Warning: this contains sexual content near the end of the chapter. Between Jess and Tom.
Chapter 10: Unforgettable Night of Passion Part 2
Tom pulled into the quiet street, the soft rumble of his forset-green Mustang echoing off the surrounding brick walls. The sky was beginning to deepen into hues of rose and gold, the early signs of dusk settling in. Ahead of him loomed a tall, red-brick warehouse—its age betrayed by the faded lettering near the roofline—but its modern transformation into loft apartments was unmistakable. Large, black-trimmed windows caught the last of the sunlight, glowing warmly like watchful eyes.
Beside the main building sat a multi-level parking garage, all smooth concrete and functional lighting. Connected to the complex via a lower-level entrance, it served as the residential visitors' lot. As Tom eased toward the gated entrance, a security guard stepped out of a small booth, clipboard in hand and expression unreadable behind mirrored sunglasses.
Tom rolled his window down smoothly.
"Visit?" the guard asked, eyeing the classic Mustang with a flicker of interest.
Tom nodded once. "Jess. Apartment 120."
The guard checked a page, then nodded. "Visitor parking is down on the lower level. You're clear to go ahead—just take the elevator up to the top floor through the visitor entrance. It'll lead straight into the loft wing."
"Thank you," Tom replied calmly, his tone cool but polite.
As he pulled forward, the gate lifted with a mechanical hum. He descended into the dimly lit lower level, the Mustang's headlights cutting across rows of painted lines and concrete pillars. Once he parked in a clearly marked visitor space, he reached over to the passenger seat and retrieved the vintage floral tin, the soft clink of chocolate-covered cherries inside audible as he handled it with care.
He took a quiet breath, steadying the flutter in his chest—not nerves, exactly, but anticipation. This was new. This was real. And as he stepped out of the car and headed toward the visitor entrance, every footstep echoed with something deeper than mere intent.
Tonight, everything was about to change.
He took a quiet breath, steadying the flutter in his chest—not nerves, exactly, but anticipation. This was new. This was real. And as he stepped out of the car and headed toward the visitor entrance, every footstep echoed with something deeper than mere intent.
The concrete beneath his converse was cool and faintly damp, the air laced with the faint scent of motor oil and aged brick. Overhead, fluorescent lights buzzed softly, flickering now and then, casting uneven shadows across the wide, industrial hallway that stretched ahead.
Tom walked with measured steps; the vintage tin clutched carefully in one hand. His other brushed against the inside pocket of his coat, feeling the faint thrum of the protective enchantments, he'd layered onto himself earlier. Not because he feared Jess—but because he didn't want any trace of outside interference. Not tonight.
He turned the corner, passing a small painted sign marked 'Visitor Access.' The hallway beyond narrowed slightly, the ceiling lowering as he approached the elevator. The worn metal doors stood like sentinels ahead, their brass call button polished from decades of use.
Tom pressed it once.
The familiar ding echoed a moment later, followed by the gentle rumble of gears turning. As the elevator doors slid open with a soft mechanical hiss, Tom stepped inside, the tin held securely in both hands now.
The interior was quiet, the panel glowing faintly. He pressed the button for the top floor—Jess's floor—and leaned back slightly against the wall.
The lift began its ascent.
The hum of movement filled the small space. As floors ticked by on the display above the doors, Tom allowed his gaze to lower, staring for a long moment at the floral tin he held.
His lips quirked slightly at the absurdity, but the smile faded as quickly as it came—replaced by something deeper. He wasn't doing this for show. He was doing it because something about Jess made him want to try. To be.
And he wasn't going to waste that.
The elevator dinged again.
The doors opened.
And Tom stepped out—into the soft lighting of the loft hallway, his footsteps silent, his magic humming low and steady beneath his skin as he made his way toward apartment 120.
Toward her.
He turned the final corner of the hallway and found himself face to face with apartment 120.
The door stood ahead, painted matte black with a small celestial decal near the upper right—an unmistakable personal touch that made him smirk. Even before he reached it, the scent reached him. Warm, savory, rich. Whatever she had made was magic all on its own. The aroma of corned beef, earthy herbs, and a hint of something subtly spiced curled from beneath the doorframe like a welcoming charm.
Tom paused, blinking once at the sight—then closed the final distance.
He took a breath.
This was different than standing before a council. Different than facing down an Auror or leading a legion. This was her. And tonight mattered.
With one hand, he shifted the vintage tin box under his arm. With the other, he raised his knuckles and rapped three times on the door.
Knock. Knock. Knock.
From inside, he heard the faint shuffle of movement—bare feet on hardwood, the sound of something being set down, and then—
The door opened.
And there she was.
Jess stood in the doorway barefoot, wearing a black KillStar racerback tank adorned with a dripping crescent moon and scattered stars. Her long legs were framed by a pair of emerald green distressed shorts with studded embellishments and raw hems, giving her a wild yet ethereal look that took his breath away. Her hair was down, soft waves cascading around her shoulders, the low light catching strands of copper and crimson.
For a moment, neither of them spoke.
Her eyes lit up when she saw him, a soft smile tugging at her lips. "Hey," she said quietly.
He took a beat longer to answer, caught between awe and amusement. "Hey," he replied, his voice lower, velvet smooth.
She stepped aside, gesturing him in. "Come on. Dinner almost ready."
Tom entered without hesitation, the scent of her home wrapping around him like a second skin—warm, comforting, and spiced with something that made his stomach stir in anticipation. The moment he crossed the threshold, he handed her the tin, the delicate floral design gleaming faintly under the apartment's pendant lighting.
Jess blinked down at the vintage tin in surprise, a warm smile blooming across her lips. "What's this?"
"Dessert," Tom replied simply, casting her a side glance as he casually shrugged off his black coat, revealing the fitted charcoal shirt beneath.
Jess's emerald eyes widened with genuine shock. "You baked?"
He chuckled, the sound soft and amused. "Yes."
A delighted giggle escaped her, light and playful. "You gonna tell me what's in it?"
Tom's smirk curved lazily at the edges. "It's a surprise."
Jess pouted dramatically, lower lip jutting just enough to be dangerous. "Not fair… Shoes off."
He arched a brow, gaze flicking down briefly before he spoke again with dry amusement. "Shoes."
"Right," she sighed, pretending to be wounded. "Rules are rules."
Tom nodded once and leaned against the wall to toe off his black high-top Converse, setting them neatly beside her own collection by the door—most of them equally edgy, celestial, or platformed. Then he stepped further inside, taking in his surroundings with quiet intrigue.
The interior of Jess's apartment was alive with personality. Warm wood tones softened the industrial concrete ceiling above, while mossy greens and blacks accented the sleek, modern furnishings. Shelves lined with books, crystals, and vinyl records flanked the walls. A faint scent of wax melt—cinnamon and clove—lingered beneath the aroma of her cooking. On the far side of the living room, her cat Anubis perched high atop a modern black cat tree, golden eyes fixed curiously on the newcomer.
Tom's gaze swept across everything with quiet appreciation. "It suits you," he murmured, stepping deeper into her world. "All of this. It's… very you."
Jess closed the door behind them, cheeks tinged with warmth from his words. "Thanks," she said softly, holding the tin with both hands like it was already her new favorite thing. "I try to keep it me… even when everything else gets chaotic."
Tom turned to face her fully now, his expression thoughtful—eyes searching, tone lower.
"Chaos suits you, too," he said, voice smooth like silk. "But this…" He looked around again. "This is peaceful."
For a beat, they simply stood there, the flickering candlelight catching in their eyes.
Then Jess grinned and nodded toward the kitchen. "Come on. Let's eat before it gets cold."
Jess stepped to the table where her sleek white Ninja crockpot sat quietly off to the side, its work already done for the day. Steam no longer curled from the lid, but the mouthwatering scent of slow-cooked corned beef, earthy mushrooms, and carrots still hung warmly in the air, wrapping the apartment in a cozy embrace. In the center of the dining table, she had placed a black snake-shaped candle holder—the coiled serpent cradling a single white tea light, its flame flickering softly. The subtle scent of lavender drifted from it, delicate and calming, adding to the intimacy of the space.
