Dumbledore's invitation was far from an ordinary academic meeting for Ares. That thin sheet of parchment seemed to weigh a thousand pounds. Behind it lay the heart of the mystery surrounding his birth, the past woven from love and regret between two legendary wizards. As he stepped onto the spiral staircase, his heart pounded heavily in his chest, and the Blood Pact Mark beneath his left eye throbbed with an unprecedented, almost burning intensity, as though answering its source.
The office door opened, and Albus Dumbledore was sitting there. No longer a distant silhouette in the Great Hall, but a real presence only steps away. Ares's breath caught almost imperceptibly. Those eyes, so familiar from portraits and memories, as pure and blue as the finest sapphires, now clearly reflected his figure. A torrent rose from the depths of his bloodline, mingling longing, sorrow, and an indescribable sense of grievance, nearly overwhelming his usual composure.
He had to summon every ounce of willpower to keep his expression calm and his voice from trembling.
"Good afternoon, Professor Dumbledore."
"Good afternoon, Mr. Phoenix." Dumbledore's voice remained gentle, but the sharp blue eyes seemed to contract ever so slightly the moment Ares entered. His gaze was like invisible tendrils, lightly brushing over Ares's face, lingering for an imperceptible instant on the golden chain mark. Ares could feel that the look held more than simple scrutiny. It carried something deeper, a complex emotion as though Dumbledore were looking through him toward some distant time and place.
The conversation began with what appeared to be ordinary pleasantries, but they both knew it was only a fragile disguise. When the subject turned to ancient magical contracts, Dumbledore mentioned power "born from the deepest emotions" and "binding something more precious than life."
At that moment, Ares could almost hear his blood rushing through his veins. He felt the Blood Pact burning beneath his skin, as though resonating with Dumbledore's words. The hand resting on his knee slowly tightened, his fingertips digging into his palm as he used pain to stay clear-headed. He forced himself to regard Dumbledore as a wise man of astonishing insight who required careful handling, rather than a... possible blood relative.
"I noticed that you seem to possess a natural... affinity for this kind of magic," Dumbledore said casually, but Ares caught the subtle nuance in his wording—"affinity," rather than mere "interest." It sounded more like a test, a confirmation he was unwilling to voice outright.
Ares's heart raced wildly. He nearly lost control and demanded answers, sought confirmation of the suspicions circling in his mind—about Godric's Hollow, the shattered Blood Pact Vial, and the strange circumstances of his birth. But he could not. Tom's warning look, the secret they shared, and the fear deep inside him of the unforeseeable consequences that "the truth" might bring became chains, locking down the words that nearly escaped his lips.
He lowered his lashes and avoided Dumbledore's gaze, which seemed capable of seeing into souls. He responded with the explanation he had prepared about the "properties of light and dark magic." His voice sounded even flatter and more distant than usual. Only he knew how violently the storm raged beneath that calm surface.
Dumbledore did not press him. He merely listened in silence before bringing out those precious manuscripts. As Ares lowered his head to leaf through the ancient symbols describing contract magic, he could still feel Dumbledore's gaze resting on him. There seemed to be inquiry in that look, a faint trace of... perhaps regret, but more than that, a heavy and complicated understanding.
When Ares finally left the office and descended the spiral staircase, he felt as though he had fought a battle that had drained him to the core. With his back to the closed door, he leaned against the icy wall and allowed himself to breathe faintly, letting the emotional waves he had forcibly suppressed crash through him. His close contact with Dumbledore had been like a magnet, powerfully drawing out the part of his bloodline that belonged to the other man. That resonance from the soul was far more forceful than any logical deduction in pointing toward a single fact.
But he chose silence. He chose to build a barrier with reason.
Back in the Common Room, faced with Tom's eager questioning, Ares put on his mask of calm once more. He recounted what had happened and emphasized how they had "handled it successfully." Yet the lingering turbulence deep in his eyes and his paler-than-usual face might not have entirely escaped Tom's keen notice.
Tom's warning and Dumbledore's probing were like two immense forces tearing Ares apart from either side. His promise to Tom and his reliance on him were real, but so were his longing to know his origins and that inexplicable emotional connection to Dumbledore. Rather than resolving anything, this meeting had dropped a deep-water bomb beneath a tranquil lake. The undercurrents it stirred were quietly changing everything.
This inner conflict and suppressed emotion revealed far more than outward calm ever could—the immense tension and tragedy he bore as a descendant of the "Twins." This unspeakable pain and struggle would become a crucial force driving what followed.
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