Thanks for the reviews, guys. Reviews are my favourite to read. It makes me want to write more, and it makes me feel bad if I don't. Feeling bad is a good way to goad me into writing more. However, I cannot answer the questions asked in the reviews. You will just have to find out the answers yourself as the story progresses. Must I spoil my own story?

Also, I am currently a full time student and worker. I get home around 11pm and wake up at 8am. My weekends are homework-filled. I'm very busy (and poor, unfortunately), but I'll try my best to update.

I ALSO HAVE THE FLU. I FEEL SO DYING RIGHT NOW. AAARHGgggghhhhhhhh but I already started this chapter.

Anyway, enjoy.


.

.

After the boy's assent, the Malfoy Lord began to guide the child to one of the bathing chambers in order to be rid of the grime that almost entirely covered the child.

The Malfoy Manor had various bathing rooms, each with their own massive, golden pools and impressively stained, Gothic-arched windows that showcased a myriad of impressive images in a variety of vibrant colours. Colour-stained sunlight was something that Septimus loved.

And Septimus had always loved beautiful things.

Subtlety gilded, tasteful things. Arched, intricately carved furniture and décor suited his fancy, and his garden flourished with rare herbs, colourful blooms, and rare creatures that spread across his vast landscape. He was adamant to make his landscape something out of a fantasy, having a magically carved pond that glistens in the moonlight surrounded by weeping willow trees as soft, miniscule lights gently drifted about. He just loved things that looked like it came from an impressionist painting.

But nothing could ever compare to a being so perfect, so ethereal that it left him utterly speechless, wide eyed and worshiping.

He was a beautiful creature, with his sooty lashes and his plush, ruby lips.

With every gentle caress of rose-infused bathwater, revealed the bewitching creation beneath. As the grime, blood, and soil were slowly washed, and as the warm, scented water cascaded down the child's smooth skin, Septimus could only compare it to the finest ivory. The creature's wings were soft and delicate, and seemed to banish any light from its inky depths, just like his graceful, dark curls that lightly curves and ends at his elegant, angular chin.

"What is your name?" The Malfoy Lord dazedly murmured, brushing the fae-like child's damp locks away to reveal an alluring set of viridian eyes, one still marred by that intricate pattern that mystified him.

The boy looked down shyly, his eyes determinedly glued to the wavering reflection of the refined man staring down at him, unused to such attention.

"My...my name is Harry."

"Harry." Septimus repeated, nodding as he did so. His tied, impeccably straight shoulder-length locks faintly brushed against his damp, tailored vest as he kneeled over the child to wash more of the grime off his face and hair. Harry sighed in contentment, closing his eyes at the warm sensation. The blond man's immaculate dress robes were on the floor next to him, haphazardly discarded in favour of rolling up his once straight, unwrinkled dress shirt to bathe the child. His house elves would have a fit seeing him undone like this.

"A surprisingly simple name for a creature like you, but somehow it fits...however..." he trailed off, raising an inquisitive eyebrow, pausing his soothing, circular ministrations on his hair. "Just Harry?"

The boy paused, frowning, before opening his eyes. He seemed to be pondering something, as his eyes flickered with apprehension and nervousness as he pursed his lips.

"Just Septimus?" The boy replied, poorly attempting to imitate the man's playful tone. Instead, it came out as an awkward, trembling question.

Septimus let out a good-natured laugh, pleasantly surprised that the boy was even attempting to open up to him.

'He is such a brave, remarkable child.' Septimus thought, 'Harry's attempt at jesting astounds me, as his ability to even think coherent, positive thoughts after the irrevocable, insidious things that must have happened to him.'

"Well, if you must know, my full name is Septimus Malfoy. May I ask of yours?"

The child stared at him for a prolonged moment, his deep viridian eyes boring into his own grey ones before quietly uttering, "Visconti."

"Visconti…? Direct line of Aurelius?"

"My father's last name was Visconti." The boy repeated, making it clear in his tone that he did not want to venture further.

Septimus, getting the message, continued to bathe him in silence.

He would be a dangerous snake, with his iron-willed determination and seemingly infinite endurance for such immense affliction.


.

.

After both Septimus and Harry cleaned up, they moved to the parlour to have breakfast. As Harry entered the tastefully sea-green decorated, gilded room, bright sunrays warmed his face. The room was naturally lit by the tall, wide, arched windows, framed by deep emerald curtains that was pulled away to pour in the beginnings of the soft, golden-red morning. In the centre of the room sat an elegant woman with blonde hair, pulled loosely into a stylish bun. She stood up when they entered, her pale blue, embroidered dress flowing behind her as she lightly clicked her silver heels on the pristine, marble floor.

