➣ 𝘾𝙝𝙖𝙥𝙩𝙚𝙧 𝟐 “𝙏𝙧𝙤𝙪𝙗𝙡𝙚 𝙞𝙣 𝙋𝙖𝙧𝙖𝙙𝙞𝙨𝙚”
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“So, who wants to start?” Nicolás asked looking around. It was hard to decide who, among the gathered, had a more disturbed face; clearly, the Dark Mark in the sky had brought memories of the war, of the losses and the pain.
“How does one even begin to disclose what happened?” said Abu Pedro, his face in his hands. He still had a hard time coming to terms with the fact that someone tried to kill him so unswervingly.
Almost a week had passed since the Quidditch World Cup and the Death Eater riot that followed, but the shock still lingered, not only in their family but as a whole in the British Wizarding World; as Rita Skeeter's first headline marked, barely a few hours later of the event: ‘SCENES OF TERROR AT THE QUIDDITCH WORLD CUP,’ followed by an over-sensationalist description.
Skeeter used this article, as it was usual for her: as the means to question and slam the Ministry of Magic and its head, Cornelius Fudge. Curiously, throughout her barely concealed insults directed at the Ministry and its officials for how the situation was allowed and handled, she took time to praise the Cardona family; which checked, as it had been only thanks to them that some of the Death Eaters from the riot were captured.
Nicolás couldn’t help but wonder what his family could hold over someone like Rita Skeeter. She never dared to insult or insinuate anything related to them; not once.
“How about the Death Eaters?” Caelum prompted.
“There were dozens of them,” said Regulus distractedly. He had been that way ever since he heard that man’s voice casting the Dark Mark.
“I counted around fifty,” said María. Her eyes were decorated by large black bags under them — just like his mother’s — from the endless hours she had to endure at the Ministry as the head of the Auror Office.
“Fifteen of them were apprehended,” said Abu Pedro. He, as the Colombian Minister for Magic — not to mention his record as a past head of Department in the British Ministry —, had asked to become a temporary dignitary while the situation was solved.
“We’re still waiting for their trial dates,” said Carolina, looking at the endless parchment reports on her table. "Wouldn't be surprised if most of them claimed to have been Imperiused to do it."
"Wouldn't be the first time those lowerly cowards did so," hissed Aunt María.
And it was true. Back at the end of the First Wizarding World, after Voldemort's fall, most of his Death Eaters claimed to have been under the influence of the Imperius Curse to have acted in such manners.
The only ones not present were Abu Angela and Harry, who currently occupied themselves with preparing lunch; Harry was used to taking charge of preparing some food back with the Dursleys — something he hated there —, but he really enjoyed it now, under Abu Angela’s guidance and presence.
With them were the house elves, with Whisker, Fizzlet, and more specially Twinkly, trying to make Winky feel as welcome as possible. They had introduced her to her bed in their shared room and the new clothes she could wear; poor Winky still boiled her big eyes out every time words like 'freedom' or 'clothes' were mentioned, but still, she did her best to help, or, as she still liked to call it — much to the families chagrin —, 'serve'.
“What about Mr. Crouch?” asked Carolina. “Anyone else noticed how weird he was acting?”
"It was because his son did it," said Regulus distractedly.
"What?" asked María. "He was acting very — "
“It was his son,” Regulus interrupted her, but his eyes were lost in the color of one of the walls.
“Reg, I beg your pardon?” asked Abu Pedro, walking towards Regulus.
“Barty was the one who cast it,” Regulus clarified.
“Barty as in Barty Crouch Jr.?” asked Carolina.
“That’s nonsense, Reg, Barty died years ago, in Azkaban,” said María.
“Do you think I wouldn’t recognize his voice?" said Regulus.
"Reg, that man's dead. I saw how the Dementors buried him," Sirius interrupted. "They took his body outside the walls to bury, the plank had his name and all."
"That was his voice," Regulus repeated firmly. "How many times do you think I’ve heard him cast it when we got some job done for the Dark Lord?” Regulus asked, self-reproach in his voice.
“You think this can be related to Harry’s dream?” Carolina looked at her son, trying to prevent the brothers from falling into a quarrel.
“I — not really — Harry only saw a woman with Voldemort, and that snake, Nagini,” said Nicolás. “But I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone with vesti — what is it? Vestilige? The thing that muggle singer has, the Thriller one.”
"Michael Jackson?" asked Caelum.
“Vitiligo, you mean,” Abu Pedro corrected.
“I wonder what will await for you at Hogwarts this term,” said his mother, and Nicolás could see the worry etched to every inch of her face.
“Something life-threatening, probably,” muttered Caelum.
With a pretty notorious wince, Nicolás retreated from the conversation, back into his own mind.
Ever since the Death Eater riot at the World Cup, only one thing has been on his mind. Before they came back to London, just like the year before, Milo the Demiguise searched for him to deliver another precognitive vision.
It was a hot day, even under the shadow of the trees surrounding him; that was to be expected, days were normally like that in Colombia.
“Be still, Rainbow,” Nicolás chastised.
Rainbow was one of the Unicorns from the Reserve’s herd. She was one of the eldest and had recently given birth, in a most miraculous event, to a small pair of twin foals, shining in their pure-golden hide. The foals were a little bit smaller than the other foals born that summer, but just as energetic.
Rainbow, for some reason, had thought it proper for herself to search for inexistent food close to the Zouwu’s place in the bamboo forest. Huǒ Yì Hǔ is not really a territorial Zouwu, so they knew Rainbow wasn’t in danger there, but she ended up with her horn all tangled up among the tree vines and crying for help as a hunted prey.
This was something Nicolás would’ve solved in mere minutes, had Rainbow decided to stay still and let him work. But of course not, she had chosen to be whiny today, moving like a child at the sight of a needle, and neighing like a noisy foal. It was almost as if she was doing it on purpose, trying to keep him there for longer than necessary.
No matter how much Nicolás tried to negotiate with her, she wouldn't stay still and let him work.
The thing was, Nicolás had left his shirtless boyfriend sleeping in his bed with his Wampus Cat, and he would like to go back to snuggle for a little while more, thank you very much.
Fed up with the vines and Rainbow's behavior, Nicolás took out his wand, before a somewhat heavy load fell on his shoulders with surprising grace. Small hairy — and invisible — arms wrapped around his neck, as the invisible creature walked around his shoulders to face him.
