Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

Aldwyn lands on his feet, hand tightening around the handle of his trunk as his eyes take in the mesmerising sights surrounding him. A large smile begins to stretch across his lips, eyes twinkling as they flicker from the towering pyramids to the large sand dunes, to the large white tents scattered around the sight, and several witches and wizards scampering from area to area with tools he had never seen before. It was with partial consciousness that Aldwyn moved out of the apparition spot mere seconds before his father landed where he had just been standing.

He directs his ecstatic expression toward his father, relaxing into the man’s embrace when he walks over to his son’s side and wraps his arm around the boy. It hadn’t taken long for Aldwyn to arrive home with Severus in tow; the Board having given them permission to Floo directly from Hogwarts after the End of year feast so they could unpack Aldwyn’s school supplies and pack for their two-week holiday with enough time spare for them to travel to Gringotts to catch their international portkey.

Aldwyn had been a little disappointed when he found out that Bill had been called back to Egypt the minute all exams and lessons had officially ended to aid the Goblins in getting everything sorted for the small family to tour around the pyramids and assist the curse breakers in opening any possible tombs sealed with ParselMagic. He couldn’t contain his excitement when not even a moment later, his Papa lands by his side with a smile, all ready to go as soon as Aldwyn turns his attention away from the sights.

“I can’t believe we are finally here! I have been looking forward to this for ages!” Aldwyn announces gleefully, clapping his hands. He relaxes back into his parents’ presence, sighing contentedly when Severus joins his father and wraps his arm around his shoulders. His expression brightened even further when he saw two familiar heads of bright red hair jogging their way toward them.

“Father, Papa, Aldwyn, you guys finally made it!” Bill calls, pulling Aldwyn into a hug as soon as he is close enough. He ruffles his younger brother’s hair, brushing the sweaty strands from his face. “I would recommend casting the strongest cooling charms you know before we start walking, the heat can get pretty intense.”

“Here, I can do yours, Aldwyn.” Charlie offers, pulling his wand out of his holster. Aldwyn, despite his mild confusion, allows Bill to push him toward his brother.

“I do know how to cast a cooling charm, you know?” He rolls his eyes, crossing his arms in front of his chest when Charlie merely winks down at him.

“We know you can, Aldwyn. We are not saying you can’t, but I worked with Dragons for years. The cooling charms they taught us at the reserve made sure to keep us protected from the heat emitted from the Dragon’s fire. It is going to protect you more from this heat, and I won’t have to reapply it as often as a typical cooling charm.” Charlie explains, smiling down at his little brother. Holding up his wand in deference, he smirks when Aldwyn huffs, but stays still, allowing the spell to be cast over him.

“I see that our son is still allowed special treatment, Severus Dear,” Marvolo mutters, a teasing lilt coating his tone when Bill and Charlie merely smirk over at them.

“I am sorry, Father, Papa, would you like for me to cast a cooling charm over yourselves as well? I just assumed that you were powerful enough to handle it by yourselves, but if I was wrong…” Charlie holds his wand up, raising an eyebrow at his parents, who roll their eyes without answering.

“It is good to see you again, Father.” Bill offers up an olive branch, walking over to wrap his arm around his parents’ shoulders in greeting. He had seen Severus the other night, just before he had left the castle to begin his summer employment with the goblins, but it had been a while since he had actually seen his father, and he would be lying if he said he hadn’t missed the man.

“You too, Bill. I hope you have been taking care of yourself. This heat, as you said, can be rather unforgiving for those unprepared.” Marvolo pats Bill on the back, smirk softening into a smile when his eldest son scratches the back of his neck.

“Besides the nasty sunburn I developed the first day I was here, I have been well. Andreea was kind enough to cast a spell to turn my burns into a nice tan, so I was perfectly fine afterward. Honestly, I was a bit embarrassed that I forgot such a spell existed, but other than fighting against some of these curses and a new tomb we discovered just this morning, I have been well.”

“It has been tough going for you lot?” Severus questions, allowing Aldwyn to slip his hand into his own, his other grasping hold of Charlie; the older boy having snagged hold of Aldwyn’s suitcase as soon as they had started to set off, as Bill begins to lead them all over to a large group of buildings set up just a little ways down from the pyramids. Objectively speaking, Severus thought it looked like a quaint little village for locals.

“I definitely forgot how much magic this job can take out of you, but it has been a nice change of pace from teaching basic history to children all year. Roderigo was most certainly happy to have me back, if a little disappointed to know that it was only a temporary contract.”

“What about you, Charlie? You arrived with Bill, did you not?” Marvolo questions, glancing down at his youngest son, wondering why the boy was not nattering his brothers’ ears off with endless questions about their work. He sighs, an indulgent expression softening his features when he sees the boy’s features light up, a large grin stretching across his lips as his head swings from side to side, trying to take in all the sights around him. He supposed the questions would come a little later.

“Yup, and let me tell you, I thought working with Dragons was thrilling. But this… this is on a whole other level. At least with the Dragons, I know what I am getting myself into, you know? Avoid the sharp talons, bludgeoning tails, and fire-breath, and I will be fine. But here, you break a curse or open a door, and you have no clue what you could be facing.”

“What do you mean? You haven’t been injured?” Severus asks, eyes sweeping up and down his son’s form as if he could pinpoint injuries covered up by his clothes. Charlie laughs.

“No, I am not injured. Nothing that wasn't a quick mend anyway. One day, we dropped these wards to open this door and ran a detection charm to see if there was anything dangerous in the room before actually opening it, but it all came back clean. The next thing we know, we are facing 20-plus inferi. Another day, it was a horde of snakes that looked more like little zombies than actual living things. Bill and his colleagues have to think on their feet about the spells that will work best in each situation, and I sometimes struggle to keep up.” Charlie laughs again, slapping his elder brother on the shoulder while Bill’s ears burn at the compliment.

“Wow. That sounds like so much fun. I want a cool job like that when I am older.” Aldwyn joins the conversation, his eyes alight with wonder as he glances up at his eldest brother.

“I am sure you would make a fantastic curse-breaker, Aldwyn. Especially with your Parsel abilities. You would be highly sought after with a skill like that, and you would be able to charge inflated prices for such a specialised service.” Bill advises, winking down at Aldwyn, who grins back, the gears in his brain working through the advice as a dreamy smile comes to his face. "Besides, just think of the work you could get if you offered to apply Parsel-wards to certain properties and governmental buildings."

“I should seriously think about starting up my own business when I leave school. It could be fun to see what I can do. I can’t wait to start looking around some of the tombs. I bet there are going to be so many interesting things! Like the history of Egypt and the people here, then maybe some stuff about Salazar Slytherin and his familial line, I mean, why else would there be ParselRunes and such here? Then we might even be able to find some really cool artefacts to study and some Dark curses that need breaking and dismantling.”

“And we will get around to all of that a little later, Aldwyn. First, we need to set our luggage down and get some food into you. You didn’t eat much at Lunch.” Marvolo explains, chuckling at the exuberance in his son’s steps as he bounces between Severus and Charlie.

“Alright, what have you got planned for us this evening, Bill? Charlie?”

“Roderigo, wishes for me to show you to our temporary housing for the next two weeks. Then I am to bring you to the mess hall for dinner. Andreea is excited to meet my parents and my youngest brother. Says that it was a crime for me not to inform her the minute I was adopted into such a revered family.” Bill explains with a fond smile and roll of his eyes.

“Who is Andreea? Is she your partner?” Aldwyn questions, finally taking his hands back from his Papa and Charlie so he could walk on his own, Bill turns around to glance down at him.

“Yes, she used to be my Broker Partner when I was a full-time employee at Gringotts, but since I quit and became a contracted Curse-breaker, she has found herself a new partner in some newbie called…” He pauses, tapping his chin and scratching his head in thought.

“Stephen. And he isn’t a newbie anymore.” A tall girl steps up to the group, a large, cheery smile stretching almost impossibly wide across her face, the expression makes Aldwyn wince internally. He casts his gaze down the girl, taking in the bright blonde head of hair, green eyes, and simple, baggy clothes in various shades of beige and brown. Her outfit reminded Aldwyn of the images he used to see in library books depicting Muggle explorers.

“Speaking of the devil,” Bill clasps the girl’s hand in a firm handshake, grinning at the girl and ruffling her hair, which pulls a shriek from the other, much to Bill’s amusement. “Father, Papa, Aldwyn, this is Andreea.”

Aldwyn glances from his brother to the girl, shuffling slightly on his feet as nerves begin to grow in the pit of his stomach. He drops his gaze to the floor, taking a step closer to his Papa, who immediately wraps his arm around his son’s shoulders. The girl immediately sobers up, a serious expression taking over her delicate features as she glances from Marvolo to Severus and back again.

“It is a pleasure to meet you, Lord Slytherin, Lord Prince. Bill has told all of us here at the reserve about you, and we cannot be more thankful for the two of you. If he hadn't cut his birth parents off by the end of this year, then I was going to travel to England and hex them myself.” She extends her hand, shaking Severus’s hand before a blush overtakes her cheeks when Marvolo, ever the gentleman, bends down to place a gentle kiss on the back of her hand.

“A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Andreea.”

“And you must be Aldwyn, I have been dying to meet you because Bill and Charlie haven’t been able to stop themselves from gushing about their adorable and incredibly talented little brother.” Andreea bends down, gazing down at the twelve-year-old with a soft smile, holding her hand out for the younger to shake if he so chooses.

Aldwyn glances over at the girl for a moment, a shy smile overtaking his face when she merely waits for him to respond to her greeting. She doesn’t push her hand closer, and her face doesn’t pinch with impatience when he hesitates.

“It is nice to meet you, Andreea. Thank you for taking such good care of my brothers.”

“Oh, Bill was right. You are a little gentleman. It was my pleasure, Aldwyn. We can’t have you sitting at home worrying about your idiotic brothers now, can we?” She winks down at the child, smile widening when she hears a quiet giggle escaping the boy at his brother’s shouts of offense.

“Get out of here already, you menace. Could you not have waited another half an hour for me to bring them to the mess to meet everyone?” Bill claps the girl around the back of her head, causing her to teeter on the balls of her feet before she pushes herself to her feet. Slapping Bill on the arm in retaliation.

“It isn’t my fault that you are taking your sweet time. You should just be thankful that is me who saw you walking up this way and not Seraphina,” She turns back to Aldwyn. “Prepare yourself, Aldwyn, that woman doesn’t know the meaning of personal space and most likely will dive on such a cute little thing, like yourself. I have warned you.”

Aldwyn’s eyes widen at the news. He didn’t want some random stranger touching him, let alone jumping on him and giving him a hug. He could barely stand older students from his year slapping him on the back after a Quidditch match. Glancing from his brothers to his parents, Aldwyn can feel himself shuffling ever closer to his Papa, who smiles down at him and tightens his arm around his shoulder. The gesture allowed Aldwyn to relax marginally; it was as if his Papa was silently reassuring him that no one was going to touch him if he didn’t permit it, and that made him feel safe.

“You don’t have to worry, Snakelet. We will keep anyone from laying their hands on you, if you do not with it, alright.” His father reassures, stroking a hand down his hair, which he had tied into a loose bun on top of his head to keep it off his face and away from the sand.

“Before we subject you to the idiots known as my colleagues, let’s get you settled into our cabins and then food.”

“Cabins?” Aldwyn questions, he cocks his head to the side, glancing up at his brother who smiles down at him, winking.

“Yes, the goblins thought it would be nice for them to give us two separate cabins for the two weeks. They had one made up for Father and Papa, and then one right next door for you, me, and Charlie. Apparently, they wished to give Lord Slytherin and Lord Prince a break from having to deal with the three of us.”

Aldwyn laughs at that, conceding to the goblin's point. It would be nice for his parents to have a little quiet time to themselves, especially seen as they had been made to spend so much time away from each other while Severus was teaching at Hogwarts. Even if his father had made any excuse to come to the school and see his partner. Besides, he would get to spend some time with just his brothers, including an hour or so to plan for the additional initiation for his In Dolus Intortis. He wanted to get his brothers’ opinions on the first set of Muggle Weaponry that everyone should start off with. He couldn’t decide between a set of throwing knives or a handgun.

Getting a tight grip on his papa’s hand as they make their way through the small village, Aldwyn peers at the rows of buildings, his eyes wide as he takes in their strange aspects. He notices that every single building and house was made of the same white material. None of the windows had glass in them, probably as a means to keep the inside of the house as cool as possible in the sweltering heat. No doorway actually had a door sealing them from the outside world; there was just a pale cloth hanging in the doorframe, and Aldwyn had to wonder if everyone here had little for others to steal, or if everyone trusted each other to such an extent.

“Father, Papa, this one is yours.” Bill indicates a rather nondescript house to their left, a small plaque stuck next to the doorframe claiming it to be the Prince-Slytherin household living there, and Aldwyn wonders at the strange custom. He had never seen a house with the names of the people living in it before; maybe it was a custom from Egypt, or for those who didn’t live in a giant manor house with their family crest plastered all over the place. He would have to ask Bill about that later.

“Thank you, Bill. You said dinner was in thirty minutes?” Severus queries, already grasping his partner’s hand so they could drop their luggage and wash up.

“Yup, meet me out here in about twenty minutes, and I will show you the way to the mess hall where we have all our meals.” Bill waves his parents off, watching as they pull Aldwyn into a hug before gently pushing him toward his brothers with the parting words, ‘be good’.

“Come on then, Parum Anguis. Charlie and I will show you to our rooms.”

Aldwyn nods his head, following between his brothers as they walk a few additional paces before sweeping aside a large, heavy curtain and gesturing for him to step inside. Walking into the house, Aldwyn is surprised to find it several degrees cooler inside than it is out in the sun and concludes that there must be some rather extensive wards surrounding the property to keep out most of the intense rays from the sun. Pulling his handkerchief from his pocket, Aldwyn wipes some of the sweat from his brow.

Walking around the single-story house, Aldwyn sees a small kitchenette tucked away behind the living room, a bathroom slightly further down the corridor, and three doors leading off a small hallway to the right. It wasn’t very big, but then again, Aldwyn had stayed in a lot smaller. Besides, the place didn’t have to be massive; they would be spending the majority of their time outside anyway. Exploring everything that Egypt had to offer them.

“What do you think, Wyn?”

“It is amazing,” Aldwyn answers, spinning on his heels to grin up at Charlie.

“We are glad you like it. Come on, your bedroom is through this way.” Bill places his hand on Aldwyn’s shoulder and leads the younger through the hallway, stopping outside a door two down from the living room.

“Bill and I thought we would save the room in the middle for you, Aldwyn. We know you are getting older now and are almost thirteen, but at least this way you can come and get either one of us if you have any more nightmares.” Charlie explains, opening the door a little a nudging Aldwyn in. They had transfigured and rearranged the bedroom enough to resemble their brother’s room back at Slytherin Mansion. At least trying to make Aldwyn feel as comfortable as possible.

“My bedroom is the one a little further down to your right, and Charlie is staying in the one closest to the living room.”

“Okay, this is brilliant, Bill. I can’t believe we actually got permission to be here. This is going to be the best vacation ever!”

“I am glad you think so, Parum Anguis. Why don’t you go on through to the bathroom and clean up while Charlie puts your trunk in your room?”

Aldwyn throws his arms around Bill, and then Charlie, before he runs off down the corridor back into the living room and across the room toward the bathroom. It isn’t until they hear the click of the door closing behind their brother do Bill and Charlie share a troubled expression. Bill heaves a deep sigh, dragging a hand through his hair before pulling it over his shoulder, twisting the strands together in a loose plait.

“When are you going to tell them what SharpClaw told us?” Charlie mutters, pulling Aldwyn’s trunk into the room and placing it at the foot of the bed, dusting his hands off on his trousers.

“I don’t know if I should or not. I don’t want to ruin Aldwyn’s first family vacation by telling him that the Prewett family is going to be staying here for a while.”

“I think he would appreciate being told, Bill. I can’t imagine how it is going to feel if he were to be enjoying himself and then to look up one moment and see the boy who has been tormenting him for an entire year.”

“I suppose it is too much to ask Merlin that we don’t run into them at all for the two weeks we are here on vacation?” Bill bites his lip, gaze drifting to the empty hallway. “Or rather, until Aldwyn and our parents go home.”

“Don’t run into who?” A small voice calls from the corridor, and Bill winces; he didn’t want Aldwyn to find out by overhearing their conversation.

Turning to glance down at his little brother, Bill can’t help but smile when he sees stray droplets trailing down Aldwyn’s cheeks from where he had clearly splashed himself with water to rid his face of sweat. Walking over to his brother, Bill casts a low-powered drying charm. He undoes Aldwyn’s bun, twirling the strands around his fingers before plaiting them, much like he had done his own.

“One of the Goblins who is in charge of my new contract wrote to me a few days ago, warning me of another group of travellers who were going to spend some time here at the camp.” Bill begins carefully, watching Aldwyn’s reaction to his words.

“Oh? I guess I am not going to like who these travellers are.”

“I don’t believe so, Little Snake.”

“They are not going to have access to all the same sites that we are, and they are not allowed to use any magic because the goblins didn’t extend that permission to them either, but we very well may run into them while we are here.” Bill continues, tying the leather tie at the bottom of Aldwyn’s hair to keep it in place. Once he is done, he places his hands on his brother’s shoulders.

“Who is it?”

“The Prewetts,” Charlie answers, watching as a frown begins to overtake Aldwyn’s features.

“Oh. Why are they coming?”

“Apparently, Molly seemed to remember me mentioning during last summer that I may be called upon during the breaks from Hogwarts to aid the curse-breakers back in Egypt. For some reason, she wanted to meet up with me and speak to me about what, I am unsure.”

“Arthur entered into some draw at the Ministry and won a small fortune, and with everything that is going on at the moment, the Ministry gave the award to Molly, who thought to use it on a vacation for her and her kids to make up for the drama of the past few months.” Charlie continues, coming to rest a hand on Aldwyn’s head. Waiting for his brother to look up at him, Charlie bends down to drop a kiss on Aldwyn’s forehead.

“Do you think she is going to question you about the person who gave her the house? And the money?” Aldwyn twists his fingers around each other, leaning back so he is resting against Bill’s chest, Charlie’s hand a comforting weight on his head.

“Most likely, but we are not here to answer her questions. Bill and I are here to work with the curse-breakers and spend these two weeks with our family. We are not going to play into her games anymore.” Bill slides his arms around Aldwyn’s shoulders, clasping them together over his brother’s chest to draw him a little tighter into his embrace.

“But she was under all those potions, some of that wasn’t her fault,” Aldwyn argues. As much as he doesn’t want his brothers to speak to Molly and change their minds about being adopted into the Prince-Slytherin household, he also doesn’t want them to end up regretting their decision.

“And we understand that, Aldwyn, but the potions Arthur had her under were only enhancers. They didn’t change her personality; they only intensified the emotions she was feeling. Whether they were negative or positive. We asked Papa to do some research into the stuff found in her system, and he stated that although the potion is well-known for being used to enhance a person’s negative traits, it also works just as well on any positives.” Bill explains, tightening his arms around Aldwyn, giving comfort as well as taking whatever he could.

“The way Molly treated us would have been the same no matter what. She still would have disapproved of our career choices and our lifestyles; she just may have been a little less vocal about it. She still would have basically neglected Fred and George and heavily disapproved of their academic achievements. It all would have just been muted compared to what it had actually been.” Charlie continues, his expression drooping, causing Aldwyn’s chest to clench at the pain he can see swimming in his eyes.

“I am glad you are my brothers now,” Aldwyn mutters, the wavering in his voice telling more to his brothers than his words ever could.

“We are happy to have been given the opportunity to be your brothers, Aldwyn. We are never going to leave you.”

“Bill is right, Aldwyn. We are always going to be a part of the Prince-Slytherin family, no matter what.” The three fall into a tight embrace, hands rubbing up and down each other’s backs as quiet laughter echoes through the corridor.

“I swear, if I run into Ronald and he tries to start anything with me, I am so pushing him into a Pyramid,” Aldwyn mutters once they break apart, dragging more laughter from Bill and Charlie as they reach down to take his hands in their own and lead him back out of the house.

“We will distract Father and Papa, so they don’t see you doing it.” Charlie winks.

“Are you three alright?” Severus’s voice broke through their chuckles, startling the trio to the point of their laughter breaking off and their eyes widening at the couple standing on the path in front of them.

“We were just about to come look for you.”

“We are alright, Papa, Father. I guess we got a little sidetracked.” Aldwyn confesses, swinging his hands between his brothers, as he blinks innocently up at his parents.

“Oh yes, we heard the end of that delightful conversation. I do not wish to know what you have planned for this vacation, if your brothers are planning to distract your father and me.” Severus peers down his nose at their youngest, raising an eyebrow when Aldwyn’s expression remains completely innocent, a sweet smile fixed on his lips.

“I am planning nothing, Papa.”

“Now, why do I not believe you, Snakelet?” Severus mutters, slipping his hand into his fiancé’s when Bill pulls Aldwyn and Charlie along the footpath and back the way they had come.

“Because you are very distrusting and Paranoid, Papa.” Charlie teases, sticking his tongue out at his old potions professor, chuckling when the man’s eyes narrow. A shiver passes down his spine, and Charlie has to breathe a sigh of relief that he is no longer a student; if he were, he could just picture himself being made to scrub cauldrons with no magic.

“I am not paranoid,” Severus mutters, too quiet for their children to hear, but loud enough to draw a chuckle from Marvolo, who tightens his hand around Severus’s for a brief moment.

“It is not paranoia when we know that our children are up to something. We merely live our lives in a state of constant anticipation for the chaos to begin.” Marvolo drops a kiss to his partner’s cheek, smirking when he hears shouts of protest coming from a little further up the path, and he can’t contain a chuckle.

By the time he manages to pull himself away from Severus, Marvolo glances up, only to be met with his sons with their heads bent together, splattering’s of mischievous giggles reaching his ears as they whisper between themselves. Rolling his eyes at their antics, Marvolo continues to meander up the road with Severus by his side. It doesn’t take them much longer to reach a large building with the same fabric walls as the tents set up around the excavation sites. Stepping through a set of simple wooden doors, Marvolo glances around the large military-style mess hall.

“Ah, Bill! You are here, Comrade. I was beginning to think you got lost.”

“Anatoly, I wasn’t even gone an hour.” Bill stumbles forward when a large man bustles over and slaps him on the back in greeting.

“I remember the first time we let you wander off alone, we didn’t see you again for almost three days.” The man chuckles, hand coming down on Bill’s shoulder several times, making it seem as if Bill’s knees were about to give out from under him.

“I was a new recruit! Fresh out of Hogwarts! You can’t blame me!” Bill argues back good-naturedly, shaking his head before he turns to glance around at his family.

“Ah, yes, a little grasshopper playing in the fields for the first time.”

“Just be thankful that I was more knowledgeable than Fritz…” Bill and Anatoly roll their eyes, groaning in remembrance of an incident they clearly didn’t wish to remember.

“What happened to Frits?” Aldwyn questions, walking over to Bill. He glances up at his brother, biting his lips as he slips his hand into his brother's.

“And who is this adorable child?” Anatoly questions, raising his eyebrow as he glances down at the young boy wrapped protectively under his colleague’s arm.

“Anatoly, this is my youngest brother, Aldwyn Salazar Prince-Slytherin. I am sure you remember Charlie.” Bill gestures to his brother, drawing an eyeroll from the dragon tamer. “The two wizards over there are my father, Marvolo Slytherin, and my papa, Severus Prince.”

“Ah, the new Lords who are making political noise even all the way across the seas. It is a pleasure to meet such individuals. My name is Anatoly.” Anatoly bows formally, smiling when Marvolo and then Severus shake his extended hand.

“The pleasure is ours, Anatoly.”

“Thank you for keeping our sons out of mischief.” Severus and Marvolo chuckle, smirking over at their sons when they hear some quiet protests.

“It is no problem, Lord Slytherin, Lord Prince. Bill and Charlie are some of the most skilled individuals who have worked at the reserve for years. Bill’s knowledge of curse-breaking is invaluable for the rest of us, especially with all the newbies coming to us with less than adequate training. And Charlie’s knowledge about all sorts of magical fires…?” Anatoly whistles, winking over at Charlie, whose ears burn at the compliment.

“But enough bragging about your boys, I am sure you already know how immensely gifted they are. Why do we get you settled and get some food in you? Travelling here by Floo can be exhausting. And I can tell this curious little munchkin what happened to our friend Fritz when he was a brand-new recruit.” Anatoly winks down at Aldwyn, his heart softening when he manages to pull a smile from the very shy young wizard.

Gesturing for the family to follow behind him, Anatoly gestures to a long table half-filled with witches and wizards of all nationalities, their accents filtering through the air, overlapping each other as they argue and talk across the table to each other. It reminded Aldwyn a little of dinners in the Great Hall. Especially when his friends got a little too excited about news concerning their study groups.

“-So he somehow managed to end up buried up to his ears in the sand for over five hours?” Marvolo chuckles as he glances at Anatoly.

“Yes, we are still unsure to this day how he managed to end up in the sealed tomb, but after locating him with a quick Point Me spell, we spent the better half of our workday trying to unseal the door so we could get him out and rehydrated.” Bill continues the story, wiping tears from his eyes.

“I still wonder how he managed to befriend those creepy little zombie snakes to the point that they buried him in their nest with the hatchlings and were trying to feed him dead mice and bugs.” A girl, who had introduced herself as Seraphina, joined in the conversation. “I had to constantly watch out for those pesky little blighters whenever we went near those tombs for months because whenever Fritz got within 10 feet of the entrance, we were attacked.”

“I remember that! You tried so hard to get assigned to a different section of the excavation.” Anatoly bursts out laughing, clutching his stomach as he shakes his head at the girl sitting a short way down the table with a glare darkening her features.

“You only think it is funny because you got assigned Bill as your trainee. Why did I have to be stuck with the idiot? Left within six months anyway, the coward.”

“You are just jealous that I got the intelligent trainee. Our Bill here has been a prodigy since he left Hogwarts. Leaps and bounds about his cohort. It was impressive to see talent in someone so young.” Anatoly brags, puffing out his chest, even as the occasional chuckle still escapes.

“Yes. Yes, highly intelligent. If we just gloss over that time he managed to get lost in one of the caverns for three days. It is a good thing he was always overly prepared and had enough food and water to survive before we found him.”

“Oi! You guys didn’t have to come find me! I stumbled out of that trap on my own. Besides, it wasn’t my fault that the walls in that particular cavern liked to change. Someone could have warned me.” Bill complains, rolling his eyes.

“We couldn’t have warned you, because even we weren’t aware that those blasted walls liked to change of their own free will. They kind of remind me of the staircases at Hogwarts.” Seraphina jumps in with a shrug of her shoulders, and Aldwyn is enthralled by the conversation. Zombie Sakes? Walls that moved when they wanted to? It all sounded so interesting, and he couldn’t wait to witness some of this for himself when they were allowed in the tombs.

“Will we get to see the cavern with the moving walls during our holiday?” He couldn’t help but question, eyes shining, and he glanced up at his brother, then over to the group of cursebreakers who were glancing down at him with soft smiles on their faces.

“I don’t think so, Perum Anguis. I don’t want you getting lost in a dark cavern where even our most qualified breakers can disappear for days at a time.”

“Besides, Bill and I have got an action-packed couple of days planned for you.”

“That is right. Valentina, the head cursebreaker here, before she was transferred, informed me that she and her team have just finished clearing a pyramid filled to the brim with artefacts all depicting the Slytherin House crest and what she described as ‘incomprehensible scribbles and doodles’.” Bill winks down at his brother, almost laughing at the shift in movement from across the table, and he knows that he has managed to capture his father’s interest as well.

“ParselRunes?” Marvolo questions, delicate eyebrow raising.

“We believe so. Bill and I took a look at them about 2 days ago, and they looked like the script Aldwyn uses sometimes to write his notes.”

“Notes?” Severus questions, he had ever noticed his son writing in Parselscript for some of his schoolwork, then again, he was too busy trying to prevent his classroom from blowing up during their lessons to really pay attention to what his son was scribbling away at.

“I like to jot down little notes in my textbooks. Improvements that I remember you talking about when it came to spell casting and potion making. Nothing too terrible. Sometimes I write down little notes for the In Dolus Intortis when they pop into my head; otherwise, I am going to forget them.”

“How has Dumbledore never picked you up on your Parselscript?” Marvolo questions his son, his focus temporarily taken away from the thought of learning more about his family’s founder.

“Dumbledore is already aware of the fact that I can speak Parseltongue; he probably has assumed that I am able to use the script and runes as well. Though after the last meeting he held about my family talents, I don’t think he is going to be questioning me about that yet. Besides, I only use Parsel in my In Dolus notebook or in the margins of my textbooks, and Bill warded them for me.”

“Aldwyn was worried that someone from the Light side would somehow get hold of his plans for his faction and asked me if there was a way to keep his words hidden from prying eyes. I warded the book with a glamour spell which would allow Aldwyn to read his own words, but no one else unless given express permission. To everyone else, it would look like study notes.” Bill explains, ruffling Aldwyn’s hair, a smile stretching across his lips, when his parents nod in approval at his spell work.

“An excellent feat of magic, Bill.”

“Yes, indeed, but we shouldn’t be too surprised, you are one of the most renowned cursebreakers the continent has ever seen.” Marvolo and Severus compliment, chuckling when a pale dusting coats the tips of his ears.

“Well, I think we have had enough excitement for one day. We have an early start tomorrow, and I am sure you want to be fully rested for our first day exploring the tombs.” Severus gestures for Aldwyn to finish the food on his plate and his drink. Aldwyn punctuates his papa’s words with a yawn.

“Alright, Papa. What time are we meeting for breakfast?”

“Breakfast is served at 0730, and then at around half 8 we are meeting Valentina for a quick tour of the Slytherin pyramids.”

“Excellent.” Marvolo claps his hands. “Don’t cause too much trouble for your brothers, Aldwyn. You know where your Papa and I are going to be if you need us. Have a pleasant dream.”

“Good night, Father. Good night, Papa. See you in the morning!”

Marvolo pushes himself to his feet, holding a hand out to assist Severus to stand by his side. They both bend down, dropping soft kisses to their boys’ heads before linking hands and heading off to their own cabin for some well-deserved rest.

“You know,” Anatoly begins, voice soft. “I have nothing against your mother personally, Bill, but it is nice to finally see a smile on your face when talking about your family.”

“I agree. You always had this tension about you. You and your brother, when you would bring up going home to see the family, but now, it is like all of that tension has just disappeared.” Seraphina agrees.

“And can you blame them? They have been adopted by Lord Slytherin and Lord Prince, two of the most prestigious members of Britain’s elite. Besides, they seem to both appreciate and encourage Bill and Charlie’s lifestyle choices. A lot more than the Weasleys ever did.” A man who had introduced himself earlier as Vlad rolls his eyes, lips curling up in a dismissive sneer at the thought of the red-headed family.

“Yes, well, as much as I would love to reminisce with you all about my previous family, Charlie and I need to get this little one to bed before he swallows a beetle with the size of his yawns.” Bill chuckles, carding a hand through Aldwyn’s hair when his brother releases another jaw-splitting yawn, a sleepy smile dropping from his lips.

“Alright. Alright. Take the little tike to bed. He is going to have a fun-filled day tomorrow and is going to need all the sleep he can wrangle. It was nice to meet you, Heir Prince-Slytherin.”

“It was a pleasure to meet you all as well. Thank you for allowing us to spend part of our holiday working alongside you.” Aldwyn bows his head, cuddling into Bill’s side when an arm comes to wrap around his shoulder. Another resting against his head.

“Come on, Little Snake. Time for bed.”

“Alright. Good night, everyone. I hope we get to speak more before I go back to England.” Aldwyn waves one last time to the group of cursebreakers as he finally allows Bill and Charlie to lead him out of the mess hall and back down the dusty pathway. The temperature starkly different from a mere hour ago, he gazes up at the vast skies, eyes subconsciously pointing out the constellations as he allows his brothers to guide him. The next two weeks were going to be so much fun.

Chapter Text

“Alright, Bill! Long time no see!” A large, stocky lady sidles up to their table early the next morning, grey hairs sprinkled through her bun. A large smile plastered across her face as she steps up behind Bill and ruffles his hair.

“Valentina! It has been too long! Where are you stationed now?” Bill exclaims, pushing himself to his feet so he could pull the woman into a tight embrace. A laugh escapes when he stumbles backward after a hearty slap is delivered to his back.

“I was moved to the mountains in Japan. Big discoveries were made there about some Muggle mythical creatures. Turns out they weren’t so mythical as the non-magicals are led to believe.”

“Wow. What sort of creatures?” Aldwyn breathed. He loved learning about extinct or almost extinct magical creatures, and he loved finding out that creatures and beings he had been told were ‘made up’-creatures of fantasy — were actually real and living among them. He glances up at the intimidating lady, a shy smile stretching across his lips when she grins down at him.

“Have you ever heard of Tengu? Kappa? Kitsune?”

“I have heard of Kitsune, a friend from school loves his magical creatures, and he is always arguing with his fellow sixth years about their existence. He said they were nine-tailed foxes?” Aldwyn explains, remembering the heated arguments that would accompany him doing his homework in the common room last year. Graham really loved his Magical Creatures.

“That is correct. Kitsune are shape-shifters. Mischievous little buggers. Some wizarding folks have come into Kitsune creature inheritances as well. However, even though they are called nine-tailed, it is extremely rare for a Kitsune to have nine tails. They gain an extra tail every time they increase their magical powers, which can take several decades.”

“That is cool. What is the most tails you have seen a wizard with a creature inheritance having?”

“I think I have personally seen a lovely little old witch with five, but I have read a report of a Japanese emperor who held seven tails by the time he passed away.”

“What are the other two?” Aldwyn questions, spooning more scrambled eggs into his mouth. His parents, brothers, and even a few early risers in the camp had emphasised the importance of a hearty meal before they released him into the harsh Egyptian weather. Even if the excavation site was surrounded by intensive cooling charms and protective wards.

“A Kappa is known as a water imp. They are giant turtle-like looking creatures who resided up and down the rivers and lakes across Japan for centuries. They are shy beings, making sure to keep out of sight of humans, especially non-magicals, but they are kind; known for saving several individuals from drowning when they accidentally fall into occupied bodies of water.” Valentina explains to the young child, a soft smile on her lips as she sees his eyes widening, taking in her words with a fascination she rarely saw anymore.

“A Tengu has been referred to as a mountain god. They are humanoid, bird-like creatures who reside over the mountains. Legend states that every once in a while, a human is born with immeasurable power and compatibility and will be spirited away by these beings to become the bride of the Tengu tribe’s chief. They can be dangerous creatures, but playful and mischievous as well. Never trespass on a Tengu’s territory and never damage, destroy, or kill any nature or creature on their territory. They will not forgive.”

“They sound so cool. I bet it would be amazing to meet a Tengu. Not the scary protector of the forest bit, but I bet they would be interesting to speak to.” Aldwyn muses, reaching forward to grab his glass of orange juice.

“They are indeed. Fascinating creatures with an even more fascinating history.”

“Anyway, Valentina, what brings you back to Egypt? I thought your transfer was permanent?” Bill slides back into the conversation, settling back down on his seat, where he ruffles Aldwyn’s hair.

“Well, as soon as word spread across the Curse-breaker community that the Bill Weasley had requested to bring his family to the Egyptian excavation site, I just couldn’t help myself. I had to come and see you for myself. Especially seen as, last I heard, you had quit the profession and become a teacher at that British school.”

“Hogwarts. I did. Professor for History of Magic.”

“So, why are you back?” She questions, eyeing the group of people sitting around her, each silently watching her as they eat their meals.

“It is only temporary. I promised the Goblins that I would lend a hand during the summer weeks if they had need of me. Lo and behold, here I am. Aldwyn here also really wanted to have a look around some of the tombs we found the other year. The ones holding all those weird scribbles on the walls? Turns out it was all Parselscript.”

“He can read that?”

“Father is a parselmouth, and that talent was passed down to me. I can translate all the runes for you and see what secrets Salazar Slytherin may have hidden around here.” Aldwyn grins, pride shining in his eyes as he plans to show off his family gift.

“Cool. You are alright, little one. But I think introductions are in order. I can’t help but feel marginally uncomfortable at being surrounded by a bunch of strangers whom I have absolutely no idea about. No offense.”

“None taken. We can be a rather intimidating bunch. Or so I have been told.” Marvolo waves the comment away, ignoring the snort of amusement coming from Severus at his side.

“Valentina, this is my family.” Bill gestures.

“Huh. And here I was expecting a lot more redheads.” She mutters, drawing a chuckle from Bill and Charlie, the only two gingers in the group.

“The man there, that is my father, Lord Marvolo Slytherin. The man next to him is my papa, Lord Severus Prince, who is also a professor at Hogwarts. Teaches potions. The lad here is my brother Charlie Prince-Slytherin and this little bugger is the youngest of the bunch, Aldwyn Salazar Prince-Slytherin.”

“Prince-Slytherin? I thought your last name was Weasley?”

“It was, but a lot has happened since the beginning of July last year, and it ended with Charlie and me being adopted into the Prince-Slytherin family.”

“I don’t have to start calling you, Heir Bill or whatever, do I?” Valentina shudders, a look of disgust twisting her mouth, pulling laughter from around the table.

“Nope, Aldwyn here is the Heir to the Prince and Slytherin lines. I am Lord to the Weasley household.”

“But I thought you weren’t a Weasley anymore? Merlin, you guys are confusing.”

“I am not technically a Weasley anymore, but that was my decision; my parents never officially disowned me and my brother. Besides, like I said, a lot has happened over the course of the past year, and Arthur Weasley has been banned from ever setting foot in the Wizengamot and therefore the Lordship passed to me as the named Heir.”

“Right… so many Lordships in one family. I bet you scare the pants off all those hoity-toity politicians walking down the street.”

“Especially now that we have two active Founding Lordships in the family,” Charlie snickers, clapping his brother on the shoulder. “I was made, against my will, I would like to point out, Lord Gryffindor.”

“How!” Valentine almost whines, glances from Lord Slytherin and Lord Prince to Lord Weasley, and then over to Lord Gryffindor. It was a lot to take in. Especially seen as she remembers little Bill Weasley, still wet behind the ears, complaining about his mother’s overbearing nature and his reluctance to go back home, so he wouldn’t have to hear her whining about his beliefs and magical partakes.

“I gave it to him. I had been named Heir to the Potter, Gryffindor, Rosier, Prince, and Slytherin households all by the time I was eleven, and I knew that I wouldn’t be able to handle them all by myself, so I asked the Goblins at Gringotts whether I would be able to gift my Lordships to others. As long as Mother magic agreed and their magic was compatible with the Household, it was no issue. I gave the Rosier Lordship to my cousins from the Rosier family and the Gryffindor Lordship to my brother.”

“You guys are so weird. I have never met a family as weird as you guys.” She mutters, shaking her head when all she receives are several smirks and a chuckle from Bill. “Anyway! Once you are all finished with your breakfast, we are going to be heading down to the Pyramids. Unfortunately, we won’t be arriving at the Snake Tomb today, but I have plenty of other fascinating things to show you before then.”

-----

Aldwyn was having the most fun he had ever had. The excavation site was fascinating. There were pyramids everywhere he turned. Filled to the brim with mummies, ancient scriptures that told the stories of those buried in the inner chambers. He had even learnt all about the mummification process, which was both interesting and morbid. The Ancient Egyptians really knew their way around the human body. With how much they knew, and how advanced their civilisation was for the time period, it was a wonder how they weren't all wizards and witches.

They were walking around one of the last chambers of the day, a large open space with the same drawings painted across the walls, but this time, he saw something different. A figure that looked vaguely familiar, but also vastly different from what he remembered. A tall figure, with a commanding face, strong features, and an army of witches and wizards, it would seem, standing around this man in congregation. As if performing a powerful ritual.

Walking further down the corridor, Aldwyn stops short, eyes widening in horror as he stares at the depictions on the walls. Now he knows why the man in the previous set of drawings looked so familiar. This second set showed the same man, now glowing various colours, an evil smirk stretching across his lips, while those same people who had gathered around him now lay crumpled to the floor. Their skin wrinkled and grey as if all their life force had been sucked out.

“Ah. I see you have found the story of one of the most deranged men in Egyptian history.”

“Isiah Shookwood. I despised that man from the second I saw him. A disgusting waste of magic and breath.” Aldwyn sneers, hands clenching at his sides while the mark that had appeared on his collarbones seemed to burn slightly.

“You have met him?”

“I killed him,” Aldwyn states, voice devoid of emotion as he continues to stare up at the ritual’s effects. “That man was after me and my father. He broke into Hogwarts and tried to scare me into bringing my father into the castle so he could steal his magic. I refused to let such in disgrace get anywhere near my father, so I found a ritual to steal back all the magic he had stolen.”

“Such a ritual existed?” Valentina looks down at the small child, eyes shining with awe. Such a young child was able to beat Isiah Shookwood.

“A friend of mine managed to find the Ravenclaw family grimoire hidden in the back recesses of Hogwarts library, and he found it in there. It took us several weeks to collect all the necessary ingredients and to learn the incantations, but in the end, I had to perform it by myself. I was rewarded for my efforts with this:" Aldwyn pulls down his shirt, showing off the small mark printed onto his collarbone.

“A Mage mark." Valentina breathes. "That is incredible. You managed to defeat one of the darkest wizards in history. Second only to the Dark Lord of Britain, apparently.”

“The Dark Lord, Voldemort? He isn’t as bad as everyone makes him out to be. A lot of his goals have been contorted by the Light, especially Dumbledore, bloody old codger.”

“Oh? How would you know that? Wasn’t the war over when you were born?”

“No, granted, I was only a little over a year old when the Wizarding War ended. But I know all of this because I agree with all of his aims and have spent much of my time around him. I am his son.”

“His son? The Dark Lord’s son?” Valetina questions, glancing over her shoulder. She watches as Lord Slytherin and Lord Prince stroll around the corridor, pointing out small pictures every now and again. Their heads bent together, smiles adorning their expressions before Lord Slytherin, Marvolo brushes a loving kiss to his partner's cheek.

“Yes, Lord Marvolo Slytherin was dubbed the Dark Lord, Voldemort, and I am the Dark Prince, his son and Heir.” Aldwyn bows lowly, a dark smirk playing on the corners of his lips as he watches a myriad of emotions dancing across the older woman’s features.

“Wow. I never would have guessed. You guys are so normal. Well, except for you defeating Isiah Shookwood at the tender age of eleven. That is most definitely not normal.”

“I was twelve. I fought a mountain troll at eleven.”

“Of course, you did. Even with how little I know about you, I am not all that surprised. So, how are you liking the Pyramids so far?”

“They are really cool. It is nice to learn something other than spell theory and Light indoctrinated history. Bill is really good at slipping in things that have happened that Dumbledore and the Ministry don’t really want us to know. It is great.” He enthuses, grinning from ear to ear while Valentina ruffles his hair. "He has even been teaching me Ancient Runes and Arithmancy since the summer, and it is fascinating. I have been considering becoming a cursebreaker or warder when I am older."

“I am glad we aren’t as stuffy as your school back home, but I am sure your parents and your brothers are teaching you all sorts of things.” She states, with a small inflection of question in her voice. "Besides, with your paseltongue abilities, you will be the most in-demand warder ever. I bet you will even be commissioned by magical communities all around the world."

“Of course they are! Papa is teaching me all he knows about potions. He is the smartest! And holds the record for being the youngest potion master in the world! I have told him that I am going to beat his record when I am older.”

“The youngest potions master in the world? Severus Snape? That potions master?”

“Yup, Papa changed his last name when he took up the mantle of Lord Prince. I am surprised you haven’t heard the news that he was being courted by Lord Slytherin.”

“I don’t really pay all that much attention to rumours and gossip. Here, that can mean the difference between life and death. I am sure you were told what happened to Fritz?”

“The trainee who got adopted by the Zombie snakes?”

“I guess that is one way of looking at it. Those Zombie snakes like to find food sources and spirit them back to their nests. Once they have subdued their victims with venom that sends the victims into a daze and partial paralysis, they bury them in the sand. Frits was taken by one such colony, and if we hadn’t found him by the time he had dehydrated and dried up like preserved fruits, those snakes would have eaten him by the end of the week.”

“Wow. That is kind of cool. Creepy but cool. Why did they attack you guys whenever you went back to the cave?”

“Because they were pissed that we stole their meal. A fully grown man like Frits would have fed their small colony for a few days.”

“Oh, but they said he stuck around for another couple of months? What made him leave all of a sudden?”

“Fritz was an obnoxious little shit. He thought he knew all there was to know about curse-breaking and the harsh conditions of Egypt. He heard a rumour spreading around the camp about a tomb recently discovered that houses several untouched chambers filled to the brim with treasures. No such tomb existed, and the higher-ups weren’t sure where this rumour came from. One day, we noticed that Fritz had disappeared during the night, and by the time we found him, he was a shell of a man.”

“What happened?” Aldwyn questions, turning his gaze back to the depictions on the walls, he knew that curse-breaking was a difficult and dangerous job, and he worried every time he heard that Bill was going back to Egypt for a week or so. But it still interested him, and he was seriously considering having a look at becoming one in the future.

“None of us are sure. We found him almost 5 miles away in this barren wasteland outside the wards. He was mumbling incoherently to himself; he had lost almost half his body weight as well, but when we scouted the surrounding area, we couldn’t find anything amiss. It looked like he had been held captive and tortured for weeks, even though he had only been missing for 2 days.”

“A dark curse, perhaps? If there is a tomb in that area, it may be warded against anyone but certain types of people from finding it. If Fritz stumbled into this tomb and touched something he wasn’t supposed to, then I am sure he was the victim of an extremely dark curse. An artefact that sucks out a person’s magic or life force? It sounds similar to what happened to the victims of Shookwood’s ritual.”

Valentina draws to a stop, looking down at the twelve-year-old in front of her. It would certainly make sense if it were the case. A warded tomb, only accessible to certain people. Or a curse that drew particular people in through dark mind manipulations. And an artefact that would drain an individual of their magic core would definitely leave them in a very sorry state, but for Fritz to return to them alive, he must have fought back and managed to escape.

“A very sound theory. I may have to look into that again before I go back to Japan. I am sure Bill would love the chance to discover such a curse as well. If this is linked to Shookwood, then the curse could even have already dissipated. Meaning we should have an easier time discovering such a hidden place now. Thank you, Aldwyn, you have been a huge help.”

“Eh? I wasn’t trying to help with anything; I was just thinking out loud. Besides, what you described Fritz to look like, made me think of the people in that picture,” He points to the painting of Shookwood’s ritual results, the ghostly white people crumpled to the floor with partial dazed smiles on their lips.

“You weren’t trying, but what you said makes a lot of sense. I am going to report this to the Goblins when we get back to the camp, and of course, I will be giving you some much-deserved credit.” Valentina winks down at the child, a grin stretching across her lips when a blush dusts Aldwyn’s ears.

-----

Minerva walks through the entrance hall of Gringotts Bank. A thin sheet of parchment was held tightly between her fingers. She hadn’t wanted to come. Not so close to the end of the school year; she had wanted to get a head start on next year's lesson plans, but nothing good would come if she ignored an official summons from Gringott’s goblins.

Taking a deep breath, forcing herself to relax, Minerva walks up to one of the open tellers and clears her throat. Refusing to flinch when the small creature glances up at her before grunting and going straight back to his paperwork. Taking the non-sequential noise as an affirmation of attention, she slides the parchment across the desk.

“I have been summoned by the Goblins to receive a magical cleanse and diagnosis scan, as per the requests left behind by the late Lord and Lady Potter.” She states, her voice firm, wavering, minimal.

She didn’t want to be here, knew that she hadn’t been put under any such manipulations by her employer. Even though Dumbledore was her boss, the headmaster of her place of employment, Minerva considered the aged man a close friend. Someone she could trust completely. To have the Potters accuse Albus of something as sinister as using mind manipulations and curses on them was just deplorable. But, to make her old pupils happy and allow for them to finally rest in peace, she had forced herself to be here. She was going to subject herself to these menial tests, even when she already knew the end results.

“Minerva McGonagall? We have been expecting you. Wait here.” The goblin mutters, taking the parchment from her hand. He jumps down from his desk and ambles through a set of large, ornate doors at the side of the hall. Leaving Minerva to stand awkwardly in the middle of the bank. She tries to ignore the groups of witches and wizards milling around her.

Shifting her gaze to settle on a small family, her thoughts drift back to her duties at the school. She was going to have to start looking into sending out the school letters soon, organising set lists and equipment needs of her students. She releases a loud sigh, shaking her head when her mind continues to drift off. Thoughts pertaining to one of her colleagues who had been absent since the beginning of the school year. Unreachable even by owl.

Severus had informed the entire staff that he would be unavailable for the first two weeks, at least, of the summer holidays as he and his partner had agreed to take Aldwyn to Egypt for an educational family getaway, a request from the young twelve-year-old. Though Minerva wasn’t surprised much by the news, Severus had been known, over the past year, to spoil his son as much as he was able. Lord Slytherin was just as bad, but it didn’t show. Aldwyn wasn’t a spoiled brat, a bit sarcastic at times when dealing with people he deemed too stupid to keep up with his intelligence level, but that was to be expected with a Papa like Severus anyway.

“Minerva McGonagall?”

“Yes.” She answers the voice, snapping herself out of her thoughts. Glancing down, she raises an eyebrow at the goblin, a different one than whom she had given her summons.

“I am Ragnok, as I am sure you were already aware. It is a pleasure to see you again.”

“I am sure. I would have preferred if our next meeting had been on slightly different terms,” Minerva represses a shudder when all she receives in response is a rather frightening smile from the Potter Account manager, before he gestures for her to follow him.

“As would I, Miss McGonagall. However, as it has been requested by James and Lily Potter, who had it on good authority to have their closest friends and families tested after discovering that they had been living their lives dosed with several manipulative potions, I think this is for the best.”

“I still can’t believe this is happening.” She complains, crossing her arms as she continues to follow the small creature through the halls. “How could someone like Dumbledore have needed to manipulate his friends. There was no need for him to.”

“There was every need, Minerva McGonagall. Dumbledore is a master manipulator. He gained vast fortunes and fame when the story broke that he was the one to put a stop to Grindelwald, and what better way to continue to build upon his fame than to create another Dark Lord?”

“But he didn’t need to create another Dark Lord. He was one of the most powerful and politically sound members of the wizarding community a decade ago.” Minerva argues, waving her hand as if the mere thought itself was laughable.

“True. However, when word got out that the young fifteen-month-old baby would be the one destined to defeat this new Dark Lord that had spent several decades carefully constructing… who do you think would draw attention away from him? The parents of said Saviour. Lily and James Potter didn’t care that their child had a prophecy written about him; all they cared about was that he was healthy and happy. That he lived a long and happy life. They refused to permit Dumbledore to train their toddler.”

“That is ridiculous. Scandalous. I can’t believe I am listening to this blasphemy!”

“Believe what you will. The truth will soon reveal itself. Now, if I can ask you to take a seat for me. First things first, I am going to run a quick inheritance test to make sure you are who you claim to be.” Ragnok informed, “We will then conduct a quick scan in the office, testing your blood to see what sort of manipulations, potions, and spells might have been used against you. If either of you shows any signs of being under such corruptive magics, then we will take you to the ritual room to cleanse these parasites out of your system.”

“Alright, if you must.” Minerva huffs, settling down in her seat. “How long is this going to take? I have a lot of work I need to get started.”

“As I informed your friends when they came in to get their tests done, it will take as long as it takes. If you cooperate with us, then it will be done quicker, but if you fight and argue,” He raises an eyebrow at the Scottish witch. “Then it is going to take longer. It also depends on just how many manipulations, potions, and curses we are going to have to cleanse from your system.”

“You are acting like it is a sure thing that you are going to find something.” Minerva retorts, voice wavering marginally with concern, when Ragnok merely raises an eyebrow at her from across the desk.

“So far, we have found mind manipulations, emotional enhancers, and curses on James Potter, Lily Potter, and Molly Weasley, all holding residual magical energy linking these dark spells to one Albus Dumbledore. You are the one closest to him, and therefore, he has had the most contact with you. Unless you are as deranged as the aged headmaster seems to be, then you will have something in your system.”

“How dare-”

“Unless you are stating that you are naturally a bigot by nature and discriminate against one quarter of the Hogwarts student body of your own free will?” Ragnok questions, his yellowed teeth gleaming in the candlelight. A smirk stretches across his wrinkled face when Minerva shifts in her seat. Pulling out a plain sheet of parchment and a silver dagger, Ragnok gestures between them and Minerva. “If you would be so kind.”

Minerva takes a deep breath and reaches forward. Gripping the knife in a shaking hand, she presses the sharpened tip against her finger and scores a small incision. Allowing her blood to collect for a moment, she drops the knife to the table, pushing it towards Ragnok. Counting out seven drops of blood as they splash against the parchment, Minerva heals her fingers as soon as the final drop of blood joins the rest. Passing her parchment over to Ragnok, who reads through the inheritance check with a grin.

“Alright, we will start with the rather obvious, shall we? Your full name is?”

“Minerva Avery McGonagall.”

“Excellent. You were born where and when?” Ragnok asks, eyes never straying from the parchment now lying stiff on his desk.

“October 4^th, 1935. Caithness, in the Scottish Highlands.”

“All correct. Thank you for your cooperation. Now, you have been a Professor in Hogwarts for several decades, have you not?”

“Yes, that is correct. I started teaching Transfiguration in December 1956. Albus Dumbledore personally requested me when he took over as Headmaster.”

“I see, so you have been friendly with Albus Dumbledore for 40-50 years, you would say?”

“That seems to be about right, yes,” Minerva answers, her tone level, hands sweating at the questions. She didn’t understand why any of this was important, why they would need to know how long she had been teaching for. It wasn’t like Dumbledore had sought her out for any particular reason. It had been well known that she was a prodigy with Transfiguration, even while she had been working at the Ministry for those two years.

“Perfect. You are being exceedingly more cooperative than your other friends. I thank you again for your patience. Now, I just require you to drop an additional three drops of blood into this potion, and then dip this quill into the mixture.”

“Alright. What will this do?” She questions, taking up the silver dagger once more and reopening the healing cut on her finger.

“This is a potion that will detect whether you have been under any mind manipulations, potions, and other such invasive magics for the past few decades. It will not do anything in particular to yourself, just identify any impurities in your blood.”

“And if none are found?”

“Then you are free to go, but I believe we shall leave the optimism for the students of Hogwarts for the meantime? The odds, at this point in time, are not in your favour.” Ragnok responds, his tone firm but sympathetic, as if he could understand the conflicting thoughts spiralling around her mind at the fact that she really could be under some sort of mind manipulation by the one man she thought she could trust above all else. Shaking her head, Minerva settles back in her seat and watches as the quill begins to scribble along another roll of parchment.

The quill continues to write for a minute or two, a clear list of something appearing across the page, and Minerva can feel her heart thumping in her chest, hands trembling as the infernal quill refuses to drop even after three minutes. She couldn’t believe this. She had been under the influence of several manipulations, potions, or otherwise, but they were in her system. Still.

Biting her lips to hold back her cry of outrage, Minerva closes her eyes and takes a steadying breath. Maybe it hadn’t been Albus who had manipulated her. Maybe it had been someone else. She had been acting a little differently than usual this past year, arguing with Albus, snubbing him, and even finding herself getting irritated with her employer more than she normally would. She had even been kinder to the Slytherin students, more so than she had since Severus was a student anyhow. Finally, the quill drops to the desk.

“What does this mean?”

“This means that you have been under several potions and manipulations for several years, if not since you were a young child. You were a Gryffindor in school, were you not?”

“Yes, what does this have to do with anything?”

“Who was your head of house?”

“Albus, of course. He was the Transfiguration professor and head of Gryffindor. Why?” Minerva stutters, shaking her head as she starts to catch on to what Ragnok was telling her.

“You have been under several memory-altering charms since the age of twelve, the last recognised spell was the summer just gone. You have loyalty potions, compulsion potions, personality alteration charms, slight anger enhancing potions, and curses which make you turn a blind eye when you hear specific key words.” Ragnok shifts the parchment so Minerva could read the script written in her own blood.

Minerva McGonagall

Potions:

Loyalty Potion (Albus Dumbledore)

Loyalty Potion (Order of the Phoenix)

Augenegans Potion (Albus Dumbledore)

“I don’t understand…” Her voice trails off, eyes staring unseeing at the list of potions clogging up her system. It was daunting to see such evidence piling up against one of her closest friends, but she couldn’t really deny it any longer. She had been manipulated for practically her entire life, and she hadn’t even been aware of it. The man she had looked up to, admired, and respected from the time she was a little girl had abused her trust and made her into a dancing marionette for his own amusement.

She had heard of the Augenegans potion before. It had been used during the war to increase a Dark Wizard's anger and grief during a battle, making them an unprecedented and unstoppable force to reckon with. It had been incredibly difficult to aim spells at the individuals who were running off negative emotions, revenge, and adrenaline. She must have been on an incredibly low dose for it to only affect her as minimalistic as it had, but the fact was it had still been affecting her. Her irritation towards any students who weren’t wearing the Gryffindor colours, her anger at anyone but her own house breaking the rules. It had all been a ploy planned out by Dumbledore.

Spells/Charms:

Memory alterations (Albus Dumbledore)

Memory replacements (Albus Dumbledore)

Compulsions linked to Albus Dumbledore (Albus Dumbledore)

Compulsions linked against Slytherin students (Albus Dumbledore)

Compulsions linked against Aldwyn Slytherin (Albus Dumbledore) Weakening

“What does this one mean? Why was it weakening?” She points a shaking finger to the last compulsion charm on her, feeling nauseous at the meaning behind such an implication.

“You were becoming disillusioned by the one casting such manipulations against you, whether subconsciously or not, you didn’t trust them as much as you once did, and this allowed your magic to begin fighting harder to dispel the compulsions. You interacted with Aldwyn and saw something that went against the instructions behind the spell.”

“I wanted to believe that Aldwyn was the son of the Dark Lord. That he was just as dark and just as evil as Tom Riddle, but he was the sweetest boy I have met in a long time. He is intelligent, gifted, and humble. He has this thirst for knowledge that I remember seeing in Tom when he was a student, but there is a nervousness about him, as if he doesn’t believe that he is as smart as he is.”

“We have met with Heir Aldwyn Prince-Slytherin several times over the past year, and the goblin nation has come to see him and his parents as valued patrons to the bank. They are currently under the protection of our Egyptian branch for the next few weeks.” Ragnok reveals a grin stretching across his features, making him look all the more intimidating to the aged witch.

“Is there a chance that all of this can be removed? And maybe some protection charms put in place to stop this from happening in the future?” he questions, nodding her head in agreement with the goblin. Aldwyn was a child who deserved all the protection and aid he could wish for. Especially if Dumbledore had set his sights on the young child.

“Of course, we have set aside one of the stone chambers a little further down the corridor to hold the cleansing ritual. It will cleanse you of all potions, charms, and such that should not be in your system, as well as restore any memories that have been manipulated, altered, or sealed away completely. For a small fee, of course.”

“I am willing to pay whatever is needed in order to have my thoughts my own again. But the protections?”

“If you have something of sentimental value to hand, I can have one of my best warders place detections on the object as well as barriers which should stop the majority of wards. The only one that we are unable to protect against is the Imperius.”

“That will be fine. Thank you, Ragnok.” Minerva pulls aside her outer robes and unpins a small bronze medallion from her inner robe. “This was my mother's family crest before she was kicked out for being a witch. Would this do?”

“It would do perfectly.” Ragnok takes the offered medallion. “Now, if you would like to follow me, we will get the ritual started and then you can be on your way.”

Minerva drops her gaze to the floor as she follows Ragnok down the halls, travelling further into the bank than she had ever been before. She contemplates what she is going to do now. With her position within the school and her employment relying on Dumbledore, she knew that she couldn’t openly stand up against him lest she find herself out on the street quicker than she could say Quidditch. Yet, she didn’t want to interact with the man any more than she needed to.

Maybe she could speak with Severus. The man seemed to be doing fine on his own. He didn’t seem worried about losing his job if Dumbledore found out that he wasn’t as Light-oriented as he had been led to believe all those years ago. Yes, she knew that Severus wasn’t completely with the Light, had always known it, but since she had thought the Dark Lord to be dead, she hadn’t seen the need to bring up such observations to Dumbledore.

But now that Severus was in a completely open courtship with the Lord of the Slytherin household and had a twelve-year-old child with the man, it was clear that he was slipping further away from Dumbledore’s command. Something she remembers the headmaster gripping about multiple times over the last year. It has been a source of great irritation to her. It couldn’t hurt if she tried to catch the man during their first term back to Hogwarts, explain to him that she was seeing with a clear mind for the first time in decades, and wanted to apologise. That would be the best way to begin.

“We are ready for you now, Miss McGonagall.”

Ragnok’s voice startles her out of her thoughts, and she glances around the bare stone chamber she is now standing in the doorway to. She spies a strange glass-like orb sitting on a table and a rather uncomfortable-looking stone slab that she assumes is for her to lie down on. Heaving a deep sigh, she watches as Ragnok hands her medallion off to another goblin, this one fiercer than the rest, and she can only assume that she was going to be placing the protective wards on her pendant.

Slowly stepping over to the slab, she places her wand in a small box, hoping that nothing was going to interrupt the ritual once it began. Taking off her shoes and outer cloak, she finally lies down on the bed-shaped stone, shuffling to get as comfortable as possible before she nods her head towards the goblins and closes her eyes.

Chapter Text

Aldwyn stands in awe as he glances around at the towering structure in front of him. They had been in Egypt for a few days already, and he still couldn’t get over the amount of magic he could feel caressing him every time he stepped into one of the pyramids. The Ancient Egyptian wizarding community really had been ahead of its time.

He had seen the elusive zombie snakes slithering around some of the darker caverns. Inferi were ambling around just before Charlie had tripped over a loose stone and caused the creatures to break into some rage and converge on their small group. It had been both exhilarating and terrifying. He had seen the bones of Muggle travellers who had gotten a bit too close to a cursed tomb; their limbs twisting in odd shapes, resembling pretzels, some had two heads, four limbs, while others seemed to have grown rapidly or even shrunk to the size of a Dessert fox.

He had even spent half of his time learning all he could about the history of Egypt. Not only was it the home of one of the Darkest Wizards of all time, Shookwood had actually been born in a small village a few hours' travel from the site, but it was home to some of the most renowned Healers the wizarding world had ever seen. Most of the Healing spells, both Dark and Light, had been created and tested by the Ancient Egyptian wizarding community, and Aldwyn was fascinated to see that some of their lost arts had been carved into the walls of the tombs.

But none of that could compare to what he was about to see. He had been looking forward to this particular visit for months. Ever since Bill had told him about it during one of their very first History of Magic lessons, staring up at the giant pyramid decorated in small statues of snakes, or varying breeds, Aldwyn couldn’t help but marvel at the incredible craftsmanship. It was beautiful.

“Come on, Aldwyn! Otherwise, we are going to leave you behind!” Charlie shouts from the cave's entrance, and Aldwyn, after gazing around at the outside one final time, runs to catch up to his family.

Slipping his hand into his father’s, Aldwyn is happy to see the barely contained excitement in Marvolo’s expression as they begin to slowly make their way through the barely lit tunnel leading to the first cavern of the Pyramid.

“Dad, this is where Salazar Slytherin fled to after Hogwarts. What do you think we are going to find here?” He questions, his voice barely above a whisper, as he marvels at the golden-flecked images of people, important people in Slytherin’s life, it seemed.

“I am not sure, Snakelet. Probably some lost history about Salazar and maybe even some lost family secrets and arts.”

“Like Grandpa Sal’s personal grimoire? That would be cool.”

“It would indeed, Wyn. Or a cave filled with treasure.” Marvolo counters, smiling down at his son when Aldwyn merely giggles back.

“What about another basilisk? Like the one kept in the Chamber of Secrets?”

“I am not too sure if Salazar would have tried to hatch a Basilisk in these conditions; they seem a little too harsh for a hatchling.” Marvolo guides Aldwyn through the corridor, keeping a close eye on Bill and the small team of Cursebreakers they had brought with them this morning.

Apparently, there were sealed caverns that had been warded with spells that even Bill couldn’t decipher. But as luck would have it, Marvolo was proficient in Parsel wards, and Aldwyn could lend his father magical power so they could manipulate any wards preventing people from accessing the chambers. However, before they could even begin to hunt through the several sealed chambers, there was something Bill was sure Aldwyn and his father would love to see.

“It is just through the archway, Father, Aldwyn. Are you guys ready?” Bill questions, gesturing for the two to step forward and proceed with the rest of their group into the chamber.

“Oh my Salazar…” Marvolo breathes, eyes blown wide as he stares at the floor-to-ceiling scriptures written into the walls.

“This is amazing.” Aldwyn stops dead in the doorway, gaze flitting from one wall to another continuously as his mind and magic work to translate the lines of runes in front of him. Slowly pushing himself forward to a large ornate statue in the middle of the circular chamber, Aldwyn drags his hand against the smooth stone. Glancing at the familiar face of his Grandpa.

“Dad, it's Proserpina when she was a hatchling.” Aldwyn, in awe, points to the tiny little snake wrapped around Salazar Slytherin’s shoulders, a dull gleam in her eyes, and Aldwyn knows that she has been depicted with her first eyelid closed to block out the petrification ability. “This statue would look great in our garden back home.”

“I guess he did hatch her here. Then moved her to Hogwarts a little later, before he passed. I wonder what happened for him to make such a decision.” Marvolo walks over to his son and cards a hand through the boy’s hair. He was a little struck by the magical presence he could feel in the air, the familiar feeling of home. Surrounded by hidden history about his ancestors and the family he was slowly beginning to make his own.

Aldwyn turns his attention to the Parselscript scrawled across the room, letters slightly faded in places, but he is glad that they still seem to be legible. Walking over to the first wall, Aldwyn settles himself on the floor and starts to read. So fascinated by the shimmering words in front of him, he doesn’t see the looks of amusement being exchanged, nor does he register his parents coming to stand behind him, reading alongside, Marvolo at least.

Salazar Slytherin, the greatest of the founding four of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

I am not the last of my line, as I thought I was going to be. A miracle has happened, one that I will cherish for the remainder of my days. One that I will ensure is passed down through my lineage until the Slytherin line is no longer sustainable.

Once I fled from Hogwarts, in order to protect my lover and the only true family I had left, I set up base here in Egypt. A quaint little village that welcomed me with open arms and a thirst for knowledge that I was only all too happy to bestow upon them. This quaint little village would soon become a pinnacle part of the development of wizarding medicine. Godric would have loved this place. If only I could tell him about where I am, but I refuse to put him in that sort of danger.

My darling Godric, if ever you find yourself here for some reason, I do hope you read this scripture and know that I have always loved you, that I always will love you above anyone else, even myself. I will protect his precious gift you have left behind to the best of my ability, and with the generous support of the villagers, I am sure that I am going to be just fine.

This cave was my base while I was alive, and I hope that whenever it is unearthed, those who are worthy will take what they need and use it well. But be warned, several chambers have been sealed with blood magic and parsel wards and cannot be able to be unsealed without a member of my beloved house.

“Father! Some of the chambers are blood-warded. Look.” Aldwyn calls, pointing to a small passage he had just been reading, a large grin stretching across his face.

“No wonder the Curse-breakers were having trouble opening some of the ones deeper within the cavern. This would make a lot of sense, with what we know of Salazar.” Marvolo mutters, standing above Aldwyn so he can see what his son has been reading through.

“I wonder what this gift he keeps mentioning that Godric gave him.” Aldwyn wonders out loud, leaning backward so he could rest against his father’s legs as they both continue to read through the scripture above them.

For those who are worthy and are protected by my family magicks, I grant you entrance to these chambers. For those who are worthy, I am happy to allow you to take what you wish, and for those of you who bear the crest of my House, everything within these walls belongs to you. As descendants of my household, what once belonged to me now belongs to you.

“Wow. We are going to have a look at these other caverns, aren’t we, Dad?”

“I don’t see why not. We have Bill and his colleagues here to help us if we are faced with anything too dangerous, and since your Grandpa Salazar has given us permission, it would be terribly rude of us to simply walk away.” Marvolo crouches down so he can pull Aldwyn into a tight embrace, brushing his lips against his son’s head.

Since they had been in Egypt and away from the school, Marvolo and Severus had noticed that Aldwyn had been a lot more talkative and excitable. Whether it was because he was finally coming to realise that his parents weren’t going to abandon him if he did something wrong, or if he had gained some confidence in himself due to his acquisition of a mage mark, they weren’t sure. But it was nice to see. Besides, Marvolo couldn’t help the swell in his chest every time Aldwyn called him ‘dad’ instead of ‘father’.

“Why don’t we continue looking around for a little bit, and then we head over to the sealed chambers?” He suggests dropping one more kiss on his son’s head before he pushes himself to his feet. “I think there is something over there that your Papa might be interested in, Aldwyn.”

Jumping to his feet, Aldwyn turns to stare at the wall his father had indicated. Reading through some of the scrawled text, Aldwyn’s face lit up when he realised what Salazar Slytherin had written across the wall opposite where he had been sitting. Pulling a spare notebook out of his robes, Aldwyn ignores the chuckles coming from behind him as he runs across the room and begins to copy down the information as carefully as possible.

Double-checking his work to make sure that he was writing in English, Aldwyn writes down measurements, ingredients, steps, and possible effects of each potion he discovers, giggling to himself when he finds out that some of these potions could change someone’s limbs into an octopus. While another could internally change an individual's reproductive organs to allow same-sex couples to bear a child when one of them wasn’t a bearer. It was a fascinating read, and only took him a little over an hour to copy everything down.

Once he was done, making sure that everything was correct and that his handwriting was neat enough for him and his papa to make out, he skipped across the room to where his father was explaining the various spells he was jotting down in his own notebook to Severus.

“Papa, I have something for you!” He sings songs, hiding his book behind his back until he gains his papa’s attention.

The potions master glances down at his son, a soft smile stretching across his lips when he sees the excitement glittering in Aldwyn’s eyes. His fidgeting stance, and he lets out a chuckle.

“What have you found, Snakelet?”

“This!” Aldwyn thrusts to book at Severus, watching with baited breath as his papa flicks through the notebook until he finds a page marked with Aldwyn’s pen. His eyebrows climb higher and higher up his forehead, the more he reads through the scrawled words.

“Is this...?”

“Some of the lost potions Salazar Slytherin created. He wrote that the rest of his forbidden potions, those too hard for idiots to create, were hidden in the inner chambers away from prying eyes and only available to those who were worthy. I was thinking of having a look around to see if we can find them for you. I am sure Father and I would be happy to translate any for you.”

“That sounds like a good plan, Aldwyn. Now, shall we see if your father is finished drooling over these new spells?” Severus hands the notebook back to his son, knowing that there was going to be a lot more information that he would want to write down. And he was correct. As soon as they realised that Marvolo was still engrossed in the spells on the wall. Even still talking to Severus while the man had been reading through the potion’s notes.

Aldwyn scampers off, waving to his papa when the man goes back to listening to his father ramble excitedly about the various spells he was jotting down. Some he would add to Aldwyn’s own repertoire when they had the chance, while others may be a little too advanced for the twelve, almost thirteen-year-old.

The pregnancy was a breeze, quick and easy with the help of the villagers, and even though they didn’t truly believe me when I told them that my lover had passed away before I found out that I was having children with them, they didn’t judge me too harshly. They didn’t ask any questions either.

However, what did surprise me when I finally went into labour after a long eight months of waiting was when the MediWizard congratulated me on the birth of my twin boys. I hadn’t even known that I could carry twins with the potions we used, and with me being a non-bearer, but I am so happy. I have two beautiful, healthy baby boys. One who I can tell is already going to look so much like his daddy.

Aldwyn raises an eyebrow, out of Godric Gryffindor and Salazar Slytherin, he couldn’t imagine someone like his grandpa submitting to anyone and allowing them to impregnate him. Then again, he ponders, it must have been the same for Dumbledore when the old codger discovered that Marvolo was the one who had, allegedly, carried him to term.

There are times when I look at my children and feel a deep resentment for Ravenclaw for her schemes. If she had just accepted the fact that I was never going to be hers, that I was deeply in love with Godric, then I would be raising my children right alongside my beloved. We could have even added to our growing family and watched as they each attended Hogwarts once they became old enough. It hurts my heart greatly to tell my precious sons that their daddy was no longer with us, that they would never be able to meet him.

But I guess none of that matters now. Everything has changed from the blissful days of my youth, when ‘The Founding Four’ were a united front. I lost everything the day Ravenclaw tried to kill Godric. I lost everything when she became infatuated with me; I just hadn’t been aware of it then.

Not everything turned out wrong, however. Not only did I birth two incredible children, but I made a name for myself out here for being a wise teacher. For having healing hands due to my willingness to bestow my potions on anyone who came to me to ask for them. I was revered for being a miracle healer, where injured souls and those too ill to carry on with their lives would come seeking aid. I was the last chance, their last hope before they gave up.

There is a reason why a Snake became the symbol for healing and medical practices. Not only did I make a name for myself, but my children, once they had finished their schooling, became world-class in their chosen fields. My Eldest son, even against my wishes, went back to Hogwarts to see what became of the school during my absence. He became a professor but later became infatuated with Ravenclaw’s only daughter. I know the pair schemed for it to be so. My eldest son was sent to bring the girl back when she went insane and ended up killing her in self-defence. Maybe lunacy runs in the Ravenclaw line?

It broke my heart to learn that my son had killed himself over a manipulative bint, but there was nothing I could do about it. I am just happy that he lived his life to the fullest while he was alive. My youngest son, however, became a warder. Someone gifted in runic combination who was paid for his work. He travelled the globe setting up wards in many places. Including the magical quarters in Paris, Rome, China, and England. He was particularly fond of his little pocket space in Paris and ended up setting up shop there.

I rarely saw any of my children once they grew up, but it gave me more time to devote to my own research and studies.

Aldwyn stares up at the Parselscript, his pen poised above his paper, but he hasn’t written anything he had read down. It would seem that only half of the history that he had heard last year was true. The Bloody Baron was Slytherin’s child, but he wasn’t the only one, and his infatuation with Helena Ravenclaw may have all been one giant setup by the mother and daughter duo to get back at the Slytherin family for Salazar following his heart and bonding with Godric.

He wonders briefly if the Head of Gryffindor had figured out that Sebastian Campbell was really Sebastian Gryffindor-Slytherin. Or whether Salazar’s son questioned Godric about his father. Because, as the scripture states, his children must have known some of what went on in England; otherwise, how would Nicolas know to return to Hogwarts? To see what became of the legacy his father had a hand in creating. If they hadn’t realised their relationship, Aldwyn glances down at the floor, it would have been so sad. Being that close to one's family without realising.

He glances across the hall at Severus. He had been in the same situation. Except for his, then biological mother had kept his birth a secret from his birth father. A man who hadn’t even known he had a son, let alone with the woman he had spent half his childhood loving. He feels his chest tightening, his eyes burning. He had been in close quarters with his papa for ten months, near enough. He had been living in the same castle as his biological father the same as Sebastian had been.

Clutching his notebook tightly to his chest, Aldwyn makes his way back over to his parents, having finished reading through some of the more interesting tales about Salazar’s life as a healer and some of the stories he could tell. It was fascinating. Sidling up to his papa, Aldwyn wraps his arm around the man’s waist without a word, glancing around the chamber silently while he waits for his parents to be done with their own exploring.

“Aldwyn, are you okay?” Severus questions when he glances down at his son and sees a contemplative frown on the child’s face.

“Did you know that Godric Gryffindor didn’t know he had fathered children with the love of his life? That he could have spent his entire life completely alone in the world because Ravenclaw was a selfish bint who had to keep everything for herself, and destroyed others happiness when she couldn’t get her way? Gryffindor could have been raising his child with Salazar. They could have lived together as a family, but Ravenclaw and Helena had to ruin it all.”

“What did you find, Aldwyn?”

“Salazar highly suspected that Rowena and Helena planned to make his son, Sebastian, fall head over heels with Helena just like Rowena had with Salazar. Even though hers was more a creepy infatuation rather than love,” Aldwyn mumbles. “He doesn’t believe that his son, as level-headed as he was, would kill himself after accidentally killing Helena when the girl went into some kind of psychotic break.”

“Sebastian?”

“The name of Salazar’s oldest son. He gave birth to twins. When Sebastian had finished his schooling, he travelled to England to see Hogwarts for himself. He wanted to see if it was still as magnificent as his father described. He went by the name Sebastian Campbell. Now known as-”

“The Bloody Baron.”

“Yes, Sebastian was sent by Rowena to bring her daughter back to the castle when she went into some type of mental breakdown. Salazar suspects it was from wearing the Diadem for an extended period of time, because of her inferiority complex to her mother. Anyway, he went after her because Rowena promised he could wed Helena if he was successful in bringing her back. But when he caught up to her at the edge of the Forbidden Forest, Helena couldn’t recognise him and attacked him.”

“So Sebastian defended himself and ended up killing her.”

“Exactly,” Aldwyn tightens his arm around Severus’s waist, learning his head against his papa’s chest. “Sebastian made sure to send a letter to his father stating as such and even sent a copy of his memory for Salazar to analyse. Grandpa Sal, as soon as he reviewed the memory, panicked for his son’s safety and made his way back to England, to Hogwarts, but he was too late.”

“His son had killed himself?” Severus questions, wrapping his arm around Aldwyn’s shoulders.

“I don’t think so. The way Salazar described the events made it seem like Sebastian’s body was discovered in the castle. If he was so overcome with grief about killing the woman he was planning on marrying, then why would he travel through the entire Forbidden Forest and into the castle, which was teeming with students? It doesn’t make sense.”

“Salazar believes that his son was murdered when he returned to the castle empty-handed.”

“I think so. He was sent out by Rowena to retrieve Helena and the Diadem, but he returned with neither. I believe, and this is my own speculation, but I don’t think he would have lived even if he bought Helena with him.”

“Oh? Why not?” Severus questions, dragging a hand through his son’s hair.

“Because Helena didn’t like him, let alone love him back. She thought he was useful to have around, and Helga Hufflepuff and Godric thought he was a great professor. Helena didn’t want to marry him. She only contemplated marrying him because she thought his family was wealthy. So, I think that Rowena and Helena schemed to have them married and then kill off Sebastian so they could secure some of his wealth.”

“That is a sound theory, Snakelet, but how do you know that Helena didn’t like Sebastian back?” Severus asks, glancing around the hall quickly to make sure they hadn’t lost anyone. Or have been left behind.

“When Salazar arrived at Hogwarts, he noticed how shifty Rowena was being. How, when he questioned what happened to his son, she wouldn’t answer for a long time before blurting out that he killed himself. He stayed for a few days, securing his son’s body so he could transport him home, and while he was wandering the grounds, he stumbled across Rowena talking to a portrait she had made of her daughter. How they had failed in their plan. That Helena had wasted all her time flirting with that good-for-nothing lowlife.”

“Ah, that would make anyone suspicious. What did Salazar do?”

“Nothing. He collected his son’s body and left in the middle of the night. He left a note to Godric explaining what had been going on during the years they had been separated. Apologising for leaving him again. It was such a sad tale.” Aldwyn concludes, shaking his head at the story of Salazar Slytherin. And he thought he had had a life from hell. Poor Salazar couldn’t catch a break. As soon as his life was turning around for the better, something else popped up to ruin it all.

“What a terrible end to his story. What do you think, Aldwyn?”

“I feel sorry for Grandpa Sal. He lost his soulmate and one of his children all because of the jealousy of a woman who had no right to be jealous. He had to move away from his home and start again from the bottom of the pile. He had to work twice as hard to provide a good life for his children, children he couldn’t even tell his lover about out of fear.”

“Do you think Salazar was right in his assumption that the relationship between Helena and Sebastian was about revenge?”

“I don’t think so. Rowena and Helena didn’t know that Sebastian was Salazar’s son, didn't even know that Salazar had children, until he came to the school to collect his son’s body, or to find out what was happening. If they didn’t know who he really was and just thought he came from a wealthy family, then it wasn’t revenge. It was just a coincidence; a really bad coincidence.” Aldwyn sighs, dragging a hand through his hair.

“Ah. How did I get blessed with such a smart child?” Severus smiles, drawing Aldwyn into a tighter embrace when he wraps his other arm around his son. “I do not think it would have mattered if Godric found out about his sons when they were born, or a little later in life. I am sure he would have loved them just the same. As your father and I do with you, Snakelet.”

Severus presses a kiss to Aldwyn’s hair, rocking them both from side to side as he feels his son relaxing against him. It wasn’t hard for him to figure out what had gotten Aldwyn so upset from his reading. Especially not with how close his situation could be seen as to Salazar’s children and Godric. The only major difference was that Lily had deliberately kept him in the dark about his son for no reason other than to keep James contented. Whereas Salazar genuinely feared for the lives of his lover and his children, wishing to keep them separate as much as possible to keep Godric and his children safe from Rowena’s wrath.

“Do you really think so?”

“I honestly do, Snakelet. I love you just as much now as I would have if I had found out about you when you were placed with those animals. I love you simply because you are my son. You are Marvolo’s son. You are the child of me and the man I love with all my heart.”

“Well, what a nice declaration to overhear, my dear Severus. Now, if only you would say such sweet words to my face.”

Aldwyn watches as his papa’s face pales when the smooth, melodic voice of his father sounds from their side, and he turns to grin up at the man. Marvolo winks at Severus, his hand coming across his card through Aldwyn’s hair, even as he watches the flush darkening along his lover’s ears and cheeks.

“Marvolo, how long have you been standing there?”

“A few moments. Long enough to hear most of Aldwyn’s fascinating retelling of Salazar’s history. And to hear how you truly think about me, Severus.”

“If you don’t know I love you already, Marvolo…” Severus sighs, slipping a hand into his fiancé’s.

“I do know it, Severus. I have been utterly in love with you for over a decade already, and I fall more and more in love with you every single day. As I have told you before, my dear. You are my soulmate. The one I will love until the end of my days.” Marvolo kisses the Consort ring decorating Severus’s finger. “You have bound yourself to me, Severus. There is no escape.”

“I wouldn't want to escape, Marvolo. What would I do with myself if I left? I would have to say goodbye to Aldwyn.” Severus comments, a smirk dancing across his lips when Marvolo raises an eyebrow and glances down at their child.

“Ah. I see how it is. You are only with me for our son.”

“As much as I jest about it being the case, Marvolo,” Severus tightens his hand around his fiancé’s and pulls Aldwyn over so he can be encased between them both. “I love you, Marvolo. I may have bound myself to you with this ring, but you bound yourself to me before that when you came into my life with our son.”

“As much as I enjoy watching the two of you flirting above my head, was there a reason you came over, Dad?” Aldwyn breaks the two up with a laugh, pushing himself out of the sandwich he had been encased in, even as a large grin stretches across his lips.

“Ah, yes, I was coming over to see if the two of you were finished in this room. Bill has informed me that the next chamber is ready for us to open, Snakelet.”

“Oh, excellent. This is going to be so much fun! I can’t wait to see what Grandpa Sal has hidden away all these years.” Aldwyn spins and his heels, without checking to make sure his parents were following him. He darts across the room, only stopping when he stands by Bill's side.

“Are you ready for us, Parum Anguis?”

“Ready whenever you guys are. I have been waiting for this since we arrived.” Aldwyn bounces on the balls of his feet, flapping his hands. He watches his father leading his papa over by their joined hands and shoots another grin at them. The group of cursebreakers laughs at the young child’s obvious excitement, remembering when they had been just as eager to jump into a brand-new cavern. It was refreshing.

“Alright, come on. Before you expend all your energy jumping around like a newborn dragon.” Charlie steps up behind Aldwyn, rests his hands on the boy’s shoulder, and nods towards Bill.

The cursebreakers all start to make their way down the corridor, wands held loosely in their hands just in case they had need for them. While Aldwyn and his family trailed behind in awe. If they thought the entrance they had just been in was well decorated, it was nothing compared to the corridor they were travelling down. Each section of the wall was decorated with a plethora of colours, depicting various points in history.

Aldwyn could see a painting of the four founders, arms wrapped around each other, large smiles on their faces. Another showing Hogwarts in the process of being made, rocks, stones, and windows all floating in midair, trails of magic all swirling together around a half-finished structure. One further down showed a tearful Slytherin holding Gryffindor; the image solemn, as Slytherin grieves over his supposed dead lover. While another depicts two individuals at a vine-covered archway, hands clasped and tied with bonding ribbons.

It was fascinating to see. Several hand-drawn images showcase Slytherin's life from when he became friends with the other founders to the time he fled back to Egypt with his son’s body. It was a roller-coaster of a sight, with pictures showcasing Slytherin in the pinnacle of happiness, as others show him in the depths of despair.

Around the perimeter of the walls, trailing along the floor and around the ceiling, Aldwyn could just about make out moving figures of various breeds of snakes. The little creatures appear to watch their group as they slowly pick their way through the corridors, torches held high above their heads to light the way. It was incredible, Aldwyn thought, to see the sentient paintings slithering overhead, hearing their quiet hisses dancing through the air.

I sense it.

The return of the Heirs.

They are here.

Welcome to the great Lord and Heir.

Aldwyn giggles, waving to the creatures. As he trails along behind his parents, eyes locked with one particular snake who seems to be eyeing him with a sense of curiosity. It was a small thing, no longer than his forearm and possibly only half as wide, but it was wise beyond its years. Or the looks in its eyes gave Aldwyn that illusion. He stares at the little snake, eyes trailing down its pale green, almost white scales with fascination. He had never seen a snake with such unusual colourings before, yet at the same time, it looked remarkably familiar to him.

“Alright, guys, we are here. I need you all to stay back.” Valentina instructs, wand held up in front of her as she plants her feet, anticipating an attack. “Lord Slytherin, Heir Slytherin, I need you to come up here and unpick these wards. But do it carefully.”

Marvolo nods his head, turning to hold his hand out to Aldwyn, who accepts the invitation without uttering a word. They step around the cursebreakers, walking as slowly and carefully as possible up to the blank section of wall in front of them. Marvolo squeezes Aldwyn’s hand and places his other against the cold stone, watching as Aldwyn quickly follows suit.

Aldwyn is amazed. He could feel his Grandpa’s magic, that familiar soothing coolness washing through his hand and down to his own core. It was mystical, almost as if Salazar Slytherin was standing right in front of him. And by the look on his father’s face, he had felt it as well.

They continue to feel through the magic, untangling knots and fixing frayed strands as they work their way through the wards. Aldwyn thought that they resembled several nets crisscrossing over each other, preventing anyone else from walking through the doorway. Like a resistance rather than a blockade. He could feel some malicious intent right at the centre, an attempt to keep anyone unworthy from breaking through the layers of protection. He feels a shiver running down his spine at the strange icy feeling stabbing into his core, the further he goes, but he knows somehow that it is the Slytherin family magics testing to see if he and his father were worthy enough to break through.

It is a tense few moments, where everyone waits with bated breath for any signs of distress from the two wizards. Watching as Marvolo and Aldwyn send small tendrils of magic into the door at a steady rate, and they can feel the magic in the tomb reacting, wrapping around the pair, encasing them.

It was fascinating for the cursebreakers to witness such a feat of magical power. Could physically see the wards as they are slowly brought down around the Slytherins. They could see green and Silvius twines twisting around each other, knotting together and then falling to the ground as Marvolo’s or Aldwy’s magic teased them into releasing. They had never seen such intricacy before.

Chapter Text

A loud crackle echoes around the stone chamber. Magic charged through the air. A loud rumble begins to sound beneath their feet, and the ground starts to shake with vibrations felt throughout the cavern. It was unnerving for the cursebreakers, who had no idea what was going on. But they tried not to panic, not when they keep their eyes on Lord Slytherin and his son who still had their eyes tightly closed, silver and green sparks dancing around the air around them.

Slowly, as if showcasing its age, the door begins to dissolve. The wards drawing away from the chamber as if falling away into nothing. The thick stone slab that had served as the blockade keeping people out of Slytherin’s personal vault begins to descend into the floor, billowing up dust clouds. It was a fascinating sight, brilliant in the way these old mechanisms worked when paired with magic.

“Aldwyn!”

“Marvolo!”

Twin shouts break the cursebreakers out of their revere and they turn just in time to see the magic releasing its hold on the two Slytherin house members. Their solid forms dropping to the floor as energy escapes them after such a strenuous de-warding.

Charlie rushes forward to catch his younger brother, cradling the twelve-year-old against his side to make sure he didn’t injure himself from the floor. While Severus jumps forward to lend his fiancé some much needed support. The two Slytherins grin at each other, red and green swirling in the depths of their eyes from residual magics.

“What in Merlin’s name just happened?”

“It would appear that Salazar Slytherin left behind much more than a blood ward sealing the chambers against any poachers.”

“Grandpa Sal left a fragment of his own magical core as a guardian.” Aldwyn continues to explain, accepting water from his brother, as his father is fussed around by his papa.

“What does that even mean?” Bill questions, pulling out his wand to scan the now open archway in front of them.

“It means that if ever there was someone of blood who required access to these chambers, then they would be scanned. If the magic left behind by Salazar found them worthy, then this magic would be transferred to this individual.”

“It would seem that Grandpa Sal’s magic found Father and I worthy of receiving his magic and infused it with our own cores.”

“So that is why your eyes are like this.” Severus whispers, raising a hand so he could caress the skin just next to Marvolo’s eyes, smiling when they flash with excess magic.

“Exactly. Our eyes will go back to normal when the magic has had time to settle itself into our cores properly, but until then; shall we?” Marvolo gestures to the open chamber, glancing towards Bill who nods his head and puts his wand back in its holster.

“It is all clear.” He confirms, stepping out of the way so his family can proceed him into to room.

Aldwyn laughs joyously and, after regaining his footing, grips Charlie’s hand and drags his brother with him into the spacious room. It was incredible. More elaborate than the entrance where they had found Salazar’s personal notes. But it seemed a lot more intimate, personal to the man at the same time.

There were images here as well. Painted onto the walls, but these seemed to be more to showcase the Slytherin family’s life, rather than Salazar and the Founders. It showed an image of Salazar smiling with a small bundle in each arm. Followed by several pictures of the same two children, one with strikingly red hair and hazel eyes, while the other sported dark red eyes and black hair.

Some showed the children performing magic, battling with swords, and even performing acts which Aldwyn had never really seen before. Quite possibly showing milestones within their careers. It was fascinating to see. To almost witness the lives of Salazar and his two children, Sebastian and Goliath.

Standing around the room in haphazard piles of varying heights were books, artefacts and clothing that Aldwyn couldn’t even begin to describe. He sees bookcases off to one side, floor to ceiling, solid oak filled to the brim with all sorts of tomes and scrolls of varying topics. Knick knacks and artefacts shown off in a large matching oak display cabinet.

Strolling over to the cabinet, Aldwyn is surprised to see various pieces of tableware all decorated in rubies emeralds and diamonds. It was beautiful. He saw chalices, still shining. Candelabras glittering in the candlelight and in a matching design of the rest of the set. He wondered what such a layout could have been used for.

“Bondings.” His papa’s voice comes from behind him, making him startle a little.

“Bondings?” He questions, turning to glance up at his papa before staring back at the dining set.

“This set was made for a bonding ceremony; you can tell by the ornate designs along the outer rims of the wares. They are etched with Runes symbolising unity, longevity, love and friendship. Couples typically use sets that have been passed down in their family for generations, but Salazar Slytherin and Godric Gryffindor were, technically, the first of their family lines, and therefore would have had a set specifically crafted for their bonding ceremony.”

“Wow. What runes do they use? I don’t recognise half of them.” Aldwyn steps closer, eyes widening as he takes a look at the strange little symbols etched into the silverware. It was beautiful, enchanting.

“This one is Gebo (ᚷ) which represents partnership and the exchange of energy. Wunjo (ᚹ) signifies joy and happiness. Ehwas (ᛒ) embodying trust, Laguz (ᛚ) can relate to intuition and deep emotions. Whereas Jera (ᛃ) can symbolise a long-lasting, harmonious relationship.” Another voices joins their conversation and Aldwyn grins up at Bill, watching as his brother points out each runes he was describing.

“It would appear, that Salazar and Godric used every single rune they could find to symbolise a perfect bonding ceremony and union.”

“But they were never officially bonded.” Aldwyn states, a hand coming up to press against the glass, a frown pulling the corners of his mouth.

“No, they were not. Rowena managed to get in the way of their plans. However, Slytherin still remained hopeful and kept them in pristine condition.” Severus sighs.

“It is so sad. I hope that when I find someone as right for me as Grandpa found with Godric Gryffindor, and with what you have with papa, that no one tries to get in my way.”

“If you find something truly as precious as your soulmate, Aldwyn, I pray to Merlin that you do everything in your power to protect them. Your father and I will, of course, do everything we can to ensure that no one will even think to try and get in the way of your happiness.” Severus promises, placing his hands on Aldwyn’s shoulders as they continue to gaze at the bonding set.

“Besides, with your Mage abilities now awakening, and ever growing, you are going to need someone just as powerful, or powerful enough to stand by your side. Someone like that is going to be hard to find.” Bill explains, placing his hand on Aldwyn’s other shoulder.

“I will, Papa, Bill. I promise. If I find my soulmate, like you did in Father, then I am never going to let them go. How would they celebrate a bonding ceremony in Salazar Slytherin’s time? Is it much different than what you and father are planning?”

“Not overly different, no. Your father wished to honour your ancestors by using the traditional hand-fasting ceremony that has been used for all Bondings in the Slytherin family since Salazar himself and seen as I do not have such traditions in my family, I believed it would be for the best as well. We will have our bonding robes crafted, and hand stitched with runes. The only difference between our ceremony and that of Salazar and Godric’s will be that we have chosen to go with bonding rings instead of the traditional circlets.”

“Circlets?”

“They are tiara like head pieces worn for the ceremony, but your father and I thought they weren’t true to us and decided against wearing them.”

“Oh, I always thought they looked quite pretty. I wouldn’t mind wearing one if I ever had a bonding ceremony in the future, but I get what you mean. I can’t quite picture you and Father wearing them.” Aldwyn giggles, trying to conjure up an image of his parents walking down the aisle in their house colours and delicate tiara like head pieces draped across their heads.

“I believe you have a long way to go yet before you start thinking about any Bonding ceremonies of your own, Snakelet. Now, come on, I believe your father has gotten himself lost within the giant pile of books again.” Severus gently guides Aldwyn away from the ceremonial treasures and over to the opposite side of the chamber where Marvolo indeed, already had his nose buried in a book.

Aldwyn allows his papa to leave him, in hopes of prying Marvolo away from the book long enough to take a quick inventory of the chamber and organise with the Egyptian branch of Gringotts to have some of the Slytherin treasures transported back to their family vaults in England. Bill wandering off to the other cursebreakers to continue their discussion on the wards surrounding the chamber.

Walking around the room, taking in the overall grandeur of the place, Aldwyn comes to a halt when he spots a small non-descript frame hidden away in the corner. Sitting there on a small desk, clearly once used for research, was a plain, empty frame. Aldwyn raises an eyebrow. It was an odd thing to keep in a vault, such a small piece. He wondered if it had once held a family photo, an image of Slytherin’s two children for the man to look at when his kids were away and he past the time with his potion research.

But, upon closer inspection, Aldwyn sees a painted background, very similar to the room he was currently standing in, just without the piles of artefacts and treasures. It was strange and reminded him of the portraits at Hogwarts. Frowning down at the small frame, Aldwyn slowly pulls his wand out of his pocket and taps the top right corner of the frame twice.

To his surprise a figure dressed in green and black robes steps into the frame slowly. Their features the perfect image of trepidation and caution at being called into a frame that he probably hadn’t expected anyone to find. Aldwyn feels a grin stretching across his lips when he recognises the serious looking man and quickly settles himself down in the chair in front of the desk so he could look at the man more closely.

“Grandpa Sal!”

“Ah, my little snake. I was wondering who it was who had found my chambers. How have you been? I haven’t seen much of you since the holidays from school several months ago.”

“I have been doing well, Grandpa. I am sure you have heard of the wizard Shookwood?”

“That dastardly bastard? I never met the man in person, being someone born after my time by a few centuries, but even I have heard of his disgusting crimes. What has he been up to now?”

“He tried to go after Father and steal his magic to try and stop his own from escaping.”

“Ah yes, stolen magic does not like to be contained within a tainted core. I am sure your father put a stop to Shookwood’s attempts?” Salazar questions, glancing around at the group of people taking stock of the artefacts in the room before focusing back on the young child in front of him.

“Well, not exactly. I was worried that Shookwood would manage to sneak attack Father if he somehow found him and so, my friends and I came up with a plan to get rid of him before he had the chance to come close to being in the same room as my father.”

“You managed to stop Shookwood?”

“I had to. I wasn’t going to risk him getting his hands on my family. Besides, we found this really cool ritual that asked Mother magic to help us strip away his stolen magic.”

“That is a very powerful ritual, Little Snake. You and your friends managed to pull it off? One found in the depth of Rowena’s magical notes.”

“Theo found it in her families Grimoire, hidden at the back of the Hogwarts library. In the end, despite all of our planning, I had to perform the ritual, but I had two members from my In Dolus there as support.” Aldwyn explains, scratching the back of his neck when Salazar raises an eyebrow at him.

“You performed the ritual by yourself? How?”

“I don’t know. I knew that if I wanted to stop Shookwood, then I was going to have to give it a go, whether I was on my own or not. I felt this connection partway through the ritual, like a huge burst of energy and I just followed what the magic was telling me to do. I think I passed out at the end because the next thing I knew I was waking up in the infirmary.”

“You will never cease to amaze me, Little Snake. I told you that you were going to be a powerful little wizard in the future.”

“Yea, and I also got this cool mark out of it. Papa said that it is the beginnings of a Mage Mark, and that I may have to go through some tribulation tests to become a fully fledged Mage, but I think it looks cool as it is.” Aldwyn pulls down the collar of his shirt, showing off the strange mark to his grandpa who stares at the shapes, his eyebrow climbing higher.

“That is impressive, Aldwyn. I never would have guessed that you had the makings to be a Mage. An extremely gifted wizard, yes, more powerful than your father and myself, even, but a Mage. I am so proud of you.”

“Thank you, Grandpa Sal. Father and Papa said the same thing.” Aldwyn drops his gaze to his lap, the tips of his ears burning from the praise.

“As they should. Now what do you think of my chambers? This tomb has been sealed away since my death; your father and you are the first generations to find it.”

“It is amazing. There is so much stuff here that you have collected. Father got himself lost in the books piled in that corner over there, and Papa was trying to keep him focused on making a complete inventory, but” Aldwyn glances over his shoulder. “It seems Papa found some of your potion’s research and is trying to decipher your notes.”

“Godric was always telling me that my handwriting was nothing but chicken scratch.”

“Same. Papa has 2 years’ worth of trying to read my writing, so I am sure yours isn’t going to stump him for much longer. Besides, he looks like he is having fun.” He turns to watch his parents again, his father reading some parts of the book out loud when he found some fascinating spell or description that he feels Severus would enjoy. While Severus was busy writing down some of the recipes and ingredients for potions Salazar Slytherin created centuries ago.

“Well, you tell your parents, that anything they find in here, is theirs to keep. Everything in here is things I received as gifts from my children as they travelled the world. While other artefacts I found myself. Or had crafted.”

“Thank you, I will let them know. So, Grandpa Sal, I have a question about your hidden chambers. What did you actually use them for? I am guessing some type of research with potions and spell crafting, but did you use it for anything else? Because that would be cool.”

“I did actually. I am sure you have seen the pictures depicting my life painted around the outer chambers?” Aldwyn nods his head.

“Then I am sure that you are aware of the decades I went without seeing or even speaking to my soulmate, my love.”

“Yes, it was a very sad tale, Grandpa Sal. I am so sorry you had to go through all of that.”

“Thank you, young Aldwyn. It was not all hardships, I got my two children out of it all, so I can’t complain. Anyway, when I received the letter from my son Sebastian, I knew something was going to go terribly wrong and immediately tried to find a way to get to Hogwarts as soon as possible.”

“I did wonder, when I was reading the story, how you ended up in England so quickly. The Floo system wouldn’t have been invented then.”

“No it had not been. However, Apparition had, or at the very least, something similar was around during my time. I had been looking into creating a doorway of such, a small pocket in time where I could step into and come out in a different location. Instant apparition across any distance. As long as you have the coordinates.”

“Wow, that is an impressive thought, Grandpa. Did you ever manage to make such a thing?”

“Of course, I did. I was just wrapping up the last of my calculations, etching the runes and arithmancy numbers into the doorway just at the end of that corridor out there when I received the letter from Sebastian. So, I input the coordinates for Hogwarts gates, and stepped through, praying that my invention would work and I would make it to my son in time.”

“But you didn’t.” Aldwyn states gently, biting his bottom lip.

“No, I did not. What I forgot to take into account was how long it took for the letter to make it from the Scottish Highlands to Egypt. I was devastated, of course, but I had found a way to connect my home in Egypt with the one I left behind in Hogwarts. Just before I left with Sebastian’s body, I informed Godric of the doorway I had created. That if he could ever find it in his heart to forgive me for abandoning him and for keeping his children away from him for so long, then I would be happy for him to visit me.”

“That is so sweet. Please tell me he did. Please tell me that he did use the portal.”

“Luckily for me, he did. A few days after I had returned home, I felt a shift in the ward surrounding my chambers and when I stepped out into the corridor, there he stood. My beloved had forgiven me. We used these chambers as a hidden rendezvous point to continue meeting up until my death. But, if my magic has held up as I suspect it has, then you will be able to use this doorway to travel between here and the Chamber of Secrets back at Hogwarts.”

“That would be brilliant. I don’t know what I would use something like that for, but I am sure it will come in handy.”

“The door in the Chamber at Hogwarts also has its own set of runes and charms on it, so you can use it to go anywhere, so long as you have the coordinates.”

“So, I just use my magic to input the coordinates into the wards surrounding the doorway and then step through, and I can go anywhere in the world?”

“That is the mechanics of it. You may have to get it tested and have someone look over my calculations, but other than that, yes. It should work for you.”

“Excellent. I can use it to mess with Dumbledore and his incessant followers.” Aldwyn laughs, his mind conjuring up several scenarios where he and his faction just appear in front of Dumbledore and his followers. Or how Dumbledore will be so confused if he travelled somewhere to collect something needed only to find it gone. The perks of having faction members in Dumbledore’s most trusted circle and instant respond notebooks.

“Now, I suppose that is enough about me, I believe you have a holiday to get back to, Little Snake.”

“Okay. It was good talking to you again, Grandpa Sal. I will tell you all about the rest of our holiday when we get home!” Aldwyn jumps up from the seat, waving to the man in the picture frame.

“Enjoy the rest of your holiday, Aldwyn. Be good and cause lots of chaos if you can.”

-----

Molly couldn’t believe how baren the place was. As soon as the disorientation from the portkey had faded and she head counted to make sure that she had all of her children with her, Molly had glanced around at her surroundings. The area where they had landed was almost completely devoid of life. There was no key landmarks to tell where they were or even which way they needed to travel in order to get to their rooms for the duration of their stay.

“Fred, George, would you stop tormenting your brother!” She calls, shaking her head when she sees the twins dancing around Percy, laughing maniacally.

“But mum, we aren’t even doing anything.”

“Yea, mum, we haven’t done anything yet.” The twins call back, dodging out of the way of their brother’s swiping hands, ducking under his arm when he swings his book at their heads.

“Come on, you lot. We need to find the way to the Hall. I am pretty sure it is this way.” Molly grabs Ginny’s hand, levitating their luggage behind them, she begins to lead her family through the sand dunes.

“Ah, the Weasley family, I take it?” A large, stocky man shambles up to the brood from the left. His clothing light, flowing and extremely baggy in order to aid in keeping him as cool as possible in the impossible heats of Egypt. He comes to a halt in front of the group, arms crossing.

“Yes. I am Molly Prewett, and these are my children. Percy, Fred, George, Ronald and Ginevra.”

“A pleasure to meet you, my name is Rodrigo, and I have been asked to guide you to your cabins. If you would follow me.”

“Where’s Bill?” Molly questions, she knew that her eldest boys had been adopted into another family, something she had neglected to tell the rest of her children, and that they were still upset with her for what she had done to them, but she thought that Bill would have offered to show them around for a little while, or at least say hello.

“Bill? He and his team are out exploring one of the ancient tombs today. This one has been giving us a bit of trouble for the past few weeks, some wards that even good ol’ Bill couldn’t decipher. He can to us a few months ago stating that he had found someone who could decipher the runes around the caverns and is working with them to open the rest of the chambers today. He won’t be back until later.”

“Good ol’ Bill?” Ronald sneers, hands stuffed in the pockets of his trousers.

“Bill is one of our best. A right shame when ‘e ‘anded in ‘is notice, but ‘e ‘as agreed to come back an’ ‘elp when ‘e ‘as the time.” Rodrigo responds, moving through the sand with practiced ease. He points out a few of the pyramids and tombs that the Weasley family will be getting to look through during their stay.

“Will we get to see this new tomb?” Ginny asks, bouncing up and down as she clings to her mother’s hand, a large grin stretching across her face.

“Unfortunately, not. We discovered that this tomb legally belongs to an ancient family from England and only direct descendants are allowed within the inner chambers. The family is ‘ere as witnesses to the opening of their ancestor’s legacy.”

“Oh? Bill never mentioned anything about that. Which family?” Percy questions, lifting his nose from his book momentarily in his interest.

“The Slytherins.”

“Slytherins! But that means..!” Ronald shouts before anyone has a chance to react to the news. His face reddening with anger, eyes narrowing at the man showing them around. He couldn’t believe that that snot-nosed brat got to go into an ancient tomb when he wasn’t. All because he was a Slytherin!

“Lord Slytherin, his Fiance, Lord Prince and their children, Aldwyn, Charlie and Bill are here to over see the opening of their family’s legacy and to see what their ancestor had left behind for them centuries ago when he fled Hogwarts.” Rodrigo confirms Ron’s thoughts, causing confusion to ripple through the group at the information.

“Did you just say their children. Bill and Charlie?” The twins’ question, their voices in perfect sync which the cursebreaker can’t help but agree with Bill and Charlie when they said sometimes it was creepy.

“Yes.” Rodrigo raises an eyebrow, surely the Weasleys were aware that their oldest brothers were no longer part of the family. Glancing down at the mother, his eyes widen, maybe they hadn’t been told yet. Oops.

“Mum?” Percy closes his book completely and slips it into his pocket.

“Bill and Charlie,” She sighs. “Made the decision to take a step back from the Weasley line a few months ago when they were offered a place in the Prince-Slytherin family. I didn’t want to tell you guys because I didn’t want you to blame them. I was never there for the boys, I couldn’t show them the support and love they deserved, and it wasn’t all due to the potions I was under. I was devasted that they would feel more comfortable with another family, but in the end, I could do nothing but give them my blessing.”

“So, they aren’t our brothers anymore?” Ginny asks her mother, shaking the woman’s hand.

“No, they aren’t your brothers anymore, Ginny. I am sorry that I never told you.”

“This is stupid. Bill and Charlie get to leave and be with those monsters. Those despicable death eaters, but I am stuck here with you? Why can’t I go and live with Dad?”

“Ronald!” Percy gasps.

“You ungrateful little twerp!”

“You want to go and live with Dad?”

“After what he put mum through?”

“He poisoned her with potions for years!”

“He refused to take a Lordship that could have allowed us to live marginally more comfortably than we are now. We could have had our own clothes, our own wands.”

“But he chose not to. He let us all suffer.”

“He let mum suffer, but that is fine, isn’t it?”

“You go live with Dad in his holding cell, and maybe you can follow him to Azkaban when he is shipped off there as well.” Fred and George argue, glaring down at their brother in disgust. They couldn’t believe how Ron had been acting since the news came out about Dumbledore and Arthur drugging their mother with several potions for decades. They couldn’t believe that he was acting like such a brat, hurting their mum like that just because he was acting out. It was disgusting.

“He wouldn’t do that. Mum is just framing him.” He argues, fists clenching into fists.

“And how do you suppose she did that? It was the Goblins who tested both mum and dad for coercion potions and they wouldn’t make a mistake like that. The potion used in the testing can tell which potions have been used, who they have been linked to and who made the potions.” Percy explains, sniffing at his youngest brother.

“I don’t know, but she tricked them somehow.”

“Ron, I would suggest you shut your mouth,”

“Before we do it for you.” Fred and George threaten, hands tightening around their wands which are concealed in the pockets of their trousers.

“You can’t use magic here. You aren’t of age, yet.” Ronald takes a step back, his voice trembling as he points from George, and then to Fred. Face paling at the threat.

“Who is going to rat us out?” They smirk, gesturing to the empty plot of land they were on.

“There is no one around to protect you here, ickle Ronniekins. I would remember that.”

Ron glances around at his family, looking at the disapproving glares directed his way by his three remaining brothers, and the hurt-filled expression straining his mother’s face. He shakes his head against the image of the tears clinging to her eyes and sets his mouth. He wasn’t going to apologise. Not when his father did nothing wrong. And his brothers were going to see that when this case went to trial. They were all going to see that their mother was nothing but an attention seeker, and a liar, just like his father always claimed.

“Put the wands away boys. We are not here to cause trouble for the cursebreakers, we are here to relax and have fun before you all go back to school.” Molly finally steps in, her voice wobbling but firm. She shoots a thankful smile towards her oldest sons, feeling a little better at their defence of her, but what Ron said about her had hurt and she knew that nothing she said to the young boy would change his mind. Arthur had managed to sink his claws too deep in Ron.

“Yes, Mum.” Fred, George and Percy intone together.

“So, we won’t see Bill?” Ginny questions again, her voice high pitched and whiny.

“I am sure we will see Bill at some point, Ginny, but he is busy working at the moment. Maybe he will be back for dinner.” That answer seemed to appease the young eleven-year-old. They group falling silent as they continue to follow Rodrigo through the sandy plains of the Egyptian cursebreakers’ camp.

-----

It was with a heavy heart that Molly guides her children through the small village built by the cursebreakers and Gringotts, true to Rodrigo’s word they hadn’t gotten to see a glimpse of Bill the entire day. Not even when they were getting a tour of the base they would be staying at. It seemed that Bill really was working a ways away from the camp, as he hadn’t had time to make it back form lunch.

“Are we going to see Bill now, Mum?” Ginny asks for the hundredth time that afternoon.

“I don’t know, Ginny.” Molly sighs. “I guess we will see when we get there.”

“He is probably going to be too busy with his new family to bother saying hi.” Ronald gripes.

“And I wouldn’t blame him if he is, Ron. I am getting sick of your attitude, young man. If you continue to behave like this then you will find yourself confined to your cabin for the rest of this holiday. Do I make myself clear?”

“Yes, Mum.” Ronald answers, fists clenching at his sides, as a scowl wrinkles his brow.

“Good. Now, lets get some food in us.” She continues to guide her children up through the small array of buildings gathered between the dorms and the pyramids.

The family of 6 walk through the doors of the mess hall to the sound of rambunctious laughter. Their gazes are drawn to an illuminated corner of the room, and they are surprised to find Bill and Charlie laughing along to a story a young child is recounting. His arms waving above his head, eyes glittering and mouth moving a mile a minute. The three are surrounded by a large group of cursebreakers, their arms reddening after being out in the sun all day, but they don’t seem to notice, too engrossed in the young boy’s story.

Watching the scene for a moment, Molly sees a familiar young man sidling closer to the young boy and placing his hand on his shoulder, his other ruffling the boy’s hair. She can feel a smile stretching across her own lips when the boy glares up at the man, batting his hand away before another man, with long black hair walks over and begins to retie the boy’s hair at the back of his neck.

It was a domestic scene; a symbol of a close-knit family and she couldn’t help but feel a teeny bit envious of the young family. She didn’t have that anymore; not that she thought she had ever been that close, that affectionate with her children. But she could see the love these parents held for their young child, and it was just another stab in the gut. That is what she had missed out on. That is what the potions had taken away from her.

The younger man, the one with the long hair turns to chastise his partner and Molly couldn’t contain her gasp. The man in front of her, the one openly displaying such deep love for the other man was none other than Severus Prince. The surly, bitter man who hated anything and everything affectionate. The very man who seemed to despise children, despite choosing to become a professor. Her eyes flicker back down to the young, care-free child and stares. It was clear now, that this young boy was Aldwyn Prince-Slytherin, the same boy who had been gripping his father’s hand so tightly on their trip to Diagon Alley during the summer holidays. The same child who had stood up for Severus and informed her that he wouldn’t befriend her son unless he apologised to his Papa.

Looking at him now, he was practically a different child. He was animated, arms waving haphazardly around as he continues to tell his story to the crowd in front of him. He was laughing, smiling, messing with Bill and Charlie every time the older boys would tease him or interject in his narrative. It was lovely to see. She had been taken with Aldwyn the second she had seen the young child, his manners impeccable, while his composure stayed intact despite her own son throwing insults at his Papa.

“Mum, it’s Bill! And Charlie!” Ginny’s words give her pause.

She had noticed Charlie, of course she had, but it hadn’t quite registered in her mind that she shouldn’t be able to see her second eldest. What was he doing there and why hadn’t he told anyone that he was going to the Egyptian cursebreaking camp? If he was looking for some work to do during the summer break from Hogwarts, she would have assumed that he would have gone back to the Romanian Dragon Reserve.

“Can we go say hello, Mum?”

“I don’t see the harm…” Molly takes her daughter’s hand and begins to make her way across the dining hall to Bill and Charlie. She watches them, eyes taking in their carefree expressions, their relaxed postures and the way they interacted with The Prince-Slytherin family with a heavy heart. She had never been able to pull such expressions from their faces while they had been living at the burrow.

“Bill! Charlie!” Ginny cries as soon as they are close enough, causing the conversation to grind to a halt.

“Ginny? I see you guys arrived safely.” Bill wraps his arms around Ginny when she scampers around the table and throws her arms around himself and his brother.

“Yes, thank you, Bill.” Molly smiles at the cursebreakers, strained and reserved.

“Charlie, what are you doing here?”

“I was asked by the Goblins to come help out for a while because there was some weird fire ward around one of the tombs Bill and his team were trying to unlock. Apparently, it was similar in properties to dragon fire. Besides, Wyn would be very upset with me if I didn’t attend our very first family holiday.” Charlie teases his little brother, chuckling when Aldwyn sticks his tongue out at the Dragon handler.

“You would regret it if you didn’t come.” Aldwyn argues, dropping his hands to his lap beneath the table.

“That I would, little snake.”

“Family holiday?” Percy questions.

“Yes, I am sure Molly has told you guys by now that Charlie and I were adopted into the Prince-Slytherin family over the Yuletide holidays. We would have told you ourselves, but a lot was going on at the time and we were busy trying to stop that creep Shookwood from killing our father and brother.”

Bill interjects, wrapping his arm around Charlie’s shoulders while smiling across at the Weasley/Prewett family.

“So it is true then?”

“We are happy for you guys!” The twins exclaim, large smiles stretching across their faces. They walk around the table and pounce on their ex-brothers backs, dislodging their arms from around each other in the process.

“We can’t blame you, can we Forge?”

“Of course we can’t Gred.”

“Especially not when you get to have this little munchkin,”

“As your little brother.” Fred and George, ruffle Bill and Charlie’s hair, sharing an evil grin above their heads before they turn to stare down at Aldwyn.

The young twelve-year-old immediately shifts in his seat, raising his hands to ward off the approaching twins. He shakes his head, a sharp laugh escaping.

“Fred and George, don’t you even think about it!”

The twins ignore his pleas and pounce, wrapping their arms around his shoulders and waist, ruffling his hair and nuzzling his cheeks. Aldwyn splutters, fighting to free himself from the grabby hands of Fred and George but all he manages to do is tangle himself even further in their embrace. The twins continue to cuddle him, shaking him from side to side, almost pulling him off his seat to the laughter of the adults around them.

“I didn’t know the three of you were so close.” Percy comments, settling down at a table just behind the congregation, a book placed down gently.

“Who? Us?” Fred gestures between them all.

“We thought everyone knew.” George shrugs his shoulders.

“Dumbledore certainly made his opinion clear after he saw the twins talking to me at the Slytherin table on more than one occasion.” Aldwyn adds, catching his breath when George and Fred settle down with one arm draped around his shoulders each.

“Percy was probably much too busy looking after his girlfriend.” Ron sneers, an ugly expression wrinkling his features.

“Girlfriend? You mean Penelope Clearwater? The Ravenclaw Prefect.” Aldwyn questions, ignoring the others tone as he directs his words to Percy.

“Yes.”

“Oh, she is nice from what I have seen. I am sorry she was petrified.”

“It is alright. She was upset that she had missed so much schooling, but after whoever it was, snuck into the hospital wing and revived all the patients, she was fine.”

“Ah, yes. That mysterious individual…” George mutters, winking down at Aldwyn.

“Or should we say individuals…” Fred nods sagely.

“I have absolutely no idea what you guys are implying here.” Aldwyn responds, sticking his nose in the air, even as a smirk twitches at the corner of his mouth.

“Of course not.”

“You wouldn’t know anything about the mysterious revival of several petrified students.”

“Of the sudden disappearance of Isiah Shookwood, the most deranged wizard in magical history.”

“Of course not.” The twins insight together, ruffling Aldwyn’s hair again, pulling a string of muttered insults from the twelve-year-old.

“Of course I wouldn’t. I am only twelve, after all. How would I have been able to find some obscure spell that would reverse the effects of a petrification curse, when even the great Albus Dumbledore couldn’t? I wouldn’t hold enough magic to perform that same spell several times in the space of one night without exhausting myself.” Aldwyn smirks, winking up at the twins. He wasn’t exactly lying. He knew that he didn’t hold enough magic within his core, at the moment, to have un-petrify the six or so victims Shookwood had attacked during the school year. He wouldn’t have been able to revive them all if it hadn’t been for his In Dolus members agreeing to help him. Besides, his core hadn’t even fully developed yet.

“You make a very valid point, Prince-Slytheirn. How anyone could believe that such a sweet, innocent child could manage to sneak around the castle behind Dumbledore’s back and do all those things. It is preposterous.” Percy joins in and Aldwyn turns to glance up at the older boy. He couldn’t tell whether Percy was being serious or sarcastic. His words seemed to be hinting at some underlying despise toward Dumbledore, but his face was perfectly passive. He shrugs.

“Exactly. I was one of the victims of Shookwood’s terror last year.” He sighs, dropping his shoulders, earning laughter from around the table; both from the cursebreakers who were also exchanging looks of confusion, and from his family.

“Shookwood attacked Hogwarts?” Stephen asks, his face paling at the thought.

“He did. Apparently, he was trying to get to my father and thought to use me to do it. Unfortunately for him, I wasn’t about to allow that deranged imbecile anywhere close to my father. So, I stopped him.”

“Stopped him? How?” Andreea asks, leaning her elbows on the table.

“Well, you see...”

Chapter Text

Molly was horrified. She couldn’t believe what she had just heard from this small child. Of course, she had heard snippets of Shookwood’s nefarious deeds. There wasn’t a witch or wizard alive who hadn’t, across the entire European continent. But she would never have guessed that such a Dark character would make his way across the channel to England. That he would seek refuge in Hogwarts School for several months.

She couldn’t comprehend how Shookwood could walk around the school as freely as he did. How such a Dark individual could make his way through the wards surrounding Hogwarts without alerting any of the professors and attack several students. She couldn’t understand how none of the victims’ parents had been informed that their children were lying in the hospital wing, petrified. How Dumbledore hadn’t sent any letters or Floo calls to the parents. Why had Madam Pomfrey not sent out an express order for Restorative Potions or requested some from St. Mungo’s?

But what horrified her the most about this story was the fact that Aldwyn, a young child the same age as her youngest son, had gone face-to-face with such an evil man multiple times and lived to tell the tale. That Aldwyn had stood up to Shookwood, fought back against him, and even won against the Dark mage. It was startling. Incomprehensible. Heart-attack inducing. But Aldwyn didn’t seem fazed in the slightest.

He told the story as if it had happened a lifetime ago. His voice was stable, nonchalant. His posture was relaxed as he explained how he and his friends had been caught unaware on a walk around the lake just a little after dinner one night. How he had sent Blaise and Theo back to the castle, to the hospital wing to receive medical attention, and to call for some help. Maybe even get in contact with Aldwyn’s Papa and Father while the twelve-year-old took on the deranged Mage all on his own.

Her heart practically jumped into her throat when she listened, rooted to her chair, about the ritual he had performed. How he had asked Mother Magic to aid him in the release of the stolen magic still trapped in the man’s magical core, already fighting to break free. It was unbelievable. A legend that had been passed down through word of mouth for generations, but for this boy, for this twelve-year-old, it had been his reality just a few short weeks ago.

Halfway through the story, while Aldwyn was explaining the night when Draco had been attacked in front of him in the middle of the corridor, Molly turned her attention to the boy’s parents, her heart clenching when she saw the hidden strain behind their expressions. The worry and hopelessness they had felt when they had heard the news that Aldwyn had been chased into the Forbidden Forest. But she could also see the pride they had felt towards their son. Could see the faith they held for Aldwyn, knowing that he came out of such a situation the victor, that Aldwyn had done it all to protect his family. How impressed they were that Aldwyn had managed to end decades of suffering through sheer will and determination.

It was wonderful to see for Molly. A true family dynamic. Marvolo and Severus trusted Aldwyn to take care of himself and those around him, but they also held the knowledge that their son would come to them for help if he ever needed them. It was beautiful. Something she wished she could have provided for her children as they grew up.

But, looking across the room at Bill and Charlie, she knew that it was a little too late for her. All she could do now was to offer her two eldest children support from the background. She would only be able to watch them from afar and be proud of the men her sons had turned out to be while her back was turned. And it wasn’t just Bill and Charlie who had grown into fine young men. Percy, although a stickler for the rules and reserved, had a fiercely loyal side that would allow him to do anything for his family. To protect those, he considered family to his very last breath.

Fred and George, although well known for being notorious pranksters, were the glue that held their family together. Any arguments, fights, and disagreements would be carefully monitored by the twins, picked apart, and discussed with all involved until the matter had been resolved or forgiven. They were the types of people who couldn’t see anyone upset or gloomy and always had a joke or harmless prank to cheer anyone up. They were the type of young men who would do anything to protect their siblings.

It was her two youngest that she had failed the most, it would appear. While she had been busy trying to run the household, complete all chores around the house, and look after all seven of her children, she had missed the signs. Ronald had become resentful of his older brothers, Bill and Charlie, always getting the newest supplies, the first ones to have a wand, a broom, because they had been the eldest. Percy had been the straight-A student, prefect, and head boy. While Fred and George had received much attention (not always positive) for their pranks and the trouble they had caused while away at school.

But Ronald wasn’t happy with being the sixth son in the household. He hadn’t been pleased at always receiving hand-me-downs, but because of how many children they had, Arthur worked as many hours as possible just to pay for the Hogwarts tuition. They were always short on money. It was hard, trying to provide for so many children, but Molly had always wished for a large family, siblings for her children to play with, so they wouldn’t know what loneliness felt like. Not like how she had grown up like with her twin brothers who always stuck by each other’s sides and left her to play by herself the majority of the time.

Unfortunately, she hadn’t been made aware of the amount of money that had been left for them if Arthur had just taken the title of Lord Weasley. She had only been told that it was just a title, nothing to go alongside it except those stifling expectations of the Pureblood Socialite society, pressure to follow pureblood traditions which she had been told were simply wrong, propaganda.

It still hurts when she thinks back on all the stuff Arthur and Albus had told her over the years. The Prewetts had been an old Pureblood family who followed many, if not all, of the traditions that made up the wizarding world. They celebrated Yuletide, not Christmas. They held the proper rituals for Samhain, Beltane, and even Bonding ceremonies. But as soon as Arthur started their courting process, as soon as they started dating, he had debunked all of her traditional beliefs. He had told her that she had been brainwashed and convinced her to turn her back on the beliefs she had held since she was a child.

And due to her blind worship of Arthur and Albus, she had listened to every single word that came out of their mouths. Allowed Arthur to lie to her, to blindside her to some of her children’s worries. If she had known, if she had been strong enough to fight against the potions, smart enough to figure out something was wrong earlier, then she probably could have tried to convince Arthur to take that money. If only to give Ronald some clothes he could call his own. Maybe she could have ignored Arthur and gotten herself a job when Ginny started her first year at Hogwarts to make a few extra Galleons for nice things for her youngest children.

But unfortunately, she hadn’t been strong, she hadn’t been smart enough, and as a result, Arthur had sunk his claws into Ronald before she could even blink. The boy had turned resentful and selfish. Always wanting but never giving in return. He was a child who hated anyone who had more than him, who bullied those because he felt inferior. That is what he had tried to do to Aldwyn last summer. He had seen a smaller boy, nervous in the large crowds with more money and nicer clothes, immediately thinking that this child was an easy target.

When Molly had taken notice of this scene, she had watched from the queue as Arthur almost allowed Ronald to lay a hand on the other boy, only grabbing him at the last second. She had been horrified and embarrassed that she had allowed her children to grow up in such a manner. She couldn’t help but feel sympathy for the small boy, a child who she had assumed was at least two years younger than her own son, but there had been nothing she could have done. And gripping for that sweet young child to become friends with Ron, a boy who had insulted Aldwyn’s Papa and Father, a boy who had just tried to physically assault him in a crowded bookstore.

A harsh scoff breaks Molly out of her spiralling thoughts, and she turns down to stare down at her youngest son.

“Typical Slytherin, you haven’t had enough of making yourself out to be the victim at school? Now you are trying to spread your ridiculous stories here as well? Pathetic.”

“Ronald!” Molly exclaims, shock shoots through her veins like ice, freezing her in place. Her face was blazing with embarrassment.

“Oh? And where have I ever played the victim, Ronald?” Aldwyn’s smile drops immediately, his hands falling to his sides, but not out of fear or anxiety this time. He raises an eyebrow, stares across the tables, a small smirk dancing at the corner of his lips.

“Playing dumb now? Just like when you ran to Dumbledore and told them the entire Gryffindor Quidditch team bullied you.”

“Please,” Aldwyn rolls his eyes, smirk stretching. “I think you will find, Ronald. That it wasn’t I who went crying to Dumbledore. That would have been you and the entire Gryffindor Team. It was you guys who fabricated some elaborate tale of how you were bullied by the Slytherins and that we pulled our wands on you all for no reason. Only to have it thrown back in your faces when I showed my memories of the event in question. When Dumbledore saw your Quidditch captain being held back by his own teammates because he tried to assault my person.”

“Always playing the hero. Always a goody-two-shoes.” Ronald sneers, crossing his arms.

“Playing the hero? A madman was after me and my father for some reason for almost an entire year. I wasn’t able to walk around the corridors without at least one friend by my side out of fear of being attacked again. Yet not a single professor tried to help me! They ignored the threat, allowed several students to be petrified, and left them alone!”

“There was nothing they could do!”

“Really?” Aldwyn scoffs. “Nothing they could do? Why didn’t Madam Pomfrey put in an emergency order of Revival potion? Why did Dumbledore place a curse on the entire population of Hogwarts, forcing them to keep these attacks from getting out to their parents? Why had no one in the Ministry been informed until Draco Malfoy had been petrified and I contacted my Godfather about the intruders?”

“Dumbledore was doing it to protect us!”

“No. Dumbledore was going to protect himself. Dumbledore was doing it to keep his position. He never cared about any students in that school besides the Gryffindors. He would much rather sweep the whole incident under the rug and allow his students to live in fear than step forward and finally do something about it.” Aldwyn explains, his frown deepening the more he sits arguing with the stubborn redhead.

“Dumbledore…”

“Enough, Ronald!” Molly finally breaks in, clamping a hand down on her son’s shoulder.

“But mum…!”

“No. I will not hear any more. You have been nothing but argumentative since you went to Hogwarts, and I am sick of it! You will keep your mouth shut for the remainder of this evening; otherwise, I will ship you straight to your Aunt Muriel’s house for the remainder of your holiday! Do I make myself clear?”

“Yeah.” Ronald snaps his mouth shut, slumps down in his seat, and glares at the table with his arms tightly crossed. The room falls into an uncomfortable silence.

“So…” Fred begins, a smirk beginning to form at the corner of his mouth.

“Who wants to hear a wonderful story?”

“A story of a giant structure that has almost taken over half the entrance halls' right wall?”

“A story in honour of the sadly missed potions master who disappeared over the summer last year…”

“Only to be replaced by a nicer, happier doppelganger?” The twins grin, teeth showing when they hear a loud sigh from Professor Prince. A chuckle from the man’s fiancé and clapping from Aldwyn, who gestures for the twins to come and take a seat at their table.

-----

Aldwyn lies alone in his bedroom, a large smile etched into his features as he recalls the eventful holiday he had had with his family. It had been some of the best days of his life. Eventful and educational. The tomb of Salazar Slytherin had been magical, filled with family history, spells, and potions long since disappeared from the textbooks.

The pyramids had been a mystical discovery; artefacts and mazes filled to the brim with so many stories of the past that Aldwyn almost couldn’t take it all in. He just hadn’t had the time to see all that he wanted to see. Even with the two weeks they had spent wandering the cursebreakers' camp. So much so that he had asked his parents if they could go back at some point to see the pyramids and tombs, which they hadn’t gotten the chance to explore yet.

It had been wonderful. Especially when Bill had surprised him one day with a full-day trip of shopping in the magical sector. It reminded him a little bit of Diagon Alley, but this magical street was larger, spanning an area as large as Hogsmeade Village. It was amazing. Seeing all the different people walking up and down the streets without a care in the world.

He had met a nice Vampire, going by the name of Samil, a Veela called Careena, and a Naga going by the name of Frederick. Aldwyn had fun talking to the trio, asking them questions about the towns they lived in, their careers, and how they appreciated the lack of restrictions blocking them from employment opportunities, buying houses, and reproducing. He almost felt embarrassed when Careena and Frederick questioned him back about the state of Magical Britain and why the island nation felt the need to treat their magical creature/being population as second-rate citizens.

While Samil, a national of Britain before he fled to Bulgaria during one of the Ministries more thorough searches of the nation for ‘dangerous’ magical beings, contemplated how Britain had not been affected by Grindelwald as much as mainland Europe and so there governing body hadn’t felt the need to review and reform their laws like the rest of the world had seen fit to do. It was worrying, and a little disconcerting, that a country as popular and thriving as Britain would still class half of its population as second-rate simply because they were different from the average witch or wizard.

Careena, visiting from France and known as a ‘dark creature’ in the eyes of the British law, was heartbroken and utterly devastated at the restrictions placed upon the magical citizens, preventing them from practicing their magic to their full potential. She had tears gathering in her eyes when Marvolo explained how most Dark Magic had been banned by the Ministry, and if one were to be found practicing such rituals, they would be thrown in Azkaban without bail or the chance of parole. Severus further explained how the headmaster of their school was so in touch with the Muggle world that he was destroying wizarding traditional holidays by making the students celebrate Christmas and Halloween instead of the eight holidays on the wizarding calendars.

Releasing a deep sigh, Aldwyn glances over at the shelf his father had installed in his room a few days after their return, to make space for all the keepsakes he had bought while they had been out and about. He stares at the small Egyptian Akhekhu, a dragon-like creature much like what Charlie had bought him for his twelfth birthday. He laughs when he sees the small creature sneaking across the shelf, skirting between small statues and trinkets he had been gifted by the cursebreakers when he had been leaving, watching as the Akhekhu waggles its tail for a moment before it pounces on an unsuspecting Welsh Green’s back. The two figures playing together along the shelf, breathing smoke and small sparks at each other. It was an adorable sight to watch.

Pushing himself up from his bed, Aldwyn shuffles over and strokes a finger down the Welsh Green’s back and then repeats the action with the Akhekhu. Rolling his eyes when they immediately go back to nipping at each other, darting up and down the shelf with little chirps now escaping. Walking over to his desk, Aldwyn picks up a letter he had been drafting the night before. He reads over the scripted words once more. He had tried for ages to find a decent way to formally invite his chosen to a small initiation ceremony that his father had helped him to prepare. Using a copying spell his papa had helped him to learn, Aldwyn duplicates the letter.

“Aldwyn? Are you ready?”

Aldwyn drops the letter back to his desk and glances over his shoulder. His father was standing in the doorway with his travelling cloak in his hands.

“Almost, I just wish to finish writing these letters to my friends before we leave,” Aldwyn answers, picking up a quill.

“Would you like some help?” Marvolo questions, stepping into his son’s room to glance down at the multitude of letters scattered across the desk's surface.

“That would be brilliant, Father. I already have the letters written; all we need to add are my friends' names, and then we can send them off.”

“That sounds good. Are you sending them by owl? I am sure we have plenty in the owlery.” Marvolo picks up a second quill, dips it into some ink, and begins to pen Daphne’s name at the top of the letter his son had written.

“Geeney can bes sending the letters for you, Little Master. Geeney doesn’t mind!” The house elf pops into the room, bouncing on the balls of her feet while she claps her hands.

“I don’t think we will be needing those owls, Father. Alright, Geeney. Please deliver these letters by this evening, if you don’t mind.”

“Of course, Geeney not be minding, Little Master Aldwyn. Geeney bes getting these letters to Little Master’s friends before he is being left for his shopping.”

“Thank you, Geeney. We will be back later this evening.”

“Have a safe trip, Little Master!”

“Now that we are all done here, are you ready to go, Snakelet?” Marvolo asks again, walking over to his son’s bed so he can pick up the deep green cloak draped across the foot.

“Yes, I am all ready now, Father. Are Papa, Bill, and Charlie already waiting for us?” Aldwyn allows his father to help him into his cloak, a giggle bursting through when he feels thin fingers dancing across his sides before they card through his hair, and a kiss drops on his forehead.

“They are already in the Floo room.”

“Well, what are we still doing here. We can’t keep them waiting much longer.” Aldwyn answers, sticking his tongue out before he takes off out of his bedroom and runs down the corridor with his father close at his heels.

He skids through the corridors of the Mansion, taking corners at such speed that he almost topples over, but manages to keep his footing by pushing off against the opposite wall. He quickly slows to a brisk walk when he sees the door to the Floo room and calms his breathing down just as he steps into the room where his brothers and Papa are indeed waiting for him.

“Ah, there you are, Snakelet. Where is your father?”

“I have no idea, he was behind me just a second ago.” Aldwyn shrugs, grinning up at his papa just as Marvolo breezes into the room with a noticeable flush dusting his cheeks.

“You little devil.”

“What? Father, are you okay? You seem oddly out of breath. You didn’t have to run.” Aldwyn laughs when his father glares across the room at him, stalking over to stand with Severus, who presses a kiss to his cheek and pulls a handkerchief out of his pocket to wipe away the thin sheen of sweat on his fiance’s forehead.

“Do I even wish to know what you and our son were doing, Marvolo? We are already running late as it is.” Severus scolds his partner, smirking when Marvolo turns to pout over at him.

“I was not doing anything. It was your son who decided to try and race me through the corridors.” He counters, sticking his tongue out at his son, who laughs even louder and sticks his tongue out in return.

“I did no such thing, Father. Now, I believe it is time for us to go. Are we travelling straight to The Leaky Cauldron?”

“Seeing as the stores we want are mainly found in Knockturn Alley this time, I believe it would be better if we travel straight to Borgin and Burkes,” Severus answers, coming over to pull Aldwyn’s hood up over his head and secure it in place with a small sticking charm. “Make sure to keep your hood up at all times as well, Snakelet. We do not want any news getting back to Dumbledore that we have been shopping around Knockturn Alley.”

“Alright, Papa.” Aldwyn adjusts his hood. “Does Mr Borgin know we are arriving?”

“I owled him ahead of time. Now, come on, Snakelet. I want you to come through with me first.” Marvolo steps forward and takes Aldwyn’s hand.

Aldwyn would argue, insisting that he was perfectly capable of Floo travelling on his own now. He was almost thirteen years old, after all, but he had also never shopped strictly in Knockturn Alley before. He had gone there once in a while with his parents before, during the Yuletide holidays, to pick up the uniform for his current In Dolus members, but they had already been in Diagon Alley. He wasn’t sure what to expect when traipsing down Knockturn Alley, especially when he needed to buy several sets of robes, holsters, masks, and notebooks.

He allows his father to guide him into the Fireplace, keeps his hand wrapped tightly around the one in his own, and closes his eyes. Floo travel always made him feel queasy, and he didn’t want to fall over when he stepped out the other side because the constant spinning made him too dizzy to keep his footing. Stepping close to his father’s side, Aldwyn listens to the man as he calls out their destination before the floor falls from beneath his feet, and he is being pulled through a tight straw.

