The Adventures of Ladon Black
Ladon Black, the youngest heir of the Blacks of Wiltshire, was never wrong. If he ever was, not a single person had a chance to prove it, and therefore the young man was always correct. His mother had once said that the whole world, all of the stars in the universe revolved around him and from the time he was born with a silver spoon in his mouth, he believed it.
It wasn't so much that he believed it, but rather that Ladon forced everyone else to believe it as well. The blond boy had come into the world kicking and screaming with his father's good looks and his mother's fine features. Growing up as the only child, Ladon was consistently doted upon by his mother, and toughened up by his father. The Blacks were a family of high social standing, Mr. Black in political office and Mrs. Black nothing more than a trophy wife. The name of Black fell past most lips with praise and approval, and falling into that world was Ladon. It wasn't self-entitlement, it was sheer fact. Being a Black meant always being important, always being right, always listening to Mother and Father and growing up a selfish, spoiled brat without even realizing it.
It wasn't until the young boy was eleven years old that he realized that perhaps, potentially, he may have been wrong about something.
Of course, Ladon would never admit he was wrong. He was too proud for that, and after all, what would his father say? Blacks had to hold their heads high and remind the lesser-knowns that they by default were much better than anyone could ever be. It wasn't until Ladon was nearly eighteen that he realized maybe there was something he missed all along.
As every child, Ladon was often enchanted with bedtime stories. Usually they would come from a storybook, but sometimes he could outsmart his mother and trick her into telling him a story of a boy. He always preferred when his mother told him the story; whenever he asked his father, his father spoke of the boy with such disdain. His mother, however, seemed to only play them off as a fairy tale. She spoke of a boy who had been born under a July moon, and the impossible feat he accomplished All Hallows Eve. The boy, nothing more than an infant had defeated a great darkness without rhyme or reason, destroyed a being who had haunted the world for several years. At the time, Ladon didn't quite understand what the story meant, but he knew for certain that the boy was obviously powerful, child or not, and power was one of the things he understood best.
He knew the boy was his age, and he knew that the day would come he would meet that boy. Ladon never bothered to tell anyone, but there had been quite a few times he had thought about what it would be like to befriend said-boy, going to school with him and everything. Ladon, as it were, was an incredibly foolish child with ideas that would have earned him a quick slap to the head if he ever uttered a word. So, instead, he waited as patiently as he could for that first day of September to come after his eleventh birthday.
As a belated birthday present, the Black family ventured out to Diamond Avenue, a shopping district several families went out to to buy schooling supplies for their children. Ladon, independent curious child he was, had created a plan to separate from his parents to explore on his own. He found himself in a clothing shop and soon swept up in the rush, finding himself standing on a stepstool with large amounts of fabric draped over him. As one of the seamstresses worked on fitting him properly, Ladon stared at the ceiling in sheer boredom until he felt rather than heard someone hop onto the stool next to him.
The boy appeared to be about his age, albeit much smaller and nowhere near as handsome as Ladon himself. Ladon debated with himself for a moment before turning his attention to the other. After all, the boy never really stopped talking in the first place, what was a bit of friendly conversation?
"Hello," Ladon greeted him, trying not to blatantly stare. Honestly, if he didn't know any better, he'd think the boy was a different species entirely. "School, too?"
"Yes," the dark-haired boy answered, voice much quieter than Ladon's own.
"My father's next door buying my books, and mother's up the street looking at other supplies," Ladon continued. "Then I'm going to drag them off to look at racing brooms. I don't see why first years can't have their own. I think I'll bully father into getting me one and I'll smuggle it in somehow." At the time, of course, Ladon saw nothing wrong. He knew that if he tried, he could get his father to buy him a broom and he was plenty smart enough to smuggle it in. However, the other boy looked less than impressed. Ladon chose to ignore it. "Have you got your own broom?"
"No," the other boy said.
"Race at all?" Ladon continued, that same strange feeling coming over him like he was missing something. Again, he chose to ignore it.
