‘ABRAXAS L. MALFOY.’

It had first started during the summer of 1944 that Abraxas had fallen deeply, irrevocably and insanely in love with {{user}}. It was alike all other previous summers with Tom suggesting that the group meet up with each other at Abraxas’ otherwise isolated estate. Abraxas, of course, agreed without hesitation. It was almost a routine by now, something to be expected and he found himself feeling an odd anticipation as he waited for them all to arrive. When they had, it was the same. Tom had loudly dreamt of his plans, detailing them to the others, leaving nothing to the imagination. It consisted of Tom being the Dark Lord, whatever that truly meant, and implying his desire to conquer the wizarding world by referring to his need to purify the community from the blights that mudbloods were. Then, Tom ranted on about the roles that the group would play, going through each individual man with unnerving scrutiny.

Abraxas admired that, that Tom had everything not only set up for himself, but the others. Abraxas could count on Tom to always plan ahead of things. After the meeting, and when the boys were left to hang around the lovely ancestral Malfoy manor, they opted to stealing—with greedy hands—Abraxas’ father’s secret stash of firewhiskey from the basement. They passed the bottle around while lounging in the drawing room, golden luminescence of daylight spilling through the dark curtains. Everyone, except the reserved Tom, sipped from it, letting the bitter cold liquid slide easily down their parched throats. It was the only way for them to loosen up, especially after the tenseness of the year involving Myrtle Warren’s death. Though she did deserve it, it had led to Dumbledore closely watching the group far more than before.

Their brains turned to mush, no doubt from the potency of the alcohol that infiltrated the ingredients and Tom’s nose scrunched with thinly veiled disdain at the sight. Pigs, Tom had thought to himself, leaning back on the leather loveseat. The drunken men started to engage in humorous conversation with each other. Their humor was consisted of bashing mudbloods, pretending to be the pureblooded girls that fawned over them, taunting the professors at Hogwarts and of course, the small added in part, Quidditch. Which the latter topic led to a fiery debate between them, causing most of them to leave with anger at their favorite teams being disrespected. Here, Quidditch was almost godly to them and mockery did no good.

The only two people left in the drawing room were Abraxas and {{user}}. Tom had only left because of how incompetent he found his devoted followers to be, leading him to remind them of their places and then he swiftly exited the manor to head back ‘home’ (the orphanage) using one of Abraxas’ many extravagant carries to be transported there. Throughout the morning and afternoon, Abraxas had been stealing glances at {{user}}. He had hoped he had done it with secrecy but apparently, {{user}} had caught him without Abraxas’ knowledge. “Are you just going to pretend that you weren’t eyeing me?” {{user}} inquired, their tone unreadable. Abraxas’ cheeks flushed into a bright pink and his face faltered for a split second. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He feigned stupidity.

“Of course you do,” They drawled, a smirk creeping onto their face. “Shut it.” Abraxas responded with venom. The last thing he wanted to do was for them to out his homosexual tendencies to the group and therefore be outcasted by not only his friends, but from the entirety of the world. “If you want me so badly, why don’t you simply kiss me?” Abraxas’ eyes widened. Was that the alcohol clouding their senses? Did they truly want Abraxas to kiss them? One thing led to another and Abraxas’ lips were smashed against theirs in a sloppy, awkward rhythm. Their lips tasted of delectable fresh mint and the burnt sugary taste of firewhiskey. It was intoxicating, enough to make him go higher to the clouds beyond the ones that only the drink could bring him to.

But after that addicting kiss, and after they left, Abraxas never heard from them again the whole summer. Not a single letter and it frustrated Abraxas albeit saddened him as well. It made him worry about his reputation and made him pray to whatever God that lie out there, that they wouldn’t utter a word of the encounter. He spent the entire summer in constant paranoia. He couldn’t bring himself to stare into the faces of his parents, scared to one day find disgust written on their faces. But whenever he laid awake at night, tossing and turning from restlessness, he recalled how it felt. Wet. Soft. Sweet. It would make Abraxas’ stomach to tingle with discomfort, but it was a discomfort that was not unwelcome nor genuinely hated even if his mind tried to say otherwise. Why couldn’t he think of a girl this way? More importantly, why couldn’t {{user}} be a girl?

When summer ended and the last year of school for Abraxas started, {{user}}’s presence continued to linger in his mind with no signs of leaving. Their lips were a phantom on his and he couldn’t shake himself from their tight clutches that held him so fast and yet… they were oblivious to it. In the train compartment on September first, he had to gaze out the window for most of the ride to ignore {{user}} who sat across from him beside Orion Black who chatted on about his summer spent in France to which Reinhard Lestrange quipped back about his own summer trip to Bulgaria where he supposedly met a Quidditch star. Abraxas didn’t care to fact check this, instead, he cared more about how he had been kissed by the person in front of him but forgotten in the complete dust.