As opposed to the last time he travelled via Floo with his father, Aldwyn finds his feet slamming against the stone floor, but this time he manages to keep his feet. Stepping out of the fireplace, the first thing to catch his eye was the dark, dank interior of the shop he was now standing in. The windows were murky, streaked with grim and dirt, allowing very little natural light into the room, and the flame torches were turned down, casting dark shadows on the walls.

Several shelves were covered in items he had never seen before, but from the stifling feeling pressing down around him, Aldwyn could tell that everything in the store was dripping with Dark magic. It was almost as if he were able to see the tendrils of magic dancing around the air. It was both unnerving and fascinating. Knowing that many of his parents’ friends had to sell much of their family heirlooms and belongings to this store at the close of the wizarding war because of the Ministry’s sudden increase in House Raids.

While he is gazing around the room, eyeing the various tombs sitting innocently on the bookshelves opposite the fireplace, Aldwyn hears the Floo flare once again and turns just in time to see his papa walking out of the fireplace. Quickly followed by Bill and then Charlie. Grinning up at his family, Aldwyn allows his father to check his hood one final time before they walk out of the dingy store and into the shadowed walkway that was Knockturn Alley.

“Alright, Snakelet. What would you like to purchase first?” Severus questions, walking by his partner’s side, their fingers interlaced.

“I was thinking of the uniforms. I had all my friends send me over their measurements so I could have them crafted now.”

“All of them? I thought you were only inditing a few members this summer?”

“I am only initiating a few members, but I already initiated the rest of them over Yuletide. Once I give Pansy, Tracy, and Milicent their marks, then that is every Slytherin student in my year indited.”

“Wow. I hadn’t realised there were so few left for you to invite.”

“I mean, it would have taken me an entire year to include 11 members in my ranks, not including myself, of course, and I am still a little nervous about having so many people under my command. So to speak, but I believe with the rest of the members supporting me, I am going to be fine. It is only an extra 3 members.” Aldwyn explains, lifting a hand to brush through his hair, only to be stopped by the cloak currently stuck to his head to block him from being recognised by the stragglers around them. He sighs and drops his hand back to his side.

“Alright, so we are ordering the cloaks first?” Marvolo questions, dropping a hand to his son’s shoulder.

“Yes, I believe that they are going to take the most time. I wish for the merchant to apply a few specific wards to the fabric to make them grow with each member, to make them fireproof, waterproof, and to etch some runes into the fabric for additional protection.”

“That is a lot for the merchant to finish for you, Aldwyn.”

“I know. My Mark gives my members a lot of protection already; it will allow me to trace and track them down if they are ever kidnapped or held hostage by the Order. No matter what wards they are behind. It also allows me to call my members to me if I need to hold an emergency meeting and don’t have access to my notebook.”

“Alright. We can head over to Madam Raven’s Finest Robes.”

“Then can we head on over to Morgana’s Crafts and Wears?”

“To purchase your masks? I don’t see why not, those will take just as much time as the robes if you wish for them to be fixed with all the same spells as the others.” Severus places his hand on the back of Aldwyn’s hair for a moment, smiling when his son almost jumps in his excitement.

Aldwyn follows his parents through the cobbled streets, keeping his eyes peeled for anyone who looks like trouble. He glances over his shoulder, watching his brothers bringing up the rear, eyes scanning their surroundings with just as much attention. He stands to the side as his Papa pushes open the door of a downgraded building. Green paint peeling, a wooden sign hanging from one metal rusted hook, while the windows were cracked and broken in places.

Pushing through the door, Aldwyn gives his eyes a couple of seconds to adjust to the dim lighting before he skips up to the counter, where an elderly looking lady was standing, flicking through a large tome of writing Aldwyn couldn’t decipher. As he approaches to counter, the lady pushes her book to the side and smiles down at the twelve-year-old.

“A very fine morning to you, young master. What can I be getting for you today?” Her voice cracks, as if from disuse, and it always sets Aldwyn on edge. The woman behind the counter always reminded him of those witches in children’s stories. The ones who would lure children into their homes to cook or use to make potions that would allow the witch to regain her youthful appearance.

“Good morning, Madam Raven.” Aldwyn greeted, pushing his hood down so she could see his face. “I have another order for you today!” He exclaims happily, waving a small scrap of parchment around in the air.

“Ah. Young Heir Prince-Slytherin. I see, the same as last time?” She takes the parchment with a smile. She hadn’t seen much business in the past few years, not with the constant raids happening throughout the Alley due to Ministry interference, but the Prince-Slytherin family had really improved her revenue.

“Yes, please. I need three new sets of robes, the same as last time, please. One in Deep Magenta, one in Burgundy, and the other in brown, please. I want all the same charms and wards placed on them as last time as well, and if you could include the matching wand holsters, that would be appreciated! I have already written which colours go with which measurements!”

“Thank you, young Heir. I will get started on these immediately. The same standard fee?” She glances up at the boy’s parents, her grin widening, showing off her missing teeth.

“And a little extra for your continued discretion, Madam Raven,” Marvolo states, handing over an entire bag filled with galleons.

“Of course, My Lord. Your son is one of my best customers. I can’t have those Ministry bastards getting their hands on such a valued customer.” She turns her attention back to Aldwyn. “They will be ready for you in 3-4 hours, Heir Prince-Slytherin.”

“Thank you, Madam Raven. You have been a big help! We will see you later.”

Aldwyn takes his papa’s hand and walks back out of the shop with a small bounce in his step. If he wasn’t careful, he would be finished with his errands by noon and have nothing to do for the rest of the day.

“We shall place the anti-summoning wards on the holsters ourselves when we get home, Aldwyn.” Bill comments from behind his brother, reaching forward to pull the other’s hood back over his head before they could make it much further down the alley.

“Okay, I scheduled the initiation for tomorrow afternoon. Can we get them all done by then?”

“Definitely. It shouldn’t take us more than a few hours to do all of them. If we manage to get them all finished by tonight, then you will have most of tomorrow morning to prepare the room for your meeting and get the uniforms set out.

“Perfect. I have sent out a message to our initiated members to be there about half an hour earlier than the rest, so we can get sorted and prepped. I also want to go over some additional things for you all before Daphne, Pansy, and Tracy arrive.”

“Alright. I am sure we will all arrive with enough time to spare.” Charlie adds in, shaking his head at his little brother's worrying. He had seen Aldwyn sitting in the library, with his friends, and even in their papa’s rooms, writing notes after notes for the meeting. Plans for the In Dolus for when they begin back at school, so he knew that Aldwyn had absolutely nothing to worry about. There was enough planned out to keep them all busy for the next few months at least.

“Did you need any help from your papa or me, Aldwyn?”

“Hmmm. No, I don’t think so, but you are welcome to come in and sit through the meeting if you want, Father? It isn’t going to be that interesting, as we have no missions to give out just yet.”

“I will pop in for a bit with your Papa, to see how it is all going for you.”

Aldwyn turns to grin up at his parents before he leads his family into another dingy-looking store a little further down the alley. He pushes open the door and drops his hood once more. Grinning up at the man who slinks out from the back as soon as he hears the bell jingle.

“Ah. Young Heir Prince-Slytherin, I was wondering when I was going to see you again. What can I help you with this time?”

“Good morning, Mister Crowley. I wish to purchase another three masks just like the ones I ordered before, if you wouldn’t mind!”

“Of course not, Heir Prince-Slytherin. What colours am I doing for you?”

“Three black masks with Dark Magenta, Burgundy, and Brown detailing, please.”

“And you are still wishing for the blockers and wards fixed?”

“That would be wonderful. Thank you so much, Mister Crowley!”

“No worries, Heir Prince-Slytherin. Anything for one of my most valued customers.”

Marvolo steps forward and drops another bag of money on the counter, bowing his head in thanks to the man who slips the galleons under his counter before turning to the back room and gathering his supplies.

“I will have them ready for you in about an hour, Heir Prince-Slytherin. I am sure that you have other shopping to do while you wait, so I will not keep you any longer.”

“I will see you in about an hour, Mister Crowley. Thank you again!” Aldwyn pulls his hood back up and turns towards the front of the store, grinning up at his parents, who open the door and gesture him back out into the streets once more.

“I am surprised by how much the merchants here seem to like you, Snakelet,” Charlie comments, glancing behind them at the strange little store. He was both shocked and not at how well Aldwyn was able to handle himself in front of the odd sellers who seemed to frequent Knockturn Alley. But then again, Aldwyn has had to deal with his father’s associates and several different characters at Hogwarts, so maybe it wasn’t all that surprising after all. Besides, Aldwyn had already purchased similar items from these same two stores three times.

“All the people I have interacted with here are all sympathisers of our course. They were surprised when they first found out that I was the son of their Master, but as soon as they saw Father, Papa, and me, they warmed up to us pretty quickly. Besides, I pay them for the work they have done and have never tried to haggle the prices lower.”

Aldwyn explains as he continues to wander down the cobbled walkway with his family. It was nice being able to walk through the streets without being stared at and collared for a quick handshake. Something which he had experienced several times when he had walked through Diagon with his father during the previous school holiday. It had been uncomfortable and miserable, making him wish for their shopping trip to end early, instead of enjoying the day out.

But now, when he was so close to completing his In Dolus Intortis; when he was mere weeks away from going back to school and continuing his magical education, hopefully this time with no Shookwood to threaten his and his father’s wellbeing, no Lockhart to stalk him and assault him, and Dumbledore being watched even more closely than ever before. He knew that his friends were going to try and keep a close eye on him, especially after he had told them the full story behind Lockhart’s attack, after he had faced down Shookwood alone. But he wasn’t going to complain. Much.

“Hey, have you heard the news?” A man hurries through the cobbled street just behind Aldwyn and his family, pushing past them in his haste to get to his friends standing at the entrance to a dark side street.

“What are you mumbling about now, Frank?”

“Another one of your drunken fantasies?” A woman with dark curly hair sneers, standing up straight when the man stumbles over to them and throws a large stack of paper down upon some crates.

“It is all over the news! Sirius Black!” He mumbles, words slightly slurred, but Aldwyn feels his ears perk up when he hears that name. He had heard of Sirius Black only once before, in passing from Remus Lupin. And once when he was reading up on his parents' murders in first year.

The man had allegedly been the right-hand man of the Dark Lord Voldemort, joining the Death Eaters not long after he had graduated from Hogwarts. A man who had befriended an eleven-year-old James Potter and Peter Pettigrew. A young teenager who had grown up hating anything and everything to do with the Slytherin name because he didn’t believe the teachings of his mother. Because he preferred to rebel and push the boundaries of his mother’s patience, and ended up facing the height of her wrath.

Aldwyn had heard the story of how Sirius Black had been convicted of murdering thirteen Muggles and his friend Peter Pettigrew, how the man had been sentenced to Azkaban because he had sold his parents out to the Dark Lord and practically handed him over to be killed.

Did Aldwyn believe any of these rumours? No, he didn’t. Because his father and Papa had explained to him that Sirius Black had never been a Death Eater, and the one who had sold the Potters to the Dark Lord had been Peter Pettigrew.

“Don’t utter that name!”

“Why not? His name is all over the newspapers.” Frank shouts, waving around the stack of crumpled paper in his hands, until another man snatches the sheets and tries to flatten them out against the crates.

“Let me have a look at that.” The man scoffs, bending over the paper so he could read what all the fuss was about. “Sirius Black, possibly the most infamous prisoner ever to be held in Azkaban fortress, is still eluding capture, the Ministry of Magic confirmed today. "We are doing all we can to recapture Black," said the Minister of Magic, Cornelius Fudge, this morning, "and we beg the magical community to remain calm." Fudge has been criticised by some members of the International Confederation of Wizards for informing the Muggle Prime Minister of the crisis. "Well, really, I had to, don't you know," said an irritable Fudge. "Black is mad. He's a danger to anyone who crosses him, magic or Muggle. I have the Prime Minister's assurance that he will not breathe a word of Black's true identity to anyone. And let's face it — who'd believe him if he did?”

Aldwyn stops in his tracks, eyebrow raising at the tremble in the man’s voice. He really couldn’t believe what these people were thinking when it came to Sirius Black. The man had, quite publicly, renounced anything Dark since he was 11 years old. Had refused to follow in his parents' footsteps and even ran away from home when he was fifteen. Who would actually believe that a man so dedicated to proving he was a Light Wizard would suddenly turn his back and start fighting for the people he had been fighting against since he was a child? It didn’t make sense to Aldwyn. Not unless Sirius Black found something out about the Light side that made him rethink several years’ worth of opinions.

“Dad?” Aldwyn’s voice is quiet, confused, and unsure. There was one thing he would worry about when it came to Sirius Black, and that was the man’s insanity and need for revenge.

“What is it, Aldwyn?”

“You don’t suppose Sirius Black will try and come after you, do you? If he is as made as they say he is. You don’t think he escaped Azkaban because he somehow found out that you were back?” Aldwyn asks quietly, glancing up at his dad with a furrowed brow.

“You have nothing to worry about, Aldwyn. I don’t think Sirius Black is so insane that he is going to try and come after the Dark Lord. Especially not the Lord of a Noble House. Even if he is a few ingredients short of a potion, Black wouldn’t risk his newly found freedom by going after such a public figure.”

“Besides, Aldwyn, Sirius Black was heard to be muttering Harry Potter’s name before he managed to escape, and it is suspected that the man will try and make his way to Hogwarts.” Severus steps forward and drops his hand to Aldwyn’s shoulder.

“He is going to Hogwarts?” Aldwyn questions, sucking his lower lip into his mouth.

“We believe so.”

“We want you to be vigilant this year, Snakelet. Do not wander too far from the castle, and don’t go anywhere without your friends.” Marvolo warns, a gentle smile stretching across his lips when he sees the frustration beginning to take form on his son’s features.

“I know it is going to be smothering, Snakelet. Especially all you went through last year, but if Black manages to get too close to you, then he may be able to follow the godfather bond connecting him to you.”

“Godfather bond?”

“Sirius Black was made the Godfather of Harry Potter when he was born, and even though we did the adoption ritual and assigned a new set of godparents for you, we never found a way to erase the old bond,” Severus explains, hand squeezing Aldwyn’s shoulder.

“So, Sirius Black may have seen an article about Harry’s disappearance, but knew he hadn’t been killed because he could still feel the bond? Why would he have waited until now to escape then? Those articles came out last year.”

“Maybe because he has only just heard the news, or maybe because he was waiting for something, an opportunity or a different sign for him to escape.”

“This is going to be another exhausting year, isn’t it?” Aldwyn sighs, though he can’t stop a smile from growing when he is pulled into a hug by his parents.

“It is just until the Ministry can catch Black, Snakelet. I promise.”

“You have several people at the school watching over you, Snakelet. No one is going to hurt you this year; we are going to make sure of it.”

“Now, why don’t we go and fetch the rest of your shopping?” Marvolo drags a hand through Aldwyn’s hair before taking his son’s hand and continuing to walk down the street, avoiding the group of witches and wizards huddling together above the newspaper article. He had wanted to wait until they were back home before informing Aldwyn about the dangers of Black escaping from Azkaban.

Chapter Text

Minerva McGonagall walks through the entrance way of the newly refurbished Gryffindor Manor. She takes in the subtle signs of Gryffindor red and gold strewn throughout the decor, a lot more muted than when Fleamont and Eugene lived here. She could remember walking through these halls almost thirty years ago, back when James Potter was but a small child. A young boy who had more mischief in his little finger than most people had in their whole bodies.

She remembers countless afternoon tea sessions she held with the late Mrs Potter while Lord Potter was off making nice with the pureblood society. It had been a peaceful time. Just before the War had broken out and their daily lives changed for the worse.

It had taken her a long time. The rest of the school term and almost a month into the summer holidays before she finally stopped denying what had been in front of her the entire time. That she had been manipulated, moulded, and shaped by the one man she thought she could trust more than anyone else in the world. That her feelings had been discarded, that her personality had been all but stripped. It had taken her almost six months to realise that she had failed in her duties as a professor.

When the potions and blocks had been cleared from her system, McGonagall had been horrified when some of her memories had begun to shift and change, to morph back into what had once truly happened instead of what Dumbledore wanted her to believe.

One incident that came to mind almost made her sick. She recalled what happened that fateful night back during the Marauders’ fifth year at Hogwarts. The way one of her students had knowingly and happily tried to send one of his fellow students to their deaths. When one of her beloved students had laughed and high-fived his friend when she and Dumbledore had given him nothing but a slap on the wrist for failing to murder his classmate.

She remembered the look of complete and utter betrayal stretching across the victim's features, resignation singing loud in the way his shoulders had slumped, and his hair fell to cover his eyes. She had brushed off that incident, pushed it to the recesses of her mind to be forgotten, but now that it had been forcibly resurfaced once more, she couldn’t help but feel disgusted in herself, disgusted in Dumbledore, and appalled at the behaviour of one of her beloved students.

The Marauders, a group she had once thought to be harmless pranksters with too much energy and active imaginations, were now tainted in her mind from unblocked memories. Memories of how they had mercilessly bullied another student because his family couldn’t afford to buy the same high-quality clothes as they wore. How they would pick on him every chance they got, humiliate him with harmless pranks because they could. Because she had never stepped in to stop them.

If she had just been stronger. If she had been able to fight against the potions trying to mess with her mind, maybe this wouldn’t have happened. Maybe Severus would never have turned his back on the Light and joined that madman’s ranks straight out of school. Maybe Sirius Black wouldn’t have become a fifteen-year-old who almost sent a fellow classmate right into a werewolf’s den. Maybe Severus wouldn’t have a deep-seated fear of transformed werewolves, and maybe, just maybe, James and Lily may still be alive.

“Professor Kitty, Mistress has been sending Rosie to bes seeing you to the tea room.”

Professor McGonagall glances down at the small house elf standing in front of her, tiny hands twisting in a neat little sundress and shoes. She blinks three times, her mind trying to process that Molly now owns house elves.

“That would be delightful. Thank you, Rosie.”

She follows the little creature through the winding corridors, taking in the family portraits lining each wall with an elegance she hadn’t seen in years. She bows her head to some of the older generations of Gryffindors, smiling when she receives a few nods in return and even a wave or two. As she continues down the corridors, watching Rosie skipping along in front of her, she can’t help but marvel at just how much this house has changed.

“Ah, Minerva, I was beginning to think you weren’t coming.” A soft voice comes from her side, and Minerva pulls herself out of her thoughts to notice that they had come to a stop outside a lovely little room tucked away in the back of the house. Decorated in muted shades of mint and white.

“Molly, it has been too long.”

“Not since I was called into the school to deal with my little Ronnikins.” Molly sighs, shaking her head. Gesturing with her arm for the professor to come in and take a seat. She pours a small cup of tea for the other lady and smiles.

“How have you been?”

Molly pauses, her teacup halfway to her mouth, and frowns. She knew Minerva wasn’t just asking about her day, or as a polite conversation starter, but how did one go about telling someone how they were feeling after everything that had happened? So much had happened to her and the children in the past few weeks that she didn’t even know how to begin. Didn’t even really know how she was feeling at the end of the day.

How could she summarise the fact that she felt so lost? That she didn’t know what to believe anymore. That the parts of herself that she had once loved, once been complimented for, may not have been her true self after all. How could she sit here and tell her old friend that the man she had looked up to, practically worshiped like the next coming of Merlin, was a manipulative old codger who had ruined her life and the lives of her children?

What was she supposed to say about her kids? How was she supposed to feel now that her actions, and those of Arthur, had permanently driven away two of her sons and turned her youngest children against her? How can she sit here and admit to having thoughts of sending away one of her children because she was too drained to deal with his attitude much longer?

She sighs deeply, placing her cup back onto the table before smoothing her skirt over her knees. Molly glances across at Minerva and forces herself to relax. This wasn’t an interview with the Daily Prophet; Minerva wasn’t going to judge her for feeling overwhelmed and tired. The Head of Gryffindor was in the same boat. Or as close as one could get, at least. She sees the kind smile directed her way, the patience and understanding shining in a weary gaze, and she knows. Her words would be safe here.

“Honestly? Not that great.” Molly begins with another sigh. “Don’t get me wrong, I love the new house and am glad that someone was kind enough to offer their assistance when I needed it. Not having to worry about food or money for the house has taken one load off my shoulders, but…” She sighs again.

“I don’t know. So much has happened. I feel like I haven’t really had a chance to process it all, you know. I mean, I just found out that my husband and the man in charge of looking after my children while at school have been manipulating me, altering my personality, and trying to shape me into one of their perfect little chess pieces. Then, I am told that two of my sons gave up the Weasley name and allowed themselves to be adopted by a Dark family. And now Ronald is refusing to speak to me because I won’t allow him to go and live with his dad.”

“But isn’t Arthur in a holding cell?” Minerva asks, setting her own cup down. She watches the woman opposite, sympathy panging in her chest when Molly drops her face into her hands.

“He is, but Ronald won’t listen to me. He keeps telling me how this is all my fault. That I am accusing Arthur of something he would never do. That if Arthur really was poisoning me with potions, then it was my own fault for not being good enough for his dad. He won’t stop fighting with his siblings, won’t do anything I ask him to do, and has now taken to locking himself in his room. I don’t know what to do with him anymore.”

“I don’t know what to tell you, Molly, but we have also seen a drastic change in the boy’s attitude at the school. He sent a few first years to the hospital wings because he shouted at them so much, he sent them into panic attacks. He has been bullying other students, especially those who do not believe his ideals of all Slytherins being evil and Dark.”

“I know, but I just don’t understand what has happened. Last year, when he was a first-year at Hogwarts, he was such a sweet boy. So kind and helpful. I guess he did have a bit of an attitude, but I just put that down to starting school and being given such a large dose of independence all at once, but this year… I don’t know where this has come from.”

“Have you ever thought of taking a step back for a little while? I know you don’t want to, but I think this would be good for you, Molly. As you said, a lot has happened over these past few months, and Ronald’s new attitude is not helping you and the rest of your children deal with it.”

“You mean give him up?” Molly’s voice wobbles, tears beginning to burn behind her eyes.

“Not permanently. You mentioned Aunt Muriel a while ago. Have you discussed any of this with her? I am sure she wouldn’t mind helping you out for a few weeks.” Minerva suggests gently, placing her teacup down on the table.

“I sent her a letter just before I took the kids to Egypt for our holiday. She told me to send Ronald to her for the rest of the holidays, and maybe even longer if his attitude doesn’t improve, but I don’t want Arthur or Dumbledore to see this as an opportunity to label me a bad mother and try to take the rest of my children away from me. I wouldn’t know what to do if that happened.”

“It isn’t going to happen, Molly. For the Ministry to be able to take your children away from you, they would need to have evidence of child neglect, abandonment, or abuse, and you would never do that to your children. You wouldn’t be abandoning Ronald in the slightest; you are merely trying to help him. His attitude is spiralling, and without severe intervention soon, there is going to be no going back. I believe Aunt Muriel’s strong hand and more traditional views will help snap Ronald out of whatever phase he is going through.”

“You really think so?” Molly tightens her hands around the cup of tea, staring down into the brown liquid.

“I really do, Molly. I think a few weeks away from his siblings, time to process everything that has happened, will be good for Ronald. It will give him a chance to think for himself without the influence of any parents or siblings.”

“I don’t know…”

“I understand, Molly, but the more you or the rest of your children try to argue with Ronald, the more he is going to dig his heels in and fight back. I think once he is living with his Aunt Muriel for the summer holidays, he may just start to think about the consequences of his actions.”

“Okay… I think you might be right. I may use some of the money I have set aside from these monthly stipends to pay for Ronald to see a mind healer as well. I think he needs someone to talk to about all of this, and you are right; he needs some space to think about everything that has happened.”

“Good. This is a good thing, Molly. You will see.”

“I will send a message to Muriel in the morning.” Molly takes a deep breath, shaking off the guilt eating away at her gut at the thought of sending one of her children away. Of the thought that she was a terrible mother because she couldn’t handle her children, but she knew that Minerva was right. They all needed time to process everything that had happened. Not only had she lost two of her children, understandably, but she had also lost her husband and found out the trust she had placed in Dumbledore was wholly misplaced.

But it was worse for her children. They had lost two of their older brothers, and their father was being held in a holding cell in the Ministry of Magic for the foreseeable future. They had no clue what was going to happen next, especially after their entire life had been flipped on their heads.

Yes, they seemed to be financially better off now. Had a nice, large house to live in and separate bedrooms for the first time in a long time. They never had to worry about food, and the anonymous Lord Gryffindor, who had gifted them the house, had even given each child their own bank accounts filled with more money than they had seen in their lifetime. Each with a letter attached stating that it was to be used for new clothes, school equipment, books (recreational and educational), potion supplies, and anything else they wanted to use it for.

Molly couldn’t believe that there was someone out there, a pureblood related to the Gryffindor house who would be willing to give so much to a family they didn’t know too well. Someone who seemed to have noticed the situation they were in and offered a hand without asking for anything in return. It seemed to Molly as if her luck was certainly on the rise, and she couldn’t even thank the person who had given her and her children so much.

It had been an amazing day taking her children out for the day and allowing them to pick out the furniture for their own bedrooms, even if the twins insisted on still sharing their space. It had been heartwarming to see the delight on their faces when every store assistant seemed to see them coming and immediately insisted that everything they required for the kids’ new rooms was to be put directly on a tab to the Gryffindor Vault.

Molly had tried to argue, insist that she would pay for it with some of the money left to her by this anonymous Lord, but the store managers never budged. And there began her day of shepherding her children around Diagon Alley to buy them everything they would need for this fresh new start. She had even laughed at the amount of books Percy had purchased with his vault, while Ginny had pleaded with Molly to allow her to buy her own pet, a small black cat she ended up naming Onyx.

While Fred and George had disappeared into the potions store for over an hour, and came out with pockets bulging with shrunken bags and equipment. She hadn’t questioned them, only shook her head, patted their shoulders, and reminded them to at least try to keep their experiments to one of the stone chambers on the ground floor. They had laughed and hugged her.

For herself, Molly had purchased several new cookbooks and recipes for her to expand her cooking abilities. Even though she now had House elves running around the mansion, she still insisted that she be the one to cook for her children. Maybe she could even open up a small bakery and catering business to keep her busy during the school year, while she didn’t have the children around to keep her on her toes. Maybe that was something she could speak to Gringotts about on her next visit to the Alley.

“How are you coping with Bill and Charlie?” Minerva’s voice breaks Molly out of her thoughts.

“I am doing a lot better now. I think when I first heard the news, I was devastated. I blamed myself, thought I had finally driven my children away, but Bill and Charlie told me that that wasn’t the case. They told me that, even though they were sad to leave the Weasley name behind, they felt connected to the Prince-Slytherin family, like they were meant to be with them.”

“Oh?”

“Yes, I felt upset, but I understood what they were saying. I met little Aldwyn the summer before he joined Hogwarts, and even I was taken with him. He was such a well-mannered, adorable child who, despite looking terrified of Ronald, stood up for his Papa without a second thought. It was so sweet. Besides, despite the fact that I was under the influence of potions for so long, the potions only enhanced my own emotions. I still would have disapproved of Bill and Charlie’s career choices. Bill’s choice to grow his hair long and have that awful piercing, and Charlie’s choice to never settle down and live in the reserve with the Dragons. I just may not have been as vocal about it, and that is no way for my children to grow up.”

“That wasn’t your fault, Molly.”

“I know, but Bill and Charlie have the complete support and love from Lord Slytherin and Severus, and as a mother, that is all I could hope for, for my kids. I am upset that I couldn’t be the one to give it to them, but I don’t blame them, and I am not upset with them. I have even told their siblings not to blame them too much because this is a choice they made themselves, and they are happier than I have seen them in years.”

“That is very brave of you, Molly. I am surprised. I assumed you would be more upset than this.” Minerva pushes gently, a supportive smile on her lips.

“I was. I was completely devastated at first and was constantly asking myself what I did wrong and how I was such a bad mother, but once I heard from Bill and Charlie, I began to understand. This isn’t their fault. They just found a family with whom they could connect with more and feel more comfortable. It wasn’t my fault either. Bill and Charlie made this very clear.” Molly laughs, shaking her head.

“Anyway, enough about me. How are you dealing with everything?” She questions the older woman.

“Better than one would expect, I believe. Once my results were concluded, the Goblins sent a copy to the Ministry with a report of all behaviours that had been affected and an approximate duration of poisoning in my system. The Auror department reviewed the report and cancelled my probation on the grounds that I wasn’t acting in my own right.”

“That is wonderful news, Minerva!”

“It is indeed. I have been given the position of acting Headmistress, even though Dumbledore is still going to be present within the school next school year, but his duties will be restricted and under review closely than ever.”

“Restricted?”

“Yes, he will not be able to issue detentions, nor can he approve them. He is not allowed to hand out or take away points from the students, and neither is he allowed to approach any student without having the head of house present for every single meeting, no matter the subject matter.”

“I bet he isn’t happy about that.”

“Definitely not. He attempted to invite me up into his office after I received my results, but I requested that a member of the Board sit in on our meeting. He refused, so I refused to show up. It wasn’t long before I received an owl demanding my presence once more.”

“Oh dear,” Molly mutters, topping up both hers and Minerva’s cups.

“I have subsequently ignored 7 owls from the headmaster in these past 3 weeks since school broke up for the holidays.”

“And he hasn’t given up yet? That man is persistent. Surely, he knows that you received the results from the goblins already?”

“Oh, I have no doubts. I am sure Dumbledore is so self-assured that he wishes to get me up into his office so he can attempt to re-drug me. Little does he know that the Goblins gave me a pendant that detects potions or spells meant to manipulate my mind.” Minerva smirks, pointing to a small brooch pinned to the collar of her robes.

“I received a similar item.” Molly chuckles, holding up her wrist to display a nondescript bracelet.

“How did you manage to fight the spells? I heard stories from Fred and George that sometimes it seemed like you would defend Aldwyn and the Slytherins, even punishing the entire Gryffindor house, because they tried to bully Aldwyn by spreading false rumours. Then sometimes they would say it was like you couldn’t stand the sight of the Slytherin students.”

“It was because of Aldwyn, actually. My mind was telling me that this child was trouble, that he was the child of the Dark Lord and was coming to Hogwarts to try and continue his father’s work. But every time I interacted directly with the child, I saw something completely different. Aldwyn was hardworking, diligent, and always had some questions about the work we were doing. He would calmly explain his side of the story and offer to show his memories as evidence. He would admit if he did something wrong.”

“And the story the kids were spreading? About Aldwyn facing Shookwood on his own?”

“Not a story, I am afraid. Shookwood caught Aldwyn while he was out for a walk with his friends. That boy faced one of the most deranged individuals in the world because he was trying to go after his father. I have never seen a twelve-year-old that determined to protect his family so much before.”

“I heard the story straight from Aldwyn while on holiday. He was telling the cursebreakers because they were fascinated by the ritual; he used to strip Shookwood of the stolen magic. I was horrified. But his parents looked proud.” Molly shakes her head, hands trembling at the memory of hearing such a tale.

“Severus told me about what happened when I managed to catch him after Aldwyn was released from the hospital wing. He was shaken by the events, mainly because he received a Floo call from Blaise Zabini telling him that he and Theo were in the hospital wing, while Aldwyn had last been seen running into the Forbidden Forest with Shookwood on his tail.”

“Aren’t you worried? I mean a twelve-year-old.”

“Honestly? Not in the slightest. Aldwyn has shown, all throughout the year, that he is more capable than many children his age. His knowledge and spellmanship are excellent. He managed to catch up on all the work he missed in his first year because he was homeschooled in Albania, and he has even managed to master some higher-level spells during some study sessions with his friends.”

“I had heard about his spellmanship from Fred and George. The twins were happily telling me the other day about a successful prank they pulled on Lockhart during the school year because they had noticed how the professor seemed to be picking on Aldwyn quite a bit.”

“A prank?”

“Yes, they weren’t caught for it, even though I am sure several professors and students knew it was them. What I didn’t expect was that Aldwyn actually helped them.”

“Did they tell you what the prank was?” Minerva questioned with an eyebrow raised; she had a feeling that she knew exactly what the twins had been referring to in their story.

“Apparently, they had managed to spell all the portraits in Lockhart’s office to show various imperfections on the man’s face. Some of them went bald, others started sporting various-sized spots and pimples. They also managed to stick the man’s furniture to the ceiling of his classroom, which is the part of the prank that Aldwyn helped them with. I was impressed by the magical feat. Not so much the sneaking around the castle in the middle of the night.”

“I knew it. I knew Fred and George had been behind that prank, but no matter how many times I questioned them, they always denied it. I didn’t think Aldwyn would have been involved, however. Though it doesn’t surprise me too much now. Aldwyn and your boys have been suspiciously close since the Christmas holidays, and I know they have been plotting where no one can hear them. I am just waiting for their plans to come to fruition.” Minerva sighs, shaking her head while Molly cracks a smile and laughs.

And just as if planned, a large explosion echoes around the mansion, making the China on the table rattle and shake with the force. Minerva glances around, face paling at the loud noise, but she settles back down when Molly merely rolls her eyes and shrugs.

“George and Fred warned me that they would be experimenting this afternoon. They are inventing new pranks and products for their store.”

“Merlin, help us all.”

-----

Remus sits in the living room of Lord Slytherin and Lord Prince, wiping his sweaty hands on his trouser leg as he glances around the expensive-looking room. He feels his lips straining to form a smile when Aldwyn skips into the room with a book held securely under his arm. He bites his lip, chewing on the skin until he tastes the metallic film of blood coating his tongue.

It had been a while since he had been anywhere in the wizarding world. The first time in ten years was his trip to Gringotts to hear the will readings of Lily, James, and Harry Potter. An event that had opened his eyes to some of the manipulations of Dumbledore and some of the ‘so-called’ Light side. He had been heartbroken when he had found out that Dumbledore had set up wards to prevent him from keeping in contact with his godson, had been devastated when he had heard the truth behind Harry’s disappearance and ‘death’ from Severus.

He hadn’t believed it at first, believed that his little Harry, the baby who didn’t care that he was a werewolf, who had called his name before he had said mama. The young child who had loved sitting with him on the sofa, reading stories instead of running around with his Uncle Sirius. It just wouldn’t sink in that his sweet, innocent little godson had been murdered by the family Dumbledore had abandoned him with. It was awful, disgusting when he found out that Harry was gone.

But then, he had discovered something even more unbelievable. Something that made his heart swell with appreciation and all doubt toward the Dark Sect. to all but vanish from his mind. He had been beside himself, his mind running a mile a minute while he directed Marvolo and Severus through the Forbidden Forest to find their son. His thoughts in turmoil, but he knew that he couldn’t question the couple at that moment. Not when the twelve-year-old Aldwyn was possibly facing Shookwood, a man maybe even more deranged than Voldemort.

The scent he had caught when he had been trying to locate Aldwyn had been different, but still undeniable. A scent that made his heart stutter in his chest before it doubled in time. He had almost demanded answers right then from Severus, but the look of panic he could see on the man, an expression he had been trying to hide, had made him pause. This was a man who had claimed to hate all things Potter. Who had despised James with every fibre of his being and yet here he was, raising the man’s child as if he were his own. Protecting Harry and worrying about him to the point of near hysteria.

He had found his Harry. After ten years of not being able to hear his delicate laughter or watch as he grew up to become a powerful wizard, he had finally met his godson again. And after a lengthy explanation from Marvolo, Severus, Bill, Charlie, and Aldwyn, he had been allowed to stay in Harry’s life… as long as he never revealed to anyone that Aldwyn had once been Harry Potter. Of course, he had agreed immediately.

“Uncle Moony? Are you feeling okay?” Aldwyn questions, settling his books down on his lap while he curls his legs up under himself.

“Just a little nervous, Aldwyn.”

“That is understandable.” Aldwyn nods his head. “You have been brought up hearing horror stories about him; I think you are very brave to face him now.”

“You said he was one of your tutors?” Remus questions, trying to distract himself.

“Yes, Father asked him to be my tutor for astronomy, and he even taught me some martial arts and survival skills. Last summer, I almost managed to run through the whole forest before he caught me!” Aldwyn exclaims, a large grin beginning to form across his lips, and Remus can’t stop a returning gesture. He had missed the boy’s carefree attitude.

“That is excellent, Aldwyn. Especially seen as he is an Alpha, his senses are stronger than the average wolf. You must have worked hard to achieve such a feat.”

“Of course. But Fen was one of my strictest teachers. He wouldn’t let me slack off, not even once! It was hard work, and I always came back after our sessions covered in mud, but it was so much fun.”

“I bet your father appreciated that.” Remus chuckles.

“He said it was evidence that I was working hard and learning a lot.” Aldwyn laughs, shaking his head with a fond smile. “Fen was also one of the werewolves asked by Father to assign some of his pack, or himself if he had the time, to stake out the Forbidden Forrest during the school year so he could try and catch Shookwood.”

“Fenrir was on school grounds? And Dumbledore never knew?”

“Of course he didn’t.” Aldwyn scoffs. “That man doesn’t know anything he doesn’t want to know. Father visited me in the castle at least 5 times last year, and those were just the times Dumbledore wasn’t aware of. Of course, Father spoke directly with Dumbledore at least once while on school grounds as well.”

“You know… that doesn’t actually surprise me. Severus has always been one of the smartest people in our year. I am sure he would know some wards or something to prevent Dumbledore from realising the Dark Lord was sitting having tea right under his nose.” Remus chuckles, relaxing minutely the more he spoke with the small boy who used to be Harry. He couldn’t believe how much the child reminded him of Severus when he had been in school.

“Are you nervous?” Aldwyn questions after a moment of silence. His eyebrow raises as he glances across the room at the werewolf.

“A little.” Remus drags a hand through his hair. “I have been raised since the age of four, hearing stories and tales of the rabid Alpha werewolf who has a fascination with seeking revenge by turning the children of his enemies.”

“Did you never question that?” Aldwyn asks, dropping his book onto a small side table.

“Question what?”

“What your parents must have done to Fenrir or his pack for the Alpha to track them down and attack their only child? I mean that would be my first thought.”

“I…” Remus pauses, thinks back on his childhood, and freezes. Dawning horror spreads through his frozen form like shards of ice. “I never thought to…”

“It is okay, Remus. If I had been in your position, I don’t think I would have questioned Dumbledore or your parents either.”

“But…”

“No. No buts, Remus. You were a young child. You didn’t understand what was happening to you. All you knew was that someone attacked you, and as a result, you were in pain and out of control every month. Dumbledore gave you the chance to go to school where no other werewolf had been given that opportunity. You were grateful to him. It is understandable.”

“But you didn’t follow Dumbledore blindly last year. You were only eleven years old, and you still questioned him, distrusted him enough to try and make a bargain with the Dark Lord. I don’t even have the excuse of potions impairing my decisions like Molly and Minerva did.” Remus points out, voice trembling as his hands tighten around his knees.

“Our situations were very different, Uncle Moony. I grew up knowing that I was unwanted; that adults couldn’t be trusted. I didn’t have anything to be grateful for towards Dumbledore. I hadn’t met the man except for a handful of minutes throughout the year. My relatives made sure I fended for myself, that I made my own decisions, and that I would do anything for survival. They made sure of that. Even if it meant asking the man who would stop at nothing to kill me. I would have preferred that to being sent back to my relatives for the next 6 years.” Aldwyn explains, with a tight smile across his lips, and Remus can feel his heart breaking for the young child.

Even though his parents couldn’t stand the sight of him most days, even though they were afraid of him and tried to do anything to ‘fix’ him. To save him from an infliction caused by their actions, he had known that they still loved him. Deep down. They cared for him and always wanted to do what was best for him, even if it meant locking him up in a cage every full moon.

And Dumbledore. He was the man who had allowed him to attend Hogwarts. To gain an education even when no other werewolf had been given that opportunity before. Dumbledore had made sure that he had access to the Wolfsbane potion as soon as it had been invented, had made sure he had a safe place to transform where he wouldn’t hurt anyone. Had helped him to hide his affliction from the wizarding world his entire life, and he had been so thankful to the man.

“Aldwyn is right, Remus.” A voice cuts through the silence like a knife. “You were an impressionable child who spent most of his life being manipulated and shaped into a person they wanted you to be. A child who has been fed the same lies for their entire life isn’t going to do anything to question their parents’ words.”

“Fenrir Greyback…” Remus’s voice is a whisper, a mix between fear and interest.

Chapter Text

“Thank you for giving me a chance to explain what happened to you back then.”

“Severus told me that I have my facts wrong, and I hate not knowing the truth. If my parents have lied to me, then I have a right to know the truth.”

“And I promise that is what I am going to tell you, I swear, Remus. You have gone far too long living with these lies. Almost 30 years, in fact.” Fenrir walks into the room completely, making his way to an armchair adjacent to Remus. Marvolo and Severus follow closely behind.

“Okay, the truth, Greyback,” Remus states firmly, clearing his throat and staring directly at the Alpha wolf with determination.

“Of course, Remus.” He takes his wand out of his pocket. “I, Fenrir Greyback, hereby swear on my magic that all I am about to reveal to Remus Lupin is the truth and nothing but the truth, as I know it. So mote it be.” A yellow-golden light shimmers in the air, sealing the magic in place.

“Why did you do that?”

“So, you understand that I am not going to lie to you, Remus. Never. As you told the Little Master, your parents may have loved you, but their actions were more for their benefit than for your own. Your parents hid you away from the werewolf community and forced you to transform alone, chained up in a basement for several years. They taught you to hate your wolf, to fight against it and bury it deep down, which damaged the bond you should have shared.”

“Why would you do this for me? You hate me. I am a traitor." Remus argues, hands gripping his hair in white knuckles as he stares across at the Alpha, confusion and hope battling for dominance in his expression. "As you said, I turned my back on the wolf and followed Dumbledore like some sick puppy.” Remus’s shoulder slumped, staring across the room at the alpha for a long moment before he dropped his eyes.

“Because you are a member of my pack, whether you knew it or not, Remus. You always have been and always will be one of my cubs. Besides, none of this has been your fault.” Fenrir takes a deep breath when Remus raises an eyebrow in question. Dragging a hand through his hair.

“A few years ago now, close to forty years ago, my uncle poisoned and murdered my father and became the Alpha to the Greenwich Werewolf pack, but he was a leader from hell. My uncle Cirus thought my father was teaching our wolves to be too mellow, that we were weak and ran away from the wizards who had persecuted us for several decades. He thought we should fight back, take what the wizards had stripped from us by force. He would demand impossible tasks to be completed by impossible deadlines. Would demand any woman who took his fancy to sleep with him whenever he wanted them to, even if they were bonded to their Mate. If tasks were not completed or women refused, then he would publicly beat them. It was to make them stronger. But it wasn’t, it was just cruel. People were starving, children lived in fear, mating bonds were forcibly broken, and several wolves left to become lone hunters.”

“That sounds awful,” Remus whispers, tears gathering in his eyes at the story.

“It sounds a lot like my uncle, Vernon,” Aldwyn adds in, a sour look crosses his features.

“It was the darkest time in my pack’s life, and I was only 9 years old at the time. My Uncle had one son of his own, his Heir, Romulus. A scumbag who was even worse than his father. Romulus found great entertainment in kidnapping children from the surrounding villages and turning them against their will. Any child he turned, he would keep locked away in his tent and use as personal playthings. He was fifteen. For several months, we could do nothing but listen to the screams of newly transformed cubs being tortured and brutalised. Within those few months, several newly turned pups were so weak and frail due to malnourishment and continued torture that they wouldn’t make it through their next transformation.”

“That is awful,” Remus says, sniffling at the suffering of those small, innocent children. “Why didn’t anyone try to stop him. He was only fifteen, surely one of the older wolves could have taken him out.”

“Because Romulus was the Heir, and his father allowed him to do anything he wanted. If someone tried to go against him, they would become the next victim for our Alpha or be given straight over to Romulus to have fun with. We wanted to fight back, but unfortunately, we held no power.” Fenrir explains, with tears in his eyes, and Remus can’t help but feel sorry for the older werewolf.

“What happened?”

“Cirus was in the middle of another one of his public ‘punishment’ sessions on a young Omega wolf who refused to sleep with him because she had just given birth to her Mate’s first cub, when our camp was attacked by Light Wizards. I was twelve when this happened, and as the Heir to the previous Alpha, Cirus had sent me across the Channel to try and negotiate terms of allegiance with them. I, of course, informed them of what was happening in our pack and asked if they would agree to ally themselves with me if I managed to overthrow the current Alpha.”

“They agreed and promised to send me aid if I needed it. So, during the raid, I took as many women, children, farmers, and warriors as I could; anyone who was willing to come with me, and we fled. We went into hiding after that, cultivating our own land and hunting our own food until we had managed to regain enough strength to fight back. I kept in contact with my new allies across the sea, and when I told them of my plans to take Cirus out, they sent me some of their best warriors. I led my pack, anyone who wanted to fight back against Cirus and Romulus, to Cirus’s new camp in the middle of the night.”

“All when you were twelve?”

“I was probably closer to thirteen at this point, but as the son of the previous Alpha, people believed in me. They saw when I would steal away one or two cubs from Romulus’s personal collection and heal them. I would sneak them to other werewolf packs or have women in the village adopt them. Romulus had so many by this point that he never noticed when a few went missing each month, and he never looked at them properly enough to recognise them around the camp.”

“You are so cool, Uncle Fen. I understand why all your wolves love you so much!” Aldwyn grins over at the man, a tightness around his eyes showing the werewolf that he was finding it hard to listen to such a story, and Fenrir had to give it to the young child.

“I did what I had to do, Little Prince. While my wolves were getting into position, I snuck into Cirus’s tent and killed him in his sleep. I knew that I wouldn’t have been able to take him out if he had been ready to fight, and so I decided to get rid of him before the real battle began. I stabbed him through the chest with a sharp stick, one he had used to torture members of his pack for years.”

“What about Romulus?” Remus questions, sitting on the edge of his seat, dried tears shimmering on his cheeks.

“Romulus had always been ridiculously weak. Despite his father’s rants about us being weak and forcing us all to train extra hard so we could one day take on the wizards who attacked us, the same rule wasn’t enforced with his own son. Romulus spent most of his days lounging around, eating, and tormenting those cubs. Besides, he was the son of Cirus, and therefore the rules never applied to him; he could do whatever he wished without consequences. I wasn’t worried about him. Despite his weak disposition, many of my own wolves were still terrified to face him directly, and so, I promised to deal with him after taking out the Alpha.”

“Were you okay?” Remus jolts, as if he were holding himself back from jumping out of his seat and checking the alpha over for injuries long healed. The motion makes Fenrir stare across the room at the younger werewolf with a calculating gaze.

“When the battle began, it was long and hard. Romulus came out of his tent when he heard the commotion start. I had given several wolves the chance to step down and join my new pack, but only a few were brave enough to join my side. He stumbled out of his tent, groggy and unkempt, still stumbling from a few drinks the night before. I will never forget the look of fury that passed across his face when he realised what was happening. When he recognised the suspected missing/dead wolves being led by his own cousin in a usurpation.”

“As soon as he caught sight of me amongst the flames and destruction, he lunged at me. The battle was a bloodbath from his side. Romulus called the small children he held captive in his tent forward and tried to force them to fight against my fully-grown, trained warriors. Many of them were much too small for their ages, frail, and covered in various wounds. It was a suicide mission if they were to obey, something many of them seemed to realise. So, I instructed some of my people to gather up the children and lead them away from the battlefield, to dress their wounds and get them cleaned up.”

“You won, didn’t you? I know you did.” Remus exclaims, almost frantic from the tension building in his muscles from listening to such a story. He has a sinking feeling now about what had really happened to him all those years ago, and he couldn’t help but wonder how he had escaped from such a fate. How had he stayed with his parents? How he hadn’t been forced into servitude by Romulus.

“I did. But it was a tiring battle. Romulus was frantic, desperate to win when he realised what was at stake, what he would lose if I won against him. He became almost incessant when he called for his father, and the Alpha was nowhere to be seen. I told him that Cirus wasn’t going to have his back ever again, and he must have understood my meaning because he went completely deranged. His control had slipped, lunging at me to attack while leaving himself open. He tried every trick in the book, every underhanded method he knew to throw me off, but I was faster than him and stronger. In the end, the battle lasted around 3 hours, with Romulus finally meeting his end.”

“What happened to the children he held hostage and turned?”

“Many of them were held in the medic’s tent until they were strong enough to join the pack officially. Some of the women who had lost their cubs under Alpha Cirus’s rule adopted the children into their own families, while others were placed in a small centre for children within the camp. Some of the cubs he turned a few days before the battle were never found.”

“Never found? What do you mean?”

“A few days, maybe even two weeks before I took Romulus out, one of his advisors told us that he had yet to go out and collect some of the children he had attacked and turned. He always liked to wait until after their first transformation before he kidnapped them, just so he knew they wouldn’t die too easily. We were told about one little boy, around 3 or 4 years old, who had been brutally attacked by Romulus the day before our fight. The child had been terminally ill, and Romulus was waiting for the transformation to burn away the illness before he took him in. This child was the youngest Romulus had ever turned, and I was worried about what he wanted to do with such a small cub. It took me three months to track down this child, but by then he had already been poisoned against werewolves.”

“That was me,” Remus states, almost as a question, but already knowing the answer.

“It was. Romulus confessed to one of his lackies that he had smelt something on you that made him want to turn you and use you as a way to further ‘put me in my place’. He caught a scent lurking beneath an illness you had and wanted to use this to hurt me and keep me under control because he was worried that I would try to overthrow his father…” Fenrir confesses, dropping his face into his hands. His shoulders shake for a brief moment before he takes a deep breath and tries to collect himself.

“What did he smell?”

“When you were a young child, were you aware that you were very ill, Remus? That you had some strange Muggle disease that couldn’t be cured and you were dying?” Fenrir watches as Remus nods his head; his parents had told him. “Romulus’s lackey called it ‘cancer’, I think. And it was slowly killing you.”

“But what scent did he think would hurt you? Surely, you wouldn’t have cared about some random child whom you had never met before.”

“He smelt the shallow scent of a werewolf… the markings of Mother Moon.”

“A werewolf? On me? But I wasn’t one at the time; he hadn’t turned me?”

“No, he hadn’t. He could smell the faint scent of another werewolf on you, an indication by Mother Moon that you had the potential to become the Mate of a werewolf when you hit your majority, and the fact that he could smell it on you at such a young age meant that you were going to become the Mate of an extremely powerful Alpha… and other than his father, the only Alpha he knew was me.” Fenrir explains, his voice quiet, shaking as he glances across the room at Remus.

“A Mate? As in a life partner to an Alpha? He could smell that on m-” Remus cuts himself off, raising an eyebrow as comprehension dances across his expression. “He smelt my potential to become a werewolf Mate when I hit my majority… the Mate of an Alpha wolf… He smelt our bond… even when we were both so young? I am your Mate? That is why he thought he could use me against you…” Remus questions, his voice wavering, shaking, and breaking as he tries to fight back tears.

For years, he had thought that he was defective, that he didn’t have a Mate, but he had one all this time, someone who, looking at him, had been doing everything in his power to protect him.

“Yes…” Fenrir whispers, a single tear falling down his cheek. “Romulus wanted to turn you, and once he was sure the bite had taken and you were cleared of your illness, he wanted to bring you back to the pack and treat you like one of his playthings…”

“Is that why you never approached me? Is that why you allowed my parents to lie to me for several decades, why you let them lock me up in a basement every summer I was home from school? Were you disgusted that I had been turned by someone else? That he wanted to use me?”

“What? No! Remus, I would never have left you alone if I knew your parents were doing that to you. I was trying to protect you! You had already been poisoned against me by the time I found you. Would you have listened to a word I had to tell you at the time? I didn’t want your parents to find out that you were my Mate, or Dumbledore! Do you know what that deranged man might have done to you to get to me? I wasn’t going to let that happen. I wasn’t going to let them hurt you!” Fenrir argues, jumping to his feet as desperation coats his tone and more tears threaten to fall.

“You left me with parents who couldn’t stand the sight of me! To be manipulated and shaped into something I am not!” Remus argues back.

“I am sorry, Remus! I am so sorry! I thought I was protecting you! I didn’t know how your parents were treating you until it was too late! If I had found out before, I would have taken you with me without hesitation! You were my Mate! You were supposed to be mine. Mine to protect, mine to love, and mine to cherish, but your parents, Dumbledore, took that away from me! They kept you away from me…” The last phrase was muttered, barely understandable to the three wizards sitting around the room, but Remus heard it. He had heard it all, and his heart was breaking.

“Were?” Remus’s voice comes out small, dejected, as if the word had somehow stabbed him through the gut.

“What?” Fenrir stops, taking a deep breath as he looks into Remus’s heartbroken expression.

“You said I was supposed to be yours? Have you rejected me as your Mate? Have you found someone else? Am I not your Mate anymore?” Remus couldn’t stop himself. He begins to cry, his heart clenching painfully in his chest, his hands shaking at the force of motions swirling around his mind. He didn’t know why he was being affected so much by the Alpha’s words, didn’t understand what was happening to him, but it felt as if a part of him had been ripped out.

“I didn’t think you would want me to be…” Fenrir confesses. “You have only just found out that I wasn’t the one to turn you. That I abandoned you, left you alone, because I thought that was what was best for you. I don’t want to rush into anything you may regret, Remus.”

“You think I wouldn’t want to try and be with the one person in the universe who is my perfect match? The person who kept their distance and refused themselves access to their Mate just to keep me safe? That I wouldn’t want to be with someone who would risk their life to protect their pack from corruption? Who did their best to protect me, even if that meant leaving me with people who locked me up. I may be angry at you for leaving me with those people and allowing me to be manipulated, but I can understand why you would have done it. If you had taken me away in my state, I would have done my best to escape, and I might have even led the Light to your camp. You were doing what was best for everyone. I can’t hate you for that, Fenrir…”

“What about that mutt you were always hanging around with?”

“Mutt? Sirius? What about him?” Remus’s anger quickly changes to confusion at the sudden jump in conversation.

“Weren’t the two of you dating? He has escaped from Azkaban now; you can be together again.”

“Dating? Sirius? I never dated Sirius. We were just friends. Besides, he has only escaped from Azkaban now because Fudge decided to taunt him with an article about Harry’s disappearance. He was Harry’s magical Godfather and so can probably still feel a small connection with Harry, so he will know that he isn’t dead like everyone believes.”

“So, you weren’t dating Black?” Fenrir clarifies, smirking down at Remus, who laughs and climbs to his feet.

“No, I am not, nor have I ever dated anyone. Besides, why would I want to date someone who tried to turn me into an unwilling murderer?”

"An unwilling murderer?"

"Nothing. That is a story for another time, but right now, we have some stuff to talk about."

"So, you wouldn’t mind? Giving us a try?” Fenrir takes a step closer to Remus, hope lighting up his tone.

“I wouldn’t mind. As long as you don’t mind having a damaged wolf as your Mate?” Remus takes a step, closing the distance a little.

“You are not damaged, Remus. I will train you to accept your wolf.” Fenrir takes one final step and brushes some hair away from Remus’s face. “You will be able to turn every full moon without pain, while keeping all of your memories and control. I will teach you the ways of the wolf.”

“That sounds good.”

“Will you allow me to court you, Remus?” Fenrir presses his hand against Remus’s cheek, smiling when the younger wolf immediately leans into his touch.

“I would be honoured to allow the Alpha to the largest Wolf pack in Europe to court me, as long as you allow me to do the same?”

“The honour would be mine, Remus. Thank you.”

“Thank you for telling me the truth, Fenrir.”

“Nothing but the best for my Mate,” Fenrir whispers, pressing his forehead against Remus’s, the two closing their eyes before breaking into relieved laughter.

“Anyone else going to pick up on the fact that Sirius Black may be making his way to Hogwarts because he knows Harry isn’t dead?” Aldwyn questions, a smile stretching his lips as he watches Fenrir and Remus getting lost in each other as they embrace tightly.

-----

Aldwyn walks around a small reception room that his father had given him to hold his In Dolus meetings whenever he was home from school. Informing his son that no one would be able to access the room without Aldwyn’s express permission or those who held his mark. It was a weight Aldwyn hadn’t noticed pressing on his shoulders, lifting now that he knew no one would be able to listen in on his meetings if he wanted to discuss something confidential.

Pushing the chairs and furniture out of the way for the meantime, he ensures that there is enough room for his members to stand around while he holds the initiation for his newest and final members for the time being. Straightening up after pushing the final armchair to the side of the room, Aldwyn straightens his robes, making sure they sit right before he checks the mask hanging off his hip and ensures that he has all his uniform.

Just as he is securing his mask tighter around his belt, a knock sounds at the door to his reception room, and he smiles. Walking towards the door, Aldwyn gives the room one final glance around before opening the door and smiling at his friends standing in the corridor in their uniforms.

“Good afternoon, everyone, glad you could make it on time. Come in, we have a few things to discuss before our newest members get here.”

“Glad to see you are doing well, My Prince, it has been a long time since we have seen you.” Someone intones, bowing in greeting to Aldwyn, who smirks at the individual decked out in black robes accented in light green.

“A pleasure to see you again, Apollo. How have the holidays been treating you?”

“Same as usual, My Prince.” Apollo shrugs, nonchalance coating his tone. “My father has been much too busy to make it home for more than to sleep every night before he is out of the house seeing to some ‘urgent work’ while my mother laments her lot in life to any Lady who will give her the time of day.”

“Sorry to hear that, Apollo. You know you are welcome here anytime you need some space, right? We can go through some of the new Rune books Arete has given me.” Cronus comments, patting his friend on the shoulder, his expression turning from sorrowful to a small smile when he feels Theo relaxing under his touch.

“Thank you, My Prince. I will keep your offer in mind.”

“What have you been up to these past few weeks, Cronus? You haven’t replied to my last letter.” Erebus walks over, throwing his arms around Cronus and Apollo, almost throwing the two boys off their feet with the unexpected action.

“Nothing much. I met up with Fenrir a few days ago. Introduced him to a lost cub from his pack who was turned a little over 20 years ago, and helped them hash out their relationship. Went to Diagon Alley to pick up the uniform for our newest members. Spent the first bit of our holiday exploring the tombs and pyramids in Egypt.” Cronus wraps his arm around Erebus in a return embrace, chuckling when Apollo follows his lead, only after he had slapped their friend on the back of the head.

“A very busy holiday then for you, Erebus. Much too busy to spend time with your friends.”

“Never, Erebus. As soon as this meeting is completed, I will have plenty of time to hang out. Especially as we complete our summer homework,” He teases, smirking when he hears several groans from around the room at his reminder. “Hey, don’t complain at me! I am not the one who set us homework, you know.”

“No, but you are the one who reminded us of it,” Athena shouts back, drawing laughter from around the room while Aldwyn rolls his eyes.

“Alright, anyway, before we introduce the newest members of our faction, there is someone else I need to introduce you to.” Aldwyn waves his hand in the direction of the back corner of the room, where the others notice two figures standing silently, decked head to toe in their uniform.

“Ummm. Cronus, who are they?” Ares questions, taking a step backward.

“These are two people whom I initiated last year without anyone else knowing. I wanted to give them a chance to prove themselves and show me that they had what it takes to be a part of my Intortis before I introduced them to anyone else. And with the events of last year, they certainly proved themselves.” Aldwyn explains, gesturing for the two figures to come up and stand at the front of the room with him. His friends stand back, looking from their leader to their two strangers and back again.

“You initiated them last year? When?” Itus asks, crossing his arms in front of his chest. He eyes the two figures standing on either side of his Prince, raising an eyebrow when they don’t shift or twitch under the curious gazes of six other people. It was unnerving. He couldn’t even guess their identities, either, as they were most definitely taller than him and his friends, stockier, and yet still appeared to be children in Hogwarts.

“Did you recruit some older years?” Apollo questions.

“Nope, these two are from our year. They are from our house as well.” Aldwyn’s smirk widens when he sees his friends’ eyes widening as they glance from one member to the other, all coming to the same conclusion but not wishing to be the one to say it out loud. “I would like to introduce you all to the two individuals who helped me during the ritual against Shookwood and who have been wonderful spies helping me to test all of your abilities to see which job within our ranks would suit you the most.”

“Helped you in the ritual…? How?” Athena questions, voice hesitant.

“I had them tailing me in the shadows. No one would know they were there, except me, and they would be able to slip past Shookwood’s radar if I ever needed backup. They were in the forest when Shookwood attacked us and followed me to the ritual site.”

“You used Apollo and me as bait?” Erebus asks, his voice hesitant as if he didn’t believe the words coming out of his own mouth, but needing to ask anyway. Cronus turns to stare at the other, his smirk immediately dropping to be replaced with a deep scowl.

“Don’t be stupid! I would never use any of my friends as bait! Besides, Shookwood would have attacked no matter who was with me. He just happened to pick then.”

“I am sorry, My Prince. I didn’t want to question you. I know you wouldn’t do that to any of us… I just…”

“I know, Erebus.” Cronus takes a deep breath and smiles at his friend. “I know, I would have thought the same, don’t worry about it, okay?”

“Okay.”

“Excellent. Now, I am sure you are all curious about their identities, so I am going to tell you. Just don’t shout too loud,” Aldwyn jokes, drawing hesitant laughter from his members. Nodding to the figure standing on his left, he watches his friends as their mask is removed.

“Vincent!” Itus explains, before clasping a hand over his own mouth, staring in befuddlement at the boy he had made fun of and called bodyguards more than once. He hadn’t expected Aldwyn to indite the two dimmest boys in their year to join his ranks, but at the amusement shining in his friend’s eyes, he knew that Aldwyn knew something he didn’t.

“Correct. Vincent, also known as Menoetius or Meno for short, was inducted into my ranks a few months ago when I caught him studying from a fifth-year grade spell book.” He gestures to his right and actually chuckles at the looks on his members’ faces when his second mysterious member is revealed.

“And Gregory too.” Arete rolls his eyes. He should have known. He should have guessed that Aldwyn was up to something when he kept hinting at information about other people he shouldn’t have been able to find out without help.

“Gregory, also going by Aeolus while in his guise,” Aldwyn announces, swiping his hands out to the side while Vincent and Gregory bow to their fellow members with small smirks dancing at the corners of their lips. “I know you guys are confused, and probably have a lot of questions for me, but trust me when I say that I found something out about these two and decided to add them as shadow members of our group. They won’t be part of the main team but will work in the shadows the majority of the time unless we need additional backup.”

“Sounds like you have some plans up your sleeve, Cronus?” Ares teases.

“Well, I have heard that Sirius Black is making his way to Hogwarts, and for some reason, I have been warned against going to find him and catching him all by myself. Apparently, my parents think I have something about going after dangerous people who may go after me.” He shrugs his shoulders, ignoring his brother's snorts at his words. He knew what they were thinking and didn’t want to address their opinions at the moment, especially when they seemed to agree with his parents.

“Why would Sirius Black come after you?” Athena questions, shaking herself out of her shock of seeing two of her classmates standing in front of her.

“Because I am the son of Severus Snape? It is well known that Sirius Black was a few ingredients short of a potion while he was in school. That he and his friends bullied my papa at any given opportunity, and that in their fifth year, Sirius Black also tried to get his friend, Remus Lupin, to murder or seriously maim Papa by sending him into the Shrieking Shake on the night of the Full Moon when Lupin was transformed. If James Potter hadn’t stopped Papa in time, then he would have been killed.”

“That is awful. How did he not end up in Azkaban for attempted murder?” Itus shouts, rage burning in his eyes at the thought of some idiotic Gryffindor trying to actually murder his godfather.

“Because Dumbledore was involved. Papa told me that Dumbledore merely told Sirius not to do it again and that he would turn a blind eye this time. He then threatened Papa, told him not to leak Remus’s secret to the press, nor to tell anyone about Sirius Black trying to kill him.”

“I can’t beli- actually, no, I can believe this, but for Dumbledore to cover up an attempted murder is huge. I am actually shocked that he would punish your papa.” Erebus comments, crossing his arms in front of his chest.

“It caused a huge rift between Sirius Black and his best friend, Remus Lupin, who refused to speak to Black for several months. Apparently, he wasn’t too happy with Black for trying to turn him into an unwilling murderer when he was only fifteen. That Black had not only exposed his secret to someone they had bullied for 5 years but also risked him being tagged by the Ministry and being kicked out of Hogwarts, all for something he insisted was just a silly Prank.” Aldwyn explains, shaking his head in disgust at the story he had heard several times now. It still made him angry.

“So, you think Black will make his way to the school because he wants to seek revenge on your papa?”

“I think so, Athena. I don’t know any other reason why he would be a danger to me or why he would make his way to Hogwarts.”

“Maybe he doesn’t know about Harry Potter's passing away yet and escaped to try and find him,” Erebus suggests, glancing around at his friends, who nod along.

“Why would he wait until Harry’s third year at Hogwarts to escape Azkaban? Wouldn’t he do it as soon as he realised his godson was starting first year?”

“No idea, maybe he was a little confused and didn’t know what year it was or how old his godson was, Arete. I am sure being in a place like Azkaban has messed with his head, even more than it was beforehand.” Apollo comments, drawing a few snickers from around the room and a roll of his eyes from Aldwyn.

“Alright, guys, enough about why another deranged madman may be after me this year. Aeolus, Menoetius, go and stand with the rest of them; our new initiates should be here any moment.” Aldwyn claps his hands to get his members’ attention. “Masks on until after the initiation is complete, and I tell you to remove them, I don’t want them to know who you all are just yet.”

Aldwyn unhooks his own mask from his belt and secures it to his face with blood magic wards that Bill had taught him to add to their uniform to make sure no one would be able to summon them and expose their identities. He watches with satisfaction as everyone else presses their masks to their faces and straightens out their uniforms to make sure everything is sitting right. Just as a knock sounds on the door again.

Walking over, Aldwyn allows the three remaining classmates from his year and house entrance to the room, watching as they pause for a moment when faced with his faction members decked out in their full uniform, and he can’t help but smile. Especially when he sees his father and papa slipping into the room to watch his final initiation. He rolls his eyes when they give the uniform a critical eye, proud smiles shaping their features before they take a seat at the edge of the room.

“First of all, I would like to welcome you three to our Initiation. Pansy. Tracy. Millicent. You are the newest members of my In Dolus Intortis, and I am so happy to invite you into our exclusive club!” Aldwyn sweeps his hands out, earning claps and whoops from his initiated members.

“Pansy, you will be known as Pheme while in your guise and will only respond to that name while in our company, understand?” He hands her a pile of robes. “You will also be dressed in robes accented in magenta. You may get changed at the back of the room, or there is a small receiving room next door that you can use if you prefer.”

Aldwyn rolls his eyes when the young girl immediately grabs her uniform and scampers off to the back corner of the room so she can get changed. Turning to pick up the next set of uniforms, he smiles over at Milicent.

“Milicent, you will be known as Enyo whenever we take part in In Dolus activities, and you will always be seen in robes accented in brown.”

“Thank you, Aldwyn.”

“And Last but not least, Tracy.” The girl jumps forward, hands already grabbing at the fabric in Aldwyn’s hands. “You will take the name Eris and wear robes of black and deep red.”

“Thank you, Aldwyn.” The girl bounds off to the back of the room, giggling when she almost drops her uniform as she trips over her own feet.

It doesn’t take the girls much time to get their uniforms on and adhere their masks to their faces with the wards Bill had put in place earlier. All Aldwyn had to explain was how they each had to drop three drops of blood on their masks to activate the wards, so the masks couldn’t be accio’d or taken from their person without permission. He gets the girls to join the line-up, getting a look at his full team for the first time and feeling something stirring in his chest.

Pride is the first thing he can sense. He feels proud looking at his team, his In Dolus Intortis. A group he had hand-picked without the assistance of his parents. A group of people who were loyal to him before anyone else, consisting of people he loved and cared for, and who loved him just as much in return. He sees the sea of black in front of him, the intimidating visage only broken up by rare splashes of colour.

“Now, all that is left to do is to give you three your Marks and introduce you to the rest of our members before we are finished with this Initiation. Once we are done, you can feel free to go straight home, or you are welcome to stay here and hang out for the rest of the day.” Aldwyn explains, stepping up to stand in front of Tracy, who bounces on the balls of her feet.

“As your friends here can tell you, I have created this Mark myself and have no set place for it to show up, so you will have to look and see if you can find it yourself. But are you ready, Eris?”

“Ready!”

Aldwyn waves his wand over the girl’s head, muttering a string of Latin that no one is able to hear, let alone translate. He grins over at the girl when she shivers at the feel of his magic trailing over her skin before he finishes his incantation and lowers his wand, grinning at the girl. He then repeats the actions with both  Pheme and Enyo, smiling when the trio immediately begin to search for their own marks, laughing and cheering each time they discover one.

“Alright, I am going to ask you to introduce yourselves and take off your masks so we can identify ourselves with each other. Remember that you are not to refer to each other as anything but their guise name in uniform and that these names are not to be used when outside our training grounds or extra-curricular activities. Do I make myself clear?”

“Yes, Cronus!” Several voices intone, leaving the three newest members to copy after them with small giggles as they clumsily repeat the bow as well. Aldwyn gestures to his left, the tallest member steps forward, lowers his mask, and grins at his members, before he bows to Aldwyn.

“Arete, known as Bill Prince-Slytherin.”

“Ares, known as Charlie Prince-Slytherin.”

“Itus, also known as Draco Malfoy.”

“Erebus, also known as Blaise Zabini.”

“Apollo, known as Theo Nott.”

“Athena, known as Daphne Greengrass.”

“Aeolus, known as Gregory Goyle”

“Menoetius, known as Vincent Crabbe.”

“Pheme, also known as Pansy Parkinson.”

“Eris, also known as Tracy Davis.”

“Enyo, also known as Millicent Bulstrode.”

“And for those of you who don’t know me,” Aldwyn takes off his own mask and smirks around the room. “I am known to you all as Cronus, Prince Cronus, or My Prince while in our guises; also known as Aldwyn Prince-Slytherin.”

Chapter Text

“Are you sure you have everything with you? Books? Homework? Uniform?”

“Dad!” Aldwyn calls, laughing as his father paces around his bedroom. “Dad, seriously, I have everything I am going to need. This is my third year going to school. I know what to pack by now.” He shakes his head and flops down on his bed.

“But are you sure? You have your invisibility cloak? Just in case?” Marvolo runs a hand through his hair and then takes a seat beside his son.

“It is packed in my trunk. Dad, are you okay?” Aldwyn wraps his arm around his father’s resting his head on the man’s shoulder. His father had been more jumpy, more protective than usual since his birthday last month, and Aldwyn didn’t really understand why. It wasn’t like he hadn’t had a madman after him before. The past two years at Hogwarts had been filled with adventure and danger, but he had survived both times without much incident.

“I guess I am just a little nervous about Sirius Black. Promise me that you are going to be safe. Do not go after Black this year.”

“I won’t, I promise. Besides, you have nothing to worry about, Father. Remus is going to be at the school. I still can’t believe Fenrir agreed to let him become the DADA professor this year.” Aldwyn tightens his arm around his father’s, cuddling close when he feels a hand carding through his hair.

“I think Remus has mastered the art of wounded werewolf eyes because Fenrir has been unable to tell his Mate ‘no’ since he has taken him to the pack and introduced him. Those cubs were super excited to have a nice adult who was willing to play with them and teach them how to read,” Marvolo explains, drawing quiet laughter from his son.

“Now, why can I picture that so vividly. I can just imagine Remus pouting just to get Fenrir to allow him out of the camp for more than one day. Let alone to Hogwarts for the entire year.”

“Oh, Fenrir didn’t agree that easily. You, dear Uncle Moony, had to promise to visit every single weekend so his Mate wouldn’t get lonely, and he has to go be with the pack every Full Moon so Fenrir can keep an eye on his transformations.”

“Is that not going to make Black suspicious?” Aldwyn asks.

“What do you mean?”

“Well, Remus said that Sirius knew about his ‘furry little problem’, and so, would know that if Remus took on the DADA position, he would need a place to transform? Because Dumbledore allowed Remus to attend Hogwarts, the old codger must have somewhere he made Remus transform during his school years, right? If Black finds out that Remus is at the school, then he may try to reconnect with the man and head to this location during the Full Moon.”

“You have a good point, Snakelet, but I think Remus may have that covered. If not, we could always ask him where this location was and then have Bill put up some Wards to prevent people from going inside? Black may just believe that Remus still doesn’t trust him and give up.” Marvolo continues to drag his hand through Aldwyn’s hair, tugging the boy closer.

“I guess so. I just hope this year, I won’t have any run-ins with another creep trying to get something from me. Last year was more than enough for me.” Aldwyn sighs, snuggling, rubbing his cheek against his father’s shoulder.

“I am sure you are going to be fine, Aldwyn. If you notice anything strange, or Black tries to make contact with you even once, I want you to go straight to your papa, okay? No keeping secrets from us this year, Aldwyn.”

“I promise, Father.”

“I mean it, Snakelet. I don’t want anything to happen to you this year. I could have lost you last May, and I will not go through that again, do you hear me?” Marvolo pulls away, staring into his son’s green eyes with a seriousness Aldwyn had never seen before.

“Dad, I promise that I won’t go after Sirius Black at all and if he tries to speak to me, or I notice anything unusual, then I will go straight to Papa, call you on my mirror, or go to Remus. I won’t do anything to put myself in danger this time. I promise.” Aldwyn offers a small, sincere smile up at his father, who scrutinises his expression for a moment before pulling him into a tight hug.

“I know, Snakelet. I am just worried about you.”

“And I love you all the more for that, Father. Since you adopted me and made me yours and Papa’s son completely, I have discovered that I am worth all the love and protection you and my brothers bestow upon me… even if I think you go overboard sometimes. I appreciate you worrying about me, Father.”

“Good, because there is never going to be a time when I don’t worry about you, Aldwyn. You are my son, my Heir, and I love you so much.”

“I love you too, Father.” Aldwyn melts into his father’s embrace, sighing when a hand presses against his spine and smooths soothing circles on his back.

“Am I missing something here?” An amused voice calls from the doorway, causing Marvolo and Aldwyn to pull back with a chuckle. “I came up to see what was taking you two so long.” Severus continues, walking further into the room. “I thought you only came up to gather your belongings, Snakelet? We are going to be late if we do not get moving soon.”

“Father was just being his usual mother hen. He has questioned me about packing everything, and told me to stay away from Black, to report anything strange to you and to keep myself safe… for the thousandth time this week. Weren’t you, Father?” Aldwyn smirks up at his dad, laughing when Marvolo swats at his head.

“Brat.”

“We just worry about you, Aldwyn, but you are all packed?” Severus cards a hand through his son’s hair, handing a small hair tie to the boy when he summons a hairbrush from his desk.

“All packed and ready to go. I have already sent Phanex on ahead because he complained at me for even thinking of having him ride in the train with the rest of the pets. Snobby bird.” Aldwyn mutters to himself, rolling his eyes as he thinks back to the argument he had with his little blue owl earlier that morning.

“Well, they do say that pets take on traits from their owners…” Marvolo jokes, grunting when Aldwyn slaps his shoulder and pouts.

“Hey! I am not that bad!”

“Snakelet… just the other day you were begging your papa, if you could just Floo straight to Hogwarts instead of being ‘forced to share the same space as dunderheads and imbeciles’,” Marvolo responds, deadpan. Raising an eyebrow at his son, who merely sniffs and turns his head away.

“Can you blame me? My first train ride to Hogwarts, I almost got into a fight with some idiotic Gryffindors because they thought my dad was the Dark Lord and they wanted to bring me to the Light, so to speak. This time, I would like to avoid that, if at all possible.”

“You remind me more and more of your papa every day,” Marvolo mutters, stroking his fingers down his son’s cheek with the softest smile Aldwyn had ever seen on his father’s face. He feels his cheeks heating up at the compliment and turns away to focus on tying up his hair.

“You would think I would resemble you more, Father.” Aldwyn deflects, not being able to keep the proud tone from coating his words.

“Why? You spend more time with your papa than you do with me, seen as he is your professor at school. It would make more sense for you to pick up his mannerisms more.” Marvolo explains, smiling between his son and his partner.

“Does that mean that you and Papa have taken on some of each other’s traits? You guys hang out all the time, and with the plans for your bonding ceremony finally coming together, you are going to be spending even more time together, right?”

“Yes, I have promised your papa that I will visit him at least once a week so we can go over the last few details and compile our guest list.” Marvolo smirks, delighting in the faint blush he can see decorating his fiancé’s features.

“You have set a date? Who are you thinking of inviting?”

“We are planning the week after Yuletide, and of course, all of our close family and friends are invited. Fenrir and his partner, a few of the wolves, will be receiving invitations as well. Members of the Ministry and high society. The Weasley’s potentially, as a gesture of goodwill.”

“Wow, that is a lot of people. I am looking forward to it. I have never been to a wizarding ceremony before. I bet it is going to be so cool.” Aldwyn comments, fixing the tie at the bottom of his hair once he has finished plaiting it. He giggles when he finds himself in the middle of a three-way hug.

“There was one more thing I wanted to ask you before we take you to the station, Snakelet.” Severus comments, clicking his fingers and gesturing for Geeney to take Aldwyn’s trunk and backpack to the Floo room.

“What is it, Papa?”

“There is something we want you to help us with, for the Bonding Ceremony.”

“Okay?” Aldwyn looks from his papa to his father and back again.

“You are our son, Aldwyn, and we would be honoured if you would be one of our witnesses. We want you to be one of the people in our handfasting ritual, as well as be the person who holds onto the bonding rings for us…” Severus explains, smiling at the shocked expression on his son’s face before it turns into one of pure delight.

“You want me to be a witness? You want me to actually take care of the rings?”

“Of course we do, Snakelet. You are our son. We have already asked Bill and Charlie to also be part of the hand fasting because you are all our children now, and our bonding wouldn’t be complete without you all taking part.”

“I… I would be honoured… Are you sure?”

“Of course, we are sure, Snakelet,” Severus reassures, wrapping his arm around his son, while Marvolo does the same.

“You are our youngest son, and we love you so much. It would be remiss if you weren’t in our bonding ceremony.”

“Your father is right, Snakelet. You are the reason your father and I are even getting married in the first place. If you hadn’t prepositioned Marvolo back when you were just a little first year, then I wouldn’t have gotten to look after you and get to know you for the last few weeks of school.”

“And I wouldn’t have gotten to see my wonderful son bonding so seamlessly with a man whom I have had my eye on for over a decade now.”

“It was through you and your bravery to ask the Dark Lord for protection that brought the two of us together and gave us three wonderful sons. All of this is because of you, Snakelet. We couldn’t be prouder or happier if you would accept to be our Ringbearer and our witness.”

“We love you, Snakelet.”

“I love you guys as well. I would be honoured to be a part of your ceremony. Thank you so much.” Aldwyn wiggles a little bit, getting his arms free from his parents’ tight embrace so he could wrap them around Severus and Marvolo. He cuddles closer, blinking rapidly to get rid of the tears burning the corners of his eyes.

“Now that that is all done with. How about we head on over to King’s Cross so you can catch the train? We don’t want you to be late.”

“Okay, Papa.” Aldwyn laughs, pulling away from his parents and jumping to his feet. He slips his wand off his bedside table and puts it into the holster on his forearm before he follows his parents out of his bedroom and toward the Floo room. He was so excited to be going back to Hogwarts, to begin his third year and actually be allowed to study his elective subjects.

-----

After saying goodbye to his parents and his godparents, Aldwyn takes Draco’s hand and leads him through the throngs of people. Dodging around parents hugging their kids farewell, and younger siblings running through the crowds away from their families. He hops onto the train and, without stopping, drags his friend through the train carriages.

“Aldwyn? Hey, slow down! What are we doing?” Draco calls out, frantically waving his hand when he spots Blaise and Theo jumping onto the train with the rest of their friends. He rolls his eyes, trying to shrug his shoulders when they raise their eyebrows and stare at his predicament.

“Seriously, Aldwyn, where are we even going? Our usual spot is back the other way.”

“We aren’t going to our usual spot. Just come on.” Aldwyn urges, tightening his grip around Draco’s wrist as he slips past students trying to find their friends and continues down the train, further and further away from their usual compartment. He turns his head, grinning at his godbrother when he feels the resistance slackening.

“Can’t you just tell me?”

“And ruin the surprise? Where would the fun be in that?” Aldwyn teases, ducking under the arm of a seventh-year student before he comes to a halt outside one of the last carriages. Peering through the glass window, he makes a noise of triumph and pushes the door wide open. Releasing his grip on Draco’s arm, Aldwyn walks into the compartment and flops down on the seat opposite a man who appeared to be sleeping.

“Aldwyn, what are we doing in here?” Draco whispers, staying in the corridor long enough to wave his friends down, so they know where to find them.

“Hmmm? Oh, I found out from Papa that our new defence professor had opted to take the Express to school this year, and I wanted to find out why.” Aldwyn answers, settling down against the cushioned back. He shoots a wide grin when he sees Theo, Blaise, Tracy, Daphne, Millicent and Pansy following Draco into the carriage before the door is shut tight.

“Okay, so why were you dragging Draco through the hallway, Aldwyn?” Tracy questions, raising her eyebrow as she settles her skirt neatly over her knees.

“I am nosy and have some questions for our new DADA professor.” Aldwyn gestures towards the sleeping man with a large grin.

“Why?”

“Why what, Tracy? Why do I want to question our professor? Why is he sleeping at 11 am? Why is a teacher taking the train with the students?”

“All of the above?” Blaise responds, a questioning tone coating his voice and expression.

“You see, dear Blaise, our dear Professor here is a close family friend of Papa’s, someone he has known since he was eleven years of age, and they have only recently developed somewhat friendly terms between them. He has also recently discovered that he was one of the Lost Cubs from Fenrir’s pack and was taken under the kind Alpha’s wing during the summer holidays in order to integrate with his wolf. I want to know how that went for him. As for why he is sleeping, he isn’t. Just being nosy. Aren’t you, Uncle Moony?”

“I am not the nosy one here, Cub. Aren’t you the one who wants to know all about my holidays with the wolf pack?” The man in question unwraps his cloak from around his form, revealing a toned body covered in scars and a head of tawny blond hair tied neatly at the base of the man’s skull.

“Hey, you are looking much better already! I take it that Fenrir is treating you right?” Aldwyn ignores the dig about his own curiosity and smiles at the older man.

“Fenrir and his pack have treated me a lot better in these past few weeks than I have been treated my entire life,” Remus answers honestly, glancing around at the children suddenly surrounding him. He folds his cloak up and stuffs it into a new-looking trunk.

“That is good, otherwise I would have to use my authority as the Dark Prince to bully him for disrespecting my uncle Moony.” Aldwyn nods with a smirk, breaking into deranged cackles when Remus’s eyes widen, and his friends shiver.

“I never pictured you to be quite so bloodthirsty, Cub,” Remus admits, rolling his eyes as he smiles over at the thirteen-year-old, glad at the fact that Severus had accepted his apology and allowed him to be in such close contact with Aldwyn after so long. Especially seen as the man and his fiancé vouched for him to receive the new defence position.

“You haven’t seen anything yet, Mister…?” Blaise comments, raising an eyebrow at the stranger who seemed a lot closer to Aldwyn than he should have been, for someone who had only met the boy a few months ago. He remembered seeing the man with Professor Prince and Lord Black when Aldwyn had been chased into the Forest by Shookwood. He had sat there through Aldwyn's retelling and even stayed long after they had all been sent back to their common room in time for curfew.

“Lupin. Remus Lupin. Beta Werewolf and second in command in the Greenwich Werewolf pack, and your new Defence Against the Dark Arts professor.” Remus introduces, holding his hand out for the young boy to shake.

“Beta? But I thought only the Mate of the Alpha could be second in command?” Pansy asks, eyeing the man up and down.

“You would be correct. When I met up with Fenrir, as Aldwyn already said, I not only found out that I was a victim of his cousin, Romulus. But before I could be collected, Fenrir defeated Romulus and Cirus and took over the pack. By the time he found out about me, my parents and Dumbledore had already hidden me away and brainwashed me against Fenrir and his pack.”

“That is awful. How old were you when you were turned?” Theo questions, eyes shining while he bites his lip.

“I was three or four when Romulus attacked me.”

“How did you find out that Fenrir was your Mate?” Daphne asks, also sitting forward in her seat so she could see the man better.

“Fenrir told me. Apparently, he had been keeping an eye on me all these years. Once I hit my majority, he smelt my Mating bond manifest. It was one of the main reasons Romulus decided to turn me when I was young; he managed to smell my potential to become Fenrir’s Mate and wanted to abuse me to hurt his cousin.”

“And you accepted? Even though the Light manipulated you into hating your wolf?” Draco asks, raising an eyebrow at the man. He had heard stories about the lone wolf, the Light werewolf who couldn’t stand the thought of his transformations, who tried to pretend they didn’t exist. Who rejected that part of him because of his parents and Dumbledore manipulating him and brainwashing him.

“Of course I did. I would be an idiot if I didn’t. Fenrir was sincere when he was telling me all about his past. I could tell just how much he cared for the wolves in his pack and how sick he felt at what Romulus had been able to get away with. He explained everything to me and even told me that he would give me space if I wasn’t ready to accept our Bond. But I didn’t want to do anything that could jeopardise our bond. If Mother Moon chose Fenrir to be my Mate, then I am going to do everything in my power, from here on out, to protect our bond. He is meant for me. My one and only, and I am going to cherish that.”

“That sounds so romantic.” Pansy sighs, slumping down into her seat alongside Daphne, where the two girls break into delighted giggles at the thought.

“Careful, Uncle Moony, you are drooling!” Aldwyn laughs, nudging his uncle in the ribs to break Remus out of his thoughts.

“Be quiet, you.” Remus reaches over and cuffs Aldwyn around the back of the head, drawing more laughter from the young boy. “I can assure you that your papa and father are a lot worse than I am.”

“Urgh, don’t remind me. If I walk in on them kissing like that again, I am going to need someone to obliviate the memory from my mind.” Aldwyn groans, slumping down in his seat while shaking his head. His friends all break into laughter, knowing the feeling as they had all walked in on their own parents kissing and sometimes doing other things in very public places.

“Anyway,” Theo glares over at Aldwyn. “Back to the topic at hand, Mister Lupin, you said you were going to be our new DADA professor? How did Fenrir feel about that? I mean, he has only just gotten you back properly, and your bond is relatively new. Is he not going to go feral with you being so far away?”

“You think Fen would allow me to be away from him for the entire term without coming to check up on me? Oh no, my delightfully possessive Mate has accepted the Dark Lord’s offer to be stationed within the Forbidden Forest for an unforeseen amount of time.” Remus rolls his eyes again, but the soft smile on his face shows that he isn’t too annoyed by this arrangement. In fact, Fenrir had even offered to bring Remus back to the pack during the Full Moons so he wouldn’t have to transform alone while at the school. Of course, he had agreed.

“Why did the Dark Lord want to have someone stationed in the Forbidden Forest again this year?” Blaise questions.

“Yea, last year, I can understand, but this year?” Tracy agrees, scratching her head. Until a voice clears their throat and everyone turns to glance over at Aldwyn, who is holding his hand in the air with a sheepish smile.

“That would be because of me… or rather, I should say because of Sirius Black.”

“Because Professor Prince thinks he could be after you?” Theo asks, his voice laced with worry for his friend.

“Yup, he has asked Fen to station some wolves around the school grounds again just to make sure Sirius Black couldn’t get to me… or to Papa.” Aldwyn shakes his head.

He was doubtful about Sirius Black making his way to the school for him in particular, but he also couldn’t fault his papa for thinking along those lines. He just hated lying to his friends. Obviously, it didn’t make much sense for Black to go after an innocent child who was born a year or so before he landed his sorry ass in prison, but it made more sense for Sirius Black to go to Hogwarts if he felt his Godfather bond with Harry still thrumming with magic. Therefore, indicating that Harry Potter was still alive, and where else would Black look for a magical child between the ages of eleven and seventeen?

“I guess it could be true… Black being after you.” Milli comments, her voice hesitant, almost as if she doesn’t quite believe it, or just doesn’t want to believe it.

“True, after all, we don’t know what twelve years in Azkaban has done to Black,” Tracy adds in, shuddering at the thought of another deranged madman after her friend.

“I heard that he was already slightly insane before he went into Azkaban,” Pansy agrees, nodding her head even as she glances over at Remus.

“You would be correct. Sirius was always a little strange when we were in school. The rumours about the Black blood did not skip him out. I believe out of the younger generation, Sirius and his cousin Bellatrix were the worst affected.” Remus confesses.

“I wonder why the Black family are known for their insanity.” Draco wonders, contemplating if his relationship with the Black family would affect any Heirs he may have in the future.

“It is because of the inbreeding, having children with cousins and close relatives, that it can cause defects in children being born into the family. The Blacks have always been the worst for keeping their blood pure, and as a result, they would marry close cousins and even uncles just so they wouldn’t mix their blood with those they considered beneath them.”

“But the Malfoys were the same…” Draco responds, biting his lip as he glances over at Remus, worry clear on his face.

“Yes, but the Malfoy family also hailed from France. Your family only marries other purebloods, like the Blacks, but you do not set your sights only on England. The Malfoys have married into families all across Europe.” Remus explains, smiling down at the small blond who reminded him so much of the man’s father, the few times he had caught a glimpse of the elusive Lucius during Hogwarts.

“So, I may have another deranged madman after me this year?” Aldwyn sighs, dropping his head into his hands while shaking his head. He didn’t want to be mollycoddled and smothered this year as well. He at least wanted to experience one year where he wasn’t a target for someone else’s revenge on his parents. It was getting a bit tiresome.

“Black won’t be able to get near you, Aldwyn. Not with your parents, the werewolves and your friends nearby. He is most likely insane, but I don’t think he is stupid.”

“I hope you are right, Uncle Moony. I really hope you are right.” Aldwyn comments, lifting his head only to drop it down on Blaise’s shoulder. He closes his eyes, trying to ignore to growing pit of dread in his stomach at the thought of some stranger from his past making an appearance. Someone who is so enclosed within the Light side that he wouldn’t hesitate to report his real identity to Dumbledore, or take him away from his parents.

Just as he is about to question Remus some more about the training he underwent during his time with the Werewolf pack, the train shudders. Rain pours heavily against the glass, while hail threatens to crack the windows. It startles the Slytherin students, pulling a shriek from Tracy when the lights begin to flicker.

Staring around the compartment, Aldwyn draws his cloak tighter around his frame, eyebrows furrowing the more the temperature seems to plummet. He turns his attention toward the windows, watching as the glass quickly fogs up, obscuring their view of the ferocious storm cascading around them. They hear metal screeching against metal before the train shakes more violently and comes to an abrupt halt.

“What is going on?” Pansy whispers, glancing around at her friends, but they all shake their heads.

“I have a bad feeling about this,” Theo comments, leaning around Draco so he could glance out of the window. Pressing his hand against the glass, he yelps and pulls his hand away. “What on earth?” He stares at the window in dawning horror.

“Theo?” Aldwyn questions.

“The window, I thought it had fogged up, but it's actually frozen. Completely frozen.” He turns his hand toward his friend, showing the deep red ice burn over the palm of his hand.

“Ummm. Guys? I hate to break it to you, but something is moving outside…” Draco cuts in, eyes wide, face paler than usual.

“What do you mean, something is moving outside?” Blaise scowls, drawing Aldwyn even closer to his side, staring out the window to see if he could spot what had Draco looking so freaked out.

“I don’t know what it is, but it seems to be flying around the train. There are loads of them…”

The train jolts again, even more violently than the last time and this time, all the children in the compartment shriek in fright, with Milli almost falling off her seat with the force of the movement. She only managed to remain on her chair because Daphne reached over and caught her.

The Slytherin students freeze, exchanging glances when they hear something moving from down the carriage, a large, eerie gust of wind that was moving much too slowly for it to be natural. They squeeze in closer, gripping their friends as they hear door after door opening, heading towards their room.

“What is going on?”

“No idea. What is on the train?”

Tracy and Daphne whisper, clutching each other’s hands as they wait in fear. They suck in a deep breath when a black figure suddenly appears in the doorway, large, thin, bone-like fingers creeping out of a large, tattered cloak to slide around the cracked doorway. Something that terrifies Aldwyn more than he could admit because he knew that the door had been closed and locked at the beginning of their journey. This creature had to be adept at some form of magic.

They all watch in silence as the towering creature moves further into the room, its featureless face sweeping its non-existent gaze around the carriage as if looking for something or someone. It floats backwards a step before pausing. The creature seems to turn toward Aldwyn, its shadow-covered face peering down at the small thirteen-year-old before its mouth opens.

The next thing anyone knew, Aldwyn let out a soundless scream and went limp in Blaise’s arms. His body begins to convulse as his skin rapidly pales, almost as if he were now on the verge of death. Blaise, Draco and Theo all ran over to their friend, trying to shield him from whatever the creature was doing to him, but it was no use. The creature comes closer, though not, seemingly, of its own free will. It looked as if it were being dragged closer to the young boy by a thick tendril of raw, uncontrolled magic. Aldwyn jerks, ripping himself from Balsie's grip and almost tumbling to the floor, green and purple sparks of magic rippling in the air around him as he appeared to be in a standoff with the being.

The fight continues. The creature's mouth opens wider, a loud, high-pitched sound coming from the void beneath its hood, causing the children to wince back in pain. It was an awful sound, one that grated on their ears and pounded through their minds, but the worst thing to see was when Aldwyn's eyes snapped open. The irises were completely green, flecked with shimmering reds and blacks, swirling with untamed magic. He stared across at the creatures, his own mouth moving as if he were speaking, but not even Remus could hear the sounds. 

Until their new defence professor jumps to his feet and pulls out a battered-looking wand.

“Expecto Patronum!” A large burst of silver light explodes from the tip of his wand, taking the form of a giant wolf. The whispery being charges towards the creature and throws it out of the carriage, breaking the connection between itself and Aldwyn. But the debacle hadn’t ended there.

Aldwyn slumps down against the seat, his friends’ grip the only thing keeping him in his seat and not collapsing to the floor as he seemingly goes unconscious. If not for the rapid movements of his mouth and his eyes. The compartment remains frozen, petrified as they stare down at Aldwyn, waiting for him to snap out of whatever was happening to him.

It takes a few tense moments for anything to happen, but soon Aldwyn begins to stir. A deep groan escapes his throat, and he tries to force himself to sit up. Leaning his head back against the seat, his eyes snap open, making those around him jump back in fright.

“Professor Lupin, what’s happening?” Tracy whimpers, staring into the dulled eyes of her friend. His stare looked vacant, as if his soul had been sucked right out of him.

“It is okay, he is going to be okay,” Remus reassures, placing his hand on the girl’s shoulder.

“But what happened? What was that thing?” Draco asks, crossing his arms to stop himself from fidgeting with his robes or knotting his fingers together as he stares at his friend.

“That creature was a Dementor, a guard at Azkaban prison. They have this nasty ability of sucking one’s soul from their body and feasting on happy memories. For Aldwyn to have such a bad reaction to them, it must have dragged up some pretty nasty memories.” He explains, guiding Tracy to sit back down on the seat before gesturing for the others to settle back down again.

Or, at least, he tries to before a small gust of wind blows through the compartment. A small whirlwind picks up in the centre of the room and knocks the remaining children standing back against the seat with startled gasps. Blaise tightens his grip around Aldwyn, eyes widening in horror when he sees his friend's face paling even further and his limbs shaking. The wind was coming from Aldwyn.

“Professor!” He shouts, gaining the only adult’s attention, and gestures down to Aldwyn with his chin. Hoping that Remus would know what was happening to his friend.

“Shite. Everyone, gather toward the door, try to get out into the corridor!” He directs, keeping his wand in hand, pointed toward the floor.

“The door won’t open, Professor!” Daphne shouts back, frantically pulling on the door. “Alohamora!”

“Okay, don’t panic, just stay behind me. We are going to have to wait this out. Protego!” Remus makes a shimmering blue shield appear in front of him, large enough to shield himself and the children. “Blaise, get over here!”

“I can’t. Aldwyn has a vice-grip on my arm. I can’t move.” Blaise calls back, shuffling closer to Aldwyn. He bends down, whispering nonsense words into his friend’s ears, hoping to bring him back from wherever he seemed to be trapped.

“For goodness’ sake, Blaise! Aren’t you a Cambian? Can’t you do something about this?” Draco shouts, ducking behind Remus when a glass of water that had been sitting on the windowsill comes flying towards the shield and shatters.

“I haven’t hit my majority yet, Draco. What do you expect me to do?” He shouts back.

“I don’t know! Anything!”

“Alright! Alright, give me a minute.” Blaise glances back down at his friend, heart clenching tight in his chest when he sees the shakes getting more violent. He places his hand on Aldwyn’s chest and closes his eyes, trying to calm his own emotions. If this worked as well as he was hoping it would, then he would need to be a calm as possible, lest he make Aldwyn spiral more than he already was.

Focusing on the turmoil he can sense coming from Aldwyn, Blaise forces himself to follow the raging emotions to their source. Almost flinching back when he is assaulted by emotions of fear, horror, hopelessness, resignation and despair. He watches the whirlpool for a moment, looking out for any openings he could take advantage of, when he notices something strange.

There was a single strand of worry feeding into Aldwyn’s emotional turmoil. A single strand that seemed to soothe a small amount of feelings for his friend. Pulling back marginally from Aldwyn, Blaise follows the small strand towards the crowd of classmates cowering behind their new professor. Eyebrow raising when he sees it connecting with one of his friends.

“Theo, come here.” Blaise gestures to his side.

“What? Why?”

“Just trust me. It is going to sound crazy, but it looks like Aldwyn is already feeding off your concern for him to soothe his emotions. It isn’t strong enough yet, so I need you to come here so I can channel both our emotions.” Blaise explains, worry in his voice as he gestures again for Theo to join him next to Aldwyn.

After a moment of hesitation, Theo slips past Remus and out of the shield that was protecting him from the onslaught of gale-force winds. To the bookworm’s surprise, the winds seem to make him a pathway, protecting him from the flying debris. Reaching Aldwyn’s side, Theo looks at Blaise for instructions. He wasn’t a Cambion and therefore couldn’t manipulate or soothe emotions as Blaise could. He wasn’t sure what it meant that his emotions were of some help to Aldwyn, but if he could help his friend, he was going to try his best.

“Okay, put your hand on his shoulder.” Blaise guides Theo’s hand to rest gently on their friend, while he does the same to the other side. “Now, I am going to have to have contact with you so I can help you guide your emotions into Aldwyn.”

Blaise slips his hand into Theo’s, smiling when the other tightens his grip.

“Now, this is the important bit: I need you to be calm. Take a deep breath and focus on feeding soothing emotions into Aldwyn. I will help you, but I need you to remain calm no matter what.” He urges, before glancing down at Aldwyn.

“Okay, let’s do this.” Theo takes a deep breath, then slowly releases it. Closing his eyes, he tries to focus on reassurances, words of affirmation and friendship to manifest emotions strong enough to help Aldwyn.

Blaise nods his head and closes his eyes as well. He focuses back on Aldwyn’s emotions, following the thin strand into Theo’s emotions properly this time. He feels around, disregarding minor emotions in favour of the ones he can sense that Theo is trying to push out of himself, toward Aldwyn. He smiles when he feels the warmth emitting from the strand and gently takes hold of it.

Taking a deep breath himself, Blaise pulls Theo’s emotions into himself and slowly, carefully intertwines them with his own. Twisting them around each other to create a whirlwind of positive energy, he slowly begins to feed the strands through his connection with Aldwyn. Inch by inch, piece by piece, Blaise watches as his and Theo’s emotions slowly blend with Aldwyn’s.

He watches, tension relaxing as the sharp spikes, the rage-filled explosions of Aldwyn’s repressed emotions, slowly begin to calm down. Like the waves on the sea after a storm. He watches as the darkness that had covered the feelings slowly ebbs away, leaving Aldwyn feeling drained but calmer.

Drawing away slowly, returning his own emotions to himself before doing the same to Theo, the two boys stare down at Aldwyn as the winds begin to calm. As items begin to repair themselves and they are returned to their original positions. They both watch, hands still resting on Aldwyn’s shoulders, as their friend’s eyes flicker before flying open.

“Blaise? Theo?”

“Hey Wyn, how are you feeling?”

“You gave us quite the scare.” Blaise and Theo settle down on the seat, squeezing Aldwyn between them as they sandwich him in a tight embrace. They feel Aldwyn’s shoulder shaking and know that the other had been just as scared as they had been.

“I’m sorry. I don’t know what happened. One minute I was staring at that creature, and the next thing I knew, my mind was full of shouting and pain and injuries.” Aldwyn whispers, curling closer to his friends, sighing when their arms merely tighten around him.

“That was a dementor. A vile creature that feeds on happy memories. They make you relive your worst memories. Sometimes even those we can’t remember ourselves.” Remus explains gently, holding out a small piece of chocolate to the three boys. He had dropped his shield as soon as he had seen Aldwyn wake up and gestured for the children to return to their seats.

“A dementor? I have heard of them. They can suck out your soul as well. Chocolate is supposed to help.” Aldwyn explains with a shuddering breath, taking the offering and nibbling it happily.

“Your memory must have been terrible to pull that sort of reaction, Aldwyn. What happened?”

“It wasn’t just one memory. It was so many all at once.” Aldwyn buries his face in Theo’s shoulder, gripping Blaise’s hand tighter. “I don’t want to talk about it right now.”

“That is okay, Cub. You guys try to relax for the rest of the train ride; I am going to have a little word with our train driver. Those beasts should not have been allowed to enter a train filled with children.”

“What were they even doing on the train?” Draco questions, contemplating what the Ministry was thinking to send a bunch of uncontrollable creatures that like to suck souls onto a train filled with defenceless children. Maybe he would have to send a letter to his father.

“They were looking for Sirius Black, no doubt.” Remus walks over to the door and steps out into the corridor, turning back to the carriage full of Slytherin students, he gestures around the compartment. “Eat, you will feel better.” And he is off.

Chapter Text

The chill that permeated the air lingered long after the Dementor had been violently repelled by Remus’s patronus, doing little to disguise the icy horror that gripped the occupants of the train's compartment. Aldwyn, usually so composed, so rigidly controlled in situations like this, now lay slumped against the plush velvet seat, his small frame entirely limp. The rigid shallow breaths that fought their way past his lips were the only sign of life, yet the stillness was more unnerving than any movement could have been.

Blaize Zabini, his face a ghastly shade of green beneath encroaching light spilling in from the ice-free window, held Aldwyn tightly. His Cambion senses screamed a silent, agonising alarm. This was not the simple unconsciousness of a faint, of exhaustion from having his emotions regulated externally; this was the deep, catastrophic collapse of a core that had been forcibly overloaded with concentrated despair. He could feel Aldwyn’s magic – the vibrant swirling mix of Prince purple and Slytherin green – vibrating violently, fighting a losing battle against a psychic trauma that, if not helped soon, could shatter his very essence.

Theo Nott, having regained his footing after witnessing Aldwyn’s sudden collapse, knelt beside them, his hand resting tentatively on Aldwyn’s knee. He watched his friend’s vacant eyes, the pupils dilated and fixed, reflecting the faint, flickering lights of the slowly repairing compartment.

“Professor,” Blaise’s voice is a raw, desperate whisper, his usual suave composure entirely stripped away. “Professor?” He calls again, twisting his head when Remus Lupin slowly walks back into the train compartment with a sullen expression, “He’s cold. Magically cold. He needs Professor Prince. Now!”

Remus Lupin, who had just arrived by from talking to the driver, still had his wand out, standing guard as if prepared to throw out another Patronus at any given moment, casts a glance over the slumped child and nods grimly. He had seen the effects of the Dementors before, several times, but never with this visceral intensity.  Aldwyn’s reactions had been unique, terrifyingly powerful in their initial repulsion, followed by the profound, dangerous magical outburst and silence.

He had thought, just like the rest of them, that Aldwyn was alright. The boy had had an adverse reaction to the dementor itself, as if fighting against the Kiss, fighting against the Dementor's innate ability to feed on happy memories. But what he had just seen was more than that. It was a fight for life and death, a fight to preserve what was, and that was the most terrifying thing he had ever witnessed. The magic in the air, the way Aldwyn had responded well to whatever Blaise and Theo had done, then the way he had just fallen lifeless, all within the space of ten minutes.

“His core is in shock, Blaise. We need to move him.” Remus lowers his wand, his gaze sweeping the compartment with practised paranoia of a man constantly hunted. “With this deliberate attack on a student, the Ministry fools won’t be allowed to have them remain here much longer, but by informing those band of idiots, no doubt, Dumbledore will be here shortly as well. He cannot see Aldwyn like this.”

That implicit truth hung heavy in the air: Dumbledore could not be allowed to witness the raw, unstable power of the Slytherin Heir, nor the depth of the trauma the boy carried – trauma that the Dementor had so ruthlessly exposed.

“Theo, Severus told me that Aldwyn has a two-way mirror? Contact him and tell him to get over here as soon as possible.” Remus instructs, his voice regaining a professional edge, even as his hands trembled slightly. He knew the delicate nature of communicating with Severus, especially when secrecy was paramount, but Dumbledore had yet to find a way to intercept direct Mirror calls.

Theo scrambled to obey, fumbling through Aldwyn’s robes until his fingers closed around the cool metal of the two-way mirror. He flipped it open, shouting Severus’s name before the surface had even fully cleared.

Severus Prince was in the middle of conducting a complex, high-level analysis of a new dark runic array mixed with potions Marvolo had discovered in an old Rosier text when the mirror flared to life, almost ruining his work. He snatched it up, his face instantly hardening at the sight of the frantic young Slytherin filling the frame. Where was his son?

“Mister Nott, I do believe you are supposed to be on your way to Hogwarts, are you not? What is so important that you find yourself calling me not 5 hours after leaving London?” Severus hisses, his tone sharp, ready to deliver a withering reprimand for the interruption, but the words died in his throat as he took in Theo’s terror-stricken face.

“Professor! Dementor attack! On the train! It got Aldwyn-he needs you, Professor, please, he’s not waking up, and Blaise says that his magic is – it’s wrong!” Theo spits out the words, his eyes wide and pleading. "Please, you have to help him!"

Severus’s own blood ran instantly cold. He didn’t need to hear more. A Dementor attack was catastrophic enough, but the fear in Theo’s voice and the true extent of Aldwyn’s childhood trauma spoke of the severity reaching far beyond a typical shock.

“Stay where you are. Do not move him. Do not allow anyone to touch him. I am coming now.” Severus barked, slamming the mirror down onto his desk, the sound echoing ominously through the lab. Scribbling a quick note to Marvolo to describe what was happening and where he was going, Severus stands.

He didn’t even bother with the Floo, knowing that a moving train somewhere between London and Scotland was a dangerous journey. He simply slammed his palm onto the anti-apparition wards he had meticulously layered around his quarters, ripping a hole in the protective magic through sheer focused intent. With a sickening crack, Severus vanished, reappearing instantly in the cramped carriage.

The sight that greeted him sent a visceral, protective fury through his core that momentarily eclipsed his strategic mind. Aldwyn lay unnaturally pale, his features pinched in residual pain that seemed impossibly deep for a child merely unconscious.

“Remus,” Severus acknowledges the DADA Professor with a curt nod, his attention already focused entirely on his son. “What is the precise nature of the attack?”

“Direct exposure, Severus. Brief, but intense. The creature was searching the compartment. When it saw Aldwyn, it paused. The kiss seemed to have been attempted, but something – some deep magic in Aldwyn – repelled it violently before the creature managed to fully connect. I fought it back with a Patronus, but Aldwyn’s emotions and magic seemed to have an adverse reaction. Blaise and Theo had to feed their emotions or magic into him to get him to calm down. Then he just collapsed.” Remus explained, his voice low and professional, even as his eyes betrayed a profound concern. “The Ministry guards are investigating the perimeter now, allegedly. Dumbledore will be arriving any second.”

Severus ignored the threat of Dumbledore. He slid his wand into his hand, his movements swift and economical. He knelt on the grimy floor beside the seat, his dark robes pooling around him, shielding Aldwyn from the gawking eyes of his housemates.

He ran a careful diagnostic charm – a complex, non-verbal sequence that bypassed simple physical injuries and delved directly into the state of Aldwyn’s magical core and psyche. The result, which manifested as shimmering, complex runic scripts visible only to Severus, was horrifyingly intricate.

“It’s the Mage core,” Severus whispered, his breath catching. “It reacted violently to the psychic drain. It didn’t just repel the Dementor’s kiss; it overloaded itself defensively. He hasn’t just fainted, Remus. He’s in a magical coma brought on by self-preservation.

Severus placed a gentle hand on Aldwyn’s forehead. The boy’s skin was unnaturally cool, almost clammy, yet beneath his touch, Severus could feel the subtle, dangerous thrumming of the exhausted core.

“The Dementor didn’t just feed on surface happiness, Remus. It hit the deepest well – the trauma. The darkest years of Aldwyn’s life. It triggered a complete systematic shutdown to prevent the memories and despair from consuming him entirely. This is not simple fear; this is the physical reaction of a powerful core protecting itself from absolute annihilation.”

He pulled back, his face a mask of cold fury. This was not merely an attack on a student; this was a surgical strike designed to mentally break his son. Someone was behind this attack, and he was going to find out who.

“Blaise, Theo. You did well. I need you both to maintain a physical presence near him. Your proximity, your living magic, acts as a passive anchor. Do not break contact. Remus, I need you to run interference. Keep Dumbledore away from him. Do not, under any circumstances, allow Dumbledore to cast any diagnostic spells on Aldwyn. He cannot see the state of that core.”

“Understood, Severus. I’ll handle the headmaster.” Remus promised, stepping toward the compartment door, his posture shifting into the confident, authoritative stance of the newly appointed Defence Professor and Beta Werewolf.

Severus immediately began the stabilising process, pulling specialised vials from deep pockets of his robes – potions designed for magical exhaustion, compounded with complex calming draught brewed with ingredients he had only acquired through Marvolo’s extensive Dark connections. He spelled the liquid directly into Aldwyn’s system, bypassing the need to wake him.

“We need to get him off this train. Now.” Severus looked at the damage around them – the grim and dirt of the compartment, the ice still lingering around the windows. “It is too public. Too exposed.”

He gently lifted Aldwyn into his arms. The boy was feather-light, shockingly small beneath the bulk of his robes, confirming every worry Severus harboured about the effects the Dementor had on his son.

“Remus, I am Apparating him directly to my quarters. I need you to cover the immediate absence. Tell Dumbledore he required medical attention and is already with Madam Pomfrey. I will contact Marvolo immediately.

“Go, Severus. I will hold the line.”

“We are coming with you, Professor. Aldwyn may need us.” Theo stepped forward, a frown etched deep onto his face as Blaise stepped to his side.

“Alright, hold on tight.”

With another silent, powerful surge of magic, Severus breached the weak train wards. Apparating with Aldwyn clutched protectively against his chest, Blaise and Theo gripping his robes, leaving the aftermath of the attack entirely in the hands of the Gryffindor.

-----

The transition from the grimy train compartment to the sanctuary of Severus’s quarters was instantaneous yet jarring. Severus laid Aldwyn carefully on the large, comfortable sofa in his private sitting room, ensuring the boy’s head was supported by soft cushions. Blaise and Theo stood behind the sofa, as close as they could get without touching Aldwyn.

Severus immediately casts a complex suite of protective wards around the room – wards that pulsed with a potent mix of Prince and Slytherin magic, designed not just for privacy, but to actively repel unwanted magical scrutiny, particularly Dumbledore’s persistent Legilimency probes.

He ran a second, more detailed diagnostic. The Mage core was stabilising, but the emotional damage was profound. The Dementor had not merely grazed the surface of Aldwyn’s despair; it had plunged deep into the abyss of his memories of the Dursleys/ The raw, unfiltered terror of abandonment and abuse had resurfaced, and the core had shut down to prevent the child’s mind from being destroyed by the sheer volume of pain.

Severus pulled out his personal emergency kit – a locked, charmed box containing potent, often dark-affiliated, healing agents. He began a sequence of non-verbal healing charms focused on soothing the agitated magical pathways, forcing the core to accept the emergency stabilising potions he had administered.

“He needs Marvolo,” Severus muttered to himself, his fingers working swiftly, adjusting the temperature of the room, casting a subtle cleaning charm over Aldwyn’s face. “He needs his father’s anchor.”

Severus reached for his own mirror, his hand shaking slightly—a rare sign of his distress. He knew the risks of Apparating Marvolo directly into Hogwarts, even into his heavily warded quarters, but there was no time for propriety.

“Marvolo. Hogwarts. My quarters. Now. Code Crimson.”

The image of Marvolo, who had been pacing his study awaiting news of Aldwyn’s arrival, appeared instantly. His eyes, usually deep brown with red flecks, were pure crimson with alarm.

“Severus! What happened? Is he hurt?” Marvolo’s voice was sharp, laced with immediate, intense dread.

“Dementor attack on the train. He’s safe, in my quarters. But he’s in a magically induced coma. Severe psychic trauma. Code Crimson means I need you here immediately. Use the breach point we prepared. Do not waste time with the Floo.”

Marvolo vanished instantly. The sound of the anti-Apparition ward screaming in protest as it was forcibly breached echoed through Severus’s rooms, followed by the heavy thud of the Dark Lord landing on the stone floor.

Marvolo’s eyes swept the room, taking in the state of the wards, the scattered potion vials, and finally, the unnaturally still figure of his son on the sofa. All strategic thought vanished, replaced by a pure, consuming parental terror.

“Aldwyn,” Marvolo rushed forward, dropping to his knees beside the sofa. He reached out, his hand hovering over his son’s pale cheek, afraid to touch him lest he cause further pain.

“He’s stable, Marvolo. I’ve dosed him with potent stabilisers. The Dementor didn’t take his soul, but the psychic trauma forced his Mage core into self-shutdown. He’s protecting himself from the memories the creature dredged up.” Severus explained, his voice low and professional, masking the continuing anxiety that gnawed at him.

Marvolo finally touched Aldwyn, his large, calloused hand cupping the boy’s cold cheek. He bent down, pressing his lips gently to Aldwyn’s forehead.

“The Dursleys,” Marvolo whispered, the name a curse. His eyes, still blazing red from the abrupt Apparition and adrenaline, flickered with an intense, cold rage that promised retribution far exceeding the fate of Gilderoy Lockhart. “The creature targeted the deep wounds.”

“Precisely. He’s reliving the worst of it. The lack of control, the fear, the abandonment. The core reacted to prevent his mind from being shredded by the sheer volume of despair. We need to maintain stabilisation and anchor him back to the present. He needs to know he’s safe, even while unconscious.”

Marvolo immediately shifted his focus. He took his son’s hand, clasping it tightly—a solid, unyielding point of contact. He began channelling his magic, not in a destructive blast, but in a slow, steady stream of pure, warm Slytherin power, feeding it into Aldwyn’s exhausted core. It was the magic of their shared blood and bond, a lifeline designed to reassure the frantic core that it was not alone.

Severus watched, a small, painful pride swelling in his chest. Marvolo, the feared Dark Lord, was using his immense power with the utmost tenderness, focusing every ounce of his magical intent on healing and safety.

“I’ve already contacted Remus,” Severus continued, providing the strategic update. “He’s running interference with Dumbledore, claiming Aldwyn required urgent care for magical exhaustion. Dumbledore cannot know the truth of the core’s defensive shutdown, nor the trauma revealed.”

“Naturally. Dumbledore would twist this immediately. He would claim the Mage core is proof of Dark corruption, proof of a volatile, dangerous nature. He would use the trauma against him, attempting to mould him into the pathetic, frightened weapon he intended Harry Potter to be.” Marvolo’s voice was dangerously low, a serpentine hiss that promised swift, silent violence to anyone who dared harm his son.

“We are in agreement. I need to brew specific counter-potions for the psychic residue left by the Dementor. Potions that are illegal, Marvolo. They delve into the deepest reaches of the mind.”

“Brew them. I will stand guard. No one breaches these wards, Severus. Not Dumbledore, not the Ministry, and certainly not another foul creature from Azkaban.” Marvolo’s gaze was fixed on Aldwyn, his expression unyielding, a promise of absolute protection etched into his features.

Severus nodded, already moving toward his inner laboratory. He paused at the door, glancing back at the scene: Marvolo, the formidable Dark Lord, kneeling beside their son, his hand a steady anchor, pouring life and power into the small, fragile body.

“I will be swift, my love. Keep him anchored. Blaise and Theo are here to lend us a hand. It was they who kept Aldwyn stable long enough for me to get to him.”

The hours that followed stretched into a tense, agonising vigil. Severus worked tirelessly in his lab, the fumes of potent, volatile ingredients filling the air, the soft glow of dark, complex potions illuminating his focused face. He was brewing a mind-stabilising elixir—a potion that required precise magical intent and ingredients often restricted by the Ministry due to their power to breach the deepest Occlumency shields.

Meanwhile, Marvolo remained by Aldwyn’s side. He had shifted slightly, sitting on the edge of the sofa, Aldwyn’s head resting gently in his lap. Marvolo continued the steady infusion of his own magic, a comforting presence that slowly calmed the internal magical turbulence. Blaise and Theo had also moved, walked around the sofa and sat on the floor as close to Aldwyn as they could get, quietly talking amongst themselves but never any less attentive to their friend. Lending their magical stability to Aldwyn when he seemed to need it.

Marvolo watched the subtle shifts in Aldwyn’s face. The occasional twitch of the eyelids, the tightening of the muscles in his jaw, suggested the battle still raging within his mind.

Marvolo knew exactly what the Dementor had shown his son. Not the surface terror of facing the creature itself, but the raw, unadulterated despair of the cupboard under the stairs. The cold, the hunger, the beatings, the crushing psychological certainty that he was a 'freak' who deserved the abuse. The Dementor, drawn to the most intense suffering, would have hit the core memory of Aldwyn’s life—the nine years of absolute hopelessness before the first letter arrived.

“You are safe, my son,” Marvolo whispered, his voice dangerously soft, his hand stroking the boy’s pale cheek. “You are here. You are loved. That past is gone. It cannot touch you now.”

He felt the subtle response in Aldwyn's core—a slight relaxation, a fractional acceptance of the external safety.

Marvolo allowed his mind to drift into the cold, analytical realm of strategy, channelling his paternal rage into productive planning.

Security Protocols: The anti-Apparition wards were already reinforced, screaming a warning if anyone attempted to breach them. But Black was a wild card. He wouldn't use the Floo or Apparition. He would use the secret passages.

Political Fallout: Dumbledore would inevitably question the Dementor's focus on Aldwyn. Marvolo needed a cover story ready. Aldwyn’s Mage core was a liability in the Light’s eyes, a weapon in the Dark’s. If Dumbledore saw the instability, he would push for immediate restriction or removal from Hogwarts.

The Mage Core: Severus's diagnosis was clear. Aldwyn’s core was not typical. It was a Mage core—a fountain of immense, self-regulating power, inherited from Marvolo’s own untapped potential and the battle with Shookwood. The Dementor had triggered a defence mechanism unique to Mages: a magical self-shutdown to prevent psychic core damage. This was proof of Aldwyn’s destiny, but also his greatest vulnerability.

Marvolo reached into his robes, pulling out the small, sealed packet containing Lillian Rosier’s final letter. He unfolded the parchment, rereading the final, confirming paragraphs about Aldwyn’s true parentage and the necessity of protecting him from Dumbledore's manipulations.

Severus is his father. I am his Bearer. He is a Mage.

The revelation, though months old, still resonated with profound significance. Aldwyn was not merely adopted; he was magically and biologically theirs. Their bond was absolute, built on shared blood, shared magic, and a shared history of survival against systemic abuse. This fact fuelled Marvolo’s resolve.

“They will pay for every tear you shed, my son. Every moment of cold and hunger. They tried to break the Slytherin Heir, but they only forged a weapon stronger than they could ever imagine.” Marvolo vowed, his voice a low, chilling promise.

-----

Severus finally emerged from the lab, the small, crystal vial in his hand glowing faintly with a dangerous, deep blue light. He looked exhausted, the dark circles beneath his eyes pronounced, but his gaze was sharp and focused.

“The elixir is ready. It will purge the psychic residue and reset the neural pathways, preventing the Dementor’s lingering touch from causing future relapses. It’s highly volatile, Marvolo. I need absolute calm.”

Marvolo nodded, gently lifting Aldwyn’s head from his lap, supporting his shoulders.

Severus carefully administered the potion. The moment the liquid passed Aldwyn’s lips, his body arched slightly in a silent spasm. The Mage's core flared, purple and green light briefly visible beneath his skin, fighting the intrusion of the powerful elixir.

“Hold him steady,” Severus urged, his wand tracing complex, calming runes over Aldwyn’s chest, channelling his own potent magic to guide the potion through the agitated core.

The struggle was brief, intense, and terrifying. The Mage core fought violently, recognising the power of the potion, before finally accepting the elixir as a necessary defence. The light subsided, and Aldwyn’s body relaxed entirely, his breathing deepening and becoming even. The unnatural cold receded, replaced by a healthy warmth.

“It’s done. The residue is gone. Now, we wait for him to wake naturally. The core needs rest.” Severus collapsed onto the sofa beside Marvolo, resting his head heavily on his fiancé’s shoulder.

“He is safe now, my love. You saved him.” Marvolo wrapped his arm around Severus, pulling him close, finding comfort in the solid presence of his partner.

A soft crack announced the arrival of Remus Lupin, who stepped out of the Floo, looking harried.

“Severus! Dumbledore is furious. He demanded to know why Aldwyn was Apparated out of the train, bypassing Madam Pomfrey. I claimed extreme magical exhaustion due to the Dementor’s proximity and the necessity of immediate medical attention in your personal lab, citing the unique nature of his magic. I assured him the boy is merely resting.” Remus looked at the figures on the sofa, then at Aldwyn. “Is he stable?”

“Stable. Magically purged of the Dementor’s influence. He will wake soon.” Severus confirmed, his voice thick with fatigue.

“Good. Dumbledore is already manoeuvring. He is using the incident to justify the immediate placement of Dementors around the school perimeter, claiming Black is targeting students. This provides him with absolute control over the castle’s atmosphere and security.”

“The manipulative bastard,” Marvolo snarled. “He uses the fear of one creature to impose the presence of another far worse. He is imposing absolute despair on the entire school populace just to catch one man.”

“Worse, Severus. Black is targeting Hogwarts. He knows Aldwyn is here. He knows Harry Potter is still alive, and the only logical place for a magical child to hide at this time would be Hogwarts.” Remus confessed, his voice low, his eyes fixed on the sleeping boy.

“How?” Severus demanded, sitting upright, instantly alert.

“The bond, Severus. The Godfather bond, we suspected. Black’s escape was obviously triggered by the knowledge that Harry Potter was alive when the idiot Fudge decided to throw the Prophet at Black, showing him the article that claimed Harry was dead. The Dementor coming onto the train to ‘search for Black’ could be used to confirm Black’s objective. He’s not after Dumbledore; he’s after Aldwyn.”

The air in the room thickened with the gravity of the realisation. They had known of this, guessed this could be a sound theory, but to hear it confirmed was terrifying. Sirius Black, the insane mass-murderer, was not only free but was actively hunting their son, guided by a magical bond they had been unable to sever.

“He will not get near him,” Marvolo vowed, his crimson eyes narrowing dangerously. “We will layer protection until the castle is impenetrable.”

“We must address the bond, Severus. Now. It’s the only way to blind Black.”

Severus nodded, his mind already racing ahead, calculating the obscure magical theory required to suppress a Godfather bond—a delicate, dangerous procedure that would require immense power and absolute secrecy.

“First, let Aldwyn wake. He needs to know he’s safe. Then, we plan. We will use every resource—Light or Dark—to protect him.”

It was late evening when Aldwyn finally stirred. The silence was profound, broken only by the crackling fire in the hearth. He blinked slowly, his eyes adjusting to the soft lighting of the familiar room. His body felt heavy, his limbs sluggish, but the agonising cold and the frantic magical vibrations were gone.

He tried to sit up, but a gentle, firm hand rested on his chest, preventing the movement.

“Easy, Snakelet. You need rest.”

Aldwyn turned his head, meeting the worried, tender gaze of his Papa. Severus was leaning over him, his expression openly vulnerable.

“Papa? What happened?” Aldwyn’s voice was a dry, weak rasp.

“Dementors, Aldwyn. They hit the train. You had a bad reaction. But you’re safe. You’re in my quarters.” Severus gently helped him sip a warm, sweet elixir—a simple, restorative potion this time.

“The Dementor… it showed me the cupboard. The cold. Uncle Vernon…” Aldwyn trailed off, his eyes clouding with residual horror. He looked away, shame burning his cheeks. “I’m sorry, Papa. I lost control.”

“Never apologise for defending yourself, Aldwyn. You repelled the creature before it could take your soul. That requires immense power and self-will, even if it exhausts you. You fought back, my son.” Severus placed a soft, lingering kiss on Aldwyn’s forehead.

“Where’s Dad?”

As if summoned, Marvolo stepped out of the shadows near the hearth, his expression softening instantly as he met his son’s gaze. He was no longer blazing with power, but his presence was a solid, comforting weight.

“Right here, Aldwyn. You gave us quite the scare.” Marvolo sat beside Severus, taking Aldwyn’s hand in his own, his thumb tracing the prominent Slytherin Heir ring.

“I’m sorry, Dad. I didn’t mean to worry you.”

“I know, my son. We know.” Marvolo looked at Severus, sharing a profound, silent understanding. They had failed to protect him from the past, but they would burn the world before they allowed the future to touch him.

“Remus is here, too. He’s running interference with Dumbledore. He was the one who cast the Patronus. He saved you, Aldwyn.” Severus explained.

Aldwyn looked past his parents, spotting the sandy-haired professor sitting quietly in the armchair, watching them with a mixture of sorrow and relief.

“Uncle Moony,” Aldwyn whispered, a small, genuine smile finally breaking through the pallor of his face. “Thank you.”

Remus nodded, unable to speak, his eyes reflecting the painful truth of the Godfather Bond they now knew connected him to the boy, making Aldwyn a target for Black.

“Sirius Black is on his way to Hogwarts as we speak; that is why the Dementors were on the train. He is using your bond to hunt you, to track you.” Marvolo delivered the news with cold precision, knowing Aldwyn needed facts, not fear.

Aldwyn’s eyes narrowed, the last vestiges of weakness fading, replaced by a familiar, sharp analytical gleam. He was no longer the frightened victim; he was Cronus, assessing a new enemy.

“The Godfather bond,” Aldwyn stated, his voice still weak but firm. “He tracked Harry Potter to Hogwarts. We need to sever it. Now.”

“We are planning the countermeasures, Aldwyn. You focus on resting. We will ensure Black never finds you.” Severus promised, pulling his son close, his protective instincts absolute.

The crisis had passed, but the war for Aldwyn’s safety, and the preservation of the Prince-Slytherin family secret, had just begun. Severus and Marvolo looked at each other, their resolve cemented. They had saved their son from the Dementor, but now they had to save him from the consequences of the past he had fought so hard to leave behind. They would not fail.

-----

Aldwyn lay in his bed in Severus’s chambers, staring at the ceiling. His parents had left him alone for a moment – just long enough to speak with Remus about additional security measures – and the silence pressed down on him like a physical weight.

He hated this.

Hated the trembling in his hands that he couldn’t stop. Hated the lingering chill that seemed to have settled into his very bones. Hated the way his magic still felt sluggish and unresponsive, like trying to run through water.

But most of all, he hated how powerless he had felt.

Aldwyn Prince-Slytherin did not do powerless. He was Cronus, leader of a secret organisation, heir to two of the most powerful magical lines in Britain, survivor of Dumbledore’s manipulations and the Dursleys’ abuse. He had faced down his attackers, outsmarted a possessed professor, and helped strip a Dark Lord of his stolen magic.

And yet a single Dementor had reduced him to a shaking, sobbing mess in front of his friends.

His jaw clenched, anger beginning to burn away the lingering fear. The Dementor had torn through his Occlumency shields like they were parchment, dragging up every terrible memory he’d spent the past year trying to compartmentalise. The Dursleys’ cruelty. Dumbledore’s cold manipulations. The moment he’d thought he’d lost his parents during the ritual. Every fear, every pain, every moment of helplessness – all of it forced to the surface at once.

His magic had lashed out instinctively, desperately, and nearly torn itself apart in the process.

Never again.

Aldwyn’s hands curled into fists against the blanket. He would not allow himself to be that vulnerable again. He would learn the Patronus Charm – Properly, not just the theory he had ready about. He would strengthen his Occlumency shields until even a Dementor’s presence couldn’t breach them. He would-

His thoughts stuttered to a halt as a real problem crystallised in his mind.

The godfather bond.

That was how Black had found him. How the Dementor had been drawn to their specific carriage on a train filled with students. The bond that James Potter had created without consent, without consideration for what it might mean for an infant to be magically tied to a man who would later be imprisoned in Azkaban.

A bond that apparently still existed, still connected him to Sirius Black, despite everything. Despite the adoption, despite the name change, the biological changes, despite the fact that Harry Potter was supposed to be dead.

Aldwyn’s analytical mind began to work through the problem, anger sharpening his focus rather than clouding it.

Magical bonds were notoriously difficult to break. He'd read about them extensively while researching his parents' upcoming bonding ceremony. A godfather bond, specifically, was meant to be unbreakable—a magical failsafe to ensure a child would always have a protector if their parents died.

Except in his case, the "protector" was an alleged mass murderer who had apparently spent twelve years in Azkaban obsessing over revenge.

The irony would have been funny if it weren't so infuriating.

Could the bond be severed? Possibly. There were rituals, dark and dangerous ones, that could cut magical ties. But they often required the consent of both parties, and could cause significant magical backlash. And somehow, Aldwyn doubted Sirius Black would cooperate with dissolving their connection.

Blood adoption should have weakened it, at least. The Inheritance Test had shown him as a Prince-Slytherin in blood as well as name now. But godfather bonds weren't blood-based—they were intent-based, soul-based. A promise made in magic that transcended bloodlines.

Which meant...

Aldwyn's eyes widened slightly as a new thought occurred to him.

If the bond couldn't be broken, perhaps it could be used.

Bonds worked both ways. If Black could sense him through the connection, track him, know when he was vulnerable... then theoretically, Aldwyn should be able to do the same. With the right training, the right spells, he could turn Black's weapon against him.

He could track the man. Sense his emotional state. Maybe even influence him through the bond, if he was skilled enough.

A slow, calculating smile spread across Aldwyn's face. It was the kind of smile that would have made his father proud and his papa concerned.

"That's a dangerous expression, Snakelet."

Aldwyn's head snapped toward the door, where Severus had just entered, followed closely by Marvolo. His papa's dark eyes were assessing, taking in every detail of Aldwyn's appearance and demeanour.

"You're plotting something," Marvolo observed, moving to sit on the edge of the bed. "I recognise that look. I've seen it in the mirror often enough."

Aldwyn didn't bother denying it. "The godfather bond," he said without preamble. "We can't break it, can we? Not easily, not safely."

Severus exchanged a glance with Marvolo before answering. "No. We've been researching while you rested. A godfather bond, once established, is nearly impossible to sever without the willing participation of both parties. And even then, the ritual is... complex."

"And dangerous," Marvolo added. "It could damage your magical core further, especially given its current fragile state."

"That's what I thought." Aldwyn pushed himself up to sitting, ignoring the way his head spun slightly. "So we can't break it. Which means we need to use it."

"Use it?" Severus's eyebrow rose. "Aldwyn—"

"Think about it, Papa. Black is using the bond to track me, to find me. That's how the Dementor knew which carriage to target—it could sense the connection, the emotional resonance." Aldwyn's words came faster as his mind raced ahead. "But bonds work both ways. If he can sense me, I should be able to sense him. Track him. Know when he's close."

"That's... actually sound magical theory," Marvolo said slowly, his expression shifting from concern to interest. "Godfather bonds are designed to allow the godparent to sense when their godchild is in danger. But the reverse..." He trailed off, clearly thinking through the implications.

"The reverse is rarely explored because most godparents aren't trying to harm their godchildren," Severus finished, his tone dry. "But yes, theoretically, if you could learn to manipulate your end of the bond, you could use it to monitor Black's location and emotional state."

"More than that." Aldwyn leaned forward, warming to his subject. "If I can learn to send emotions through the bond, I could potentially influence him. Make him feel safe when he should be cautious. Make him angry when he needs to be calm. I could lead him into a trap."

"Aldwyn." Severus's voice held a warning note. "What you're describing is advanced mental magic. Bond manipulation of that level requires years of study and practice. You're thirteen."

"I'm also a Mage," Aldwyn countered. "And I've been practising Occlumency since I was eleven. I learn fast, Papa. You know I do."

"He's not wrong," Marvolo murmured, though his expression was troubled. "The boy has always been precocious with mental magic. And given the circumstances..."

"Given the circumstances, we don't have years," Aldwyn pressed. "Black is out there right now, hunting me. The Dementors are at Hogwarts, and they'll be drawn to me because of the bond. I can either be a victim or I can be a weapon. I know which one I'd rather be."

Severus was quiet for a long moment, his dark eyes searching Aldwyn's face. "You understand what you're proposing? Bond manipulation is considered Dark magic in many circles. If anyone discovered what you were doing—"

"Then we don't let anyone discover it," Aldwyn interrupted. "Father can help me research the theory. You can help me practice the mental disciplines. Uncle Fen probably knows things about bonds that aren't in any book." He met his papa's gaze steadily. "I'm not asking for permission to do something reckless. I'm asking you to help me turn a vulnerability into an advantage."

"Very Slytherin of you," Marvolo said, and there was approval in his voice despite the concern still lingering in his eyes. "Using your enemy's weapon against them."

"I learned from the best." Aldwyn allowed himself a small smile. "Besides, even if we could break the bond, Black would just find another way to track me. At least this way, I'll see him coming."

Severus sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose in a gesture Aldwyn recognised as his papa's 'my son is going to give me grey hair' expression. "You make a compelling argument. I hate that you make a compelling argument."

"Does that mean you'll help me?"

"It means," Severus said carefully, "that your father and I will research the safest methods of bond manipulation and determine whether this is even feasible without causing you further harm. If—and only if—we determine it can be done safely, we will consider training you."

"But Papa—"

"No, Aldwyn." Severus's voice was firm. "You nearly died today. Your magical core is still recovering from the strain. I will not risk your health and safety on a theory, no matter how sound it may be."

Aldwyn wanted to argue, but he could see the fear still lingering behind his papa's stern expression. The memory of waking up to find both his parents looking terrified was still fresh.

"Alright," he conceded. "But you'll research it? Seriously?"

"We will," Marvolo promised, reaching out to squeeze Aldwyn's shoulder. "And in the meantime, you will focus on recovering and learning the Patronus Charm. That, at least, is a defence we can all agree you need."

"Remus has already agreed to teach you," Severus added. "He's one of the few people I trust with this, given his... unique perspective on bonds and their complications."

Aldwyn nodded, some of the tension leaving his shoulders. It wasn't everything he wanted, but it was a start. His parents were taking him seriously, treating him as a partner in solving this problem rather than a child to be protected.

"There's something else," he said quietly. "The Dementor... it didn't just make me relive bad memories. It made me feel them all at once. Every moment of pain, every fear, every time I felt helpless." His hands clenched the blanket again. "I can't... I won't let that happen again. I need to be stronger."

"You are strong, Snakelet." Marvolo's voice was gentle but firm. "What happened today doesn't change that. Dementors are among the darkest creatures in existence. They affect everyone, even the most powerful wizards."

"But I'm not just any wizard," Aldwyn said, and there was no arrogance in his voice, just a simple fact. "I'm a Mage. I'm your son. I'm Cronus. I have responsibilities—people depending on me. I can't afford to be vulnerable."

"Everyone is vulnerable sometimes," Severus said softly. "That's not weakness, Aldwyn. That's being human."

"Maybe." Aldwyn met his papa's eyes. "But I'd rather be a human who can fight back than one who can only survive."

Severus and Marvolo exchanged another long look, one of those silent conversations that Aldwyn had learned meant they were communicating far more than words could convey.

Finally, Marvolo spoke. "We'll help you, Aldwyn. We'll research the bond manipulation, train you in the Patronus Charm, and strengthen your Occlumency. Whatever you need to feel safe."

"But," Severus added, his tone brooking no argument, "you will also accept that you don't have to face this alone. You have us. You have your friends. You have an entire organisation of people who would stand between you and danger without hesitation."

"I know." Aldwyn's voice was quiet. "And I'm grateful for that. But at the end of the day, it's my life Black wants. My bond he's using. I need to be able to protect myself, not just rely on others to protect me."

"Then we'll make sure you can," Marvolo promised. "But we'll do it smart, and we'll do it safe. Agreed?"

"Agreed."

Severus leaned forward, pressing a kiss to Aldwyn's forehead. "Get some rest, Snakelet. We have a lot of work ahead of us."

As his parents moved toward the door, Aldwyn called out, "Papa? Father?"

They turned back.

"Thank you. For not treating me like a child who needs to be sheltered. For... understanding."

Marvolo smiled, warm and proud. "You stopped being a child the moment you decided to fight back against the world that tried to break you. We're just trying to keep up."