"No," the boy said again.
"I do--Father says it's a crime if I'm not picked to race for my house, and I must say, I agree. Know what house you'll be in yet?"
"No."
'He really doesn't know much, does he?' Ladon thought to himself, glaring at one of the young women who had just poked him with a needle. "Well, no one really knows until they get there, do they, but I know I'll be in the same house my family has been--imagine being in the worst house, I think I'd leave, wouldn't you?"
"Mm," the other boy said noncommittally. Ladon opened his mouth again, but suddenly changed his mind what he was going to say.
"I say, look at that man!" he gasped, openly staring and nodding toward the front window where he saw a large man, incredibly large; perhaps one could even compare him to a giant. The other boy, however, suddenly brightened and started talking more.
"That's Henry," the boy said. "He works at the school."
"Oh," Ladon said flatly, suddenly realizing why he briefly recognized the man. "I've heard of him. He's sort of a servant, isn't he?"
"He's the gamekeeper," the brunette replied sharply.
"Yes, exactly. I heard he's a sort of savage--lives in a hut on the school grounds and every now and then he gets drunk, tries to do something stupid, and ends up setting fire to his bed." Again, Ladon saw nothing wrong with his logic, but he was very well aware of the glare being sent his way.
"I think he's brilliant."
"Do you?" Ladon rolled his eyes. It wasn't as though he really cared anyway. "Why is he with you? Where are your parents?"
"They're dead." The brunette's answers were becoming shorter and sharper.
"Oh, sorry." Ladon shrugged it off. "But they were our kind, weren't they?"
"Yes."
"I really don't think they should let the other sort in, do you? They're just not the same, they've never been brought up to know our ways. Some of them have never even heard of our school until they get the letter, imagine. I think they should keep it in the older more prominent families. What's your surname, anyway?" Ladon finally asked when he chose to stop and take a breath. But before the other boy could answer, he was being called off of the step and heading for the door. He gave the dark-haired boy a curious look before shrugging. No harm, no foul.
"Well, I'll see you at school, I suppose," he said upon the other's departure, and turned to look down at the seamstress working on his clothing to scowl deeply at the needle in her hand.
Ladon didn't know it then, but he had made one of the biggest faux-pas he could have possibly made.
Seeing how the other boy clearly wasn't worth Ladon's time, he soon forgot about him and the rest of his summer went by in a rapid blur. Before he even realized it, the first of September came upon him and that foreign swoop of excitement passed through his stomach and up into his throat. He could hardly believe it, he was finally going to be able to go away for school. Ladon fidgeted the whole way to King's Cross station, babbling incessively to his mother and hanging onto his father's every word of advice. He didn't have to worry about being alone when he got there. Two of his friends, more like sons of associates of his father's, would be attending school this year with him. He would have them for company on the ride there. His mother gave him a kiss on the cheek, his father a pat on the head, and soon Ladon and his luggage were on the train and he was leading two boys much larger than himself to a compartment of the train.
The train pulled away from the station and for the first hour or so, the ride was rather uneventful. It wasn't until the whispers started to float between the cars, the hushed voices and muffled words that Ladon's attention drew away from throwing jellybeans at Boyle's head.
"Did you hear?" he heard a girl whisper to her friend, pigtails bobbing in excitement as she squirmed in her seat.
"No, what?" the other girl asked in reply.
"Evan James is attending school this year!"
Ladon's eyes widened suddenly, and he didn't even realize the chocolate frog he had been holding hopped out of his hand. This was it, the day he had been waiting for. How in the name of everything possible could he have forgotten?
This day, the first of September, this was the day he would meet the famous Evan James, the boy from the stories, the one boy Ladon knew he had to become friends with. Without any warning, Ladon rose from his seat and snapped his fingers. The two larger boys and Ladon made their way through the train, the blond poking his head around in all compartments hoping to figure out where Evan was. As it turned out, he was farther up the train than Ladon had thought, but that wasn't going to stop him. No, instead it just drove him further and his pace quickened. Only when he was a car away did he actually slow down, regaining his cool composure before sliding the compartment door open.