Tom's eyes scanned the setup as he entered further. The soft lighting from the candle cast a gentle glow across the dark stoneware bowl set out for him—its glossy black surface decorated inside with white celestial patterns and a twin-faced moon at the base. A matching black spoon rested beside it with almost ceremonial precision. Two Victorian-style black wine glasses stood across from each other, ready to be filled with the bottle of Mikcloud cherry wine that sat unopened on the counter.
Jess turned, catching his gaze as he took it all in. "I wanted tonight to feel a little special," she admitted quietly, tucking a strand of her hair behind her ear. "It's not every day I cook for someone I care about."
Tom looked at her, something unreadable but soft flickering behind his eyes. "You've succeeded," he murmured, voice low and sincere. He stepped closer, his presence grounding—magnetic without trying to be.
Jess smiled at that, brushing her hands nervously along her shorts. "Would you like to try it first? Make sure it's edible before I serve up a full bowl?" she teased.
Tom tilted his head slightly. "Sure."
She reached for the black ladle resting beside the crockpot and slowly dipped it in, the rich, dark broth swirling as she lifted a spoonful. Tender beef fell apart at the slightest touch, and bright orange carrots floated beside golden mushrooms. She carefully transferred it to his bowl.
Tom took the spoon in hand, kneeling slightly to inspect the intricate artwork at the bottom before scooping up a bite. The flavor hit immediately—deep and layered with subtle notes of thyme, pepper, and something unique… something distinctly her. His expression softened in satisfaction.
"It's divine," he said after a thoughtful pause. "Your flavor profile is surprisingly complex."
Jess raised a brow, amused. "Was that a compliment or a flirt?"
He smirked, lowering his voice just a touch. "Yes."
Tom took a seat across from her at the small but thoughtfully decorated table, the candlelight dancing gently between them. The snake candleholder flickered with a soft glow, casting lazy shadows on the walls, while the lavender scent hung in the air like a quiet embrace.
Jess poured the wine carefully into the two black goblets, the deep red liquid catching the light as it swirled. She offered Tom his glass with a smile, then clinked her own lightly against it. "To… dinner and dessert?" she offered, a playful glint in her eye.
Tom raised a brow, his lips quirking into a half-smile. "And to you," he added simply, his voice smooth.
They both took a sip. The cherry wine was bold—rich with sweetness, yet balanced with a surprisingly smooth finish. It lingered on the tongue with a full-bodied warmth that complemented the savory earthiness of the stew perfectly.
Tom tilted his head slightly, studying the label before setting the bottle back down on the counter. "This is… unexpectedly good," he commented, rolling the taste around in his mouth again. "Rich, slightly tart… not overly sweet. Is this brand from your family?"
Jess chuckled as she dipped her spoon into her bowl. "Oh yes, it is. Mikcloud Cherry Wine—it's actually a really popular brand in America, especially around the holidays." She leaned forward slightly, resting her elbow on the table and gesturing toward the bottle. "It's been apart of the family for generations, the recipe as been passed down through our bloodline. It took off after a few magical enhancements, of course."
Tom lifted his brow again, intrigued. "Magical enhancements?"
Jess grinned as she took a bite, savoring the tender beef before speaking. "The grapes and cherries are grown in magically enriched soil. And the fermentation process is… well, let's just say it's a blend of tradition and a few enchantments to bring out the best in flavor."
Tom swirled the wine in his goblet thoughtfully, regarding it with new appreciation. "Leave it to your bloodline to produce something powerful and refined in the same glass."
Jess chuckled softly at his comment, the sound warm and real. She took another bite of her dinner, savoring it before swallowing, then leaned back in her chair slightly, relaxed and glowing in the candlelight. "This dinner's also a Mikcloud recipe—no magic. Just classic, normal cooking," she said, a note of pride in her voice. "I like to cook and bake without spells. It takes more time, sure, but it's worth it. Makes everything taste better… like it's infused with intention instead of enchantments."
She glanced up at him then, the flicker of the lavender candle casting soft shadows over her face. "And honestly?" she added with a small grin. "It's just fun. Calming. Real."
Tom watched her closely as she spoke, his eyes never leaving her face. There was something about the way she said it—calming, real—that lingered with him. It wasn't just her cooking. It was her entire presence. Every word, every choice, felt deliberate in a way that defied the chaotic world they both came from.
He set his wine glass down, fingertips grazing the stem before folding his hands loosely in front of him. "It's strange," he said quietly. "How something so simple can feel… unfamiliar." His gaze dropped briefly to his bowl, then returned to her. "I've spent most of my life surrounded by people who used magic to control, to dominate, to bend things to their will. Meals were conjured. Conversations were strategy. Affection was... rare."
He paused, exhaling slowly. "But you… you do things with care. Even this dinner—it's not just food. It's something you crafted. Something you gave time and intention to."
His voice dropped slightly, almost thoughtful. "It's grounding. I didn't expect that."
Jess blinked, clearly caught off guard by the honesty in his tone, but her lips curved into a soft smile as she sat back a little, letting his words settle between them.
"I think that's the difference," she said gently. "Magic can do a lot—but it doesn't replace meaning. You can conjure a cake, sure… but it won't taste the same as one you made by hand, with love, and probably a mess in the kitchen."
Tom smirked faintly. "A mess, hm?"
She laughed, nudging her foot lightly against his under the table. "A beautiful mess."
The heavy iron doors of Gringotts Wizarding Bank groaned as they were pulled open, the chill of its ancient stone halls spilling out onto the cobbled street. Inside, torchlight flickered against gilded marble pillars, and the soft scratching of quills and rustling parchment echoed like whispers in a crypt.
Lord Falcon Lestrange entered with silent authority, his polished boots striking the floor in measured rhythm. Robbed in black trimmed with silver thread, his noble bearing commanded instant respect as he moved with quiet precision across the marble floor.
The goblins, ever alert, looked up at once.
At the front desk, Griphook straightened abruptly from his parchment work. His sharp eyes flicked upward as the tall, striking wizard approached, and he gave a crisp, formal bow.
"Greetings, Lord Lestrange," he said, his tone polished but cautious. "What can Gringotts assist you with today?"
Falcon's gaze was cool but composed, the weight of his lineage and his presence pressing subtly against the magic of the room. "I wish to access my family vault," he said evenly, his voice like tempered steel. "I am here to retrieve a golden goblet."
Griphook's expression faltered ever so slightly.
He blinked, the color in his leathery face paling just enough to be noticeable. "A… golden goblet?" he repeated, slowly opening a heavy ledger at his side. Long fingers flipped through the parchment, eyes scanning carefully.
Then he froze.
Falcon narrowed his gaze. "Is there a problem?"
Griphook swallowed, his voice lower now, more cautious. "My sincerest apologies, Lord Lestrange… but according to our records, that particular item was withdrawn earlier this week." His eyes met Falcon's apologetic yet bound by duty. "It appears Bellatrix accessed the vault before the finalization of your marital annulment. The goblet was claimed under her authorization."
Falcon stood motionless, though the air around him shifted—tightened. His eyes, storm-dark and unreadable, remained fixed on the goblin.
"Do you have a record of the time and day?"
Griphook gave a stiff nod. "Yes, my lord. Five days ago. The retrieval was marked and logged under urgent clearance."
Falcon's jaw tightened, a flicker of restrained fury passing behind his eyes. "Unhinged hag…" he muttered under his breath, the words coated in venom.
"She was still listed as an active vault-holder at the time," Griphook added carefully, his tone both apologetic and firm. "There was no breach in policy… only in timing."
A heavy silence fell between them, the kind that seemed to thicken the air itself.
Falcon exhaled slowly through his nose, eyes narrowing as if he could see through time and manipulation alike.
"Of course," he said at last, voice low and cold. "Our lord originally entrusted the goblet to her… asked her to secure it within the vault. But for her to retrieve it again—without his permission—"
He didn't finish the sentence. He didn't need to.