"Harry," Septimus started, gracefully motioning to his spouse, his platinum cuffs glinting in the warm glow, "this is my wife, Lucretia Malfoy."

Harry nervously shifted his gaze to her blue ones, subsequently bowing awkwardly. He was dressed in a crisp, dark green collared shirt under silver-lined, black vest and trousers. His robe was the same colour of his shirt, shrunk impeccably to his size by the house elves. The bespoken robes had parallel slashes on the back for his lithe wings, lest it would be uncomfortably bunched up. The servants had to temporarily find clothes to fit him until they personally visit Twillfit and Tattings for the young ward.

"It's nice meeting you," he said quietly, tightly grasping Septimus' intricate navy robes for comfort.

A small chuckle was heard from Septimus as Lucretia peered down at Harry, her lips quirked up in a small smile. As, she leaned forward, bending slightly towards him, the warm, encompassing rays of sunlight made the loose strands of her hair seem like golden, silken threads, connected to the woven, spun spools that were finely wrapped at the base of her elegant neck.

"And I you, Harry."

It was in that moment that Harry felt safe and so very much warm. As he looked up to meet her crystal, crinkling eyes, he saw the soft, blurred halo of light that reflected off her gilded head. The sight of such intake of light made him slightly wince, but it took none of the beauty he witnessed away. In her eyes were no trace of harsh judgment—no distasteful scowl at the sight of a bastard child, no hate that utterly made him feel so small and insignificant, as if he was lower than trash.

He hoped that this sort of warmth would not be taken away so soon, as with the others.

Flushing from the attention, the small boy chose to hide his cherubic face behind the fair-haired man's lavish robes. Undiscouraged, Lucretia returned to her refined pose, smiling at the child's shyness.

What a sweet, wonderful child.

"Come, let us have some breakfast," she started, "we shall talk about your living situation after we are sufficiently filled and watered." At the snap of her fingers came several house elves, each with various plates of food filled with different types of hors d'oeuvres, pastries, scones, waffles, and the like. Shuffling together in a neat, practiced, and organized fashion, the elves set up the table in an impressive, polished way. The plates were exquisitely presented, each showcasing bright, vivid colours ornately framed by herbs and pastel flowers, set up to tease the senses with its breath-taking aromas picturesque presentation.

And Harry, in short, was amazed. Gaping at the amount of food, colours, and aromas, he couldn't help it when his stomach let out a rather large rumble. He subsequently blushed, greatly mortified at his stomach's embarrassing show of hunger.

The graceful woman just smiled, and motioned him to come sit, while Septimus grinned.

"Do not fret, Harry," the man consoled, "it is a natural course of life—hunger."

It eased his embarrassment somewhat, as he sat down to delicately take a bite out of a strawberry scone. To his delight, it was extremely delicious, which caused him to hungrily eat rather quickly, grabbing more morsels as he finished. The Lady and Lord of the house did not seem to mind his careless behaviour, and seemed to find amusement from it.

So he can eat other things than blood, after all. Septimus mused.

"Tea, my dear?"

Harry paused in his quest to inhale all the morsels from the table, his pink tongue peeking out from his scone-stained lips as he licked his fingers, before letting out a slight hiccup. Staring at Lucretia like a deer caught in headlights, his eyes wide, glimmering, and vividly green, he violently blushed again.

"Y-yes…I would—" another hiccup, "love some."


.

.

A heavy slam of the mahogany double doors brought three pairs of eyes to rest on a panting, slightly flushed, navy-clad young heir. His platinum locks were mussed, haphazardly tied to the side with a classic black ribbon as his grey eyes wildly sought for his parents.

"Father! Mother! I had the most bizzare dre—" he paused, eyes widening at the winged thing sitting right next to his parents, daintily dabbing the corner of his lips with a silken napkin as if he belonged there in the first place.

Scandalized, he pointed a manicured finger accusingly to the boy, sputtering at the mere incredulity of it.

"Y-you! You—the thing! What in the world are you? Why are you here?"

Lucretia glanced at her son, eyebrows raised at his rather crude manners. "Abraxas," she started curtly, "meet your future brother, Haedus Caph Malfoy, son of the deceased Cassiopeia Black and Slyvain Voclain, a pure-blooded man from a minor family in France."

"B-but Cassiopeia had no kids!" Abraxas screeched, wondering why it was considered normalcy to have an unknown, blood-sucking creature in the house. "And certainly had no creature blood in her!"

"Abraxas." Septimus' booming voice stopped his son's allegations mid-tirade, as he had grown weary at the high-pitched, bordering on hysterical tone that his son started to adopt.

