Chapter 536 - Mulciber Citadel (2/2)
Controlling his emotions and not wanting to frighten the house elf even more, Peregrine carefully replies, ”That is fine, Bee-bee. I've only come to see mother.”
Beat shivers and says with worry, ”Beat is worried! The second young master is home, the first young master should depart!”
Peregrine's eyes narrow, but he nods his head in understanding. But before Beat can think of a response, Peregrine brushes past the house elf with an apologetic glance. ”Is my mother still in her old quarters?” Peregrine asked over his shoulder as the house elf frantically, but quietly shut the door, and ran after him.
Grabbing his ears in panic, Beat says, ”Yes, but first young master, please stop! Beat does not wish for the first young master to be hurt!”
”I will be fine, Bee-bee,” Peregrine confidently replied. ”I am no longer a defenseless child and nor do I lack connections for which to protect myself. Damian is more than welcome to try.”
Beat does not appear to be convinced by such a statement. The house elf hurriedly follows as Peregrine slows down as he recognizes the painful, but nostalgic sights of his childhood. There was the swirling sleek banister that he had loved to slide down as a child, when his mother was not around. The same swirling banister that he had later taught his little brother to slide down and for a while their bright laughter filled Mulciber Citadel.
A bittersweet smile appears on Peregrine's face as he recalls his five-year-old self being so excited to receive his new baby brother. His mother had often played with him when he was young, and his father was away. And for a moment, there he even thought his father would change. But it was merely the naïve sentiments of a child, and his father's kindness did not last. It never had.
Peregrine closes his eyes for a moment to hide his pain. His father was a pureblood wizard, and that was a complicated identity to have. Despite hating his father with all his heart for beating his mother, a part of Peregrine still cared for him. And perhaps that was the part of himself that still hurt him the most and hated most of all.
That childish portion of Peregrine's heart still clung to the memories of a father, who had shown him his first magic spell. The same man who had taken him flying on a magic carpet. And that same man, who had once been so immensely proud of his firstborn son.
The boundaries between love and hatred are sometimes much closer than they initially appear and are in fact at time mere centimeters apart. And Peregrine was no exception, but he sincerely wished that he were. It would be some much easier if he truly and wholly could hate his father with all his heart. But the human heart is not such a simple organism.
And much like the childhood riddle of his youth, ”If wishes were horses, Beggars would ride: If turnips were watches, I would wear one at my side. And if if's and an's were pots and pans; The tinker would never work!” Because wishes could very well fill the whole sky like bright, glistening stars in the night, but they would forever remain just out of our reach.