Edward McMahon often joked that Carsilion's personality amounted to little more than a running inventory of his dislikes. The Marquess usually countered with a wry remark that it was still preferable to the Duke's personality, which seemed to revolve entirely around satisfying his wife's whims. Today, however, Carsilion would have traded places with him in an instant if it meant avoiding the Council meeting altogether.
While the aristocrats had chosen a sleek, modern building in the heart of London to serve as the Council's headquarters, the meeting room and the Ceremonial Hall were designed as odes to ancient traditions. The concept sounded impressive in theory but came with its share of practical inconveniences—chief among them, the most uncomfortable chairs ever devised. Carsilion shifted in his seat for what felt like the twentieth time, trying in vain to find a better position. He sighed, casting a weary glance at his wristwatch.
Only forty minutes had passed.
Suppressing another sigh, the Marquess opened himself to the spirit of air, conjuring a steady breeze to circle around him. It was a small mercy in the stifling room, where the oppressive heat was made worse by his mandatory full uniform. At least now, he could stay cool while enduring that torture.
"You are aware that using elemental magic during the Council meeting is forbidden, aren't you?" – Duke Prince asked in a soft voice.
"Nobody cares." – Carsilion said with a shrug, his gaze drifting to North Redmond and Tybalt Lovett, who were locked in a heated argument over an investment contract for a new model of enchanted mirrors that had quickly earned a scandalous reputation for being suspiciously easy to repurpose as spying devices. While it remained unclear who had been trying to spy on whom, the wizard was willing to wager a substantial amount of gold on two interconnected hypotheses:
First, that House Redmond had intended to distribute the mirrors as 'promotional gifts' to the other main families, conveniently overlooking their more invasive capabilities. Second, that House Lovett had been fully aware of the true potential of their investment from the start, but their silence had come with a price that Marquess Redmond had been too stingy to pay.
Bored out of his mind, Carsilion scanned the rest of the room. The supreme governmental structure of the aristocrats—the Council—held legislative, executive, and judicial functions simultaneously. It consisted of the seven Heads of the major Houses and the first five Guardians, each with one vote. The Heads of Houses were allowed to be accompanied by their appointed heirs, though it was not mandatory, and the heirs did not participate in decision-making.
While the body had been incredibly important throughout the centuries, it had recently become a forum for endless arguments over business endeavours and complaints about trivial matters. Carsilion himself had been a point of the agenda more than once. Of course, Duke Prince, acting as the Head of the Council, always quickly settled such disputes, typically reminding everyone that they could resolve their petty grudges within their own Houses. Still, the temptation to use a Council meeting as an opportunity to strike at someone you disliked remained strong.
"Does the First Guardian enjoy any special privileges regarding the rule forbidding the use of elemental magic during sessions?" – Adrian Borealis asked, his voice dripping with exaggerated politeness.
"No, he doesn't." – Duke Prince replied wearily, pinching the bridge of his nose – "Carsilion, if you please! We're all suffering because of the weather. The more we extend the meeting, the harder it will get."
"You don't say!" – Marquess Egbert retorted, reluctantly releasing his control over the air currents – "How about, instead of monitoring my every breath, we actually accomplish something productive and move these meetings to a place with air conditioning?"
"Modern Muggle technology has no place in our traditions!" – North Redmond scoffed, briefly turning his attention to the younger wizard.
"Oh, yes, much better to die of heatstroke!" – Carsilion replied with a sharp laugh, unbuttoning the first two buttons of his shirt – "Honestly, I don't see the point of attending these meetings at all."
"Yes, we all know you prefer to perform your duties naked in Duke McMahon's bed." – Adrian shot back, his blue eyes gleaming with triumph.
"And so what?" – Marquess Egbert said with a smirk, his tone maddeningly calm. The words hung in the air, wiping the faint smile off Duke Borealis's face. His brow furrowed, the flash of irritation unmistakable as he realised his jab had fallen flat.
"Would you ever stop embarrassing yourself and tarnishing the name of your House?!" – North Redmond exploded, his face flushed with anger—directed, of course, at Carsilion rather than Adrian, who had sparked the outburst – "And why is that brat Edward absent yet again?! Your Grace, this blatant disrespect toward the Council cannot be allowed to continue!"
"That's enough." – Duke Prince said firmly, rising to his feet. His violet eyes swept over the room, silencing the argument – "Duke McMahon informed me in advance that he would be on a family trip in France. There is no disrespect intended on his part."
"And let me remind everyone," - he continued, his voice cool and commanding - "this is not a tea party. If you must gossip about other people's intimate lives, kindly do so outside this chamber. Now, let's proceed with Duke O'Dargan's report on the Academy's curriculum for the upcoming school year."
Carsilion listened half-heartedly to Raven's uninspired speech. He understood little of it but was absolutely certain it offered no benefits to the students in any meaningful way. As a teacher in a proper educational institution, he couldn't help but wonder why the other Houses weren't concerned about O'Dargan's blatant power grab and the indoctrination of their own children.
'Perhaps he's actually doing them a favour by churning out people who are easy to manipulate.' – the wizard thought, using the paper copy of the report as a fan – 'Maybe the heirs are treated differently.'
The theory unsettled him, and he lost track of the discussion entirely. He only snapped back to reality when Duke Prince, seated beside him, rose and headed for the door. Carsilion quickly followed, leaving the stifling room and pausing in the entrance hall, where the pleasant chill sustained by several spells provided welcome relief.
