Chapter 5: Beinging of a Amazing Summer
The morning light filtered dimly through the heavy curtains of Grimmauld Place, casting a muted glow across the aged wallpaper and polished wooden floors. Somewhere above, the house creaked gently—settling into its new life under the careful hands of the magical royal house-elves.
Harry groaned softly, sitting up in bed and blinking against the blur before him. He reached for his glasses on the nightstand, only to feel the cracked frame and shattered lens beneath his fingers.
"Great," he muttered, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "Just great."
Blindly, he swung his legs over the side of the bed and stood up, one hand outstretched as he carefully felt along the wall for guidance. Grimmauld Place, though vastly improved, was still unfamiliar in its new, elegant form. He moved slowly, cautiously, relying on touch and instinct to navigate.
As he reached the bottom of the stairs, the soft sound of footsteps approached.
A gentle voice, female and unfamiliar, spoke up beside him. "Is Master Harry alright?"
Harry blinked toward the source, still unable to see clearly. "Uh... yeah, I'm okay. My glasses are broken, that's all..."
The voice belonged to a royal house-elf—taller than most he'd seen before, dressed in a pristine black-and-white maid uniform, her large eyes shimmering with concern.
"I am Vila," she said with a small curtsy. "Master Sirius and Master Remus are in the kitchen. Would Master Harry like Vila to help him there?"
He smiled awkwardly, grateful for the offer. "Yeah... sure. Thanks, Vila."
With a nod, Vila gently guided him forward, her small hand light on his arm. The scent of breakfast—eggs, toast, something sweet and warm—wafted from the kitchen down the hall. And as they walked, Harry felt oddly comforted, as if this strange new version of Grimmauld Place might actually become something like a home.
Reaching the kitchen, Vila gently guided Harry to one of the cushioned chairs at the long, dark wood table. The space smelled of fresh coffee, warm toast, and something sweet bubbling on the stove. Sunlight streamed through the tall windows, casting soft golden rays across the elegant, newly renovated kitchen.
Sirius glanced up from his mug as soon as Harry entered, eyes narrowing. "Pup... where are your glasses?"
Harry sighed heavily, rubbing his forehead. "I stepped on them this morning."
Remus raised a brow but said nothing, sipping his coffee with quiet amusement.
Vila, who remained by Harry's side, tilted her head. "Perhaps Master Harry should get new glasses? Better ones than the round kind?" She looked between Sirius and Remus. "Have the Masters ever taken young Master Harry to a proper eye healer?"
Harry frowned. "A what now?"
"A magical eye healer," Vila clarified gently. "They are trained in correcting vision with spells, potions, and charmed lenses. Far better than Muggle doctors."
Harry's brow furrowed further. "My aunt and uncle took me to a Muggle eye doctor when I was five. That's how I got these glasses. No one ever told me wizards had their own healers for that kind of thing!"
He turned sharply to Sirius, pointing a finger at him. "You're taking me to one today."
Sirius blinked, then snorted into his coffee. "Alright, alright! I'll take you to one. Merlin, you sound like your mother when you're irritated."
Harry crossed his arms. "Good. Because these round things are going to be history."
The loft was quiet, filled with the gentle sound of morning. Sunlight poured through the tall windows in soft golden rays, casting shadows across the concrete floors and the sleek, modern furniture. The scent of warm cinnamon from the wax burner lingered faintly in the air, mingling with the savory aroma now drifting from the kitchen.
Tom stood at the stove, freshly showered, dressed in a dark long-sleeved shirt and black drawstring lounge pants—comfortably casual, yet still composed. His damp hair had been combed back neatly, and a thin mist of steam still clung to the air around him, curling from the bathroom down the hall.
A plate sat beside him on the counter, already stacked with a short tower of perfectly golden pancakes. He flipped one more onto the plate with an easy flick of the wrist, then turned his attention to the skillet where sausages sizzled gently, their rich, herbed scent filling the air.
Behind him, the soft hiss of scales over fabric broke the silence.
"Good morning, Master," Nagini murmured, her voice a low, pleased hiss. She slithered lazily over the back of the green velvet couch, golden eyes half-lidded from the full rabbit she had just devoured.
Without turning, Tom spoke smoothly, "Full already, I presume?"
"Very," she replied with a content flick of her tongue. "Though I could use a nap after."
"You always could," Tom mused, plating the sausages beside the pancakes before reaching for a bottle of pure maple syrup.
He moved with practiced precision, setting the plate on the sleek dining island and pouring himself a black coffee from the French press. The rich scent filled the air even more, grounding, almost indulgent.
For a brief moment, Tom simply stood there—coffee in one hand, breakfast in front of him, the quiet hum of his loft settling around him like a warm fog.
And though he would never say it aloud, the peace of this morning, this mundane moment... felt oddly perfect. "Remember around noon I have someone coming over, when the time comes you must be in the bedroom. I want wanna scare her by a very large snake."
Nagini flicked her tongue "But I won't hurt her master... makes sense... though..."
Tom took a sip of his coffee, the bitter warmth sliding down his throat as he leaned one hand on the edge of the island. His eyes, still slightly shadowed with sleep, lifted to meet Nagini's golden gaze across the room.
"I know you won't," he said quietly, his tone thoughtful rather than stern. "But not everyone is as... composed as I am when it comes to serpents."
Nagini's head tilted slightly, her coils shifting lazily over the cushions as she let out a low hiss of amusement. "She must be important then... if Master is going through the trouble of hiding me away."
Tom raised an eyebrow at her. "She's... intriguing," he said finally, choosing his words with care. "Unpredictable. Curious. But intelligent. It would be unwise to startle her unnecessarily."
Nagini studied him for a beat longer, then gave a slow, graceful nod. "Very well. When the time comes, I will remain in the bedroom." She slithered down from the couch, heading toward the hallway with a flick of her tail. "But I expect another rabbit later to make up for this slight."
Tom smirked faintly as he cut into a pancake. "You're becoming demanding."
"You've spoiled me."
He couldn't argue with that. Watching her disappear around the corner, he returned to his breakfast, though his mind had already started drifting—toward noon, toward her.
Jess.
He still wasn't sure what to make of the girl with the emerald eyes and unapologetic fire in her voice. But today, he would find out a little more.
Malfoy Manor, once a symbol of cold grandeur and pureblood pride, now hummed with an anxious energy beneath its polished marble floors and shadowed corridors.
Bellatrix Lestrange stormed down the long hall leading to the Dark Lord's private quarters, her black boots clicking sharply with each step. Her wild hair bounced with movement, and her narrowed eyes glinted with obsession and frustration. She stopped in front of the dark wooden door, inhaling deeply. Her pale fingers smoothed over her tattered robes, and she glanced at the wall mirror nearby to quickly adjust her appearance—futile, perhaps, but it gave her the illusion of control.
She raised her hand and knocked, once—twice.
"My Lord?" Her voice was breathless, reverent.
Silence.
Her frown deepened. She waited several more seconds, then slowly pushed the door open. The moment the hinges groaned, she stepped in—
And froze.
The room was barren.
Gone were the rich velvet drapes, the dark furniture, the ancient spell books and artifacts that once lined the shelves. His personal effects—his presence—completely vanished.
Her breath caught, and rage ignited in her chest. "No..." she hissed.
Footsteps behind her.
Rodolphus Lestrange appeared in the doorway, pausing when he saw the empty room. His eyes widened slightly. "Bella, didn't Lucius say the Dark Lord didn't want to be disturbed?"
Bellatrix didn't even glance at him. Her voice was venom as she whispered, "He didn't say he left."
Then she turned sharply, stalking past Rodolphus and down the hall with lethal grace. She burst into the drawing room like a storm.
"LUCIUS!" she shrieked.
Inside, Lucius Malfoy sat with unnerving calm, sipping his tea by the fireplace. His silvery blonde hair was pristine, and his expression unreadable. Across from him, Narcissa sat poised, arms crossed, though the tightness in her shoulders betrayed her unease.
Rodolphus entered quietly behind his wife, casting Lucius a sidelong glance. "If I were you," he said lowly, "I'd hide. She's going to hex the answers out of you."
Bellatrix rounded on Lucius, her wand already twitching in her hand. "Where is he? What did you do?! Where is our Lord?!"
Lucius took another measured sip, as though unfazed by the murderous fury in the room. "I was instructed not to speak of his whereabouts."