When the creature saw it fit, it presented to him, revealing the familiar face of a Demiguise. Milo, the Demiguise, to be more specific; the oldest of the Reserve’s Demiguise family.
“Hello, Milo,” said Nicolás. He grabbed the Demiguise and placed it on a thick branch. Funnily enough, Rainbow, on her own, slid her horn from the vines and galloped away without as much as looking back.
“I’m guessing her whole play was your idea, huh?” he raised a brow at the Demiguise. And if Milo had searched for him, it meant he had something important to show; only a year before he had shown Nicolás visions that had ended up becoming reality — Peter Pettigrew as Ron’s rat, his father's short rampage as Moony, and finally the cave from which Nicolás and Caelum rescued Regulus’ crystalized body and found the fake Horcrux.
Milo looked awfully worried — very much like that last time —, and that didn’t help ease the gravity building up in Nicolás’ belly.
In between chatters and grunts, Milo could only repeat 'urgent,' 'most dreadful,' and, 'you need to see it'.
“Something you wanna show me then?” Nicolás asked warily. Milo gave a solemn nod, his big yellow eyes looking at Nicolás in pity.
Nicolás’ hands cupped the Demiguise’s small face, as he looked him in the eyes. Using Legilimency, Nicolás expanded his mind’s eye into Milo’s, and soon, the first scene opened up for him.
It was a dragon, a Hungarian Horntail to be more specific. The magnificent specimen, that of a female if Nicolás had to guess — or maybe a Dragonling, given its size —, was chained to the rocky floor over which it stood, and it was roaring in rage, large flares of orange fire erupting from its tusked mouth. It pushed up and raised above. The scene was consumed by fire when the dragon flew and broke free from its chains.
The scene changed to an underwater panorama. From in between a field of large seaweeds, Merpeople and Grindylows swam nonchalantly. They seemed to swim as peacefully as they usually did in the Reserve's lake; that meant that as long as they didn’t cross paths, everything would be fine. The scene changed when dozens of Grindylows attacked, they came one by one, until they became little more than a blur of teeth and claws.
The last scene made Nicolás’ heart jump to his throat and feel as though a bucket of icy water had fallen on him.
It was a graveyard of sorts, and it was dark—probably at night. The place was deserted, save for one person. Cedric. Nicolás looked carefully at his boyfriend's appearance: he was sweating, as if he had run a marathon — his forehead, cheeks, and neck were soaking in sweat —, he was dirty and his normally perfect hair was now a mess, as if he had been fighting a tree or something. The weirdest thing was his clothes, they resembled school sports clothes, but they were vastly different from his Quidditch robes, even if they were still in the Hufflepuff colors and had the house's crest on his left side.
Cedric stood still in the graveyard, a frightened look in his eyes as his wand stayed trained ahead.
Suddenly, there was a flash of blinding green light, and the words “Avada Kedavra!” resounded in each marble tombstone. And once the light died out, Cedric's body fell to the floor, empty eyes widely opened, body stiff as a rock, and his chest didn’t rise again, for he didn’t breathe anymore.
With that, Milo’s precognitive vision ended, and Nicolás opened his eyes once more with a loud gasp as he fell to his knees. Whatever it was that happened, however it was supposed to unfold, he had just witnessed his boyfriend’s death.
It was hard to breathe. It was hard to exist at that very moment. It felt as though a hole had broken up underneath him, but instead of sucking him, it had sucked everything around him, leaving him as an empty being, surrounded by vacancy and nihility.
Tears streamed down his face as anguish clawed at his chest. It had happened just last term, that everything, scene by scene, of what Milo showed him, it all became reality. And now the looming death of his boyfriend clouded his mind, for he didn’t know if it was possible to save him, or if he was damned to that fate.
Nicolás knew being with him was a burden. He knew that it was dangerous, given the current situation, to associate with the main family that stood against Voldemort, he knew it would put lives on the line, but he was foolish enough to delude himself into thinking his boyfriend wouldn’t be one of those.
“Nicolás!” he jumped on his seat as his mother’s voice rang across the room.
He raised his eyes to realize that everyone was looking at him with differing expressions. His father, sensible as always, looked at him in etched worry, while Caelum sent him an impish grin — only the heavens could know what he had theorized had retreated Nicolás into his mind; knowing him, probably some dirty joke.
“You okay there, Love?” his father cupped the side of his head.
Nicolás' mouth had suddenly run dry. He looked from his father's hazel eyes to his mother's chocolate ones and he wasn't sure which one pained more.
How can you even begin to explain that, according to the precognitive vision given to you by a Demiguise — one with a history of given rightful predictions —, your boyfriend's death approached?
The air around the room got thick, and it refused to go down Nicolás' nose or throat, and everyone's eyes were trained on him. They probably recognized he wasn't so fine, for Caelum's grin fell, and worry took over his eyes as he frowned.
His sight got blurry as he looked from one face to the other, and back, and forth again, all in a quick succession that got him dizzy.
Clumsily, he got up, looking around for the nearest hall. Really, the only thing close was the stairs, but he remembered his room was actually upstairs.
"I — I —" his brain couldn't even tie a cohesive phrase together.
Unable to answer his mother's callings, he bolted upstairs, and if he stumbled with one or two of the steps, he wouldn't mention such.
He shut the door closed behind his back and leaned on it. Slowly, he allowed his body to slide down until he sat on the floor, head in between his legs as he took deep breaths.
Ember, who had been peacefully slumbering on his bed, jumped off of it and approached him.
He hated this. He hated feeling so out of control over his own body. He hated not being able to keep his shit together. He pressed the back of his head against the wooden door, making enough pressure to feel it, and as he did his best to take deep breaths, he routinely closed and opened his fists.
Tears streamed down his face, but he didn't have the space of mind to care about how sticky his skin got.
So far in his sixteen years of life, he’s learned that repressing your feelings leads to nothing good, as his mother liked to say, "Repressing your feelings is like a rose growing its thorns on its inside, it'll pierce its stem and kill it". And the best way to deal with them is to let them flow and go on because, "Honey, you grew up playing with Hippogriffs, and Graphorns, feeling your own emotions is no deal for you".
Ember, always in sync with him, rubbed his hairy head against his chest, reaching for his face. Relishing in the warmth and fluffiness of his companion, Nicolás made up his mind.