The implication hung in the air like a storm cloud ready to break.
Falcon's eyes flicked back to the ledger. "She's making moves she wasn't authorized to make. And that makes her reckless… and desperate."
Griphook remained silent, wise enough to know when not to speak.
Falcon turned, the folds of his dark cloak shifting as he stepped back from the counter. But there was something coiled in his stance now—readiness. Intent.
He paused at the edge of the marble floor, his voice sharp with clarity. "Notify me immediately if she attempts to access anything else. Anything at all."
Griphook bowed once. "Of course, Lord Lestrange."
Without another word, Falcon walked out of Gringotts, the echo of his footsteps leaving behind the faintest chill in their wake.
Bellatrix Lestrange walked briskly down the quiet street just across from Grimmauld Place, her black boots striking the pavement with sharp precision. A heavy, tattered bag hung at her side, clutched tightly in one gloved hand. Her other hand trembled slightly, not from fear—but from frustration, from hesitation, and from the burning shame of where she was.
She bit her lower lip as she approached the familiar row of townhomes, trying to push down the voice in her head screaming about pride. Going to this place for refuge was a last resort. The very last thing she would have ever imagined herself doing.
Surely, Sirius Black wouldn't be here. Right?
Her eyes darted across the dark street as she stepped up the stone stairs leading to Number Twelve. The once-proud home of House Black now looked… different. Cleaner. Modern. Not the decaying monument to their bloodline she remembered. The wards shimmered faintly, betraying layers of magic that hadn't been there before.
She scowled.
Pausing at the door, she reached into her cloak and pulled out a key—one of the original spare keys to Grimmauld Place, forged in blood and magic decades ago. She pressed it into the lock.
It didn't turn.
The tumblers didn't even move.
Her frown deepened into something feral. She tried again—harder—but the key refused to obey.
A cold, magical resistance coiled up the brass, crawling into her palm like static. Bellatrix hissed in pain and yanked her hand away, seething.
"They changed the damn locks," she snarled.
She banged her fist on the door with all the strength she had, rattling the hinges.
"KREACHER!" she shrieked again, her voice rattling through the street like shattered glass. "Open this door at once, you miserable little traitor!"
A click echoed from behind the door.
Bellatrix straightened, lips curling into a triumphant smirk as the heavy front door creaked slightly open. She looked down—and narrowed her eyes.
There stood Kreacher, the ancient house-elf blinking up at her with none of the sniveling reverence she remembered. His large eyes were narrowed, expression stoic.
"Miss Bellatrix…" he rasped carefully.
Bellatrix sneered. "Move aside and let me in."
But Kreacher didn't budge. In fact, his face contorted into a deep frown.
"Kreacher cannot," he said stiffly, his small hands clenching by his sides. "Miss Bella… you are not welcome here."
"And why not?!" she snapped, fury rising like a firestorm.
"Because you are not welcome, hag."
The voice wasn't Kreacher's.
Her eyes snapped up just as the door swung open fully—and there stood Sirius Black, lounging in the doorway in nothing but a loosely tied robe and black silk boxers. His dark hair was messy, falling in tousled waves around his face, and his bare chest and collarbones were marred with fresh red marks—faint scratches and bites that trailed down toward the robe's open fold.
Her mouth parted slightly. Shock flickered across her face.
Sirius cocked his head, eyes narrowing with unconcealed disdain. "What the bloody hell are you doing here, Bellatrix?" he asked coldly, his tone sharp and dripping with venom. "Didn't think rats found their way back to places this clean."
Bellatrix blinked, thrown entirely off balance. "What are you doing here? I thought you hated this place—I thought you'd have burned it down by now. Wait—"
She finally took in the scene behind him. The once-dreary halls of Grimmauld Place looked… transformed. Bright. Warm. Clean.
Her jaw clenched. "I demand sanctuary," she barked, suddenly on edge. "I have a right—this is a Black estate!"
Sirius's eyes narrowed further. "No."
Just then, an arm casually draped over his bare shoulder.
Bellatrix's breath caught.
From the shadows stepped Rodolphus Lestrange, just as shirtless—wearing only black boxers and no robe. Bite marks and faint bruises peppered his throat and chest, and his smirk was lazy, satisfied, and entirely too smug as he leaned into Sirius with the ease of someone who had just come from a very long night.
"Puppy…" Rodolphus drawled, his storm-gray eyes sliding lazily toward the doorway. "Why is the hag here?"
Bellatrix stood frozen, blinking between the two of them. Her jaw twitched. Her lips parted as if to speak—but nothing came out.
She looked at her husband, then at her cousin, her gaze darting from Rodolphus's arm over Sirius's shoulder to the very obvious marks both men were wearing.
"No…" she whispered. "No, no—you wouldn't—"
Rodolphus just chuckled.
Sirius let the smirk touch his lips now, one hand casually adjusting the robe as if mocking her modesty.
"We did," he said. "And it was spectacular."
Rodolphus's smirk deepened, his arm still casually draped over Sirius's shoulder as he leaned just a little closer, his voice smooth and cutting.
"Don't tell me you've forgotten already?" he said, his tone mocking. "I'm free of you, Bellatrix. No longer bound. No more vows. No more chains. No more you."
Bellatrix's face twisted into a snarl of pure rage. Her dark eyes sparked with madness as she jerked her wand from the folds of her sleeve, holding it high.
Rodolphus grinned darkly, stepping forward without fear. "Oh, you want to play that game?" he said, voice low and venom-laced. "You want to start pulling wands now?"
But she never got the chance to cast.
A flicker of magic shimmered in the air—and in an instant, Seb, the royal butler house-elf, appeared at the threshold, stepping cleanly between the door and the descending chaos.
With a single snap of his fingers, a radiant pulse of light erupted outward. The force struck Bellatrix square in the chest.
She was thrown back—hard—her body lifted into the air before slamming down onto the cobblestone street with a brutal thud. Her wand clattered several feet away as she gasped for breath, momentarily stunned and dazed.
Sirius burst into laughter, doubling over in the doorway. "Oh Merlin, thank you, Seb. That was gorgeous."
Rodolphus chuckled beside him, his arms folding lazily across his bare chest. "Do it, puppy."
Sirius straightened, his amusement fading into something colder—something ancient. The warmth left his face entirely, replaced with the commanding authority of a Black reclaiming his legacy.
He stepped forward just enough for his voice to carry down into the street.
"I, Lord Sirius Orion Black, heir and rightful Lord of the Black family," he declared, voice resonant with ancestral weight, "hereby cast out Bellatrix Druella Black from this house and this bloodline."
Bellatrix, still sprawled in the street, blinked up at him in disbelief.
"You are no longer one of us," he finished. "From this moment forward, you are Bellatrix No Name."
The wards of Grimmauld Place pulsed in response.
A wave of magic rippled through the stone and wood, tracing up the doorframe and along the carved Black family crest, before ringing out into the air like a tolling bell. The ancient enchantments of the house responded immediately—sealing her out completely.
Bellatrix let out a guttural cry, part rage, part despair. The ancestral magic had branded her—then ripped that brand away.
She wasn't just rejected.
She was erased.
Dinner had left a lingering warmth in the air—comforting, intimate, like a soft afterglow that clung to the edges of the candlelight. The lavender candle still flickered gently from the center of the table, its scent curling through the air like a lullaby.
Jess carried the last of their plates toward the kitchen, bare feet padding softly across the floor. Tom was close behind, sleeves rolled up as he reached for the empty glasses and the now half-empty bottle of Mikcloud cherry wine. The casualness of it all—the quiet teamwork, the simple rhythm—felt oddly grounding.
Without needing to be asked, Tom stepped forward and pulled open the dishwasher with a quiet click. The sound of silverware and ceramic shifted softly between them as he began to stack the plates with deliberate care.
Jess smiled, watching the way he moved so naturally in her space. "Thank you for helping me," she said softly, brushing a stray strand of hair behind her ear.
Tom glanced over his shoulder, his smirk both effortless and sincere. "I love helping you."