Though he persistently claimed the Academy was none of his concern, the man couldn't suppress his growing frustration over the plight of the innocent students. They were force-fed indoctrinated "facts" and taught useless magic, doomed to remain theoretical unless they demonstrated exceptional talent and were moved to the so-called advanced program—one of Raven's proudest innovations. Then again, considering the quality of the teachers, Marquess Egbert doubted they could teach differently even if they wanted to.
He shook his head, recalling poor Diana and her pathetic attempts as the Defence Against the Dark Arts instructor. 'I'd love to see her trying to teach Catherine.' – he mused, the image of his rebellious student emerging in his mind – 'I wonder how much of Ed's blabbering was true and how much was his usual exaggeration. Hopefully, it's the latter. The last thing I need is chasing away horny teenage boys from her. We have much more serious problems to worry about.'
His thoughts shifted abruptly to the conversation Greg had overheard and reported to his father. It was fortunate the boy had managed to eavesdrop on those two scheming bastards, but the information was frustratingly vague. It wasn't enough to act on.
One thing was certain, though: whatever Borealis and Redmond were plotting, it was already in motion, and it somehow involved circumventing or outright breaking the Pact. That meant the other Houses were likely in the dark about their schemes.
'We have to get them into our corner as soon as possible.' – Carsilion thought, scanning the room for an opportunity to speak with Duke Prince. Unfortunately, he was deep in conversation with Tybalt Lovett—a sure sign that the Marquess wanted something and wouldn't relent until he got it. Lovett never wasted an action, word, or breath unless it brought him some kind of profit.
Cursing his bad luck, the wizard's gaze shifted to Adrian, surrounded by a cluster of his House members. They hung on his every word with exaggerated enthusiasm, nodding as though their lives depended on it.
At that moment, one of the men in Adrian's circle glanced up, and his topaz-blue eyes locked with Carsilion's. His heart skipped a beat.
Lord Thelonius Montclair's lips trembled slightly as a flush spread up to the roots of his soft hazelnut curls. He quickly looked away, but the brief interaction hadn't escaped the notice of Adrian, who smirked with malicious satisfaction. Leaning toward his cousin, Adrian whispered something that made Thelonius flinch, shaking his head in panicked desperation.
Carsilion turned abruptly and strode in the opposite direction. Not until he was well away from Theo did he stop, leaning against a nearby window, pushing it open, and drawing in a long, calming breath. The summer air rushed into his lungs, and for a fleeting moment, he considered simply leaping out and flying away.
It had been years since he'd seen his teenage love. That was partly because he avoided the other man like the plague, and partly because Theo himself had made a point of staying out of sight—likely still terrified of their relationship becoming public knowledge.
'Then why is he here today?' - Carsilion wondered, his rationality beginning to reassert itself. Someone as anxious as Theo wouldn't have suddenly decided to face one of his greatest fears without a reason, especially since the timing suspiciously coincided with Edward's absence.
The Marquess had indeed been surprised by his former lover's appearance, but to his astonishment, the usual wave of heartache, nausea, and traumatic flashbacks hadn't come—despite Edd, his constant anchor, not being by his side.
Looking around, Carsilion spotted North Redmond, now accompanied by none other than Baron Canopus Egbert. A laugh burst from his lips, drawing a few curious glances from nearby aristocrats. 'What a pair of slimy cowards!' – he thought, every fibre of his being screaming for vengeance – 'That's as rotten as dragon dung—using Edward's absence to attack my mental health. How very unfortunate that they're not as clever as they think they are.'
Donning the most nonchalant smirk he could muster, the Marquess strode toward them, his silver cloak embroidered with a large golden Roman numeral I swirling elegantly around his figure as he bowed ceremoniously.
Both men appeared momentarily taken aback, but North Redmond recovered quickly, forcing an overly cheerful smile.
"And to what do we owe this pleasure, Marquess Egbert?" – he asked with a dry chuckle, his tone feigning friendliness as many eyes began to turn their way – "Canopus and I were beginning to think you'd once again pretend you're not part of House Redmond."
"Oh, I didn't realise I still had the honour of belonging to the noble House Redmond." – Carsilion replied, his smile sharp as a fox outwitting a couple of hounds – "I mean, after my own father threw me out of his house, I was under the impression I didn't live up to your esteemed values. Strength and Virtue might not be my strongest suit."
Canopus glared at his son, his icy blue eyes brimming with undisguised hatred. "My decision to not tolerate your sinful, perverted life choices has nothing to do with his Lordship's relationship with you." – he hissed through clenched teeth – "Your talents can still serve House Redmond. You can try to redeem yourself, if not for your sake, then for your mother's. She would have died of a broken heart seeing you as a degenerate—if you hadn't killed her by being born."
"Now, now, Canopus," – North Redmond interjected, shaking his head in what seemed to be an attempt at compassion. His face stretched into an odd expression, clearly intended to appear sympathetic – "Carsilion knows my door is always open when he realises his place is with us. Both your father and I care about you, my boy, even if you refuse to see it. Love has many faces, but rest assured, we only want what's best for you."
"How could I ever doubt you, your Lordship." – Carsilion replied, his voice dripping with sarcasm – "After all, I just saw Theo standing with your dear friend Borealis' entourage. That must have been a gift you two planned especially for my enjoyment."
Baron Egbert swore under his breath and reached for his wand. His son grinned, thoroughly revelling in the older wizard's rage and relishing the thought of humiliating him in a duel yet again. North Redmond, however, quickly caught on to where the conversation was heading and cleared his throat casually. That small gesture was enough to make Canopus step back, though his fury was still etched across his face.