If there was something that defined Nicolás, it was his loyalty, and he was not about to lose an ounce of it in the face of destiny; least of all when it came to someone who was so important to him. If Milo’s vision even dared to try and become a reality, it would have to go over him. If Voldemort, any of his Death Eaters, or any external entity, wanted to get their hands on Cedric and hurt him, they would have to go over him. Maybe Nicolás hadn’t been sorted in Gryffindor, but he was a lion all the same, and to get to anyone from his pride, his foes would have to endure his claws, his fangs, and the blistering passion and loyalty that roared inside of him.
A few hours later, before lunch, as he was making up his school trunk, his mother knocked on the door.
“Thought you might want to make space for this,” she said, holding up a set of robes. Nicolás took them and examined them, frowning.
“Dress robes?” he asked. “What do I need dress robes for? Did they implement a dress code for the end-of-year tests that I didn’t know about?”
Carolina chuckled. “No. They’re for… something that I don’t want to spoil for you, so you’ll have to wait until the Welcoming Feast to be notified.”
“Okay,” said Nicolás doubtful, looking at the robes.
It was an overly fancy outfit. It was an entirely black two-piece suit, with an overrobe in deep maroon with golden floral designs in the cuffs and what seemed to be stars. It was very pretty, actually. Nicolás folded it and placed it next to his other school robes in the trunk.
There was silence for some minutes before Carolina coughed and spoke.
“Look, Baby, I don’t claim to know what goes on in that marvelous little head of yours, but your father and I will always be there to listen if you want to. You know that, right?”
Nicolás smiled faintly at her. “I know, Mom, thank you.”
She cupped his cheek, her thumb softly gracing over the skin of his cheek. “Your father and I worry, but we only do it because we love you, Nico, you’re our world, please don’t leave us on the sidelines feeling useless.”
With nothing being able to pass the knot on his throat, Nicolás hugged his mother, trying to bury himself in her chest. He had decided not to tell anyone about the vision of Cedric’s death; he would have to keep in mind to reach out if necessary, the last thing he wanted was to be a burden for more people.
•─────⋅☾☽⋅─────•
“Everyone ready?” asked Abu Pedro.
To Apparate, they all stood outside the perimeter of the house's magical wards. Nicolás, Caelum, and Harry looked down at their closed trunks and made mental gymnastics, trying to remember if they left something.
“I think so,” Nicolás shrugged.
His mother intertwined her arm with Harry’s, and Caelum his with his own father’s, and they all Apparated to King’s Cross.
The train station was just as packed as it was every 1st of September when the Hogwarts students and their families came in a horde to board the Hogwarts Express.
“Remember boys, this is going to be a most exciting year,” said Uncle Sirius with enthusiasm.
“You all keep saying that, but never say why,” said Harry, still holding on to Carolina’s arm.
It warmed Nicolás' heart to see how extremely attached Harry had grown to her over the summer. It was somehow expected — she had adopted him —, but it was still a most welcome surprise. Over the hot days in Colombia, while Sirius and Regulus worked, albeit grudgingly, on rebuilding their 'brothership' or whatever, Carolina would take Harry on long strolls around the Reserve grounds to talk.
Nicolás assumed they talked about Harry's parents because both of them always came back with misty eyes; Sirus never had time to healthily move on from James' death and was always too hurt to talk about it, Remus only talked about it sometimes. Carolina was always open to talk and cry over Aunt Lily, and Harry, who was always compared to his father, was more than desperate to connect with the memory of his mother over something that was not his eyes.
Harry would, day by day, wait by the fireplace for Carolina to come back from the Ministry via the Floo Network. He would sit there with two cups of hot chocolate and slices of buttered bread. It was usually Nicolás or Remus who would welcome her, but they were more than happy to entrust such responsibility to Harry; they would, instead, wait in the dining room with their own chocolate so they could all talk—Harry always had endless questions about the Ministry and how it worked.
It was funny, because they all expected Harry to bond much more with Uncle Sirius, but the truth was that Sirius still had to dedicate much more of his time to readapt himself to be out of Azkaban and re-bond with his family — including Harry, obviously. He usually took Harry and watched as he and Caelum practiced Quidditch, giving them some pointers with Regulus, who actually had experience as a Seeker.
Looking around, Nicolás waited until a head of white-blond hair made its way towards them. It was Dorian, dragging Draco Malfoy with him. Draco looked incredibly awkward and desperately looked around for his classmates.
“Good morning,” Dorian greeted the family out loud (“Morning,” Draco muttered after Dorian elbowed him, not looking at them). Everyone responded as Nicolás and Caelum moved to hug Dorian.
Harry, with a grimace, used this moment to say goodbye and run to the Weasleys, who had just arrived with Hermione. Harry and Draco were still walking on eggshells around each other. Draco had apologized for what he did over their first two years at Hogwarts, but Harry, Ron, and Hermione still had a long way to actually trust him.
With so much work to be done at the Ministry — the trial of the Death Eaters caught after the riot was approaching —, the Cardona family quickly said their goodbyes among kisses and hugs — including a blushing Dorian — and Apparated.
Now that he took a moment to think about it, it was weird to see Dorian with Draco alone in the station. It was usually Lucius and Narcissa who, strutting like peacocks, delivered them, but they were nowhere to be seen today. They would've never let Draco mingle with his family — they knew that with Dorian as Lucius’ godson, they held little authority, but Draco was their son, and no one was ever as controlling as old pure-blood families.
Dorian didn’t comment on the reason, and Nicolás and Caelum decided not to prod on it.
Nicolás raised on his tiptoe, looking around the bustling station at hundreds and hundreds of heads, searching for a specific one.
“Have you seen—” Nicolás’ question died in his throat when Cedric finally came out of a group of students, making his way towards them.
That was all it took for Nicolás to breathe again. At the moment, Milo's precognitive vision didn't matter, for Cedric was right there in front of him, looking healthy, tidy, gorgeous as ever, and very much alive.
“Hello,” Cedric greeted, giving each of them a hug, taking the longest time with Nicolás. Maybe it was because Nicolás subconsciously refused to let go, but he chose to think Cedric also wanted their hug to last long.
“Did you guys bring them?” Nicolás asked eagerly. The other three looked at him with grins and pushed out one leg. They all rolled up one of their trousers’ legs to reveal their matching white socks with colorful Unicorns; the ones Nicolás had bought for all of them two years ago.
“The Unicorn Gang,” said Caelum in an excited voice.