Her cheeks flushed instantly, warmth blooming across her face. There was something in the way he said it—not casual, not teasing. It was real.
Once the last dish was placed and the machine clicked shut, they wandered together toward the couch. The living room, bathed in the soft glow of city lights beyond the windows and the fading scent of lavender from the candle, felt like a cocoon—safe, warm, and far from the rest of the world.
Jess sank into the cushions, curling one leg beneath her as Tom reached for the black floral tin resting on the coffee table. He settled beside her, the faintest anticipation flickering in his eyes as he carefully removed the lid.
Inside, nestled in layers of parchment, were the chocolate-covered cherries—glossy, rich, and perfectly formed. Jess's eyes widened in delight.
Tom plucked one gently from the tin, holding it between his fingers like it was a precious jewel.
"Here," he murmured, turning toward her. "Try one."
Jess opened her mouth slightly, her eyes still locked on his as he slowly lifted the cherry to her lips. He leaned in just enough to be close—his fingers steady, his breath calm. With soft precision, he popped the cherry into her mouth, and she bit down.
The burst of flavor was immediate—rich dark chocolate giving way to sweet syrup and vibrant cherry, all balanced by a hint of almond in the ganache. Jess closed her eyes and hummed softly as she chewed, clearly savoring every second.
"Mmm… you made homemade chocolate-covered cherries?" she asked, eyes opening wide as she swallowed. "These are divine."
Tom's lips curved into a quiet smile. "I thought you might like them."
She nudged his arm gently with her shoulder. "You're making it really hard not to fall even harder, you know."
His gaze met hers then—calm, focused, and intense in a way that stole the breath from her chest.
"Then don't hold back."
Jess giggled softly as she reached for the remote and clicked on the TV. The screen glowed to life, casting soft light across the darkened room as she navigated through her menus. Tom shifted beside her, stretching an arm across the back of the couch with a relaxed smirk.
"So," he said, his voice low and amused, "what are we watching tonight? Something terrifying, I hope."
Jess shot him a mischievous look, her emerald eyes glittering. "Horror, of course."
With practiced ease, she pulled up her YouTube account and scrolled through her purchased movies. As the familiar thumbnails passed, she leaned comfortably back against the couch, brushing Tom's side as she settled in beside him.
Tom, without missing a beat, raised his hand lazily—and the lights in the apartment dimmed at once, responding to his magic with elegant precision.
From across the room, Anubis hopped up onto the couch, his silver-striped tail flicking gracefully. He crossed over Tom's lap, purring loudly as he rubbed against his arm. Tom chuckled and began to pet the Egyptian Mau gently, fingers moving with surprising tenderness through the sleek fur.
Jess laughed softly, watching the two. "He likes you.," she said affectionately to Anubis.
She clicked on the movie without missing a beat. Tom raised an eyebrow as the title flashed across the screen.
"Silent Hill?"
Jess grinned brightly, clearly excited. "Oh, it's amazing. It's based off the video games. You'll love it—plenty of blood, creepy monsters, cursed towns, religious cults… everything I adore."
She leaned down and scratched behind Anubis's ears. "Right, Anubis?"
The cat meowed in agreement, then padded across her lap before curling up beside her with a quiet sigh, tail tucked close.
Tom's low chuckle rumbled in his chest. Without a word, he wrapped his arm around Jess and gently pulled her into him. She melted against him without hesitation, her body fitting perfectly against his side as the movie began.
"Then let the nightmares begin," he whispered into her hair, the ghost of a smirk on his lips. She giggles "Oh yes, let them began."
The grand marble halls of Malfoy Manor echoed softly beneath Lord Falcon Lestrange's footsteps as he entered with quiet authority. The manor, with its pristine chandeliers and ancestral charm, radiated calm elegance. But the storm beneath his composed expression said otherwise.
He made his way toward the drawing room, where warm candlelight glowed behind slightly parted doors. Inside, Narcissa and Lucius Malfoy sat together near the hearth, a quiet game of wizarding chess laid between them atop a polished mahogany table. The remnants of a pleasant evening lingered—half-drunk wine glasses, flickering fireplace, and the subtle scent of sandalwood still curling through the air.
Narcissa looked up the moment he entered, her eyes sharpening with curiosity at the sight of him. She set her bishop down with graceful precision, then rose to her feet.
"Lord Falcon," she greeted smoothly. "To what do we owe the pleasure of your visit this evening?"
Falcon didn't waste time with niceties. His voice was low, controlled, but urgent beneath the surface. "I'm looking for Bellatrix. She removed something from the Lestrange vault at Gringotts—something our lord entrusted me to retrieve before I nullified the marriage."
Lucius blinked, visibly surprised. He leaned back in his chair, fingers lightly grazing a chess piece. "He came back?" he asked cautiously. "From his mission?"
"Only for a brief moment," Falcon replied, his gaze unflinching. "But long enough to give me a task. Now I need to know—where is she?"
Narcissa's expression shifted, the elegant coolness in her features darkening into something far more strained. Her voice dropped as she stepped closer. "She's not here."
"She was staying here, was she not?"
Narcissa nodded once. "Until this afternoon. I… had her removed."
Falcon's eyes narrowed slightly. "Removed?"
"She nearly killed Lucius," she said bluntly, gesturing toward her husband, who nodded grimly. "Over something petty—jealousy, delusion, rage… I don't even know anymore. Her mind is unraveling. She's obsessed. Dangerous. And I won't have her under this roof threatening my family."
Falcon's lips pressed into a thin line. He absorbed the information, the pieces shifting quickly in his mind.
"She has the goblet," he muttered.
Lucius sat forward slowly, his voice low and wary. "She's not going to give it back, is she?"
"No," Falcon said flatly, his voice clipped with rising frustration. "She's going to run with it."
He began pacing slowly along the edge of the drawing room, his gloved hand flexing at his side. "She thinks she's being clever—taking something valuable and using it to claw her way back into his favor. Maybe she believes if she finds him, she can beg for a second chance. Be his little monster again."
Narcissa's brow furrowed, her expression sharpening. "But she was already cast out, wasn't she? What could she possibly have that would make him forgive that?"
Falcon didn't answer immediately. His eyes burned with a knowing fury, one he couldn't voice aloud. Lucius was still standing nearby, watching with mild confusion, and this wasn't a conversation for those outside the trusted few.
"I can't explain," Falcon said carefully. "Only that she took something she was not meant to have. Something our lord had asked me to recover. And now… she's twisted it in her mind. She thinks it's her key back to him."
Lucius's lips parted like he wanted to ask more, but Narcissa gently placed a hand on his arm, shaking her head ever so slightly. She recognized the weight behind Falcon's silence.
"I have to owl our lord," Falcon muttered, mostly to himself now. "He needs to know what she's done."
He turned on his heel, heading for the nearest writing desk with quick, purposeful strides.
Lucius hesitated before speaking. "You'll need one of our owls. Take the swiftest."
Falcon gave a tight nod, already pulling parchment and quill from the drawer.
"And Narcissa…" he added, without looking up, "thank you for casting her out when you did. You may have saved more than your husband's life."
The small, rotting flat deep in the forgotten crook of Knockturn Alley reeked of mold, soot, and something sour that clung to the peeling walls like a sickness. Shadows gathered in the corners, untouched by the candlelight that flickered from a half-melted stub on the rickety dresser.
Bellatrix Lestrange lay curled on the sagging bed, wrapped in a threadbare blanket that did little against the chill. Her wild hair was unkempt, strands falling across her tear-streaked face. Her nails were chipped and dirt-smudged, hands trembling slightly as they clutched the golden goblet tight to her chest—her last hope, her last tether.
"My Lord..." she whispered brokenly, voice hoarse and soft, "you will take me back, won't you? I've kept it safe. I've protected what you asked..."
The goblet didn't answer, of course. But she pressed it closer to her heart, rocking slightly, like it might whisper back if she begged hard enough.
"I'm still your Bella... your most faithful. It was all them. Rodolphus, the Lestrange's—they turned their backs. They made me weak. But not anymore. I'm yours. Only yours."