"To others, he is the son of Cassiopeia Black. He shall carry her name, Caph, as part of her constellation, and Haedus, for the constellation of Auriga. He is her," he paused, ruminating on the possible backstory as to warrant the appearance of a young child in the pureblood midst, "recently relinquished child, as the Voclains have kept him hidden after her death. Cassiopeia was closest to Lucretia, and was the only one to be told of the pregnancy, as she was a very secretive, isolated person."

Septimus continued, undeterred, "We shall cast the blood adoption in two weeks' time, under the night of Samhain, where the magic bonds will be the strongest."

"This is madness." Abraxas shakenly stated. "Does anyone know? Does the Dark Lord know? Why should you all—we—risk our lives for some…some…thing?"

Harry fumbled with his napkin, looking down at his finished plated ashamedly. His lips were quivering as his eyes glistened with unshed tears, obviously upset with the callous label of his being.

Lucretia suddenly stood up, her petite frame poised with pseudo-tranquillity as her lightning-blue eyes blazed with fury. "We risk our lives for our future—our family. Yes, we serve the Dark Lord, but we are not a family that would not offer help to an abandoned, helpless child if we can so help it. I tire of the fear that accompany Grindelwald's wake. I tire of the destruction, the hate, and the danger. I understand that the Malfoys does whatever it takes to survive, but I would never lose my dignity, nor my morals, in the face of a dying child."

She sighed tiredly. "And it takes your father to remind me of the morals I've almost forgotten in the wake of my fear."

The mentioned man gently covered her hands as she sat back down, warmly smiling at her honesty.

He turned to Abraxas, giving him an expectant look, before turning to regard the trembling child wringing his fingers together in morose apprehension.

The young heir bit his lip, before stepping closer to the table. By the time he was at face level with the black-haired child, Abraxas noticed that he was still determinedly looking at his plate; the only evidence of his sorrow was shown through the droplets of tears that continued to shower his utensils and napkin pityingly.

Oh, Abraxas thought, must I feel so much like the villain?

"Haedus." He soothingly put a hand on Harry's shoulder. His wings stiffened in response.

Abraxas gulped, before continuing. "I apologize for my insensitive behaviour. I simply did not know of the situation…" he trailed off, bending slightly towards the smaller boy in hopes of gaining his attention.

"I simply was confused, and scared, of the possible danger that we would be in…I was selfish. I hope that you can understand that I truly mean no harm. I would only be happy to be your brother."

Harry sniffed, before lifting his sorrowful glistening eyes to Abraxas. The young heir sucked in his breath, surprised at the boy's stunning looks and exquisite emerald orbs.

"Do you really mean it?" He replied adorably, with his trembling lips and glassy eyes.

"Yes," Abraxas breathed, momentarily stunned by the charming looks and endearing gaze, "I do."

Septimus grinned at the exchange.

Dangerous indeed.

.


.

2 weeks later, Samhain, 1943.

.

.

"This is the remains of Cassiopeia's blood after I extracted some for her fertility test." Lucretia stated, her pale hands holding a circular flask with a narrow neck. Engraved on the flask was the elegant name, 'Cassiopeia Black.'

The runes were drawn carefully onto the chamber's floor in preparation for the blood adoption. Harry stood awkwardly in the middle of it, his wings nervously shifting around as he wrung his fingers together. A nervous habit he did not yet grow out of.

"Good." Septimus murmured, finalizing the last marking. "It was only luck that she sought us to confirm herself as barren, without anyone else knowing, of course."

Abraxas was not presently needed for the ritual, as he was just a scion, so he took to waiting in the dining room. He was not pleased, however, as he wanted to witness the ritual himself. With a sharp command from Septimus, and a glare from Lucretia, he was banished from the room with a huff.

As Lucretia mixed the blood potion, Septimus began to recite the lines.

"I, Septimus, Lord of the House of Malfoy, bear witness to the blood adoption of Cassiopeia Black, under the night of Samhain, of Harry Visconti."

Harry promptly drank from the ancient goblet passed to him by Lucretia, tremoring as he did so.

"May he be renamed as Haedus Caph Black, for the constellations honouring Cassiopeia Black."

A wave of magic poured over Harry, languidly caressing his core as it did so. It then dissipated, leaving lingering traces around his body.

"I offer myself, Septimus Malfoy, to Haedus Caph Black as his mentor, guardian, and father. May he be entered to my family as Haedus Caph Malfoy."

Another wave of bonding magic tightened over Harry's form, growing stronger with each incantation.

"I offer myself, Lucretia Malfoy, to Haedus Caph Black, as his caretaker, guardian, and mother. May be entered to the family as Haedus Caph Malfoy."