With a sardonic smirk, Dorian looked up and said, “Is that because we’re like gay as fuck, or is there any other reason?”
“That’s up for debate,” said Nicolás with an equally sardonic smirk of his own. He grabbed Cedric’s hand and started to guide him towards the Hogwarts Express; Dorian and Caelum followed closely, Ember padding next to them.
“I suppose you already know what’ll be happening at Hogwarts?” asked Caelum after they settled on one empty compartment.
“Yep,” said Dorian, petting a most content Ember on the head—he was a pampered Wampus Cat, okay? “But I don’t reckon I’ll tell you, it’d kill the thrill of the mystery, huh?”
Caelum groaned. “Gosh, you’re so annoying sometimes.”
Hurryingly, the Weasley twins opened the door and sat with them.
“Dorian, quickly, what’s happening this year at Hogwarts?” Fred asked breathless.
“There’s no way slimy Lucius Malfoy sent you and his own son without telling you,” added George.
Dorian’s smirk widened, he loved to dehort the twins. “I’m not telling you, none of you, suck it up, chaps.” He sumptuously opened a book, reading it and disregarding the ways their compartment was filled with protests and whines from the Weasley twins and Caelum.
Beyond the windowpane, all there was to be seen was the pouring rain, cold enough to fog the glass. Nicolás kept his hand enveloped in the warmth of Cedric's, as his socked foot rubbed along Ember's back.
More than once Nicolás felt Cedric's eyes on him, sending questioning glares, but he offered no response. To him, love, in any form, existed to be expressed, not necessarily loudly, but expressed; he generally expressed his in a physical manner, surprisingly, not being clingy; he liked his space and so he respected that of others. However, after Milo's vision, after seeing Cedric's lifeless body fall over the grass of a graveyard, it was just not possible for him to let go of him; he felt as though the moment he did, Cedric would be gone forever.
After half an hour, utterly defeated, the Weasley twins decided to move to another compartment to try their luck in getting someone to tell them something, arguing about how important it was for them to know which school rules would be changed so they could break them in the most honorable way.
Every time he and Cedric met eyes, Nicolás knew he was looking too deeply into them, but only he understood how much relief it brought to him to see the tender honey in there so alive, so different from the vacancy Milo showed him in that graveyard.
Caelum, on his part, had had a hard time over the last week of the summer holidays. Ever since the Quidditch World Cup, Dorian had refused to answer any letter from them, and Caelum was desperate to know the reason for that; as of right now, Dorian didn’t seem to have any problem with them.
“So, are you gonna talk about it?” Caelum asked. For a moment, Nicolás feared Caelum spoke to him — he wasn’t going to discuss Cedric’s prophesized death in front of Cedric —, but to his relief, he was looking straight at Dorian.
Dorian merely raised a brow, “I don't know what you could possibly mean?” He looked down at his book once more.
“Oh, please, the fool act doesn’t suit you, Lestrange,” said Caelum with narrowed eyes. That told Nicolás he was actually very pissed; Caelum hadn’t called Dorian by his last name ever since they became friends in their first year.
“Piss off, Black,” said Dorian looking up again with equally narrowed eyes.
“You didn’t answer any of my letters,” said Caelum, taping on the window to make his point clearer, “I sent about ten in the last week.”
“The world doesn’t revolve around you!” Dorian hissed. “I had — there was — there was stuff, okay!”
“It was him, wasn’t it?” asked Caelum.
“Who—” but Cedric shut when Caelum went on.
“We all know Malfoy was there with the Death Eaters,” said Caelum. “Of course, he would forbid you from reaching out after such fiasco.”
“You know nothing!” argued Dorian.
“Oh, really? Where does such a need to protect your godfather’s name come from? If I remember correctly, just last term you still despised him," said Caelum venomously.
“Why do you even care? It is none of your business!”
Nicolás and Cedric seemed to be watching a tennis match, their heads turned from one direction to the other, from Caelum to Dorian, and back and then forth. The air in the compartment had grown overly tense in the minutes their interaction had taken place, and even if the outside rain was cold, there was a certain heat rising inside.
Dorian also didn’t respond to any of Nicolás’ letters, but he didn’t feel the need to make such a show of it. He knew Caelum liked to be dramatic — being the son of Sirius Black and all —, but this felt like very stretched, even for him. There had... there had to be something else that prompted Caelum to this
There was a certain heat coming from Caelum as he questioned Dorian that Nicolás didn’t quite understand.
“Because I care about you, you jerk,” Caelum hissed.
“And there’s nothing for you to worry about!” exclaimed Dorian, and rather unnecessarily harshly, he closed his book and threw it back in his bag.
By now, all the compartments were probably occupied, so Nicolás and Cedric had no other choice but to stay where they sat and watch the verbal exchange.
“Why are they quarreling like a married couple?” Cedric whispered in Nicolás’ ear.
“That’s about what I want to know,” Nicolás responded conspiratorially.
They were too late to catch the last bit Caelum had said, because the next thing they knew, Dorian bolted to his feet and stormed out of their compartment with a loud, “Ugh, grow some balls and talk clearly, Caelum!”
“What the hell was all of that about?” asked Nicolás.
“Don’t get on it,” Caelum snapped. Nicolás stayed there, looking at him with wide eyes. Caelum had to be overly worked out to snap at him, and the best thing was to probably let him have his space.
Caelum’s bad mood stretched throughout the rest of the journey. He didn’t talk much while he sulked in his seat, still glowering when the Hogwarts Express approached Hogsmeade Station.
Nicolás suggested they changed into their school robes; they agreed and did so in tense silence.
They came out to a heavy cold rain. Caelum was so offish, that he made all the way to the Thestral Carriages bathing in the rain; Nicolás and Cedric used their wands to create magical umbrellas. Dorian never came back to join them, which was the first indication – if you completely ignored their dispute on the train – that his argument with Caelum was not so light.
All the way up the hill and towards the castle, Caelum spent it casting Hot Air Charm after Hot Air Charm to get his clothes dry once more; thing he accomplished. Nicolás offered to help him, receiving only a growl from his cousin — a growl very similar to that of a dog, Padfoot to be exact; Uncle Sirius' son he had to be.
Nicolás had never felt as relieved to see Hogwarts Castle as he did at that moment, desperate to get out of their suffocating carriage. Caelum threw the door open and stomped ahead of them, making his way, not so amicably, through the students gathered in the Entrance Hall.
