Chapter Text
The next day, the grounds of Nevermore Academy were a hive of frantic, competitive energy, all focused on the upcoming Poe Cup. The air was thick with the scent of damp moss, pine, and the latent adrenaline of outcasts preparing for war. Tyler arrived in his beat-up truck, maneuvering past a flurry of black-and-purple-clad students who were hauling canoes and last-minute supplies toward the lake.
He hopped out, armed with a tray that held three carefully constructed Weathervane creations. In his hand, he had a quadruple-shot black coffee—a straight, uncompromising caffeine hit—which was for Wednesday. Beside it sat The Potter Paradox for his boyfriend: a complex mix of mocha, lavender, and a dusting of cayenne, perfectly mirroring Harry’s own layered and dangerous nature. Finally, the third cup was a towering, aggressively sugary, whipped cream-topped confection for Enid, complete with a neon-pink straw and enough caramel drizzle to qualify as a structural hazard.
Tyler had come to support the three of them, and beneath the warm, contented thrum of the Hyde, he was morbidly curious as to what Harry and Wednesday had planned for revenge on Bianca Barclay. If there were two people on this planet that Tyler would not want to be on the bad side of, it was his brilliant, hex-happy wizard of a boyfriend and his chillingly efficient cousin-in-law.
As Tyler was heading down the lake path, finding it strange but refreshing to be greeted by some of the outcasts who had grown to know him both as Harry's partner and as a friend of Nevermore (if they only knew), he ran into Laurel Gates, in her Marilyn Thornhill disguise. She was fussing over a bouquet of wilting lilies near the boathouse entrance, her expression a mix of nervous energy and the friendly, forced smile that Harry had already flagged as 'off'.
Tyler came to a halt, the Weathervane tray balanced steadily in his grip, as he offered the woman a polite, practiced smile. “Morning, Miss Thornhill,” he greeted, his voice carrying the effortless charm of the local barista. Beneath the denim of his new jacket, the Hyde gave a low, wary vibration, its internal snarl silenced by the proximity of his master. He watched as she methodically plucked a dead leaf from a lily, her hands trembling with a faint, persistent anxiety that Harry had correctly identified as a red flag.
Laurel looked up, her thick-rimmed glasses catching the morning light as she beamed at him with a look of frantic, maternal pride. “Tyler! How wonderful to see you here,” she chirped, her voice hitting that high, slightly too-bright pitch of Marilyn Thornhill. She gestured vaguely toward the coffee tray, her eyes searching his for a sign of their shared secret. “I assume you’re here to provide the necessary fuel for our competitive captains? I heard through the grapevine that Wednesday and Enid have formed a rather formidable partnership for the race.”
“Something like that,” Tyler replied, his tone remaining neutral and professional. He glanced toward the water, where the Ophelia Hall canoe was being prepped for the start. He knew Laurel was watching him, checking the foundation of her 'masterpiece,' and he made sure to keep his expression carefully blank. The memory of Harry’s genuine warmth and the fierce joy of their double date last night felt like a protective shield against the cold, clinical directives he knew were coming.
Laurel stepped closer, her friendly facade remaining in place for any passing students, but her voice dropped to a silken, low register that carried the authority of the basement. “Keep them distracted, Tyler,” she whispered, her smile sharp and predatory. “While they are focused on their petty rivalries, they won’t see the true storm gathering in the woods. Ensure Potter stays close to you; his magic is a variable we cannot afford to leave unmonitored.”
“Understood,” Tyler murmured, offering her a final, dutiful nod. He adjusted his hold on the coffee tray and resumed his march toward the docks, the Hyde’s resonant purr returning as he spotted Harry's wild black hair amidst the crowd. The mission for vengeance loomed, but as Tyler navigated the flurry of black and purple, his only priority was reaching the wizard who made the darkness feel worth surviving.
#
Earlier, as Bianca walked past Wednesday, giving her a smug look of triumph, the siren had no idea that Wednesday, Harry, and Thing had already plotted the beginning of the end for her and her group, the Gold Bugs. Bianca’s arrogance, fueled by her consecutive streak of Poe Cup victories, acted as a blinding shroud; she saw only a rival roommate and a displaced wizard, failing to recognize the lethal tactical synergy of the Addams and Potter lineages. While Bianca calculated the timing of her siren-aided strokes, Harry and Wednesday had already methodically mapped out every probable point of sabotage, preparing a response that would transform her inevitable victory into a public catastrophe.
Enid approached Wednesday near the edge of the docks, her neon-pink aura vibrating with a mix of adrenaline-fueled terror and intoxicating hope. She leaned in, her voice hitting a high pitch of anticipation as she inquired, “Everything set?”
“Yes, Thing is in position and Harry is gathering what he needs from his dorm now,” Wednesday told her, her voice a flat, deadpan rasp. She slowly turned her head, her dark eyes locking onto the Gold Bugs’ vessel with a look of retribution. A slight, almost imperceptible smirk graced her face—a rare display of macabre amusement that seemed to lower the temperature of the shoreline—before she stated, “It'll be a day full of surprises.”
Enid’s face split into a wide, brilliant grin, her excitement momentarily eclipsing the memory of the vandalized hull. She bounced on the balls of her feet, her hands performing a rapid-fire celebratory dance in the morning sun. “Speaking of surprises, your costume is in the tent,” she told Wednesday.
Wednesday went perfectly rigid, her dark pigtails seemingly twitching with a sudden, jagged spark of professional alarm. She turned her unblinking gaze toward Enid, her expression a mask of profound, soul-searching bewilderment as she processed the logistical horror of the word. “Costume?” Wednesday inquired, her voice dropping to a low, skeptical register that suggested she found the prospect more daunting than an actual homicide.
Wednesday threw the tent flaps open with aggression as she stepped out wearing her Black Cat costume, complete with cat ears. The sleek, dark fabric of the suit matched her unyielding aesthetic, though the addition of the ears provided a jarring, whimsical contrast that seemed to personally offend her. Enid came up to her and practically vibrated with secondhand delight. "O.M.G. You look purr-fect!" Enid chirped, her voice hitting a high, caffeinated pitch. She leaned in closer, her bright blue eyes performing a quick sweep of Wednesday’s face before she inquired, "Where are your whiskers?"