Bellatrix let out a snarl, and her magic crackled dangerously at her fingertips.
Narcissa finally sighed, setting down her cup. "He told you to keep quiet, didn't he?" she said, her voice quiet but pointed.
Lucius glanced at her, a flicker of something crossing his eyes. "He made himself very clear."
Rodolphus sat down, rubbing his temple. "He's gone. Just like that."
"And took everything with him," Bellatrix snapped, still pacing furiously. "Why didn't he tell me?! I am his most loyal—!"
Narcissa's words sliced through the tension like a blade, her voice icy yet composed. She didn't even raise her gaze from her teacup as she continued, her tone laced with aristocratic disdain.
"Because, perhaps, the reason he didn't tell you is that you follow him around far too much, dear sister."
Bellatrix turned toward her sharply, dark eyes narrowing in disbelief.
Narcissa finally looked up, pinning her with a cool, calculating stare. "If I were you, I'd stop already. You are married to Rodolphus, bound by a magical marriage contract—sealed in front of the Sacred Flame. Yet you've been attempting to bed the Dark Lord since you were sixteen. Let me guess... not once?"
The words hit their mark.
Bellatrix's jaw clenched as her face flushed, somewhere between rage and humiliation. "Cissy... that's not nice to say to me..." she muttered, but the venom behind her usual retorts had softened, cracked.
Rodolphus let out a long, weary sigh, leaning further into his chair with an almost theatrical exhale. "It's the truth, dear harpy of a wife," he drawled, rubbing his temple. "The entire Inner Circle knows it. It's like watching a banshee chase a ghost."
Bellatrix whirled on him, wand twitching, but he didn't flinch—he merely raised an eyebrow.
Narcissa took another sip of tea, calm as ever. "You weren't chosen, Bella. He left. Deal with it."
For once, Bellatrix had no immediate reply. Her lip trembled just slightly as she turned away, storming out of the room in silence, black robes billowing behind her like a shroud.
Rodolphus glanced at Narcissa with a smirk. "You've gotten sharper."
"If our aunt Walburga Black was still alive, she would be here in a heartbeat to but Bella in her place," Narcissa said coolly, setting her cup down with delicate precision.
Lucius simply sipped his tea, eyes flicking toward the doorway where Bellatrix had disappeared.
The silence that followed was deafening—and oddly peaceful.
Rodolphus gave a quiet chuckle at that, dry and humorless. "She'd have hexed Bella into the tapestry if she heard half the things she's said these past few years."
Narcissa raised a brow, lips curling ever so slightly. "Aunt Walburga may have been mad, but she had her standards. Bellatrix would have learned to bite her tongue—or lose it."
Lucius, still composed, lowered his teacup with a graceful clink. "Pity she's not here now. The house has been far too loud without her."
They sat in rare agreement, the tension lingering like the last wisp of smoke from a blown-out candle. Without Bellatrix's screeching presence in the room, the manor felt... tolerable. The air didn't crackle with obsessive madness, nor did it thrum with fear of her unpredictable temper.
"I almost forgot what quiet felt like," Rodolphus muttered, resting his chin on his hand. "Maybe the Dark Lord did us all a favor leaving without a word."
Narcissa didn't answer immediately. Her eyes were focused on the fireplace, where the flames danced gently in the grate. Then she spoke, her voice low but steady.
"Whatever his reason... he didn't leave without purpose. He never does."
Lucius gave a subtle nod in agreement, the silver of his eyes reflecting the firelight. "No... and when he returns, there will be consequences."
The silence returned again, heavy and knowing.
And still, somehow... peaceful.
The storefront glowed warmly against the cool gray of Muggle London, the sign above the entrance reading KANEKO OPTICAL in elegant gold lettering. Inside, wood paneling and softly lit displays gave the space a cozy yet professional feel. Glasses lined the walls in pristine rows—both wizarding and Muggle designs cleverly disguised to blend into either world.
Sirius stepped through the doors first, one arm looped casually around Harry's shoulders. "Ah—hello there," he said with his usual charming grin, walking up to the front desk where a woman with wavy chestnut hair and sharp eyes stood behind the counter. "I made an appointment for my godson about an hour ago. You said you could squeeze him in?"
The woman blinked, then smiled as she checked something on her screen. "Of course! Have your godson fill this out, and Dr. Gena will be right with you." She handed over a clipboard and a sleek pen.
"Thanks," Sirius said, passing it to Harry, who took it and sat down beside him.
It took about ten minutes for Harry to fill out the form. He sighed through the process, squinting at the questions with effort and muttering under his breath, "Definitely need new glasses..."
Just as he handed the clipboard back to the receptionist, a confident voice called out, "Sirius Black."
Sirius looked up—and immediately grinned like a schoolboy caught red-handed.
A tall, striking woman approached in a crisp white blouse tucked into a high-waisted skirt. Her thick waves of chocolate brown hair framed a sharp but beautiful face, and her eyes sparkled with sharp intellect. She raised a brow, not even trying to hide the amused disdain in her tone.
"Stood me up for our date... Don't worry, I know why," she said coolly. "You mutt."
Harry blinked as Sirius winced, chuckling nervously. "Gena, my dear, you look stunning. Even more radiant than I remember."
She rolled her eyes, then turned to Harry with a much softer expression. "Hello, Harry Potter. I'm Gena Lillian. I knew your parents—James and Lily—and the rest of that lot, too. I was in Ravenclaw back at Hogwarts. After graduation, I left the magical world for a bit, studied in the Muggle world, and earned my degree in optometry."
Harry perked up slightly. "Wait Really...?"
Gena chuckled warmly, her eyes crinkling at the corners. "Yes, really. I even wore a Muggle cap and gown at the ceremony—scandalous, I know," she teased with a wink, leading Harry toward the exam room. "I wanted to bridge both worlds. There are plenty of witches and wizards who never get their vision properly cared for because they don't know they have options beyond potions or spell-corrective lenses. I offer a bit of both."
Harry followed, curiosity replacing his usual awkwardness. "So... there's magical ways to fix eyesight permanently?"
"There are," she nodded as she opened the door and gestured for him to sit in the exam chair. "But they're not always permanent depending on the age, magical core development, or past injuries. You're still growing magically, so we'll stick with a hybrid solution for now. But no more crooked, cracked lenses."
She gave him a kind smile as she adjusted the exam equipment. "Let's get those eyes properly checked, shall we?"
From the waiting area, Sirius leaned back in his chair, a small smirk playing on his lips as he listened in. "Told you she was the best," he muttered to himself, proud and amused.
Gena gently removed the last lens from the phoropter, scribbling a few notes as she leaned back on her stool. "Alright, Harry," she said, her tone calm and reassuring. "You're nearsighted. Nothing too extreme, but enough to make the world a blur when things are more than a few feet away."
Harry nodded slowly, adjusting in the chair. "That... explains a lot."
She smiled, standing and moving over to a small illuminated chart on the wall. "The good news is, I can magically adjust your vision just enough to improve your day-to-day sight. You'll be able to see clearly around the house, in classes, even in a duel if it comes to that. But for anything involving precision—like reading small print, flying, or watching a movie—you'll still need glasses."
Harry blinked. "Wait... like, proper glasses? Not just the same ones I've had since I was five?"
Gena chuckled and waved a hand. "Those things were practically antiques. You'll have access to frames that suit you and lenses that actually match your current prescription. And if you want, I can enchant them so they won't break as easily. Anti-fog, scratch-resistant, possibly even a tint enchantment if you want something cooler."
Harry couldn't help the smile tugging at his lips. "That sounds... amazing."
She walked to the cabinet and pulled out a sleek black tray filled with frame samples. "Pick a style you like. We can have them ready in an hour. I'll start on the magical recalibration while you do."
As Harry began browsing, he looked up at her. "Thanks, Gena. Really."
Gena's eyes softened. "You're welcome, Harry. You're not just any patient, you know. Your mum would've wanted you to be taken care of properly."
Harry swallowed hard at that, his smile faltering just slightly—but only for a second.
He looked back down at the tray, reaching out for a matte black pair with a subtle texture along the arms. Sleek, durable, and stylish without being flashy—just the kind of understated cool Harry never knew he could pull off.
"These," he said, holding them up.
Gena nodded in approval. "Excellent choice. Lightweight, reinforced, and the enchantments will hold beautifully. Anti-fog, scratch-resistant, self-cleaning, and charmed to adjust slightly with your face shape over time."