She sniffled again, teeth clenched as she glanced to the shuttered window, paranoid and wide-eyed. Every creak of wood, every whisper of wind beyond the walls made her twitch.
Her knees curled tighter, bones aching beneath her tattered robes as she clutched the goblet to her chest like it might dissolve without her warmth. Her breath hitched as she pressed her lips to the cold gold, whispering promises into the space between madness and magic.
"You'll see. You'll feel it," she crooned, voice trembling. "When you return again, you'll know I kept it safe for you. I never stopped loving you. I can't stop. We can finally bond—forever. Have heirs. I'll be your dark queen… just like it was meant to be. Just like I deserve to be."
Her eyes shimmered with unhinged longing, dark and desperate as they traced the lines etched into the goblet's surface. She didn't see the rusting pipes or the warped ceiling anymore—only visions of black thrones and crimson robes, of power reborn and his gaze finally softening for her.
"Oh, master…" she whispered, her voice catching in the silence.
And outside the rotting windowpanes, the wind whistled again—this time a little colder. Like laughter that had no mirth, echoing down the alley as if the world itself recoiled from her dream.
The lights in Jess's apartment were dim, the soft lavender scent of the candle still lingering in the air. Shadows from the flickering TV danced across the walls, casting eerie shapes that moved with the rhythm of the film. Silent Hill's infamous hospital scene had just begun—the nurses appearing one by one through the thick fog of the screen, jerking unnaturally, their faceless heads twitching with every muffled breath.
Tom and Jess sat curled together on the couch, the La Luna plush wedged against one armrest while Anubis slept curled in his usual spot by Jess's feet. The celestial blanket they'd pulled over themselves barely hid how tensed up they were.
Tom's arm was snug around Jess's shoulders, his fingers absentmindedly tracing patterns along her upper arm, but his eyes never left the screen. His brows were drawn together, lips slightly parted in fascination—though a faint undercurrent of unease clung to his posture.
Jess, eyes wide, clutched a black moon-printed pillow close to her chest. "Okay—this part always gets me," she whispered, her voice tight with anticipation.
Just as one of the nurse's scalpels scraped against the floor, moving toward the character onscreen with jerky, chaotic precision, Jess flinched and instinctively buried her face against Tom's chest. He tensed—but only for a second—then pulled her closer, a soft, almost amused exhale leaving him as he leaned down slightly.
"You're enjoying this?" he murmured against her hair, his voice a mixture of disbelief and low laughter.
Jess peeked up at him, grinning despite her rapid heartbeat. "Terrified? Yes. But I love it."
Tom chuckled, his fingers curling securely around her waist. "You're an absolute menace," he whispered, eyes flicking back to the screen just as another nurse lunged into frame. He didn't flinch—but his grip on Jess's waist tightened slightly.
The scene dragged on, heavy with tension and twitching bodies—and neither of them moved. For a brief moment, the horror movie faded behind them like background noise.
As the final act of Silent Hill reached its crescendo, the atmosphere in the room grew heavier. The flickering glow of the TV cast crimson and amber hues across the darkened living space. Onscreen, Alessa's wrath was fully unleashed within the church—chains flying, fire and vengeance swirling through the air in a storm of blood and divine fury.
Tom's smirk widened as he watched the chaos unfold, the corners of his mouth curling in approval as the once self-righteous zealots screamed in terror. He shifted slightly on the couch, his body relaxed but his eyes sharp with intrigue.
"Wow," he murmured, the single word dripping with dark amusement. "Now that… that is justice."
Jess glanced up at him with a knowing grin, resting her chin against his shoulder. "I knew you'd like this part," she whispered. "There's something poetic about it, right?"
Tom hummed, not taking his eyes off the screen. "Poetic? It's practically operatic. Beautifully brutal."
Jess chuckled under her breath. "I thought so too the first time I saw it. That priestess got exactly what she deserved."
He glanced down at her then, eyes glinting with approval. "You've got quite the taste, Jess. Morally gray. Artistic. Cathartic." He paused, fingers brushing lightly down her arm. "It's not just horror to you. It's a kind of truth, isn't it?"
Jess looked thoughtful for a moment, then nodded. "Yeah… I guess it is. The ugliness of it… sometimes it says more than anything clean and polished ever could."
Tom let out a quiet breath, still watching the carnage on screen. "I couldn't agree more."
As the final scenes played, the mood between them lingered in that perfect balance—comfortable silence mixed with tension, intimacy layered beneath cinematic bloodshed. Jess curled closer, and Tom let her, his arm draped over her like a shield.
They sat in quiet stillness, watching Rose and Sharon, now unified as Alessa, walk hand in hand through the remnants of Silent Hill. They had escaped the flames, the fanatics, the nightmare—but when they returned home, a thick veil of fog still clung to their world. Their house was exactly the same… and yet not at all.
When the credits finally began to roll, neither of them moved. The horror had passed—but the connection remained, strong and steady beneath the quiet hum of the TV.
Jess smirked slightly, eyes still fixed on the screen. "You wanna know something about this?" she asked, her voice low with a hint of excitement. "Rose and Sharon—now fused with Alessa—managed to escape the literal confines of Silent Hill… but they're still trapped in the foggy, alternate dimension."
Tom tilted his head slightly, intrigued as he watched the credits scroll with slow inevitability. The shadows flickered across his sharp features, but his attention was fully on Jess now—her voice, her insight. He could feel the passion in her words, the way the story still clung to her thoughts.
"Still trapped…" he echoed, eyes narrowing thoughtfully. "So even after everything… after surviving hell, they return to a version of home that's still in that realm. Still not free."
Jess nodded, her cheek brushing against his shoulder as she curled tighter into his side. "Exactly. It's like they got out… but not really. The whole movie plays with that idea of trauma—you can leave the fire, but sometimes the ashes follow you home."
Tom let out a soft hum, appreciating the metaphor. "A reflection of how the mind works," he said. "The illusion of escape. You think you're free, but the damage lingers beneath the surface."
"Yeah," Jess whispered. "It's what makes it linger with you long after the movie ends."
For a moment, silence reclaimed the space between them. Then Tom turned his head just enough to look at her, his expression unreadable, but there was a softness there—a rare flicker of vulnerability behind the steel.
"You see the world clearly, Jess. You understand what lies beneath… not many people do."
Jess smiled faintly, touched by his words and the sincerity behind them. "You do too," she replied, her voice quiet, but sure. "More than you let on."
Their eyes met, and the dim light of the room shimmered with unspoken meaning. The horror movie had ended—but the weight of their connection only deepened. Two souls, marked by shadows, wrapped together in the stillness of a shared truth.
Tom reached forward, gently brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. "You amaze me," he said softly.
And Jess, still pressed against him, let her eyes flutter closed for a moment as she whispered back, "So do you."
Tom smiled at her, eyes still glowing faintly in the low light, then leaned in and kissed her—slow and deliberate.
Jess met him without hesitation, a soft hum rising in her throat as their lips moved together in perfect rhythm. The taste of cherry wine still lingered between them, warm and bittersweet. Tom's hand slid gently along her side, fingertips gliding upward at an achingly slow pace, coaxing a shiver from her as the kiss deepened. Their mouths parted, just barely, enough for their tongues to find each other—twisting, dancing, exploring with growing intensity.
A soft moan escaped from Tom's throat, low and raw, and Jess felt it vibrate against her lips, stirring a heat in her chest that she hadn't felt in a very long time.
But then—just as the moment began to spiral higher—Jess pulled back.
Breathing softly, her cheeks flushed a lovely pink, she glanced downward, suddenly shy. Her fingers curled into the blanket beside her, like she was trying to hold something in.
Tom, sensing the shift, brought a gentle hand to her cheek, his thumb brushing her skin with careful tenderness. He tilted her face back toward his, searching her eyes.
"What's wrong?" he asked quietly, his voice no longer teasing but genuine—steady and full of care.
