It felt like I was being followed, but every time I looked back, it was just me and my shadow. Typical.

Room by room, I searched for Mom, but she was nowhere to be found. It was like playing hide and seek with a ghost. Then, in the living room, my eyes landed on something out of place – a letter on the coffee table, sealed with a blob of crimson wax that looked like it belonged in a museum rather than our apartment.

I picked up the letter, half expecting it to fly out of my hand or start speaking. The seal was intricately designed, like something you'd find in a treasure chest in one of those adventure movies. With a mix of curiosity and a good dose of apprehension, I broke the seal. Instantly, the room lit up like a disco ball had exploded. The letter burst into flames, but instead of burning up, the words lifted into the air, swirling around like they were part of some ancient dance

As the fiery script of the letter enveloped me, reality started doing backflips. It twisted and turned like a kaleidoscope on overdrive. I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to escape the dizzying display. It felt like being on a roller coaster, except I hadn't signed up for the ride and definitely wanted off.

Time seemed to stretch out like a lazy cat in the sun. I held my breath, hoping everything would snap back to normal. But when the whirlwind of chaos finally calmed down, I opened my eyes, half-expecting to see my living room as it should be – not doubling as a portal to who-knows-where.

But nope, instead, there it was – an enormous door, standing tall and mysterious right in front of me. It was adorned with the same seal from the letter, which pulsed with a kind of energy that made the air buzz. It was like staring at the entrance to Narnia, or any other magical place you could think of, but it was in my living room.

Just then, a wave of nausea hit me like a freight train. It was the kind of queasiness you get when you spin around too fast and then try to walk straight. I clutched my stomach, wishing I had a barf bag. No such luck. Bending over, I was at the mercy of my rebellious insides.

Once the tempest within me subsided, I took a deep breath, seeking to regain my balance before the mysterious door. And then, a faint cough sounded from behind, a gentle yet purposeful announcement of her presence. 

Turning on my heel, I found myself face to face with a woman of slender frame and an air of enigma about her. Her dark hair cascaded like a midnight waterfall, framing a face that seemed both distant and captivating. Her eyes, as black and deep as the night sky, held a knowing quality that sent shivers down my spine. Clad in a sleek black robe that clung to her form, she emitted an aura that seemed to belong to another realm entirely. 

What startled me the most, however, was the uncanny resemblance between us. Our pale skin, the intensity of our eyes, and the crowning glory of our jet-black tresses formed an undeniable kinship. 

In her gaze, there was an unspoken language, a mutual understanding of something profound and unexplained. A cryptic smile played upon her lips,

With measured steps, she closed the distance between us, her eyes locking onto mine with an intensity that sent ripples through ,my spine,

"Who are you?" I couldn't help but inquire, my voice steady despite the whirlwind of emotions inside me. 

Her response was swift and authoritative, laced with a hint of reproach. 

"I see your mother didn't teach you etiquette. It's not a problem. We still have time to fix this. But first..." 

She paused, her gaze never wavering from my face, seemingly peering into the depths of my very being. 

"Tipsy, there was an accident outside. Clean it up," she directed, and then turned her attention back to me. "Come inside and follow me." 

I didn't fully comprehend her words, yet her commanding presence left me with no choice but to obey. My curiosity and the inexplicable connection between us propelled me to accept her invitation, despite the nagging feeling that I was stepping into a world of uncertainty. 

Without hesitation, I followed her lead, a magnetic pull urging me onward. The corridor stretched endlessly before me, adorned with portraits that stirred memories both known and distant. Yet, it was the room that awaited me, already ajar, that held the greatest surprise. There, resting as if expecting my arrival, stood my luggage – the very same my mother and I had carried on countless journeys. 

Inside the room, a strange familiarity washed over me, mingled with an aura of the unknown. It was a space neither too grand nor too cramped, with towering wooden cabinets guarding a trove of knowledge, their shelves laden with a universe of books. At the room's end, a welcoming bed beckoned, its sheets crisply arranged as if anticipating my arrival. 

As I stepped into the room, her voice seemed to reverberate in the very air, demanding my full attention once more. 

Strange Woman: "Ah, it appears my letter reached you safely." 

Arthur: "You sent the red letter?" 

An amused smile tugged at my lips, finding humor amidst the enigmatic circumstances. 

Strange Woman: "Indeed, the letter was meant for you. This shall be your home now. All the questions that have burdened your mind will find their answers. But for now, rest. You don't appear well. We shall talk at dinner." 

Her words carried an air of unwavering authority, leaving no room for objections. 

Without uttering a word of protest, I yielded to her command. Uncharacteristic as it was for me to leave matters unexplored, something in her presence compelled me to acquiesce. As I drifted to sleep, her final words echoed faintly in my mind. 

"Welcome to the emerald mansion." 

Fatigue swept over me, and I hadn't realized just how weary I was until I found myself in bed. The stress of recent events had accumulated, and it all felt too overwhelming. I embraced the opportunity to rest and process the whirlwind of occurrences. 

After a while, a loud creak filled the room as the door swung open. It roused me from my slumber, and I glanced at the door, expecting to find someone there. But to my surprise, the room remained empty, the creaking sound lingering in the air, a curious enigma of its own. 

In a more composed tone, I inquired, 

Arthur: "Is anybody here?" 

Out of thin air, a peculiar creature manifested on the bedside table beside me. With its prominent bat-like eyes and ears, dressed in a formal butler's attire, it exuded an air of peculiar elegance. 

In a sardonic manner, it began to speak, 

??? "I must say, I'm quite pleased that the young master isn't easily startled. That's good, very good indeed. Now, where are my manners?" 

