Chapter 20
The snow still covered the castle grounds, rendering the landscape magical, yet the biting cold did nothing to dampen the excitement of returning. Classes resumed without mercy, plunging them immediately back into harsh reality with assignments handed out without any regard for their mental well‑being.
The tricolor group walked along the main corridor, exchanging quips and catching up on everything they’d missed over the past few weeks, each heading off to their own class.
In Potions, the classroom was hushed, everyone absorbed in their brews, the gentle warmth of the cauldrons filling the room with a thin vapor.
«My father wants to meet you.» said Harry in his usual nonchalance as he chopped ingredients.
Draco, who had been meticulously stirring his potion up until that moment, froze.
«What?»
The Gryffindor merely shrugged without even looking up.
«Now that it’s more stable, he’d like to meet you.»
The metallic clatter of the Slytherin’s spoon dropping into his cauldron echoed around the room.
Severus immediately spun around, shooting him a deadly look.
«Malfoy, if you’re trying to blow up your potion, I suggest you transfer yourself directly to Transfiguration class.»
Blaise raised an eyebrow, watching the scene with interest, while Ron made a effort not to burst into laughter. It wasn’t every day one saw a Malfoy lose his proverbial composure.
The blonde hurried to regain his poise, pressing his lips together and reclaiming his spoon with a gesture far too controlled. But his mind was far from the cauldron before him. Damn that Harry.
Draco found himself in a place that seemed to belong more to legend than to reality.
The realm of the Spirit of the Abyss and the Primordial Dragon stretched out before him like a living painting—a fairy-tale village nestled among gentle hills and misty forests. Houses with sloping roofs and glowing windows dotted the landscape; chimney smoke lazily spiraled into the cold air, while on the highest hill, imposing and majestic, stood the castle.
The castle was a work of art born of the union of two opposing forces: the piercing purity of the abyss and the eternal flame of the dragon. Its walls were as black as night, carved with silvery veins that pulsed like vital sap within. Spire-like towers reached skyward, some bathed in soft light, others streaked with tongues of golden fire dancing along the contours of windows and arches. The gates were forged in ancient gold, engraved with arcane symbols and reliefs that seemed to recount a long-forgotten story.
Harry advanced with a confident stride, as if he’d always belonged in this place. And he was followed by Draco, still unable to tear his eyes away from the castle looming before them.
They crossed the great atrium, where the black marble floor reflected the floating torches that lit the hall. The walls were adorned with tapestries depicting dragons and shadowy figures intertwined in an eternal balance of power.
They made their way to a grand hall with towering stained-glass windows, where two figures awaited them.
Tom, seated, and James, standing, looked as though they were an integral part of the castle itself—shaped by the same contrasting energies.
The former wore a perfectly tailored black suit; silvery embroidery along his cuffs and collar looked like strands of moonlight woven into the fabric. His presence exuded lethal precision and power, like a razor-sharp blade ready to strike at the slightest signal.
The latter, with his chestnut hair, was dressed in white, his golden embroideries sparkling with every movement, reminiscent of dancing flames. His bearing was regal, yet his eyes held a warm light—a surprising contrast to Tom’s ethereal coolness.
As soon as Harry approached, James greeted him with an embrace. Draco watched in silence, noting in the gestures the genuine affection of a father who had finally found his son again.
Then the chestnut-haired man turned to Draco, scrutinizing him with a slight smile.
«And you must be Draco.»
The Slytherin was seated on one of the sumptuous sofas in the drawing room—a warm, refined space illuminated by the soft glow of floating lanterns. James appeared at ease, relaxed with a glass of wine between his fingers as he conversed with Draco in a disarmingly natural manner, with Harry chiming in occasionally.
Tom, for his part, remained mostly silent, lounging elegantly on the armchair next to James, his cold, calculating eyes observing every interaction with an almost bored expression. Every now and then he’d theatrically sigh, silently conveying how much he found the conversation a waste of time.
At one point, the Gryffindor rose and motioned to the blonde, as if to reassure him. Then, casting a sarcastic glance at Tom, he said nonchalantly:
«Ignore that prick.»
Draco couldn’t help but let a small, amused smile break through, while James ran a hand over his forehead in resigned exasperation.