"I'm truly sorry if Adrian brought along someone you'd rather not meet, my boy." – North said with a polite smile – "I'm sure it never occurred to him this might be a problem for you. Perhaps I could extend my apologies in a more welcoming setting? Why not join us for dinner after today's session?"
"Thank you for the invitation, but I regret to inform you I have other plans." – Carsilion replied, his tone making it clear he felt no such regret.
"You're impossibly stubborn." – Marquess Redmond sighed, exasperation bleeding through his words – "I don't understand why you insist on making everything so difficult for everyone. Do you truly want our House to end up like House Prince and sink into oblivion?"
"You have two daughters." – the wizard said with a laugh. He showed no sign of concern for House Redmond's supposed plight – "Besides, I'm not sure what you're talking about. Alexander's daughter is alive, isn't she? And if she's not up to the task of being an heir, well, she has a child who could inherit it."
"What did you say?"
The question, sharp and trembling with barely contained fury, came from Canopus. His lips quivered, and his icy blue eyes bore into his son with a hatred so fierce that Carsilion involuntarily took a step back, childhood memories flashing painfully through his mind.
"What's so surprising about that?" – the younger wizard said with shallow cheerfulness, masking his unease – "As her former Master of Water, shouldn't you know better than me? It seems House Redmond needs to work on its information network. Let me know if you'd like some recommendations."
With that, Carsilion turned and headed toward the door, feeling he was already pushing his luck by staying any longer. A cold sweat was breaking out on his brow, making him shiver despite the oppressive heat. The faint sensation of disassociation had begun to creep in, leaving him unsteady and restless.
'I'm sorry, teacher.' – he thought, casting one last glance at Duke Prince – 'I needed to get them off my back for a while. What's gotten into Canopus? He must have taken it personally when she ran away. No chance to brag about training the heiress of House Prince.'
Once at a safe distance from the Council building, Carsilion disapparated, desperate to put as much space as possible between himself and the ghosts of his past, not really thinking about where he was going to. Blinking in surprise as the sensation of spinning vanished, he found himself standing in a quiet side street in Hogsmeade. His lips curved into a gentle smile as his eyes fell on the small house with green shutters just in front of him.
With a flick of his wand, his uniform transformed into a casual set of green travel robes. The fear, sadness, and anxiety that had gripped him began to melt away as he knocked on the door, waiting impatiently for the familiar sound of Minerva's quick steps.
"Carter!" – she exclaimed, surprise lighting her face as she opened the door – "I didn't expect you before Saturday! Did something happen?"
"Yeah." – Carsilion chuckled softly, sweeping the witch off the ground and into his arms – "I missed you too much!"
Without another word, he carried the giggling Transfiguration professor upstairs to her bedroom, his heart pounding wildly. Yet even as her lips met his and her laughter faded into soft moans, the persistent voice in his head refused to be silenced.
'Your salvation is a lie,' - it whispered – 'This woman, who has given herself to you completely, doesn't even suspect what a horrible and broken person you are. Hell, she doesn't even know your real name.'
Greg was right—Muggles avoided Florian Plantier's home. In the two weeks he had spent there, he hadn't seen a single soul apart from his parents and grandfather. Louisa's surprise return caught them off guard, and after a rather heated discussion—parts of which randomly switched to French—it was decided they had no choice but to accept Étincelle's conditions and hope Catherine would be alright. The situation had left the Duchess in quite a bad mood, and she was constantly ready to lash out at anyone unlucky enough to cross her path.
Edward was equally displeased with his unexpected vacation. The original idea had been for him to return home as soon as he left Greg with his grandfather. However, the change in plans, coupled with Louisa's unstable condition, forced the Duke to endure some rather uncomfortable days at Florian Plantier's estate. Every insect in the vicinity seemed particularly determined to sting, bite, or attack him without reason, a torment that worsened every night as he tried to sleep beside his wife. Adding to his woes, a few trees attempted to strangle him, his clothes were sprinkled with pollen from a Flamepetal Lotus, leaving him with a nasty rash, and his meals always tasted slightly off, making him so suspicious that he refused to eat anything in the house.
The days passed with agonising slowness in the South. That particular afternoon, the sun scorched the earth mercilessly, filling the air with the intense aroma of lavender, jasmine, and roses from the flowerbeds surrounding the mansion. At the garden's centre stood a grand marble fountain, its cascading waters glinting in the sunlight as enchanted koi darted below, their scales shifting between gold, silver, and sapphire. Ancient olive trees stretched their gnarled branches, casting dappled shadows over hedges of rosemary and thyme, while Flutterby bushes shimmered with hues that shifted in response to passersby. The lazy stillness of the garden was interrupted only by the distant clacking of metal coming from the orchard.
The noise eventually stopped, and shortly after, Greg and Edward emerged from among the trees, both red-faced and sweaty, swords in hand. The young wizard sighed heavily and collapsed onto the edge of the fountain basin, utterly spent. Edward, standing nearby, snapped his fingers, and a spray of water shot into the air, transforming into a fine, cooling mist that drifted down over them. The refreshing sensation offered a brief respite from the oppressive heat and their shared frustrations.
"You have to show me how to do that." – Greg said with a sigh of relief, closing his eyes as he savoured the cool droplets of water on his face.
"It's not very hard." – the Duke replied, tossing his sword casually to the ground – "But I'd rather focus on teaching you how to create and wield an Eidolon from the soul of water. It's an advanced skill—only the highest tier of elementalists can use it—and it's crucial you learn, just in case…" He paused, his tone growing sombre "…something happens to me."