Jess's eyes flickered up to meet his, her voice barely above a whisper. "I… haven't been with anyone else. Not since…" Her words trailed off, her gaze lowering again. "My ex passed away. Years ago. And I haven't…" she paused, swallowing hard. "I don't want us to stop. I want this. I want you."
Her voice cracked slightly at the end, not from fear, but from vulnerability—honest and unguarded.
Tom's gaze softened.
He reached forward, wrapping both hands around her face with reverent care, like she was something fragile and irreplaceable.
"Jess," he said, his voice hushed but unwavering, "I'm not going anywhere."
Jess gave him a small, tender smile, her blush still warm on her cheeks. "Not here…" she murmured, voice barely above a breath. "I don't want to scar Anubis."
She tilted her head toward the end of the couch, where the silver-coated feline lay in one of his signature bizarre sleeping positions—belly twisted, one back leg sticking straight up, and a paw twitching mid-dream. His soft little whiskers flicked with every breath, and his tail gave a lazy flick now and then, as if chasing something in his sleep.
Tom followed her gaze and couldn't help the quiet chuckle that escaped his lips. "He does look very… peaceful."
"Which is rare," Jess whispered, grinning. "He's usually dramatic."
Tom leaned his forehead against hers for a moment, their breath mingling in the space between them. "Then let's not disturb the prince," he said with mock seriousness, though his tone was soft—affectionate.
Jess giggled and curled closer to him once more, nestling comfortably beneath his arm. The earlier fire between them hadn't disappeared—it lingered, quiet and pulsing, tempered now by affection and the shared comfort of simply being together. When the credits finished rolling, she sat up with a soft stretch and reached for the Xbox controller, powering down the console and television in one smooth motion.
"Come on," she murmured with a smile, slipping her hand into his. Tom followed as she led him through the apartment, their fingers intertwined. She paused outside her bedroom door for a moment before opening it and stepping inside.
Tom followed her in, and his eyes immediately took in the aesthetic of the room. A warm, dim glow radiated from a luminous potion bottle lamp sitting on her nightstand. The soft purples and blues danced gently across the walls, casting an almost ethereal ambiance over the space. Crystals and celestial motifs accented the decor, and the room held an earthy, mystical charm that was undeniably her.
Tom gave a low chuckle as he took it all in. "Oh yeah," he said, voice amused and fond, "this is so you."
Jess laughed softly, brushing her hair back as she moved toward the side of the bed. "I got the lamp on Etsy," she said with pride, motioning toward the glowing bottle. "Online shop. It changes colors too—has a remote and everything."
Tom stepped closer, tilting his head slightly as he examined the bottle's soft light. "It's cool," he murmured, genuinely intrigued. "Looks like something out of a proper apothecary."
Their eyes met again in the quiet glow, something warm and unspoken passing between them as the night stretched gently onward. The soft hum of the potion lamp painted shifting colors across their skin, wrapping them in a cocoon of quiet intimacy.
Without a word, Tom stepped forward, closing the small distance between them. He reached out and gently pulled her into his arms, their bodies fitting together as if drawn by gravity. Their lips met in a kiss—slow, deep, and lingering with promise.
As they parted just slightly, their foreheads still touching, Tom's voice dropped to a silken whisper.
"Mhmm… still want me?" he asked in Parseltongue, the serpentine language curling through the air like a soft caress.
Jess's breath hitched, her heart pounding. She looked into his eyes, the flicker of glowing purple light dancing in her emerald gaze.
"Yes…" she whispered back in Parseltongue, her voice just as soft, just as sure.
The ancient language between them crackled with something more than words—an energy that ran deeper than magic, as if their bond itself responded.
Tom exhaled slowly, his fingers brushing along her jaw before lowering to trace the edge of her collarbone, reverent and delicate. There was no rush, only quiet understanding and that powerful, magnetic pull that neither of them could deny anymore.
Jess gasped softly as Tom effortlessly lifted her into his arms, the sudden motion pulling a breathless laugh from her lips. Her arms instinctively looped around his neck, eyes wide with warmth and wonder as he turned toward the bed.
He laid her down with care, as though she were something rare—something precious. The soft bedding crinkled beneath her as she sank into it, the dim violet glow from the potion lamp casting a dreamy light across her skin.
Before she could say a word, Tom leaned down, his lips brushing gently along the curve of her neck. The warmth of his breath, the soft graze of his mouth—it sent a thrill racing through her.
She squirmed with a giggle, a sharp shiver running up her spine. "Sorry," she breathed, laughter slipping into her tone, "ticklish…"
Tom paused only briefly, then smirked against her skin. "Noted," he murmured, voice low and teasing, before letting his lips return to their slow, deliberate path, this time trailing just enough to avoid the ticklish spot—yet still enough to make her shiver for entirely different reasons.
He had never felt like this before.
Not like this—this heat, this ache, this pull that rooted itself so deep in his chest it almost startled him. It wasn't just physical; it wasn't just lust. It was something heavier, something real. The way Jess looked at him, touched him, smiled at him—it stirred something that had long been buried beneath ambition, anger, and cold calculation.
He'd known desire before, of course. In his final year at Hogwarts, he had bedded someone—more out of curiosity than passion. A girl who had wanted him, admired him. He had gone through the motions, let it happen… but he couldn't finish. Couldn't even pretend to want to. The act had felt hollow, wrong, foreign. He'd Obliviated her memory afterward, removed it as easily as one might tear out a page in a book. He hadn't wanted to hurt her—but he couldn't bear her remembering that empty moment, couldn't bear the idea that she might attach meaning to something that had meant nothing to him.
But now—here, with Jess—it was different.
So very different.
Every kiss, every glance, every touch between them felt right. Nothing forced. Nothing faked. There was no pretense. No cold strategy. Just warmth. Just her. Her presence, her laugh, her eyes that saw him—not the name, not the past, but him.
And he wanted her. Not out of power, or dominance, or curiosity. He wanted her because being with her felt like a part of him had been waiting for this his whole life.
Jess had awoken something inside him that he hadn't known was sleeping.
And now it was wide awake.
Clothes soon scatted across the room, Jess was in nothing but her panties and Tom was in his boxers.
Tom hovered over her. Licking his lips and looking down moving her panties off and he leaned down and right away started to her clit. She was so smooth, no hair. Didn't even feel anything.
Jess's eyes widen and moan. Then he stuck his tongue in her pussy making her gasp out loudly moaning "T-Tom…!"
She started to pant heavily as his tongue moved in and out and she started to arch her back and move her hips, moaning and panting.
Her body was getting hot and her legs began to quiver and shake.
She gripped his hair.
His hands on her thighs kept them spread apart.
Jess threw her head back into the pillow, eyes shut tight.
He looked her up and down. He reached out rubbing her side, feeling her soft skin. He brought her close and kissed her belly. His tongue licked her belly button making her giggle. "That tickles…" he kissed her upwards while his hands traveled down.
Jess moans softly, feeling his fingers starting to rub her clit. He reached her breasts. He licks the tip her nipple before he started to suck. Jess shivered grabbing a fist full of his hair. "Tom…" She moans out.
His free hand went back down, two fingers slid inside her. Jess cries out. He moved his fingers in and out fast. She gripped his hair harder. His fingers moved in and out of her as he sucks on her nipples. Her hand moved as she touched his clothes bulge, the action made him groan.
Jess rubbed his bulge. His mouth leaving her breast with a wet pop, his fingers stop. He grabbed his boxers taking them off. She was shocked how big he was, Jess gulps Gulping, 7.85 inch and thick with a curve.. Her hands moved down to it. He closed his eyes. Her hands were soft.
He opened his eyes; they were dark and heavy with lust.
She looked up at him as she strokes him, slowly. Tom let out a deep moan. Her hand gripped his hard cock, stroking him faster. His hips rocked with her pace; his breathing became heavy.
Tom pushed her back on the bed, spreading her legs wide. He positioned his cock, rubbing it against her clit. Jess bites her lips and moans. Using wandless magic, he had lub his fingers and started to rub it on him. Soaking himself and he started to tease her, rub his cock more against her pussy.