Curiously, the entire hall was wet, with big puddles around and students soaked, as if the rain had fallen on them through the roof.
Thanks to his Quidditch reflexes, Caelum was able to see one large, red, water-filled balloon coming in his direction. That was what was happening: Peeves was tormenting the students with water balloons. Caelum caught the ballon in his right hand and raised his glowering eyes twenty feet above, where Peeves the Poltergeist, floating, had suddenly stopped laughing maniacally.
With fire in his grey eyes, and still fixed on Peeves, Caelum squeezed the balloon. The pressure was enough to make the balloon's membrane stretch and distort under his grip, bulging in between his fingers as if trying to escape. Finally, a tense moment later, the balloon's latex gave away with a sharp pop. Water burst down, soaking his hand, and splashing over his pants, and his shoes before pooling on the already wet floor.
"Waddiwasi," Caelum growled under his breath, and in a spectacular display of Wandless Magic, the limp latex in his hand shot up toward Peeves at incredible speed. The material wrapped around the Poltergeist's head and propelled Peeves' small body far away down the hall; all the balloons he previously held fell to the floor.
Caelum, if sometimes exhibiting a flare for the dramatics, was never really prone to aggressive displays — at least not outside the Quidditch field. Everyone was gaping at him, some of the lower years in awe and admiration for having put Peeves' ghostly ass in place, others from the upper years, and especially their friends, looked at him questioningly.
Professor McGonagall rushed towards them and looked at Caelum closely. She was his head of house, but also the deputy headmistress, she had probably come to deal with Peeves.
“Thank you for dealing with Peeves, Mr. Cardona,” she said carefully, also bewildered by Caelum’s sudden aggressive display. “Well, everyone, move along, then!”
Everyone rushed into the Great Hall and towards their house table. Nicolás saw Caelum walking hurryingly towards the Gryffindor table; the Weasley twins tried to talk to him, but he brushed them off and stayed on his way to sit next to Ruby.
•─────⋅☾☽⋅─────•
“What the hell is wrong with your cousin?” Aurora asked the moment Nicolás’ bottom touched the bench at the Hufflepuff table.
“What’s got your cousin’s knickers on a twist?” asked Amara at the same time.
Even from their seat, they had the perfect view of a sulking Caelum. He sat with his fellow Gryffindors but wasn’t engaging in any kind of conversation. The only moment his brow seemed to slightly ease was when Harry leaned closer to ask him something.
Nicolás sighed. “He and Dorian argued on the train here, but I really don’t know what’s wrong with either of them. Your guess is as good as mine.”
“Look at that,” said Cedric, pointing at the only empty seat on the staff table — besides Professor McGonagall’s, as she was bringing the first years for their sorting. It was the seat for the Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher; Nicolás’ father, Remus, had had the job last term but resigned at the end of it as part of his self-inflicted punishment for hurting Nicolás.
Minutes later, Professor McGonagall entered with the long line of terrified-looking, anxious, and excited first years to start the Sorting Ceremony. She placed the three-legged stool in front of them with the ancient Sorting Hat on top, and the hat started with its new song for the year. Everyone applauded when the hat shut and Professor McGonagall started to call the names of the first years, who sat on the stool and the hat screamed the house they were sorted in.
It took around of forty minutes to go over all the new students, but finally, the Sorting Ceremony was over; Hufflepuff was the house with the most new students, sixteen total. As the last tiny student ran to the Hufflepuff table, Professor McGonagall rolled up her parchment, picked up the hat and the stool, and carried them away.
That was the moment Professor Dumbledore got to his feet with open arms and a wide smile on his face as he did each year.
“I have only two words to say to you,” he told them, his deep voice echoing around the Hall. “Tuck in.” and as he clapped, the plates in front of them were magically filled with the feast.
As they ate, the Fat Friar, the Hufflepuff ghost, approached them. To say he approached is actually just a formality, because the ghost really only floated upright through their table and food, coming in front of Cedric, who choked on his chicken.
“I bid you good eve, my dearest Cedric,” the ghost greeted with a courtesy bow.
“Greetings to you on this fine eve, my esteemed Friar Godwine,” Cedric nodded after gulping down the food in his mouth.
It had taken Nicolás about a week to get the Friar to reveal his real name to him; nothing a good long chat over philosophy and morality couldn't solve. In fact, over the two years he had spent in Hogwarts since coming from Castelobruxo, Nicolás had grown to be on amicable terms — more or less — with all the houses' ghosts.
Sir Nicholas, or Nearly Headless Nick, the Gryffindor ghost, was probably the most easy-going from the lot, albeit much more energetic than the Fat Friar. And the fact that they were namesakes elated the ghost greatly.
There was The Grey Lady, whose real name was, in fact, Helena Ravenclaw — yes, the daughter of Rowena Ravenclaw, one of the school founders. Nicolás, very humbly, recognized he was a scholar prodigy, and far more advanced than some of the seven-year students — this due to Castelobruxo's more demanding curriculum. She liked to spend hours making him talk over his own experiments in alchemy and the magical objects he had created; they also talked about Theory of Magic in general and the nuances of human existence.
The last of the house ghosts was The Bloody Baron, the Slytherin ghost. He was a sulking, rude ghost who disliked everyone, from every student — including the Slytherins — to the other ghosts. He had tried to be pretty rude to Nicolás because his father is a werewolf, but Nicolás, unlike the other students who cowered in his rage, stood up to him and, very dignified, insulted him back. This, for some reason, earned him some respect from the ghost, who grew to tolerate his presence and grumble when Nicolás tried to make conversation.
“How delightful it is to behold such an abundance of new pupils gracing our humble house this term!” exclaimed The Fat Friar, looking over-excited. “I daresay, fair Cedric, you shall indeed have your hands full with your duties as their Prefect,” he said delightfully. “And you as well, my cherished Aurora!” he added, looking at the girl with a smile.
“You are excessively gracious, my good Friar,” Aurora bowed slightly.
It had become a sort of game for them, to each talk as grandiloquently as possible every time they were in the presence of The Fat Friar.
“Pray, tell me you have not let me slip from your memory, have you?” asked Nicolás, pretending to be hurt.
Friar Godwine looked scandalized at his claim. “Oh my, my gracious Nicolás, how unbecoming, do forgive my untoward rudeness in not bestowing upon you a fitting greeting. Likewise, my esteemed Amara, please accept my sincerest apologies,” he said, bowing deeply in the air.
