Chapter 30 – The Crown of Thorns and Broken Blade
"My dearest Wednesday,
Though we've only been apart a few days, I already find myself missing everything about the Addams household. Of course, life at Hogwarts isn't bad either."
Russell's quill scratched lightly against the parchment as he continued writing.
"I've been sorted into Ravenclaw. My classmates are mostly friendly—well, mostly. There are a few exceptions who test my patience.
I made a new friend here named Cedric. He's a second-year from Hufflepuff and taught me a new spell, though I haven't quite mastered it yet.
It seems Cedric's taken a liking to a new Ravenclaw girl, but he's absolutely hopeless at expressing himself. You'd probably enjoy watching him struggle—it's almost artistic.
Thanks to Aunt Morticia's kindness, the seed of the biting rose has been planted in Professor Sprout's greenhouse. Oh, and she told me to send her regards.
There's a giant squid living in Hogwarts' Black Lake. I swear, not even the Bermuda Triangle could produce such a creature."
He paused, tapping the end of his quill against his chin, before adding another paragraph—one that made even him hesitate for a moment.
"I found a book in the library—you'd never believe what it said. It claimed that our beloved Headmaster, the great Albus Dumbledore, once had a… complicated relationship with Grindelwald in his youth. I was genuinely shocked."
He gave a small smirk. Even writing that sentence felt like gossiping with Wednesday face-to-face.
"How have you been? Are you eating on time? Sleeping properly?"
That line made him cringe. It was far too domestic for his liking. Still, he let it stay—Wednesday would probably find it amusingly out of character.
He leaned back in his chair and sighed. Writing letters felt like pulling teeth. In his previous life, he'd lived in an age where no one wrote these things anymore—texts, emails, and emojis had long since killed the art of handwritten correspondence.
After a few minutes' rest, he dipped his quill again and finished the letter.
"By the way, could you ask Aunt Morticia if she knows about a plant called Putrefaction Fungus? A senior Ravenclaw student asked me to check. She needs a large supply of fresh specimens to brew a potion.
I look forward to your reply.
—Russell Fythorne."
It took him an hour and a half just to produce those few hundred words. The moment he set the quill down, a shadow fell across his desk.
"The library is closing, Mr. Fythorne," came Madam Pince's sharp, even tone. "You're already five minutes past curfew."
Russell looked up guiltily. "Ah—my apologies. Thank you, Madam Pince."
She didn't scold him further, merely gave a curt nod. For someone so often accused of lacking warmth, Russell thought she wasn't half as terrifying as she looked.
Gathering his papers and ink, he hurried out.
---
The Owlery stood atop the western tower of Hogwarts. It housed both the school's communal owls and those belonging to students. The spiral staircase leading up was narrow and steep, and the faint smell of feathers and straw filled the air as Russell climbed.
When he finally reached the top, hundreds of owls turned their round, glinting eyes toward him.
"I need to send a letter to Inverness," he called out, pulling a gleaming silver Sickle from his pocket. "Who wants the job?"
Instantly, the room came alive with soft hoots and fluttering wings. The owls jostled each other eagerly, eyes glinting at the sight of the coin.
In the end, a large, broad-shouldered tawny eagle owl claimed the honor by muscling the others aside.
"Good choice," Russell said with a grin. He slipped the Sickle into the small pouch strapped to its leg, then fastened the letter—and another small bag heavy with gold Galleons—to the other.
The gold was all fifty Galleons that Senior Slughorn had entrusted to him. He hadn't spent a single one. Russell had decided from the start that he didn't want to profit from that task.
"The address is: No. 10, Lakeside Lane, Fort William, Inverness-shire. Deliver it to Miss Wednesday Addams."
The owl gave a solemn hoot, tapped his finger gently with its beak, and then—with a powerful sweep of its wings—soared out into the night, disappearing into the dark horizon.
---
When Russell finally returned to the Ravenclaw common room, he found James Barkins and Rosen Cleen hunched over a chessboard, deep in a game of Wizard's Chess.
He leaned in for a closer look.