"I'd prefer not to think about that." – the boy mumbled, his gaze fixed on the ground.
"Neither would I," - Edward admitted, his voice hardening slightly - "but we have to be prepared for any eventuality. You're the heir of House McMahon, and it's your responsibility to ensure our House continues. I was not much older than you when I inherited my title, so I must make sure you're ready. The last thing I want is for you to be left vulnerable to people like Adrian Borealis or North Redmond. Though, honestly, the rest aren't much better."
"I thought we could at least trust Duke Prince." – Greg said, frowning.
"Alexander is getting old." – the other wizard replied dryly – "Trusting him might be… optimistic. He's always been fair, yes, but what will happen when he learns we broke the Pact? That changes things. He'll prioritise his own House's interests first and foremost."
"What interests?" – the boy asked, arching an eyebrow – "He doesn't have any heirs, does he?"
"That's not entirely true." – his father said, gesturing toward a house-elf passing by with a tray of water and glasses – "He does have a daughter—and apparently a grandchild—but they're estranged. Still, that could change. And when it does, you can be sure Alexander will put House Prince above all else."
Greg accepted a glass of ice-cold water from the bowing house-elf and took a sip, falling silent for a moment. His face looked pale and drawn, the strain of their discussion etched across his handsome features. Seeing his son like this made Edward clench his fists in silent frustration, his inability to lift the weight from the boy's shoulders gnawing at him.
"You're going to do fine." - he finally muttered, his voice soft with encouragement - "You have the talent, and you're already showing far greater potential than any of the future heirs of the other Houses."
"Except Carsilion, if he ever succumbs to the temptation to become North Redmond's heir." – Greg joked, catching the brief tremble in his father's lips.
"You don't need to worry about that." – he replied flatly, his gaze avoiding his son's – "Carsilion is the only person outside our family I trust completely. Actually, that's not quite accurate—I consider him part of our family. But the truth is, if something happens to me, there's a strong chance he'll share my fate. That's why you must learn to rely entirely on yourself and your own abilities. After all, it will fall to you to take care of your mother and sister."
"Don't you think that's a bit unfair?" – the boy asked softly.
"Of course it's unfair." – Edward admitted. His voice darkened as he continued – "It was also unfair that I found my parents' lifeless bodies, their deaths left unexplained. Nobody bothered to investigate properly, even though half the Council knew damn well that if they had, the trail would have led straight to Antares Borealis. He had the motive, but exposing him would've destroyed the peace, and no one wanted to risk that. Then, when the bastard finally died, it was all conveniently forgotten. I have no doubt his son is just as capable. It's no coincidence Adrian succeeded his father instead of his older brother, Altair. But yes, it was unfair to me, and it will be unfair to you. Duty before all."
"I think you misunderstood my issue." – Greg interrupted, his tone suddenly stern enough to make Edward glance at him in surprise – "What I find unfair is putting all the responsibility on me alone. I don't know why everyone insists on treating Catherine like she's some sort of liability instead of acknowledging that she's a powerful witch in her own right! Honestly, she might be more suited to this role than I am. She's a Fire Mage, which is a tremendous asset by itself, but she's also incredibly skilled—she speaks Parseltongue, excels at Potions, and despite her isolated childhood, she can make friends with surprising ease. Sure, she's headstrong and impulsive, but she's also brave and has a strong moral compass. If it were up to me, I'd let her take my place right now."
Edward stared at his son, struggling to process what he was hearing. A flicker of anger stirred within him, but he knew he needed to keep his composure—the boy was clearly on edge. Taking a deep breath, he finally spoke. "I'm glad you hold your sister in such high regard. But the sad truth is, even if she manages to hold herself together until her magic stabilizes, and even if the Council miraculously agrees to spare her, the demon will still be sealed inside her. We have no idea if it can escape—no vessel has ever reached this stage of maturity since Morgana, and she was the original contractor. This is uncharted territory. How do you imagine the other Houses would react to someone like her sitting among them? You know the demon has killed many of their family members over the centuries. And that's before we even consider the fact that Catherine is a woman."
"House Prince has had many women as Heads of House." – Greg shot back, refusing to back down – "This is all nonsense."
"House Prince has an established tradition of female leadership, but even then, their last two Heads were men." – the Duke countered - "House McMahon has never had a woman in charge—largely because of the demon—but the reason doesn't change the fact. I'm not saying I agree with the aristocracy's obvious prejudices against women. But wishing things were different won't change reality. Catherine would never be recognised as an heir. It's pointless to invest energy into a cause doomed from the start when it could be better directed elsewhere."
"Easy for you to say." – the boy grunted angrily – "No one ever asks how I feel about any of this. You all just assumed I'd become the next Duke of McMahon, no matter what it means for my life."
"This isn't something you didn't already know." - Edward snapped, his patience fraying as his anger rose to the surface - "So, tell me—where is all this coming from?"
"It's always been there." – the young wizard replied heatedly – "I recently had to give up on someone dear to me because it was 'in the best interest' of my position. Then I look at you and Mom, and despite everything, you're happy together—you're with the person you love. But it feels like insane luck. I'm well aware of all the dirty rumours surrounding the other Heads of Houses. Their marriages are nothing but political shams. I don't want to be part of that. I don't want to spend my life looking over my shoulder, scared that someone might try to hurt me or my family. And I definitely don't want to live for the past glory of our ancestors."
"Duke Prince loved his wife dearly." – Edward said flatly.