“Pray, be at ease, my esteemed Friar Godwine, and let this not become a cause of trouble in your heart.,” Amara reassured.
“I daresay, I find myself deeply affronted and wounded by this,” said Nicolás, letting out a long-suffering breath, “I was under the distinct impression that I, myself, was your most favored, dear Friar Godwine, yet it appears you favor the company of my boyfriend,” he shook his head dramatically.
“Oh, heavens above, my dear Nicolás! Perish the thought and never allow such a notion to cross your mind. You will always occupy a place of higher esteem in my ghostly heart. I have missed our conversations most profoundly during these summer holidays.”
“Rest assured, my dear Friar, that once the classes commence, I shall be readily found in my usual places of repose,” reassured Nicolás. “Now, with your kind permission, we shall indulge in a bountiful feast of food and drink, toasting to commence the new term in fine spirits,” he raised a cup to the friar.
With a smile, The Fat Friar bowed, “May you relish your feast, and accept my warmest and most heartfelt regards!” and he floated away as they bursted to laughing.
Later, once the feast had been eaten, and the plates had been left empty, Albus Dumbledore got to his feet again. The buzz of chatter filling the Hall ceased almost at once, so that only the howling wind and pounding rain could be heard.
“So!” said Dumbledore, smiling around at them all. “Now that we are all fed and watered, I must once more ask for your attention, while I give out a few notices.
“Mr. Filch, the caretaker, has asked me to tell you that the list of objects forbidden inside the castle has this year been extended to include Screaming Yo-yos, Fanged Frisbees, and Ever-Bashing Boomerangs. The full list comprises some four hundred and thirty-seven items, I believe, and can be viewed in Mr. Filch’s office, if anybody would like to check it.”
The corners of Dumbledore’s mouth twitched. He continued, “As ever, I would like to remind you all that the forest on the grounds is out-of-bounds to students, as is the village of Hogsmeade to all below third year.
“It is also my painful duty to inform you that the Inter-House Quidditch Cup will not take place this year.”
All tables erupted in disagreement and quiet protests.
Dumbledore went on, “This is due to an event that will be starting in October, and continuing throughout the school year, taking up much of the teachers’ time and energy — but I am sure you will all enjoy it immensely. I have great pleasure in announcing that this year at Hogwarts —”
But at that moment, there was a deafening rumble of thunder and the doors of the Great Hall banged open.
A man stood in the doorway, leaning upon a long staff, shrouded in a black traveling cloak. Every head in the Great Hall swiveled toward the stranger, suddenly brightly illuminated by a fork of lightning that flashed across the ceiling. He lowered his hood, shook out a long mane of grizzled, dark gray hair, and then began to walk up toward the teachers’ table.
A dull clunk echoed through the Hall on his every other step. He reached the end of the top table, turned right, and limped heavily toward Dumbledore.
The man’s face looked as though it had been carved out of weathered wood by someone who had only the vaguest idea of what human faces are supposed to look like, and was none too skilled with a chisel. Every inch of skin seemed to be scarred. The mouth looked like a diagonal gash, and a large chunk of the nose was missing. But it was the man’s eyes that took most of the attention.
One of them was small, dark, and beady. The other was large, round as a coin, and a vivid, electric blue. The blue eye was moving ceaselessly, without blinking, and was rolling up, down, and from side to side, quite independently of the normal eye — and then it rolled right over, pointing into the back of the man’s head, so that all they could see was whiteness. Nicolás had only heard of one man who had that type of magical eye.
The stranger reached Dumbledore. He stretched out a hand that was as badly scarred as his face, and Dumbledore shook it, muttering words. He seemed to be making some inquiry of the stranger, who shook his head unsmilingly and replied in an undertone. Dumbledore nodded and gestured the man to the empty seat on his right-hand side.
“May I introduce our new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher?” said Dumbledore brightly into the silence. “Professor Moody.”
“Mad-Eye Moody?” asked Nicolás bewildered.
“You know him?” asked Cedric in a whisper.
"Personally? No. But my family does. He's an ex-Auror — retired —, one of the best in recent times; half the cells in Azkaban were filled by him during the war. Almost everyone in the Order of the Phoenix trained under him. My aunt says he's not entirely in his right mind, though, and hasn't been for quite some years; reason why he retired and retreated in isolation — he became a pathological paranoid, seeing Dark Wizards in every empty shadow."
“I can see why,” muttered Aurora, looking at Moody's disfigured appearance with pity.
Dumbledore cleared his throat.
“As I was saying, we are to have the honor of hosting a very exciting event over the coming months, an event that has not been held for over a century. It is my very great pleasure to inform you that the Triwizard Tournament will be taking place at Hogwarts this year.”
“You’re JOKING!” said Fred Weasley loudly.
The tension that had filled the Hall ever since Moody’s arrival suddenly broke. Nearly everyone laughed, and Dumbledore chuckled appreciatively; even Caelum seemed to suddenly stop sulking.
“I am not joking, Mr. Weasley,” he said, “though now that you mention it, I did hear an excellent one over the summer about a troll, a hag, and a leprechaun who all go into a bar...”
Professor McGonagall cleared her throat loudly.
He proceeded to explain a bit about the tournament; information Nicolás knew and that he trusted any other half-educated student to do as well.
The Triwizard Tournament was established around seven hundred years ago, and it was a competition for the three largest European schools of magic: Hogwarts, Dumstrang, and Beauxbatons: it had been meant to be an opportunity to not only flaunt of each school's students but also to create international relations.
For the tournament, each school would have one champion, who would compete in three tasks to win. The winner would receive a price of one thousand Galleons and their school would be the one to hold the Triwizard Cup until the next tournament; the cup was a large one, made of pure silver.
The thing was, the Triwizard Tournament had been abolished because of the large death toll it collected over the years,
Dumbledore reassured them that the Ministry of Magic — more specifically the departments of International Magical Cooperation and Games and Sports — had been involved to ensure that bringing this tournament back was done in a safe way to ensure the students could compete safely.
So, this was, wasn’t it? This was what his mother and aunt had been talking about. This was what would make this term overly exciting.
