Ripples from the Tea Party and a Trial of Trust

Slughorn's tea party invitation was like a stone tossed into a still lake, sending ripples through the warm atmosphere of Serene Residence. Tom immediately went into preparation mode, practicing his manners with greater rigor, repeatedly considering the phrasing he might use in conversation, and even dragging Ares into rehearsing various social scenarios. He valued this opportunity far more than he did any ordinary lesson.

Ares, meanwhile, appeared calmer. He cooperated with Tom's rehearsals, but spent more time thinking. How had Slughorn pinpointed their location in Hogsmeade so precisely? Had it merely been student gossip, or some kind of test at Dumbledore's behest? The secret of the blood pact within him, along with the system's existence, made him uneasy about being exposed to more watchful eyes.

[Host, don't worry! (???) You are the chosen one, blessed by this system! A mere tea party is nothing!]

[Temporary Quest: Make an Elegant Appearance]

[Quest Requirement: At Slughorn's tea party, engage in effective exchanges with at least three guests from different backgrounds, and ensure that the target individuals gain at least one valuable piece of information or promise.]

[Quest Reward: A temporary "Social Butterfly" aura bonus (duration: one tea party), as well as an exclusively crafted privacy-protection tip sheet: "How Not to Have Your Privacy Probed" (theoretical edition)!]

The system's encouragement eased Ares's nerves somewhat, but the words "theoretical edition" left him caught between laughter and tears.

On the day of the tea party, they put on their neatest school robes, carefully tidied with magic, and arrived at the lavishly decorated cottage Slughorn had temporarily rented in Hogsmeade. Seven or eight people had already gathered inside. Aside from Slughorn himself and Abraxas Malfoy, there was a wizard who worked as an editor for the Daily Prophet, an official from the Ministry of Magic's Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, and a strangely dressed scholar said to study ancient alchemy.

"Ah! Our young geniuses have arrived!" Slughorn enthusiastically came forward, introducing Tom and Ares to everyone as though displaying rare specimens. His gaze lingered for several extra seconds on Ares's mismatched eyes and markings, filled with undisguised curiosity.

Tom immediately became the center of attention. Calm and poised, he spoke with flawless manners. He could discuss the history of the Secrecy Law with the Ministry official, pick up the alchemy scholar's obscure discussion of the Philosopher's Stone's symbolic meaning, and occasionally make the editor burst into laughter with perfectly timed humor. He deftly guided the conversation and eventually drew vague information from the magical creatures official regarding "the Ministry's recent investigative priorities concerning certain rare magical creature smuggling cases"—information that was undoubtedly valuable to Tom, who aspired to collect rare materials.

Ares, following both the system's quest and his own style, chose a more understated approach. He listened quietly, only occasionally asking a question from his distinctive, straight-to-the-heart perspective at crucial moments. More often than not, those questions sparked deeper discussions and made both the editor and the alchemy scholar see him in a new light. When Slughorn showed off an ancient ring from his collection that supposedly possessed the ability to "faintly sense emotions," Ares drew on his knowledge of Runic script to accurately point out that one of the runes had been misinterpreted. Its true function was more akin to "emotional memory storage," leaving Slughorn astonished and full of praise.

The tea party seemed to be progressing smoothly. However, just as the atmosphere was at its most harmonious, the alchemy scholar—an elderly witch named Eleanor Peverell with sharp eyes—suddenly fixed her gaze on Ares's face, especially the Golden Chain Pattern beneath his left eye.

"Mr. Phoenix," she said in an archaic tone, "forgive an old scholar's curiosity. The marking on your face... is most unusual. I seem to have seen descriptions of similar symbols in a fragment of an extremely ancient alchemical manuscript concerning 'contracts' and 'bloodlines.' It is said to be connected to a kind of... power of 'oaths' that transcends ordinary magic."

In an instant, the entire sitting room fell silent. Every gaze turned to Ares. Slughorn's eyes widened, while Abraxas also showed interest. The hand holding Tom's teacup tightened almost imperceptibly, and his black eyes instantly became unfathomably deep as he stared fixedly at Ares.

Ares's heart jolted. Here it came! One of the things he feared most!

He maintained his outward calm, meeting Professor Peverell's probing gaze with his mismatched eyes. "Is that so, Professor Peverell? Unfortunately, I don't know where it came from. It has been there for as long as I can remember." He used the all-purpose excuse of "amnesia" once more, but he could feel how feeble it sounded before such professional scrutiny.

Professor Peverell nodded thoughtfully and did not press further, but her sharp eyes seemed to have already marked Ares as a "mystery waiting to be solved."

The tea party ended not long after that small incident. On the way back to Serene Residence, the two remained silent. The atmosphere was far heavier than it had been on the way there.

The moment they returned to their safe refuge, Tom immediately waved his wand and cast several soundproofing charms. Then he turned to face Ares. The perfect smile from the tea party was gone from his face, replaced only by cold scrutiny.

"That marking," Tom said, his voice suppressing some emotion. "'The power of oaths'? Ares, just how many things are you hiding from me?"

He did not explode in rage as he had before, but this cold questioning—laced with the feeling of having been kept in the dark and excluded from secrets—placed even greater pressure on Ares. He could feel Tom's trust beginning to waver.

Ares knew he could not reveal the truth about the blood pact or the system. He took a deep breath and chose partial honesty, steering the focus toward their emotional bond. "I can't explain all of it, Tom. But I can swear," he said, looking directly into Tom's eyes with utter seriousness, "that this marking, and everything 'different' about me, is connected to the bond between us. It... protects me, and perhaps it was only because I met you that it truly awakened."

It was the explanation closest to the truth that he could offer, and it placed Tom at the center of cause and effect.

Tom stared at him as though trying to distinguish every trace of truth and falsehood in his words. Ares did not avoid his gaze. His mismatched eyes held only openness and... a faint, almost imperceptible plea.

A long silence stretched between them. The fireplace flames flickered, casting shifting light and shadow across their faces.

[Alert! Alert! (;′??Д??`) A trust crisis! Host, think of something quickly!]

At last, the oppressive tension around Tom slowly eased somewhat. He looked away and walked to the window, turning his back to Ares.

"I don't like being kept in the dark, Ares." His voice was still cold. "Especially not when it makes me look like a fool in front of others because I know nothing about you."

"I know," Ares said softly. "But this is all I can tell you. And all of it is true." He stepped forward and stopped a short distance behind Tom. "We're together, Tom. No matter what secrets I have, that will never change."

Tom did not turn around or speak. But Ares saw the hand resting on the windowsill slowly loosen from its clenched fist.

This tea party had brought them valuable information, but it had also drawn deeper attention and suspicion. Professor Peverell's words lodged like a thorn in Tom's heart, foreshadowing that Ares's extraordinary origins would surely stir greater upheaval as they moved forward. Trust had endured another harsh trial. Though it had not broken for now, cracks had already begun to show. The tranquility of their summer haven was being gradually eroded by the dark undercurrents surging in from beyond.