"What?" – his son asked, confused.
"My mother and father were a very happy couple." - the Duke clarified - "So were Alexander and his wife. Being the Head of your House doesn't mean you can't be with the one you love. In fact, despite all the responsibilities you bear, being in that position gives you power—and choice. People like Adrian, Lauren Whiters, or Raven O'Dargan chose their partners for things they valued more than love. But no one forced them."
"Listen, son," - Edward continued, his tone softening - "I don't want to push you to the point where you break and run away, like Eileen Prince did. If things were different, I would support whatever decision you made. But here, neither of us has much room to manoeuvre. If House McMahon ceases to exist because there's no heir, your mother and sister will lose all the protection they have as aristocrats."
"Best case scenario, Louisa will be found guilty as an accomplice in breaching the Pact and executed without dignity as a Duchess—along with your sister. Worst case scenario, they'll keep your mother alive, and she'll end up in the hands of Borealis or Whiters. Honestly, I'm not sure which one is worse. As for Catherine? They might decide to experiment on her, trying to weaponize the demon. Nobody knows what Adrian would do if he gets rid of us. He's never cared about rules or ethics unless they serve his interests. That's why you have to be strong and pull your weight—for your family. I know you couldn't just stand aside and watch them suffer. That's when you'd truly have no choice."
Greg didn't say a word. He bowed his head, his entire body trembling with tension. He had never felt more trapped in his life, and the worst part was knowing his father was right. He couldn't abandon their family, no matter how much he wanted to live his own life freely. His mind grasped the logic, but his emotions refused to comply. The stress, the mounting responsibility—it was suffocating. A few tears slipped onto the parched ground, darkening the dust beneath him.
Edward noticed and felt a sharp pang of compassion, though he struggled to express it. His chest tightened, but words failed him. Instead, he lowered himself onto the ground beside his son and, after a moment's hesitation, awkwardly patted him on the back. It wasn't much, but it was all he could manage, his silent presence speaking the words he couldn't say.
"What a charming picture." – Florian's voice rang out, startling the two wizards – "My poor daughter suffering in silence while my precious baby girl is left at the mercy of zat vengeful veexen, and you two are sitting here whining for Light knows what reason. Did you manage to hit yourselves with your leetle toys?"
"Shut the fuck up already!" – Edward snapped, his voice sharp and furious. Both Greg and Florian froze, their astonishment clear – "I am sick and tired of you insulting me and my son at every opportunity!"
"Do I need to remind you," - Florian said icily, his green eyes narrowing dangerously - "zat you are in my 'ouse, Your Grace?" His pronunciation of the title was heavy with derision, emphasising every syllable.
"I may be in your house, but you're hardly a gracious host!" - Edward shot back, his anger flaring visibly - "For Louisa's sake, I've put up with a lot these past weeks, but even I have my limits. Insult me all you want, but Greg has done nothing to deserve your venom. Especially since you don't seem to have any such issues with Catherine."
"My granddaughter is hardly to blame for ze sins of your family."- Florian hissed, his words dripping with barely concealed loathing - "You say I am not a gracious 'ost? Bien sûr, but you are not a welcome guest! Ze one time I opened my door to you, you seduced my daughter and convinced 'er to throw away everything she 'ad—everything she could have been—to become your wife. Zis despite ze curse zat plagues your family and ze toxic environment your peers create for anyone who doesn't meet zeir ridiculous standards of purity. Do not zink I am unaware of what zey put Louisa through!"
"What you say about the aristocrats is true." – the Duke admitted, his voice taut with frustration as he tried to control his temper - "However, I do everything I can to help Louisa withstand their blatant and unjust treatment. But you're wrong about my relationship with her. I never lied to her, and I never pressured her into anything. She made her choice based on her own feelings. Whether you believe it or not, she does love me."
Edward stepped closer, his voice lowering as his eyes hardened. "And who are you to speak of sins, Florian? Do you think I don't know that you've used your weird flower illusions to get your way with Étincelle? Spare me your self-righteousness!"
"What?!" – Greg gasped, completely taken aback – "That's practically rape!"
"Shut your mouth, boy!" – Florian roared, his voice trembling with fury – "You know nozing of what you are talking about!"
Edward realised they might have gone too far. He stepped forward instinctively, positioning himself between Greg and Florian, ready to shield his son from his father-in-law's wrath. However, Greg didn't seem the least bit intimidated. Without hesitation, the young wizard reached out and plucked a few black irises growing nearby. The flowers withered instantly in his hand, crumbling into dry fragments. A heavy wave of magical energy rippled through the air, slamming into the space around them like an invisible storm.
Edward quickly raised his Occlumency shields, managing to block the brunt of it. He watched in awe as Florian's rage evaporated, replaced by an expression of utter shock—and something that looked suspiciously like fear. The older wizard stared at his grandson, completely dumbfounded, as if he couldn't comprehend what he was seeing. Greg, his face flushed faintly, turned to his father.
"I created a strong illusion of intimidation." - he explained, his tone calm, almost casual - "However, he should be able to counter it soon."
"Since when can you do that?" – the Duke asked, genuinely impressed.
"Since I was ten." – Greg replied without much enthusiasm – "He always thought I was worthless, so I didn't think it was necessary to tell anyone. I can only create simple things, but they're effective when used at the right moment. Turns out flower magic has nothing to do with being an Earth Mage after all."
"I suppose we can all be mistaken, even about things we think we understand." - Edward said thoughtfully, his eyes fixed on his father-in-law. The older wizard stood frozen, his face pale, seemingly trapped in whatever nightmare Greg's illusion had conjured - "Go back to the house and check on your mother. I'll deal with Florian once he comes to."