“Eager though I know all of you will be to bring the Triwizard Cup to Hogwarts,” said Dumbledore, “the heads of the participating schools, along with the Ministry of Magic, have agreed to impose an age restriction on contenders this year. Only students who are of age — that is to say, seventeen years or older — will be allowed to put forward their names for consideration. This” — Dumbledore raised his voice slightly, for several people had made noises of outrage at these words — “is a measure we feel is necessary, given that the tournament tasks will still be difficult and dangerous, whatever precautions we take, and it is highly unlikely that students below sixth and seventh year will be able to cope with them. I will personally be ensuring that no underage student hoodwinks our impartial judge into making them Hogwarts champion. I therefore beg you not to waste your time submitting yourself if you are under seventeen.
“The delegations from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang will be arriving in October and remaining with us for the greater part of this year. I know that you will all extend every courtesy to our foreign guests while they are with us and will give your whole-hearted support to the Hogwarts champion when he or she is selected. And now, it is late, and I know how important it is to you all to be alert and rested as you enter your lessons tomorrow morning. Bedtime! Chop chop!”
Nicolás turned to look at Cedric, but his boyfriend seemed to be absolutely enthralled by Dumbledore's speech. He didn't need to sue his Legilimency to know that Cedric's mind was preoccupied with the Triwizard Cup and the thousand Galleon prize; a few times since the last term had Cedric mentioned his desire to get a summer job at Hogsmeade so he could earn and save enough to move out of his parents' house after graduation.
Now he was probably thinking of winning this tournament as a short-cut to his goal.
A cold snake descended to Nicolás’ stomach. Maybe this was what Milo had shown him. Because Cedric's birthday was on September the 7th, and the submission of names wouldn't take place until Halloween; he had perfectly enough time to come of age and submit his name. But... what if he was selected as Hogwarts' champion and then one of the tasks took his life?
Dumbledore sat down again and turned to talk to Mad-Eye Moody. There was a great scraping and banging as all the students got to their feet and swarmed toward the double doors into the entrance hall.
Cedric and Aurora, along with the new Prefects, moved to guide the new Hufflepuffs to their common room.
Nicolás knew he would have to have words with Cedric. He couldn’t let Cedric compete in that tournament. Not if the cost was going to be his life.
•─────⋅☾☽⋅─────•
Don’t get him wrong, Nicolás loved his home — either of his family's two houses; either Colombia or London — but there was something about the Hufflepuff Common Room that resonated with him. Maybe it was the earth tones that reminded him of his family's cottage in Colombia, or maybe it was the abundance of plants and soil that brought him back to his grandmother's gardens in either house.
Entering right through the small passage near the kitchens, felt like a hug to the soul. It didn't matter how cold Scotland was, the common room was meant to always be warm, and warm it was, making Nicolás forget about the fight Dorian and Caeum had back in the Hogwarts Express.
He went up the stairs and searched for his new dorm for his sixth year.
When he crossed the door, his dormmates — except for Cedric —, were already there, talking about their summer. Alec was giving a detailed recollection — with hand signs and everything — about how the Quidditch World Cup had gone.
"Hi, guys," Nicolás greeted.
Everyone turned to look at him and greeted him back. All of them were in some state of undress; like Alec, who already had his pajama pants and was searching his trunk for his shirt.
"Nico!" said Alec. "OH, you guys should've seen how Nico's family dealt with those Death Eaters," he said excitedly.
"Please, don't," Nicolás shook his head with a smile. He walked to his bed, which wasn't just his bed; you see, last term, Cedric bewitched their separate four-posters so they would be only one, a much bigger one, for the two of them. Somehow, he had managed to do the same for this bed before the term started, how, Nicolás could only theorize. Over the large mattress, their two trunks rested.
"Your Romeo has yet to arrive, lovebird," said Alec with a wide smirk. The pink in his hair — which Amara had helped him dye — had been almost washed off entirely, leaving a soft hue of pink that was closer to white rather than red. Finally, he found a soft silk shirt to sleep in and put it on.
"I know. He and Aurora are giving the first years a small tour through the common room," said Nicolás, taking off his own shirt. “I was actually wondering if you guys could leave when he arrives, I need to talk something over with him.” He took out a cotton shirt Cedric had left in his house over the summer — one he wasn't planning to return.
Alec moved his eyebrows suggestively. "Oh, but of course, we'll be most glad to leave you, lovebirds, to 'talk' it over," he said, air quoting the word 'talk'. Behind them, all their roommates snickered, making loud mocking kiss sounds to one another. "Won't we, boys?"
They all chorused in agreement, sending Nicolás unnecessarily suggestive looks that would have prude Professor McGonagall fainting. Nicolás felt the blood rush into his cheeks, turning them scarlet; he could feel his face heat too.
The door opened and a recently showered Cedric entered. Everyone turned to look at him, with varying degrees of satisfaction. Quickly, their roommates got to their feet as Alec ushered them to the door in haste. All of them gave Cedric thumbs up and shoulder slaps with congratulations — all accompanied by their suggestive smiles and eyebrow raises.
Once they were alone in the dorm, Cedric looked at Nicolás, clearly confused. "What was all of that about?" he asked.
"You really don't want to know," said Nicolás, shaking his head.
Even if confused, Cedric smiled, looking Nicolás up and down. "Looking good on that shirt," he said.
Nicolás could be that somehow his face had gotten even more scarlet.
"You see, this hot guy gave it to me," he said. The shirt was Cedric's, naturally, it was two sizes too big for Nicolás, but it was very comfy to sleep with all the same.
"Oh, and your boyfriend wasn't jealous of this hot guy?" he said, walking towards Nicolás as Ember walks towards his unfortunate prey.
“Uhm, well I — actually — I — I needed to talk with you,” said Nicolás, flushing. “In private.”
“Oh,” Cedric grinned. “And how private you mean?” he asked, and with another step, there was barely a sliver of air between his body and Nicolás'. He could feel the heat coming from Cedric’s body, making his throat run dry.
“I — well — cough — the usual, you know,” Nicolás shrugged. What the hell? 'The usual?' Was he ordering his coffee? What on God's evergreen earth was he talking about? How mortifying.
Cedric probably noticed his effect, because he took a step back, the same sly grin on his face.
“You know you can tell me anything, right?” he asked, suddenly more serious.
Nicolás gulped, he wasn’t one to demand from nobody. He needed to thread this conversation with utmost care. He needed to get his point across: Cedric couldn’t submit his name for the Triwizard Tournament. He also needed to make sure Cedric had no idea why such a notion was so important. He needed to make sure Cedric thought it was just because Nicolás cared and worried for him and would hate to see him hurt; under no circumstances could he let Cedric know he saw him die in Milo’s precognitive vision.
