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Heir Corvus Fulcran Lestrange stood at the side of the Great Hall and watched.
His expression was devoid of emotion as he stared straight ahead, outwardly ignoring the hopeful eyes that followed him.
His deep dark eyes offered no telling about his feelings as they swept over the boisterous students enjoying the Yule Ball.
His rich, fur-lined cloak was of the finest of velvets, artistically thrown over his broad shoulders. The collar was heavily embroidered with Goblin-made silver thread.
His personal elf spent a fortnight creating a design worthy of the occasion. Eerily intertwined ravens decorated the expensive material. Their sharp eyes were made of tiny black diamonds.
His friends surrounded him, always drawn to his mysterious aura despite how scarcely he offered a word.
They laughed and jeered and ogled the beautiful witches that floated like delicate cherry blossom petals.
The corners of his lips almost lifted when Thalia Burke pursued her mouth and glared at Theodorus Nott. His wandering eyes led him to trouble more than once and he couldn’t find it in himself to pity him.
It was his reckless mistake and he must pay for it.
“So, you don’t have a date indeed,” a smooth voice drawled lazily and he didn’t need to turn to know whom it belonged to.
He recognized his best friend’s aura the moment he joined the festivities, that, and the numerous unfocused eyes that followed Tom Marvolo Slytherin’s entrance.
Tom seemed unconcerned as he smiled charmingly, making many a poor maiden blush and stutter ungracefully.
No witch was attached to Tom’s arm either, but it wasn’t surprising considering his past.
Being his best friend and confidant, Corvus knew that Tom was yet to heal from the Amortentia tainting his blood.
He was unable to feel romantic love and share himself with another.
He spent the summer holidays looking for answers in the Lestrange library and what he found didn’t give him much hope, but he wouldn’t give up on his friend, never.
“I’m an excellent matchmaker. I can help you find a date,” Tom offered nonchalantly but Corvus wasn’t his best friend for nothing.
He discerned the amusement and anticipation layering his voice.
“I regret to tell you that no witch caught my interest,” Corvus replied taking a sip from his butterbeer and looking around.
Tom simply smiled at him. His eyes—which were dark and dangerous—glittered from under his raised eyebrow.
“I am your best friend,’’ he said in a voice that could almost be called soft if he didn’t know whom it was coming from. “You need to find someone before graduation so Lord Lestrange would stop pestering you.”
Corvus folded his arms over his chest and the Acromantula silk of his black shirt rustled as it stretched over his muscles.
“Are you sure you’re not doing this for the sole reason of watching me lose control like our friend over there?”
Corvus tilted his head and both watched as Abraxas looked down at Ione Selwyn with a softness that few glimpsed into the icy grey eyes.
“I can’t deny that it would be entertaining to see you swoon over a witch,” Tom smirked darkly.
He gave him an exasperated look that hid the glint lurking in the depths of his obsidian eyes.
Tom was The Slytherin, but who said that he hadn’t learned a thing or two from the seven years they spent as Blood Brothers?
“My point remains, Corvus. You need to find a perfect match before the year ends. Few witches from distinguished families are still unattached. If you don’t act soon, I worry you won’t find any eligible ones. Tell me old friend about what’s been holding you back,” Tom’s eyes skewered him and he detected the red hue that appeared whenever he was harbouring a strong emotion, mainly rage.
In this instance, he was certain that it was something else.
“How kind of you,” Corvus mused with a curling smile. “Are we enjoying our last Yule Ball in Hogwarts or being disgustingly emotional?”
Tom wasn’t one to be bothered by his sarcastic—veering on rude—answer.
The infuriating Head Boy leaned back, a satisfied look on his face. “We might go there if you don’t explain yourself. I’m tempted. I want to know why you refused all the invitations you got, all the desperate witches that would do anything short of murder to get a second look from you. Not that I don’t enjoy their suffering for most are vexing airheads, but I trust I can help you.”
The phrasing mattered a little. Tom was too clever by far and Corvus knew that he suspected something.
A feeling of unease settled in his mind as Tom’s smile widened and his eyes went to the Great Hall's entrance.