Greg nodded briskly and turned to head inside, leaving his father alone with the stunned wizard. Edward sighed, shaking his head as he leaned against a nearby tree, arms crossed, patiently waiting for Florian to recover.
'It's time to settle this, old man.' - the Duke thought grimly - 'You'll either commit to protecting your whole family, or you'll lose it altogether.'
It was a hot summer day at the end of July. Damp, oppressive heat seeped through the cracked window, bringing with it the rancid stench of the nearly dried-out river nearby. The air hummed with the relentless buzz of flies, occasionally punctuated by the distant croaks of frogs.
Severus Snape lay on his back atop the grimy, threadbare covers of his bed, staring at the peeling ceiling. With a flick of his wand, he periodically dispatched the more daring insects that ventured too close. It turned out that after his father's death, the Ministry of Magic didn't particularly care if magic was used at their home, since the only witnesses were him and his mother, who was a witch. The boy took full advantage of the oversight, using his newfound freedom to work on his own spells, finally having all the time in the world—though he wasn't quite sure how he felt about that.
Eileen had been distant since his return, spending most of her time mending old Muggle clothes. She barely spoke, her movements robotic, as though she were performing penance. When Severus suggested she seek work more fitting for "their kind," her silent refusal had only deepened his irritation. Still, her presence wasn't overly intrusive—what truly unsettled him was the pang of guilt he felt every time he saw her. She looked so pale, so worn down. The sight of her exhaustion infuriated the young wizard, and that fury only compounded his guilt. To avoid it altogether, he confined himself to his room for most of the summer.
A sudden knock jolted him from his thoughts. Turning his head, he watched as Eileen pushed the door open, her movements hesitant. She stepped inside, avoiding his gaze, her thin frame looking even smaller in the black dress she was wearing. "I'm going to visit your father's grave." - she said softly, her voice barely above a whisper - "It's been six months since his death. I thought you might come with me."
"And why would I want to do that?" - Severus snapped, bewilderment lacing his sharp tone.
"He's your father, Severus," – the witch replied, attempting firmness but faltering as she spoke - "Whether you like it or not."
The boy glared at his mother, then suddenly sprang to his feet, towering over her. His black eyes blazed with rebellious fury. "Yeah, I'm well aware of your excellent choice in romp mates. If you're going to shag around and get yourself knocked up, you could've at least chosen a wizard."
Eileen's hand shot into the air, trembling with rage, but it never reached its target. Severus caught her thin wrist in a firm grip, his fingers pressing just hard enough to make her wince. A small, pained squeal escaped the woman's lips before the boy released her, and she cradled her wrist protectively.
"Don't ever try that again!"- he warned, his voice low and menacing - "No one—no one—does that to me anymore. Do you understand?"
The witch nodded, her face pale as death, her wide violet eyes glassy and vacant. For a brief moment, Severus felt his anger ebb, replaced by a sickening wave of disgust—at her, at himself, at the whole situation. He tried to rationalise that he had only acted to protect himself, but deep down, he knew there was little this frail, broken woman could do to hurt him. The resemblance to Tobias in his own actions clawed at his mind, unwelcome and relentless.
Exhaling sharply, he turned away, pulling on his battered leather jacket. It wasn't real leather, and it clung uncomfortably in the simmering heat, but Severus hated how scrawny his arms looked in just a T-shirt. He couldn't stomach the thought of anyone seeing him that way.
"Let's go to the graveyard if you're so insistent." - he muttered, forcing his voice into indifference as he stalked toward the door.
Eileen nodded silently, and they left the house, heading toward Cokeworth's graveyard, about two kilometres away. By the time they reached the rusty iron gates, Severus was drenched in sweat, silently cursing his impulsive decision to indulge his mother.
Tobias' grave lay at the far end of the overgrown cemetery, marked by a simple grey gravestone. A solitary yew tree cast a patchy shadow nearby, its dark branches adding a touch of gloom to the scene. The witch glanced around cautiously before pulling out her wand and conjuring a modest bouquet of roses. She placed them at the foot of the grave, her movements a bit stiff. Severus rolled his eyes but didn't say anything, and Eileen pretended not to notice.
"How long are we staying?" – the boy asked, his tone edged with boredom.
"A bit longer." – the woman replied wearily, the overwhelming heat leaving her visibly light-headed. Severus scoffed and dropped to the ground, too drained to waste any more energy on the man who had made his life a living hell and once even tried to kill him.
He didn't miss Tobias—not even a little. What was there to miss? Sadness crept in at times, not for the man himself but for the absence of a father figure in his life. Guilt lingered too, whispering that he had likely contributed to the wave that had tossed Tobias off the bridge, leading to his death. But overall, life had simply moved on.
In many ways, things were better now. With Lucius Malfoy's help, Severus had managed to acquire a few necessities he could never have afforded otherwise. Tobias, after all, had always squandered what little money they had on cheap booze, stale tobacco, and women who charged less than a decent meal. Ironically, the family's finances had improved since his passing. Yet, the lack of real support and opportunity remained unchanged.
The boy frowned, tracing patterns in the dry dirt with a finger. His future loomed over him like a storm cloud. Lucius had given him hope—connections, resources—but at a price. Severus couldn't shake the haunting suspicion that to secure his future, he might have to sell his soul to the cunning blond wizard.