«Such words wound your father.» Tom replied, feigning offense as he raised an eyebrow.
Harry rolled his eyes.
«I’ll be right back—I need to grab something for Mirathis.» he declared in a breezy tone before leaving the room.
Tom’s gaze sharpened, a flash of mischievous amusement crossing his eyes as he turned to him.
«Mirathis is one of the deities.» he said in a velvety voice, carefully watching his son’s reaction.
«Yes, they’ve grown closer recently, much to my surprise. That boy always finds some excuse to orbit around Harry.»
Draco said nothing, but his fingers tightened ever so slightly around the sofa’s arm.
James shot an irritated look at Tom.
«Don’t listen to him.» he said patiently, as if accustomed to defusing such provocations.
«Mirathis is merely curious about the nature of Harry. We could say they’re conducting experiments?»
The boy nodded slowly, offering no comment. The discomfort pricked him like a tiny needle, but he would never let it show.
A few minutes later, Harry returned, seemingly oblivious to the conversation that had just taken place.
After greeting his parents, he and Draco prepared to return to Hogwarts.
Draco shuddered slightly when he felt a pinch on his side, snapping him out of his thoughts.
«Don’t even try to weigh what that bastard said.» he said in a dry tone, devoid of anger—just pure matter-of‑fact observation.
He looked up with a raised eyebrow, but the dark‑haired guy didn’t care about his expression and moved naturally toward the wardrobe. He opened it with a fluid gesture and began rummaging through the nightshirts of the dark‑haired one, examining a couple before selecting one in dark silk.
«I suppose he’s bored?» he shrugged, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world, unbuttoning his own shirt.
He crossed his arms, watching intently as the other casually slipped off his shirt, momentarily revealing skin adorned with runes and a few faded stains.
«And he’s decided to have fun with me, eh… I’ve become the personal jester of the great Spirit of the Abyss.»
Harry gave him an amused glance before disappearing behind the bathroom door. After a few seconds, his voice sounded again.
«Stop thinking and come join me.» he paused for a moment, then a smile played on his lips.
Blaise remained leaning against the headboard of the bed, his dark eyes fixed on the sleeping figure of Ron. The faint light of dawn filtered through the heavy canopy curtains, casting soft shadows on the body sprawled beside him.
The redhead slept on his stomach, his face relaxed, partially hidden by his tousled red hair spread across the pillow. The sheet slipped off his back, revealing fair skin sprinkled with freckles. Dark marks left by the Slytherin one the previous night could just be made out along his neck and shoulder—silent witnesses to what had transpired.
Blaise smiled to himself, his elbow resting on the mattress as he watched Ron breathe slowly. He liked this Ron: without his usual scowls, without his biting remarks—just his calm breathing and a presence that now seemed all too familiar.
Suddenly, the other shifted slightly, muttering something against the pillow before slowly opening his half-closed eyes.
«Mmm… good morning…» he mumbled in a slurred voice.
Zabini chuckled, tilting his head as he watched him struggle to wake.
«You’re quite a sight in this state, Weasley.»
The Gryffindor snorted without fully opening his eyes, turning slightly to get a better look.
Blaise didn’t give him time to say more: he leaned down and kissed him gently, feeling the warmth of his skin beneath his fingertips as he drew him closer. Ron grumbled softly against his lips, too drowsy to protest, and the mulatto allowed himself a small, satisfied smile.
Definitely the best way to start the day.
The Great Hall was filled with chatter accompanied by the clinking of cutlery as students ate breakfast. At the Ravenclaw table, a group decidedly out of place had gathered as they did every morning by now.
Hermione lifted her gaze from her cup of tea and observed them for a few seconds, a wry smile tugging at her lips.
«Should I ask how your night went?» she asked innocently, her gaze fixed on the obvious marks on their necks.
Harry, impassive, shrugged and served himself a piece of buttered bread, completely indifferent. Draco lifted his chin with an almost proud expression, Blaise crossed his arms with a satisfied smile, while Ron…
Well, he nearly choked on his pumpkin juice, coughing and turning redder than his hair.
The brunette chuckled under his mustache, amused by the reaction.
«You can comment only because Krum isn’t coming to Hogwarts.» said the dark‑haired guy with a sarcastic tone, shooting Hermione a mischievous glance as he brought the cup to his lips.