After they left, Aldwyn lay back against the pillows, his mind already racing with possibilities. The godfather bond was meant to be a protection, a safeguard. Sirius Black thought he could use it as a weapon.

But Aldwyn Prince-Slytherin had spent his entire life turning weapons meant to harm him into tools for his own survival. This would be no different. He would learn to manipulate the bond. He would master the Patronus Charm. He would strengthen his Occlumency until nothing could breach his shields again. And when Sirius Black finally came for him—because Aldwyn had no doubt the man would—he would find not a helpless victim, but a trap waiting to spring.

Aldwyn closed his eyes, a small, determined smile on his lips.

Let Black come. Let him follow the bond, thinking it would lead him to an easy target. He would learn, as Dumbledore had learned, as the Dursleys had learned, that Harry Potter might have been a victim. But Aldwyn Prince-Slytherin was a survivor. And survivors didn't just endure. They conquered.

Chapter Text

The first rays of sunlight slipped through the small windows early one morning. An array of pinks, oranges and reds filled the corridor, shifting with each passing second as the sun began to rise. Dust particles floated nonchalantly through the air as if dancing with the tranquillity of Hogwarts at dusk. The castle itself seemed to be waking itself up from a light slumber, portraits shifted in their frames, whispering softly to each other as if not to disturb the peace. Ghosts came out of whichever alcove they decided to hide in for the night before, while students, excited from a summer of adventure and holidays, settled back into the routine of the castle. Even the enchanted suits of armour, alive with reenactments of battles long since forgotten, were reluctant to begin the day. It was peaceful, quiet, and a good start to the day. Or so Remus Lupin thought.

Lupin walked the corridors of Hogwarts for the first time since he was seventeen. He didn’t count all those times Dumbledore had called them into Order meetings because going from his little shake in the woods, Flooing straight into the meeting room and back out again, certainly didn’t count, right? His footsteps were measured; the leather strap of his messenger bag, a congratulatory gift from Fenrir for his teaching position, swung off his shoulder. Each footstep threatened to disrupt the tranquil air around him, but he didn’t mind. He had made his way back to the first place he had ever considered home.

Today was his first day as Defence Against the Dark Arts professor, a title that carried prestige and responsibility. A title that he was a little wary of when he had first been given the job. Not only because he was a werewolf, someone the Ministry would no sooner tag and fire, but also because he had not been the best role model for the younger years when he had been a student himself. He had been complacent, turning a blind eye when his friends bullied, harassed, and deliberately hurt their fellow students, both younger and older. It had taken Fenrir, Severus and Aldwyn almost a week to calm him down. To make him see that he wasn’t that irresponsible teenager anymore. That the guilt he carried with him over these past few years was proof of that.

As he trails through the corridors, he becomes lost in his own thoughts, unnerving memories that were burned into the very recesses of his mind. The train journey here. He had chosen to take the train for nostalgia's sake, to remind himself that he was going back. He had had fun conversing with Aldwyn and his friends, hearing all about their summer vacation, while answering every question Aldwyn had about his time with the Alpha werewolf. He remembered the sudden cold that had encased the train, the bitter frost nipping at his fingertips. The Dementor slipped past their locking charms with an ease only a trained hunter could manage.

He had assumed, rightly so, he thought at first, that the Dementor would see that Sirius Black was not present in their compartment and leave these children alone. But what he didn’t account for was the creature somehow sensing the unstable, twisted bond connecting Black to Aldwyn and attacking said student instead. The rare power he had felt coming from Aldwyn as the Dementor tried to give him The Kiss was terrifying, not in a ‘this is Dark Magic’ kind of way, but in a more ‘this should not be happening’ sort of way. He remembered the wide, frightened eyes reflecting fear of a past that still haunted the boy, but also a potential that would bring Dumbledore himself to his knees.

As he walked, reacclimatising himself to the castle and its surroundings, he noticed that the corridors were usually still that morning. It was unnerving. There were not many whispers from the portraits, not when he passed by them anyway, and he wasn’t sure if it was recognition or something else. There were sporadic creaks from the suits of armour, but no fights, not even the satisfied humming he remembered hearing down the Defence corridor.

He stopped just outside the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom, his classroom for at least the next year. Hopefully longer. He saw the desks organised in uniform rows of two, inkwells and quills fitted into the wooden structure, which was already more advanced than back in his day. Shaking his head, he glances around at the empty walls and scowls. He had a lot of work to do if he wanted to get his classroom up and ready for the first lot of students to walk through this door.

-----

When a group of nervous-looking Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff first years came staggering into his classroom an hour and a half later, they were confused by what they saw. The desks had been pushed against the wall, stacked on top of each other precariously to open up the middle of the classroom. Various magical creatures, beasts and monsters were photographed along the walls like wanted posters. The floor and walls also appeared to shimmer, as if their new professor had decided to apply his own to the classroom for additional protection.

Professor Lupin leans against his desk, the only one that hadn’t been shoved to the outskirts, arms crossed leisurely as he watches the twenty or so students shuffling into the centre of the classroom. He offers them a warm, soothing smile, the same one he had given Aldwyn several times during the summer and watched as it seemed to relax their posture a little bit. Though he could understand their trepidation, many of the students before him were Muggleborn and Muggle-raised; no doubt, they would be intimidated and nervous by their first magical class of the school year. Not to mention their professor was covered head to toe in what appeared to be battle scars.

He noticed a young boy with vibrant red hair tripping over his own feet as he trailed behind his classmates, his wand falling from his trembling hands. A young girl in neat braids, a Ravenclaw, started pointing to each poster around the classroom, muttering the creature they held to her friends, who clapped quietly and cheered her on. His eyes scanned the small crowd of students for a moment longer, watching as they muttered between themselves, wands held in their hands, some sparking with nervous energy.

“Good morning, I am Professor Remus Lupin, and I will be your Defence Against the Dark Arts Professor for this year.” Remus introduces, pushing himself away from his desk. “Today, we will begin with the fundamentals of magical control. I understand that we are first-year students, and many of us have never practised much magic before coming to Hogwarts.” Remus catches a few smug looks from a group of Ravenclaw boys. “And even those who have, you have never been taught how to regulate and control the amount of magic you use.”

“Sir, what do you mean by the amount of magic we use?” One of those same boys raises his hand, his smug grin turning to one of interested curiosity.

“What I mean is that you would not push the same amount of magical energy, of power, into a Wingardium Leviosa charm as you would an Expelliarmus. You wouldn’t use the same amount of force in a friendly duel against your friend as you would against an enemy. Your magic responds not only to your wand, but to the intent behind a spell. Anger, panic, uncertainty can warp our intentions, and we can end up with an outcome that we weren’t prepared for.”

A timid hand rose, catching his attention, and Remus smiled at the young boy who had dropped his wand coming into the classroom. He gestured for him to ask his question. “Professor Lupin,” he stammers, “What if someone’s magic goes wrong because they are scared? Could it hurt someone?”

“Yes,” Remus says gently, walking closer to the cluster of students, dropping his arms to his side. “Fear can amplify magic, but that does not make it, or any of you, Dark or evil. Magic reflects the mind that wields it. Spur-of-the-moment attacks can addle the mind and cause subconscious intent to harm.” A giggle erupted at the back of the classroom when a chair suddenly lifted off the ground, spun wildly in mid-air before clattering back down at the edge of the classroom with a sound so loud it vibrated the floor. “Observe, adjust, and try again. You are not your mistakes; we are what we can learn from them.”

Remus pulls up a magical target, one Aldwyn and Marvolo had shown him how to create during the summer between training sessions with Fenrir. He fires off a very basic, standard spell of red sparks. No effect, no damage, but with enough magical signature that the target could tell him his magical power level. He aims his wand, fires five separate spells at the target, and the students watch in awe as each spell hits the target dead centre. A bright silver number appeared, counting from one to five.

A young boy, tall and awkward, followed Remus’s wand movements carefully, glasses slipping to the bridge of his nose. He muttered something under his breath to try to garner the same response as his professor had. Staring down at the stick in his hand, he shook it, frustration growing when all he gets are very small red sparks every now and again.  Only to jump in surprise when he sent a stream of sparks ricocheting along the floor.

“Careful,” Remus said gently, catching the boy’s wand when it flew through the air, with a subtle flick of his own. “Power without control is reckless. Imagine any spell as an extension of yourself and not an external force. What’s your name?”

“Samuel.”

“Samuel, with raw power like this,” He hands the child back his wand. “You have the makings of a great spell caster once you learn how to control your magic.”

“What if I hurt someone?” Samual swallows nervously, taking the offered wand back and copying the movements once more.

“You will learn, step by step. All of you will.” Remus replied, facing the class once more. He bends forward, wand arm held out for the students to see, and does the same wand movements again, slowly, steadily, allowing the first years to copy him until they get it right. He fires another stream of sparks, but this time, instead of hitting the target, they fly upward and explode in a colourful firework. “Mistakes are just feedback. If we listen to them, we can learn and grow.”

“Now, I want you to try it for yourself. Feel your magic, sense the connection you have with it and try to control how much energy you put into your spell. There is no incantation for the spell, so imagine simply pushing your magic through your hand and into your wand. I will call out a number, and I want you to try to match that with the targets.” Remus explains, duplicating the targets so there were enough for each student to have their own.

He makes his way around the classroom, correcting grips, adjusting stances and whispering instructions and guidance to the students who seemed to be struggling. He watches as the students begin to shoot off the basic casts, sparks of raw magic tingling through the air, and charging the additional wards whenever a spell goes awry. At first, it was complete carnage, spells flying all over the place with only a few students managing to regulate their magic to the correct level.

“Professor?” A young girl with bright blond hair catches him as he wanders past. “How can we make these targets ourselves?”

“Looking to practice outside the classroom…?” He questioned, adjusting the steel grip she had on her wand into a more relaxed stance.

“Primrose, Sir.”

“Primrose.”

“My brother is always telling me that my magic was weak, that I wasn’t going to achieve much. I want to practice so that I can show him what I can do!” She stated with determination, a look he recognised from his own reflection as a teenager, when he wanted to prove that he could do everything his friends could, despite his infirmity.

“You are from Hufflepuff?” Primrose nodded her head. “And your brother?”

“Fourth year Ravenclaw.”

“Ah, I understand. If you have the chance, you should seek out the third-year Slytherin student, Aldwyn Prince-Slytherin.”

“The Heir to the Slytherin House? He knows how to do this?”

“Mister Prince-Slytherin and his father were the ones who taught me. He also told me that he was thinking of teaching the first year Slytherins, and anyone else who wanted to know, how to create these targets. I am sure he won’t mind one extra student.”

“You sure he wouldn’t mind teaching me? I’m not a Slytherin.” Primrose stated, fingers playing with the material of her wand.

“I promise you that Mister Prince-Slytherin wouldn’t mind at all. He does not care for a student’s house, if you do not judge him by his. This goes for everyone as well. You can come to my office during my free time, and I will be happy to assist any of you in learning this spell, or you can seek out Prince-Slytherin. But for now, why don’t we continue on with our practice?”

After receiving eager nods from his students, Remus began moving again. He watched as the Ravenclaws continued to fire their spells with neat precision, hitting the target almost every time but with varying degrees of success in regulating their magic to match the correct number he was calling out. While the Hufflepuffs managed to match his instructions almost every single time… when they managed to hit the target. It was interesting to see that even the Purebloods and Half-bloods who were raised in the Wizarding World their entire lives had very little control over their magical outlet.

Two girls stood clustered together, giggling as one of them shot sparks with a little too much power and watched as it flew around the classroom harmlessly, until it was absorbed by the wards covering the floor. Remus smiled.

“Not too bad.” He murmured. “Remember that spells are not forces we can direct without intent, okay? It is just like learning to walk or run. You have to determine, for yourself, the power you need to put into something. An overpowered spell, while effective, will leave you drained a lot sooner than your duelling partner.” Remus stops next to the two girls. “Try again for me. Power level 5.”

He gestures to the target, stepping back so he can see the two first years raise their wands and shoot off their spell. He claps, a wide grin on his lips, when they each receive a bright flashing silver 5. “Excellent work! Well done! Now, try a power level 4, for me. Focus on how much power you pushed through to reach a level 5 and then reduce it by a fraction.”

Once again, the two girls had been able to almost perfectly match the numbers. One of them, the girl who had sent her spell zipping around the classroom, landed a perfect 4 on the target, while her friend fluctuated a little between three and four before finally settling on a 3. “Almost perfect, well done! Keep practicing and soon all of you will have perfect control over your magic.” The girls beamed with pride, hints of relief softening their features while Remus walked off to check the next group.

“Do not fight against the magic! Guide it. The spell is a part of you; it will respond to your intent.”

Across the room, another boy put too much power behind his spell, and it misfired, sending a pile of textbooks sitting on Remus’s desk scattering around the classroom. Children ducked out of the way, some laughing while others screamed.

“Watch your trajectory!” Remus said, taking his wand out. He showed the boy how to aim properly with his wand, how to guide the magic a little even after it had left his wand. “Magic is as much about the rhythm as it is about force.” The boy mimicked his motion, his next spell hitting the target dead centre this time, and cheering echoed around the classroom at his success.

Sparks continue to fly around the classroom as the first years become more confident in their magical abilities and fire raw magic after raw magic at the floating targets. Remus laughed when a vase he had set by the window was hit and shattered into thousands of tiny slivers. “Observe the rhythm and intention, not just your force! Control your trajectory! Magic responds to subtlety before strength!”

By the end of the session, the room smelt faintly of singed parchment and, like his students had spent half their lesson bubbling cauldrons for random experiments, but Remus didn’t mind. The first year, Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs exited his classroom with large smiles on their faces, sweat beading across their foreheads from the workout and a much better understanding of their own magical abilities.

And by mid-morning, his lessons on magical control and power levels were the talk of the school. Several students stopped him in the corridors to ask him more questions, while others waved at him happily as they ran past. He stuffed his hands into his pockets, his shoulders relaxing for the first time since he started teaching and sighed. Maybe, just maybe, he could do this. Maybe it wouldn’t be as effective as Fenrir’s lessons had been for him, but maybe he would be able to make a small difference for these children.

He paused at the edge of the corridor, watching as a group of Hufflepuff first years attempted to conduct their own duel. One’s wand misfired, letting sparks bounce off the walls and singe the grass. “Control.” He called down to them, smiling. “Control your fear, control your intent. Power follows clarity.” The boy nodded, cheeks flushed and struck his first true spell. His partner jumped backwards, startled, and then both burst into laughter. The sound carried around the castle, light, happy, and childish. A welcome sound compared to the quiet of isolation.

-----

The missive arrived when the last clatter of cutlery echoed through the Great Hall. When the only people left in the hall were professors who were trying to procrastinate the return to their classrooms, and stragglers who thought studying in the library before lunch was a good idea. Remus leant back in his chair, eyeing the delivery owl as he listened to the muffled sounds of children playing outside, the crisp autumn air calling for winter cloaks. He gently took the parchment from the school owl, watching as dishes, plates and goblets started slowly disappearing from the house tables, and he smiled. He always loved spotting the subtle signs (or not so subtle, as an entire section of the Gryffindor table was clear in seconds) of the House elves hard at work.

He rolled his eyes as he broke the headmaster’s seal on the letter, the owl refusing to budge a single inch, its large, amber eyes staring straight through him. Before it shook itself, hooted in Remus’s face and stole his last piece of chicken from his plate. Without breaking stride, the owl hoots one final time around its prize and takes off into the air with a dignity only owls could manage. The note’s simplicity was evident in the brisk, scribbled words across the page. As if it had been written as an afterthought, as something before the writer forgot.

‘Come to my office.’ That simple command, Remus knew, hid a well of information. To anyone else, it would look like the headmaster was simply checking in with a new professor on their first day teaching at the school, but Remus knew better. Dumbledore seemed annoyed, agitated, as if someone had denied him something he thought was his right to know. And technically, Remus had. On the train ride. Severus had asked him to delay Dumbledore, to provide distractions and prevent the headmaster from gaining access to Aldwyn while his core was still unstable.

And Remus had done a splendid job, if he did say so himself. Dumbledore hadn’t been able to get anywhere near Aldwyn, and as far as he was aware, still hadn’t been able to. He knew that Severus would refuse to divulge such personal information about Aldwyn to the headmaster, and he was sure that Dumbledore knew it as well. Which is why he was probably reaching out to Remus, the poor werewolf who has no pack and would bend over backwards to accommodate Dumbledore’s commands. Now, wasn’t he going to be surprised when that wasn’t the case anymore?

Remus excuses himself from the table, a quiet exit which had McGonagall rolling her eyes when she saw the letter clutched in his hand. She offers him a sympathetic smile, nods her head and silently wishes him good luck. The boisterous chatter from the students, echoing through the halls, slowly faded as he stepped out of the entrance hall and began his ascent up their stairs.

He wasn’t going to give the headmaster what he wanted. Not by a long shot. He was going to protect Aldwyn to the best of his abilities because the young child was his cub. Maybe not as close as they could have been had he remained Harry Potter, but Severus and Marvolo had been happy enough to allow him to stay close to Aldwyn. Allowed him to be named Aldwyn’s pseudo godfather and let Aldwyn continue to call him ‘Uncle Moony’. He would not give Dumbledore any ammunition to use against the child. Would not even hint that Aldwyn had fainted or gone into a magical coma.

The long walk through the castle corridors, usually a sense of comfort and nostalgia, now only seemed to rise his encroaching apprehension. He wasn’t exactly dreading the conversation with the headmaster, but he wasn’t looking forward to it either. He had been warned by Severus and Marvolo when he had told them about his position at the school, that the headmaster was a skilled Legilimens and often used his ability to gauge the truth from anyone. So, all he needed to do was avoid looking directly into Dumbledore’s eyes at all through the next fifteen minutes or so.

The ascent to the headmaster’s office before, he remembered, had always been an exciting adventure, even if they ended up reprimanded. Dumbledore always found some way to recognise their magical prowess, their innovation, and creativity when it came to using their magic. They would never be punished, despite the trouble they caused, no matter how many rules they broke. He understood now. As soon as he watched Lily and James die, as soon as Sirius had been taken away, just how wrong they had been. He knows how much trouble they should have been in, but he didn’t understand why they had gotten away with so much.

It used to be fun, an adventure, but now, he was making this trip all on his own. As a responsible adult.

As he continued through the corridors, nodding to various students who were wandering the halls before classes began again, his mind travelled back to the train incident. It was a vivid recollection, nauseating in its replay. It was something he thought he would never witness, an image he wished he hadn’t had to see in person. The dementor hadn’t just affected Aldwyn and the students; he had been affected as well. A bone-deep chill that had buried deep under his skin, the sudden, overwhelming pressure had seemed to crush the air from his lungs. Memories from his teenage years flooded his mind, preventing him from helping Aldwyn faster than he had.

The loneliness he had felt during the endless summers when his parents would lock him in the basement, even if it wasn’t close to a full moon. The utter helplessness he felt when he had been transforming all alone, without a single helping hand or kind word to get him through. The abandonment by his friends, who claimed to love and cherish him.

The heartbreak he had felt when he had been told by Sirius that he had been invited by James and his parents to live with them because he had a difference of opinion with his parents, and decided to run away from home. James and Sirius had known of his homelife, had had to break him out of the prison cell his parents had built in the basement the summer after their fourth year. They had tended to the bruises on his wrists, the abrasions and welts from where the thick metal had clamped down around his skin. Yet, they had never once offered him any salvation, never once asked if he wanted to leave that place. It was the main reason why he had felt so betrayed and left the wizarding world when he had heard the news of Sirius Black being the traitor.

That had been the thing to snap him out of his memories. The reminder that Sirius hadn’t been the traitor, but Pettigrew had. A memory that made all the guilt, resentment and betrayal aimed toward his friend disappear. But what had been waiting for him outside those memories was something even more horrifying to witness. Aldwyn’s magic erupting.

It wasn’t an intentional spell, wasn’t a conscious act of will, but a catastrophic, uncontrolled shield of pure, raw magic. It wasn’t merely powerful, but ancient. Commanding attention from anyone who felt it. It was a force of such concentrated magical energy that Remus had needed to take a moment to adjust to the pressure pressing into him before he could even think of standing. Remus, a man who was very familiar with the Dark side of magic thanks to his monthly transformations, was terrified. Not of the thirteen-year-old child who was sitting rigidly in his seat, but for the child. And all he could think to do in that moment was get rid of the threat that was trying to harm the boy.

The grumpy-looking gargoyle that guarded the entrance was still the same, still refused to move an inch without the correct password. A password that Dumbledore had neglected to tell him. So, Remus stood at the foot of the giant golden eagle statue, calling out various Muggle sweets. -Fizzing Whizbees – until it jumped out of the wave and waved him through. Stepping onto the spiralling staircase, Remus allowed it to carry him up to the headmaster's office. He found himself moving with uncharacteristic slowness, his fingers tracing along the worn, cool stone of the bannister, seeking something to ground him against the hammering of his heartbeat. And the sensation of being fifteen all over again, when they had been called to the office after that horrible incident in fifth year.

Before he had even reached the top of the staircase, before it had even stopped moving fully, the heavy oak door swung open with a resounding creak. Stepping forward, Remus took one final, stabilising breath. Steadying his heart rate, Remus walked into the room, eyeing the oddly familiar and yet completely different vision of the headmaster’s office.

Albus Dumbledore sat perfectly still behind the giant mahogany desk, an impenetrable island of serenity and calm amongst the whirling, clicking and ticking of countless delicate silver instruments that adorned every single surface. Remus recognised some of them, Dark magic detectors that they had used during the Wizarding War, while others, he couldn’t possibly hope to identify. Artefacts that, no doubt, had something to do with Dark Arts and magic. Several of which just end up making Remus even more impressed with Aldwyn and the In Dolus Intortis, as he knew they were practising borderline Dark and Dark magic down in their training grounds. And the previous year, in an abandoned classroom down in the dungeons.

Dumbledore’s long, elegant fingers were steepled beneath his nose, forming a small, thoughtful statue, a posture of control as he watched Remus eyeing his office with interest. However, Remus didn’t miss the tension twitching in the old man’s eyebrow, nor the way his lips were pressed into a thin line of impatience. It was a sign that Dumbledore had reached the end of his patience, but trying not to show it. Beneath the sweep of his half-moon spectacles, his impossibly blue eyes were disconcertingly sharp, missing nothing, besides what he didn’t want to know.

The afternoon light, filtered through the high windows, caught the facets of a massive, ancient crystal atop the desk, refracting into a thousand faint, dancing prisms of light that scattered across the cluttered surface and the plush rug. It made Remus think of a welcoming home, something from as far back as his childhood grandparents’ house. But their air inside felt heavy, oppressive, smelling faintly of lemon drops and old leather-bound tomes, a scent that Remus was beginning to associate with the headmaster, that and deceit. A darkness just waiting to be released.

 “Ah, Remus, my boy. Come in. Have a seat. Lemon drop?” Dumbledore begins, his voice pleasant, a stark contrast to the look that had crossed his face a second ago.

“No, thank you, Headmaster.” Remus shook his head and took a seat.

“Remus,” Dumbledore’s voice drops to a calm resonance, a gentle tone used to relax his visitors and get them to drop their guard around him. But beneath the surface, Remus could hear the anger hidden beneath the familiar grandfatherly visage, and it made his shoulders tense. “The students, I am pleased to note, have responded admirably to your teachings. Your practical instructions, particularly the handling of magical control, instil precisely the confidence in facing the unexpected that Hogwarts usually lacks.” He paused, the brief, carefully placed compliment informed Remus of one thing, and it wasn’t how pleased Dumbledore was at his teaching methods.

It was how he was uncomfortable, unnerved by the direction his lesson had seemed to take. Teaching something, Dumbledore didn’t think the students needed to know.

“Yet…”

Here it comes. Remus inwardly rolls his eyes, making sure to keep his gaze from meeting the headmaster’s directly, as instructed by Severus and Marvolo. He not only didn’t want Dumbledore to find out any more than he needed to know about the Dementor incident, but he also needed to keep his bonding with Fenrir as secret as possible. Who knew what Dumbledore would try to do to him, or Fenrir, if he found out about that little detail?

“… the incident on the Hogwarts Express. The accident with Aldwyn was, shall we say, remarkable? Some might even venture to call it unsettling.” His gaze flickered, observing Remus’s reaction to his words.

Remus settled back into his chair, meeting the headmaster’s gaze as steadily as he could, while glancing at the bridge of his nose to prevent a mind invasion. He doesn’t flinch away from the implied question, refuses to. Not when there was accusation in his voice. “I don’t believe you have a right to state such things, Headmaster. As I understand things, you were not present until the incident was over and did not witness anything.”

“I would call it extraordinary, Headmaster. But in no way was it unsettling or unnatural. As I recall, it was a protective instinct to a direct threat. It was magic fuelled by survival instincts and self-preservation methods. There was not a trace of malice or evil. It was a reflexive reaction to a potentially life-threatening situation. Mister Prince-Slytherin had no intent to harm anyone, only to protect those around him and himself.  The boy needs guidance so he can learn to control the magical powers within him. Not censure nor condemnation.”

Dumbledore’s eyes appear to soften slightly, acknowledging the inherent wisdom and compassion in Remus’s statement, but his gaze remains sharp, heavy and undeniable as he tries to catch Remus’s gaze. “Fear, Professor,” he mused, voice dripping with false concern. “If left unchecked, is the most corrosive of all magical catalysts. It breeds panic, unpredictability, and potentially tremendous damage. Even brilliance, when left untethered from discipline and moral focus, can be profoundly destructive. It is a force that devours its vessel if not properly contained.”

Remus almost narrows his eyes at the words. It was as if Dumbledore was alluding to something in the past. A power that he thought he had left unchecked, a source of tremendous power that somehow led to mass destruction and Dark intent. He contemplates for a moment before the thought strikes. Tom Riddle. Remus heard the story several times over the course of the war. About how Dumbledore allowed Riddle to gather his own forces, to grow magically and to gain enough force and support to wage war. And now, Dumbledore was trying to use this as proof that Aldwyn was the son of the Dark Lord.

“You must balance your instruction with absolute discretion. Hogwarts, you see, notices more than you or I might realise; every surge of power of that magnitude is observed. Not just by me and the staff, but by the very foundations upon which the castle was built. Hogwarts itself holds memory and sentience. Every fluctuation, every tremor on the magics within its wards, matters, because it creates ripples that can spread far beyond our control.”

“I understand the weight of that observation, Headmaster,” Remus replied, his own commitment firm, his gaze unwavering. “I will guide him personally, ensuring that his fear is acknowledged, channelled, and ultimately controlled. His power will be responsibly directed. Aldwyn himself is not a threat; he is a boy overwhelmed by a unique gift and magical power he hasn’t grown into yet.”

Dumbledore slowly lowered his hands, breaking the steeple, and tapped a long, elegant finger against the aged wood of the desk once, a small, deliberate sound that resonated throughout the quiet room. “Indeed. It is a critical distinction we must make, Professor. Discretion, then, is paramount. We are dealing with a potential that few, if any, have ever possessed in my recent memory. Such raw talent is often misunderstood, often feared. Your influence must be subtle; it must be applied with surgical precision, lest premature exposure create envy, suspicion, or profound fear in others. Both within the school and far beyond these protective walls. Observe his powers, guide him when necessary. We cannot let his inherent magical abilities be shaped by the wrong kind.”

“A tightrope, headmaster,” Remus observed, using a line Fenrir had told him back when he had first begun his werewolf training, a humourless curve to his lips. “Walked blindfolded, perhaps.”

Dumbledore’s eyes twinkle, a momentary return of his characteristic mischief, of his grandfatherly charm. “Blindfolded, perhaps, but with the keenest sense of the wind and the vibrations of the rope beneath one’s feet. What have you observed, Remus, about the nature of his control? Is it purely reactive, or is there something else lurking beneath the surface?”

Remus considered his answer for a moment, choosing his words carefully so he didn’t put Aldwyn in any more danger than he already seemed to be. “It appears to be entirely reactive, Headmaster. A defensive reflex, like a non-verbal shield that has snapped into place. A shield that can also defend when needs arise. There is nothing I could sense that would alarm me about it. The magical outburst felt like a pure force of will, as if his very being became the conduit. Mister Prince-Slytherin seems to hold more magical powers than a child his age usually does.”

Dumbledore nodded slowly, a frown marring his face as if disagreeing with Remus’s assessment but not wanting to raise suspicion by saying so. He had been worried as well by the amount of magic that he could sense in Aldwyn’s magical core, and it only seemed to be growing by the week. Like a never-ending source had been connected, like he was drawing his powers from Mother Magic herself, the world around him was storing it. Dumbledore knew that in a few years, maybe even by the time Aldwyn was fifteen years old, he would be more powerful than himself. And that is something he couldn’t allow to happen. He needed to find the source of this magical surge and put a stop to it.

“Precisely. And this, my boy, is the core of our dilemma and the focus of your task. A magic so deeply ingrained, so mysterious in its source. The abrupt nature in which this magic has expanded is deeply unsettling. Almost… deliberate in its nature… IT makes it incredibly potent and volatile. It seems to touch on an ancient understanding of magic, one that our modern curriculum often overlooks. It speaks of power that can bypass the traditional structures of our world, a truly dangerous gift if not handled in time. Are you confident that you can guide young Mister Aldwyn, understand where the source of his power comes from and how we can ensure he doesn’t lose control?”

In other words, Remus muses, Dumbledore has met a dead end and is curious to the point of desperation about the original cause behind Aldwyn’s power boost. He was nervous, uneasy by the mere thought of a child very clearly within the Dark Sect holding more power than anyone on the Light ever could hope to imagine. That he was worried they would lose this war without even realising it. Not to mention, he was implying that the boy’s parents may have found a way, some old, ancient ritual that could forcibly extend Aldwyn’s magic core.

“I believe I am capable, Headmaster,” Remus affirmed, a renewed resolve in his voice that Dumbledore mistook for his willingness to aid him. “It may require patience, empathy, and a very unconventional approach to Defence Against the Dark Arts. But the key, I believe, lies in helping him understand his magical capabilities before he can truly begin to harness his magic.”

A faint knowing twinkle returned to Dumbledore’s eyes, momentarily chasing away the unease that had been shaping his feature and Remus knows he has Dumbledore fooled.

“Excellent. That is a profound insight, my dear boy. Potential, you see, is always a double-edged sword. It either inspires those around us with its greatness, influencing people to follow in its path, encouraging them to reach new heights, and develop new skills.” Remus thinks back on the In Dolus Intortis. Aldwyn had definitely inspired those in his inner circle to develop themselves and work on their magical abilities. “Or it destroys through the overwhelming force, how different it is, shattering tradition and inciting fear. When you instruct him, remember that you are aiming to influence more than his defensive stance and his magical control. You will need to shape his intrinsic intentions, his morality, and his perception of his own place in this world.”

Remus didn’t understand that last part; he raised an eyebrow. Why would Dumbledore need him to question or even change Aldwyn’s ‘place in the world’? Whether Aldwyn was a Mage in training or an average wizard, he would still be politically powerful. Still be the Heir to the Slytherin and Prince households. His magical morality and signature wouldn’t change that.

“Be observant when you teach him, Remus. Remember to keep an eye on the Light within him as well as the ever-present shadow that will try to take over his core. Your path with young Aldwyn is not merely a teaching aid, but it is a sacred trust. The boy must learn to trust you, maybe even more than his own parents.”

“And if he finds out what we are planning?” Remus questioned.

“You must ensure that he never does.”

Remus met the headmaster’s intense gaze, recognising the trap for what it was. If Aldwyn found out the truth behind his intentions, if Aldwyn ever discovered that Remus was assisting him, spying on him, then no doubt he would be disposed of, permanently or merely temporarily. He knew what the headmaster wished for him to do. He wanted him to confirm whether Aldwyn’s core was Dark-affiliated; he wanted him to test Aldwyn’s ability to turn toward the Light. To choose Dumbledore and his Order over his own family and friends.

“The boundary between Light and Dark, Headmaster, often depends entirely on the observer’s perspective and their inherent magical affiliation. What one person perceives as an indication of Dark Affiliation, another may call instinctual self-preservation. I believe Mister Prince-Slytherin's moral compass is sound and exactly where it is supposed to be. I stick by him, responding to a direct threat against his person, not that he is planning to overthrow the Ministry at the age of thirteen.”

Dumbledore leant back slightly, the movement barely perceptible, like a stone settling beneath deep waters, slowly sinking. “Self-preservation is a powerful motivator, Remus. It is, perhaps, the most ancient form of magic. But when the power involved holds such magnitude; when it seems to bypass the need for incantations and springs forward of its own accord, it compels one to ask just what capacity for evil, for Darkness lurks inside?”

“Let me ask you something, Headmaster. What do you think of Obscuras?”

“It is the manifestation of a child’s repressed magical abilities and powers. Why are you bringing this up, Remus?” Dumbledore raises his eyebrow at the seemingly random jump in question, even though he answers immediately.

“Do you believe the child to be evil? Deserves to be monitored and suspected of becoming unstable, dark and deranged because their Obscurus causes destruction and in some extreme cases, death?” Remus ignores the headmaster’s question in favour of his own.

“No, I do not believe it is the fault of the child, but of the circumstances they have been dealt,” Dumbledore responds evenly.

“So, you do not believe that a child should be held accountable and labelled Dark because they do not have control over their repressed magical ability when it mixes with negative emotions, causing an Obscurus to lash out and harm people?”

Dumbledore pauses for a moment, eyebrow raising at the line of questioning, realising just what it was Remus was trying to lead him to. Clearing his throat, Dumbledore smiles over at Remus. “That is different.”

“How? I am struggling to understand how that is any different from Aldwyn’s magic reacting to a life-or-death situation and protecting him from being Kissed? Would you have preferred Mr Prince-Slytherin to perish? Because of whom you suspect his father to be?” Remus sighed and dragged a hand through his hair. “Headmaster, Aldwyn’s power is a display of connection to raw magic. To Mother Magic herself. He is thirteen. If an experienced wizard had reacted the same in such a situation, we would call it power, protection of the highest degree. Because Aldwyn is a child with a Dark-aligned core, you call it dangerous and volatile. Tell me the truth, Headmaster. If a child like Neville Longbottom or Ginny Weasley showed this same power and reaction, would you be so concerned about them going Dark?

“Age is often irrelevant when dealing with raw potential, Remus. The veins of magic that flow through some people are simply too strong and too ancient to be contained by the understanding we have. Children such as this, historically, have often found their power aligned with… less conventional methodologies.” Dumbledore begins, impatience bleeding into his tone.

“Do you not think that children from the Dark tend to have higher magical affinities, more magical power, because their parents perform rituals to introduce their children to Mother Magic through pregnancy and throughout their childhood? Each ritual attunes the child with their own magic as well as the magic surrounding us, which can work to increase their magical core. Dark does not mean Evil, Headmaster, you should know this by now.”

“Have you seen any signs, even fleeting ones, of him seeking power for its own sake? Any attraction to the elements of magic that promise dominance or absolute control?” Dumbledore’s voice became a whisper, the question hanging heavily in the lemon-scented air. He was probing for the desire for power characteristic of the Dark Lord.

“No, Headmaster. Mister Prince-Slytherin is a normal thirteen-year-old boy. He shows the natural curiosity of any student, perhaps with more anxiety than most. He is not ashamed of his powers, nor does he hesitate to use them. But he does not use it recklessly, nor does he use it with undue force and power.”

“This anxiety is, perhaps, unwarranted. If one is carrying a weapon of mass destructive capabilities, fear is a sensible response. Tell me, Remus, you are friends with Severus. In your private discussions with the boy, has he or his father ever alluded to the source of this sudden magical surge? Have they mentioned what might have caused this? Why Aldwyn has almost double the power he had last year, and why it keeps fluctuating?”

Remus sighed internally. It seemed to be a very one-sided conversation at the moment. Dumbledore had already formed his own opinions and wasn’t going to let anyone, no matter how sound their arguments may be, change his mind. It was frustrating. Knowing that it was simply because Aldwyn was the son of Lord Slytherin, Dumbledore was targeting him so much. Because the boy was Dark-affiliated, something one had control over as much as they had over which blood type they were born with. It was unsettling, but also entirely too predictable.

But here is where he needed to be careful. He could not reveal that Aldwyn’s magical core was slowly developing from a standard wizarding core to a Mage Core. Nor could he even hint at the fact that Aldwyn (and his father) had been gifted some of Salazar Slytherin’s own magic during the summer holidays. This would merely cause Dumbledore to fixate on the child even more, to become an even bigger danger to Aldwyn and the Dark than he already was.

“He feels different, yes. But that is the same with a lot of extraordinarily gifted children. He experiences his magic more directly than most children, says it always thrums under his skin, like a constant reminder that it is there, and it will keep him safe. He says that it reminds him of his parents, of their warm hugs and the feeling of safety he gets when they are all together. He is not scared of it, Headmaster, and unless he faces another situation like the attack on the train, then he knows he can control it.”

Dumbledore leant forward, fixing Remus with an unreadable, unsettling expression. He found it strange that Remus Lupin, Light werewolf and defender of the Marauders, would fight so hard to defend a child he barely knew. Especially when that child is the son of the man who murdered his best friends. And a man he allowed his friends to mercilessly bully for seven years. It was a mystery, one Dumbledore would have to solve once he figures out the cause behind Aldwyn’s sudden magical spike.

“In moments of extreme duress, Remus, instinct triumphs over discipline. And his instinct led to a display of raw, unfiltered magical surge. When you consider his lineage, the lineage we have observed, of course, and then consider the nature of his powers, does it not give you pause? Do you not worry that this magical instinct might, in time, align with the patterns of the most dangerous magic we have known?”

“I will be honest with you, Headmaster. I have never once looked at Aldwyn Prince-Slytherin and wanted to blame his blood, nor label a child Dark because of who their parents may be. I never did that with Sirius Black, and I certainly won’t do it now. A person’s lineage, a person’s blood, does not automatically make them a clone of their parents, nor does it give you any right to judge them. When I look at Aldwyn, I see a boy who uses his magic to defend others, a boy who is willing to learn everything he can about his magic and how to control it. The only child I believe needs supervision and surveillance at the moment is Ronald Weasley. He is an angry child who has taken to releasing that anger and frustration on those around him. Including several First year Gryffindors who he has already sent to the hospital wing for calming draughts.”

Remus waited, letting the finality of his statement settle in the air around them. He had acknowledged the weight of the situation, denied any supernatural Dark intents just because Aldwyn was supposedly the son of the Dark Lord, Voldemort, and confirmed that he would be teaching Aldwyn, as a school professor (and pseudo-uncle) should. He had defended the boy, using logic and understanding to head Dumbledore off from approaching Aldwyn again, but after the several failed meetings last year, it wasn’t likely for him to make the same mistake again.

Dumbledore studied Remus for a moment longer, penetrating blue eyes, trying to capture his gaze for just long enough to employ his Legilimency skills, but Remus stared at the man’s nose, his forehead, anywhere but those sinister eyes. He finally sighed, seeing the resilience in Remus’s stare. He would just have to keep a close eye on the pair, waiting for Remus to come to his senses.

“Very well, Remus. Trust is indeed the bedrock of all good education. I will rely on your judgement. Continue to observe the boundaries of his control. And remember, keep your ear to the ground: rumour, like magic, spreads quicker through these walls. I need to be kept precisely informed of any further… anomalies.”

“Understood, Headmaster. I will maintain absolute discretion, and I will report only what is pertinent to his educational and emotional development.” Remus stood, giving a brief, respectful nod, ensuring that his departure was efficient and offered no further conversational thread for Dumbledore to tug on. He had survived the interrogation, leaving the headmaster with no new information, only an impression of diligent concern.

“A sacred trust, Remus. Do not mistake the shadow for mere fear. They are often profoundly intertwined.”

“I would err on the side of caution when it comes to casting suspicions, Headmaster. As I recall, the last time you did that, you started a war.” And with those final words to his employer, Remus walked out of the office with his head held high and his heart hammering against his chest. No doubt, Dumbledore was suitably stunned by his audacity, let alone the words themselves.

Chapter Text

The late evening hit Remus like a ton of bricks; he had forgotten how cold the towering structure of Hogwarts could get while approaching the winter months. Especially as he found himself traipsing through the dungeons again after finishing his classes for the day, he hated this. Hated how he felt like he had to hide his relationship with Aldwyn just so Dumbledore would trust him enough to help the boy. So, he wouldn’t suspect anything when he began teaching Aldwyn the Patronus Charm in a few weeks.

He slips into Severus’s private quarters, feeling powerful silencing charms and anti-eavesdropping wards falling into place as soon as the door clicks shut behind him. He casts his gaze around the room, pleasantly surprised to see a fire already blazing in the hearth. His usually amber eyes, usually warm, held a troubled glint as he tried to order his thoughts from the meeting with Albus Dumbledore.

“He wants me to train Aldwyn,” Remus says as a greeting, making his way over to one of the armchairs. He flops down with a heavy sigh. “Not just in defence, Severus. He wants me to subtly change his morality, to shape his thoughts so that they align with the Light. Dumbledore believes that Aldwyn is… a danger. A risk that will be detrimental if left unchecked. He paused, rubbing a hand over his face, refusing to look up at the man who had, not even a second earlier, been marking summer essays. “He spoke of ‘untamed potential’ and ‘unforeseen repercussions’, insinuating that Aldwyn was going to turn out just like the Dark Lord, Voldemort, his father, if we didn’t intervene and guide him.”

Severus listened, a dangerous stillness settling over him. His onyx eyes, usually sharp and contemptuous, grew colder and colder, harder, as Remus continued to relay Dumbledore’s true intentions, his true manipulations.

“He wants me to use your askance of additional Defence lessons to…” He pauses, anger making his eyes flash. “To spy on Aldwyn. To observe him closely, to report back on every fibre of his magic, every mood, every unusual manifestation of his power.” He looks at Severus, a plea in his eyes, a quiet ask for help. “He wants me to try and find out where this heightened magical power came from, how Aldwyn managed to double his Core over the summer and if…”

He paused again, throat closing up at the thought Dumbledore had hinted towards. He forced himself to raise his head again, meeting the fury he knew was going to be in Severus’s eyes at the headmaster’s demands. But he could also see compassion and trust. As if Severus knew that he was never going to betray Aldwyn, never going to make them regret allowing him to stay in Aldwyn’s life.

“If?” Severus questioned when the silence stretched too long.

“He wanted to know if you or Marvolo performed a ritual on Aldwyn to force his magical core to expand,” Remus responded hesitantly. Seeing the rage bubbling under the surface, Severus gently placed the essay he had been marking down on a small table. His quill rested in his inkwell, and he sat up straight.

“Dumbledore believe that Marvolo and I used a ritual… a ritual that I am sure has never been invented or used before. If it had, then I am sure Marvolo would have used it on himself during the Wizarding War, on our son to force his magical core to hold twice as much magic as before?” Severus questions, his voice tight as if trying not to lose his temper and go to the headmaster’s office right now. Remus nodded.

“He thinks my son is a danger? No, I don’t believe that. Dumbledore is worried because he has found someone with incredibly magical power that he can’t and will never control. Therefore, he must try to justify why a thirteen-year-old child, who, to his knowledge, has been raised outside the UK for the first eleven years of his life.” He put his hands up to rest in his lap, fingers tying themselves in knots. “Aldwyn is not in danger, Remus. We all know this. He is merely more powerful than even we could have predicted, and his powers are only going to continue to grow. The beginnings of his Mage Mark appeared four months ago; his core is still going through the changes, of course, his Magic is going to be a little volatile. It will settle as time goes on. And each tribulation he faces will be easier to handle.” His features softened, pride entering his gaze as his thoughts drifted to his son, to how Aldwyn had handled himself against Shookwood, even if he was having a heart attack when he found out. And now, his son was facing another. An unstable bond linking him to an unknown, and Dumbledore, still fixating on exposing Aldwyn for being the son of the Dark Lord.

“You will train him, Remus, in the patronus charm. We need to try to mitigate the effects those Dementors have on him and to try to contain his magical outbursts when they are nearby. I will not have Dumbledore planning to experiment on my child. He will not get his claws into Aldwyn. We saw what that did to Harry Potter, and my son will not face the same fate. Not in this lifetime and not while I am still breathing. Do not report everything back to Dumbledore.”

“What do you want me to tell him?” Remus questioned, eyeing the fierce protectiveness he could feel radiating from Severus. “He will ask me what I have discovered, and he will question our training sessions.”

“He will, and you tell him the truth, that you have seen nothing dangerous in the way Aldwyn’s magic fluctuates, that it is merely settling into itself. That you suspect he may have come into his full abilities early instead of when he is of-age. Do not give him any hints about the Mage Mark, or the fact that his magical powers will continue to grow.”

“Sounds easy enough. I promise you, Severus, that I won’t do or say anything that could put Aldwyn or yourself in danger. Aldwyn is my Cub, he always will be, and I will protect him with my life.”

“I know you will," Severus pushes himself to his feet, “Which is why Marvolo and I have prepared something for you.” He walks over to a desk stationed at the back of the room, towering bookcases standing guard on either side.

Remus watches in stunned silence as Severus moves around the desk and begins riffling through his drawers, pulling small items from each one, items that he can’t make out in the dimly lit room. He shuffles in his seat, feet tapping when the potion’s master walks back over with a grim smile and hands a small bag over.

“We knew that Dumbledore was going to question you because he was made aware of our correspondence over the summer holidays. We knew that, if you openly defied Dumbledore, he would suspect something even more sinister was afoot. Therefore, we decided to gather a few items for you for additional protection.”

Remus takes the bag with shaking fingers; he could feel the magical power surging from inside and almost drops it in response. Opening it up, he is stunned by what he finds inside. First, he pulls out a very miniature cloak, very similar in style to his teaching robes, and he raises an eyebrow. “What is this?”

“Marvolo’s idea. He was worried that Dumbledore might become desperate when he wasn’t getting the right information out of you. He thought he might attempt to Imperio you or cast a compulsion spell. This cloak is woven with hand-stitched protection runes that should prevent such things from affecting you. Besides, as you mentioned before, Sirius Black this year is an unknown, potentially insane, potentially dangerous. Think of this as a precaution.”

“That is incredible craftsmanship. Thank you, guys, so much.” Severus inclined his head with a small smile, while Remus reached into the bag again and pulled out a small, intricate brooch. One he could use as a clasp for his new cloak. “And this?”

“A location Charm and more warding. I crafted this one to warn you of any potential threats against your person. It will tell you whether someone means you harm and where a threat may be coming from, even if you are unaware of its presence. The location charm is in case something goes wrong and Dumbledore gets desperate… or Black.” Remus places it with the cloak with reverence. He had never had anyone, not even his best friends, give him such thoughtful gifts before. To show that they were worried about him and wanted him to be safe. It was heartwarming.

He reached into the bag once more and gasped at the small, intricately woven bracelet with a small, carved wolf charm dangling from the centre. He could feel the familiar magic settle around him as he immediately slid it onto his wrist, a sense of belonging, of home wrapped him up.

“That one, as I am sure you can tell, is from Fenrir. He insisted on sending you something to protect you when he found out Dumbledore’s plans to use you to get to Aldwyn. He added a spell, woven into the leather cords, that will allow you to use your werewolf form as an animagus. It will allow you to transform into your wolf without a full moon and without any lingering aches.”

“This is… this is all…” Remus caresses the little wolf charm, glancing down at the shrunken cloak and the broach also sitting in his lap and feels his throat burning.

“This,” Severus gestures to the items with a smile. “Is nothing, Remus. Aldwyn seems to recognise you as someone he can trust, whether he subconsciously recalls his time with you as a child or not, is uncertain, but he has taken to you. You are his godfather, his Uncle Moony, which makes you family. We protect what is ours with everything we have. Bill and Charlie were given similar items when they started teaching her,e and Aldwyn has his own personal jewellery collection.”

Remus chuckles at that. He had seen the young boy, on several occasions, playing with a carved pendant wrapped around his neck, the Slytherin heirship locket, many thought had been lost centuries ago, a bracelet on his wrist gifted to him for his birthday by Draco and his two heirship rings. Aldwyn was one of the most protected children on the planet. It was no wonder Dumbledore was trying to get to him through other people.

“Some threats are immediate, a grandfatherly old man who throws a tantrum the second something doesn’t go his way. Others are subtle, insidious, growing beneath the surface, waiting for the right opportunity to strike. I fear that,” Severus pauses here and takes a deep breath, centring himself. “I fear that Aldwyn’s growing magical abilities will become a beacon in the dark, broadcasting his presence to those who seek influence, control, or destruction. It could attract attention; the wrong sort of attention, and I fear that we will be unprepared to counter.”

“Do you think Sirius could be involved?” Remus questioned, packing his gifts back into the small bag so he wouldn’t have to look at the fear shining in Severus’s eyes.

“Black?”

“In a wider plot. Do you think someone might be setting this all up on purpose to get to Aldwyn? Using the bond as a tracker?”

“That could very well be the case, but you are forgetting that this Bond was linked to Harry Potter and not Aldwyn. This theory suggests that there is someone else out there who knows the truth behind Aldwyn’s adoption, and I don’t think that is the case.” Severus argues, his tone sure but also hiding a hint of hesitation, as if not wanting to rule out the possibility entirely. “Let us pray to Merlin that this is not the case. These items will protect you, but you must remain alert, Remus. We do not know where Black is at the moment; he could be outside the wards this very second, so we have to be prepared.”

“I know, I have thought about the risks. Sirius may realise that I am at the school, and because of our past, he may assume that I have kept in contact with Harry this entire time and target me instead. At this point, he isn’t the Sirius I knew. He is unpredictable, possibly even dangerous, and I will make sure he doesn’t lay a single hand on Aldwyn until we can determine what the problem with this bond is.”

Severus’s gaze burnt into his, forcing their eyes to remain locked with an intensity that Remus felt like a student about to be scolded. “Do not forget to protect yourself as well. Not only would Aldwyn be deeply upset if you got yourself injured trying to protect him, but I do not have the patience to deal with a distressed and angry Alpha werewolf whose Mate decided to be reckless.”

Remus chuckled at that. He hadn’t expected Severus to be concerned about him, in his own way, but it really did feel like he was part of the family now. Stroking a finger over the leather bracelet settling against his wrist, he smiles. He was going to protect Aldwyn with everything he had, whether that was against Sirius Black or Dumbledore himself. Nothing was going to harm the young child, not if he could help it.

-----

Aldwyn walks through the corridors of Hogwarts Castle just after dinner. He had recovered remarkably well from his little run-in with the Dementor, and now he was back to full health. Well, almost, his papa said that he would have to be careful about how much magic he used for the next few days because his core was still a little weak, but other than that, he had been given a clean bill of health.

As such, he had separated himself from his friends and made his way down to the dungeons, skipping past the corridor and down into the abandoned part of the school that no one had used in over 50 years. He walks past several old portraits, waving and laughing at the baffled looks he receives from the wizards and witches within. Clearly, they hadn’t seen many students in recent years.

When he had told his father about his plans to turn the Chamber of Secrets into a Headquarters for his faction while he was still in school. The man had been excited to be able to see the finished product, almost begging his son to bring him and his papa down to have a look. He had agreed, but only if the man would take a trip into Muggle London and purchase him a few pieces of equipment for him. Of course, his father had immediately agreed, no questions asked. Though he did express his concern over holding In Dolus Intortis meetings within the school but relented when Aldwyn reminded him of the separate wards surrounding the Chamber and the entrance hidden deep within the dungeons.

Continuing down the corridors, following his father’s instructions, Aldwyn laughs to himself. It had been a delightful surprise when he had heard that there was a second entrance to the Chamber, that he and his friends didn’t have to sneak through the castle every time they wanted to meet up and talk. Even he knew the risks of a bunch of 3^rd year Slytherin students sneaking into an abandoned, haunted bathroom on the second floor. So, when his father had informed him about the second entrance hidden in the back recesses of the dungeons, he had been ecstatic.

Coming across an old-fashioned oak doorway, something which reminded him of a magical door you would find in a Muggle fairy tale. He pushes the door open slowly and illuminates the hallway with a quick flick of his wand.

He stares. The room, or rather the antechamber in front of him, was large. Not large enough to conduct a meeting in, but certainly big enough to be used as a receiving room for his father, godfathers and any outside forces he may look into hiring in the future. He could use the ornate fireplace tucked into the corner to allow people to Floo through, or set up coordinates so they could apparate straight in. It would definitely allow for the anticipation of seeing his fully furnished training and research facilities to heighten.

Grinning to himself, Aldwyn casts a quick Tempus and sighs when he still has a few minutes to wait. Shaking his head, Aldwyn decides to raise his wand and cast a few basic cleaning charms at the walls, lighting some of the torches around the antechamber to spark some life into the long-since abandoned receiving room. He walks through the room, waving his wand to try and dispel the smell of dampness and mould clinging to the stone.

Just as he is finishing up, the sound of the door behind him catches his attention, and he turns around. Tucking his wand into its holster, Aldwyn smirks at the shocked looks on his brothers’ faces.

“Bill, Charlie, you guys are just in time. What do you think?” He asks, raising his arms to present the first room to his brothers, loving how their eyes widen, and mouths drop open in impressed shock.

“It is looking good, Parum Anguis.”

“Yea, I am impressed. The room looks as good as new, shame it isn’t nearly as easy to find.” Charlie comments, ruffling Aldwyn’s hair, drawing a laugh from the youngest.

“It’s not that hard to find. Just follow the corridor straight down from the common room. Easy.” Aldwyn shrugs his shoulders.

“It would be very easy if we knew how to find the Slytherin Common Room. Remember, we have only been there once… last year… my memory isn’t that good.” Bill complains, rolling his eyes when Aldwyn pulls a leather tie from his pocket and begins to fix his hair.

“Maybe you are just getting old.” He responds, giggling when Bill leaps forward to try and swap him round the back of the head. “Come on. We have a lot to get done before curfew. Did you bring the stuff I asked you to?”

“Yup. All here.” Charlie and Bill hold up small satchels resting on their shoulders. “Are you going to tell us what exactly we are doing down here?”

“Nope. You are just going to have to wait and find out. I promise you are going to love it though!” Aldwyn walks through the room, gesturing for Bill and Charlie to follow him through an intricately carved stone archway, leading them through twists and turns of the castle’s depths, the ground inclining downwards, showing that they were now travelling further and further underground.

His breath quickens in anticipation. The further they travel, casting cleaning and refreshing charms as they go, they don’t wish to put off any of their members, especially the more snobbish ones, by making them walk through a tunnel, walking through grim and dirt every time. Even if the imagery of Draco whimpering and complaining about his hair did make him chuckle.

Coming to the end of the corridor, Aldwyn is faced with another door, this one just as ornate as the previous one, though it seemed to be made of some sort of metal. Widening his smile, Aldwyn pushes open the door, wincing when the hinges creak in protest at being used after so many decades. Stepping into another, much larger chamber, Aldwyn laughs, his eyes sparkling as he glances around the innermost chamber of the Chamber of Secrets.

Looking around at the grandeur of the legendary Chambers, Aldwyn feels a deep melancholy settling in his gut when he thinks about the reason why such a magnificent piece of architecture exists. How Godric Gryffindor and Salazar Slytherin had to sneak around for the better half of their lives, hiding their love for each other. How Salazar had to spend several decades raising his children alone in Egypt, how his children never got to know their father. It was heartbreaking, but also ridiculously sweet.

He proceeds to send cleaning after cleansing after repairing charms around the Chamber, with the help of his brothers, clearing the spilt water from the floors, the collapsed and cracked statues, and stones from the floor that had fallen from the ceiling. They work tirelessly to wash the grime, slime, and other nasty surprises from the room before stepping back and grinning at their handiwork.

The Chamber was looking a lot more impressive now and usable, with little to no risk of infections festering in open wounds, which they were all bound to receive from their training and practice duels. Nodding his head at his handiwork, Aldwyn is broken from his appraisal by a hand clasping down on his shoulder.

“Come on, Parum Anguis. If you want to get everything finished before curfew, we are going to have to get started on the setup.”

“Okay, Bill, can you start by placing the wards between the different sections of the Chamber? I want there to be no chance of any spells straying from the duelling section and hitting people working elsewhere. As with the potions lab.”

“Yea, no problem. I will start with the duelling section. Once I have settled the wards, you and Charlie can start setting up the equipment.”

Aldwyn and Charlie. Drop all the satchels onto the floor and begin organising the shrunken-down equipment into various piles so they can set up each section more quickly. He takes hold of the mini duelling platform and places it by his side, followed by several training dummies and targets that would track and measure the amount of power someone was putting behind their spells. Charlie grabs hold of the potions table, cauldrons and even the cabinets already fully stocked with every potion ingredient they could get their hands on. Followed by a plethora of tables, chairs and bookshelves.

Once he had witnessed Bill weaving the wards around what was to become the training grounds, Aldwyn grabbed the long duelling table and walked over to the vacant space. He marvels at the shimmering air for a moment, watching the wards twist and wrap around each other before he steps forward. Immediate silence encircles him, blocking out every sound from outside, creating the perfect atmosphere for concentration and unbroken duelling. He places the duelling platform in the middle of the floor and enlarges it, grinning when the space is suddenly filled with an almost perfect replica of the platform Lockhart had used last year. Except this one was covered with a deep green and purple runner.

He watches as Charlie steps past him with arms filled with little, black action-figure-like statues. He chuckles at the sight before heading back over to their ready-made piles and decides to pick up all the equipment he had bought for the potions lab. Placing them in his satchel so he didn’t drop anything, he made his way over to where Bill was still weaving the wards and settled back to watch Charlie at work.

The older boy was strategically placing the four duelling dummies around the open space, each one with a wand already in their hand. He steps backwards and enlarges the dummies, eyeing each one to make sure they were in the correct spot, before he walks around each one checking for damage. Aldwyn had been pleased when his father had come back to him with four advanced training dummies that could perfectly replicate human movement and fire off a plethora of spells from Light, Dark, and Neutral classifications. It was perfect. More than he had expected.

Smiling at Bill when his oldest brother walks past him, Aldwyn laughs when his hair is tussled a little. Shaking his head, he places his bag on the floor and quickly begins to pull out everything he is going to need for his fully stocked potions lab. Taking out, first the large glass cabinets, Aldwyn lines them up along the back wall, ensuring to leave enough space between them for a sink that Charlie had promised to hook up to Hogwarts plumbing system, somehow.

Next, he moved onto the three large tables. He had asked his papa to buy him ones that he thought would be suitable for him and his friends to brew with, and had been happy when the man had delivered three large tables with built-in stove heads, chopping boards and drawers that the man had already filled with top of the line potions tools. Lining the side walls with various types, styles and sizes of cauldrons, cabinets, shelves and storage space to house their finished potions, empty containers and anything else they could think to house in the space.

Taking a moment to appreciate how much the potions lab was looking to the one in the manor, Aldwyn picks up his satchel and makes his way back to the piles they had made on the floor. Smiling when he sees that Charlie had already picked up the tables, chairs and bookshelves to create the library and study nook. So, he took up the last of the equipment and made his way over to the far side of the room. Setting up some equipment he knew was going to cause confusion between the majority of his members, Aldwyn slowly begins to unshrink the Muggle exercise equipment his father had bought for him. He sets up three treadmills, side-by-side, followed by exercise bikes, stunt mats and even machines to help them hone their melee fighting skills.

He didn’t want his team to be like most witches and wizards who only trained their magic and neglected to hone their bodies. He had told his parents that it would give them additional advantages over their enemies and even add an element of surprise to their duels. Especially if he managed to convince Fenrir to lend them a teacher who would train them in martial arts, acrobatics and even parkour movements.

-----

Slipping into the common room after saying goodbye to Bill and Charlie, Aldwyn waves a hand over his robes, brushing away some of the dust and grime that had stuck to him during his deep clean. He pulls the tie out of his hair, tugs his fingers through the tangled strands and shakes his hair out, allowing it to flow freely down his back. Walking through the common room, waving to various students as he goes, Aldwyn giggles when he sees his friends gathered around various tables in the back corner of the room, looking bored out of their minds while several books and parchment scrolls lie around them. Dropping into one of the vacant seats between Daphne and Draco, he laughs outright when some of his friends startle at his sudden appearance.

Ignoring them for the time being, Aldwyn pulls some of their abandoned work forward and begins to read through what had bored his friends into such sorry states. He pushes aside scrunched-up pieces of parchment, tries to avoid small puddles of spilt ink and even the occasional robe and tie that had made its way across the table. He is just finishing up the introduction paragraph Tracy had written from their first Transfigurations essay when a throat is cleared next to him, and he has to bite his tongue to keep himself from chuckling. Raising his head from the work, Aldwyn raises an eyebrow at the girl.

“Yes, Daphne. Is there something you would like to say?”

“Oh, don’t give me that, Aldwyn. You told us that you had something to do several hours ago, and now you are wandering into the common room half an hour before curfew, casual as you like. I think you may owe us an explanation. Didn’t your papa say you couldn’t wander the castle alone?”

“I technically wasn’t in the castle alone. I only walked from the Great Hall to the Dungeons by myself and then met up with Bill and Charlie.” Aldwyn smirked at his friend, still reading through the essay his friend had written.

“Okay, so you took your brothers with you on this super-secret, really cool mission you went on… When are you going to tell us what it is!” Draco all but demands, eyes rolling when his cousin merely smirks wider, glancing up from the parchment finally.

“Oh, I don’t know… what have you done to earn the right to know? Hmmm.” Aldwyn teases, a maniacal laugh escaping his throat, causing his friends to shuffle as far away from him as possible while remaining in their seats.

“Well… Blaise and I technically helped your papa save your life on the train here, so have we earned the right to know?” Theo teases, a light-hearted smile on his face, while a strain remains in his expression as he stares over at Aldwyn, whose smirk softens into a smile at the concern he can see still shining in his friend’s features.

“I have a feeling that you are going to be milking that for a while, Theo.” Aldwyn laughs.

“Hey, it isn’t every day I can brag about saving the son of the Dark Lord. The great and all-powerful Prince Cronus, is it?”

“Alright. Alright. I will tell you, but only because we managed to get everything set up a lot faster than I thought we would. That is what I get for asking my brothers to come along with me. So, when we have finished with our classes tomorrow, I believe you may be interested in moving our training session to somewhere a little more… fitting for the faction of Prince Cronus…” Aldwyn’s smirk returned, eyebrows raising as he glances around the table, taking in the confusion spreading across his friends' faces.

“You don’t mean…?” Millicent stutters out, her eyes widening as she leans around Tracy to get a better look at her friend. Surely, Aldwyn wasn’t implying what she thought he was implying. She hadn’t thought he would be able to finish until a lot closer to Halloween.

“What? What has he done?” Pansy questions, hands gripping Draco’s arm in a vice-like grip.

“Indeed, I do, Milli. What I meant was that I have spent the past few hours cleaning up and organising the Chamber of Secrets with the help of Bill and Charlie. We have added everything that I planned on adding, and it should be just about ready to use. Bill even layered the Chamber with added protection charms and wards so that no one but those bearing my Mark or those I personally allow entrance will be able to enter. It means that we are going to be completely safe and undetectable by Dumbledore and his Flaming Chickens. They will be unable to sense or pick up on any forms of magic we may be learning, even from right under their noses. And they will not be able to sense if anyone who isn’t supposed to be in the castle has breached the wards. So, father will be able to visit us whenever he wishes.”

Several exclamations of awe break out around the table, and Aldwyn almost laughs at the child-like glee he can see behind his friend’s expressions. It was a wonder to see. Even at thirteen years of age, his friends could still find something like a new training room fascinating and an unforgettable experience to behold. Shaking his head at their actions, Aldwyn smirks.

“Can you tell us what is there?” Pansy questioned, leaning around Theo so she could see Aldwyn properly, using her patented puppy-dog eyes.

“Tell you what is there?”

“Yes, can you tell us what you did down there?” Theo agrees, pushing his potions work out the way so he can focus on his friend.

“Hmmm. I don’t know. I may wait until I bring you down there tomorrow… I am thinking of calling a meeting because I recently spoke to my parents again about this whole Sirius Black mess, and I want us to do some research. But I don’t want to talk about it here.”

“That is understandable. The walls have ears.” Blaise commented, “So this means we will get to see that Chamber of Secrets for ourselves tomorrow?”

“Possibly. Depends on whether we can all sneak away from the common room after dinner tomorrow. I may have to tell Papa where we are going, just in case he thinks I have been kidnapped or something.” Aldwyn rolls his eyes, pondering how unlikely that scenario is to come true.

“Yea, we don’t want an entire manhunt going down because you disappeared for a few hours.” Tracy chuckles, imagining the scene of Aldwyn walking casually back into the common room after his papa had employed an entire army of Aurors and Dark sympathisers to hunt down his thirteen-year-old son.

-----

Aldwyn chuckles at the impatient mutterings going on around him as he leans against the wall leading toward the Chamber of Secrets. He had asked all his members to meet him in the corridor from the common room. They were just loitering at the moment, anticipation rising while they waited for Bill and Charlie to meet up with them after finishing their dinner. It was additional entertainment for Aldwyn.

Last night, he had refused to divulge the exact layout of the Chamber of Secrets to his friends, because at the last minute, he had been hit with a series of inspirations. Sent a missive to Bill and Charlie asking about the possibility of adding something else to the training grounds before he invited the rest of his faction down to have a look around.

Fortunately, his brothers had happily agreed to spend some of their free time back down in the Chamber with him throughout the day, refixed and shuffling some of the rooms around so he could fit what he wanted to add. He had been extremely happy with the results and couldn’t wait to see how his friends reacted to what he had in store for their new training regime.

So now, here he stood with his faction members, who were all fiddling with their uniforms, playing with their wands and messing with their hair as they waited for the brothers to turn up. It was a marvel for Aldwyn to see his faction all standing around talking casually while in their robes, masks clipped to their hips, while their insignia stood out against the black backdrop of their cloaks.

“Hey, Aldwyn.” A voice called from down the corridor, and his year mates jumped to attention when they turned to see the two people they had been waiting for strolling toward them.

“Bill, Charlie, nice of you guys to finally join us. If you had taken any longer, I feared I would have had to start peeling Pansy off the ceiling.”

“Been a bit impatient, have they?” Charlie teases, shaking his head when he is faced with several glares from the group of third years.

“Well, it is okay for you guys, Aldwyn has allowed you to see the Chamber already.” Pansy huffs, crossing her arms over her chest.

“He wasn’t allowed to use all that magic on his own. Besides, Bill and I are quite proficient in Warding charms and are older. Our parents would be less upset if we were there to support Aldwyn than his friends, who could injure themselves when attempting complex magic, they haven’t learnt yet.” Charlie explains gently, not to sound arrogant, but to try and get the kids to see the potential dangers in playing with magic they knew almost nothing about.

“I suppose so, but we get to see it now, right?” Pansy spins back around to face Aldwyn, a stern expression on her face as if she were daring Aldwyn to say no.

“Yes, Pansy, we can go down and see it now. Just… watch your step.” He smirks, ignoring the questions coming from his faction members. Turning around, he opens the door leading into the antechamber and then straight through into the steep slope heading deep into the castle’s underground. He laughs when he hears Draco grumbling under his breath about the filth he was being made to walk through, even though Aldwyn, Bill and Charlie had cleaned up the tunnel to the best of their abilities. It was funnier still when Draco tried to smooth down his hair and misstepped. A loud crash echoed from behind him, and when Aldwyn turned around, Draco was sprawled out on the ground, covered in dust and dried mud.

“Seriously, Draco, we can’t take you anywhere.” Charlie laughs, offering the Malfoy Heir a hand to pull himself to his feet.

“Shut up. I bet Aldwyn did that on purpose.” He mutters, drawing more chuckles from around the room at his misfortune.

“Come on, just a little further.” Aldwyn ensures, waving his hand for them to follow him down the rest of the corridor. And true to his word, within another minute, they had reached another second large ornate door made entirely out of metal. Smirking, Aldwyn steps closer and whispers something much too quiet for the rest to hear. The serpents carved into the door begin to move, slithering out of the way as if they were some sort of locking mechanism coming undone. It was magical to witness.

Aldwyn steps forward when the door swings open and throws his arms out to the side in a grand gesture of presentation. Arete and Ares step forward, standing on either side of their leader like bodyguards ready for action. Itus, Erebus, Apollo, Athena, Aeolus, Menoetius, Pheme, Eris and Enyo all creep forward, their eyes blown wide as they gaze around the Chamber of Secrets for the first time. A place of legend, they had only heard about it in tall tales and bedtime stories.

But now here they were, staring at the same scene their parents would give half their fortune just to get a glimpse at. The towering statues of Salazar Slytherin and Godric Gryffindor stood like stone guardians. Torches along the walls sparked to life the further Aldwyn walked into the room, as if they were responding to his mere presence instead of magical intent.

“I will never get over just how much you are in tune with Mother Magic, Aldwyn. This is incredible.” Erebus comments, eyeing the dancing shadows with wonder. He takes a few steps forward, slowly edging into the room properly, and promptly comes to a halt when his eyes dart behind Cronus and spies a huge, impressive training ground that looks like it has taken weeks to put together.

“Oh my Merlin! I can’t believe you did all this, Cronus.” Itus mutters, eyes just as wide as he tries to take in as much as possible from his position behind Erebus.

“Thank you, Erebus, Itus. It was hard work, but I am glad I have Arete and Ares with me to lend a hand. As you have guessed, this is the famous Chamber of Secrets, and this will be our Headquarters for the next few years. Now, what do you say about getting a tour?”

His faction members nod, scrambling to keep up with him when he spins on his heels and begins to walk towards the far side of the room. Partitioned platforms, ward-stabilising duelling lanes. Training dummies standing off to the side, Potions labs, study nooks and a strange-looking death trap that makes them feel nervous just looking at it.

“This is… this is insane.” Eris whistles, her eyes darting from one section to the next with excitement.

Aldwyn smiles proudly, gazing around his training grounds, nodding to Bill and Charlie when they turn to grin down at him. “Thank you, Eris. We worked hard to get everything ready in time, but I am glad you like it!”

“I am proud of us.” Arete snickers.

“Alright, so to our left, you will see our professional duelling platform I mentioned briefly before. Arete managed to layer this area in several protective charms and wards, which will keep any and all stray spells within the section, therefore keeping the rest of us safe. Two people may duel here at any given time, and there may be spectators, but I implore you to put up additional wards, so you are not hit with any stray curses or hexes.” He gestures for his faction to follow him again, further round the room to an area just next to the duelling platform.

“This is a section where we can practice our spells, aim and power levels. We can also practice duelling here if we wish to. Each Dummy is programmed to mimic human movement perfectly and can reach the level of a fully trained Auror. You can adjust the settings with a quick flick of your wrist, or there is a switch on the bottom of each dummy. By the end of our fifth year, I would expect all of you to be able to hold your own against one dummy at full power. That gives us 3 years to train fully.”

“That is amazing, Cronus. We can practice new spells here as well if we are having trouble with them?” Athena asked, eyeing up the training dummies with an excited gleam in her gaze that Cronus really didn’t want to question the girl about.

“Yes, you can train here and practice any spells you wish, including ones not taught in Hogwarts. If you are having difficulty, you can always ask someone to tutor you in the spell as well. The chamber is also protected under a completely separate warding system from Hogwarts, so Dumbledore won’t be able to be alerted about any Dark magic we practice.” Cronus explains, before turning to walk over to the next section, with a large smile on his lips.

“Itus, Eris, I have a feeling I will be seeing the two of you here more than the rest of us.” He gestures behind him and laughs when Itus steps forward, eyes widening while Eris’s jaw drops.

“Is this…?”

“It can’t be…?”

“Welcome to our fully stocked, potion master’s grade potions lab. Papa gave me permission to have this built, as long as we promised not to experiment with potions until we were in N.E.W.T level potions, and even then, he would prefer us to have a qualified adult with us. However, he has given special permission for those of you who are adept in potions to create your own, but only with the help of someone who has taken or passed N.E.W.T potions.”

“So, if I asked for Arete’s help… I could begin experimenting with potions right now?” Itus questions, hands twitching to start playing around with the various ingredients and cauldron materials.

“You can indeed. The labs have also been warded, so if you accidentally blow something up, you won’t be injured. Maybe a little soot-covered, but you will live. There are also wards around each workstation to make sure any potions brewing cannot be tampered with.” Cronus explained, nudging Ares to grab hold of Itus and drag the boy away from the potion lab for the time being. Snickering, Cronus neglects to mention that after the tour and their first official meeting, he would give them until curfew to play around in the training grounds.

“Okay, moving on to this section here. It is one of the biggest, but I think we needed it.” Cronus gestures to the large segment behind him, filled with tables and bookcases. “This is our library and study nook. Each bookshelf you see here has been magically linked to the Hogwarts library and the library in the Slytherin mansion, as well as the chambers' own library. All you have to do is write down what topic you are searching for on the parchment there,” He points to a glowing sheet hanging from each bookshelf. “And it will give you a list of all the book that mentions your topic. You can go through the list, press your wand against the title, and the bookcase will summon the book for you to read.”

“That is really advanced. How did you manage that?”

“Ares had something similar back in the Dragon Reserve, and when I asked him about it, he sent a missive to his old boss asking for the details. Then, Arete managed to weave the wards around the bookshelves and connect them to the different libraries.”

“It was pretty simple once I had the breakdown,” Arete admitted, scratching the back of his neck.

“So, this is an area we can use for research or any kind. For Hogwarts or for extracurricular activities. We can come up with mission plans at the tables, or we can have group study sessions and do our homework. I have even included individual tables in case anyone wishes to study by themselves for a while. Bill also included wards around here that will block out and muffle the noise from the other sections so we can work on our research in peace.”

“The next two sections, I believe, are what are going to give the majority of you pause, but I must warn you now that I do not want to hear any derisive comments, any complaints or refusals, alright? I have noticed that a lot of magical folk tend to neglect to train their bodies and only focus on their magic, which can be detrimental in a battle. So, I want all of us to train our bodies as well. And these two sections here will do just that for us.”

“The first one is what muggles refer to as a gym. It involves equipment specifically designed to build stamina and increase muscle strength. Each machine focuses on different areas, and you are going to need that strength for when I manage to steal a werewolf trainer from Fen so they can teach us how to use hand-to-hand combat and martial arts. The second section is a magical runic obstacle course that will change each time you go through it. You can time yourself and adjust the settings. It will require you to think on your feet and use all your newfound skills to complete. The more spells we know and the further we go through our melee training, the more skills it will test. Are there any questions?”

All his members shake their heads.

“I have one,” a figure at the back of the group raises their hand. “When are we going to be allowed to test out your hard work, My Prince?”

“An excellent question, Menoetius. As soon as we conclude our first meeting, I will allow you until just before curfew to play around to your heart's content.”

“First meeting?” Apollo questions.

“Yes, there are important details we need to discuss. So, without further ado.” A loud chime begins to echo around the room. “When you hear this sound, it means I want us all to gather together, in full uniform, because I am calling together a meeting. Sometimes I will want you to come to the library area, but most of the time I would like you to form up in the centre of the room.”

The In Dolus members begin to unhook their masks from their belts, fixing them to their faces just as Cronus does and pull their hoods up over their heads. They follow their leader back to the centre of the room and form a semi-circle around him, standing just as they had back at Slytherin Mansion during the summer holidays. Silence falls instantly.

“Sirius Black,” Cronus begins. The temperature in the room appeared to drop. “The dreaded bully of my papa when he was in school, and the man who is rumoured to be coming to Hogwarts after me this year. I want you guys to help me find a way to put a stop to it, to track him down before he can find me first. Athena, I want you to begin searching for various ways we can break, reverse or block any bonds that include tracking abilities.

“Eris, Pheme, and Enyo. I want the three of you to research every single type of potion that could potentially interfere and react safely with magical bonds. Stabilising potions, revealing droughts, detection solutions, anything used in ritual preparations. If it can help us to identify or track without harming me, then I want it categorised.”

“We will start cross-referencing things tonight.” Enyo crosses her hand over her chest in a slight bow.

“And I will try not blow anything up.” Eris giggles.

“Arete and Ares, keep me updated. If father or papa find anything -anything- you tell me immediately. Even if you think they’ll be annoyed with you for sharing it.”

“You have my word, Cronus.” Arete nods his head.

“I think Father and Papa will know anything we hear will be reported straight back to you, Cronus.” Ares contemplates, knowing that their parents had already promised to keep Aldwyn in the loop, especially since they knew how much their youngest son hated being kept in the dark when it came to his own safety at least.

“Aeolus, Menoetius – alternatives. I want you to find out if there are any other ways to sever or circumvent magical bonds and trackers. Dissolve it. Transfer it. Shift it. Anchor it somewhere else. I don’t know what I am going to want yet, but I want every option.”

“We’ll find the loopholes.” Menoetius cracks his knuckles.

“And the loopholes to the loopholes,” Aeolus confirms, crossing his arms in front of his chest.

“Good, then we begin as soon as possible.” The torches flicker, casting long shadows of serpents across the stones. Cronus takes a step back, surveying his team with quiet pride. “The In Dolus Intortis isn’t just a name anymore. We’re a network. A family. And if Sirius Black wants to come for me…” His green eyes sharpen with cruel intelligence. “Then we are going to be the ones to find him first.”

A cheer goes around the room, shouts of approval and acceptance of their new roles pertaining to Sirius Black and the coming battle they are sure to face.

“Alright, you are free to explore the training grounds, but Arete, Ares, Itus, Erebus and Apollo, I need to speak with you guys.”

Chapter Text

Once he was sure the rest of his faction had dispersed and were occupied with various tasks around their new training grounds, Aldwyn took off his mask, dropped his hood and dropped to the floor with his legs crossed. His remaining members are quick to follow suit, making themselves comfortable on the stone ground while they wait patiently for Cronus to tell them why he had asked them to stay behind.

“Okay,” he begins with a deep sigh, running a hand through his hair. “There is something else about Sirius Black that I can’t tell the rest of the faction because they don’t know the whole truth yet. Apollo,” Aldwyn turns towards the quiet bookworm. “You are going to find out something here today, something about me that only the people here right now, my parents and uncles, know. What I am about to tell you may change how you see me and how you think of me, but if at any time you need some space to think or want to take a break from the faction, please let me know. Okay? You are one of my best friends, and I don’t want to lose you, but I also can’t keep this a secret from you anymore.” Cronus stares at Apollo for a few moments, fingers knotting together in his lap.

Apollo shifts in his seat, sweat beading at his temples as he wonders just what kind of secret his friend had been keeping all this time. “You have my word, My Prince. My heirship ring has been layered with wards that prevent Legilimency and truth potions from working on me. Your secret is safe with me, I promise. Nothing you could say would ever make me want to take a step back from what you have built here. As you said, I am one of your best friends, and in Slytherin, we don’t take those things lightly.”

Apollo holds eye contact with Cronus until he sees the tension bleeding from his shoulders ever so slightly before he glances around the room. He takes in the shocked expressions on Itus’s and Erebus’s faces, and he can tell that they are genuinely surprised that Cronus is so willing to bring in another member to what is looking to be the start of his own Inner Circle. But they also seem to understand Cronus’s need or want for him to know. He then glances at the melancholic gazes of Arete and Ares; whatever he was about to be told was huge news. Life-altering (for Cronus) news, maybe even bigger than the story of Harry Potter going missing over a year ago now.

“Alright, I know that… thank you, Apollo… here goes nothing, I suppose…” Cronus takes a deep breath, dropping his gaze to the stone floor, fingers not playing with his sleeve. “At the end of July, before we started our second year, I was rescued from my relatives’ house, where I had been abused, beaten, starved and treated like a house elf for close to ten years. Ever since I was abandoned on their doorstep by the Light side at the end of the Wizarding War. I was rescued one night by my father, my papa, and Uncle Lucius, who came for me and took me home.”

“How is that possible. I thought you grew up in Albania? I… I don’t understand…”

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner, Theo… I wasn’t born the child of Marvolo Slytherin and Severus Prince. They blood adopted me at the beginning of August. I was the child of a renowned Light Wizarding family who fought for the Order during the Wizarding War, who were killed.”

Apollo thinks back on the summer holidays between first and second year. The way Aldwyn was nervous, jittery and hated loud noises, how he stuck as close to Draco and/or Blaise as possible. How he would flinch away from anyone who tried to touch him out of the blue. It had hurt him deeply to see a child his age so skittish, so nervous, and so afraid to meet children his own age, but he had been mesmerised when Aldwyn had started opening up during their Quidditch game. How the boy had happily offered to share his Arithmancy and Ancient Runes notes with him.

He thought back to how protective Lord Slytherin, Lord Prince, and even Lord and Lady Malfoy were of this twelve-year-old child. Almost to the point of mollycoddling, but Aldwyn seemed ecstatic with every hug, every kiss and every touch. It was like he had been starved of affection his entire life, and now Apollo started to understand why. It was because Aldwyn had been touch-starved, never having a kind hand offered to him his entire life, and that brought tears to Theo’s eyes. He takes a shuddering breath.

“Who were you before?” Apollo whispers the question, stunned by the information he is being given. He was shocked. Aldwyn Salazar Prince-Slytherin, confident leader of the In Dolus Intortis, Heir to the Dark Sect, used to be an abused child who had been treated no differently than how some wizarding families treat their house elves. He felt sick to his stomach, scared for Aldwyn and wanted desperately to pull his friend into a hug and never let go.

“I think it would be easier if I started from the beginning…” Cronus offers a wobbly smile to Apollo. “When I was fifteen months old, who I thought were my biological parents were murdered by the Dark during the end of the War, so Dumbledore and McGonagall took me from our destroyed cottage and placed me with my mother’s Muggle sister and her family. Without reading the Last Will and Testament of my biological parents. This muggle family hated the very idea of magic; they thought it was abnormal… that I would contaminate them.” Cronus glances at his friend, whose face had paled in horror, but also a little bit of recognition. Cronus continues.

“They hated me from the minute they found me on their doorstop, and their treatment of me only got worse and worse with each piece of accidental magic I performed… which was frequently. Apparently, I was very attuned to my magic and was already causing trouble for my birth parents since I had turned a year old.” Cronus smiles at the memory of Remus telling him stories of how he had stolen James’ wand and set the curtains on fire when Lily tried to take it back. “The Muggles despised me. Didn’t want to waste their hard-earned money on a freak like me. Made worse when I found out that Dumbledore had been using the Potter family vault to pay them to abuse me…”

“Fast forward a few years, and I received my Hogwarts letter.” Cronus forces out a strained laugh. “Imagine my surprise when I found out all the weird things happening around me were actually because I was a Wizard and not a freak. So, naturally, I attended Hogwarts my first year under my birth name and ended up coming face-to-face with the Dark Lord right here in the forbidden corridor under the third floor. I told him that I was willing to give him a magical artefact he had been after for over a year, if he agreed to give me protection from the Muggles. He used Legilimency on me to view some of my memories and agreed immediately. But instead of just taking me away from the hell I had been forced to live through for almost ten years, he promised to adopt me. To make me his son in blood, soul and magic.”

Cronus takes another breath and brushes a tear from the corner of his eye. “So, I gave him the artefact, and he fled to make himself a new body. Papa took care of me for the rest of the school year so I wouldn’t be interrogated by Dumbledore about what happened. Two weeks into the summer holidays, I was lying on my cousin’s second bedroom floor, losing a significant amount of blood and falling unconscious from my latest punishment. I thought I was going to die, I thought my father had abandoned me because he realised what a burden I could be. But he didn’t. He came for me that night… he promised to keep me safe and that I would start a new life, with a new name and a family to call my own. That my old self was going to disappear forever.”

Cronus trails off, staring down at his hands when the silence stretches out too long. He knew that Apollo had probably figured out who he had been born as by now, and he was terrified that he was going to lose one of his closest friends. His hands shake where he has them clasped in his lap, and he tightens his grip to try to keep them still, but it doesn’t work. Until a second set of hands gentle reach forward to cradle his. He snaps his head up and is startled when he meets bright blue eyes shining with tears so close to him.

“Cronus, thank you for sharing this secret with me. I can only imagine how hard all of this has been for you over the years. But you are my friend, the son of the Dark Lord, the Heir to the Dark Sect. and Leader of the In Dolus Intortis, you are no longer that lonely little boy wishing for a family to love you, because right now, I know you are surrounded by people who love and cherish you. People who would happily give their lives to see you happy and safe.” Theo raises a hand so he can brush a stray tear from Aldwyn’s cheek. “I don’t care that you used to be Harry Potter. I don’t care that you have a deeper connection to Sirius Black than any of us could have imagined. I don’t care that you used to be the son of James and Lily Potter because right now, and forevermore, you are Aldwyn Salazar Prince-Slytherin, and no one is going to be able to take that away from you. Not now. Not ever, and if they try… then they will have to face the wand of every single member of the In Dolus Intortis and the Dark Sect.” Theo pulls Aldwyn into a tight hug.

“Thank you, Theo.”

“No, thank you for seeing me as someone you could trust, Wyn. I will do my best to prove to you that you weren’t wrong to do so.” Theo pulls back, keeping his hands clasped on Cronus’s shoulders. “So, My Prince, what do you need from me?”

“We are going to put a stop to Sirius Black and whatever idiocy is driving him towards Hogwarts. James and Lily named that man my Godfather when I was born, and even though the Blood Adoption ritual seems to have weakened the bond a little bit, it is still there, somehow embedded into my magical core, twisted and unstable. My parents believe this is the most likely reason why Sirius Black is so convinced that Harry Potter is still alive and hiding out at Hogwarts.”

“You believe he may have found a way to track you through the Godfather Bond?” Apollo questioned, settling back in his seat between Erebus and Itus, after one final pat to Cronus’s shoulder.

“My parents and Uncle Moony certainly seem to think so. The Bond between us is strange. It is no longer your typical Godfather bond. According to several laws, my father found surrounding Godfather bonds, mine should have been severed the moment Black was thrown in Azkaban, especially because it was widely believed he was the one who had betrayed my parents and tried to offer me up to the Dark Lord.”

“You're right, even Gringotts knows this. Any familial bond linking you with another magical being, especially guardianship bonds, should be made null and void as soon as one of the bonded is arrested, to keep the child or dependant safe from being hunted down or affected by strained bonds…” Ares concludes gravely, accusation toward the Ministry clear in his tone.

“Exactly, but Black was never actually given a trial, so he most likely wasn’t tested for active magical bonds. Dumbledore, as Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot and Supreme Mugwump of the International Confederation of Wizards, insisted all Death Eaters be thrown straight in Azkaban without trials to save time and resources in the fallout of the war. And seen as Black, all but confessed to murdering those Muggles and Pettigrew, he was labelled a Death Eater and thrown immediately in prison after being detained.” Arete continued, his face serious and concerned.

“We believe that many people thought the Godfather bond between Harry Potter and Sirius Black was just a formality. That James Potter would never take part in such an invasive ritual, which he would no doubt have claimed to be Pureblood propaganda. And getting Sirius Black to do something his Pureblood mother would be proud of? Especially when we were living through a war where your best friends and family members couldn’t be trusted.” Ares nodded his head, eyes fixed on Aldwyn, who chews his lip as he thinks.

“Exactly my thoughts. Our parents know that I want to investigate the bond, and that nothing short of death is going to stop me… they’re rightfully worried about me doing this on my own. They’ve told me that same thing multiple times, manipulating a magical bond without knowing the exact structure is dangerous, unpredictable, and in some cases fatal.” Cronus paused. “And they think it is too risky for me to do.”

“You are not planning on ignoring them, are you?” Itus scowled, crossing his arms.

“No,” Cronus said immediately. “If anything starts to go wrong, if there is even the hint of danger, then I will go to them and tell them everything. This time.” He looked firmly at each of his friends. “I am not planning on running off alone, not this year. I won’t do that to them again. I can’t do that to them again.”

“But I am done with being left in the dark. Dumbledore did it last year. Everyone around me used to do it when I was Harry Potter. I want the truth this time. And if I – we understand the bond, not break it recklessly, not meddle with it blindly, but study it, then we can use it to track down Black ourselves. We can know where he is, and we can anticipate where he will go. And if necessary, we can confront Black or control the connection. So, Apollo, I want you to help Athena research the bonds, but I want you to focus on Godfather bonds. Find everything you can on the structure, origin, binding magics, and limitations. I need to know how it reacts to intent, blood lineage, and any retroactive manipulations.”

“It will be done, My Prince.”

“Itus and Erebus, you will be helping the girls on the potions front. I need you to find out everything you can about potions used in binding rituals, in godfather rituals and if any potions can be used to help us dissolve the bond or destroy it completely without magical backlash.”

“You have our word, Prince Cronus.” Erebus bows his head while Itus nods along, face pinched but eyes bright with excitement.

“Excellent. Arete and Ares, your mission will stay the same. I want every scrap of information you can get out of my parents. Keep me in the loop as much as you are able. You may also tell them of our research progression unless I tell you otherwise.”

“We will keep our parents in the loop with our research and exchange our findings with their own.” Ares bowed his head in acceptance.

“I am sure they will appreciate the updates.” Arete agreed.

“Good. As I said, we are a faction, a family. We work as a single entity, helping each other, supporting one another and protecting each other. We are a representation of the Dark Sect. of the new generation, and we are going to show Dumbledore and his Flaming Peacocks that they are fighting a losing battle.”

“Flaming Peacocks? That’s one I haven’t heard before.” Ares chuckles, shaking his head at his younger brother.

“Father calls them the Flaming chickens, but I think that is too nice for them. While chicken is one of the most favoured meats in England, Peacock is not. And besides, Fawkes is a prideful bird who rather resembles a peacock, don’t you think? And as far as I am aware, when the Order is faced with an enemy, instead of being efficient and fighting them off themselves, they just like to make noise and talk or insult their enemies instead of battling them, rather like peacocks who have been very pleasantly named ‘alarm systems’.”

“I think it is very fitting. Peacocks are not much use except to make too much damn noise and to decorate a room with their plumage. No offence, Itus.” Erebus agreed, smirking over at Itus, who merely shrugged his shoulders.

“Those blasted things aren’t mine. Blame my father, he bought them over from France a few years ago, but I can’t disagree with you. They are useless and loud. Not good for much else. Speaking of my father, I have word from him that he is currently working inside the Ministry with your father, Cronus, to discredit the Minister for how he handled Sirius Black’s escape from Azkaban. I am sure that we are going to see some sort of article in the Daily Prophet sometime soon, all about his escape.”

“Excellent. I may ask Uncle Moony for any information about Sirius that we can reveal that may help us capture him or look out for him more easily. But the Order of the Flaming Peacocks and such aside, I won’t keep you much longer. I know you lot are just as eager as everyone else to explore the training grounds. Just don’t forget your missions.”

“We won’t!” Itus, Erebus and Ares shout as they jump to their feet and run off across the room. Itus is heading straight to the Potions lab, Ares to the training dummies, while Erebus headed, much to Cronus’s surprise, the obstacle course.

“We will do our best, Cronus.”

“I know you will, Arete. Go have fun.” Arete does, bowing slightly to Cronus before he wanders off to the gym, eyeing up the various Muggle equipment there.

“Hey, Cronus,” A voice calls from behind him, and Cronus is surprised to see Apollo still standing next to him.

“Apollo, what’s the matter?”

“Nothing,” He shakes his head. “I just wanted to tell you again that nothing is going to change how I see you, not now, not ever. You are my friend, my housemate and the leader of our faction. Whether or not you used to be someone else, you are Aldwyn now, and that is all that matters.”

“Thank you, Theo. I really appreciate that. I was worried for a moment that you wouldn’t accept me.” Aldwyn draws Apollo into a tight hug.

“Hey, if you can accept me when I go off on one about some research I am doing, then I can accept the fact that you used to be an irritating Gryffindor with more brawn than sense.” Theo teases, nudging Aldwyn when the boy slaps him on the shoulder.

“I have definitely improved over the past year. Besides, I can’t say much, I am usually right beside you helping you research that new topic.” Cronus laughs, wrapping his arm around Theo’s shoulder and guiding him back into the training grounds. “What do you say to having a friendly duel with me?”

“I say, ‘just don’t kill me.” The pair break into laughter, walking over toward the duelling platforms with large grins on their faces.

-----

The atmosphere around the Defence classroom felt stretched thin when Aldwyn walked through the corridors the next morning, as though the air itself were holding its breath. Students entered warily, glancing around at the decorated walls as if expecting something to leap out at them at any given moment. They weren’t used to their classrooms looking so spacious and empty, with desks piled up along the walls, chairs stacked neatly in the corners and a singular wardrobe standing at the front of the classroom rattling every now and again. Even Professor Lupin, calm, steady and leaning casually against his desk as though nothing in the world could rattle him, couldn’t fully soothe the nervousness rippling through the air.

But it wasn’t just the lesson that had the third-year Gryffindors whispering behind their hands, voices loud enough to carry across the room like they had no concept of the volume a whisper should be. But Aldwyn knew that it was him. He felt the familiar wave of attention that followed him everywhere he went, the moment he stepped into the classroom with his friends. The same feeling he got when he had first walked through Diagon Alley with his parents the summer that had changed everything. The same feeling he had felt when he had eaten breakfast in the Great Hall the first morning after the Dementor attack. Eyes flickered toward him, watching his movements. Voices dipped into hushed murmurs while curiosity buzzed like low static, as did the mocking comments.

“Look who it is-” Brown said loudly, her tone syrupy with disdain while a sneer twisted her features. Several Gryffindors snorted while others turned to stare openly.

“Honestly,” Patil added, leaning back against the wall. “I still don’t understand why he’s acting as if nothing happened. People don’t just faint around Dementors unless they are weak.”

Seamus let out a rough laugh. “Or terrified. Thought Slytherins were supposed to be good with Dark Creatures.”

Dean folded his arms. “A bit ironic, really. All that talk about old magic and control, and he passes out like a first-year.”

Aldwyn ignored it all as he walked through the empty classroom, or at least, he pretended to. He crossed the room with quiet purpose, dropping his bag to the floor as he leant back against a cabinet. Within seconds, his years' mates had filled the space around him with the effortless efficiency of a well-trained guard formation. Something that they had taken to doing since the Shookwood incident at the end of the previous year, and after he had shown them their training grounds.

Draco claimed the space on his left with the ease of someone who had done it since they were kids, while Theo stood to Aldwyn’s right, leaning back against the same cabinet Aldwyn was, in a show of ease and boredom. Though the casual brush of his shoulder every so often told Aldwyn that he was checking in, alert of their surroundings and the comments.

Blaise settled comfortably on Draco’s other side. In front of them stood Daphne, Pansy, Millicent, and Tracy, forming their own half-circle, a silent wall of perfectly groomed protection that Aldwyn couldn’t help but roll his eyes at. Especially when Greg and Vince joined the guards by positioning themselves on either side of the girls with their arms crossed. To an outsider, it would look like a group of friends standing together, gossiping and waiting for the lesson to begin. To those who knew any better, it would resemble an impenetrable fortress.

Weasley scoffed harshly, his face pale and drawn from a trying summer holiday. The rumour about his mother getting sick of his attitude and done with the way he was acting toward his siblings and even herself, his defence of his father had spread through upper society so quickly that it hadn’t had time to twist and morph into half-truths. And it seemed that life with the traditionalist witch had not been kind to the angry teenager.

“What, no dramatic explanation this time? Or is collapsing your new signature move?”

Granger’s eyes were sharp, calculating, not curious and certainly not concerned for a fellow student who had passed out. “You do realise,” she said coldly, “that people could have been seriously hurt if that thing had actually attacked? Some of us were conscious enough to remember it.”

Draco’s eyes flickered to her, glacial. How could she say something like that? As if being conscious and alert enough to react was somehow worse than being almost Kissed by a Dementor and your magic forcing your body into a magical coma.

“An interesting accusation, Granger,” Aldwyn said calmly. “Considering neither of you was present in the compartment at the time of the attack.”

“We felt the magic,” Granger snapped. “Everyone did.”

“And yet,” Theo cut in smoothly, inspecting his nails with a disinterested air. “Feeling the magic and understanding its meaning are two vastly different disciplines.” He shifts slightly closer to Aldwyn, not because his friend needed the moral support but because he wanted to give it anyway.

Ron flushed, anger dusting his cheeks a deep red that looked even worse against his sickly pale skin. “Oh, here we go.”

Draco smiled faintly at the exasperation, wanting nothing more than to push the Weasel over the edge and force him into attempting to use his wand against them, just to see what kind of reaction he could pull from their professor, who was not only Aldwyn’s godfather and pseudo-uncle, but a werewolf to boot. Magical creatures who took treats against their pack members very seriously.

“If you are going to attempt to insult someone, Weasel, at least do it accurately. Passing out implies fear. Magical collapse under hostile soul magic implies resistance and strength.”

Brown scoffed. “That’s just fancy wording to make it sound impressive.”

“No,” Daphne said softly, as if speaking to a child. “That is the correct terminology for what happened. Something you would know if you were raised with even a basic magical education.”

Patil bristled; she may not have been brought up with all the ‘correct’ pureblood traditions, but she and her friend were still purebloods and received just as much education as the Slytherin students. “So now you’re saying it’s our fault he couldn’t handle it?”

Blaise chuckled, dragging a hand through his hair. “No. We’re saying that you’re speculating without evidence. Which is sloppy and quite rude. I am sure that you wouldn’t be able to withstand an attempted Kiss from the Dementor without adult interference.”

Weasley snorted, pointing a finger at Aldwyn, who merely raised an eyebrow at the gesture. “Funny how this always happens around him, though. Big dramatic incidents, lots of whispers, and somehow, he is always the victim.”

Granger’s gaze locks onto Aldwyn, assessing his nonchalant attitude, his relaxed posture, and that seems to raise her hackles even further. “Well, it helps when your parents know how to work the system.” She rolls her eyes, a smug grin shaping her features when her words land.

Aldwyn stiffens, clenching his hands to prevent himself from reaching for his wand.

“Oh, come on,” Weasley pressed, encouraged and bolstered by his housemates’ support. “Everyone knows it. Your lot's always got connections. Powerful ones, Funny how nothing ever sticks.”

Seamus frowned, confused by his friend’s words, which only helps to amuse the Slytherins as they watch the jumbled mess of Gryffindor arguments and illogical statements. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means,” Granger said tightly, exasperation in her tone as if she couldn’t stand having to explain anything to people she deemed too stupid to understand. “That when something goes wrong around Aldwyn, people always rush to protect him. Professors. His friends. Even the Ministry seemed very willing to bend over backwards to accommodate.”

Brown tilts her head, “Maybe they are scared.”

Patil scoffed, crossing her arms. “Wouldn’t surprise me.”

Draco’s smirk vanished. “Careful,” he warns, fingers twitching.

Hermione ignored him and continued. “You expect anyone to believe that this was an accident? A Dementor shows up, tries to Kiss him, and suddenly it’s all very hush-hush?”

Weasley folded his arms. “No investigation. No consequences. Just Sympathy.”

Aldwyn’s voice is even when he responds, but the irritation he feels makes his eyes swirl with power, the red flecks in his eyes almost glowing. “You don’t know what is being investigated at the moment.”

“But you don’t deny it.” Granger shot back immediately, her argument smug even though it didn’t prove anything. “Your parents always seem very eager to keep the details quiet.”

Aldwyn laughed at that, once, short and humourless, as if his brain were trying to process the idiocy of such a statement. His parents were anything but. “Quiet?” He repeated and then straightened, no longer leaning against the cabinet. His posture wasn’t aggressive, but it was unmistakably deliberate, the stance of someone who had learnt to speak when adults tried not to listen. “My parents have never kept anything quiet. They document it.”

Granger frowned. “That’s not-”

“They want records,” Aldwyn continued calmly, cutting the girl off. “Because they want proof. Because they want to show the world exactly how Hogwarts treats a child labelled as ‘Dark’ is treated, compared to his peers. How Dumbledore and some of his staff treat a child because of his school house and his biological connections.” The room stilled at his words. “My parents care about me. They care about injustice.”

Weasley scoffed again. “Oh, spare us-”

“Last year,” Aldwyn went on as if the other hadn’t spoken. “I was physically cornered, attacked and almost propositioned by Gilderoy Lockhart, our Defence Professor.” Gasps rippled through the room from Gryffindors who clearly thought that story had been a rumour. “He was hired by Albus Dumbledore without the correct qualifications to teach such a demanding subject, and on top of that, he targeted a child.”

Theo’s jaw tightened at the reminder of such a distressing night. He hadn’t run so fast to Aldwyn’s side in his life. As soon as he had read the shaky writing from his friend, he had dropped everything and run toward their Head of House’s private quarters. Draco’s expression turned lethal. He had been petrified at the time of the incident and only found out later when it had been mentioned in passing by one of their friends, and Aldwyn explained everything to him. He had almost thrown up.

“My parents insisted on a formal investigation,” Aldwyn continued. “They pushed for it while others tried to push it under the rug and move on. The ongoing investigation was published in the Daily Prophet during the summer.”

Brown swallowed. “He’s… still being investigated?”

“He is in a holding cell in the Ministry while they collect evidence from several other victims he targeted over the past decade. Because my parents refused to let it be dismissed as a simple misunderstanding.” Silence pressed down around them.

“And over the summer,” Aldwyn said, turning his gaze back to Granger. “The Shookwood incident was reported in the Daily Prophet. With very little redacted.”

Draco nodded. “Names. Dates. Locations. Magical impact assessments.”

“Public,” Blaise added. “Documented.”

“They didn’t try to hide that either,” Aldwyn said. “Even though it painted a target on my back.”

Weasley’s face grew redder by the second, and he snapped, “That’s different-”

“And the Dementor attack?” Aldwyn continued. “The article was as accurate as it could be without revealing private medical information about a minor.”

Granger opened her mouth, then closed it again, mind whirling to try and come up with another argument to fling around.

“My parents don’t bury things,” Aldwyn states quietly. “They make them visible when no one else will. So don’t accuse them of secrecy. Accuse them of refusing to let injustice be convenient.”

Draco smiled thinly, placing a hand on Aldwyn’s shoulder. “Which tends to make people uncomfortable.”

Theo tilted his head, wrapping his hand around the fabric of Aldwyn’s sleeve. “Especially those who prefer rumours to facts.”

Weasley’s face twisted, his face burning an almost impossible shade of red as his fists clenched by his side, shaking. “Face it. Dark families stick together! Always have!”

The room went still, even some of the Gryffindor students took a step back at the implication behind Ronald’s words. Neville paling and glancing toward Aldwyn, who merely raised an eyebrow, unbothered by the supposed slight against him and his friends.

Blaise is the first to speak, his voice razor-sharp, not with anger but with restraint. “That is a very serious accusation, Weasel.”

“Well?” Ronald challenged, stepping forward. “You can’t tell me you haven’t noticed the pattern!”

Hermione’s eyes flickered between the Slytherins, hesitation threading her voice. “It’s not just about blood. It’s… history. They-”

Aldwyn’s eyes narrowed, calm but unyielding. “Stop. Your arguments are fragmented. They only hold weight when aimed at a group you already disagree with. You paint an entire house, an entire family line,” he gestures at his friends around him, “with a single paint brush because it suits you.”

The room’s silence continued. “And,” he continued, his voice sharpening with controlled authority, “don’t think the Light side held no equivalents. Secret vigilante groups, networks, and families who banded together for their own causes during the Wizarding War. They stuck together just as much, if not more, when it served them.”

Blaise smirked faintly, leant back against a set of desks and allowed Aldwyn to take the lead. The Slytherins around him stiffened, proud and relieved that he was speaking not only for himself, but for all of them.

Hermione swallowed at the restrained anger simmering behind his calm expression, the red flecks now glowing a little brighter. “I… I didn’t mean-”

“You didn’t mean,” Aldwyn said evenly, voice firm. “Because it suits you not to. That’s the difference. Stop pretending your outrage is impartial when it’s not. My parents were not and are not Death Eaters.”

“You can’t prove they aren’t.” Hermione steeled herself and met his gaze without flinching.

Theo tilted his head to the side and regarded the girl, wondering where she had been for the past year and a few months, and if she truly believed that. “Trial records are public.”

“Unless they were never tried,” Ron shot back.” Funny how that works!”

Theo blinks shared a glance with Aldwyn, then burst out laughing. “Professor Prince was tried,” he said lightly. “Publicly. Cleared. On record.”

Draco’s voice followed, precise and cutting, stepping forward to defend his godfather and uncle. “He was declared a spy for the Light by the Wizengamot itself. Dumbledore even testified under oath.”

Blaise rolled his eyes. “Multiple times, actually.”

“And Marvolo Slytherin,” Daphne added cooly, “was not even in Britain during the majority of the war.”

Ron scowled, “That doesn’t mean-”

“It means,” Aldwyn cuts him off again. “That my father was documented as being out of the country while pregnant in an attempt to keep his unborn child alive and out of the war zone.” The word pregnant landed like dropped glass, earning startled silence from the group who had clearly thought it had been Severus Prince who had carried their child for nine months, no matter how illogical that line of thought would be, if Aldwyn had been born and raised in Albania his entire life. “He provided travel records,” Aldwyn continues evenly. “Witness statements. Magical verification. All were entered into the Ministry archives. Even my school records.”

Millicent folded her arms. “Hard to fight a wat when you are fleeing one.”

Theo smirked, his expression entertained and feral. “And harder still to commit crimes in a country you are no longer in.”

Aldwyn looked at Ron steadily. “So yes. They were tried.”

Draco’s smile was razor-thin. “And found innocent.”

“Which makes that accusation not just cruel but lazy.” Blaise finished softly.

“You are accusing my parents of crimes they didn’t commit because it is easier than admitting that you don’t understand what happened.” Aldwyn didn’t raise his voice, but he didn’t need to; his expression told the Gryffindors exactly what he thought of such insults against his family.

Granger’s jaw tightened. “We’re not accusing anyone. We’re stating facts!”

“Your facts are flawed, and your accusations have been proven baseless,” Aldwyn stated, a bored expression now shaping his features, but the irritation still shone through.

“You think we are idiots? That we accuse you lot without proof!” Weasley’s face darkened, his hands trembling more violently at his side.

“Ah. There it is.” Draco laughed once, a sharp noise that startled the Gryffindors.

“What?” Patil demanded.

“The Gryffindor solution to everything.” He replied coolly. “When facts are inconvenient, invent a villain, and when that doesn’t work, act the victim.”

“That’s not true of all of us! Some of us actually care about doing what’s right.” Granger’s eyes flashed, taking a deep breath.

“Doing what is right? You just accused all our parents of being Death Eaters because they stick together and help protect each other from the Light, trying to prosecute us for our magical alignment. That’s not the right thing.” Theo sneers, taking one step forward so he is standing directly by Aldwyn’s side again.

“You are claiming that my parents manipulate outcomes through dark magic and unsavoury deals because they use their influence to provide justice for their child who was attacked.”

“They do,” Granger responded immediately, almost without thinking.

“Then let us compare this logic, shall we?” Aldwyn countered, a smirk making its way across his features, unnerving and sharp. “My father, Lord Marvolo Slytherin, holds two seats on the Wizengamot through blood connections. The Slytherin and Peverell Lordships.” A ripple of unease moved through the room. “My papa, Lord Severus Prince, holds one seat by blood. The Prince Lordship.”

Draco inclined his head slightly. “Three votes total.”

Theo’s smile was still sharp, feral as he stared at the shifting Gryffindors. “All declared. All recorded.”

“And none of them,” Aldwyn added, “carry executive authority.”

Hermione stiffened. “That’s not-”

“Now,” Aldwyn said, turning his gaze fully on her, vindictive pleasure twisting his features. “Let’s compare that to Albus Dumbledore, Leader of the Light.”

“He was Chief Warlock,” Blaise said smoothly. “The most politically powerful position on the Wizengamot. He was also the Supreme Mugwump of the International Confederation of Wizards.”

“Agenda control,” Daphne added. “Judicial influence. Procedural authority.”

“And veto power in all but name.” Tracy joined in.

Millicent folded her arms. “He shaped outcomes, not just votes.”

Aldwyn’s voice remained level. “Before he was removed from the Wizengamot and ICW for his involvement and attempted cover-up of the incidents last year.” Several Gryffindors held their breath. “And for aiding Arthur Weasley in the poisoning of his wife, while supplying her with his own potions designed to keep her emotionally compliant and loyal to the Light.”

Weasley went white.”

Hermione’s breath hitched. “That was all a lie…”

“It is on record. Ministry files and reports from Gringotts Goblins. Ongoing investigation.” Aldwyn interrupted calmly. That article, toward the end of their second year, had been a joy to read. Another nail in Dumbledore’s political coffin. Another smidgin of dirt fed to the public to plant the seed of distrust against the man who had been in a position of power for way too long.

Theo tilted his head, slinging his arm around Aldwyn’s shoulders. “Quite public, actually.”

“So,” Aldwyn said quietly, “if power alone implies corruption, compromise, and Dark dealings-” His voice trailed off suggestively as he stared directly at Weasley and Granger. “then by your logic, the man who held the most power should concern you more than the family who used theirs to demand justice and accountability.”

Draco’s smile is brittle, unsettling to the Gryffindors who shuffle closer together. “Funny how that works out.”

Aldwyn narrowed his eyes, smirk widening. “So, which is it?”

Weasley snapped at the mocking tone. “Don’t twist this-”

“I’m not,” Aldwyn rolled his eyes. “I’m simply applying your logic.” He paused to inspect his nails for a moment. “So, are you suggesting Albus Dumbledore uses Dark Magic, compromise and secret deals?”

Weasley barked a laugh. “That’s absurd!”

“Is it?” Theo asked. “By your standards?”

“Or is it only suspicious when that power and influence belong to someone you dislike?” Draco’s gaze was ice-cold, hand twitching against Aldwyn’s shoulder.

Granger’s voice is tight, her lips pressed in a thin, white line. “Dumbledore is respected.”

“So are my parents,” Aldwyn replied.

“Not like him!” Brown scoffed.

“Exactly,” Blaise took a step forward, arms crossed over his chest. “Reputation is narrative, not proof.”

Weasley took another step forward. His anger was sharp and ugly, more so than it had been the previous year, Aldwyn notes. “You think you’re untouchable!”

“No,” Aldwyn relaxes marginally, shoulders falling while his expression falls into a neutral mask. “I think you are reaching.”

Granger snapped, irate at having each of her arguments spectacularly rebutted. “Then explain why nothing ever happens to you!”

“Didn’t I just list several things that have happened to me in the past year alone?” Aldwyn glances around at his friends, who all nod in agreement, rolling their eyes or smirking. “You simply don’t count them because they don’t end with me being punished in front of you.”

Draco smiled thinly. “Or because they don’t satisfy your sense of justice.”

Weasley snarled. “You’re protected!”

Aldwyn met his furious gaze without flinching, raising an eyebrow. “By whom?”

Ron opened his mouth to respond when Professor Lupin finally straightened. The shift in the classroom was subtle; a straightening of his spine led to a stilling of the room, but it was immediate and absolute. The faint hum of tension snapped taut, like a wire pulled too tight.

Chapter Text

“That,” his voice was quiet but filled with authority, “is enough.”

No one spoke. No one moved as his eyes moved first to Aldwyn, not the assessing gaze of a professor, not to see if he was okay, but because Remus knew Aldwyn could handle himself. It was a steady gaze, anchoring. The kind of expression that seemed to say ‘I see you. I am here if you need me.’ Aldwyn felt a tiny smile try to twitch at the corner of his mouth.

Then, once he was sure Aldwyn wasn't about to hex the Gryffindors with wandless magic, Remus turned back to the Gryffindors. “What I have just heard,” he continued evenly, disappointment clear in his tone, “was not debate. It was not concern for a child who was seriously injured in an attack. And it certainly was not courage or chivalry.”

Granger opened her mouth. “Professor, we were-”

“-accusing a fellow student of criminal complicity,” Lupin finished for her, his voice eerily calm, one eyebrow raised. “I am perfectly aware of what that was, Miss Granger. Maligning Mister Prince-Slytherin’s parents based on rumour, bias, and a frankly alarming lack of factual grounding.”

Weasley bristled, his anger flaring once more at the perceived Slytherin favouritism this new teacher was showing, just like his brother had the year before. He was a Gryffindor; he was supposed to be the one the teachers protected, not some slimy snakes who were going to go Dark. Dumbledore told him that his brothers, ex-brothers, had been wrong to treat him that way the previous year, and that they had been, most likely, manipulated by He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named and Snape. The same must be true for their new DADA professor; otherwise, why would he stick up for the Slytherins? “They started it-”

“No,” Remus stopped Weasley from digging himself a deeper hole. “You did. You mocked a student's medical needs and injuries caused by a creature who could have easily killed him.” He stepped forward now, hands folding behind his back as he crossed the classroom to stand before the Gryffindor students. His voice never rose; it didn’t need to.

“Lavender Brown. You deliberately and knowingly mocked a student’s medical collapse. Five points from Gryffindor.” Lavender’s face flushed crimson, hands clenching in the material of her skirt, but she didn't try to argue.

“Parvati Patil. You amplified that mockery and endorsed it. Five points.” Parvati stared at the floor, shuffling closer to her friend as if she could hide from the fierce disappointment shining in her professor's gaze.

“Seamus Finnagan. You joined in with derision instead of resisting or standing up for a fellow student. Another five points.” Seamus swallowed.

“Dean Thomas. You chose ridicule over reflection. Five more points.” Dean’s jaw tightened, but he nodded his head. Lupin’s gaze settled on Weasley.

“Ronald Weasley,”

“Sir-” Weasley squared his shoulders, preparing to defend himself, but Remus held up a hand to stop him.

“You escalated cruelty knowingly,” Lupin continued, “despite repeated opportunities to stop. You accused a classmate’s family of treason and Dark affiliation without evidence.” Ron’s mouth opened and closed. “Ten points from Gryffindor.”

The room was utterly silent now; collective breath held as Remus turned toward Hermione with a grim expression. “Hermione Granger, you are capable of better than this, or so I have been told. You constructed arguments to justify harm, you mistook intelligence for righteousness, and you showed bias and misconstrued ideologies. Ten points from Gryffindor. I do not accept bullying or harassment of any kind in my classroom, and if I hear news of any of you attempting to belittle another student's medical requirements again, you will find yourselves in detention with me until Yuletide. Do I make myself clear?”

Hermione nodded stiffly, eyes bright with unshed fury or shame, probably both. The rest of the Gryffindor students shuffled, shifting their weight from foot to foot as the silence stretched for a moment longer than they were comfortable with. Remus glanced at each member of the House of Lions for a moment longer before he exhaled slowly and turned his attention to the Slytherins, who had regrouped around Aldwyn like a fortress. He could see their irritation, frustration and anger still hidden behind their pureblood masks and couldn’t stop a small smile from slipping past his professional calm.

“You defended your peers with composure,” he began, “you challenged accusations with evidence. And you did not lose your temper despite continuous provocation.” His eyes lingered on Aldwyn for a second or two longer than strictly necessary. “That is how power should be exercised. I won’t award points because you did not do it for a reward.”

Draco inclined his head while Blaise’s lips twitched as if trying not to laugh. Theo looked pleased in the way of someone who enjoyed being right and tightened his arm around Aldwyn’s shoulders for a brief moment, sharing a satisfied smirk. Lupin inwardly rolled his eyes before turning back to the class as a whole.

“Let me be very clear, trauma does not make someone weak. Surviving something you, yourself, know you would not, does not make someone suspect. And rumours are not evidence nor just cause to throw about accusations.” His gaze swept the room. “In this classroom, we deal in fact, not fear.”

Then, and only then, when he had received reluctant nods from the Gryffindor students, did his tone soften marginally. “All wands away, we are here to conduct our lesson.” He claps his hands as his students shift, and Aldwyn could have sworn he felt a brush of magic, quiet and familiar, like a hand at his back. You did well. It seemed to say, and somewhere beneath that, older and fiercer, was a promise. He didn’t look over toward the Gryffindor side of the classroom after that. Instead, he examined his fingernails with exaggerated focus, turning his hands as though assessing the craftsmanship. “If I don’t react,” he muttered more to himself than anyone else. “Perhaps they will eventually find something more interesting to do with their lives than invent crimes for my parents…”

Blaise leant closer, just enough to block Aldwyn’s view entirely. It was a deliberate move, conscious. “Wyn,” his voice was quiet. “You eradicated a Dark Mage who had been terrorising the continent for several decades in the middle of the Forbidden Forest at the age of twelve and survived an attempted Kiss from a Dementor at thirteen. You are never going to be background.”

“I didn’t eradicate anything,” Aldwyn muttered, ears dusting pink. “And I wasn’t alone doing so.”

Theo hummed. “You performed a lost ritual.”

“A controlled one. That you and Daphne found,” Aldwyn shot back with a grin.

Pansy turned around, eyes bright, tone intentionally light. “Which resulted in you being found unconscious in a magically scorched crater in the forbidden forest, magically drained. Very controlled.” She snorted.

“It was not a crater.”

Tracy raised her hand cheerfully, eyes skirting to Professor Lupin at the front of the classroom, who was moving the giant wardrobe further into the room. “It was absolutely a crater. Your parents were very vivid in their description.”

“They like to exaggerate.” Aldwyn quipped helplessly, though his smile never once faded as he argued with his friends.

“They exaggerate about you,” Daphne corrected smoothly. “Which should concern you.”

Aldwyn groaned, burying his face in his hands. “They are just overly protective and worried.” His friends merely smirk at him. “I hate you all.”

Draco, who had been near silent until now, slung an arm around Aldwyn’s shoulders with proprietary ease, almost knocking Theo out of the way. “Mother says any magical impact site qualifies as a crater.”

Aldwyn snorted. He had been on the receiving end of several of Narcissa Malfoy's encouraging life lessons and didn't think half the stuff that came out of her mouth could be used as a 'How to:' guide for secondary school students. “Your mother also thinks that hexing people when they annoy you builds character.”

“It does,” Draco replied serenely, fantasising about what he would do to the Weasel and Mudblood when he caught them alone next time. Maybe he could ask Aldwyn for help in blindfolding them and taking them down to the Chamber for target practice.

“At least my parents are normal, even if they do tend to fuss a little too much.” Aldwyn huffed, rolling his eyes.

Theo blinked, staring down at his friend in disbelief, mouth working to form words. Lord Prince, the youngest potions master in the world and Lord Slytherin, Dark Lord and Heir to a founding family. How Aldwyn could argue that his parents were normal was beyond him; he rolled his eyes and snickered. “Wyn… Your Father had to remind you before you got on the train that murder is illegal…”

“He said not until I am fifteen,” Aldwyn immediately snapped, "And he said it is illegal if you get caught." then stopped. His shoulders slumped “… That is beside the point."

Blaise laughed softly, stepping closer to his friends. “See? You always like to underreact, which is why your parents worry so much. We haven’t even mentioned the wildlife displacement yet.”

“There was no-”

“There was,” Pansy cut him off gleefully, eyes sparkling with mirth. “Your father told us. Honestly, we’re surprised a herd of centaurs hasn’t shown up demanding compensation for their village being half destroyed by magical backlash.”

Aldwyn buried his face in his hands, mortification building in his gut. Why had no one told him that the ritual had caused such a backlash? “Mother Magic reclaimed stolen magic. The recoil was supposed to be contained inside the magical circle.”

“Well, it was contained,” Theo said cheerfully, unhelpfully. “Contained to a thirty-metre radius.”

Aldwyn raised his head enough to shoot his friend a glare. “Seriously, how do you even know half of this after Shookwood knocked you unconscious?”

“I didn’t get knocked unconscious,” Theo corrected, knowing that Aldwyn didn’t mean anything by his words; in fact, they merely made him laugh louder. “I sat down very suddenly. It was a very dignified collapse.”

“Yes, very dignified after being thrown five metres through the air, and capped head to toe in mud and dirt.” Aldwyn shook his head and dropped his arms. “You are ridiculous." That was when it clicked, the way they had angled themselves, how Draco’s arm remained firm at his shoulders, how Blaise and Theo had positioned themselves so Aldwyn couldn’t see the Gryffindors at all. Noise layered over memory. Ridiculousness layered over hurt. They were doing their best to distract him from the idiots across the classroom, drawing his mind away from their insulting words, and trying to relax the tension in his shoulders through teasing remarks and playful banter.

Pansy’s voice softened, just a fraction. “No one actually knows what happened. Not on the train. Not in the forest.”

Millicent nodded. “Your parents refused to give Dumbledore specifics. He knows nothing more than everyone else.”

“Which means,” Daphne added, “everything else is conjecture.”

“Rumours,” Blaise said. “And rumours starve without attention.”

Aldwyn dragged his fingers through his hair and grimaced when he felt a knot forming at the base of his neck. “…You’re doing this on purpose.”

Tracy grinned. “Obviously.”

Draco squeezed his shoulder once. “You survived all of that, with little help and your own resourcefulness. That’s what matters.”

“And,” Daphne said quietly, “you’re still here. With us”

Something tight in Aldwyn’s chest loosened, sharp and unexpected. He swallowed. “That’s unfair.”

Theo smirked. “Correct.”

“All wands away for the moment, please.” Professor Lupin claps his hands again and gestures toward the front of the classroom. “Today, we are going to do something a little more practical. Something enlightening, I hope.” He gestured to a large, oak wardrobe that clearly none of the Gryffindors had noticed before, if their widening eyes were anything to go by. A wardrobe that rattled ominously as if sensing the sudden eyes on it. Several Gryffindors squealed.

Tracy murmured. “Honestly. It’s a boggart, not a basilisk.”

“You never know, it could be both,” Theo whispered, wiggling his brows.

“Shut up, you absolute dweeb,” Aldwyn whispered back, fighting a smile when Theo turned to stick his tongue out.

“Inside this wardrobe is a boggart. A shapeshifter that becomes whatever you fear the most. It can see into the very depths of your soul and can pull out the one thing that terrifies you more than anything else in this world. Sometimes, that is something even we aren’t aware of ourselves.” Lupin smiled calmly, even as the wardrobe shook again – this time violently.

Pansy leant forward, unbothered. “Honestly, how bad can it be?”

Theo raised his hand slightly, a smirk stretching even wider. “On a scale of one to watching Aldwyn face that boggart again?”

Aldwyn kicked him gently in the shins. “Seriously, do I have to silence and bind you?”

“Tempting offer, Wyn, but we are in class right now. That will have to wait until later.” Theo’s smirk grew even wider when Aldwyn spluttered, slapped him again and turned away with his cheeks burning red.

“The counter-curse is Riddikulus. You think of something fun, something that will diminish your fear. If you make the fear absurd, you rob it of its power.” Remus continued.

“Ha,” Seamus sneered, “Easy for you to say.”

Remus smiled, unbothered by the thirteen-year-old. “Not easy. But possible. If you believe in yourself and force yourself to face your fear, then it is possible to overcome it.” Remus glanced over at Aldwyn as he said this, a gentle smile on his lips.

He arranged them in a semi-circle and, without speaking, without glancing around at each other, the Slytherin students repositioned themselves – Aldwyn in the centre, Draco on one flank, Blaise on the other, Theo close and the girls behind forming a graceful arc. Unlike the Gryffindors, who shoved, tripped and shouted at each other as they shifted.

They had made a fortress again. Automatic. Instinctive. Protective.

“Fear,” he continued with a soothing calm that seemed to relax the students marginally, “is not weakness. It is information. It tells you where you are vulnerable. What matters is not that you feel it, but how you respond.”

He walks around the classroom, rolling his eyes as the Gryffindors push and shove each other to form a line, while the Slytherins simply move as one formation, almost like a single entity, a team that had been working together for centuries. “Some cultures would teach you to flee from fear. Others teach you how to bare your teeth. You are going to learn the difference.”

The boggart rattled in the wardrobe, more violently this time, the chains holding it in place clanging loudly together. Hermione raised her hand, eyeing the wardrobe that had now begun to vibrate as if sensing the rising unease in the room. “Professor, it can’t hurt us, can it?”

“No physical harm, no,” Remus assured. “Fear only has the power you grant it. Fear does not care if you are brave. It cares if you hesitate.”

Theo leant closer to Aldwyn, chin almost resting against his shoulder. “He sounds just like your Uncle Fen.”

Aldwyn snorted, flashbacks to his strict lessons in the small woodland on the Slytherin manor grounds popping up. Him covered in layers of mud, sweat dripping down his forehead and back from sprinting through the trees and tripping over roots. “Unfortunately.” Though he couldn't deny that his father's reaction hadn't been the highlight of his day after catching sight of him trailing through the house covered in mud, grime, leaves, with branches clinging to his hair.

“Feeling fear is not failure,” Remus’s voice drops, eyes flicking over to Aldwyn for a second longer than necessary to make sure the boy knew he was talking to him. “Facing your fear is the bravest thing a person can do, determination to become stronger and fight despite fear trying to make you back down.”

Those words hit deep, survive first and explain later. It was a very Fenrir thing to say, something he had heard from the Alpha wolf several times before. And now, it was very much like Remus to reiterate that advice with a warm smile.

Remus gestured for Neville, who was standing at the far end of the semi-circle, to step forward. “Mister Longbottom, come here.”

Neville obeyed in an instant, moving like someone afraid the floor was going to come alive and give way beneath his feet.

Professor Lupin didn’t rush him. He showed Neville the wand movements once, a slow and economical demonstration with no flourish. Then guided him through it again, correcting the angle of his wrist with two fingers, firm but gentle. “Precision matters,” Lupin said quietly. “Fear thrives on hesitation. Don’t give it the time to take hold.”

Neville swallowed and tried. “Riddikulus,” he said, voice cracking.

“Again.”

“R-Riddikulus.”

“Again,” Lupin repeated, patient and unyielding.

Neville’s grip steadied. His pronunciation sharpened.

“That will do,” Lupin said at last. He turned and opened the wardrobe.

A monstrous version of Albus Dumbledore stepped out, and gasps rippled through the room. The boggart wore Dumbledore’s familiar robes, though they were ripped along the hems, colours muted and blurring into each other; they also hung wrong,  too long, too loose, as though the body beneath them was stretched thin by something unnatural. Like an Inferi still clinging to their humanity. His eyes twinkled far too brightly, the light sharp and predatory. His smile was wide in a way no human mouth should manage, and his fingers, long, jointed incorrectly, reached toward Neville with deliberate slowness. And if that wasn’t unnerving enough, Bogart Dumbledore spoke.

It crooned in Dumbledore’s voice, warm and regretful. “Neville, I seemed to have made a grave mistake all those years ago. It would seem that you are the Boy-Who-Lived.”

Neville trembled, deaf to the shocked murmurs around him. His face drained of colour. He licked his lips, wand shaking violently in his grip as the false Dumbledore loomed closer, expectation heavy in every step.

Lupin did not intervene. “Now,” he said quietly, “choose. Will you allow fear to rule your life, or will you stand up and fight back?”

Neville sucked in a breath, sharp, panicked, and raised his wand. “R-R-Riddikulus!” he shouted.

Dumbledore’s robes turned into a violent clash of vibrant greens, oranges, yellows and purples. A hideous clash of colour that burnt everyone’s eyes. But what made the entire class erupt into laughter was the fact that Boggart-Dumbledore was standing in the middle of the room with a clean and freshly polished scalp that gleamed under the classroom lights, bereft of any and all hair. He was bald, completely and unmistakably bald.  His face looked even more wrinkled without his beard hiding half his face.

Neville blinked, once, twice and then laughed too, breathless and disbelieving. Staring down at his wand as if he couldn’t quite believe that he had done that, that he had stood up to his own fear and won.

After that, one by one, each student took their turn.

Hermione’s boggart, McGonagall waving a huge stack of failed exams at the girl, became McGonagall in a tartan clown suit, complete with a bright red nose. Dean’s cobra deflated with a sad wheeze. Parvati’s banshee shrank into a tiny, shadow black kitten who barked like a dog. Seamus’s exploding cauldron turned into a puffing kettle. Ron’s spider gained roller skates. Daphne faced a pixie swarm that she turned into a cloud of glitter butterflies. Pansy’s overbearing mother became a prancing peacock. And Tracy’s tidal wave turned into a faint, apologetic raincloud that poured with butterbeer.

The Slytherins laughed and applauded alongside the rest of the class for each and every success, offering sharp commentary and genuine approval in equal measures when one of their own stepped forward and conquered their fear. Theo stepped forward, confidence in his stride, when he transformed his collapsing library into textbooks waltzing with each other, rather badly. Draco nearly choked when a Transfiguration textbook accidentally turned their dance partner into a half-book, half-rat combo.

Then....

“And lastly, Aldwyn,”

The air shifted instantly. Not with fear or unease, and not exactly curiosity either. Anticipation and even a little bit of begrudging respect. It was easy to see that everyone in the classroom, including the Gryffindors who were desperately trying to hide it, wanted to know what Aldwyn’s fear was likely to be. They all wanted to know what would frighten the child who managed to go up against a Dark Mage, a child who had been through so much since landing on British soil. The Gryffindors, most likely, so they could use it against him in the future, while his friends wanted to know so they could do their best to protect him from it.

The Slytherins didn’t move away from Aldwyn at first. They moved with him. Draco stepped back half a pace, while Blaise angled himself in line with Aldwyn’s right shoulder as Theo took up his position on Aldwyn’s left hand. The girls sharpened their focus like drawn daggers, and they all exhaled slowly. Their gazes settled on the wardrobe as Gregory and Vincent stood behind the group with their arms still crossed, forms solid and ready to drag anyone out of the way just in case. They didn’t know what Aldwyn’s fear was going to be, but they were prepared to offer assistance if anything went wrong, as it had on the train.

Aldwyn takes a steady breath, steps forwards and allows his wand to slide free from its holster. Magic simmered just beneath his skin, restless, unsettled, far too close to the surface, but not wild. It was perfectly controlled, just ready to strike. Awake and prepared.

Remus watched him gather himself with gentle, fierce understanding. It wasn’t the typical detached observation of a professor, but the careful attention of someone who knew exactly how fear could reopen old wounds, burn old scars.

“Ready?” He asked softly.”

“As I’ll ever be, I suppose,” Aldwyn muttered, widening his stance, wand pointed directly at the wardrobe.

Theo whispered, barely audible. “You’ve got this, Wyn. We’re right here if you need us.”

Aldwyn lifted his chin, nodded and watched as Remus immediately opened the wardrobe.

The atmosphere in the room shifted instantly. Something sharp and electric threaded through the air, snagging at the edges of students’ robes and raising the fine hairs along their arms. Even those who didn’t understand magic as in-depth as Aldwyn and his friends, or as any adult trained in the arts, could feel the tension coiling like a drawn bowstring.

The wardrobe rattled harder as Aldwyn approached it, as though recognising his magic and his fear – hungry for a taste.

Behind him, his friends sensed the same thing. Theo’s breath hitched, his fingers curling around his wand. Blaise took a single step forward, jaw clenched. Draco hovered between restraint and impulse, weighing whether he should move closer or hold the line. Aldwyn kept going.

His wand felt heavier than usual, as if the wood absorbed the crackling air around him. But his face was calm, controlled, the kind of smooth mask that would have fooled anyone who didn’t know him well.

The rattling stopped. Completely. The silence was worse.

Lupin’s voice reached him quietly, “Whenever you are ready, Mister Prince-Slytherin.”

He nodded without looking back at the Professor. He wasn’t ready. But readiness was irrelevant in the grand scheme of things. An enemy would not wait for him to prepare himself before firing. Besides, it had never been a requirement for survival in the past. He took one more step, and the wardrobe door burst open. A streak of smoke shot out like a whip, circling him in a blur. Students gasped. The creature’s form flickered violently, cycling through half-shaped as if searching him. As if it were digging as deep as it could go.

A dementor’s hand-

A bloodied half mask-

Iron bars of a prison cell-

Shadows of twisting roof rafters-

A wolf’s snarl-

A small, white cupboard door-

A dying child, injured and battered-

Each form dissolved within seconds, as if none of them were felt deep enough, as if Aldwyn wasn’t flinching and cringing at every little slip into his private life, every frightening, anxiety-driven thought he had ever thought in his life. Then the boggart froze. It had latched onto something deep inside him. Aldwyn felt the hook sink in. The smoke shuddered once, twice and then snapped out like a detonating spell.

The creature exploded into glass. Silver liquid surged across the floor, swirling upward in columns that twisted and fused with unnatural smoothness. Students stumbled back as the structure grew higher, taller, wider. Gasps rippled around the room. This was unlike any boggart they had witnessed so far, and they didn't know what to make of the blurring structure forming in front of their eyes.

“What is that?” Brown whispered. Craning her neck to try and see.

“I can’t,” Patil frowned. “I can’t see properly.”

The Gryffindors squinted, shifting positions, trying to find an angle that would allow them to see what was in front of them, but the shape refused to settle for them, the surface warped, blurring, as something unseen was blocking their sight.

On the Slytherin side, no one moved. They could see it. A massive mirror stood before Aldwyn. Its black-metal frame was carved with serpents and thorned vines, elegant but ominous, humming with ancient magics. The reflective surface rippled like disturbed water before smoothing into a crystal-clear image.

Aldwyn saw himself staring back, but it wasn't the Aldwyn he was now. He wasn't looking at the Heir to the Prince and Slytherin Households, not the strong and powerful Leader of the In Dolus Intortis, not a son. This Aldwyn looked hollow, his eyes dimmed, magic faded and seeping from his core like sand through a sieve; his clothes, which were once refined, fitted, and those that belonged to a noble, were faded, hanging from his thin frame, tattered and frayed. His Mage Mark was barely visible, faded and pale like a scar decorating his skin, a permanent reminder of what once was, like Mother Magic had decided he wasn't worthy to hold her mark anymore. This shadow, this imposter, didn't look like someone who had survived the turmoil thrown at him; he looked like someone who had been abandoned too many times for hope to flicker, for him to believe that further survival was impossible, no matter how hard he fought. This is what he may have looked like if he had never been rescued from the Dursleys, if his father had never come for him.

And at first, Aldwyn was confused as to why the Boggart was showing him something that was no longer part of his future. An alternative that might have been if his life had followed the path carved for him by Dumbledore and the Light. He tightened his grip on his wand, eyes narrowing at the ridiculousness of everything in front of him. He knew his parents loved him, that he was their entire world, besides each other and that they would do everything in their power to make sure he remained safe, and loved, and cared for. They adored him, even to the point of mollycoddling and spoiling, but he didn't mind. They were the first adults to show him such deep, unconditional love that he found himself wanting to tell them everything. That he wanted nothing more than to stay with them for the rest of his life. That he couldn't even begin to imagine his life without them.

That is when the image in the mirror shifted. It wasn't a morphing of his own reflection that pulled the first reaction from him; it was the rippling in the background that drew a sharp breath from his lips. The shadows surrounding his frail form shifted and swam, swirling around figures that slowly stepped forward, surrounding him and gathering at his back. Their faces were pulled into looks of disgust, contempt, hatred and disappointment, and that is what broke the first tremble from his hand. He had been ready to face his fears, but he had not been ready to understand how deeply said fear was rooted in his psyche. The one thing he had been trying to convince himself away from, the one thing he had been fighting against since his father and his papa had come to pick him up from the Dursleys' house, the one thought that refused to leave him alone, no matter how many times his parents had tried to convince him of the contrary.

His father.

His Papa.

His brothers.

His godparents.

Draco.

Theo.

Blaise.

Daphne.

Pansy.

Tracy.

Milli.

Greg.

Vince.

Fenrir.

Remus.

His entire found family. His faction, his friends and his world. Every single one of them was gathered around him as if watching him leave after casting him out onto the streets. As if they no longer cared about him, like he was a burden they were finally ridding themselves of. And as they grew distant, they turned their backs on his weakened state, slowly. One by one. Every single one of them was cold, distant, silent and disappointed; denying him a place in their home, in their family. He felt his magic reacting before he could reign it in; his vision blurring and his mind going fuzzy as he tried his best to argue against the image he was seeing laid out before him. But the anxiety he always felt prickling at the back of his mind flared to life, grasping hold of the microscopic sliver of doubt that lurked in the dark recesses of his mind like a cobra waiting to strike. 

Blaise and Theo, who had been standing poised just behind him, seemed to feel the shift in magical energy before anyone else did. A sudden, sharp tightening in the magical threads connecting Aldwyn's magical core to his meridians. A warning spike, as if Aldwyn was trying to keep it under tight control but was losing, not because he was weak, but because he was fighting himself. Blaise's breath hitched, while Theo's fingers twitched toward his wand as if holding himself back from fighting against the boggart. Neither of them spoke; they didn't need to, but their magic surged instinctively toward Aldwyn, thin threads of support weaving into his aura. They didn't force themselves on Aldwyn, didn't overpower, but their magic enveloped the magical surges soothingly.

Aldwyn?

Wyn?

Their magic whispered.

Aldwyn's legs buckled, the anxiety creeping through his limbs causing them to tremble and weaken without his permission. His wand, which he had been trying to raise against the boggart, finally slipped from his fingers and clattered loudly against the stone floor. His breathing hitched, too sharp, too fast, and too wrong to be normal. Then, inside his chest, a tightness he hadn't realised and couldn't contain snapped. His magic detonated.