"Now that he's dead, don't you want to contact your family again?" – Severus asked his mother casually, though his heart thudded in his chest. The thought had been on his mind for a while, but he had hesitated to bring it up, fearing rejection if the timing wasn't right.
Apparently, this wasn't the right moment after all, as Eileen visibly flinched, her wide eyes locking onto her son. "What do you know?" - she asked, her voice trembling.
"Everything!" - the teenager replied quickly, body tensed with anticipation. But something in his tone or expression must have given him away because the witch let out a relieved sigh and gave him a bitter smile.
"I've told you countless times that lying is bad." - she said gently, though the scolding carried little weight.
"Then why do you lie to me?" - Severus shot back, his voice sharp and daring.
"I'm not!" - Eileen stated with a shake of her head, her eyes clouded with sadness - "I told you—my family is gone. The past is better left buried. Nothing good awaits you if you insist on reopening old wounds."
"Yeah, much better living as a half-blood." – Severus scoffed, turning his back on her. He hated how stubborn she was in her determination to keep him in the dark.
'There has to be something about her family at home.' – he thought with grim purpose – 'An old book, a picture—anything. I need to at least find out their name.'
Behind him, Eileen sighed, her exasperation palpable. She was increasingly unsure if she was doing the right thing by keeping her origins and title hidden from her son. Her father had been ruthless, cold, and self-righteous, but he would have ensured Severus had everything he needed—at least materially.
'Could he even become House Prince's heir?' – she wondered, her eyes drifting to Severus's broadening shoulders and slouched posture. He had grown rapidly in recent months, his frame now painfully thin despite his increasing height, his demeanour sloppy—nothing like Tobias
'No, he looks more like my dad.' – the witch mused, her resolve to stay away from the aristocratic world softening under the relentless heat of the July sun.
Suddenly, a chill ran up Eileen's spine despite the hot weather. It felt as though someone was watching her—intensely, almost predatorily. She spun around, and for a fleeting moment, she caught sight of a pair of icy blue eyes glaring at her from beside the yew tree. Before she could react, the figure vanished with an audible pop.
Severus turned sharply toward the sound but saw nothing. His mother, however, stood frozen in place, her face drained of colour and her expression more terrified than he had ever seen, even in the worst moments with Tobias.
"Mom?"- the boy called her firmly. When she didn't respond, he stepped closer – "Mom, what happened to you?"
Still no answer came. Panic rising in his chest, the young wizard half-dragged, half-carried the petrified witch back to their house. The journey took nearly two hours, and by the time they finally reached the doorstep, Severus was utterly exhausted. To his shock, the moment Eileen stepped over the threshold, she collapsed onto the floor, sobbing uncontrollably.
Severus stood there, completely at a loss. He had no idea how to handle a woman's tears. It was the same as when he found Lily in the boys' bathroom—filthy, hurt, and crying. The only thing he'd been able to do then was run to find help. Thankfully, Plantier had been useful for once.
The image of Catherine's tearful eyes surfaced unbidden in his mind. The usual thrill it sparked made him hiss in irritation, and he quickly busied himself at the kitchen stove to shake off the thought. He prepared a cup of tea with mechanical precision and placed it on the table without saying a word. Eileen continued crying, oblivious to his presence or the gesture.
The young wizard lingered for several moments, standing silently as her sobs filled the air. Then, unable to bear his own helplessness, he turned and left the room. Closing and locking the door to his bedroom behind him, he sank onto the dusty floor, head in his hands, cursing under his breath at his inability to do anything.
It was close to eleven o'clock in the evening when the lean, wiry figure of Rabastan Lestrange passed through the wrought-iron gates of Malfoy Manor in Wiltshire. His black cloak billowed slightly in the cool night breeze as he moved purposefully toward the main building. The magical wards chimed faintly, acknowledging his presence but offering no resistance. Without hesitation, he strode through the immaculate grounds, bordered by towering hedges, and approached the grand oak doors of the main house.
A diminutive house-elf opened the door, bowing so low its nose nearly touched the floor. Rabastan stepped inside with the ease of a man well-acquainted with the household, his sharp gaze sweeping over the empty salon. He wasted no time and ascended the grand staircase to the second floor, his boots barely making a sound against the polished wood.
"The Master asked not to be disturbed." – the house-elf squeaked, scurrying after him with a look of panic – "Dobby can offer the honourable guest refreshments until—"
Rabastan cut the creature off with a flick of his wand, sending a stunning spell straight at the elf. The force of the spell sent the small figure hurtling backward, tumbling to a halt in the middle of the corridor, unconscious. Without a glance at the fallen elf, Rabastan stepped over its limp form and reached the ebony double doors at the end of the hall.
"Lucius!" – he called, rapping insistently on the glossy surface – "Are you in there? It's urgent!"
There was a moment of silence before the door opened, revealing Lucius Malfoy, looking thoroughly annoyed. His hair fell in loose strands around his angular face, framing high cheekbones and a sharply defined jawline that only heightened his air of superiority. Dressed solely in silk pyjama bottoms of deep emerald green, his smooth, bare chest seemed to glow faintly in the dim light, highlighting the lean, sculpted musculature of his torso. A fine trail of pale blond hair began just below his navel, tracing a subtle line downward and disappearing beneath the waistband of his pyjama bottoms. In one hand, he held a black leather riding crop, its sleek surface gleaming with an elusive sheen—a detail that didn't escape Rabastan, whose smirk flickered with amusement.