Harry grinned. "They're actually kind of... cool."
"They are," she agreed with a wink. "James would've teased you for being stylish. Lily would've taken a dozen pictures."
Harry laughed softly, shaking his head. "Yeah... she would've."
Gena gently took the glasses from him. "Alright, give me forty-five minutes, and I'll have these ready. In the meantime, you and your godfather can go grab a bite or harass the staff out front."
Harry stood and stretched. "Think I'll just enjoy the fact I'll actually be able to see again."
"You'll look good doing it too," she teased over her shoulder as she disappeared through a side door, the glasses in hand.
Harry walked back into the lobby, where Sirius looked up over his magazine with an amused smirk. "So, how blind are you really?"
Harry rolled his eyes. "Blind enough. But I'm getting new glasses—enchanted ones."
Sirius grinned. "About bloody time. Maybe now you'll stop squinting like Moody in a snowstorm."
12:00 PM – London
The summer heat lingered, even in the shaded depths of the underground parking garage. Jess pulled her black 1981 DeLorean DMC-12 smoothly into one of the designated visitor spots, the gentle purr of the engine cutting off as she turned the key. A wave of warmth brushed against her skin the moment she opened the car door, a harsh reminder that today was shaping up to be a scorcher.
Stepping out, she adjusted the strap of her black-studded bag over her shoulder and reached for her round, black sunglasses, sliding them onto her face before locking the car with a quiet click. Dressed in a green tank top, distressed black shorts, and her favorite high-top buckle Converse, Jess was perfectly at ease in the summer heat. A soft smirk curled at the corner of her lips as she took in the modern, quiet surroundings of the garage.
Tom had been precise in his directions—visitor parking, fourth floor, last door on the left.
With a flick of her wrist and a quiet breath, she ran a hand through her dark red hair, exhaling as she made her way toward the elevator.
Inside Tom's loft, steam still clung faintly to the air from his recent shower. Standing before his open wardrobe, Tom wore only a towel wrapped low around his waist, beads of water trailing slowly down his chest. He ran a hand through his damp, raven-black hair, sharp eyes scanning the options before him.
A pair of slim-fit black jeans lay neatly folded on the bed—refined and sharply tailored. But the plain dark grey t-shirt he had originally chosen now felt too simple. Too... dull.
Tom reached for his wand, the tip glowing as he pointed it at the shirt. With a subtle flick and a muttered incantation, the magic reshaped the fabric before his eyes.
What emerged was far from ordinary.
The new design—crafted with sleek silver and black ink—featured the infamous Dark Mark. But it had changed. Gone was the harsh, branding symbol of old. This one was elegant, refined. The skull was sharper, detailed to a haunting degree, its hollow eyes almost gleaming. The serpent curled naturally, its fangs marked with gleaming silver accents, winding fluidly along the side of the shirt like a whisper of the past. It wasn't a symbol of fear anymore—it was a statement.
A personal emblem.
One that acknowledged who he had been, but not who he was now.
Satisfied, he slipped the shirt over his frame, the fabric clinging comfortably to his form. He paused only a moment to glance in the mirror, the ghost of a smirk touching his lips.
Upstairs, Jess stepped out of the elevator and into the hallway of the fourth floor. The soles of her boots made soft clicks against the polished floor as she walked, but she slowed, eyes narrowing as an odd sensation settled over her skin. The air was different here. Charged.
A quiet hum of magic pulsed around her—not aggressive, not threatening—but undeniably powerful. It danced just beneath the surface, as if watching her.
Her gaze shifted to the end of the hallway, where a black door stood, modern in design yet radiating an ancient sort of presence. She didn't sense wards meant to repel or harm. This was something older... veiled magic, woven into the very threshold.
Jess tightened her grip on the strap of her purse, lips parting slightly as she approached.
She raised her fist.
And knocked.
Footsteps echoed behind the door before it swung open, revealing Tom.
For a split second, she forgot how to breathe.
His damp hair, still tousled from the shower, clung in strands across his forehead. The faint scent of dark spices and fresh linen drifted into the hallway, wrapping around her like a whisper. He wasn't dressed in his usual formal wear—no tailored coat or crisp collar—but instead wore a fitted dark grey t-shirt that hugged his frame with effortless precision.
Her gaze lowered to his chest.
Her stomach clenched.
An emblem—black and silver—stretched across the fabric. A skull and serpent, twisted in an elegant dance, refined yet unmistakable. The Dark Mark. Not branded, not crude... but reimagined. It sent a subtle chill down her spine.
Jess steadied her breath as Tom leaned against the doorframe, his smirk low and lazy.
"Hey."
She swallowed, forcing her nerves down as she returned a small smile. "Hey."
He stepped aside and motioned her in. "Come on in."
Chuckling softly, she adjusted the strap of her bag and stepped into the loft. The air inside was cool and crisp, laced with something she couldn't quite place—ancient, powerful, controlled.
The interior was exactly how she imagined it would be: minimalist and sharp, untouched by clutter yet deliberate in every choice. A green velvet couch faced a vintage wooden bookshelf. An old 1950s radio sat atop a dark-stained side table, its surface gleaming under the soft lighting. The atmosphere carried a weight—elegant, masculine, timeless.
It felt like stepping into another era.
"Take a seat," Tom said, gesturing toward the couch. "Need to use the loo before we head out."
She gave a small nod and moved toward the couch, sinking into the cushions. The velvet was plush, cool against her skin, yet welcoming. The shades of green brought depth and warmth to the space, and she couldn't help but admire the intentional harmony in his choices.
She had only just begun to settle in when something shifted behind her.
A soft hiss broke the quiet.
Her entire body stiffened.
From behind the couch, a massive serpent's head emerged, its forked tongue flicking in the air.
Jess froze.
The snake's emerald-green eyes locked with hers—unblinking, unreadable. It wasn't aggressive, but it studied her with the eerie calm of something ancient and aware.
"Mmm... you smell like magic."
Her heart stopped.
"Are you a witch? Hm... why am I even asking? You can't understand me, not like my master. But you smell like lavender and lemon... nice scent."
The blood drained from her face.
She understood.
Every. Single. Word.
Parseltongue.
The ancient tongue of serpents. A gift—or curse—that she had buried deep. She had never spoken of it to anyone. Not to her parents. Not even to Severus.
And yet, here it was. Spoken aloud and understood instinctively.
She sat still, lips parted, heart thundering. Her throat tightened, but before she could respond—
The bathroom door opened.
Tom stepped into the room, pausing mid-step the moment he saw Nagini draped lazily over the couch beside Jess.
His entire demeanor shifted—sharp, alert, frustrated.
"Master!" Nagini chirped, turning her head toward him. "She smells like lavender and lemon! Can I have a rabbit?"
He pinched the bridge of his nose, exhaling sharply. Damn it.
He had specifically told Nagini to stay hidden.
"Nagini," he said in English, his voice low and laced with command. "Room. Now."
Nagini flicked her tongue in protest but obeyed without further word. With the grace of a creature born of shadows, she slithered down from the couch and across the floor, slipping into his bedroom as the glass door slid open with a soft hum.
Tom followed, expression unreadable. He closed the door behind her, the lock clicking into place.
Jess remained on the couch.
Still.
Frozen.
Heart pounding in her chest.
Slowly, he turned back to her, his gaze unreadable.
"I'm sorry about Nagini," Tom said smoothly, his voice calm—too calm, and laced with deliberate care. "I hope she didn't frighten you?"
Jess finally exhaled, breaking out of the haze that had settled over her. She pushed herself up from the couch, legs steadying beneath her as she straightened.
"S-She's... beautiful," she admitted, still slightly breathless. "What type of snake is she? She's huge... aren't you worried she might, I don't know, eat you?"
Tom let out a quiet chuckle—low, rich, and startlingly natural. It was the kind of laugh that caught her off guard, both rare and strangely warm.
"No," he mused, the corner of his mouth curving slightly. "She's very tame."
Jess nodded slowly, though her mind hadn't stopped racing since the snake had spoken.
Did he notice?
Her hesitation. Her silence. The brief flicker of panic.
If he did, he didn't show it.
Tom's expression remained composed, unreadable. He moved to the door, gesturing with an elegant motion. "Come on. Let's take our walk."
She hesitated only for a second before pulling in a slow breath and following. The moment she stepped outside, the sun hit her face, grounding her slightly—but her thoughts? They were far from calm.