Wednesday gave Enid a look that could melt steel. She stood with a chilling, statuesque stillness, her dark eyes narrowing until they were nothing more than razor-sharp slits of obsidian. "If you value your nine lives you will not inquire about my lack of whiskers again," Wednesday told her, her tone unyielding as it carried the weight of a final judgment.
Harry arrived at the shoreline in high spirits, his boots clicking sharply against the gravel as he navigated the flurry of competitive energy. He was all grins, his mismatched eyes sparkling with a reckless, celebratory mischief, having successfully gathered the specific magical components and supplies he required from his dormitory for his impending revenge on Bianca Barclay. He adjusted his gold-rimmed glasses, the Seeker within him already mapping out the lake’s currents and the probable trajectories of the competing canoes. However, the moment he looked upon Wednesday and Enid—especially the small, dark-clad 'cat' standing in front of him—his professional composure shattered instantly. Harry busted out in a laugh so sudden and violent that he was forced to grip his stomach, doubling over as he struggled to find air. The sheer, posh absurdity of the situation brought genuine tears of mirth to his eyes, his emerald and blue gaze reflecting the absolute, chaotic joy of seeing the unblinking Addams girl wearing pointed ears.
Wednesday did not look amused; she remained a statuesque pillar of gloom, her dark pigtails seemingly twitching with a murderous intent as she watched her cousin's hysterics. She stood perfectly rigid in the sleek, dark fabric of her Black Cat suit, the material absorbing the morning sun like a void. “I will suffocate you in your sleep if you do not regain your composure, cousin,” Wednesday hissed.
Harry, after a few desperate gasps of breath, finally regained his composure, wiping tears away from his eyes with the back of his hand. He straightened his Nevermore blazer, though his shoulders still shook with suppressed mirth as he gasped out, “I'm sorry. It's just...you look so ridiculously adorable. It's such a stark contrast from your normal 'funeral director' look.” He leaned in slightly, leveling Wednesday with a sarcastically appreciative smirk. “I wish I looked as good as you do right now, Wednesday. Truly, it's a vision.”
Enid, however, did not take the comment sarcastically at all. Her neon-pink aura practically ignited with a sudden, triumphant energy, and she clapped her hands together in a sharp, rhythmic burst. “Then good news bestie! I had a costume made up just for you!” she chirped, her voice hitting a high, caffeinated pitch of celebratory success.
Harry's face fell immediately, the wolfish grin evaporating to be replaced by a look of profound dread. The realization that he too was to be subjected to the black cat makeover hit him with the force of a Stunning Spell.
He began to sputter out, “Oh, well that’s very…nice of you Enid. But I mean, I’m only a supporting player. I’m not actually…a member of the team. No, no. A surprise, really. The wind beneath your wings sort of thing. I couldn’t…”
Wednesday, reveling in this newfound information and the delicious opportunity for familial retribution, stepped closer to her cousin. She offered him a chilling, microscopic smirk—the first hint of macabre amusement he'd seen all day. “But Harry, don't you want to look ridiculously adorable as well?” she asked. “And Enid worked so hard on this costume for you. It would be a shame to upset her and potentially derail her team spirit before the race.”
At that, Enid unleashed her most devastating weapon, giving Harry her best, most shimmering puppy-dog eyes while resting her chin on her hands in a look of soulful pleading. The sheer, unadulterated power of the gaze was more than the wizard's defensive wards could handle. Harry let out a long, theatrical groan of total, amused frustration, his head thumping forward as he surrendered to his fate. He pivoted on his heel and began a slow, rhythmic march into the Black Cat tent.
“I’ll get you both back for this later, just you wait,” He muttered to himself as the tent flap closed behind him.
Harry had barely crossed the threshold of the Black Cat tent when Tyler made his way toward the docks, expertly navigating the chaotic swarm of Nevermore students. He greeted Enid and Wednesday with his customary easygoing smile, presenting the Weathervane tray as if it were a peace offering in a war zone. Enid practically chirped with gratitude, thanking Tyler profusely for the caffeine and the moral support, her neon-pink aura vibrating with a frantic energy.
Wednesday, by contrast, accepted her quadruple-shot black coffee with a clinical, unblinking nod. “Your services are appreciated,” she rasped, her voice a flat blade that cut through the festive noise.
Tyler merely grinned, leaning casually against a wooden post as he watched the roommates prepare. “Happy to assist,” he replied, his dark eyes sparkling with a mischievous warmth.
Just then, the three of them were startled by a muffled, indignant roar echoing from within the canvas walls. “This is ridiculous, Enid!” Harry barked, the tone sharp with a sudden, jagged spark of aristocratic offense. “Why is this so bloody tight!? I feel like I'm being vacuum-sealed for a cryogenic experiment!”
Enid didn't even pause her frantic pace, merely rolling her eyes at the dramatic wizard. “Quit being such a drama queen, Harry!” she shouted back. “You’re going to look handsome and iconic, and your boyfriend is right here to witness the glory! Just zip it up and stop pouting!”
Harry’s retort was immediate and passionate, his voice rising to a frantic, indignant pitch. “I am not a drama queen, you batty wolf!” he hollered, the sound vibrating the very tent poles. “I am a fierce, battle-hardened wizard who is not meant to be dressed like a bad cosplay character at a comic convention!” The argument reached its crescendo as the tent flap was violently ripped open. A morose-looking Harry marched out into the morning sun, his posture stiff with a wounded pride.
Enid let out a gasp of pure, unadulterated excitement, her hands performing a rapid-fire victory lap. Even Wednesday looked as if she were holding back a rare flicker of a smile or laughter.
Tyler...Tyler simply forgot how to breathe. Harry hadn't been exaggerating the fit; the black cat costume was a sleek, second skin that form-fit his body with an unforgiving precision. The material highlighted every sharp line of his athletic physique, showing off the lean, powerful muscles Harry had developed through years of Seeker-training and survival. As the wizard turned to adjust his gold-rimmed glasses, his perfect rump was on full display, the denim and spandex cupping his posterior in a way that made the air in Tyler’s lungs feel suddenly very thin. The Hyde within the barista let out a long, resonant purr of absolute, carnal triumph; the monster didn't see a costume, only a meal served up with a spectacular, high-stakes flair. Tyler felt his carnal urges taking over with a sudden, violent intensity, his dark eyes dilating as he performed a slow, predatory sweep of his wizard boyfriend from head to toe.