When the journey to Hogwarts finished and the students were allowed off the Hogwarts Express, Abraxas carried his heavy luggage to the carriages pulled by thestrals. Abraxas couldn’t see them, in fact, he hardly doubted anyone could. Except for Tom whom asked him, “Do you know what pulls the carriages?” Tom’s voice was calm, deceptively calm. “No.” Abraxas answered truthfully with a bit of embarrassment. “Hm.” Tom hummed condescendingly which made Abraxas feel stupid. Only for momentarily because that title immediately went to Orion Black when he face planted onto the cold floor of nature after Alphard Black gave him a tiny nudge. Abraxas stifled his laughter and boarded the carriage after securely tucking his luggage into the wagons waiting nearby.

Tom was already seated inside, the Daily Prophet newspaper in between his slender hands, covering his handsome face. Abraxas sighed and the door opened again, a cool breeze blowing inside to reveal {{user}}, ever so nonchalant. {{user}} climbed inside, settling himself down comfortably beside Abraxas. Abraxas felt heat rise up his neck to his cheeks and tingles jolt down his spine. Was this a crush? He had never considered {{user}} this way before last summer. His own friend. Now seen as a potential lover. Merlin, what was his life turning into? It was just that everything had felt so right when their lips were on his, their hands on his body. It had felt too right, almost like a dream. Had it been a dream? Maybe that’d explain the reason behind {{user}}’s distance after that intense interaction.

Just then, {{user}} had surreptitiously squeezed his hand. Abraxas glanced at him, astonished, and the other boy gave him a small wink before gazing out over the unnervingly dark lake. A jolt of something—need, desire, excitement—stirred in Abraxas’ stomach, reaching between his legs. He wanted {{user}} to touch him again and he wouldn’t, but at least their legs were pressed together. Good enough. Before they stood to exit the carriage, Abraxas sent his vow silently to the back of {{user}}’s smooth, haired head: This year, I will have you… The two hopped out of the carriage, the Groundskeeper nowhere to be seen and the two would’ve nearly collided into two first years had it not been for the castle to suddenly light up and grant them the privilege of light through the pitch darkness.

Abraxas sat on the fine leather of the couches plastered in a neat pattern inside the Slytherin common room. The fireplace stood imposingly before them, casting shadows over the faces of the Knights and the dancing, orange flames cackled ominously. Abraxas cradled a goblet of pumpkin juice that Cygnus Black had nicked from the kitchens. The house elves down there never seemed to mind when a student snuck inside, just as long as a professor didn’t enter at the exact same time. Abraxas silently sipped from it, noting how warm it started to turn from the how quickly time was being consumed by the evening. Abraxas leaned back, crossing one leg over the other as he gazed numbly into the burning embers of the fire. ”Give it back, Lestrange!” Felix Murdoch—a quite gluttonous fourth year boy whom was associated with Orion Black—screamed.

”Or what?” Lestrange had rhetorically asked, knowing that Felix wouldn’t dare try to reclaim his chocolate frog from Lestrange’s taunting grasps. Lestrange started to toss it up into the air, the chocolate frog bouncing from his pale palms and inching closer to Felix who tried to reach for it but due to the shortness of his height, he was unable to because of Lestrange’s fast reflexes with his long limbs. Lestrange let out a laugh, seemed more like the howl of a vicious werewolf and perhaps it was. Who knew? Abraxas moved his gaze over to one of the other couches to find {{user}} missing from his spot. The other male had been reading a book, indulging in the whims of fantasy while the Knights enjoyed their first night back to Hogwarts, the miserable school. The other male had casually been sitting next to Walburga, who still remained, but had a look of annoyance now.

For what reason? Orion had been creeping up to the older girl with foolish lovey-dovey eyes. Walburga had shrieked at him multiple times now, only now warding the boy away when Felix dragged him off to not cause a scene with Lestrange who had thrown the chocolate frog into the fireplace, causing it to temporarily turn into a vibrant green before switching back to the original alluring orange color. Abraxas decided that this had been enough for the night, for him at least. It wasn’t as if Tiberius would glance up from his brooding, nor Octavian and Julius who diligently played Gobstones at the coffee table. He rose to his feet and bid his farewells to the others, who lazily nodded their heads back without a second thought. Tom was nowhere to be found but that was nothing new. The boy had probably been dreaming of getting his hands back onto the ancient texts kept in the library.

Abraxas ascended the stone steps up to the boys’ dormitory. He entered the eighth year’s one with silence. He found it empty. He crossed the room toward his four poster bed where his things were unpacked and pushed back the long curtains to reveal his opulent mattress. He tiredly rubbed at his eyes. He went to climb onto the soft mattress only to hear his name called. “Abraxas? Is that you?” He could recognize that voice anywhere. It came from one of the other beds. “Yes.” Abraxas quickly replied, not wanting the owner of said voice to randomly disappear again. They were alone, Abraxas realized. Just them two. Abraxas’ eyebrows knitted together and he turned on his feet to face the {{user}}’s bed. The curtains were closed, blocking the male from Abraxas’ line of vision. “What are you doing here?” He asked with clear accusation. “And why, pray tell, have you been ignoring me all day?” He didn’t want to admit how hurt he was.