As each member of the ritual drunk from the goblet, the magic expanded, growing exponentially, blindingly stronger until it collapsed into itself, massively draining their magical cores in the process. Panting, heavily exhausted and drained, Harry could see the dark, alluring tendrils of magic floating slowly around them, connecting them, before succumbing to the darkness that poured into his core.

.

.

.

Breathe.

.

.

Breathe.

.

.

Breathe.

.

"Harry."

.

His eyes snapped open, shocked as he woke to an eerie pair of ruby-specked, violet eyes.

"I was worried that you stopped breathing, it would have been such a waste of an effort, after all." The owner of the unique violet eyes chuckled as he stood up, offering his pale, elegant hand in assistance. He had sharp, aristocratic features, with sleek dark hair, thin lips, and a wiry frame. He was dressed in a simple black robe, the ends of it billowing in the wake of the vast atmosphere.

Harry, confused, took the proffered hand. As he was pulled up, the boy finally realized his surroundings.

It was amazing, to say the least. There were massive, meteorite-like, red and black rocks floating above him, lazily spinning in a small orbit. Other rocks of smaller shapes spun around him, lethargically orbiting around the space. The craters of the rocks held small, dark creatures, almost like shadows. Their tiny wings flapped behind them, watching Harry curiously from above. The seemingly endless skies were an elaborate mixture of red, orange, and purple, each with different shades of darkness. As he wandered around, a small rock almost collided into his head as he ducked, his messy hair flaring about in the place as if gravity was not a concept here. He can visibly see the dark magic that held the place, the wispy tendrils knotting and unknotting with each other, languorously interacting as it held the dimensional wards together.

The platform he was standing on was unevenly paved, dusty and black. It shifted restlessly, as if not knowing, not wanting to be placed in a certain time.

Harry took in a calming breath and closed his eyes. It was a place that was calming, yet eerie—how can a place be so comfortable yet unsettling at the same time?

All that he knew, was that he was not in the private chambers of the Malfoy mansion.

"You've grown so beautifully," the mysterious man murmured, his voice echoing through the vast space.

Harry turned around, his eyes wide, seeking the owner of the voice that suddenly disappeared as he was examining the area.

The man appeared in front of him, playfully tapping the runic engravings on the left side of his forehead. It mildly tingled and glowed with his touch, making Harry shudder in a mixture of pleasure and apprehension of the unknown.

"When she gave me your soul to be saved," the man started, caressing his face lovingly, before embracing him wholly. Harry didn't turn away. It felt…so right. "I almost thought to refuse."

"But when I saw your soul…it was so vibrant, so beautiful…I could not help but to take it. And you, my sweet, gorgeous, little devil, would come to visit me on the night of Samhain…"

The handsome, mystifying man grinned darkly, abruptly spinning Harry around. "For that, I give you a gift…"

He ran a finger sensually along the spine of Harry's back, making him shiver and arch in delight, before tracing runic symbols around the root of his wings. It lit up for a brief moment, before dissipating.

With a serene expression, he once again shifted Harry around, his violet orbs boring into his emerald ones. He was watching Harry with an expression of infatuation and obsession, almost worshipping Harry's image.

After brushing his messy curls away from his face, the man leaned over to hover his lips over his.

"I would do anything for my little devil," he whispered, before locking his thin lips with Harry's supple ones.

.

.


.

"Harry!"

His eyes once again snapped open, startled by the feel of soft lips against his own. He subconsciously held his fingers to his lush lips, as if disbelieving of the event that had passed. Who was that man? Where was that place? What did he do? A plethora of questions cluttered his mind as he shakenly stood up from the runic circle, dizzy from the magical drain on his immature body and the relentless headache that pounded his head.

"Are you alright?" Lucretia worriedly asked, draping a comforting fur robe around his shoulders. His wings curled around him in response.

"Y-yes…" Harry replied, still gingerly sore and befuddled by the previous events. "I think I am."

Septimus stared at him inquisitively, probing his body for any changes. "The blood adopted worked, that I know…however…" He brushed the length of the boy's hair to the side. "Not much has changed. His blood must have been an older, much more dominant bloodline. The only sign of a blood adopted is this minor lock of hair that had turned blonde."

Septimus combed Harry's hair with his finger, as to soothe Harry's headache. True to his word, there was a whole side of blond hair that blended into his black curls. Otherwise, nothing else had changed.

"Curious." The man murmured, before pulling away. "This ritual was…much more different than the other ones I've witnessed or heard of. The type of magic that bonded us was immensely powerful and old. None of what I recognized before."

Harry stayed silent, his green eyes gleaming in the darkness, contemplating the mystery of the man that appeared in his dreamscape.

Unbeknownst to him, the runic symbols beneath the fur robe glowed, before settling into his skin.