Hermione paused for a moment, her cheeks tinting a light red before she pursed her lips. She mumbled something incomprehensible as she tried to maintain her composure.
The two Slytherins giggled while Weasley buried himself in his plate, hoping breakfast would end as soon as possible.
As the breakfast continued, a figure with long blonde hair approached the table. Luna Lovegood, with her usual light step and dreamy air, stopped beside Harry and greeted him with a serene smile.
«Good morning, Harry.»
«Luna.» he replied with a slight smile, tilting his head.
She moved a few steps closer, scrutinized him with her faraway, bright eyes, gave an approving nod, and then turned and walked away—leaving him with a visibly confused group.
«Okay… what the hell just happened?» Ron asked, glancing at his housemate suspiciously.
Malfoy crossed his arms. «Should we be worried, Potter? Is something apocalyptic about to happen?»
The dark‑haired guy snorted, finishing his tea calmly. «She is the avatar of the Goddess of Memory.» he explained matter-of‑factly, as if discussing the weather.
There was a moment of silence as they stared at him, as if he’d just announced that breakfast would be served by a dragon.
«She helped me control my powers and other things.» he added casually, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
«As strange as it may seem, I talk to other people too.» he snorted, crossing his arms imperceptibly.
It wasn’t a true pout—too subtle, too contained to really be one—but Draco noticed it all the same. It was something almost elusive: the slight downturn of his lips, the way his eyes barely closed. He looked at him with a raised eyebrow, then smiled with an almost amused air.
He chuckled and, without thinking too much, pulled him into a side‑hug, giving him a friendly pat on the shoulder.
«Are we being dramatic?» he murmured, his tone amused as he let her scent wash over him.
The dark-haired guy nudged him lightly on the arm. «From what pulpit»
He moved away from Draco slightly, but not enough to completely break contact.
«Ah, my father is inviting you to their spring dance.» he announced casually.
There was a moment of silence, then the Ravenclaw arched an eyebrow.
«Excuse me, what?»
«I don’t know how much you told Krum, but if he’s free, he’s welcome.» then he added nonchalantly «We could even stay a few extra days if you’d like. I’ll handle the absences.»
The two Slytherins exchanged a glance, while Weasley nodded slowly, too busy savoring his breakfast.
«Yes, because obviously the main problem is absence.» Hermione commented sarcastically, but the dark‑haired guy had already risen, taking Ron with him.
«See you later.» he said with a nod before leaving the Great Hall for class, with the redhead trailing without resistance.
The blonde watched the two Gryffindors exit the Great Hall, then turned to Blaise and Hermione.
«I worry about the way he says certain things with the same nonchalance as if ordering a Butterbeer.» the brunette commented, crossing her arms.
Draco rolled his eyes. «It’s irritating—and it makes my heart attack.»
«But you like it.» Blaise concluded with a little smile, giving him a playful shove before returning to his breakfast.
Later that afternoon, Harry sat with innate elegance on the dark sofa in the hall, fixing a vaguely annoyed gaze on one of his parents. The afternoon tea was more a pretext than a necessity, serving to maintain an illusion of normality—if such a thing could exist for them.
Across from him, James held a cup in his regal manner, while Tom reclined indolently on the adjacent armchair, an almost satisfied smile on his lips.
«You should stop playing with Draco.» Harry said, folding his arms.
«It’s not a pastime.»
«Oh, come on. I just wanted to have a little fun.» Tom replied, raising an eyebrow, feigning surprise.
James snorted. «Having fun means giving Draco inferiority complexes with your insinuations about Mirathis?»
Their son glared at him sternly. «And with all your other stupid provocations?»
The Spirit of the Abyss sighed, bringing his cup to his lips with an air of boredom.
«You’re all so boring when you team up against me.»
James shot him a withering look.
«And you’re insufferable.»
«Oh, I know.» Tom’s smile widened.
Harry rolled his eyes, shook his head, then got up to greet James; after tossing a withering look at his other father, he dematerialized into his shadow.
Tom watched him, allowing the silence to stretch between them like a thin, intangible veil. James was there, so brilliant he almost seemed unreal—the golden reflection of his eyes, the way the light caressed his chiseled features, the innate pride he exuded even in quiet moments. He had always been like that—a fire that inexorably drew him in, a light one couldn’t help but follow, even when one should avoid it.