Her pulse throbbed in her ears as she kept pace beside him, her boots echoing softly against the pavement. She risked a glance at him, but his expression gave away nothing.
Tom was a wizard.
There was no other explanation. The aura in the hallway, the magic in the air, Nagini—and the language. Parseltongue.
He had spoken to her. Not in English. Not in anything conventional. He had spoken in the serpent's tongue—and she had understood every word.
Just like her.
Just like the Queen before her.
A rare gift. A cursed one, some would say. Only a few bloodlines were known to carry it, and fewer still could wield it with instinctual ease.
The ancient line of Salazar Slytherin.
Was he connected to it?
Was that how he knew the language? Or was there something deeper—darker—woven into his legacy?
She didn't know. But what she did know was this:
This man wasn't ordinary.
And now, he knew that she wasn't either.
The summer air wrapped around them like a gentle veil, warm but softened by a cool breeze that whispered through the city streets. The hum of traffic was distant here, replaced by the soft rhythm of footsteps, the occasional bark of a dog, and the quiet murmur of passing conversations.
Tom and Jess walked side by side, their strides naturally falling into sync. Neither spoke at first—just a shared silence, comfortable and laced with unspoken thoughts. The sun caught the highlights in her braid, and he glanced at her once, noting the way her face tilted toward the sky, eyes half-lidded as if savoring the moment.
It was... peaceful.
And then, the street curved.
They stepped onto a side path that opened into a small plaza, and the soft buzz of life reached them.
Wooden stalls, colorful umbrellas, and the scent of fresh bread, fruit, and herbs filled the air. The local farmers market sprawled in front of them, nestled in the heart of the city like a hidden gem. Crowds meandered between vendors, inspecting handcrafted soaps, jars of honey, crates of vibrant produce, and woven baskets filled with lavender.
Jess's face lit up instantly.
A bright, genuine smile spread across her lips as she turned to him, emerald eyes sparkling with excitement. "Come on," she said, tugging lightly at his arm, "farmers markets always have amazing homemade goodies."
Tom blinked at her—caught off guard by the sudden burst of joy radiating from her expression. Her voice held a lightness, a kind of sun-warmed delight he rarely encountered. And for reasons he didn't understand, he didn't pull away.
Instead, he let her lead.
They stepped into the market, the warmth of the late afternoon sun weaving between the stalls as Jess drifted from one display to the next, her fingers brushing against bundles of fresh herbs and baskets of ripe strawberries. Tom followed at her side, silent but observant, absorbing every detail—not just of the market, but of her.
He had walked these streets before, once under much different circumstances. Hiding. Watching. Calculating. But with Jess beside him, this was different. Less a mission... more a moment. And despite himself, he was curious where it might lead.
Jess wandered to a nearby stall draped in a faded burgundy cloth, where glass jars filled with various jams and preserves glistened in the sun like stained glass. She leaned in, eyes scanning the handwritten labels—blueberry lavender, peach bourbon, and something called "Dragon's Kiss"—a spicy plum mix that caught her interest.
"Oooh, look at this one," she said, holding up the jar for Tom to see. "Spicy plum. I love it when people get creative with flavors."
Tom stepped beside her, his gaze flicking from the jar to her amused smile. "Dragon's Kiss?" he echoed, his voice low, teasing. "Sounds a bit dramatic."
Jess grinned. "Exactly why I want to try it." She looked over her shoulder at the vendor, a cheerful woman in her fifties with silver-streaked hair and a deep green apron. "How spicy is it, really?"
The vendor gave a knowing smirk. "Enough to warm your tongue, but not burn it off. Unless you eat it with a spoon."
Jess laughed and purchased the jar, slipping it carefully into her bag. "Worth it," she said under her breath.
Tom followed her to the next booth, where a table displayed delicate pastries dusted with powdered sugar and drizzled with honey. The scent was warm and sweet, mingling with the faint breeze that carried notes of wildflowers from a nearby flower cart.
Jess pointed at a flaky spiral pastry. "That's a baklava roll," she said, turning to Tom. "Ever had one?"
Tom shook his head slowly, his brow raised in quiet curiosity. "I can't say that I have."
"Then we're changing that," she replied, already pulling a couple of pounds from her wallet. She handed the vendor the cash and accepted the small paper bag, offering it to Tom as they stepped to the side.
He pulled one from the bag, inspecting it like it might hex him. Jess chuckled. "It won't bite. Promise."
He bit into it carefully—and paused.
The rich crunch of the golden layers gave way to spiced nuts and syrupy sweetness. Tom blinked once, then took another bite. Slower this time. Thoughtful.
Jess watched him with an arched brow. "So?"
He licked a stray bit of honey from the corner of his lip and gave a slow, approving nod. "Surprisingly... good."
Her laugh came out soft and melodic. "You really don't do normal often, do you?"
He glanced at her sidelong, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. "No," he said plainly. "But I'm not opposed to it."
They kept walking, slowly weaving through the booths. A musician played a stringed instrument near a bench shaded by ivy-draped trees. A few children danced nearby, their shoes slapping against the stone path in erratic rhythm. Jess slowed, taking in the scene with a fond look.
"It's weird," she murmured, "but I always feel safe in places like this. I mean, the world's insane, and things are... complicated. But here? It's like a little bubble."
Tom's gaze shifted to her—not the market, not the music—just her. There was something honest in her words. Something grounding.
"Then let's stay in the bubble a little longer," he said.
Jess smiled up at him, surprised—and pleased—by his response. "Deal."
Jess's eyes lit up like fireworks. "Ooh!" she exclaimed, suddenly grabbing Tom's hand without warning.
Before he could react, she tugged him toward a booth nestled beneath a striped awning with ivy-laced supports. The stand was beautifully arranged, its front lined with an array of ornate green glass jars—each one filled with vibrantly colored pickles, sealed with gold-rimmed lids and hand-labeled in elegant cursive. The air smelled tangy and herbaceous, with notes of garlic, dill, and something sweetly spiced.
But it wasn't the pickles that had caught Jess's attention.
It was the woman sitting behind the stand.
Tom's breath hitched the moment his eyes landed on her.
She was stunning—silver hair curled in soft waves, her posture regal even while seated. Dressed in a pristine ivory summer dress with a high collar with sun hat and blood-red lipstick that matched the calm sharpness in her eyes, she radiated a presence that stopped time. Sophistication, strength, and something else lingered around her... something deeply magical. Tom could feel it pressing against his senses, like an ancient enchantment hidden in plain sight.
Jess was already rushing forward.
"Grandma!" she beamed.
The elegant woman's expression softened, her crimson lips curving into a rare smile as she rose from her stool. "Oh... is that my little rose?"
Tom blinked, frozen in place.
Little rose?
Jess threw her arms around the older woman, giggling as she hugged her tightly. "You didn't tell me you were back in London!" she said, muffled by the embrace.
"We arrived late last night," her grandmother replied smoothly, brushing a lock of red hair behind Jess's ear. "I thought I'd set up shop early, test the waters of the farmers market. And what perfect timing—look at you, dressed like a rockstar and dragging along handsome company."
Jess flushed, laughing as she stepped aside. "Grandma, this is Tom."
Tom, ever composed, gave a small nod. "It's a pleasure."
The older woman turned her gaze on him, and Tom immediately felt as though he'd been caught under a magnifying glass. Her eyes were sharp, intelligent—measuring something deeper than just appearances.
"Mmm," she mused, then offered her hand with elegant poise. "Amara Kuran. And you are?"
He accepted her hand briefly, noting the ancient strength behind her graceful touch. "Tom Riddle."
Jess blinked at the formal tone, clearly missing the subtle tension weaving between them.
Tom's eyes flicked to the wooden sign perched above the booth. Kuran Pickles.
Kuran.
That name tugged at something in the back of his mind—something half-buried, unsettling in its familiarity.
Amara released his hand with a serene smile. "Riddle. A classic name... I've heard it before." Her tone was smooth as silk, but an unspoken layer simmered beneath it.
Jess, blissfully unaware, beamed as she leaned over the stand. "Did you bring the classic dill?!"
"I brought them just for you," Amara said, already reaching beneath the counter for a jar. "Your grandfather made the batch himself. He'll be thrilled to know you're still hopelessly addicted."
Jess clapped her hands together, practically glowing. "Grandpa made pickles?!"