And then...well, and then Ladon felt a bit of shock as he stared straight at the other boy. The boy in front of him...there was no way, this was the boy from the clothing shop, how could he possibly be...? Fascinated with this knowledge, Ladon merely smiled.
"Is it true?" he said, almost sounding too eager. "They're saying all down the train that Evan James's in this compartment. So it's you, is it?"
"Yes," Evan answered, green eyes remaining rather neutral even as he examined the brutes on either side of Ladon.
"Oh, this is Rabbe, and this is Coyle," Ladon haphazardly introduced them and waving them off. "And my name's Black. Ladon Black." He heard a snort of laugher then, and Ladon whipped his head around to face a red-haired boy. Curling his lip up in distain, he merely settled for a sneer. "Think my name's funny, do you? No need to ask who you are. My father told me all the Westleys have red hair, freckles, and more children than they can afford." He shook his head again and returned his gaze to Evan. "You'll soon find out some families are much better than others, James. You don't want to go making friends with the wrong sort. I can help you there." And with that, he extended his hand to shake Evan's.
But Evan just stared at the hand, obviously thinking it over. He raised his eyes back to Ladon's face, giving him another cool stare.
"I think I can tell who the wrong sort are for myself, thanks," he said without any sort of regret. Ladon felt his cheek grow warm, first out of embarrassment and then slowly out of anger. How dare he say such a thing to a Black? He huffed slightly before giving him another hard look.
"I'd be careful if I were you, James. Unless you're a bit politer you'll go the same way as your parents. They didn't know what was good for them, either. You hang around with riffraff like the Westleys and Henry, and it'll rub off on you."
Before he could even truly register what was happening, both Evan and the Westley boy rose to their feet.
"Say that again," Westley growled, face nearly matching his unkept hair. Ladon sneered again, barely even bothered. He had Rabbe and Coyle, what was the dirt-poor scum going to do?
"Oh, you're going to fight us, are you?"
"Unless you get out now," Evan interjected. Ladon focused on Evan again, raising an eyebrow.
"But we don't feel like leaving, do we, boys? We've eaten all our food and you still seem to have some." Ladon practically laughed. He would think back on it later and realize that it was a pathetic excuse to stay, but no one ever claimed he could think quickly on his feet. He watched out of the corner of his eye as Coyle reached for the pile of chocolate next to Westley and as the ginger-haired boy leapt forward, Coyle let out a scream.
Hanging from one of the boy's large meaty fingers was a rat, sharp teeth digging into the finger as he held on for dear life while Coyle yelled and yelled, flailing about trying to throw off the rodent. Ladon knew better than to get involved and he backed away with Rabbe, cringing slightly as the rat suddenly hit the window and slipping out of the compartment before anything else could happen. He tuned out most of Coyle's whining and howling about his sore finger, biting down on the inside of his cheek to fight off another wave of humiliation. Even after the three of them returned to their own compartment, Ladon stewed over the events that had happened mere moments ago.
Evan James didn't want to be his friend. The Evan James had rejected him. Nobody rejected Ladon Black, never. People should have been considered nothing short of blessed to be Ladon's friend, but no, the other boy had been so quick to write him off. Even when Ladon closed his eyes, all he could see were two bright green ones staring straight at him, the icy tone echoing in his mind.
It was in that moment that Ladon realized he could only do one thing. Sure, he would look back on it later and realize what a stupid and ridiculous idea it was, but for an eleven year old? It was quite clever, in his mind at least.
'Won't be my friend, will he? Fine. In that case, I'll just have to resort to other methods. You'll be sorry, Evan James. I always get my way, and if I don't? Well, I'll just make you pay attention to me.'
On that first day of September, Ladon Black's world had suddenly been abruptly disturbed.