Theo felt it prickling against his skin before the blow hit him straight in the gut. A violent shock of panic, denial and fear burst through an invisible connection that seemed to ground him to Aldwyn. The thoughts, the emotions were so raw and unbearable that Theo felt his breath escape his lungs in one, forceful exhale. His hand flew instinctively to his sternum as his own magic was pulled taut in reflexive response to Aldwyn's distress. Dragging him into action whether he wanted it or not.

Blaise seemed to feel it as well. A crushing wave of abandonment-panic slammed into him through the same strange connection. It was cold, hollow and felt familiar in a way that made his vision blur; it was the same feeling he had felt on the express earlier that year. The feeling tore through his ribs with a sensation so visceral that he almost doubled over, but it wasn't his fear that was threatening to overpower him, even though it seemed to fit into old spaces inside him all the same, rattling bones that remembered being left behind.

They moved without thinking, ignoring the cries from their friends, their questions about what was happening. They reached Aldwyn just as the torches around the classroom erupted, flames surging tall and blinding white as his magic spiralled out of control. The stones trembled underfoot, threatening to throw the rest of the class off balance. Heat slammed across the room in a violent wave, not enough to injure but enough to send several students stumbling backwards with shouts of surprise. But Theo and Blaise didn't flinch away; they didn't even hesitate. Dropping to their knees on either side of Aldwyn when his legs finally gave out, and he collapsed. They grabbed his arms, guiding him to settle on the floor so he wouldn't injure himself. The moment their skin touched his robes, when their grip tightened around him, Aldwyn's magic struck out wildly, a violent, spiralling wave of pressure that seemed to wrap them in some kind of protective bubble, protecting them from the winds ripping through the rest of the Defence classroom. They held firm, magic flaring from their hands and into Aldwyn's meridians enough to anchor him from spiralling further, trying to prevent him from collapsing into another magical coma.

"Shhh, Wyn," Theo whispered urgently, forehead pressed to Aldwyn's temple where his skin felt clammy and feverish. "Stay with us. Stay with me. Breath."

Aldwyn gasped in response, his hands trembling as he grappled for purchase on their sleeves, his magic spasming around them like a storm on the verge of losing control.

"I've got you," Theo whispered fiercely, pulling Aldwyn upright enough that he wouldn't strike the floor or fall, so that his body weight was stable, resting against the left half of his chest, as he wrapped an arm around Aldwyn's back to keep him there. "We've got you, Wyn. We are not going anywhere."

"Aldwyn, breathe," Blaise urged, his voice trembling despite the steadiness of his hands as he pressed a firm palm between Aldwyn's shoulder blades. "You're alright. You're not alone. Just breathe with us."

Blaise raised his free hand and held it out to Theo, who immediately latched on to the additional support, both to ease the connection between them and also to grasp any stability for himself as well. Their magic reached out to the others almost instinctively, needing very little guidance from themselves. Panic and worry for Aldwyn seemed to be a good conduit for their magic to begin mixing with Aldwyn's in an attempt to soothe it out and prevent their friend from suffering any more. The connection even appeared to be slightly easier this time around, a phenomenon they put down to their growing friendship and the time they have spent training together, which had, no doubt, increased their trust.

Draco, upon seeing his godbrother curled up on the floor, propped up between Blaise and Theo, his face pale, limbs shaking, and his magic spiking around him in uncontrollable waves, much like it had on the Hogwarts Express, lunged forward. However, the moment he approached the whirlwind magical barrier swirling around the trio on the floor, Aldwyn's magic slammed into him like a physical blow. He was thrown backwards, skidding across the stone and striking the wall hard enough to knock the breath from his lungs.

"Draco!" Daphne shouted, sprinting over to his prone form. She dropped to her knees beside him, hands trembling as she wrapped an arm around his back and helped him to sit up, then hauled him to his feet, clutching his hand like an anchor. She quickly checked him over for injuries, spinning around him to make sure there were no scrapes or cuts. Her face was pale, eyes wide but not with fear of Aldwyn, but fear for him.

No one paid attention to the cluster of Gryffindor students who were staring at the scene with terror in their gazes, expressions stiff as if they had been petrified. No one commented when they backed off, gathering together against the far wall of the classroom, nor when one of the girls whimpered as witnessing a classmate getting blasted across the room. 

Draco, after allowing himself a few seconds to gather his bearings again, stared at Aldwyn still slumped against their friend's chest, stunned. "It... pushed me... I got rejected..."

"Draco! You stop whatever idiotic thought you are thinking, right now!" Blaise barked, voice sharp with contained worry. "It's going to reject everyone else! It's just like the train."

Theo tightened his grip around Aldwyn's back, fingers slipping between Blaise's more out of comfort than necessity. "Keep your distance! Wyn's magic is only going to let us near."

Aldwyn sagged then, shaking violently, tears trailing down his cheeks as he lifted his head as if something had called to him and forced him to look into the mirrored image. He shakes his head, unable to look away. For inside the mirror, the reflection had curled in on itself, abandoned, forgotten, watching as his family walked away from him, his hand out in askance. "No-" He managed to choke out, breath cracking. "Not again... please..."

His magic surged outward in a brutal shockwave, to which Blaise managed to counter immediately. He pushed his own magic directly into the surge, a stabilising wall that ran like cooling water over a raging inferno. Theo, watching Blaise also wove his magic into Aldwyn's coaxing the spike to bend instead of break. Together, the two boys held him upright, held him anchored, between their bodies with security, hoping their touch and constant murmurings would help bring Aldwyn out of his state.

"Wyn, you listen to me," Theo whispered, voice trembling. "This isn't real. None of this is real." He pressed his forehead back against Aldwyn's temple, breath brushing against his cheek in a gentle caress. 

"You're ours, Wyn," Blaise added fiercely. "You're family, and we're right here. We aren't going anywhere."

Aldwyn gulped air, shaking uncontrollably, but he seemed to lean further into their embrace, relaxing marginally. The mirror then shifted again, as if sensing it was losing control over Aldwyn's fears. The reflection of Marvolo steps back out of the shadows, turning his head with a twisted smile so he is looking down his nose at the crumpled child on the ground. "You were a mistake."

Aldwyn's magic didn't explode outwardly this time; it spiked. Bending inward instead of toward the surrounding area, which caused Blaise and Theo's panic to heighten, imagining Aldwyn collapsing as he had just a few weeks earlier due to magical exhaustion and backlash. They, instead of allowing their worry to manifest, put more focus on their connection, allowing their magic to coil around Aldwyn's magic core instead of having it dance around. 

This is when Remus, himself, felt something shift within the classroom. He had been standing behind the magical barrier, halfway between Aldwyn and the Gryffindor students, ensuring that they were hidden behind a shielding charm to protect them from the occasional magical tendril that flicked a little too close for comfort. He didn't feel Aldwyn's magic shifting, the concentration already in the air overwhelming his werewolf senses, but he did feel Blaise's and Theo's. Soft, careful pulses; gentle waves slipping into the vast reserve of Aldwyn's core like breath against a panic attack. Not controlling, not overriding the fear Aldwyn was feeling, but simply easing, softening the edges. The two boys offered up their magic like you would a hand in the dark. Without thought, without concern and without receiving anything in return.

Aldwyn trembled against the foreign magics slithering through his magic, rolling over his own that jittered violently. He could feel it hitching, and then slowly, almost excrutiatingly he felt it beginning to settle. The furious torchlight began to dim. The whirlwind of pressure gradually eased, and the shattered pressure in the air seemed to withdraw with great reluctance. Aldwyn's collapsed form loosened enough for a gasp of air to finally reach his lungs fully.

Remus stared, his mouth hanging open unattractively, but he couldn't bring himself to care. He had seen something like this before, only once, on the Hogwarts Express, when the Dementor had singled Aldwyn out and attacked. Aldwyn's magic had spiralled more violently back then, lashing out around the compartment with little regard for anyone in the vicinity. It had been a spiral of terror and entrapment. Theo and Blaise had reacted before they even processed what was happening, Blaise acting as a conduit between himself, Theo and Aldwyn. Their magic had brushed Aldwyn's own in soft counterwaves until his core had stopped convulsing, but the biggest difference between then and now was that this time, it seemed to be working. Aldwyn's core wasn't in danger of shutting down; it seemed to be stabilising.

At the time, Remus had simply chalked that incident up to adrenaline, proximity, maybe even coincidence. But a second time? This was neither. Blaise and Theo being able to sense Aldwyn's magical core and use their own to stabilise him? That was deliberate. Instinctive, untrained for the moment, but highly effective all the same. A connection, not quite a bond yet, but it was going to grow, raw and unmapped. Not the kind forged by ritual or the Dark Sect or oaths, but one Mother Magic herself seemed to have chosen and cultivated.

Remus's breath caught in his throat. Merlin, does Aldwyn even know about this? Do the boys know how rare this is?

Theo glanced up, pulling back just enough to glance into Aldwyn's eyes, and he smiled a little, just a small twitch at the corner of his mouth. "We're getting through to him! Come on, Wyn. Follow me, breathe in - one... two... three..."

Aldwyn's fingers spasmed, gripping Theo's sleeve with a grasp strong enough to tear the fabric. Blaise also tightened his hold around Aldwyn, pressing his palm flatter against his friend's shoulder blades and murmuring in quiet Italian, voice smooth and anchoring. The Slytherin students still continued to hover nearby, pale and shaken from having to witness Aldwyn's collapse again without being able to do anything to help. They didn't dare to intervene; not when it was clear that Blaise and Theo were the only ones Aldwyn's magic seemed to be allowing nearby. 

"Professor! A little help! Blaise called over the stuttering whirlwind of Aldwyn's magic. "Can you get rid of the Boggart?"

In a flash of movement, Remus had set up a permanent shielding spell in front of the Gryffindor students and vaulted over to the fallen students. He skidded, turned to face the boggart and faltered for a second. He hadn't been able to see the image within the mirror from the back of the classroom, but now that he was directly in front of it, he understood exactly why Aldwyn had reacted in such an extreme manner. He saw the fear it held within, a fear that resonated deep within himself as well. He saw Aldwyn's collapsed mirror image, saw the uncontrolled magic clawing at the air like living flames, and he understood everything in an instant. Remus stepped fully between Aldwyn and the boggart, planting himself as a living barrier, his eyes flashing amber.

"RIDDIKULUS!" The mirror shattered with the sound of breaking ice. The magic backlash slammed into Remus from the abrupt destruction, knocking him a half-step back, but the boggart dissolved into harmless smoke and escaped back into the wardrobe. Silence rushed in, students picking themselves up off the floor as the magic that had been rushing around the room finally seemed to dissipate, settling enough that it wasn't pushing against them or pulsing in the air.

Behind Remus, Aldwyn shuddered as if some invisible force had released a hold that no one could see. He didn't collapse, but he sagged between Blaise and Theo, as if the final tether of an unknown fear-spell was torn away. His breath hitched sharply, fingers spasming where they still clutched Theo's sleeve. In response, Theo tightened his arm around Aldwyn's back, squeezing his friend closer to his chest while he pressed his forehead to Aldwyn's shoulder. Aldwyn returned the gesture by folding forward while releasing a shuddering breath.

Blaise leant in at the same time, instinctive and precise. Aldwyn's forehead came to rest against Blaise's shoulder, breath hot and uneven against his collarbone, even while his skin was still deathly pale. Blaise didn't break the grip he had on Theo's hand, merely shifted, making space for Aldwyn to rest comfortably without having to hold himself at an awkward angle. The circuit they had established still held true.

"Ora stai bene, Diavolino."

Aldwyn's magic continued to jitter wildly, sharp and uneven spikes that faltered, as if confused by the sudden absence of its target before it finally, finally attempted to retreat back into the unstable core, following the flow of Blaise and Theo's magic without much fight.

Remus took a deep breath once the wardrobe door locked behind the boggart and allowed his wand arm to drop back to his side. He dragged a hand through his hair before turning to glance down at the three students collapsed on his classroom floor. Instinct within him surged forward when he finally was able to glance properly at his cub, and he couldn't stop himself from reaching down to place a comforting hand on Aldwyn's head. Only to hear a loud crack; a sharp, electric shock snapped up his arm the instant his fingers brushed an inch away. Remus hissed, recoiling a step back as residual magic skittered across his skin like static. It was a clear warning, a subconscious one. Remus stilled, contemplating the implications as he took another step backwards just to be on the safe side. Fenrir's voice flashed through his mind, steady and unyielding. When the wounded are being held by their pack, you don't take away the hold. You guard. And who was Remus to interfere with Aldwyn's chosen support?

"Sorry, Professor. He didn't mean to." Theo begins to explain, but Remus merely raises his hand and smiles.

"I know." He responds quietly, keeping his voice low and even. "I know it's not his fault. I shouldn't have tried to get too close."

"He's still spiking, but it is smaller now." Theo continued despite the reassurance.

"He just needs a little more time," Blaise nodded once, nuzzling Aldwyn's head, which still rested against his shoulder. His breathing remained ragged, but slower now. His fingers twitched weakly, tightening in Theo's sleeve as if to make sure he was still there, while he curled closer between the two, head shifting to rest further in Blaise's neck, and his legs curled closer to Theo.

"I've got you," Theo mumured in response, rubbing Aldwyn's back in soothing circles. "We are here, Wyn."

Blaise fed another careful pulse through their joined hands, murmuring more in Italian to steadily ground Aldwyn, his words soft, smooth and sounding more intimate than English could in such a moment. Aldwyn's shoulders eased a fraction, and the torches along the walls dimmed completely, returning to their usual orange embers. The air around the students cooled rapidly, and the room finally began to feel... normal again.

Remus crouched a few feet away, waving his hand to collapse the shield still holding in front of the Gryffindor students. He was close enough to study the child he saw as part of his pack, but far enough away to not interfere with the connection still weaving through the three boys. His gaze was soft, caring, but also assessing, while retaining any judgment. "Don't change what you are doing."

"Weren't planning on it, Professor." Blaise shoots him a strained smile.

Theo let out a breath that could have been mistaken for a laugh if it hadn't been so shaky. "Sir... they always say that werewolves don't heal alone?"

Remus's mouth twitched faintly. "They do. Pack protects their own, and sometimes the injured seek out individuals they are compatible with or relate to the most." He raises an eyebrow at the tangle of limbs in front of him and chuckles when the two boys duck their heads, but not before Remus catches sight of their pleased expressions.

Aldwyn, as if sensing the calm that now enveloped the classroom, or at least the lack of destructive magic, sags completely, exhaustion begging to be released now that his magic was beginning to settle fully back within his core. He felt Blaise adjusting his position underneath him, not shifting away but moving even closer, allowing more of his weight to rest against his chest while the hand between his shoulder blades remained steady. Theo also shifted against his side, a warm barrier between himself and the outside world.

"What's happening to him?" Draco asked quietly, his voice wobbled despite the care he took to keep it low-pitched so the rest of the class couldn't hear the panic in his tone, or the tightness around his eyes. Daphne's hand was still locked around his, her thumb pressing reassuring circles across his knuckles, even when his eyes never left Aldwyn's curled-up form.

Remus roamed his eyes over the trio one final time before he pushed himself to his feet and walked over. He placed a gentle hand on Draco's shoulder. "He is going to be fine, Mister Malfoy. His core was simply overwhelmed by the hold the boggart had. Your friends are grounding him, keeping him from falling into another magical coma."

Draco blinked, his chest tightening. "But why them?"

Remus glanced down at the blond before turning back to Aldwyn. He didn't answer straight away because he didn't know the answer. He had his suspicions, of course, he did; he had seen plenty of different types of magical bonds over the years he spent travelling between the Muggle and magical worlds, but he couldn't say for sure what this connection would turn into in the future, or if it would turn into something at all. However, he didn't wish to say his thoughts outloud, not in front of students who clearly held hostilities towards Aldwyn and his friends. He would save his speculations for Severus and Marvolo.

He simply squeezed Draco's shoulder and then straightened, offering a small smile to the young boy to assure him that he would answer his question when he could. In the meantime, his voice shifted, not louder but to carrying to unmistakable weight of a Hogwarts professor. "I believe that will be all for today. I want each and every one of you to listen to me carefully," the room stilled. "I am finishing our lesson here. You are to return to your common rooms, the library, or you may head to your next class. Speak to no one about what you saw here today, not out of secrecy, but out of respect." His gaze swept the classroom, settling on the Gryffindor students for a moment longer. "If I find out that anything inside this classroom has been repeated to another student, or even a professor, I will have that individual or individuals serving detention for the remainder of the school year. Do I make myself clear?"

Recognising the final dismissal when they heard one, the students began to grab their bags from around the classroom and moved, slowly at first, then faster toward the door. Their eyes flickered towards Aldwyn on the floor, surrounded by his friends, as if their touch was the only thing holding him together after such a violent reaction. The Slytherins didn't gawk; they hesitated a fraction before filing out quietly, tension written into every set of shoulders, every clenched fist. Draco remained rooted to the spot a little longer, biting his lip in contemplation.

Remus squeezed his shoulder again. "Go. He is in safe hands."

Draco nodded once, squeezed Daphne’s hand and allowed the girl to gently lead him out of the classroom so they could allow Aldwyn some quiet to calm down fully. When the final student filed out, Remus turned back to the trio on the floor.

Chapter Text

“All right,” he says, lowering his voice. “Now we move.” His gaze settled on Blaise and Theo, steady and unflinching, as they turned toward him with guarded eyes, concern and fear in theirs. “You’re both staying with him. Do not let go. Don’t change what you are doing.”

Theo nodded immediately.

Blaise set his jaw. “We won’t unless he asks us to.”

Remus lowers his voice even more, directing it to Aldwyn, his tone patient, careful and pitched for someone half present and half elsewhere. “Come on. Let’s get you out of here.”

Aldwyn didn’t protest; he didn’t really have the strength to. Because Blaise’s magic stayed warm and constant against his spine, not pushing, not pulling, just there. Theo’s magic remained a steady line at his ribs, firm enough that Aldwyn’s core had something solid to lean against when it threatened to unravel again. They helped him move together.

Theo adjusted first, shifting closer to Aldwyn’s left side so his weight had somewhere safe to go if his knees wobbled, his hand still warm against his chest. Blaise followed immediately, standing closely pressed against Aldwyn’s right side but at an angle so that if Aldwyn tipped forward, his forehead would land on Blaise’s shoulder without either of them needing to reposition him. Blaise stayed still for a moment, letting Aldwyn breathe. Theo tightened his hold, one arm secure around Aldwyn’s back this time, shifting their stance while he reconnected his hand with Blaise’s in front of him, reaffirming the circuit. Aldwyn’s magic fluttered, then eased, clinging to the familiar shape of them both.

“Easy, Cub. We will go when you are ready.” Remus murmured, already walking toward the classroom door so he could open it when they needed to.

Aldwyn shuddered once. Theo felt it instantly, compensating without thought. Blaise deepened the grounding pulse, slow and deliberate, feeding calm into Aldwyn’s core until the tremor faded. When Aldwyn nodded, small and exhausted, they began to move. Not with Remus leading, no. Blaise and Theo guided him instead, careful steps echoing softly through the corridor. Aldwyn stayed between them, supported on both sides, his magic still unsettled, still destabilised, but no longer violent.

Remus followed a pace behind, watchful, deliberately keeping his distance. They reached a shallow alcove, a stone bench worn smooth, a rusted suit of armour looming silently nearby, like a bodyguard. Aldwyn sank down with a rough exhale, shoulders curling inward as the adrenaline finally burned off. Theo knelt immediately. Blaise followed, close enough that Aldwyn leant back naturally in the space between them, supported without being crowded. The magic between them hummed, alive, quiet and intertwined.

“It showed me them,” Aldwyn whispered, staring at the floor, even though nobody had asked, and he was sure everyone already knew. “My family. They turned away from me.”

Theo went very still; he had glimpsed the image in the mirror but had mostly ignored it in favour of looking after Aldwyn and his fluctuating magic.

Blaise’s jaw tightened. “That’s not fear. That’s abandonment. It was playing on insecurities.” Blaise dropped his forehead against Aldwyn’s shoulder for a second. He knew about Aldwyn’s past, so he knew what insecurities his friend was trying to keep hidden beneath his image of Aldwyn Salazar Slytherin. He hated the fact that people kept, unknowingly, pulling these fears, these insecurities, back to the surface just when they had convinced Aldwyn that they were unwarranted.

Remus crouched in front of them again, movements slow, non-threatening. The wolf under his skin stirred, not alarmed but more attentive. “Boggarts don’t always show what will hurt us,” he explains gently. “Sometimes they show what once did, or what nearly did.”

Aldwyn swallowed. “I know it wasn’t real… but it felt like it could happen someday…”

“I know, Cub.”

Theo leant closer, voice steady despite the tremor in his hands. He mimics Blaise’s earlier action and rests his forehead against Aldwyn’s temple. “They wouldn’t. None of us would ever leave you, Aldwyn. We love you; we need you. Dumbledore and his worshipers would have to drag me away from you, kicking and screaming, before I would ever leave you alone.”

“Your parents adore you, Wyn,” Blaise added fiercely. “Your parents would burn the world down before abandoning you.”

The magic wavered, then steadied. Remus watched this happen, unease threading through his chest.

“Only families built on lies and deception abandon their children. And you are not living in that world anymore, Aldwyn. What you felt was fear. And shock. And possibly old emotional wounds the boggart latched onto and reopened. Nothing more. Anything it showed you, your family now would never allow to come true.”

Blaise flicked a glance up at him, a strained smile trembling at the corner of his mouth. “You’ve been talking to Fenrir again.”

Theo huffed softly, the edge of panic cracking just enough to allow them all to breathe freely. “That was very-pack-coded, Professor.”

Remus didn’t deny it; he smirked. “I lived with my Mate for several weeks before term, and I’m in regular contact with my Alpha. You learn things when you stop pretending survival is shameful and begin living instead.”

Theo blinked, and Blaise arched a brow.

“Shocking,” Blaise murmured, sarcasm lacing his tone like honey. "That was almost a Slytherin answer, Professor. Maybe Fenrir has done you more good than we realised."

“You’re ridiculous.” Theo shook his head.

“Pack life will do that to you, especially when the Alpha is very Slytherin coded,” Remus replied with a shrug of his shoulders, and Aldwyn let out a faint, startled breath, not quite a laugh, but close enough that both boys felt the shift in the magic when his shoulders loosened.

Then Blaise hesitated. “Professor… about this connection…”

Theo nodded, swallowing. “We didn’t plan it. Don’t even know where it came from. We just… felt him.”

Blaise’s grip tightened slightly on Theo’s hand. “And he didn’t push us away. He pushed everyone else.”

Remus’s expression changed to a deep, thoughtful look. He recognised some of the traits of this connection, but he didn’t know what it could turn into in the future, or if it would develop into something else at all. It seemed content to remain the same for the time being, not changing since the first time it had appeared a week or so ago now. “Unfortunately, I don’t have an answer for you at the moment. I know a little about magical connections and bonds, but this... this is showing very generic conditions at the moment; it will make it very difficult to pinpoint what is happening.”

Theo’s shoulders sagged, but he nodded. “Did you recognise it?”

“Some of it, yes.” He paused for a moment. “But as I said, so many bonds and connections within the wizarding world allow the passage of emotions, allow people to stabilise others’ magic with their own, while the magic rejects others. It is hard to name exactly what we have here. I will speak to Severus and Marvolo later to see if they have any ideas.”

“So… we’re not imagining it?” Blaise exhaled slowly.

“No. You’re not. The connection between the three of you is strong, is very real.”

“I need air.” Aldwyn swallowed, taking another shaky breath.

Theo stiffened while Blaise looked at him immediately.

“Outside,” Aldwyn clarified. “Around the grounds. I just… I need to breathe.”

“Okay, we’ll take you.” Blaise didn’t hesitate, pulling back enough to allow Aldwyn to move as he wished.

Theo nodded immediately, following Blaise’s lead. “A slow walk. No magic unless you explicitly ask for it, okay?”

Remus studied the boys for a moment, then inclined his head. He could tell that Aldwyn needed this, needed time to think about what he was going to do next. “Alright, but stay together. And if your core spikes again, you come straight back.”

Aldwyn nodded, tired but steadier. Theo and Blaise rose with him, flanking him instinctively, hands now hanging by their sides instead of crowding as they turned toward the corridor leading toward the entrance hall. The storm had passed for now, and Aldwyn felt grateful that he hadn’t faced it alone.

-----

The moment they stepped onto the school grounds, Aldwyn breathed deeply. The air was cool and damp, carrying the scent of grass and lake water instead of dust and fear. It slipped into his lungs without resistance, easing the tight knot beneath his ribs that had lingered even after the worst of the storm had passed.

His mind wanders back to the lesson, the boggart that had reached into the depths of his soul and found the one thing he had been trying to keep buried. He felt ashamed at first. That he was showing such a vulnerable side of himself to his friends, but then his brain had tried to fight back against the fear with logic, with what his friends and family had told him constantly over the past year and a few months. That he was loved, wanted and cherished.

But that is when his magic began to violently spike out of his control. As if it were both trying to protect him from the Boggarts' invasion and fear-magic while also trying to pull Blaise and Theo toward him to shield him and soothe his jagged core back down. It was as if his magic didn’t know what it wanted or needed to do and began tearing itself apart to compensate. It had been terrifying but also clarifying.

It meant Aldwyn was one step closer to figuring out why his magic was reacting the way it was to fear and dangerous situations when it had never done so before. And why it seemed to be drawn to Blaise and Theo in these times of high stress. It meant he had more clarity on how he could fix it and was one step closer to understanding. Remus was going to speak to his parents about this, which meant that he would be able to question the three adults about his magic, his core and this strange connection.

But for now, he was going to enjoy the calm of the castle grounds with Blaise and Theo strolling by his sides without crowding him. They didn’t rush him to speak either. Blaise stayed on his right, close enough that their sleeves brushed with each step, while Theo walked on his left, their pace instinctively matching his own. For the first few moments, Aldwyn’s magic still stirred faintly beneath his skin, not sharp, not volatile, but restless, like something hadn’t quite decided it was safe yet.

“Theo felt it first. A subtle hitch, almost imperceptible. The kind of thing that most people would miss entirely, but it was as if his magic had fine-tuned itself to pick up on these micro shifts in Aldwyn’s core. His attention sharpened without him meaning to, and he reached instinctively, letting his magic reach out towards Aldwyn’s core. He paused for a moment, raising an eyebrow in question to his friend, who gave him a small, grateful smile and a nod.

The connection flickered. Incomplete and slippery, like it couldn’t quite find a grip to latch on to. Theo frowned slightly, breath catching as the sensation slid right through his fingers like mist. He tried again, gentler this time, and felt it beginning to scatter. The same thing had happened in the classroom, and to a stranger degree on the train. Like his magic was desperate to connect with Aldwyn’s, needed to soothe and calm, but there was something missing.

Before frustration could set in, Blaise noticed. He didn’t say anything. He simply shifted closer, angling his shoulder and letting his own magic open, not pushing or pulling, but simply creating a channel. Theo felt it immediately, the way tension drains when something finally lines up. The connection settles, and immediately Aldwyn’s steps even out. His shoulders drop a fraction, breath smoothing. Theo also lets out a quiet breath of relief.

“Thanks.”

Blaise gave a small nod. “You caught it early. I only opened the connection.”

They followed the path curving gently around the lake, grass crunching softly beneath their shoes. Behind them, the castle loomed, ancient and unmoving, as if it hadn’t just watched a classroom nearly come apart at the seams, which Aldwyn is convinced would have happened if Blaise and Theo hadn’t been there. He hadn’t known what was happening at the time, but he had seen the scorch marks along the walls from where the torches had climbed up the walls.

Theo, sensing the lingering quiet for what it was, deliberately nudged them into a conversation on a lighter topic. “So,” he said, casual as he was capable, given the circumstance. “Quidditch tryouts are next week.”

Aldwyn huffed a breath that was almost a laugh. “Unfortunately.”

Blaise glanced over, lips curving. “Just be thankful you are practically guaranteed your spot, Wyn. I want to try out this year, even though the positions are still all filled. I want to see if I can beat the Keeper out of his spot.”

“I can picture you running away from Quaffles, but not into them to protect our goals.” Theo teases, barking a laugh when Blaise glares at him.

“Hey! I have been practising with Draco and Aldwyn all summer! I have excellent reflexes!”

“You walked into a door yesterday.”

“That door was poorly positioned.” Blaise defended, drawing a quiet, breathy chuckle from Aldwyn, who shakes his head at his friends.

“That door has been in the exact same place since Hogwarts was built…” Aldwyn snorted, feeling his magic stabilising even further with the distraction, his shoulders relax more.

“Shush, you, as I said, Marcus isn’t going to allow you to leave the team any time soon. Your position is guaranteed.”

“Want me to put in a good word to our dear captain? I would love to see you deal with his Quidditch obsessive personality for more than one training session. He calls it discipline; I call it cruelty with footnotes.”

“I think I can handle it. What about you, Theo?” Blaise smirks, slowly closing the connection between the three of them when Aldwyn’s magic settles down again.

“Nope, not in this lifetime, Zabini. I prefer my feet firmly planted on the floor, and nothing will change my mind.”

“It means you will just have to come and watch our tryout… You know, for moral support.” Aldwyn coaxes, smiling when his friend rolls his eyes.

“Fine, I suppose I can come and watch. Just don’t expect me to touch a broom.” Theo shudders. He had always hated flying, not that he was necessarily bad at it; he just wasn’t a big fan of trusting a thin piece of wood to carry him for unknown durations of time 50 feet above the ground. He preferred sitting and watching the game with a nice book tucked under his arm. “Besides, I want to see if Blaise manages to actually throw Miles out of his position. He has held it since he was a second year.”

“I should be fine. It’s not like I don’t know what I am doing. Why aren’t you this concerned about someone beating Aldwyn out of his position?” Blaise complains.

“Because there is no one alive who could match Aldwyn’s skills on a broom. He could go professional right now if he wanted to.” Theo throws his arm around Aldwyn’s shoulders, pulling another laugh from his friend and a light flush to his cheeks.

“Come off it, Theo. I am not that good.”

“You won every game you played in last year… against Seekers three years older than you. You are that good.”

Aldwyn shakes his head but says nothing, allowing his friend the smug satisfaction of ‘winning’ as they continue their walk around the grounds, heading towards the lake. He smiles softly when he sees the Giant Squid splashing around in the distance, ignoring the large displacement of earth to his right, where his friends had been attacked the previous year. Wondering why no one has thought to fix the ditch, or even just fill it back in.

“Remus handled the Gryffindors well at the beginning of class.” Blaise broke the silence this time, a vindictive smirk dancing on his lips.

“Didn’t give them an inch to twist anything. Took points and told them exactly why they were in the wrong.” Theo agreed with a nod.

“He didn’t let them turn it into a story, and that helped solidify his threat at the end of the session as well.” Aldwyn was quiet for a few steps before he answered.

“That is true. It showed them that he would punish anyone who was in the wrong. Therefore, I believe we are going to be safe from anyone trying to pick a fight with you about this incident for the time being. I don’t think they want to risk it.” Blaise pointed out, stuffing his hands in his pockets.

“Yeah, but it is only a matter of time before they find something else to go after Aldwyn for.” Theo sighs, dragging a hand through his hair.

“I don’t think they are going to risk it. Not only are my brothers still working at the school this year, but Papa is and now we have the DADA professor who isn’t buying into the typical Gryffindor favouritism. We have several Professors we can go to, to report the Gryffindor students if they even attempt to start something. Besides, I don’t think McGonagall is best pleased with Dumbledore at the moment…”

“Why not? Did something happen?” Theo questioned, stepping closer to Aldwyn.

“Not anything new… she was called to Gringotts over the holidays to have herself checked by the Goblins for spells and potions.”

“I take it the results weren’t good?” Blaise glanced down at Aldwyn with a smile, glad to see the other doing a lot better.

“Not in the slightest. She discovered that she had been dosed with loyalty potions, as well as others, for decades. I believe that is why her attitude was shifting so much last year. She was fighting, subconsciously, I believe, against the compulsion charms and loyalty potions because what she was witnessing and what she was being fed weren’t aligning.”

“Merlin, this is turning into a bigger mess than I thought. How do you know all this?”

“Because, as the last Potter heir, don’t ask me how, Gringotts told me I was, I was able to have the Potter Wills unsealed, and they asked for Gringotts to have everyone benefactor mentioned, anyone close to Dumbledore to have themselves checked for all types of manipulation potions. My father, Papa, and I are being kept in the loop because of this.”

“Cool. So you are getting all the juicy gossip about Dumbledore.” Blaise smirked.

“Why haven’t McGonagall’s results made it to the papers yet, like Prewett's?” Theo questioned.

“I am guessing because she asked for confidentiality from the Goblins. Maybe because she didn’t want it getting out for the moment, or maybe because she was still in denial at the time. I am sure it will come out eventually. Especially if we are aiming to have Dumbledore stand trial for all he has done.”

“Sounds like you and your parents have everything planned out.” Blaise ruffles Aldwyn’s hair, chuckling when he receives a yelp and a glare.

“For the time being. Unless stuff keeps getting in the way. I have so much stuff I am trying to get done, but I keep getting distracted by inconveniences.”

“Like Black, Dementors and Boggarts?” Theo teases.

“I don’t think they can count as little inconveniences, Theo.”

“Sure, they can. Our Aldwyn is ridiculously powerful. In a few weeks, he is going to have it all figured out and get past this all, and we will be with him every step of the way.” Theo wraps his arm back around Aldwyn’s shoulders.

“You have too much faith in me, Theo. I also have a surprise for the In Dolus Intortis that I am working on at the moment, and I am so excited for you guys to finally see it!”

“But you aren’t going to tell us what it is, are you?” Blaise wrapped his arm around Aldwyn’s back, squashing him between himself and Theo as they continued to walk around the edge of the lake while attempting not to trip over each other’s feet.

“Of course not, where would the fun in that be?” He laughs, feeling more relaxed than he has since that morning.

“Speaking of always being there for each other… I think we need to talk about this connection.” Blaise gently pulls the others to a stop and turns to stare out across the Black Lake, a serious expression smoothing out his features.

“The connection? I am not scared of it.” Aldwyn states with finality, nodding his head. “I don't think there is any reason to be. When my magic was spiking, it needed that connection. It didn’t ask. It just… pulled you in.”

Theo’s brow furrowed. “It felt like I was missing something. As soon as I felt your magic destabilising, I knew I had to help.”

“Like an instinct.” Blaise agreed, turning to stare at Theo and Aldwyn.

“And when it settled eventually, it didn’t need the constant connection. Just… sometimes, like a reassurance. That’s when it was harder, wasn’t it?” Aldwyn continued, his voice soft to match the smile forming at the corner of his mouth.

“I can feel you easily enough. That’s not the problem I was having. It seems I can’t always hold the line when you don’t need it. I need Blaise’s help.” Theo exhaled, stuffing his hands in his pockets.

“That’s nothing to do with you, Theo. We just need practice. I am only able to do it so naturally because of my dormant Creature Inheritance.”

“Whatever it is, and whatever it may grow into, it makes me feel safe,” Aldwyn confessed, a light flush dusting his cheeks when Blaise and Theo turn to glance at him. “It feels like I can trust you with my life, with my emotions, like I don’t have to hide anything from you. My magic tells me that.”

Blaise moved first after those words. He slips his hand into Aldwyn’s not to channel this time, not to stabilise because Aldwyn doesn’t need him to, but just to be there. Theo follows a heartbeat later, fingers threading with Aldwyn’s other hand. There was no pull this time. No spark. Just warmth and presence.

“We’re here,” Blaise says softly.

“Always.” Theo nodded.

Aldwyn squeezed their hands once, grounding himself without needing anything from them. The connection hummed faintly, incomplete and unnamed, but as real as anything they were feeling. And as they turned back toward the path, Aldwyn with quiet certainty that he was never going to walk alone again.

-----

Remus stood outside Severus’s private chambers for a breath longer than he meant to. His hand hovering mid-air, fingers curled, the phantom echo of Aldwyn’s magic still tingling across his skin.

He had seen panic attacks before. He had seen magical collapses. He had seen children pushed too far, too fast. But the way Aldwyn had held himself, even while shaken, even while his magic rebelled, lingered in Remus’s mind. The boy had not lashed out. He had not panicked outwardly, not in the truest sense of the word. He had argued with facts. With logic. With restraint, even as the Gryffindor tempers flared and a boggart cut straight to the bone.

And yet… when the boggart showed him his worst fears… when it had struck something older and deeper than reason, his magic had reached, called out through a connection, and Blaise and Theo had answered without hesitation. Like it was already second nature to them.

That part had unsettled Remus more than anything else.

It had prompted him to borrow Aldwyn’s owl, Phanex, immediately, sending a missive to Severus and Marvolo detailing what had occurred in the class and requesting a private meeting during lunch if at all possible. He had been very careful to say that Aldwyn was safe now, shaken still but not alone. They didn’t need a rogue Dark Lord in the castle.

Before he could knock on the door, the wards softened with a pulse of recognition, and it swung open without the need of a password. The air smelt of aconite and star-calming draught, familiar, steadying scents that grounded him at once. Severus stood framed by the warm lamplight, dark robes pooling at his feet. His expression wasn’t cold or closed. It was tightly controlled, edged with worry so sharp that Remus felt the pressure of it against his ribs, and he was glad that he had the foresight to reassure them.

“Remus,” Severus greeted quietly, putting his marking down. “Come inside.” There was no accusation in his tone like Remus had worried about, no blame. Just the urgency of a parent needing to know what had happened to their child. Uncertainty for the unknown.

Remus stepped fully into the room and closed the door behind him, feeling heavy-duty silencing charms settling into place while he walked further into the living room.

Marvolo stood near the mantelpiece, posture straight, arms loosely folded, clearly having been waiting impatiently for a while. His magic filled the quarters, warm, alert and protective, restrained rather than oppressive, tension drawn tight along invisible lines. The air shimmered faintly around him, the same way it did when emotion strained against control. Aldwyn sometimes carried the same tell when he was trying desperately to cover up his anxiety.

“Where is Aldwyn?” Marvolo asked.

“He is with Blaise and Theo, I assume. I dismissed my class early, and Aldwyn wished to take a walk around the grounds once his magic had settled enough. I slipped them a note dismissing them from Charms if they needed to.”

“And?” Marvolo’s eyes narrow a fraction.

“He is stable again. He wanted air, space to breathe and a chance to get away from the castle for a moment, so I agreed to let him go as long as the boys stayed with him. He is safe and under orders to come straight back here if his core spikes again.”

Severus exhaled through his nose and gestured for Remus to join them in the living area. He sat on the sofa and drew Marvolo down beside him with gentle hands. While Remus took the armchair to their side. Chamomile tea and a plate of biscuits arrived moments later, a detail that struck Remus as ridiculously familiar. Except whenever he had visited the Slytherin mansion over the holidays, it had been Hot Chocolate, apparently it was Aldwyn’s favourite.

“Tell us what happened,” Marvolo said. It wasn’t a command, but it was as close to one as Remus had heard from the man before.

He met Marvolo’s gaze and offered a small, strained smile. He was glad that Aldwyn finally had a loving family who would, clearly, do anything they could to protect him and show him that he was cherished. He saw Marvolo taking a steadying breath, bracing himself. “Due to Aldwyn’s adverse reaction to the Dementor on the train, I warned you that I had scheduled a boggart lesson this week for the children to learn to face their fears and control their reactions. This morning was Aldwyn’s class. His boggart took a form none of us anticipated.”

Severus and Marvolo share a sharp glance, forms paling even more than before. They had thought Aldwyn would fear the Dursleys the most, that his boggart might take the form of Sirius Black, or a Dementor, Merlin, they even thought that Dumbledore could be a viable figure, but to hear that it was nothing they could have imagined was terrifying.

“It became a mirror.” Remus took a breath, picking up a cup of tea. He drew in the scent, allowing the aroma to calm him a little before meeting the expectant gazes of Severus and Marvolo. He saw the tiny, barely visible movement from Severus – a flinch.

“The mirror showed Aldwyn surrounded by all of us. His reflected image was faded, drained. His Mage Mark was barely visible. Marvolo, Severus, Bill, Charlie, his faction, Fenrir and even me. We were all there surrounding him.”

Marvolo’s eyes sharpened, hand shooting out to grip Severus’s in a vice-grip. Severus’s face drained of colour so quickly that Remus felt his stomach drop, thinking the potions professor was going to collapse right there on the spot.

“In the reflection,” Remus continued, cautiously. “Everyone was turning away from him. Cold. Silent. As if he no longer mattered. Like he was… replaceable.”

A ripple moved through Marvolo’s magic – sharp, protective, livid – but he kept perfectly still. Tightening his grip around Severus’s hand, relaxing only marginally when Severus twists his body more toward him, pressing them together from shoulder to knees.

“That would strike directly at the wound that hasn’t healed properly,” Severus muttered, smoothing his thumb along the back of Marvolo’s knuckles. “We have been trying to erase those fears since he came to us, to prove that he is loved above everything else. To show him that he is our son, now and forever.”

“I don’t know where this fear has come from, don’t know if it is a remnant of his earlier life, which I am aware I have been told the bare minimum, most of which has already been released in the Daily Prophet, but I am sure there are things I have not been told as well. Or if something else is going on. But the reaction wasn’t just emotional. His entire magical system was destabilised. Blaise and Theo seemed to sense something wrong and managed to reach him first. They reacted before the reaction was outward-facing.”

“Again.” Marvolo’s brows lifted a fraction, curiosity rising as he relaxed a tiny bit. His analytical brain kicks into gear at the information.

“Yes.” Remus took a sip of his tea. “It wasn’t a conscious decision for either of them. As if they were acting on an instinct only, they knew. They didn’t assert dominance or cast any spells. Their magic simply… answered a call no one else could hear.”

“Answered?” Severus’s head dropped to Marvolo’s shoulder. He dropped his fiancé’s hand and made Marvolo wrap it around his waist instead.

“Matched his rhythm. Softened the magical spikes. Grounded him.” Remus hesitated. “We have witnessed something like this before with those three, on the train, with the Dementor. It was a very similar reaction, not as strong, not nearly as deadly, but the same, nonetheless.

Marvolo’s voice was calm this time, edged with concern and confusion. “That suggests a very deep magical connection.”

“A natural one,” Remus agreed. “Chosen by Mother Magic herself, not ritualistic or forced, but a natural connection that will continue to grow as the boys do.”

The room went quiet as Remus’s words registered. The severity of the situation pressed against them with an urgency none of them really knew how to handle. Not with the threat of Sirius Black still very real. Not with Dumbledore still attempting to manipulate Aldwyn into revealing his parentage.

Then Severus spoke.  “You didn’t come here just to tell us about Theo and Blaise’s reaction to Aldwyn’s magical breakdown, did you?”

“No,” Remus admitted. “I came because Aldwyn’s reaction was too intense to be reacting to the boggart alone. Something else is pushing his emotional responses. His magical reactions.”

“Pushing how?” Marvolo leant forward, his hand brushing up and down Severus’s arm in a motion to soothe himself and his partner at the same time.

Remus drew a steadying breath and met the eyes of Aldwyn’s parents. “I believe that the godfather bond is being influenced. That something may have interfered with the bond. There are… several possibilities. None of them pleasant, I am afraid.”

“Go on.” Severus insisted. He and Marvolo had begun conducting their own research, but they hadn’t had time to come up with anything conclusive at the moment

“First: Sirius’s long-term exposure to the Dementors. Bonds are emotional conduits. If one end is subjected to years of trauma, fear, grief, isolation… it could warp the connection. Now that he is out, surrounded by a sudden increase of natural magic, it could be working to break the bond.”

“Like it should have been in the first place.” Marvolo nodded his head.

“You are telling us that the bond might be echoing Sirius’s instability back into Aldwyn?” Severus frowned, worry for his son increasing with every word out of Remus’s mouth.

“Not exactly echoing,” Remus said. “More like… stretching. Thinning. Distorting. And that distortion can magnify Aldwyn’s own fears. The second possibility,” he continued, “is that the blood adoption ritual weakened the bond instead of severing it, which we have already discovered, but a weakened bond is unstable. It overreacts. It amplified negative emotion far more easily than positive.”

Severus’s expression deepened into concern once more. “We accounted for unknown blood-based interference and calculated the possibility of interference from the adoption to the bond.”

“You did, but the godfather bond was formed with the intent to protect, with guardianship rights to Sirius Black. Intention anchors magic even when blood is rewritten. The two guardianship shifts in less than a decade can be dangerous.”

Marvolo exhaled slowly, the firelight reflecting in his eyes.

“And the third possibility,” Remus continued, his voice dropping low, “is that there is something, or someone, tampering with the bond from the outside.”

Both parents froze. Severus leant forward, voice dangerously soft. “That would imply that someone knows that, technically, the boy who was once known as Harry Potter is still alive. That someone at least suspects the auror report and investigation to be completely staged.”

“What makes you suspect interference?” Marvolo questioned, tightening his arm around Severus’s waist when he felt his fiancé trembling against his side at the implications.

“Because in all my years of knowing Sirius, he has never, not even once, demonstrated the level of focus or drive his current actions imply. He was reckless. Unpredictable. An absolute idiot. Loyal to a fault – but rarely strategic. He was easily distracted, and for him to risk his life, risk being caught and kissed by the dementors just to follow a hunch, is unheard of.” He shook his head. “Someone desperate and unstable does not track their godson with this kind of precision unless something, or someone, is guiding him.”

Marvolo’s magic ripples, cold and lethal. He was not going to sit back this year and allow another person, Dark or Light, to hunt down his son. To wish harm upon his child. Not this time. He was going to research every single inch of the bond, to try and put a stop to it.

“And Aldwyn’s emotional spikes… they don’t feel organic. They feel triggered, amplified.” The room softened as Remus continued in a quieter voice. “I’m not suggesting that this is all the bond. Aldwyn carries deep wounds from his childhood. The fear of being unwanted is not new to him. To us.”

“So, you believe something in the bond could still be tied to his emotions? Maybe even to his sense of identity?” Severus questioned, his voice quiet, hesitant, as if not wanting to hear the answer but needing to know.

“If Black’s bond still tries to anchor to Aldwyn, if it tries to reinforce ties of loyalty or belonging, then Aldwyn’s fear of losing us might clash with that.”

“Internal magical conflict. Between the Godfather bond and our own blood adoption ritual, his new bonds. It can be painful. Confusing. Terrifying.”

Remus exhaled, not wanting to believe the conclusions they were drawing up from what little information they had received. Marvolo and Severus were going to do good things for the world once people stopped going after their son. They were going to change the world. “And dangerous.”

“We have agreed that breaking it entirely carries too much risk.” Marvolo nodded. “But masking it? Dulling it? Restricting its influence?”

“That is feasible,” Severus murmured with a grim nod. “Ritual work. Runes. Potions. A stabilising sequence. It will not sever the bond, but it very well may contain it.”

“And you are both prepared to do that?” Remus raised an eyebrow.

“I’m prepared to do far more than that. This is for my son, my child. I would tear apart the world if it meant keeping him safe.” Marvolo’s magic crackled. Not in a threatening way anymore, but more as a promise. A statement that needed no backup. “I will not let anyone – past or present – control my son through a bond he never agreed to.”

“Then we move carefully.” Remus swallowed.

Severus’s throat worked; he curled into Marvolo’s side more, seeking comfort as much as offering it. “We know.” Marvolo’s posture softened, hands unclenching.

“That boggart exploited a scar,” Remus said. “But something else magnified the pain into collapse.”

Severus rose from his chair, pacing slowly, robes whispering across the stone. “We will run a full diagnostic tonight. See if we can find anything that may be manipulating the bond.”

“But we will comfort him first,” Marvolo added, resting his head against Severus’s. “We will remind him that he is loved, that we will not abandon him. That we won’t cast him out and replace him. Only then will we find whatever is tugging at the bond and break its hold.”

“Good.” Remus’s shoulders loosened visibly. “He needs both. Answers and reassurance.”

Severus raised his head from Marvolo’s shoulder, smiling at Remus despite the exhaustion behind his gaze and the strain still visible in the line of his face. “Thank you, Remus. For helping him out. For being there for him when he needed someone.”

“I didn’t really do much. It was mostly Blaise and Theo, but I did what I could.” Remus leans back in his chair, scratching the back of his neck.

“You are a part of this family, Remus. Aldwyn sees you that way, and so do we. What you did for Aldwyn today was more than enough. Thank you.”

Severus gestured toward the chairs. “Sit with us a while longer. Tell us everything Sirius has done and everything he hasn’t. It will help us understand which theory fits.”

Remus stayed. The fire crackled. The atmosphere steadied. Three men, different worlds, different histories, unified by one child’s trembling fear… and their shared determination to protect him.

Chapter Text

The wall sealed behind them with a soft rush of cool air, and the Slytherin common room greeted Aldwyn with the kind of stillness that wasn’t silence so much as the entire year group collectively holding their breath. He could feel the tension in the room, as eyes turned to glance at him, but this year it was scrutiny, it wasn’t judgmental or even fear, it was concern. It was clear that the events of his Defence lesson had already spread all the way up to the seventh years, and down to the first years. But they weren’t bothered by his fear; they were concerned for him.

He… didn’t hate that. He would have turned around and hidden himself away in the Chamber for the rest of the evening if he had seen pity in anyone’s gaze, but this was Slytherin house. They didn’t pity; it was an unwarranted emotion, unwelcome. No, they showed quiet concern. Watching from the shadows, keeping a check until help was needed. They never pushed or crowded, and that is why Aldwyn was glad he had ended up in the House of Snakes this time round. Gryffindor would have torn him apart. Made fun. Pitied and questioned him.

He takes a deep breath. Every third year, in his house, and in Gryffindor had been in DADA that morning. Every one of them had seen his magic lash out. Had seen him bend under the assault of his darkest, most treacherous fear, but none of them had been able to understand it. No one knew, except a select few, about his past. About how he had never known the love of family until last year. How he had been fighting for survival for ten years of his life.

He acknowledged the fear, admitted it to himself, but he refused to let it control him. He would face it. He would grow stronger. He would not break. Not now. Not ever. That quiet resolve steadied him as he stepped fully into the common room.

As he made his way through the common room, Theo and Blaise remained flanked at his sides, their proximity now feeling instinctual. They hadn’t left him since the walk around the Black Lake, and now their quiet steadiness was a comfort more than anything else. Their magic wasn’t active anymore, no more stabilising pulses, no more emotional regulation, and no more feeding. But Aldwyn could still feel it, faint and warm, like the ghost of a steady heartbeat brushing against his core. A warm memory to keep him grounded. The knowledge of 'if he needed'.

The emerald glow from the enchanted lake windows painted drifting reflections across the stones, small schools of fish drifting lazily through the crystal clear waters. Shadows moved like underwater currents, soft and slow cast beautiful patterns across the stone floor with delicacy. The entire room seemed to track Aldwyn’s presence, watching, waiting for the slightest indication of how he truly was now that he seemed out of immediate danger.

The rest of the third years – Draco, Daphne, Tracey, Pansy, Milicent, Vincent, and Gregory – rose as he approached, alert and concerned but not overbearing. Their faces reflected the memory of what they had witnessed in DADA: the mirror, the silence, the rejection, the magic that had flared like a controlled explosion. And Aldwyn falling. Collapsing to the floor, reminiscent of the train debacle.

Daphne’s hand flew to her mouth before she could compose herself. Tracey’s quill fell from her fingers, in what looked to be an attempt to focus on her homework while she waited for their return. Pansy’s eyes narrowed, not in judgment, but in fierce, hawkish protectiveness. While Draco looked like he held a hundred questions behind tightly thinned lips, as though his head held equally as many regrets.

Their reaction, thankfully, wasn’t loud. It wasn’t exaggerated, but it was deeply Slytherin. It was sharp, observant, guarded, and aching with the quiet, fierce loyalty Slytherin rarely admitted aloud. Except for his faction members, half the time he couldn’t get them to shut up. Aldwyn’s chest flared with warmth when he was reminded of the day that they had all sworn loyalty to him. Swore in front of Mother Magic that they accepted a role in his faction and would stick by his side no matter what. The day they had become his friends, even if he hadn't been fully aware of that fact back then.

Aldwyn felt all of them watching him as he made his way toward them. Theo’s shoulder pressed lightly into his, urging him toward the sofa for some rest. Blaise’s hand hovered near his back, close enough to reach out and catch him if his legs faltered again. Though they hadn’t done so since before they had left to walk around the Black Lake. He appreciated the gesture for what it was.

Aldwyn lowered himself onto the cushions, exhaling shakily. He felt heavy, like his bones had been filled with lead and his magic with water. But he felt better than he had in the corridor, which was already an astounding improvement in his books.

Daphne knelt before him without hesitation, a warm smile on her lips as she met his weary gaze. Her blue eyes scanned him with the sharp, clinical worry of someone who had replayed the boggart incident a dozen times in her head already. “We saw,” she whispered, her hand hovering near his face, hesitant, trembling, waiting until he nodded his head and gave her permission. She cupped his cheek, fingers brushing, endlessly careful. “You scared us,” she breathed. “All of us.”

Tracey dropped to her knees beside her, hands clasped in front of her chest. “Aldwyn… that wasn’t just a boggart. That was-”

“Awful,” Pansy finished quietly. She perched on the armrest beside Aldwyn, posture stiff with protective tension. “We didn’t know how to help, if we could help. Not with…” She swallowed. “Not with what it showed you.”

Aldwyn shut his eyes for a moment, breathing through the ache in his chest. He could still see the image as clear as day in front of his eyes. And he hated it. “I know what it was. I felt it. But I won’t let it control me. I’ll face it. I will get stronger. That fear isn’t me. I am stronger than it. I don't know why I was affected so deeply, but I am going to figure it out and put a stop to it.”

Theo leant in slightly. “It overwhelmed you, and that is okay. The fear hit harder than any of us could have predicted. It is not a weakness, you know this, but we will help you.”

Blaise nodded. “Theo is right, Wyn. Your magic… simply reacted.”

The third years looked at Aldwyn, not with pity, but with the quiet understanding of people who had seen something painful, intimate, and deeply personal. Something they weren’t meant to see, but were ever grateful that it gave them a little more insight into their friend and leader. And knowing this fear, knowing what haunted their friend the most, didn’t make him seem weak to them. It showed, instead, his strength. The will he held to always fight, to make sure that fear doesn’t come true. Just like he had done last year when he had risked his own safety to protect his father.

Draco took one step forward. Not pushing his godbrother and yet not quite hesitating either. His voice was low, rougher than usual. “Aldwyn… you collapsed.”

Aldwyn’s throat tightened. “I know.”

“You fell like you had been hexed. Like someone had cast a body-bind on you,” Draco continued, his voice tightening. “We didn’t… no one knew what to do. And your magic-”

Pansy flinched at the memory. “It felt like the air was ripping apart. Like your magic was rejecting the very essence of space around you.”

Daphne nodded slowly. “The torches flared all at once, and then Blaise and Theo moved, drawn towards you by something only they could feel…”

“But Draco… he got thrown back when he tried to reach for you as well,” Tracy whispered, finishing their recount softly.

Draco’s jaw clenched at the memory, a phantom pain still clinging to his back. While Aldwyn’s eyes snapped open, he hadn’t known that. He wasn’t aware that anyone, besides Blaise and Theo, had tried to approach him; otherwise, he never would have allowed his magic to flare out like that.

“I’m sorry! I didn’t know! I didn’t mean to-”

“I know.” Draco cut in, voice gentler now. “I know it wasn’t you. But it… terrified me.” He exhaled. “And I hated that it did because it looked like I was afraid of you, but I wasn’t. I was afraid for you, and I hated that I couldn’t help.”

Aldwyn swallowed hard. “Draco…”

“I promised your father that I would protect you! That I would stay by your side and make sure you never got hurt. But I have failed so many times already… May I?” He drags a hand through his hair, asking quietly. “Please may I come closer?”

Aldwyn nodded. “Always, Dray. None of this was your fault, you know?”

Draco closed the distance and rested his head on Aldwyn’s forearm. No magical surge. No backlash, just contact, warm and real. He releases a breath he hadn’t realised he had been holding, relief filling him. His shoulders sagged, and he almost laughed at himself. “Merlin,” he whispered. “I didn’t want to be shut out again.”

“You weren’t,” Aldwyn said quickly. “It was an uncontrollable instinct. Not aim. You know I would never do that to you, Draco. You are my brother in all but blood. The first true friend I ever had. Nothing could ever make me want to shut you out.”

Pansy shifted slightly, hesitating before she spoke. “Aldwyn, we all saw the mirror. What it showed you.” Her voice lost its edge, softening. “No one should have to go through any of this alone.”

Theo turned to sit on the sofa by Aldwyn’s side. He leaned closer, allowing his shoulder to brush against his friend's. “We won’t let you.”

Blaise mirrored the movement on his other side, careful not to knock Pansy off the arm. “We’re here. As long as you need us to be.”

Then Vincent, Gregory, and Milicent stepped forward, curiosity in their expressions. “About… whatever it is going on between you three,” Vincent said, his eyes flicking between Aldwyn, Theo, and Blaise, changing the subject to try to ease the tension building in the air, and Aldwyn was grateful. “We don’t know what to call it, but… it is unusual. Something we have never seen or heard of before. You seem to sense what the others are feeling instinctively. Is it connected to your Mage Mark? Will it always be like this?”

Aldwyn looked from Theo to Blaise and then back to the trio. “We don’t know. We don’t know what this is called, and we don’t fully understand it. All I know is that it exists and works. That is enough for me.”

Blaise shrugged. “Might have something to do with the Mage Mark. It might not. Remus said he would ask Aldwyn’s parents. That is all we were told.”

Theo added softly, “Whatever this is, it is natural. Doesn’t need an explanation. It just… works.”

Aldwyn nodded. “Exactly. I feel it. It doesn’t seem dangerous. That is plenty for the moment.” He shifted his gaze to the group. “This thing I am nervous about the most at the moment is the Gryffindors… I am not looking forward to seeing them. And the first person to forget Uncle Moony’s instructions.” He allowed a glint to enter his eyes. “They’ll meet my wand. Consider this a promise.”

The group laughed, slightly unnerved by the manic shine in his expression but relieved that he was acting more like his old self again.

Daphne rose to her feet, voice firm. “You don’t have to worry. They couldn’t see what we saw anyway. If they do try to say anything, we will stand with you. Every one of us.”

Tracey grinned, teasing lightly. “Honestly, it’s almost funny. They’ll be trying to comment on something they couldn’t even witness.”

Aldwyn allowed himself a short laugh, tired but genuine. “Glad to know you’re all ready to fight by my side.” He said. “But I want to do this bit by myself. I’ll handle it. I am not weak. I’m not letting this fear control me, and I won’t let anyone else try to use it either. Not now. Not ever.”

Daphne rolled her eyes but silently agreed; the In Dolus Intortis would stand by Aldwyn’s side no matter what. Even if he was being stubborn, they would allow him to take control of the situation, but still be ready with their wands to help. She walked over to a second sofa and fetched a blanket; soft emerald wool spelled for warmth and laid it carefully across the three boys' laps with a grin.

Tracey handed him a mug of hot chocolate she had seemingly pulled out of thin air. “For your nerves. It is a tradition in your house to have hot chocolate when talking about something serious… or talking in general, right?” Aldwyn laughed, he hadn’t realised that this simple little tradition his father had started would spread so far and so quickly. Or that his friends would take it so seriously, but he was grateful for the gesture.

Pansy pressed a tin of biscuits onto his blanketed lap. “For the energy you need.”

“Seriously,” Aldwyn glanced from the mug in his hands to the biscuits now perched on his knees and chuckled, already feeling like his old self again. “Where are you guys pulling this stuff from? You didn’t stockpile supplies while I wasn’t looking, did you?”

“We didn’t steal it, if that is what you are asking,” Millicent smirked, the expression doing absolutely nothing to soothe Aldwyn.

“We thought you could do with a little cheering up when you got back, so,” Daphne shrugged. “We prepared a few things.” She gestured behind her to a table filled with drinks, cakes, pastries, and more biscuits. Aldwyn laughed again, quietly, tiredly, but still genuinely.

Draco remained as close to his side as he could get, fingers still curled gently around his arm, while the rest of the common room pretended to be focused on their studies. But their glances were soft and wary. Not gossiping. Not judging. Just waiting for a sign that their Heir was going to be alright. That he was going to be fine.

Aldwyn let out one final slow, trembling breath. He was alright. He was going to be perfectly fine. Surrounded by his friends, every one of whom had witnessed his collapse, still stood firmly at his side. He realised something the boggart had tried to tear away from him.

He was not alone in this battle. Not abandoned. Not unwanted. He belonged to the Slytherins as much as they belonged to him, and Slytherins took care of their own. Always. He allowed himself to relax more with this thought, watching his friends as they laughed and joked around, passing treats, drinks, and food between themselves and the rest of the common room like they were throwing a mini party.

-----

The moment the door to his papa’s private quarters clicked shut behind him, Aldwyn found himself pulled into two sets of arms at once.

Marvolo crossed the room faster than Aldwyn had ever seen the man move before, sweeping him up into an embrace that was fierce enough to shake loose the last of Aldwyn’s doubts and fears. A heartbeat later, Severus had wrapped his arms around both of them from the other side, one hand curling protectively around the back of Aldwyn’s head, the other stroking down his spine in long, grounding motions.

“Aldwyn,” Severus breathed, voice breaking on his name. “Our sweet boy…”

“My little snakelet,” Marvolo murmured, pressing a kiss to Aldwyn’s hair. “You should never have had to face that alone.”

Aldwyn inhaled slowly, deliberately, anchoring himself in the warmth that surrounded him. His body shook once, not from collapse, but from the effort it had taken to hold steady after hours of tension and magical instability. He didn’t pull away, but he didn’t disappear from them either. Instead, he leant in, accepting their strength while keeping his own spine straight.

Marvolo’s hands settled on his shoulders, firm and reassuring, while Severus tucked him closer, magic unfurling around him in a familiar, protective pulse. Warm and steady. His father’s and Papa’s magic, unmistakably home.

They held him for a long while, letting the silence breathe around them as Aldwyn sorted through his thoughts, debating what to begin with. He pressed his forehead briefly into Severus’s chest, inhaling the calming scent of ink, parchment, and potion fumes. He let himself rest there, not because he was breaking but because he knew that rest was allowed here. He felt fingers stroking gently through his hair, careful and rhythmic, while another rubbed slow circles in the centre of his back.

Only when his breathing evened, still tight but controlled, did Marvolo guide him gently towards the leather sofa near the fireplace. They sat on either side of him, close without crowding, forming a quiet barrier against the rest of the world.

Severus summoned a soft-bristled hairbrush with a flick of his fingers and began to run it through Aldwyn’s hair in slow, careful strokes. Aldwyn leant into it instinctively, grounding himself in the familiar rhythm, letting the last of his tension bleed from his shoulders.

For a while, none of them spoke. Then Aldwyn shifted, straightening between them. “There's… something I want to ask you guys, about…” He said quietly, not worried, but curious.

Both men stilled at once, Marvolo wrapping his arm around the back of the sofa, shifting closer to his son and fiancé with a gentle smile, while Severus returned to his brushing, stealing the hair tie from Aldwyn’s wrist. They both glanced down at him, attentive, patiently waiting for him to ask his question.

Aldwyn swallowed, then lifted his chin. He had promised himself and them that fear would not make him hide anymore. That his parents would be all too happy to talk him through whatever he wanted to know without omitting any details. He had also promised his parents that he would come to them whenever he had a problem that he couldn’t solve himself… not that this was a problem.

“It’s about Blaise and Theo…”

Marvolo’s hand reached over to take his hand in his own. A steady pressure rather than restraint, encouragement, and affection. Severus inclined his head, giving Aldwyn space to continue. They knew they needed to speak to Aldwyn about what happened in his Defence lesson, but they were not going to push their son, not when he had several thoughts running through his head. Not when they knew he needed to build up to what he really wanted or needed to get off his chest with them.

“We aren’t sure when this started,” he continued. “Or how. But when they are nearby… I can feel them. Not their thoughts, or their presence really, but it's like I can sense their magic. Their emotions. Like a resonance.” His brow furrowed, thoughtful rather than panicked. “When my magical core destabilised earlier… they felt it before it exploded outward. Blaise tried to steady me, and Theo’s magic joined in automatically. Like an instinct we already knew to follow.”

He exhaled, slow and controlled, a small smile softening his features as he thought back on the warmth he felt when their magic had coursed through him. “I am not afraid of this connection itself,” he added, his voice firmer now. “But I am afraid of what it could become if I don’t understand it. I won’t let anything control me again. I won’t let it change who I am.” His fingers tightened briefly in Marvolo’s grip. “I won’t let fear decide for me.”

Severus’s expression softened immediately, pride flickering beneath his concern as he continued to brush through Aldwyn’s hair.

Marvolo drew Aldwyn’s hand up and pressed it over his own heart. “Nothing that steals your will can take root here,” he said firmly. “Not without destroying everything else about who you are first. And your papa and I would never allow that to happen.”

Severus nodded and leant forward to drop a kiss on Aldwyn’s head. “We do not know precisely what this bond is,” he said calmly. “But we know what it is not. It is not coercive. It is not parasitic. And it is not something that will override your autonomy.” He paused. “Remus spoke to us a little about this.”

Aldwyn looked up and nodded. His uncle had said as much earlier.

“He felt it in the classroom, and then later in the hallway, “Severus placed the brush down on the arm of the sofa. “He said it felt protective. Balanced, working with your magics instead of applying force and dominance to overtake them. That it was something careful, subtle, and mutual, like a shared current connecting the three of you.”

Marvolo nodded. “And like you, Remus believes it may have been awakened on the train. The Dementor attack was likely the catalyst, extreme fear, magical overload, and a still-developing shift from a magical core to a Mage core.” His gaze sharpened slightly. “This does not mean that it is dangerous. Simply responsive.”

Severus’s thumb traced a grounding line along Aldwyn’s cheek. “What matters is this: the bond does not appear to be shifting or changing at this point in time. It is not expanding, nor is it becoming something else.”

“It is waiting,” Marvolo added softly

Aldwyn let out a measured breath, shoulders easing, not in relief alone, but in quiet resolve. Good, he thought. Then we have time.

“It isn’t overly complicated at the moment, which will allow us to monitor it more easily. But at the moment it seems content to observe and protect.”

Marvolo brushed some hair back from his face, “And that is not the behaviour of something that seeks control.”

Settling back against the sofa, Marvolo drops his arm to wrap fully around Aldwyn’s back, resting his hand on Severus’s hip so he could pull the two closer as he sinks into thought. “It could be a resonance bond. A magical bond where emotions echo between individuals, balancing rather than overpowering, a way to regulate your magic and emotions when you have an extended core.”

“My Mage Core,” Aldwyn stated, nodding his head. It would make a lot of sense.

“It could also be an Empathic Link, a magical extension of empathic abilities themselves. Young Blaise is a fledgling Cambion who has yet to come into his Creature Inheritance. It could be his creature, dormant as it may be, reacting to your strong magical presence, sensing your heightened emotions, and reacting. Theo’s magic is equally as compatible with both of yours, and so it formed a link between the three of you.” Severus adds, gathering Aldwyn’s hair into his fingers as he begins to twist it together in small sections.

“There is also the possibility of a Soul Weave. It is an old, intrinsic connection that intertwines beings without diminishing any of them. It is the most complex that could incorporate all the symptoms you three are experiencing. For example, it can create a shared ‘pool’ of magical energy between the bonded, which increases the individual's power base. You can establish empathetic and mental links, fostering the passage of emotions and even memories. Sometimes telepathic communication, as well.”

“Wow.” Aldwyn’s breath catches in his throat. He didn’t know which bond he would prefer for him to share with Blaise and Theo. He saw the duo as his best friends, the closest people to him besides Draco, and some of the people he trusted the most in the world. To hold such a close magical bond, no matter what it was or what it would develop into, was already special.

Severus rested his forehead briefly against Aldwyn’s head. And there are, of course, other possibilities,” he said gently. “Ones that you are much too young to know about, ones that you should not concern yourself with at the moment.” A faint knowing look passed between the two men above his head. “What matters is this: if this bond changes in the future, or whether it is content to remain the same, it will never take you away from yourself.”

Marvolo pulled Aldwyn a little closer. “You are not going to lose autonomy,” he reassured. “You are simply learning connection. There is a difference.”

Aldwyn nodded. “Then I’ll learn it,” he said quietly. “And I’ll face it properly.”

Both men stilled—then Severus smiled faintly, proud and worried all at once. “We will help,” Severus said immediately. “Every step.”

“You will not do this alone,” Marvolo agreed.

Severus shifted slightly. “Now, tell us about this mirror.”

Aldwyn stared down at his hands, fingers twisting together until the knuckles went white under his father’s grip. “I… I don’t really know how to explain it.”

“Start with what you felt,” Marvolo murmured, thumb tracing calming circles over Aldwyn’s knuckles. “We will listen.”

Aldwyn swallowed. He didn’t look up. “I knew it was a boggart,” he whispered. “I knew, but it didn’t matter.”

Severus’s hand paused briefly in Aldwyn’s hair, then resumed brushing with even gentler strokes. “Go on,” he encouraged.

Aldwyn’s throat tightened. “When the mirror rose… I thought it was going to show something from my past. Voldemort. Dementors. The Dursleys. Dumbledore's manipulations. Something I already lived through.” His voice cracked. “But instead… it showed my future.”

Marvolo’s arm tightened around him, pulling him closer.

Aldwyn’s breath hitched. “I saw all of you,” he whispered. “Every person I’ve ever let myself love and trust. You, Papa. You, Father. Bill. Charlie. My In Dolus. Remus…” He swallowed. “… turning your backs on me. Not angry. Just done with me. Finished. Disappointed.”

Severus set the brush aside and gently turned Aldwyn to face him, thumb brushing away a single tear. “That was fear,” Severus murmured, voice steady. “Not truth. Not prophecy. Not desire.”

Aldwyn tried to look away, but Severus held his cheek gently in place. Marvolo leant in and pressed his forehead against Aldwyn’s temple. “My son,” he whispered, “you fear abandonment because it was taught to you. Beaten into you. You lived a decade believing you were unworthy of love. That does not disappear in a year.”

Aldwyn nodded, eyes wet with unshed tears but steady. “I know. That’s why I am not going to let it win this time.”

Severus pulled him into his chest without hesitation, arms wrapping fully around him. “Good, Snakelet, because you listen to me,” he whispered fiercely. “You could set this castle on fire by accident, you could fall behind in your classes, you could make a thousand mistakes – and not one of them would make us turn away. Not one.”

Marvolo kissed the top of Aldwyn’s head, warm and lingering. “Snakelet, my sweet boy,” he murmured, “you are ours. Chosen. Loved. Wanted. Nothing. Absolutely nothing is going to change that.”

Severus resumed running his fingers through Aldwyn’s hair, gathering the dropped pieces with practised ease. “You never have to prove your worth to us.”

“But if you want to prove something,” Marvolo murmured, nuzzling Aldwyn’s temple with his nose. “Then prove it to yourself.”

“…I’m scared,” he admitted. Then, after a breath, he added. “But I won’t let that change who I am.” Aldwyn let himself lean into them at last—not because he was weak, but because he was safe.

Marvolo smiled, fierce and proud. He cupped Aldwyn’s face in both hands, eyes burning with emotion. “Aldwyn Salazar Prince-Slytherin, you are the pride of Slytherin House. You are worth every battle, every breath, every drop of magic in my veins. You are the greatest blessing in my life. There is no version of this world where I would ever let you go.” He kissed Aldwyn’s forehead slowly, deliberately.

Severus kissed his temple immediately after. “You are our son,” he whispered. “Not a duty. Not an obligation, but a miracle. And we will always be proud of that fact.”

Aldwyn felt Severus give one final tug on his hair and smiled when he lifted a hand to feel that his papa had lovingly braided two small plaits on either side of his head and tied them together at the back. He always loved it when his papa did his hair for him; it always left him feeling wanted and loved. Like nothing was wrong with the world. Like the fear from the boggart was just that, a fear buried so deep that it had no place in the world anymore. “I love you guys. So much.”

“We love you too, Snakelet,” Severus murmured.

“Forever,” Marvolo added.

Only when Aldwyn’s shoulders finally relaxed, only when his magic settled fully within his core for the first time all day, a contained hum beneath his skin did Severus speak again, brushing back a strand of hair. “Now that your heart is steadier,” he said softly, “we must tell you what Remus told us.”

Aldwyn nodded. He was still nestled between them, still held, but his attention sharpened immediately. Whatever was coming next, he wanted to face it with a clear head. Though his surprise must have still shown in his expression, because Marvolo chuckled.

“We promised transparency,” Marvolo said. “And we will always keep our promises to you, Snakelet.”

Severus began, voice calm and even. “Remus came to us immediately after leaving you, as you are aware. He explained everything he saw. Everything he sensed.”

Aldwyn listened intently, grounded by his parents’ warmth but not hiding within it. He followed every word, their implications, storing it away so he could reiterate the information to his faction at a later date.

“He told us that Sirius had sent him a letter last week,” Severus said. “After sensing the Dementor incident through the godfather bond.”

Aldwyn stiffened. Just briefly. Not in panic but in alertness. Remus hadn’t mentioned that to him. Marvolo soothed him with a hand sliding down his back. “He felt something. Distressed, but he couldn’t discern its source or the severity. The connection wasn’t clear, only wide enough to alert him that something was wrong.” Marvolo murmured.

Aldwyn swallowed.

“Remus did not tell him your identity,” Severus went on. “He claimed that the time Black was referring to was when the students would have been travelling to Hogwarts on the Express, and that as a Professor, he was not on the Train to supervise and therefore had no idea which student he could be referring to,” Severus smirked. “He protected you.”

Aldwyn considered that for a moment. “But won’t Black hear somewhere about the new student in Hogwarts and just assume that must be Harry?” Aldwyn questioned, practical and forward-looking rather than fearful of having this unknown after him… again.

“Possibly, but we can block him at every turn. There is evidence to suggest that you existed here at the exact same time as Harry Potter. That you arrived in England several weeks before Harry disappeared, therefore you couldn’t possibly be the same person.” Marvolo explained, tightening his hold on Aldwyn, reinforcing certainty rather than restraining.

Then they continued – not with theory laid bare like a lecture, but with careful, deliberate honesty. Nothing less than Aldwyn deserved. Severus spoke first.

“We have come up with three theories so far. One possibility that we have thought of could be causing the godfather bond to act the way it is,” he said evenly, “is that the bond reattached itself when your magical core formed.”

Aldwyn frowned slightly, shifting through his papa’s words to make sure he understood. “You mean when my magical core changed during the blood adoption ritual?”

“Yes,” Marvolo confirmed. “A new core does not erase old magic, even though a blood adoption ritual should have. It seeks continuity. If the bond was once a part of your inner magical framework, it may have found purchase again once your new core stabilised.”

Aldwyn considered that, fingers curling into Severus’s sleeve. “So, it might not have been Black reaching for me from Azkaban,” he asked quietly. “It just… reacted to the adoption ritual and alerted him?”

“That is one theory,” Severus said. “And if that is the case, it means that the bond may be responding to you and not him.”

Aldwyn nodded, jaw tightening. That information mattered.

“But,” Severus continued. “There is another possibility.”

Marvolo took over gently. “Azkaban,” he said. “Twelve years of Dementors, despair, and fractured magic could have distorted Black’s end of the bond.”

Aldwyn’s jaw tightened. “So, when he felt me,” he said, “it wasn’t clean?”

“No,” Marvolo said softly. “Pain can twist perception. A damaged anchor pulls unevenly. If Black’s side of the bond is twisted, it can destabilise him further than he would have been anyway. Insane. Remus seemed to be under the impression that Black is not in his right frame of mind at the moment, that this single-handed fixation on finding ‘Harry Potter’ is unusual for someone who used to be reckless, foolhardy.”

“It could also transmit that instability over the bond, which may explain your magical outbursts,” Severus added, while Aldwyn sat in quiet contemplation.

“Would that make it dangerous?” He asked finally. “For me?”

“Unstable, yes. Dangerous, potentially. But not completely irreparable.”

Aldwyn exhaled slowly. “Okay,” he murmured, “And the third?” The air shifted subtly.

Marvolo’s expression darkened just enough to be noticeable. “There is the possibility,” he said carefully, “that the bond was interfered with at some point between its creation and now.”

Aldwyn looked up sharply. “Interfered with, how?”

“Manipulated,” Severus said. “Redirected. Suppressed instead of broken when Black went to Azkaban. Or altered by an external hand.”

Aldwyn’s fingers tightened. “You mean… someone touched it.”

“Yes,” Severus said plainly. “Possibly when you were too young to defend yourself. Maybe even at some point while you were unaware.” Silence stretched for an uncomfortable moment.

Then Aldwyn asked, very quietly, “If that’s true… why wouldn’t it be happening again?”

Marvolo smiled, not warmly, but with fierce pride. “Because you are not a child anymore,” he said. “And because you are a powerful wizard, Aldwyn. You are the first True Mage fledgling recorded in history for the past century, maybe even longer. No one would be able to tamper with anything linked to your magic without you knowing about it now.”

Severus nodded. “This bond, whatever it is doing now, is no longer blind. It will shift and change, morph into something completely different. It may be dangerous further down the line, but we will monitor it constantly, keep an eye on it to make sure it is not causing you any harm.”

Aldwyn swallowed. He didn’t like the sound of that. Not one bit. A bond attached to his magical core that had the potential to be dangerous. To tamper with his core or even pass some of Black’s instability over to him. He didn’t want that type of bond attached to his Mage Core. This wasn’t like the connection he was developing with Blaise and Theo; this was dark, manipulative, twisted. “So, what do we do? If it’s attached to my core, we can’t rip it out or sever it. If Black’s end is damaged, we can’t provoke it. And if someone else meddled with it…”

“We don’t move without understanding it more.” Marvolo finished. Aldwyn thought about it for a long moment.

“You and Papa mentioned a diagnostic ritual before?” he said slowly. “Not on the bond itself, but on what it leaves behind.”

Severus’s lips curved faintly. “That,” he said, “is exactly the conclusion we reached as well.”

“And from that,” Marvolo said, “we can build a masking weave. Or a containment lattice. Or something stronger if we need to.”

Severus resumed brushing Aldwyn’s hair with gentle strokes. “We will not hide anything from you.”

Marvolo squeezed Aldwyn closer. “And we reached this together,” he added. “Just as we will face whatever awaits us.”

Aldwyn closed his eyes, letting himself lean fully into them, relaxing into the soothing motions of his papa fixing his hair for him. “Okay,” he whispered. “I trust you.”

Both parents press a kiss to his hair and temple. “We know,” they said together.

“But I am still going to research the bond myself with my faction.”

“We know.” They said again with a laugh.

“We expect nothing less from our son,” Marvolo rolled his eyes, a large smile stretching across his lips.

Chapter Text

The Chamber’s heavy stone door closed behind him with a resonant thud, cutting them off from the outside as if the world above their heads no longer mattered at the moment. The air smelt of polished stone, old magic and faint torch smoke. Runes carved into the walls glimmered faintly, like stars scattering across a fallen night, and their low pulses echoed through the floor beneath their feet. Every breath tasted of ancient magic of the founders and new magic.

This sacred room, which once housed the darkened story of two star-crossed lovers, was now witness to the formation of a new and ever-improving In Dolus Intortis, witnessing how an unspoken weight pressed down on the members. Not one that would eventually crush them, but one that kept them going, a weight of their own creation that pushed them to better themselves, but never got too much for any of them to handle.

Cronus stepped into the central circle formed by curved tables, his boots clicking softly against the hush of the room. Magic thrummed low beneath his skin, not ragged like yesterday, not clawing at his ribs or imploding, but steady, obedient. Matching the flow of the Chamber. His core no longer shook with the echo of the boggart’s intrusion; that sharp spike of uncovered fear still ghosted behind his ribs, but instead of a hindrance, Cronus saw it as motivation. A reason to become stronger, to fight for what he believed in, to keep his family close instead of pushing them away.

“My Prince,” Erebus was the first to spot him, bowing his head where he sat behind one of the tables with a serious expression. A ripple trickled through the room as the rest of the faction turned their attention to their approaching Prince with varying expressions.

“Prince Cronus.”

“My Prince.” Titles rolled around the meeting nook in layered harmony; hands pressed against their chests in respect. Something warm flickered under Cronus’s sternum. Not pride but belonging.

He inclined his head once, and silence once again fell while he settled at the head of the room. It had been almost 24 hours since the Boggart incident, and he had finally found some time to speak with his In Dolus Intortis, gathering them together before breakfast had been difficult but not impossible. The whispers from dinner the previous night, not cruel and not wary, but speculation. Curiosity. Why someone’s magic could be felt throughout half the castle, but luckily for Aldwyn, no one knew it was him… again. Professor Lupin’s warnings to the Gryffindors seemed to have done their job at keeping the incident in their lesson away from the Hogwarts populace and, surprisingly, away from the rest of the Professors as well.

“Thank you all for gathering. I know it is early.” Cronus began, voice even as steel, carrying easily around the meeting nook. It was the kind of voice Draco called his ‘Prince-Tone’, sharpened with discipline and wrapped in command. “We have matters to discuss that require transparency, discipline, and awareness.” Around him, every member of his In Dolus Intortis leant closer, threads of magic flickering in instinctive response to the shift of leadership.

“There is a ritual approaching,” Cronus continued, hands clasped behind his back. “To be performed at some point soon by my Parents and Remus. You are not to be participants, but you will be observers and stabilisers. Your purpose is preparation, protocol, and protective responses.”

The weight of this unknown ritual fell hard upon the group’s shoulders, of the seriousness of the situation and what that could mean for their leader. They knew that Aldwyn's parents wouldn't do anything to harm their child, wouldn't consider something like this unless they were one hundred percent certain that it was for the best. Itus leant against a column, shoulders stiffening, jaw tightening as his eyes traced Cronus’s expression beneath the mask, searching for any cracks of fear or trepidation. Finding none, he relaxed, barely. His magic whispered just beneath the surface, protective, possessive even, though he remained where he was.

Erebus and Apollo sat perfectly still, subtle ripplings of control flowing around them like water shaped by stone, two people who had been trained by others or themselves to move only when needed. Poised to strike at any given moment. They were becoming some of Cronus's stealth experts, two people who he would not hesitate to send into the thick of enemy territory to gather insight. Not that they were anywhere near such a desperate measure.

Athena, Pheme, and Eris sat side by side, with parchment strewn across the table between them, each with a quill in their hand, fresh rolls of parchment, poised to jot down anything and everything they could potentially need in preparation for this unknown ritual. A ritual which was going to block or stop a bond that had formed between their friend and Sirius Black, somehow. Their expressions were professional, but beneath that veneer slithered concern, fierce and quiet.

Arete and Ares stood behind the table rows, shoulders squared, visibly tense beneath their casual exteriors. It hadn’t been that long ago that they had been running through the Forbidden Forest looking for their baby brother, who had last been seen with a deranged Dark Wizard… and now he was going to have to undergo some ritual to try and prevent another unstable individual from trying to get to him. They knew that they had only known Aldwyn Prince-Slytherin for a little over a year at this point, but they had never felt so concerned for anyone before. It was unsettling just how much could go wrong when Aldwyn was involved, and the majority of it wasn't even the boy's fault. 

Enyo, Aeolus, and Menoetius, all stone and muscles, sat forward slightly, too still to be relaxed and too focused to be passive. Loyalty radiated from them like heat.

“The ritual examines the magical residue the connection to Sirius Black leaves in my core,” Cronus explained, gaze sweeping the room. “Not the bond itself. My parents and Remus will act as the conduits, while you will observe and stabilise. They are going to analyse the bond, see what it is doing to my core and then try to put up a protective agent or prevention measure to keep my magic from reacting in the future until we can figure out a way to remove the bond completely.”

Apollo raised his hand slowly, “So the bond is potentially unstable, possibly dangerous and yet we are not trying to get rid of it? We just have to watch?”

Cronus’s lips twitched upward, not mocking but certain, confident. He knew where Apollo was coming from, and he wasn't angry at his friend for questioning his family because he had exactly the same response. “Observation is not passivity. Wards, buffers, and defensive sequences all need to be prepared. If anything reacts before, during or after, then we need you to respond immediately. Speculation without evidence serves nothing. Father and Papa have agreed to allow you all in the ritual hall and to be part of the protective unit. I don't want to let them down, but you do not have to take part if you do not wish to.” He continued to explain, letting his faction know that there would be no hard feelings on his end if they wished to sit this one out, especially because he didn't know what the result was going to be.

Apollo eased back, reassured not by the words but by the steadiness behind them. By how sure Cronus was that this ritual was their best course of action, a step forward in their sequence against Black’s wider plans, though he was still a little unsure why Black would be this determined to go after his friend, he wasn’t going to question his leader. And he wasn't going to back down either. Glancing around the room, he smiled when he saw not a single person give in either. They shone with determination. They were going to protect their prince, if it was the last thing they did. It was their job as his faction, and they were not going to let him down, no matter how much he protested.

“And the three theories you told us about: Attachment to your core when you came to Britain, Black’s instability from Azkaban, or external manipulation. Personally, I doubt the third. Nothing suggests outward interference at the moment.”

“Except for the fact that Aldwyn Prince-Slytherin, a child who should have absolutely nothing to do with Sirius Black, somehow has a bond forming with the man.” Pheme sniffs. “I may not know a lot about Bonds and wards, but I do know that there is more going on here than meets the eye.”

“What are you on about, Pheme?” Eris questioned, shuffling closer to the girl. No one notices the worried glances shared between Cronus, Arete, Ares, Itus and Erebus.

“I don’t know, but something about this just isn’t adding up. Aldwyn lived in Albania his entire life. He only came back to Britain a little over a year ago, and yet, Sirius Black seems to be making his way to Hogwarts to potentially harm him… I don’t know, it just seems a little weird… I didn’t think vengeance could form some sort of magical bond.”

“Maybe it didn’t start off as a Bond… Professor Prince and Professor Lupin seem to think that Black is unstable, insane from his prolonged stay in Azkaban. Maybe his mental state caused him to think that Aldwyn, or Professor Prince, was responsible for his godson’s death. You know, the kid he hated throughout school has a son barely a week older than his godson. Why should his enemies’ son survive when his godson didn’t?” Athena explains, her voice wavering, stumbling over her words as she tries to find a logical explanation for the bond connecting her friend to the escaped convict.

“I guess so, it could be his magic lashing out… but then I think he would need outside help,” Enyo added, tapping her chin with her finger. “Like someone grabbed the frayed ends of his magic that were reaching out to find Aldwyn… and somehow made that connection for him.”

“That is a possibility.” Erebus concedes, bowing his head, and they knew of exactly one person who would do something like that for the fun of it.

Cronus smirks, pushing his unease and guilt back as he glances around at his faction. “Well, whatever the reason for this mysterious bond, strategy demands readiness for every possibility, even the near impossible ones.”

Athena rolls her eyes, relaxing a little bit when she hears Cronus agreeing with their concerns and not outright rejecting them like she thought he might. She knew he was hiding something from them, something related to Sirius Black, but she wasn't going to question him, not when he was trying so hard to keep whatever it was under wraps. She had seen the look he had shared with his brothers, Itus and Erebus and knew that they were in on this as well. At the moment, however, she was content to go along with his wishes. He would tell them when he was ready. “Protocols must be airtight. Safeguards, timings, ward layering, redundancies – everything has to be aligned and ready before the ritual is scheduled.”

“Do we have a date for it?” Apollo questioned.

“Samhain. A time where magic is at its peak, and the veil between Light and Dark is weakened.” Ares answered, tightening his arms while a grim smile deepened the wrinkles between his brows.

“Father and Papa have confirmed this.” Cronus readjusts his hood. “The ritual will be scheduled closer to Samhain. The enhanced magical fields will strengthen the stabilisation, and it will give my parents time to come up with a more permanent solution before Yuletide.”

“And our disappearance from the school grounds can be explained away by family tradition,” Arete added, a smirk stretched thin across his features.

“And if the bond reacts violently to our probing?” Apollo frowned.

“Containment. Isolation. Father and Papa are currently researching ways to cut the bond off from leeching magic from my core as we speak.”

Itus spoke, voice smooth and yet edged with harsh determination. “We follow the Prince’s orders. Drills first, research, plans. No improvisation. No heroics and no room for error.”

“I think you need to remind Prince Cronus about the ‘no heroics’.” Enyo jokes, pulling strained laughter from around the chamber.

Assignments quickly followed, Cronus stepping forward, expression neutral as he gazed around the Chamber’s meeting hall as the silence blanketed the room. “Let’s try to keep this simple,” he said. “This Diagnostic Ritual is routine. Standard and simple to perform. Our involvement should reflect this. It will give my parents the answers they are looking for immediately without having to drag me to St Mungo’s.”

Tension in the room immediately loosened at his words.

“Athena. Pheme.” His gaze lingered on each in turn. “You’ll be on observation and record. Ambient magics, ward resonance, emotional feedback. Nothing interpretive during the ritual itself. I want clean data, time-stamped, cross-referenced afterwards.” Pheme’s quill scratched across her parchment, while Athena’s eyes lit up with quiet focus.

“This is not to second-guess the results,” Cronus continued. “It’s for trend analysis. If instability spikes tend to follow certain stimuli, I want to know when, not just why or how.”

Apollo nodded slowly, biting his lip in worry. “So they're building a reaction profile?”

“Exactly.” Cronus smiled at his friend, then turned.

“Aeolus. Menoetius. You’ll track the structural response of the runic circle, ward elasticity, arithmantic pressure points before, during and after the ritual, without interfering.”

Aeolus puffed out a breath, half-amused. “So you don’t want us to improve anything?”

“Unlikely as that is, when Lucius Malfoy will be the one writing the original runic circle, no, you are not touching anything. I am sure you can restrain yourself for an afternoon.”

Menoetius smiled faintly, scribbling something down in his notes, while Aeolus merely chuckled.

“Itus. Eris.” Cronus’s eyes slide toward the column where Itus leant. “Potions and buffers. Standard suppression draughts, stabilisers, and emergency replenishment only. I want everything to be prepared in advance; nothing is to be introduced mid-ritual unless stated by either my papa or my father. And if needs be, I want you to note down how long it takes my core to re-stabilise once the external magic withdraws if I am given any potions.”

Itus frowned thoughtfully. “You really are planning ahead.”

“I always am.” Cronus shoots his godbrother a wink, which draws an eyeroll from the older lad. “Enyo. Physical response remains unchanged. However, I want you to note down when kinetic feedback occurs, if it does. Jot down the lag time between magical surges and physical manifestations.”

Enyo blinked. “You want… data on when things start to break?”

Cronus’s mouth twitched. “Ideally, when they don’t.”

Finally, Cronus glances around the room, eye flicking to the members whose robes are accented with thin white outlines and stitching, and Light green. He allows his face to soften. “Erebus and Apollo.”

The two boys freeze before turning their attention back to Cronus, already having a feeling about what he is going to say.

“I want you two to be close. As close as the ritual will allow. You are going to be our earliest indicators. I know that with our connection, you will be able to sense any fluctuations in my magical core more than anyone else. I want you on hand just in case anything goes wrong. You will be the only people allowed to directly intervene with the ritual if you think I need it, and I have a feeling that my magic, if it goes into a state of distress, will only allow the two of you to be close again.”

“You speak as if something is guaranteed to go wrong,” Erebus mutters.

“I am not ruling anything out at the moment. My magic has surged because I faced a boggart, my magic surged because I faced a dementor. This is an intrusive ritual that is going to try to pick apart residual magical signatures within my core. I am not sure what is going to happen, but I don’t want to leave anything to chance.”

“Understood. We will monitor your core, My Prince.”

“We won’t let you down.”

“None of us will,” Arete states, stepping forward to rest a hand on his brother’s shoulder.

“I know.”

Some members blinked at his soft words, feeling their worry and concern slipping away. Others stared fiercely, ready to tear down the entire world if it dared to look at Cronus wrong. And Cronus, glancing around the room at his faction, felt it all. He could feel their fear for him and the subsequent warmth behind his ribs. Their loyalty grounded him. Their trust steadied him more than his own magic could.

The boggart had shown him his worst truth, but his friends and family had reminded him of the real one that bolstered behind him every day. That he was not alone and that he never would be again. For the first time since the boggart incident, Aldwyn’s lungs filled fully. Purpose sliding into place where fear and uncertainty once lived. The Chamber hummed, alive and listening, as the meeting neared its end, and Aldwyn smiled. A rare, real smile.

The Chamber seemed to exhale with them as ritual discussions wound down, tension bleeding out into the cold, rune-lit air. The weight of magical theory and Sirius’s unstable bond had pressed on everyone like a physical stone, and now that Aldwyn paused, letting the silence stretch, the gathered faction melted into visible relief: quills dropped, postures eased, throats cleared. Even the oppressive hum of the Chamber’s ancient wards softened, as if magic itself took a breath.

Aldwyn watched them quietly, gaze sweeping over the familiar faces around the long, circular tables. Their loyalty was carved into every movement: Itus’s subtle readiness, Erebus’s poised intellect, Apollo’s nervous brilliance, Enyo’s restless strength. Thread by thread, these people had become his, bound not by ink or oath, but by something far older and heavier. They were his most trusted people, who had chosen to stand by his side no matter what.

But if they were to stand beside him through the ritual and whatever hell followed, they needed more than knowledge. They needed strength. Real strength.

He folded his hands behind his back and let his voice cut cleanly through the lull: “Before we close, there is one more matter.”

The entire circle reacted like a single organism: groans rolled through the Chamber, parchment rustled, and even the glowing runes on the stone walls seemed to flicker with dry amusement.

Apollo immediately slumped into his seat dramatically. “Someone check if we’re cursed to have endless meetings.”

Erebus did not look up from his parchment, voice dry as desert sand. “We are In Dolus Intortis, Apollo. Meetings are the curse.”

Pheme leaned toward Eris as the girl walked toward her and took a seat, quill tucked behind her ear. “I swear to Salazar, if he announces another alliance, I’m staging a coup.”

Eris giggled lightly and nodded, pretending to be utterly solemn when she spoke. “I’ll hold your hair.”

Itus’s eyes glinted with smug anticipation as he spoke lightly from his lean against the stone pillar. “He sounds far too smug for my liking. This will be awful for all involved, I can just sense it. Continue.” Before he too walked towards a vacant seat.

Cronus did continue, and if a hint of wickedness tinted his smile, no one dared call it out. “We begin advanced combat training.”

The reaction was instant. Millicent shot upright, her chair screeching backwards across stone. “Yes! Violence!”

Aeolus and Menoetius attempted a chest bump, and both nearly toppled over.

Apollo pressed a hand over his heart. “I’m too beautiful to die like this. I prefer books and magics that don’t try to kill me.”

Erebus made a thoughtful noise, finally looking up: “You’re moderately attractive at best. Besides, you should be used to being knocked on your arse by now… Cronus seems to like using you as a training dummy.”

Apollo stared at him, wounded. “Et tu, Erebus. Jealous that Cronus gives me more attention?”

Erebus snorts, "No, because just as he loves setting you on your arse every few days, he loves having me duel him because I know almost as much Muggle Martial Arts as he does." Apollo sticks his tongue out at Erebus, the two boys grinning at each other as they continue to whisper teasing remarks back and forth, reminiscent of Ares and Arete when they argue over who is Aldwyn's favourite brother.

Itus frowned, crossing his arms while he slumped back in his chair. “Define combat.” He was more a healer than a fighter, something which he thought Cronus knew, but apparently not. Then again, the smirk on his godbrother's lips was not comforting in the slightest.

“Hand-to-hand, knives, particularly throwing ones, swords, disarms—”

Itus raised a hand sharply. “Stop. Start again, but remove everything you just said.”

“Hang on a minute…” Erebus raised his hand, ignoring Itus's spluttering and horrified expression, gaining Cronus’s attention as he rubbed his hair through his hood. “That wonderful surprise you mentioned, trying to sort out for the Intortis… was a combat trainer?”

“Oh Merlin, no! You looked way too happy about that!” Apollo whined. Cronus had been grinning from ear to ear when he had told him and Erebus about the ‘special surprise’.

Cronus laughed and then continued without mercy. He had mentioned something like that to his friend when they had been walking around the lake the other day, but he had completely forgotten about it until now. Not answering their questions was enough of an answer for the group. “We have a trainer joining us.” Groans again. The sound echoed around the cavernous room, vibrating through the stone floor.

Apollo asked hopefully, “Can’t we hire one who specialises in naps?”

Cronus smiled faintly and shook his head in fond exasperation. “No.”

Apollo sighed, wind knocked from his soul. “Tragic.”

“His name,” Cronus said, voice rolling like thunder, “is Skoll.”

The name itself seemed to tug at the shadows the moment it left Cronus’s lips. The Chamber darkened minutely, the torches dimming along the walls while magic stirred. And along the very far wall, a shape moved. Emerging from within the shadows themselves, and it unnerved the faction that someone had been standing in their training arena watching them for Merlin knew how long and not a single one of them had noticed.

Fenrir Greyback’s warriors were whispered legends throughout the entire wizarding world, but there wasn’t a child within the Dark who didn’t recognise the name for what it was. One of the best shapeshifting soldiers who fought tooth, claw, spell, and steel for the Greenwich Werewolf pack. His presence was a mere myth by this point, and their alliance was even rarer unless Greyback himself demanded it.

And yet, Skoll walked toward them as if he hadn’t anywhere else to be in the world. He stepped forward through flickering flame, boots echoing on stone, shoulders broad beneath a leather combat harness lined with throwing knives and claw-shaped blades. Scars webbed across his knuckles, up his forearms, visible markers of warrior craftsmanship, not ruin. His hair was bound back, streaked with wolf-grey, and his eyes were the burnished amber of a predator who saw more than the surface of things.

Apollo whispered, reverent and terrified, “Oh no, he is sexy AND terrifying—my two weaknesses.” Cronus snorted into his hand, not sure if his friend was being serious or sarcastic.

Itus hissed out the side of his mouth, “Control yourself. You are thirteen years old and a nerdy bookworm, be quiet.” 

Skoll reached the centre of the room, Cronus’s circle, but just before he took a step closer to the faction and Cronus himself, he bowed his head toward the Prince with quiet respect, not obeisance. Then he turned toward the meeting nook filled with teenagers. “I am Skoll,” he said, voice forged in gravel and winter steel. The teenagers waited for him to say anything else, but he remained silent.

Enyo elbowed Pheme, whispering, “Write that down. That introduction was badass.” They giggled together.

Skoll’s gaze swept them, weighty and unflinching. “I am here to make warriors out of you. Your prince wants you to learn combat training, skills that no wizard will be able to counter because they will not expect it.”

Apollo raised one shaking hand, glancing between Skoll, their new werewolf trainer and Cronus, who looked way too calm about this than he liked. “Is it too late to transfer schools?”

Skoll didn’t blink, but a grin started to form at the corner of his mouth, an expression that made the team a little more unnerved than they were before. “No. It is too late to run.”

Apollo dropped face-first onto the table with a defeated groan. “I hate magic.”

"Don't you mean you hate anything physical?" Cronus chuckled, knowing that his friend had the coordination skills of a newborn deer, but he knew that Apollo was going to enjoy himself once he got over his trepidation and nerves. 

Skoll resumed his measured pacing, doing his best to ignore the byplay happening in front of him. His boots sounded like heartbeat thuds, steady and inevitable as he laid out the training: “You wield magic. Good. Most people you will battle against will. But magic breaks. Wands shatter. Voices fail. Muscles seize. And magical cores can empty faster than you realise. You must know how to fight when stripped of every crutch.” The group fell still. Even humour bowed to the weight of that truth. “You will learn hand-to-hand combat,” Skoll continued.

Enyo pumped a fist into the air. “YES.”

“You will learn knife throwing.”

Itus blanched. “Wait—sharp knives? Flying? Cronus… you trust us with that? You trust Apollo with that?” Cronus rolled his eyes and smirked, he was looking forward to it, Itus realised. Both of them readily ignored the indignant cry from Apollo.

“You will learn blade combat.”

Aeolus whispered, eyes wide with awe, “Swords.”

“And you will learn martial integration with duelling technique.” That one hit. Hard. Transformative. Something Cronus had been hinting at for weeks now, but nothing they thought they would have to face any time soon. Besides the few basic movements, he had been teaching them throughout their training sessions during the evenings.

Skoll’s gaze locked on each student in turn. “You will learn to break bones with your palm. You will learn to dislocate shoulders with rotation leverage. You will learn to kill with your thumb. You will learn to make a dagger vanish and reappear in a throat.”

Apollo surged upright, voice an octave too high: “I don’t want to know how to kill with my thumb!”

Pheme fanned herself slowly. “Speak for yourself.”

Skoll ignored them magnificently, as if he were used to dealing with disorderly teenagers with too much magic and not enough common sense. Then again, he was the go-to trainer for Fenrir to use with new werewolves who wished to be warriors, so maybe the man did have experience. Cronus chuckled. The man had never dealt with people like his team before. “I will not coddle you. I will not bow to ego or birthright.” He paused, then added with distinct respect, “But I will not undermine your Prince. He leads. I teach.”

Ares straightened subtly, indignation at this man’s intrusion soothing marginally by his willingness to step to the side for their Prince. Tension unspooled from shoulders.

Arete lifted his gaze. “So, you are not… one of us?”

Skoll answered without hesitation: “No. I am not marked. Not sworn. I am not In Dolus Intortis. My loyalty is to your improvement, not your politics.”

Itus exhaled in relief. “Oh, thank Merlin. One more royal title and I was going to simply evaporate.”

Skoll went on, voice lower now, personal and deliberate: “I am not here to shape your loyalties or your beliefs. I am your mentor. Your blade sharpener. Your mirror. I will show you who you are beneath nobility, beneath magic, beneath fear.”

Eris whispered, awed and horrified, leaning closer to Pheme, “He talks like poetry that wants to punch you and see you bleed.”

Pheme grinned at her. “My favourite genre.”

Skoll paused, then continued, “And I will remain by Prince Cronus’s side, both in human form and as wolf animagi. A living shield. Through the ritual. Through the bond crisis. Through what is coming.” Silence swept the room. The words tasted like prophecy.

Athena whispered, “You’re protecting him.”

Skoll nodded once. “I am to be his familiar. His shadow. His teeth. As per my instructions from my Alpha. My job is to protect the young prince with my very being, to keep the Alpha’s cub alive.”

Arete spoke softly, stripped of sarcasm, stripped of mask, but filled with sibling protectiveness and respect. “Good.”

Skoll flashed a wolfish grin. “We begin tomorrow. At dawn.”

Apollo stared at him, stricken. “Oh, you’re a morning person. I see.”

Enyo whooped, ecstatic. “A dawn battle! This is everything I want!”

Pheme raised her hand: “Is breakfast included?”

Itus added, utterly scandalised, “I don’t train on an empty stomach.”

Erebus nudged him in the ribs and laughed, “As if you have ever trained for anything besides Quidditch in your entire life.”

“You may eat,” Skoll said, “after you earn it.”

Itus, dutifully ignoring Erebus’s words, turned to Cronus, betrayed. “WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?”

“Growth,” Cronus answered, unapologetic.

Apollo slumped further against the table, pouting up at Cronus, whose smirk had grown wild, shape and definitely something Apollo was not afraid of. Nope. “Can we skip the character development arc?”

Skoll delivered the final blow: “Wear clothing you can bleed on.”

That did it. Apollo groaned into the table, his arms lying flat, hands hanging limp off the edge, giving him the appearance of an abandoned ragdoll. “Clothing to bleed on? I am the clothing. I don't think I am going to survive this, Cronus.”

Enyo cackled, loud and delighted, high-fiving Aeolus and Menoetius, who all looked way too happy at the prospect of allowed violence between the members and the possibility of bleeding. Cronus wonders about the validity of letting those three loose to learn official combat training from a seasoned profession but sighed and resigned himself. He had already agreed now. He would just need to keep an eye on them.

He then turned to watch his faction comparing thoughts about their brand-new training regime. His brilliant, unhinged, loyal disaster of a faction, who, overall, seemed too happy, too interested in playing with sharp, pointy objects. As laughter filled the Chamber once more, Aldwyn couldn’t help but feel anticipation rising in his own chest.

Tomorrow they would bleed. Tomorrow they would train. Tomorrow, they would start to become something terrifying together. But tonight— they walked out laughing. And the Chamber smiled with them.

-----

Dawn flooded orange light into the Chamber through the artificial windows Cronus had installed. The air was cold enough to sting his lungs, and dew drops clung to the floor where the runes hummed faintly with pulsing magics. Cronus stood barefoot on a large collection of heated mats spread out across the floor. His hands clasped behind his back, watching his breath ghost in thin silver ribbons. It was half five in the morning, and he was just waiting for the rest of his faction to make an appearance.

He just hoped they were up for the training session Skoll had prepared for them. Today was going to test every single one of them.

After another five minutes of waiting around and warming up, the rest of the In Dolus Intortis staggered into the Chamber, styles of bed-hair and yawning as a dramatic display of their misery and their lack of morning awareness. If Cronus hadn’t been so used to the early morning Quidditch practices and been so focused, he might have laughed. Due to the torches burning away on the walls, their flames flicker shadows around the place, which gave their tired features a haunted look that belonged in a B-side Muggle horror movie rather than in a school.

Apollo shuffled through the door in his sportswear and a blanket wrapped around his shoulders like it would protect him from the early morning exercise or the early morning chill that clung in the air. Itus, of course, swept through last with perfect posture, his chin tilted up and training robes immaculately pressed. He took one look at the mats spread out along the floor, the scuffs, dustings of chalk, suspicious dark stains, and visibly recoiled.

“Oh,” He breathed, horrified. “We are truly doing this.” He states as if he thought the entire thing had been one big joke.

Cronus hid his smile beneath a calm nod. “Good morning!”

Apollo flinched away from the noise, covering his face with the blanket before ripping it from around his shoulders and throwing it into Erebus’s chest. “Here. You’re cold-blooded. Hold that.”

Erebus hissed, ripped it away and threw it at Athena, who didn’t even flinch as it hit her shoulder and slid to the ground in a crumpled lump. "I am a Cambion, not a bloody snake!"

Itus cleared this throat loudly and pointed toward the artificial windows with a scowl. “I would like for it to be put on record that it is barely sunrise, I am not dressed for-” He paused, nose wrinkled.

“Physical exertion?” Erebus drawled, crossing his arms and leaning against a nearby pillar, the very picture of nonchalance.

“For rolling,” Itus emphasised every syllable with slow, building outrage, disgust very clear across his expression. “On a mat. Touching sweat. Mine or worse… someone else’s…”

“Skoll did tell you to wear something you could bleed in…” Cronus commented with a growing smirk. He let his words hang in the air. Itus would break eventually; he always did. Especially if Cronus was the one asking him to do it, and he would be lying if he said he wasn't looking forward to witnessing such a thing.

The group spread out, taking in the room with a new appreciation. Overnight, it had changed, not much but enough for them to notice. Thick mats stretched wide across the left quarter with weapon racks lining the walls in neat, intimidating rows. Large target dummies, vastly different from the ones they used for spell practise, stood ready with rune-mapped weak points. Chalk circles for footwork drills gleamed under the candlelight.

Cronus rolled his shoulders, feeling the warming charms settling properly in his muscles now that the others were present. The Chamber felt awake in a way that it hadn’t five minutes ago, the runes humming more insistently beneath the stone, heat runes adjusting automatically, while the magic in the air seemed to stretch like a cat disturbed from a nap. As if it could sense the activity and was anticipating its part in what was to come.

Itus, still standing very carefully at the edge of the mats, folded his arms tighter around himself. “I would just like to reiterate,” he said, voice carrying with his usual aristocratic clarity, “that this is a deeply hostile environment.”

Apollo, who had given up on looking any semblance of presentable, was slouched cross-legged on the floor, staring up at him blearily. “You’re wearing dragonhide training robes…”

“Yes,” Itus snapped, “which makes this worse. They were expensive.”

Before Cronus could respond, before anyone else could add to the mounting chaos beginning in front of him, the air in the Chamber shifted. It wasn’t dramatic; there was no obvious flare of magic, no sudden roar or crash. Just a subtle tightening, like the moment before a thunderclap, when the world seems to pause and hold its breath.

Cronus turned around and found Skoll standing just inside the entrance, one broad shoulder braced casually against the stone as though he had been there the entire time and only now allowed himself to be noticed by the children. He wore simple training leathers, scuffed and scarred with use, sleeves pushed up to reveal forearms corded with muscle and old, pale marks that told stories Cronus suspected no one ever asked him to explain. His hair was tied back loosely, silver strands threaded through the dark.

His eyes were wrong. Not in a monstrous way, they weren’t glowing or slit-pupiled. They were just… too sharp and too aware. They seemed to track movement the way a predators did, catching all their small shifts of weight, the twitch of a hand, the feint hitch of breath as if he had allowed his wolf to stalk closer to the surface for their training session.

“Good morning, children.” He said pleasantly.

Itus straightened, reflexively offended. “I beg your pardon?”

Skoll grinned lazily and wolfishly. “Oh, don’t scowl. It’ll wrinkle you before your time.”

Cronus’s lips twitched when Itus actually touched his face, horrified. “Wrinkles?”

Apollo squinted. “Do… do we bow? Is this a bowing situation?”

“No,” Skoll replied, gaze never leaving Itus. “But you will stand up.” Apollo scrambled to his feet with all the dignity of a startled ferret and almost fell straight back down when his feet tangled together.

Skoll pushed off the wall and stepped fully into the Chamber. “Before we begin, I want you to take a look at the weapons around you. You will bleed for them. Sweat for them. Hate them, but in time, you’ll fight alongside them.”

“Can I opt out of the bleeding?” Apollo asked, genuine sincerity in his voice, which drew a snort from Cronus as he turned his head away. He knew that Apollo was nervous for their session, but he genuinely couldn't tell if his friend was trying to dispel his own nerves with humour, or whether he really didn't think before he opened his mouth to ask questions.

“No,” Skoll said.

Apollo nodded, resigned. “Understood.”

Skoll’s wolf eyes glimmered as he shifted his grip and a staff he had picked up at some point. “Today isn’t about winning. It is about humiliation.”

Cronus lifted a brow and smirked. “…Motivational.”

Skoll turned to wink at him. “Trust me. It works.”

Behind Cronus, Menoetius whispered to Aeolus, who nodded along. “I like him already.” Of course they did.

“As I said, before I allow you to touch a single weapon, I want to see how you move.” Skoll’s gaze flicked around the room, lingering for half a second on Menoetius, who cracked his knuckles enthusiastically. Aeolus, mirroring him a heartbeat later, both of them grinning as if they had just been told that it was Christmas morning.

“You two,” Skoll lifted his brow. “Don’t break the floor.”

Aeolus blinked, as if he couldn’t comprehend the request, then broke out into a large grin. “No promises.”

Skoll snorted. “Figures.” He clapped his hands once, sharp and loud, echoing off the stone walls. “Shoes off. Anyone who complains runs laps.”

Itus stared at him. “Absolutely not-”

Skoll’s gaze snaps to him, and Itus closes his mouth with a clack.

One by one, shoes were abandoned at the edge of the mats. Cronus stepped barefoot onto the heated surface again, welcoming the contrast between the cool air and the warmth beneath his feet. He rolled onto the balls of his feet experimentally, testing balance.

Skoll prowled the perimeter as they gathered loosely in the centre, his steps soundless despite his size. “This isn’t a duel. It isn’t a fight. It’s not about strength or magic or ego.” His eyes flicked pointedly toward Itus and then, briefly, toward Menoetius and Aeolus. “It’s about control.”

He gestured toward the chalk circles. “Step into one. And concentrate.”

They obeyed, shuffling into place and spreading out across the mats. Cronus took a circle near the centre, aware of Skoll’s gaze brushing past him again.

“Good,” Skoll said. “Now, stand.”

Apollo frowned, glanced down at his feet planted in the middle of his circle and then back at their trainer. “We are standing…”

“Not like that,” Skoll replied. “Feet shoulder-width apart. Knees soft. Weight in your heels.”

Cronus adjusted his stature automatically, recognising the stance from wandless casting drills his father ran through with him during the holidays, and from his sessions with Fenrir the summer before. Around him, there was a chorus of uttered complaints and awkward shifting; each complaint kept quiet enough to prevent them from being the first person to be sent running around the perimeter of the chamber.

Athena corrected her posture without comment, eyes focused and analytical, a natural response from several years in heiress training. Pheme mirrored her, lips pursed in concentration. Enyo rolled her shoulders and settled into the stance with surprising grace for someone built like a battering ram. Aeolus wobbled, arms windmilling briefly before Menoetius grabbed his elbow and steadied him.

Apollo promptly leant too far back and nearly fell over. “Gravity is a conspiracy,” he muttered.

Skoll’s mouth twitched. “Again.”

They reset.

“This time,” Skoll continued, “close your eyes.”

Cronus did. The world narrowed to sensation: the warmth of the mat beneath his feet, the faint vibration of magic beneath the stone, the sound of breathing, his own and everyone else’s layered together.

“Now,” Skoll said softly, voice carrying without effort in the silence of the Chamber. “I want you to lean.”

Cronus felt the subtle shift rippling through the group. Someone inhaled sharply as if bracing themselves to fall, while someone else cursed under their breath.

“Forward.”

Cronus leant, carefully, just enough to feel the balance tip.

“Back.”

He corrected smoothly.

“Left. Right.”

The commands came faster, sharper, until Cronus stopped thinking about them and simply moved. Around him, he could hear the evidence of struggle: the thud of someone stepping too hard, the scrape of bare feet skidding, Apollo’s undignified yelp as he overcorrected and greeted the mat personally.

“Eyes open.” Skoll snapped.

Cronus opened his eyes and almost burst out into laughter.

Apollo was gripping the edge of his chalk circle like it was the only thing anchoring him to reality, his face drawn and sweaty. Itus looked affronted but steady, jaw clenched in concentration. Aeolus and Menoetius had both widened their stance instinctively, solid as a stone but still marginally unstable. Athena and Pheme stood like statues, barely swaying at all.

Skoll nodded slowly. “Good. That tells me plenty.” He moved on without explanation, already bored with the stillness. “Pair up.”

There was a brief scramble as alliances formed naturally between the members. Menoetius and Aeolus gravitated toward each other without discussion. Arete and Mars exchanged a look and moved together, familiar and easy. Athena and Pheme paired, heads bent slightly toward one another. Erebus drifted toward Itus, who pretended not to be relieved. While Apollo hovered indecisively until Eris grabbed his sleeve and dragged him into place.

Enyo stepped toward Cronus, grin bright and unapologetic. “Hope you slept well.”

“Enough to not require a trip to the hospital wing.” He replied evenly.

Skoll’s gaze caught them circling each other, and he grinned. “Good. You stay together.”

Enyo’s grin got even wider.

“Now,” Skoll said, turning his attention to the rest of the room again. “Grappling basics. No strikes. No throws. This is about balance and leverage. If I see anyone trying to be clever, you’ll regret it. Grab your partner and try to throw off their balance before you meet the floor yourself.”

Apollo raised a hand. “Hypothetically-”

“No.” Skoll cut him off with a scowl.

Apollo lowered his hand.

“Begin.” The word barely left his mouth before the Chamber erupted into motion and chaos.

It wasn’t elegant. It wasn’t even coordinated. It was a sudden, chaotic bloom of limbs and startled reactions as bodies lunged, hesitated and collided across the mats. Bare feet slapped against the floor; breath hitched and stuttered as people were knocked backwards, off-balance and off-centre; some laughed nervously and were immediately knocked on their arses.

Cronus moved on instinct, all those years skirting around his cousin and his friends, running away so he didn’t get beaten up, were paying off. Enyo came at him with purpose, no wasted motion, no hesitation in her gaze. Her hands were up, elbows tucked, stance low and grounded. She didn’t rush. She advanced, like a battering ram that knew it would win eventually. Like a predator already sure it had caught its prey.

Cronus didn’t flinch back; he met her halfway. He caught her wrists, felt the sheer solidity there, the way her strength wasn’t wild like he thought, but contained. She pushed forward, forcing him back a step. He yielded, pivoted, tried to redirect her weight rather than stop it outright. She compensated instantly.

“Oh, that’s clever,” she said, breathless and delighted, and then hooked his leg.

Cronus went down hard enough to rattle his teeth. The mat absorbed most of the impact, but the jolt still drove the air from his lungs in a sharp, undignified wheeze. Somewhere nearby, Apollo made a sympathetic gagging noise.

“Up.” Skoll barked immediately, though a smirk was shaping his expression, softening the demand. “No pauses.”

Aldwyn rolled and was on his feet again before Enyo could press the advantage. His pulse thundered in his ears, nerves singing. He didn’t utter any apologies, didn’t hesitate; he merely adjusted to the circumstances and tried again.

That was the lesson, he figured. Learn on the job and adjust where you can.

Around them, the Chamber had devolved into something closer to a controlled disaster zone.  Menoetius and Aeolus had been paired deliberately or chose each other for the sole purpose of testing their own strength. Skoll watched them with sharp interest as they crashed together like colliding planets. The impact sounded like thunder, both boys grunting with effort and then laughing, pure and unrestrained. Like this was an average bonding activity and not hand-to-hand combat training. But for them, it probably was with the way they were built.

They grappled chest to chest, neither giving ground, muscles straining visibly beneath skin. Menoetius tried to overpower Aeolus; Aeolus tried to bulldoze through Menoetius. Neither succeeded.

“Feet!” Skoll snapped. “You are not trees!”

They adjusted reluctantly, widening stances while lowering their centre of gravity. The moment they did, the balance of the fight shifted. Aeolus overcommitted, Menoetius capitalised, and suddenly Aeolus was on his back, staring up at the ceiling in startled disbelief. There was a beat of silence before Aeolus started laughing.

Menoetius blinked. “…Did I win?”

“For now,” Skoll said, rolling his eyes. “Again.”

Arete and Ares were a study in contrast. They didn’t rush each other. They circled, reading each other's movements and watching for weaknesses, for openings as their feet whispered over the mat. Ares feinted, but Arete didn’t bite. Arete stepped in, and Ares redirected smoothly. It was controlled, careful brother against brother, years of unspoken understanding shaping every movement. Years of brotherly spats in the back garden, until their mother came out to break them up.

Skoll watched them, arms folded, expression thoughtful. “You two already know how to fight,” he said. “You’re here to unlearn bad habits.”

Ares grinned without looking away from Arete. “Like what?”

“Mercy,” Skoll replied flatly.

Ares’s grin faded just a fraction.

Nearby, Itus was having a crisis. He had paired up with Erebus, which should have been to his advantage, as he had known him the longest. Erebus moved lazily, like he couldn’t be bothered with taking any of this seriously. Itus stepped in with sharp, precise movements, trying to control the distance, to keep Erebus exactly where he wanted him. However, Itus seemed to have forgotten that Erebus had been learning Martial Arts for a few years now, and knew how to use his opponents' weaknesses against them.

Erebus promptly stepped into his space, which dragged a squeak from Itus. It wasn’t a dignified noise. It wasn’t strategic; it was the sound of someone deeply affronted by the sudden proximity. Something entirely unMalfoy-like.

“Do not touch me like that,” Draco hissed, attempting to disengage.

Erebus merely smiled sweetly and shifted his weight, holding his hands up. “I haven’t even touched you yet, Itus.” He lunged, and Itus went down in a heap.

Apollo clapped from where he was locked in a strange, spinning stalemate with Eris. “Points for enthusiasm.”

“I hate all of you,” Itus declared from the mat.

Cronus nearly laughed and paid for it immediately as Enyo seized the opening, driving her shoulder into his chest and forcing him back again. He stumbled, but this time caught himself, redirected at the last second and managed to twist out of her grip. He misjudged the follow-up.

Enyo adjusted faster than he expected, faster than she should have been able to, and brought her forearm up in a sharp, compact strike meant to control his head, disorientate and disrupt his balance. But it was harder than her control implied. There was a dull, wet crack and a burst of white behind Cronus’s eyes as her arm clipped his face. He stumbled back half a step, more startled by the force of the impact than he was hurt. His hand came up to clutch his face on reflex. Warmth spilt instantly over his upper lip.

“Oh... Shit,” Enyo said, freezing mid-motion. “I didn’t-”

“Hold,” Skoll snapped, already moving a fraction closer.

Cronus barely heard him. He looked down at his fingers, red slicking across his knuckles, then calmly tilted his head back and pinched the bridge of his nose. He had had to deal with a lot of nosebleeds in the past when his cousin had managed to catch him… or when his uncle had accidentally missed his ribs and managed to kick him straight in the face. As injuries go, it wasn’t too bad. It wasn’t dangerous, unless she struck too far upward, then it would be an entirely different story and not one his parents would care to hear.

Apollo made a feint, horrified noise somewhere to his left. “She broke him.”

“I’m fine,” Cronus said evenly, voice slightly nasal from the pressure on his nose, but it was steady. He kept his grip firm, breathing through his mouth, waiting it out. He’d had worse nosebleeds from Bludgers last year anyway.

Enyo hovered, guilt flickering across her expression. “I used too much force.”

“Yes,” Cronus agreed mildly. “That’s useful to know.”

Skoll studied him closely. “You good?” Checking for any other injuries, any unsteadiness that would mean he would have to sit out for a while, but Cronus grinned and held up a thumbs up with his free hand.

He nodded once, still waiting for the bleeding to stop. He didn’t move much until it had slowed down, then stopped entirely. When it did, he wiped his hand on his sleeve without ceremony and rolled his shoulders, re-centring his stance like nothing of note had happened.

“All right,” he said, meeting Enyo’s eyes again. “Again.”

Her grin came back slower this time, but sharper when Cronus nodded that he truly was okay and gestured for her to join him again. Respect edging her expression. “You’re not normal.” She said in jest.

Skoll stepped back. “Continue.”

Cronus focused properly this time; he stopped trying to win, and instead, he watched. He watched how Enyo shifted her weight before she struck. How Aeolus telegraphed his charges. How Menoetius compensated. How Arete conserved his energy, and how Ares used angles instead of force. He observed the various strategies going on around him and adapted his own movements. He took this all in and adjusted mid-movement, feet repositioning almost without conscious thought. When Enyo lunged again, he stepped with her this time instead of against her, using her momentum to pivot her past him.

She blinked, surprised and then laughed. “Oh, I like you,” she said, even as she recovered. “You’re slippery.”

“Compliment?” Aldwyn asked, breath tight.

“Of the highest degree.”

Across the mats, Athena moved with precise economy, paired against Pheme. There was nothing showy about their exchange, no wasted motion, no dramatic takedowns. They tested balance, pressure, leverage, eyes, sharp and calculating.

Skoll paused near them. “Efficient,” he observed. “You’ll both do well with blades.”

Pheme smiled faintly, while Athena didn’t look up from her stance.

Apollo, meanwhile, was losing a fight with the concept of coordination. Tracey danced around him effortlessly, darting in and out of range, tapping his shoulder, slipping past his guard and making him incredibly unsteady on his feet. He spun around, overcorrected, nearly collided with Menoetius, and only just managed to stay upright.

“I feel,” Apollo panted, “personally attacked right now.”

“You are,” Tracey replied cheerfully, and swept his legs.

Apollo hit the mat with a dramatic oof and stayed there, staring up at the ceiling. “This is how I die.”

Skoll didn’t even look at him as he passed. “Get up.”

Apollo groaned but complied.

Chapter Text

Minutes blurred together as they continued to grapple. Sweat slicked the mats; breath came faster and harsher while their muscles started to burn. Cronus felt the ache setting deep into his limbs, the satisfying kind, the type of pain that told you that you were doing well, working the right muscles, the type that told you that you were learning and changing.

Skoll prowled around the edge of the mats, correcting with sharp words and sharper nudges, occasionally physically adjusting a stance or grip with ruthless efficiency. Though Cronus had seen the man crack a smile or two while bantering back and forth with the Intortis member. He never repeated himself; there was no real need to, and his philosophy was that if you missed his instruction once, you suffer for it. When he finally clapped his hands again, the sound cracked like a whip.

“Enough!”

The twelve members froze in place, flushed and panting, their hair plastered to their foreheads from sweat. As the group were given a quick five minutes to catch their breath, Athena’s gaze flicked, not to the bruises that were already beginning to form, not the obvious damage, but to Cronus’s face. She frowned lightly, stepping closer as if to inspect something only she could see.

“You didn’t flinch,” she pointed out.

Cronus turned his head a fraction, feeling marginally delirious from the simple training exercises and sparing session. “From what?”

“When you got hit,” Athena murmured. “Earlier. You assessed it before you reacted.”

He paused, thinking back on the moment and then shrugged. “It wasn’t that serious.”

“That’s not what I meant.” Athena’s eyes were sharp, analytical rather than accusatory as she continued to scan his face for any indication of pain, for any outward signs that he was suffering, but she found nothing. “Most people would have checked if they’re hurt. But you checked how badly.”

Cronus considered that for a moment, then gave a small nod and a noncommittal hum. It wasn’t like he was deliberately trying to hide his pain from anyone. But he had never had the liberty before to cry over his wounds. He would still be expected to complete his chore lists, still be expected to carry on like nothing was wrong. So he had learnt how to assess his injuries and adjust, to compensate for things that could affect how he did something. Besides, it was a nosebleed, not a broken bone.

Athena rolled her eyes at the non-response, shaking her head as the rest of their peers gathered around them while Skoll watched on from across the meeting nook. He observed the children, his gaze lingering on the bruises already blooming across their exposed skin, on the way some leant instinctively towards certain people, and how others straightened once they saw his gaze sweeping despite their exhaustion.

In all his years of teaching and training, he had never met a group of individuals who worked almost perfectly on the same wavelength before. It was impressive; it was something he could easily work with and enhance, but it was also what left him feeling a little uneasy.

“Excellent,” he said. “You’re terrible.” He allowed the silence to thicken around the room for a moment before he continued. “But you all learnt something, and that is rare.”

Cronus felt something warm settling in his chest as he wiped sweat from his brow and took slow, deep breaths in an attempt to steady his racing heart. Casting a glance around the room, he couldn’t help but smile when he saw the content laughter spilling out from his friends, despite the aches and the complaints and Itus’s ongoing vendetta against physical contact, and Apollo’s miserable laments about gravity having it out for him.

They were all bruising, all tired, but they were alive, and they were on the path to getting even stronger, even more formidable than anything ever seen before. Now he couldn’t wait until Dumbledore and his gaggle crossed a line so they could tear them apart. But before that, they had to survive whatever Skoll had in store for them next.

“Weapons.” Skoll clapped his hands and smirked.

The energy in the room shifted immediately. The In Dolus Intortis moved as one toward the large racks lining the walls. Cronus felt his pulse quicken despite himself. Steel gleamed under the torchlight; blades of different lengths and shapes arranged with careful intent. Blunt weapons rested beside them, staves, batons, weighted clubs. Each one humming faintly with dormant enchantments.

Skoll gestured, back straight and expression serious. “Don’t get attached. You are testing today, not choosing.”

Apollo eyed the staff suspiciously. “What if it chooses me?”

“They're not wands. That’s not how this works.” Blaise drawled, rolling his eyes at his friend.

Skoll raised a brow. “Pick something.”

The group walked over to the weapons rack slowly, eyeing the various weapons laid out before them, before they began to slowly choose what caught their eye. Cronus selected a short staff first, a weight familiar in his hands but not comfortable. He turned it in his hands, testing the balance. While Athena picked up a throwing knife with quiet certainty, fingers settling around the grip as it belonged there. Pansy followed suit, selecting three without hesitation.

Skoll noticed their movements immediately. “Targets.” He said, waving his hand. The far wall shimmered, and rune-etched boards rose smoothly from the stone, chalk circles marking the centre. “You will show me what you can do.”

Athena stepped forward first, no flourish, no hesitation, but with a gleam in her expression that made several members take a step back. She breathed in, exhaled, and threw. The knife sailed from her hand with deadly precision, whistling with speed and struck dead centre. Cronus heard Ares’s sharp inhale.

Pheme followed closely behind, a skip in her step making her look too young to be handling something so sharp. Her movements were economical, precise. Three throws in quick succession, the thunks from the impacts as they collide with their own target. All on the centre circle.

“Well…” Draco muttered faintly, his gaze locked on the targets as they magically began to fix themselves and the knives returned to the rack. “That’s unsettling…”

“No,” Arete breathed. “That is brilliant.”

“Daddy told me I should at least know how to defend myself.” Pheme bragged, undoing her hair from the ponytail she had put it in that morning, before she retied it higher.

“And he thought throwing knives was the best thing for his Heiress?” Itus spluttered, staring at her like she had grown a second head.

“No, of course not. Mother was the one who suggested it.” Pheme giggled before she skipped off with Athena to check out the other sharp implements hanging on the racks behind them.

Eris stepped up next, before anyone else could comment, and it was then that the boys noticed she, too, had picked up the small blades. Her style was looser and more dynamic than Pheme and Athena, but just as lethal. She spun, released and laughed when the blade struck slightly off-centre. Then she automatically adjusted on the next throw, correcting and hitting the target almost perfectly.

Skoll nodded once, satisfied with their performance.

“Athena. Pheme,” he called. “Precision suits you.”

They exchanged a glance over the weapons and preened, quietly but pleased with the praise.

Others circled through the weapons, hands drifting along the rows before settling on various weapons that took their fancy. Menoetius and Aeolus made blunt weapons like bludgeons and clubs look terrifying in their hands, sheer force driving the impact home even when their techniques lagged. But Cronus wouldn’t take any points for enthusiasm. He just almost felt sorry for anyone who was going to be on the receiving end of such brutal attacks. Almost. However, Skoll stepped forward and corrected them. Sharply, forcing them to use some restraint and control over their movements.

Arete and Ares gravitated toward swords; movements already refined from years of hidden training sessions that Cronus hadn’t even heard about. Skoll barely interrupted them at all, only murmuring the occasional adjustment while looking for bad habits he would need to train out of them.

Cronus tested a staff, a blade and a baton in turn. He wasn’t exceptional at any of them, not immediately, but he soon learnt. Each correction Skoll barked at him, he absorbed, adjusted and further improved.

“Again,” Skoll said, watching his movements carefully.

Cronus complied, his throws landing closer to the target with each shift of balance and each steady breath to centre himself. Skoll nodded in approval, and by the time Skoll called for the next rotation, the Chamber smelt distinctly of metal and sweat. The earlier laughter had thinned, replaced by a sharper focus, the kind that crept in unannounced once their bruises stopped surprising them and the pain became information they were eager to soak up.

“Next,” Skoll called, gesturing toward a rack on the far side, “flexible weapons.”

Cronus turned with the rest, his brow furrowing as he glanced at this new display of weapons laid out in front of them. He was certain that it hadn’t been there before.

It shimmered with residual magic, and he knew that it had just recently been summoned. Long, thick chains hung alongside weighted cords; segmented staves rested beside coiled lengths of braided hide. At the far end, unmistakable even in the low light, was a rack of bows, sleek, elegant things, with their strings humming slightly with magical enchantments as though they were as sentient as Hogwarts herself.

Apollo stared. “No,” he whispered. Hadn’t he already embarrassed himself enough with every clatter of his knives as they hit the floor metres away from the targets?

Tracey leant in with a wide grin. “Oh, yes.”

Apollo shook his head. “I don’t do… whatever that is.” He gestured vaguely toward the weapons, eyes lingering on the whip coils with clear suspicion. He did not trust anything that had the potential of curling back toward him and slicing him in half. “Those are for people with coordination and intent.”

Skoll’s gaze slid to him, a smirk beginning to form on his lips. “Pick one.”

Apollo swallowed. “I would like to formally object.”

Skoll did not blink at the poor attempt at refusal, merely gestured with his head to the intimidating rack of flexible weapons with a stern frown.

Apollo sighed, the sound of a man surrendering to his fate, sealed by stubborn werewolves and the expectant but soft gaze of his leader. “Fine. Fine. I’ll take-” His hand hovered, indecisive between an intricately carved short bow and a coiled whip. He grimaced as though he had personally offended him. “Statistically, one of these is less likely to murder me in a freak accident.”

Cronus, still watching from a few paces away, felt a strange prickle of anticipation. He wasn’t entirely sure why, but he had an unnameable feeling bubbling deep in his gut, claiming that he wouldn’t want to miss a second of what was about to happen next. Either he was about to lose a valuable member of his team, or he was about to be surprised in the best way possible. Apollo had been competent at best so far, quick, adaptable, but hardly exceptional. Useful chaos without the lethal precision.

Apollo grabbed the whip, and the room went silent.

Itus made a small, horrified sound and immediately took a step backwards. “Why would you choose that?”

Apollo looked down at the weapon curled innocently in his hand, then back up, frowning. “I didn’t choose it! My hand betrayed me.”

Skoll’s brows lifted a fraction, just enough to show his intrigue without breaking his stern character as he continued to watch the young child. “Interesting.”

The whip was slowly unwound in his hand, Apollo holding it like it might come to life and bite him any second. “I just want it known that if I lose an eye, I want an eyepatch, and if I die, I am haunting everyone here.” He declared dramatically, drawing eyerolls and snickers from around the room.

“Duly noted,” Blaise replied with a smirk.

Targets slid into place again, fully fixed and waiting for the start of the next round. Except this time, they were moving, slow at first, gliding along rune-guided tracks across the far wall. Rings rotated, while some wooden discs rose and fell unpredictably to an untrained eye.

Skoll’s voice cut cleanly through the murmurs. “Distance control. Timing. Do not overcommit. That is when injuries occur.”

Apollo stared at the targets moving at different speeds and intervals, then at the whip still curled against his palm. Something in him seemed to shift.

Cronus saw it, the moment where Apollo seemed to cease thinking and started listening instead. His shoulders rolled then loosened. His grip adjusted a few times before it curled naturally around the handle of the whip, his fingers settling as if they had done this a thousand times before. He tested the weight against his arm a few times, bending, curling and lifting the weapon carefully to test the feel of it against his movements. The whip responded with a soft, sinuous motion that seemed to caress the air.

“Oh,” Apollo whispered, blinking down at the whip in his hand.

“What?” Tracey asked, but she didn’t receive an answer.

Apollo stepped forward, eyes locked on the targets in front of him. The first crack of the whip split the air, light lightning, a sharp sound that made several members flinch backwards without meaning to. The whip lashed out, not wild, not flailing and certainly not without control. It was precise, its tip snapping forward to kiss the edge of a moving target and wrapped. Apollo flicked his wrist, a delicate movement that caused the disc to jerk sideways, ripped cleanly off its track, where it shattered against the floor.

Silence enveloped the room. Apollo stared at the fragmented wood lying scattered across the stone floor, then at his own hand as it flexed around the handle. “…Huh.”

Itus’s mouth hung open.

“That,” Pansy whispered to no one in particular, “was not an accident.”

Apollo could feel a smirk stretching the corner of his mouth and quickly focused back on the targets. He tried again, but this time he didn’t hesitate. The whip sang through the air, looping, snapping, and striking with terrifying accuracy. He disarmed a rotating target. Yanked another sideways mid-motion. Snagged a third and sent it spinning harmlessly into the wall.

Each movement flowed into the next, rhythm building, timing impeccable and confidence growing with each successful takedown. He wasn’t forcing it; it seemed that Apollo was dancing to a rhythm only he could hear, and the whip was a simple extension of his movement. This was instinctual.

Apollo stopped abruptly, whip coiling obediently back into his hand like it hadn’t just torn apart several thick, wooden magical targets with a simple flick of his wrist. He glanced around the Chamber, noting the looks of surprise, confusion and slight terror on his friends' faces, his own expression wide-eyed and paler than usual. “…Why can I do that?”

No one answered him until Skoll stepped forward slowly, eyes bright and sharp in a way Aldwyn hadn’t witnessed yet, and it made him feel slightly uneasy. “Again.” The werewolf’s voice was gruff, commanding without being forceful.

Apollo swallowed. “Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

Apollo exhaled, squared his shoulders and went again, but faster this time, like he had found his footing and was showcasing what he had retained. The targets didn’t stand a chance this time. He seemed to adapt on the fly, adjusting angles of trajectory, shifting his footwork, loosening his shoulders and compensating for movement without a conscious thought. When he finished this time round, the Chamber was littered with fallen and shattered targets.

Skoll stared at him for a long moment, then he laughed. It was a short sound, loud, surprised, but genuine laughter. “Apollo,” he said, voice rough with something close to approval. “Of course you are.”

Apollo looked faint at the damage he had caused. “I think I blacked out.”

Cronus found himself grinning, wide and unrestrained.

Skoll turned to the others. “Take note. Talent hides where ego doesn’t look.” He faced Apollo again. “You’ll train with flexible weapons. Whips. Chains. Anything that turns chaos into control.”

Apollo nodded numbly, knowing better than to argue with the werewolf by now. “I would like to apologise to my future enemies.”