Harry pouted, his lower lip protruding in a look of annoyance, and tried to fix the restrictive costume he was wearing, while Enid practically vibrated with delight. She commented, “You. Look. So. Cute! Oh! I need to add your whiskers to complete the vision.”
Harry gave Enid a sharp, lethal glare, his mismatched eyes igniting with a sudden, jagged spark of protective irritation. “Don't you dare, Sinclair!” he barked, his British drawl lifting with a playful, defensive lilt. “I already look bloody ridiculous!”
Enid just rolled her eyes at Harry's antics, her hands performing a dismissive wave in the air. Then, she noticed the possessive, predatory look in Tyler's eyes—a gaze of such hungry, unblinking intensity that it seemed to vibrate the very atmosphere around the tent. She grinned, her matchmaking instincts reaching a fever pitch, as she nudged Tyler playfully with her elbow. “What do you think of Harry's costume, Tyler?” she inquired.
Tyler shook his head, a helpless, genuine grin breaking across his face as he struggled to maintain his professional barista composure. He cleared his throat, the sound a sharp, intentional break to regain his focus, before he asked, “Enid, when does the Poe Cup actually start?”
Enid checked her smartphone and told him, “About twenty minutes. Plenty of time for a few more photos and some strategic team-building!”
Tyler handed over the Weathervane drink tray, with Harry's Paradox still resting in it, as he told Enid, “Good, cause I need to borrow my boyfriend for a minute. Private consultation regarding... aerodynamic efficiency.”
Before anyone could object, Tyler moved with a sudden, predatory grace, his hand clamping firmly onto Harry's wrist. He grabbed the wizard by the hand and drug him back into the shadows of the Black Cat tent, his movements fluid and urgent. He tossed Harry into the tent before he told Enid, his voice a low, daring rumble, “Please ensure nobody disturbs us.” He closed the tent flap with a flourish of definitive, theatrical finality as he descended on his boyfriend, the Hyde within him purring in carnal victory.
Enid and Wednesday just stood on the shoreline and drank their respective drinks as Enid commented with a soft, romantic sigh, “You're right, Wednesday. They really do act like cats in heat.”
Wednesday took a slow sip of her quadruple-shot black coffee and replied back, “That's what I've been saying since the Harvest Festival. The sheer volume of their hormonal synchronization is offensive.”
Inside the tent, the air was thick with the scent of adrenaline and unmasked desire. Tyler grabbed Harry and lifted him up by his thighs, guiding his hands up so that they were cupping his boyfriend's ass as he attacked Harry's mouth with a predatory intensity. Harry wrapped his legs around Tyler's waist and his arms around Tyler's neck as he kissed Tyler back, his movements fluid and urgent. Tyler wasn't satisfied with just making out with his boyfriend. He began to attack Harry's jawline, his neck, his earlobes, anywhere he could sink his teeth into Harry's sweet, pale flesh. Harry whined at the assault, trying to grind himself against his boyfriend as the heat of their shared want began to boil over.
Tyler whispered into Harry's ear, his voice a low, gravelly rasp of carnal liberation, “I want to rip this outfit off of you with my teeth, Har.” He licked and bit Harry's ear again, the Hyde's possessive warmth radiating through his skin and causing Harry to cry out in pleasure. “Seriously Harry, I don't know how I'm going to get through the day with you looking so delicious in this spandex.”
Harry whines, his breathing ragged and needy as he arched his back against Tyler's sturdy frame, “Ty. Ty, this isn't fair. I can't...I want you so bad right now. But we have a race...we have to…”
Harry's protests were interrupted as Tyler kissed him hard again, sliding his tongue into Harry's wanting mouth to taste the minty residue of his morning routine. Harry continued to make out with his boyfriend, running his hands frantically through Tyler's hair. He pulled Tyler's head back sharply, causing Tyler to moan as Harry returned the favor and attacked Tyler's neck with his teeth, leaving fresh, dark bruises on Tyler's flesh. Tyler grunted in ecstasy as he tightened the grip on Harry's ass, dragging his nails against the tight fabric of the Black Cat costume, the Hyde within him purring in satisfaction as they marked each other in the shadows of the tent.
#
When Tyler and Harry emerged from the Black Cat tent later, the morning sun felt jarringly bright against their flushed skin. Harry was adjusting his cat ears with a sheepish, lopsided grin, methodically smoothing down the rumpled fabric of his costume as Tyler was putting the denim jacket Harry had bought him back on, fixing his hair with a practiced, nonchalant grace. The two of them radiated a palpable, post-coital energy that seemed to charge the air around them. Enid and Wednesday, who had already finished their drinks as Tyler and Harry emerged, were giving them vastly different looks: Enid was looking at them with wide-eyed awe and a deep, neon-pink flush on her cheeks from the unmistakable noises she had heard coming out of the tent.
Wednesday, by contrast, looked at them as if she needed to invest in a water bottle to spray on them when they acted like wild animals, her unblinking gaze performing a cold, clinical autopsy of their disheveled state. She handed Harry his coffee order, which was a little watered down from sitting in the sun but he didn't care in the least. He took it happily, his green-tinted fingers brushing against hers, and took a slow, appreciative sip of the cool brew, the caffeine grounding him back to the competitive reality of the lake.
He muttered into his straw, “Bloody horny boyfriends,” his British drawl low and saturated with a reckless, affectionate mischief.
Tyler caught the remark and offered a slow, wolfish smirk—the look of a predator who had just been thoroughly satiated—telling Harry, “I don’t mind being called your ‘bloody horny boyfriend,’ especially when you have no problem showing off my hand work.” He emphasized this by kissing an already bruising hickie on Harry’s neck. The Hyde within Tyler let out a final, resonant purr of absolute contentment, sensing that the private consultation regarding 'aerodynamic efficiency' had been a spectacular success.
Just then, the speakers positioned around the shoreline crackled to life, and Principal Weems' authoritative voice announced, “All competitors, please head down to the pier. All competitors, please head down to the pier. The Poe Cup will begin soon.” The announcement triggered a frantic wave of movement as students in various costumes began dragging their canoes toward the water's edge.