He smiled to himself, slipping behind him to envelop him in a slow, almost languid embrace, letting his chin rest on his shoulder.
«I’m insufferable, huh?» he murmured with amusement.
The other laughed softly, a warm, familiar sound.
«Sure.»
The taller one tilted his head slightly, watching him intently as the brunette turned toward him, the golden embroidery on his robe shimmering under the room’s soft light. The way he moved with such natural elegance always made him want to grab him, hold him tight—to remind him to whom he belonged.
«What’s up?» he asked, arching an eyebrow with his usual confident, slightly amused look.
The dark‑haired man didn’t reply. He simply brushed his fingers lightly against his face before drawing closer and kissing him, unhurriedly.
Tom’s lips were as cold as ever—a chill that contrasted with the fire burning beneath his skin, with the intensity of his presence, with the way he looked at him as if he were the only thing that mattered.
James felt a shiver run down his spine as he was kissed—slowly but decisively, without hesitation. It wasn’t a hurried kiss, nor a sweet one: it was a seal, a gesture that spoke of possession and desire, of a bond that neither time nor death could break.
He closed his eyes for a moment, letting Tom’s fingers caress his face, letting his touch remind him of what he already knew. There was something magnetic in him—something dark and inevitable—and yet James had never tried to escape it.
When their lips finally parted, he continued to watch him, his heart beating just a little faster.
«You know, one day you might try warming up a bit.» he said.
Tom smiled, tilting his head with that enigmatic look.
«And miss the pleasure of making you shiver?»
The taller one sighed softly—a barely perceptible sound, but one that the other caught.
«As if you didn’t like it…» he murmured against his skin, his voice low and velvety, a whisper that mingled with the shivers already running down the brunette’s back.
Then he leaned in, his lips lightly brushing against his neck, leaving behind a trail of both chill and fire.
James barely tilted his head—a nearly imperceptible movement—but it was enough for Tom to take advantage. His grip on his hips grew firmer as his lips traced a slow path along his skin, savoring every reaction, every irregular heartbeat beneath his touch.
James offered a slight, disdainful smile.
«You always like to be in control, don’t you?»
Tom raised his eyes, red with mischief and a hint of something deeper—a secret shared only between them.
«And you always like to make me believe that I am.» he replied.
He looked at him with a roguish smile, a golden sparkle in his eyes.
«Maybe.» was all he said before grabbing him by the collar and kissing him again.
Their lips met with controlled passion—a warmth that enveloped, contrasting with the innate chill of the other. It was always like that—a dance of fire around ice, melting it, taming it without ever completely extinguishing it. The taller one responded with equal intensity, a hand gliding along his back, gripping him with a subtle yet undeniable sense of ownership.
Then it was James’ turn to take control; he pushed him against the piece of furniture behind them with a firmness that made him smile. He broke their kiss only to lower himself onto his neck, giving a slow kiss before sinking his teeth into his fair skin. A decisive bite, without hesitation, made the other gasp in surprise.
«Mm, aggressive today.» he commented with a satisfied little smile, though James did not relent.
His mouth traced a path along his skin, leaving faint marks as his teeth and lips alternated between nips and kisses.
«You should be quiet sometimes.» he whispered against his neck, and Tom chuckled softly, his hands sliding along the brunette’s hips to pull him back close.
The dark‑haired man sighed, still with his hands on James’ hips, when the door suddenly opened.
«Oh, don’t worry about me.» came Harry’s voice, laced with a tone too amused, a mischievous smile barely touching his lips. He stood by the doorway, arms folded across his chest and a look that clearly said he wasn’t moving an inch.
James pulled away from Tom as the latter rolled his eyes.
«Really, Harry?» asked the taller one.
«Oh, blame yourself, Tom.» replied their son innocently, addressing him.
James couldn’t help but let a amused smile escape as he shot a look at Tom, who returned one that said "don’t you dare."
The youngest shrugged, pleased to have interrupted them, and as quickly as he had appeared, he turned and disappeared beyond the door.
Tom snorted. «That boy is insufferable.»
«Strange, I wonder who he gets it from…»