Chapter Three: The Unveiling of Arthur Belmont-Prince

The woman fixed me with a stare that could've frozen the ocean. "Tipsy, there was an accident outside. Clean it up," she commanded, her voice as sharp as a sword. Her attention then snapped back to me. "Come inside and follow me."

Her command was like a red light at a drag race—impossible to ignore. I trudged behind her, trying to figure out if 'Tipsy' was the name of a person, a pet, or her imaginary friend. Whatever it was, the lady had the air of someone who wouldn't take 'no' for an answer. Not that I was planning on saying 'no.' I mean, when a woman with the vibe of a battle-hardened general tells you to follow, you follow.

Driven by a mix of curiosity and a nagging sense that I was walking into a plot twist in my very own life, I couldn't help but follow her through a hallway that seemed to stretch into next week. The walls were lined with portraits whose eyes followed me more intently than my mom watching my internet history.

At the corridor's end, the door was slightly open, revealing a room that looked like it belonged in a museum or a haunted house—take your pick. Inside, my luggage sat beside the bed, as if it had just checked in for a luxury stay without me.

The room had an air of nostalgia, like visiting your grandma's house if your grandma lived in a castle filled with ancient secrets. Bookshelves climbed the walls like ivy, filled with books that smelled of adventures and dust. The bed looked more inviting than a VIP lounge, promising comfort and possibly a few royal ghosts.

Stepping inside, I heard her voice again, echoing slightly as if she was speaking from another century. "Ah, it seems my letter found you after all."

"You mean the letter that was more cryptic than a crossword puzzle?" I shot back, the words out of my mouth before I could think better of them.

"Exactly that one. This will be your residence now. Your questions will be answered in time," she declared with a mysterious smile that suggested she knew the entire plot of my life. "For now, rest. You look like you could use it."

Her tone suggested that 'no' wasn't in her vocabulary, and honestly, exhaustion was beginning to feel like my native language. "Welcome to Emerald Mansion," she added, as though it was an everyday occurrence to welcome clueless teens into a mansion out of a gothic novel.

I collapsed onto the bed, the weight of the day crashing down on me like a bad Wi-Fi connection during a gaming marathon. It didn't take long for sleep to pull me under.

A loud creak jerked me awake later, and for a second, I thought I'd find a parade in my room—or maybe a ghostly orchestra, given the vibe of the place. Instead, the room was as quiet as a library on a Friday night.

"Hello? Anybody there?" I tried to sound brave, but it probably came off as 'kid at a haunted house who's seriously regretting his life choices.'

That's when Tipsy appeared, materializing on the bedside table like a pop-up ad. He looked like someone had crossed a house-elf with a butler. "Not startled, I see. Very good, young master. I'm Tipsy, your not-so-humble servant."

His grin suggested mischief, and his eyes twinkled with secrets. "Every favor has its price here," he added, sounding like a salesman at a haunted car dealership.

"Great to meet you, Tipsy. I'm Arthur," I replied, deciding to roll with the supernatural punches. "Is Tipsy the usual name for... what exactly are you?"

Before he could answer, another voice cut in, soft and exasperated. It came from a figure who appeared next to Tipsy, dressed like she'd just stepped out of a Victorian novel. "I overheard her chastising Tipsy, "How can you ask the young master for money?!"

Missy, as I would soon learn, was Tipsy's counterpart, her demeanor as prim as her lacy dress. "Forgive him young Master. I'm Missy, and I assure you, not all services here require a toll."

Tipsy shot her a look that could curdle milk. "Well, the interesting ones do," he muttered under his breath.

Missy gave me an apologetic smile, smoothing her apron. "If there's anything you need to make your stay comfortable—without a price—just ask."

"Thanks, Missy, Tipsy," I said, my brain still trying to keep up with the fact that I was chatting with what seemed like elfs from a book i read long time ago.

Missy wrung her hands, her eyes wide. "Oh dear, Tipsy's mischief made me forget my very purpose of being here. Dinner is served, and Mistress Iris is awaiting your presence, young master. Would it please you to be teleported there? It's ever so quick!"

Teleportation? The last swirl of motion I experienced had me swearing off carnival rides forever. "Um, no thank you, Missy. I think I'll just walk, if that's alright."

Missy gave a nod, her ears twitching slightly as she beamed up at me. "Oh, walking is most certainly acceptable, Young Master. This way, if you please."

"Alright, let's hit the road—well, hallway," I said with a grin, glad to skip the teleporting. "I'm starving enough to eat a Cyclops's cooking."

Missy nodded, her expression as serious as if she were leading me into battle instead of dinner. We walked into the corridor, which seemed to stretch on forever, flanked by portraits with eyes that followed me more closely than a lovesick puppy.

"Hmm, guess they're checking out the new guy," I joked, trying not to let on how creepy it felt. I half-expected one of them to wink or start a polite conversation about the weather. The paintings were unnervingly lifelike, as if at any moment, one might step out of its frame to offer me a cup of tea—or challenge me to a duel, depending on how much they liked their portrayal.

Their stares were intense, whispering to each other in hushed, eerie echoes that could just be the wind—or so I told myself. "I bet they're gossiping about my wind-swept look. Could've sworn I ran a comb through my hair this morning."

Missy chuckled lightly, her steps light on the ancient carpet. "They are your ancestors, Young Master. They've been quite eager to meet you."