Jess was moaning, begging for him.
Tom smirked, loving the sound of her begging.
He stopped and Jess whines.
The head of cock, he started to rub against her opening folds a little, making her moan softly. "Jess..." She looked at him and nodded "Tom..."
Tom started push into slowly into Jess. Her eyes closed, it hurt but felt good. Tom groaned pushing in more 'oh yeah this felt so different… different from the first time with that slytherin girl back in his 6th year.' "feels so good… inside you Jess"
Jess tears as she realizes something. 'Mine…and Tom's…first time… it feels so right..'
Tom was pushing in more and more until he was fully in, he moans softly from being inside of Jess's tight pussy 'oh god she is tight...'
Jess was panting from being filled with such a huge cock her body was shaking in pleasure.
Tom started to slowly thrust in and out of her. Jess moaned from each thrust, Tom moved apart her legs thrusting harder slightly "Jess.. feels so good"
"Move…faster…" Jess moans out. Tom began to move faster and harder than before, Tom was pounding into Jess she began to moan loudly "Yess…! Tom yesss!"
She arched her back, Tom moved faster, Jess started to cry from the pleasure, her walls tightened around him.
He groaned loudly, feeling her tightening. He pounded harder and deeper into her.
He was hitting her g-spot, her walls tightened around him. He moved his hips, rocking in and out faster and faster.
His hand was at her breast, he squeezed it.
Tom 's hands moved down gripped Jess's hips and pounded her hard but slow, this caused Jess to bite her finger. Moving his right hand up he gripped Jess's right leg putting it over his shoulder.
He turned his head and lick Jess's leg making her groan slightly, surprisingly Jess's female legs where so soft and smooth no hair whatsoever which turned Tom on even more.
Tom smirked 'Jess's legs are sensitive' Tom bite down on the same spot he licked. Jess's body jolted in pleasure from this.
Putting Jess's other leg over his shoulder he began to move faster and harder making skin slapping against skin, Jess moaned, Tom bite his lip this feeling, he was about ready to cum already from the feeling of Jess's pussy.
Pounding into Jess Faster and harder, Jess began to moan loudly closing her eyes, she was about cum. "Getting…close."
He grinned and moved over her and held her, Jess held him back as he started to pound into even harder. Jess jolted as she loudly moaning and cummed all over Tom's cock out of pure pleasure again.
Tom groaned out loudly "Cumming!"
"Yes cum in me!" Jess moaned out loudly and as Tom thrust into couple more times and emptied himself into her. "Jess!"
He moaned out loud, his cock was throbbing and pulsing, her walls squeezed his cock milking him. He collapsed on top of her panting.
The two were laying there panting for a while. Tom had rolled onto his back and pulled Jess on top of him, still holding her.
Jess had her arms around him and head against his chest. Tom was looking down at her smiling, running his fingers through her raspberry red hair.
The room had fallen into a hush, broken only by the soft rhythm of their breathing. The potion lamp still cast its gentle glow, painting the bedroom in hues of violet and midnight blue. Beneath the warmth of the blankets, they lay tangled together—bodies and hearts finally still.
Tom had rolled onto his back, his arms never letting go of her. Jess rested atop him, her head against his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart. His fingers drifted through her raspberry red hair, slowly, almost reverently, as though grounding himself in the moment—this quiet after a storm he'd never known he needed.
After a while, Tom stirred, shifting slightly so she could lay beside him. Jess moved with him, curling into his side, her arm draped across his waist. Without a word, Tom reached for the blanket and pulled it up over them both, sealing them in a cocoon of shared warmth. He held her close, his breath brushing the top of her head.
"That… was my first time," he said at last, his voice low and steady but colored with quiet truth. "Well… my first time that ever felt right."
Jess didn't lift her head, but he felt her smile against his chest.
"You're the first since Rick," she whispered. "I haven't been with anyone else since he died. I didn't think I ever would be."
Her fingers tightened slightly against him, as if to anchor herself in the present.
Tom pressed his lips to her forehead and didn't say anything—not right away. But his hold on her became just a bit firmer, as if to say: I'm here. I'm not going anywhere.
And for a long time, neither of them moved. There was nothing more to prove, nothing more to say. Just the quiet understanding that something had changed between them—that something had begun.
Around them, unseen to the naked eye, the magic shifted.
It began as a subtle hum—soft, ancient, and instinctual. The very air around their entwined bodies pulsed, like invisible threads had begun weaving themselves together. A swirl of energy, intimate and powerful, moved through the room—lingering at their joined hands, brushing across their skin like a blessing whispered by the very heart of magic itself.
They couldn't see it, but they felt it.
It wasn't light or warmth or sound. It was deeper—resonant. Rooted in the old, sacred laws of magic. Something ancient had acknowledged them. Witnessed them. And claimed this moment for more than what it seemed.
Jess stirred gently, her body still pressed close to his. A strange flutter moved through her chest, down to the pit of her stomach. Her eyes widened slightly.
"Tom…" she whispered, lifting her head, searching his gaze. "Do you… feel that?"
Tom lay motionless for a moment, his breath slow. He wasn't a man easily shaken—but this… this wasn't normal. The energy curling around them felt like a vow, like the magic itself was recognizing something unspoken—something permanent.
He nodded slowly, eyes wide, his voice quiet. "Yes."
The magic pulsed once more, gentle and sure, before settling into a steady, invisible current between them. A bond had been formed—deep and binding. They were no longer just lovers. They had been joined.
By magical law, it was a consummation of union. Not a traditional ceremony, not a public vow—but a private, soul-bound act recognized by the arcane. Whether they understood it or not, they had been married in the eyes of old magic.
And as they lay wrapped in each other's arms, unaware and unprepared for what came next, something ancient stirred again—quietly, deep within Jess.
A soft, glowing thread of magic settled low in her abdomen, warm and delicate like a blooming seed.
Something was forming.
Something new.
The quiet halls of the Kuran Estate echoed with grace and timeless magic, the marble floors cool beneath Amara's bare feet as she moved gently through the corridor. In her arms, she cradled a delicate vase—a new piece she had crafted in the estate's art room, inspired by a dream she'd had the night before. Swirls of gold leaf danced across the deep plum-colored ceramic, kissed with celestial runes.
As she passed the tapestry room—a chamber sacred to both the Kuran and Mikcloud bloodlines—Amara suddenly stopped in her tracks.
A pulse of ancient magic whispered through the heavy wooden door, brushing against her senses like a breeze stirring the edge of a veil. It wasn't loud. It wasn't violent. It was simply… there. Resonating.
Her breath caught.
No magic in the estate flared without cause—especially not in that room.
Eyes narrowing slightly, Amara stepped closer, her hand rising slowly to touch the brass handle. The air around it tingled with enchantment—ancestral, binding, and alive.
She turned the handle and opened the door.
The tapestry room greeted her with a hush, the enchanted lighting adjusting automatically to her presence. Soft emerald and gold tones glowed along the high walls, where the expansive family tree stretched in delicate embroidery across the enchanted fabric—leaves, branches, and names interwoven in endless, winding history.
But it was the new name that stopped her cold.
There, in delicate, shimmering silver thread, the names stood boldly upon the ancient tapestry:
Jessica Lightning Kuran Mikcloud Riddle
Tom Marvolo Mikcloud Riddle
And just beneath them, a third spot was forming—its shape not yet complete, but undeniably present. A growing space in the family line. A placeholder for an heir. The magic hadn't filled in the name, but the intent was clear: a soul had been marked.
Amara's breath caught in her throat, her hand trembling as realization sank deeper into her bones. The vase she had so lovingly crafted, warm from her hands only moments ago, slipped from her grasp and crashed to the marble floor. Porcelain and gold shattered in a ringing cascade across the smooth stone, the sound echoing like a bell through the empty hallway.
But she didn't even flinch.
Her eyes remained locked on the tapestry, heart pounding in her chest as centuries of ancestral magic whispered in the air around her. Her mind raced, yet her soul—her soul already knew.
They were bound.
By magic. By intent. By love.
And now… there was a child.