Cronus let out a low whistle under his breath, the grin still stretched sharp and delighted across his face. He wasn’t subtle about his reaction, not in the way he typically was as Prince Cronus, Leader of the In Dolus Intortis, but there was something different about it this time, a weight Apollo wasn’t used to being the source of. Not since his father had complained to him about being too soft, too much of a bookworm to be a worthy Heir to the Nott family. Not that Thaddeus Nott had a choice in the matter after only fathering one son.

“Merlin,” Cronus muttered as he strode forward, light on his feet as though drawn by an instinct rather than intention. He circled once around Apollo, not predatory, not mocking, simply assessing, like he was trying to figure out how to re-categorise him in his mind. “Look at you. Been faking uselessness this whole time, haven’t you?”

Apollo blinked, “I didn’t know I could do that.”

Cronus let out a laugh, warm and bright and utterly unbothered by Apollo’s dazed confusion and shoved his shoulder as he had done several times before. It wasn’t hard, not mean, just the same rough affection he had become accustomed to using on Theo whenever he got sentimental. Apollo lurched sideways a step, not having expected such a move from Cronus.

“Oh, don’t go getting modest on us now,” Cronus said, pointing to the shredded battlefield targets strewn across the floor. “You just destroyed half the room. You don’t get to pretend that was normal.”

“I genuinely don’t know how I did that,” Apollo insisted, still bewildered but no longer staring off into space.

“Good,” Cronus replied, slinging an arm around the back of his neck. “Means we can weaponise it before you start overthinking.”

Apollo opened his mouth, presumably to argue, but Cronus didn’t let him. He reached up and ruffled Apollo’s hair with the casual confidence of someone who had never once doubted his own welcome. “Good work,” he added, softer, almost matter-of-fact, as though the compliment cost him nothing, because it didn’t.

Apollo stared at him, startled, as though no one had ever touched him after a victory before.

Tracey squinted at the two of them. “When did that start being a thing?”

“Since he stopped throwing knives like a drunken garden gnome,” Cronus shot back, earning scattered snickers from around the room.

Apollo, by this point, had recovered enough to shove Cronus back, less precise, more instinctual, the way he had done several times before when they were messing around doing homework or extra research in the Slytherin common room, where no one would judge them for their lack of decorum.

“I will strangle you with this whip.”

“Promises, promises,” Cronus replied, flicking the end of the whip with a finger as if testing its loyalty to Apollo. “Just don’t trip while doing it, otherwise we will both die.”

Behind them, Erebus hadn’t moved. He had been watching the scene with his usual unreadable patience, head tilted just enough to suggest gears turning. He didn’t interrupt, didn’t tease along with the rest, he merely observed, filing away the information of Apollo actually being deadly with a whip in his hands for future use.

“Flexible range,” he murmured, more to himself rather than those around him, but everyone heard him, nonetheless. “Non-linear attack. Disruption potential.”

“English, please, Erebus.” Cronus blinked at him, dropping his arm from Apollo’s shoulder.

Erebus shrugged, “It suits him.”

It took the Chamber several minutes to settle back down after Apollo’s little show. Almost like there had been a lingering charge in the air after he had stopped moving, after the whip had coiled obediently back into his hands, after Skill’s low, approving laughter had faded into something thoughtful. Even as the targets reset themselves and the fallen debris cleared away under the runes’ quiet hum. The group remained half-expecting something else to snap or strike without warning.

“I would like to reiterate,” Apollo said into the stretching silence, flexing his fingers after settling the whip back down on its rack as if they might act independently again, “that I have never done that before in my life.”

“You say that as if it helps,” Pheme replied with a roll of her eyes and a smile on her lips.

Skoll watched them for a moment longer before he turned away and clapped his hands once to gain their attention. “Alright, you lot. Enough marvelling. Talent doesn’t excuse complacency.” He gestures toward a different weapons rack this time. “Ranged weapons.”

The wall shimmered.

Cronus felt the magic shift before the rack fully appeared in the space next to the flexible weapons, the space around it unfolding, runes slotting into place with quiet inevitability. Bows emerged first, their silhouettes elegant and restrained compared to the brutality of the melee weapons. Short bows, long bows, recurved frames, polished wood and darker composites etched with faintly glowing lines. Quivers followed, arrows settling into place with soft, ominously neat clicks.

Apollo was the first to break the silence again, squinting at the new weapons with distrust. “I don’t trust anything that requires stillness.”

That explains a great deal,” Athena snorted.

Erebus didn’t comment, which Cronus noticed immediately. Erebus was the one who usually filled the silence with something: dry commentary, a muttered aside, a smirk that invited responses from his peers, but now he stood very still, head tilted slightly, eyes fixed on the bows as though listening to something no one else could hear. As if his mind was conjuring up something. Skoll noticed too.

“Erebus,” he called.

“Yes?”

“Choose one.”

Unlike Apollo, there was no hesitation. Erebus stepped forward, movements unhurried, and selected a bow from the centre of the rack, not the largest but not the smallest. Practical and balanced. He tested the string with a gentle pull, feeling the resistance, then nodded once as if confirming a private calculation.

Itus arched his eyebrow. “Since when do you-”

Erebus didn’t answer, as he was wont to do in his element. He slung a quiver of arrows over his shoulder with quiet efficiency, fingers brushing the fletching of the weapons like he already knew their spacing and their weight. Targets slid into place across the far wall, further away than any had been before. Some were stationary; others drifted unpredictably, rising and falling, rotating just enough to punish poor timing and extended drawback.

“Breath,” Skoll instructed. “Remember posture and control.”

Erebus stepped into position, eyes fixed on the targets. Cronus felt something then, a subtle shift, the same one he had felt earlier when Enyo settled into her stance, with Aeolus and Menoetius when strength found purpose, when Athena and Pheme learnt their proficiency with throwing knives and when Apollo had settled with his whip in hand. Erebus didn’t look tense; he didn’t look excited. He looked focused, and that was something Cronus knew to be dangerous for anyone on the receiving end.

He drew the bowstring back smoothly, shoulders relaxed, elbow high. His breathing slowed, measured, and for a heartbeat, the Chamber seemed to narrow around him. Then he loosed. The arrow flew clean and straight, cutting through the air with a muted whistle before striking one of the stationary targets dead centre. The impact rang softly, satisfying and final.

Silence followed, much like it had when Athena landed her first knife in the target.

Apollo’s mouth fell open. “Oh.”

Itus stared. “You’ve been holding out on us.”

Erebus lowered the bow, blinking as if surprised by his own competence and achievement. “I didn’t think it would still feel… familiar.”

Skoll stepped forward. “Again.”

This time, Blaise adjusted without prompting, compensating for the targets that dipped and moved mid-flight. The arrow struck true, not dead centre but still within the realm of the central circle. Another followed, then another. Each loosed arrow landing with unnerving consistency, spacing tight, accuracy unwavering as if Erebus had been born with the bow in his hands.

Cronus felt pride flaring in his chest, sharp and unexpected. This was raw power like Arete and Ares had demonstrated earlier with their swords. It wasn’t chaos. This was patience honed into a weapon, a perfect outcome for the silent shadow of their group.

Skoll studied the various arrows sticking out of the now stilled targets spread around the Chamber with a raised eyebrow. “Where did you learn?”

Erebus hesitated. “My father. I used to watch him when I was a child. He would go out hunting, but I was too young to participate. One day, when my mother was out, he took me to the woods behind our house and showed me how to shoot. I haven’t touched one since he died.”

Skoll nodded once, “Good.”

For a heartbeat, the Chamber held its breath, bows and spells and expectations all suspended in the cool, rune-lit air, then reality resumed.

“You’ve been hiding that this entire time?” Itus demanded, eyes wide and nose wrinkled as if he’d just been personally betrayed by magic. He hadn’t known that most of his friends had been secretly learning some sort of non-magical defence most of their lives. His family had always been strictly against anything that didn’t include magical means, claiming it was too Muggle for them.

Erebus shrugged, understated as ever. “Didn’t think it mattered much.”

“It matters.” Apollo breathed, sounding vaguely betrayed by the universe itself. “It definitely matters.”

Around them, the room fragmented into low, excited buzzing as the members turned to mutter between themselves as the revelations throughout the training session. Athena tried to mimic Erebus’s posture with a broom she had absolutely not been given permission to wield, Enyo was critiquing draw strength like an overzealous coach, Pheme got wacked for commentary, and Ares muttered something about hunting licenses under his breath. But Cronus didn’t join in with any of it.

He crossed the space between them, boots whispering against stone. There was no swagger, no haste in his walk, just certainty, as he’d already made the decision to be here before his body started moving. He stopped beside Erebus, close enough that their sleeves brushed, which had become a default stance between the two of them outside their guises. Then came an arm-bump, light; a punctuation mark rather than a shove, the casual ease between two people who never felt the need to ask for space.

“Show-off,” Cronus teased, a smirk twitching at the corner of his lips.

Erebus didn’t bite, however. He lifted his chin in mock offence and weaponised his deadpan. “You’re only upset because mine is more elegant than you could manage.”

Cronus scoffed, chasing the retort with a deepening of his snort. “If I wanted elegance, I’d wear robes, but unfortunately, I only adhere to elegance when I am around my father." He snickered, elbowing Erebus lightly in the side when Apollo drifted by just in time to catch the exchange, orbiting the pair like chaos itself, seeking fuel or something to latch onto.

“Bold claim from someone who wears five layers just to go outside.”

Cronus raised his eyebrow, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips as he turned to face Apollo, it wasn't like he enjoyed bundling himself up in several layers at a time, but living with the Muggles for as long as he had, going without adequate blankets in the winter, thredbare clothes and holes in his shoes, he hated the slightest chill that would creep through the caress his skin. Not that he would ever tell any of his friends that. He didn't retaliate to Apollo's tease in a way he would with the rest of their friends, especially not when he was supposed to be their Leader. He immediately seized Apollo without hesitation, hooking an arm around Apollo's neck and dragging him into a half-headlock-leaning side-hug that was definitely not an embrace if you asked anyone. Apollo flailed and squawked because honour demanded it.

“I’m just saying,” Apollo wheezed, “Erebus looks cooler than you!”

Cronus tightened his hold in dramatic injury, laughing softly. “Treason!”

Apollo reached for leverage, because of course he did, when his friend was doing a good impression of attempting to squeeze the life out of him, and caught Erebus’s sleeve. Erebus, who hadn't been expecting a hand to grapple with the sleeve of his training robes, hadn’t braced; he rarely needed to when Cronus was around, which proved to be a tactical mistake this time. The tug knocked him off-kilter, and suddenly all three boys were tangled together, a collapsing constellation of limbs, boots, and poor decisions. They didn’t hit the floor, but the struggle to avoid it was deeply undignified in its execution. Apollo laughed like it was the best day of his life. Cronus cursed with creative flair, while Erebus made a noise that suggested both indignation and resignation to the absurdity of their circumstances. Even as he did attempt to prevent them all from toppling over.

“Gentle,” he chided as he finally found his footing again, flicking Apollo’s ear in retribution with precision honed from years of dealing with idiots he liked too much to abandon.

“You started it,” Apollo shot back.

“I most certainly did not-”

“Enough!” Skoll’s voice cut through the chaos like a blade. He didn’t need to raise his volume because disappointment carried more power. Even the enchanted torches dimmed in solidarity.

Itus folded his arms with theatrical severity, looking at the trio as if observing rare animals in a controlled environment. “Incredible. Truly astounding. We give you weapons, and you immediately choose to weaponise each other instead.”

Athena nodded once, solemn as a judge. “Tribal warfare was bound to happen.”

Pheme pointed across the room with a wide grin. “I had my money on Enyo starting it, actually.”

Enyo grinned in return, feral and delighted. “Disappointed in you all for starting the fun without us.”

Skoll squeezed the bridge of his nose, as if he had had enough of dealing with unruly cubs while training back at the werewolf sanctuary. “If you’re done,” he let the words hang, heavy and expectant in the air. “Ranged weapons are not a contact sport.”

Apollo raised his hand. “That feels subjective.”

Cronus shoved him, and Erebus nudged Cronus in retaliation. Skoll tried his hardest to pretend he never saw anything.

Laughter continued to ripple through the Chamber, the tension that had clung to the group as they ran through drill after practice finally broke apart. Apollo was still half wrapped in his whip after having pulled it back out to play around with it, to see if he could recreate his talents intentionally this time. The maniacal grin he was wearing ensured that no one walked too close. Erebus was trying to reclaim his stolen dignity without giving away how amused he was, while Cronus, breathing hard from their near tumble, couldn’t stop smiling.

All weapon racks, with a flick of Skoll’s wrist, vanished in a shimmer of runic magic, and the Chamber seemed to exhale as targets dissolved back into particles drifting through the air. While the training mats seemed to merge with the floor until all that remained was the typical polished, stone floor, cleared of most obstructions and training equipment.

Most of the faction assumed that meant they were done for the morning and started gathering their belongings together, finding discarded shoes. They were wrong.

“Don’t move,” Skoll said, voice cutting clean through the adrenaline-fuelled chatter that was echoing around them in a cacophony of noise. Everyone froze, and even the air seemed to pause.

Skoll paced once along the perimeter of the centre area of the Chamber, the bite of his boots softened by exhaustion and sweat-slicked stones. He looked less like an evaluator and more like someone who had decided which of them he would throw into the forest first to see who made it back alive, and who stumbled over tree roots.

“You survived,” Skoll said at last, a smirk stretching across his lips.

“High praise.” Apollo brightened.

Skoll continued as though no one had spoken. “More importantly, you learnt.” His gaze moved through the group, assessing and cataloguing. “Some of you leant into strength,” He continued, chin tipping toward Enyo, Aeolus, and Menoetius. “You know how to win by force. Now you’ll learn how not to waste it.”

Enyo grinned, Menoetius cracked his knuckles, and Aeolus looked like he had just received the wizarding equivalent of a knighthood, if there was such a thing, Cronus contemplated. Their backs straightened.

“Athena and Pheme.” His mouth twitched, almost a smile, if a little wolf-life. “Knife work. Precision. You throw with intent, you hit what you mean to, and now we work on refining this.”

Pheme preened while Athena nodded, thoughtful and dangerous.

“Arete. Ares,” the boys stiffened, watching the wolf with unease as he grinned, flashing his sharpened canines. “Sword forms are sound, and you rely on instinct. In our next session, we will strip and rebuild. Instinct without wastage.” Ares pumped his fist, and Arete murmured something about footwork patterns that no one requested or had the courage to try with pointy metal things in their hands. Skoll finally turned toward the trio, who still managed to gravitate toward each other despite the earlier chaos.

“Apollo.” The sandy-haired boy went extremely still, as if he were bracing for impact or berating. “Flexible weapons suit you,” Skoll said bluntly. “You react faster than you can think. We’ll train you to control it and use it to your advantage”

Apollo swallowed, then offered a shaky smile, shoulder relaxing ever so slightly. “I think I blacked out back there.”

A faint snort escaped Skoll. “Useful. Erebus.” Erebus straightened, something coiled and alert in his posture, much like the bowstring drawn back to its full potential before loosing an arrow. “Ranged. Patience. Calculation and bows especially,” Skoll hummed, examining the memory as if it were playing back in his mind in real time. “Patience wins fights no one else knows they are in.”

Erebus’s answering nod was small but steady. Skoll then, without another word, turned to leave, dismissing them, or so everyone thought until Cronus stepped forward and turned to face his faction with a relaxed smile and pride deep in his eyes.

“This wasn’t about finding one thing or even learning more about ourselves as individuals.” He began, voice steady despite the adrenaline still coursing through his veins, and he glanced around at his faction members. “It was about learning how we fit together. How we can rotate? How can we adapt? No one stagnates when we move together as one unit. We need to find our rhythm, when we fight on our own and when we fight as a team.”

Skoll stopped mid-stride, staring back at the young thirteen-year-old who had been placed in charge of an entire fighting unit; approval shaped his features.

“No one’s done just yet,” Cronus continued. “This is just the beginning, we will develop as a team, think as one and learn to fight as one.”

“So, this means we’re doing this again?” Tracey groaned dramatically, pulling a chuckle from Cronus.

“Yes,” Skoll and Cronus stated together, rolling their eyes and shaking their heads when the word is met with over-the-top moans and complaints. Cronus also swears he hears someone mutter a very quiet ‘I can’t feel my anything,’ and has his money placed on Discordia or Apollo.

Erebus muttered in response, “You didn’t need it anyway,” which sparked Apollo to knock into his again, this time gentler, more a triumphant shove to celebrate their survival rather than to incite a scuffle.

Skoll, watching from the sidelines, crossed his arms over his chest and stared at the children who should have been dead on their feet and struggling to walk in a straight line, but here they were still laughing loudly, still pushing each other and taunting like they hadn’t just gone through almost an hour and a half of physical drills and weapons training. “Is this normal for your faction, or should we alert the school medic?”

“Normal,” half the group chorused back, much to Cronus’s amusement.

Skoll shook his head again and raised his hand in some semblance of a wave. “Rest. Hydrate. The bruises you have gained from today are information you should analyse, not trophies to show off. Next session, we will begin to refine your skills.” And with those final words, he strode out of the Chamber.

The Chamber suddenly felt a lot larger without his presence, the atmosphere turning loose, buzzing and uncontained with chaotic energy, and for a long moment, no one moved.

Until Charlie clapped his hands once, the sound cracked through the warm, sweat-heavy air of their training grounds with the efficiency of someone who had dealt with overstimulated teenagers on more than one occasion before today.

“Right, that’s enough victory laps, you lot.” He announced, voice balanced somewhere between professor and exasperated older brother. “Showers, proper uniforms, and breakfast. Potions are first, and Papa will have our heads if you turn up smelling like blood and adrenaline, looking like you have just battled a pack of werewolves.”

A collective pause travelled through the group, half grim realisation, half resignation. Not at having potions first thing on a Friday morning, but because their professor was one of the most observant in the entire school and would not rest until he discovered why his entire third year class was covered head to toe in bruises, cuts, scraps and injuries. Several of them glanced down at themselves and discovered the obvious; they did, in fact, smell like a small unregulated war zone. And if that wasn’t enough, their clothes were ripped in places and covered in dust and grim from rolling around the floor.

Apollo blinked, “He can smell adrenaline?”

Arete didn’t look up from evaluating a rather large bruise blooming along his forearm, from which activity he wasn’t entirely sure. His fingers probed the purpling skin with clinical familiarity. “He teaches adolescents,” he replied. “He can smell a lie from the hallway.”

Apollo made a low noise of despair, drawing a muffled laugh from Tracey and a sympathetic wince from Enyo. They all knew about their potion professor’s perchance of catching them out in a lie whenever they felt brave enough to tell one. But this time, they would have to face his inquisition about why they were all covered in bruises, small scrapes and looking a little worse for wear after having rolled around the floor beating each other up for the better half of an hour.

Cronus exhaled slowly, dragging damp hair away from the back of his neck where he could feel the sweat beginning to cool unpleasantly. His papa had seen him in worse states before, had even been the cause of some of his less-than-stellar appearances back during that first summer. His training sessions with his father, his papa and Fenrir had left him tired, sweaty and bruised just like now. The only difference this time was that his papa would argue about the lack of a responsible adult present.

“Come on then. If Papa sees dried blood on any of us, he is going to drag me into a lecture about ‘peer safety protocols’ and ‘parental liability.’ Please, for my sanity, can we all shower?”

“Aw,” Menoetius drawled, grinning as though he had just discovered a new favourite toy. “Professor Prince fusses.”

“He worries,” Cronus corrects, with a sniff, not at all defensive. “It’s different.”

Itus arched his eyebrow, the gesture sharp and aristocratic despite the fact that his shirt was sticking to his ribs and his hair had lost most of the product which had been keeping it slicked back. “To Aldwyn, perhaps. If he sees the state we are in now, it will be detention for the rest of the month.”

The exchange earnt no shock from the group anymore, no raised eyebrows and muttered words because this wasn’t the first time they would get to see their potions professor fussing over their friend and leader. No, they had seen Severus pull Aldwyn into hugs, press gentle kisses to his forehead, detangle and brush his hair, and even settle the young boy on his lap and cuddle him close during family downtime in the Slytherin family lounge.

Merlin, even the Gryffindors were still recovering from the shock of seeing their notorious ‘Dungeon Bat’ mollycoddling Aldwyn when one of their own had tripped Aldwyn up in the middle of the class before. They had witnessed Severus’s mother-hen-ing. The way Severus had gently applied ointment to Aldwyn’s scrapes and kissed his head.

Athena nudges Itus with her elbow. “You should feel grateful. Professor Prince likes you more than the rest of us; he is going to threaten bodily harm, if not death.”

Arete snorted softly as he tested the flex in his shoulder. “He doesn’t threaten. He implies. Says it is more efficient.”

That earnt a ripple of agreement throughout the group, dry, knowing and united. Ares angled himself towards the group again, knowing that they had a limited time left if the children were going to have enough time to eat something. “Okay, so, bathing first. No shortcuts, please. We’re not having Papa storming the dungeons because someone tried to mask the scent of sword grease with cologne.”

Eris winced, colour blossoming across her cheeks. “One time.”

“One unforgettable time.” Ares amended with a smirk at the girl.

Apollo nodded grimly. “I have learnt from her mistakes.”

“You’re assuming that they were mistakes,” Eris said brightly, turning toward the exit with a skip in her step.

Cronus pinched the bridge of his nose, the gesture threaded with patience and the resignation of someone accustomed to shepherding chaos around the school, and making sure they stayed on task. “Lavender does not neutralise Wyvern oil.”

“It was rosemary, actually.” Eris corrected with an affronted sniff.

“That’s worse,” Erebus murmured from behind Cronus, tone dry enough to border on fond without losing his typical flair. Apollo snorted. Cronus’s elbow flicked back, less of a shove this time but more than just a pulse of contact. It was an acknowledgement of the dry wit rather than a threat.

Aeolus threw an arm around Menoetius’s shoulders and declared above the noise, before an argument could break out between his friends, “Race you to the showers!” With a battle cry of a man who had already decided that victory was inevitable, the pair set off across the chamber. Nearly bowling Itus over on their way past.

Athena followed at a more sedated pace, dragging Itus behind her even as he muttered darkly about corridor etiquette and the scarcity of good soap. She had no idea what that was about seen as they had plenty of private showers to go around in their own dorm rooms, and they supplied their own toiletries, but she didn’t feel like decoding Itus’s thoughts at the moment.

Bodies streamed out of the Chamber at a faster pace this time, the third-year Slytherins happily chatting amongst themselves as they made their way back to the dorm room for refreshing showers and their uniforms and equipment for the day. Only once they were a short distance ahead did Charlie soften enough to nudge Aldwyn in the shoulder.

“He’s going to check on you the most,” he said quietly. “Especially when he senses how tired you all are once you get to potions.”

“He always does.” Aldwyn’s mouth twitched, a pale flush dusting his cheeks at the thought of his papa loving him enough to want to fuss around him despite who was in the vicinity. He glanced down at the small tear in his sleeve, the dried blood flaking around the seam, nearly invisible unless you were trained to look for such small details. The sort of thing Severus would find immediately, often with a small sigh and careful potion-stained hands.

“Because you always try to hide things,” Bill added, his tone dry but affectionate as he slung his bag over his shoulder with a grunt.

“Fine,” he conceded, knowing it was best to get it over with. “I will let him fuss.”

Theo, who had been lingering nearby to walk with Aldwyn, snorts, “It is still hard for me to wrap my head around sometimes that the man who taught us potions last year is the same man teaching us this year. He is so different.” There was little disbelief in the other’s words, only curiosity and happiness for his friend. And if Aldwyn heard a small undertone of envy in Theo’s words, he wasn’t going to comment.

Bill shrugged, almost gently. “He’s a parent. It’s in the job description.”

Charlie reaches over to ruffle Aldwyn’s hair with a delighted laugh. “And Aldwyn makes a sport of alarming him and Father.”

“I do not!” Aldwyn protested, only to be met with two stares from his brothers. “Not intentionally.”

“Still counts, I think,” Blaise commented under his breath from his place just behind Aldwyn, earning another light elbow from Aldwyn.

Charlie and Bill roll their eyes at the children before going their separate ways as soon as they enter the long corridor deep within the dungeons. Heading back to their own private quarters under silencing charms and disillusionments so they could shower before turning up to breakfast. It was a nice way to wake themselves up in the morning, exercising and engaging in sword fighting, they hadn’t picked up since they went their separate ways and fled the loving care of their mother.

Aldwyn inhaled, taking the fresh, crisp air of the dungeons into his lungs and feeling his muscles relaxing a little bit more. He felt Blaise and Theo flank his sides as he followed the rest of their yearmates down the corridor toward the common room. He had noticed for a while now, especially since the train ride, that Blaise and Theo barely left his sides, and if they weren’t directly at his side, they were never out of his line of vision. No matter where they were.

“We’ll make it.” Theo declared after a few beats of silence, more to convince himself than anyone else, not that many people were paying him much mind.

“To breakfast?” Blaise asked without looking up.

“To potions.” Theo clarified. “Breakfast is the warm-up.”

Aldwyn huffed, linking his arms through Theo’s and Blaise’s. “Papa is the warm-up.”

That earnt him a soft laugh from Blaise up patted Aldwyn’s hand with a fond smile. “I think you mean Professor Prince is the final boss.” Theo choked in horrified agreement.

Though none of them slowed down, even as they hopped through the open wall while Draco shouted at them to hurry up. Despite the early morning and the fact that breakfast had already begun, there were several people still milling about the common room. Several upper years who glanced at the third-year group with wide eyes as they took in the grubby appearances, the untameable hair and the obvious bruises and cuts. Though no one questioned where they had been so early in the morning, or why the entire year group looked like they had taken part in an unauthorised duel.

-----

As he was walking out of the bathroom, refreshed and dressed in his uniform fifteen minutes later, Draco managed to catch up with him and pulled him over to his own bed so he could continue to get his own uniform on. Aldwyn startled as he was pushed to sit on his godbrother’s bed, but doesn’t utter a word when he caught sight of the look on Draco’s face.

“You didn’t stop earlier.” Draco began, a little hesitant but no less firmly.

“I beg your pardon?” Aldwyn questioned, turning to stare at Draco, who was a little too focused on tying his tie.

“When she hit you,” Draco clarified, his voice low. “You waited it out instead of reacting.”

Aldwyn considered this for a moment, then shrugged his shoulders. He didn’t see what the big deal was; he didn’t see the need to react to such a small incident. “It would’ve been worse if I had panicked. Besides, what did you expect me to do? Crucio Milli for accidentally clipping my nose?” Aldwyn chuckled.

Draco’s lips pressed into a thin line, red coating his cheeks. “No, I didn’t think that… but she did hit you with all her strength…” He studied Aldwyn for a moment, tightening his tie against his neck before he picked his wand up from his bedside table and turned back to his godbrother. “Hold still, this is going to be non-invasive, but you can’t move.”

“You are checking me?” Aldwyn’s eyes widened when the end of Draco’s wand was suddenly pointed at his face, but he didn’t flinch. He trusted Draco not to cast anything he hadn’t already studied and practised a million times before.

“Obviously,” Draco replied with a raise of his eyebrow, before a light blue glow emerged from the tip of his wand with a mutter. The charm settled over Aldwyn’s face like a cool compress, not unpleasant in the slightest. A faint shimmer of magic then appeared like a scan in the air between them, and Aldwyn was impressed; the image seemed to map out his bone structures and tissue hidden beneath the skin. Draco studied the images for a moment, his eyes narrowing in concentration, tracking something Aldwyn couldn’t understand.

“Hmmm.” That noise didn’t sound too promising.

“What?” Aldwyn asked, more to humour Draco than out of worry.

“You have a hairline fracture,” Draco eventually answered. “Nasal bone. Barely there, but it would’ve been sore later, and if not treated, you would have a lovely black eye to go with that split lip you seem to be sporting.”

Aldwyn lifted an eyebrow and then his hand to try to feel around his nose, but Draco immediately slapped his hand away. “I didn’t feel it.”

“That is because you are infuriating,” Draco responded automatically, then he sighed. “And because adrenaline turns your body into a liar.”

He adjusted his grip on his wand, murmuring a second charm under his breath as his focus turned to the exact location of the fracture hidden beneath smooth skin. Aldwyn felt a faint pressure, slowly building between his eyes, then a subtle click. It was more a sensation than pain, and a spreading ease that he didn’t know he needed as the magic began to knit the fracture closed.

Draco lowered his wand with a satisfied grin, studying his results. “There. All healed. It shouldn’t rebleed either now, and there shouldn’t be any bruising.”

Aldwyn touched his nose experimentally; there was no tenderness, no aching. “…You’re good at that.” He said quietly, smiling over at his brother in all but blood. “I remember when you were first introduced to me as Aldwyn Slytherin, you were really invested in that book about healing.” Aldwyn giggled while Draco froze at the comment.

“I didn’t think you would remember that…”

“Remember? Draco, you told me that you wanted to become a Healer and learning all sorts of healing magic because you wanted to protect me and didn’t want to see me hurt again. How could I forget something like that?”

“I still have a lot to learn. This is just a very basic diagnostic charm and bone-repairing spell that only works on very small breaks. Anything larger would have required the skelegrow potion.” Draco tried to deflect, but Aldwyn could see the pleased smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

“It didn’t feel basic. Draco, this is at least sixth-year-level magic. Only those apprenticing under Madam Pomfrey or a medi-wizard learns this type of magic.” Aldwyn continued to praise, patting Draco’s shoulder with a quiet laugh.

“Well, you heard what Bill said, you like to keep us all on our toes by getting yourself injured. I am just keeping my promise to your father.” Draco hesitated, rolling his eyes at his godbrother’s sudden sentimentality. Not that he was going to complain much. Aldwyn may be his leader and his friend, but he was also younger than him (even if it was by just a few weeks), and Aldwyn’s parents had asked him to look after him and protect him.

And Aldwyn noticed. Noticed how Draco saw things that others didn’t. How Draco would go out of his way to research and study up on various healing techniques that were supposed to be out of their range of magic just to make sure he was always alright and in tip-top shape.

“Thank you.” He said, quickly pulling Draco into a hug.

Draco nodded once, sharp and precise, like sealing a promise instead of taking the compliments as they were. “Try not to get fractured again, at least not today.”

Aldwyn smirked, “I can make no such guarantees.”

Draco sniffed, “Figures.”

Chapter Text

Aldwyn stood with his friends, cleaning themselves up after their training session with Skoll, ensuring he had all his books, homework and equipment for his morning classes while he waited for Blaise to finish getting dressed and Draco to make sure his hair lay perfectly against his head. While he waited, he settled down on the edge of his bed and allowed his thoughts to wander. Back to the Quidditch tryout the team had held the other day and grinned. It had been a pretty chill tryout without barely anyone turning up and no drama; he hadn't really had much to do but fly around the pitch with a practice Snitch observing the tryouts, but it had been interesting.

The Quidditch pitch lay vacant under the pale blue sky of the early morning, the grass kept short with magical charms, which gleamed faintly with the remnants of early frost. The bright colours of the stands rose in curved tiers around the field, while banners snapped lazily in the breeze. The lake beyond the stadium reflected the shifting clouds and made for a beautiful scene, even as the Slytherin Quidditch team gathered in the middle of the pitch, mouths stretched wide from yawns.

The golden hoops stood tall at either end, three large circles mounted on slender poles that caught the light whenever the sun slipped free of the clouds covering the sky ahead. Aldwyn glanced around, sighing in contentment. Today’s conditions would be perfect for an actual Quidditch match.

Marcus Flint stood in the centre of the pitch, broad-shouldered and solid, his Quidditch robes wrapped around his form as his broom was tucked carefully under one arm. His expression was severe; in the way only a Captain’s could be on try-out day, Aldwyn was almost certain that it was worse than Wood’s had ever been. It was assessing, calculating, and faintly impatient. A Chaser by position in their squad meant he also carried himself like a general reviewing his troops.

Nearby, Peregrine and Lucian were lazily testing the balance of their bats, testing wrist rotation before they were allowed to get up in the air, as if they hadn’t already spent the past 3 years on the Quidditch team already. They tested weight and balance with casual menace, both 6^th years looking far too comfortable with controlled violence.

Graham and Adrien hovered several feet above the grass, not quite high enough to exclude themselves from the conversation, but enough to have their own whispered discussion about formations and new plays to try out. They dipped and banked in almost perfectly synchronised arcs, testing wind resistance along the northern end of the pitch, tossing a Quaffle between themselves.

Aldwyn stood slightly apart from the rest of the team, broom held securely in his hand. The Seeker’s position was already his, and everyone present knew it, but he had come early regardless. There was no reason for him to be here, watching the very low turnout tryouts, but he had come anyway, mostly as an excuse to fly around the pitch. The Keeper position was available, and Blaise wanted to try out, so he also wasn’t going to allow his friend to face that alone, not when he had come to support him last year.

As he waited for the tryouts to begin officially, his eyes moved over the sky automatically, calculating the sun angle, wind direction, and the way the light fractured near the hoops. A deliberate attempt to discourage anyone from catching the Snitch too early in the game. The world looked different when you were trained to spot a small flicker of gold the size of a walnut flying through the air.

Beside him, Blaise adjusted his gloves with deliberate calm. His own tryout was his only focus for the day, and Aldwyn could tell that his friend was nervous. Despite the composed, almost bored expression he was trying to maintain. He nudged his friend, offering him a reassuring smile, which Blaise tried to return, but before he could give his friend words of encouragement, footsteps sounded from behind then and Draco appeared at their side with Theo.

He stopped next to the with the confidence of someone who had already decided they belonged on the pitch. His blond hair sleeked back as usual, catching the light. His typical pristine robes had been replaced by high-quality Quidditch practice robes, professional and obviously never before worn. He looked the picture of perfection that morning, ready for a gruelling training session.

On the other hand, Theo, who was standing a step behind with his hands stuffed deep into his sleeves, had an expression of unenthusiastic trepidation. Glaring at the sun barely shining behind a large cloud, as if it had personally offended him. Aldwyn almost laughed. Theo was definitely not a morning person.

Draco’s gaze swept across the pitch, assessing the small crowd of people and the team gathered off to the sides as they muttered quietly amongst themselves. “Try-outs,” he announced lightly. “About time!”

Marcus turned as soon as he heard the voice and grinned; it wasn’t a friendly expression. “This isn’t a spectator sport today, Malfoy. Unfortunately for you, there isn’t a role in Quidditch where you just stand there looking pretty.”

“Who said anything about spectating? I am here for the try-outs. Heard you were in need of a reserve team.” Draco threw back without a moment of hesitation, smirking when Marcus immediately turned to glare at Aldwyn, who shrugged his shoulders, unrepentant. "Though it is nice to hear that you think I am pretty, even if I prefer the term handsome."

Several younger Slytherins trailed behind him, gripping their brooms with uncertain expressions, but still determined. Not sure whether they were allowed to try out, but still wanted to be part of the team if they were given the chance. Marcus scanned them all, then shrugged once.

“Why not? As Malfoy said, we are in need of a new reserve team this year. If you’ve got a broom and you’re not afraid of being knocked off it, you can try.”

There was a visible spark in Draco’s eyes, and he slung an arm around Aldwyn’s shoulders. “I’ll take the Chaser position, thank you very much.”

Graham raised an eyebrow, hearing that and flew over on his broom, the Quaffle held under his arm while a smirk stretched across his lips. “Ambitious. You think you are ready to replace me or Adrien, Little Malfoy?”

“I prefer to be called competent, thank you very much, Montague, but fortunately for you, I will allow you to keep your position this year. Maybe next year.” He smirked right back, winking at the older student.

Theo rolled his eyes at the byplay between the two and walked to stand behind Aldwyn and Blaise, who were watching the argument with growing amusement. That is, until Blaise glanced over at his shoulder and grinned at the bookworm. “Thought you didn’t care about Quidditch.”

“I don’t,” Theo replied evenly. “I promised the two of you that I would come and support you for your tryouts, and hopefully watch you get thrown from your broom by an approaching Quaffle.”

“I am not going to fall from my broom, unlike some people,” he raised his eyebrow at Theo. “I manage to stay on my broom for more than five minutes at a time.”

Draco, finishing his playful argument with Montague, turned just in time to hear both Theo's and Blaise’s remarks and snickered to himself. “Yeah, right.” He joined the conversation. “Separation anxiety got your nerves shook, Nott?”

“It’s called being cautious, Malfoy.” He didn’t deny it, though. “There’s a potentially deranged madman out to get Aldwyn… again, I am not leaving them alone for a second and Blaise just happens to be attached to Aldwyn at the hip. So, we come as a package deal and will do so for the foreseeable future.”

Aldwyn’s fingers tightened imperceptibly around his broom handle, a faint flush covering the very tips of his ears, while a smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. He had never had a friend other than Draco declare their intentions to protect him quite so openly before, and he didn't know how to deal with the tightness that blossomed in his chest. Blaise shuffled closer and gave him an exaggerated wink that no one else caught. No one caught the accidental slip in Theo’s words, or if they did, no one commented. Draco nudged Theo teasingly, gesturing between Aldwyn and Blaise, waggling his eyebrows while Blaise’s eyes flicked sideways, sharp and analytical.

Marcus, chuckling to himself at the banter, clapped his hands once, just loud enough to cut through the muttering and draw everyone’s attention to himself as he held a hand up, gesturing to the Quidditch stands with finality.

“Before we begin, anyone who is not taking part in the tryouts, please make your way to the stands and stay out of our way. I will not have anyone getting injured by stray Quidditch balls.” Marcus watched as a few stragglers walked off the field with excited mutters between them.

“Good luck, Blaise. Don’t get knocked off too badly.” Theo snickers, jumping back to avoid the elbow Blaise aimed at his gut. “Have fun out there, Wyn. I’ll be watching you from the stands.”

“Mount up!”

The sounds of brooms being mounted and kicking off turf echoed around the Quidditch pitch as players rose into the air with certainty. The shift from grounded conversation to airborne competition transformed the atmosphere instantly, wind tugged at robes, and the faint roar of the open sky replaced casual chatter with shouted instructions and formation commands.

The team kicked off in staggering groups. Graham and Adrien ran full-speed Chaser drills first, weaving tight figure eights through the hoops before Flint joined them, calling formations mid-flight while telling those wishing to join the reserve team to observe and learn. Draco locked eyes with the trio, gaze tracking their movements, mouth moving as he muttered playouts and movements to himself.

Blaise swept forward when Flint called for Keeper candidates, smirking when the captain raised a simple eyebrow.

“You?” Flint asked, eyeing him up and down as if he was surprised and impressed by the audacity of a third year to step forward so confidently.

“Yes,” Blaise replied smoothly, his cocky air not diminishing, no matter how long the captain stared him down, assessing his skills without seeing anything.

“Ever played Keeper before?”

“Only unofficially between friends.”

Flint grunted, turning to glance at Aldwyn, who was lazily circling the air, eyes sweeping the space around him for any sight of the practice Snitch they had released. “Get in the goal.”

Blaise’s smirk turned into a wide grin, and he immediately flew into the central goal, hovering in the air as he prepared to take on any trick shots the official team Chaser may throw his way. Fascination and intrigue seemed to sharpen his gaze even more.

Aldwyn didn’t realise he was doing it, but his eyes were immediately drawn to Blaise’s form, watching as the boy moved without any unnecessary energy. Twisting his broom at the last moment, flying between the hoops with speed he didn’t know his friend possessed. He watched as Blaise caught a fast ball thrown by their Captain, watched as he flipped on his broom and immediately threw it back to Marcus with a stretching smirk.

Marcus glanced over his shoulder, signalled to Graham and Adrien. “Chasers, let's test him!”

Graham lunged first, catching the pass Marcus threw at him. He tucked the Quaffle tight under his arm, eyes fixated on the goals in front of him. He watched Blaise, the third year, carefully, noting how he didn’t move a muscle as he approached. A wicked grin shaped his lips as he faked a left dive before cutting sharply to the right. Adrien darted behind him as a decoy, feigning a pass between them.

But Blaise hovered steadily between the hoops, his entire body relaxed as his gaze remained fixed on the Quaffle, rather than the person holding it. Graham, knowing when he was beaten, released the Quaffle and watched hopefully as it swung towards the left hoop.

Blaise moved a fraction of a second before it reached him; his broom didn’t twist dramatically, and he didn’t pull off some wild move that would get a reaction from the crowd. He kept his actions minimalistic, shifting just enough to push his broom into motion. Then, he caught the Quaffle cleanly with one hand. Derreck let out a low whistle from where he had been watching the stand off instead of running his Beater Drills with Lucian.

“Again!” Marcus barked, impressed by the move but not wanting to add anyone to the team if this was just a stroke of beginner’s luck.

This time it was Adrien with the Quaffle. He swept in harder, feigning high before he dropped low at the very last instant, just before the Quaffle left his hand. Blaise twisted mid-air, broom tilting almost horizontal as he blocked the goal with his forearm, deflecting the Quaffle aside and watching in amusement as Adrien swore under his breath and was forced to dive for the ball, lest it hit the floor.

Aldwyn leant forward on his broom, subconsciously. Flying lazily in circles as he flew around the pitch, all thoughts of looking for the Snitch were blown from his mind at the byplay happening beneath him. It was fascinating to see. Of course, he had watched Blaise play during the summer before. Several times when Draco and Blaise had been invited to stay at his house, they always made sure to make good use of the Quidditch Pitch in his garden. So, he wasn’t surprised when Blaise barely missed a goal. Out of ten shots, he allowed one through, and even that one skimmed the rim.

Flint’s eyes narrowed thoughtfully, “Not bad, Zabini.”

“Not bad, the little buggar is infuriating!” Graham snarled, throwing the Quaffle to Adrien, who tossed it up in the air a few times to blow off steam.

“Good. It means he will infuriate the other teams' Chasers just as much.” Aldwyn called out, lazily circling the pitch so he was hovering beside Theo, who had put his book down for a moment and was watching the tryout rather intently for a boy who claimed to dislike everything about the sport. Blaise, once he had been dismissed by the Chasers, lazily flew over to join them, an easy-going smile on his lips.

Theo clapped once, dryly, a blank expression on his face. “Try missing one, once in a while. For humility purposes.”

“Or at least to help the sixth years save face,” Aldwyn adds with a snicker.

“I did miss one,” Blaise replied, gesturing over his shoulder in the general direction of the Quidditch goals. He shook his head, a smirk dancing at the corner of his lips.

“You allowed one in… Don’t think I didn’t catch that.” Theo pointed. “I just can’t believe you would do it intentionally like that.”

Blaise didn’t answer, and neither did Aldwyn. The pair chose to hover near Theo as they turned their attention to Draco, who was finally getting his chance to play alongside the active Chasers in the team. Aldwyn could feel his anticipation rising. Draco was a good player, one of the best in their group of friends, but he had never seen him play against, or with, people who were three or more years older. And playing with his papa during the holidays definitely didn’t count.

“Malfoy, come on. Chaser Drills. I hope you have been paying attention.” Marcus points at Draco, gesturing him over to settle between Graham and Adrien. He is quick to fly over, glancing at his friends with a look that was equal parts determination and challenge.

“Try not to embarrass us,” Theo called, snickering when Draco waved him off.

“I never do,” Draco replied loftily, his expression furrowing when he listened to Flint’s instructions. How they were going to call out a few of the more basic manoeuvres to see if he knew what he was doing, and what level his Quidditch skills were up to. Then they would test him on how well he could keep up with the rest of the team.

He accelerated quickly, not as powerful as Graham, but that was a given, seeing as the older boy had at least 3 years of playing Quidditch already under his belt. Draco snickered, tightening his grip on his broom before cutting sharply around Marcus, nearly clipping his broom in the process.

“Watch it!” Marcus snapped, but Draco paid him no mind as he allowed himself to relax, flying into the wind with Graham and Adrien at his sides.

Draco caught the Quaffle mid-pass from another group of hopefuls wishing to make the reserve team. He banked left, rolled under a Bludger Derrick lazily sent his way, and snapped a shot toward the right hoop, no keeper in place to block him, but it still just skimmed the outer side.

“Too high!” Marcus barked, though Aldwyn could definitely hear a hint of intrigue in their captain’s tone. Draco circled back immediately, jaw set.

His second attempt went a little smoother. He wove between Graham and Adrien, listening to their quiet instructions with patience. Then pulled a tight corkscrew manoeuvre that forced the second group to overshoot, grabbed the Quaffle mid-air and passed cleanly back to Adrien. Once he had gotten back into his central position, Adrien passed it back with a clear gesture towards the goals. Try again, he mouthed and this time the shot landed. Clean through the central hoop.

“Again!” Marcus called, clapping his hands.

Each time they ran it back, circling around the second team of Chasers, practising simple plays and passes as they travelled from one side of the pitch to the other, Draco kept up. It wasn’t a flawless display, but it was impressive for someone who had never played in a full match before. He stumbled once when a tight formation changed and nearly lost control during a steep dive to catch a dropped Quaffle, but recovered before he could lose too much momentum or height.

Theo and Aldwyn visibly winced during such a dive.

“Relax,” Aldwyn murmured, seeing Draco’s muscles tensing a little more with each minute mistake he makes, and he can’t help but worry for his friend.

“He keeps overcorrecting,” Theo muttered back, but they couldn’t deny that Draco was steadily improving with each pass of the Quaffle, with each dodge of a Bludger.

By the end of the drills, when there was nothing more Marcus could think to test the new Chasers on, Draco was breathing hard, sweat dripping down his brow, but a large grin wouldn’t leave his expression. Once the Chasers were safely back on the ground, the Quaffle back in the box, and Lucian attempting to wrestle the Bludger back into its place, Marcus called the rest of the team down. They gathered in a semi-circle on the grass, brooms held under arms and across shoulders as they eagerly awaited their captain’s decision.

“Zabini.” Blaise immediately locked eyes with Marcus, holding his breath. “Congratulations, you’re our starting Keeper.”

There was no visible grin on the third year's face when he heard the news, but Aldwyn, standing by his side, could hear the loud release of air and knew Blaise was intensely satisfied. He brightened for his friend, happy that he would have someone his own age on the team with him now, not that he didn’t like his teammates, but it would be nice to not be surrounded by fifth years and above. He wrapped an arm around his friend's waist in a one-armed hug.

“Malfoy,” Marcus turned his attention to Draco, “You won’t be starting Chaser this year, but you have the potential, so you will be on the Reserve team.”

“I’ll take it.” Draco nodded his head, as if he wouldn’t have believed Marcus if he had given him any other role. He was also excited to see if he had the opportunity to play in his first match anytime soon. Not that he wished for any of his teammates to be injured in a game.

“I expect you to train hard and improve,” Marcus added bluntly, an evil smile stretching across his features, which would make any man nervous, premonitions of early morning training sessions and late-night strategy sessions.

“I intend to”

Marcus surveyed the rest, dismissing those who had not made the cut with minimal ceremony. He chose a few second years, one sixth year Aldwyn didn’t recognise and two more second years, whom he vaguely recognised as Vaisey and Urquhart from the Slytherin table during dinner when they would occasionally talk to Lucian and Derrick.

As the pitch emptied once more and the team was preparing to begin their first ‘proper’ training session of the year, Theo had made his way down from the stands and rejoined their group. He slapped Aldwyn on the back, smirking over at Blaise and Draco.

“Well,” he said dryly, “none of you fell off your brooms, at least.”

Draco scoffed lightly, shooting a glare toward Derrick, who swung his bat over his shoulder and shrugged, looking unapologetic. “Barely thanks to Derrick. I can’t believe you aimed that Bludger at my face.”

Blaise flexed his fingers, still warm from the constant motion, his cheeks flushed as his grin still hadn’t diminished from his own tryout. “You nearly hit the ground twice.”

“It was once, thank you very much.” Draco corrected, sniffing and crossing his arms as best as he could with his broom in his hands. “And I overcorrected on my formations; I am not used to working with a full team on a Quidditch pitch. Just be thankful, yours is a solo position.”

Aldwyn rolled his eyes at the teasing going on around him and shook his head. He turned his attention briefly toward the row of trees a short distance away, combing the shadows with intent as he tried to spot anything out of the ordinary. After a moment, he almost jumped out of his skin and was brought out of his perusal by a light tap against his arm. Turning, he met Theo’s questioning gaze and shook his head. He hadn’t spotted anything.

Theo nodded his head and wrapped his arm around Aldwyn’s shoulders while they listened to Marcus begin to give them instructions on how they were going to begin their training regimen and what he expected from everyone, whether they were on the reserve team or not. Because they didn’t know when they would be called forward to play in a real match.

-----

The dungeon smelt of wet stone and potion fumes, a familiar perfume that pressed against Aldwyn’s senses like a quiet reassurance. The faint echoes of the morning training still clung to him despite the hot shower he had just had: bruised muscles, the sting of cuts that Skoll had insisted would teach them precision, the residual warmth of adrenaline that hummed through his veins. Though it did nothing to mask the exhaustion pumping through his blood.

His boots clicked softly along the stone floor, and he and his friends slowly entered the classroom, their robes pristine, ties perfect and straight, every fold and seam aligned perfectly as though held in place by invisible hands. But despite the refinement of their polished exterior, there was a wariness that clung to their movements, a tension in their shoulders and the set of their jaws. A small trace of exhaustion beneath the thrill of accomplishment that would only be visible to someone observant enough to see through their masks.

Blaise flopped into his seat like a cat on a sunlit ledge, letting out a sound that could have been a sigh or a growl. He stretched out his arms, muscles beginning to tighten from drawing back the string of his bow. “I swear, if Professor Prince even glances at my face right now, I will feign death and expect a proper funeral,” he muttered, tone laced with both humour and exaggeration.

Theo leant over his table, eyes much too bright and wide, whispering so low that only Aldwyn could hear him. “I feel like I could die happy after that training… if anyone asks, it was glorious.” His voice quivered with awe, almost reverence, as though he were marvelling at the coordination and talent around the table, talents he hadn’t even contemplated his friends holding.

"Glorious or traumatic?” Blaise replied with a smirk. “I distinctly remember you almost in tears at the beginning of the training session.”

Draco moved like a shadow along the table, glancing briefly at Theo with a dry flick of his eyes. “You should limit your commentary; breathing in admiration doesn’t improve potion making. It simply makes me want to smack you more every second.”

Pansy, seated beside Daphne, chuckled quietly, adjusting her sleeves to try to hide the faint bruises. Milli, Gregory, and Vincent exchanged small nods, hands already moving to arrange cauldrons and ingredients with meticulous care. They had trained together for hours in the underground training grounds, learnt how to anticipate each other’s movements, so there was no awkward fumbling, no running into each other, and no dropping ingredients all over the tables.

A minute later, Severus Prince swept into the classroom, robes rustling around his ankles with each step he took. The Gryffindor students stiffened, as they always did, but there was something softer in his gaze that morning when his eyes landed on Aldwyn. Though only Aldwyn knew what that gaze meant, the shadow of care was hidden beneath the familiar mask of authority. It lasted for a heartbeat, and then Severus’s expression hardened again. Stern, commanding and impeccably poised for one teaching a bunch of thirteen-year-olds so early in the morning.

“Today,” Severus began, voice smooth and cold like the dungeons he lived in, he tapped his wand on the edge of the board. “You will be brewing a Wideye Potion. Accuracy, timing, and observation will determine your success.” The instructions appeared on the board. “Begin.”

As cauldrons hissed to life and ingredients began to appear on the tables from students’ private supplies or the cupboards around the room, Aldwyn’s attention immediately centred. He measured, chopped, and stirred his mixture with deliberate care, aware of the bruises on his ribs and wrists but letting the discipline of his hands dominate the soreness. The faint burn of some minor cuts mingled with the excitement he always felt when he brewed, and he felt a different satisfaction begin to build at the use of skills rather than raw power to command magic.

Theo leant close, peering at the measured lines Aldwyn was tracing with his knife. “I swear you could teach dragons to be patient,” he muttered under his breath, almost embarrassed by his own fascination. Most students, and potion masters, still used measuring tools to ensure all their strips were cut the same length and width, but Aldwyn seemed to have a knack for doing it freehand.

“Dragons not so much,” he replied softly. “But I bet I could whip a Gryffindor or two into not ruining their potions before the end of class.”

Blaise snorted. “I’d pay good galleons to see that disaster.” And sure enough, chaos soon stirred across the classroom.

On the Gryffindor side of the room, a miscalculation, likely due to idiocy or an inability to read the instructions on the board, caused one of the Gryffindor cauldrons to hiss and spit. A small, neon-green puff of powder expelled from the cauldron in a small burst, with Neville quickly raising a shield in front of himself and his partner, Dean Thomas, before it could reach them.

At the same time, a small bit arced through the air towards Aldwyn’s table. Theo’s eyes widened, having turned around when he heard the noise. Blaise’s hand flicked instinctively, redirecting the airborne hazard with a deft movement, and the powder landed harmlessly back in the original cauldron.

“Artful,” Theo whispered, impressed by the quick reaction.

“Necessary,” Blaise replied, his tone dry as he rolled his shoulder and wrist from the jerking motion.

Severus’s eyes flickered, watching the exchange from the back of the classroom, narrowing in disapproval at Ronald and Seamus, who were frantically trying to fix their potion before he had a chance to swoop over and take points. But before he could, he spotted something that made his blood freeze, a faint purple mark that peeked from Aldwyn’s collar, scattered bruises along Blaise and Theo’s arms, similar marks, he was sure to find decorating the rest of his third year Slytherins.

Quietly, he stepped closer. “You are hurt,” he said, his voice low and controlled, carrying the weight of concern without anger or reproach, and muttered low enough that no Gryffindors could overhear.

Aldwyn dipped his head respectfully, a light smile tugging almost invisibly at the corner of his mouth. “Just some training, Sir. Controlled exercises. We are alright.”

Severus’s jaw tightened imperceptibly. His eyes swept the tables: Daphne’s wrist bore a small scrape, a very thin, jagged line that wasn’t made by a fall to the floor. Pansy’s shoulder and collarbone seemed to hold a faint purple bloom. Millicent, Gregory, and Vincent all carried small battle souvenirs of their morning drills, mainly in the form of scrapes along their hands, forearms and cheeks.

Then he swept his gaze back to his son, eyes scanning down his child’s form and taking note of the tension in his body, the marginal trembling of his hands as he tried to stir his cauldron. He spotted very faint bruises already forming along his arms, hands, and face, not enough to become worrisome but enough to make it look like his son had been in a battle of sorts. But instead of disapproval or even concern that Aldwyn had expected to see in his papa’s gaze, there was a flicker of pride beneath the worry.

He leant in closer, voice a shade darker. “Did Skoll do this?”

Theo looked away from his cauldron with a snort. “Not at all, sir. Some of it was the grappling training. Some of it was Blaise pushing me into the wall, and some of it was my own demise brought upon by gravity.”

“If you and Aldwyn hadn’t been fighting like toddlers, you wouldn’t have lost your footing. It was you who grabbed me and almost dragged us all to the floor.” Blaise muttered, not looking up from his pile of ingredients as he slowly diced them.

Pansy then chimed in under her breath, shooting a cautious glance at the Gryffindors who were trying their best to appear uninterested in what they were talking about. “Skoll called that our warm-up!”

That earnt them a small huff from Severus, who carded his hand through Aldwyn’s hair once. “Warm-up,” he echoed as if testing the word for structural integrity. “How long were you training for?”

“An hour and a half. Aldwyn called us to meet at half 5.” Daphne answered, bright but tired. “He made us rotate – knife work, shields, evasive manoeuvres, endurance. And we even were allowed to spar with each other at one point. No magic allowed!”

“We volunteered,” Millicent added quickly, eyes flicking up at him as though making sure they weren’t coerced into it against their will. “We asked for the challenge and agreed when Aldwyn informed us of the additional training.”

“Though he didn’t warn us that our new trainer was a brute who enjoyed watching us beat each other and land on the floor,” Theo grumbled, dragging quiet laughter from his friends.

Gregory rolled his eyes, a feral grin stretching across his lips. “It was very… educational, sir.”

“Fun, even,” Vincent mumbled as he rubbed at a purple mark on his jaw.

Severus’s frown deepened as he catalogued that information. “You are children,” he said, but so quietly that it almost dissolved into the air. “He is a fully trained werewolf warrior with decades of battlefield experience under his belt. Does he at least know how to handle apprentice-level trainees? Or did Fenrir simply send you a berserker and call it pedagogy?”

Aldwyn’s lips twitched, unable to suppress the ghost of amusement he felt at his papa’s clear disapproval of Skoll’s supposed teaching methods. “He’s careful, Papa. He doesn’t lose control. He pulls his strength. He uses demonstrations and explanations. But he doesn’t go against us, just tells us how to move against each other.”

“He is the Pack's resident trainer when it comes to cubs and warriors, Professor. He knows what he is doing.” Daphne reassures, grinning in a way that unsettles Severus more than he would have ever admitted.

Blaise lifted his hand lazily, allowing Draco to add the next ingredient before he continued to stir their potion with lazy motions. “We’re mostly just tired, Sir, not broken.”

“Speak for yourself,” Theo whispered, massaging his ribs, though his tone dripped with that same baffled satisfaction he had in the Chamber when he realised his lethality with a whip.

Severus stared for a moment longer, letting their reassurances settle, though the worry in his eyes refused to dissipate entirely. “And the objective of today’s lesson?”

“Weapon aptitude, sir,” Pansy reported brightly, as though she were discussing wand core theory rather than extracurricular violence. “Skoll wanted to see who could handle what weapons without the use of magic and enhancement once Aldwyn told him we were looking at incorporating Muggle fighting with our duelling.”

Tracey elbowed her, gesturing for her to add the pile of chopped ingredients she was holding in her hands to add in their potion. “Basically, he wanted to know if any of us had hidden talents for stabbing.”

“That is not what he was looking for, Trace, and you know it.” Aldwyn sighed, though he couldn’t wipe the grin off his face when Severus rolled his eyes and carded his hand through Aldwyn’s hair again,

“Maybe not, but that’s what I found out.” She shot back with an unapologetic shrug.

Severus’s brow crept upward, slightly unnerved at the idea of any of these children finding an affinity for a Muggle weapon and using it while duelling. Maybe he would convince Marvolo to allow the students to go up against his Inner Circle when they were older. “Should I be concerned?”

Theo lifted a hand halfway, then paused, uncertain. He glanced up at their professor; his expression stuck somewhere between stunned awe and bafflement. “In the general sense? Maybe. Personally? I discovered that I am scarily good with a whip. Which I have extremely mixed feelings about.”

“Oh, please,” Daphne snorted. “You lit up like a Christmas tree.”

“You would too if you had been the clumsy idiot of our group since childhood and suddenly found out you could wield a weapon better than anything you have ever tried before. Besides, be thankful we weren’t allowed to aim at people.” Theo defended himself, chuckling when he merely received an eyeroll in return.

“Yet.” Tracey stage-whispered, laughing. Theo threw a leaf at her.

“Knives for Pansy and me,” Daphne threw a smirk at the girl who flicked her hair over her shoulder. “Apparently, I have a good wrist. Skoll said my throws were instinctive.” She demonstrated a neat, deadly flick of her wrist that made Severus’s eye twitch. He could picture it now.

“I was told that I have a natural affinity for knife throwing and will be a quick study. Precision was my main focus.” Pansy grinned.

"And Aldwyn,” Tracey announced, leaning back like a town crier when the entire attention shifted to her, “is good at literally everything he picked up. Staffs, knives, blades, Skoll was equally as terrified as he was impressed when he ran out of things to hand him.”

Aldwyn flushed. “It wasn’t that impressive… I wasn’t proficient in any of them straight off the bat.”

“No, but you adapted and changed when he told you to. You improved the quickest and learnt how to make subtle shifts.” Tracey teased, snickered when Aldwyn’s flush deepened.

“He was testing whether you’re secretly a weapons rack, I’ll bet.” Theo joined in the laughter, sticking his tongue out at Aldwyn, who returned the gesture. “He lost, by the way.” He smirked, directing his words to Severus, who blinked.

“He lost?”

“Yeah, he didn’t catch Aldwyn out once. I think he was trying to find something Aldwyn couldn’t master in the space of five minutes.”

“I think he was just messing with me,” Aldwyn muttered.

“I think he was testing you, seeing how adaptable you could be.” Blaise countered lazily. “I think, by the end of it, he was more amused than anything."

Severus pinched the bridge of his nose as though this conversation was giving him a headache. He glanced around the tired but proud third years and sighed. “What about you, Mister Zabini?”

Blaise straightened just enough to look like he hadn’t been waiting for the question. “Archery, apparently. Long and Short bows. My accuracy is apparently ‘commendable’.”

“He hit four targets in a row,” Theo said, rolling his eyes. “We will never hear the end of it.”

“Three of them were moving,” Tracey added, even more disgruntled. She had thrown knives with the rest of the girls, and they hadn’t been given moving targets to practice with just yet.

Blaise preened. “Patience and precision. Some of us don’t need to whip things to feel fulfilled.”

Theo glared. “I will remind you that I managed to hit my moving targets as well.”

Millicent snorted at the boys and decided to contribute her own achievements before an actual argument could break out between them. “Endurance for me. Skoll said most opponents get tired before they get clever. I am the one who is going to exhaust them before taking them down.”

To Severus’s mounting horror and pride, they all looked positively delighted with themselves. And yet, beneath the disbelief, there was unmistakable pride, exposed just enough for the Slytherins to see and recognise. Severus opened his mouth, presumably to deliver a stern lecture about safety protocols and inappropriate extracurricular combat without a responsible adult present, when Aldwyn, of all people, supplied additional information without prompting.

“Oh, and she also broke my nose,” he said casually, as if announcing that he had misplaced his quill.

Severus froze.

Millicent sat up straighter, chin lifting. “It was an accident!” she clarified as soon as Severus turned his gaze from his son to her with a raised eyebrow.

Theo helpfully added, “It was during one of their sparring matches. She doesn’t know her own strength, apparently and took Aldwyn’s distraction as an invitation to knock him to the floor. Ten out of ten for impact, though.”

Tracey nodded solemnly. “It was very educational on what not to do during a friendly spar.”

Severus pivoted sharply toward his son. “You broke your nose?”

Aldwyn waved his hand, amused more than anything. “It was just a small fracture, I didn’t even realise until Draco cast a diagnostic charm. Perfectly clean line, no complications.”

“Broken,” Severus repeated, voice thinning as though someone had siphoned out half the vowels, had pulled half his breath from his lungs. Millicent, instead of wilting away at the tone, looked vaguely proud of herself, as though it was a compliment to her technique and strength.

When Aldwyn caught the expression, he huffed a laugh. “I told you it was fine back in training, and now you look like the cat who got the canary.”

“You did,” Millicent said, smug in a ‘see, Professor, your son endorsed my violence’ sort of way.

Severus stepped closer, already fussing. His eyes darted across Aldwyn’s face with the surgical scrutiny of a parent. “And was it healed properly? Did you go see Madam Pomfrey? Breathing? Septum alignment? Any tenderness remaining?”

Aldwyn’s grin widened. He leant into his papa’s space with the easy familiarity of a child who is used to their parents fussing around him whenever they got injured… or even suspected injured. As if he already knew his papa was going to inspect him ridiculously closely and always enjoyed the additional attention.

“Draco fixed it for me,” he assured, and his voice softened on the name. “Closed fracture. He used a low-level healing charm to realign the bone and fixed the bruising and swelling. I can breathe fine.”

Severus narrowed his eyes, shot a quick glance at his godson, who was watching the pair with a smug expression, almost daring Severus to find something wrong with his spell work. With a flick of his wand, he cast his own diagnostic charm. A soft green shimmer swept across Aldwyn’s nose, settling into pale runes that dissolved a heartbeat later.

“Hmph.” He straightened. "Mister Malfoy did an admirable job, though I assume he already knew this. Clean alignment and efficient magical use.”

From across the table, Draco looked very pleased with himself, which Blaise immediately elbowed him in the ribs for with a laugh. Aldwyn chuckled and allowed Severus to pull him into a brief one-armed hug, quick enough not to scandalise any Slytherin dignity, but warm enough to make several classmates smile into their cauldrons.

With his assessment completed and his worry abated for the time being, Severus pivoted into pragmatic mode. He strode to his private stores, unlocked a cabinet with a quiet charm, and returned to the Slytherin tables with an assortment of neatly labelled tins and jars. He placed bruise balms and healing salves at each desk as though distributing party favours for the world’s most unhinged birthday celebration.

He then moved to stand behind Tracey, noticing her wincing every time she tried to use her right hand to stir her potion. “For your shoulder,” he murmured, raising his wand to cast a targeted healing charm that shone a pale blue and caused her strained muscles to relax with a sigh and a little pop.

He moved on to Blaise, who smiled up at him in thanks when Severus pointed his wand at his swollen wrist and shot the same healing spell. He felt an ice-cold sensation travel through his wrist and hand before the swelling went down and the pain slowly faded.

Salves clinked down in front of the rest of them. Theo, Daphne, Millicent, Vincent, Tracey, and Gregory immediately picked up the tins and began helping each other apply the healing ointments to their bruises and scrapes, giggling and smiling as each one faded until there was nothing but unblemished skin. Another set was placed down in front of Aldwyn, as a soft kiss brushed against his forehead.

No further questions came after that, and no anticipated lecture either. Just a small care package of tins and healing charms that left them all feeling suitably relaxed and free of pain, even if they were still tired from their full training session. It was reassuring to know that while Skoll was training them for a potential war that could break out in the next few years between the Dark and Light, Severus was going to make sure they all survived long enough to see it through to the end.

The Gryffindors worked in little clusters around their cauldrons, stirring and chopping and measuring with varying degrees of competence. Conversation leaked between the tables, half whispers and half outright nosiness that made the Slytherins’ ears perk up and lean closer to the Gryffindor students to listen in on their conversation.

Thomas leant against his cauldron as he sprinkled dried nettles into the bubbling liquid. “Davies definitely was wearing a bandage earlier. I swear I saw Prince charm away the swelling.”

Neville nodded; he had seen the sight of the Slytherin students walking into the classroom, covered in bruises and looking almost dead on their feet despite the constant laughter. He peered into his cauldron. “And Zabini’s wrist. Professor Prince even left bruise salves on their desks. Why would they need bruise salves during their first lesson of the day?”

Weasley snorted, sharpening his knife, like Granger had nagged him, with a little too much intensity. “Because they spend half their lives picking fights with each other, that’s why.”

Neville shook his head. “No, Ron, actual fighting would get them some sort of detention from Professor Prince. Whatever happened this morning… the professor looked impressed, if a little worried. Besides, when have you ever actually seen any Slytherin students fighting with each other?”

The observation stalled Weasley for half a second; he scowled down into his potion, watching as the water bubbled, changing into a light blue.

Finnegan took the opportunity to weigh in on the conversation, elbow deep in his Shrivelfigs. “Bet it was a duelling club. But the private kind. Slytherin-exclusive. With rules and probably membership rings. How else do you think they always end up beating the Ravenclaws in duelling?”

“Rings?” Thomas blinked, trying to crane his neck to see if he could identify any such item being worn by the Slytherin students.

“Well, they can’t very well sew embroidered jackets, can they?” Seamus shrugged, and Aldwyn smirked because, honestly, the In Dolus Intortis cloaks weren’t embroidered, but they were embellished with their group’s emblem.

Neville experimentally stirred clockwise, squinting at the board to make sure he was following the instructions written on the board. “What if it wasn’t duelling, though? What if it were something athletic? Maybe Professor Prince is training them for Quidditch or something?”

Weasley barked a laugh, making his friends glance across the room at Severus to make sure he wasn’t watching them. “Snape? Snape doesn’t do athletics. Snape once scowled at the sunlight for daring to enter the classroom.”

Across the room, Daphne lifted her eyes but did not otherwise dignify that with a reaction, other than to raise a single eyebrow at Pansy.

Thomas kept going. “Could be some weird Slytherin tradition. Some pureblood initiation stuff. My mum said old families used to make their kids ride horses blindfolded.”

“Why blindfolded?” Neville questioned. He had never heard of such a tradition before. Even if he and his gran didn’t participate in all the pureblood traditions, they still took part in the majority, and he was sure he would have heard something about this.

“I think that is more a Muggle tradition, Dean,” Hermione muttered at the same time, but no one paid her any mind.

“So, they’d learn to ‘listen to the animal’s soul’ or something. My mum gets very poetic about it all; it is super weird.”

Weasley cut in, “If Slytherins had initiation rites, Malfoy would brag about it every chance he got.”

At the Slytherin table, Draco paused mid-slice and raised both eyebrows at Blaise as if to say: Would I? I don’t think I would.

Blaise mouthed back confidently: Absolutely.

Finnegan’s mind had not yet stopped spinning theories. “What about hunting? But like the upper-crust posh kind, with hounds and everything. Maybe they were out before dawn doing rich-people hunting rituals.”

Thomas frowned. “What are they hunting at Hogwarts, Seamus? Each other?”

Weasley muttered darkly, “If they were going to be out hunting anyone, it is going to be Muggles or Light wizards so they can practice their torture techniques.”

Neville stirred his potion, more thoughtful. “Instead of hunting or duelling, maybe they are just practising spells. Professor Prince must know a lot of defence spells.”

“Or”, Thomas lowered his voice, glancing over to the Slytherin students who appeared to all be focusing on their own potions, muttering between themselves. “Could be some Ministry training. I heard one of the older years talking about an apprenticeship because loads of Ministry jobs need combat preparation. What if Prince is getting them ready for these internships?”

Weasley actually froze at that, his ladle suspended above the table, spilling some of his potion across his own potion notes. “You’re telling me Malfoy could get a Ministry job before I do?”

Granger snorted and rolled her eyes. “You want to get a job in the Ministry, Ron?”

Across the aisle, Theo leant toward Daphne and murmured, “I didn’t realise employment prospects were part of the entire mystery.”

“I can’t believe those idiots believe the Ministry would allow thirteen-year-olds to intern at the Ministry. Do you think I could find a job this summer?” Daphne responded with a snicker, glancing toward the gaggle of Gryffindor students who definitely weren’t paying attention to their potions.

“Well, apparently, we are just too mysterious for even Gryffindors to ignore.” Pansy joined in with a chuckle of her own. “I feel so loved.”

Finnegan pointed with his spoon. “What if it were beasts? Malfoy always looks like he’s survived something traumatic after Care of Magical Creatures.”

Theo sniffed very quietly while Blaise whispered, “To be fair, he has.”

“It’s not my fault, animals and beasts just seem to hate me.” Draco sneers toward his friends.

Neville, oblivious to the growing amusement from the Slytherin students, continued to build possibilities like he was stacking blocks, and each one seemed even more unlikely than the last. “Or magical first aid. Professor Prince is good at that, right? I mean, he did just fix Davies’s shoulder in a matter of seconds.”

Weasley, however, didn’t seem to hear him, appearing to be stuck on the Ministry internships idea, though Neville didn’t understand why, because Ron didn’t hit him as a Ministry employee. “Bet they skipped breakfast as well. Bet that’s part of their secret training. Bet they run drills before sunrise.”

Thomas shrugged his shoulders. “Anything is possible with that lot. They looked perfectly normal at dinner last night, so they must have done some heavy-duty training, or something last night or this morning… they look exhausted too.”

Weasley cut in, triumphant at having someone agree with his theories. “And healed! That proves it! They were training for combat!”

Neville hesitated. “Against what, though?”

Thomas considered this for a moment. “Gryffindors probably.”

Finnegan laughed loudly, elbowing Thomas in the side as he stirred his potions a few too many times. “Dean, they’re not building a shadow army.”

Weasley nodded, eyes narrowing at the Slytherin students who were muttering between themselves and laughing quietly. “But what if they are?”

That was precisely the second when Weasley, completely distracted by the Slytherin Shadow Army Theory, picks up a handful of their next ingredient, shrivelfigs, and throws them into the cauldron, at the wrong stage of the brewing process. Then immediately follows up with a pinch of powdered something from a different jar.

The potion turned a slow, alarming shade of pink, which Neville noticed immediately and began pulling Dean and Hermione away from the bench. “Ron… Seamus…”

BOOM.

A wet explosion sounded around the room, followed by a shower of confetti of fizzing raspberry-scented goo.

The Slytherins carefully managed composure disintegrated into controlled chaos as they all broke down into laughter at the bright pink slime coating several Gryffindor students who hadn’t had the mind to cast a quick shielding spell or move out of the splash zone. Theo choked on his breath, while Tracey tried to muffler hers behind her hand, Daphne’s shoulder shook uncontrollably, while Blaise smirked with the serenity of a man whose soul fed on others' misfortune.

Severus materialised like dementor smoke, from the shadows at the front of the classroom where he had been lying in wait for this exact moment. Just as he was approaching, another cloud of glittering pink steam shot upward, showering the nearest desks with more of the sticky concoction and pelting Weasley in the face with something that smelt, this time, of fermented raspberries.

Half of the Slytherins stuttered, choking on their breath as they continued to laugh at the Gryffindors' situation.

Weasley sputtered and wiped at his eyes. “It’s in my mouth! Why is it in my mouth?”

Finnegan blinked dazedly at the purple crater where his potion had been and shrugged, “Well, that's not particularly ideal.”

“Mister Finnegan,” he drawled, voice low and deadly, “if there exists a potion in this syllabus that you can brew without rendering half the classroom radioactive, I have yet to witness it.”

Finnegan straightened immediately, pouting like a petulant child. “Sorry, sir.”

“And Mister Weasley,” Severus continued, narrowing his eyes. “If you spent half as much time attending to your cauldron and reading the instructions as you do to your ongoing conspiracy theories regarding my Slytherin students, you might actually pass your exams.”

Behind Aldwyn, Theo snickered, raised his eyebrow and whispered, “He heard all of that?”

Daphne gave a tiny shrug of he always hears everything.

Severus flicked his wand with a loud sign, cleaning Weasley and Finnegan’s workstation until it shone again, then flicked his wand again to bring a full set of fresh ingredients to their table. “Start again, and this time do it correctly.” He turned. “Everyone else, carry on.”

The room exhaled as he turned to make his way back to the blackboard and his desk. The Gryffindors leant together anew, but their voices this time dropped to conspiratorial whispers.

“See?” Weasley whispered fiercely. “He didn’t deny it. Something is going on.”

Neville stirred his potion counterclockwise, lips pursed. “We saw Prince heal them, so I am sure he already knew what was going on, otherwise he would have been more worried about where they got those bruises instead of just healing them. Besides, that means that they were actually hurt. What do we even do at Hogwarts that makes you hurt like that and won’t get you expelled?”

“Or dead,” Finnegan added.

At the Slytherin table, as they were getting themselves back under control, Blaise considered the Gryffindor’s words, tapping his spoon twice on the rim of his cauldron, and muttered under his breath, “Oh, you know, just Tuesday.”

Tracey smirked. “Should we tell them about our Thursdays?”

Theo laughed. “Absolutely not.”

Daphne rolled her eyes with a smirk. “Never.”

Draco, without looking up from his careful slicing, sighed. “I say let them suffer.”

Chapter Text

The paddock smelt sharply of damp straw, wet earth, and the musky tang of animal breath. Small puddles reflected the grey mid-morning sky, broken by boots, hooves, and the restless shifting of creatures penned beyond the fence. The third years clustered loosely, their robes already splashed with mud despite them only having been outside for less than ten minutes.

The Slytherins stood slightly apart from the Gryffindors, eyes still alight with amusement from hearing their increasingly wild theories about their injuries and where they had been before breakfast to receive such decorative scrapes. They were dressed, head to toe in outdoor robes, spelt with waterproofing charms, dirt repellent wards and strengthening wards that would protect them from unwanted scratches from the smaller creatures.

Professor Charlie Prince-Slytherin stood near the centre of the chaos, sleeves rolled up, dragon-hide gloves clipped to his belt, posture relaxed in the way of someone who belonged outdoors. Of someone who felt comfortable surrounded by fauna and flora. This was not his first year teaching as a whole, but it was his first time teaching this particular group of students, and he was interested to see what Bill had been so riled up about last year. However, the students’ attention, reluctant or otherwise, kept drifting back to him as he waited for the last of his students to arrive.

“Alright,” Charlie called, voice carrying easily across the paddock without needing to shout. “Before we do anything exciting, you’re going to learn how not to get yourselves mauled.”

A few nervous laughs rippled through the group of Gryffindor students until they realised that he was being serious.

“Care of Magical Creatures isn’t about bravery,” he continued, pacing slowly along the fence of one of the paddocks. “It is about observation, respect, patience, and knowing when to keep your hands to yourself. If you charge in like you’re invincible, like you have nothing more to learn, you’ll end up bleeding, and I promise you that Madam Pomfrey will not be impressed.”

His gaze flicked briefly toward the Gryffindor students, making Ronald scowl and look away.

Charlie stopped beside an enclosure, resting one hand causally on a post. “Every creature here can tell the difference between confidence and fear, between patience and uncaring. Confidence is calm, reassuring to the animals; fear is loud.” He tapped his temple. “They can read you a lot faster than you could ever hope to read them.”

Aldwyn listened from the edge of the group, his fingers flexing absently as he tracked Charlie’s movements, tone and emphasis. Watching his brother teaching in a classroom environment was a strange thing to witness. Obviously, he knew that his brother was a teacher, had seen him teaching himself several times during the summer holidays, but to see him exuding confidence in front of a Gryffindor-Slytherin class of third years who had a history of pulling out their wands. It was a wonder to see. impressive for someone who used to run around after dragons for a living.

“Today we will be looking at Hippogriffs,” Charlie said. “Which means that if you ignore everything I’ve just said, I will remove you from this paddock personally, as you will be a danger to not only yourself, but your classmates as well.” He glances around the outdoor classroom, raising an eyebrow when he sees Weasley mocking him to his friends. “That includes you, Mister Weasley.”

Ronald flushes, dropping his hands to his sides. “I wasn’t-”

“And I didn’t ask for your excuses,” Charlie replied mildly.

A few Slytherins smirked. No one comments further on the fact that, technically, Professor Weasley still went by the same name as the student he just reprimanded, even though he had legally taken the name Prince-Slytherin. What lingered instead was a quiet tension in Ronald’s shoulders, a burning resentment that he never quite managed to hide when Charlie or Bill looked his way during their lessons. Or how his ex-brothers now looked at Aldwyn with an easy familiarity they never showed when in the Burrow.

Charlie continued, “When meeting a hippogriff for the first time, you bow. You then wait to see if they bow in return. You do not test them; you do not get up until they give you a signal. You let them decide whether you’re worth their time.”

He turned slightly, eyes briefly meeting Aldwyn’s above the crowd of students and smiled. He knew how much his younger brother loved learning all about magical creatures, the more dangerous the better, but he had always been interested in every manner of creature. There was no favouritism in his gaze, just an acknowledgement. Aldwyn inclined his head a fraction in response, already understanding the severity of the lesson as he had read up on Hippogriffs during his free time and questioned Charlie ruthlessly when he came upon information he either didn't quite understand or wanted more information about.

A quiet rustle nearby immediately drew Aldwyn’s attention because there should be no one here but his class, and most of the students were already standing around Professor Weasley, listening to his introduction on Hippogriffs. Walking a little further away, rounding a large tree, Aldwyn spotted Neville Longbottom crouched on the ground, wrestling with his Monster Book of Monsters. The leather-bound tome snapped and lunged unpredictably, pages clapping like teethless jaws, but the Gryffindor seemed to have a knack for grappling with the book.

Neville’s face was flushed with frustration, his hands slipping and threatening to release the book every time it tried to wiggle. Most of the class, it seemed, had ignored the struggling Gryffindor, but Aldwyn remembered Longbottom coming to him last year and warning him about Weasley and Granger, informing him of the sneaking around and plots. He remembered Longbottom waving to him several times, ignoring his classmates’ harsh words in response.

So, he stepped forward. Aldwyn crouched on the floor in front of the shy Gryffindor, his movements smooth and unhurried as he watched the boy for a second longer before he made a very quiet noise. Enough to announce his presence to Neville, but not loud enough to aggravate the book. Neville snapped his head up, knuckles white as he gripped his textbook even tighter.

“Prince-Slytherin?”

“I thought you could use a hand.” He held out his hand in offering, waiting patiently for the other to decide whether he wanted to accept the aid or not.

“Thanks, that would be great.” Neville shot Aldwyn a wide grin before he slowly passed the book over to Aldwyn, who handled it with much gentler hands.

“You have to show them you mean no harm; they can be easy to agitate.” Aldwyn smooths the book's front cover down, making sure to keep a steady grip on the spine. Then, he slowly strokes two fingers down the soft spines along the spine of the book. “Place two fingers here, and then slowly, gently stroke down.”

Neville watches as the book immediately melts into Aldwyn’s palms, its loud growling cutting down to a soft whimper, almost a purr, before it flops open onto the page all about Hippogriffs. He let out a breathless laugh, accepting the book back.

“Thank you so much. I don’t know what I would have done if you weren’t here, Prince-Slytherin.”

“Don’t mention it, Longbottom. Professor Weasley had some sort of amused idea in his head when he contemplated putting this book on our equipment list during the summer.” He leant closer, covering his mouth with his hand as if sharing a secret. “I think he just likes to torture his students.”

Aldwyn brushes off his hands on his trousers, then makes to stand up, but Neville reaches forward to grab hold of his wrist before he can get very far. Aldwyn glances down at the other, raising his eyebrow before shrugging and crouching back on the ground.

“Sorry, I just…” Neville lets go of Aldwyn. “I just wanted you to know that I don’t agree with anything my housemates said to you… In Defence.”

Aldwyn’s expression remained neutral even though he felt pretty surprised.

“Professor Prince isn’t a Death Eater, my Gran told me loads of stories about him growing up, so I know he was a spy and helped the Light,” Neville said firmly, shoulders squaring. “He might not be Light himself, but I know he isn’t evil. He is a strict professor, but he is fair. He helps people when they need it.” Neville glanced around the tree at Charlie, making sure they hadn’t drawn much attention to themselves while their professor was teaching. “And your dad… he’s… well, he’s too nice to be You-Know-Who. I haven’t actually met him, you know, but I have heard the rumours of him coming to see you every time you are in the hospital wing. That he fusses more than Professor Prince. Professor Sprout even told me that he had some biscuits sent to the staff room before to thank the professors for helping you get settled last year.”

Aldwyn snorted softly before he could stop himself. He remembered that conversation all too well. His father had thought the rumour going round about him being the Dark Lord, even if it was the truth, to be too funny and wanted to see what the Hogwarts Staff would do if he had the House elves make cookies and send them, via owl post, to the staff room one day. Apparently, half of the staff had immediately shut down Dumbledore’s attempts to warn them away from the cookies and eaten them before the hour lunch break was up.

“That sounds like him.”

Neville relaxed a little at that. “I just thought you should know. I mean, you have helped me out more than once now.”

“I appreciate you telling me, Longbottom. Thank you.” Aldwyn said calmly. “Now, I think you should focus on your book and not on baseless rumours. Hold it by the corners, not the pages and allow the cover to move a little, then it won’t try to bite you again.”

Behind them, sneaking away from the main lesson when they noticed that Aldwyn wasn’t with them anymore, Theo watched with open interest, while Blaise leant against a nearby fence with a thoughtful smirk stretched across his features.

“Alright now,” Charlie called. “I want you all to watch me closely. I am going to show you the correct way to handle a Hippogriff, and then it is going to be your turn.”

Charlie turned toward the paddock he was leant in front of and opened the gate. Using his wand, which was strapped to his wrist, he unlocked the paddock door and allowed a large, white, majestic bird-like creature to stroll out. It squawked loudly, flapped its wings and reared up, not in threat but to stretch out as it walked toward Charlie, who was watching the creature intently.

He waited, completely composed and still, while Buckbeak shook out his feathers. Waited until the Hippogriff noticed him and cocked his head to the side as if studying the man. Only then did Charlie bow, keeping his eyes on the creature. He leant forward, bending until he was at almost a 90-degree angle. Then he froze again.

The students watched in silence, bated breath stuttering as tension grew throughout the group. It was tense, watching their professor stand so close to a magical creature that could easily injure, maul or kill any one of them within seconds.

Their professor waited patiently, never shifting from his bow until Buckbeak chittered and then, with deliberate grace, lowered his head in response. Tension within the students immediately loosened when they watched Charlie standing up slowly. He then approached the giant hippogriff, keeping his pace measured and slow. One hand held out in front of him to show that he meant no harm. And it brought smiles to the children’s faces when Charlie managed to stroke his hand through the thick plumage of the creature while it seemed to preen under careful hands.

“Alright, guys,” Charlie turned back towards the students, feeding Buckbeak a small ferret. “It is your turn now. We are going to take this one step at a time. Each one of you will enter the paddock, bow, and only if you are approved of by Buckbeak will you be permitted to step forward to pet him if you wish.”

Draco went first. Stepping into the paddock with his usual collected energy. His movements were controlled, precise. His bow measured and slow, keeping the angle of his spine straight. Buckbeak observed the blond with a tip of his head, a questioning click sounding around the classroom, making the students take a step back in caution. The large creature blinked once, then dipped his head in acknowledgement. Draco, who had kept his eyes on the Hippogriff, straightened with a self-satisfied tilt of his chin that made Blaise snort under his breath.

“Very well done. Textbook example.” Charlie commented lightly. “Next.”

Neville edged forward before anyone else could claim the spot. His shoulders were already tense, palms damp against his robes, but his stance held something the other Gryffindors couldn’t manage half the time, patience. Something he had learnt while growing his own plants in his greenhouses.

He bowed, low and respectful. Not elegant, like Malfoy’s had been. Not perfectly straight either, but he was sincere. Neville stayed folded longer than necessary, smiling nervously when Buckbeak studied him for longer than he did with Draco before he lowered his head. It wasn’t until Buckbeak had stood back up to his full height that Neville actually began to move out of his own bow.

Several students exhaled, while Pansy muttered, “Huh.”

Neville straightened fully, wide-eyed and pale, when Buckbeak took a single step in his direction and made a quiet chittering noise, almost like he was talking. The sound drew a smile to Professor Weasley’s lips, and he gestured for Neville to step forward. “He wants you to pet him, Mister Longbottom.”

The young Gryffindor stared for a moment before swallowing, nodding and taking a very small, very slow step forward. Offering his hand, stretched out in front of him, Neville was in terrified awe when Buckbeak closed the distance between them. He sniffed the trembling fingers once, then nudged into Neville’s palm. The boy let out a startled, breathless laugh and stroked through the small, rough feathers along Buckbeak’s beak. Relief softened every line of his posture.

“Well done, Neville,” Charlie said, genuine warmth threading through the praise. “Off you go.”

Neville practically floated back to the group after giving one final stroke to their majestic bird. His Monster Book of Monsters snapped at his fingers as he picked it carefully back up off a rock, which he had placed it on before he left. Aldwyn tipped his head toward him in acknowledgement when Neville walked past, which made the Gryffindor flush with quiet pride.

“Miss Greengrass, your turn,” Charlie called next.

Daphne stepped forward with the same calm she had worn earlier while casually throwing knives at targets during the morning drills. A detail which had some of her friends taking a cautionary step backwards, worry rising in their chests, as if thinking she would somehow manage to injure the large creature.

Daphne bowed with smooth, unhurried grace, not showy, not nervous, just a polite gesture like she had done this a thousand times before. Buckbeak’s response was immediate, head dipping before she had even fully bowed.

“No. Absolutely no way.” Tracey hissed.

Blaise folded his arms. “I refused to believe she can accurately hit a bullseye at twenty paces and also charm wildlife. That’s unnatural.” Two completely different actions that shouldn’t go well together, but apparently did for Daphne.

Theo nodded gravely. “It’s always the quiet ones.”

Aldwyn rolled his eyes leant over to whisper to his friends. “Theo, you are one of the quiet ones.”

Daphne, oblivious to her classmates’ conversation, stepped forward slowly, snapped her wrist and produced a small strip of dried benison from her pocket and offered it up to the large creature without fear. Buckbeak took it delicately, feathers ruffling with something very close to pleasure as he combed strands of her hair with his beak.

Charlie blinked once at the docile Hippogriff, almost cuddling up to the third-year student. “Well. I suppose the hippogriff has spoken.”

“That’s what worries me,” Blaise murmured.

Daphne, after extracting herself from Buckbeak, returned to their group. Her expression was cool and entirely uninterested in the minor crisis she’d caused amongst her friends. She slid the rest of the dried treats back into her pocket as though bribing magical beasts was simply a part of her morning routine. And if Aldwyn hadn’t been with her all morning, he could have believed it.

“Since when do you handle Hippogriffs that well?” He questioned, raising an eyebrow.

“Since five minutes ago, apparently,” Daphne replied serenely, shrugging her shoulders.

Tracey threw her hands up. “You were literally knife-throwing before breakfast.” Her voice was dropped low, making sure none of their Gryffindor classmates could hear her.

“Versatility, maybe you should learn some,” Daphne replied with a smirk.

After Daphne had settled back in with her friends, the paddock briefly settled into a rhythmic quiet, excitement threading through the nerves of the students who were waiting for their turn to introduce themselves to the Hippogriff. Charlie scanned the class once again.

“Weasley,” he called. “You turn.”

Ronald immediately began to shove his way through his peers before Charlie had even finished his name, roughly elbowing one of his friends out of the way as if he were carving a path to glory.

“Oi! Watch it, Ron!” Seamus yelped, catching himself on Dean’s shoulder so he wouldn’t fall to the floor.

“Move out of my way then.” Weasley snapped, not bothering to look back and check on his friend. He passed the cluster of Slytherins standing a little off to the side with his chin tipped high, as if he had already decided that he was going to be the best in this class. He muttered, just loud enough to carry, “Like I’m going to let a bunch of Prince bootlickers show me up.”

Theo raised an eyebrow, Blaise smirked, and Tracey made a delicate, unimpressed noise, but it was Aldwyn who looked the most offended, mocking the boy as he stormed past. “Over a year in the same year group, and he still can’t remember my name correctly. I guess some people are really just that stupid.”

Weasley acted like he didn’t hear him and continued to move through the paddock without pause. “He’s just a big ugly bird anyway,” he muttered under his breath, though the bitterness wasn’t directed directly at Buckbeak so much as at the entire situation.

Charlie’s head snapped up immediately, glancing from the student to Buckbeak and back again. “Mister Weasley, you will mind your tongue. Hippogriffs are very proud creatures and will not tolerate-”

“I know what I’m doing.” Weasley cut in, already planting himself too close to the entrance of the paddock with a tense posture.

Buckbeak’s head jerked up, his feathers bristling along the spine of his neck, when Weasley threw open the gate and allowed it to clatter along the fence with a loud clatter. A low rumble built in his chest, more in warning than threat, but unmistakable.

Aldwyn exhaled through his nose. “Here we go,” he muttered, shoulders subtly angling as he prepared to move when the situation turned for the worse. He shuffled a step closer to the paddock as well.

Charlie held out a hand, not toward Aldwyn; he hadn’t seen his brother’s movements with his gaze locked on the student who was actively trying to get himself killed. “Mister Weasley, step back! You approach only when-”

Weasley completely ignored the professor and took another step forward. “Bloody oversized pigeon, clearly doesn’t recognise Dark wizards when it sees one.”

Hermione had had enough of his attitude, or disregard for authority, and lunged forward and grabbed at his sleeve. “Ron, stop – you are going to get yourself killed!”

“Gerroff!” Ron hissed, yanking his arm free so violently that Granger almost fell over the paddock fence. “I bowed already when we saw them last time with Hagrid; it’s just a stupid formality.”

“But you haven’t bowed today, and Hagrid didn't let us get anywhere near the Hippogriffs last year!” Granger insisted, voice pitched with genuine alarm as she watched her friend continue to walk toward the agitated hippogriff.

Buckbeak dragged one taloned hoof across the dirt, slow and deliberate scratches that sent clumps of earth scattering. His wings twitched, his head lowered, and his gaze sharpened with a predatory focus of something deciding whether it needed to defend its dignity.

Charlie stepped forward, voicing, ringing across the paddock, hands clenching at his sides, shaking. “Ronald Weasley, that hippogriff is warning you. Back away. Now, before I give you detention for the rest of the school year.”

Weasley threw a look over his shoulder, a half-sneer, half-petulant stubbornness. “What? Scared that I am going to make you look bad in front of your favourite students?”

Blaise’s eyebrows shot up at not only the complete disregard for safety regulations put in place to save his life, but at the disrespect shown to a member of staff. “This is going to be educational.”

Buckbeak’s wings spread, slow at first, then flaring outward with a powerful snap that sent several nearby students staggering back a step. Air buffeted robes and sent straw and dust clouds skittering across the grounds.

Charlie’s voice sharpened even more, anger quivering in his words. “Mister Weasley! Do not take another-”

Weasley sauntered forward anyway; he didn’t bow, didn’t pause and didn’t even seem to acknowledge the large creature bearing down on him. He simply walked toward the creature that had very clearly decided he was a problem.

And that was the moment Aldwyn decided to intervene. He knew he couldn’t use any magic for fear of agitating Buckbeak further and putting the entire class in danger, so he moved. He was already mid-stride when Buckbeak’s front talons lifted off the earth, and the great creature reared back, beak snapping open with a sound like a guillotine blade.

Aldwyn was already jumping the paddock fence, his voice pitched into a low thread of steady sound, nonsense words falling from his lips, calming and grounding. Respectful. He didn’t plead with the creature, didn’t allow any of his unease or fear to show as he slowly walked forward. Shoving Ronald out of the way, so he stood between the creature and Gryffindor.

Talons slashed, fabric split, and heat blossomed down Aldwyn’s arm as blood began to dot the dried soil beneath his feet, precise and decorative like spilt ink. He hissed through his teeth and shifted his stance, redirecting Buckbeak’s attention with soft, low-toned words that settled like sand over churning water.

Granger gasped. Several Gryffindors yelped and stumbled backwards as if they had been the ones struck by the powerful beast. The Slytherins froze, not from fear but from shock and alertness. No one in the class had seen Aldwyn move until he was already standing in front of Buckbeak.

Buckbeak’s wings shuddered, then slowly folded as his front legs hit the ground once more. His head dipped, not in an apology but in the proud creature’s equivalent of concession. Only when Buckbeak backed away a few steps did Aldwyn straighten completely, left sleeve torn completely open into ribbons from the elbow to the wrist, blood seeping down his arm in a steady stream.

“Aldwyn!”

Charlie reached him in three strides, no wand present, no protocols followed, and no teacherly composure could be witnessed as he rushed toward his little brother, throwing a dead ferret at the hippogriff to keep him occupied while he tried to see the wound inflicted on Aldwyn. His hands hovered, not daring to touch until he had found a safe place, which was proving difficult with all the blood.

“Let me see… are you… how deep…?”

Aldwyn turned his arm so the worst was visible and shrugged his shoulders. “It's superficial,” he said evenly, inspecting the injury. “Buckbeak was holding back.”

“That’s not the point!” Charlie snapped before he could help himself. His jaw clenched, shoulders held tight with worry, braced beneath crumbling professionalism. “Merlin… Aldwyn, out of all the idiotic… You could have been…” Charlie sighs, carded a hand through his hair and dragged a breath in through his teeth, visibly forcing himself to take a step back into his role as Professor and not older brother currently having a panic attack because his little brother had no regard for his own safety.

Only then did he turn around. Ronald stood several paces away, frozen halfway between defensiveness at being shoved so suddenly backward and horror. His face was pale as a sheet of parchment, eyes blown wide as he stared at the spot he had been standing only seconds before.

Charlie’s stance shifted; there was no longer any warmth behind his expression, no indulgence to pass this off as just a simple misunderstanding. Just steel and disapproval.

“Mister Weasley,” he began, voice clipped, cold, and level enough to make several of the Gryffindors flinch out of reflex; he sounded much too like their potions professor in that moment. “You ignored explicit instructions. You dismissed creature etiquette. You advanced without acknowledgement. And when warned several times that you were provoking a dangerous magical creature, you chose to escalate.”

Weasley’s mouth opened. “I didn’t… he jumped in front of me...!”

Charlie cut across him, sharp as a snapped wand, no patience left to listen to excuses. “You created the scenario that necessitated his intervention. Fortunately for you, Mister Prince-Slytherin recognised the situation and chose to jump in when he did.”

Buckbeak stamped once, as if adding his own emphasis on Charlie’s words, even if he was still fully focused on ripping apart the ferret at his feet.

Charlie continued, tone heavy with ice that had been polished to shine. “You put a hippogriff, your classmates, and yourself at risk. And you did so while insulting the creature, the lesson, your classmates and your instructor. Do not delude yourself into thinking I did not hear you, because I did, and I am not impressed. Do you understand?”

Ronald flushed scarlet, his ears burning as the paddock went completely silent, as each student listened to their professor’s dressing down with avid attention.

“And because of your reckless disregard for multiple warnings, another student is bleeding.”

Weasley swallowed down his fear and anger. “He… he didn’t have to jump…”

“Yes! He did!” Charlie countered. “Aldwyn very likely saved your life today, Mister Weasley. Buckbeak pulled back at the last second because of him, otherwise your injury would have been a lot worse than his.”

Silence settled around the class like a weight, pressing around them from all sides, and they exchanged glances, looking from their professors, to Weasley, each other, and then finally Aldwyn, who was still standing between Weasley and Buckbeak, his arm clenched tightly at the elbow in an attempt to stem the flow of blood.

Charlie saw this and inhaled once, visibly deciding that he wasn’t quite finished with the Gryffindor. “Ten points from Gryffindor for endangering a magical creature. Ten points for endangering your classmates. Ten more for disobeying direct instructions, and five more for the disrespect you have shown in my lesson today.”

Granger winced at the massive loss of points for their house. Neville looked a mix between amused at watching one of his bullies receiving a much-deserved dressing down, and downright sick at watching the hippogriff he had just befriended act in such a manner. He wasn’t afraid of Buckbeak but felt sorry for the creature for having been put in a position where he had felt the need to defend himself like that.

 “An impressive deduction,” Milli muttered, nodding her head in approval at the loss of points to their rival house.

“Not as impressive as last year,” Pansy argued, a pout shaping her lips.

“Last year, they attempted to brew Polyjuice potion in the second-floor girls’ bathroom. I doubt they are stupid enough to pull something like that off again this year.” Daphne snorted, though she didn’t look put out by the idea of Weasley and Granger losing their house that many points again.

“I wouldn’t put it past them,” Blaise muttered, but he didn’t seem to be paying much attention to the conversation going on around him. He was almost vibrating with tension, trying to prevent himself from vaulting over the fence to get to Aldwyn. With Theo not coping much better. The two students were pale, staring at the blood still dripping from Aldwyn’s arm.

Ronald stared at the ground, betrayal and humiliation battling for domination behind his gaze, twisting his features into an unpleasant mask. “You always… You always take his side…!”

Charlie’s eyes narrowed. “This has nothing to do with sides, Mister Weasley. This is about competence, respect, responsibility and the ability to follow simple instructions. You showed none of these.”

Weasley’s breath came fast and uneven, shoulders trembling. His anger had nowhere to go but inward, so it curled.

“You will leave this paddock immediately, and I will be having a conversation with Professor McGonagall about whether I will allow you back for the rest of the year,” Charlie said. “You will write me a two-foot essay on hippogriff behaviour, creature etiquette, and the consequences of ignoring instructions. Failure to complete this will result in detention.”

Weasley’s gaze flickered again to Aldwyn’s torn sleeve, the blood drying along the fabric, the small pool gathering at his feet, and he quickly looked away again as if the sight burnt. He turned, stalked off toward the castle, boots sinking into wet straw as his shoulder hitched forward in silent fury, almost as if he were about to start crying over the unfairness of his situation.

Charlie waited until Ronald had reached the gate to the outdoor enclosures before releasing a tight breath as if he had been holding it in. He shifted his attention back to Aldwyn, crouching down in front of his brother and studying his arm once more. It was a grotesque sight, skin peeling away partially, what appeared to be muscles or ligaments exposed underneath the shine of blood.

“I want you to go to the hospital wing, no shortcuts, no delays,” Charlie muttered, his voice trembling and not from anger this time. “I will send Madam Pomfrey a Patronus, so she knows to expect you.”

Aldwyn tried to flex his arm but stopped with a hiss when pain flared. “It’s only a scratch.”

Charlie fixed him with a look that carried absolutely no negotiation. He placed his hands on Aldwyn’s shoulders, being careful not to apply any pressure lest he cause his brother more pain. “Hospital Wing. Otherwise, I will contact our father and have him come down to the school.” Charlie stared into Aldwyn’s eyes, seeing the pain the third year was trying to hide. “Please.”

Aldwyn nodded, the final word being spoken barely above a whisper, not loud enough for anyone else to hear, but he heard the plea behind it, the guilt his older brother felt about him getting injured in his class so soon after their training session.

-----

The Hospital Wing smelt of disinfectant and herbs, faintly bitter and mingled with the tang of magical antiseptics and the warm dust that danced in the sunbeams filtering through the tall windows. Aldwyn walked through the doors with Theo and Blaise standing sentinel at his sides, as if worried he was going to drop dead on them at any moment. He smirked. His brother had almost argued against allowing any of his friends to escort him to the hospital wing, but must have recognised the determined set to their expressions and realised arguing was moot.

He spotted Madam Pomfrey at the back of the room, rustling through a cabinet filled with potions while she held a clipboard in her hands and assumed she was taking stock of what ointments she had left in stock. When the door swung shut behind the three third years, she didn’t turn around but called over her shoulder to them.

“Take a seat, and I will be with you in a moment.”

“No worries, Madam Pomfrey. It isn’t that serious.” Aldwyn called back as he walked toward the closest bed and settled himself down, allowing his feet to dangle. Blaise and Theo stood as close to him as they could, in front of him with their arms folded.

“Mister Prince-Slytherin. I shouldn’t be surprised to see you here. What seems to be the problem, this time?”

“Idiotic Gryffindors causing problems.” Aldwyn shrugged, grinning at the medi-witch as she walked towards him, depositing her inventory on a side table. Her eyes trailed down his form and almost froze when she caught sight of the injury on his left arm.

“What in Merlin’s name happened? I thought you said it wasn’t serious?”

“It’s not that serious, it doesn’t even really hurt all that much.” Aldwyn shrugged again, twisting his arm so the medi-witch could see the entire injury, and her face paled.

“Sit back against the pillows and take that robe off.” Aldwyn peeled his torn and bloodied robes from his frame, draping them on the arm of the visitor’s chair before shuffling back to settle against the headboard with a familiarity that came with being a repeat visitor to the hospital wing over the past year and a bit.

He watched silently as Madam Pomfrey rushed through the room, pulling vials of potions from the cabinet she had just been organising before she was back by his bedside, shooing Blaise and Theo further away from the bed so she had room to wave her wand and work. She muttered charms under her breath as the scratches and bruising along his forearm slowly began to reveal themselves as the blood was washed away and the dirt vanished. The skin was blazing red and warm to the touch where Buckbeak’s talons had caught him, and he knew that he would have developed an infection if not for magic.

Theo walked around the bed, away from Madam Pomfrey’s bustling and settled against the bedside table with his arms crossed over his chest. His expression was a delicate balance of horror, admiration and exasperation. “I am trying to decide whether to scold you or applaud you,” he muttered. “You do realise that there were at least three less fatal options than throwing yourself between a Hippogriff and a Gryffindor with no survival instincts?”

Blaise leant his shoulder against the wall next to Theo and sighed. “I have to agree with Theo here. Just look at yourself! Bloodied robes, clothing in ruins, charging in like some tragic hero. It was quite theatrical, and I would give you some well-deserved praise if you hadn’t already suffered from a broken bone already this morning.”

Aldwyn rolled his eyes and tore his eyes away from the gruesome sight of his bloodied arm, mangled skin and exposed ligaments or muscles, he couldn’t really tell from where he was sitting. “It wasn’t reckless.” He defended. “Buckbeak didn’t intend to really harm anyone. He was startled and thought Ronald posed a threat. Stunning, shielding, or using any other type of magic would have agitated him further. He would have read the magic as an attack, and panicking a hippogriff in an open paddock full of students is a very fast way to get someone killed.”

Theo blinked, then sagged, settling further on the table. “I hate how reasonable you sound.”

Aldwyn smirked, then continued, “Physically interposing was the least provocative option. Minimal movement, minimal threat display. And if a Gryffindor had been injured instead of me, then Professor Weasley would have been reprimanded by Dumbledore and his pose for mishandling his class, and the Slytherins would have been blamed for… existing or somehow provoking the hippogriff into attacking a Gryffindor.”

Blaise snapped his fingers, startling Theo into almost toppling off the bedside table and onto the bed. “There it is! That wonderfully strategic brain. I knew you had some elaborate reason for putting your life on the line for that weasel.”

Theo snickered. “He is not wrong, I would have killed you myself if you didn’t have a reason for acting like a brash Gryffindor, but I will let you off… just this once.”

Aldwyn laughed and blew a kiss to his friends with his good arm, flinching when Madam Pomfrey grabbed his arm and placed it on a pillow so she could see the wounds more easily.

“Hold still for me, Mister Prince-Slytherin. Yes, like that. Honestly, the lot of you seem to think that bones are optional.”

The bleeding had slowed considerably now, but it had not stopped entirely; each touch of her wand, each brush of magic would coax more blood but also more clarity about the nature of his wound from the mess on his arm. An angled talon, the longest one, had created an incision that tracked along his forearm, shallow at first but growing alarmingly close to the ulna before it tapered off. She cast another in-depth diagnostics charm, tutted once, then repeated the same spell for certainty.

A small fracture along the bone,” she announced, and though her voice was still clinical, her eyes were not. “Lucky boy. Another inch and we would not be sitting here discussing tidy little mending charms, we’d be discussing whether you preferred grafting or a prosthetic.”

Theo winced in sympathetic theatre, while Blaise leant in as though he was impressed by the amount of damage the creature had done when it had meant not harm. Pomfrey ignored them both, pressing her thumb lightly beside the wound, moving her fingers and adjusting the pressure to check the child for his reactions to the injury and the level of pain he was in. He hissed, not dramatically, but just enough for the medi-witch to confirm that the swelling and bruising were deeper than surface level.

“At least the hippogriff knew what it was doing,” she muttered. “They have long talons, sharp as scalpels when they wish someone harm. And all this because some Gryffindor student can’t grasp that bowing is not an option.”

She paused, flicked her gaze around the empty hospital wing beyond her patient and sighed before amending, “The offending child is fortunate he isn’t here. I am a nurse, not a disciplinarian, and it would be unbecoming of me to throttle him.”

Theo coughed to hide his laugh, while Blaise didn’t bother. “Don’t worry, Madam Pomfrey, when we left him, the weasel was getting a rather impressive dressing down by Professor Weasley.”

“He looked like he was going to cry,” Theo added, shaking his head at the thought of the Weasley who had rather aggressively ignored their professor’s teachings and strutted toward the hippogriff in the most arrogant way possible. He didn’t even think Draco had walked with such arrogance before, and he is a Malfoy; they were bred for arrogance.

Pomfrey’s wand emitted soft blue and green lights as it knitted together the torn tissue with slow, methodical precision, small stitches weaving through his skin with little to no pain, as if she had hit him with a mild anaesthetic charm. Throughout the entire procedure, her left hand remained at the back of Aldwyn’s wrist, not restraining but supporting and anchoring. As the wound slowly closed, she sighed.

“You have been in this ward,” her voice was soft, more personal than she had been earlier, “more times in the past eight months than some aurors manage to land themselves in Azkaban in five years. One begins to take offence on your behalf.”

Aldwyn blinked. It was unclear whether he knew how to respond to such affections when wrapped in irritation for his sake, instead of at him in general. He wasn’t used to any member of the Hogwarts staff actually being friendly with him, except for those who had direct links to himself or his family. Yet, here Madam Pomfrey was, being worried for him and almost angry on his behalf.

Theo saved him the trouble. “He’s very collectable.”

Pomfrey gave the bookworm a look that said she would happily collect him next for spare parts, maybe even gift him to Severus to use as potion ingredients. He continued to stitch the wound together, each one meticulously placed along the deep incision with practised ease, her face grim but eyes friendly as she allowed the children to laugh and joke around her while she worked.

Then the air shifted a few seconds before the doors did, an instinctive tightening of the wards around Aldwyn from his heirship rings, as though the castle was bracing itself for the next few minutes. Then the sound of the hinges creaking broke the delicate calm of the hospital wing, making both Blaise and Theo stiffen, thinking they were about to face the wrath of McGonagall or Dumbledore.

Severus entered first, dark and sharp and moving with the kind of purpose that turned space into straight lines. His eyes went immediately to Aldwyn’s injured arm, his expression darkening as he took in the crust of blood seeping out from between the stitches, the bandage held in Madam Pomfrey’s hands, and the sling sitting on a silver medical tray just to her side. He noted the bruising, the swelling and the numerous potions placed next to the sling waiting to be used. Whatever emotions flickered across his face were tempered almost immediately into something colder, more precise, like he was afraid to lose control of his emotions if he wasn’t careful.

Marvolo followed just half a step behind. He did not move abruptly, nor did he scan the room in a paranoid sweep like he usually did, because he knew that Madam Pomfrey was well aware that he would show up in her domain sooner or later. That no amount of exposure to Dumbledore would keep him away from his child when he was injured. He crossed the room by Severus’s side, the pair looking even more formidable than they had the last time they had been in the medi-witch’s presence.

Pomfrey merely glanced up at the two men for less than a second before she turned to focus back down on the work she was doing on the thirteen-year-old. Starting to wrap the bandage around his arm, Madam Pomfrey intercepted the men with a briskness sharpened by years of dealing with overprotective parents and resignation at having the Dark Lord in her presence again. “Before either of you threaten anyone’s employment or bodily safety… he is fine.”

Severus’s voice matched the temperature of steel submerged in a river as he looked at the injury on his son’s arm, the bright red flesh being slowly covered with crisp, white bandages. “Define fine.”

Pomfrey huffed. “Minor fracture along the ulna, moderate tissue damage, and a very near miss. Claw went deeper than I prefer, and if it had gone deeper still, we’d be sending letters to limb specialists rather than mending bones.”

Severus exhaled through his nose once, slow enough to be deliberate but fast enough for those around him to know he was not happy. Marvolo’s gaze drifted to the arm, lingered and then lifted Aldwyn’s face as though confirming alertness before allowing his anger to settle. His son was supposed to be safe with him, to be unharmed and allowed the privilege of being a child. This was not what he wanted his son to suffer through at all.

“A new topic for next week’s research?” Theo, ever the supportive friend, added with a large smile on his face, raising an eyebrow and shrugging his shoulders as if to say, ‘with him around, it may definitely come in handy’.

“That is not something a group of third years should be researching quite so happily…” Pomfrey said flatly, though her mouth twitched for a fraction of a second. “Should you not be attempting to prevent this from happening in the future, Mister Nott?”

“With Aldwyn around? We may never know. It is best to be prepared for every scenario.” Blaise nodded sagely, ruffling Aldwyn’s hair with a laugh.

"Besides, Draco is the aspiring Medi-Wizard in our group. I will leave the healer research to him, thank you very much."

Severus moved closer to the bedside, the fabric of his sleeve whispering against the air as Madam Pomfrey secured the now fully bandaged arm in a sling and was sorting through the potions she had already collected before his arrival. “How did this happen?”

Aldwyn glanced up at his papa and his father, his expression crumbling a little to show his frustration at the events and his sorrow at ending up in the hospital wing yet again while he was in school, but at least this time wasn’t his fault again.

He meets the question without flinching. He explains the events in Care of Magical Creatures with clinical observations and facts. Explaining how Ronald failed to bow properly, despite being told multiple times by the professor and his own classmates. How Buckbeak misinterpreted this as a threat and tried to protect himself. How the situation seemed to escalate every few seconds, with each step Ronald took towards the proud hippogriff. He reiterated how the hippogriff reared and how he seemed to anticipate the movement before Charlie. He did not justify his actions, he did not defend them either, he didn’t need to with his parents.

When he finished, Severus stared at him for a long, quiet moment, the kind of silence that Aldwyn had come to recognise meant that he was allowing his anxiety of parenthood run rampant in his mind, coming up with all sorts of scenarios that could have happened if the events had played out a little differently. Rather than allowing his relief at Aldwyn’s apparently ‘lack of serious injury’ to soothe his worries.

Marvolo’s voice, when it came, was a lower, darker tone that seemed to decrease the temperature of the hospital wing even more than it already was. His expression was a mix between restraint, holding himself back from going to the paddock and torturing the thirteen-year-old who was responsible for his son’s injury and concern for the implications of Madam Pomfrey’s words when describing his injuries.

“And no staff member intervened until after?”

Theo and Blaise exchanged a look; they weren’t sure if Lord Slytherin had simply forgotten that his own son was the professor for care of magical creatures, or if, in his worried state, the fact had simply slipped his mind for a moment. However, before anyone could make a move to correct his statement and defend their CoMC professor, the doors to the hospital wing banged open for the second time in ten minutes.

Chapter Text

Charlie strode in at speed, his gloves still on, curls a mess with dirt, sweat and having his hands run through them multiple times. He smelt faintly of straw and hippogriff feed. His eyes landed on Aldwyn, on the sling securing his arm to his chest, the bandaging covering his entire forearm, and his entire expression collapsed into one of naked horror.

“Oh, Aldwyn-” He crossed the room in three long strides, hands trembling as they fell gently over Aldwyn’s shoulders, then his good arm, then his face, touching nothing as he didn’t want to jostle and antagonise any injuries his brother may be suffering with. “I should’ve… Merlin, I saw that he was refusing to bow, and I should have pulled Buckbeak back when I noticed him getting agitated… or distracted Ronald, or… Papa, I should’ve done something…”

Theo, ever the unhelpful optimist, cut in before anyone could respond, “To be fair, Aldwyn moved faster than most catastrophic decisions.”

Blaise nodded. “And he didn’t even make a sound when he jumped in the way, or when he was struck. Very composed.”

Aldwyn arched his eyebrow, a light smirk dancing across his lips when Madam Pomfrey handed him the skelegrow potion first to mend the fracture in his arm. “Screaming or making any noise would have agitated the Hippogriff. I’m considerate like that.”

Pomfrey made a strangled noise sounding somewhere between a laugh and a groan at the child’s smug expression as she handed him a blood-replenishing potion. “This should not be where your bar for impression stands, children. Honestly…”

Severus laid a hand on Charlie’s shoulder, grounding him and attempting to calm his second-oldest son down from the panic he had managed to work himself up into on the way here. Assuming he had dismissed his class early so he could come and check up on Aldwyn. “Charlie. Breathe.”

Charlie obeyed, taking a step back and dropping his hands to his side while he drew in a slow, albeit shaky breath through his teeth.

Marvolo’s voice slid in, steady and unavoidable from his position between Charlie and the wall, both standing close to Aldwyn without touching. “You are not responsible for a student provoking a Hippogriff, nor for said student deliberately ignoring direct instruction. Nor for Aldwyn choosing the option that prevented disembowelment.”

Theo even pointed to Aldwyn’s arm with a wide grin, almost teasing. “And look… only minor mauling. Very efficient.”

Pomfrey sniffed. “A minor fracture and a very close shave with the radius… I would not call that minor.”

Blaise leant forward and whispered to Aldwyn, but still loud enough for everyone around them to hear his words, “See? Only the best bones are allowed to be threatened in Slytherin House.” And Aldwyn couldn't help but laugh at the ridiculousness of his friends; he knew they were worried about him, unnerved by the thought that he could have lost his arm if Buckbeak hadn't pulled back in time. He could see it in their eyes, but he was thankful that they weren't hovering as much as before. 

Charlie made an anguished noise in the back of his throat. “But he was injured… in my class… I should have been able to prevent it.”

Aldwyn shrugged his shoulders, wincing when it jostled his arm. He could feel the skelegrow working through the fracture on his arm and knew that it would take at least a few hours before it was completely healed. No matter how annoyed he knew he was going to get at having his arm (dominant or not) slung up and unusable for the foreseeable future. “An occupational hazard. When said occupation is ‘attending Hogwarts under Dumbledore’.”

Severus pinched the bridge of his nose, and Aldwyn wasn’t sure if he was trying to stave off a headache from the stress of the day, or whether he was trying his best not to laugh at the inappropriateness of his words, no matter how true they may seem. His father’s mouth actually twitched, dangerously close to a smile, and Aldwyn feels a sense of accomplishment. At least he had been able to distract them a little from the severity of his injuries, even if he thought they weren’t that bad. Besides, he was still very much alive and kicking.

Pomfrey rolled her eyes, her professional air cracking as she listened to the children’s constant downplay of the severity of Aldwyn’s injuries. She had treated him before, several times over the past year, and this wasn’t even the worst state she had seen him in. Taking a step backwards, she allows the boy’s family and friends to crowd around Aldwyn.

“If the school would like to avoid future fractures, it might consider teaching brash Gryffindors that rule one of dealing with Hippogriffs is humility.” She snorts.

Theo raised a finger, smirk still present. “Rule two is don’t die.”

Blaise added, “Rule three is don’t make Aldwyn do everything!”

Aldwyn lifted his hand, as if voting in agreement. He nods his head sagely. “I do enjoy delegation. Maybe next time I will send Theo into the paddock." Theo blinked, his face pale as he turned to stare down at Aldwyn, who was smirking to himself like he had just announced the greatest plan of the Dark Sects, a secret mission to overthrow the school in a night, while Blaise snorted and patted Theo on the shoulder in a vague show of sympathy.

Charlie blinked down at the three Slytherin students for a moment, rolling his eyes at their nonchalant attitude. Though he really shouldn’t be all that surprised anymore. The children were absolutely insane but managed to hide it surprisingly well… almost too well at times. He had heard them talking about torturing fellow students who irritate them, arguing over which Hogwarts grade spells, charms, and hexes would work the best. He had joined in the conversations about learning more about Muggle melee fights and battles to throw the Light side off kilter if they ever find themselves face-to-face with Dumbledore and his merry band of peacocks.

“You threw yourself in front of a Hippogriff.” Charlie argued that that was not, through his understanding of the word, delegation.

“It was strategically interposed.” Blaise corrected, still leaning against the wall with his arm folded casually as if his friend wasn’t still lying in a hospital bed with magical stitches slowly knitting his skin back together and skelegrow sealing a fracture.

“Very leadership-forward. I believe Skoll would have been proud.” Theo nodded, earning a snort from Aldwyn.

“Besides, the amount of time it would have taken me to shout at Blaise to throw himself in front of the Hippogriff, Ronald would have been a pile of bones.” He snickers, feeling mildly satisfied with the image of Weasley lying on the floor in a pool of his own blood with an angry hippogriff standing over him… and by Blaise’s indignant shout.

Pomfrey, this time, did not disagree, though she did sigh and shake her head at the difference in the children this year. She could distinctly remember the panic coating Theo’s voice when he had explained what had happened to their friend over by the Black Lake. The concern that neither of them could quite manage to hide when Aldwyn had been found, unconscious. The way they had swarmed Aldwyn when he had been attacked by the dementor, how they had refused to leave his side for days.

But now, they were joking around, relaxed almost, as if they knew that Aldwyn wasn’t hurt too much. As if they knew nothing serious was going to happen, and it really did baffle her. She had heard a rumour going around the school, passed through word of mouth at the staff table during meal times, when she could get away from the hospital wing and join in, about the strange connection that seemed to be forming between the three boys and she was almost convinced that Aldwyn’s magic had sought out two individuals with compatible magic to serve as ‘bodyguards’. It was the only thing that made sense to her, and the only thing that explained all of their symptoms at present.

“Well, the next time you decide to prevent political disaster via proximity to claws, warn someone.” Severus comments, but it almost sounded like a joke to Aldwyn. He grinned.

“You were busy teaching. So were Charlie and Bill… and Father shouldn’t even really be here, just in case Dumbledore finds out and tries to chase you out again. You know how convinced he is that you are the evil Dark Lord reincarnate.” Aldwyn laughed at his father’s disgruntled expression.

“Very tragic… but the truth nonetheless.” Theo murmured, his expression downcast but cracking with laughter when Marvolo shoots a light glare his way.

“The essays deserve Professor Prince’s full attention. Whose were you planning on marking next? The Gryffindor first years? Third years? Fifth years? Or did you need to attempt to restore some of your faith in the younger generations?” The children break into quiet laughter when Severus merely rolls his eyes at the deep sigh they receive from Severus, exasperation and fondness fighting for dominance.

As laughter filled the hospital wing, Charlie’s breath finally managed to even out, though his shoulders still sat too high beneath his robes, and his hands still shook every so often. Severus’s hand remained anchored there, a quiet, steady weight meant to soothe and calm his son. Marvolo, meanwhile assessed Aldwyn’s bandaged arm with the precise calm of a man cataloguing all possible future conversations he would be having with both Dumbledore and the Board of Governors.

Pomfrey huffed a breath, she knew that Lord Slytherin wasn’t checking her work for flaws, but with the worry of a parent who did nothing but mother hen and mollycoddle their child. Not that Aldwyn minded much. In fact, the thirteen-year-old seemed to soak up the attention like a starving sponge, a notion she always found oddly endearing, if a little strange. Most thirteen-year-olds tended to shy away from their parents' affections, deeming them embarrassing, or themselves too old for such ministrations, but Aldwyn never denied his parents the opportunity to kiss him and fuss.

“Mister Prince-Slytherin, you will be right as rain in no time. The Skelegrow should mend that fracture within the hour, and the stitches should be able to come out tomorrow morning at the earliest. Do not pick at them and do not remove your arm from the sling until I say so. I will need you to come back here every evening for the next three days so I can keep an eye on the healing process. Hippogriff talons are nothing to sniff at and could have transferred some infection or disease to your bloodstream. I have also given your son a blood replenishing potion. Honestly, this child leaks like a sieve.”

Theo perked up from where he was leaning back against the bedside table. “And yet, never on the rugs. How considerate.”

Blaise nodded gravely. “Good upbringing.” A response that made Aldwyn snort at the ridiculousness. Blaise knew how he had grown up, how he had been raised and for him to make such a comment was not only utterly idiotic but also such a shock that Aldwyn couldn’t help but chuckle a little bit.

“It looked a lot worse than it was.” Aldwyn argued instead, only shrinking further back against his pillows when the medi-witch shot him a look so sharp it could have cut through paper better than any severing charm.

“It was a lot worse than it looked, I believe you mean, Mister Prince-Slytherin and a lot more severe than it ought to have been. And worse than I care to see again this month, thank you.”

Charlie winced. “Madam Pomfrey, I truly-”

“Not you,” she interrupted immediately, tone clipped but not unkind. “I know precisely which individual using the last name Weasley provocation set the creature off, and I know that you did your best with a class split between Gryffindors, Slytherins, and hippogriffs. I am not in the business of blaming competent men for the idiocy of adolescent bravado and stupidity.”

“It doesn’t help that Mister Weasley’s attitude has gotten worse these past few years. I believe his mother sent him to reside with Marge Prewett during the remainder of the holidays.”

“Yes, I heard the same thing from Minerva.”

Blaise exhaled with a practised sophistication as he pushed himself from the wall and walked a little closer to his friend. “Madam Pomfrey isn’t wrong. If Aldwyn hadn’t interposed, it would have turned into an absolute diplomatic catastrophe. Dumbledore would have found some way to blame us into provoking Buckbeak to attack the Gryffindors.”

“I would like to see that old codger try. The courts won’t be able to do much to me when I show them my memories of Ronald’s idiocy. If anything, he may even be expelled from school for endangering his fellow students and compromising their safety by deliberately enraging and insulting a magical creature.”

Severus’s eyes lingered on Aldwyn’s bandaged arm for a moment longer, his voice low with worry. “Next time, send for assistance rather than serving as the assistance.”

Aldwyn met his gaze without flinching and allowed a small smile to grace his features. “We were in class; there wasn’t anyone else I could contact. And any spells I could have cast would have escalated the situation.”

Charlie's mouth tightened more, “Unfortunately, Aldwyn is correct. Buckbeak would have seen all magic as aggression. It is why it took me so long to think of a solution and why Aldwyn had enough time to throw himself in front of the creature before a solid plan could form in my mind.”

“Yes, well, next time, I would like written notice before the children begin sacrificing limbs for political stability.”

Theo raised his hand like he was answering a question from a professor during class. “In Slytherin, we call that a Tuesday; you should see our Fridays.”

Blaise snickered behind his hand, “If it helps, the bruise is already developing excellent colouring. Very elegant and noble.”

Aldwyn glanced down at his arm, staring at a bruise he could no longer see beneath the crisp white cloth and raised an eyebrow and shrugged his shoulders. “At least it's not bright green this time.”

Severus closed his eyes slowly, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Let’s not have another hallway flour explosion, Aldwyn. The house elves are still finding the aftermath throughout the east wing corridor.”

Charlie’s face flickers, warring between amusement at the brief recollection of such a strange event that had happened in the manor during the summer holidays, he had never seen a young wizard arguing with the little creatures, trying to bribe them into allowing him access to the kitchen just so he could bake something. How that had ended up in an all-out ‘flour war’ with the creatures, Charlie will never understand, nor would he understand how Aldwyn ended up semi-bruised and green... and guilt at having his little brother injured in his own class. “Still… I didn’t react fast enough… I was the professor and…”

Marvolo cuts in immediately, his voice gentle in a tone he only ever used with his immediate family, but still devastatingly final. “And Aldwyn made a decision. You may fret about him, you may worry. You may even scold him for putting himself in danger again,” Marvolo shoots Aldwyn a mock glare. “But you are not to carry blame that does not belong to you.”

“Marvolo is correct, Charlie. None of this was your fault. You tried to defuse the situation to the best of your ability with the limitations imposed on you by your profession. Charlie, no one here blames you for anything.” Severus continued, stepping a little closer to his fiancé.

Charlie's breath hitched, his guilt easing marginally. It was a strange situation he found himself in now. When he had been living in The Burrow, when he had been a part of the Weasley family because he and Bill had been the eldest children, they had been made responsible for a lot of stuff. Every time one of their younger siblings had done something wrong, broken something or started a fight, he and Bill would always find themselves being blamed for it. They would find themselves punished. Eventually, Charlie had developed the habit of feeling guilty for stuff he hadn’t done.

Aldwyn sees the ease of tension in Charlie’s shoulders and smiles up at his older brother. “Besides, if you’d blamed yourself any harder Madam Pomfrey would need to treat you as well.” He teased.

Theo nods sagely, tapping his chin thoughtfully. “Stress-related fainting. Very dramatic. Ten points to narrative tension,” He plants himself back down on Aldwyn’s mattress, fingers absently stroking down the sling that is resting against Aldwyn’s shoulder, almost as if he were reassuring himself that his friend was okay. Even though he could ‘feel’ the light sprinkling of emotions through their strange bond and knew that Aldwyn was perfectly fine.

Blaise copied his actions on the other side. “I would have caught him… Probably.”

Even Pomfrey huffed, not quite a laugh because stress-induced injuries and treatment were no laughing matter, in her line of work anyway, but she understood that the third years were merely trying to make their professor relax, finally.

Marvolo rolled his eyes and stepped back a step, tightening his arm around Severus’s waist as he stared down at the three teenagers sitting on the mattress, all touching in some way or another, something that seemed completely subconscious, as if they weren't quite aware that they had gravitated toward each other. “Since we have everyone present.” He said, gaze sliding between the boys, “We will hear it properly now. Begin.”

Theo perked up immediately, somehow managing to look both eager and dignified, as though being invited to recount a near-mauling was a privilege granted only to the chosen few. Blaise tapped a finger against his thigh and shuffled a little closer to Aldwyn, their shoulders pressing together. Charlie, by contrast, looked like he would have preferred to be struck down where he stood.

“It began,” Theo said grandly, “with Ronald Weasley attempting to approach Buckbeak with the grace of a falling wardrobe.”

Blaise nodded. “There was flailing. Loud flailing.”

“Tragic, really.” Aldwyn joined in with a grin as he glanced between his friends with a resigned sigh. “No bow. No awareness. A direct approach without slowing down and showing the correct respect. His voice was elevated as he tried to argue with Granger, who, for her credit, was attempting to pull the boy back. Buckbeak took his approach as a threat, as a challenge.”

Charlie winced at the recollection because it was the most accurate he had heard the three boys all day, “I was… I was trying to intervene. I was reaching for my wand after attempting to call Mister Weasley back away from the paddock when I saw Buckbeak scuffing his hoof against the ground, but he wouldn’t listen to anyone. Just kept approaching and shouting. But before I could do anything…”

“I intervened…” Aldwyn finished simply, hissing when he tried to shrug his shoulders and felt a twinge streak down his arm.

“And when you say intervened? You mean to say…” Severus interrupted; he wanted to be entirely clear about what his son had done to himself and to protect another student from being injured too severely.

“He vaulted over the paddock fencing, jumped between Weasley and Buckbeak just as Buckbeak reared back and posed to strike like a sacrificial shield in a tragic opera.”

“Buckbeak seemed to recognise Wyn somehow and seemed to try to retract his claws before he struck; he didn’t manage to retract them fully, but his strength had been retracted,” Blaise added, wrapping an arm gently around Aldwyn’s shoulders.

“It was tragic. It was strategic.” Aldwyn muttered, relaxing back against Blaise’s side and his pillow with a sigh. He was starting to get tired now, knowing that the skelegrow potion was working to mend his arm and the blood replenisher was making its way through his system.

“You bled.” Theo gestured to the bandage, which had a small splatter of blood seeping through.

“Only a little bit.”

“You needed a blood replenisher,” Blaise argued.

Severus pinched the bridge of his nose and turned his face into Marvolo’s shoulder for a moment. Somehow managing to look exasperated, relieved and quietly proud all at once, a combination Aldwyn was fairly certain took years of training and two doctorates to manage… or maybe it was just easy when you had a kid who was accidentally determined to give you a heart attack before you reach forty.

“And the logic behind such a foolish move?” Marvolo prompted, not because he doubted his son, but because he wanted to understand Aldwyn’s exact thought process and why he would risk his own safety for someone who had been nothing but antagonistic all year.

“As I said earlier, Magic would have been read as aggression. A spell, any spell, would have escalated the situation and could have sent Buckbeak into a frenzy. I couldn’t allow more students to be put in harm's way because one idiot can’t follow simple instructions. I knew physical intervention was the only way to prevent such a scenario, so I jumped forward. Buckbeak knows me, could recognise my scent if he were blinded by the threat. I knew he would try his hardest not to harm me. Besides, if we had sat back and allowed a Gryffindor student to be injured, you know Dumbledore would have found some way to pin the blame on the Slytherins.”

“Even if he can’t personally hand out points, give detentions or whatever, he would have found some way to punish us.”

“You could have been seriously hurt,” Charlie sighed, dragging a hand through his hair. This is what he felt like when he was living back at the Burrow with little brothers like Fred and George, who knew the feeling would double when faced with a thirteen-year-old, hell-bent on doing everything himself.

“I was,” Aldwyn replied, shrugging one shoulder this time. “Just not inconveniently.”

“That’s our new metric,” Theo whispered to Blaise, who snickered.

“Workable, I think. Especially with the way Skoll is working us.” He nodded.

“That boy really needs to sort out his attitude; he is going to get someone seriously injured one of these days, and there is going to be no one there to save him when the time comes.”  Severus shook his head; even the Weasley twins were not reckless in their pranks and ensured that no one got hurt too badly from their products… but the youngest male? A disaster in the making.

“Correct, Aldwyn may not be there next time to stop his mess from turning into a fatal accident, or a political disaster.”

Charlie deflated, not completely absolved, not entirely relieved, but at least steadied for the time being. He knew how his family, his old family, could be and knew that Ronald had some unresolved issues with envy, jealousy and a need to prove himself better than the brothers he thought were constantly overshadowing him.

Aldwyn watched the tension wash out of his brother in one breath and felt the ache in his bones, and the warmth of his ridiculous family surrounding him, crowding his hospital bed like they could protect him from the world around him, and he felt himself relaxing as well. He snuggled back further into his pillow, pulling Theo and Blaise down with him. It smelt of healing salves and parchment dust and faint traces of steel that reminded him of his papa’s potions stores.

“Is this what parental affection is supposed to look like?” Should we be taking notes?” Blaise whispered to Theo, who grinned and nodded his head. It made Aldwyn a little sad to know that Blaise’s mum was sometimes too busy with her self-made mission and her latest conquest to pay much attention to her son, and to know that Theo’s parents spent most of their time schmoozing their way through the Ministry to spend quality time with their son.

“Future reference. If we’re ever maimed, we expect at least half this level of fuss and attention.”

Aldwyn didn’t bother to open his eyes; he merely pulled the two boys closer to his sides. “The two of you would fake an injury just to test that theory.” He paused, then added, "But if you are ever injured like this, I will call my parents, and they can fuss over you."

“We would never,” Blaise said, the immediately undercut himself by adding, “probably.”

Charlie looked at the three boys, somehow cuddled quite comfortably together on the small hospital bed, shook his head and released his first true smile since arriving in the infirmary. “Well, if nothing else, today confirms that the Prince-Slytherin household maintains impeccable dramatic standards.” He comments, drawing chuckles from his parents, who separate just long enough to draw him between them.

“It’s called affection,” Marvolo said, not releasing his grip around Charlie’s shoulders. “Affection without expectation.”

“Yes,” Severus said dryly, though Charlie could hear the adoration in his voice. “And I’m certain we’re all deeply moved.”

For a long, warm moment, no one tried to fill the space with anything sharper than breathing. Aldwyn stayed comfortable between Blaise, whose arm was still wrapped around his shoulders, and Theo, who had rested his head against Aldwyn’s shoulder. Charlie also refused to move from between their parents, allowing the parental warmth to flood him as he watched over his little brother.

Eventually, it was Madam Pomfrey who cleared her throat, after she had cleared away the empty potion vials and the medical supplies she had used. She glances around the group with the unique authority of a woman who had seen the worst wizard the wizarding world could produce and refused to be impressed by it. “If we are quite finished drowning my hospital wing in sentimentality…” She commented, crossing her arms. “With how often I find you in my hospital wing, Lord Slytherin, I am very surprised that Dumbledore has not caught you…”

Marvolo straightened, his arm tightening around Charlie for a fraction of a second, his expression turning feral in his excitement. “I will look forward to that conversation.”

Pomfrey sniffed as though the decline of moral character was rampant, even if she was fully aware of who she was talking to. “Yes, well. Try not to cause any collateral damage; this is still a school.”

She then turned to Aldwyn, professional once more. “I will allow you to be discharged now, but you are not to use that arm for the next three days. You will come back here after dinner every day for those three days so I can monitor the healing process properly.”

“But-”

“No buts, young man,” Pomfrey cut in, wand clicking twice as she ran one final diagnostics charms. “An inch deeper, Mister Prince-Slytherin.” She then turned to Charlier. “I do hope he was punished adequately.”

Charlie nodded, “as much as I was able. Two-foot essay, thirty-five house points deducted, and a conversation with Professor McGonagall scheduled for this afternoon.”

“Good,” Pomfrey said, satisfied. “That boy has gotten away with too much for too long. Sooner or later, he is going to get someone hurt, and no one is going to be there to protect him.”

Blaise hummed. “Consequences. How refreshing.”

Theo tilted his head, grinning up at Charlie. “Almost educational.”

Severus shook his head and rolled his eyes. “If the two of you begin composing commentary like a Greek chorus again, I will start assigning detentions.”

Aldwyn chuckled, tired and aching, but feeling far more himself than he had since arriving in the hospital wing. “Worth it.”

-----

McGonagall’s office was quiet save for the soft tick of a wall-mounted timepiece and the faint whistle of wind against stone. Charlie stood at respectful attention before her desk, posture unconsciously straight, not military, but just raised by people who valued spine when telling the truth about a dire situation. Besides, he was now the Lord of the Gryffindor Household; unofficially, he still hadn’t gone to Gringotts to collect the Lordship ring, and he would need to act the part.

“Professor Weasley,” Minerva said as she set her quill aside and cast a spell over her parchment to dry the ink quickly, “you wished to file an incident report regarding a student of mine?”

“Yes, Ronald Weasley.” He confirmed, accepting the seat in front of her desk when she gestured.

A single eyebrow raised at his words, but she didn’t bristle as he feared she would. Despite the Goblins assuring themselves and his family that she had been completely cleared of all compulsion and loyalty manipulations, he was still a little wary of her stance in the grand scheme of things.

“Very well, proceed.” She clicked her fingers, and a silver tray of tea and biscuits appeared in the only clear space on her desk, and Charlie couldn’t keep a smile off his face. He was reminded of home.

He clasped his hands in his lap, took a deep breath and then met her gaze with unwavering seriousness, something he could tell caught her attention. “During Care of Magical Creatures this morning, Mister Weasley ignored direct instructions while working closely with Hippogriffs.”

Minerva made a neutral note with her quill, then pushed a teacup across the table toward Charlie, who accepted it with a nod of his head. “What form of instructions?”

