Orion exited the room first, the door dissolving silently behind him as if it had never existed. Abrax followed, adjusting his collar with the grace of someone who knew he looked intimidating and enjoyed the fact.
They were only a few corridors away from the Great Hall when a familiar voice echoed toward them.
"Well, well—if it isn't my favourite former students. Lord Malfoy and Lord Black."
Professor Slughorn's warm, booming voice carried that distinctive mix of genuine fondness and opportunistic delight.
Orion and Abarax exchanged a look.
Abarax was the first to pivot, posture smooth and elegant.
"Professor," he greeted, voice dripping polished charm. "What a pleasant surprise. Merry meet, Lord Slughorn. Should I be bold enough to assume you've missed us terribly?"
Orion simply inclined his head in acknowledgment—minimal effort, maximum authority.
Slughorn chuckled, cheeks rosy."Oh, you two—still sharp-tongued and sharp-minded, I see."
Then his tone shifted—still pleasant, but laced with intent.
"I wished to ask you something, if you have a moment. Perhaps we continue this in my office?"
Orion spoke before Abarax could.
His tone was soft—polite even—but something cold and analytical thrummed beneath it.
"Interesting request, Professor. Considering no one was informed of our visit."He paused, eyes narrowing just slightly."Not publicly, at least."
Slughorn waved a hand dismissively.
"Yes, yes—quite right. But it's good to be connected, don't you think?"
He turned and began walking, expecting them to follow.
Behind Slughorn's back, Abarax shot Orion a questioning look.
Orion responded with the barest curve of a smile—one that meant:We'll play along.
Slughorn's office was exactly as they remembered—overwhelming, cluttered, warm, and filled with soft golden lamplight. Shelves overflowed with potion ingredients, rare bottles, and framed photographs of successful former students.
Abarax's gaze slid toward the cabinet behind Slughorn's desk—the one lined with trophies, medals, and moving photographs of Slytherins spanning decades. His expression gave nothing away, but his eyes were cataloguing details with practiced calculation.
Slughorn gestured grandly."Please—sit."
Orion took the chair opposite Slughorn and leaned back, posture relaxed but stare unblinking.Abarax settled beside him with the careless elegance of someone raised among thrones.
Slughorn poured tea.
"Forgive me—normally I'd offer wine, but I am technically working at the moment and—"
"It's quite all right," Abarax interrupted smoothly, taking his cup. "We aren't raging alcoholics… well—I'm not. Unlike someone here."
He lifted his cup in Orion's direction with a smirk.
Orion didn't even blink.
"I am not a raging alcoholic," he responded flatly.A beat."And the professor knows that. He was our Head of House, Abrax—try remembering your own history."
Abarax snorted quietly.
Only when both former students raised their cups did Slughorn lift his own. Etiquette dictated that a host never drank before someone of superior magical or social standing—particularly in old wizarding circles.
Slughorn sipped, eyes twinkling over the rim.
"You two have certainly reshaped the political landscape since leaving Hogwarts," he said lightly—too lightly."Power has shifted. Alliances too."
Orion's stare sharpened, predatory and amused.
Abarax smiled—slow, dangerous, perfect.
Slughorn continued, voice honeyed and curious.
"So tell me… what brings the two of you back to Hogwarts after all these years?"
The question hung in the air—polite, harmless, and absolutely loaded.
Orion's lips curved into a subtle, calculated smirk.
Abarax's fingers tapped the porcelain cup with languid amusement.
Neither answered.
The silence itself became an answer.
Slughorn inhaled, delighted and unsettled at the same time.
Ah. Secrets.
And he adored secrets.
********
Abrax reclined comfortably in his chair, swirling the tea in his cup as if it were a fine wine.
"Well, nothing dramatic, Professor," he began casually."This is just a routine Council visit—something I always handle. Orion here," he gestured carelessly with his cup, "has decided he wants to be a better father. He's resolving some family matters. The poor man practically begged me to accompany him."
Orion didn't even bother reacting beyond a bored stare. He simply lifted his cup and took another sip—silent, unimpressed.
"And," Abrax continued with an exaggerated sigh, "me being the generous, saint-like soul I am, offered him the gift of my guidance."
Slughorn chuckled warmly, either missing—or pretending to miss—the venom-laced humor.
Orion finally set his cup down.
"But that isn't why you called us here, is it, Professor?"
Slughorn's jovial expression faltered. His shoulders sagged slightly as he let out a long breath.
"No… no, it isn't my boy."
Abrax's brow twitched irritably at the "my boy" that followed, but he kept listening, posture sharpening.
Slughorn leaned forward.
"Since the Black and Malfoy families have allied publicly—and have openly opposed the Dark Lord—word has spread. I was… approached."
Abrax's expression darkened, humor evaporating in an instant.
"Approached by whom?"
Slughorn hesitated only a second.
"Followers of He-Who—of the Dark Lord."He swallowed."They sought to know where House Slughorn stands."
Abrax's tone cut like tempered ice."And what was your response, Lord Slughorn?"
The title landed heavy—intentional, pointed, and utterly devoid of friendliness.
Slughorn flinched, but continued.
"I asked for time. And… if House Black and House Malfoy are willing to extend an alliance to mine, then House Slughorn will stand against him."His voice lowered."Because whether we like it or not… his influence is spreading. Not only in Britain—but globally."
Silence followed for a beat.
Then Orion spoke—voice measured, dangerous.
"Tell me something, Professor. What do you know about this so-called Dark Lord who claims to be the heir of Slytherin?"He leaned forward slightly."A man who boasts lineage—but has yet to claim the Slytherin seat on the Wizengamot."
Slughorn opened his mouth.
"Well, Lord Black, he—"
"Knows nothing."
Abrax cut in sharply.
"Because no true heir—no pureblood of standing—would abandon their lineage. Especially not a Slytherin." His voice carried the cold factual pride old families were bred with."Our heritage is not ornament—it is identity. Power. Legitimacy."
His gaze hardened.
"And you would never be sitting in this room serving us tea if we weren't Lords of our Houses—regardless of magical ability."
Slughorn looked down, chastened.
Abrax stood smoothly, finishing:
"So no—we will not bow to a nameless upstart with theatrics and borrowed fear."He placed his teacup gently on the table."We expected better judgement from you, Professor."
Orion rose beside him, movements controlled, final.
"House Black will support you if there are repercussions for refusing him."
Abrax inclined his head."As will House Malfoy."
Orion offered the final farewell.
"If you'll excuse us, Professor—this has been… enlightening."
Abrax gave a graceful, cutting nod.
"Do enjoy the rest of your day."
They exited without another word, leaving Slughorn frozen in thought—half relieved, half afraid, and suddenly painfully aware:
The game wasn't brewing.
It had already begun.