“Actually, I need to talk to you about the Triwizard Tournament,” said Nicolás carefully. He took one of Cedric’s hands and sat on their large, shared bed, Cedric did the same beside him.
“Nico —”
“You can’t compete,” Nicolás hurried.
“Pardon me?”
“You can’t compete,” Nicolás repeated. “The Triwizard Tournament caused the death of hundreds of students over the years it ran; you can’t risk your life for it. It’s not worth it.”
"Wait, die? Why is your first assumption that I won't be able to win?" asked Cedric frowning. "Do you not think me knowledgeable or skilled enough to win?" he let go of Nicolás' hand and crossed his arms over his chest.
"What? No! That's entirely beside the point, Cedric! It's a stupid tournament with the promise of glory. Why would you even risk your life for such pointless goal? It's nothing but a stupid cup!"
"You wouldn't understand," Cedric muttered under his breath.
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"You wouldn't care for this, as long as it doesn't involve Harry; if it did, you'd be the first to jump head-on at it," Cedric gritted.
That was a point not even Cedric was allowed to cross.
"He's fourteen, Cedric! Leave him out of this!"
Cedric rolled his eyes. “All I’m saying is that you're sounding kind of like a hypocrite right now,” he said softly.
Nicolás' eyes opened widely before he frowned looking at Cedric. “I beg your pardon?”
Cedric nodded, "You know I'm right, you do. Come on, Nicolás," he prompted at Nicolás' silence, "how many times over just two years of being here at Hogwarts have you run straight into harm's way just to protect Harry? Two years ago you jumped down a pipe under the school and walked into the Chamber of Secrets to battle a younger version of You-Know-Who. And last year you risked everything to catch that Pettigrew man, not to mention there were Dementors around!"
"Because I was protecting Harry!" said Nicolás, and that should explain everything, right?
“And why are you so adamant about doing that?” Cedric demanded.
"Wha — I — how — how can you even ask that?" gasped Nicolás. "Harry's younger than us for starters, his parents are dead, Cedric, he has no one but my family. We will do what it takes to protect him!"
Cedric remained silent. As if he was looking Nicolás in a new light, and something churned in his stomach.
"I take it you didn't lose anyone in the war," Nicolás concluded.
"Can't say I did," Cedric shrugged.
"Well, my family did, Cedric, and we lost so damn much, you wouldn't understand why we do what we do."
“No, I don’t think I do.”
Nicolás sighed and brought his face to his hands. “This is not how this conversation was supposed to go.”
Cedric stood up from the bed and started pacing around the dorm as Nicolás took in deep breaths. It was normal, he tried to convince himself. It was normal for Cedric to not understand his need to protect Harry, and it wasn't his fault.
Cedric had grown up as an only child with adoring parents; Nicolás' very own parents adored him, but Cedric's were on a whole different level. It wasn't a far stretch to know that Cedric had been raised as an overly pampered child whose parents worshipped the very floor over which he stepped.
Not only that, but as he already thought, Cedric had lost nobody to the war. Nicolás had been only three at the time, but even now, thirteen years later, he carried the scars left by the war in his heart; he could still feel the loss of Uncle James, Aunt Lily, Baby Harry, and Uncle Sirius. Nicolás had learned, back when he was younger, firsthand, what it meant to lose someone; he knew in his very being what grieving meant.
Cedric had been lucky enough to save himself from feeling such pain and learning such lessons. Of course he wouldn't understand Nicolás' need to protect and feel in control.
Lost in thought, the next thing he felt was when the bed shifted under Cedric’s weight as he sat by his side once more.
“Look, Nico, I may — I might not understand entirely why you act the way you do, or why you risk yourself in every turn, but I also worry, you know. Each time you run, I don’t know if you’ll come back, or if you’re hurt, or whatever.”
Nicolás sighed. “I never include you in this stuff because I don’t want to risk you, Cedric. I only do it to protect Harry, I don’t do it for the glory of it, not like this senseless tournament will.”
“Hey, look at me,” said Cedric. He brought his hand to Nicolás’ chin, lifting his face so their eyes could meet. “I think we still had that… fervency, from Caelum and Dorian's argument, and it's making us jittery. Let's just not focus on that right now, yes? We have a bed and a dorm all to ourselves, let’s not waste it on this.”
With deliberate speed, Cedric shifted closer to him. His breath brushed Nicolás' face before their lips finally met, a tentative contact that sent a ripple of liquid warmth down Nicolás’ spine. Cedric's lips parted, opening Nicolás' mouth and inviting himself into it.
Nicolás’ heart pounded in his chest, a rapid rhythm that seemed to echo in the stillness of the room. His body responded instinctively, a heat blooming under his skin as Cedric’s gentle hands guided him back, lowering him slowly until his shoulders sank into the cool surface of the mattress. Nicolás felt weightless, claimed, and cherished at once.
Cedric shifted his weight, straddling Nicolás’ waist with deliberate slowness, his knees pressing into the mattress on either side of Nicolás’ hips. The sensation of Cedric’s body so close sent a shiver through Nicolás and the lower part of his belly heat. Cedric’s hands found their place on either side of Nicolás' face, holding him steady as the kiss deepened.
Nicolás gasped softly, the warmth of Cedric’s breath mingling with his own. The feeling of being so close, so completely in sync, was dizzying.
Just as he began to open his mouth to speak, his voice barely a whisper of, “Do you promise not to—" the words were lost as Cedric’s lips returned to his.
⋆｡°✩°｡⋆
Author's note
sooo, not sure if any of you guys can feel it, but this part is not going to be quite as lighthearted as the previous ones (I would apologize, but I'm not really sorry for it lmao)
just to clarify, when I say this is going to be more mature, I want to make it VERY clear I do NOT mean it in a sexual way. I repeat, these characters are minors, and there will NEVER be explicit underaged sex on my fics
Anyway, I debated if naming this chapter 'Trouble on Paradise' or 'The First Cracks' but you already know which one won, because i also used 'The First Cracks' for another chapter (5th to be exact) so you know what to expect i guess...
anyway, thank you all for your support, for reading this, for voting and those of you who comment, ILYSM
also, it's Nov 3rd sooo, HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO SIRIUS BLACK!!!
- 𝐣. 𝐟. 𝐜. 🐼