With a dramatic pause, it continued, 

"My name is Tipsy, the first free elf. Whenever the young master requires something, do not hesitate to ask. However, bear in mind that every request comes with a price. A sickle on demand." 

A toothy smile accompanied the proclamation, leaving me to wonder about the intricacies of this newfound reality. So many new things to grasp... I couldn't help but worry. Tipsy, the free elf, regarded me expectantly, as though awaiting a response. 

Arthur: "I'm pleased to make your acquaintance," I replied, "My name is Arthur, Arthur Belmont." 

A smile broke across Tipsy's face, indicating that I had gotten something right. 

Out of the blue, a faint voice drew nearer, and it seemed to be directed at Tipsy. 

I noticed a subtle twitch from Tipsy, signaling some form of acknowledgment. 

Tipsy: "Tch." 

Suddenly, another diminutive creature materialized, this time adorned in a maid's uniform. 

I overheard her chastising Tipsy, 

Maid Elf: "How can you ask the young master for money?! That's quite reckless, even for you!" 

Tipsy's expression shifted, hinting at growing irritation as he responded, 

Tipsy: "You know full well about the arrangement I made with the landlord, Missy. Don't meddle in my affairs." 

The maid, who went by the name Missy, appeared taken aback by what she heard. But regaining her composure, she turned to face me, 

Missy: "I apologize, young master, for subjecting you to this. Rest assured, anything on my end will be free of charge. By the way, I am Missy, a proud elf, and Tipsy's wife. If he troubles you in any way, just let me know, and I'll set things right." 

Tipsy seemed to flinch at her words. 

I couldn't help but chuckle. 

Arthur: "I'm equally pleased to meet you, Missy," I replied. 

Missy: "Tipsy, you made me forget my purpose here. I came to inform the young master that dinner is ready, and Mrs. Iris is awaiting his arrival. Would you like me to teleport us there, young master?" she offered, but I promptly declined. 

Having vivid recollections of the disorienting dizziness that often accompanied teleportation, I promptly declined Missy's offer. 

Arthur: "I'd prefer to walk, if you don't mind. Lead the way, I'm rather famished." 

The long corridor seemed to stretch on endlessly, its walls adorned with paintings that possessed a peculiar and unsettling liveliness. These once motionless portraits now came to life, their eyes fixated on my every movement, as if an invisible audience had gathered to observe my passage. 

Attempting to disregard their watchful gazes, I pressed forward, but the sensation of being scrutinized persisted, haunting my steps like an intangible shadow. Their animated faces seemed to whisper secrets to one another, their words carried on an ethereal breeze that brushed against my skin, leaving behind a tingling sensation. 

With each step, the intensity of their presence grew, making my heart race with an inexplicable mix of awe and trepidation. I could not fathom how these inanimate artworks had gained a life of their own, or why they held such fascination with me. Yet, they continued to track my progress, their eyes like burning embers of curiosity. 

In an attempt to shake off the uncanny sensation, I quickened my pace, hoping to find solace beyond the confines of this strange corridor. But the paintings, seemingly enchanted, kept pace with me, their vivid imagery etched into my mind like an indelible mark. 

"They are your ancestors, Young Master," Missy said with a gentle smile, "They waited quite a long time to meet... I hope you will forgive their curiosity." 

Ancestors? I could only nod, my mind buzzing with questions, hoping that Missy could offer some clarity. 

"Thank you again, Missy," I expressed my gratitude, "I would be lost here without you." 

Her smile grew brighter, and her eyes sparkled with warmth, "Young Master... Missy is very happy that she could help you." 

It didn't take long until we arrived in the dining room, and at the entrance, Missy vanished into thin air, leaving me to my own devices, the flickering candlelight became my sole companion. 

In the room bathed in flickering candlelight, I found myself surrounded by an opulent feast that rivaled the most extravagant banquets of old. The scent of delectable dishes filled the air, teasing my senses with promises of culinary delights beyond imagination. The dancing flames of the candles played a symphony of shadows, adding an air of enchantment to the room. 

There, standing near the fireplace, was the enigmatic woman, her presence radiating an aura of mystery that demanded my attention. With a steady breath, I collected myself and offered a polite smile, addressing her with an air of formality. 

"My name is Arthur Severus Belmont," I introduced myself, "May I inquire as to your identity and the reason behind my presence here?" 

Her response was subtle, a fleeting smile that hinted at an acknowledgment of my question, yet kept her secrets veiled, like mist dissipating under the morning sun. 

"It seems that hope is not entirely lost," she said, her voice carrying a hint of enigma. 

My heart skipped a beat as she unveiled her identity. Iris Black nee Prince, my aunt from my father's side. The realization sent a shiver down my spine, blending excitement and a tinge of apprehension. This encounter was becoming more mysterious by the minute. 

I listened intently as Aunt Iris continued, her words resonating with an air of secrecy. 

"We are currently in England, within the confines of Emerald Mansion, and it is because of this letters why you have been brought, Arthur." 

She extended her hand, offering me the letter, 

"This letter holds the answers you seek. Read it, and the path forward shall become clearer." 

I took the letter with a mixture of anticipation and trepidation. Its weight in my hand felt substantial, as if it held the key to unraveling the enigma surrounding my existence. With a sense of reverence, I broke the seal and began to read, eager to uncover the truths that awaited me within its pages. 

HOGWARTS SCHOOL of WITCHCRAFT and WIZARDRY 

Headmaster: Albus Dumbledore(Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc., Chef. Warlock, 

Supreme Mugwump, International Confed. of Wizards) 

Dear Mr. Belmont-Prince, 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 the necessary books and equipment. The term begins on 1 September. We await your owl by no later than 31 July. Yours sincerely, 

Minerva McGonagall 

Deputy Headmistress 

Iris: "Congratulations Arthur you are a Wizard."