Not yet born, not yet named—but already acknowledged by the most sacred magic in their bloodline. The tapestry did not lie. It did not imagine.
Amara pressed a hand to her mouth, tears welling in her eyes—not from sorrow, but from the overwhelming weight of legacy, of prophecy, of knowing that history was already beginning to shift beneath their feet.
Her granddaughter, the reincarnation of the first queen.
And the man once feared by all…
Now husband.
Now father-to-be.
Amara could barely breathe. The magic still whispered around her, ancient and alive, curling through the air like stardust—thrumming in her blood, vibrating against her bones. The tapestry shimmered subtly as if responding to her awe, the silver stitching catching the light in ethereal pulses.
Behind her, footsteps echoed down the corridor.
"Amara? What are you doing—" came a familiar voice.
Maximum Kuran.
Her husband, her partner of centuries, slowed as he approached—only to stop dead in his tracks the moment he crossed the threshold. A wave of magic rippled through him too, striking the soul with its sacred resonance. He stilled completely, his expression tightening.
Then he followed her gaze.
And saw it.
The names.
Jessica Lightning Kuran Mikcloud Riddle
Tom Marvolo Mikcloud Riddle
And beneath… the forming thread of a future heir. Unnamed. Unborn. But real.
His breath hitched.
The kind of silence that followed was not from shock alone—it was reverence. The room itself seemed to hold its breath.
"By the stars…" Maximum whispered, his deep voice tinged with disbelief. He stepped beside Amara, hand reaching slowly toward hers. "It's begun. The old bloodline magic… it's accepted them."
Amara gave a faint, breathless nod. "They've been joined by sacred magic, Max. A true binding… and now this… This is no mere affair. This is the beginning of a legacy."
Maximum remained still for a moment, his jaw tightening faintly. "Tom Riddle…" he murmured. "We thought he was beyond redemption. But she saw something… and the magic agrees."
"And we both know," Amara added softly, "that the tapestry doesn't lie."
They stood in silence a moment longer, fingers clasped together, gazing at the names sewn in light.
Then Maximum straightened. "We must tell Jareth. And Dawn."
"Yes," Amara breathed, eyes still on the growing thread beneath their granddaughter's name. "They deserve to know their daughter has just changed the course of history."
Maximum groans "Sora's gonna flip out…"
Amara let out a weary sigh, a ghost of a smile tugging at the edge of her lips. "Flip out? He might start a war."
Maximum chuckled under his breath, rubbing a hand down his face. "He's already convinced Tom is some manipulative predator with a dark agenda. This… this will only confirm his worst fears."
"And yet," Amara said gently, turning to him at last, "Sora will have to accept that his sister made this choice freely. That it was magic itself that sanctioned it." Her voice softened even more. "He doesn't get to fight fate."
Maximum tilted his head, gazing again at the tapestry where their granddaughter's name shimmered with delicate embroidery. "That won't stop him from trying."
Amara gave a slight shrug. "Let him throw his tantrum. He'll come around. He always does… eventually."
A pause lingered, thoughtful.
Then Maximum added, "Though I'm still betting he tries to duel Tom."
Amara gave him a look. "And what would that accomplish besides embarrassing himself?"
He grinned. "Nothing. But I wouldn't mind watching."
Amara rolled her eyes and finally stepped away from the shattered vase, her heels clicking softly on the floor. "Come on. Let's find Jareth and Dawn before the tapestry finishes stitching a baby name."
Maximum followed close behind, still shaking his head with disbelief—and no small amount of exasperated amusement.
"Let's hope it doesn't stitch twins while we're at it…" he muttered under his breath. "Yeah, let's go tell them: 'Surprise, Son. Dawn… you're gonna be grandparents! Your daughter and the Dark Lord literally had a night of passion where magic decided to marry them on the spot.'"
Amara gave a dry snort of laughter, barely able to keep her composure. "You make it sound so scandalous."
"It is scandalous," Maximum replied, gesturing wildly as they turned the corridor. "I mean, I know the tapestry doesn't care about titles or reputations, but we do! We're going to walk into that parlor and explain, with a straight face, that Jess is now magically married to Tom Riddle. Tom Riddle, Amara."
Amara didn't reply immediately. Her expression turned thoughtful as she folded her hands behind her back, her steps graceful and deliberate.
"Titles aside… he's changed," Amara said at last, her voice soft but certain. "She saw it. I saw it. And now the tapestry does too. I trust that."
Maximum cast her a long, sidelong glance, then exhaled with a heavy sigh. "I do too. But that's not going to stop Jareth from pacing a hole through the floor… or Dawn from accidentally backhanding him into a wall when she finds out—with that terrifying Mikcloud strength of hers."
Amara smirked. "You make it sound like she doesn't have control."
"She does," Maximum replied dryly. "Until Jareth opens his mouth."
Amara huffed a laugh under her breath, her pace steady as they neared the salon. "She hasn't even met him yet. Tom, I mean. But something tells me she's going to sense the bond the moment we speak of it."
"She will," Maximum said, almost reverently. "She's the Crown Princess. That kind of magic doesn't hide from her. Especially not a binding like this."
They exchanged a quiet look, the kind that passed between two people who'd seen a great deal of history unfold—and knew they were now witnessing the start of another chapter.
And just ahead, the double doors to the main parlor waited.
"Let's just… ease into it," Amara murmured.
Maximum gave her a dry look. "We're about to tell them their daughter is magically married to Tom Riddle and possibly pregnant."
He opened the door with a sigh. "There is no easing into that."
Dawn turned slightly on her vanity bench, her hand stilling in her long raspberry waves. She wore a soft silk nightgown that shimmered like dusk in the candlelight. The brush lowered slowly in her hand as her keen eyes locked onto her parents in the doorway.
Jareth set the tablet down on the coffee table with a faint frown, his expression instantly alert. "Mom? Dad? What is it?" he asked, already sensing the heaviness in the air.
Amara stepped forward first, her usual serene grace tinged with something more intense—an energy that neither of them could quite place. Maximum followed close behind, his arms crossed and brows furrowed, clearly bracing for impact.
"We… We need to show you something," Amara said gently, her voice unusually strained. "Something important. It's about Jessica."
At that, both Jareth and Dawn stood at once.
"What happened?" Dawn asked, her eyes immediately sharp.
"She's fine," Maximum assured quickly. "They both are. It's not danger."
Amara nodded, stepping further into the room. "But it's something… sacred. Something ancient. I was passing the Tapestry Room when the magic called to me."
Dawn and Jareth exchanged a look.
"The names have been stitched," Amara whispered. "Jess's… and Tom Riddle's. Together."
The silence that followed was deafening.
Jareth's eyes narrowed, jaw tightening. "Stitched how?"
"As in bonded," Maximum answered. "Magic recognized it. Marriage—by law of ancient magical union. And… there's a third thread beginning."
Dawn's hand flew to her mouth. Her knees nearly buckled before she found her voice. "She's pregnant?" she whispered.
Amara's eyes glistened as she nodded. "It's only just begun… but the tapestry knows. It always knows."
Jareth staggered back a step, dragging a hand through his dark hair. "She's… with him."
"She's with Tom," Amara corrected softly. "Not Voldemort. No matter how much he hides it… that will always be his true name."
Dawn stared into the firelight, the flickering gold reflecting in her eyes. Her fingers tightened around the edge of the vanity, knuckles white, before she slowly straightened—gathering herself with quiet strength. "We'll speak with her. Soon. But if the magic has claimed it as real… then we honor it."
Maximum let out a slow, heavy breath. "Sora's going to flip the hell out."
Jareth groaned, dragging a hand down his face. "He's going to try and kill him for taking his precious sister..."
Dawn rolled her eyes but couldn't hide the ghost of a smile. "We'll handle him. Later."
For now, silence returned—soft and weighty, filled with the kind of understanding only blood could carry. The fire crackled gently. Outside the windows, the wind stirred the curtains. And within the air, just barely perceptible, the ancient threads of fate continued to hum—quietly weaving a new future for them all.