Enid squeaked in excitement, her neon-pink aura practically vibrating with adrenaline as she grabbed Wednesday's arm. “Let's go co-captain,” she told Wednesday. Enid and Wednesday headed towards the pier, with Enid turning back to wave frantically at Harry, telling him, “see you down there!” Wednesday followed with her customary statuesque stillness, her dark pigtails swaying as she prepared for the tactical carnage ahead.
Harry acknowledged them both by tipping his coffee cup in their direction, his mismatched eyes sparkling with a supportive mischief. He turned and looked at Tyler, who was leaning casually against a wooden post, as he inquired, “Gonna stay and watch the festivities?”
Tyler chuckled and adjusted his denim jacket, his dark eyes locking onto Harry's with an unmasked devotion. “Oh yeah. There's no way I plan on missing whatever spectacle you and Wednesday have planned for Bianca,” he said, his voice a low, melodic rumble. The Hyde within him gave an expectant thrum, eager to witness the wizard's intervention.
Harry just took a victorious sip of his Paradox, the sharp kick of the cayenne grounding him, before he replied to Tyler with a grin, “Good boy.”
Tyler rolled his eyes at the blatant, posh command, but a helpless, genuine smile broke across his face as he followed behind Harry. They made their way down towards the dock, the wizard in his form-fitting spandex and the barista in his favorite jacket, ready to watch Nevermore's tradition be dismantled by a bit of Addams and Potter magic.
#
The four distinct canoes and their determined rowers were meticulously lined up along in the water by the pier’s edge, each vessel a floating monument to the pride of Nevermore and subversive sabotage. Starting the line was the Pit and the Pendulum, followed by the Amontillado, where Ajax and Xavier were barely recognizable beneath their elaborate jester costumes. Their faces were painted in stark, contrasting patterns of white and crimson, joined by two other boys from Caliban Hall who looked equally committed to the theatrical absurdity of the race. Next in the queue were the Black Cats, featuring Wednesday in her unyielding statuesque stillness and Enid, whose neon-pink aura was practically vibrating with competitive adrenaline. Finally, at the end of the line, sat the Gold Bugs; Bianca and Divina sat perfectly poised, their expressions carrying a look of assured triumph that suggested they already considered the trophy their own.
From the bustling sidelines, Tyler stood as a grounded anchor amidst the flurry of black and purple, his dark eyes fixed on the wizard who had so sinfully marked him prior. He was standing beside Sirius, whose grey eyes sparkled with a mischievous, Marauder-like light as he watched the frantic preparations with an air of aristocratic boredom. The Hyde within Tyler gave a low, expectant thrum, its predatory instincts alert not for blood, but for the impending display of Harry's magic. Together, the students and teachers of Nevermore stood in a state of collective, breathless anticipation, the Vermont morning air thick with the scent of pine and the looming promise of a tradition about to be dismantled by the combined weight of Addams and Potter retribution.
Harry, still encased in the restrictive, form-fitting spandex of his black cat costume, stood hidden, not wanting to give the game up just yet. His focus was pinned entirely on the Gold Bugs, his mismatched eyes narrowing behind his gold-rimmed glasses with a chilling, clinical clarity. The memory of the vandalized canoe and the 'Queen of the Queue's' arrogance burned in his blood like a persistent hex. He took one final, victorious sip of his Paradox, the sharp kick of the cayenne grounding his magic as he prepared to provide the specific, sideline 'assistance' he had promised Enid. The Poe Cup was seconds from starting, and Harry James Potter was ready to show Bianca Barclay exactly what happens when you strike from the shadows against the House of Potter.
“I want to welcome you all to the Edgar Allan Poe Cup,” Principal Weems announced, radiating with practiced, spirited authority. “This is one of Nevermore's proudest annual traditions, dating back 125 years. Each team must row across to Raven Island, pull a flag from Crackstone's Crypt, and hustle back without sinking or being sunk. First team to cross the finish line with their flag wins the cup and bragging rights for a year, as well as some special privileges. Let the Poe Cup begin!”
With the firing of the starting pistol, the four canoes began to row away from the pier and towards Crackstone’s Crypt. Quickly, the Amontillado team took the lead, with Xavier playfully telling the Black Cats, “Excuse us.”
The Black Cats followed behind in second with the Gold Bugs and Pit and the Pendulum trailing behind them. As they passed a dock that looked well worn and abandoned, Bianca looked over and signaled to Kent that it was time. The siren boy began to take off his shirt and dived into the lake, his legs transforming quickly into a tail as he swam at near unparalleled speeds towards the canoes.
The Pit and the Pendulum team soon approached the Black Cats, lining themselves up side by side with each other. The Pit and the Pendulum unleashed their trap. With a pull of a lever, they raised a sharp, double blade axe up from the side of their canoe. The axe swung once, then swung back, with the ladies in the Black Cats having to duck in order to avoid being knocked over, or possibly decapitated. The axe fitted itself back against the canoe as the Pit and the Pendulum took the advantage and advanced further ahead of the Black Cats.
As the Pit and the Pendulum team attempted to extend their advantage, Kent made his move from the shadows beneath the surface. He swam with a clinical, predatory focus until he was positioned directly under their hull. Reaching up, he clamped his hands onto the underside of the canoe and began to exert a steady, unnatural pressure, methodically pushing the rowers off their intended course and toward a large, weathered orange metal buoy that marked a dangerous shoal. The four male rowers sensed the sudden, inexplicable pull and tried frantically to course-correct, their oars splashing uselessly against the water as they struggled to maintain their trajectory. Their efforts proved to be a futile exercise in physics; the center of the canoe struck the unyielding metal of the buoy with a sickening, structural crunch. The vessel broke apart instantly, scattering debris and sending the entire team plunging into the cold lake. They surfaced moments later, muttering a chaotic stream of insults at each other and their shared, public defeat.
Divina and Bianca watched the wreckage with looks of assured, predatory satisfaction, exchanging a knowing glance as they acknowledged Kent. The siren boy offered them a final, triumphant smile before submerging once more, his shimmering tail vanishing into the depths. From his secluded position on the shoreline, Harry watched the entire takedown through his brass spyglass, his mismatched eyes narrowing behind his gold-rimmed glasses as he meticulously cataloged the sirens' opening move for his own impending retribution. He closed the spyglass with a resounding click as he waited for his opportunity.