“Standard protocol. Bow before you approach, wait for reciprocation. Do not make any sudden moves, do not raise your voice and show respect. I demonstrated the correct procedures first and then walked a few students through them before.” Charlie took a sip from his tea, then added a single teaspoon of sugar and a splash of milk.

“He pushed a student out of his way, demanding his own turn. Insulted Buckbeak multiple times upon approach. I corrected him twice, reminded him to bow, that Hippogriffs were proud creatures and would perceive him as a threat. He disregarded all instructions and corrections.”

Minerva’s gaze flickered up, sharp and assessing. “Did he challenge your authority or merely fail to comprehend the instruction?”

“Challenged,” Charlie said without hesitation. "He told the Hippogriff that it should bow first if it wanted respect. Raised his voice. Agitated the creature, and when I attempted to correct his actions, he showed an attitude not suitable for a classroom environment. Especially not a classroom that deals with potentially dangerous creatures if instructions are not followed.”

Minerva exhaled through her nose, taking a deep pull from her own cup of tea and settled back in her seat with a shake of her head. “That is consistent with reports I have been receiving from various professors throughout the year. His attitude since returning this term has been… increasingly difficult to manage.” She paused, pen poised. “Nonetheless, given your relation to the injured party, I need the entire account before I make any determinations.”

Charlie didn’t bristle; he had expected this, knew she would question him further due to his being Aldwyn’s older brother, and he respected her for it. “Of course. And for the record, Aldwyn did not engage with Ronald at all. He didn’t say a word to the boy.”

Minerva’s pen paused in an instant, absorbing the detail like a professional, like someone who had dealt with difficult teenagers for decades, like she was drawing on similar incidents from her previous years with heavy guilt in her heart.

“Hermione Granger attempted to pull Ronald back when he first jumped the fence,” Charlie continued. “She recognised the dangers immediately and, seeing as no one else was close enough, took it upon herself to remind Mister Weasley of the dangers. He shook her off quite aggressively.” That made Minerva’s eyes narrow; even though she had received few complaints about Miss Granger over the past year and a bit, she still held a soft spot for the bookworm.

“Ronald continued to approach, continued to raise his voice as I warned him to back off. Then Buckbeak reared.” Charlie said, voice tightening. “Mister Weasley was directly in strike range, I was just about to jump in a drag Mister Weasley out of the way, when Aldwyn beat me to it. He jumped the gate, pushed Mister Weasley out of the way and intervened, injuring himself in the process.”

Minerva’s quill stopped mid-line, her heart constricting with worry. She may have treated Aldwyn terribly the year before, but once the potions had been fully cleared from her system, she had seen just how wrong she had been to judge a child for his parentage. The boy was studious, incredibly smart, but also humble, always brushing off compliments like he didn’t deserve them.

“One more time, please.” She said, quietly. “He intervened?”

“He did. And without magic. Aldwyn recognised the situation and knew that magic would be seen as a further threat. He spoke low, kept his hands visible, despite the injury and the blood on his arm. He focused on calming Buckbeak down first. It worked long enough for me to reach them and distract Buckbeak.”

Minerva leant back slowly, spectacles catching the firelight as she suddenly looked several years older. “And the injury?”

“Fractured ulna. Blood replenishing potions, magical stitches. Poppy informed us that it had been one inch deeper or a little closer to the muscles; he could have lost his arm.”

Minerva closed her eyes briefly, not in melodrama and not in denial, but in grim calculation. When she opened them again, her scepticism had shifted, not vanished completely, but shifted enough to matter, to allow Charlie to relax. “You gave immediate discipline action?”

“A two-foot essay on Hippogriff behavioural protocols, thirty-five house points lost, and a mandatory follow-up with you,” Charlie confirmed. “Which I’d have assigned regardless of whose child ended up bleeding. I am not here as Aldwyn’s brother, but as a professor who witnessed a preventable injury happen because a student chose arrogance over sense.”

Those words landed with weight, and Minerva’s expression crumpled with sorrow and guilt, something Charlie didn’t understand but wasn’t going to question. She set her quill down fully this time and wrapped her hands around her cup of tea.

“And Mister Weasley?”

“He showed no remorse; he offered up no apology. Simply claimed that Buckbeak ‘overreacted’ and that Aldwyn ‘got in the way’. He didn’t acknowledge his wrongdoings or that he was the reason why another student had been injured.”

Minerva’s expression went flat in a way that made even the candles seem to stand up straighter, as if she were planning something far worse than a deduction of points and detention. “Well, that changes the matter entirely.”

She folded her hands atop her desk and sighed. “For clarity, I was prepared to assume that this was a case of ordinary inexperience. Of the sort of self-importance Gryffindors tend to mistake for bravery, especially in their younger years. But what you are describing, Professor Weasley, is disregard for safety, disregard for instruction, and a disregard for the peers who prevented him from being mauled by a creature he insulted.”

Charlie nodded once. “Yes. Precisely that.”

“And,” Minerva added icily, “we will not be involving Albus in this incident. He has already overstepped multiple times regarding Mister Prince-Slytherin, and I have no intention of allowing him to meddle in House discipline while he remains under scrutiny.”

Charlie blinked. He had not expected such blatant disrespect toward the headmaster from the Head of Gryffindor House, especially not when she had been his closest advisor and support all last year when Dumbledore had been trying his best to discredit Aldwyn and his parentage. “Understood.”

Minerva pulled a clean sheet of parchment toward herself. “Ronald will serve detention every evening for at least one hour until the end of this month. He will be banned from all Hogsmeade weekends until after the Easter holidays. And-” Her voice sharpened to a blade’s edge. “I will be writing to his mother.”

Charlie winced, “Molly Prewett?”

“Yes, and Molly Prewett will not tolerate her son endangering another child. She will sort him far more thoroughly than Albus ever would.” Minerva didn’t have to say anything, but Charlie knew that she meant that since Arthur had been taken out of the picture. Molly had never liked hearing about her children potentially bullying others, but she had seemed to brush over it when it had been about Ronald.

“I believe Miss Granger and Mister Aldwyn-Slytherin shall receive a commendation for intervention. I reward sensible behaviour as I see it.” She smirked over at the shocked expression on Charlie’s face. As she continued to write notes down on her parchment.

“Excuse me for asking, Minerva…” Charlie began hesitantly, “But why are you doing this? As I recall, you weren’t the biggest fan of my brother?”

“I cannot blame anyone but myself for those incidents. I was unprofessional and undeniably cruel,” She admits with a deep sigh. “Even if I were under the influence of potions and spells, I should have been able to fight them off.”

Charlie nodded his head, drained the rest of his tea and saw this as his time to leave. He had said all he had wanted to say, and there was nothing more he could do but leave the incident in her capable hands. He placed his empty teacup on the serving tray and began to make his way toward the door.

“There was a child, very similar to Mister Weasley, a few years ago. He was a brilliant child, but he had lost his way. He came from a Dark family but hated everything he considered ‘Dark’ with a passion no child should be able to handle. He bullied anyone who came from a Dark family, anyone who befriended someone he considered Dark. I overlooked all his harassment as childish pranks and harmless rivalry.” Charlie stood frozen in the doorway, listening to his colleague’s words with a heavy heart.

“What happened?”

“One day, due to my neglect and passiveness, that student decided to send another student into the lair of a werewolf during the full moon. He tricked the student into going through a secret passageway under the school which lead to the shrieking shake where said werewolf transformed every month. This student, a Slytherin, went along with it and if it weren’t for the intervention of another student, then that Slytherin would have been murdered…”

Charlie stood frozen to the spot; he recognised that story. Had heard it before during one of their family talks back at Slytherin Mansion. His papa had been visibly shaken when he had told his sons about the incident that had happened back in his own sixth year, how that was the point of no return for him. How he had turned his back completely on the Light when it had been him who had been threatened by Dumbledore, to keep the secret of another student who happened to be a werewolf. How Severus had been sent into the path of said werewolf knowingly by another student.

“I know the story, Minerva. Papa told me.”

Minerva closed her eyes, her smile tight and filled with guilt. “I failed your papa with my own delusions. I thought Mister Black would grow out of his childish ways, but to attempt to murder a fellow student just because you disagree with their magical alignment and their friends… it made me realise just how bad the situation had gotten.”

“I am sure Papa would forgive you if you apologised and saw the error of your ways, Minerva. After all, he offered an olive branch to Remus Lupin.” Charlie said as his parting words before he bowed his head in respect and walked out of the room with a lightness in his chest. Ronald Weasley was not going to know what hit him, not if Fred and George were to accidentally find out about the situation through an anonymous source.

Chapter Text

The Chamber of Secrets was a lot warmer than the corridors above, something which upset Aldwyn greatly at this time of the year. He adored walking around the grounds, loved the calm that came with trailing along the shore of the Black Lake, watching as the Giant Squid came out to wave a greeting. But it was too late in the year for the magnificent creature to even think of venturing towards the surface anymore, and even though it wasn’t quite Samhain yet, it was threatening to snow almost every day; he supposed that was what they got for building the school in the highlands of Scotland.

It was also quieter down here, deep beneath the usual chatter of the school, hidden even further in the foundations of the castle than the dungeons, but he didn’t mind. The quiet around him was chosen, safe and secure, where he didn’t have to worry much about anyone catching them doing anything they weren’t supposed to be doing, where they didn't have to watch their backs or listen to the accusations of the rest of the student body just because their cloaks were lined with green and they wore their snake emblem proudly. The torches along the wall burnt with a calm that cast a molten light across textbooks and parchments spread over the long table they had claimed as their own.

Aldwyn sat cross-legged in his seat, sighing in frustration as he tried to hold his parchment flat while he wrote with one hand. His arm was healing slowly, bone knitting back together while his blood replenished at a rate slower than usual due to his magical core still being a little unstable. Or so his papa explained. His quill moved slowly across his parchment, which had been pinned down by a low-powered sticking charm as he worked on an essay about wand theory from Professor Flitwick, as he thought how much easier it would be if he had a dicto-quill on hand.

Blaise lounged opposite him; chair tipped back on two legs in defiance of gravity and common sense, Aldwyn tried to hold back the small hope that his friend would topple backwards sometime soon, to give himself a little something more enjoyable to focus on. Theo had three books open at once and appeared to be reading all of them simultaneously. Daphne lay half sideways across the bench, one leg dangling idly as she annotated a margins-heavy copy of Magical Creature Migration Patterns. Draco was redoing a section of notes in cleaner handwriting purely out of irritation.

“You know, I think you bled on Buckbeak’s favourite patch of earth,” Blaise commented lazily as his gaze switched from the ceiling to Aldwyn and smirked. “Do you think this means you’re bonded now?”

Aldwyn didn’t look up from his work. “I think I have enough mysterious bonds going on in my magical core at the moment, so I will pass.” He smirked into his essay, thinking about the Godfather and Godmother bond he now shared with the Malfoys, the warped Godfather bond with Sirius Black and the strange, unidentifiable bond with Theo and Blaise, and he couldn't forget the familial bond he shared with Phanex. “I’ll send him some flowers.”

Theo hummed, his voice sounding distracted as his finger dragged across various paragraphs. “You’ll need something thorny, maybe something he wouldn't mind eating. He seems the sentimental type.”

Draco sniffed, carefully tracing another diagram. “It was entirely avoidable.”

“Yes,” Daphne agreed mildly. “If Weasel possessed basic survival instincts.”

Aldwyn’s quill paused for the briefest second while he adjusted his arm in the sling and sighed again at the awkwardness of writing with only one hand. It was annoying, and he couldn’t wait to have it removed, though he supposed he should be relieved that Buckbeak hadn't injured his dominant hand. “He’ll survive the embarrassment.”

“Debatable,” Blaise murmured, finally returning his chair to four legs.

Silence settled around them as they all focused back on their homework for a while, the only sound around them being the rustle of parchment and paper as Theo turned a page in his books or the scratch of a quill as they continued to make notes.

It lasted nearly a minute before Aldwyn spoke again, his tone casual. “I saw that dog again.”

Theo’s eyes flickered up immediately, books forgotten. “What dog?”

“The Black one,” Aldwyn said, dipping his quill into ink and making another note. “Large, scruffy and looks like it hasn’t had a decent meal its entire life. It likes to linger down near the edge of the grounds, near the Lake and the Forest.”

Draco frowned faintly. “I am pretty sure dogs aren’t allowed on school grounds. They aren’t on the approved pet list.”

“Well, clearly this one missed the memo, and by Aldwyn’s description, it doesn’t belong to a student,” Blaise replied, with a casual shrug of his shoulders, stealing one of Theo’s quills just so he could watch the boy almost fall out of his chair reaching for it.

“I’ve seen this one three times now. Once near the forest line, sniffing around the grounds. Once by the Quidditch pitch, it seemed to be trying to get into the Gryffindor changing room. And this morning, just before we went down to Care.” Aldwyn explained, leaning back slightly in his chair as he gazed around at his friends, coming to the realisation that they hadn’t seen or noticed this dog before.

Theo closed one of his books slowly, giving up on retrieving his quill from Blaise for the time being and focusing his attention on Aldwyn. “Define large.”

“Bigger than a wolfhound,” Aldwyn replied. “Not quite as broad as a mastiff. Ribby. Looks like it’s been living rough.”

Daphne stilled mid-annotation. “Is it collared?”

“No, not that I have seen.”

“Then it’s either a stray,” Draco said crisply, “or someone’s irresponsible pet.”

“Or-” Theo offered, “it has chosen Aldwyn specifically and wishes to pledge its loyalty.” He snickered, only stopping when Blaise reached over and punched his arm.

Blaise then turned back to Aldwyn, “A secret canine familiar. Very dramatic, don’t know if Phanex would appreciate that.”

Aldwyn ignored them all. “It was watching me, I think.”

That earnt him proper attention from everyone, even Draco stopped writing his notes long enough to stare at Aldwyn.

“Watching you how?”

“Not like an animal looking at scraps.” Aldwyn hesitated, not an uncertain but a measuring, thoughtful break. “More like it was… assessing me… or figuring something out…”

Theo leant back, glancing down at the books still open in front of him without reading through anything. “That’s unsettling.”

“It didn’t approach me,” Aldwyn added, seeing the concern in his friends’ gazes as they exchanged glances. “It just stood there. And when I noticed it, it held eye contact.”

“Perhaps it’s curious,” Daphne suggested lightly. “You do bleed publicly now, and animals are oddly fond of you.”

Blaise shot her a look, like he was not amused by her statement. “We are not baiting wildlife with Aldwyn, thank you very much.”

“I’m not suggesting we use Aldwyn as bait,” she argued, with a light laugh, “just suggesting that if it is a stray, then it may be hungry.”

Draco recoiled faintly, cringing at the thought of interacting with a stray dog. “Absolutely not. Stray animals carry diseases. Parasites and rabies-”

“We do not have rabies in wizarding Britain,” Theo teased, rolling his eyes when Draco shook his head violently. "I am pretty sure they were made extinct due to that one Medi-wizard who insisted everyone get vaccinated by his tonics at birth. 1859, I do believe it was."

He narrowed his eyes, crossing his arms and scowled. “You cannot know that for certain.”

Aldwyn shook his head, laughing at the teasing going on between his friends. “It’s been on the grounds long enough that someone would have reported it if it had been up to no good. I am surprised Hagrid hasn’t adopted it already.”

“True, that old oath would adopt any creature he came across if given half the chance.” Blaise sniggered, twirling Theo’s quill around his fingers. “Unless it doesn’t want to be caught and reported.”

That thought lingered longer than the others, heavy in the air as if reminding them all of the danger lurking around corners this year. Aldwyn’s gaze drifted to the carved serpent pillars at the far end of the Chamber. “It reminded me of something.”

Theo tilted his head, leaning forward on the table, elbow on his closed books. “Of what?”

Aldwyn hesitated again, this time not because he doubted himself, but because saying it aloud would make it even heavier. Would change how his friends viewed the situation. It would force him to think about things he doesn’t want to think about. “Sirius Black.”

The torches flickered softly, casting shadows that danced across the stones. Draco’s jaw tightened, hand clenching around his quill. “That’s not amusing.”

“I didn’t say it was supposed to be. It may not even be him,” Aldwyn replied evenly, his voice strained, but not out of fear. Not this time. “Just that I had the feeling it wasn't a normal dog.”

“Black is a wizard,” Blaise said carefully, pushing his chair back onto two legs. “Not an Animagus.”

“Officially,” Theo added, his voice steady, hinting at something much worse than his tone suggested. “He may have never registered with the Ministry.”

Daphne clicked her tongue softly, inspecting her nails. “If a convicted murderer was wandering around Hogwarts disguised as a dog, I think someone would have noticed.”

Aldwyn’s lips curved faintly, wanting to laugh at the girl’s expression. “Perhaps, but you could say that about the possessed teacher back in first year that Draco told me about.” He took a deep breath, glancing down at his essay. “He didn’t look mad though, just… intent.”

Theo studied him, staring at his friend. “Intent on you?”

“Possibly, I don’t really know. He was far away, staring at something; it could have been the castle behind me.”

Draco’s expression sharpened immediately, placing his quill inside the inkwell so he could give his godbrother an intense stare of his own, showing Aldwyn just how serious he was. “Then you will not approach it.”

“I wasn’t planning to.” He denies, rolling his eyes at the intensity of the conversation.

“Good.”

Aldwyn tapped his quill against the parchment once, taking a deep breath. “If I see it again, I’ll speak to Professor Lupin. He knew Sirius Black for the longest, so he should know if there is anything connecting this dog to Black.” That statement seemed to settle around the room.

“Reasonable,” Blaise agreed. “He’d definitely know if there was something large and canine roaming around the castle grounds.”

“But do you think he will tell us? If it did have something to do with Black.” Theo questioned, swallowing nervously at the stares he received. “I mean, as Aldwyn said, Professor Lupin has known Black since they were eleven, what if he tries to protect him?”

“Why would he do that?” Daphne asked, raising an eyebrow at Theo.

“Because he knows Black is innocent and spent time in Azkaban for no reason. He knows that the only reason Black may be acting like this is because of the messed-up bond and his close living arrangement with the Dementors… he may feel sorry for Black.”

Aldwyn tensed up. It made a lot of sense in the grand scheme of things. Remus had known Sirius and was friends with him a lot longer than he had known his papa, the man he was slowly becoming friends with now. He also wasn’t as close to Remus, even as the man’s pseudo-godson, as he would have liked. It seemed like Remus was nervous around him, maybe even scared to be in close contact with him for whatever reason and maybe that was guilt. Maybe he already knew where Sirius was, how to find the man, and was keeping it a secret because he didn't want them to hand Sirius Black back over to the guards in Azkaban.

“Or maybe it just wants to be friends.” Theo grinned faintly, trying to ease the tension that suddenly filled the room.

“If it wants to be friends,” Daphne said firmly, “you are bringing food next time. Keep some dried meat in your pocket.”

Draco stared at her in horror, shaking his head even before the girl had finished her sentence. “We are not befriending a potentially diseased mystery animal.”

Daphne responded by reaching over the table and smacking the back of his head lightly. “It’s called compassion, Draco. Maybe you should learn some.”

Draco scowled, rubbing his head, though it hadn’t actually hurt more than his pride. “Cautious.”

Aldwyn huffed softly in amusement, but beneath the humour, the terrifying thought still lingered. The strange occurrence with the dog, which he had only caught sight of over the past few days and the odd sensation that settles deep into his gut. Always watching, staring in his direction, and only leaving when he had been noticed. It didn't seem anxious to get away either, a little wary of large groups of students, but it was never in a hurry to break eye contact and disappear whenever Aldwyn saw it.

He dipped his quill back into his ink, but his mind was no longer on Professor Flitwick’s essay; it was on what he was going to say to Professor Lupin if he ever saw that dog again.

-----

Snow fell across the grounds, glittering sheets that covered the turrets of the grand castle, frosting rooftops and softening the usual weekend chaos into something almost picturesque. Students spilt from the gates in laughing clusters, boots crunching over packed white paths, scarves in house colours snapping in the wind as they all, third year and above, left the castle’s protection for a fun weekend in the village.

Aldwyn adjusted the sling still secured around his neck, the jacket Charlie gifted him wrapped tightly around his slim frame, as Theo helped him secure his scarf a little tighter around his neck. His hands were wrapped in thick green and silver gloves. He ignored the look Blaise was giving the bandages, as if they were still a personal offence against him.

“We are not,” Draco said firmly as they made their way through the village, especially when Aldwyn seized his sleeve with a glint in his eye, “going somewhere undignified.” He stated, trying to dig his heels into the snow with little success.

“We absolutely are,” Aldwyn replied, already dragging him toward Zonko’s Joke Shop. “I have an idea. Come on.” He laughed when Draco tried his best to pull his arm free, though he still stumbled after his godbrother while Theo and Blaise walked casually by their sides.

Theo laughed, “That tone never precedes maturity.” Shaking his head when Aldwyn glanced over his shoulder a grinned.

Aldwyn adjusted the sling Madam Pomfrey had insisted upon and promptly ignored the way Blaise eyed it like an insult. "I don't need maturity for this; that would make things much too boring. Besides, we are thirteen, we are allowed to be a little immature."

Behind them, Tracey, Daphne and Pansy veered off toward Tomes and Scrolls with the air of people who would absolutely hold revision guides and notebooks over everyone’s heads later. They scurry off, arms waving frantically in the air with promises to meet back up at the castle in a few hours. Gregory and Vincent lumbered off toward Honeydukes a few seconds later, with Millicent at their side, already arguing about fudge ratios and a shared snack pile.

Inside Zonko’s, it was loud, warm, and faintly explosive. Something like what he would assume the twins' future store would look like. He glances around the brightly coloured shop, the laughing students who were browsing through the shelves of products that were definitely banned from the halls of Hogwarts. He wandered around in a daze, knowing that most of the stuff he could pick up here would give his papa a heart attack.

Shelves sagged beneath Dungbombs, Fanged Frisbees, Bewildering Can of Mystery, trick wands, and at least three items that appeared to be vibrating in anticipation of lawsuits, or at least a couple weeks’ worth of detentions. Aldwyn’s eyes lit up with dangerous enthusiasm. “Imagine,” he began, gesturing one-handed toward a display of Nose-biting Teacups, “Weasley stepping into the Great Hall-”

“And being assaulted by an army of vicious tableware.” Blaise finished approvingly, nodding as he too gazes around the store with a sinister grin. "He deserves something a little more vicious for what he did to you, though."

Theo examined a packet of everlasting itching powder, turning it around d in his hands. “How about something like this? Subtle. I appreciate it.”

“We would need inside help for that one.” Draco points out, nudging Theo as he continues to browse through the shelves with interest.

“Aldwyn is friends with the House Elves. Plus, I am sure the Weasley twins would be all too happy to help us get back at their little brother for Aldwyn.” He then picked up a box labelled Bellowed Badger Bubbles. “If we’re retaliating, we do it elegantly.”

“Elegance is subjective,” Aldwyn replied, snickering as he once again took Blaise and Theo’s hands and dragged them further into the store, walking between students, ducking around shelving units. They were mid-debate over whether Hiccough Sweets were overused when the air behind them shifted, not in a malicious way, but more of an amused shadow.

“Planning something illegal, are we, Little Snake?” Fred and George stood there, not grinning for the first time. That the Slytherin students had witnessed anyway. All four students turned around and stared up at the twins with smirks. Their eyes dropped immediately to the bandage peeking beneath Aldwyn’s jacket, the sling covering his torso, and their frowns deepened.

“We heard about what Ronniekins did to you, Little Snake.”

Fred’s gaze sharpened, “What he did to you in Care.”

Aldwyn blinked, staring between the brothers with a growing smile. “That is… refreshingly honest. What do you want to do?”

George folded his arms, trying his hardest not to walk away and find Ron so he could get back at the bugger for harming Aldwyn without a reason. “You bled because of him.”

“Barely.” Theo snickered, wrapping an arm around Aldwyn carefully, trying his best to miss his injured arm, even if he were to get the bandages off tomorrow evening under Madam Pomfrey’s orders.

Fred ignored the comment and arched his eyebrow with an even deeper frown. “We’re not thrilled with him, nor are we going to let him get away with this.”

George’s mouth flattened, leaning further toward his brother, where the two were bent down a little in order to speak to the younger students, blocking them from the view of the rest of the store and therefore creating a sense of security and secrecy between them.

“Family loyalty appears selective with you lot,” Draco smirked, showing the brothers that he wasn’t trying to insult them.

“Family loyalty doesn’t extend to stupidity,” George answered. "Besides, as ickle Ronniekins said on the train, we see Aldwyn as more of a little brother now than we have ever seen him."

Fred leant lightly closer to Aldwyn, eyeing the products he was carrying with a smirk. “If you’re planning retaliation, we’d like in.”

“We have some new… inventions we want to try, and some of them would be perfect for ickle Ronniekins.” George winked down at the Slytherin students.

“A collaboration.” Blaise’s grin widened slowly, excitement at being included in another one of the Weasley’s patented pranks, especially when they were against the people who hurt Aldwyn.

“Professional Courtesy,” George corrected. “With common interests.”

Aldwyn considered their offer for a moment, glancing between the twins, who were looking at him with the most excitement Aldwyn had seen since the beginning of the conversation, and his friends, who looked just as intrigued as he did. “Alright, tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow,” Fred agreed. “We’ll bring the schematics.”

“And I’ll bring the brains.” Aldwyn laughed heartily, rolling his eyes when Blaise and Theo wrapped their arms around Aldwyn’s waist and shoulders in an excited hug.

The twins shared a look, nodded once, which would have terrified anyone if they understood what the look meant. The four boys exchanged looks filled with anticipation and then turned toward the counters where they made their purchases amongst whispers of what would now lie in store for Weasley once they got back to the school. Bags shrunk down into their pockets and stepped out into the cold.

The moment the door shut behind them, Aldwyn stilled, his hand clenching at his side. The world didn’t change around him, nothing shifted, and his magic didn’t spike, not enough for someone to notice anyway, but he felt it shift deep within himself. A faint, almost unfamiliar tug beneath his ribs. Not pain, and not exactly alarm either, something closer to building tension. Like a thread attached to his core was being pulled, tugging him in a single direction.

Theo noticed his friend's stiffened form first, felt the muscles tensing beneath his arm, which was still wrapped around his waist. He pulled the others to a halt, worry furrowing his brows. “Wyn? Are you alright?”

Aldwyn pressed his palm lightly against his sternum, his expression twisting into something that Theo couldn’t identify. “My core just shifted.”

Draco’s posture tightened, stepping up beside Blaise. “Shifted how?”

“I don’t know… like it is being drawn somewhere. Like, there is a pull.”

Blaise didn’t hesitate to tighten his arm around Aldwyn’s shoulders. He glanced over at Theo and shook his head, trying his hardest not to pull Aldwyn even tighter against his side. “We are not splitting up, so don’t even think about it.”

Aldwyn startled at the harsh tone, eyes widening as he glanced from Blaise to Theo and then over toward Draco, all three standing at his sides like guardians ready to suit up for battle. He feels the shift loosening for a fraction of a moment. “I wasn’t suggesting…”

“Yes, you were, or at least, you were going to...” Theo interrupted mildly, shaking his head with a gentle smile. “We know you better than that, Wyn. We are not letting you wander off alone, not while some deranged psycho may be on his way here to hunt you down.”

Draco nodded briskly, sticking one hand in his pocket as a show of nonchalance while the other gestured in a sweep to their front. “Lead the way, My Prince.”

Aldwyn began a steady pace in the direction of the pull, allowing the small invisible thread to guide him through the small village, skirting around students roaming around. While Theo and Blaise remained glued to his sides, their arms never wavering from their protective grip around him. Draco trailed behind them as a rear guard.

After a few minutes of wandering in silence, past the Three Broomsticks, through drifting snow, until the buildings thinned and the path grew quieter. In front of them, looming over them even at a distance, the Shrieking Shack. A large looming building with walls falling apart, and the roof threatening to collapse at any given moment.

Draco stopped dead, halting their procession when his face paled at the sight in front of him. “Absolutely not.”

“You know it isn’t haunted, right?” Aldwyn chuckled. “It never was haunted.”

“It screams.” Draco pointed out, turning to glance at Aldwyn, who rolled his eyes.

“It used to,” Aldwyn corrected. “The noises were Professor Lupin transforming every month during the Full Moon while he attended Hogwarts. Dumbledore generously allowed him to chain himself up in the Shack so he wouldn’t harm the rest of the student body.” He explained, creeping a little closer to the decrepit building as his core still tugged.

Theo blinked, eyeing the building from horror stories he had been told as a child. “That’s reassuring… in a different way, I suppose.”

“Reassuring? I think that just proves how stupid people can be.” Blaise countered, tightening his hold around his friend to halt his progress towards the shack, whether it was haunted or not; he didn’t feel comfortable about the fact that whatever was drawing Aldwyn through the village was dragging him towards an abandoned house. “Professor Lupin was a student at Hogwarts for seven years. Every month, on the full moon, he would come to the Shack and transform into a werewolf, resulting in people being able to hear his scream as he transformed… which means, they would have been able to hear the werewolf howls just after…”

“How no one was able to figure out that a werewolf either lived in the village or was a student attending Hogwarts is the real mystery here.” Draco finished, rolling his eyes when he caught on to what Blaise was saying. Then he turned toward Aldwyn with a raised eyebrow. “You could have let me believe in ghosts.”

Aldwyn’s lips twitched, but the pull strengthened slightly, guiding them closer. Only marginally, but Draco was still protesting every now and again, stumbling in the freshly fallen snow, pointing out crevices where wild animals could be hiding out, waiting for them to drop their guard.

Snow lay undisturbed around the shack’s fence, spreading through the land and only allowing a few brown pieces of brush to poke through, those that hadn’t been smothered by the snow. Except for one small patch near the open gate.

A large, shaggy black dog sat just beyond their reach, amber eyes staring straight toward the four boys with the curiosity of a man, rather than a simple stray dog. It was a lot thinner up close. Its ribs are faintly visible beneath the matted fur. Snow clung to its paws and muzzle, but it did not shiver. As if it were used to trailing through the snow and winter months. In fact, it did not move at all.

The four boys stopped several paces away, staring at the dog's strange appearance, finally understanding what Aldwyn meant by this dog didn't act like a typical stray. They watched as the dog's eyes lifted ever so slowly, but they didn’t turn toward the castle, didn’t turn toward the Shack. They turned toward the boys, Aldwyn in particular, and their eyes met.

Their air stirred, not with positive intent but with a strong sense of wrongness that penetrated deep within their consciousness. It turned too still. Aldwyn’s breathing slowed subconsciously as he met the animal’s gaze. There was growling coming from the dog, no bared teeth, and no barking. Just an intensity that prickled against his skin.

Draco shifted uneasily behind Aldwyn. “It’s staring at you.”

“I noticed, strangely enough.”

Blaise dropped his arm from around Aldwyn’s waist and slipped it into Aldwyn’s uninjured one, interlacing their fingers. He didn’t voice his unease, merely reacted to Theo nudging him behind Aldwyn’s back and pointing towards their friend with a raise of his eyebrows. Blaise knew what that meant instantly, and then he felt it too. “I think that’s enough wildlife interaction for today.” He began tugging him gently backwards away from the dog.

Theo watched to make sure they weren’t followed by the strange canine; it merely watched them retreat with intelligent eyes before he stepped closer to Aldwyn, almost making it difficult to walk. He froze for a fraction of a moment before dropping his arm to secure around Aldwyn’s waist, just in case. “Your core.” He said quietly.

Aldwyn blinked, turning his head to gaze into Theo’s eyes. He raised his eyebrow. “What about it?”

“It’s wavering. Not dangerously, but enough to be noticeable.” Aldwyn nodded, because what else could he do but agree. He had, of course, felt the shift in his core, felt the tugging stop and his magic fluctuate for only a second, but he didn’t think it was strong enough to be noticed. He should have known better with Blaise and Theo around him.

Draco’s voice tightened, stepping up closer behind them. “That’s no coincidence.”

No one said his name as they continued to back away from the Shrieking Shake, but they were all thinking the same thing. Aldwyn’s core directs him toward the Shrieking Shack, the stray dog having eyes only for their friend, and his magic fluctuates all in the space of ten minutes. It definitely was no coincidence. The name Sirius Black hung between them like a silent curse.

Blaise’s grip tightened. “We’re leaving. Back to the school.” His voice was firm, brokering no arguments as he stared forward, guiding the others back into the village so they could begin to make their way back to Hogwarts, into the protections of the Wards where Sirius Black wouldn’t be able to touch them.

Theo tightened his arm around Aldwyn’s waist, not in a suffocating embrace, but enough to steady his friend if his knees were to give out from under him. Draco rolled his eyes at the blatant protectiveness but positioned himself slightly behind them anyway, wand hand free inside his coat, fingers flexing against his wand holster.

Once the four figures disappeared beyond the views of the village, hidden behind raised buildings and snowy footpaths. Only then did the dog lower its head slightly, exhaling a slow plume of white into the cold air, more human than animal. His head turned toward Hogwarts, the towers stretching towards the sky as he let out a deep howl.

------

The snow numbed his paws long before he registered the cold surrounding him or the fresh snow falling very slowly from the sky. He sat beyond the rise overlooking Hogwarts as the sun began to set. His ribs were sharp beneath unkempt fur, wind threading through his coat without resistance; he blamed the number of bold patches he had from crawling through the Forbidden Forest and hiding in brush. The castle lights faintly across the grounds, distant and unreachable for the time being, but he knew he would get in sometime soon.

He needed to feel that familiar warmth again, that sense of freedom and love he had felt only once in his life, when he was secreted away behind those wards himself almost twelve years ago. When he had friends by his side, teachers who believed in him and an entire future waiting for him.

Fortunately, he didn’t feel empty. He knew he should. With his closest friends dead, his other friend a traitor, still running around the world as free as can be when everyone thought he had been murdered all those years ago. And his Moony, his bestest friend in the whole world, was still thinking he was a murderous traitor. He should have felt numb, hollow on the inside, but he could feel him.

It was faint, muffled beneath something he couldn’t quite identify, as if he had been replaced, buried beneath layers of magic, outside influence, but he was there. Alive and healthy as far as he could tell, which was difficult. Exceedingly so, when he couldn’t focus long enough on the connection to truly tell where he was, let alone his state of being. He could only really identify something when it was to the extreme. Like earlier in the week, when he was distressed and in pain.

Sirius pressed his muzzle into the frost and shut his eyes, the biting cold against his nose helping to clear some of the fog from his mind. Harry.

The name didn’t come cleanly anymore. It dragged through his thoughts like something caught in brambles, like his mind was trying to hold onto something that no longer existed. Sometimes the name, the picture in his mind, felt sharp and bright as if he had seen the boy yesterday. Other times it slipped sideways, just out of his reach, his conjurations of what his godson could look like now replaced by Ministry lies and newspaper headlines that burnt behind his eyes. Seared into his memory like the bitter taste of stale wine.

Harry Potter, The Story So Far

Lies. He knew the entire thing was a lie; he just didn’t understand why anyone would want to make his godson disappear like that. Why anyone would choose to spread such lies about Harry, claiming he had been abused and murdered by his Muggle family. Sirius knew that Petunia was jealous of her sister, didn’t like magic and didn’t want anything to do with their world, but surely, she wouldn’t take that out on a defenceless baby. Surely, she wouldn’t allow her husband to abuse the child to such a degree that he succumbed to his injuries.

He would have known if Harry had died, would have felt his pain while he was locked up in Azkaban, the pain he supposedly felt at the Dursleys, the pain of abuse and starvation; he would have felt it all because they were linked through magic. Harry was part of him, just as he was a part of Harry, and nothing short of death could sever such a connection. Nothing. So why was someone trying so hard to hide his precious godson from him?

But the joke was on them because it wasn’t working. There was a pull, thin as a thread, but unbreakable without the right tools. It tugged somewhere deep within his chest, beneath the hunger and the cold and the ache that had never quite left him since Azkaban. It was the only thing that had kept him moving north instead of collapsing in some ditch somewhere or turning himself in.

He could still feel him. His godson, little Harry Potter. So how could the Minister stand there, smug outside his cell, and wave around a newspaper article from a year ago claiming that he was dead? How could they lie to his face like that and then act surprised when he managed to escape the prison with ease? The first convict in history to ever succeed in sneaking past the dementors.

The answer was obvious. The Ministry were the ones hiding him. That was the only explanation that made sense in his muddled brain. Especially when his thoughts began to fracture, which often happened when he forgot to pay attention to his occlumency shields, which was more often than not nowadays. They’d taken him. Or someone else had. Some Dark family, purebloods with cold hands and even colder smiles. They’d claimed him as their own, twisted him with manipulations, told the world he was dead so no one would look too closely at their false family.

His godson. His Harry was being held against his will somewhere, hidden in plain sight, screaming behind a wall he couldn’t break. Brainwashed and bound, used by someone claiming to be his family. For fortune or political power, he wasn’t too sure, but he wasn’t going to allow it to continue.

The idea of someone, anyone doing such a thing to his Harry made something feral rise in Sirius’s throat. Lily’s laugh echoed faintly from somewhere deep in his memories, her bright emerald eyes crinkling at the corners as she tried her best to scold James about trying to teach their few-month-old son to ride a broom. Jame’s grin flashed behind his eyes, reckless and trusting as they slapped each other on the shoulder before joining a battle with laughter echoing around them.

If anything ever happens –

They had trusted him; Lily and James had promised him that they trusted him with their son. He and Remus. They were supposed to take Harry and raise him. In a quiet little cottage somewhere safe and sound, with a little woodland out back where they could run during the full moon. Harry was supposed to be his when James and Lily… when they had…

He had failed them once, and he was not about to fail them again. No matter what the world thought of him, no matter what they believed about his Harry. Even if the world turned its back on him all those years ago and blamed him for something he didn’t do, just because of his family name. Even if the entire world insisted that Harry was gone. Even if the papers declared this as fact, citing evidence on the matter.

He could feel his boy, and even though it wasn’t a clear connection, not like a memory, not like something he could see or touch, he knew it was there. Like warmth hidden behind a wall. When he had drifted too far south one evening, the thread had thinned, pulled uncomfortably. When he crossed the moors toward Scotland, it had strengthened, and his mind had cleared for the fraction of a second before delving into a muddled mess of memories and reality.

The bond was leading him, keeping him on track to find his godson, and it was leading him straight to Hogwarts. Always to Hogwarts, so he knew that Harry was hidden somewhere within those halls. Protected from the Dark… or imprisoned behind false memories and fake names.

Sirius’s thoughts tangled together at the edges, and he shook his head, trying to clear them.

Sometimes, when the bond pulsed stronger, it hurt. Not physical pain exactly, not in his case, but more like a pressure. A vibration beneath his skin that made him restless, pacing and unable to stay still for long periods of time. It sometimes took a toll on his body, making him forget to eat or forcing sleep to evade him, causing his body to collapse. Snippets of images that might not be his own would flash through his mind, green eyes, dark corridors, the sense of watching and being watched.

Today, it had surged sharply, and he thought he had found him. Thought had had seen his Harry, until he had taken a closer look at the boy. Until the child had stepped close enough for him to make out some features, scarily familiar features that made him want to bristle and growl, but the bond swarmed around him, warm and secure.

The child in front of him, the one he had assumed to be his godson, looked similar to how he would have imagined his Harry to look. Except, this child didn’t have the typical potter locks; instead, his hair was lightly wavy and held tightly at the base of his neck with a leather band. His features were soft, but regal like a pureblood Heir from an ancient family with strong magic. And although the boy’s eyes were green, they weren’t Lily’s shade. They were brighter, rimmed with black and flecked with a brown, he thought.

He had seen this boy a few times over the past few weeks or days. Time really got away from him as he roamed through the forest trying to survive without being caught by the Dementors flying around. He had bumped into the child several times and learnt a great many things. For one, he seemed to be from a very ancient family if his stature and magical power were anything to go by. He was also a Slytherin student who always hung out with Malfoy, Nott and Zabini juniors, something his Harry would never do. But he couldn’t help but feel intrigued by this child.

He had seen him today as well, through the snow, caught a glimpse of him standing near the old shack at the edge of the village, surrounded by his little entourage. He was older than he had assumed when he first thought. By a year or two, a little shorter than his friends, a little thinner as well, but not in an unhealthy way, just in stature. It made him look even more like the man he assumed was the child’s father, which led his brain down paths he couldn’t keep up with.

The child, who was surrounded, was guarded. Was very clearly the child of Severus Snape. It was obvious by the way the child stood, how he spoke, the fall of his hair and the expressions he pulled when talking to his friends. But then, who was the child’s mother? Who could have borne the thought of staring at Snivellus’s face for long enough to make a child, a woman from a high-standing, magically powerful and ancient family at that.

He had been frozen where he sat when the boy had looked right at him. Straight at him without flinching away because of his form. And for a moment, just for a brief moment, the thread, bare and fraying, had thrummed so violently that Sirius thought he might shift back to his human form from the force of it.

The boy hadn’t approached him, hadn’t called out to him or tried to shoo him away. Hadn’t shown any sign of recognising him as his Uncle Padfoot, and so Sirius believed that this child couldn’t be his godson. There was no way he wouldn’t have felt a returning fluctuation in the child’s core if he had been his godson, hidden behind glamours or not.

That meant that Harry was somewhere in the Village right now, somewhere nearby, possibly hurt and calling out to him, however subconsciously. It meant that someone really was blocking his connection with his godson and knew that he was coming to save him from their evil clutches. But why would they try to keep Harry from him in the first place? Protection? Control? Or had some Dark house taken him in after the Potters fell, raised him quietly and allowed the entire world to assume Harry had been living with his Muggle relatives for ten years.

That uncertainty gnawed at Sirius until his thoughts began to blur again. He shifted restlessly in the snow, creating a perfect hole in the grass below. He would get inside the castle. Closer to his boy. The bond was clearer near the castle. He’d tested it, circling, moving, mapping the invisible current that pulled him like a compass needle seeking north.

There were ways in. There had always been ways in. Secret passages that had allowed him to sneak out of the castle when they had been on lockdown during the war. He had been clever once; he would be clever again. Using those same passages to sneak into the castle this time.

The Shireking Shack still stood empty, the majority of the time, filled with old memories and dust. The passage beneath it had not vanished. He remembered every turn of it. Every root in the tunnel walls, but it had caused him some contemplation when Harry wasn’t dominating his thoughts.

Remus Lupin was, or so he had heard, a professor at the school this year, but the Shack remained unused, abandoned. Sirius would curl up on the decrepit bed and wonder if his old friend was alright. If he were still taking his potions and if he had found somewhere safer to transform.

If the castle had not forgotten him, Sirius shook his head. If it had not forgotten James, it had not forgotten the boy who’d run those corridors with him at his side; Hogwarts would let him through. It had to. Harry was alive. He would not let them convince him otherwise. Not the Ministry, not anyone. He had nothing left but the thin thread of warmth in his chest.

No family. No home. No name. No future beyond survival. Harry was the only thing tethered to something other than vengeance. If the boy was hidden, Sirius would find him. If he was being lied to, Sirius would tear the truth free with his bear hands. He pressed his paws deeper into the snow, eyes fixed on the distant towers.

Soon. He would move at night. Closer each time. Following the pull and finding the boy. To protect him as Lily asked him to, as James trusted him with. Even if the rest of the world called him mad, deranged. Even if the bond in his chest made his thoughts blur and double and fracture at the edges. Harry was alive, and Sirius Black would not fail him again.

Chapter Text

Aldwyn left his friends with a wave of his hand as soon as they escorted him back to the castle, a little after lunchtime. He rolled his eyes when he saw Theo and Blaise hesitating, eyes lingering on him before they sighed one final time and turned to follow Draco back toward the dungeons. Aldwyn had promised to tell them all about his conversation with Remus, as long as they promised to write to their friends and inform them of the change of plans… and to ask Daphne to pick him up some Sugar Quills and Chocolate frogs from Honeydukes on their way back to the castle.

He does his best to ignore the loud laughter coming from the castle grounds, the sounds of the younger years, not yet allowed to go to Hogsmeade, playing in the snow. He ignored the bustle of the returning students as he began to make his way through the corridors, shaking his cloak free of the cold snowflakes that were clinging to his shoulders.

Climbing the stairs to the third floor, despite the potential seriousness of the situation, Aldwyn can’t help but grin to himself because this had been the fourth time he had seen the same dog. But this time, instead of circling the Hogwarts grounds, it had just been sitting there, all alone, in an abandoned field near the Shrieking Shake like it had been waiting for something. Or someone. And although he would have liked to deal with it himself, knew that he could figure out what was going on without help, he had promised his parents that he would always go to a responsible adult.

And speaking to his Uncle Moony seemed like the best idea when he had a nagging feeling that this dog was somehow connected to Sirius Black. Whether that dog was the man himself in an Animagus form, or some weird premonition about the danger he was going to find himself in at some point this year. Besides, Blaise and Theo would have his head if he even thought to leave them out of the loop, wouldn’t leave him alone until he promised to speak to their Defence Professor.

Remus’s office door was shut tight when he approached, and for a brief second, Aldwyn worried that his uncle had gone back home to the wolf pact for the weekend, even if it wasn’t the Full Moon. That was, until he saw a faint glow of torchlight spilling out from beneath the door. Breathing a sigh of relief, he steps up to the door and knocks gently.

“Come in,” Remus’s voice was quiet and tired-sounding.

Aldwyn felt almost sorry for the man because he had been the one saddled with overseeing Ronald’s detentions for the next two months, because of his ridiculous behaviour in Care of Magical Creatures and on top of that, he still had to deal with his transformations every single month, even if they were a lot better now than they were before. And, he still had lesson plans to create and essays to mark; his uncle must be exhausted.

The office felt warm when Aldwyn stepped over the threshold, cluttered with textbooks and statues of all sorts of Dark creatures, some of which Aldwyn had never come across before. Some of which he had spent several hours researching, much to his friends’ befuddlement. Stacks of essays, some littered with glowing red ink while others lay untouched, cluttered one desk, while a half-finished cup of tea lay by Remus’s elbow. The window was cracked open, just enough to let in the cool afternoon air. Remus glanced up as Aldwyn approached the desk.

“Aldwyn, you’re back earlier than expected. To what do I owe the pleasure? Did something happen?”

Aldwyn scratched the back of his neck and offered the man a small, but no less genuine, smile. His expression widens when Remus immediately pushes the pile of essays he had been marking out of the way and gestures for Aldwyn to take a seat.

“Afternoon, Uncle Moony.” The familiar title drew a smile to Remus’s face, his features softening instantly at the teenager.

“Afternoon, Cub. How was Hogsmeade?”

“Uneventful for the most part,” Aldwyn replied. “I asked Daphne and Pansy to bring me back some sugar quills and chocolate frogs for my study session later, and I also asked them to bring back extra butterbear because I know how much you are obsessed with the stuff.” He teases, drawing a small smile from his pseudo-godfather.

Though before Remus thinks to comment on his supposed obsession with butterbear, he recognises the initial comment and pauses for a moment. He raised an eyebrow at Aldwyn, smile turning quickly into a frown. “For the most part?”

Aldwyn clasps his hands together, fingers twisting around each other before he places them on his lap and forces himself to meet the curious gaze of his professor, his own expression turning serious. His posture was composed, like it usually was, but not stiff, which relaxed Remus a little bit because it meant that Aldwyn had not been hurt or attacked during the trip.

“I saw something while I was in Hogsmeade… and wanted to get your opinion.”

Remus set his quill down into the inkwell and pushed that away as well, giving his full attention to Aldwyn and giving the boy an encouraging smile. “What sort of something?”

“Well, I was in Zonko’s with Theo, Blaise and Draco, and everything was fine at first. We even spoke with Fred and George for a few minutes, but as soon as I stepped outside, I felt this… pulling sensation…” He tilted his head to the side as if debating whether that was the correct word for the situation, pressing a hand to his chest.

“We followed the pull, or I did, and Blaise, Theo and Draco refused to let me go alone, which was probably for the best, and for some reason we ended up at the edge of the field near the Shrieking Shack and when we got there, we didn’t see anything but this… dog.”

There was no immediate alarm in Remus’s expression, which relaxed Aldwyn a little, not much, but enough for him to lean back in his chair because if there was anything overtly alarming about the situation, Remus would have said so immediately. He watched as his uncle summoned a tray of mini chocolates, ones he had definitely seen at the Dursleys' house before and happily took one.

“A stray?” he asked lightly, wondering why Aldwyn was coming to him about some random stray dog he had seen wandering through Hogsmeade.

“I don’t believe so. It didn’t seem to have a collar on, but it seemed too… aware for it to be a normal stray dog.” That earnt Aldwyn his full attention. “It was just sitting by the fence, in the snow. Large, black, taller than most dogs I’ve seen before. Its head probably came up to my waist, maybe higher, and it was really scruffy.”

Remus’s posture changed subtly, and he took a chocolate for himself. He didn’t ask any pressing questions, just smiled softly and nodded. “Go on.”

“It had this thick coat that had clumps missing in places, like it had gotten into fights or kept hiding in places too small for its body. It was shaggy and messy but not entirely neglected. It wasn’t scavenging or wandering, not like a dog usually would be if it were that skinny. It was stationary and seemed to be growling at us, but not in warning.”

“Stationary,” Remus repeated, not quite a question but still asking Aldwyn for more explanation of what he saw.

“Yes. At first, I thought it was watching the village, you know, the students wandering around, maybe waiting for scraps of food, but then it seemed to focus on one spot…”

The warmth in the room seemed to thin after his statement, as if the fire in the hearth had dimmed or the temperature outside had dropped and infiltrated the room through the small crack in the window. Aldwyn didn’t know, but it certainly felt colder all of a sudden.

“What was it watching?”

“Us.” He explained. “Me, Theo, Blaise, and Draco. It seemed to be analysing, observing to see what we would do or how we would react, it wasn’t watching us out of territorial instinct.”

He neglected to mention the part where his magic seemingly fluctuated, or where Draco got a chilling sensation from the dog’s intelligent gaze because he had a feeling Remus already knew all of that, or he had guessed at least because his expression had dampened. Fallen into something a lot more serious, like it got when a student was messing around in his classroom, and he was about to begin a lecture.

Remus folded his hands loosely on his desk, gaze meeting Aldwyn’s. “You’ve never seen this dog before?”

Aldwyn hesitated for a moment longer than he should have because by the time he was opening his mouth to answer, Remus had closed his eyes as if he had already guessed the answer and was waiting for the inevitable reveal. “This was the fourth time.”

“Has this dog approached you at all before today?” Remus questioned, eyeing the young boy across from him with a wry smile.

“No, it’s always just stared at me across a field or from a few hundred metres away.”

“Did you or any of your friends approach it?”

“No, as soon as we saw it staring at us as intently as if it was, we came back to the castle.”

“Good.”

“Uncle Moony, what do you know about this dog? I know you know something, please.” Aldwyn asked, pleading in his eyes because he knew that Remus was holding something back, was trying to protect him from the knowledge he held close to his heart, but Aldwyn needed to know. He needed to gather all the information he could about this dog, about Sirius Black, about their possible connections if he were to protect himself against the man when they finally, inevitably crossed paths again.

“How long did the dog stay there?”

“I am not too sure,” he answered honestly, “he was sitting by the fence when we arrived, and Blaise pulled me away before he left. I think he was watching us leave, though, just sitting there by the fence.”

Remus leant back slowly in his chair, a deep sigh escaping his mouth as he snagged another piece of chocolate from the plate, unwrapped it and chewed thoughtfully. “Aldwyn, I need you to listen to me very carefully.” The teenager shuffled forward in his seat. “That may not be a normal dog.”

Aldwyn tilted his head, eyebrows furrowing as he listened to his uncle pulling in a stuttering breath, realisation colouring his expression, but he still posed it as a question because he had to know the truth and admitting that he and his friends had already assumed it was Sirius Black.

“What else would it be?”

“I believe it may be Sirius Black in his Animagus form.” He confessed, choosing his words carefully so he didn’t push Aldwyn’s core into another episode. He didn’t want to make Sirius any more determined to break into the school and find Aldwyn. Or Harry, in his case. Though the name still settled heavily between them, as it tended to do as of late.

Aldwyn didn’t even think to feign ignorance; instead, he met his uncle’s eyes, understanding showing in his expression, which made Remus all the more worried for the boy. “He was an Animagus?” He asked, not because he needed the clarification, but to confirm his own thoughts.

“Yes.”

“And I’m assuming the Ministry doesn’t know about this because if they did, they wouldn’t have thrown him in Azkaban without that being sealed away or locked. No doubt they would have thrown him straight in a maximum-security cell.” Aldwyn shook his head, settling back down in his seat.

“He never registered officially with the Ministry, no,” Remus confirmed, dragging a hand through his hair as he stared out of the window, the cool air making a slight whistling noise as it slipped through the crack, a noise that calmed him down a little. Especially as his mind was plagued by memories of his pack, running through the Forbidden Forest with a deer, dog and rat by his side.

“Why did he never register? Isn’t that illegal?”

Remus hesitated for a moment, not because he was thinking of keeping the story a secret, not from his Cub, but because it was a precious memory that was still held in his heart. It was the first time he could remember someone doing something so completely unselfish just for him, without asking for anything in return, and he didn’t want the memory to be tainted. He didn’t want to associate such a precious memory with Sirius’s present ability to sneak beyond the castle wards and potentially try to harm Aldwyn.

“In our fifth year,” he began slowly, “Sirius, James, and Peter decided that I should no longer be alone during the full moon because they were worried about me.” Aldwyn remained very still as his uncle started spilling something about his past, something about his supposed father and their friends.

“They taught themselves, without telling me, mind you, without telling anyone. It is extremely advanced magic, something you don’t even begin to study until the sixth year because of how dangerous it could be. It takes years for most people to even discover their form, let alone shift for the first time. And if you fail…” He shakes his head, inhaling sharply.

“But they did it for me. Learnt to transform so that I would have a pack of my own. To make my transformations a little less daunting.” He added, a reverence in his voice. “They were fifteen, almost sixteen and were not legally permitted to become an Animagus until you’re at least seventeen because of the dangers.”

“So, they broke the law?” Aldwyn said quietly. “To help you.”

“Yes,” Remus whispered. He hadn’t been pleased with his friends when he had first found out, terrified that they would be caught and arrested, their wands snapped, and then he truly would have been left alone in the world. But those worries had quickly been overshadowed by the warmth he had felt, the joy that had washed through him at having friends who would go to such lengths for him. Especially since his own parents could barely stand to look at him.

“And Black’s form?” Aldwyn prompted gently.

“A large black dog.” The words seemed to draw the temperature down another degree or two. “We called him Padfoot because once he transformed, he reminded us of the Grim. Long, shaggy coat, large frame that towered over a lot of other dog breeds.” Remus’s smile was gentle, lost somewhere between fond memory and painful remembrance. “His form was big, powerful. He always said it suited him.”

Aldwyn’s gaze drifted briefly toward the window, where the grounds lay silent beneath the slowly setting sun. He could still hear the very faint laughter coming from some of the younger years playing in the snow, could still feel the wind biting through his cloak, but it was Remus’s next words that sent a shiver down his spine. His hands were clenching into fists around the edge of his chair.

“If the dog you saw was Sirius,” he continued carefully, “Then he is close to the castle.”

“Yes,” Aldwyn agreed, though he knew there was no need. They both knew that if this dog was Sirius Black, then he and his friends were definitely in danger, maybe even Severus if Sirius was really as deranged or unstable as they seemed to believe.

“And he is waiting.”

“For a chance to get into the castle?” Aldwyn questioned.

“Sirius, if he has managed to retain all of his memories from our school days, will already know at least three different ways to get into the castle without being seen or drawing unnecessary attention to himself. He may be waiting for our guard to drop.” Remus leant forward, elbows back to resting on the desk as he glanced at Aldwyn.

“Aldwyn, if you see that dog again, you are not to approach it. Not out of curiosity, not out of bravery, not for any reason. Do you understand me? The closer you get to him, the more time you spend with him, the more at risk you are of being found to have once been Harry Potter.”

“I won’t, I promise. Papa and Father are preparing for the ritual, which should block off the majority of the bond, while we are trying to figure out how to break it completely without backlash. Blaise and Theo have already refused to leave me alone when I am outside the castle.”

“I mean it, Cub. I don’t want you anywhere near him. We don’t know what he is capable of in this state. I don’t want you getting hurt.” Remus raised his gaze to stare at Aldwyn.

“I know you do, Uncle Moony. I promise that I won’t go after Black.”

“Good, because I don’t want anything happening to you, Cub. Sirius could be dangerous.” Remus sighed and carded a hand through his hair again. “There is something else, something you are already aware of at this point… Sirius… he is not who he once was.”

“Azkaban.” Aldwyn nods.

“Yes, I fear being surrounded by Dementors for the past twelve years; those creatures erode things… they can damage stuff that should not be damaged. Memory. Emotion. Perspective. They take every positive thing you have in your head and strip it away.”

“And bonds?”

“Why do you ask about that?” Remus asked Aldwyn. He had spoken to the boy’s parents about the way prolonged Dementor exposure could potentially affect the bond, but he hadn’t expected Aldwyn to already know about it. Then again, the boy’s parents had been extremely open with their research and most likely didn’t wish to keep Aldwyn in the dark about anything that could relate to the bond.

“You told me that it was a possibility, and my parents did some research. Powerful magic can distort under trauma, and what is more traumatic than over a decade locked in a place without those beasts?”

Remus exhaled slowly, shaking his head. He had forgotten about that conversation in the corridor, given how much had happened since then. “Yes, it can, and Sirius wasn’t all right in the head when he went into Azkaban. I dread to think how he is holding up now.”

“And a godfather bond, even weakened by a blood adoption ritual, is still extremely powerful magic,” Aldwyn pointed out, his voice steady as if he were simply stating facts and not something potentially dangerous to his own well-being. “If it had been twisted for more than a decade, it was dangerous before the adoption, and the ritual may not have weakened it as much as we assumed. Meaning proximity could definitely aggravate it.”

It could, which is precisely why I don’t want you going anywhere near him.” Remus doesn’t dismiss the idea because they all know that it has a high possibility of being true, and he doesn’t want Aldwyn to be put in a situation where his previous identity could get out to the public. Doesn’t want him anywhere near Sirius until they can assess his mental state.

“I understand, Uncle Moony. I promise that I won’t go anywhere near the dog if I see it again.”

“You did the right thing in coming to me, Cub.” Remus offers Aldwyn another gentle smile, pushing more chocolates toward the boy, who happily grabs another and pops it into his mouth with a happy sigh.

“You know Black better than anyone. I thought it would be a lot easier if I came to speak to you directly than try to find out through my parents. Besides, I know you are going to tell them everything I just told you anyway.” Aldwyn grinned, shooting a quick wink toward his uncle, who merely chuckled. He then pushed himself from his seat, came around the desk and rested a hand on Aldwyn’s shoulder.

“If you see that dog again, day or night, I want you to come straight to me, alright?”

“Yes, Uncle Moony.” The address lingered warmly in the room as Aldwyn leant against the man’s side, allowing his warmth to penetrate through his robes. Remus manages an affectionate smile as he bends down to press a kiss to Aldwyn’s head.

“And Aldwyn? If it is Sirius… remember that he was once someone who loved you very much and would have burnt the world to protect you, but that doesn’t mean what he is doing now is okay, and he cannot explain away anything he does to you because of this bond, nor Dementor exposure.”

Aldwyn pushed himself to his feet. “I know.” Then, with one final embrace turned to walk out of the office with a weight taken off his shoulders. He stepped into the dim corridor, his expression settling into something thoughtful and deliberate because he knew that love, especially distorted, could be just as dangerous as hatred.

-----

The Hogwarts library was unusually quiet for a Sunday afternoon; no students were running around trying to complete last-minute homework assignments for Monday morning classes, and even the Ravenclaws were happily wandering the grounds around the school, still enjoying their freedom before they had to return to the castle for dinner. Leaving only a handful of last-minute crammers or dedicated researchers behind.

Sunlight filtered through the tall windows, bathing a hidden corner near the restricted section with bright golden hues. Some of the Slytherin third years who had returned earlier than their friends from the house-wide game of snowball fighting and snowman building competitions were huddled around a large table.

Aldwyn sat at the centre of one of the corner tables, a large stack of books open in front of him, most of which he had secreted from the Slytherin family archives for more research into the Bond he shared with Sirius Black and potential side effects. Sitting at his left was Blaise, pretending to read his own textbooks while lazily twirling his quill between his fingers. Theo sat on his right with his own mountain of reference texts and scrolls arranged with careful precision, though he had long since stopped turning pages and alternated between playing tic-tac-toe with Daphne across the table and staring out of the window with a far-off expression.

Daphne and Tracey sat opposite, heads bent together as they whispered over a piece of parchment that had absolutely nothing to do with the homework they were supposed to be working on. A presentation for Professor Lupin that they were supposed to be presenting to the rest of their class tomorrow morning during Defence. It was only a short 2-minute explanation on a spell of their choice, but Tracey seemed to think improvisation was the way to go. Even if she was also trying to distract her friend from the game she was trying to win against Theo.

Draco rolled his eyes at his friends, doodling along the margins of his parchment. He had finished his additional homework, finished all of the extra work he had set for himself to help him improve his grades, so he was better equipped to do his O.W.Ls in a few years’ time, and even made a short study guide that he planned to give to Millicent later on for her potions work. The girl was still as hopeless as Longbottom when it came to potions and only managed not to blow up a cauldron so far this year because Tracey always partnered with her.

“They’re late,” Daphne muttered as she cast a quick Tempus charm, huffing as the bright red letters stared back at her for a moment before fading in a shower of sparks.

“They’re Gryffindors,” Theo answered, not looking away from the window. “What did you expect?”

“That’s not an explanation.” She rolled her eyes, tapping a quill against the table without pulling her gaze away from the corner Theo had blocked her into in their little game. She sighed and began drawing out a new grid for them.

“It is when you think about it.” Theo glanced at the girl, a smirk stretching across his lips when he placed his first cross in the new grid before turning to look at Blaise, who snorted at his remark.

“It’s an excuse.” He commented, eyes fixated on the quill in his hand as it twirled non-stop around his fingers, a hypnotising rhythm that seemed to catch even Aldwyn’s attention.

Draco sighed dramatically, dragging a hand through his hair as if trying to set it back to rights after spending an hour tugging on it and messing it up while he struggled through some additional Ancient Runes homework and questions, which he had asked his father for. “I still can’t believe we agreed to meet those menaces here.”

Tracey giggled, stealing the parchment filled with tic-tac-toe games and immediately filled in a circle for Daphne, laughing louder when Theo protested. “Oh, please, you are just as excited as the rest of us, Dray. Don’t pretend you’re not.”

Draco lifted an eyebrow, crossed his arms over his chest and sniffed, sticking his nose in the air as if he wasn’t going to acknowledge his friend’s words, but then he opened his mouth anyway. “I’m simply enjoying the idea of Weasley humiliating himself in front of the entire school.”

“You think Fred and George will do something like that again?” Daphne questioned, leaning forward in her seat to gaze around the table. Everyone had given up trying to look productive by now and was eagerly anticipating their guests’ arrival. “We did a public humiliation last year, and it still didn’t work really.”

“Yes, but technically, we are the ones humiliating him.” Aldwyn corrected, joining in the conversation for the first time. He grins, settling back in his seat when he hears the faint patter of footsteps approaching their table.

“Semantics.” Draco waved his hand, shaking his head when he simply receives a wider grin from his godbrother instead of a response. But it was a good thing as well because at that moment, two shadows fell across the table.

“Well,” A cheerful voice said from behind Draco and the girls. “This looks suspiciously like a secret meeting that has been started without us.”

Fred and George dropped into the empty chairs at the end of the table with the casual confidence of two people who had absolutely no right to be this close to the restricted section, but every confidence that they could sneak in and out without being seen. And knowing the twins as well as he liked to think, Aldwyn could see the chaotic duo doing just that if the need arose. They lived for chaos, and even more for getting away with it.

Luckily for them, Aldwyn had the foresight to pick a table hidden in the very back corner of the library, a section most students didn’t even know existed if they weren’t looking for books on Ancient and sometimes forgotten magic. They had no worries of another student accidentally overhearing their conversation, and even less chance of being caught by Madam Pince. Still, the twins bought out textbooks, parchments and inkwells from their bags just in case.

“Afternoon, little Snakes.” George greeted once he had set up his table, adopting an expression of concealed excitement and innocence.

Tracey smiled brightly at them in return, “You’re late.”

“Fashionably so, if I do say so myself.” Fred waved his hand dismissively, smirking when the girl rolled her eyes but didn’t comment further.

“What held you up? Another prank?” Aldwyn questioned, interested, it genuinely wasn’t like the twins to be late for a scheming session, unless they had been preoccupied or caught in the executional phase of another prank they had planned for another unsuspecting victim.

“Hardly,” George grumbled, “You know we wouldn’t leave you out of something like that, Aldwyn.”

“We were finalising some details and doing last-minute calculations.” Fred pulled a single piece of parchment out of the rolls he had placed on the table earlier and spun them around so the Slytherins could read through their scrawled notes.

“And trying to avoid Percy,” George added. “For some reason, he has been on our asses a lot more recently.” He shrugged his shoulders, and Aldwyn almost laughed. Fred and George were notorious pranksters, ones who always seemed to strike when no one was expecting it. He couldn’t blame Percy, who had been made Head Boy that year, for being overly paranoid.

“Wise.” Theo agreed, voice low and barely above a murmur as he got lost in trying to decipher the twins' handwriting while also trying to figure out what type of prank they were thinking of playing against their own brother.

Fred and George’s gaze seemed to sweep around the table, taking into account the varying expressions of excitement, frustration and anticipation in varying degrees. They exchange a quick glance, smirking before Fred claps his hands together. “Alright then,” he said, gaining everyone’s attention. “Let’s talk about ickle Ronniekins.”

Draco’s lips curled slightly, showing his clear displeasure. “Your brother.”

George sighed, raking a hand through his hair, “Unfortunately. We do not choose who we are related to.”

“We are just waiting for mum to get too sick of him and ship him somewhere else.” Fred agreed, shaking his head. He had felt sorry for their mum when she had found out what their dad had been doing to her for years, didn’t agree with some of the stuff she had done in the past, but knew some of it wasn’t her fault. She had even apologised to him and his brother for how she had treated them over the years.

“Didn’t she send him to live with your Aunt Muriel? During the summer?” Aldwyn questioned, who had heard the news from his papa, who had heard it, apparently, from McGonagall.

“Yup. She got sick of his attitude after we came back from Egypt and packed his things within a week. He spent the last month or so of the holidays living with her, and apparently, he hated it. Kept blaming mum, though, for everything.”

“So, nothing changed?” Theo sneered; he held absolutely no sympathy for the Weasel. If he found out that one of his parents had been poisoning the other with loyalty potions, charms and memory alterations, he would do everything in his power to make sure they were locked up in Azkaban for the rest of their lives. No way would he be caught defending that manipulator as much as Ronald seemed to be.

“Nothing.” George sighed.

“Have you ever thought that your brother might also be under the influence of potions and mind alterations?” Blaise asked, shrugging his shoulders, when everyone turned to face him. “It just seems a little strange that out of all your siblings, it seems to be only Ronald who is this loyal to your dad despite all the evidence painting him as the villain. Your mother is the one who spent all her time raising him; there wasn’t much time for your father to brainwash your youngest brother so successfully, not without Miss Prewett becoming suspicious.”

The table descends into silence for a moment, stretching far more than was comfortable as everyone comes to the daunting realisation that the thought hadn’t even crossed their mind. Fred and George turned to glance at each other, raising eyebrows, twitching mouths and shrugging shoulders before they concluded and nodded. “We will ask our mum about getting him tested during the Yule holidays.”

“You may be onto something there, Zabini.”

“I am not saying that this entire situation,” he gestures to Aldwyn’s bandaged arm, luckily the sling had been removed the previous evening, “wasn’t your brother’s fault, because it was. Aldwyn got hurt because of his arrogance, and no matter what, that can’t go unpunished.”

“We agree.” The twins intone together.

“He ignored direct instructions from a professor, whether that Professor used to be related to us or not, it is still blatant disrespect.” Fred continued.

“And could have gotten another student, or several students, injured with his actions,” George added.

“Just be thankful you aren’t in Gryffindor.” Fred winced, shaking his head as an unpleasant memory seemed to flitter through his mind.

“Mum wasn’t very pleased when she received Professor McGonagall’s letter and immediately sent Ron a Howler. It was… loud.”

“Your brother is lucky he got away with the little punishment he did.” Draco scowled, still feeling a little shaken about seeing the blood dripping from his godbrother’s arm and not being allowed to escort him to the hospital wing. “Detention until Ostara, 30 points deducted. A 2-foot essay on Hippogriff behaviours and banned from Hogsmeade weekends for the rest of the year.”

“Yeah, if we had our way, he would be six feet under by now.” Theo agreed, crossing his arms and glaring at the table. “Or hidden beneath the school in a jail cell for our own training purposes.” He muttered, only shutting up when Aldwyn elbowed him in the side, but luckily for them, the twins didn’t seem to hear, or they chose not to question the dark promises coming from the usually quiet bookworm.

Tracey tilted her head, smirking at Theo before she turned to face the twins again. “Which brings us back to the matter at hand.” She leant forward, eyeing Fred and George with a wide smile that made them feel very grateful that they were on the same side. “The Prank.”

Aldwyn’s expression didn’t change. “You know him,” he said simply. “A lot better than any of us do, so we would like to run a few ideas past you and see if you have anything to include or change to make them a little more… effective.”

“And as we had the pleasure of witnessing last year, the two of you,” Blaise added, his fingers brushing lightly against Aldwyn’s sleeve in a quiet, grounding motion, “have a talent for… memorable consequences.”

George’s grin widens instantly. “Flattery will get you everywhere, Little Zabini.”

“It is not flattery,” Daphne said from her seat, parchment completely disregarded now; her voice was calm, precise. “It is simple observations.”

Fred’s expression flickered marginally because he had just realised that although he and his twin had worked with Aldwyn, Blaise and Theo before, they hadn’t really had a chance to work with the rest of the Slytherin third years, and he found himself looking forward to it. Slytherins could be particularly vindictive when one of their own was injured. “Alright,” he said. “Let’s hear what you’ve managed to come up with.”

Aldwyn watched the twins for a moment without answering, simply observing. Maybe he could introduce Fred and George to his uncle in the next few days; he could just picture the looks on their faces when they realise one of their idols was working in the school and teaching them. Closing his eyes, he takes a deep breath before gesturing toward Theo.

Theo nods, already understanding the slight gesture and pulls a few spare pieces of parchment out of his backpack. “Nothing excessive for the time being,” he begins, shuffling through the sheets before he pulls one out and spreads it on the table in front of the twins. “Nothing that draws direct suspicion towards us, but enough to… correct his behaviour.”

Fred barked out a short laugh as he glanced at the detailed list of spells, some definitely not at a third-year level and smiled. “You want to train him?”

“We simply wish to correct certain behaviours of his… improve his character, if you will.” Blaise corrects smoothly, because they knew it wasn’t guaranteed to work, especially if there were potions involved in Ronald’s behaviour, but it was worth it if it would make him think twice before injuring Aldwyn again.

George snorted. “Good luck with that.”

Draco leant forward, resting his chin on his hands, expression sharpening a little more. “We’re not interested in spectacles for their own sake, we are not doing this solely for amusement,” he said. “We’re interested in control.”

Fred’s eyes lit up with unmistakable interest. “Oh, I like him.”

“You are welcome to him if you wish,” Theo muttered, ducking behind Aldwyn when Draco turned to glare at him. “He’s insufferable,”

“We still like him,” George said easily, shrugging his shoulders.

Aldwyn lifted a hand slightly, not enough to interrupt the conversation but enough to redirect it back to the topic at hand. “There are limits, of course.” He said. “We are not looking to cause lasting harm at the present time. Dumbledore is suspicious of me already and has tried to dig into my family background because he thinks my father is the reincarnation of the Dark Lord, Voldemort.”

Fred leant forward a fraction, curiosity sharpening as he filed that information away for future reference because it didn’t make sense for Dumbledore to assume Voldemort had a child during the Wizarding War and risked his life to go after the Potter family, where there was a chance he would die, leaving his child to fend for himself in a Light-led world.

“Define ‘lasting’?”

Aldwyn met his gaze evenly, a smirk shifting, barely visible. “Nothing that would escalate beyond what he’s already capable of creating himself.” He glanced around at his friends. “We have planned our retaliation around things that will heighten his paranoia, that could be explained away by his own incompetence instead of someone targeting him personally.”

There was a beat of silence, a moment where humour at getting back at their younger brother gave way to understanding and the vindictiveness that truly went into planning such an attack. Then George nodded slowly, “Right,” he said. “So, we ruin his dignity, not his life?”

“Pretty much. Though if one of our spells ruins his life for a little while, that’s not such a bad thing.” Blaise smirked, leaning back against his chair while he crossed his arms.

Fred clapped once, softly, his grin returning in full force. “Now we’re talking,” and just like that, the shift in conversation happened. It deepened, sharpened ideas that were no longer simply hypothetical, and began to form, notes added to the sheet of parchment in the middle of the table as the Slytherin students took it in turns to explain their ideas.

It was Theo who leant forward and pointed to the spell written in careful calligraphy at the top of the page; he smirked. “Aldwyn found a wand interference charm in one of the books in the library,” he explained. “Unstable but controlled and can only be undone by a Finite. It causes minor misfires.”

George’s reaction was immediate; he perked up, being the one who was much better with Charms and hexes than his twin. “Backfiring spells?”

“Nothing too dangerous,” Theo clarified, nodding his head. “But a major inconvenience to someone who is working on practical magic during lessons. None of his spells will work for long, either backfiring on himself or misfiring at someone close by.”

Fred’s grin turned absolutely wicked as he pictured the outcome. “Imagine if he summoned soap instead of a successful Scourgify?”

“Or used a Scourgify on himself,” Blaise added, the faintest hint of amusement weaving through his voice. A quiet ripple of laughter travelled through the group, tension easing into something more collaborative, as they thought on how uncomfortable that would be for Ronald, his mouth filling with pink, bubbling foam while speaking a charm.

Draco’s smirk returned. “Imagine him trying to perform basic charms in class… we are supposed to be revising the Levitation Charm in Charms class next week.”

“Oh, a public setting for his magical failures,” Pansy added, clapping her hands quietly so as to not draw Madam Pince’s attention. “A much better result, if you ask me.”

George nodded, clearly impressed. “Constant embarrassment will build a bad reputation with his professors because they will not listen to a third year blaming his classmates for his failures to cast simple charms.”

“Exactly our thoughts.” Theo agreed.

Fred tapped his chin thoughtfully, already building on the idea in his mind. “We could try to layer this a little later as well.”

Aldwyn’s gaze shifted to him. “Explain?”

Fred’s grin sharpened, his energy rising. “We start subtle, with the misfires and backfires. Small things that won’t gain much attention, besides a few mutters, eye rolls, and teasing remarks about Ron’s lack of magical prowess. Then, once he is already on edge, we could escalate.”

George picks up the idea seamlessly. “Something louder,” he said. “Something a little more public than a class of about 20 students.”

Blaise tapped his chin as he thought over their idea for a moment. “Timing would matter a lot for that to work effectively.”

“It always does,” George agreed. He glanced down at the parchment Theo had slid across the table, going through all the prank ideas the Slytherins had come up with and smirked when he came across one that would be easy to handle. He pointed to it and chuckled when Daphne’s grin turned feral.

“A voice distortion charm.”

Theo’s head tilts to the side because he didn’t remember adding that to the list that morning. “Go on.”

“Ronald loves to run his mouth in front of his friends, behind their backs, he loves starting arguments, even when he knows he won’t be able to finish them.” She explains, “But what if… the people around him don’t hear coherent thoughts at all? What if they just hear gibberish, something a little… less controlled.” Understanding quickly spread around the table, and Fred’s grin widened slowly, eyes alight with impressed contentment.

“Oh, that’s cruel.”

“It is effective,” Daphne corrected. “We all know that half of the stuff out of your brother’s mouth is useless drivel, and now everyone else will hear it as well.”

George let out a low laugh, hands clapping together quietly. “Oh, that is golden, imagine him answering a question in class with that smug little smirk on his face…”

“And sounding like a two-year-old child struggling to string a sentence together.” Tracy agreed. “And the best part? Weasley won’t be able to hear it himself. He will think he is speaking normally, giving comprehensive, coherent explanations.”

Draco’s satisfaction was immediate as he glanced from Daphne to Tracey and then over to the twins, who were grinning maniacally. “He’d dig his own grave of stupidity, but attempting to argue his point, only to sound even more deranged and incompetent.”

“And we wouldn’t have to do anything besides the original spellwork,” Blaise added quietly. “The rest would be handed to us by your brother’s natural stupidity.”

Aldwyn’s lips curved into a vindictive smile, barely visible but enough to send a shiver down anyone’s spine who noticed. “That one,” he said, voice cold and quiet. “Has a lot of potential.”

Fred grinned, snickering softly and pointed at Aldwyn. “I like you, little snake.”

“I’m perfectly aware, Fred,” Aldwyn replied dryly, ignoring the twins' shock at being able to tell them apart, because by looking at the third year’s face, he had not just guessed who he was talking to; somehow, he knew.

George shifted his weight, staring at Aldwyn as the energy in the room shifted marginally. “Alright,” he said, doing his best to keep his voice level, his excitement semi-contained. “Our turn.”

Theo folded his arms slightly, watching as Daphne added a few new notes to his planning sheet before settling back on the twins. “We’re listening.”

Fred’s grin turned positively wicked as he exchanged a look with George. “We have been experimenting a lot with various potions and charms over the past year, getting product ideas ready for when we can open up our own joke shop, and we have come up with some prototype sweets.”

Draco blinks, glancing from George to Fred and back again. “What?”

“You’ve never seen our earlier works; it is no doubt you’ve never heard of them before.” George snorted, shaking his head at the blank looks he was receiving.

“Oh, you are in for a treat then,” Fred begins. “We managed to create these sweets, in the early stages, not 100% completed yet, that should turn anyone who eats them, into a canary bird.”

“However, as we are still in the earlier stages of creation, the worst we can hope for is Ronald spitting up a few features over a period of time.” George continued, his grin widening.

“Feathers?” Draco repeated, elegant eyebrow raising.

“Yup, bright ones,” George clarified with a laugh. “Very noticeable.”

“Violently noticeable,” Fred added, throwing an arm around his brother’s shoulders. “Coughs them up for a solid thirty seconds, probably longer.”

“Like the Slug Incident last year,” Draco snickers, covering his mouth with his hand while the rest of the Slytherin students chuckled along at the reminder of Ronald Weasley’s wand backfiring so spectacularly and the boy throwing up slugs for a few hours.

“And these sweets, they are only temporary?” Blaise questioned once he had gotten his breathing under control.

“As far as we can tell, we tested them on ourselves and Lee, and they seem to have a different run through time depending on the person taking them,” George said, shaking his head. “It could be a few seconds or a few hours. We can’t be sure.”

“And they cannot be fixed by a Finite,” Fred expanded, “the victim will have to wait it out.”

“A very unfortunate outcome,” George intoned, his voice heavy with sarcasm.

“Debatable, I say he is still getting off lightly.” Theo snorted, his frown only lessening marginally when Aldwyn dropped his hand on top of Theo’s and squeezed.

“We can modify it, we believe.” Fred continues, ignoring the blood thirsty third year for a moment.

“How?” Aldwyn’s interest sharpened, allowing Theo to flip his hand around so they were holding hands more comfortably. He settled back in his seat, stiffening a little when he felt Blaise’s arm had at some point settled along the back of his chair.

Fred’s grin widened. “We can add a trigger,” he said. “Make it activate after a time delay or try to set a specific trigger word.”

“We were thinking roughly 45 minutes to an hour delay,” George added. “That would give him enough time to leave the Great Hall after breakfast or lunch and make it to his next class of the day before the effects became noticeable.”

“And because most of your previous test products were quick-acting, Weasley wouldn’t think twice about blaming the two of you.” Aldwyn nods along, thinking back on all the pranks he had seen the twins pull over the past three years, and he can’t help but smile.

“Exactly,” George smirks.

“However, that does give him more grounds to blame you lot,” Fred warns, expression turning serious for a moment as he glances around the table at the group of third years.

“Yes, but without proof of the fact, the professors won’t wish to face the wrath of Lord Slytherin and Lord Prince for following false claims against their son again,” Theo explained, hand tightening around Aldwyn’s. “They would have to find concrete evidence linking Aldwyn, or one of us, to the spell or prank. And if it is a sweet that Weasley has consumed already? There is not much they can do.”

“But they will speculate.” Daphne points out, “The professors will look to us because of what happened to Aldwyn.”

“Of course, they will try to pin the blame on us,” Draco huffed, crossing his arms. “We are Slytherins, they will either look at us or the twin devils.”

“And they won’t get anywhere without looking like they don’t trust us because we are Slytherins. Besides, what sort of professors would believe that we had something to do with the Weasel’s predicament when the majority of our ideas have delays intertwined or seem too high for our grade level?” Tracey explained, tapping the end of her quill against the table.

The air settled again after that, a soothing calm encasing the table as a plan became viable in the quiet of the library, no longer abstract, but structured. George glanced around the room at the Slytherins, down at their notes, at the planning sheet he had drawn up with his brother, and something in his expression shifted. Curiosity sharpening beneath the humour. “You lot are very… coordinated about this.”

Theo raised an eyebrow, twirling his quill between his fingers as he carefully jotted down timings, placement and what they could expect in terms of results when they finally began their plan of action. “We simply plan accordingly.”

Fred snorted, thinking that was much too simplistic for what was happening here. There were too many parts, too much that screamed outside help or at the very least, that someone, no doubt an adult, was in the know about their plans and had trained or taught the third years some high-level spells that they otherwise shouldn’t have known about, let alone were confident enough to cast. “Clearly.”

“And you?” Draco countered, smirking at the twins who returned the gesture.

“We improvise.”

“Yes,” George agreed, “we prefer our chaos a little less structured.”

“Reckless, if you will.”

“Successful,” George corrected with a laugh.

Aldwyn studied them for a moment longer, thought about their different methods, their different approaches, and their different instincts, but each one was effective in its own right. “Then we will combine our approaches.”

Fred’s grin returned instantly. “Now, you’re talking, Little Prince!”

“We will apply subtle pressures first,” Theo agreed, rereading the parchment of notes.

“Followed by public embarrassment,” George added.

“And Escalation only, if necessary,” Blaise murmured, his arm shifting just enough that his hand brushed against Aldwyn’s upper arm.

Draco folded his arms again and smirked. “And always controlled.”

Fred nodded, gesturing to Draco. “Still like him.”

Stop that,” Draco snapped.”

Aldwyn, who had watched the byplay in silence for a few moments, glances down at the notes once more, a thoughtful expression shaping his features as he contemplates the pranks they had come up with, and what would happen to Weasley during the time he would be left waiting for the spells to run their course or be cancelled. He feels a smirk dancing at the corners of his mouth, loving the idea of something triggering them in the middle of the Great Hall, or even in a class with Professor McGonagall or his papa.

“Well?” George’s voice cuts through his thoughts, and he glances from one twin to the other.

“Too much?”

“Too much? Never.” He grins, not a happy grin, but one that shows his more sinister side, an expression that sends a ripple of cold through the room. “Does it cause harm?”

Fred blinked because he hadn’t been expecting that question at all. “No?” He said. “He might feel a little uncomfortable coughing up feathers, but no harm.”

George shook his head, swallowing. “Mainly just embarrassment.”

Aldwyn considered their response for a fraction longer than most at the table were comfortable with, his grin returning to his features before he shrugged his shoulders, sighed and turned back to Fred and George. “A little disappointing, but understandable,” he muttered eventually.

“You scare me sometimes, Wyn. I hope you know that.” Blaise snickers, wrapping his arm around Aldwyn’s shoulders properly this time and squeezing him into a sideways hug.

“Good.” Was all his friend said in response, which drew more laughter from around the table.

“Your brother is going to begin learning a valuable lesson tomorrow,” Theo closed one of his books slowly, placed his quill down on the table and squeezed Aldwyn’s hand again. “He just won’t be able to understand what it’s about.”

“Yes, do not endanger your classmates, perceived enemies or not, if you do not wish to face the wrath of their friends.” Blaise snickered, watching in delight as Aldwyn rolled his eyes.

“Especially not a Slytherin,” Tracey added, “unlike the rest of the school, we protect our own fiercely.”

Fred and George exchanged uneasy smiles, fidgeting a little in their seats as they glanced around at the sinister expressions on the thirteen-year-olds’ features, expressions that promised dark things to come if nothing changed.

“You lot are terrifying.” Fred grinned.

“Seriously terrifying,” George added. “Remind us to never get on your bad side.”

With those final words of farewell, the twins quickly pack their unused textbooks, rolls of parchment and their inkwells back into their bags. They wave to the Slytherin third years and slink away back the way they had come. Muttering excitedly between themselves as they disappeared and left Aldwyn and his friends alone once more.

“Tomorrow is going to be so much fun.” Tracey broke the silence, clapping her hands together in her excitement, which drew chuckles from her friends.

“Oh yes, I can just picture it now.” Draco sighed, nodding his head in agreement as a smirk stretched across his lips once more.

Then, as if nothing had happened between them for the past fifteen minutes or so, Theo returned calmly to his three textbooks, picking his quill back up to resume his reading. Blaise unwrapped his arm from around Aldwyn’s shoulders and began spinning his quill back between his fingers. Daphne resumed her conversation with Tracey and Aldwyn, who remained silent for a moment longer, and returned to his research.

Chapter Text

The first signs that something was wrong came quietly, so quietly, in fact, that Ronald almost missed the indications completely.

They were sitting in Charms class in the late morning, sunlight filtering weakly through the tall windows as Professor Flitwick moved swiftly between desks, his voice carrying with bright enthusiasm as he guided the class through controlled applications of the Seize and Pull Charm, a spell Aldwyn and his friends thought was pretty useless when they had summoning charms. Still, their Professor was adamant on its usefulness and insisted that they all practise hard enough to master it before the lesson was out.

“Now remember,” he was saying, standing beside Thomas’s and Finnegan’s desk as he demonstrated the wand movements one more time, his voice tight as if he were trying to prevent another in-class explosion. “Carpe Retractum is not simply about force; it is about direction, precision, and restraint! You are trying to guide the object toward you, not attacking it! Pull too hard, and you could injure yourself or damage whatever it is you are trying to move, too little and the object won’t move, or worse, will pull you along before you can anchor yourself.”

Around the room, lengths of rope, loose bricks, and practice targets fashioned to look like large plants slid unevenly across desks and floors as the students attempted to master the spell. Some overshot completely, sending the objects snapping forward too quickly. One such incident from Theo casting at his own practice brick had Blaise dropping to the floor so quickly his own spell misfired and shot his robe towards Draco, causing Aldwyn to splutter a laugh at the indignant scowl on his godbrother’s face. While others, such as Brown, barely got her plant to move, let alone unpot itself from its bed of soil.

Regaining himself, Aldwyn refocused his attention on his own cord of coiled rope. His wand movement was steady, smooth in a way his papa had taught him during one of their evening chess sessions, where they discussed his slightly unstable magic and ways he could mitigate magical overload again. He takes a deep breath, centring himself and channels his magic through his wand in a controlled stream.

“Carpe Retractum.”

The length of rope at the far end of his desk responded immediately to the orange light that seemed to wrap around the object. It snapped forward in a clean, controlled arc before stopping neatly in front of him, coiling without so much as a twitch when he released the spell.

Beside him, Blaise slapped him on the back with a nod of approval, leaning just slightly against his side to show that he had been watching, whether to ensure Aldwyn didn’t overexert himself, or to track the correct wand movements so he could mimic for his own practice, Aldwyn couldn’t tell. Meanwhile, Theo’s attention remained fixed ahead, his posture slightly less composed than when they entered the classroom as he tried to move his own brick once again.

On the other side of the classroom, no matter how much additional instruction and support Granger seemed to give him, Ronald still seemed to be having quite a bit of trouble casting his own spell. He sat hunched over his desk, his jaw working as his wand was held in an increasingly tight grip that was already way too rigid to allow for proper control over the delicate casting of the spell.

“Carpe Retractum,” he murmured, enunciating the spell as much as he was able, while following the wand movements almost perfectly, if a little disjointed. The heavy book at the edge of Granger’s desk jerked marginally, a tiny jump that seemed to think twice about the movement and paused while Weasley strengthened the magic he fed into the cast.

After a second, the tome jerked for a second time, but instead of pausing, it launched itself straight toward him. Weasley barely had enough time to cut the spell before it smacked directly against his chest, knocking the wind out of him before it dropped to his lap with a noticeable thud.

A few Gryffindors who had managed to control the output of their own casting a little better than their housemate, snorted at the display, chuckling outright when Ronald turned toward them and scowled, dropping the tome back against the desk with a huff.

“Bloody stupid spell,” he muttered under his breath, frowning further when Granger managed to perfectly execute the spell with a plant of her own, catching the delicate flower in her hands before she dropped it back into the pot and patted the soil back around it tightly so she could try again.

The Slytherins watched the proceedings with veiled amusement, snorting quietly behind their hands, nudging each other as they continued to watch as Weasley failed again and again to cast the spell, no matter how much he tried to concentrate, no matter how much assistance Granger attempted to give him. Aldwyn didn’t comment when Blaise leant forward and muttered in his ear about the casting abilities of Gryffindors decreasing over the hour.

Flitwick turned around from where he had settled himself at the front of the classroom on his pile of books and watched as Weasley attempted the spell a few more times, getting more and more frustrated with each failed cast.

“Again, Mister Weasley! Control your magic; your spell is reacting to your aggression.”

Ronald huffed, took a deep breath to try and steady himself, forcing his muscles in his hand and arm to relax before he levelled his gaze at a short piece of robe that was sitting in front of him, thinking it would be easier to control the spell on something lighter. “Fine… Carpe Retractum!”

This time, unlike with the thick tome, the rope at the far end of his desk responded immediately, but instead of pulling cleanly toward him like the rest of his housemates had managed to achieve, it snapped sideways. Almost like he had forced it away from him with a Depulso charm. The rope whipped across the space between desks and caught Finnegan in the arm, wrapping around his bicep with a whistle before it slithered to the floor innocently.

Finnegan yelped, his hand flying to his arm where a lovely red mark had appeared. He turned to glare at Weasley, who stared in horror. “What was that for?!”

“I didn’t-!” Ronald froze, dropping his hand to his desk so quickly he caught the tip of his fingers and winced at the sharp tingle that shot to his wrist. “I didn’t mean to do that!”

Seamus raised an eyebrow, rubbing his arm to soothe away the pain, looking as unconvinced as someone who had just been assaulted by a classmate could. “Right, of course.”

A ripple of laughter spread through the room at watching Ronald’s face turning bright red as he stared between the rope and his wand, his face paling at the thought of having no control over such a seemingly simple spell. At least in his opinion, as even Neville had been able to cast it successfully after receiving additional coaching from Dean.

Even the Slytherins had a hard time trying to conceal their amusement, knowing that they were going to have to thank Remus for giving them ideas for the pranks they could perform on Weasley, and telling them how to make it untraceable if their wands were checked for spell residue. Blaise subtly high-fived Theo, while Aldwyn wrapped his arm around Blaise in a quick one-armed hug in congratulations for a successful beginning to their payback against the Weasel.

Flitwick frowned, clearly puzzled by the trouble one of his students was having with the spell. He jumped down from his podium and made his way over to the frustrated boy and patted his shoulder in condolences. He lifted his wand and demonstrated the wand movements again, muttering the spell quietly to show just where Weasley needed to put emphasis. “Mister Weasley, you need to maintain directional focus, or you will lose contr-!”

“I am!” Ronald snapped, violently jerking his shoulder away from the professor’s touch, which knocked his elbow into Flitwick’s ribs and caused his wand to clatter to the floor.

There was a pause, a dangerous pause as every student in the classroom seemed to stop what they were doing and turned to stare down at Weasley, whose face was turning red, in what most people assumed was mortification at his actions. A few shook their heads at his outburst, already used to his temperament, while others, namely Hermione Granger, looked horrified that her friend would assault, whether accidentally or not, an authoritative figure.

Across the room, Draco leant back in his chair, a faint smirk playing against his lips, and he twirled his wand around his fingers. “Subtle,” he murmured, flicking his wand at a thick tome sitting on Theo’s desk and stole it by practicing the seize and pull charm. His smirk only widened when Theo tried to lunge across the space between their desks and grab his book back.

“Exceedingly,” Blaise agreed, snickering. “You think Flitwick is going to give him a detention for that lack of respect?”

“I don’t think Weasley has any free time for any more detentions. I heard he has them until Yuletide,” Aldwyn shrugs his shoulders. “So, unless Professor Flitwick is willing to give up his evening, I am assuming not.”

Theo doesn’t answer, but his gaze flickers once, briefly toward Aldwyn, who he knew managed to cast the spell on Ronald as they were walking to class, a wandless, wordless cast that had left him speechless at his friend’s abilities, but not too surprised, as this was Aldwyn.

But Aldwyn’s attention had returned to his work, his gaze remaining fixed on the length of cord in front of him, hovering just slightly above the desk with just a simple flick of his wrist. It responded to the smallest adjustments of his magics with effortless precision, drifting higher when he pushed more magic behind the spell, and turning with a smoothness that suggested not just control, but something quieter, something deeper, like an instinctual link to his own magic. There was no tremor, not like the rest of their classmates, no hesitation in the feather following his commands. Every movement was carefully constructed and calculated.

The Slytherin side of the classroom, as the students switched over to casting the charm on slightly heavier objects when they successfully pulled the rope and bricks across the table, was a stark, silent contrast to the chaos unfolding a few rows over, where Flitwick was staring down at Ronald with a disapproving frown. His hand dropped back to his side before he bent down to pick up his dropped wand and gestured for Weasley to halt his casting for a moment.

“Five points from Gryffindor for your lack of self-control, Mister Weasley.” Flitwick continued carefully, his voice dancing through the rising restlessness within the classroom as Gryffindors continued to whisper teasing remarks about their friend’s inability to successfully cast a spell. Even if they had barely been able to succeed. “Perhaps, we should revise something a little simpler before moving forward. A brief revision – Levitation, if you please!”

A collective groan rippled through several parts of the classroom as Flitwick waved his wand in the air and collected up all of the ropes, bricks and plants and replaced them with small, white feathers, reminiscent of their very first Charms lesson. Several students huffed before dropping back into their seats and began elevating their feathers into the air with practiced ease.

Weasley looked particularly unimpressed as he glared at the innocent feather, crossing his arms as he recalled the lesson from two years ago, remembering Hermione’s condescending tone as she tried to help him with his pronunciation and wand movements. The same instruction that had helped him protect his friends from a rampaging, fully-grown mountain troll.

“Honestly,” he muttered, just loud enough to carry to Professor Flitwick, who had yet to move away from his desk and was watching his movements critically. “We did this years ago-”

He unfolded his arms, pointed his wand at the feather, and flicked his wrist in the correct movements, though with far less care than usual. “Wingardium Leviosa.”

For a brief moment, nothing happened. Ronald’s shoulders tensed as he began to think there was something wrong with his wand when the pause stretched as thin as his patience before it all snapped abruptly. The feather on his desk shot upward far too quickly to be controlled. It wobbled violently in their air, jerking out of control before veering off course entirely and plunged straight into the open inkwell sitting at the corner of Hermione’s seat. Weasley and Granger both shouted as fresh ink splashed in a sharp, sudden burst across their desks, across their faces and dripping down their uniforms, along with all over the floor beneath their table.

A few students who had turned their attention from their own work again when they heard the screams, glanced at the duo, only to burst into laughter when they saw two of their classmates almost covered head to toe in bright midnight blue ink, some of it dripping from their hair and streaking down their cheeks.

Weasley stared down at the mess, completely stunned by the sudden turn of events. He glanced from the mess to his wand and back down to the ink stains, his frustration at not being able to cast a single spell correctly throughout the entire session morphing into fear as the thought of there being something wrong with his wand resurfaced. He would have to tell his mum to buy him a new one.

“-What?”

Over with the Slytherin students, whose feathers were all floating above their heads, dancing around each other, flipping and spinning mid-air, Blaise exhaled softly through his nose, the faintest flicker of amusement shaping his expression before he managed to smooth it out again. While Theo’s hand shifted against the desk slightly, fingers tapping against the wood to try and stop himself from pointing and laughing at the boy who was having difficulty casting a simple first-year spell. Even if it had been their spell that had caused the incident, it was still satisfying to see Weasley covered in ink.

Aldwyn’s feather hovered perfectly, despite his attention being drawn to the Gryffindor duo, much like his friends’. However, unlike the rest of the class, his wand lay motionless on his desk while he directed his feather around the classroom with a quick flick of his wrist, directing it with his fingers.

“Try again, Mister Weasley,” Flitwick encouraged, even though confusion was beginning to enter his tone as he watched the boy even closer for any mistakes in his wand movements, focusing on the flow of the boy’s magic as he cast the spell and the first burst of magic that spilt from the tip of his wand.

Weasley nodded, wiped ink from his cheek with the back of his sleeve, which only managed to smudge the blue mark further across his skin as his scowl deepened. His eyes locked on Hermione’s feather this time, his wand moving more slowly than before. He took a deep breath, “Stupid feather,” he murmured, then tried again.

This time, the feather rose with a hint of steadiness, slowly rising from the desk, holding for a second before it shot sideways with sudden force, striking Thomas cleanly in the ear before it dropped lifelessly to the stone floor before Ronald could cut the spell.

Dean blinked once, stunned at the sudden feeling of something brushing against him. He turned slowly to glance at Ronald, who was staring at him in horror, hands already up in surrender.

“I didn’t…” Ronald froze, his shoulders tightening as his knuckles turned white around his wand. “I swear, I didn’t…”

Dean raised an eyebrow and snickered. “Right.”

This time, when the laughter spread around the room, it wasn’t quiet snickers hidden behind hands or students turning their backs to hide their amusement. The laughter was outright, louder and less restrained as the students in the classroom took pleasure in watching one of their classmates failing again and again at casting a first-year spell. Something he should have been able to cast with no problems.

However, beneath the laughter was a lingering twinge of confusion because, although many people thought this was karma paying Ronald back for all the things he had done since the previous year, he had never had such an obvious problem with his magic or his wand before. Even Professor Flitwick was looking at the boy’s wand, the feather and Ronald’s frustrated face like he was a puzzle that needed to be solved, instead of a student who was incapable of casting.

The Slytherin students watched the proceedings with veiled amusement and quiet snickers, pushing their desks closer together so they could whisper comments between themselves, and share raised eyebrows and eye rolls every time Ronald attempted to cast another spell. Lumos, followed by Alohomora, followed by Reducio. Aldwyn sighed, pressing his cheek into his palm to hide his growing smirk as he continued to watch the Weasel, only glancing over when Blaise nudged his shoulder and snickered.

The first thread of their plan had been pulled; now they just had to sit back and watch the rest of their revenge play out and hope Ronald regretted his actions by the end of the week, even if he didn’t fully understand what was happening to him and had no way of connecting anything back to them or his brothers.

------

By the time lunch rolled around, tension followed Ronald around like a dark thunder cloud. It clung to his shoulders, quiet but insistent as he sat in the Great Hall with his year mates. His posture was tense, his jaw working doubly hard as his frustrations from that morning only seemed to have grown, and only his fraying self-restraint was holding him back from snapping at his friends or another student.

His tone was louder than it had been in the Charms classroom, vibrating with strain as he continued to complain about his difficulties, blaming his wand, blaming his mother for not buying him a new one yet, even if he had told the woman to ages ago.

“I’m telling you, it’s got to be that class. This all started in Charms!” Ronald complained, gesturing too wildly with his fork, even as he ignored the spread of food in front of him, that Hermione flinched away when the cutlery swung a little too close to her cheek. “Flitwick clearly doesn’t know what he’s talking about! He didn’t explain it properly; anyone would have messed up.”

“It didn’t seem that complicated, though,” Seamus cut in with a small smirk, refusing to amend his statement when Ronald turned to glare at him across the table. “Took a few tries,” he admits, shrugging his shoulders, “But yeah. Once you kinda stop forcing it, it sorta… clicks.”

Weasley let out a short, disbelieving breath because he had tried that, he had tried everything, and he still hadn’t been able to cast the blasted spell. “Oh, right. Brilliant advice. Just stop forcing it. Why did I think of that?”

Seamus grinned, undeterred by the sarcasm, only marginally more amused by his friend’s plight. “I mean, even the first years manage to cast a simple Wingardium Leviosa, mate. Maybe you are losing your touch?”

Dean snorted into his drink, coughing as he accidentally inhaled some of his pumpkin juice, but that reaction seemed to flip a switch in Ronald because he slammed his fork down on the table, ignoring the rattle of plates as he glared across at the two.

His hand, instead, curled around the stem of his goblet, fingers tightening until his knuckles turned white and his wrist trembled a little from the strain, but he was too agitated to care at that moment. His expression hardened, irritation morphing into something sharper, stronger. “I can cast a Levitation charm just fine, thank you.” He snapped, his words coming out quicker, more defensive than explanatory. “That feather was just… There was something off about it…”

“Course there was,” Seamus said, far too easily, even though his grin didn’t abate. “Both of them?”

“Probably cursed,” Dean muttered under his breath, not even trying to hide the smile tugging at his mouth when he nudged Seamus, startling a chuckle from his friend.

Ronald exhaled sharply through his nose; the sound was edged with so much frustration that his housemates were genuinely surprised that he hadn’t lost his temper just yet. He dragged a hand through his hair, leaving a faint smear of ink which he hadn’t quite managed to wash away from his cheek earlier. “I’m being serious here,” he insisted, though it came out thinner than he intended, a true show of how much exercise he was employing to keep his explosive temperament in check for the time being. “It’s that class. Flitwick didn’t explain it properly… or someone must have cast something at me, cursed me…”

He picked up his goblet, more out of something to keep his hands occupied than any real intention to take a drink, holding it there in his hand, halfway to his mouth, seemed to ground him a little. The conversations around him at the Gryffindor table blurred around the edges, laughter from further down rose and fell, distant and rubbing against his frayed patience like sandpaper.

“Yeah,” Seamus said, exchanging another glance with Dean, rolling his eyes, “that must be it.”

Ron’s jaw tightened. “Whatever,” he murmured, pushing the words out as he lowered the goblet back to the table, the motion sharper than necessary, forcing his drink to threaten to spill over the brim of the cup as it hovered an inch from the table.

But the moment it made contact with the wooden surface, magic snapped around him. The goblet lurched out of his grip, the liquid inside bubbling ominously for a fraction of a second, not enough to warn anyone in the vicinity about what was to happen. Pumpkin juice surged upward in a sudden, contained burst before collapsing straight back down in Ronald’s face, drenching him in one swift but humiliating wave.

And as the students who had witnessed the strange occurrence blinked a few times to make sure they weren’t seeing things, to process what had happened in the past three seconds, nobody dared to move. Because this didn’t look like a spell gone wrong, it didn’t look like someone had tampered with the goblet, nor had light from a spell been seen. It looked like something, individual magic, had simply… reacted. Like magic had slipped accidentally.

Fred choked on his drink a little ways down the table. “Sorry… no…” he managed to cough out through the drink threatening his windpipe and laughter. He turned his head away from the sight of his brother staring wide-eyed across the table as pumpkin juice continued to drip down his face, hand still hovering mid-air from where it had been wrapped around the cup.

George bent forward beside him, one hand rubbing his twin’s back to help relieve his cough, while his other braced himself against the table as laughter broke through in short, breathless bursts which, of course, set the rest of the table off.

“I didn’t even… Merlin… did you see that…?”

Ronald surged to his feet as waves of laughter rippled around the Great Hall. As more students took stock of what was happening, he moved so quickly that he almost fell backward over the bench before he managed to catch himself. He dragged a hand down his face, wiping away the juice so he could see a little easier and turned toward his brothers.

“What the bloody hell was that?” He demanded, his voice sharp, gaze narrowing in anger as his brothers continued to laugh.

Fred was already looking at him, his coughing soothed enough to allow him to speak, though his grin was still widening despite his best efforts to rein in his amusement. “Alright – don’t look at us like that,” he managed to force out, lifting his hands slightly. “Wasn’t us.”

George nodded once beside him, though the corner of his mouth was still twitching, and he had to hide his face behind Fred’s shoulder for a moment. “Yeah. Not this time.”

Ronald’s eyes narrowed immediately, suspicion latching on without hesitation because he had lived too many years suffering from his brothers' pranks and humiliations to take them at their word. “Not this time?” he repeated. “So, you admit that it could have been you?”

Fred huffed out a short laugh, shaking his head. “That’s not what we said.”

“It’s exactly what you said,” Ronald shot back, dragging another hand down his face, smearing the pumpkin juice further into his hair and across his face as it dripped down his uniform. “And it’s exactly the sort of thing you’d do!”

George leant back a fraction, peering around Fred, studying their younger brother with open amusement now. “If we were going to do it,” he said, his tone almost conversational. “We wouldn’t wait until you put it down.”

Ronald blinked once, thrown for half a second by the twins’ insistence, before irritation snapped back into place. “Oh, so now you are explaining timing?”

“We’re just saying,” Fred cut in, shrugging lightly, “but subtle for us, don’t you think?” That didn’t help as much as he thought it would have.

Ronald let out a sharp, disbelieving breath. “Right. Because drenching me in pumpkin juice in the middle of the Great Hall during lunch is subtle.”

George’s grin widened slightly. “Compared to our usual work? Yeah.” There was just enough truth behind his reasoning that it made everything even worse, and Ronald floundered for a second.

His jaw tightened, frustrations spiking again as he was caught between certainty that the twins would do anything they could to try and humiliate him and a lack of proof connecting them to the crime because, like Georgie said, they usually admitted to their pranks. “You expect me to believe you had nothing to do with this?”

Fred met his gaze properly this time, still amused but steadier now, just as the laughter around the Hall seemed to die down. “We expect you to notice when we do.”

Ronald held his gaze for a moment longer, trying to tell if his brothers were telling him the truth or if they were playing him like someone had been doing in Charms. But just like with everything the twins didn’t want you to know about, there was no indication either way, and he sighed.

“Unbelievable,” he muttered under his breath, dropping back onto the bench a lot harder than necessary. He would have to go back up to his dorm for the second time today to change his uniform and hope that the House elves would be able to get both the ink and the pumpkin juice out of his clothes by tomorrow morning.

-------

By the next morning, Ronald was already on edge because his magic or his wand hadn’t settled back down throughout the rest of the day, and no one was doing anything about it.

The tension showed in the way he moved from the dorm room to the Great Hall for breakfast and from breakfast to their first class of the day. His movements were sharper than they needed to be, quicker than he intended, every motion carrying a faint undercurrent of irritation, as though he were bracing himself for something he couldn’t see just yet. His shoulders were set a little too high. The grip he had on his bookbag was a little too tight, while his fingers shifted restlessly against the worn edges of the strap as he walked through the corridor. Even the way he turned corners and climbed the stairs lacked its usual ease, his gaze flicking ahead as if anticipating an interruption to halt him in his tracks.

Nothing seemed to help set him at ease, however, because he worried that his magic still hadn’t settled and would cause another incident, and since their first class of the day was transfiguration, McGonagall wasn’t going to listen to any of his excuses or arguments. And the next incident didn’t take much longer to appear.

By the time he arrived at Transfiguration, the tension had already settled deep in his bones, and no matter how much he tried to pay attention to the lesson McGonagall was teaching, he couldn’t keep his brain from drifting to the previous day. He was glad that they seemed intent on just covering magical theory this morning, because he really didn’t know what he was going to do if he managed to accidentally hit one of his classmates with a transfiguration spell.

And it definitely didn’t help him that Professor McGonagall’s classroom was usually one of the most rigidly structured and quiet places in the entire school, with McGonagall being one of the strictest professors on the faculty. If anything, it seemed to heighten his anxieties, waiting for the moment she would surprise them with some transfiguration practice, something he didn’t think he would be able to refuse without a proper explanation.

That morning, while McGonagall lectured at the front of the classroom, the room felt extra precise, too ordered, like every single movement he made was being governed by invisible expectations. The desks seemed to have been aligned with an exactness that hadn’t been there the previous week, instructions delivered with a clipped efficiency as she moved through the lesson. And each thing threw him off more and more.

There was absolutely no room for missteps in this class, and he was going to put his foot in it at some point.

“Mister Weasley,” she said halfway through her lecture, her voice cutting through his drifting thoughts, through the low scratch of quills and shifting parchment as his housemates took notes. She turned toward him, her attention fixed on the empty desk in front of him with disapproval. “Perhaps you would care to explain the limitations of partial transfigurations?”

Ronald straightened instinctively, the movement immediate, like it was an automatic reaction to his professor calling him out in the middle of class. A flicker of surprise crossed his face before he could fully hide it because he hadn’t expected anyone to try to talk to him, let alone ask him to explain a transfiguration theory. He hadn’t even been listening, but it wasn’t like he could admit to daydreaming during the lesson.

“It’s… It’s about keeping it stable, so it doesn’t…” he began, the words forming clearly in his mind, but when it came out, each sentence seemed to come out fragmented, faltering and twisting with each thought that crossed his mind. “So, it doesn’t come apart when it’s not finished properly… like when it is…. But not… when people who don’t…”

He stopped to take a breath, unaware of the silence that encroached on the room, how his friends’ quills hovered over their parchment, how they stared at him with open confusion, a few trying to hold back their laughter, while others looked partially horrified. And for a second, it looked like Ronald had figured there was something wrong. He blinked, confusion flickering across his face as though something hadn’t landed quite right, but he pressed on, forcing his thoughts to become spoken words.

“You’ve got to… finish it before it’s done, or it won’t stay like it should… otherwise it turns back, except when it doesn’t…” That was not what he meant to say. He knew what partial transfigurations were and how difficult it was to reverse one, all thanks to Percy, who saw fit to give him and Hermione a lecture all about the dangers of incorrectly brewed Polyjuice potion the previous year, and he hadn’t forgotten about that night. But he could hear it now, how his words sounded wrong, tangled together like logic was slipping out from under the words even as he spoke them.

The room had gone completely still now, students refusing to even breathe in case they missed something else he wanted to say. Several students began to exchange amused glances, clearly remembering the constant issues from the previous day and thinking this must be another prank from the twins. Others simply stared at him in confusion, trying to piece together what he was saying.

McGonagall’s gaze sharpened, her expression tightening not with anger, but something far more precise as she watched one of her own students ramble in incoherent sentences like it was the most normal thing in the world. “I beg your pardon?”

Ronald froze, knowing immediately that something was seriously wrong. Heat crept up his neck, confusion hitting even harder now because he knows he got the explanation right, knows that he understood the significance of partial transfigurations, at least enough that answering such a question shouldn’t have been an issue. But somehow, it had been wrong.

“I… no, I said…” he started quickly, trying to correct what he had said, to grab hold of the explanation before something else decided to interfere with his train of thought. “It’s about control, and not letting it… break when it’s… when it’s already…”

His words tangled even worse this time, half his sentence refusing to make it past his throat, refusing to settle into words. “I just meant it’s simple… not like… not like your ridiculous lessons which are…”

He forced himself to stop, swallowing the rest of his words because he had heard that, and that wasn’t what he had been trying to say at all. A sharp intake of breath rippled through the classroom at his words, more audible this time than anything before; this shift around the room was no longer subtle as students waited to see how McGonagall would react to someone insulting her classes. Someone’s chair creaked softly as they leant back, another student dropped their quill but ignored it as it rolled across their desk and clattered to the floor.

Hermione looked appalled, her entire posture rigid with disbelief as she stared at him, as though trying to reconcile what she’d just heard with the Ronald she had known for the past two years. As though she could understand and forgive every deplorable insult he had shouted at the Slytherin students, Aldwyn in particular, but couldn’t fathom why he would insult a professor.

Ronald looked like he might be sick as he continued trying to save himself. “I didn’t say that,” he insisted, the denial immediate as his voice rose in panic because he knew McGonagall wouldn’t believe him if he tried to explain that someone was messing with him and had been since yesterday. His gaze darted briefly, searching the expressions of his classmates, to see if anyone was willing to help him, but no one would meet his eyes, and when they did, it was just to smirk at him.

“That’s not what I meant… something’s messing with me… I didn’t mean to say that… I was just…”

“10 points from Gryffindor, Mister Weasley,” McGonagall said. She didn’t raise her voice because she didn’t need to when her classroom was near silent. The words cut cleanly through the room like it was being carried by magic.

“That’s not fair!” Ronald snapped, the anger that he had been holding back since the previous day flaring without his control as he stood half out of his seat while he glared at the professor. His hands curled into fists against the desk, trembling as he tried to calm himself down. “I didn’t even… say it right…”

“Sit back down, Mister Weasley. Another word from you and I will make it thirty.” She interrupted, her tone dropping just enough for Ronald to know she was serious, and he swallowed back any further explanations he wanted to shout.

His jaw snapped shut, jaw clenching tighter than before, and the silence that blanketed the room seemed to press in closer than before; the pressure that had been following him around since Charms yesterday seemed to tighten in his shoulders.

But his anger didn’t fade, even as he dropped back down into his seat with a huff; it didn’t lessen as he glanced at an empty space of wall just beside the door. Because now, it wasn’t just embarrassment in front of his peers, it wasn’t just a sense of something being wrong with his wand; there was confusion mixed in with his thoughts, and frustration, which was only increasing with each lesson he sat in. And that creeping suspicion that there was something wrong with him, or someone seriously messing with him, was growing stronger with each incident.

His gaze flicked quickly and instinctively across the classroom, past his housemates, before it settled on the group of Slytherin students who were already bent together with their parchment filled with notes spread out across their desks. Theo was pointing to something on Draco’s parchment, while Daphne seemed to be explaining something to Millicent, who was nodding along with a look of pure bafflement on her face.

None of them seemed to even be paying attention to the embarrassment he had just put himself through, and Ronald forced himself to relax a little. If the Slytherins had something to do with it, they wouldn’t stay silent about it; there would be something to prove that they had been the ones to cast a confundus charm on him or something. Laughter at his expense, a smirk, and pointing fingers. But there was nothing. Not even a glance his way.

----------

Arthur Weasley Sentenced to Azkaban

Former Ministry Worker Convicted of Extensive Potion-Based Coercion Against Wife

It is with great pleasure that we here at the Daily Prophet are able to deliver an update on the case of Arthur Weasley and the investigation into his alleged use of illegal potions and mind manipulations against his own wife.

The Wizengamot delivered a decisive verdict yesterday afternoon, after an extensive and highly publicised trial of former Ministry employee Arthur Weasley, who was found guilty of multiple counts of coercive magical manipulation, illegal potion administration, and sustained domestic enchantments against his wife, Molly Weasley, now Prewett.

Weasley, who had been held in Ministry custody since his arrest shortly after the Yuletide holidays last winter, was formally sentenced to incarceration in Azkaban following weeks of testimonies from Healers, who had aided Miss Prewett in coming to terms with the past few decades of her life, Ministry investigators, and expert potion analysts.

The case has largely shocked the population of the wizarding community, not only because of the severity of the charges but because of the complexity and duration of the magical manipulation uncovered during the investigation. Gringotts goblins believe the manipulation against Molly Prewett began sometime in her later Hogwarts years.

According to testimonies presented before the Wizengamot, Weasley somehow managed to maintain long-term control over his wife through a combination of rare and highly regulated potions administered by himself, over an extended period of time.

Chief Investigator Setima Goshawk of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement (DMLE) described the arrangement as “a layered system of emotional coercion designed to maintain absolute behavioural compliance.” And as a way for him to “alienate his children from the world in hopes of preventing them from leaving.”

Amongst the potions identified were two separate loyalty potions, one magically keyed to Arthur Weasley himself and another keyed to Albus Dumbledore, the former Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot. The man who is also under investigation for his involvement in the death of young Harry Potter over a year ago. An augenegans potion was also found and removed from Miss Prewett’s system, an experimental brew known to amplify negative emotions such as anger, resentment, and fear by several times their natural intensity. Finally, a variant of Love Potion 3n5s, an advanced formulation designed to sustain long-term romantic fixation toward a specific individual.

Healers from St Mungo’s Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries were brought in to evaluate the potions and spells, testified that the combination of these created what experts could only describe as “a persistent emotional dependency loop.”

“This was not a single potion administered once,” explained Senior Healer Callidora Bagnold during the trial. “This was a sustained system of magical influence designed to reinforce loyalty, intensify emotional reactions, and maintain romantic attachment simultaneously.”

Particularly troubling to Wizengamot members was the discovery that one of the Loyalty potions had been keyed to Albus Dumbledore, meaning that Molly Prewett’s magical loyalty was artificially tied not only to her now ex-husband, but also to the late Headmaster’s political and ideological positions.

Legal scholars noted during proceedings that loyalty potions keyed to a third party are extremely rare and usually restricted to specific Ministry-authorised magical contracts, leading experts to believe that Albus Dumbledore himself was perfectly aware of this scheme and could very well have played an active role.

“This effectively bound her political alignment,” said legal historian Bathilda Bagshot after the verdict. “It ensured that her beliefs and allegiances would remain fixed regardless of her own judgment.”

Investigators believe this potion was used to reinforce adherence to the so-called ‘Light’ political faction that dominated portions of the Ministry during the previous war, which led to several individuals questioning why such a potion was needed now that the war was long over.

The Augenegans potions, perhaps the most controversial discovery in the case, were used to intensify Molly Prewett’s emotional responses. Potion analysts explained that the brew magnified negative emotions, particularly anger, jealousy, disappointment, and fear, often causing the drinker to react with extreme hostility toward perceived enemies. Several witnesses testified to noticing how Miss Prewett sometimes treated her children, criticising their lifestyle choices, actions, and self-expression and would use emotionally manipulative methods to try to garner their guilt. They believed this was also a result of the potions in her system.

“The potion does not create emotions,” said Potions Master Damocles Belby, a specialist in advanced potion theory. “It simply magnifies them dramatically.”

Combined with the loyalty potions, the brew appears to have created a system where Molly Prewett would experience intense emotional reactions toward anyone opposing her husband’s ideological allies, leading to confrontations and verbal sparring.

According to investigators, the enchantments were maintained for years without attracting adequate suspicion. Evidence presented during the trial suggested that Arthur Weasley carefully controlled access to potion ingredients, disguising some of the brews as common household tonics, and even vitamins that Miss Prewett liked to take every morning.

Ministry investigators, paired with senior Aurors, believe the deception might have continued indefinitely had the Late Lord and Lady Potter not requested that the two individuals be tested for manipulations in their Last Will and Testament. As it has become common knowledge that beloved war heroes Lily and James Potter had discovered, shortly before they were killed, that they too had been dosed with several loyalty potions.

Once Miss Prewett arrived at Gringotts Bank and was tested, it was discovered that she had been under similar manipulations as the Late Potters, and within weeks, the Ministry issued a warrant for Weasley’s arrest.

Arthur Weasley was taken into custody at the start of the Yuletide holiday period and has remained in a Ministry holding cell since that time while the investigators gathered evidence. During this time, Molly Prewett thought it was in her best interest, and the interest of her children, to get a divorce finalised.

During the trial, Wizengamot members heard testimonies detailing the complex potion regime used to sustain the enchantments, and how Arthur Weasley had been able to get away with slowly poisoning his wife for decades. Slowly destroying her personality and sense of self for his own selfish gains.

After deliberating for several hours yesterday afternoon, the council returned a unanimous verdict of guilty on all charges. Weasley was immediately sentenced to Life imprisonment in Azkaban. Due to the severity and duration of the offences, the Wizengamot authorised Dementor-guarded confinement under standard security protocols.

Public and Wizengamot reaction to the verdict has been swift, particularly among several prominent wizarding families who expressed sympathy for Molly Prewett while condemning the use of coercive magics.

Lucius Malfoy, speaking outside the Wizengamot chambers, offered a carefully worded statement. “The manipulations of a witch’s will through potions is a deeply disturbing violation of magical ethics. Whatever one’s political views may be, no cause justifies stripping another of her agency. One can only hope that Miss Prewett receives the care and independence she was denied for so long.”

Several members of the ‘Dark’ faction also expressed concern regarding the broader implications of the case. Lord Marvolo Slytherin, a prominent political voice within the traditionalist faction, described the revelations as troubling. “Molly Prewett comes from a respected magical lineage. To learn that a witch of such heritage was subjected to long-term emotional manipulation is both tragic and deeply unsettling. It raised difficult questions about the structures of influence that allowed such practices to continue unchecked.”

He continued: “No political movement, Light or Dark, should tolerate methods that remove an individual’s right to choose.”

Zafria Zabini, a well-known social figure and philanthropist, echoed similar sentiments. “What occurred here should alarm every household in Britain. Molly Prewett was widely known for her passionate loyalty to certain causes and devotion to her husband. If even such devotion can be artificially manufactured through potions, we must all reconsider how easily public conviction can be… encouraged.”

Her remarks were widely interpreted as a subtle critique of ideological manipulation within the political establishment, not only through the case of Molly Prewett, but also of the unjust received by those who had been placed under the Imperio curse during the wizarding war.

Meanwhile, Thaddeus Nott, another member of the traditionalist political bloc, emphasised the importance of safeguarding personal autonomy. “Political disagreements are inevitable in our society, but if we begin accepting magical coercion as a tool for maintaining ideological unity, we risk something far more dangerous than disagreement.” He paused before adding, “We risk corruption of the very principles we claim to defend.”

Molly Prewett, although now divorced and raising her five remaining children alone, is currently undergoing long-term emotional stabilisation treatment and mind healing at St Mungo’s to ensure that there is going to be no long-lasting damage and to ease her into living her new life. Though an anonymous source has been discovered in assisting Miss Prewett by allowing her and her children to reside in one of their protected properties, Gryffindor Manor and a monthly stipend to assist with living costs.

Healers have assured the Wizengamot and use here at the Daily Prophet that recovery from prolonged potion influence can take a significant time, but has not caused permanent damage.

“When emotional magic has been manipulated for years, it alters the natural balance of the mind,” explained Senior Healer Bagnold. “Restoring that balance is possible, but it requires careful treatment plans.”

The revelation that one of the loyalty potions keyed to Albus Dumbledore has already sparked intense debate within the Ministry circles. While investigators have not formally accused the current Headmaster of direct involvement, several Wizengamot members have called for a full review of magical influence used during the war years ago.

Others caution against drawing conclusions prematurely. “This case is about the actions of Arthur Weasley,” said Ministry spokesperson Damocles Rowle. “Speculation beyond that would be irresponsible at this stage.”

Cases involving sustained magical coercion within families are rare in Wizarding Britain but taken extremely seriously under wizarding law. The Wizengamot’s verdict underscores a growing willingness to prosecute emotional manipulation through potions and enchantments as a major criminal offence.

As one legal observer noted after the sentencing: “Magic that removes another person’s ability to choose is amongst the most dangerous forms of power a wizard can wield. What made this case any different from a Death Eater using the Imperius Curse during the previous war?”

Arthur Weasley will be transferred to Azkaban prison later this week to begin serving his sentence. The Ministry has confirmed that additional investigations related to the case remain open and ongoing.

Chapter Text

The Great Hall was louder than usual on Wednesday morning. Flurries of owls arrived in thick clusters as the entire population of Hogwarts sat down to eat breakfast before a day of classes began. Wings beating the cold morning air as they swooped between the enchanted ceiling and the long house tables, squawking as they hunt for their owners. Dozens of folded newspapers dropped onto plates and into waiting hands.

The Daily Prophet headline was impossible to miss and caused almost as much of a stir as the ones last year about Harry Potter’s disappearance. Arthur Weasley Sentenced to Azkaban.

Within seconds, the Hall was filled with the low hum of shocked whispers and the rustle of parchment as everyone scrambled to read the news. It had been a long time since something had been written about the case of Arthur Weasley. So long in fact, that many of the students and the staff had actually forgotten that such a thing had happened within their community.

Students leant over their friend’s shoulders, reading the words with rabid attention as their voices got progressively louder and more conspiratory. Whereas, at the Staff table, professors were reacting in a much quieter and subtle way. Minerva pushed her glasses up her nose, eyebrow raising as her face paled as she read through the verdict. So stunned by the revelation and the subtle information it revealed, Minerva had to read it twice to ensure she hadn’t missed anything, her lips pressed into a thin line.

Filius looked deeply troubled as he read through the evidence. He had known both Arthur and Molly when they attended Hogwarts and was incredibly happy for them when they announced their wedding was happening right after they graduated from Hogwarts. Now he looked back on those happy memories with a frown. Had Molly already been under the influence of these potions, or had Arthur waited until they were already tied together? He wasn’t sure if he wanted to know the answer, however, and he turned to Pomona, who had tears in her eyes.

But it was the headmaster’s reaction that brought a subtle smirk to Severus’s face as he observed his colleagues’ reactions. Dumbledore remained perfectly still, face paler than Severus had ever seen it, except for maybe when his name was mentioned in Harry’s disappearance. The old codger seemed calm on the outside as he slowly read through the article, almost kind and thoughtful. The same serene expression Severus remembered seeing when he had tried to report Black for trying to get him killed.

No one watching him would have been able to tell what was going on inside his head as he continued to stare down at the newspaper. No one except for Severus, who had been working as a double agent, spying for both sides during the previous war. He had honed his perception and spent enough time around the man to know when he was one comment away from losing his temper. It was entertaining to see.

This is worse than I expected.

Dumbledore worries as he reads through the statements again. Because of his restrictions by the Board of Governors and the fact that he had been stripped of his Wizengamot power, he had not even been informed that Arthur’s trial was happening. He had not known of the evidence that had been collected against one of his most loyal, and therefore, he was angry that he had not had the chance to shift the situation in his favour.

He reads the statements, his hands almost trembling with irritation when four names jump out at him, and he knows instantly that this was staged. Lucius Malfoy. Marvolo Slytherin. Zafria Zabini and Thaddeus Nott.

Each of their statements had been perfectly crafted to create the most damage towards the Light side, without anyone realising that is what they were doing. Each one had expressed sympathy, or what they hoped would convey as sympathy, but Dumbledore knew better. He knew it was a ploy. Something Voldemort had come up with in order to discredit him even more. It showed the Dark as a concerned faction, exploding moral outrage within the wizarding community, as well as forcing people to question themselves and the Light.

And he knew exactly what they were doing. The implications, the subtlety of their words, and the carefully constructed personas they had chosen to show to the public that day. It was obvious. A dangerous thing for him.

The Dark Sect had not defended Arthur Weasley as they should have; they had condemned him for crimes blown out of proportion. If he had been present, he could have at least tried to spin the tale and turn Arthur into a war hero, or a worried husband who was doing what he thought was best for his wife and his family. It was unfair how he had lost everything he had worked so hard to build in just a few months because Tom couldn’t stay dead.

Their actions had made their words all the more effective. They were trying to position themselves as reasonable, and what better way to do that than by defending a woman who has been painted as defenceless and in need of protection. It wasn’t Arthur’s fault that Molly had started questioning their cause; it wasn’t his fault that the woman had started to fight back against their morals. Molly had been a stubborn woman, one who had loved Arthur but couldn’t see past his extreme political views to marry him. So, Dumbledore had stepped in to save them both.

He was the figurehead for all things good, but because the Dark Lord had returned to Britain, because no one believed him, Tom had been able to infiltrate the Ministry and destroy his political pedestal. And in doing this, Lord Slytherin and his followers were forcing the public to consider a question he could not allow to be answered.

What if the Light faction were not entirely righteous?

Dumbledore’s fingers tightened slightly around the edge of the newspaper before he lowered it to the table. The Hall remained loud with speculation; some words reaching his ears made his temper flare, but he kept it tightly under wraps. It wouldn’t do for the students to see him affected by a simple newspaper article, especially one that was fake.

Too many things had been unravelling for far too long now, and he didn’t know how or if he was going to be able to fix it. The article about Arthur alone would have been an inconvenience, but the implications that came along with it were far more dangerous to what little power and influence he still held. He knew that public sympathy was shifting and had been since the summer of 1992, and he didn’t know how he was going to stop it.

Malfoy, Slytherin, Zabini, and Nott, all presenting themselves as voices of restraint and compassion, while he had been turned into a scapegoat. Someone they thought they could use to change the tide of the political standpoint.

If the wizarding community started viewing the Dark sect and their families as reasonable, the entire political framework he had spent his entire adulthood shaping would begin to erode. Everything he had done since the fall of Grindelwald would have been for nought. And if people began questioning that, they may begin questioning other things as well.

Dumbledore’s fingers rested lightly against the edge of the Prophet, creasing the pages. His gaze drifted across the student body below, and he found the Slytherin table almost immediately, his eyes being drawn toward one group in particular. It was difficult for him to resist when they were a lot quieter and seemed more intrigued than upset or confused by the article. He saw them sitting quietly, observing the reactions of the students, watching and at the centre of that stillness sat the child who started this all.

Aldwyn Prince-Slytherin. Ever since that child had arrived on British soil with his father, everything Dumbledore had worked towards had started to fall apart. He watched as the child folded the newspaper with slow precision, calm and controlled, too much so for a young thirteen-year-old. Composed in a way that no child should be able to be.

Dumbledore’s expression did not change, but his eyes lingered longer than they should have. Too composed. The official story he had been fed had always felt incomplete. A child conceived one night during the war, beared by a man he knew to be the Dark Lord and raised in Albania, in secret for eleven years. Even the boy’s own dad didn’t know of his existence until they returned to Britain. A child hidden away by Marvolo Slytherin, presented suddenly to the British Magical world as the heir to an ancient, long thought dead lineage.

And yet, he couldn’t shake the feeling that something wasn’t quite right. There were moments, small moments, where he had contact with the boy, where something felt familiar in a way it shouldn’t. The boy didn’t look familiar. Dumbledore was sure he had never seen the child before, and he could always sense when a glamour was in place, but this child wore nothing. No cloaking spells, no concealments and not a disguise in sight, but there was a familiarity there. In the way magic seemed to gather around him. In the way he seemed so calm about dangerous situations, as if he were used to them or expected them to happen. Which wouldn’t make sense if he had been raised secreted away with his father, as he had been led to believe.

Dumbledore had learnt long ago to trust in those instincts, which was precisely why certain precautions had been prepared for this year. His gaze shifted briefly toward the distant castle windows. Far beyond them, somewhere across the grounds and the forest, another anomaly moved quietly through the grounds, brushing against the wards every so often.

Sirius Black.

That situation remained… puzzling, but also intriguing. Guardian bonds were delicate pieces of magic, created to protect and serve. Especially those who were forced to remain during highly traumatic and extensive circumstances. Azkaban alone should have twisted such a bond years ago. Dementors eroded emotional magic with ruthless efficiency, and yet, Sirius had been able to escape this fate somehow. Or would have.

The bond had not been corrupted as it should have been. It had changed instead, twisting into something directional, something deranged and obsessive. Dumbledore could feel it, pushing against the castle wards and knew instantly what this meant. It was persistent, restless, as though searching for something only it was aware of.

Dumbledore’s fingers tapped the table once, lost within his own thoughts. The original bond had been formed under rather particular circumstances. When emotions were running high, and a war bore down on them. Threats coming from all angles. This, no doubt, would have enhanced Sirius’s protective instincts toward the child, so how he had managed to turn away from his godson and go after Pettigrew was a question most people found themselves asking.

A powerful bond had formed between Sirius Black… and Harry Potter. A name the wizarding world now spoke only in the past tense, and with a sorrow that should not have existed.

His gaze drifts back to the Slytherin table, to the boy who was calmly speaking with Draco Malfoy. To the boy who had been raised, supposedly, in Albania. A story supported only by the words of Marvolo Slytherin himself, for he had not been privy to seeing the documents Lord Slytherin had shown the Board of Governors and Ministry upon his and his son’s arrival.

Dumbledore did not distrust his gut instincts, and he had lived far too long to believe in convenient narratives that could not be proven. Especially when powerful, Dark families were involved. Which was why the old bond had been encouraged to reveal its natural behaviour, even if it were a little exaggerated. A minor adjustment to the fragile magical structure. Nothing overt, at least not yet, and nothing that could be traced back. It was just enough to observe what the magical bond itself would choose to do, something it would have done on its own if it had been affected by Azkaban as it should have been.

And if this bond truly belonged to a boy long dead, then it would eventually fade, and nothing else would come of it. That is why Dumbledore chose to observe the situation at present. There was nothing to suggest his theory was correct, but nothing to discourage him either. But if the bond continued to seek out a child who no longer existed, then…

Dumbledore’s eyes returned to Aldwyn, the boy who was laughing casually at something Blaise Zabini had said, their shoulders pressed together as the rest of their friends muttered and commented. It irked him how composed the child could be. How measured and careful, how he was wary of everyone around him and had walls built upon walls. It was suspicious how much he detested being in his own presence, how the child had fought against him and refused to speak to him without another professor present.

So, he would sit back and watch because magic always found a way to show itself. But, until then, patience was required.

Dumbledore lifted his teacup, his expression perfectly serene on the outside, but fixated inside. Around him, the Great Hall continued to be abuzz with whispers about Arthur Weasley, about corruption and politics and artificial loyalty. Seeds of doubt were sprouting exactly where they should not, but he didn’t react. Instead, he sipped his tea, his smile remained warm and open, though his thoughts were a rapid whirlwind.

Too many forces were moving against him at once, and he didn’t know what he could do to protect his influence. The Dark families were gaining influence, the Wizengamot had restricted his authority, the Board of Governors was watching him, and now people were going to be questioning him.

If he did not regain control of the narrative soon, if too many of his secrets began surfacing, then even the most carefully built structure he had constructed would collapse around his feet one day, and he couldn’t have that. And Albus Dumbledore had never allowed events to collapse without his planning and knowledge beforehand. He preferred to guide them, gently and patiently, toward an outcome he knew was necessary.

His eyes flickered one last time toward the Slytherin table, toward the boy at its centre, and he knew that the truth would be revealed someday soon. It only needed a little more encouragement, and Dumbledore knew that he was good at offering encouragement.

But for the first time in many decades, he didn’t feel all-powerful, didn’t feel certain of his next steps, which made him anxious. He had always been able to predict Tom’s next moves, to figure out the best way to keep the Dark in check, but now? Now he had no idea what he was supposed to do. He felt the faint edge of something unfamiliar pressing against his heart, not quiet fear, but an urgency.

If he did not regain control soon, if people began thinking for themselves, then his entire political career, his influence and power would collapse around him, and then where would the wizarding world be?

He lowered his cup slowly and watched the Great Hall, watched the students as they continued to whisper about the article, still discussing the statements, still throwing questions at their friends without realising the implications. But he watched them quietly, calculating the damage control he would need to incorporate to keep his power.

I need to act soon.

He thought because he knew that power, once lost, was rarely recovered, and Albus Dumbledore had never been a man who surrendered his control easily. Not unless he was killed would he willingly give up his power over Wizarding Britain.

-----

At the Gryffindor table, Ronald slammed the Daily Prophet down on the table hard enough to rattle cutlery and startle a couple of second years seated too close for comfort. He snarls down at the article, trembling hands turning white where they gripped the parchment. His face had turned a lovely shade of red the further through the article he read.

“This is rubbish!” He snapped, the paper crinkled beneath his fists as the headline seemed to glare back up at him, like it was mocking him.

He was still irritated with his house for not sticking up for him when he had been unjustly reprimanded by his brother the other day in Care, still angry at his Head of House for siding with that traitor and banning him from Hogsmeade. He was even annoyed with Hermione because instead of giving up her weekend in Hogsmeade to spend time with him, so he wasn’t the only Gryffindor older than second year staying behind in the tower, she had left immediately to go and pick up an order of books she had placed.

And not only that, but all these weird things had been happening around him for the past few days, and no one, not even the professors, believed him when he tried to tell them that he was being pranked. That his brothers were most likely the ones behind it, or the Slytherins.

Now this. An article slandering his dad. Calling him evil and dark and a mastermind who poisoned and manipulated his wife for his own gain. He knew it was all lies, knew his dad would never do anything like that to his mum unless she asked for it. It was clear that she was the manipulator, that she thought she would gain all this attention and sympathy by crying to the right people.

He stared down at the article for another moment, feeling his anger bubbling up, threatened to spill out as the words blurred.

Across the table, Seamus shifted slightly in his seat, glancing uncertainly toward Dean, who was chewing on his bottom lip, eyes crinkled with concern. “Ron, maybe-”

“I told you,” Ron cut in sharply, jabbing a finger at the article, his raised voice causing several people to hush their whispered conversations and turn to stare at the Gryffindor, “this is all lies! Disgusting lies!”

Dean leant over Seamus’s shoulder and re-read the article. He winced at the description of the potions and their effects. He skimmed through the healer’s evaluation and what could have happened to Mrs Weasley, now Miss Prewett, if this hadn’t been spotted and how her mind was going to be affected for months, if not years to come. He felt sympathy welling up in his chest. No one should have to go through something like this, and he knew that this situation was tough for his friend, but the way he had been treating people recently because of this wasn’t okay.