Tom stood quietly beside her, uncertain if he had just met a humble vendor—or a silent queen.
Amara's gaze returned to him with knowing amusement. "Mr. Riddle," she said, already grabbing a pair of tongs, "try one from the bin. Just fifty pence."
She lifted two dill pickles from the cold brine and placed them neatly on parchment, each one stuck through with a wooden skewer.
"One for you and one for Jess."
Jess giggled as she pulled a pound from her purse and handed it over. "These are regular dill," she explained, grinning at Tom. "But I'm obsessed with the Kuran classic dill."
Tom blinked as he accepted his, the cool brine-slicked pickle resting in his hand. He did enjoy pickles—though it had been ages since he'd indulged in something so...mundane.
Jess, meanwhile, was already taking a bite. Her eyes fluttered slightly as she let out a soft, satisfied "Mhmm." She lifted her hand to catch a drip of juice, laughing under her breath.
Amara chuckled and handed her a napkin like she'd done it a thousand times. "Juicey?"
Jess nodded quickly, licking a bit off her thumb. "So cold and so yummy! Tom, you have to try yours."
Tom raised a brow at the way she beamed at him over a pickle, of all things. He glanced down at it, then slowly took a bite.
The flavor hit instantly—crisp, tangy, perfectly seasoned with hints of garlic and dill that lingered. His expression didn't change, but his brow did lift ever so slightly.
Know this was a goddamn pickle!
"Well?" Jess asked, eyes wide with anticipation.
Tom smiled, a rare and genuine curve to his lips. "This is delicious. Do you mind if I buy a jar from you, Mrs. Kuran?"
Amara's face lit up, her elegant poise never faltering. "Oh, of course, dear. Regular dill?"
Tom gave a small nod. "Classic is good."
Jess flushed, clearly not expecting him to like it that much. "You've got good taste," she murmured, a little grin tugging at the corner of her mouth.
Amara handed him a neatly labeled green-glass jar with a polished gold lid. "Here you are. Tell your friends, Mr. Riddle. Kuran Pickles tend to make an impression."
He met her gaze for just a moment longer than necessary measuring her just as she was measuring him.
"I believe they already have," he replied.
Severus Snape stepped into Malfoy Manor, the grand entryway cloaked in an eerie silence that unsettled him far more than he'd expected. The manor was rarely quiet—too many egos under one roof, too much tension masquerading as civility. Yet now, it was almost too quiet, as though something essential had been pulled from its foundation. His dark eyes scanned the corridor, the light tapping of his boots echoing faintly as he moved toward the drawing room.
Inside, the stillness was broken by a groan.
"That's the third time!" Rodolphus Lestrange slapped his cards down against the polished table. "Lucius, are you cheating at poker again?"
Lucius Malfoy leaned back in his chair, lifting a perfectly groomed brow. "Please, Rodolphus. Just because you don't understand strategy doesn't mean I'm cheating."
Narcissa let out a soft chuckle from her seat by the fireplace, swirling her tea with lazy elegance. She looked up, her expression lifting when she spotted the approaching figure. "Oh, Severus," she greeted smoothly, "what brings you here?"
Snape offered a curt nod before crossing the room and settling into an empty seat with his usual quiet grace. "Deal me in, Lucius," he said, his voice cool and clipped. His dark gaze flicked from face to face, noting the ease with which they pretended not to notice the tension in the air.
Lucius began shuffling the deck with practiced fingers, a smirk playing on his lips. "So, anything from the other side?"
Severus glanced at him, his expression unreadable as always. "The Order," he said, voice low, "has been disbanded."
Narcissa's hand stilled, the clink of her spoon against porcelain suddenly loud in the hush that followed.
Severus continued. "A royal decree came in this morning. Dumbledore has been forced into retirement—he has one year left at most. After that, the position of Headmaster will be... reconsidered."
Lucius let out a slow breath, exchanging a look with Narcissa.
"And our Lord?" Severus added, voice quiet but weighty. "I haven't sensed him. Not once. His magic has gone... quiet."
Rodolphus glanced up from his cards, his expression suddenly less amused. "His room is empty, Severus. Barren. Bella nearly lost her mind when she saw it. Only Lucius knows his whereabouts."
Severus leaned back slowly into the chair, the flickering light from the chandelier casting angular shadows across his pale face. His dark eyes narrowed, calculating. "So, you're not going to share?" he asked, his voice low and probing as he turned his attention to Lucius.
Before the blonde man could answer, a loud crash echoed through the manor—glass shattering violently against stone.
The drawing room door flew open, and Rabastan Lestrange stumbled inside, his breathing quickened and eyes wide with indignation. He slammed the door behind him with a thud, turning toward the group in exasperation.
"She threw a vase at me!" he barked, clearly rattled. "For no reason whatsoever!"
Rodolphus groaned, dragging a hand down his face. "That's the third one today..."
Lucius, ever composed, took a deliberate sip from his crystal tumbler. "You really should stop provoking her, Rabastan."
"I didn't say a word!" Rabastan snapped, glaring toward the hallway behind him as if expecting another projectile to follow.
Narcissa chuckled softly, barely hiding her smirk as she turned toward Severus. "It's been like this since she discovered the Dark Lord was gone. And no, we still don't know where he went. Lucius here is under strict orders not to say."
Severus turned his eyes toward Lucius again, this time with greater weight behind his stare. "I haven't sensed him anywhere. Not a flicker of his magic. That's... disturbing."
Lucius set his glass down with a quiet clink, the crystal catching the low light of the drawing room. He leaned back with effortless composure, one leg crossing over the other. "Then perhaps," he said smoothly, "he doesn't want to be found. He'll return when he's ready."
He paused, swirling the contents of his glass. "Bella is simply taking it harder than most... mostly because she can't sneak into his chambers anymore."
Rodolphus exhaled with a tired groan, flicking a card onto the table with a flick of his fingers. "Do you remember the last time she tried that?" he muttered, voice edged with disdain. "He hit her with the Cruciatus Curse. And not just any spell—it was a brutal one. Part of me hoped she'd come out of it with a bit of brain damage."
He shot a sideways glance at Narcissa and added dryly, "No offense."
Narcissa arched a perfectly sculpted brow, the flicker of amusement not quite hidden behind her otherwise cool expression. She reached for her teacup, swirling the contents once before taking a delicate sip. "None taken, Rodolphus. Honestly, I think that would've been merciful—for all of us."
Lucius let out a rare, sardonic breath through his nose as a faint crash echoed through the manor. The sound was distant, but not unexpected. "She's volatile. Always has been. And she's taken his disappearance as a personal betrayal. The rest of the Inner Circle may remain loyal, but Bella?" He tapped a finger to the table. "She worships him."
Rodolphus leaned forward, placing his cards down with a flick of boredom. "She stopped worshipping me the moment he glanced her way. I've made peace with it. But she crossed the line trying to sneak into his chambers again. I warned her. He warned her."
"She's lucky he didn't do worse," Severus murmured, his fingers steepled beneath his chin. "He doesn't tolerate emotional instability, especially not from someone as unpredictable as Bellatrix."
Rabastan, who had finally recovered enough to rejoin them, slumped into the nearest armchair with a dramatic huff. "Unhinged is too kind. I swear, she's seconds away from hexing the portraits. Threw a vase at me for breathing too loud."
Narcissa waved a hand with elegant dismissal. "Let her. Maybe the manor will finally feel quiet once she exhausts herself."
Lucius chuckled darkly but then turned toward Severus, silver eyes narrowing with curiosity. "And what of Dumbledore? The rumors—are they true? That this year will be his last?"
Severus gave a slow, deliberate nod. "Confirmed. Jerith Kuran personally delivered the order. The Magical Royal Family is forcing him to step down. Minerva will be Headmistress, and I've been appointed Deputy."
Lucius raised a brow. "How unexpectedly... charming."
Rodolphus snorted. "So you'll finally be able to deduct house points without restraint. Merlin help the students."
A faint smirk tugged at the edge of Severus's mouth. "It's long overdue. Discipline has been absent for far too long."
Narcissa set her teacup down with a quiet clink, her tone dipping into something more reflective. "Everything's shifting. The Order's disbanded, the Ministry is under royal scrutiny, Hogwarts will soon fall under new leadership... and the Dark Lord is gone."
Silence settled like a shroud over the drawing room.