"Ancestors, huh?" I quipped, raising an eyebrow. "Well, family reunions are about to get a whole lot more interesting."

"Indeed, they are," Missy replied, her voice filled with a warmth that made the chilly hall seem a bit less daunting. "Missy is here to make sure you find your way, Young Master."

"Appreciate it, Missy. Without you, I'd be wandering around like a hero without a quest," I said, shooting her a grateful smile as we continued down the corridor.

With every step, the whispers of the portraits seemed to grow louder, discussing their latest descendant who dared to walk their halls. Maybe they were placing bets on how long I'd last in this bizarre place.

Missy seemed amused by my discomfort, her eyes twinkling with secrets. "Don't mind them, Young Master. They're just curious about you, as you are about them."

"Yeah, curious is one word for it," I muttered, trying to shake off the feeling that my every move was being cataloged for future generations to study.

We finally reached the end of the gallery of gazes, and I couldn't help but breathe a sigh of relief. It was a lot to take in—like finding out you're the main exhibit in a supernatural museum. But with Missy's help, I was starting to think I might just fit in here. Or at least, survive dinner.

As we stepped into the dining room, Missy faded into the background, leaving me alone with nothing but the flickering candlelight for company. The room was something straight out of a fairy tale or, knowing my luck, a horror story—complete with a feast that had my stomach doing somersaults of anticipation.

Standing by the roaring fireplace, with flames casting dramatic shadows across her features, was the enigmatic woman who had orchestrated my arrival. Her aura of mystery was as palpable as the warmth emanating from the fire. Taking a deep breath to steady my nerves—which were more jittery than a cat in a room full of rocking chairs—I managed a grin that I hoped looked more charming than goofy. "Hi, I'm Arthur Severus Belmont. Might I ask who you are and maybe, just maybe, why I'm here?"

Her smile flickered briefly, mysterious and loaded with a thousand untold stories. "It seems hope is not entirely lost," she murmured cryptically.

Then, she dropped the bombshell. "Iris Black nee Prince, your aunt from your father's side." Wow, talk about family secrets coming out of the woodwork.

"We're in England, at Emerald Mansion," Aunt Iris continued, as if revealing monumental family secrets was an everyday occurrence for her. She handed me a letter sealed with wax that felt like it should be opened by someone wearing gloves in a museum, not by a teenager who couldn't even keep his socks paired. "This letter should explain why you are here."

The letter was heavy in my hands as I broke the seal, feeling a mix of dread and curiosity. The bold letterhead read Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, and just like that, my life turned into a fantasy novel. Iris's voice sliced through my shock, "Congratulations, Arthur. You're a wizard."

That's one way to upgrade my resume. The words hung heavy in the air, surreal and life-changing. "Congratulations, Arthur. You're a wizard."

I blinked, half-expecting the walls of the Emerald Mansion to rearrange themselves into a wizarding school. Me, a wizard? It sounded like a punchline to a joke I hadn't been told.

"Magic? Like in the books? That's real?" My voice was a mix of disbelief and the kind of clarity you get when the last puzzle piece snaps into place. Suddenly, all the weirdness in my life started to make sense.

"Yes, Arthur. As real as the ground beneath us," Iris nodded, her gaze deep and ancient. "It's been our family's secret, kept for your safety."

I mulled over her words, my mind racing to align this new reality with everything I thought I knew. "So, Dad was a wizard, and Mom is... what, exactly?"

"Your mother is a Squib, dear. It means she was born into our world but possesses no magical powers. It's quite rare," Iris explained, her tone gentle yet matter-of-fact.

A Squib. The term echoed in my head, a new piece of the jigsaw puzzle that was my family history. "She knew all this and said nothing?"

Iris leaned forward, her features softening with sympathy. "She had her reasons, Arthur. Protecting you was always her priority."

"And Prince? That's… Dad's side of the family?" I pressed, desperate for more pieces to complete the increasingly complex puzzle.

A mix of pride and pain shadowed Iris's face. "Severus Prince, your father, was a man of great courage and significant sacrifice. He played a pivotal role in the wizarding war."

A hero. My father wasn't just some guy from my mom's occasionally mentioned stories—he was a hero in a war of a world I was just now being introduced to.

"I wish I knew him," I whispered, the yearning to connect with the dad I never knew hitting me harder than expected.

Iris's eyes brimmed with unshed tears. "Severus was complicated, a man of few words but profound actions. He loved deeply and fought bravely."

The room's temperature seemed to drop, echoing the chill settling in my heart as the candle flames danced to an unseen tune of sadness and secrets.

"He left us to be a hero? How does that make sense?" My voice broke, anger and confusion warring within me.

"He believed he was protecting the future—your future," Iris exhaled a sigh that seemed to carry the weight of decades.

It felt like a hero's justification, leaving more scars than salves. "I'm Arthur Belmont, not some fairy tale prince."

The name was my shield, my last defense against a legacy that felt too heavy to embrace just yet.

"Why wait until now to tell me?" I demanded

"You weren't ready before. Now, it's time," Iris said, her eyes locking onto mine with a steadiness that was somehow reassuring.

"About Mom—" I started, but Iris cut in.

"She's out there, Arthur. And when the time is right, you'll understand everything," Iris promised, her tone blending assurance with mystery.

As the weight of my newfound identity settled on my shoulders, I realized that life was about to get a lot more complicated. But hey, at least it wouldn't be boring.