“It says they had statements from the Goblins and Healers testify-”

“They’re lying! All of them!” Ron’s voice carried louder than he meant it to, gaining the attention of professors at the head table, who raised their heads and ceased their own conversations to watch the youngest Weasley son curiously. Minerva shifted in her seat, already prepared to jump to her feet and intervene if things took a turn for the worse. Ron didn’t notice the shift in attention, nor the tense atmosphere that now blanketed the Gryffindor table.

“They’ve been trying to get Dad for years,” he continued angrily. Even though no one knew who they were, they didn’t argue. “All those disgusting Dark Wizards in the Wizengamot, Malfoy and the rest of them, this is the exact sort of thing they’d do.”

His eyes flickered over the names that had been highlighted in the article, eyes blazing with a deep resentment that he could barely contain. Lucius Malfoy, Zafria Zabini, Thaddeus Nott, and Marvolo Slytherin. He growls low in his throat; his gaze locked on that one name in particular, the one that always seemed to bear witness to all his family’s problems. Sitting at the heart of all their problems, and he couldn’t stand it.

“Just look at it,” he spat. “You think they really feel sorry for mum? You think they actually hate this sort of thing? The same Death Eaters who imperio’d people to join their side during the war?” He shoved the paper toward Neville. “'Concern for Molly Prewett.’ Yeah, right.”

Seamus frowned uncertainly, not wishing to argue with Ron but also knowing that the Wizengamot, no matter how many Dark witches and wizards were present, wouldn’t convict an innocent man to Azkaban. And wouldn’t send anything to Azkaban without solid evidence. “Well…” he points to the goblin and healer reports written in the article. “It does say the potions were confirmed…”

Ronald rounded on him in an instant, eyes darkened and squinting in his anger. “So, you believe them all over me?”

“I didn’t say that… I just said…”

“You basically did!” Ron cut him off again, slamming his hand down on top of the newspaper so loud that a second year actually jumped and released a small squeak of surprise. A few even shuffled slightly further down the table.

Dean leant back in his seat; he had been less than impressed by his friend’s attitude since they had come back from the summer holidays and found himself having less and less patience to deal with his almost daily tantrums. He understood where Ron was coming from. Could understand his reluctance and denial if the information came from Dark families only, but the Wizengamot had evidence supplied by the Goblins at Gringotts and Healers from St Mungo’s.

“We’re just saying the article’s pretty detailed, Ron. A lot of evidence had been collected over the past year and submitted.”

The bench Ron was sitting on wobbled as he leant forward so quickly, he almost knocked over Hermione’s goblet. Plates and trays of food rattled precariously. “Of course, it's detailed,” he sneered. “Those scumbags have probably been planning this for months!”

Neville, who had been sitting silently reading through the article with a calm that he had lacked in the previous years, raised his eyebrow. “Ron… are you saying that certain Dark families are more powerful than the Light supporters in the Wizengamot? That the Ministry and their supporters are unable to tell the difference between a real report and a magically created one?”

“Of course, not!”

“Good, because it sure seemed like that’s what you were saying. Besides, there isn’t a branch of wizarding magic that is powerful enough to deceive the goblins of Gringotts.” Neville tried his best not to smirk, but it was increasingly difficult with the look of constipation that cut across Ron’s features.

“I can’t believe you are sticking up for them!” Ronald turned his anger on Neville, glaring at the boy as if he had just shot a beloved pet.

“I won’t stick up for someone who has been proven to have spent years, maybe even over a decade potioning his wife and manipulating her into being loyal.” Neville sneered, pushing the article away viciously and pushing himself to his feet. Ronald scrambled back when he remembered just how tall Neville seemed to be, especially when standing over him

“You’re… you’re unbelievable.” He stuttered.

“No, what is unbelievable is that you would rather believe your father, who is now in Azkaban, or will be soon, rather than at least three separate groups of people who have proof of your dad’s crimes,” Neville responded before turning and walking out of the Great Hall with his shoulders squared and his head held high.

“My dad would never do that!” He protested again, though the anger seemed to have diluted marginally, making him sound more frustrated at having people constantly arguing against him instead of merely agreeing. He sounded defensive and not entirely confident in his statement, as if he were trying to convince himself and keep his conviction.

Fred and George, who had been bent over the article, whispering between themselves and pointing out various statements in the reports, glanced up from their place a little further down the table and shook their heads at their youngest brother. Neither of them had spoken up for their father, had not offered any defence for the man. Instead, Fred sipped his pumpkin juice while George turned a page slowly.

“Would you two say something!” Ron noticed the pair and gestured for them to help him, waving his arm around in a vague distress call, but the twins weren’t about to come to their brother’s rescue. They didn’t believe their father was innocent; they had seen the effect this situation was having on their mother and hated to see it.

Even if the woman had never truly believed in them and tended to look at them with veiled disappointment the majority of the time, they still loved her and knew her well enough to know that she would never make something like this up. She had even apologised, crying all over them about how she had treated them, telling them, possibly for the first time, that she was proud of them.

“About what?” Fred glanced up from his drink and looked at his brother.

“About this!” Ron gestured angrily at the paper.

George folded the copy they had been sharing neatly before passing it along to Lee Jordan, who grabbed it back with a large grin. “What about it?”

Ron stared at them, eyes blinking rapidly as if attempting to muddle through what they had just said, almost like he couldn’t believe his own brothers weren’t going to help him defend their dad. “You know this is rubbish!”

Fred tilted his head slightly, turning to his twin, who shook his head and shrugged. “Do we?” they asked at the same time.

“This trial has been going on for months, Ron. Mum has been receiving weekly updates from the Aurors and has been going to the Mind Healers at St Mungo’s for the last 3 months so they can help her sort out the damage left in her mind from those spells and potions.”

“You think she would need this much treatment just for the fun of it?” George and Fred argued, their voices soft, almost too quiet for their brother to hear, but they didn’t care. They were sick of their brother, done with him bullying younger children just because he thought his life was terrible. Hated how he thought people should just allow his behaviour because his parents are Light and fought in the Order, because they were close with Dumbledore. They still hadn’t forgiven him completely for what he did to Aldwyn.

“That doesn’t mean anything!” Ronald shouted before he froze. Fred and George were glaring at him now, serious expressions that he had never seen on his prankster brothers’ faces before, and he swallowed hard.

“Doesn’t matter?” Fred questioned, his voice deceptively calm.

“You think our mother, the woman who stayed home with you for years, raising you, has to go through extensive treatment to heal her mind because of years of abuse through potions and manipulation.”

“And you say that doesn’t matter?”

“Dad was working so we could survive!” Ronald argued, though his voice had lost its momentum, his hands trembling under the table, but this time it wasn’t from repressed anger.

“Mum could have easily left us with Aunt Muriel and gotten herself a job to help with money, but she didn’t,” George argued, shaking his head.

“She chose to stay home so her kids would have one parent around if they needed her. She gave up her own dreams of becoming a seamstress to raise us all.” Fred added.

“She’s lying! Dad wouldn’t do this! They are all lying!”

Fred rested his chin on his hand, gazing steadily at his little brother. “That’s a lot of people lying for the sake of it.”

Ron’s face exploded, darkening to a purplish red, whether in humiliation or renewed anger. “Oh, right,” he said bitterly. “You two would say that.”

George raised an eyebrow, copying his twin’s posture. “Would we?”

Ron jabbed his finger toward the Slytherin table across the Hall, eyebrows crinkling as his eyes narrowed. “You’ve been hanging around those snakes all year.”

Fred sighed softly, shaking his head while still lounging against the table. “Ron, you’ve been treating Mum like rubbish since Christmas.”

Ron froze, his face paling as the entire end of their table went quiet. “That’s not-”

“You shout at her every day, you argue with her about everything. You refuse to do anything around the house anymore.” George explained calmly.

“You have been calling her a liar, a cheat. Every horrible name you could think of.” Fred added, “You told her you wished she wasn’t your mum anymore.”

“She sent me away!” Ronald shouted, anger coming back in full force.

“Because you made her!” Fred raised his voice for the first time since they started talking to Ron. “You have done everything you can to make her feel like crap. You told her you hated her, how she was the worst mum in the world. How you would rather live with Dad.”

George didn’t respond; he didn’t feel the need to add anything else for the moment, not when he looked down at the article and read through the statements again. He knew that Lord Slytherin and friends were probably using the situation between their parents to their own advantage, but they also weren’t wrong in their statements.

“This is exactly what they want!” He gestured toward the paper again, skirting around the issue of their mother with the ignorance of a child. “They’ve manipulated everything. Those Death Eaters-”

“Ron,” Hermione’s voice cut in sharply, her tone resigned as she shook her head. She had her own copy of the article open, expression troubled. “Some of these potions are incredibly difficult to brew.” She started hesitantly.

“So?”

“They’re also very difficult to fake in medical tests. Especially the type of magical blood test Gringotts performed.”

Ron scoffed loudly, “Oh, brilliant.”

Hermione frowned. “I’m just saying that no one, but an extremely powerful wizard, could have faked these results, and even then, it would be incredibly difficult.”

“Why are you taking their side?”

“I’m not taking anyone’s side. I am just looking at the evidence.” Hermione’s eyes flashed, irritation flooding her expression.

“Yes, you are!” Ron pushed back from the table slightly, almost stumbling over the bench behind him, before he managed to right himself. “They’ve set Dad up… They’ve always hated him.”

Hermione sighed and rolled her eyes at the stubborn set to her friend’s jaw and knew arguing with him was a waste of her time, but she had to try to make him see reason. “Ron… maybe we should just wait and see what-”

“I know what happened!” Ronald snapped out the words too quickly, too loudly, and sounded a little too defensive. “They forged the evidence.” His gaze dropped back to the newspaper, fists finally falling open to lie flat on the table. “To make the Dark families look good…”

The names stood out against the black-and-white print of the article: Malfoy. Zabini. Nott. Slytherin. He swallowed, his throat suddenly feeling tight, as his hands shook, but this time it wasn’t from anger. “They’re trying to trick everyone…” His voice had lost some of its certainty now, dropping to an almost whisper. “Make it look like they care…”

Dean and Seamus exchanged a glance, not knowing what to say to their friend now that it seemed like he was finally listening to them instead of arguing. Hermione returned quietly to her breakfast, not seeing the need to comment further.

“They’re manipulating the trial,” he muttered, continuing to talk despite the fact that no one was listening to him anymore. “That’s what it is. They’ve got people in the Wizengamot,” he continued. “They’ve probably bribed the Healers, too.”

The words sounded a lot weaker now, a mere whisper compared to the shouting he had been doing at the beginning; it sounded defeated, uncertain even to his own ears. Dean sighed quietly and picked up his fork again, while Seamus returned to reading the sports sections, muttering commentary about the various Quidditch teams and their current standings in the national cups.

Hermione deliberately took a book out of her bag and began to read, keeping her eyes down even as she ate her breakfast. Ronald raised his head and glanced around the table, only to realise that he truly was being ignored this time. No one was paying him the least bit of attention, at least not directly. He could see the tension in their shoulders and knew that they were waiting to see if he snapped again. He slumped down in his seat.

The noise of the Great Hall slowly filled the space around him again, light conversations drifting away from the article about his father. Discussions about his reactions to the trial against his dad, and, from what he could hear, they were judging him for what had been revealed about his attitude towards his own mother during the trial period.

-----

The Slytherin table was far quieter than the rest of the Great Hall, as it always tended to be. Because, unlike the other houses, Slytherins were known for keeping their reactions tightly under wraps, it wouldn’t do them any good for the rest of the school to see them jumping around and shouting like a certain group of uncouth students.

While the other houses buzzed with loud disbelief and frantic whispers, the Slytherins read their copies of the Daily Prophet with careful attention and anticipation.

Draco leant back slightly in his seat, one hand resting against his chin as he finished the article, and he could seem to wipe the grin from his face. “Well,” he said smoothly, folding the paper. “That was efficient.”

Beside him, Blaise allowed himself a small, satisfied smile as he reread the column quoting his mother and had to applaud the way his mother had worded her response. “Mother always did have an excellent sense for public statements.”

Tracey leant across the table, tapping the same section of the article. “That line about ‘encouraged convictions’ is going to spread everywhere.”

Theo nodded thoughtfully, rereading the article for Merlin knew how many times now. “People are going to be repeating it for months. I almost feel sorry for Dumbledore; he and his followers are not going to come back from this easily.”

Across from them, Daphne folded her newspaper with slow precision, smoothing out the parchment before she gazes across at Tracey and Theo. “And once they begin to repeat it, they will start thinking about what it means.”

Millicent snorted quietly, picking at her dessert, which was still sitting in front of her, half-eaten, though if Aldwyn knew better, he would count this as her second or third piece of cake. “Which is good for us because they will start to question things.”

Gregory, who had been reading the headline again, frowned slightly as he processed what the meaning behind the article had been. Of course, they had all read the previous statements when Gringotts first released the information about the potion and spell manipulation against Molly Weasley, but he had never actually thought that Dumbledore would allow one of his people, his closest follower, to be thrown in Azkaban. “So, they are saying that he could basically control his wife? Indirectly?”

Vincent nodded slowly, “With potions and spells.”

“It’s disgusting,” Milli muttered. “Not even the Dark Lord had forced people to join his cause, and they claim him to be evil.”

Adrien, who had seated himself a little further down the table, overheard them and glanced up from reading the article. “It’s worse than that, though,” he pointed down at a paragraph. “One of the loyalty potions was keyed to Dumbledore, which means he had to have been in the know.”

Graham leant forward as well. “That’s the part people are going to notice the most, especially with all the attention he has been getting recently with Harry Potter’s death and his attacks against you, Aldwyn. The people are going to be after his blood before long.”

“Exactly,” Adrien agreed.

Marcus, who had wandered over from the far end of the table to check up on Aldwyn and his friends, as he was prone to do whenever something about the Light side made it into the papers, rested his hand against Aldwyn’s shoulders and gave a low whistle when he saw they had all read it. “Subtle,” he appraised, glancing down at Aldwyn with a meaningful smile.

“But highly effective,” Aldwyn answered, gesturing toward the Staff table, causing his friends to follow his glance. At the centre of the Staff table, Albus Dumbledore sat perfectly composed, with his fingers steepled and his expression neutral. He smiled gently as he spoke with McGonagall; to anyone watching casually, he would have appeared completely unbothered by the accusations. But the Slytherins noticed the way his eyes would occasionally drift toward the students reading the prophet. As if he were measuring their responses and trying to come up with an escape route.

Draco smirked when he looked at Dumbledore, “He’s worried. That’s brilliant.”

Theo tilted his head slightly, still gazing down at the article as if he had missed something, or was trying to decipher an unwritten code hidden within. “He should be.”

Tracey leant back in her chair, a smug smile stretching across her lips as she turned her gaze away from the head table and began spreading butter on her toast like it was any other morning, that discussing the inevitable downfall of the Light side, more importantly, Dumbledore and his Order, was an everyday conversation. And for them, it almost was.

“People were already starting to doubt him after some of the details came out about Harry Potter’s disappearance and passing. Now, he has been implemented in a decade-long manipulation plot that has taken away someone’s free will and autonomy.”

“Wow, look at you throwing up a dictionary before 8 am.” Pansy teases, nudging her friend with a snicker.

Daphne, however, just nodded her head. “Tracey is right, the people are going to start asking whether their own beliefs have ever been encouraged, including everything the Light has ever told them about the Dark. People are going to start looking into things a little more closely.”

Blaise’s smile sharpened slightly, “which means they’ll begin questioning everything they know about the Dark. If they had been told it by Dumbledore, they would begin asking uncomfortable questions. Questions Dumbledore would rather not have to answer.”

Milli gave a satisfied grunt, fending her last rasher of bacon away from Gregory’s grabbing hands by trying to stab him with a fork. “About time those sheep started thinking for themselves.”

Marcus chuckled, squeezing Aldwyn’s shoulders once more. “You lot may actually manage to start a political shift before you leave school.”

Draco smirked. “Now, wouldn’t that be convenient?”

Aldwyn snorted, shook his head free of thoughts and grinned up at Marcus. He took a sip of his pumpkin juice. “I highly doubt that, Flint. We are third-year school students. We had nothing to do with this article; if anything, it was our parents who pushed for it.”

“I think you doubt yourself too much, Aldwyn. If you hadn’t come back to England with your dad, none of this would have happened.” Marcus smiled, surprised by how little the thirteen-year-old believed in himself still; it was unnerving at times.

“Marcus is right, Wyn. You and your father came back to England; it was only then that the political tide began to shift in our favour.” Theo commented.

“Yeah, but that wasn’t me. That was Uncle Lucius and Father.”

“I don’t think so, Wyn.” Blaise dropped his voice, whispering so only his friends could hear, leaving Marcus exceedingly confused. “It was your idea to make Harry Potter disappear instead of openly showing your adoption into the Slytherin line. It was your courage to tell the truth and push the adults in your life when they showed favouritism toward the Gryffindor students. It was you who has been able to turn several notable Light characters to a more neutral and even Dark alignment.”

“Blaise is right, Wyn.” Theo cut in again. “You have been the driving force behind everything your father is fighting for. Without you, he wouldn’t have tried to win this war through political means; he probably would have restarted the war.”

“I guess so,” he glances back down at the article and smiles softly. He supposed his friends had a point. If he hadn’t insisted that Harry Potter die, then Lily and James’s Wills would never have been read, and Molly wouldn’t have found out that she was being slowly poisoned by her own husband and the man she had looked up to for decades.

“Are you satisfied with the article?” Theo catches the smile and reaches over to nudge Aldwyn.

Aldwyn nodded slightly, “The article does exactly what we needed it to do without it being overtly obvious to anyone, except maybe Dumbledore because of his increased paranoia.” He tapped the section quoting the Dark Sect, and his smile turned malicious. “It openly condemns Arthur Weasley while showing perfect amounts of sympathy for Molly without appearing condescending or pitying. It also plants a few seeds about the Light side, which will, hopefully, play on the seed we have already been planting over the past year.”

Blaise’s eyes gleamed. “And in doing so, it makes the Dark families look a lot more reasonable and fairer than the Light.”

Daphne rolled her eyes, “which forces the public to reconsider a narrative they have been being fed for years.”

Gregory frowned, giving up his fight for extra bacon and glancing back down at the article. “So, they will start siding with the Dark regime instead of Dumbledore and his policies?”

“Precisely,” Aldwyn smirks, his gaze moving to the staff table once more. “And if the Dark are not the villains everyone was told they were…”

“Then the Light might not be the heroes.” Theo finished the thought, making Aldwyn’s smirk shift back to a gentle smile, one that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“And once people start questioning all of that…”

“We can say goodbye to Dumbledore’s reign of terror once and for all.” Draco finished, causing all of their friends to clap and cheer quietly at the idea.

Silence settles just as quickly as it was broken, and for a moment, several of them turn to glance back up at the staff table, and more specifically, the headmaster.

Even Marcus studies the headmaster for a second before he leant forward.  “He doesn’t look like a man who enjoys losing control.”

“He isn’t.” Aldwyn agrees, shaking his head. Of course, Dumbledore didn’t like losing; he had several members of his Order drugged and spelled with compulsions and loyalty potions just so he would have more powerful witches and wizards fighting for his side. He liked to try to orchestrate events so a child would go up against a Dark Lord possessed professor because of a self-fulfilling prophecy.

Theo’s expression grew instantly more serious, biting his lip before he leant closer to Aldwyn. “That is what is worrying me.” He confessed, blushing a fraction when several of their friends looked over at him. He folds his newspaper slowly, ensuring he has something to do with his hands, so he doesn’t twist them in his robes like he wanted to. “Dumbledore losing power is one thing, but Dumbledore becoming more desperate than he has ever been? That’s an entirely different story.”

Adrien nodded thoughtfully. “Theo is correct. Even towards the end of the war, when it looked like the Dark Lord was going to win, Dumbledore didn’t appear worried because he already knew about the prophecy; he knew he would win eventually. This time…”

“There is no saviour to help him.” Graham continued, their voices both grim, weighed down with apprehension.

A desperate strategist is a dangerous thing.” Marcus agreed. “Especially one who has spent decades manipulating public perceptions.”

Tracey exhaled slowly, “So, we will just proceed with caution.”

Aldwyn inclined his head, “As much as we are capable of, at least. I don’t have high hopes.” He glanced over at Theo, chuckling when he received a slap along with an indignant shout of offence.

Marcus straightened up again, squeezing Aldwyn’s shoulder one final time before he dropped his hands. “Well, this year just got a little more interesting.” He ruffled Aldwyn’s hair. “I look forward to what you’ve got in store for us, Aldwyn.” He waved over his shoulder as he started walking back down the table to where his friends were sitting.

“I don’t think Dumbledore is all we have to worry about,” Blaise muttered, his voice dark and filled with irritation as he glared across the Great Hall.

The group of third-year Slytherins turned their attention to the direction Blaise was gesturing and felt their shoulders stiffen. Ronald Weasley was still sitting at the table, hands clenched into fists as he stared down at the article with a frown, which wouldn’t have been that alarming if Aldwyn couldn’t see the still-full plate of food sitting in front of him.

“If he doesn’t get his temper under control, he’s going to try something again.” Theo sighed softly, shuffling a little closer to Aldwyn on the bench.

Draco snorted, “He’s already done that once.”

“And almost got Aldwyn killed because of it.” Tracey rolled her eyes.

Blaise’s frown deepened even further, and his hands curled into fists. “I’d like to see him try anything this time.”

Theo looked back at Aldwyn, “he’s emotionally unstable right now, and that is going to make him more dangerous if he comes after you to fight.” He tapped the newspaper. “After this… I doubt he’s thinking clearly.”

Daphne nodded. “He may look for someone to blame. Especially since he has been on the receiving end of some rather inventive pranks this week as well. Maybe this article was a blessing in disguise to aid with the payback, but it may also be the thing to push him over the edge.”

“And we all know who he likes to blame all his life problems on,” Vincent comments through a mouthful of eggs on toast.

For a moment, the group falls silent, all thinking of ways they could prevent the Weasel from coming after Aldwyn again, or how they would protect their friend if the worst came to pass. What they didn’t account for was the soft chuckle Aldwyn released as he continued to stare over at the Weasel. The sound was calm, almost unbothered.

“Let him try. We still have a few tricks up our sleeve for the Weasel.”

Theo raised an eyebrow. “You’re not concerned?”

Aldwyn leant back in his chair slightly, allowing his gaze to sweep across his friends’ faces. His expression carried the quiet confidence they had come to recognise when they were in the presence of their prince, and they relaxed. “No,” he glanced down at his glass of pumpkin juice before glancing back over at the Gryffindor table. “I won’t let Weasley get the better of me again. Damn the consequences.”

“Good.” Draco matched his godbrother’s expression with a smirk of his own.

“Because I would hate to waste more of my time keeping track of idiotic Gryffindors.” Blaise picked up his teacup, “You will not face him alone, Wyn.”

“We’ve got your back.” Pansy stuck her thumbs out at Aldwyn, bringing another chuckle from his lips.

“I know,” Aldwyn whispered, smiling at his friends before they returned to their breakfast.

Chapter Text

By the end of Wednesday, Ronald had almost completely stopped trusting anything and anyone that came within his vicinity. So much so that it couldn’t really be labelled caution anymore. It was a constant, simmering vigilance that sat beneath his skin and made every movement a little too sharp, every glance a little too quick and filled with suspicion.

The Daily Prophet article published earlier that day had just made everything worse, his dad’s trial on full display for people to read, the verdict, and the relocation to Azkaban. Everything made his anger bubble more volatile in his veins, the whispered conversations that cut off whenever he tried to approach, every sidelong look, every rustle of the newspaper felt like another hand pressing against already fraying nerves. Anger settled into his very soul, hot and relentless as it continued to build without an outlet. So, it turned outward, mixing with whatever had been messing with his magic all week and causing unexplainable bouts of accidentally magic in the form of mini explosions and fireplaces roaring 3 metres in the air before they snuffed out.

And as he made his way to Care of Magical Creatures, their first session back after the incident with Buckbeak, he could feel his magic dancing beneath the surface, playing with his nerves as he walked closer to the paddocks. His shoulders sat stiff beneath his robes, his jaw aching as he clenched it too hard, while his gaze flickered restlessly across the outdoor area as though expecting the world itself to lunge at him. Even the fresh air, crisp and cool, did nothing to relieve the pressure that was building beneath his ribs when he caught sight of the Slytherin students.

 At the front of the paddock, Charlie Weasley stood with the kind of easy authority that came from experience rather than force, from a certain level of confidence in dealing with magical creatures. And he had to scoff because who in their right mind would turn down working with Dragons to come back to school and teach kids about boring creatures by comparison. Though Ronald had to admit that his brother (ex-brother) was far more grounded than Hagrid had ever been, at least from the stories he had been told by the older students. Professor Weasley gave clearer instructions that were firm and impossible to misinterpret, unless done so deliberately.

“Good morning, everyone, I hope we have had a good week so far and are coming here today with the intent to do something productive!” He called out over the splattering of conversations; his arms folded delicately across his chest as his gaze swept over the gathered students. “Observation, handling, and respect. If you cannot manage these three simple traits, you will not be allowed near the creatures today, do you understand?”

A chorus of agreements answered him, some voices overly eager and excited to see what they would be facing this time, while others replied dutifully because they didn’t want to be the one on the receiving end of their professor’s anger.

“Excellent. We do not want a repeat of what occurred last week.”

Ronald muttered something under his breath, too low for anyone around him to catch, but with enough of an irritable edge that many of his fellow Gryffindors knew what, or who, he was complaining about. However, none of them chose to comment; they barely turned to acknowledge their housemate, tired of his explosive temper for the time being.

“We are going to be focusing on a creature that you are all familiar with today, a creature you will see for the rest of your lives, and one many of you do or will own.” Charlie slipped two fingers into his mouth and let out a shrill whistle, smirking when a familiar tiny blue owl flew through the air and landed on his outstretched hand.”

Aldwyn gaped at his brother, scowling when Phanex preens under Charlie’s pets, twittering in approval when he is fed a small treat from his brother’s pocket. Traitor. He calls out across their telepathic bond, crossing his arms when Phanex seems to laugh, or make a sound that sounds too close to amusement to be anything else.

You have not come to visit me recently, Master.

I know, I am sorry. I have been busy. How about I promise to visit you this weekend? I am going home for a day, so you can come with us and fly around the gardens for a while. Aldwyn bargains, smirking when he feels the little bird’s agreement before he can make a sound. He watches as his little blue owl hops from his brother’s arm to his shoulder, large eyes blinking at him across the paddock.

Will you give me extra treats?

I will have Father find you a big, juicy mouse for you to hunt.

Deal. I suppose I can forgive you, Master.

Aldwyn chuckles and shakes his head at his familiar, watching as Phanex turns his attention back to Charlie, grooming the messy ginger strands as Charlie continues to explain the correct way to care for an owl. Though the explanation was thorough and included a lot of information, the majority of it Aldwyn already knew because he had received almost the exact same speech when he had gotten Phanex from his Papa for his birthday two years ago.

However, that didn’t stop Aldwyn from noticing the slight shift in Theo’s posture from beside him, subtle enough to escape the notice of most people, but when he was practically glued to Aldwyn’s side, it was difficult to ignore. An eager shift, that allowed Theo the opportunity to watch Ronald closely without anyone realising that is what he was doing, something that made Aldwyn shake his head with a chuckle.

Blaise, on the other hand, swung his arm a little, just enough for his fingers to brush along Aldwyn’s sleeve, close enough to disturb the fabric so that Aldwyn turned his attention to his other side and raised an eyebrow at the Italian. Blaise didn’t say anything, simply smirked and slipped his hand around Aldwyn’s, squeezing his fingers together in an almost painful grip before he immediately released his hand and focused back on their professor.

He could feel his anticipation rising when Charlie finally called the students forward and led them to a small barn that held several of the school’s own owls, all different species and breeds, sizes and colours. Though while the rest of their classmates were walking between the perches, Aldwyn copied Charlie, stuck two fingers between his lips and blew, laughing when he heard a shout of surprise from his brother, while Phanex dug his claws in a little too deeply and took to the skies.

Aldwyn held his hand out to his familiar and laughed when Phanex bypassed his hand and landed immediately on his head, settling down with a content trill. “What exactly do you think you are doing, Phanex?”

Having a nap, Master. I am tired…

“What do you mean by tired? It is the middle of the day.” He rolled his eyes, being careful not to move too much as he raised a hand up to stroke through Phanex’s bright blue plumage.

I am a nocturnal creature; I deserve to sleep during the day.

“You are not as nocturnal as you like to claim, Phanex. You are just lazy, now come on, you need to help me practice.”

No. Phanex nipped playfully at Aldwyn’s fingers, burrowing himself further in Aldwyn’s hair, to the point where he could feel it being dragged out of the hair tie and knotting up on top of his head. Though he was thankful that Phanex hadn’t dug his talons into his scalp.

“Hey, Phanex, causing trouble for Wyn, I see,” Theo muttered, stroking a single finger down the bird’s head while Aldwyn crossed his arms again.

“He is complaining that I have been neglecting him and how he is sorrowful because we won’t let him sleep during the day like a normal owl…” Aldwyn retorts, poking his familiar in the side, causing him to open up one eye and huff.

“Awwww. Poor Phanex, how about I find a good book to read to you soon? Would you like that?”

Phanex turned his attention to Theo, staring at the boy for a moment. This is the nice boy; tell him to bring the other boy who feeds me treats all the time.

“Phanex said, you are the nice boy, and when you come to read him a story, can you bring the other boy who feeds him treats all the time?”

Before Theo or Blaise can answer Aldwyn’s repeat of Phanex’s request, a very loud hoot echoes throughout the barn, and a few students gasp, scrambling out of the way as a rather large, rather intimidating-looking barn owl flies through the air and lands heavily on Ronald’s outstretched arm. It’s glowing amber eyes stare into Ron’s terrified ones before it starts nudging him with its beak.

Another followed, a much smaller one this time, barely out of its hatchling phase, and it landed on his shoulder, small talons sinking into the fabric of Ronald’s cloak to keep itself perched when the Gryffindor jumped a fraction, stiffening just enough for the birds to find comfortable purchase before they went back to nudging him wherever they could reach on his person. Then another hoot followed, and Ronald watched the third bird approach him with eyes narrowed in suspicion because this had never happened before. Animals, as a whole, didn’t like him very much and never approached him willingly. Owls had never been any different.

“What…?” This third owl didn’t just nudge him with its beak but started nipping at his robes before he could wave it away. It pecked lightly at his hair, pulling it as it seemed to be searching for something, anything that no one else could see or smell. Ronald jerked at a particularly painful tug and jerked before he swatted at the bird instinctively.

Within a few seconds, several other owls from around the barn had flown down from their perches and were hooting indignantly as they all seemed to scramble for a place to settle on Weasley. Some of them pecking at any available inch of the third-year Gryffindor. The sound of fluttering wings almost drowned out the sounds of Ronald’s shouts and screams.

“Why are there…? Get them off! Get them off!”

After the silence stretched for too long, and more and more owls came over to Ronald, fighting with each other to get closer to the struggling student, laughter broke out in waves. A quiet chuckle that seemed to be forcibly pulled from one of the Gryffindor students, which set another off. Then, as Ronald’s flailing became wilder, ducking down and swatting blindly at the owls surrounding him, the laughter around the room increased.

Charlie frowned, stepping forward before he hesitated and stared at the scene in front of him. He watched as more and more owls flew down from their perches, watched as they flew around Ronald, hooting and trilling. His gaze trailed around the room, trying to see what could have set the usually well-behaved owls off and froze when he saw Theo, Blaise, Aldwyn and Draco snickering between themselves, nudging each other and pointing over to Ronald. He knew they had something to do with it; he knew they had somehow enticed the owls to attack their classmate.

He turned his attention back to Ronald and raised his wand, he had no idea what he was going to do because any spell he could cast at the owls to scare them away could hit Ronald and injure him as well and as a Professor he should not wish to cause harm to his students, as another owl attempted to land on Ronald’s head, digging its talons into matted hair and flesh causing the boy to let out another screech of pain. He lurched backwards, tripping over his own feet and crashing into the empty perches.

“I’m not doing anything!” He snapped, his voice rising in both volume and pitch with every single word, frustration bleeding into something sharper. His eyes, when his classmates managed to get a good look at him through the cloud of feathers and wings, were red and swollen from fear, his lips cracked and bleeding from where he had bitten into them, while his skin appeared paler, almost greyish in the dim light of the barn. “Why is this happening to me?!”

No one responded because no one had an answer. After their laughter had tapered off, anxiety mixed with unease as more and more owls kept appearing through windows, as if they were being called by some unknown string of magic. This wasn’t a normal occurrence, not one any of them had witnessed or even heard of happening before now, and even though several students were thinking the same thing, no one wanted to be the one who said it out loud.

Serves him right for messing with Buckbeak last week.

Across the barn, where the Slytherins were all taking it in turns to cue over the tiny little Filipino blue owl still perched happily on Aldwyn’s head, they were still snickering amongst themselves, occasionally gesturing over to Ronald with smirks on their faces and amusement in their eyes. And although no one could prove it was them, some of the Gryffindor students had unanimously decided that they must have been the ones behind the attack. Even if no one saw any wands being used in their proximity.

Draco, looking mildly offended that anyone would accuse him of such a petty trick, still looked delighted at the turn of events and snickered when he caught sight of a small cut, a shallow graze from sharp talons bleeding ever so slightly in the same place Aldwyn had been caught by Buckbeak. Theo exhaled slowly through his nose, his robes brushing gently against Aldwyn’s back as he leant into Aldwyn, his chin almost resting on the other boy’s shoulder as he continued to make smart remarks about Ronald, dragging the occasional laughter from his friend.

“Symbolism,” Blaise murmured, dry enough to be nearly inaudible amongst the screeches of the owls, but the look he gave Aldwyn conveyed more than his words ever could, equal parts approval and quiet appreciation for the beautiful display and Aldwyn knew that he would have to thank his Uncle for giving them such a spell, and the twins for helping them practice the time delay curse.

Meanwhile, Aldwyn didn’t comment, didn’t join in with his friends’ laughter, because he was perfectly content to stroke his fingers down Phanex’s plumage and watch the show. He watches as the owls accidentally tear at Ronald’s cloak, their talons catching against his cheek, his hands as he flaps his arms in an attempt to deter them. He watched as Charlie tried to find the perfect angle to shoot off a hex that would scare the birds off long enough for him to figure out what was going on.

--------

By Thursday afternoon, Ronald was unravelling at the seams. Not in a slow downward spiral as with the beginning of the week. Not anymore. This was with a certainty that no one could ignore, irritation coming in sharp, jagged bursts that left everyone around him increasingly reluctant to engage him in any sort of conversation. Even sparingly muttered greetings were becoming rarer and rarer. The anger that had been simmering just beneath the surface all week was now flaring up at the smallest provocation, his temper and patience worn so thin that it seemed ready to tear apart the next person who so much as breathed the wrong way. Every setback, every misfired spell or magical backlash fed into it. Every time an owl hooted overhead or flew within a ten-metre radius of the Gryffindor, he would shriek and flinch like he was preparing himself for another attack. Every sideways glance or snicker of amusement, no matter what it was aimed at, was another reminder of his humiliations.

Potions, despite how much he hated the subject, should have been the one lesson he could survive without much hassle. If he concentrated enough, if he didn’t use his magic and made Hermione change the temperature with her own wand, he would last long enough to avoid any mishaps. He could slip through the entire hour without bringing Prince’s reign of terror down on him… again.

Yes, Potions should have been a controlled environment, predictable as long as they followed every instruction down to the letter. Especially with Professor Prince wandering the classroom because not even he, who saw all that went on within his classroom, would be able to deny the fact that his Slytherin students were messing with a classmate during a delicate brewing process

And that was why, for the first time in three years, Ronald genuinely tried. He measured each ingredient with painstaking care, checked his notes against the methodology in the textbook twice before he followed any step, even asking Hermione when he wasn’t entirely sure what one of the instructions meant. He stirred with a concentration so thick it bordered on rigid, on obsessive, but he did not want to take any chances. His movements were deliberate, some even might say overly cautious, as though precision and patience alone might ward off further disasters.

For one brief, fragile moment, it seemed to be working. The potion he had been working on, while Hermione changed the temperature with her own wand, settled exactly into the right consistency and shade. The surface shimmered faintly beneath the dungeon’s torchlight, not as perfectly as his friend’s attempt, but a lot better than he usually managed to produce. Ronald’s shoulders settled, easing for the first time since Monday morning, ever so slightly; the first hint of relief crossed his face as he continued to count his stirs under his breath.

Then, for whatever reason, his wand sparked; a sharp crackle spitting through the air like one of the twins’ stray firecrackers. Ronald flinched hard, the sound so loud and sudden, the flash of white light blinding him momentarily, caught him so off guard that the stirring rod in his hand slipped from his grasp. It clattered against the rim of the cauldron before dropping into the bubbling liquid. The potion inside reacted immediately to the loss of movement, the break in proper instruction and surged upward at least two metres into the air, boiling over in a thick, bubbling wave that splashed across the table and over his hands, burning the flesh.

“Bloody hell!” He yelled, snatching his hands back as he stumbled away from his table, shaking the thick liquid from his hands and arms with a scowl so fierce his friends immediately backed away. His brows furrowed deeply as he glared down at the mess that was now his workspace.

“Mister Weasley.”

The room seemed to cool immediately despite the consistently bubbling cauldrons around the room, snickers and bubbling creations drowned out by the sudden ringing in his ears as he glances up to see the familiar figure of their potion’s professor bearing down on him with a deep scowl. His voice sounded resigned, like he had been waiting for the exact moment his student would fail and wasn’t the slightest bit surprised that he had done so.

“What… exactly…” he began slowly, each word precise enough to sting, while also condescending enough to stoke his already fraying anger. “Do you think you are doing?”

“I just… I was just… I didn’t…” He stuttered, his hands stinging as the skin turned red under the heat of the lingering potion, his face pale from humiliation and irritation as the potion he had spent so much time carefully crafting continued to spill onto the floor.

“Silence.”

Ronald’s chest rose and fell sharply, his hands trembling as he clenched them at his side, and he didn’t know if it was from the pain he could feel travelling up his fingers and down his wrist, or from the fury of having his magic tampered with yet again. Because there was no way his wand or his magic was reacting to him, because he had managed, just barely, to keep his frustration to himself for the majority of that lesson. So, it must have been someone else messing with him, like they had been doing all week.

“This wasn’t my fault,” he snapped, despite the warning held behind his professor’s tone, his anger finally flaring too fast for him to contain. “Something’s messing with my magic…”

Severus’s gaze sharpened, his expression flattening into something far colder than anything the Gryffindors had seen before. “And yet,” he said, his voice still as smooth as it always was. “No one else appears to be suffering from this… mysterious interference.” He paused, glancing down his nose at the third year before he sneered. “I have heard all about your magical flare-ups this week, Mister Weasley, and maybe you should be looking at how you can control your own magical outbursts, instead of looking for someone to take the blame for you.”

A few students, mainly Ronald’s own classmates, looked down quickly, refusing to meet their friend’s eyes as they hid smiles in their own work and behind their hands. They may not have liked their potions professor, may not agree with his favouritism towards his own house, but even they had become sick of Ronald blaming anyone and everyone for the trouble he was having with his own magic. Including a group of first years who had witnessed one of his bouts of accidental magic in the common room last night and snickered.

Ronald clenched his jaw so tight at that, thinking that his professors were laughing behind his back and making fun of him because he had less control over his magic than first and second years at the moment, something he knew to be untrue. “You think I’m lying?”

“I think,” Professor Prince replied, each syllable clipped with surgical precision, the same care he showed to his own brewing. “That you are careless and immature. Someone who refuses to take ownership of their own shortcomings.”

“I am not careless!” Ronald shouted back, his voice rising despite the fear he felt at facing off against the potions professor, because previously, when Severus Prince, then Snape, had come baring down on them for a failure only he could see, it had been Harry who had stuck up for them, arguing with the professor despite the consequences, and Ronald had simply stood at his side, silent, moral support who agreed with Harry behind closed doors. But now, he was the one having to stick up for himself, to face off against that unforgiving, thunderous expression without backing down.

“This is… this is them!” He continued to shout, his hand flying out wildly to point at the Slytherin students who had been, for all intents and purposes, ignoring the mishap on the other side of the classroom to pay attention to their own work, lest their potions bubble over and burn due to a lack of concentration. “It’s always them! They are messing with my magic!”

Several heads turned toward the quiet Slytherin students at once, shaking their heads at their classmate’s accusation because the Slytherins, even when accused in such a blatant manner, didn’t rise to the bait. Blaise didn’t even move from his spot behind his cauldron, his knife never once wavering as he sliced his next ingredient. Theo didn’t react, adjusting the flame beneath his potion as he leant over his notebook to read the next instruction. And Aldwyn didn’t even look up from where he was writing down precise observations from his brewing process, a habit he had picked up from his Papa during their first few tutoring sessions.

Professor Prince’s expression remained utterly unchanged as he turned to glance from Daphne, who was stealing unused ingredients from Pansy’s desk, to Tracy, who was stirring her concoction with an excitement that beguiled even the best of potion masters. To Gregory and Vincent, who were quietly arguing about what colour their potion should be at the stage of brewing they were both at.

“Detention, Mister Weasley, for trying to blame your classmates for your own failings.” He responded, glaring down at the Gryffindor with an unimpressed scowl. “And ten points from Gryffindor.”

Ron let out a harsh, disbelieving laugh, the sound brittle around the edges. He dragged a hand through his hair, leaving it standing more unevenly than before. “Of course,” he muttered bitterly. “Of course it is.”

--------

By Friday evening, Ronald was barely holding it together, which made it, from the perspective of those who were preparing the items for the next prank, the perfect time. And despite his paranoia, and despite the fact that he had a feeling he knew who had been behind the malfunctions of his magic over the past week, he thought he knew who had been somehow casting spells on him without anyone realising to make him speak in gibberish when he answered a question in class, or to make animals attack him throughout the day. He still picked it up without a thought.

The sweet was small, like those hard-boiled candies his mother used to give them before they Floo’d as children in an attempt to help with the travel sickness. Like the Lemon drops he had seen in the headmaster’s office every time he had been called up there for a discussion over his behaviour. It had been the same bright yellow, the same hard shell on the outside, and it even had the same light dusting of sugar over it. So, he hadn’t thought twice about taking it from his brother’s and popping it into his mouth.

It didn’t help that he was already halfway through another complaint about the week, blaming the Slytherin students for what happened to him during Potions, claiming to anyone who would listen that they must have thrown something into his cauldron without him realising, or coated his cauldron with some substance that made it explode. He grimaced as he popped the sweet into his mouth, the common room noise dropping by at least three levels as he suckles.

And to avoid further suspicion or immediate blame, Fred and George walk around the rest of the Gryffindor third years, holding out the same bag of sweets and offering each person a candy. Everyone but Hermione, who refused to take any food or drink from them since they had managed to catch her unawares the previous summer. They still looked fondly back on that memory; their brother’s friend had looked particularly entertaining as a human girl with pale green skin and a tortoise shell stuck to her back.

Nothing happened for the next five minutes. Ronald had finished the sweet and was in the process of begging his brothers for more, because of how unfair it was that they were allowed to go to Hogsmeade and wave their sweets under his nose when he had been stuck in the castle with the children. Fred and George had smirked down at him, popping another sweet in their mouths before they moved back to the back corner of the common room with Lee Jordan, who, just like his best friends, was eagerly looking forward to seeing the twins’ newest prototype in action.

Minutes passed, and Ronald began to relax against the back of the sofa; he happily accepted Seamus’s offer to play a quick game of chess before they began their homework for the evening and immediately pulled out his own set. Just as they finished setting up the board and arguing about who would play black and white, Ronald felt a subtle tickle at the back of his throat and tried to clear it.

When that didn’t work, he reached forward and took a sip from his glass of water, coughing to try and dislodge whatever was stuck in the back of his throat. He coughed once. Then twice, then a third time, which bent him forward sharply, confusion flashing across his features when the tickle only got worse and worse, causing an uncomfortable itch all the way down his throat. He pressed a fist against his mouth, his brows furrowing when he felt something crawling slowly up his throat, almost like he was about to throw up, even if he didn’t feel ill.

“What the…?” His sentence broke off abruptly, not because he didn’t want to finish but because he couldn’t, his words cut off as if his voice just stopped working.

Instead, in place of words, feathers burst from his mouth in a sudden, violent cascade that showered the chessboard with vibrant, absurdly coloured feathers that only resulted in startling half the people sitting in closer proximity to the thirteen-year-old, and the chess pieces who loudly complained about being covered in vomit feathers. Red, gold, yellow, and orange erupted in a flurry that scattered across tables, the floor and clung stubbornly to his robes; a few even managed to tangle themselves in his hair as he choked and spluttered in horrified disbelief.

It was like the slug dilemma from second year all over again.

The Gryffindor common room froze for a moment, staring at the flurry of feathers before it exploded in a cacophony of noise. Laughter crashed through the room in a wave so loud that it seemed to shake the very foundations. It rolled from table to seating area, echoing up the empty stairwells with terrifying resonance. Ronald staggered to his feet, coughing helplessly over and over again, and each time he did, more feathers of varying colours spilt from his lips.

“This.” More feathers in various shades of blue flew into the air. “This is…” another bout, purples and pinks this time, and he couldn’t stop himself from gagging around the invasion because he could still feel them, creeping up his throat, tickling where he couldn’t reach.

His face burnt a furious, molten red, not just from the embarrassment of being seen throwing up feathers by the majority of his house, but with something much sharper and far more dangerous coming from a pubescent teenager with a known anger management issue. Humiliation and rage. He slammed his hands onto the table, knocking some of his chess pieces to the ground, but he ignored their indignant shouts as he glared around the common room, trying to spot who did this to him.

“WHO DID THIS? WHO IS DOING THIS TO ME?” He managed to roar through the feathers that continued to spill from his mouth, choking him with each inhale, but he pushed the discomfort aside, as best as he could, so he could lock eyes with anyone he thought looked guilty.

But the laughter simply got louder, barely contained now as he trembled in the middle of the common room, his face clashing horribly with his hair. No one answered his question because no one knew who had been messing with the boy all week, and no one knew who had managed to force him to throw up feathers. But Ronald only glared harsher because someone in that room, he was sure of it, knew who had done this to him, and he would find out.

Ronald’s chest heaved as his gaze continued to sweep the room, frantic and furious, landing first on a small first-year who had clamped their hand across their mouth to muffle their laughter, then on a sixth-year who had been nothing but harsh with him since they had returned to their school, always telling him off for little things. Then they slipped over to his friends, Dean and Seamus, who were beside themselves, clutching at each other as they laughed unashamedly.

“You think this is funny, do you?” he demanded, his voice shaking now with an anger so intense it was almost unstable, cracking around the raw feeling at the back of his throat as he gagged around nothing for the moment. “You think this is…?”

Another cough cut him off, and more feathers, fewer than before, flew out of his mouth and with it came more laughter, as well as several attempts to muffle the noise, whispered words of warning from the older years, friends hitting each other and biting their fingers to stop themselves from laughing so much.

Ronald’s hands curled into fists, so tightly that his knuckles turned completely white and for one tense, breathless moment, it looked as though he might actually draw his wand on the common room, but the shifting of the Prefects, crossing their arms as their own wands rested comfortably in their hands, seemed to make him think twice about it.

Across the room, Fred shifted ever so slightly in his seat, wrapping his arm around Lee as he grinned at his younger brother. George shuffled closer and threw his arm around their friend’s other shoulder, snickering into his hand as he watched his brother lose what little patience he had left. He watched as Ronald continued to shout at his friends, ignoring them when they tried to defend themselves, stating that they didn’t even know what sort of spell they would need to cast in order to make him throw up, let alone spit out feathers.

Lee simply sat between the twins, laughing softly along with his friends at the sight of the young third-year completely losing control as the rest of the common room continued to snicker at his predicament. A couple of first years even went so far as to practice their spell casting by floating the brightly coloured feathers around the common room to the sounds of more laughter, muttered praise and rounds of applause.

Chapter Text

The ritual chamber on the ground floor of Slytherin Mansion was a lot older, Aldwyn had found out, than the manor itself. The room had been carved directly into the stone of a mountain that used to stand in these regions centuries ago. The walls had been cut from black-green granite that was on display for everyone to see this time and seemed to drink in the light from the torches dancing along the perimeter. The air smelt faintly of sandalwood, crushed sage, and the metallic sharpness of ritual magic that had soaked into the stone through generations of use.

He paused in the threshold, hands gripping the sleeves of his ritual robes, because he knew this room had been here a little over a year and a half ago. His memories jumped to the forefront of his mind, him standing surrounded by his family, his father’s voice soothing to his ears even as pain rippled through his body. The magic of the ritual thickened in the air while Salazar Slytherin spoke of acceptance and love and belonging. This was where his blood adoption ritual had been performed, where he had been welcomed into the Slytherin Line. Where he had found his family for the first time.

The chamber itself was circular and enormous, the ceiling rising higher than it really should have seen as Aldwyn knew there was a second floor above his head, and he once again marvelled at the possibilities of magic. This time, now that he was paying more attention to his surroundings, and not worrying about the ritual itself, he noticed large silver and green runes carved into the stone in spiralling rings. Faint traces of magic glowed in the grooves, responding to the preparations that had been laid out around the floor.

Three ritual circles had been constructed in the centre of the chamber. Each one was drawn in a different medium, no doubt to respond and aid in various aspects of the ritual’s mechanisms. As he walked further into the room, Aldwyn noticed that the outermost ring was carved directly into the stone and filled with powdered silver and crushed moonstone. Ancient runes glittered faintly along its edges, wards of containment and stability, no doubt to help him control his core while it was being picked apart and studied.

The second circle, where his father and Papa were going to be standing, had been laid using crushed quartz mixed with salt and powdered sage, creating a pale ring designed to amplify investigation magics. The innermost circle, the ritual focus where Aldwyn knew he would be standing with Blaise and Theo just on the outer rim, had been drawn in dark green ink mixed with his own blood.

Lucius Malfoy was kneeling beside the circles, his wand moving with careful precision as he finished inscribing the last of the runic stabilisers around the ritual space. “Alignment holds,” he murmured as the runes pulsed once in quick acknowledgement.

Along the other side of the room, several runic stone tables had been arranged with crystal bowls, parchment, and vials of potion ingredients to aid his parents, no doubt, as they performed the ritual. Narcissa stood beside the table, already dressed for her role as ritual medic.

She wore robes of pale silver embroidered with thin threads of blue and white, colours he had been told were associated with healing magic and restorative rituals, at least now he knew why all Healers in St Mungo’s were required to wear those three colours while at work. Her sleeves had been tied back neatly to allow freedom of movement, and several mall potion vials were clipped to a band around her wrist.

Across the chamber stood Severus and Marvolo, both men wore ritual robes rather than their usual attire. Severus’s robes were deep midnight blue, threaded with faint silver sigils, colours traditionally associated with diagnostic magic and arcane observations. While Marvolo’s robes were dark green and black, the colours of the Slytherin line, embroidered with ancient serpentine runes meant to strengthen bloodline resonance.

The attendance of all four adults in their finest ritual garments somehow made the room feel heavier, almost sombre, but definitely more powerful, and Aldwyn was glad that he would get to be part of such a ritual, even if it was because of him and his messed-up bond.

Turning around when he hears the quiet sounds of excited chatter, Aldwyn spots a row of chairs placed against the very far wall, arranged for the younger members of their group. His faction was already seated with parchment and quills in their hands. Chattering amongst themselves as they wait for the ritual to begin, so they could jot down observations. Draco, Daphne, Tracey, Gregory, Vincent, Milli, and Pansy all sat in a line, some swinging their feet while others glanced at the runic circles with interest.

Even Bill and Charlie had managed to sneak out of the school this Samhain without much interference from the old codger, not that he could do much with his current restrictions. It wasn’t like the man could actively prevent them from spending Samhain together as a family, celebrating one of the most important holidays for magic in the year.

He had made himself perfectly clear to his faction members that no matter what happened to him, what happened across the room, they were not to interfere unless directly asked by one of the adults. That they were to observe the ritual, its phases, his own reaction to the probing, how his core responded and more importantly, how the bond responded.

Near the edge of the ritual circles, looking lost and unsure of themselves, stood Blaise and Theo, the only members of his faction who were permitted anywhere close to the ritual site during the actual casting. Both wore simple robes of deep green trimmed with black, colours meant to stabilise and harmonise magical outputs, which highlighted their role within the ritual perfectly.

Theo stood slightly behind Aldwyn when he finally made his way over to them. He released a deep breath and tried to smile when he immediately saw Theo and Blaise closing their eyes just before he felt two very familiar and warm probes against his core.

“Your core is already reacting,” Theo murmured quietly, stepping a little closer.

Aldwyn took another deep breath, attempting to regulate his magic without letting on that he was already reacting to the magic within the air. “I can feel it.”

Blaise moved to Aldwyn’s other side, resting a steady hand lightly against his arm. He didn’t start feeding magic into Aldwyn’s core just yet; there was no real need to at the moment, but he knew that Aldwyn preferred physical touch when he was feeling overwhelmed.

“You’re going to be fine, Wyn,” Blaise said calmly.

“We are going to be by your side the entire time.” Theo nodded, placing his hand on Aldwyn’s shoulder.

“I know, thank you.”

At the centre of the ritual chamber, Lucius finally pushed himself to his feet, stepped back from the circles, and quickly double checked to make sure everything was correct. “The runes are complete. Containment lattice initiated.”

Severus gave a curt nod. “Very well, we will begin in a moment.”

Marvolo stepped forward, his voice carrying easily through the chamber, talking to the entire room while focusing his attention on his son. “The Samhain Diagnostic Ritual is not an invasive ritual by nature; it is used to observe and listen to interferences with an individual’s core. It can be used to identify various bonds and magical influences held within someone’s magic.” He glances towards the students, smiling marginally when he sees them frantically making notes.

“It reveals hidden influences.” He turns back to Aldwyn. “However, because we already suspect a foreign magical influence… and with the corruption spreading through the bond, resistance is possible.”

Theo’s eyes narrowed slightly, hand tightening on Aldwyn’s shoulder. “Resistance from the Godfather bond, you mean? Not Aldwyn’s core?”

“Precisely,” Severus said. “We believe that Aldwyn’s core only reacts in extreme conditions because the bond is essentially stealing magic in order to protect itself. However, during the ritual, we will separate the bond from Aldwyn’s core long enough to diagnose the issues.”

“So, Aldwyn should be fine.” Blaise insisted, glancing at Aldwyn as he asked instead of at Severus and Marvolo.

“Yes, Aldwyn will be perfectly fine.” Severus smiled, then held his hand out, gesturing toward the innermost ring. “Come on.”

Aldwyn turned around and threw his arms around Blaise and Theo, giving them a hug in thanks for their worry for him, before he stepped back and walked into the innermost ring. He could feel his core settling down after that brief contact and inwardly rolls his eyes. They had used his embrace as an opportunity to feed some of their magic into his Mage Core, just in case.

The moment his foot crossed the boundary, the runes around the circle ignited with soft green light, enclosing him within. Blaise and Theo take their place at his side, Theo standing to attention at his right, while Blaise stood at his left. Magic hummed through the chamber.

Lucius moved to the outer ring, raising his wand. “I will begin to stabilise the runic matrix.” His wand traced a slow, precise line through the air, activating runes as he drew them. “Camera expergiscatur et lapis propositum suum meminerit.” (Let the chamber wake and the stone remember its purpose.)

The runes carved into the ceiling, walls and floors ignited instantly, green light spiralled across the stone, spreading outward like veins of living magic. The torches along the walls dimmed as the chamber drew upon deeper sources of power, no doubt ancient magic that had been infused into the stone through generations of family rituals and seminars.

“Camera ritualis heredem agnoscit.” (The ritual chamber acknowledges the Heir.)

Severus and Marvolo took their positions on opposite sides of the secondary circle, wands held loosely in their right hands while they each held a small bowl filled with ingredients to aid them throughout the ritual. Narcissa remained near the ritual table, watching carefully, ready to intervene if something happened to Aldwyn.

“Begin recording,” Lucius instructed, and several pieces of parchment from the ritual table zipped into the air, stationing themselves around the outer circle at equal intervals, quills poised beside them as they started scribbling down everything the magic in their air was detecting.

Severus nodded to Marvolo, casting a glance at Aldwyn to make sure he was standing in the centre of the circle before he raised his wand. “Magia Mater, hodie hic convenimus ut auxilium tuum imploremus.” (Mother Magic, we are gathered here today to ask for your aid.) His voice is quiet but stern. “Damnum uni ex liberis vestris illatum est, et auxilium rogamus ad rem dignoscendam sine damno pueri.” (Harm has been performed to one of your children, and we request aid in diagnosing the issue without harm to the child.)

He stepped forward slowly, wand pointing towards his son and placed the tip just above Aldwyn’s sternum with a gentle smile. “Focus your breathing, Snakelet. Do not try to resist the magic, alright? Just like you did last time, allow the magic to guide you.”

Aldwyn inhaled slowly but deeply, allowing his muscles to relax completely as he felt his magic beginning to stir in his chest. It felt a little uncomfortable, nothing like it had during the blood adoption, but he could feel it being directed and pulled out of his chest. It was a bizarre feeling, but not entirely unpleasant.

“Nucleum revela et eius fluctus videri permitte.” (Reveal the Core and let its currents be seen.) Severus spoke the first true words of the ritual phase against the wall of magic surrounding Aldwyn, his tone confident and commanding.

Green light spilt from Aldwyn’s chest, swirling gently around him like mist, and he sucked in a breath. This was his magic, what it manifested as when it wrapped around him. It was beautiful and wild, swirling around him in a mix of green, purple and silver, the colours of his bloodlines.

Marvolo waited a moment before he raised his wand as well. “Magia sanguinis nostri communis vocationi respondeat.” (Let the magic of our shared bloodline answer its call.)

The runes beneath Aldwyn’s feet flared brighter, the green, purple and silver mist condensed into visible strands of magic, curling around each other in a tight ball, looking more like a tangled ball of string now than anything else. Aldwyn still thought it was weird, and pretty cool to actually see what his core looked like, but he allowed the familiar magic of his ancestors to surround him, trying to follow the flow of the ritual magic like his papa had instructed.

Theo’s breath caught softly, eyes sparkling in awe. “That’s your core? It’s amazing.”

Severus nodded in agreement, smiling at the looks of surprised awe spreading around the room. His son’s core was incredibly bright and large for a child of thirteen, bigger than they had anticipated, but then again, no one had performed a full diagnostic ritual on a magical core that was going through the shift into a Mage Core.

“Density levels are indeed impressive,” Lucius commented, adjusting the runes along the outer rings to accommodate the extra power they hadn’t known they were dealing with.

“And that’s not even finished shifting,” Bill whispered to Charlie, his voice carrying around the room and the magic of the ritual.

“His core hasn’t completely developed anyway, let alone having it shift into a Mage core.” Charlie agreed, knowing that Aldwyn’s core was going to be more unstable than a normal child his age because magical cores never stabilised fully until someone reached their majority and with the beginnings of his Mage Mark and this corrupted bond... he was lucky to still be standing.

“Vincula ostende quae hanc animam connectunt. Quae intus latent revela.” (Show the bonds that tie this soul. Expose what lies within.)

The mist around Aldwyn twisted suddenly, tightening sharply, which drew a gasp from his lips. Theo and Blaise stood to attention, turning inward so they were staring straight at their friend. They could feel the magic within his core tightening, but it wasn’t in danger of releasing just yet. They force themselves to remain where they are, when Aldwyn forces a wobbly smile.

Severus mutters under his breath, drawing their attention back to the ball in front of them, and they gasp in wonder. Several new strands had appeared, hovering in the air, thin threads of silver light weaving through the green glow.

Marvolo narrowed his eyes, a frown turning down his lips. “Interesting.”

“Focus.” Severus’s voice sharpened as his eyes flickered over the multiple bonds, connections and threads dancing through his son’s core and tightened his grip around his wand. No child of thirteen should have such a mess of influences around his core. But when he looked closely, he recognised some of them. Familial bonds, ancient and not really seen much nowadays, seemed to be connected to himself and Marvolo, with the newer godparent bonds connecting Aldwyn to Lucius and Narcissa.

“Are there supposed to be that many?” Theo questioned, eyeing the threads with interest, though he wasn’t expecting to be completely ignored by Severus, but he understood that the ritual needed a lot of concentration, so he let it go.

Severus worked through the multiple threads, leaving alone several as his magic brushed over them slowly, working out which was which. “A familial connection.” He muttered, bypassing a bright green and deep purple thread. Then he paused. Not in deliberation or because he had found what he was looking for, but because he had spotted something even more obscure.

There were two threads that had appeared before him that drew him up short; they were closer to Aldwyn’s core than any of the others, and although they weren’t as bright as the familial bonds, they were definitely going to become stronger than anything he had seen before. One shimmered a deep emerald of gold, while the other was a darker, silver threaded with green. Both were thick and stable.

Lucius spotted them as well and frowned. “That is the bodyguard bond?”

Blaise and Theo immediately looked up at the two thick threads hovering in front of them with interest; that was the physical manifestation of the bond every suspected connected the three of them. Or at least connected both of them to Aldwyn. Theo felt his chest constricting at seeing evidence that he had something rare connecting him to Aldwyn, where Blaise felt a smug satisfaction tightening his chest.

“It is not a standard bodyguard bond,” Severus muttered, his voice just loud enough to reach Marvolo and Lucius.

“The structure is wrong,” Marvolo explained as he studied the threads carefully, then expanded when he saw worry in the boys’ expressions. “It is not dangerous, and it is not going to harm any of you.”

“It is simply evolving.” Severus continued, glancing at Marvolo, who shook his head a little, and Severus immediately understood what his fiancé was trying to tell him. Don’t tell them what it means.

“Into what?” Blaise questioned, glancing from Severus to Aldwyn, then Theo and back to Severus. He saw the exchange and immediately knew he was going to be lied to.

“We aren’t too sure,” Severus responded after a moment of contemplation, and Blaise frowned. “It won’t harm any of you, but we may have to wait and see what it will turn into once you lot are older.”

Theo looked disappointed by the answer, but Blaise merely smirked. He had a feeling that he knew what was going to develop with this bond, and honestly, he couldn't say that he was surprised. He had heard his mother talking about something similar when she thought he wasn’t listening and wondered briefly why adults thought they were too young to hear about such things… Especially when it was happening to them. But, if they didn't want them to know at the moment, then he supposed he should keep his suspicions to himself as well.

“But,” Marvolo’s voice sounded from behind them. “We are not here to analyse that bond tonight. We should concentrate on the Guardianship bond.”

“Vinculum Custodiae tenebris tectum revela.” (Reveal the Guardianship bond that has been touched by darkness.) Marvolo lifted his wand and aided Mother magic in sorting through the multiple bonds within his son’s magical core with careful precision. A silver thread pulsed, then it snapped outward violently when Marvolo directed his magic to bring the strand forward.

It did not appear stable in the slightest as Marvolo’s magic brushed over it like a feather touch, and it twisted unnaturally out of the way, its structure warped and disfigured. The ritual circle glowed brighter as Marvolo pushed a little more magic into the spells, watching as images flickered through the godfather bond, but before they could decipher any of them, a flash of white light erupted from the thread.

A sharp ripple of magic exploded through the circle, crashing against the barrier standing between Aldwyn and his parents. The large gust of wind was almost strong enough to knock Blaise and Theo off their feet, but it seemed like the magic pulled back at the last second, bending around them and crashing into the runic barrier.

Aldwyn gasped, bending forward when his hand pressed against his sternum. Pain shot through his chest as the bond started to react to the intrusion of foreign magic. Theo took a deep breath and squeezed his eyes shut, focusing on the feeling of Aldwyn’s magic and following it back into his core, which was spiking like waves through a storm.

“It’s starting to resist.” He commented, taking a cautious step forward. He slowly placed a hand along Aldwyn’s back, not feeding his magic through the link just yet, and not just because he needed Blaise’s help to make the connection, but because Aldwyn didn’t need them to just yet.

Severus’s expression hardened. “As we expected. Is he still stable?”

Blaise stepped forward and pressed his own hand just below Theo’s sensing the magic rolling through his friend’s meridians and nodded. “He is stable for the moment, but he won’t be for long.”

Marvolo raised his wand again, widening his stance as he stared at his son, whose face seemed to have gotten paler in the past minute or so. “Rogamus, Mater Magia, ut corruptum vinculum Custodiae separes.” (We ask, Mother Magic, that you isolate the corrupted Guardianship bond.) Marvolo’s voice was stern, demanding, but also polite as he twisted his wand arm slowly, tightening his control on his own magical powers. “
Adiuva nos tenebras separare et Principem Heredem Slytherin a periculo protegere.” (Help us to isolate the darkness and protect Heir Prince-Slytherin from harm.)

The silver thread thickened, but instead of going along with the guiding magic from Mother Magic, Severus and Marvolo, it twisted and warped. The magic in the inner circle suddenly surged more violently than before, and for a startling moment, it reminded the children of that day in Defence Against the Dark Arts. Aldwyn’s core flared violently in response to the tug of the bond.

Theo swore softly and stepped closer to Aldwyn, pressing his chest against his friend’s arm. “It’s pushing back,”

The silver thread pulsed again, this time with an almost frantic intensity, and even though they longed to draw back their magic and see to their son, Severus and Marvolo knew that they needed to press forward lest they create more harm to Aldwyn in the future. Images began to flicker around the room, short bursts of cold, of darkness, the crushing weight of Dementors, of Aldwyn’s family turning their backs, of a large smoky mirror. And one that didn’t seem to belong, the large, imposing walls of Azkaban.

“Sirius Black?” Lucius breathed, having seen nothing like this before.

“The bond should have been removed before any of this could happen.” Severus snarled, working his magic through the bond in an attempt to soothe it and stop it from lashing out anymore, while Lucius slashed his wand and strengthened the runes in Aldwyn’s circle.

Aldwyn staggered, clutching at Theo and Blaise like they were the only things keeping him on his feet, and their arms shot out to wrap around Aldwyn, Theo’s tightening around his shoulders, while Blaise’s went around his waist.

“Blaise!”

Lucius opened his mouth to protest, thinking their closer proximity and magical regulation may interfere with the ritual, but he was stunned into silence when the two boys were accepted into Aldwyn’s embrace without so much as a flicker of resistance, as if Mother Magic herself bent the ritual magic around them.

Theo closed his eyes and pressed his forehead against Aldwyn’s shoulder, grappling to find his friend’s hand, which was still scrunched in his robes. “Easy, Wyn.”

“We’ve got you.” Blaise covered Aldwyn’s other hand, letting his magic connect with Theo’s before they both started feeding their magic into Aldwyn’s struggling core.

Warmth spread through Aldwyn’s chest, and the pain slowly began to ease a little, not disappearing but being caged and blanketed in a protective layer. He knew it wasn’t going to stop fighting, that his core was going to keep spiking and twisting until the ritual was over, so he relaxed as best as he could and slumped against his friends. He pulled his hands free of their robes, interlacing their fingers.

Theo exhaled slowly when he felt Aldwyn relaxing. “It’s reacting to the guardianship bond resisting.” He explained unnecessarily.

Severus’s eyes narrowed. “Not just reacting.” He studied the silver thread carefully. “It’s being manipulated unknowingly. This shouldn't be happening!”

Marvolo leant closer, eyeing the silvery thread with wary eyes. “The bond has been altered,” he pointed at one end of the thread, eyes narrowing at a black shadow that seemed to be crawling along the bond towards Aldwyn.

“It’s not a guardianship structure anymore,” Lucius whispered quietly, his eyes widened in horror as they stared at the twisted mess that was once a bond of love and protection, but now represented obsessions, desire and a protective streak that would do anything to keep the child close, not necessarily safe.

Severus’s eyes narrowed, glancing between his son, who was clinging to his friends with his eyes squeezed shut, and the thick silver thread. “It has been physically redirected.” The thread pulsed again, violent a desperate, trying to pull Aldwyn’s core in one direction, not in escape but a deliberate pull.

“It’s trying to guide him?” Theo’s voice dropped, staring in fear.

Marvolo nodded grimly, “The Guardian can most likely feel the distress Aldwyn’s core is under and is trying to force them together in a misguided attempt to keep Aldwyn safe.”

Severus took a shuddering breath, closed his eyes as he slowly released it, relaxing the grip he held on his wand. “Omnes externae influxus in vinculum revela.” (Reveal all external influences on this bond.)

The silver thread flared violently once again, pulling another gasp of pain from Aldwyn’s lips. Then, another extremely faint trace appeared, a shadow of magic woven throughout the bond, a magical signature so old and faded, degraded by time and dementor exposure that it was almost impossible to decipher.

Lucius leant forward sharply, eyes narrowed as they scanned across the thread. “There!”

Severus examines the oddity closer, using his control over the bond to expand the image, and he clenches his jaw. “A third magical signature.”

Theo frowned. “Wouldn’t it be James or Lily’s signature as they were the ones who cast the guardianship bond in the first place?”

“No,” Marvolo answered, his voice quivering with restrained rage. “The parents magic is used to help the bond form between guardian and child, but the bond is created by weaving the adults magic with this child's and tying them to each other’s cores. A third magical signature in these types of bonds only means one thing.”

“External interference,” Blaise muttered, eyes gazing sorrowfully at Aldwyn, whose eyes were moving desperately behind his eyelids, hands trembling while his knuckles turned white with how hard he was gripping onto their hands.

“Can we identify it?” Theo asked.

Marvolo shook his head, but it was Severus who spoke. “It is unfortunately too old, but at least we know for certain that someone was able to alter the bond, but what purpose, we still do not know.”

The moment the interference was exposed for all to see, the bond reacted once again. A violent tug and explosion of magic outward threatened to break the wall protecting the rest of the occupants of the ritual chamber from Aldwyn’s magical core instability. The silver thread snapped out at Severus with the accuracy of Theo weilding his whip.

Aldwyn gasped, louder this time, his knees threatening to give out, and he would have fallen to the floor if it hadn’t been for Theo and Blaise’s arms tightening around him. Pain rippled through his chest, just as his magic began to shift and bend.

“Something’s not right.” Theo reacted instantly, shifting his arm so he could grapple with Blaise’s hand behind Aldwyn’s back, their fingers slipping together as they tightened their grip on Aldwyn’s hands.

The magic surged again, ritual circle trembling more violently than before, almost to the point where the stone chamber seemed to shake as well. Magic bled down into the floor, creating small cracks that managed to slip under the protective barrier and pulling up stones beneath Severus’s feet.

“Stabilise the runic circle!” Severus snapped, throwing his arms out to catch himself.

Lucius nodded, threw his wand out toward Aldwyn’s circle and poured as much magic into the runes as he could, even adjusting and changing three of them to create a more stable barrier, but the bond didn’t stop fighting.

Aldwyn’s core flared, his magic spiking almost as much as it had during their Defence lessons. Blaise and Theo tightened their arms around Aldwyn and immediately began pouring small amounts of soothing magic into Aldwyn’s core. They poured their confidence, their support and their love for their friend through their bond carefully, smoothing out all spikes they came across.

“Easy, Wyn. We’ve got you.”

“Breathe with us, nothing is going to harm you, Wyn.” Blaise pressed his forehead against Aldwyn’s temple, breathing deeply and deliberately trying to help Aldwyn copy his technique so he could calm his own magic down as well.

Their combined power eventually managed to steady the violent surge within Aldwyn, although the bond still seemed to writh, just not as strongly as before. Severus watched for a few moments in silence, glancing around at the parchment and quills that seemed ot have stopped moving and knew they had collected as much information as they could for the time being.

“That is enough for now.” He dropped his wand, slowly cutting off his magic as Marvolo did the same. The runes around the chamber dimmed before fading back into the walls of the room without fanfare. The mist surrounding Aldwyn dissolved, shifting back into his body just as his knees gave out and he collapsed forward.

Theo and Blaise immediately dropped each other’s hands and tightened their grip around Aldwyn, ensuring that he rested between them and didn’t hit the floor.

“He’s unconscious,” Blaise confirmed after checking Aldwyn’s breathing and his responses.

Narcissa immediately hurried forward, stopping just shy of the boys when Aldwyn’s core flared threateningly. She raised her wand, not daring to touch the child, even if her instincts were screaming at her to take him away and cast every diagnostic charm she could think of. After a moment of casting what she could, she nodded. “Magical exhaustion.”

Lucius nodded and stepped forward to help his wife carry the child upstairs to his room so he could rest for a bit. However, just like with Narcissa, as he reached forward to pick Aldwyn up, his magic flared again, this time whipping at them when his hand came too close.

“What is going on?” He questioned, glancing at his hand that had a small red mark trailing across it, to the two boys wrapped around Aldwyn, seemingly faring perfectly fine with the flares of Aldwyn’s magic.

“This happened before, in Defence,” Daphne explained from the far end of the room. “When Aldwyn was affected by the boggart, his magical core flared and refused to let anyone close to him. Except for Blaise and Theo. It shocked Professor Lupin and threw Draco across the room.”

“Yes, I remember Remus explaining something like that.” Marvolo sighed, dragging a hand through his hair as he glanced down at his son held securely between the two boys. “Alright, are you two going to be able to manage? You are going to have to take Aldwyn to his room so he can rest.”

“Of course.”

“No problem.” Blaise and Theo immediately respond, shifting their grip on their friend just enough so they could guide him out of the room and walk easily enough. “We will bring him down as soon as he is well enough to walk.”

“Thank you, Blaise, Theo. Watch over him for us.” Severus stepped forward and pressed a soft kiss to Aldwyn’s hair before he smiled at the two boys.

“We will be waiting in the family lounge,” Marvolo added, before he gestured for Blaise and Theo to leave the room first with Aldwyn so they could clean up the room and gather the parchments so they could begin piecing together the results of the ritual.

--------

The room was quiet, a lot quieter than the ritual chamber had been. Only the soft crackle of the fireplace and the faint whisper of wind against the manor windows disturbed the stillness. Aldwyn lay motionless in the centre of the large bed, his dark green sheets pushed slightly aside where Theo and Blaise had settled beside him.

Neither of them had moved since bringing him upstairs. Theo sat with his back against the headboard, one arm wrapped loosely around Aldwyn’s shoulders, while his hand rested lightly against Aldwyn’s chest just above his magical core. Blaise lay on Aldwyn’s left, half turned toward his unconscious friend, one hand threaded through Aldwyn’s fingers, while the other rested against his side.

Both boys were lying with their foreheads pressed against Aldwyn’s shoulders, their eyes closed as they listened to their friend’s breathing. In-tuning their magic to Aldwyn’s so they could sense how his magical core was recovering, so they could feel each little fluctuation and spike. Their magic continued to flow slowly into Aldwyn’s core in gentle, steady pulses.

Theo, as usual, was the first one to feel it. How the chaotic fluctuations that had shaken Aldwyn’s magic during the ritual were finally beginning to settle down. How the wild surges had faded into a quieter rhythm, like turbulent waters slowly returning to calm, soothing waves once a storm had passed. He feels his breath slowly come down, the tension he had been carrying in his shoulders relaxing.

“He’s stabilising,” Theo murmured softly, his eyes cracking open a little.

Blaise remained where he was, reaching his magic a little further to sense what Theo was telling him, and he too felt himself relaxing. “I can feel it.”

A faint ripple of warmth passed through the bond connecting the three of them as their magic continued to feed into Aldwyn’s core for a moment longer, just to ensure no adverse effects remained behind from the ritual and the violent reaction of the guardianship bond.

For a moment, neither of them spoke, then Theo’s brows slowly furrowed, and he forced his eyes open completely as he gazed across Aldwyn to Blaise. “… Did you hear what Professor Prince said?” He kept his voice at a whisper, trying not to wake Aldwyn up.

Blaise hummed softly, “About several things. You will need to be more specific, Theo.”

Theo shifted slightly, pulling his head away from Aldwyn’s shoulder so he could watch his friend more closely. His hand remained wrapped around Aldwyn’s on his chest. “No,” he hesitated for a moment before taking a deep breath. “About the bond? Our bond?”

Blaise opened his eyes, and Theo saw something in his friend’s eyes that gave him the courage to continue. He glanced down at Aldwyn to make sure he was still asleep. “He said that it was evolving, changing. And Lord Slytherin said that it was deepening into something stronger.”

Blaise sighed quietly and pulled himself up just enough to talk with Theo while still keeping his connection with Aldwyn. There was no way he was going to let go of his friend until Aldwyn woke up and told them he was alright. “I heard.”

Theo was silent for a moment, contemplating everything because they had, as a faction, researched several different types of bonds just in case the godfather bond between Aldwyn and Sirius had shifted into something else, and they had researched bodyguard bonds when Severus and Marvolo had first told them it was what they suspected was forming between the three of them. “Bodyguard bonds aren’t supposed to… deepen this quickly, not unless something is wrong with the bond, or…”

“No,” Blaise agreed, knowing exactly what Theo was talking about because they had both been bent over the books, reading all they could about any bond that was forming between the three of them… or more accurately between them and Aldwyn. “They aren’t.”

Theo glanced down at where their magic was still intertwining with Aldwyn’s, Blaise’s amber swirling with his deep blue that mixed with the purple and green of their friend’s as it danced against his skin, still a little too wild to be pulled back into his core safely.

His voice was quieter when he spoke next, barely audible even in the silence of the room. “But this doesn’t feel the same anymore… Not how it did in the beginning on the train…”

The words hung quietly between them, not frightening in a way he had thought they would be when finally voiced, just true. Blaise didn’t respond immediately because he had been thinking the same thing. The bond between them had changed. Somewhere along the lines, it had stopped feeling like three separate magics cooperating out of necessity, had stopped feeling like something they needed to do. But now it was feeling more instinctive, natural. Like their magic reach for each other now without thought. Especially where Aldwyn was concerned.

Theo shifted slightly against the headboard, uncomfortable with the silence that followed his statement, but even more so by the contemplative expression on Blaise’s face. “If it is evolving… then it has to be becoming something stronger… When he was losing control downstairs… I could feel it before it happened. Not just his magical instability, but him.”

Blaise nodded faintly, staring down at Aldwyn with a soft expression, “That would make more sense than it is evolving into something else entirely. I am sure, The Dark Lord and Professor Prince would have been able to find out if this bond was evolving into something other than a strengthened Bodyguard Bond.”

Theo frowned thoughtfully, thinking about their connection with Aldwyn, how he could sense Aldwyn’s magical and emotional reactions faster than anyone else, but Blaise’s magic was able to immediately seek out Aldwyn’s when he needed it. He decided to voice his thoughts. “Your magic flows into Aldwyn’s core easier than mine does.”

“That’s because of my Creature inheritance,” Blaise said calmly. “Although most of my abilities haven’t manifested yet, I somehow have been able to access the ability to share my magic with not only Aldwyn, but with you as well.”

Theo snorted quietly, dropping his voice to a quieter whisper when Aldwyn shifted in his sleep. “Show off.”

Blaise smirked faintly, “You’re the one who keeps stealing my magic to stabilise him.” It was said in jest, pulling a quiet laugh from Theo, who simply stuck his tongue out at Blaise in response.

Theo shrugged, “Unfortunately, I don’t have a Creature Inheritance to rely on. I work with what I’ve got.”

Blaise chuckled; at least that part was true. Because of the Cambion inheritance in his blood, Blaise’s magic naturally carried stronger vitality and affinity with magical cores, and the ability to share magic between people. Which is how he was able to easily feed Theo’s magic to Aldwyn’s core. It was a skill that came more naturally to him.

Theo could do it as well, but his magic required Blaise to anchor the flow first before it settled properly. As soon as Theo’s magic connected with Aldwyn’s core, Blaise could release the aid and focus on soothing Aldwyn’s core.

“You say that like you weren’t practically trying to force your magic into the connection.” Blaise huffed the faintest breath of amusement when Theo turned to him with a pout. “I am sure you will be able to figure it out eventually. If the bond is strengthening, then maybe you will be able to feed your magic into Aldwyn’s core without my help soon.”

Theo snorted quietly, his arm tightening around Aldwyn’s shoulders when he felt their friends shifting in his sleep. “Well, someone had to help.”

A faint smirk tugged briefly at Blaise’s mouth before it faded just as quickly because the lightness they had been trying to build didn’t last long.

Theo’s expression turned thoughtful once more as he stared down at Aldwyn. “I just don’t understand why it suddenly feels… stronger somehow.”

Blaise leant back slightly against the pillows, his fingers tightening subconsciously around Aldwyn’s hand while he lessened the amount of magic they were feeding into Aldwyn’s core. “Maybe the magic from the Diagnostic Ritual forced the bond to fully stabilise properly, as it would be once we hit our majority?”

“Maybe.” But Theo still sounded uncertain. His gaze drifted toward the fireplace for several long seconds before he spoke again, quieter this time, more thoughtful. “Do you think something is wrong with it?”

Blaise’s response came immediately, almost before Theo had finished asking his question. “No.” The certainty in his voice made Theo blink, while Blaise glanced down at Aldwyn as he continued more softly. “Different doesn’t necessarily mean wrong. As Professor Prince and the Dark Lord said before, it is unheard of to have a Bodyguard bond forming between children as young as us, but clearly, it is not impossible.”

Theo blinked rapidly, turning to glance over at Blaise, who was still staring down at Aldwyn. “… that… that would make sense, I guess.” Theo sighs and slumps back against the headboard, gazing out across Aldwyn’s room. “Wait…”

Blaise raised an eyebrow, contemplating what could be running through Theo’s mind to cause such a serious expression. “What?”

“That would mean that Aldwyn has two bodyguard bonds merging into one, right?” Theo gestured between them and Aldwyn with all the grace of a seal begging for treats. “One Bodyguard Bond with me that seems more in tune with emotional regulation, and one Bodyguard Bond with you, that seems to make it easier for you to feed your magic into Aldwyn’s core.”

Blaise considered that for a moment and then smirked. “It’s incredibly rare…”

Theo snorted at the understatement, rolling his eyes. “Rare?” He questioned. “That’s almost unheard of in modern history.”

Blaise didn’t disagree with him. Multiple bonds, no matter what they were, were extraordinarily uncommon in the grand scheme of things. One or two happened every century if they were lucky, but it was especially weird, something they hadn’t even come across in their extensive research yet, of two separate bonds of the same type seeming to merge into one giant triad-bond. Then again, he glanced down at Aldwyn again and smiled; he wouldn’t be surprised if that were the case.

Theo leant back, casting his gaze up to the ceiling so he could sort through his thoughts, ignoring Blaise’s inquisitive gaze for the moment. “Although Aldwyn isn’t exactly normal.”

Blaise snickered, glancing down at their friend who was still resting peacefully between them. “That’s one way of putting it.”

Theo tightened his hand around Aldwyn’s on the boy’s chest, his expression softening as he gazed from Blaise to Aldwyn and back again. “Well, he is already one of the youngest candidates for a Mage Mark in written history, and he defeated one of the Darkest Wizards in Europe.”

Blaise nodded slowly. “That is true. He is also one of the most powerful wizards in the school.”

“So, it would make sense that his magic would try to… accommodate, right?”

Blaise glanced from Theo’s earnest expression to Aldwyn’s sleeping one. “You mean more partners with compatible magic to help stabilise his core?”

“Exactly,” Theo answered, looking exceedingly proud of himself for coming up with that explanation, and Blaise didn’t have the heart to point out that this might just be a really odd phenomenon and that a Bodyguard Bond was only one of the possible names for whatever was forming between them all. “His magic is definitely much stronger than most people our age, and you did struggle to control his magical backlash on the train earlier this year on your own.”

“And the stronger the magic, the stronger the bonds.” Blaise agreed, humming quietly as he thought about everything he knew about the connection they shared and what it could mean for them in the future. “That would explain why this connection seemed to form between all three of us at the same time.”

Theo nodded, “And why it is evolving like it is.” He let out a slow breath and slumped almost completely back against the pillows, “Well, whatever this is, I don’t think it’s going away.”

“I don’t think so, either.” Blaise agreed quietly.

The silence returned briefly as each boy got lost in their own thoughts surrounding their conversation. Blaise sighed a little, tightened his hand around Aldwyn’s and contemplated what that would mean for them in the future, what their friends would say if it came out that they may have gone from two completely separate bonds to a super bond with Aldwyn. How Aldwyn’s parents would react to finding out that their son may be bound permanently to two different people?

“Does it bother you?” Theo’s voice pulls him back out of his thoughts, and he glances toward his friend

Blaise frowned slightly. “What?”

“This thing with the Bond… would it bother you?” Theo nods toward Aldwyn and smiles.

Blaise doesn’t answer straight away. Instead, he looked down at Aldwyn, at the peaceful expression on his face, and remembered it twisted with pain just half an hour or so before. He watches the steady rise and fall of his chest, the calmness of his breathing and the way their magic flowed together naturally, as if it were meant to be.

“… No,” The answer comes out before he can fully comprehend it for himself, but he doesn’t take it back, doesn’t flush and stammer. “Does it bother you?”

Theo frowns slightly, staring at Aldwyn in much the same way Blaise has just done. “I don’t think it bothers me either.” He confessed after a moment of contemplation. “Even without the bond forming between us, I would have still done everything in my power to make sure Aldwyn was healthy and safe. Bond or no bond, it doesn’t really matter.”

Blaise nodded slightly. “I understand.” He leant back against the pillows. “Because it’s Aldwyn.”

Theo nodded slowly, glad that he had someone whom he could talk to about all of this, someone who could relate and understand what he was saying, sometimes without him having to say everything. “Well, obviously.”

A quiet laugh escaped Blaise as Theo glanced back down at Aldwyn, brushing a few loose strands of hair away from his forehead with careful fingers. His expression softened almost immediately. “I just...” he hesitated briefly. “I hate seeing him hurt like this.”

I know.” Blaise’s own gaze lowered.

Theo’s hand tightened subconsciously where it rested over Aldwyn’s core. “And whatever the bond is doing, it makes it worse somehow. I can feel when he’s in pain now, not just when his magic fluctuates.”

Blaise was silent for a moment before he nodded slowly. “So can I. Not as quickly as you can, but it is there.”

Neither of them noticed the faint flicker of awareness beneath Aldwyn’s closed eyes, nor the subtle change in his breathing as they continued to talk over his head. Because Aldwyn had begun waking up several minutes earlier, and although his brain was muddled, he had still heard every single word.

Theo leant further back against the headboard, exhaustion beginning to catch up with him properly now that the panic had finally begun to ebb away. “I guess we’ll figure it out eventually.”

Blaise hummed quietly in agreement. “Together, preferably.”

Theo snorted softly and nodded. “Preferably.”

Aldwyn stayed still for a moment longer, partly because his body still felt heavy from his little bout with magical exhaustion, no doubt, but also because he didn’t quite know what to do with what he had heard and learnt from his friends. His thoughts were still sluggish with exhaustion, his body heavy from magical depletion, but he had heard enough to understand the general gist of the conversation, even if the details still felt frustratingly muddled through the haze of unconsciousness.

Mostly, however, he felt safe and warm. Their magic wrapped steadily around his core, soothing the lingering aches enough to quiet the usual spiral of overthinking that threatened to surface whenever he woke up feeling too vulnerable and weak.

Aldwyn exhaled softly and instantly regretted it when he felt Theo freeze by his side. “Did he just move?”

“Wyn?” Blaise called out cautiously, worry coating his tone, and Aldwyn relaxed again. He cracked one eye open slowly, flushing marginally when he found both boys staring down at him.

Aldwyn sighed, “You two are very loud for people who are supposedly whispering.”

Chapter Text

Theo blinked as he glanced down at the single green eye now flicking lazily between himself and Blaise, bright with unmistakable amusement despite the exhaustion still lingering beneath it. “You’re awake.”

Aldwyn’s lips twitched immediately. “Have been for a few minutes,” he replied, his voice rough from sleep but undeniably entertained, “but thanks for finally noticing.”

For a moment, both Theo and Blaise simply stared down at him, then Blaise groaned dramatically, though the sound lacked any real irritation, and Aldwyn felt his own grin widen instinctively in response. “You heard that conversation then?”

Aldwyn opened his other eye fully then, amusement deepening across his expression as he shifted slightly further into the pillows. “I heard enough,” he admitted. “Not sure how much I missed before waking up, but judging by Theo’s face? Probably not much.”

Theo immediately turned bright red, and without hesitation, he dropped his face into the nearest pillow with a muffled groan of humiliation while Blaise laughed quietly beside him, far less bothered by the situation. “That,” Theo mumbled into the fabric, “was supposed to be a private conversation.”

“Theo,” Aldwyn deadpanned patiently, waiting until his friend reluctantly lifted his head enough to glare at him through flustered cheeks, “you were having it directly over my head.”

Blaise covered part of his face with one hand, clearly trying and failing not to laugh even harder at Theo’s expression. “We thought you were unconscious.” He defended weakly.

“I was,” Aldwyn replied easily, nodding. “At first.”

Theo made another deeply offended sound into the pillow.

Aldwyn’s smile softened faintly after a moment, some of the teasing easing from his expression as he glanced from Blaise and Theo. “This attack didn’t seem as bad as the others.”

Theo immediately narrowed his eyes at him. “That,” he informed him flatly, “is not reassuring in the slightest.” He stuck his tongue out at Aldwyn in annoyance, to which Aldwyn did it back immediately. The motion pulled a startled laugh from Theo, one that cut off abruptly when Aldwyn winced faintly immediately afterwards.

“Easy,” Blaise said quietly, leaning forward. His hand pressed more firmly over Aldwyn’s, where their fingers remained linked, sending a careful pulse of magic through Aldwyn’s core as he checked instinctively for any instability or discomfort.

Theo’s own hand flattened more securely against Aldwyn’s chest, his magic soothing automatically alongside Blaise’s. “How are you feeling?”

Aldwyn relaxed back into them for a moment, allowing himself to lean fully into the warmth surrounding him. Between the pressure of Theo’s arm around his shoulders and Blaise’s magic flowing carefully through his core, it was dangerously easy to allow himself to simply stay there. He closed his eyes briefly, focusing inward because his core felt stable now. Exhausted, certainly, but stable enough, the violent instability from the ritual had faded into a dull ache, his magic flowing sluggishly but smoothly beneath the surface. Theo and Blaise’s magic lingered around his own like steady anchors, soothing away the last remnants of the backlash.

“Better,” Aldwyn said after a moment. “A lot better. My magic seems to be recovering a little faster as well this time.”

Theo studied him carefully, unconvinced enough that he reached up and tilted Aldwyn’s chin slightly so he could properly catch his gaze. “Any pain?”

“No.”

“Dizziness?”

“Nope.”

“Do you feel sick?”

Aldwyn huffed softly, though the fondness in it outweighed the exasperation by a significant margin. “Theo,” he said patiently, “I’m fine. I promise, just a little tired.”

Blaise frowned slightly, his attention still fixed on the feel of Aldwyn’s magic beneath his own. “You collapsed again.”

“Magical exhaustion,” Aldwyn replied with a small shrug. “I’ll be alright after a little more rest.”

Theo’s grip tightened immediately around his hand anyway, while the arm around Aldwyn’s shoulders shifted subtly, pulling him a little closer without seemingly entirely aware he was doing it. “You’re 100% sure?”

Aldwyn turned his head slightly, glancing first toward Theo before looking across at Blaise. The worry on both their faces hit him harder than he expected. Something tight and aching pulled briefly through his chest at the sight of it, and it had nothing to do with the magical exhaustion or his unstable core.

He smiled then, small and warm and completely genuine. “I promise,” he whispered. “I’m okay. I even remember everything this time!”

Both Theo and Blaise visibly relaxed at that because usually, when Aldwyn woke from severe magical exhaustion, his thoughts remained hazy for a while afterwards. Sometimes he struggled to remember conversations or events immediately following whatever had caused the collapse in the first place. If he remembered the ritual, the backlash, the bond stabilising, then he truly was recovering properly.

“You scared us for a second there, Wyn,” Theo whispered quietly. He leant forward just enough to rest his forehead briefly against Aldwyn’s temple, the movement instinctive and fleeting.

Aldwyn’s expression softened further. “Sorry,” he murmured, “I didn’t exactly plan it. Next time my magic decides to spontaniously implode, I will make sure to tell you beforehand.”

Theo’s lips twitched faintly.

Blaise snorted softly before shifting closer himself, finally allowing some of the tension in his posture to ease now that Aldwyn was completely awake and coherent. He settled more fully against Aldwyn’s side, close enough that their shoulders pressed together comfortably. “Your core’s stable again,” he said quietly, sounding faintly relieved by the fact.

Aldwyn glanced between the two of them before laughing softly under his breath. “That’s because the pair of you are acting like magical crutches. I’d be shocked if anyone’s core could destabilise with how stubborn you both are about fixing it.”

Theo smirked immediately. “You’re most welcome.”

Aldwyn rolled his eyes fondly before carefully pushing himself up further against the headboard. The movement earnt him matching wary looks from both sides. “I’m fine,” he assured them quickly before either could protest. Then, before they could react properly, he reached out and pulled both Blaise and Theo closer against his sides.

Theo made a startled noise, while Blaise blinked in surprise.

Ignoring both reactions completely, Aldwyn wrapped his arms around them and settled them comfortably against him despite the lingering exhaustion pulling at his limbs. “For what it’s worth,” he said quietly, his voice dropping softer now, almost lost beneath the crackle of the fire, “I’m happy with what we have now too.”

Theo froze, then immediately buried his burning face into Aldwyn’s shoulder with a noise somewhere between a groan and a strangled laugh, because he hadn’t actually believed Aldwyn earlier, not fully. He’d assumed Aldwyn had been teasing them, bluffing to get a reaction. But clearly not.

Blaise, meanwhile, looked momentarily caught off guard by the sincerity behind the admission. Then something gentler settled into his expression. Without hesitation, he wrapped his arms more securely around Aldwyn in return, holding him just a little tighter.

“See?” Aldwyn teased softly, unable to resist. “I did hear everything.”

Theo groaned against his shoulder. “I am never whispering around you again,” he declared miserably. “Especially when you’re supposed to be unconscious.”

“Smart plan,” Aldwyn laughed quietly, settling more comfortably between them. “Or at least check the person you’re talking about is actually unconscious before discussing them above their head.”

Theo muttered something deeply offended under his breath while Blaise laughed outright this time and shook his head

Once the three of them had calmed down a little, Aldwyn slowly pushed himself to sit completely upright, causing Theo to immediately steady him. “Careful.”

“I’m fine.”

Blaise raised an eyebrow, hands hovering with just as much care as Theo’s. “You just woke up.” He argued, and Aldwyn rolled his eyes with a grin.

“And?”

“And you fainted.”

Aldwyn snickered again, brushing their hands away gently so he could shuffle a little more, pushing his hair out of his face. “Dramatic much?”

Theo gave him a flat look, pinning Aldwyn still for a moment. “You collapsed in the middle of the ritual circle. Your core started to destabilise, and the Guardianship Bond seemed to be attacking the magic from the diagnostics ritual, which backlashed into your Core...”

“Still dramatic. We knew that was going to be the most likely outcome, and I am fine.”

Blaise snorted softly, holding a hand out to Aldwyn as the boy began shuffling to the edge of the bed anew, ignoring Theo’s soft screech of protest, even if he did find it highly amusing and adorable how much his friends fussed over him.

“You’re not actually getting up.” Theo scowled, crawling across the bed behind Aldwyn, watching as his friend swung his legs over the edge and sat for a second.

“Of course, I am.”

“Why? You still need to rest.”

Aldwyn slowly pushed himself to his feet, testing his balance for a moment before he turned around and grinned at his friends. He could see that both of them had closed their eyes and were double-checking his Mage core for any disturbances, but he knew it was steady, that he was stable, and he would just go to bed earlier that night. Once they got the results, he returned to the school.

Aldwyn’s grin softened into a smile, and he reached out to take their hands. Pulling them off the bed to stand next to him, where he felt the warmth of their magic swirling around them, but not seeping into his core, which was nice. He loved feeling the familiarity of their magic, even if he didn’t need it. “We need to talk with my parents.”

Theo frowned softly, even as he tightened his grip around Aldwyn’s hand. “Now?”

“Yes.”

Blaise tilted his head and raised his eyebrow. “You think they’ve already analysed the ritual results.”

Aldwyn nodded, “And they are probably waiting for us. I just know Father is going to be pacing the floor but refusing to allow himself to come up and check on me until I am ready to come down. And no doubt our friends are anxiously awaiting my presence so they can fuss over me almost as much as the two of you do. I might as well get it over with.”

“Prepare to have Aldwyn snatched from our grip the second we step into the family lounge.” Blaise joked and intertwined his fingers with Aldwyn’s.

Theo sighed, a little put out that Aldwyn wasn’t going to rest a little more, but knowing just how much his friend wanted to hear what was going on inside his own core, he couldn’t bring himself to argue much more, and so, he copied Blaise’s action of intertwining their fingers and gestured toward the door. “Alright, but if you collapse again, I am going to stick you to this bed with a sticking charm.”

Aldwyn smirked faintly, “Noted,” he tightened his grip around their hands and headed for the door, with a bounce in his step. “Let’s find out what they discovered.”

----------------

The family lounge had never been so crowded before, not as far as Aldwyn could remember, at the very least and seen as the house used to be a decrepit mess before his father came to rescue him, he was very confident that he was correct in his assumption.

A large fire burned in the hearth, casting shifting green-gold light across the panelled walls and the deep emerald carpets that covered most of the floor. Shelves of old books lined one side of the room, and Aldwyn was always floored by just how many books his father owned. He would have assumed this was a library of sorts if he didn’t know that the actual library was a few doors down. Several comfortable chairs had been summoned and arranged in a loose semicircle around a low table, laden down with various snacks, treats and, of course, mugs of hot chocolate.

Everyone was already gathered. Marvolo stood near the fireplace, one hand resting against the stone mantel as his expression settled on something between thoughtful and grave. Severus sat in one of the high-backed chairs, a small stack of parchment beside him filled with notes taken during the ritual and highlighted with annotations.

Lucius and Narcissa occupied a nearby sofa, arms wrapped around each other as they spoke in hushed tones, most likely about Sirius Black.

Across the room, Aldwyn’s friends had spread themselves out wherever space allowed, some seated on the floor while others took the remaining chairs. Draco sat with his arms folded, while Daphne and Tracey shared a chair just behind him. Millicent, Gregory, Vincent and Pansy clustered together near the bookshelves, legs crossed as they glanced toward the adults every so often.

Bill and Charlie had claimed two chairs near the edge of the group, both still looking deeply interested in everything they had witnessed, but now there seemed to be a tension in their expressions as they glanced toward the door just as it opened.

Theo entered first, his arm hanging behind, as Aldwyn quickly followed with Blaise bringing up the rear. Everyone took in the tired disposition of Aldwyn, his pale skin and the dark circles that had shown up during the ritual as a sign of magical exhaustion, but he otherwise looked okay. No lasting damage, or so Narcissa had assured them when Aldwyn had been guided out of the room by Blaise and Theo.

The three boys looked almost inseparable as they made their way through the room, Theo and Blaise’s hands still locked with Aldwyn’s as if neither one had any intention of letting go. Not even under the threat of torture, and by the gentle smile on Aldwyn’s face, no one was going to mention it, at least not yet.

It didn’t stop people from noticing, however. Draco raised an eyebrow slightly. Aldwyn was his godbrother, and he was the first person Aldwyn had known who was his own age when he had been adopted, and yet he had never held his hand like this. Usually, it was in thanks, or because he was genuinely too scared or worried to do something by himself. This looked intentional, chosen, and Draco couldn’t help but smile. He was glad his brother managed to find some friends as good for him as Blaise and Theo.

Tracey smirked faintly. She was desperate to make some remark, point out the position to others, but as soon as she went to open her mouth, Draco nudged her and shook his head. A soft glare on his face saying, ‘don’t you dare ruin this for him.’ She huffed a little, but allowed her friends to keep their dignity, for now.

Millicent nudged Daphne with her elbow, but didn’t comment, only hid her mouth behind her hand to muffle her giggles. Despite Aldwyn being one of the most jumpy and anti-touch people she had ever met, it seemed those aversions didn’t come into play when Theo or Blaise were involved.

Severus glanced up at his son, smiling when Aldwyn walked straight into the room without hesitation. He scanned Aldwyn for any injuries, a sign that he was pushing himself too soon after collapsing, but only saw the determination shimmering in his expression and shook his head. “How are you feeling, Snakelet?”

Aldwyn shrugged his shoulder, then glanced over to his father and back to his papa. “I am okay, Papa. Just a little tired still.”

Theo’s grip tightened around his fingers, a frown tugging at his lips. “His core has stabilised, and I recommended he get more rest, but he is stubborn and refused.”

“And I promised that I would get more rest once we heard the results. I am fine, Theo.” Aldwyn sighed, though everyone could tell that he wasn’t the slightest bit put out by the fussing; in fact, he had a smile on his face.

“Once he gets that extra rest, he should be as good as new,” Blaise confirmed, smirking down when he heard another huff from Aldwyn.

Severus, trying desperately not to laugh at his son’s predicament, nodded once. “I am glad to hear it. Once we are done here, you can go back upstairs to rest before we send you back to school this evening.”

Marvolo pushed himself away from the fireplace and settled down on the arm of Severus’s chair before he gestured toward a vacant loveseat. “Sit.”

Theo and Blaise did not release Aldwyn’s hands even as the three of them settled onto the long sofa across from the adults. In fact, they seemed to sit as close as possible to each other, Aldwyn’s hands resting on their legs as their fingers remained intertwined. Once they were comfortable, the room fell silent for a moment as Severus sifted through the parchment.

He leant forward slightly, clasping his hands on the sheets, “As you have probably figured already, we have finished analysing the ritual results.” He began, and Aldwyn nodded.

“What did you find?”

Severus did not answer immediately; in fact, he glanced down at the parchment and sighed. It was Marvolo who took the top sheet from his hands, wrapped an arm around his shoulders and glanced up at their son, who was watching avidly. “As we already suspected, the guardianship bond with Sirius Black was damaged and has been for years.”

Some members of the In Dolus Intortis exchange glances, eyebrows raising, slight frowns, downturned their lips, while they shrugged in silent communication with each other. Aldwyn frowned slightly, “But we already knew this.”

“Yes, we did.” Severus said calmly, “But we didn’t know to what extend and now we know how it has been damaged.” He lifted one of the other parchment sheets and gazed at it. “The corruption originates, not from your end of the bond, as we had first assumed, but from Black’s end.”

Theo’s brow furrowed, glancing at his friends before returning his attention to their potion’s professor, his hand tightening around Aldwyn’s. “What does that mean for Aldwyn?”

“We thought it was affecting him so severely because his side of the bond had been damaged or tampered with?” Blaise adds, leaning forward in his seat a little.

Severus shook his head, “We will get to that in a moment.” He tapped the parchment lightly. “According to the ritual, and what we observed while inspecting the Bond thread, Aldwyn’s side of the bond showed only secondary distortion.”

“Like fraying, an effect of magical surges running through the bond at a rate that is not stable, nor in line with what a Guardianship bond should involve.” Marvolo added, “It shows instability on the end of their protector.”

“But the core structure, at least in Aldwyn’s core, remains intact,” Lucius added, nodding thoughtfully as he went over what the runes had shown when Aldwyn’s core had destabilised. “The corruption is anchored to Black’s core.”

Daphne frowned slightly, “So, Black’s core is unstable and damaged, and when he has some sort of magical backlash, it travels through the bond and creates instability in Aldwyn’s core?” She cocks her head to the side, glancing between the adults. “Azkaban?”

“Partially,” Severus agreed. “But not entirely.”

“Do you know why guardianship bonds, bodyguard bonds and general protective bonds are severed by the Ministry when someone is incarcerated in Azkaban?” He asked the children, smiling when each of them shook their head. “It is because prolonged exposure to Dementors distorts positive emotions. Protection, love, care, and all aspects of a guardianship bond are positive emotions. When they are distorted, they become negative versions of themselves. Obsession, control, possession.”

“So, Black wants to control Aldwyn, instead of protecting him?” Tracey asked, glancing worriedly at her friend, who was sitting as calm as ever between Theo and Blaise.

“In his mind, he does not see it as control, but the ultimate protection.” Narcissa corrected gently, her smile sad for her cousin. “Sirius Black’s mind has become so despondent and dark due to the Dementor’s influence that he doesn’t know that what he is doing could be dangerous for Aldwyn.”

“Okay, that makes a lot of sense, but you said that the corruption wasn’t done by Azkaban alone.” Aldwyn cuts in, staring at the four adults with a raised eyebrow. “There’s something else.”

Severus and Marvolo shared a quick glance before Severus nodded and gestured toward Aldwyn. Marvolo grimaced but took a deep breath. “Your reaction to the Dementor on the train, and again later toward the boggart, may not have been your fear they were feeding off, not exclusively in any case.”

“What do you mean?” Millicent questioned, eyes voice devoid of emotion, hands clenched at her side.

“What we mean is that Black is an Animagus, as you are already aware. He must have spent much of his time in Azkaban in his Animagus form to escape their effects; otherwise, he would not have been in any state of mind to come up with an escape plan. His mind would have been too far gone to do anything other than sit in his cell and obsess. However, what he neglected to take into account was that his Animagus form was merely incapable of processing human emotions, not that it simply did not affect him.” Lucius explained, pointing to a section of handwritten notes along the bottom of one of the sheets of parchment.

“What does that have to do with Aldwyn’s reaction to the Dementors and the backlash?” Theo asked this time, shifting a little closer to Aldwyn, almost sitting on his friend’s lap.

“When the Dementor began ‘feeding’ on Aldwyn’s happy memories, it found the damaged bond with Black, the person they were looking for and started feeding from Black through the bond. All of his repressed trauma that was locked in the back of his mind from his time in Azkaban could have spilt over, which caused Aldwyn’s adverse reaction.” Severus explained, his voice grim.

“Though this is all speculation and will remain so until we can get our hands on Black and question him properly,” Marvolo reassures, but Aldwyn knew that this was the most likely explanation. That he was somehow more deeply connected to Sirius Black than any of them had realised.

“Okay, so if Azkaban itself didn’t cause this much damage to the bond initially and is just reacting to his repressed memories. What did cause so much damage?” Aldwyn asked, tightening his grip around his friend's hands to the point where his knuckles turned white, but neither of them complained; they simply returned his grip, thumbs rubbing against his knuckles.

Marvolo’s voice grew quieter, angrier at the thought. He tightened his arm around Severus and met his son’s curious gaze. “The bond had been tampered with.”

Silence blanketed the room as glances were exchanged between the children and the adults, while Aldwyn remained still; the only outward sign of his shock was the tightening of his hands around Blaise and Theo’s, who quickly responded by shuffling even closer to their friend, sandwiching in between them.

“You mean someone altered it?” Theo questioned.

“Yes,” Lucius folded his hands calmly, though his eyes were blazing with hatred at anyone who could have done something like this to his godson. “A third magical signature was present within the bond's structure.”

Blaise frowned, not liking how this was sounding. “Could you identify who it belonged to?”

Severus shook his head. “Unfortunately, no. It was extremely old and had been eroded by Dementor exposure.”

Marvolo nodded, “The magical residue was just strong enough for the ritual to pick up on because we had both Slytherin family magics and Mother Magic herself aiding us.”

Aldwyn’s eyes narrowed, and he glanced from his father to his papa and back again. “How old?”

Severus met his son’s gaze without flinching, surprised and proud by how well Aldwyn seemed to take the news, then again, Aldwyn couldn’t seem to have a quiet school year if he tried. This was most likely his son’s way of coping with having another potential madman after him. “Old enough that the interference occurred when you were still an infant.”

The room went completely silent after such a revelation, whispers breaking out between the children after a moment of allowing themselves to process what had been said. Aldwyn felt Blaise’s fingers tighten around his own, while Theo swore under his breath, quiet enough that only he heard.

“So, someone manipulated the bond when he was a baby?”

“Yes,” Marvolo confirmed. “My guess is after the Potters passed and before Sirius was thrown in Azkaban, maybe even before the Potters' deaths.”

Draco leant forward slightly. “And the suspects? We do have a few, right?”

Severus glanced down at his notes and hesitated for a moment. They did have a few suspects, but they didn’t want to worry the children by telling them who they were; by the determined set of their jaws and the anger burning behind their eyes, they were going to find out some way or another.

“Only those present during that time period.” He listed them as calmly as he could. “Lily Potter, James Potter, Albus Dumbledore, Minerva McGonagall, Peter Pettigrew, Rubeus Hagrid, and Remus Lupin.”

Millicent snorted quietly, crossed her arms and shook her head. “Well, that’s a cheerful list.”

“And no surprise it is filled with Light wizards.” Gregory agreed.

“At least it’s short.” Tracey pointed out, trying to lighten the mood that had stifled the air.

Charlie leant back in his chair, eyes resting on his little brother with a deep frown. He hated knowing that such revered war heroes could be capable of such damage to an innocent child, even if they weren’t meaning to harm him. “So, who’s the likely culprit?”

Marvolo shook his head, dragging a hand through his hair with a sigh. “We cannot know for certain, unfortunately, but several can be eliminated.”

Aldwyn frowned, “Why?”

More silence followed his question as the adults looked between each other, but it was Severus who answered. “Lily and James can be removed from consideration, and not just because they may have been already dead by the time the bond was altered?”

Theo blinked, “You are that sure?”

“Yes,” Severus’s voice was flat. “At the time of your birth, or a few months after at the latest, Lily and James had already discovered that they had been under several loyalty potions and compulsions; they were no longer under Dumbledore’s control and would have immediately fixed the bond if they knew what had been done.”

Lucius nodded, “They would have been able to remember if someone had performed a spell of that calibre on their year-old son. Therefore, whoever it was needed to make sure the Potters were out of the way before doing anything.”

Draco muttered quietly, “Rare for Gryffindors.”

Pansy elbowed him and glared, “Focus, idiot.”

Severus continued, ignoring the comments for the moment. “Hagrid is also an unlikely candidate.”

Gregory frowned, thinking back on when they had witnessed their groundskeeper using magic when he thought no one was looking. “Because of his broken wand?”

“Yes,” Lucius confirmed. “Any spell that can override a parent's wishes would have to be extremely complex and would require a large reserve of magical power.”

“A snapped wand would not have been able to sustain the magical power necessary,” Bill nodded thoughtfully. “Not to mention, Hagrid has a third-year level of magical education; there is no way he would know such a spell exists.”

“That leaves Pettigrew, Dumbledore, McGonagall, and Professor Lupin.”

Tracey grimaced slightly, already having a feeling of who could have been. “Lovely.”

Aldwyn leant back, shoulders brushing against Theo’s and Blaise’s. “Pettigrew seems highly unlikely as well.”

Theo nodded. “James and Lily would have been present whenever he paid them a visit, especially after finding out that someone was after their child; they would have been reluctant to let him out of their sight.”

“Exactly,” Severus said. “And Pettigrew did not possess the magical skills required to perform such an altering charm. Not to mention after Lily and Potter’s deaths, he disappeared almost immediately; no one has heard from him or seen him in almost twelve years.”

“Hold on, I am confused.” Vincent raised his hand like he was back in the classroom and stared at Severus for a moment. “I thought you said the bond was manipulated on Sirius Black’s side, so why would they need access to Aldwyn?”

“Ah, sorry, we weren’t clear.” Marvolo immediately apologised, getting ahead of himself. “Whoever cast the spell to alter the bond from Black’s side would have had to study the bond at least a little bit first, performing a similar diagnostics charm we just concluded, but without the additional help from family magics and mother magic.”

“The individual would have had to scan the bond multiple times, and even though they could have done so through Black’s side of the bond, Black would, no doubt, have been able to tell what they were doing and feel something shifting through his core.”

“And a few months old baby, wouldn’t be able to feel anything, let alone do anything to stop them,” Draco commented, horrified that someone would use a baby in such a manner.

“Exactly, whoever did this knew what they were doing, and took great pleasure in planning and executing their plan, or part of it, right under the Potters’ noses.” Lucius grimaced, just as disgusted as his son.

“So, we are left with three people.” Daphne tilted her head, “Lupin, McGonagall and Dumbledore.”

“I don’t think it would have been Lupin. As Uncle Lucius said earlier, when those manipulations and potions were cleansed from Uncle Moony’s system, he would have remembered if he damaged the bond between me and Black. He would tell us if it had been him.” Aldwyn argued, looking from Daphne to his parents, who were looking at him strangely. "Besides, from what Uncle Moony has told me about the events leading up to Lily and James's death, the Order repeatedly sent Uncle Moony away during the majority of his time since graduation; they kept sending him on 'missions' to various Creature packs and clans in an attempt to recruit them to the Light. He was barely around."

“Okay, so we are left with two people, then.” Daphne amended, looking at Aldwyn with a raised eyebrow when he merely smirked at her and nodded once.

No one said anything for a moment as the two remaining names lay unspoken between them. Eventually, Gregory broke it. “Well, that’s reassuring. I bet we can all guess who decided he could play Merlin and manipulate an ancient familial bond for their own gain...”

Vincent snorted at the blatant comments, “Very.”

Tracey sighed, playing with the end of her plait as she thought through the entire situation, “We are so doomed.”

A faint smirk tugged at Marvolo’s mouth, “Not quite doomed, just yet.”

“What can we do about the bond, now that we know what is wrong with it? We can't confront the suspect until we can speak with Black and find evidence of the tampering, so the most we can do for the time being is to block the bond from destabilising my magical core again.” Aldwyn leant forward again, staring at his parents with a hopeful expression.

“We should be able to contain it now that we know what we are dealing with. There is a ritual that will allow us to block Black’s side of the bond from affecting you. It won’t work 100%, but it will just enough that you won’t have to worry about your core destabilising again.”

Theo looked up sharply, “You mean sealed?”

“Temporarily,” Marvolo confirmed with a nod. “A temporary containment ritual could prevent any more damage from happening to Aldwyn’s magic and core.”

Aldwyn frowned. There was something they weren’t telling him; he could see it in their expressions. “Then why don’t we perform it now?”

Severus shook his head, “The bond is currently too volatile.”

“You mean the bond will fight back?” Blaise questioned, glancing over at Aldwyn, who was staring at his papa with a blank expression.

“Violently,” Severus affirmed. “The reaction during today’s diagnostic ritual was mild compared to what a containment attempt would trigger.”

Aldwyn grimaced, not liking the fact that he was going to have to deal with an unstable bond messing around with his magic for the foreseeable future, but also having no way to stop it from damaging his core for an unknown amount of time. “So, what do we do?”

Severus lifted another parchment and read through their notes. “We stabilise your magical core first.”

“How?”

“Potions.”

Aldwyn groaned and would have buried his face in his hands if they were not being held hostage by his friends still. He heard his faction laughing at his plight and glared over at them. Draco smirked up at him from his place on the floor.

“Your favourite thing.”

Severus ignored them for the time being, focused completely on his son. “You will take a stabilising draught every morning to help fix what damage we can and hope that will stabilise it out without you falling into another episode.”

“You will need to keep taking them until we are able to perform the ritual. A couple of weeks at least.”

Aldwyn rubbed his face, looking more tired than he had earlier. “I hate potions.”

“Your papa is a potions master.” Theo pointed out, amusement coating his tone despite the concern still shining in his eyes.

“You’d think I’d have built up an immunity by now. At least he makes them taste a little nicer now.”

Blaise chuckled while Severus looked immensely unimpressed by their insinuations, though he did break into a smile when Aldwyn chuckled at his friends.

“You will take the potions,” Marvolo instructed, with a gentle smile.

“Yes, Father.”

“Every morning.”

“Yes, Father.”

“Without complaint.”

Aldwyn sighed, “I will attempt that one, but I make no promises.”

Charlie leant toward Bill, “That’s not a yes.”

Bill nodded, “No, it really isn’t.” Though he couldn’t blame his youngest brother, potions tasted nasty at the best of times, but to have to take one every single morning was going to be torture. Marvolo allowed himself a small smile at his children before sobering and continuing, and this wasn't the first time Aldwyn had been put on a daily regimen of potions either. If he recalled correctly, Aldwyn had been taking nutrient potions and other medical-grade potions to help heal him when he first came to live with Marvolo and Severus.

“Once Aldwyn’s core has stabilised as much as possible, we will attempt the containment ritual.”

Aldwyn looked up again then, hands still gripped tight in Theo’s and Blaise’s, and he could feel their warmth behind him as they shifted a little closer. “When?”

Marvolo considered this for a moment, glancing down at Severus, who nodded. “Most likely between the Yuletide and Ostara holidays.”

Draco whistled softly, inwardly grimacing at having to take potions every day for a few months. “That’s a long time.”

“Yes,” Severus responded. “Because rushing a ritual like this would be dangerous for both Black and Aldwyn, backlash could be devastating.”

Marvolo’s expression grew more serious this time, glancing down at Aldwyn, who shifted between his friends and stared back. “There is something else you must understand.”

“What?”

“The containment ritual will sever the bond’s influence on you.” Marvolo begins, holding up his hand when Theo opens his mouth to comment. “But the bond will still exist; this ritual will not destroy the bond.”

Blaise stiffened at hearing this. “What does this mean for Aldwyn? What would happen to Black?”

Lucius glanced at Marvolo, saw the hesitation in his expression and leant forward. “The containment ritual may destabilise the bond even further on his end.”

“You mean it could make it worse?” Theo’s eyes narrowed, debating whether such a ritual was worth it if it would just put Aldwyn in more danger.

“Yes,” Marvolo spoke softly. “It may increase his instability because we will have to cut off his access to Aldwyn, and that will not mix well with these new obsessive feelings.”

“I’ll take the risk.” Aldwyn didn’t hesitate. He met his parents’ gazes with a determination they were quickly becoming familiar with, and they smiled.

“Wyn…” Theo began, hesitating when Aldwyn turned to stare at him.

“I mean it.” Aldwyn’s voice was deceptively calm. “Whatever someone did to this bond, it’s already hurting both of us, and if Black were to come after me, I would prefer to keep my wits about me, rather than going through some weird magical backlash that could end up in one or both of us being killed.”

Blaise squeezed his hand slightly, while Theo continued to gaze at him for another moment, before he sighed and rested his forehead against Aldwyn’s shoulder. “Okay, we won’t argue with you, but that doesn't mean we like it. You are choosing to put yourself in greater danger.”

Severus watched the interaction, a gentle smile creeping across his face as he nodded along. He was glad Aldwyn had two people who truly cared about his well-being, but also knew when Aldwyn had made up his mind and stepped back to support him. “I will begin brewing the stabilising draughts tonight and will leave them by your plate at breakfast starting tomorrow.”

Tracey groaned, “The smell is going to be awful.”

Gregory nodded solemnly, “Potions always are.” He grinned toward Aldwyn. “Just be thankful you don’t have to take them.”

Severus ignored them and glanced at his son. “You will take one potion every morning at breakfast. If your core destabilises during the day for whatever reason, you come find me, and I can give you an emergency stabiliser.”

“Don’t worry, Uncle Severus,” Draco smirked faintly. “We’ll make sure he does.”

Aldwyn sighed. “I hate all of you.”

Theo leant back, smiling brightly. “No, you don’t.”

“You love us,” Blaise added.

Aldwyn rolled his eyes, but couldn’t keep the smile from his face as he gazed around the room at all the people who were banding together to keep him safe. “Debatable.”

The tension in the room eased slightly, but the weight of the ritual’s discovery still lingered beneath the humour and the teasing. Someone had deliberately altered the bond when Aldwyn had been a baby, most likely just before Sirius was thrown in Azkaban, and whoever had done it had changed the course of his life forever.

While Aldwyn was being distracted by his friends’ teasing, Lucius leant over the arm of the sofa and gazed at Severus and Marvolo with a raised eyebrow and a disapproving frown shaping his expression. “When are you going to tell him that whoever is behind the bond messing up and damaging core, most likely has already realised that Aldwyn and Harry Potter are the same person.”

Marvolo and Severus didn’t respond; they merely glanced over at their son, who was tired but happy and surrounded by several friends who would stand by his side no matter what. They couldn’t tell him just yet, not when he was already dealing with so much stress with Black attempting to get to him for reasons yet unknown, except for to keep him safe. They wouldn’t tell Aldwyn just yet. Not yet.

Chapter Text

The next morning Aldwyn and his friends made their way to the Great Hall a little later than usual, they had gotten back to the common room just before curfew because Marvolo had insisted on allowing Aldwyn to rest for as long as possible, and fed them all before allowing them to Floo back to the castle, because he ‘couldn’t stand the thought of sending them back to the school while knowing they had missed dinner’. They had been amused by his fussing, used to only seeing it directed at Aldwyn, but they hadn’t complained.

Sunlight streamed through the enchanted ceiling, pale winter light reflecting softly across the long house tables, basking them all in the beauty of winter mornings without the chill. Though it hadn’t stopped them from layering heating charms over their uniform. Because no matter how wonderful living in Hogwarts was, they still hadn’t found a way to introduce heating charms to the dungeons, making them all wake up with frozen toes.

They wandered into the Great Hall in a cluster, quiet chatter between them as they spoke about the ritual and what their next steps should be regarding Sirius Black. The smell of toast, porridge, bacon, and strong tea filled the air, making their mouths water and their stomachs grumble.

Aldwyn dropped into his usual seat at the Slytherin table and immediately noticed the small crystal vial that had been placed by his plate. It was a faintly glowing, murky silver potion. Glancing up at the Head table, he grimaced when he saw his papa sitting in his typical seat next to Professor McGonagall, a furrow between his brow and a frown plastered across his features, an expression far worse than when someone blew up their cauldrons during a lesson.

Rolling his eyes at whatever situation his papa was being forced to deal with that morning, no doubt he was attempting to avoid and dodge questions about their weekend plans. He sighed as he glanced at the potion again. “… Of course.”

Theo noticed his glare and immediately smirked, while Blaise looked far too pleased at the mere thought of his friend being forced to down such a nasty potion every single morning.

“Your stabilisation draught,” Blaise said helpfully, laughing when Aldwyn turned his glare on him instead of the innocent vial.

“I am perfectly aware what this is, thank you, Blaise.” He pushed the vial slightly away from his plate and began to fill his dish with eggs, toast, and fruit with exaggerated calm, nonchalance from someone trying to ignore their problems instead of facing them.

Theo leant a little closer, his smirk still infuriatingly present. “You know, your father will ask if you took that, right?”

“Aldwyn gave him a flat look, taking a deliberate bite of his eggs, “Yes, Theo. I am aware of that too.” Theo still looked unconvinced when Aldwyn took a drink from his pumpkin juice, “Fine. I will take it once I have finished eating, happy now?”

“A wise choice," Blaise complimented, pushing the raspberry jam closer to Aldwyn so he could spread it on his toast. “Considering the taste.”

Aldwyn groaned quietly as his friends finally completely settled around the table. Blaise took his left with Draco sitting by his other side, while Theo sat at his right with Gregory next to him. Across the table, Pansy, Tracey, Daphne and Millicent, with Vincent squeezing into the space at the end, had already begun filling their plates with an assortment of breakfast.

Further down the table, Graham and Adrien, two fifth-year Slytherins who often joined their group due to their friendship with Aldwyn through the Quidditch team, were already halfway through their breakfast. For several minutes, the group ate relatively normally. Or at least, they tried to, because for some reason between when they had left the castle yesterday morning and arrived back yesterday evening, something had happened, and judging by how twitchy the students seemed to be, it was something pretty significant.

The Great Hall was filled with whispers, but not the typical whispered chatter of students who thought it was too early to be awake, but quiet, tense murmurs that cut through silence like a sharp knife, jumping between house tables. Students huddled together in small clusters; some first years had even moved to sit between groups of upper years. Merlin, Aldwyn thought as he glanced around the room, even the staff table looked unsettled.

Tracey finally leant forward, her breakfast completely forgotten as she had just witnessed a first-year Hufflepuff jump as the sound of someone dropping a fork and breaking into tears. “What in Merlin’s name is wrong with everyone today?”

Draco frowned slightly, turning around to survey the room as if looking would help him solve the problem, or maybe he just enjoyed watching the Gryffindors acting like their world had been shaken. “No idea, but I noticed something was… off.”

Gregory glanced toward the Gryffindor table, a smirk stretching across his face at their pale faces. “They look terrified.”

Millicent followed his gaze and snorted into her bacon. “They always look terrified; it is their default setting.”

Vincent nodded solemnly and shrugged his shoulders. “True, but this doesn’t look like the typical house rivalry thing going on. They actually look like someone is going to jump out and murder them any second.”

Aldwyn frowned when he listened to his friends, remembering the look on his papa’s face and now noticing the unusual tension that filled the atmosphere. He turned toward the far end of the table. “Graham?”

The older Slytherin looked up from his conversation with Adrien immediately and raised an eyebrow. “What’s up, little Prince?”

“Do you know what’s going on?” He gestured around the Great Hall to indicate what he was talking about, deliberating choosing to ignore the nickname, he had been trying to convince his house to drop it for a year now, only to be met with Graham and Adrien exchanging a look he couldn’t quite understand.

“You mean, you lot haven’t heard?”

Theo frowned, wondering what could have happened in the twelve or so hours they had been gone from the school, or after they had returned, when they had secreted themselves away in Aldwyn’s dorm for the rest of the evening to talk about what they had learnt about the ritual. “Heard what? What’s happened?”

Adrien leant across the table, his expression grim. “Someone tried to break into the Gryffindor Common Room during dinner last night.”

The younger Slytherins all froze. Not only had they been gone from the castle when something unprecedented happened, but they all had a sinking feeling deep in their guts, like they knew exactly who it was and who they had been looking for. 

Pansy blinked, as if she couldn’t quite believe what she was hearing. “I’m sorry, what?”

Tracey rested her elbow on the table and glanced between Adrien and Graham for a moment before releasing a large breath. “You’re joking, right?”

Adrien shook his head. “Afraid not. They threatened the Fat Lady and slashed her portrait when she refused to let them in without a password.”

“They what?” Daphne’s eyes widened, now extremely glad that the Slytherin common room was hidden behind a wall instead of a portrait known to every single student, past and present. "Merlin, that is insane."

Graham nodded grimly. “Yup, to stop herself from being next, she fled her frame and sought refuge until the staff managed to convince her that he was gone.”

“It took Filch and the professors hours to find her.”

Millicent frowned, tapping her chin in thought. “How do you even slash a portrait? Aren’t they supposed to be protected by magical wards?”

Vincent shrugged. “Very aggressively.” He commented, but no one believed him.

In fact, Aldwyn would put money on the fact that Black had somehow managed to find some way to sneak into the castle without alerting the wards, threatened the Fat Lady, causing her to run away and then transformed into his Animagus to slash the portrait, hoping it would give him access. No doubt the portraits were not protected against aggressive animals' claws; it was the type of oversight wizards tended to neglect.

“I’m more concerned with the fact that they attacked the Fat lady. What would have happened if they had run into a student?” Gregory looked horrified.

“As worrying as that is,” Theo began, his voice a little thoughtful and… interested rather than worried. “It’s pretty impressive.”

Blaise elbowed him just as Draco leant forward with a glare. “That is not the point here, Theo.”

Tracey dropped her chin into her hand and stared up at the older Slytherins. Her question was a given, but not because she wanted or needed to know the answer, but because everyone already had a sinking feeling about who the individual was and wanted, more than anything, to be proven wrong. “Do we know who it was?”

Graham and Adrien exchanged another look before Adrien rolled his eyes, glanced around the Great Hall and lowered his voice to a whisper. “… Sirius Black.”

Silence fell across their end of the table as the third years took in what this could mean for their friend. It was ridiculous, a castle surrounded by Dementors, and a castle full of some of the most powerful witches and wizards in magical Britain, and none of them could sense when an escaped convict was wandering the corridors. Not that they were surprised. They knew he was after Aldwyn, unknowingly at this point. They knew the bond was leading him toward Hogwarts, and with his adled mind, he wouldn't dream of imagining the child of James and Lily Potter being sorted into any other House but Gryffindor.

“That deranged criminal?”

Adrien nodded, “Yup, he somehow got into the castle without anyone knowing.”

Daphne frowned deeply. Aldwyn had told them all about Sirius Black, how he had been part of a group of students who knew the castle like the back of their hand because of a special map. That they used to sneak in and out of the grounds through secret passages that not even Filch or Dumbledore knew about. “That shouldn’t be possible,”

Theo’s expression had grown very still, almost as if he were recalling the recent incident of them walking up to Black outside the Shrieking Shack that one time when they were in Hogsmeade. He wondered if Black was hiding out there, or if he had just happened to be sitting in the exact place Aldwyn had felt his magic tugging him towards. Blaise glanced briefly at Aldwyn to garner his reaction.

Gregory looked confused at the revelation. “Why was he trying to break into the Gryffindor Tower?”

Adrien shrugged, placing his cutlery down by his plate. “No idea. Apparently, some of the portraits nearby heard him mention looking for his godson.”

The younger Slytherins blinked, quick glances passing between them all, looks that Graham and Adrien had no idea held significant meaning.

Tracey tilted her head after Daphne bit her lip and shook her head. “…His godson?”

Graham nodded, “Harry Potter.” When everyone turned to stare at him, he shrugged his shoulders, his knife twirling around his fingers. “I overheard McGonagall talking to Flitwick about how Black was the Potter Secret Keeper and the magical godfather of their son.”

Vincent snorted loudly at that, not because it was false information, but because they all knew that was the story that had been spread around by the Potters before their murder, but every Death Eater knew the real murderer was Peter Pettigrew. The current students and staff just didn't know why Sirius Black was all of a sudden interested in seeking out his deceased godson. “That makes absolutely no sense.”

Adrien shrugged again. “It was rumoured that Sirius Black was the one who betrayed the Potters to the Dark Lord and that he broke out of Azkaban to try and finish the job. He may be trying to prove his innocence, or to get back at the people who have kept his godson away from him all these years. Apparently, he hasn’t had much chance to read the Daily Prophet in the past few years.”

Gregory frowned and placed his elbows on the table, fingers tapping against the wooden surface. “But Harry Potter is dead. He is not going to find him, no matter how hard he looks.”

“Exactly,” Graham said. “Which is why everyone thinks Black has completely lost his mind.” He lowered his voice and leant across the table. “Rumour has it that the Minister went to Azkaban during the summer and showed Black the article confirming Potter’s death. Less than a week later, he escaped.”

“Why on earth would he do something like that?” Draco questioned, horrified at the fact that the Minister thought it a good idea to try to taunt a supposed deranged mass murderer with the abuse and death of his godson. Whether Black was guilty or not, that was low. "Everyone knew that Black had a few screw loose before he was thrown in Azkaban..."

“Because our Minister is an idiot, and now he is worried that someone is going to find out what he did and blame him for Black’s escape. I mean, who in their right mind would go up to someone who they thought was a Death Eater, who they thought had tried to get Harry Potter killed and brag that filthy muggles managed to do what the Dark Lord couldn't?” Adrien snickered, rolling his eyes at the idiocy of their Ministry. "No offence meant to your father, Aldwyn, of course." He had hoped that with the return of Lord Slytherin and his faction, a new Minister would soon find their way into office, but he supposes they would need to do something more permanent with Dumbledore first. Less opposition that way.

"Nah, Father is perfectly aware that what he did back then was idiotic, and he promised me that he would never try to go after another fifteen-month-old baby at any point for the remainder of his life," Aldwyn smirked, laughing when his friends stared at him in concern.

"The fact that you even had to make your father promise something like that is terrifying..." Graham snickered, though it sounded more unnerved than amused at the statement.

"He is the Dark Lord." Aldwyn shrugged his shoulders like it was the most normal conversation he had ever held with his father. He inhaled softly because the story about Sirius Black and his escape from Azkaban was getting more and more complicated to think about.

The Minister may have deliberately sought out Sirius Black while he was incarcerated and taunted the man, who may have already lost his mind due to the Dementors and the damaged bond, with the abuse, neglect and death of his godson. Even if it were true that Black betrayed the Potters to the Dark Lord, which they all know wasn’t the case, you do not wave his godson’s death in his face. Not unless you are willing to face the consequences of your actions, which the Minister clearly was not.

Graham studied the solemn looks passing between the younger Slytherins and froze for a moment. He exchanged a glance with Adrien, raising his eyebrow in question before frowning down at Aldwyn. “…Wait a moment.” The third years turned to look at him. “How come none of you heard about this yesterday?”

Adrien nodded slowly, realisation dawning across his features at the obvious discrepancy here. “Good point. The entire castle was talking about it yesterday, and we are talking, school-wide announcements and early curfews implemented.”

Draco shrugged, sharing a smirk with their friends because instead of being in the same building as Sirius Black, they had been taking part in and observing an ancient ritual that is barely used in the modern world anymore. “Simple. We weren’t here.”

Graham blinked, stunned. “You weren’t?” He hadn’t realised that the entire third-year Slytherin group wasn’t present in the school for the entire day.

Aldwyn calmly took another bite of his toast before answering. “We had something to deal with.”

“What kind of something? Dangerous?” Adrien questioned, running his gaze along the students to make sure there was nothing amiss, no injuries, nothing out of place.

“We went home for the day.” Aldwyn gestured vaguely. “With my parents. Nothing overly dangerous. No more so than usual anyway.”

"That doesn't reassure us in the slightest, Aldwyn. We know how much you have had to deal with since you moved here." Adrien commented which the third years chose very deliberately to ignore for the time being.

Theo nudged Aldwyn in the side and shot him a quick smile. “Something related to Aldwyn’s core instability and research.”

“Though the staff thinks we went home to take part in a Samhain family tradition.” Pansy snickered.

Graham’s gaze immediately shifted to the small crystal vial sitting beside Aldwyn’s plate and nodded his head in understanding. The faintly glowing stabilisation potion had been a source of confusion when he and Adrien had first entered the Great Hall and taken their seats, but now they knew whose it was. “I was wondering about that.”

Adrien leant slightly closer. “You’ve been given stabilisation draughts? Is it really that bad?”

“Papa thought it was for the best. We performed a thorough diagnostic ritual on my magical core and found something there that was causing my magic to react strongly to Dementors, Boggarts, and any strong negative emotion that could potentially cause me harm. Not to mention I passed out again due to magical exhaustion when the diagnostics ritual hit something that wasn't a big fan...”

“We are planning on performing a Containment Ritual, but Aldwyn’s magical core needs stabilising first, otherwise we are going to have another magical backlash on our hands, and this time he may slip into a magical coma for more than a few hours,” Blaise explained, his shoulders stiff at the thought of their friend having to go through such an ordeal just because some idiotic Light wizard couldn’t leave well enough alone.

“He also absolutely hates the potions because they smell like vomit and taste like feet,” Tracey added in with a huge grin.

“It is truly tragic,” Draco nodded solemnly, his tone sombre, but Aldwyn could hear the typical Malfoy drawl and wanted to reach around Blaise to smack his godbrother.

“Well, at least you lot managed to miss the chaos. Dumbledore was trying to gather all the students in the Great Hall, but Professor McGonagall put her foot down, stating it would be an idiotic move to stick all students together in one room that didn’t have the same protections as the common rooms.” Adrien stated, shaking his head as he glanced toward the head table.

“Yes, at least Black didn’t manage to get into the common room because the Fat Lady was there and refused to let him in without the password.”

Vincent and Gregory pouted. “I enjoy a bit of chaos on a Sunday afternoon.”

“Same.”

While the third years rolled their eyes at their friends, inwardly agreeing that a little chaos never went amiss, Graham and Adrien managed to get the conversation back on track.

“Anyway,” Adrien dragged a hand through his hair with a sigh. “Black somehow managed to get into the castle without anyone spotting him. Without setting off the wards and managed to make his way up to the seventh floor without a single teacher, ghost, or portrait spotting him.”

Tracey frowned. She remembered Aldwyn telling them all about the Black dog that was walking around the castle grounds, observing and shuddered. It was obvious that Black, in his Animagus form, had managed to find an entrance somewhere and because no one knew about his Animagus form except for Remus Lupin and Severus, no one would pay attention to a skinny black dog. “That shouldn’t have been possible.”

Theo’s expression remained carefully neutral, “yet he managed it.” He shifted in his seat, uncomfortable with the idea that Sirius Black had 24/7 access to the castle and could be wandering the corridors without them even noticing. Merlin, he was an adept wizard, maybe not as smart or sharp as he used to be, but what if the man managed to cast a disillusionment charm around himself? He would be able to sneak up behind Aldwyn without any of them realising until it was too late.

Aldwyn glanced toward his friend, could hear the slight tremor in his voice and knew that Theo was overthinking again. Knew that Theo was thinking about every possible scenario that could happen now that they knew Black had found a way to enter Hogwarts. He slowly, carefully slipped his hand into Theo’s, leaning toward his friend a little, just enough that their shoulders brushed, but enough to snap Theo out of his thoughts. He felt a return squeeze around his hand and smiled.