As the Black Cats continued to row closer and closer to Crackstone's Crypt, Wednesday caught sight of something from her left. Lowering her oar with a sudden, purposeful grace, she pulled out her own spyglass and looked upon the lake, catching the flipping of Kent's tail as he submerged back into the water. “Thing,” she instructed, her voice a flat, deadpan rasp that cut through the rhythmic splashing of the oars, alerting the disembodied hand it was time to make a move. With a flick of a switch hidden beneath the gunwale, Thing unleashed a heavy, weighted net underneath the water that trapped Kent mid-stroke. The siren groaned under the water as he thrashed violently, his shimmering tail becoming entangled in the reinforced mesh as he tried desperately to get himself out of the trap. Wednesday offered the struggling shadow a single, microscopic nod of professional satisfaction before resuming her rowing, her dark pigtails swaying with a clinical focus.
The Amontillado team arrived on the shore of Raven Island first, their canoe skidding against the wet gravel as Ajax and Xavier leapt out. They discarded their oars and immediately began their frantic, theatrical sprint toward the crypt, their jester costumes looking remarkably out of place against the ancient stone. The Black Cats arrived shortly after, their movements carrying the lethal, synchronized urgency of a hunt.
Wednesday vaulted out of the canoe the moment it touched the island’s edge and turned to Enid. "Stay here and make sure Bianca can't sabotage our boat," she commanded, her voice a flat rasp that brooked no argument. Enid looked back at the lake and saw the Gold Bugs were closing in fast, their oars cutting the water with a desperate rhythm. Enid looked at Wednesday and nodded her head, her bright blue eyes wide with adrenaline, as Wednesday turned and took off after the flag at a predatory run.
As Wednesday vanished into the trees, Thing scurried out from his hiding place and appeared to Enid. The werewolf quickly leaned down, whispering to the disembodied hand with a high-pitched intensity, "I need you to distract a couple of jokers". She gestured toward the two Amontillado rowers who had remained behind to guard their own vessel.
Thing did exactly as he was asked, moving with a startling, silent agility through the tall grass. He paused just long enough to flick a pebble at one of them, the sharp clack against their helmet causing both the remaining jokers to look over in confusion. The hand didn't retreat; instead, he stood his ground and flipped them both off with a defiant, stitched finger. Incensed by the biological insult, the two boys gave chase after Thing as he scurried deeper into the island’s interior. This allowed Enid the perfect opportunity to slip over to the unattended Amontillado canoe. Her neon-pink aura flared with a sudden, sharp spike of competitive ruthlessness as she extended her multi-colored claws and, in one fluid motion, swiped four jagged lines through the bottom of their canoe.
Deep within the island's center, the race for the flags reached its frantic crescendo. As Ajax and Xavier reached the weathered stone of the crypt and successfully snatched their team's banner, Wednesday was mere seconds behind them, her dark pigtails whipping with a clinical focus. As the boys turned to make their hurried escape back toward the shoreline, Xavier offered a smug, assured smirk. “Later, Wednesday,” he called out, his voice echoing off the ancient masonry. Unfazed by the taunt, Wednesday reached out to claim her own prize; however, the moment her fingers brushed against a specific, moss-covered section of Crackstone's Crypt, the world around her violently fractured. Her body went deathly rigid, a sudden, internal frost seizing her muscles as her eyes rolled back into her skull, revealing only the whites. She collapsed onto the damp earth with a heavy finality, her consciousness forcibly dragged from the Poe Cup and consumed by a visceral, overwhelming vision.
Inside the vision, the vibrant colors of the Vermont afternoon were replaced by a monochrome landscape of atmospheric decay. Wednesday found herself standing on a distorted version of Raven Island, the familiar silhouette of the crypt looming through a thick, unnatural fog that seemed to swallow the light. Above, the sky was a bruised, heavy grey, raining down a relentless deluge of hot, white ash that blanketed the world like a funeral shroud. She turned, her dark gaze scanning the perimeter of the clearing, until she found herself face to face with a girl who mirrored her own sharp features. The stranger appeared to be a spectral twin, save for her dirty blonde hair and the drab, pale blue Puritan dress she wore. The girl stood with a chilling, statuesque stillness, clutching a heavy, ancient book to her chest with a desperate intensity. She looked directly into Wednesday’s unblinking eyes, her voice a low, melodic rasp that carried the weight of an inescapable destiny. “You are the key,” the girl whispered, the words echoing through the ashen silence of the vision with a devastating clarity.
Wednesday was violently yanked back to reality by the sharp, mocking tone of Bianca Barclay. The siren stood over her, silhouetted against the bright afternoon sun, her translucent blue eyes glinting with a predatory triumph as she inquired, “Enjoying a cat nap?” Bianca didn't wait for a deadpan retort; she and Divina simply snatched the Gold Bugs' flag from the crypt and began their hurried retreat toward the shoreline. Wednesday remained on the damp earth for a lingering second, her fingers still tingling from the residual psychic magic of the vision. She looked back at the weathered stone of the burial site, a profound sense of morbid curiosity pulling at her to linger and investigate the ancient secrets of the clearing. However, the rhythmic chanting of the crowds across the lake reminded her that she had a secondary task to complete—one that involved a very specific brand of Addams retribution.
As the Amontillado and the Gold Bugs rowed away from the gravel banks of Raven Island, Wednesday made her way back to where Enid waited with the Black Cats' vessel. The race toward the finish line began in a frantic, uncoordinated surge, but the Amontillado team soon found their competitive momentum stalling. As they rowed with a desperate rhythm, Xavier felt a sudden, alarming sensation of cold water pooling against his feet. He looked down, his white-and-crimson jester makeup stark against his sudden pallor, and noticed the four jagged claw marks Enid had carved into the base of the hull. As he and his teammates scrambled to bail the rising tide and stop the sinking from happening, the Black Cats rowed past them with a lethal, synchronized grace.
Enid didn't hide her satisfaction, flashing a brilliant grin as she told them, “See ya later, Jokers.” Xavier let out a long, weary groan of defeat as he slipped off his seat, the Amontillado continuing to succumb to the lake's heavy embrace.
