InsaneJournal

Mordred had pushed his small feet a little clumsily into the trainers Morgana had brought him, struggled with one shoelace, given up on the other, and glanced back to the cracked bedroom door Morgause was hidden behind. She'd gone away to do some of that work she wouldn't let Mordred see, and he knew she wouldn't check on him for a while. But what Azazel had told him intrigued him, so he took a deep breath, pushed everything he felt into a small, hot ball in the centre of his chest, and pushed it out towards her, magic reaching across the rooms with grasping fingers.

He didn't know if it worked, didn't dare check. He worked his magic differently these days, under the instruction of his new teachers. Before it had always just... forced its way out of him, out of control and crude. These days he could direct it, let it out gradually. He still had to learn - Morgause and Albus kept telling him that. But they wouldn't let him. Azazel knew so much. Mordred could tell that, could feel his magic pouring from every undead body that wandered the streets. The power of the man fascinated him. Excited him. He wanted that.

So the little boy grabbed a slightly too big woolen jumper from the side, closed his eyes and pushed his magic until he felt the catch of the door click open. Smiling to himself, the nine year old slipped out of the apartment. Five minutes later he was on the street, peering eagerly up and down, tiny hands curled into fists at his side. His heart was beating a little too hard right up until the moment he saw the figure he was supposed to met, and hurried to stand before him.

Craning his neck to peer into the mans face, Mordred's small, shy smile curled silently at the corners of his mouth.