Summary: A brief consideration of the lives of Giles and Severus - two known watchers.
Disclaimer: Not Mine. The author receives no financial gain from its production or distribution.== i ==
I first came upon him during my time at Oxford. It was in the middle of Michelmas term and I was in the Sackler Library hunting for something to divert my attention from lectures, classes and seminars; listening to my Learned Fellows
drone on about subjects I had no care for.
He was a rather unfortunate looking young man - tall and gangly, with long oily hair hanging about his face, hook-nosed, ghostly pale skin, black eyes. His eyes though held an intensity that drew me in and almost made me shudder wondering if he was seeing right through me. He was perusing his way through esoteric and occult manuscripts as well as ancient herbalist tomes. I just watched him, fascinated with the intensity with which he worked and the intensity in his eyes.== ii ==
The second time I saw him, was several year later after I had abandoned Oxford. I had become quite curious about dark magics and, along with Ethan and a number of our friends, explored the fun and financial possibilities of the dark arts. It was certainly a liberating exercise, delving into power and hedonism. Severus, as he was introduced was almost exactly as I remembered. Still gangly, hair still the same, eyes still held that same sharp intensity.
He was obviously a watcher by nature like me. For all the time we spent together, I still wonder what power he had behind those eyes and what he saw. == iii ==
The last time I saw him was many years later after I had completed my training in London to become a watcher; I’d finally accepted it as my vocation despite how hard I’d tried to avoid it. I’d received my first assignment and was leaving for California in a few short days but had gone back to Sackler Library looking for more information on the location.
He was sitting at a desk in the occult collection again with several piles of books in front of him. His eyes were closed as he pinched the bridge of his nose and rubbed tiredly at his eyes. When he finally opened his eyes, I was shaken that they no longer held any of the intensity that I’d expected. I wondered what he’d seen in the intervening years that had finally overcome the intensity and passion I had known in him.
I wondered what I’d see.
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