Lucius exhaled slowly, eyes distant as he swirled the amber liquid in his glass. "Imagine one day... Our lord takes a consort. Bella would lose her mind."
The room stilled.
Severus sighed and set his cards down. "I believe our Lord has no desire to find a consort... nor to pursue the notion of an heir. Can he even have any after his ritual? He was reborn not fully human."
Rodolphus leaned forward, resting his forearms on the table, his expression darkening. "No, he's not fully human... hasn't been for a long time. Whatever he became during that ritual, it wasn't just a resurrection—it was a transformation. You felt it, Severus. We all did."
Severus gave a slow nod, eyes shadowed beneath the flicker of candlelight. "His magical signature changed that night. Twisted, more potent... but less grounded. He severed pieces of himself—his soul, his anchor to mortality. It left... gaps."
Narcissa folded her hands neatly in her lap, her gaze cold and pensive. "And yet, there's still something in him that clings to structure. Control. Ritual. If he didn't care for legacy in some form, he would've burned this entire world to ash already."
Lucius chuckled under his breath, but there was no mirth in the sound. "A consort for the Dark Lord. The very idea is absurd. Who would be mad enough to accept such a role?"
"Or strong enough to survive it," Narcissa added dryly.
Rodolphus snorted. "Bella would offer herself in a heartbeat, again and again, until he finally gave her a straight answer. Not that she'd survive his rejection a third time."
Severus's tone was low and unreadable. "Perhaps that's why he left."
The room went still again. That single sentence settled heavy on the air.
Lucius finally looked up, silver eyes flicking toward the darkened windows. "If he does take a consort... it won't be someone like Bellatrix."
Narcissa smirked faintly, lifting her cup again. "No... it would have to be someone different. Powerful. Unafraid. And not one of us."
"Not a Death Eater," Severus agreed. "Not someone tied to his past?"
Rodolphus leaned back in his chair with a thoughtful grunt. "Someone new?"
None of them said it aloud, but for the first time in years, the future of their Dark Lord felt uncertain—dangerously unpredictable.
"Besides," Narcissa added coolly, swirling the last of her tea, "she couldn't bed him even if she wanted to. If she tried, the adultery clause in her binding contract would activate. You remember the terms—one violation, and the barren womb hex takes effect."
Lucius winced slightly, not out of sympathy, but because he knew the magic behind such clauses wasn't forgiving.
The quiet was broken by the sudden screech of the drawing room doors flinging open, their hinges groaning in protest.
Bellatrix Lestrange swept in, wild-eyed and breathless, her robes flaring behind her like a storm cloud. "Cissy!" she barked, her voice shrill with impatience. "Come with me to Knockturn Alley. I want to question Burke and Borgin."
The table fell into silence, all eyes turning to her.
"Why?" Lucius asked with a frown, already dreading the answer.
Bellatrix's eyes glittered. "Because our Master has done business with them before, hasn't he? If anyone knows where he might've gone—it's them."
Severus pinched the bridge of his nose, voice tight with long-suffering restraint. "They won't tell you anything, Bella. Not to you. Especially not when you're... unhinged."
Her head snapped toward him with a furious glare. "And what would you suggest, Severus? Sit and do nothing while he could be in danger?!"
Narcissa stood, placing her teacup on the tray with a soft click. "He's not in danger, Bella. He left of his own volition. And if he doesn't want to be found... you'd do well to respect that."
Bellatrix's fists trembled at her sides, her breath sharp and erratic as she stepped forward, her eyes wild and brimming with fury.
"You will tell me where he is!" she snapped, her voice cracking with desperation. "Now!"
Lucius didn't flinch. He merely narrowed his eyes at her, his expression exasperated, then exhaled slowly as he leaned back in his chair. "You enjoy our lord hitting you with the Cruciatus Curse, don't you?"
Bellatrix froze.
Her cheeks flushed a deep scarlet, her lips parting slightly—but no words came.
Lucius tilted his head, voice smooth and cruel. "Ah... you do. You get off on it, don't you?"
The room went still.
Bellatrix stared at him, her wide eyes gleaming with unspoken shame—and something far more disturbing.
Rodolphus let out a choked sound and slammed his cards onto the table. "Get the fuck out, Bellatrix," he snarled, his voice cold and sharp. "Get out of this room and away from my presence. You're lucky I can't divorce you without Father's permission, or I would have done it the moment you started panting after our Master like a love sick bitch you are."
Her face twisted, eyes burning—but she said nothing.
With a sudden shriek, she grabbed the edge of the table and flipped it, sending cards, coins, and tea flying through the air in a dramatic cascade. The table crashed onto its side as Bellatrix stormed out of the room, her heavy boots stomping down the hallway like thunder.
Silence followed.
Rodolphus slowly reached for the overturned bottle of firewhiskey, pouring himself a fresh glass with trembling restraint. "That woman," he muttered, "is three curses away from being locked in St. Mungo's in the mental ward."
Lucius sighed and dusted off his robes with the dignity of a man far too used to this level of chaos. "Honestly, I'm starting to miss the screaming portraits."
Narcissa didn't say a word. She merely sat back down, lifted her cup of tea from the floor, and sipped as if nothing had happened.
Draco stepped hesitantly into the drawing room, one hand cradling his cheek where a bright red mark bloomed across his pale skin. His silvery eyes were wide with confusion and a hint of hurt.
"W-Why did Aunt Bella smack me?" he asked, his voice small, utterly bewildered.
Narcissa gasped, rising swiftly from her seat. "Oh, darling, come here."
Draco crossed the room and sank into the chair beside her, and Narcissa reached out with gentle fingers, examining the reddened welt on his cheek with a mother's fury barely held at bay. "That woman is completely unhinged."
Severus folded his arms and studied the scene with an unreadable expression. "Perhaps he should stay with me for the summer," he offered dryly, though there wasn't much conviction in the idea. "Though my place hasn't exactly been cleaned in... a while."
he added with a slight grimace. "He would be better off with Black, Grimmauld Place has been restored by royal house elves. It's practically a manor now."
Narcissa's eyes widened at the news. "Restored?" She exhaled deeply, brushing a hand down Draco's arm. "Then I'll owl Sirius. He's been declared innocent. It was in the papers yesterday."
Draco frowned, wrinkling his nose in distaste. "Potter isn't going to be there... is he?"
Severus smirked; his dark eyes gleaming with amusement. "Yes, he is. He lives there now."
Draco groaned and leaned back into the chair like the weight of the world had just settled on his shoulders. "Of course he does..."
Meanwhile, Lucius, Rodolphus, and Rabastan quietly worked to reset the table. With flicks of their wands, the chairs righted themselves, cards shuffled neatly into a stack, and scattered poker chips zoomed back into their respective piles.
Rodolphus sighed heavily, muttering under his breath as he resumed his seat, "I miss my puppy..."
The others pretended not to hear. But the silence that followed was awkward enough to suggest that they all had.
Tom and Jess stepped out of the farmers market, canvas bags slung over their shoulders, filled with fresh goods—pickles, a jar of honey, a small loaf of rustic bread Jess had insisted on trying, and a few homemade pastries that had caught Tom's interest more than he'd expected. The energy between them was lighter now, the initial tension replaced by a growing sense of comfort.
The sun hung high in the sky, casting golden warmth across the streets as they made their way toward a corner café Jess had pointed out earlier. Its name—Seagate—was etched in vintage script across the glass door, and the moment they stepped inside, a pleasant wave of savory aromas and faint chatter wrapped around them like a familiar hug.
The interior was cozy but lively—checkered floors, polished wooden booths, and a small counter bar where a few locals sat sipping milkshakes and coffee. The soft hum of an old jukebox played from the back, casting a nostalgic 1950s atmosphere over the space.
A waitress approached them with a warm, practiced smile, her notepad already in hand. "Welcome to Seagate," she said cheerfully, handing them laminated menus. "Would you like to start off with drinks?"
Jess glanced up and smiled. "Yes, I'll have a cherry cola."
Tom, still surveying the café's quaint charm, gave a small nod. "Same for me."
"Alright, I'll be right back with your drinks," the waitress replied, disappearing toward the counter.
Jess set her canvas bag beside her seat and leaned back against the booth with a pleased sigh. "This place is a hidden gem. My dad used to take me and Sora to diners like this when we were little—except they weren't nearly this charming."
Tom rested his arm casually along the back of the booth, observing her with a faint smirk. "It does have a certain... nostalgic flair."