From the bustling shoreline, Harry had been monitoring the return trip through his brass spyglass, his Seeker-honed eyes scanning the water for the specific colors of his friends' vessels. The moment the Amontillado breached the island's shadow, he noticed the erratic dipping of their hull and the frantic, uncoordinated splashing of their oars. He saw Xavier's jester costume bobbing dangerously low in the water and realized with clarity that his friends' canoe was sinking. Harry had prepared for the possibility of such a structural failure—or perhaps he had simply anticipated the werewolf's capacity for creative sabotage. He closed his spyglass with a definitive mechanical click and began to move toward the docks, his mismatched eyes igniting with a reckless, protective mischief that signaled the beginning of his own magical intervention.
Sirius, who was standing beside Tyler and watching the chaos with a Marauder’s appreciative smirk, looked over at his godson’s boyfriend and offered him a slow, knowing wink. He adjusted his rumpled blazer, his grey eyes sparking with a shared mischief as he leaned in to murmur to the young man, “Show time.”
As Tyler and Sirius inched closer to the very edge of the shore, weaving through the clusters of cheering students, Harry reached into the sleeve of his restrictive Black Cat costume and pulled out his holly wand. With a fluid, practiced motion that bypassed the need for a verbal incantation, he pointed the wood toward the floundering Amontillado canoe. In an instant, the vessel gave a sudden, violent jolt as the magic took hold, and Xavier and his startled boat mates instinctively grabbed the edges of the gunwale to keep from being thrown into the lake.
“What's going on? What’s happening!?” Xavier shouted, his voice cracking with a high, concerned pitch as he stared at the churning water.
Harry didn’t break his focus, his emerald and blue eyes locked onto the boat with a look of absolute, unblinking authority. With a slow, steady lift of his wand arm, he effortlessly raised the entire canoe clean out of the water, the lake pouring from the hull in a torrent. He began to guide the hovering vessel back toward the shoreline, the sound of four screaming, bewildered jester-clad boys getting louder and more undignified as they approached the docks. When the boat was suspended directly above the wooden pier, Harry gave his wand a sharp, decisive flick, causing the physical canoe to vanish into thin air with a muffled pop. The four occupants, suddenly deprived of their floor, landed on the pier with a surprising, cushioned grace. As Xavier and Ajax scrambled to untangle their limbs, they looked up to find their wizard friend standing over them, his mismatched eyes sparkling with a reckless joy as he gave them a quick, jaunty wave and told them, “Afternoon, Gentlemen.”
Xavier was on his feet first, his movements jerky and uncoordinated as the adrenaline of the flight began to recede. “Potter!” he barked, the name bursting from him with a mix of shock and residual terror. He looked down at the sleek, form-fitting black spandex Harry was wearing, then glanced back toward the lake to confirm they were truly on dry land, and finally turned his gaze back to his friend. He let out a long, weary sigh and rubbed his hands over his face, completely indifferent to the fact that he was smearing his white-and-crimson jester makeup into a terrifying mess. “You are the most insufferable, yet surprisingly helpful person I have ever had the misfortune of meeting,” Xavier muttered, his voice dropping to a low, melodic rumble of defeated appreciation.
Harry just preened at the backhanded compliment, his posture losing its habitual rigidity as he basked in the successful intervention. He adjusted his cat ears with a cheeky, wolfish grin and told Xavier, “Thank you! I shall take that as a compliment.”
Xavier yelled out, “It wasn't meant to be!”
Before the others could engage with the wizard, a silver serving tray floated in front of them, bobbing gently at waist height. On it were elegant ceramic cups and saucers with a hot, brown liquid steaming from inside, filling the cool autumn air with the rich, indulgent aroma of premium cocoa. There was also a silver tea pot resting on the serving tray, its surface reflecting the frantic energy of the docks, along with a plate of crisp, almond-topped biscotti.
“Hot chocolate gentleman?” Harry inquired, his mismatched eyes sparkling with a reckless, hospitable mischief. He adjusted his gold-rimmed glasses and, with a fluid, non-verbal flick of his holly-wood wand, cast a localized drying spell on his friends and those who lived in the same hall as him. A wave of comforting warmth washed over the drenched boys, instantly vanishing the lake water from their jester costumes and hair, leaving them dry and warm amidst the damp surroundings.
Ajax and the others took the cups of hot chocolate gratefully, their hands shaking slightly as they sipped the magical brew, alongside a biscotti. Xavier grumbled, "thanks" as he took a cup as well, his dark blue fingernails stark against the white ceramic. He hesitated for a second, his analytical gaze performing a quick sweep of the floating tray, before taking a biscotti as well.
Harry and the rest of the boys made their way back toward the main crowd of cheering students, the floating tray trailing behind them like a loyal domestic companion. As they reached the edge of the shoreline, Harry walked up to Tyler and Sirius, his posture radiating a sudden, staggering weight of satisfied, aristocratic authority.
Tyler just shook his head, a helpless, genuine grin breaking across his face as he took in the wizard’s disheveled raven hair and the ridiculous spandex cat ears. The Hyde within the barista let out a purr, sensing the wizard’s unmasked joy. Tyler reached out, gently straightening Harry’s ears, and told his boyfriend, “you're a mess babe.”
Harry merely shrugged his shoulders and leaned in to give his boyfriend a quick, appreciative kiss. “Wanna see me catch a siren?” he asked.
Tyler raised an eyebrow, his dark eyes locking onto Harry’s with a look of hungry expectation. “Sure,” he replied.
The two of them made their way toward the very edge of the shoreline just as the speakers crackled to life again. Principal Weems’ authoritative voice rang out over the water, announcing the final stretch of the race: “The final two teams are the Gold Bugs...” She paused as a localized storm of applause erupted from the shoreline, before continuing, “and the Black Cats.”
The tension on the lake reached a fever pitch as the Black Cats began to advance on the Gold Bugs, their oars cutting the water with a synchronized, lethal urgency. However, the siren Kent had successfully disentangled himself from the weighted net Wednesday had deployed earlier. He dived beneath the surface once more, his shimmering tail propelling him with a predatory velocity until he was positioned directly underneath the Black Cats' canoe. Reaching up, he began to exert a steady, unnatural pressure, methodically pushing the vessel off course and toward the unyielding metal of the buoy, intending to replicate the destruction of the Pit and the Pendulum.
From his vantage point on the shore, Harry tracked the movement through his brass spyglass, noticing the telltale wake and the way the canoe began to drift dangerously. He grinned to himself, a slow, predatory expression spreading across his face as he adjusted his gold-rimmed glasses and muttered, “gotcha.”