Heir Charlus Potter was escorting Miss Dorea Black, smugness oozing from him.
What caught his attention, however, was the vision walking by Dorea’s side.
His twin, Miss Hyrene Potter.
His expression remained inscrutable and he kept silent watching her glide inside like a Faerie.
He could feel Tom’s eyes on him but he didn’t care.
Earlier, he debated whether to come clean and tell him why he didn’t want any witch. But now, and considering the savage gleam in his eyes, he reckoned he had seen it eventually.
His heart jolted and the crow living inside him croaked with anticipation as she whispered something to Dorea and then moved closer to the Slytherin side.
He froze.
Has one of his housemates invited her? He would—
The scent of wild roses reached him first. When he inhaled the light fragrance, he decided it should have muddled his mind for Tom Marvolo Slytherin chuckled, in public.
“Tom? What have you done?” he whispered, his eyes never leaving Hyrene as she got closer still.
“Consider it my treat for the friendship you offered seven years ago when I didn’t even recognize the word,” Tom breathed in a soft voice he scarcely heard coming from the unemotional wizard. “Despite my curse, I recognized the way you kept looking at her. I sensed how much your magic yearned for her and I couldn’t remain idle. Don’t worry about Heir Potter, I’ll take care of him,” Tom offered smugly and he felt sorry for their archenemy, almost.
Excitement pooled in every bit of him as she faced him.
Her gaze was eerily green and challenging and he welcomed it.
She barely reached his shoulder, yet he valiantly tried not to stand straighter as the corner of her blood-red lips lifted.
The floating candles gave the outline of her silhouette an enthralling glow and made her look like a dream.
He had never experienced this want, this need with a human being before. However, he would have to become a blind squib not to acknowledge the witch his magic chose years ago.
Nature had squandered an unreasonable quantity of beauty on the Potter Princess. Better yet, she was magically powerful, brave, kind and loyal.
Her pitch-black dress—the colours of his House—was made of an exquisite fabric that barely treated the perfection it covered with due justice.
His eyes zeroed in on the sparkling ring that adorned her fourth finger. He never noticed it before.
It gave powerful wafts of Dark magic that reminded him of The Locket of Salazar Slytherin Tom was so proud of.
Fearing that he kept her waiting for long, he bowed respectfully.
Understanding his intent, she offered her hand.
The moment he touched her skin for the first time, his infatuation nestled deeper in every corner of his being.
The spot where their skin touched buzzed with compatible magic and he understood why he fell victim to her thrall four years ago.
She was his intended match, the one his magic recognized before him.
“Miss Potter,” he said hoarsely.
Hyrene lifted gem-like eyes to his making him wonder when her hazel eyes started looking so…green.
“It would be Lady Peverell. Thanks to Lord Slytherin’s help, I unlocked my secret inheritance,” her voice was strong as she peered at him from beneath the hoods of her thick eyelashes.
Corvus’ aristocratic hauteur melted away as her words hit him.
Lady Peverell?
His head whipped, looking for the sneaky bastard he called best friend and satisfaction filled him at the sight that greeted his eyes.
Maybe because Tom seemed approachable and relaxed for once while he argued with an animated Charlus Potter.
Dorea’s eyes clashed with his and she winked.
His inspection was interrupted by the delicate hand that landed on his arm. “Do I need to invite you to a dance as well?” Hyrene hefted an amused breath.
Wedging her closer to his side, he murmured. “No need for that, Lady Peverell. This night is a gift I plan to enjoy to the fullest and have many repeats after.”
There was a fire in her eyes made of soft, satin embers as she tilted her head and smiled so beautifully.
Her features were like a rare flower held between the sun and the moon and the crimson of her lips glowed in the dimly lit room.
That moment, he knew an undimmed passion that wouldn’t be sustained by mere hours with her.
The crow that inhabited every Lestrange’s soul woke in his breast and he gave up his whole being to it.
No matter what the future had in store for them, he would confide in his Hyrene, be whatever she needed and transform every hurdle she faced into an incandescent victory.