Abarax stepped out of the infirmary just as Orion Black approached him. Orion's gaze flickered—first to his friend, then past him toward Lucius Malfoy inside, whose eyes were filled with a storm of emotions too tangled to name.
Back and forth. Once. Twice.
Abarax finally exhaled in irritation.
"Are you going to keep staring at us like that," Abarax Malfoy muttered, "or are you actually going to go in and talk to him?"
Orion let out a slow breath, dragging a hand across his face before looking at him properly.
"Are you alright?"
For a moment, Abarax said nothing. He just looked at Orion—his oldest ally, his closest friend… his brother in everything but name. Not that he would ever admit that out loud. The dynamic they had was far too… entertaining to ruin with sentiment.
And why in the name of Lady Hecate was he even thinking like this?
"I'm fine," Abarax replied at last.
Orion didn't move. Didn't speak.
Just looked.
Abarax huffed softly.
"…I will be."
And with that, he stepped aside, moving away from the entrance.
"I'll be near the Black Lake."
He didn't wait for a response.
Orion watched him walk away, his expression unreadable.
To anyone else, Abarax looked exactly the same—every bit the powerful Lord Malfoy. Wealthy. Untouchable. Silver-tongued. A man who bent rooms to his will.
But Orion knew better.
He knew what the loss of Meenakshi had done to him.
He knew the weight Abarax carried—the grief he buried, the strength he forced himself to maintain for his son. Where Orion had drowned in his own darkness once, Abarax had endured. He had stayed. He had been a father.
And now…
Now he looked like a man who had finally run out of ways to pretend he was unbreakable.
Orion's jaw tightened.
He didn't like that.
Not one bit.
With a sharp turn, he walked into the infirmary.
Straight to Lucius.
The boy looked at him—blank at first, then cautious.
"Lord Orion—"
"Call me uncle," Orion cut in smoothly, dropping into the chair beside the bed with effortless ease. "No need for all that 'lord' nonsense. Hmm?"
Lucius straightened slightly.
"Yes… uncle."
"Good." Orion leaned back lazily, but his eyes—those molten silver eyes—were anything but relaxed. "Now tell me… how are you? Any pain? Or are you finally done scaring half the castle?"
"I'm fine," Lucius replied quickly. Then, after a brief hesitation, something sharper crept into his tone. Urgent. Uneasy.
"Uncle… nothing happened."
Orion raised an eyebrow.
"Oh?"
"I mean—nothing really happened," Lucius continued, words beginning to rush out. "It was just… an unforeseen circumstance. Regulus didn't do anything. We were just talking about—"
He stopped himself, but the damage was done.
Orion almost smiled.
"Relax, son," he said calmly. "There's no problem."
Lucius blinked, caught off guard.
"We'll talk about everything later," Orion added, his tone leaving no room for argument. "During the holidays."
He leaned forward slightly then, his voice lowering—not threatening, but firm in a way that settled deep.
"For now… rest. Take care of yourself."
A pause.
"And live."
The way he said that word—
It wasn't casual advice.
It was an order.
A reminder.
A warning.
Lucius felt it settle into his bones.
"Yes, uncle," he murmured softly.
Orion stood, already turning to leave. But just before he reached the door, he stopped.
"One more thing."
Lucius looked up.
"Don't be so hard on your father."
A beat of silence.
Orion didn't turn back as he spoke.
"He's human too. And we humans…" a faint, almost bitter amusement touched his voice, "…have a remarkable talent for making mistakes."
And with that—
He walked out, leaving Lucius alone in the quiet, with thoughts that were suddenly far heavier than before.
********
Black Lake lay still under the fading light, its surface calm—deceptively so.
Abarax Malfoy stood at its edge, unmoving. The wind tugged at his platinum-blonde hair, disheveling it, yet somehow he still looked every bit the noble lord he was born to be.
But Orion knew better.
He always did.
"Well," Orion Black said as he approached, voice deliberately steady, "shall we go, Abarax?"
Abarax turned.
And for the first time—
Orion felt something shift.
He had seen this man through war, loss, betrayal… even through the loss of the woman he loved.
But this?
This was different.
"Please…" Abarax's voice cracked, raw and unfamiliar. "Orion… swear to me we'll get them back. Please."
The words came out like a man drowning—grasping, clawing for air that refused to reach his lungs.
"I can't take this anymore… please…"
His magic responded before he could control it.
The gentle breeze twisted—sharp, violent. Wind lashed around them, the very air thickening under the pressure of a breaking mind.
Abarax Malfoy—
the composed one,
the rational one,
the man who held everyone together—
was falling apart.
And when men like them broke…
It was never quiet.
Never graceful.
It was catastrophic.
Ugly.
Because the darkness they carried wasn't something that faded—it waited. And once unleashed, it didn't stop until it was fed.
"Abarax."
Orion's voice cut through the chaos—sharp, commanding.
"Control yourself."
No response.
"Abarax—look around you."
Still nothing.
"Do you want to do this here?"
That hit.
Not fully—but enough.
A flicker of awareness returned to Abarax's eyes.
Enough to remind him where he was.
Hogwarts.
Students.
Children.
A place that was not meant to witness what he was capable of becoming.
Without another word, Abarax turned.