He closed his spyglass with a definitive mechanical click and looked at Tyler mischievously. He leaned slightly toward his boyfriend, his British drawl silken as he told Tyler, “this is how you catch a siren.”
He pulled his holly-wood wand from his sleeve and, acting with the practiced confidence of a world-class Seeker casting a line, he threw his hand back and flicked his wrist forward in a sharp, fluid arc. Beneath the surface, Kent felt a sudden, violent constriction, as if an invisible lasso had wrapped tightly around his waist. He clawed desperately at the water, trying to hold onto the Black Cats' hull, but the relentless, magical force was pulling him back harshly toward the shoreline. Gritting his teeth, he tried to utilize his immense siren strength to anchor himself in the depths, his tail thrashing in a frantic attempt to resist the summons.
“Merlin, this one is hard to catch,” Harry muttered through clenched teeth, his boots digging into the gravel as he exerted his will through the wand, physically straining to pull the resisting siren out from the center of the lake and towards the muddy bank.
Eventually, the magical tug of war broke in Harry's favor. The unyielding force of the spell finally overcame the siren's resistance, and Kent was violently yanked from the water. He sailed through the air in a silver-lit arc and landed on the shoreline not only with a surprising, cushioned grace, but completely and utterly naked, his transformation back to human form leaving him exposed to the gasps and laughter of the gathered crowd.
Kent let out a high-pitched 'eep' noise as he scrambled to cover himself with his hands, his entire body turning a violent shade of red from a deep, mortifying blush that reached even his ears.
“Oh Merlin!” Harry exclaimed, his eyes widening in genuine shock behind his gold-rimmed glasses. He had certainly intended to disrupt the siren, but he had not expected Kent to be stark naked when he pulled him from the lake.
Kent looked up at the wizard, his face flush with an intense embarrassment that bordered on rage, and yelled at the top of his lungs, “Potter, you dick!”
“I’m sorry,” Harry yelled, his voice rising above the din of the crowd, genuinely sorry as he covered his eyes with his hands, his own face flushing with a mix of mortification and amusement. “I thought your clothes would reappear when you shifted back! It’s a common occurrence with Animagi in London; I didn’t realize siren biology was so...inconvenient.”
“No, they don’t reappear after a transformation!” Kent yelled, his voice cracking with a high-pitched, frantic intensity as he tried to hide behind a nearby driftwood log. “We’re not wizards, Potter! We don't have magical laundry services built into our DNA!”
“My mistake,” Harry stated, his British drawl regaining its authoritative edge. With a fluid, practiced flick of his holly-wood wand toward the shoreline, he whispered a non-verbal Transfiguration charm. A sudden, shimmering vortex of silver-blue magic enveloped Kent, and a second later, a plush, black velvet robe—heavy and lined with soft silk—materialized onto his frame, cinching perfectly at his waist.
Kent looked down at the robe on him and went, “Oh! Oh this is soft!” He rubbed his hands over the high-quality fabric, a look of profound, physical relief washing over his face as he enjoyed the instant, radiating heat of the enchanted garment. The embarrassment of his public nakedness began to recede, replaced by the sheer, opulent comfort of Harry’s magic.
Harry peaked from between his fingers, his vibrant green eye taking in Kent’s now fully dressed and significantly more comfortable appearance. He let out a long, shuddering breath of relief, dropping his hands to his sides. “Phew!” Harry said, his wolfish grin returning to his face. “That was a bit of a disaster, wasn’t it? I’ve caught some legendary creatures in my time, but I’ve never quite had one land in such a...raw state.”
Kent just glared at him, his damp hair clinging to his face, though he found it increasingly difficult to maintain his fury while wrapped in what felt like a warm cloud. “You’re a total dick, Potter,” Kent muttered, though the bite was gone from his voice.
“I am truly sorry, Kent,” Harry told him, his expression shifting into one of profound, somber sincerity. He stepped closer, giving the siren an apologetic, formal bow that carried the staggering weight of his ancestral authority. He spoke in a manner that made the siren note he was being addressed not just by a student, but by Lord Potter—the survivor who understood the sting of public humiliation. “It was never my intention to embarrass you like that. I was simply aiming to get you out of the water and make Bianca lose her tactical advantage. I acted with more haste than foresight. However you wish for me to make recompenses for this breach of decorum, I shall.”
Kent blinked, taken aback by the genuine apology he’d received from the person Bianca had told all sirens was ‘persona non grata’—an unwelcome, dangerous intruder. He looked at Harry, seeing the fire and the honesty in those mismatched eyes, and realized that the wizard was anything but the arrogant legend Bianca had described.
“Umm,” Kent began, rubbing the back of his neck and looking down at the gravel bank. The silence of the shoreline felt heavy as the crowd watched the exchange. “We’re umm...we’re cool. Just...maybe don't make catching sirens a regular hobby, yeah?”
Harry smiled at Kent, a genuine, warm expression that made his eyes sparkle with a rare, uncomplicated joy. “Okay, cool,” he agreed, offering a final, friendly nod before turning his attention back toward the lake, where the Black Cats and the Gold Bugs were approaching the finish line.
Harry began to move toward the dock, his boots clicking sharply against the pier, but he paused, pivoting on his heel to look at Kent one last time. A reckless grin spread across his face, his eyes igniting with a sudden spark of mischievous appreciation. He gave the siren a quick, clinical look up and down, his gaze lingering for a fraction of a second on the way the velvet robe draped over Kent’s frame. “Oh, by the way,” Harry added, his voice unapologetic as he lowered his voice just enough to carry over the wind. “Impressive, mate.” He punctuated the cheeky compliment with a slow, deliberate wink that sent a fresh wave of heat through the air, before turning back to resume his march toward the center of the pier.
Kent went perfectly rigid, a violent, deep-seated flush blooming across his face that had absolutely nothing to do with the embarrassment of his earlier nakedness. Instead, he felt a strange, intoxicating surge of pride; the ‘Boy Who Lived,’ a living legend of the wizarding world, had just personally validated his...impressive package. It was a compliment Kent realized, with a dazed and giddy clarity, that he was going to live off of for years, a story he would recount to every siren in the colony. However, his moment of triumph was abruptly incinerated when he made eye contact with Harry’s normie boyfriend. Tyler Galpin was standing just a few paces away, his dark eyes narrowed until they were nothing more than razor-sharp slits. The unmasked, predatory hatred in Tyler’s gaze was so intense it felt like a physical weight against Kent’s chest; the siren saw with a chilling, totalizing focus that the normie had already decided not only how he would kill Kent for looking at his wizard, but that it would be a slow, agonizingly painful erasure that no magic could prevent.