She raised a brow at him, playful curiosity lighting up her features. "You've been here before?"
"No," Tom replied smoothly, his eyes sweeping across the vintage interior. "But it reminds me of places my father saw in the early sixties. It has that kind of aura."
Jess blinked, lips twitching into a grin. "Your father must be old then..."
Tom chuckled under his breath, his expression momentarily unreadable as he considered how to respond. "He's... about sixty-four," he said at last, purposefully downplaying the truth. After all, admitting his real history wasn't exactly on the table—not yet.
Before Jess could press further, the waitress returned carrying two tall glasses filled to the brim with dark red soda, ice clinking against the glass. Each was topped with a bright maraschino cherry skewered neatly on a cocktail stick.
She set them down gently. "Ready to order, or would you like a few more minutes?"
Jess glanced at the menu, then smiled warmly. "I'll have the hot plain Italian sandwich with au jus dip, please."
The waitress nodded, scribbling it down. "And you, sir?"
Tom looked over the menu for another second before setting it aside. "I'll have the same," he said, his voice even. "But not plain. And easy on the peppers."
"Got it. I'll have those right out," the waitress replied with a smile, then turned and walked off, leaving them in the soft buzz of restaurant chatter and clinking silverware.
Jess took a long sip of her soda, her fingers toying idly with the straw as she glanced at Tom with amusement. "So, you've got a mysterious, vintage vibe... and an old dad. I think that's starting to make sense."
Tom only smirked, raising his glass in response before taking a slow, deliberate sip.
Grimmauld Place felt almost unrecognizable now—clean, warm, and full of life. The lingering coldness of the old Black household had been driven out by the royal house-elves, replaced with an atmosphere that actually felt like a home. The living room was quiet aside from the soft hum of a show playing on the wall-mounted flat screen, casting faint light across Sirius's relaxed figure on the couch.
Upstairs, Harry lay sprawled comfortably on his bed, completely absorbed in his game. His brand-new Switch—a surprise purchase from earlier that day while out with Sirius—was clutched in his hands, the screen glowing with his latest adventure through Hyrule. Breath of the Wild had him completely hooked, and for the first time in ages, he felt like a regular teenager.
Downstairs, Sirius nursed a butterbeer in one hand, legs kicked up on the coffee table as he half-watched whatever show was playing. He didn't even flinch when a sharp pop echoed behind him.
Kreacher had appeared, eyes wide and posture stiff as usual, though his tone was slightly less grating than before.
"Master," the old elf rasped, holding up an envelope on a silver tray, "You have letter from Lady Narcissa Malfoy."
Sirius raised an eyebrow, turning his head lazily toward the elf. "Narcissa?" he repeated, voice edged with surprise. "Now there's a name I didn't expect to see on my post."
He reached over, plucked the envelope from the tray, and turned it over in his hands. The seal was elegant, bearing the Malfoy crest in shimmering green wax. His expression shifted—curious, a little cautious, and maybe even slightly amused.
Kreacher remained still, watching him closely.
Sirius exhaled and muttered, "Guess it was only a matter of time..."
He carefully broke the wax seal and unfolded the parchment, his eyes tracing the familiar curves of Narcissa's handwriting. Elegant, precise—just as he remembered it from years past.
He cleared his throat and read silently:
Sirius,
Dear cousin,
I write to you with a request—one I hope you will consider with fairness and family in mind. I ask if my son, Draco, may spend the summer at Grimmauld Place. Severus has assured me the home has been restored and is no longer a danger to anyone. I believe it would benefit Draco to spend time away from the manor—especially given that a certain love-struck fool has already raised a hand against him.
He is still just a boy, Sirius. And despite our differences, he deserves the chance to connect with the Black side of his heritage. I know this may not be easy, especially with Harry already under your care, but I trust you'll do what's best.
I await your response and sincerely hope that Harry and Draco will manage not to be at each other's throats the entire time.
With love,
Narcissa Black Malfoy
Sirius leaned back with a quiet sigh, the letter resting loosely in his hand. His expression was unreadable, a flicker of nostalgia in his eyes.
"Draco Malfoy at Grimmauld Place..." he muttered, rubbing his jaw. "This is either going to be the greatest lesson in tolerance Harry's ever had... or a bloody disaster."
He let out a breath and looked toward the ceiling, thinking about the boy upstairs.
"Better warn him."
Their sandwiches arrived on thick ceramic plates, steam curling from the freshly toasted hoagie rolls. The tender shredded beef peeked out from the bread, glistening and fragrant, tucked between layers of melted provolone and the bright green punch of pepperoncini. A small ramekin of au jus accompanied each dish, the savory broth rich and dark.
Jess beamed as the waitress set the plate down in front of her. "Oh my god, it smells amazing," she murmured, reaching for the sandwich with both hands. "The bread looks perfect..."
Tom offered a faint nod of approval as his own plate was set down. The aroma alone had his senses sharpening. "I must admit," he said, eyeing the dipping broth with curiosity, "I wasn't expecting something quite this appetizing."
Jess smirked as she dipped her sandwich into the au jus and took a generous bite. A muffled moan of satisfaction followed, and she gave a little shoulder shimmy. "Mmhmm... Oh yeah. This is it. This is everything."
Tom raised a brow, suppressing a rare, amused smile. "That good?"
"Better," she said after swallowing, reaching for her cherry cola. "You'll see."
Tom mirrored her, lifting the sandwich and carefully dipping the end into the broth. His first bite was measured, but as the flavor bloomed across his tongue—tender beef, warm spice, the tang of pepper—his eyes narrowed in quiet appreciation.
"Impressive," he said simply.
Jess leaned on her elbow, watching him with satisfaction. "Told you. It's kind of a sin how good these are."
Their lunch continued in companionable silence, the clinking of glasses and soft hum of conversation around them filling the air. It was a rare, quiet moment—an ordinary one. But somehow, shared across the table with dripping sandwiches and casual conversation, it felt like something more.
And Tom, who was used to worlds of control and precision, found himself savoring it. Oh yes—Muggle food was far superior to the odd, often overly sweet or magically shifting nonsense served in most wizarding establishments. Tom dipped his sandwich again, watching the broth soak into the crusty bread before taking another deliberate bite. The savory richness, the complexity of the flavors—nothing in the magical world ever quite reached this level of satisfaction.
He chewed slowly, almost thoughtfully, letting the taste settle on his tongue. How could I have ever forgotten this?
There was a kind of honesty in Muggle cooking. No enchanted ingredients. No charmed utensils doing half the work. Just time, patience, and skill—a real kind of craftsmanship. And the result? Absolutely divine.
He wiped his fingers carefully on the provided napkin and took a sip of his cola, the sharp sweetness fizzing lightly across his tongue. He didn't miss pumpkin juice one bit.
Across from him, Jess was completely absorbed in her own sandwich, dipping and munching with the enthusiasm of someone who knew exactly how sacred good food could be. She looked content, flushed with warmth and sunshine, her smile genuine.
Tom leaned back slightly, watching her, his dark eyes flicking over every detail—the casual way she ate, the subtle joy in her expression, the way her knee bumped his under the table without her noticing.
Yes, this world... this life he was cautiously dipping into... it had its charms. And he wasn't ready to let it go just yet.
A soft knock sounded on Harry's bedroom door.
"Come in!" Harry called, his voice distracted.
Sirius opened the door to find Harry sitting cross-legged on his bed, completely immersed in his Nintendo Switch. The glow of the screen illuminated his face as he mashed buttons with intensity.
On the screen, Link was darting around on grassy cliffs, desperately dodging attacks from bizarre, fast-moving lizard creatures.
"What the bloody hell are those?" Sirius asked, raising a brow as he stepped in and leaned casually against the doorframe.
Harry didn't look up. "They're called Lizalfos. Super annoying. I just left the Great Plateau and I'm heading to Kakariko Village—but I took a weird shortcut and now I'm being ambushed."
Sirius folded his arms, watching the pixelated chaos play out. "Let me get this straight—you just spent years dodging Dark wizards and magical creatures, and this is how you choose to unwind?"
Harry grinned faintly, not tearing his eyes from the screen. "Yeah, but these monsters don't try to curse me in real life. Plus, I can blow them up with bombs without getting a detention."
A shrill screech erupted from the handheld as one of the creatures lunged at Link. Harry quickly dodged, drew his bow, and launched a flaming arrow.
