Abraxas shook his head in disapproval. His fingers itched to pinch that fair, soft little face, but for the sake of the days ahead, he decided to endure it for now. Lowering his eyes as if in thought, Abraxas reached out and wrapped an arm around the person turning to leave. Bending down, he chuckled by Tom's ear. "If you call me Abou from now on, I won't bother you anymore. How about it? A pretty good deal, isn't it?"
Warm breath brushed against his neck. Tom flexed his fingers and resisted the urge to clutch his chest. He needed to visit the Hospital Wing. There had to be something wrong with his body. Could it be that heart disease he had heard about in the Muggle world?
Taking a deep breath, Tom closed his eyes and reluctantly murmured, "Abou..." The warm embrace withdrew, and Tom instinctively leaned back, unwilling to let that warmth leave him. The hand resting on his shoulder brought him back to his senses, and the low laughter he heard made his face turn completely red.
Tom ran all the way to the Black Lake before daring to look back. Annoyed, he smacked his own head. There was no need to think about it—his panicked escape must have looked incredibly stupid! Maybe Abou would hate how foolish he had looked...
Hate him?
Tom frowned slightly, growing even more irritated. That was fine. As long as that idle, bored young aristocrat grew tired of treating him like a plaything, he could return to his normal life. But... the thought made him feel terribly upset!
"Bastard! Didn't you say you wanted to be my investor...?"
Picking up a stone by his feet, Tom threw it across the lake's surface and gradually calmed down. That was right. As long as he could bring benefits to the young aristocrat, he would not be discarded. As long as he remained useful, he could maintain their current relationship. Abraxas's kindness toward him now was only because of his bloodline. A descendant of Slytherin was enough to drive pure-bloods mad with pursuit.
Whether Abraxas intended to exploit his identity and turn him into another Antorus Osbert—the eighteenth-century Minister of Magic—a puppet controlled by Malfoy, it did not matter. As long as he still had value, that was enough...
Unaware that someone was cursing him, Abraxas rubbed his itchy nose. Returning to the common room, he sat beside his "good friend." "Leander... what do you think of my proposal?"
Leander narrowed his eyes dangerously and glanced at his sister, who was chatting with the young witches. He recalled the banquet they had attended during the holidays. The bastard before him was truly detestable! How dared he lay his claws on his adorable, innocent, kind little angel! "Kill you! I really want to kill you!"
Knowing full well how terrifying a sister-con was, Abraxas raised his hands in surrender. The Greengrass family blood curse was troublesome. The sister among these twins had unfortunately inherited the curse, and symptoms had already begun to appear. Though he felt some sympathy, she really was suitable to become his future wife. "Rather than weakening away and dying in loneliness, I can give Olivia a brief happiness... You should trust the character of House of Malfoy~"
The mockery on Leander's face was nearly tangible. He truly, truly wanted to kill every male creature in the world! With a defeated sigh, he admitted that compared to the other trashy aristocrats, the bastard before him at least knew his limits. "All you want is an heir. I don't care how you do it—spells or potions! Don't lay a single finger on Olivia! Once an heir is born, I'll take her home... Damn it... I still want to kill you!"
Abraxas nodded in agreement. His survival instincts were practically screaming; he had a feeling that if he truly produced an heir in the traditional way, House of Malfoy would vanish completely. "Magic is amazing, isn't it? I'll make it happen!"
Before you continue