He walked—fast, deliberate—toward the far edge of the grounds.
Toward the place where the wards of Hogwarts were… imperfect.
Cracked.
Not broken.
But enough.
Enough for men like them.
He didn't stop.
Didn't look back.
And then—
he vanished.
Orion stood there for a moment, watching the empty space.
Then he exhaled slowly.
"…idiot."
Not anger.
Not really.
Just… understanding.
Because he knew that feeling.
Knew what it was to reach a point where control felt like a lie.
With a final glance at the lake, Orion stepped forward—
and disappeared.
Reappearing at 12 Grimmauld Place.
His home.
His war ground.
His sanctuary.
His prison.
His mind was already moving ahead, faster than most could comprehend.
Plans.
Possibilities.
Risks.
He needed a way through the rip.
Needed control over time variables.
Needed protection against dimensional magic.
But before all that—
There was something else.
Something far more immediate.
"Voldemort…" Orion muttered under his breath, eyes darkening.
Lord Voldemort.
A parasite.
And parasites, if left unchecked—
didn't just survive.
They consumed.
Orion's lips curled slightly.
"Better to remove the infection… before it spreads to the roots."
Because if there was one thing Orion Black believed in—
It was this:
You don't wait for darkness to grow.
You hunt it down.
And you end it.
Before it ever gets the chance to become a problem.
******
Ted Tonks liked to believe he was a smart man.
At least—he used to.
Right now, standing in front of 12 Grimmauld Place with his wife, he was seriously questioning every rational thought he had ever possessed.
Because truly—what kind of sane man willingly walked into the lion's den?
And this was not just any lion.
This was the Black family.
Ancient. Noble. Dangerous.
And very much not fond of people like him.
Yet here he was.
Because of her.
He glanced at Andromeda Tonks—his wife, his heart, his greatest decision and possibly his worst mistake if one judged by survival instinct alone.
She had been born into that world.
High-blood, higher status.
And she had chosen him.
Which meant the same family that once abandoned her… might very well decide to finish the job today.
Any sensible man would have calculated the odds.
Walking in → never walking out.
Simple.
Clean.
Logical.
But Ted Tonks, unfortunately, was a man deeply, stupidly in love.
And love, as it turned out, had a remarkable way of murdering logic.
Maybe we could run, a part of his mind whispered.
Take her and go.
He shut it down immediately.
No.
That wasn't who he was.
And more importantly—it wouldn't work.
Not against a family like the Blacks.
Not against him.
Orion Black didn't summon people.
He called them.
And people who ignored that call…
Well.
They didn't usually get the chance to regret it.
"So," Andromeda's voice cut through his thoughts, light but edged with amusement, "are we going in, or are you planning to stare the door into disappearing? Because trust me—it's not going to vanish into oblivion."
Ted huffed.
"Yeah, I know, Andy. I do understand how magic works."
"Good. Then move."
She stepped forward.
He didn't.
Not immediately.
"Come on," she added, glancing back. "Better to meet him sooner rather than later. And honestly—my uncle isn't that bad."
Ted raised an eyebrow.
"If he wanted you dead, you'd already be dead," she continued casually.
"…That's not helping, love," Ted muttered.
Still—he followed.
But just before she could knock, he stepped beside her, his hand finding hers, holding it firmly.
If this went wrong—
He wouldn't let her stand alone.
Not again.
Not in front of the family that had once cast her aside.
The door opened before they could do anything.
A house-elf stood there—ancient, sharp-eyed.
"Kreacher welcomes Mistress Andy and Mistress Andy's partner to Grimmauld Place. Master is waiting."
Ted frowned slightly.
He knew enough about wizarding etiquette.
If a lord respected his guests, he greeted them himself.
If he didn't—
Well.
He didn't bother.
So what was this?
Was he being acknowledged as family?
Or dismissed beneath notice?
And more importantly—
Was he supposed to ask?
(No. Absolutely not. He valued his life.)
Before he could spiral further, Andromeda smacked him lightly on the head.
"Come on. Don't make him wait. He's already cranky this morning."
Ted blinked.
"…Wait. How do you even know that?"
She grinned.
"I have my sources."
Ted leaned closer, lowering his voice conspiratorially.
"…You have a spy in there, don't you?"
She leaned in just as dramatically.
"I'm a fairy."
And then she laughed.
Ted rolled his eyes.
"Yeah, sure. Of course you are."
Still smiling, he followed as Kreacher led them inside.
But the moment they were directed toward the study—
Andromeda stiffened beside him.
Ted noticed immediately.
This wasn't casual.
Not a drawing room conversation.
Not polite tea and strained smiles.
The study meant—
Important.
Serious.
Dangerous.
And Andromeda knew it too.
Because if there was one thing she understood better than anyone—
It was her Uncle.
Unpredictable.
Unreadable.
Impossible to profile.
A man who treated power, status, even fear itself… like pieces on a chessboard.
Sometimes she wondered—
If any of this even mattered to him.
The title.
The influence.
The legacy.
Or if it was all just a game.
A very dangerous game.
But even games had rules.
Even Orion had something that mattered.
One thing.
One anchor.
And she had never been able to figure out what it was.
Her grip on Ted's hand tightened just slightly.
Because whatever waited behind that door—
wasn't going to be simple.