Sirius gave a low whistle. "Nice shot."
"Thanks. Still figuring it out," Harry said, tongue poking out slightly in concentration. "I only just got the paraglider earlier. Haven't even made it to the first town yet."
Sirius smiled, watching for a second longer before clearing his throat and pulling something from his pocket. "Well, enjoy it while you can. This just came in."
Harry paused the game, finally glancing up.
Sirius held out a familiar sealed envelope. "It's from Narcissa. She's asking if Draco can stay here for the summer."
Harry's expression soured immediately. "Seriously?"
Sirius just chuckled. "Yep. Apparently, Bellatrix already smacked him once and Narcissa thinks the manor's getting too dangerous."
Harry groaned and dropped back on the bed with a dramatic sigh. "Brilliant. Just what I needed. Draco Malfoy as a housemate."
Sirius gave him a sympathetic clap on the shoulder. "It'll be fun. Like one of those buddy cop dramas. You're the scrappy hero, and he's the privileged prat."
Harry snorted. "You mean like every year at Hogwarts? But alright... so long as he doesn't make me wanna punch him in his good-looking face, then yeah, it'll be alright."
Sirius blinked, raising an eyebrow with a growing smirk. "Good-looking face, huh?"
Harry froze. His thumb hovered mid-air over the control stick as his face flushed crimson. "I—No! That's not what I meant—! I just meant—like objectively! He has that stupid, smug model look, and—okay, out! I wanna play my game, now!"
Sirius laughed as he backed out of the room, holding his hands up in surrender. "Alright, alright! I'm going. Enjoy your little elf game."
"It's Zelda!" Harry shouted after him, face still burning as the door clicked shut behind Sirius.
Left alone, he groaned into his pillow before glancing back at the screen, muttering, "Stupid smug face..." Then he unpaused the game and threw another flower bomb at a Lizalfos.
An hour later, the soft clack of shoes echoed down the hall as Tom and Jess returned to his loft. The late afternoon sun had mellowed into a dusky glow filtering through the hallway windows. Tom stepped up to his door, the brass key already in hand. With a quiet click, the lock turned, and he pushed it open with effortless grace.
As the door swung open, the cool, quiet air of the loft welcomed them. Tom flicked on the lights with a small wave of his hand, and the room bathed in a soft, warm glow. The moment the light filled the space, Nagini stirred from her spot on the green velvet couch.
"Master, about time! Oh... she's still with you?" she hissed in Parseltongue, lifting her head with a slow, judging blink.
Tom narrowed his eyes at her but couldn't suppress a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "No need to be afraid of Nagini. She's very sweet and tame."
Jess stepped inside again, taking in the place with a fresh glance before offering a faint, careful smile toward the large serpent. "I wasn't afraid of her before, and I'm not now... uhm, hello?"
Her voice was even, polite—though Tom noted her slight pause, as if she had to stop herself from slipping into a tongue she wasn't meant to understand.
Closing the door behind them, Tom kicked off his converse and set them neatly beside the wall. Jess mirrored the motion, sliding out of her converse and padding further into the room.
Nagini, still perched elegantly on the couch cushions, gave Jess another long, contemplative look before turning her head toward Tom.
"You're not giving me a rabbit until she leaves, are you? Of course not. No magic in front of the Muggle..." she muttered with a huff, her long body slinking off the couch. With an exaggerated flick of her tail, she glided across the floor and disappeared into Tom's bedroom.
Jess blinked, watching the enormous snake vanish behind the glass doors. "You weren't kidding about her being tame..."
Tom gave a small shrug, his smirk returning. "She's dramatic."
But Jess didn't respond right away. Her eyes lingered on the door Nagini had vanished behind, and her thoughts drifted.
Magic...?
It all made sense now—the way he'd reacted to the iPad, the cellphones, the questions about modern tech. He wasn't just unfamiliar with Muggle life... he had likely converted into it.
He's a wizard, she thought quietly.
And just like that, puzzle pieces began to fall into place.
But for now, she said nothing—choosing instead to tuck the realization quietly into the back of her mind. She followed Tom further into the loft, the door clicking shut behind them as the soft hum of the city faded away.
Jess sank into the plush green velvet couch, running her fingers over the fabric with a soft smile. "I love your couch," she remarked, stretching her legs slightly as she got comfortable.
Tom chuckled as he moved toward the kitchen area. "It's comfortable, I'll admit," he said casually, opening the fridge and pulling out two chilled cans of cola. He returned and handed one to her.
She took it gratefully, cracking it open with a satisfying hiss. "So..." she mused, taking a sip, "what's next, Tom?"
He followed her gaze as it landed on the flat-screen TV mounted on the wall. Jess's eyes sparkled with mischief. "How about a movie?"
Tom blinked. "A movie?"
She grinned. "Horror?"
His eyes widened slightly, a flicker of amusement breaking across his face. Meanwhile, Jess had already grabbed the remote and began flipping through the options on the screen. "You have Hulu? Netflix?" she asked while scrolling.
Tom shifted slightly, leaning back against the couch. "I did subscribe to Hulu... the ad-free version. Haven't tried it yet."
Jess let out a soft laugh. "Perfect." She opened the Hulu app, easily navigating through the menu until she landed on the horror section. Her fingers paused on one particular film. "Oh, you're gonna love Gothika."
Tom raised an eyebrow as she selected it. He barely had time to question her before she shifted closer, setting her soda on the coffee table. In a smooth, subtle motion, Tom draped an arm around her and pulled her gently into a loose cuddle.
Jess flushed, heart skipping just slightly. "It's best to watch this with the lights off," she said, half-playful, half-sincere.
Tom gave her a look, one brow lifted—but the amused smirk tugging at the corner of his lips betrayed his interest. "Is that so?"
Without another word, Jess got up and crossed the room, flipping the lights off one by one until only the soft glow of the TV remained. She padded back over, curling up beside him again, and this time Tom welcomed her more firmly into his side.
"What's the movie about?" he asked as the opening credits began to roll.
Jess grinned, hitting play. "You'll see."
The usually pristine silence of Malfoy Manor was broken only by the sound of rustling fabric and the occasional metallic click of a suitcase clasp snapping shut. Inside his bedroom, Draco stood near his wardrobe, carefully packing the last of his belongings into a sleek, magically expanded suitcase.
His room, typically immaculate and untouched, looked mildly disheveled for once—open drawers, a few scattered robes tossed across the bed, and his wand sitting neatly atop the folded collar of a pressed traveling cloak. A quiet tension filled the air, though whether it stemmed from nerves or reluctance was hard to say.
With a soft sigh, Draco glanced at the clock. He still had a few minutes before Severus arrived.
His mother had insisted this arrangement was for the best. That a summer away from the looming presence of his increasingly unstable aunt, the weight of his father's silence, and the suffocating walls of expectation would do him good. Of course, she hadn't said that last part aloud. But Draco had heard it in her tone—felt it in her touch when she cupped his cheek after she'd written to Sirius.
Across the room, a black duffel bag lay half-zipped, containing a few Muggle books he'd borrowed from the family library. Titles on history, astronomy, and—curiously—Muggle architecture. If he was going to be surrounded by Harry Potter, he needed something to keep his mind occupied.
A sharp knock echoed from the hallway just as he tucked the last pair of gloves into a side pocket.
"Enter," Draco called, straightening his collar.
The door opened to reveal Severus Snape, dressed in his typical layers of dark, sweeping robes. His expression was unreadable, though his eyes immediately swept over Draco's luggage with a scrutinizing air.
"Are you ready?" he asked simply.
Draco nodded, smoothing a hand over his hair and giving one last glance around the room. "As ready as I'll ever be."
Severus stepped further inside, his voice quieter now. "Your mother is confident this will benefit you."
Draco arched a brow, lifting his wand to levitate his trunk. "And you? What do you think?"
A pause. Then, with the faintest quirk of his lips, Severus replied, "I think Grimmauld Place has changed. Thanks to the royal house-elves, it's no longer the dark pit it once was. You may actually enjoy it... once you get over the fact that Potter is there."
Draco groaned under his breath. "Great. A summer with Saint Harry."
Severus didn't comment—only turned toward the hall, gesturing for him to follow.
With one last look back at his room, Draco stepped out, his levitating suitcase gliding behind him.
A summer at Grimmauld Place awaited.
And he honestly wasn't sure if that was a good thing... or the beginning of something very complicated.