“Please tell me that the Professors caught him?” Draco tapped his fingers against the table, raising an eyebrow.

“Nope. I think they were more focused on trying to find the Fat Lady.” Adrien answered with a shake of his head; he hadn’t agreed with the Professor's priorities, and by the looks on the third years’ faces, they didn’t either.

Theo asked quietly, “Does anyone know how he got inside? Professor Lupin was his friend in school; maybe he knows something.”

“No one's mentioned anything about it,” Graham answered. “But I don’t think the staff would want to let that information out to the students. Some idiotic Gryffindor would probably take it as permission to hunt Black down themselves.”

“Have they at least found out where he is hiding out? Surely it has to be somewhere close.” Milli commented, gesturing in the vague direction of Hogsmeade and the Hogwarts grounds.

“Nope.” Graham shook his head again.

“The professors searched the castle.”

“But he vanished.”

Across the Great Hall, several Gryffindors huddled nervously together, picking at their breakfast without eating anything. Adrien gestured toward them. “They’re terrified, apparently none of them managed to get much sleep once they were told about the near break-in.”

“They camped out in the common room instead of their dorm rooms because the first and second years wouldn’t stop crying.”

Tracey frowned, “Honestly, I don’t think I would have been able to sleep if a madman attempted to break into our common room either.”

Aldwyn grew quiet again at that, his mind whirling with thoughts, mostly about trying to track Black down before he managed to do something stupid again. He exchanged a quick glance with Blaise, then with Theo and felt the tension in his shoulders easing a little when the three of them stared at each other in silence, but he knew they would follow him no matter what. Draco noticed the exchange immediately and raised his eyebrow when Aldwyn met his gaze, a light smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.

Pansy caught the look too and nudged Tracey and Daphne, who slowly tilted their heads in question before realising what was going on and smirking. Milli blinked, shrugged one shoulder and nodded her head just as Vincent and Gregory cracked their knuckles in confirmation.

They didn’t say anything; they didn’t need to because each one knew that they were not going to stop searching until they found every last scrap of information they could to help them stop Black from getting into the castle once more. Because they knew he would try again, and next time he may actually manage to get past the portrait guarding the Gryffindor common room. If he did, he would realise that Harry Potter wasn’t part of the House of Lions. He wasn't even part of the school anymore.

After a moment of silent communication with his friends, Aldwyn simply nodded toward Graham and Adrien. “Thank you.”

The conversation at their end of the table slowly began to return to normal, quiet discussions on their classes that morning, homework that they still needed to finish, but Aldwyn didn’t join in; his mind was filled with warnings. They had to prevent Sirius from making the link between himself and Harry Potter, and needed to contain his bond with the man before he followed it down to the dungeons.

Blaise and Theo recognised the signs of their friend turning inward, his mind not slowing down for a moment and immediately leant as close as possible, shoulder brushing, hands wrapping tightly around his own, which managed to drag him back to reality.

Theo’s voice dropped low, too low for their friends to hear, but loud enough that Aldwyn could hear the command in his voice. “Don’t.”

Aldwyn looked at him innocently, or at least he tried to, but Theo’s huff told him that he had failed. “Don’t what?”

Theo gave him a look, equal parts unimpressed and serious. “You know exactly what I’m talking about.”

Blaise sighed softly, “Theo’s right.”

“You are not going to look for Sirius Black on your own.”

Aldwyn rolled his eyes at their overprotectiveness, but he couldn’t help but smile. “I wasn’t planning on it; I didn’t go after Shookwood on my own last year…”

“Lies,” Blaise answered immediately. “I distinctly remember you running off into the Forbidden Forest by yourself last year.”

“Okay, maybe I did, but I promise this year is going to be different. I won’t go looking for Black without inviting you along for the ride.” Aldwyn smirked when Blaise and Theo both stared at him for a moment longer than necessary.

“Promise?” Theo asked, still looking wholly unconvinced, and Aldwyn would have been offended that they didn’t trust him if the evidence from the past two years wasn’t stacked against him.

“I promise.”

Theo narrowed his eyes slightly but eventually seemed satisfied with the answer and left it alone, returning to his breakfast, he nudged Aldwyn to do the same as he released his hand.

Aldwyn sighed, and instead of going back for more food, decided to reach for the small vial still sitting innocently beside his plate. He stared at the stabilisation draught for a moment. “I am going to hate this potion.”

Draco smirked, “Drink it all.”

Aldwyn grimaced, then uncorked the vial and downed the potion in one swift movement, his entire face twisted in immediate regret, and he quickly grabbed for his goblet of pumpkin juice to wash away the vile taste coating his tongue. “That is disgusting.”

Blaise patted his shoulder. “I’m sure you’ll survive.”

Aldwyn sighed and continued to eat his breakfast. “I sincerely hope so.”

--------

The wards shifted, Severus could feel them bending and twisting almost like a delicate ripple was spreading out from one specific point, and he knew exactly what or rather who, was about to appear in his rooms. Though how his fiancé had managed to find a way to appear directly in his rooms, even when no one was supposed to be able to apparate onto Hogwarts grounds unless they were the headmaster or connected to the Hogwarts wards.

Severus did not look up immediately. “If you continue to enter my rooms unannounced,” he said cooly, eyes still scanning the essay in front of him and marking in bright red ink, “I will begin reinforcing the wards out of spite.”

A quiet huff of amusement answered him, though no one was currently present in his room. “I would expect nothing less of you, my love.”

The shadows near the far wall deepened, then parted as Marvolo stepped through them as though they were nothing more than a curtain, and for the Dark Lord, one of the most powerful wizards in wizarding Britain. Severus finally looked up, his gaze sharpening instantly.

“You are late.”

Marvolo tilted his head slightly, a smirk dancing at the corner of his lips. “I was unaware you were keeping time.”

“I keep track of everything,” Severus replied, “And you are deviating from your established patterns.”

Marvolo’s lips curved faintly as he approached. “Yes,” he said, his voice overly fond. “You do, and I love you for it.” He came to a stop beside the desk, not across from it like a student or even a colleague would have, but right next to Severus’s chair. He stood close, too close by anyone else’s standards, but not their own.

Severus glanced up at Marvolo, but he didn’t move away; he simply continued to grade the paper. “You should be more careful.” He said, quieter now. “It is only a matter of time before Dumbledore notices that something is amiss with my Wards and investigates.”

Marvolo smiled and leant in closer, one hand bracing against the desk while the other reached to idly smooth a crease from Severus’s sleeve. “Then it is fortunate,” he murmured, “that my fiancé is exceptionally skilled at warding his private quarters.”

Severus stilled, the word somehow landing differently this time, not unexpected because they had been engaged to be Bonded for months now, but still felt. “…Fiancé,” he repeated, almost subconsciously, a tiny smile stretched across his lips.

Marvolo’s gaze lifted to meet his. “Yes.” Something unspoken passed between them as Severus finally set his quill back into the inkwell and studied his partner for a moment.

His expression shifted, just slightly, something guarded easing at the edges, guarded in a way that he always seemed to be in Dumbledore’s domain, a state that Marvolo always seemed to relax. “You are insufferably confident.”

“And you agreed to bind yourself to me regardless.”

Severus’s lips twitched faintly. “…That remains under review.”

Marvolo smiled, a genuine and rare expression unless he was around his family. “I am certain that you will come to the correct conclusion, especially since the date for our bonding ceremony has already been set.” Then, without a word, he slowly reached forward and grabbed for Severus’s hand.

Severus didn’t say anything; he glanced down at the hand resting over his own and turned his hand around. Their fingers interlaced naturally, as though they had always done so, as if there had never been any hesitation behind the gesture, and no awkwardness left over from before. For a moment longer, neither of them spoke. The fire crackled softly behind them.

Marvolo’s thumb brushed slowly over Severu’s knuckles. Grounding and affection and very much intentional in its movements. “I did not come only to test your wards,” he said at last.

“I assumed as much.”

“Our Bonding Ceremony.”

Severus’s expression shifted, turning so he could glance up at Marvolo, who was gazing down at their hands with an expression of utter adoration. “Of course.”

“I know you do not feel comfortable with the planning and organisation, and that we have left most of the details to Narcissa, but I wish to finalise certain elements with you,” Marvolo explained, raising his gaze so he could look at Severus.

“I assumed you had already finished everything.”

“Narcissa and I have completed the majority of everything; however, since this is our Bonding Ceremony, there are details I want your input on. I have already considered them and condensed our options down to a few.” Marvolo raised Severus’s hand and pressed a gentle kiss to the back of his knuckles. “I did not wish to overwhelm you.”

Severus exhaled slowly and rose from his chair; He did not pull his hand away because there was no real need for him to. Not when he moved closer, closing the distance between them until they stood almost chest to chest. Hands hanging down between them while the other rests over Marvolo’s heart.

“I do not think I trust your grin. You have been thinking about this an awful lot.”

Marvolo’s lips curved even further as he laughed, resting his forehead against Severus’s for a moment, “I will take that as a compliment.”

Then, with a flick of his hand, magic began to stir in the air between them, and small illusions started forming before their eyes. Robes, goblets, plates, all rich with the Slytherin family history, because Marvolo knew that, despite taking the Prince last name, Severus wished to have as little to do with his heritage as possible, and he respected that. Loved it even.

“These are… excessive.” Severus breathed out, awe filling his voice as he stared at the powerful artefacts, a little touched that Marvolo would willingly bring these out to use at their bonding ceremony.

“As tradition tends to be, I am afraid.” Marvolo allowed his smile to shift into a tiny smirk, amusement dancing behind his gaze as he continued to watch Severus’s expression shift. He allowed several illusions to hover in the air between them, making them twist and spin so Severus could have a look at each individual plate, goblet and decoration in more detail before he made his decision.

“The items… we can alter? Maybe have some adapted to better suit our needs?” He spoke up, his eyes never once leaving the images above his head. “I feel like a combination of our houses, our colours and crests would be something to behold.”

Marvolo inclined his head, his hand shifting in the air, swiping across the images and making another, slightly less gaudy set appear before them. This one, holding less decoration, was decisively plainer than the others, but had a beautiful mix of silvers, dark greens, purples and blacks. One goblet held the Slytherin Crest in the centre, while the Prince crest sat slightly small by the bottom right corner, while the other was reversed.

“But the robes…” Severus continued, his tone a little sharper now, his breath caught in his throat at the designs Marvolo had come up with for their bonding ceremony. “They should remain perfectly traditional, after all, it is not every day that the Heir to a Founding Household gets bonded.”

Marvolo’s attention shifted immediately to his fiancé, his eyebrow raising, though his expression didn’t sharpen, didn’t harden as he gazed at Severus’s determined features. “Explain.”

“Marvolo, you are the Lord Slytherin,” he muttered, his voice softer now than it had been before. He stepped closer to Marvolo, resting his hands against his chest under the guise of smoothing out his robes. “You are one of the most important political figures in the Wizengamot in the last century; it would be a dishonour against your house if we were to do anything to compromise how the elite saw you.”

Marvolo began to shake his head, raising his hands to grasp Severus’s and place a kiss on the back of his knuckles, but before he could utter a single word, Severus continued.

“I want to do this for you. You deserve the best bonding ceremony we can perform. Our Ceremony has already become a compromise because I do not feel completely comfortable with gaudy displays, but I will not allow you to compromise on our dress. You will look exquisite in your Slytherin family bonding robes, while I will wear the traditional colours of the Prince family.”

“I may be from an ancient line, Severus, but I would never force you to wear such ceremonial attire if you truly felt uncomfortable. As you said, this is our bonding ceremony, and I wish for it to be perfect for the both of us.”

“And it will be, the only way this ceremony cannot be perfect is if I do not bond with you. I do not care for ceremony, I do not care for appearances, but I do care for you, Marvolo. As long as we are bonded at the end of the day, it will have been perfect.” Severus tightened his grip around Marvolo’s hands and took one final step closer, so he could stand up on his tiptoes and press a brief kiss to Marvolo’s cheek.

“Okay, I will have our Bonding Ceremonial Wares commissioned and make sure they are ready for our Yuletide Ceremony. And we will book an appointment with the werewolf pack to have them begin crafting our robes for the ceremony.” Marvolo promised, pressed a kiss to Severus’s head while dropping his hands down to his partner’s waist and pulled him flush against his chest.

“Our ceremony will be the perfect reflection of our houses. Green. Silver. Deep Purple. Black. And of course, Aldwyn standing at our sides for the duration.”

“That,” Marvolo breathed against Severus’s head, a light exhale that sounded like a sigh, content and happy at the final plans slipping into place, “sounds absolutely perfect, My love. It is going to be the Bonding of the century.”

Severus laughed at that and tucked his head against Marvolo’s shoulder, placing a feather-light kiss to his neck as he tightened his arms around Marvolo’s shoulders. “Until Aldwyn is older and decides to bond himself. You know his will outshine ours without him having to try.”

“That is because that boy, no matter who he chooses to marry, is going to want for nothing. By ourselves and by his future bondmate.” Marvolo agreed, nuzzling against Severus’s head with a soft chuckle of his own.

Severus didn’t answer this time, simply choosing to relax completely in Marvolo’s arms as they soaked in the companionship. With Marvolo busy with ceremonial planning with Narcissa, he had barely had time to escape the claws of the Malfoy matriarch to relax with his fiancé for weeks. The only time she had rather reluctantly released him from her clutches was when Aldwyn had been injured or in danger.

The illusions still hovering in the air slowly faded away, but the weight of their final decisions lingered in the air, a soft, warm feeling that blanketed them, a sense of everything coming together after long years of their feelings going unnoticed or hidden away. The couple finally felt their hearts beating in sync as the day of their bonding ceremony slowly crept closer, just a few more months to go before they would officially belong to one another.

After a while, Marvolo shifted his weight, pulling back just enough to allow him to stare down into Severus’s eyes, which were glittering in the firelight. He lifted a hand from Severus’s waist and brushed the back of his fingers gently against his jaw, a tender smile drifting across his features.

“You are quiet,” he murmured.

“I am merely thinking,” Severus answered.

“That could prove dangerous.” Marvolo chuckles, stroking his hand back into Severus’s hair for a moment before it settled back against his cheek. “What are you thinking so deeply about, my dear?”

Severus hesitated then, not from second thoughts, but from something that had popped into his head weeks ago and refused to leave him alone. “This is not a small thing…” he admitted quietly.

“No, it is not.” Marvolo agreed, though his expression stilled, frozen as if in anticipation of seeing what his fiancé was going to reveal.

Severus’s gaze held firm against his own, a soft smile relaxing whatever tension had been slowly building in Marvolo’s muscles. “I have spent most of my life completely alone,” he continued. “By circumstances of birth, by design and then, by necessity.” His voice didn’t waver, but there was something buried beneath his words this time, something deep and meaningful. “This… changes all of that.”

Marvolo’s hand stilled against his face, his eyes sharp as he tried searching Severus’s expression for something. “Yes,” he said softly.

“I do not regret it.” Severus exhaled slowly, his expression softening, his smile widening a fraction as he leant into the careful touch against his cheek.

Marvolo’s eyes darkened slightly, something warm and incredibly intense dancing in his gaze. “Good,” he murmured, pressing a kiss just above his hand on Severus’s cheek. “Because neither do I. And I will live each day making sure you never do.”

Silence settled for a moment between them, as Marvolo leant in. He did not press another kiss to Severus’s lips but leant close enough that Severus could feel the warmth of his breath ghosting against his skin. “We will build something new,” he continued. “Not just for the ceremony, but for ourselves.”

Severus’s breath hitched at the whispered promise and couldn’t stop himself from pressing a kiss to Marvolo’s lips, slightly deeper than the previous one, but no longer. “For ourselves…”

Marvolo’s forehead brushed against his own, a rare and unguarded gesture that appeared only when they were alone, a gesture that almost made Severus weak in the knees because he knew that it meant all of Marvolo’s walls had come down, and he felt just as relaxed as he did.

Severus refused to pull away and allowed the both of them to remain in the middle of his living room with their arms wrapped around each other, their breath mingling and their hearts slowed enough to beat in perfect harmony. Then, another thought popped into his head, and he frowned a little.

“Aldwyn…” he muttered, the name grounding them both into reality as their thoughts immediately jumped back to the fact that they were supposed to also be preparing for the diagnostics ritual that was going to happen that weekend. “The ceremony’s magic will be intense, as will the preparations that we have planned to commence during the pre-ceremony feast…”

“Yes.”

“With his core as unstable as it is currently, even with the Bodyguard bond he is forming with Blaise and Theo, there will be a heavy risk…”

“There will be,” Marvolo agreed, his arms tightening around Severus’s waist when he drops the one from Severus’s cheek.

“I do not like that risk…”

Marvolo sighed because he agreed. He did not like the fact that the bonding ceremony could potentially cause their son to go into another magical core meltdown, but he also knew that Aldwyn would hate himself, blame himself terribly if they even contemplated postponing their Bonding because of him. “I know, My Love. But Aldwyn is a strong boy; he will manage.”

“We will monitor him throughout the ceremony.” Severus decided, his voice firm enough that Marvolo knew there was nothing he could say to change his partner’s mind, not that he wanted to because he wanted Aldwyn to be as safe as humanly possible, as well.

“Constantly, I will ask Lucius and Narcissa to be on the lookout for anything unusual as well. Do not fret so much, Sev.”

“Good, because if anything shifts…”

“We will intervene immediately. Nothing is going to happen to him, Severus. Our son is versatile, and you know, just as well as I do, he will not be alone for a moment. Blaise and Theo will refuse to leave Aldwyn’s side for the duration of the ceremony and will also be able to sense any fluctuations in his core that we are unable to.”

“He will be by our sides during the ceremony. He will hold our Bonding Rings and give them to us after the Handfasting.” Severus decided, a soft smile coming to his lips when Marvolo simply nodded without argument and dropped a kiss to Severus’s forehead.

“Of course, there is no one else we would trust with such an important task. He will be honoured.” Marvolo agreed, chuckling when Severus rolled his eyes and leant further into his chest.

“Nor I.”

“He will take this task very seriously.” Marvolo mused, shifting his arms to wrap more firmly around Severus’s waist, one hand running lightly against his spine as Severus’s cheek came to rest against his shoulder.

“He takes everything seriously.” Severus chuckled, shaking his head as best as he could without disrupting his position against Marvolo’s chest. “He takes after you in that sense.”

“I suppose he does,” Marvolo joined in with the soft laughter, almost rolling his eyes because he knew he took things seriously all the time, and sometimes a little too seriously, but that tended to be only when it came to his partner and his son nowadays.

Then, Severus lifted his head and gazed into Marvolo’s eyes, but this time his expression had shifted into something a little more intense, more protective. “He is still finding his place amongst us,” he said quietly, like he was sharing a secret not meant to be repeated.

“I know, but he is slowly finding his feet. Aldwyn is strong; he had us to care for him and a group of incredibly loyal friends who would do anything to keep him safe.”

“He has spent so much time believing that he does not belong anywhere,” Severus began, his voice wavering ever so slightly. “Sometimes, I am surprised by how far he has come until he has another relapse, and then I can’t help but fear we are not doing enough to help him.”

Marvolo raised a hand from Severus’s waist and wrapped it around his shoulders instead, pulling them ever closer, while he rested his head against Severus’s hair. “He belongs to us, now and forever, and eventually he is going to realise that we are never going to let him forget that. Even if we have to smother him with affection for the rest of his life, no matter how old he gets, or how powerful.”

Severus allowed himself to relax fully against Marvolo, releasing a breath that could have been laughter. “Yes, he will become so sick of us eventually, but he will never doubt our love for him.”

Marvolo nodded once, decisively. “There will be no space for uncertainty in his place in this family. Nor for Bill and Charlie. They are all our sons, and they will never doubt that.”

Severus nodded against Marvolo’s head, his expression softening back into a smile as he felt Marvolo’s hands continuing to rub down his spine. “Good, because I don’t think I could take another argument between Bill and Charlie about our favouritism toward Aldwyn.”

“You are thinking incredibly deeply again, my dear,” Marvolo muttered into Severus’s ear after a moment of warm silence.

“I am always thinking.”

“A dangerous habit,” Marvolo teased, placing a kiss on Severus’ hair when he felt his partner attempting to pull back, no doubt to glare at him. “What is it?”

Severus hesitated for a fraction of a second before he sighed and slumped further into Marvolo’s embrace. “I never thought that is what my life would come to,” he admitted. “A bonding Ceremony just around the corner, promising myself to the man I have been falling in love with for over a decade. Three beautifully gifted children whom I couldn’t be prouder of.”

Marvolo’s gaze softened in a way that only ever happened around his family and closest friends. “And yet, we are here, and every single one of those things, you chose.”

“I did.” Severus smiled, warm and inviting. “And I would choose it all again if given the chance.”

“And that is what I love about you, My Dear Severus. No matter how dire a situation may be, no matter how much hardship you have been through in your life, you are still so full of love. You were the one who brought up bringing Bill and Charlie into our family, and not just for Aldwyn’s sake. You were the one who chose to give me a chance when I came back.” Marvolo pulled back. He grasped one of Severus’s hands and lifted it to his mouth so he could press a gentle kiss to the back of his knuckles.

“I love you too, Marvolo. You opened up my heart again and allowed me to see things for what they truly were. If it weren’t for you agreeing to adopt Aldwyn in the first place, I never would have seen him for the intelligent boy he truly is.”

“And that is why you said yes when I asked you to bond with me.” Marvolo joked, holding Severus’s hand against his chest as a playful smirk danced across his lips.

“Among other things, yes.”

The fireplace continued to crackle softly behind them as they continued to stand in the middle of Severus’s quarters, wrapped in each other’s arms. Beyond the wards, the castle remained full of secrets, and dangers, and watchful eyes that would destroy their happiness without flinching. But for the evening, in their own little world, something even steadier was forming, something chosen, wroth protecting from every danger in the world. And Marvolo and Severus were going to protect it with everything they had.

Chapter Text

The Chamber of Secrets was quieter than the last time they had all been present. No one was practicing their duelling, no one was attuning to their new weapons, and they weren’t studying or talking or researching like normal.

It had been more than a week since the entire faction had gathered beneath the castle like this, since the chaos surrounding Sirius Black’s appearance inside Hogwarts and the aftermath of the Samhain diagnostics ritual had consumed the majority of their attention outside classwork. The distance between meetings, however, had not lessened the tension that had become a common pressure hiding beneath the surface of the group. If anything, it had sharpened everything, put everything into dangerous clarity.

The lanterns and torches lining the ancient stone walls burned low and steady, casting pools of warm, golden light across the chamber while enormous serpentine pillars disappeared into the shadows overhead. The chamber no longer felt abandoned when they occupied it, like an ancient space they were borrowing, but a place they could be themselves without worry. There were too many traces of them throughout the chamber to think otherwise – books stacked beside carved pillars, books they had been using for additional research. Parchments lay half-organised near the study alcoves, chalk markings and rune sequences still faintly visible against the stone from previous discussions and study sessions.

The long table at the centre of the debriefing nook had almost entirely vanished beneath piles of parchment. Ancient diagrams, translated fragments, archaic legal references copied from Ministry archives decades ago, and hand-drawn reconstructions of ritual matrices. Entire stacks of notes written in the unmistakably meticulous hands of Apollo and Athena, and even before anyone tried to break the silence, it was obvious that this, whatever it was, was not ordinary research.

Cronus stood at the head of the table, his outer cloak draped along the back of the chair he refused to sit in, as he did only when he considered an upcoming meeting to be significant. His mask was nowhere to be seen, leaving his face and the grim frown visible for each member to see.

The others settled gradually around the Chamber, in similar states of dress, their conversations fading into quiet anticipation as chairs scraped softly against stone. Erebus dropped lazily into the seat to Cronus’s right, one boot hooked casually beneath the table, while Apollo remained standing for several moments longer, carefully reorganising the research into precise, coordinated piles. Athena sat opposite him, her fingers already resting lightly atop several translated pages as if unwilling to let the material out of reach.

Itus lounged into his chair with a studied elegance, though his eyes remained sharp, as they had done since the diagnostics ritual, as they flicked over the documents with an intrigue he refused to speak out loud. Pheme and Eris whispered briefly to one another about the reason behind the meeting before quickly falling silent once they took their seats. Enyo was already examining one of the diagrams with the focused attention of someone who had never been interested in Runic algorithms but still liked to pretend otherwise. While Aeolus and Meneotius looked increasingly overwhelmed, the longer they stared at the sheer quantity of research spread before them.

Arete and Ares positioned themselves nearby with the quiet alertness of men who had long ago learnt how to recognise danger before it arrived, as one would expect from a Curse-breaker and a Dragon Tamer.

Skoll, their trainer and Aldwyn’s assigned bodyguard by Alpha Fenrir, arrived last, but unlike many of the others, he didn’t take a seat immediately. His gaze swept once across the table, pausing briefly on the stacks of parchment before landing on Cronus. “I see your team has found something.”

It wasn’t really a question, so much as a statement, but Cronus inclined his head once anyway. Only when the chamber had fully settled did he relax his posture a little, step toward the table and speak. “I have called this meeting today because Athena and Apollo have discovered some research that will help us better understand what is going on with the Bond between Black and me and how we could potentially break the connection.”

The shift in the room was immediate; attention snapped onto him like a rubber band that had been stretched too far. Even the quieter members of the faction straightened slightly in their seats, their nerves having been slowly fraying ever since they had found out that Sirius Black had managed to sneak his way into Hogwarts without being caught.

“This meeting, as I am sure you are already aware, is about Sirius Black.”

Aeolus frowned almost instantly, “I still find it hard to believe that he isn’t the mass murderer our parents used to tell us horror stories about when we were kids.”

Ares snorted softly from further down the table, his arms crossed comfortably in front of his chest. “Technically, that rumour was only spread by the Aurors at the scene because Black was too much of an idiot to admit that he wasn’t the Potters' secret keeper. Papa says he was never a Death Eater, and that Peter Pettigrew is alive and kicking, as he informed us on Samhain.”

Skoll slid into the nearest chair, his expression tightening thoughtfully as he listened to the meeting unfolding before him. In all his time training Cronus and his faction, he had never been privy to a full meeting before and he was intrigued how a thirteen-year-old would conduct a group of eleven followers, including two who were already legal adults.

“And as we discovered during the diagnostics ritual, the danger this Guardianship Bond poses is not just theoretical anymore. We have solid evidence that no matter what we try to do at this point, the damage is only going to spread and cause further instability on both ends.” His words froze the atmosphere further, the heavy tension that had lingered, now feeling like it was threatening to suffocate them all.

Apollo shifted forward when Cronus glanced at him from the corner of his eyes and nodded. He began sliding several sheets of parchment toward the centre of the table, holding them open with a mild sticking charm. “Athena and I spent the majority of our free time between classes and homework assignments reconstructing and evaluating an ancient piece of research we found a few weeks ago, and we believe that we have finally managed to piece together what had been discovered and what the Ministry was attempting to hide by trying to destroy such research.”

He tapped on the first sheet of parchment with the end of his quill and shook his head. “Yorick was a worker in the Department of Mysteries before the Ministry discovered what he was researching and very quickly banned him from the Ministry building.” He explained. “Primarily, his work surrounded magical identities, tether magic, and hereditary guardianship bonds.”

Eris stared down at one particularly dense page of notes before she grimaced faintly. “That man wrote like he expected the Aurors to confiscate his work at any moment.”

Erebus smirked faintly without looking up from examining another page of notes. “He probably made a reasonable assumption; the Ministry didn’t take too kindly to people attempting to understand and research magical identities and bonds. They considered those branches of research and magic too Dark.”

“He wrote like Apollo during exam season,” Cronus muttered, which drew a quiet laugh from around the room and an indignant glare from said bookworm.

Athena chose to ignore them all as she reached forward and tapped one of the central diagrams. The parchment was old, even in its copied form, yellowed and crumbling in the corners. The sheet was covered in concentric circles or rune-work surrounding two interconnected magical cores drawn in silver ink.

“The most relevant subject Yorick studied before the Ministry fired him,” she stated calmly, “was guardianship bonds and magic used in their rituals.”

Enyo frowned at the aged notes and faded ink that made some information too difficult to make out from where she was seated. “Guardianship bonds? Like the godfather bond linked to Aldwyn?”

“In short, yes,” Athena confirmed. “Though technical classification is considerably broader than our modern-day understanding and worldwide wizarding law acknowledgement.” She drew her fingers carefully across the diagram as she spoke. “Modern Britain treats guardianship bonds as ceremonial family magic with limited legal protections attached. The one who is closest to a child after the parents is a failsafe in case something happens. Yorick disagreed with that interpretation entirely. According to his research, guardianship bonds are amongst the oldest forms of stabilisation magic still legally recognised by the Wizengamot.”

Aeolus blinked. “Stabilisation?”

Apollo answered before Athena could. “A child’s magical core is not fully stabilised during early development until they reach the age of eleven, which is why Hogwarts starts at that age, because most students are able to control their magic by then.” He explained, already sorting through a pile of additional notes he had written. “Especially in magically powerful children, it takes a lot more effort from parental figures to help their child learn how to stabilise their own cores. During infancy and early childhood, the core fluctuates constantly in response to emotional and environmental stimuli.”

Athena nodded once. “Blood parents naturally assist with that process through passive magical resonance and the daily use of magic around the home. But in cases involving political marriages, inheritance instability, magical incompatibilities, or absent parents, a secondary stabilising figure was often appointed.”

She tapped the second circle within the diagram. “The guardian.”

Menoetius frowned. “So, a guardian bond isn’t just symbolic?”

The room quieted further, and even Pheme looked more attentive now as everyone listened intently to Apollo and Athena’s explanation.

Apollo flipped to another parchment filled almost entirely with legal citations and archaic script that looked like it would take weeks to decipher. “The Ministry intentionally simplified public understanding of guardianship bonds after the International Secrecy Reformation,” he explained. “Leading to public misunderstanding and the majority of families to reject the idea of Godfather and Godmother bonds because they were ‘unimportant’. The Ministry at the time wanted to decrease the number of guardian bonds primarily because older forms of guardian magic created significant legal complications surrounding inheritance rights, magical custody, and succession laws.”

Pheme leant back slightly, her arms crossed. “Translation?”

“Instead of following traditional kinship logic when it came to succession and guardianship. Your parents would give you to a grandparent or an uncle, your closest living relative. Guardianship bonds would have family friends with no familial ties or magical compatibility to the child raising them. It just created more competition, more paperwork, and more people contesting.”

“And it made them too powerful politically, as family friends with no social standing sometimes became a proxy or Retainer while the child grew up. This caused some tension later as a few guardians refused to teach their charges anything about their heritage in an attempt to keep the Lordship themselves.” Enyo added in with a smirk, watching as Apollo shook his head but didn’t correct her. He pointed at her approvingly instead, although a little begrudgingly.

“Exactly.”

Athena continued smoothly. “Historically, a guardian bond could override blood relatives under certain magical circumstances. Particularly if the child’s core recognised the guardian as its primary stabilising anchor.”

Arete’s brows furrowed. “Meaning that the bond itself chose compatibility?”

“Yes.” The single word seemed to settle heavily across the room. Ares leant forward slightly now, interest sharpening properly as he began to understand what this could mean for Aldwyn in the future if Black wasn’t stopped.

“Yorick theorised that guardianship bonds operated through reciprocal emotional resonance tied directly to magical instinct,” Athena continued. “As Professor Prince explained during Samhain: Protection, loyalty, safety, and stability.”

“Which,” Apollo jumped in quietly, “is precisely why pureblood families continued preserving the practice long after the Ministry tried minimising it publicly.” That drew several curious looks from around the room.

Itus tilted his head, eying the stacks of parchment with the wariness of someone who hated additional research. “Because of inheritance instability?”

“Partially,” Apollo nodded. “But mostly it was because magical children raised without a stabilising structure or several compatible cores to help stabilise are significantly more volatile during developmental years.”

Athena reached for another set of notes. “Yorick cross-referenced several centuries worth of records about accidental magic,” she explained. “There is a statistically significant increase in uncontrolled magical surges among children raised outside traditional magical structures.”

Eris blinked. “Wait.” Her eyes narrowed thoughtfully. “You’re saying that accidental magic happens more often in children who don’t have guardian stabilisation?”

“In the most simplistic terms, yes,” Athena replied. “Though it is less about the absence of a specific ritual and more about the absence of magical reinforcement frameworks overall. A child raised in a home secured with wards, where house elves and adults perform magic every single day, grows up with a more stable core than a child who was raised without.”

A few members still looked a little confused by the explanation, and Apollo sighed softly, clearly shifting into lecture mode.

“Magic in children, when they are born, is purely emotional before it becomes intentional.” He explained. “Young magical cores respond instinctively to fear, stress, isolation, pain, and instability. Anything strong enough to overwhelm conscious regulation.”

Arete leant back in his chair, his expression thoughtful while remaining worried about what all this could mean for his youngest brother. “And magical households naturally suppress that?”

“Not suppress,” Athena corrected immediately. “Stabilise. Teach the magical core to regulate itself before it explodes outward.”

She tapped the parchment again. “A magical child raised around structured ambient magic subconsciously learns regulations through resonance. Wards. Family magics. Ritual observations. Bond structures. Magical oaths. Inheritance signatures. All of it combined creates a stabilising environment that teaches the core how to settle properly.”

Enyo’s eyes sharpened in understanding. “Which means that children raised without those structures never learn proper magical equilibrium…”

“Yes,” Athena said quietly. “Not until they attend Hogwarts.”

Menoetius’s frown deepened. “So muggleborn children…?”

“Are often forced to regulate powerful magical cores entirely alone during developmental years, which means that their cores are susceptible to meltdowns later on in life.” Apollo finished, the chamber fell noticeably quieter at the implication behind his words, and several members shuddered.

Pheme’s expression had tightened. “That would explain why accidental magic among Muggleborns’ is usually more common and more destructive.”

“It also explains why magical exhaustion rates are historically higher among Muggle-raised children,” Athena added. “Without stabilising magical resonance, the core compensates thought irregular surges to restabilise magic after a bout of accidental magic.”

Eris looked faintly horrified at the information, scandalised that such important rituals and bonds were not mandatory for developing children. “So, all those Ministry pamphlets about accidental magic being ‘normal childhood unpredictability’ are basically nonsense.”

Ares barked out a quiet laugh. “Most Ministry educational material is nonsense; they just don’t want to admit that the sudden spike in accidental magic was their fault.”

Athena ignored him completely. “Yorick argued that modern magical Britain intentionally dismantled older stabilisation traditions because they strengthened family magics outside Ministry oversight.”

Apollo nodded grimly. “The Ministry of the time, reframed traditional magical practices, guardianship rituals and magical rituals and rites performed during pregnancy, as archaic pureblood customs instead of developmental magical theory.”

Itus’s expression visibly darkened. “Meaning that generations of magical children lost access to stabilising structures because the Ministry wanted more political control and neglected to do the proper research before they damaged developing children for their own idiocy.”

“Essentially.” Athena agreed.

Silence settled over the tables again, heavier this time because suddenly the theory did not feel abstract anymore, nor did it seem like the optimistic ramblings of an elderly man. Not when several people in the room had firsthand experience with unstable magics, magical backlash, emotional surges, or childhood environments that had failed them.

Apollo’s gaze flicked briefly toward Cronus, eyebrows scrunched, teeth biting into his lower lip, an expression that didn’t go unnoticed by Athena, Eris and Pheme, though no one commented on it for the moment.

Instead, Athena continued to explain. “Yorick believed guardian bonds were never intended solely for aristocratic succession and protection of lineage. They were originally created as protective communal magics.”

Apollo slid another parchment towards the centre of the table. “In much older magical cultures, it was common for children of all backgrounds to have multiple stabilising anchors. Two parents, between two and four godparents. Magical mentors and even extended family.”

Aeolus blinked slowly. “Wouldn’t that create magical interference?”

“No,” Athena said. “Not if the bonds were compatible, and magic was a lot freer back then.”

Ares folded his arms thoughtfully. “It created reinforcement.”

“Yes.”

Apollo pointed toward one particularly dense diagram showing interconnected lines branching outward from a child’s magical core. “Yorick referred to it as harmonic stabilisation theory. Multiple compatible magical anchors reduce core volatility through distributed resonance.”

Enyo studied the sketch carefully. “Like structural load bearing.”

Apollo looked delighted. “Exactly like structural load bearing! I knew there was a reason I liked you.”

Tracey rubbed her temples, eyes clenched shut as she tried to take in all the information they were being given. “So pureblood families weren’t entirely insane when they obsessed over magical lineage compatibility.”

“Oh, they were still insane,” Erebus said lazily, slumping back in his chair with his arm slung out behind Cronus, not touching but hovering there with intent. “Just occasionally for logically valid reasons.”

That pulled a reluctant snort from several people around the table because they couldn’t dispute it. The tension eased marginally, ever so slightly, allowing the air to relax because the implications still hung in the air, buried beneath the conversation. Children without magical stabilisation suffered more for it, and suddenly several things about modern magical Britain made considerably more sense than anyone was comfortable with.

“Which,” Apollo added, his voice quieter than before, “is also why Azkaban can create such catastrophic instability.”

Apollo sighed and turned another page in his notes. “The governing law surrounding guardian bonds is extremely specific.” His voice lowered even further as he continued to read from Yorick’s translated notes. “'Any magically recognised guardian placed within prolonged Dementor exposure must have all active tether magic severed immediately to prevent emotional corruption of the bond structure.’”

Menoetius frowned. “Why?”

“Because, as Professor Prince and Lord Slytherin explained the other weekend, Dementors distort emotional magic,” Athena answered immediately, patiently. She spoke clinically, but there was something far colder beneath the explanation now. “Guardian bonds are not constructed from a ritual alone. They are sustained through emotional resonance encoded directly into the magical structure. A Dementor does not merely feed on emotion – it destabilises the emotional frequencies sustaining magical harmony.”

Apollo slid another parchment sheet into view. “When exposed to Dementors over extended periods of time,” he explained, “the emotional architecture underpinning the bond begins to mutate and warp into something unrecognisable.” His finger tapped the margin note. “Protection becomes fear. Responsibility becomes obsession. Attachment and love become possession.”

Eris grimaced. “That sounds deeply horrifying.”

“It is,” Athena said dryly.

Enyo leant forward further, studying the notes carefully; her elbows rested on the table. “What happens if the bond isn’t severed?”

Apollo’s expression darkened slightly. “Yorick referred to the resulting condition as Protective Mania.” Silence settled around the room, uncomfortable and questioning.

Aeolus looked uneasy as he shifted in his seat. “Meaning what exactly?”

Apollo read directly from the page. “When a guardian tether remains active during prolonged Dementor exposure, protective instincts can evolve into compulsive fixation. The guardian ceases to distinguish between protection, possession, and preservation.”

Erebus’s expression sharpened dangerously, his hand falling to rest gently against Cronus’s back as if he could physically stop the bond from causing any more distress. “That would explain the behavioural escalation.”

“Yes,” Athena agreed quietly. “Yorick documented cases where corrupted guardians, not all through Dementor exposure, became incapable of rational decision-making when it came to their young charges. It escalated further if the bonded was separated from the child, causing incidents of injury for the child, emotional distress, kidnapping, hostage situations and in some extreme cases, the death of the child.”

Ares’s jaw tightened. “They hunt what they perceive to be their child down, and in the most extreme cases, their mentality shifts to ‘if I can’t have them, no one can’.”

Apollo nodded once, his complexion pale. “Essentially.”

Pheme tilted her head to the side, her eyebrows scrunching up as she glanced from Cronus, who had barely said two words the entire meeting, to Apollo and Erebus, who were standing a little too close to their Prince for it to be a coincidence, and then over to Itus, Ares, and Arete, who looked too concerned about the information. Information she couldn’t understand the relevance.

“Okay, at the risk of sounding extremely dumb, I have a question.” She raised her hand and waited for Cronus to glance at her before she continued. “Everyone has been discussing this weird link between Sirius Black and Aldwyn like it is obvious that it is one of the Guardianship bonds, right?” Several people nodded, a little more hesitantly than others. “But what I don’t understand is why… or really how that is even possible. Aldwyn was born in Albania, right? He didn’t come back to England until a year and a half ago. So how could he have had this bond formed with Black when he was a baby, and how did someone tamper with it?”

Apollo looked up from the parchment and hesitated. “Because Sirius Black has a godfather bond…”

“Thank you, Theo. I understand that much, but what does this have to do with Aldwyn and their connection? You don’t expect me to believe that Black has a guardianship bond with someone who is dead, and that corrupted bond is somehow affecting the weird bond that formed between him and Aldwyn?”

“What? No, Black has a guardianship bond with Aldwyn… I thought that was obvious…?” Apollo shook his head and glanced down at Cronus, who was watching Pheme with a carefully blank expression.

“My Papa and Father explained the type of bond linking me with Sirius Black during the Diagnostics ritual…”

“And I understand all of this, I just thought they misspoke because how could Aldwyn Prince-Slytherin, son of the Dark Lord and Severus Prince have a guardianship bond, a godfather bond with Sirius Black. You have never met the man before; he hated and bullied your Papa when you were in school, and the Malfoys were made your godparents when you returned to England…”

Aeolus sat upright in his seat with enough force that his seat scraped across the stone floor. “I was thinking the same thing, but didn’t want to ask you about something that clearly made you uncomfortable, but you have to admit, my prince, none of this adds up, and we can’t help you properly if we don’t know everything…”

“Vince is right, Cronus. None of this makes any sense, and we won’t be able to protect you and help you if we don’t know the full story…” Enyo added in gently, not pushing but wanting to help Cronus feel a little more comfortable telling them what was going on.

“Because it sounds an awful lot like you’re implying that Sirius Black, notorious Light Wizard and hater of all things Dark and Snape, possesses a magically recognised guardian tether to the Prince of House Slytherin.” Pheme continued, frustration bleeding into her tone.

Tracey leant back, hands behind her head as she smirked. “Politically speaking, that sounds absolutely catastrophic.”

Menoetius shook his head immediately. “Black would never willingly tie himself to the Dark Lord’s Heir.”

Erebus, who had been watching the growing frustration with an edge in his expression, pressed his hand harder against Cronus’s back, his voice lazy with forced amusement. “Your understanding of wizarding politics continues to be adorable.”

And before anyone could respond to him, before the arguments could begin again or new attempts at persuasion could be made, Cronus pushed himself to stand tall at the head of the table, his green eyes sparkling with a solid determination they hadn’t seen before. His face was pale, his lips bright red as an indication that he had been biting on them for some time now.

“Okay, no, you are right. I have been keeping some sensitive information from you, and I shouldn’t expect you to trust me or stick by me if I can’t be completely honest with you.” He took a deep breath, clenched his fists by his side, and that is when his faction, his friends, realised they were shaking, and they immediately knew that whatever was about to be said was going to be important. Ridiculously so.

“What I am about to reveal cannot leave this room, no matter what.” His voice wavered a little as his gaze swept across the room.

“That serious?” Enyo muttered, unsure if she wanted to know the answer anymore.

“Worse.”

Arete and Ares drew their wands smoothly. “We are going to require a secrecy oath from everyone.”

Pheme sighed dramatically but looked excited to finally be learning what the big secret was. “Wonderful.” But she didn’t hesitate to pull out her wand and give an oath.

Tracey grinned, a little strained. “I love these meetings sometimes.”

Silver magic spiralled slowly above the table as one by one every member of the faction muttered a magical oath, combining against the high ceilings like a cloud watching their every move. Ancient runes weaved through the air in luminous threads while each member felt the warmth of the ward settling against their cores. When the final strand sealed itself and the cloud disappeared, Arete and Ares lowered their wands.

“It’s completely binding. No truth potions, no mind invasions will be able to pry this information from your thoughts whatsoever.” Arete explained before he nodded to Cronus.

Their leader spoke again, his voice a little steadier but his posture no less rigid as he took one final steadying breath. “As you are all aware, Sirius Black was close to the Potters when they were alive, and unlike what the rest of the wizarding world believed, he was not the one to betray their trust and give them up to the Dark Lord. He was the magical Godfather to Harry James Potter.”

Pheme blinked. “Okay, but that still doesn’t explain-”

Cronus held up his hand to silence her and continued. “Okay, first of all, Harry Potter was not the biological child of Lily and James Potter. He was the child of Lily Potter and Severus Snape…” He glanced around the room, swallowing around a lump in his throat feeling like he was seconds away from his entire world collapsing around him. “I was born to Lily and Severus thirteen years ago.”

The chamber went completely and utterly silent, the faint hum of ancient magic the only thing that could be heard as the In Dolus members froze in their seats, staring at their prince like he had completely lost his mind. Like he was going to start laughing as if he just told the biggest joke in history. But he didn’t say a thing. Didn’t take it back. He just stood at the head of the table, glancing nervously around the room.

Enyo’s parchment slipped from her fingers entirely, fluttering soundlessly across the table while Aeolus simply stared at Cronus as if the boy in front of him had abruptly become something else entirely. Menoetius blinked once. Then twice. Then looked at Itus as though expecting him to laugh and reveal everything to be a big ruse.

Draco did not laugh.

“I was born Harry James Potter,” Cronus repeated calmly. “Before the Blood Adoption ritual that was performed a few weeks after our first year ended, I was the child of Lily and James Potter… and when they passed away, I was given to Lily's muggle sister to look after before I was brought into the Wizarding World a little after my eleventh birthday.”

The silence somehow deepened, threatening to implode as tension thickened to an uncomfortable degree.

Eris leant back hard enough in her chair for it to creak beneath her weight, her face twisting with deep contemplation, while one hand pressed against her chest. “You cannot just drop something like that with that level of calm. I think I am about to have a heart attack.”

“Apparently, he can… He is the Dark Lord’s son, after all.” Erebus muttered, emphasising that the Aldwyn they all knew was still the same boy they had gotten to know over the past year and a half. That nothing really had changed. And unlike the majority of the room, he looked thoroughly unsurprised by the news, one arm still draped lazily across the back of his chair while his fingers continued to run down Cronus’s spine in a comforting motion. Beside him, Apollo had gone very still, though not out of shock, merely tense now that the secret had finally been spoken aloud.

Enyo’s eyes narrowed sharply as she looked around the conference room. Slowly, carefully, because she suddenly noticed something odd about the people sitting closest to Cronus. None of them was reacting to this reveal. Her gaze first landed on Itus, then Erebus, then Apollo, and finally Arete and Ares standing quietly near the walls. Understanding dawned all at once, and she didn’t know whether she wanted to laugh or cry.

“Some of you already knew…” she pointed out slowly, which immediately caught the attention of their friends who had been too stunned to speak.

Eris pointed aggressively around the room. “Excuse me?”

Itus sighed like someone who had been deeply exhausted by everyone else catching up. He dragged a hand through his hair. “I found out at the beginning of summer after our first year.”

Aeolus looked scandalised at the news. “Almost two years…”

“My father was one of the people who went with Uncle Marvolo and Uncle Severus that night to rescue Harry from the Muggles' house.” He clarified. “Harry Potter was immediately brought to the Dark Lord’s Manor to heal. I was there as a friend for him.”

Pheme stared. “You knew since before our second year, and you didn’t think to tell anyone?”

“Of course I didn’t! You think I was going to go around blabbering that Aldwyn wasn’t actually the son of Lord Slytherin and actually the boy everyone thought was dead?” Draco raised a single eyebrow at his friend and tried not to roll his eyes. “I promised Harry that no one would find out if he didn’t want them to. I promised the Dark Lord that I would protect his son with my life, and I was not going to break that promise, not even under threat of torture or death.”

Enyo smirked when she heard Erebus snorting from the front of the room, but she ignored it for the time being and turned her attention, instead, to Arete and Ares, Cronus’s brothers. “And you two?”

Ares folded his arms loosely across his chest. “Summer after first year. About a month or so after the adoption ritual.”

“We became Aldwyn’s tutors, and our father believed that our knowing the whole truth would allow Aldwyn to become more comfortable around us and get him to trust us,” Arete explained quietly. “Besides, I helped Aldwyn and Lucius write the Will that was found in Harry Potter’s room.”

“And of course, later we became his brothers through legal adoption, though neither one of us have been Blood adopted.” That stunned them almost as much as the original revelation.

“Wait,” Menoetius said weakly. “You’re actually adopted? Like officially? Registered with the Ministry and everything?”

“Ummm… yes?” Cronus answered simply, a little confused. “They became Prince-Slytherins legally Yuletide last year. They just haven’t changed their names on their teaching ledgers yet.”

Eris pressed a hand dramatically against her chest, and if it weren’t for the smile she was trying to hide, Aldwyn would have been worried. “This entire organisation is built on secrets!”

“Correct,” Athena agreed dryly. Her gaze shifted toward Erebus, which he immediately noticed.

He shifted his chair closer to Cronus, wrapping his arm fully around Cronus’s waist. “Oh, mine was completely accidental.” He said lazily.

Cronus rolled his eyes and nudged him. “Was not.”

Erebus smirked, nudged Cronus back before he turned back toward Athena. “Second year. Morning of Quidditch try-outs, I think… we were definitely preparing for something.”

“It was Quidditch practice, you idiot,” Itus muttered.

Tracey blinked, but her smile hadn’t faded; in fact, it was more pronounced. “That sounds suspiciously specific.”

“It was a very strange morning. Emotional conversation, including lots of hugs and reassurances about how I could ever be mad at such an adorable face.” Erebus informed her, smirking up at Cronus, who simply rolled his eyes and stuck his tongue out at his friend. “Then he kicked ass on the Quidditch pitch half an hour later.”

“And Apollo…?” Enyo asked carefully.

Apollo looked vaguely and dramatically offended by the fact that everyone had immediately clocked his lack of surprise at Cronus’s announcement. “A few weeks ago,” he admitted with a smug grin. “When we held that meeting about Sirius Black, and a group of us were asked to remain behind…” He groaned quietly under his breath, pressing his hands to his face when he simply received raised eyebrows from a few of their friends. “Bodyguard bonds ruin absolutely everything.”

“Bodyguard bond?” Pheme repeated, voice quiet but curious. “You found out what the connection was between you three?”

“We believe so.” Cronus sighed softly, clearly accepting that there was no way of salvaging any secrecy now, not that he wanted to keep anything this important from his friends again. He glanced around the room, eyes brushing over the delicate Heirship rings sitting on their fingers and relaxed, knowing that no one, not even Dumbledore, would be able to force this information from their minds. Not with the combination of family protection magics and his own secrecy wards.

“My father and Papa seem to believe that the Bodyguard bond began to form after I received the start of my Mage mark. They believe it is a way for Mother Magic to assist in my core development without destabilising while the Mage Core shifts and expands. The incident with the Dementors and the Boggart seems to have been a catalyst that forced the bond to develop a lot faster than anyone anticipated. However, as of right now, we are unsure whether the bond is shifting and developing to better stabilise the magic flowing between us, or whether it could change into something else once my Mage Core has developed properly.”

“Mainly because Cronus’s magic is catastrophically self-destructive.” Erebus supplied helpfully, a smirk dancing at the corner of his lips.

“I hate when you describe it like that.” Cronus groaned, but he was smiling a little when he glanced at Erebus, then across to Apollo.

“It remains an accurate description.”

Apollo rubbed his temples, “The bond forming between us forced disclosure. Magical stabilisation, even those formed directly because of Mother Magic, requires complete trust between the bonded. I was required to be informed. And besides, we all know that Cronus loves me more.”

Laughter followed his statement, eye rolls and muttered complaints, but no one seemed willing to deny the fact because it was very clear to everyone that Cronus had developed an especially close friendship with Erebus and Apollo, and none of them were going to dispute that. They knew it to be true and thought it was great that Aldwyn, a child who had grown up the way they knew he had, had found someone, or two someones, he could trust with everything.

Eris stared between the three of them, then slumped back in her chair and shook her head. “You people live absurd lives.”

“We’ve noticed,” Ares muttered because sometimes even he couldn’t believe how much his life had changed in the past year or two and just what those two years had entailed.

Silence settled like a blanket around the room again, but this time it wasn’t because of shock; it wasn’t the majority of people attempting to make sense of information they had been given. It was to process what they had been told and understand what that truly meant for their friend. Not only had they just been told that Aldwyn used to be Harry Potter, but the boy who everyone thought had been murdered by his Muggle relatives almost two years ago. But that their best friend, the leader of their group and the heir to the Dark sect had grown up in a household that hated his very existence.

Pheme was the first person to look at Cronus with the type of understanding he would have rather avoided, but he took a deep breath and counted himself lucky that there was no pity in her gaze. When she spoke, her voice was soft, a barely audible whisper that made the room freeze for an entirely different reason. “The Prophet Articles…”

Despite the topic shift, Cronus's composure didn’t crack. He met his friend's gaze with an unwavering determination because this time he was going to tell them everything, he wasn’t going to sugarcoat the truth anymore, and he wasn’t going to run away. Not this time.

“The cupboard he used as a bedroom,” Pheme continued. “The neglect. The abuse.” Her expression tightened painfully, trying not to imagine the shy, terrified boy she had met that summer all those months ago, living through that just weeks before they met him. It was heartbreaking. “That was all real?”

“Yes.” Cronus didn’t hesitate; his hands tightened into fists against the table, but he didn’t lower his gaze. Instead, he glanced around the room to see what his friends thought of the news, and he breathed a sigh of relief when all he saw was the sadness in their expressions, no pity, no false pretences, just a wish that it had never happened. “When I was Harry Potter, before my father, my papa and Uncle Lucius came to rescue me… everything that was discovered by the aurors, everything that was written in the Prophet was the truth.”

Images settled around the room, almost as if they were illusions cast for everyone to see. A cold, harsh reality that no one wanted to acknowledge, but one they knew they needed to understand so they could help their friend more. A child who had been forced to sleep beneath the staircase like a house elf. A child who was forced to do chores his small body couldn’t handle. A child who had gotten used to hiding bruises under baggy clothes, scared to be sent away. A child who knew more about hunger, fear and isolation than unconditional love, safety, and protection.

“Correction,” Arete interrupted with a mild grimace, his face pale just remembering what he had been told by their parents and by Aldwyn himself when he had grown more comfortable around him and his brother. “The articles heavily sugar-coated a lot of it.”

Enyo’s expression tightened even further, like she was trying to physically stop herself from going out to hunt the muggles down. Menoetius looked horrified beyond measure, while Eris looked like she was battling against her stomach.

“The cupboard under the stairs,” Cronus said quietly, nodding once. “The neglect. The abuse. The isolation. I made sure to keep the brunt of it out of the papers. I didn’t think strangers needed to know the complete story of my life.”

Apollo shifted closer subconsciously to Cronus, his hand dropping the parchments to the table so he could rest one against Cronus’s shoulder. Erebus’s hand slid from Cronus’s back to his wrist and gripped so tight he almost managed to cut off the circulation, but Cronus didn’t bat an eye, didn’t try to move away. Instead, he shifted marginally, drawing the two just a little bit closer.

Ares looked away, his gaze dropping to his knees while his arms remained tightly crossed against his chest, as if he could protect himself from the reminder of what his younger brother had been forced to ensure, what every adult in his life refused to acknowledge and fix. Arete’s hands clenched by his side, trembling faintly in anger. But one thing passed around the room, silent and true as their friends watched Cronus stand his ground, refusing to bend or break beneath the weight of his past. They all made a silent vow that they would protect Aldwyn, that they would help him get stronger, be his support unit, no matter what life threw their way, because if Cronus could come out of something like that, then there was nothing they wouldn’t be able to face together.

“Lucius, Papa, and my father removed from that hellhole before permanent damage could be done,” Cronus finished calmly, a gentle smile tugged at the corner of his mouth, and it sent a small reassurance throughout the room.

“You were eleven,” Enyo muttered.

Cronus didn’t answer because there was nothing left to be said. He was no longer that scared little boy with no one at his side. He was now Aldwyn Prince-Slytherin, a boy who had two loving parents, two brothers who doted on him terribly and a large group of friends who would stick by his side no matter what. He had come a long way since then, and he knew that nothing was going to get in his way anymore. Not when those around him refused to let him slip back into the mindset he had developed when he was Harry Potter.

“You’re actually still the Boy-Who-Lived,” Aeolus stated, still looking shell-shocked.

“Technically, yes. But that is why Harry Potter needed to disappear. With the world believing him to be dead, I am now free to live my life as a normal child. Or as normally as possible with the parents I have.” He smirked, drawing chuckles from around the room.

“And Sirius Black…”

“…Was the magically recognised guardian James Potter created for me,” Cronus explained.

Chapter Text

Tracey was the first one to break the silence this time. She contemplated the entire meeting for a few minutes, running through all the facts before she pointed an accusatory finger toward the five members who already knew all the information and frowned. “I cannot believe you guys kept this a secret separately! I would have thought Draco of all people would have blabbed.” 

Draco looked marginally offended for a second before he shrugged his shoulders, looking unapologetic at the fact that he had kept such a huge secret for so long. Ares simply looked amused by her accusation, while Apollo had the grace to look guilty. Erebus was deeply entertained by the entire situation and leant closer to Cronus, who only rolled his eyes. 

“In my defence, I only found out because magical bonds apparently despise privacy.” Apollo groaned, dropping his head on Cronus’s shoulder.  

“That is not a defence,” Athena informed him, laughing when Cronus didn’t flinch at the contact and simply lifted a hand to pat Apollo on the head. 

“It’s the only one I have.” A weak ripple of laughter broke through the tension still clinging to the room, and everyone could feel the give snapping like an elastic band, allowing them to relax fully for the first time since their conversation began. 

“To be honest, you were going to be the next person I told, even if we didn’t have the bond between us. I am closer to you than anyone else here besides my brothers and Blaise.” Cronus admitted, craning his neck a little so he could glance at Theo, his voice barely loud enough for Erebus to hear as well. Theo tilted his head to the side, his expression softening a fraction. 

Once the laughter and quiet mutters settled back down, Enyo glanced back at Cronus, watching as he dropped his hand back to his side and Apollo raised his head from Cronus’s shoulder, though neither one of them stepped away from the other.  

“I don’t know whether I should laugh or slap you for the fact that you actually thought we would reject you because of this.” She didn’t look offended when she said it, which allowed Cronus to remain relaxed. In fact, she looked like she was trying her hardest to scowl but was really on the verge of laughing again. 

“I admit that I may have calculated the possibility.” He admitted, a little sheepishly. “But in my defence, when I was Harry Potter, we weren’t exactly friends. In fact, I do believe we could have considered ourselves enemies because of our house situation and my lovely little status.” 

Pheme looked downright offended at that, lips pouting as she tried to glare at Cronus. “Cronus, we helped you build a secret organisation beneath Hogwarts.” 

“We helped you defeat one of the Darkest wizards in European history,” Eris added. 

“We routinely violate educational laws by teaching each other Dark Arts and weapons handling right under Dumbledore’s nose,” Athena said dryly. 

“You are our friend and our Prince.” Menoetius rolled his eyes and smirked. 

“You think this is where we suddenly develop moral hesitation?” Aeolus questioned. 

“Just because you used to be someone, doesn’t mean you are them now. You have changed; you have stepped into your role as the Dark Prince with ease. You are no longer buried under the expectations of the Light side and are free to live your life how you want.” Arete added, smiling over at his younger brother, allowing his words to sink in for a moment before Ares huffed and shook his head. 

“And despite everything those who claimed to love you threw at you, you still survived and came out stronger than ever. You have our parents who dote on you, two brothers who adore you and are proud of the man you are growing up to be, and a friendship group who would happily burn the world for you so you could build it up again.” 

Another set of strained laughter, more freeing this time and louder, echoed through the chamber when Cronus tried to hide the faint flush that wanted to creep up his cheeks at their words by attempting to slip behind Apollo, who laughed harder and wrapped an arm around his shoulders so he couldn’t escape.  

Athena studied the blushing boy quietly for a moment, allowing the laughter to wash over her before she spoke up again. “I dislike incomplete information,” she started, drawing Cronus’s attention back to her. “But I dislike manipulated identities considerably more.” 

Something unreadable flickered briefly behind Cronus’s expression, not shock this time because he knew that Athena was someone who was incredibly dedicated to her knowledge base and would do anything she could to learn everything available about any topic that struck her interest, or any topic he asked her to research for him. It is one of the main reasons he assigned her to be one of the In Dolus Intortis's main researchers.  

The atmosphere in the room shifted with his tension, both softening as the members recognised that the information they had just received was not only something incredibly precious and showed a whole new level of trust Cronus had handed them, but that for Cronus to bring up his hidden old identity, there was more about the Bond they hadn’t been told yet.  

Athena allowed the silence to spread for a moment, speaking for itself before she sighed and stepped back up to the table, because the next piece of information was not going to be well received. She braced one hand against the wooden surface as she looked down at the layered ritual diagrams that made up the majority of their final revelation. A piece of Yorick’s paperwork that gave them the most trouble to understand and translate. 

“Now,” Apollo began carefully, releasing Cronus from his embrace long enough to glance around the room. “The reason why Cronus’s original identity matters is because the Blood Adoption ritual he underwent the summer between our first and second year fundamentally altered the structure of Sirius Black's guardian tether.” 

Several eyes immediately shifted back to the parchment along the table. Apollo flattened the first sheet carefully, nodding to Athena in thanks. Intricate ritual arrays spread across the yellowed parchment in concentric rings of silver ink, layered with ancient runic notations that looked almost painfully dense even beside Athena’s standard research. Arete whistled at the sheer intensity of the spellmenship. 

“Traditional Blood Adoption rituals,” he pointed at one of the notes, “are amongst the oldest forms of lineage reconstruction magic still partially recognised under the Wizengamot inheritance laws because it physically alters a child’s genetic heritage.” 

Tracey groaned softly. “That sentence alone sounds illegal.” 

“Technically, you would be correct,” Athena smirked absently, already scanning through her notes and the diagrams with a familiar focus. “Blood Adoption rituals are heavily regulated by the Wizengamot and only certain forms of the ritual are legally available for parents to use.” 

“For example, the ritual Father chose to use for me is an ancient form of the ritual that has been illegal for the past century or so because not only does it completely burn away the parents' original blood, it alters magical signature and can change the child’s alignment. Plus, he combined it with the Guardianship Bonding ritual to make the Malfoys my godparents.” Cronus added. 

“Exactly, most blood adoption rituals recognised by the Wizengamot and the Ministry of Magic will only allow one parent's genetic material to be replaced, and typically it will be the soon-to-be-parent who has the higher social status or magical ability that will be allowed to perform the ritual.” 

Enyo frowned. “What does all that mean?” 

Apollo tapped the central ritual circle. “In Aldwyn’s case, it means Maternal inheritance.” He pointed to a second ring. “Paternal inheritance.” A third one, slightly smaller. “Core alignment; Harry Potter was a Light wizard, Aldwyn is a Dark Wizard. Bloodline resonance: when his blood is tested anywhere, St Mungos or Gringotts, it will show only Lord Slytherin and Professor Prince as his parents. House compatibility: the Potters were magically compatible with the Weasleys and the Dumbledores, whereas Aldwyn’s magic would be compatible with the Malfoys or Mine and Blaise’s magics. Ancestral inheritance pathways; he has inherited ancient Slytherin family magics." 

Aeolus blinked. “That sounds horrifying in writing.” 

“It can be,” Athena admitted. “Bloodline magic is invasive by nature. The ritual dismantles the child’s existing magical and genetic framework and rebuilds it around the accepting houses.” 

Menoetius stared down at the diagrams with growing unease. “Entirely?” 

“Usually,” Apollo said quietly. “Yes.” And the use of the word ‘usually’ sent a shiver through the room because that meant something about Cronus’s ritual was most likely not usual. 

And just as Pheme opened her mouth to question Apollo, Athena’s eyes sharpened and spoke. “Cronus's ritual, we have discovered, did not behave normally. Not only did it take a few days for the changes to finalise, which hints at something attempting to interfere with the ritual at a fundamental level, but ultimately failed due to Salazar Slytherin’s spirit himself aiding Aldwyn during the ritual, but from what Aldwyn told us about how he felt after the ritual, he recovered too quickly.” 

“Athena is correct, for an invasive ritual that strips both sets of parental genetics from the child, replaces them with completely different parental DNA and adding in the guardianship ritual, Aldwyn should have been unconscious or in a great deal of pain for an estimated two weeks.” 

"Father, Papa, and I put it down to my heightened pain threshold from living with the Muggles.” Cronus nodded along like it made sense. 

“An understandable conclusion, but from our research, your body had been completely stripped and reconstructed in a matter of a few days; you should not have been well enough to get out of bed, let alone be playing Quidditch or walking around Diagon Alley,” Athena explained, sliding another set of notes across the table to Cronus and his bodyguards to look through. 

“Anyway, back to the topic at hand,” Apollo pushed forward another sheet of parchment from his pile, this one far more complicated than the first few. It showed three completely different magical signatures intertwined through a reconstruction matrix, and Apollo had labelled them. Lily Potter, Severus Prince and Marvolo Slytherin. 

“The Diagnostics ritual that Aldwyn’s parents performed the other day identified all three signatures embedded within Cronus’s lineage structure. And just so we are clear, the lineage structure is not the same as a genetic make-up.” 

Arete looked between the names slowly, his expression dropping into a heavy frown. “That should not be possible." 

“No,” Athena agreed immediately. “It should not. Lily Evans was recognised as Aldwyn’s birth mother, but her DNA was ultimately replaced by Professor Prince’s, so according to Aldwyn’s genetic make-up and any parentage test, he would show as the biological child of Marvolo Slytherin and Severus Prince. However, anything that was magically hers, heirships, monetary values, properties, including those which belonged to her husband as James Potter, although he wasn’t biologically linked to Harry Potter in any way, still magically recognised the child as his magical heir.” 

“Okay, that makes sense, I guess, but why did that happen? Surely, as soon as Harry became Aldwyn biologically, he should have no claim to heirships and heritage linked to Lily Potter or James Potter, right?" Ares asked. 

Cronus remained silent between Erebus and Apollo, glancing at the three signatures with interest as he absently played with the rings on his fingers.  

“The only reason we could understand why this could have happened is because Mother Magic herself got involved, but we are unsure how at this point in time.” Apollo exhaled softly through his nose and stared down at the notes. 

The chamber went utterly still because even amongst the Purebloods, that phrase carried enormous weight, because no matter how dedicated one performed their rituals, Mother Magic never typically got directly involved in rituals. Her sentient magic was embedded into the very ground they walked on, the structures they built, and it would have been documented if such powerful magic entered a ritual array. It meant ancient magics, foundational magics, the semi-sentient force underlying their entire way of life had seen something in young Aldwyn Prince-Slytherin and chose to protect him. 

Pheme straightened in her seat, staring at Cronus with her mouth agape. “Direct intervention?” 

Cronus nodded once because his father had told him about Mother Magic’s involvement while he had been distracted by Salazar Slytherin. “Lily Potter left behind a letter before her death,” he revealed, his voice even. “She already knew that Severus Prince was my biological father before I was born and decided to hide my true paternity from James. She also saw the adoption ritual in a vision at some point and asked my father to protect me and keep me safe.”  

Shock rippled through the chamber all over again, quieter this time but no less powerful because no one had known that Lily Potter held any sort of seer abilities.  

Apollo continued carefully. “During the Blood Adoption ritual, Mother magic attempted to complete the lineage overwrite, making Marvolo Slytherin the father and Severus Prince the bearer.” 

Athena picked up the explanation seamlessly behind him. “Under normal circumstances, the ritual would have replaced Lily Potter’s blood with Severus’s and James Potter’s with Marvolo’s.” 

"But it didn’t...” Eris interrupted. 

“I couldn’t, because Mother Magic recognised that Severus’s blood was already part of the genetic makeup of the child and therefore it decided to keep Severus as the father, and most likely replaced Lily’s blood with Marvolo’s.” 

Cronus nodded. “That is why when I went into Dumbledore’s office last year, and he performed a paternity spell on me, is showed my bearer as Marvolo Slytherin, which worked out well for us because according to the story we fed Dumbledore, Papa had no idea about my birth until Marvolo told him after we arrived in England.” 

“That is both terrifying and completely hilarious.” Eris snickered. “I can just picture the look on Dumbledore’s face when he concluded that the all-powerful Dark Lord was the bearer of his child. His entire worldview must have crumbled.” 

“It is also incredibly rare,” Athena added. “Direct intervention during lineage reconstruction rituals is practically unheard of before, but I guess this was an extenuating circumstance.” 

Cronus’s expression remained calm despite finally having some of his questions about his own parentage, and why his father had been listed as his bearer answered. “The ritual only reconstructed the maternal side of my genetic and magical makeup,” he clarified. “Lily Potter’s position within the framework was replaced by my father.” 

“Yes, and that,” Athena replied, “is why Hogwarts reacted so differently to you when you entered during your second year, why it felt like returning home after so long.” 

“The castle wards recognised Harry Potter as they did any other student who crossed the grounds,” Apollo explained. “He had no Slytherin inheritance resonance existing in his magical framework at that stage.” 

“But after the Blood Adoption,” Enyo whispered. 

“He returned, not as the son of Lily Potter and Severus Prince, but as the son of Severus Prince and Marvolo Slytherin, meaning he was carrying active Slytherin family magics.” 

"The wards recognised an Heir coming home,” Ares confirmed from his seat near the wall, smiling when Arete nodded in agreement and then added: 

“The Chamber then responded through that lineage recognition, which is why we were able to change the Chamber into a functioning training ground.” 

Apollo slowly turned to another page in his pile and sighed, “and this,” he began, “is where Sirius Black ties back into all this...” 

The members immediately became serious again, craning their necks to glance at the new sheet of parchment, a distorted magical diagram that seemed to stretch. A child’s magical core was represented in Silver, a second, larger circle marked Guardian and between them stretched a luminous tether. But unlike earlier stable examples, this one twisted violently halfway through its structure, dark fractures spreading through the silver threads like rot beneath skin. 

“The Carrion Tether,” Athena said quietly, and that name sent a quiet ripple of unease through the briefing room. 

Apollo traced the warped tether carefully with a single finger. “Guardian bonds form during early magical imprinting; rituals are performed by the biological parents. “Particularly for children with unstable environments, powerful magical abilities, or political vulnerabilities.” 

“Which Harry Potter was all three?” Eris muttered Darkly. 

Apollo nodded once. “The tether anchors the guardian instinct directly into the emotional framework of both participants.” 

Athena folded her arms delicately, her brows furrowed deeply. “Protection. Loyalty. Responsibility. Emotional stabilisation.” 

“Which is why, as we have established, Dementors are catastrophic for guardianship bonds,” Apollo added. He flipped to another page, revealing increasingly distorted versions of the tether. “Dementor exposure corrodes emotional magic first; it is why when we encounter one, the first thing we feel is an intense sadness. Fear replaces stability after a time. Desperation replaces judgement and possessiveness replaces protection.” 

Menoetius grimaced because no matter how many times he heard about the effects of Dementors, it never sounded any more pleasant. “That sounds deeply unhealthy.” 

“It has been known as magical psychological degradation,” Athena said bluntly. 

Apollo tapped the warped tether again, gesturing between the diagram of a healthy guardianship bond and the one formed between Sirius Black and Aldwyn. “Normally, Azkaban exposure would eventually collapse the bond entirely, after it had warped into something magic could no longer recognise.” 

“But Sirius’s bond survived and has warped into something no one has seen before. Yorick’s papers were all theory-based. The Ministry wouldn’t allow him to experiment with guardianship bonds for fear of what it would do to the child.” Enyo said. 

“Yes.” Apollo’s expression darkened. “Because, as Professor Prince and Lord Slytherin discovered during the diagnostics ritual, a secondary signature was found woven into the foundation of the bond.” He paused for a moment, took a deep breath and dragged a hand through his hair. “Someone deliberately interfered with the bond and ensured it would not be destroyed by Dementor exposure.” 

Silence crashed down around the room as an uncomfortable breeze seemed to tear through their debriefing room with terrifying accuracy.  

Athena slid forward another sheet of parchment, this one covered in darker runic structures. “As Apollo said, the Diagnostics Ritual identified secondary magical corruption embedded within Black’s side of the tether, meaning someone must have altered the bond at some point during his trial or just before he was sent to Azkaban.” 

Eris frowned. “Secondary signature interference?” 

“Exactly. An illegal interference that could land the saboteur in Azkaban themselves.” Apollo pointed toward branching fractures spreading across the diagram of a guardian tether. “Someone deliberately reinforced the bond over a decade ago, believing that they may be able to utilise it for their own purposes in the future.” 

“Why?” Aeolus sneered, his eyes darkening with anger at the thought of someone wanting to deliberately endanger a child, especially one as significant to the wizarding world as Harry Potter. 

"Because Harry Potter, even as an infant, was politically valuable and whoever this person was did not want to run the risk of losing them,” Erebus answered lazily from his chair, though his friends could see the tight set of his shoulders, and the way his eyes never quite left Cronus. 

Apollo nodded once before he continued in a grim tone. “The reinforcement converted the guardianship tether into something closer to a Directive Bond Enchantment, with all the added bonuses of a corrupted and collapsing Godfather bond.” 

“Yes,” Athena tapped another notation. “The Guardian therefore becomes compulsively drawn toward the child regardless of logic, distance, or self-preservation, and in some cases, even if the child is dead, the guardian will track their body down until it is found.” 

“Like a magically charged obsession, so whoever altered the bond was hoping to utilise the obsession of Sirius Black to track Harry Potter down in case the boy ever went missing or wasn’t where he should have been,” Pheme whispered, deeply horrified by the information and the planning that seemed to have gone into such an elaborate scheme. 

Apollo nodded. “But the Blood Adoption ritual further complicated the tether.” He turned to the final diagram in his stack of parchment and placed it in the centre of the table, where it showed two overlapping magical signatures: Harry James Potter and Aldwyn Salazar Prince-Slytherin. “The original identity technically ceased to exist after the ritual reconstruction,” Apollo explained carefully. “But because of the secondary magical interference, the bond somehow survived and is reading Aldwyn’s new magical core and signature as Harry Potter’s still...” 

"Sirius Blacks tether is searching for a child that no longer exists, which is why he hasn’t been able to make the connection that Aldwyn was Harry Potter. He may feel marginally drawn to Aldwyn without realising why.” Ares realised. 

“Exactly,” Apollo confirmed, and the implication unfolding before them suddenly exploded with horrifying clarity. 

"The bond cannot properly anchor itself,” Arete whispered. “So, it keeps trying to reconnect.” 

Ares’s expression darkened as he exchanged a glance with his brother. “Which explains the sudden and almost manic escalation.” 

“The instability, the fixation, and the break in,” Arete shook his head, worry for his brother heightening with each piece of new information. 

Apollo nodded once, a tight incline of his head as he stepped a little closer to Cronus. “Sirius Black is effectively chasing the ghost of a child who no longer exists anywhere, while the corrupted tether forcibly redirects him towards the nearest compatible core signature... the one it finds itself linked to.” 

No one needed to say it out loud because they all knew who the bond was leading Sirius toward; they all knew that escalation was going to be the only way forward, and that something was going to happen to Aldwyn if they did not find a way to sever the bond without it fighting and harming their friend in the process.  

Apollo glanced down toward the final note scrawled across the margins of Yorick’s research. His expression tightened, and his hand landed heavily on Cronus’s shoulder. “When identity changes but the tether remains, the guardian hunts the memory of the child.” 

The words settled like ice through the room, and still no one spoke because suddenly Sirius Black no longer looked like a simple threat that they would have to find a way to deal with. He looked broken, warped by Azkaban, corrupted by external interference and magically dragged toward a boy the world insisted no longer existed. 

Athena slowly turned to the final, slightly burnt page of her own notes, different ink and sharper handwriting, but no less familiar. There was less theory written on this sheet, more warnings than anything else, and she cleared her throat to read. “Should an anchor be tied to the wrong guardian, and should the child’s identity be altered or stolen, violence becomes inevitable.” 

Erebus leant back in his chair and sighed through his nose, not fed up but more as a release of pent-up frustration and anger. He glanced across the room and then returned to look at Cronus, their leader and friend, who had barely reacted to the threat against his person. “Well,” he muttered dryly, “that seems unnecessarily ominous.” 

A strained laugh escaped Eris despite the seriousness of the conversation and the threat of danger permeating the air. Even Pheme huffed faintly in amusement, and somehow, beneath the crushing weight of ancient magical conspiracy and corrupted bonds and identity reconstruction, the small flicker of humour grounded them, together. 

The brief flicker of strained amusement faded just as quickly as it had come, the weight of the research settling back over them like a heavy mist because Athena’s warning made their fingers turn cold, and their chests tighten. Because it meant that if they didn’t find a way to stop the bond from corroding further, they needed to find some way to fix it or dispel it completely, and if they didn’t, then it meant that Aldwyn was going to be hunted until he was caught. 

No one spoke for several long moments, allowing the threat just enough time to settle fully, not because there was nothing left to say, but because everything that needed to be said felt too heavy, too daunting in that moment of silence. The Carrion Tether, a directive, undetectable tracking charm, alongside the identity reconstruction and a corrupted guardianship bond that stretched between a man driven half-mad by Azkaban and a child, who technically no longer existed in the eyes of magic and law itself. 

Athena’s fingers rested lightly against the final parchment, her gaze distant with calculations as she mentally reordered every assumption they had held of the past two years, about the boy they had silently shunned for a title he had never asked for, about the shy boy they had met during a birthday party over a year ago. Around the table, similar expressions mirrored her own, a quiet processing that rarely happened during their meetings, quiet horror at learning that their friend was once again put in harm’s way. 

It was Enyo who eventually broke the silence with a heavy sigh. “So, Sirius Black isn’t just searching for Harry Potter,” she muttered slowly, carefully as she glanced around the room. “The bond itself is forcing him to?” 

Apollo nodded. “Think of it as Compulsion charms layered over emotional degradation.” 

“And deliberate external manipulations,” Pheme added, her voice just as quiet. 

“Yes,” Athena answered, though there was no real need. “Which means that Black’s behaviour is not entirely his own and will make him more unpredictable as the weeks go by.” 

Aeolus shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “That definitely doesn’t make any of this safer.” 

“No,” Ares replied bluntly from where he stood next to his brother, both looked at their youngest brother with open concern. “It makes everything we know about him almost completely useless. Whatever Remus told us about him could no longer relate to the man he used to know.” 

“And that,” Arete added, “is significantly worse.” 

Silence returned once more, because they could all see it now. The way that Sirius Black moved through the castle grounds like he was hunting by instinct rather than strategy, how he was risking his very life by travelling straight to Hogwarts, where one wrong move could mean his obliteration, just for the very slim chance of his godson being alive. The way his magic reacted to the presence of Dementors, and how that reaction crept through the bond and affected Aldwyn in detrimental ways. 

Tracey leant back in her chair with a loud sigh that accompanied the way her entire body seemed to collapse. She rubbed both hands over her face. I genuinely preferred things when I thought this was just a murder conspiracy when Sirius Black wanted revenge on Professor Prince...” 

“That was definitely simpler,” Erebus agreed lazily. 

Pheme snorted. “Our standards for normality and simplicity would be deeply concerning to anyone else.” 

“An occupational hazard,” Draco said smoothly, which caused a faint ripple of subdued amusement to move around the table, thinner this time, but still just enough to break some of the suffocating tension that pressed down around the room. 

Cronus remained standing at the head of the table with Erebus and Apollo flanking his sides, one standing rigid as he stared down at the parchments spread out around the table, while the other looked as relaxed as could be, but Cronus saw the tension as the muscles along his jaw twitched and his shoulders refused to settle. He leant forward to rest one hand against the wooden surface of the table, eyes lingering on the diagrams of distorted tethers. Harry Potter, Aldwyn Prince-Slytherin. Two identities layered over the same soul, one dead to the world, while the other was still being hunted. 

Athena watched him carefully, watched as his eyes scanned the parchments with an intensity that would have scared her if she hadn’t seen that look several times before. She allowed him a few seconds to gather his thoughts before speaking again, her voice deceptively calm despite the threat looming over their heads. “The most troubling aspect is that the bond should have collapsed entirely after the Blood Adoption Ritual.” 

Apollo nodded grimly beside her. “The magical identity reconstruction should have severed the original guardian imprint automatically.” 

“But it didn’t," Enyo murmured. 

“No,” Athena agreed. “Because someone reinforced it before the reconstruction destabilised.” She revealed. “Which means it had to have been reinforced at some point during Harry’s year at Hogwarts or during the summer holidays.” 

Ares folded his arms and grimaced. “Meaning that someone with a lot of magical power wanted this bond to be preserved at all costs.” 

“Not preserved so much as controlled,” Apollo corrected, his hand dropping back to Cronus’s shoulder, and those words landed heavily within the tense atmosphere. Because that word told them all they needed to know about the identity of the culprit. 

Controlled, not loved or loyalty, or even protection, but controlled, as if an eleven-year-old didn’t have the right to body autonomy like the rest of the world just because of his namesake. A child who was weaponised without being aware that he was being shaped and moulded into the perfect scapegoat for the Light to hide behind. The implications twisted coldly through the chamber. 

Pheme’s expression hardened. “They turned a guardianship bond into a tracking mechanism and control tactic.” 

“A political failsafe, for when their own power wasn’t enough,” Eris added. 

“For the Boy-Who-Lived,” Erebus said. 

Apollo glanced toward Cronus briefly, tightening his hand on his friend’s shoulder in a supportive gesture before he continued. “Yorick’s research suggests Directive Tethering was historically used during periods of political instability and when families developed blood feuds.” 

“To monitor their heirs,” Athena rolled her eyes. 

“To retrieve assets,” Arete said darkly, his eyes narrowing while his brows furrowed.  

“To control symbols, and sometimes the narrative.” Ares finished. 

A slow silence crept over the debriefing room before Athena’s expression shifted, not with confusion this time but with a cold rush of realisation, cold and sharp as it ran through her veins. “Wait...” 

Several eyes turned back toward her, staring as her fingers tightened around the edge of the parchment she was still clutching. She looked from the multiple diagrams still laid out haphazardly across the table to Cronus, her usually composed expression paling. 

“If someone deliberately reinformed the bond after Black entered Azkaban, before Harry Potter became Aldwyn Prince-Slytherin...” she said slowly, “then they expected the tether to remain useful.” 

Apollo’s posture stiffened beside Cronus, while Erebus’s gaze immediately narrowed. 

“Useful for what, though?” Enyo questioned immediately, frowning. 

Athena looked at Cronus for a moment. “For finding Harry Potter.” 

“Someone expected someone or something to attempt to take Harry Potter away from the Light side before they could utilise him properly, so this person chose to strengthen the guardianship bond before sending him back to the muggles. Maybe he thought Harry would run away from home, or that the Muggles would give him away or leave him somewhere.” Apollo muttered, hand shaking on Cronus’s shoulder, and Cronus noticed and raised a hand to press firmly against his friend's. 

“But then Harry Potter was announced dead over the holidays...” 

“Yes, he was officially announced dead during the holidays, but there was no body for the first week or so during the investigation,” Athena explained, and Arete’s eyes narrowed. 

“Which means that whoever altered the bond either knew that Harry Potter never actually died and was being kept away from them, or they desperately needed it to be false.” 

No one dismissed the statement because now they understood the events that led up to Harry's death and immediately followed made a lot more sense. The stories, the expectations, the political mythology that had been wrapped around a child too young to consent to any of it. A weaponised narrative built carefully around a name, even if the name itself had no knowledge of its purpose. And when the narrative fractured, when Harry Potter stopped behaving in a way he was supposed to, in the way his puppet master planned, the system attempted to drag him back into place. 

Because that simple statement changed everything. This was no longer about a corrupted guardianship bond that someone had forgotten to dismiss upon Sirius Black’s admittance to Azkaban, but this was a criminal offence so severe that Azkaban would look like heaven if the person behind it was ever caught. A person had preserved it intentionally, maintained and strengthened it despite the emotional risks it posed to both the guardian and the child.  

Ares’s expression turned stony. “Meaning that Black may have never had an actual objective of his own from the beginning.” 

“He was just a mechanism to be manipulated,” Apollo added quietly. 

“The tether was a hidden weapon from the beginning.” Erebus finished, his hand slipping back to its position along Cronus’s spine. 

While Cronus remained motionless, his only sign that he was still listening to the conversation was the slight shift in his stance. He tightened his hand around Apollo’s on his shoulder and leant a little closer to Erebus.  

“If the wizarding population discovered that Harry Potter was still alive after all this time...” Pheme leant back slowly in her chair, sighing loudly as she glanced across the room at Apollo, Erebus and Cronus, her heart twisted.  

“They would tear the country apart trying to find him and force him back into the role they expected him to play,” Enyo said flatly. 

“They would accuse the House of Slytherin of manipulation and coercion,” Athena added. “Lord Slytherin and Professor Snape would be cast as the villains in the story.” 

Tracey grimaced at the image that dragged through her mind. “The Prophet would have a collective seizure.” 

“No,” Apollo corrected quietly, his expression hardening into a frightening scowl. “They would weaponise it and force their own agendas through the Wizengamot.” 

It would not matter that he had been abused for the majority of his life, would not matter that Severus was his biological father, or that Lily Potter deliberately hid the true parentage of her child from her own husband. The public would not care that Mother Magic herself had recognised the truth and allowed Aldwyn to become Aldwyn. The public would simply see it as the Boy-Who-Lived had disappeared one day and Aldwyn Prince-Slytherin had appeared in his place, leaving them ridiculously helpless against an invisible threat. 

And even they knew, as thirteen-year-olds, that there were still far too many people in Wizarding Britain who would rather destroy a child than surrender ownership of a symbol they had no claim to. A quiet, dangerous stillness settled over Ares and Arete. 

“They would come straight for his family and leave no survivors,” Arete said softly, sharing a sorrowful look with his brother. 

“They would take him away and hold him under lock and key, using his family as an example of what happens when he breaks the mould,” Ares muttered after. 

Cronus’s expression still did not change, but his fingers that still rested against the table curled, the hand holding Apollo’s tightened, and he felt Erebus shift closer to his side.  

Athena looked down at the corrupted tether diagram again and felt her chest spark with a dull ember. “So, Harry Potter must remain dead.” She murmured, and no one argued.  

Because suddenly the conspiracy that surrounded the bond made a whole lot more sense, the way Sirius was acting, the way it was affecting Aldwyn’s core and why it was still active. This was not merely an obsession warped by years of Azkaban; it was a last-ditch attempt at a retrieval. Someone somewhere was still searching for the Boy-Who-Lived, and Sirius Black, broken, corrupted, and tied to a ghost, had become the perfect tool to do so. 

Eris let out a long breath. “Well,” she muttered when the silence stretched a little too long, “that’s deeply horrifying.” 

“Yes, it is.” Athena agreed calmly. “But our top priority is keeping Cronus safe.” 

The silence that followed this time no longer felt fractured or uncertain, no longer weighed down by questions and revelations. This silence felt aligned, like the In Dolus Intortis were now joined in a single purpose, because the moment the truth had been spoken aloud, the moment they had connected the clues together with the theory, something subtle shifted beneath the surface. Not fear, nor pity for their friend, but an understanding and perhaps more importantly, a choice. A choice they were making to protect their friend and the future security of their faction. 

Pheme straightened first, her chin lifting slightly as she looked across the table to stare at Cronus, who had finally raised his head to meet their eyes. “So, whatever happens next?” She asked, “You are not going to do this alone.” 

Erebus nodded immediately from his place at Aldwyn’s side. “Agreed.” 

Menoetius gave a firm grunt of agreement while Aeolus followed only a second later. Athena carefully gathered several sheets of her research parchments, collecting them into neat little stacks, handling them now with an almost reverent precision, now that they were understood and knew what they were going to be facing at some point in the near future. Ares cracked his knuckles quietly, while Arete mirrored the motion with a feral grin. 

Draco lounged back in his chair with studied ease, his fear of this godbrother fading marginally now that they knew all of the facts and could start planning a countermeasure against Sirius Black and the person who was controlling him. “Honestly,” he drawled smoothly, casting his glance around the room. “You all took this considerably better than I was expecting.” 

Pheme shot him a withering glare. “We’re still processing the fact that your best friend was secretly the most famous child in Britain.” 

“Formerly famous,” Erebus corrected with a widening smirk. 

“Technically deceased,” Eris added helpfully.”

Apollo groaned softly, smiling at Cronus when he felt the hand covering his own squeeze one final time before he dropped it back to his side. “Please do not start categorising Cronus’s identities. For all anyone needs to know, he has two, Aldwyn Prince-Slytherin and Prince Cronus.” 

“I think for legal purposes, we may have to,” Athena muttered, her voice light, which pulled a real laugh from multiple people around the table. A gentle but genuine sound that was enough to ease the lingering tension coiled beneath everyone’s ribs. 

Cronus settled more comfortably between Erebus and Apollo, watching his faction quietly. His friends, his people who were still here for him, still standing steadily at his side, still choosing him even with every single secret finally laid bare between them. Something in his expression softened almost imperceptibly 

Apollo noticed it first, then Erebus. The latter reached out immediately, the hand that had been resting against Cronus’s spine dropped to brush against the back of his hand before intertwining their fingers together. Apollo took one step to the left and bumped his shoulder with Cronus’s, a familiar action that brought eye rolls from their friends and fond smiles.  

“Whoever planned this out,” Athena’s voice cut through the silence, her expression determined and sure as she met Cronus’s relaxed gaze, “tried to design a child to fit their narrative; they did not anticipate someone intelligent to survive their manipulations and surpass them.” 

A faint flicker touched Cronus’s mouth, not quite a smile but close enough to mean something to his friends and brothers. Because they were aware that no matter what they had to face, no matter how many times they were forced to face Dark Wizards and deranged psychopaths, they would do it together.  

And as Hogwarts slept in blissful ignorance above them, unaware that the foundations beneath one of the year's greatest political myths had finally begun to crack open. Oblivious to the fact that ancient magics had exposed a truth someone had attempted to hide beneath bloodlines, rituals and corrupted bonds. Unaware that a band of thirteen-year-olds sat beneath the castle piecing together a conspiracy rooted deeply in old inheritance laws, identity reconstruction, and weaponised manipulation. 

But now, deep beneath those wards, hidden under the ever-watching gaze of Headmaster Dumbledore and his sycophantic band of Light followers, the In Dolus Intortis closed ranks completely, and whatever chain was still trying to drag Harry Potter back from the grave would now find itself anchored against all of them, used by the Dark to ensure Aldwyn’s safety. 

“Can you picture the look on old Dumbles' face if he ever found out that a bunch of thirteen-year-olds are running a magical counter-conspiracy?” Ares broke the camaraderie   

Erebus smirked faintly. “We prefer the term organisation.” 

Eris pointed across the table, her smile growing wider by the second. “No, absolutely not. We are not becoming a secret society.” 

“Technically, we already are.” Athena pointed out. “We meet in an underground chamber, conduct our own research, train and plan to take down the current majority through intelligence and social espionage.” 

Apollo snickered, “Objectively speaking, we are dangerously close to being on.” 

“We are scholars,” Arete commented with a light chuckle, glancing around the room at the Slytherin students and almost breaking down completely at the utter revulsion he was met with. 

“I agree,” Draco said. “Scholars with contingency plans.” 

“Which somehow just makes everything worse,” Ares muttered, shaking his head at his friends as a quiet ripple of laughter spread around the table again, this one stronger and more defined. 

Cronus allowed the sound to settle around him like a warm embrace he didn’t know he had been craving before he finally inclined his head, settled a little more comfortably between Apollo and Erebus and smiled. ”Meeting adjourned.” 

Chapter Text

The Castle grounds were quiet beneath the wintry sky.  

A thin layer of frost coated the grass beyond the castle walls, turning the landscape silver beneath the fading afternoon light. The majority of the students had long since retreated indoors to escape the cold, engaged deep in their lessons while one lone figure walked through the grounds, frost crunching beneath his feet.  

Remus Lupin walked alone, his hands buried deep within the pockets of his robes as he followed the edge of the Black Lake, his eyes scanning the distant tree line almost within conscious thought. Absently looking for any indication that he wasn't alone, looking for the familiar glow of amber eyes, a shadowy figure skulking through the brush. 

He had begun doing this weeks ago, when Aldwyn had first come to him asking about the scruffy, black dog that seemed too human to not be an animagus. He had taken to watching the grounds, the Forbidden Forrest, the far side of the Black Lake, just in case he found something he needed to find. Always searching, always hoping while simultaneously dreading the moment it was found.  

Those emotions, conflicting as they were, had long since become impossible to separate from each other. Always popping back up when Sirius was brought up in conversations, a warmth that was never entirely comfortable would flood his chest. Because that black dog, larger than a normal dog, scruffy as if he hadn't had a decent meal its entire life, had appeared again earlier that afternoon. 

Aldwyn had seen it when he was walking between the castle and the greenhouses, those same humanised eyes staring across the castle grounds, unblinking, unmoving as he walked across the grounds with his friends. It had been a little more unnerving than the encounter in Hogsmeade because this time, Sirius Black seemed to be watching the castle directly, watching the students.  

The small parchment note that had been delivered by Phanex, Aldwyn's tiny blue owl, had sent that familiar knot of tension twisting through Remus's stomach. Even before he had opened the letter, he had known what it contained. Not because he had been frightened, he wasn't scared of running into Sirius Black; he knew Sirius. They had been best friends back in the day; there was no one Remus had trusted more. 

Or, at least, he had once. 

A memory of Sirius as a gangly teenager flashed through his mind. A teenager who had too much energy, who smiled too widely and laughed too loudly. A teenager who would do anything in his power to fight against the label of 'Dark Wizard' that hung over his head because of his name.  

He feels a serene smile twitching at the corner of his mouth because he had loved Sirius, finally felt like he had found a family, somewhere he belonged, a group of people who would look at him without fear, talk to him without disgust. He loved the overconfidence Sirius used to have, that ridiculous recklessness that was only tampered down because Sirius only listened to him when he told him to rein himself in. 

But, despite his playful demeanour, Remus always thought that Sirius could take his pranks a little too far someday. Because that was just the kind of person Sirius was, someone with no filter, nothing in his mind to tell him when he had gone too far, except himself and James.  James was the centre of their universe when they were teenagers, the leader, the mother hen, the emotional regulator. 

But Sirius had been their spark, the slightly unhinged, prankster who allowed Remus to let loose every once in a while. He was the one who would make impossible plans sound reasonable, the one who never hesitated, the one who always seemed larger than life, who life seemed to favour. 

Until their sixth year. Until that one prank. Remus felt a surge of guilt twist in his gut because after that prank, his friendship with Sirius had never recovered properly. He had felt disgusted for a while, hurt that his best friend, the one person in the world he trusted above everyone else, could even think of turning him into a murderer, accidentally or otherwise.  

He had accused Sirius of being the same as those who followed the Dark Lord. Told Sirius that his prejudice against anything Slytherin was going to cause significant issues in the future, and for two months, he couldn't bring himself to speak to Sirius, let alone James and Peter, who tried their best to defend Sirius. 

But Remus couldn't just forget that Sirius not only revealed his secret to a Slytherin student they had always bullied and 'pranked' but also attempted to murder a fellow sixteen-year-old and blew it off as a prank. He had pulled away, and even though he felt his chest tighten at the memories, Remus knew he had done the right thing at the time because he would not, could not condone attempted murder or an innocent, and at the time, Severus Snape had been just as innocent as the rest of them. 

Remus stopped walking, his gaze settled on the distant forest. Somewhere out there, maybe hidden in the bushes, was the man who had once been his brother, was the same man who had accepted him into their group without a second glance. Someone who had used his illness to attempt to injure another. Someone who had broken out of Azkaban and broken into Hogwarts to hunt down a child. 

The contraction refused to settle comfortably in his mind because Padfoot would never willingly hurt Harry. The thought swam through his mind with all the certainty he could muster; an instinct that came from ancient memories of baby Harry running around the living room on the back of a large, fluffy dog. 

Because Sirius had loved Harry, he had loved that little boy like he was his own son; everyone knew that. Before James and Lily had died, before they had been forced into hiding, Sirius had been completely besotted with the tiny baby.  

Remus could still remember Sirius carrying a laughing toddler around the Potter cottage while Lily protested that he was teaching her child bad habits. He could remember Sirus proudly declaring himself Harry's favourite uncle despite having absolutely no evidence to support his claims. He could remember the fierce determination in his eyes whenever Harry's future was discussed.  

Sirius would have died for that child; most likely would have killed for that little boy. Remus had never doubted that for a second, which is why none of this made sense. His jaw tightened as he resumed his walk around the Black Lake.  

The Sirius he remembered would never have used his knowledge from their school days, of secret passages and an illegal animagus form, to break into a school filled with innocent, defenceless children. Sirius would rather have apologised to his mother than terrify young children (especially those not in Slytherin). Sirius from the old days would never have thought to stalk Harry, to follow him from the shadows, even if he thought it was to protect him. And he certainly would never have risked his life, being kissed by Dementors or captured by professors who believed him to be a mass murderer, just to see Harry.  

There was definitely something wrong here, something deeply wrong because this was not the Sirius he knew. And that was when the words from the Diagnostics ritual flashed through his mind. Not the details and not the theories they had come up with, but the conclusions that had attempted to explain everything. 

Corruption, instability, a foreign influence buried deep within the bond that was causing it to warp and twist and bend into something unrecognisable.  Remus had felt it himself when he had gotten the kids to face a boggart. Had felt the wrongness when Aldwyn's magical core had fought back against the fear, exploding outward in a protective counterattack. And then again during the ritual. 

The ritual chamber had been thick and heavy with ancient magic that day, enough that someone with no understanding of the process could have sensed that something was deeply damaged, rotting from the inside out. Sirius's side of the bond had been deliberately altered, and Aldwyn's core had reacted violently, unnaturally to the gentle caress of the probing ritual spells. It was as if something had twisted the protectiveness of the bond into a shape it was never meant to hold, and now it was fighting to break free. 

Remus exhaled slowly, picking his way through weeds and ice. He dragged a hand through his hair because he didn't understand how, didn't really understand the why, but he knew enough to recognise that whatever was happening this year was not normal. A word that had never truly applied to Sirius Black, not in their teens and not in their early adulthood.  

The thought that not all of Sirius's current actions were a result of the corrupted bond hurt more than he wanted to admit, to himself and out loud to Severus and Marvolo, who had been nothing but kind to him over the past year and a bit. But the thought that Sirius was, even partially, conscious of his decisions felt disloyal, and he didn't want to distrust his friend ever again. 

As though the mere acknowledgement of the possibility meant betraying a friend he had allowed to rot away, alone in Azkaban because he had allowed the world to turn his back on Sirius, to believe he had been a Death Eater all along. 

A gust of cold wind swept across the lake and slipped between the material of his cloak, causing him to shiver faintly. He turned up the collar of his clothes and continued on his walk around the castle grounds, where his thoughts inevitably drifted toward Aldwyn, toward the young child whom Sirius was unknowingly going after. 

Not Harry Potter, like Sirius probably thought, but an innocent child who did not need to be thrust into the middle of a political battle. And that was a distinction that mattered, maybe not to Sirius in his current state, but it mattered to anyone who cared. Because Remus had watched that boy rebuild himself piece by piece over the last year. Had watched him become something entirely different to the child in his memories, from the stories Severus and Marvolo shared with him when they first started talking again. From that small, frightened child who had arrived carrying the weight of an unknown world on his shoulders, facing impossible expectations and comparisons to parents he couldn't remember. 

But now, Aldwyn laughed a lot more. He trusted his parents and his friends more than he had probably trusted anyone in his life. He was intelligent, confident in his decisions and allowed his friends to set him straight when they thought he was doing something stupid or dangerous. He had a family who loved him, supported him and spoilt him rotten, people who cared for him because they chose to and not because he was a symbol, a means to an end.  

And that thought brought a tiny smile to the corner of his mouth because if anyone in the world deserved to feel loved and cared for, it was Aldwyn Prince-Slytherin. He felt an unexpected warmth fill his chest, thinking about the fact that he was now one of those few trusted adults Aldwyn had opened his heart to.  

Which was immediately followed by a chilling guilt because if Sirius looked at Aldwyn, if Sirius found out that Aldwyn used to be Harry Potter, then he would only see that little boy from a decade ago. He wouldn't see the intelligent boy who loved his father and his papa; he wouldn't see the child of Severus and Marvolo. He would see James Potter, a replacement for his glory days, maybe even the Boy-Who-Lived, a symbol for the Light. 

The young child he had sworn to protect and failed to do so the night Lily and James were murdered because he chose revenge over the safety of his godson. And maybe that was part of the problem. Perhaps Sirius had allowed the corrupted bond to have such a tragic effect on him because he believed he had failed Harry. Perhaps Sirius blamed himself for Harry's death because if he had taken Harry in instead of seeking Peter out for killing his best friend, Harry wouldn't have ended up with the Dursleys, and he wouldn't have suffered for ten years. He wouldn't have been killed by his relatives.  

It would explain why Sirius was so determined to find Harry, even though all evidence indicates that the child is no longer alive, and that possibility unsettled him greatly because it hinted at a vulnerability Sirius had been festering with for twelve years. It showed that his previous protectiveness had morphed into obsession.  

And with that, his thoughts drifted to Severus and then Marvolo because they were Aldwyn's parents and friends he didn't think he would ever have in this lifetime. If someone had told him two years ago that he would willingly spend his evenings sharing tea with Severus Prince, he would have laughed in their face because, although they had formed a very tentative friendship after the prank incident their sixth year, they had lost communication once the war had started properly. 

Yet somehow it had happened. Slowly and awkwardly at first. Sharing stories of Harry Potter, Remus listened as Severus explained everything he knew about the investigation into Harry's death. Then progressing into hearing stories about Severus's son, a young boy who had recently moved back to England with his father. To finally meet the child with whom he had immediately felt some sort of kinship, because of the underlying scent that reminded him too closely of Harry.  

And Marvolo, Remus smiled faintly despite himself, the Lord of a founding house, the man who had once terrified the majority of Britain without even trying. Yet, he fussed over Aldwyn's wellbeing with an intensity that rivalled Molly Prewett on her worst days. The man who immediately demanded cuddles with his thirteen-year-old son, no matter who was around and who spoilt Aldwyn despite Severus's constant berating. The image would have been amusing if it were under different circumstances; instead, it only seemed to deepen the knot in his stomach because he knew exactly what would happen if either man found Sirius first.  

Neither one of them would see James's best friend; they wouldn't see a man who had been wrongly accused and tortured in Azkaban for over a decade. They would see a viable threat to their son's life, to their family, and they would act accordingly. 

Remus came to a stop beside an old willow tree, whose branches hung solemnly, brushing the tip of the water in the breeze. And this time, the stillness around him seemed to linger because that uncomfortable truth was apparent; he wouldn't be able to blame either one of them for doing what they could to protect their son. Not anymore. 

Not now that Sirius Black had broken into the school somehow; not after he had been sighted, not just by people in Hogsmeade, but by Aldwyn himself in and around the castle grounds. Not after watching how Aldwyn stiffened at the mention of Sirius Black, leaning closer to his parents or his friends whenever he thought no one was paying attention. Not after seeing the fear hidden beneath Severus's carefully controlled expression. 

A fear that was mirrored in Marvolo's eyes whenever they learnt something new about the corrupted bond. A fear both of them tried not to show in front of Aldwyn, that deep-seated fear of losing a child, of having their family forcibly broken. 

A shiver ran down Remus's spine, and for the first time, he found himself wondering whether the situation had already passed the point where words could fix it. Because he wanted to believe, wanted to try talking to Sirius, to explain everything and hope he could prevent the situation from escalating.  

Because Padfoot would never hurt Harry. But this wasn't the Padfoot he knew anymore, and Harry no longer existed in the world. But he still wanted to believe that Sirius would recognise Aldwyn as the baby they used to play with; he wanted to believe it with every fibre of his being. 

But something was hurting Sirius, had been hurting him for a decade, and whatever it was, it was not making Aldwyn any safer. In fact, the longer they allowed it to continue, the more danger Aldwyn would be in and the more likely it would be that Sirius did something catastrophic. The realisation settled with a painful clarity in his chest, simple and unavoidable. 

The next time Sirius appeared, Remus would not ignore it. He would wait until the next full moon and use his enhanced sense of smell to try to track down the place Sirius was hiding out in. He would not pretend to notice if Aldwyn came to him pale and shaken again. He would not allow Sirius another near miss with Aldwyn.  

He would track Sirius down, and he would talk to him. He would try to understand what was happening before the matter could spiral any further, and if everything went well, he could try to convince Severus and Marvolo to spare Sirius's life. Because despite everything, despite the fear and the uncertainty and the mounting evidence against his old friend, Remus could still not bring himself to believe that his friend was beyond saving. Didn't want to believe that he was a real risk to Aldwyn and the family he had built. 

Not yet. 

But if things truly did escalate, if Sirius attempted to approach Aldwyn, get closer to him or showed any indication that he was starting to recognise who Aldwyn used to be... if Sirius truly was lost and threatened Aldwyn or tried to take him away... then he would stand in his way. 

Friend or not, brother or not.  

The decision hurt, but not as much as the alternative. Not as much as watching his old friend deteriorate, not as much as watching his friend become a kidnapper and potential murderer for real this time. 

The castle lights glowed warmly ahead as the afternoon sun settled over the grounds, and for a long moment, Remus stood staring at them. At the castle, the first place he had ever felt accepted and loved, among the students inside. Thinking about the strange family he had somehow found again and been accepted into.  

He glanced once more around the open ground behind him, the glittering surface of the lake and the threatening shadows of the forbidden forest before sighing and walking back up toward the castle.  What he didn't know and didn't notice was the set of disturbingly bright amber eyes watching him go with an intensity that belonged to no animal before it slunk back into the dense undergrowth of the forest without a sound. 

-------- 

The corridor outside the library was unusually busy for a Wednesday afternoon. Students flowed between lessons in small groups, and conversations echoed off the walls as sunlight filtered through the tall windows overlooking the courtyard. And despite the threat of Sirius Black still looming over their heads, many students were more relaxed than they had been all week, laughing and joking around, looking like they were getting at least a little more sleep than before. 

For once, nobody in the Slytherin third-year group seemed particularly interested in politics, conspiracy theories, Dark Lords, escaped prisoners, corrupted magical bonds, or ancient research papers that had detrimental impacts on their mental well-being. Which was most likely why they all seemed to be in such good moods 

Aldwyn walked in the middle of the group, one hand tucked deep in his pocket while the other balanced a stack of books against his hip. Most of them had come from the library, books on topics not necessarily related to schoolwork, but topics that seemed interesting. Besides, only half of them were actually his to read. 

Theo, on the other hand, was currently carrying three books that he had somehow convinced Madam Pince to let him borrow as they were necessary for a school project. Though how he had managed that, even Aldwyn was unsure because not only did no one in his group believe him, but even Madam Pince looked sceptical as she read the permission slip allowing Theo access to the Restrictive Section. 

"Remind me again," Draco drawled from behind Aldwyn, "why exactly you needed an entire section on defensive ward architecture. You could just ask Bill any questions you had...?" 

Theo looked deeply offended by the enquiry. "Because knowledge is important." He exclaimed. "And asking someone who worked in Warding for a living is cheating myself out of a good read..." 

"And it has absolutely nothing to do with the fact that you get a kick out of stealing books right under Madam Pince's nose." 

"I have no idea what you are talking about," Theo sniffed, shifting his books higher in his arms. "I borrowed these books." 

"Madam Pince threatened you." 

"That was entirely unrelated." He glared at Draco. "Honestly, that woman doesn't appreciate a child's thirst for knowledge." 

Blaise snorted from Aldwyn's right. "She called you a menace to the school." 

"Again," Theo replied calmly, "entirely unrelated..." 

Their entire friendship group laughed because it never ceased to amaze them how much Madam Pince seemed to hate Theo, not because he necessarily did anything bad. He was the type of student who always returned his books on time, and in relatively pristine conditions, but she didn't seem to appreciate it when he would leave small notes in the books pointing out major mistakes in the information, with some rather creative insults aimed toward the authors and their editors. Apparently, she had received more than a few complaints over the past three years. 

Aldwyn shook his head, a smirk threatening to break free. "You realise she's eventually going to ban you from the restricted section." 

Theo looked positively horrified. "The woman wouldn't dare!" 

"The woman absolutely would." 

"The woman has tried before," Tracey added helpfully, "but somehow you still left her those little passive-aggressive notes claiming she was an enemy to child development and the expansion of knowledge. 

Theo pointed accusingly at her, pouting dramatically. "You were supposed to be on my side, Traitor!" 

"I was on your side." 

"You testified against me!" 

"I was just testifying accurately; besides, it was a compliment!" 

"The betrayal!"  

Pansy rolled her eyes at the argument. "Theo's ability to sneak into the Restricted Section is not on trial here. The fact that you're still allowed inside the library remains one of Hogwarts' greatest mysteries." 

"Thank you." 

"That wasn't a compliment." 

Theo grinned, "It sounded like one." 

"I think Madam Pince gave up on trying to ban Theo because even when she restricted his access, he was still able to steal books. At least this way she is mostly aware of what books he is 'borrowing'." Aldwyn laughs, throwing an arm around Theo's shoulders while Daphne rolls her eyes. 

"Don't think we don't know how Theo was able to sneak into the Restricted Section, Mister I-Own-The-Only-Working-Century-Old-Invisibility-Cloak." 

Draco sighed dramatically when Aldwyn simply smirked at Daphne and shrugged one shoulder, certainly not denying the fact. "Merlin, help us all." 

"Merlin gave up years ago." Blaise snickered. 

"Understandable." The conversation dissolved into quiet laughter once again, as they continued to tease Aldwyn and Theo about their book choices and the fact that they were using a legendary item to read more books. 

For a few moments, they continued walking through the corridors in comfortable companionship, pushing and shoving each other with little regard for standard decorum, talking a little too loudly and laughing even louder. They ignored the stares of their fellow students, ignoring the whispers of their classmates and the smiles of younger years who hadn't quite learnt that it was customary to fear them yet. 

Aldwyn found himself far more relaxed despite everything that was happening around them, and it was strange how easy it happened when he was simply allowed to exist with his friends. Not as Prince Cronus, not as Aldwyn, Heir to the Prince and Slytherin lines, but as just Aldwyn, another third-year Slytherin.  

A year ago, Merlin, even a week ago, would have been stressing himself out waiting for the next disaster to strike. Waiting for the next villain, the next crisis to pop up and throw him into some dangerous adventure. But in this moment, he found himself enjoying the calm. Even though Sirius Black had broken into the school not too long ago, even though his core was still being stabilised by nasty-tasting potions every morning, he felt less stressed than he had in weeks. 

And he felt relieved that moments like this still found them. Moments where they could simply be children, moments where they were simply just friends walking between classes. Where there was nothing more complicated than a discussion about schoolwork and what they wanted to eat for dinner. 

Their conversation shifted when Draco suddenly pointed toward the stack of books balanced against Aldwyn's side. "Speaking of poor decisions." 

Aldwyn immediately followed his friend's gesture and frowned. "What are you talking about? My book choices are not that bad." 

"You willingly took out a pile of books all about magical law... to read for fun." 

"Exactly." 

"Which means they are that bad." Draco shuddered at the thought of anyone wanting to read about laws and governmental matters in their free time, but then again, this was his godbrother, who didn't seem to understand the meaning of the word fun. Not in the conventional way, anyway. 

Millicent nodded solemnly. "He's got a point, you know." 

Aldwyn looked utterly betrayed at her siding with Draco and pouted. "You're supposed to appreciate legal scholarship." 

"I appreciate many things," she agreed easily, a delicate smirk beginning to form at the corner of her mouth. 

And?" 

"Legal scholarship is, unfortunately, not one of them." She concluded, her mouth twitching more as Aldwyn's pout deepened. " I prefer physical violence and combat training or duelling to governmental and political drivel." 

Theo looked thoughtful for a moment, glancing down at the books his friend was carrying. "To be fair, most magical legislation appears to have been written by people actively at war with sentence structure... And by those who win and wish to suppress those they deem unworthy or who hold different views." 

"Thank you, Theo." Aldwyn huffs, "At least someone appreciates the subject that will allow us to aid in the reconstruction of our Laws and legislation so Dark wizards and witches are no longer suppressed and targeted." 

"You are welcome, Wyn." 

"I don't think that was supposed to be an agreement, Aldwyn," Pansy interjected, looking from Theo and Aldwyn with a raised eyebrow. 

"Then why did it sound like one?" 

The girl groaned loudly and dropped her face into her hands, causing her to almost fall over and hit the floor if Millicent hadn't caught her. "Please stop encouraging each other." 

"No," Aldwyn commented immediately. 

"Absolutely never," Theo added, and the pair immediately broke into guffawing laughter that caught the attention of half the students walking past. 

Draco rolled his eyes, then glanced back down at the pile of books Aldwyn was carrying. "So, what exactly are you researching this time?" 

"Guardianship Laws." 

Several members of their group sighed heavily, not because they were sure they knew why Aldwyn wanted to research more about guardianship laws and rights in the wizarding world, but because of how happy he looked at the prospect. 

Aldwyn looked offended. "What?"  

"You say that," Blaise replied, edging closer to his friend, "the same way other people announce they're learning an exciting new hobby." 

"This is interesting." He insisted. At least to him, it was something he wanted to learn more about, mainly because dissecting the guardianship bond he had had piqued his interest, but also because he wanted to ensure that Black wouldn't be able to use any ancient laws to reverse the blood adoption or his parents' parental rights. 

"It's legislation..." 

"It's ancient legislation." 

"It's still just legislation." 

Aldwyn opened his mouth, closed it again, thought for a moment, then pointed at Blaise with a wide grin. "You're just upset because I was right." 

Blaise narrowed his eyes, completely lost as to what his friend was talking about this time. "About what?" 

"The Inheritance Clause." 

A look of genuine horror crossed Blaise's face at the reminder of their very political, very detailed argument about ancient legislation only an hour earlier. His face went pale. "Oh, we're not discussing this again." 

"Oh, we absolutely are." 

"You bought charts!" 

"Yes, they were excellent charts!" 

"They were colour-coded!" 

"They needed to be," Aldwyn argued, rolling his eyes at his friend, but he was still grinning from ear to ear while his friends laughed behind them. 

Theo immediately perked up and glanced between Blaise and Aldwyn with interest. "There were charts?" 

"There were charts." Aldwyn nodded solemnly, almost as if he were upset that no one wanted to appreciate his beautifully colour-coded charts all about Inheritance Clauses and Rights. 

"Can I see the charts?" 

"No," Blaise broke back in immediately, looking paler by the second at the thought of Aldwyn and Theo nerding out over guardianship research and legislation from decades ago.  

"What? Why not?" 

"Because you're Theo, and if you get involved, we won't be able to stop you until you have argued with Aldwyn about everything possible... and we have dinner in less than an hour." 

"I don't see the problem." 

"That is the problem."  

At this point, even Draco was almost doubled over laughing because not only did Theo look completely unrepentant about the entire thing, but Aldwyn looked wholly offended that Blaise was including him in their argument. As if he and Theo working on some harmless research would result in the end of the world. 

Several students walking past stared at the Malfoy heir as if they had never seen him before. They stared at the redness spreading out from his cheeks, the way he clung to Daphne in order to keep himself upright, the way his breath stuttered as he attempted to calm himself down. And when he was able to compose himself again, for the most part, he noticed the stares and immediately scowled.  

"Don't," he warned, holding a finger up. Nobody said a word. "Not a single word." 

Their entire group promptly burst into laughter once more, which did absolutely nothing for the students who had been trying their hardest not to laugh at the Malfoy Heir. And perhaps for the first time since the Prophet announced Sirius Black's escape from prison, everything felt completely normal. Which was precisely when disaster always chose to strike. 

"YOU!" The shout echoed through the corridors, bringing the laughter and smiles to a screeching halt because everyone knew who that voice belonged to. Conversations died immediately as students turned to see Ronald Weasley standing halfway down the corridor, his face completely red, breathing heavily, as if he had just run halfway through the castle just to find them. He looked completely furious and completely ridiculous. 

Students immediately began to back away, not escaping from the corridor but pressing themselves against the walls or hiding behind tapestries because they didn't want to miss what was most likely going to be an intense argument, and some of them were hoping that it would turn into a duel. 

Aldwyn felt Blaise straighten beside him, while Theo's amusement immediately settled into something more serious. Draco rolled his eyes and took a single step forward, so he was positioned in front of the girls in their group. 

"Ah," he sighed. "The village idiot has arrived." 

Ronald ignored him completely, his attention fixated entirely on Aldwyn, who stood at the head of his group with a bored expression on his face. "You think you're funny?" He began, and Aldwyn raised an eyebrow. 

"That depends entirely on the audience." Several nearby students snickered, and Aldwyn felt the corner of his mouth twitch. 

Ronald went even redder. "The pranks." The words came out like an accusation, but they lacked confidence, almost as if Ronald had worked himself up into this frenzy simply to convince himself that he was right. "You were behind them all." 

Silence settled over the corridor as students recalled the week when Ronald had found himself with some unfortunate luck. They recalled the yellow features he threw up, the lack of sleep, and the random noises he would make whenever he tried to speak. It had been some of the best entertainment they had received all year. 

Then Tracey laughed, not a polite laughter which she attempted to hide behind her hand, not a subtle noise, but a loud, entertained sound that echoed around the corridors and caused Ronald's hands to tremble. "Oh, this is going to be fun." 

"I know it was you lot!" Ronald snapped, pointing at the group. 

"No," Blaise replied calmly, resting his elbow on Aldwyn's shoulder. "You suspect it was us." 

"Same thing!" 

"It really isn't." 

Weasley pointed at Aldwyn and snarled. "You did something to me. I lost Gryffindor house points all week because of you." 

Aldwyn raised a single eyebrow, his smirk still in place. "An excellent legal argument, Weasley. Why don't you take that to Professor McGonagall?" 

"I know it was you lot!" 

"And yet," Theo observed mildly, mirroring Blaise's stance against Aldwyn's other side, much to their friend's amusement. "You appear to be struggling with the proving it part." 

Several students laughed again, and Ronald looked like he was ready to explode with frustration as he glared across the corridor at the group of Slytherin third years. "You think you're so clever." 

"No," Draco said, inspecting his nails. "We know we're clever. Especially in comparison with certain people in this school." 

That earnt another round of sniggers from the corridor, even some of Weasley's own friends seemed to be laughing at their housemate's humiliation. Ronald clenched his fists at his sides, his arms shaking with the effort it was taking to hold himself back from reaching for his wand or lunging at them. 

The movements, subtle as they were, didn't escape the notice of the Slytherins. Aldwyn felt Blaise shift slightly closer to his side, while Theo's arm slid from his shoulder to his shoulder blades. He could practically feel the tension rising in Daphne, Millicent, Tracey and Pansy, as if the girls were simply waiting for his signal to unleash their potential on the idiotic Gryffindor. 

However, no one stepped forward, no one really moved, and they didn't try to intervene because no one saw Weasley as a genuine threat. Which, admittedly, was not helping Ronald's temper in the slightest.  

"You've been laughing at me for weeks." 

"No," Pansy corrected, "We've been laughing at your reactions." She said. 

At the same time, Millicent muttered, just loud enough for their friends to hear, "We've been laughing at you for years." Though Ronald didn't seem to hear her. 

"Same thing!" 

"Again," Theo sighed thoughtfully, "it really isn't." 

Ronald made a strangled noise in the back of his throat, a sound that seemed to be part frustration and part anger. It was the sound of someone who had finally reached the limit of their restraint, when most rational thoughts flew from their mind, only leaving behind an impulsive shell. His hand disappeared into the pocket of his robe, and the reaction was immediate. Students gasped and pressed themselves closer to the walls and alcoves, watching Ronald in case he had truly lost the plot and started attacking them. 

Aldwyn simply sighed and dragged a hand through his hair. "Oh dear," 

Ronald's wand emerged and pointed directly at Aldwyn's face. Not that Aldwyn felt uneasy in the slightest, he could grab for his wand and erect a shield spell before Ronald managed to get his first spell muttered. 

"There it is," Draco smirked, watching Ronald with a bored expression because he was hoping the Gryffindor would have learnt his lesson about aiming a wand at Aldwyn, especially after the previous year, but apparently, he hadn't. "I was wondering when he'd do something stupid." 

Ronald ignored the commentary, tried to steady his wand and sneered at Aldwyn. "Expelliarmus!" The spell shot forward, fast and angry, but predictable in its trajectory. 

Aldwyn's smirk widened as he casually pushed Blaise to the side and stepped out of the way of the red light. His friends copied his movements so they wouldn't be hit with the spell either. The bright light sailed harmlessly past them and struck a suit of armour, which immediately began singing loudly and horrendously off-key, Celestina Warbeck. The corridor erupted into laughter. 

Weasley stared down at his wand, then over at the armour, before he glanced at Aldwyn, utterly baffled for a moment. "...What?" 

"Unfortunate aim," Aldwyn observed, then he grabbed his own wand, flicking his wrist to release it from its holster. He aimed his wand at Weasley, and a burst of silver sparks struck the hem of Ronald's robes. When nothing happened immediately, Ronald smirked, thinking that the spell had malfunctioned, until he moved.  

He shifted his stance, or at least attempted to, but the moment he did, his shoes began squeaking. It was an irritating, loud noise, an absurd rubber-duck noise that made students wince with every single step Ronald took. The laughter around the corridor doubled. 

Weasley looked horrified as he stared down at his feet. "You-" 

"A Squeaking Charm, I haven't seen anyone use this since we were children," Theo commented, applauding his friends ingenious. "Elegant" 

"Traditional," Blaise agreed, snickering behind his hand. 

Ronald growled low in his throat and fired off another spell. "Locomotor Mortis!" 

Aldwyn leant backwards, just enough for the spell to sail an inch or two above his head without throwing his balance off. He righted himself a second later and raised an eyebrow. 

"Third-year curriculum," Theo noted." It's like Gryffindors have absolutely no brain cells and need to be spoon-fed everything." 

"It is getting rather predictable." Aldwyn agreed. 

"Ridiculously predictable." 

Aldwyn smirked at Theo before flicking his wrist. He sent another burst of magic toward Ronald's robes and snickered when every button on his school uniform transformed into brightly coloured daisies. And not the Muggle ones that sat still in the ground, but wizarding variants that liked to dance and move, pulling Weasley's uniform until it was completely rumpled. 

The corridor exploded in a cacophony of laughter and spluttering as they watched Ronald fight against his shirt that was attempting to rip itself in half and his cloak that was trying to escape, only to get stuck around his ears. Even some of the Gryffindor third years, Dean and Seamus, were grabbing hold of each other to stop themselves from falling over laughing. 

Ronald glanced down at his uniform, pulling his shirt straight over and over again, trying to swipe at the Daisies, who simply danced out of his way. His face went white with fury, then immediately shifted back to red. Then, to a shade that was usually associated with dragon fire, which caused the Slytherin students to laugh even harder. 

"You think this is funny!" 

"A little," Aldwyn admitted with no remorse at all. 

Weasley roared and launched another spell without much thought, resulting in this one being far sloppier than the previous two. Aldwyn sidestepped again and watched as the curse struck a tapestry, the student hiding behind barely having enough time to jump out of the way before they were hit. 

Within the tapestry, several embroidered knights immediately began arguing about ancient taxations and who had the biggest and most impressive sword. The watching students nearly collapsed against the walls, watching the fight, clutching their friends and whispering commentary. 

Meanwhile, Aldwyn looked thoroughly unimpressed by the display and commented casually, his shoulders lifting. "You know," he said, "most duellists try hitting their targets." 

"I'm trying!" 

"That does seem to be the problem," Draco actually applauded the fact that his friend had managed to rile Weasley up to the point that he had gone blind by his anger, causing his spells to misfire almost constantly. 

Ronald snarled again and charged forward, which somehow managed to be even less effective than when he was blindly firing spells. Aldwyn once again stepped to the side neatly. A quick tap of his wand against Ronald's back sent out another harmless charm. Instantly, Weasley's hair turned bright canary yellow, matching the feathers he was forced to spit out for over an hour the other week. Whatever composure some students had been trying to maintain completely crumbled. 

Theo leant toward Blaise, eyeing the vibrant colour that was almost a little too bright. "That one was unnecessary." He bought a hand up to shield his eyes. 

"I disagree." 

"Of course you would." Theo teased, throwing an arm around Blaise. "You love to see people suffer." 

"Humiliation is the best torture for someone as proud as the Weasel." 

Ronald turned to glare at them, his lips practically invisible and eyes slitted. He looked incredibly close to violence this time, and not the magical kind. Physical violence that he loved to attempt when he realised that his opponents were magically stronger than him. Though what he didn't know was that, although he was bigger than Aldwyn, Aldwyn had been training for weeks in Muggle martial arts. 

"Fight properly." 

Aldwyn stared at him for a moment, then glanced around at the increasingly large audience that had gathered, then back at Ronald. "No."  

His answer caught everyone off guard, stunned by his blunt response. Including Ronald, who immediately faltered because he expected Aldwyn to start firing proper defensive or offensive magic and not just prank spells. 

Aldwyn lowered his wand slightly, his demeanour completely calm and composed, almost dangerously so. "Because if I actually fought back, Weasley, this would stop being funny." 

The words landed harder than any spell could have, freezing the entire corridor as if he had cast a Petrification Charm across all students. Ronald also froze, his wand half raised as several students exchanged looks with their friends and housemates because everyone knew exactly what Aldwyn meant, they had seen it before. 

The difference between Aldwyn Prince-Slytherin and Ronald Weasley was no longer small; it hadn't been for a long time, and even though Professors like McGonagall were finally learning to think for herself and not discriminate based on a student's family name and their schoolhouse, Dumbledore was still an issue, even with his Headmaster authority capped.  

Aldwyn continued calmly. "You were the one who challenged me." His tone was casual while Ronald said nothing. "You attacked me. And yet the only injuries you've suffered are to your dignity. If I were to 'get serious' like you wanted, you would already be on the ground." 

A snort escaped Millicent, and she did nothing to try to cover it up. Theo immediately started snickering, though he tried to disguise it as a cough, poorly. Ronald now looked like he wanted the floor to swallow him whole, finally realising what he looked like in front of so many older students who were desperately trying to withhold their laughter.  

The corridor was almost completely silent, people shuffling as they watched Ronald breathing hard, his hands clenched tightly at his sides, his robes dishevelled and still shifting and fighting against him as the daisies continued to dance, half covered in small chunks of bright yellow hair. His hair was sticking up in several impossible directions, even though he hadn't touched it once, and a faint squeak escaped his shoes every time he tried to shift. 

On the other hand, Aldwyn stood several feet away, looking almost absurdly composed. Pristine uniform, hair tied neatly at the base of his neck. His wand remained raised but held loosely between his fingers. And more importantly, as if he had planned for it, he had not fired off a single offensive or defensive spell. Which made Ronald's current appearance all the more impressive. Or embarrassing, possibly even both. 

The girls, who had backed themselves up against the wall, were now resting all their weight against the stone, arms wrapped around each other in an attempt to hold themselves up, their cheeks red from laughing too much. Theo appeared to be fighting for his life as he burst into snickers every time he caught sight of Ronald, while Blaise wasn't doing much better. Draco had finally abandoned all pretences of dignity several spells ago and was leaning against Theo's shoulder. 

Then a sharp voice cut through the corridor. "What?" Silence immediately fell. "Exactly." The voice grew colder. "Is going on here?" 

The crowd parted immediately, making a clear walkway through the hallway, leaving Aldwyn and Ronald exposed to the approaching professor. She strode toward them with determination, her tartan robes snapping behind her like a warning banner as students attempted to hide their faces. 

The expression on her face suggested that she was approximately three seconds away from assigning detentions until the end of time. No one wanted to answer her; they didn't want to volunteer themselves to face her wrath, and they weren't suicidal.  

Her gaze swept with precision across the corridor; she took in the gathered students, the scorch marks from misfired spells, and the scattered clumps of bright yellow hair along the floor. She sighed at the overturned suit of armour, the trail of magical residue still lingering in the air, and then finally, at Ronald and Aldwyn who stood in the middle of it all. 

Aldwyn noticed her attention and lowered his wand first. He didn't make an excuse; he didn't duck his head and avoid her gaze. He simply aimed his wand at the floor and waited. 

McGonagall noticed his movements immediately, just like she noticed a great many things she hadn't allowed herself to notice before. Far more than she used to, which was a realisation that sat heavily in her chest, months later. The discovery of decades' worth of compulsions, loyalty enchantments, and subtle magical manipulations had left scars she wasn't entirely certain would ever disappear. 

There were entire portions of her life that she now found herself questioning, mostly the 1970s and 1980s, where she had let her Gryffindor student get away with stuff she wouldn't think twice about punishing now. She spent countless nights questioning decisions she had made, ones she had been absolutely certain of; judgements she had made without hesitation. Thinking of all the children she had failed. Severus Snape was the first to come to mind, then Harry Potter and finally Aldwyn. 

A boy she had judged long before she had ever truly known him, simply because he was the child of Lord Slytherin. A boy she had assumed guilty far too often, but a boy she was now beginning to understand and appreciate. But that guilt, that prejudice she held against him for an entire year and the guilt she felt over it would never leave entirely, and she suspected that it never truly would.  

Which was precisely why she forced herself to examine the scene in front of her carefully before speaking. She would not make any assumptions and focus only on the facts, on observations she could see, evidence. A lesson she knew she had learnt far too late, but not late enough for her to try and change. 

Her eyes moved briefly to Weasley. His wand was still clenched tightly in his hand, his face red with anger and humiliation. He was breathing heavily and would have resorted to physical violence eventually if she hadn't intervened. Then she turned her attention to Aldwyn, who had his wand lowered. His posture, despite being under attack, was relaxed, waiting for something to happen. He wasn't gloating, wasn't provoking, but simply waiting for a verdict. 

The contrast was striking. 

"Mister Weasley." 

Ronald immediately pointed toward the Slytherins. "He did this!" 

McGonagall didn't look away from her student and simply raised an eyebrow. "Indeed?" 

"He attacked me!" 

Several nearby students immediately made strangled noises, staring from Weasley to Aldwyn and then up at McGonagall, who looked just as composed as ever, but like she didn't believe a word the Gryffindor was telling her. Theo actually choked on his breath at Weasley's words while Draco made absolutely no effort whatsoever to disguise his laughter.  

McGonagall's gaze shifted from Weasley to the crowd of students. "Did he?" 

Nobody answered her, mostly because their hands were pressed tightly against their mouths as they tried not to laugh at the ridiculousness of the situation. Despite McGonagall trying to appear unaffected by the visage of the third year, even the audience could recognise the slight glow of amusement that surrounded her whenever her gaze shifted toward Weasley.  

Ronald looked around desperately, his gaze landing on his friends. "Tell her!" 

Dean stared at his for a moment too long, silence stretched uncomfortably, then he glanced at Aldwyn, who had relaxed even further and folded his arms. Then he turned back to his friend and smirked. "Mate," Ronald looked hopeful. "You really don't want me to answer that." 

He shook his head and snickered when Seamus wrapped an arm around his shoulders and rolled his eyes. Neither one of them felt particularly charitable toward Ronald at the moment, not when he chose to pick a fight with a group of students who clearly spent their free time practising duelling techniques and spells above their grade level. 

Several students snorted when Ronald's face turned redder, and McGonagall's eyebrow climbed higher. "Mister Zabini?" 

Blaise straightened slightly, looking as composed as ever as he met her gaze head-on. "Yes, Professor?" 

"You witnessed the incident?" 

"I did, professor." 

"And?" 

Blaise somehow managed to maintain a perfectly serious expression when he gestured toward Weasley. "It was an extremely educational duel." 

A cough escaped Pansy, and she turned her head. 

McGonagall closed her eyes briefly and took a breath as if she were questioning her life choices to continue working with children. "Mister Zabini..." 

"Weasley attacked us first." The corridor immediately quieted down as Blaise gestured vaguely between Weasley and them. "He cast the opening spell, after throwing around baseless accusations." 

"Apparently, we are conspiring against him personally," Theo added in from Blaise's side, grinning as innocently as possible.  

"Again..." Daphne shrugged, as if saying, 'what are we going to do about it?'

"Because we have nothing else to do with our free time," Millicent added with a solemn nod of her head. 

"Who needs to complete homework assignments when we have Gryffindors to rile up and torment, right?" Tracey commented, doing her best to squash the smirk she wanted to shoot Ronald's way. 

A few of the gathered students nodded along, though they didn't try to hide their amusement at the Slytherin students, nor at the darkening expression on Weasley's face as he looked between the students with rising frustration. 

McGonagall turned back to Ronald with a frown, her brows furrowing. "Is this true?" 

Ronald hesitated, his eyes downcast, staring at the stone floor as if it were suddenly the most interesting thing in the corridor. But his silence was answer enough for the Head of Gryffindor house. Her expression hardened. 

"You attacked another student, again, but this time you chose to do it in a corridor full of witnesses?" 

"He provoked me!" Ronald accused, pointing a finger at Aldwyn. 

"How did he provoke you, Mister Weasley?" 

Ronald opened his mouth, then closed it again because proving that Aldwyn and his friends had managed to spend the entire previous week humiliating him with random pranks would require proving that Aldwyn and his friends had spent the previous week humiliating him, which he couldn't. Because, as far as everyone else was aware, they hadn't, at least not publicly and most likely not without help from a Gryffindor. 

"I know it was him!" He shouted instead. 

Which only made McGonagall's gaze darken. "Knowing and proving are not the same thing, Mister Weasley. I will not have you accusing students without proof." 

Ronald flinched because those were almost the exact same words Nott had thrown at him before the duel. 

Aldwyn remained silent, which McGonagall noticed too. A year ago, she might have interpreted that silence differently, seen it as manipulation, calculation or even arrogance, but now she recognised it for what it most likely was. Restraint born from knowing that the adults he was supposed to trust overlooked him and blamed him regardless of what he said.  

The child had been given every opportunity to escalate the situation, every opportunity to retaliate and switch to using real offensive spells instead of silly pranks that would only bruise Mister Weasley's ego, but he hadn't. Instead, he had chosen to keep himself completely innocent in the event, no doubt a plan he used so he couldn't be accused of starting the fight. Instead, he had used redirection, distractions and delay tactics to keep the duel from getting too out of hand while they had been surrounded by students. 

Not a single curse had left his wand, and not a single hex intended to cause harm. Which was a remarkable amount of self-control for a thirteen-year-old to have. Especially one who had been attacked by the same student multiple times over the past two years. It had gotten to the point where even she was getting frustrated with Ronald's attitude and was contemplating suspending the Gryffindor for an entire term and forcing him to repeat the year. 

She closed her eyes for a second, took a deep breath and glared down at Mister Weasley for a moment. "Thirty points from Gryffindor." The corridor went completely silent, all whispered, and snickers stopped as the students stared at their professor in surprise. Most of them had never heard her take so many points from Gryffindor before.  

Ronald stared, his face shifting immediately from bright red to white. "What?!" 

"Thirty points," McGonagall repeated calmly, "for initiating a duel in a public corridor without permission or a teacher present." 

Ronald looked genuinely horrified at the loss of points, as if he couldn't believe his ears. "But he...!" 

"Another five." 

Weasley shut his mouth immediately with an audible click.  

McGonagall turned to glance down at Aldwyn and, for the first time since she had come across the scene, she smiled a genuine smile. "And five points to Slytherin." 

Now it was Aldwyn's turn to blink because he hadn't expected McGonagall to immediately believe them when they told her it had been Ronald who had started the altercation, let alone give them points for doing nothing.  

"You defended yourself appropriately, you did not attack with malicious intent, you did not attack with the intent to harm. That is not something a lot of people would have been able to manage." The words were simple, professional and measured in a way that only McGonagall could manage. And yet, something in them felt much heavier than that, as though they carried meaning far beyond the corridor, beyond a simple disagreement between houses. 

McGonagall held Aldwyn's gaze for a brief moment, and perhaps for the first time since he had met her on his first day before the sorting ceremony, Aldwyn understood exactly what she was trying to say. The unspoken apology in her expression was that she was unable to speak out loud for the time being. The guilt behind her gaze lasted only a second before it vanished beneath decades of discipline and professional conduct. 

"Both of you will accompany me to my office." 

Ronald groaned, while Aldwyn merely sighed and nodded.  

Theo whispered loudly enough for everyone to hear. "On the bright side..." 

"Don't even think about it..." Draco interrupted immediately because he recognised that gleam in his friend's eyes. 

"At least nobody got turned into a ferret this time!" Theo looked entirely unrepentant as he finished his sentence and stuck his tongue out at Draco, who looked completely offended at the dig at one of the previous training sessions where Vincent had accidentally turned him into a pure white ferret due to his terrible pronunciation. 

That was one time! And it wasn't even my fault!" 

"One glorious time." Pansy teased, reaching over to ruffle Draco's hair, but he caught her wrist just in time to stop her. 

Even McGonagall's lips twitched at their byplay, only slightly but enough for Aldwyn to notice and somehow, that surprised him more than anything else that had happened all afternoon.