Lucius's grey eyes fell to the unconscious house-elf sprawled in the hallway, and his lips curled into a disdainful sneer. "To what do I owe the honour of you barging in unannounced, cursing my servants, and wrecking my evening plans?" – he drawled, his tone icily displeased – "The key to my wards was given for emergencies, Rabastan, not your convenience."
"I know." – the other wizard replied casually, his tone devoid of apology – "That's why I'm here. The Dark Lord has ordered us to proceed with the next stage of the plan. Take care of the old man and meet us at the usual place. I'm off to collect some trinkets and déchets for the rabble after the meeting. Be quick—he's not in a mood for waiting."
With that, Rabastan turned on his heel and strode away, delivering a careless kick to the stunned house-elf as he passed. Lucius watched him leave, exhaling sharply before stepping back into his room. He retrieved his wand from the bedside table and, with a practiced flick, summoned a pair of black robes, dressing himself effortlessly.
Glancing at the trembling, naked woman tied face down on his bed, Lucius felt a faint pang of disappointment. With a snap of his fingers, he released the magical bindings that held her in place. Narcissa shifted slowly, turning onto her back with visible effort, her tear-streaked face flushed and puffy. She winced, adjusting herself carefully to avoid further aggravating the already reddened and tender skin of her bottom, as she hesitantly sought a position that offered some relief from the lingering sting.
"I'm sorry, pet." – he said, his voice utterly devoid of tenderness – "Duty calls. Dress yourself and leave—I'll let you know when I have time for you again."
Without waiting for a reply, Lucius strode out of the bedroom, his frown deepening as he spotted the crumpled form of the house-elf still lying in the hallway. "Enervate!" - he muttered, pointing his wand at the creature. Dobby's large, tennis-ball-like green eyes snapped open, brimming with horror as they met his master's cold gaze. Lucius didn't give the elf a chance to fully recover; with a sharp kick, he sent the trembling servant out of his way.
"Go check if Miss Black needs anything before escorting her out." - the wizard ordered curtly - "And don't forget to punish yourself for being such a careless, lazy piece of garbage. Let this be the last time you stand in the way of a pure-blood wizard and annoy him to the point of being hexed. Do I make myself clear?
Dobby let out a soft sob but quickly scrambled to his feet, nodding frantically before dashing off to fulfil his master's commands. The man spared the elf no further attention, spun around sharply and descending the grand staircase with brisk, purposeful steps.
He stopped in front of his father's study and entered without knocking, the heavy door creaking faintly as it swung open. Abraxas Malfoy sat behind his imposing ebony desk, his once-proud posture slumped, his unfocused eyes completely empty. Lucius paused for a moment, silently observing the frail figure before him.
With a calculated flick of his wand, he pointed it at the older man. "Imperio!" - he intoned smoothly, reinforcing the curse that had already bound his father's will. The wizard felt the invisible strings of magic tighten, their grip on Abraxas growing more pronounced.
"You're going to leave for our house in Dartmoor tonight." - Lucius commanded flatly, his voice devoid of emotion - "To anyone who asks, you'll say it's for your health—that Valeria is there to help you recover. Tell my sister I'm too busy managing the family business to visit but will make time before the school year begins. While there, you'll rest in bed, eat properly, and take long walks. Maintain appearances. Raise no suspicions. Now, go."
Abraxas rose from his chair without a word and vanished with a crack of Apparition. The young man allowed himself a satisfied smile. The more he practiced, the more adept he became at wielding the Imperius Curse. Of course, he'd had an exceptional teacher. The die was cast, and soon the world would fall under the rule of the Dark Lord. To Lucius, it was inevitable—Dumbledore's warnings went unheeded, the Ministry spiralled deeper into chaos, and Harold Minchum, the new Minister for Magic, seemed incapable of making a decision without consulting every one of his advisors.
Naturally, Lucius would have preferred not to cast the Imperius Curse on his father, but the old man was firmly set in his ways and incapable of recognising opportunities even when they were right in front of him. His lack of vision and subservience to the aristocrats led to frequent clashes, culminating in a heated argument during which Abraxas threatened to lock his son in the manor's dungeons. That had been the breaking point. Lucius acted decisively, securing his father's compliance through magic and presenting his case to the Dark Lord himself.
Voldemort approved of his initiative and together, they devised a plan: the outside world would continue to see Abraxas as the head of the Malfoy family, maintaining the illusion of stability, while Lucius worked in the shadows. When the time came for the Dark Lord to make his power known, the young wizard would step forward, assuming full control of the Malfoy legacy while his father retreated gracefully into the role of an aging patriarch. It was a perfect façade, one that lent Lucius the legitimacy he needed to lead the family openly in the new order.
A dark smile curved Lucius's lips as he reached for his wand. With a flick, he conjured the silver-white mask of a Death Eater and secured it over his face. Everything was in place. His brothers in arms would already be gathering. He disapparated, reappearing moments later in an abandoned industrial warehouse in East London.
The air was heavy with tension. The premise's shadows flickered as figures clad in black formed two semi-circles around several large cages. Inside, trembling human figures huddled silently, their mouths sealed shut by Silencing Charms. Lucius surveyed the scene with sharp eyes, noting every detail. The faint glimmer of his wand, the muffled gasps of the prisoners, and the rustle of robes—everything seemed to heighten his anticipation.
A sadistic grin spread behind his mask as he stepped into the inner circle, his posture straight and commanding. His thoughts flickered briefly to the events ahead. 'One way or another, I would have my fun tonight.' - he mused as a tall, imposing figure emerged from the darkness. Instinctively, Lucius and the others bowed low, their movements synchronised in reverence for their master.