Within seconds, he could tell that Cleen was hopelessly outmatched—half his pieces were already gone, and his king was cornered with nowhere to run.
Barkins was smirking like a conquering general, his knight mid-charge.
Russell chuckled quietly to himself. At least someone's having a good night.
The remaining black chess pieces on the board were loudly complaining about Barkins' terrible playing, their tiny stone faces twisted in exaggerated dismay.
"Hopeless!" barked a knight, slamming its sword into the board.
"Useless strategist!" growled a rook, rolling its eyes skyward.
Barkins' face flushed crimson as the pieces berated him.
"Fythorne," he grumbled, trying to regain some dignity, "why're you back so late? Don't tell me you were studying in the library already?"
"How'd you guess?" Russell replied with a grin. He lived for moments like this—nothing delighted him more than teasing Barkins, the undisputed champion of laziness.
"You're kidding, right?!" Barkins nearly leapt from his chair like he'd been electrocuted. "It's literally our first day! Who studies on the first day?!"
"I wasn't studying," Russell said, settling comfortably into a seat and resetting the chessboard. "Just went to write a letter home. No need for dramatics."
He glanced up with a teasing smile. "Care for a game?"
"Game? Oh, I'm in." Barkins' eyes lit up. "If I can't beat you in grades, I'll crush you on the board. Wizard's chess is my domain."
---
Three matches later.
"This… this can't be happening."
Barkins slumped into his chair, pale as a ghost. He'd lost all three rounds—though the matches had been close, and in two of them he'd even taken an early lead, every time Russell had clawed his way back to victory with unnerving precision.
Russell leaned back, chin propped on his hand. "Another round?"
He already knew the answer.
Wizard's Chess might be enchanted, but the rules were identical to the muggle version he'd mastered long ago. If there was one game he had confidence in, it was this one.
"Another round? You're insane," Barkins groaned, rubbing his temples. "It's nearly ten o'clock—I'm going to bed. You're one of those perfect kids, aren't you? Good at everything."
He shot Russell a mock glare, then sighed dramatically. "Thank Merlin my parents aren't here. They'd start comparing me to you before I could even say goodnight."
Russell chuckled. "Well, don't be so hard on yourself. Remember Ravenclaw's motto—'Wit beyond measure is man's greatest treasure.' You're here for a reason, Barkins. You've got potential."
"Yeah, yeah," Barkins waved a hand dismissively. "Depends on what kind of wit we're talking about. Take Gilderoy Lockhart, for example—ever heard of him? Mum adores that guy. Thinks he's brilliant. He was a Ravenclaw too, you know."
"Oh, I've heard of him," Russell said, smirking faintly.
"I went to his book signing once," Barkins continued, grinning wickedly. "There was supposed to be a live magic demonstration—you know, to show off all those heroic adventures he writes about. Guess what happened?"
Russell raised an eyebrow. "He choked?"
"He couldn't even cast a single proper spell!" Barkins burst out laughing. "All that 'brilliance' went into making up stories, not magic!"
Russell couldn't help a wry smile. Well, if he'd actually cast Obliviate in public, people would've caught on real quick.
---
Eventually, Barkins and Cleen headed off to bed, leaving the common room quiet except for the soft rustle of parchment and the occasional turning of pages.
Russell looked around. Even at this hour, several upper-year students were still up, reading by candlelight. Ravenclaws, he thought. Always pushing themselves just a little further.
He pulled his trunk closer and took out the black, leather-bound book he'd found earlier. Settling into the sofa, he shifted until he found the perfect position, then flipped it open—
—and froze.
The once plain black cover was glowing faintly, golden light spreading across its surface like liquid fire. Intricate lines began to emerge, weaving together in twisting patterns until they formed a sigil:
A crown of thorns, encircling a broken blade.
Russell's breath caught.
He knew that symbol. Or at least, he thought he did. It tugged at something buried deep in his memory—something ancient and half-forgotten.
But no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't quite remember where he'd seen it before.
All he knew was that whatever it represented… it wasn't ordinary magic.