Kent just gulped nervously, his throat working in a rhythmic, desperate swallow as he looked away from the murderous barista. The Hyde within Tyler gave a low, resonant growl of protective dominance, sensing the siren’s terror and reveling in the scent of his submission. Just then, the silver serving tray bobbed over toward Kent again, offering a steaming cup of cocoa and a crisp biscotti. He snatched both with a frantic, uncoordinated speed, his hands trembling so violently he nearly sloshed the drink onto his new robe. Without a backward glance or a single deadpan retort, Kent began a hurried, undignified scramble back toward the safety of the other Nevermore students, wanting nothing more than to be a hundred miles away from the possessive, lethal intensity of the ‘normie’ who claimed Harry Potter as his own.
Harry walked to the edge of the pier, his movements carrying the effortless poise of a man who had navigated far more treacherous terrains than a wooden dock in Vermont. He pulled a small, silver object from his pocket that, with a fluid flick of his wrist and a non-verbal Engorgement Charm, expanded to reveal itself as an antique, rune-carved chalice. He knelt at the edge, dipping the vessel into the lake and pulling it up quickly, the inside filling with the dark, cold water. Harry sat on the weathered planks and placed the chalice in front of him, his mismatched eyes narrowing with focus. Taking out his holly wand once more, he submerged the tip into the water and began to turn it in a slow, rhythmic circle. The air around him began to hum with a latent magical static, and Tyler, standing directly behind him, watched in breathless anticipation. As Harry’s movements accelerated, a giant, churning whirlpool began to form in the center of the lake, the surface of the water surrendering to the wizard's undisputed authority.
Bianca and Divina saw the vortex open with a sudden, violent roar and tried frantically to row away, their oars splashing uselessly as they attempted to avoid the growing suction. However, Harry had methodically calculated the positioning, ensuring the whirlpool appeared close enough to the Gold Bugs that any maneuver would be tactically impossible. Despite their desperate efforts and the raw siren strength they poured into their strokes, the Gold Bugs' canoe was pulled into the spinning maw and sunk beneath the surface in a single, uncoordinated second. Satisfied with the retribution, Harry pulled his wand from the chalice, effectively breaking the enchantment and allowing the whirlpool to collapse back into a calm, rhythmic ripple. He stood up and, with a quick, dismissive flick of his hand, tossed the remaining water out of the chalice before shrinking the artifact back into his pocket. Only when he saw Divina, Bianca, and the rest of the drenched Gold Bugs pop up from under the water, their assured triumph replaced by a look of profound, wide-eyed shock, did he turn back toward Tyler. The barista stood spellbound, his dark eyes reflecting the absolute, carnal delight of the magic he'd just witnessed from his boyfriend.
The crowd on the shoreline remained in a heavy, stunned silence for a heartbeat, the impossibility of the magical display still settling into the air. Then, a storm of applause and high-pitched squeals erupted from the Ophelia Hall supporters as the Black Cats rowed across the finish line, their victory secured by Harry’s calculated intervention. Tyler stepped forward, his heart hammering a frantic, hopeful rhythm as he bridged the distance to Harry. He didn't offer a polite congratulations; instead, driven by a sudden, carnal surge of pride, Tyler grabbed the wizard by the waist and pulled him into a deep, possessive kiss. The Hyde within him let out a final, resonant purr of absolute victory, sensing that the 'Queen Bee' had been thoroughly dismantled by the man he claimed as his own. Harry laughed into the kiss, his mismatched eyes sparkling with a reckless, infectious joy as he leaned into the barista's warmth, content to let the Poe Cup end in a blur of magic and unmasked devotion.
“Were you impressed?” Harry asked into Tyler’s lips.
Tyler just chuckled, his dark eyes locking onto Harry’s with a look of hungry, unblinking intensity as he kissed the wizard again. “You know I was, babe. Your magic is beautiful…and dangerous. It always impresses me,” Tyler murmured, his voice a low, melodic rumble that carried the weight of his total surrender to the wizard’s power.
Before Tyler and Harry could continue to kiss on the pier, reclaiming their private sanctuary amidst the cheering students, Sirius approached the both of them. His grey eyes were sparkling with a mischievous, Marauder-like light as he adjusted his blazer, a proud smirk tugging at his lips. “As much as I hate to break up this lovely and remarkably public moment, Prongslet, Enid is currently vibrating with enough energy to power a small city and she wants to celebrate their victory with you,” Sirius remarked.
Harry looked at Tyler and gave him a warm, genuine smile—a look of pure, uncomplicated happiness—before he told him, “Duty calls.” He gave Tyler one more firm, possessive kiss before heading over to where Enid, Wednesday, and the rest of the Black Cats and the school had gathered to celebrate along the coast. Tyler watched him go, the Hyde within him purring in a low, contented rhythm as he savored the lingering scent of his wizard boyfriend.
When Harry was safely out of earshot, Sirius turned his unblinking focus toward Tyler, his expression shifting from playful to observant. “Your neck looks like a bloody warzone, mate,” Sirius commented, his voice carrying the weight of a seasoned survivor.
Tyler instinctively clasped a hand over his throat, his fingers brushing against the dark, blooming bruises Harry had left there, and tried to sputter out a frantic, uncoordinated excuse to the wizard’s formidable guardian. Sirius merely raised a hand, stopping the barista mid-sentence, and gave Tyler an amused, knowing smile. “I’m not a prude, Galpin,” Sirius assured him, his British drawl soft. “I know exactly what it was like to be young, reckless, and hopelessly in love.”
Tyler felt a deep, uncharacteristic flush of a blush creeping up his neck, the heat spreading rapidly to his cheeks as he looked away toward the lake.
“You do love him, don’t you?” Sirius inquired, his tone losing its teasing edge and settling into a look of profound, quiet clarity.
Tyler didn’t hesitate; he met Sirius’s gaze with an unwavering honesty, his dark eyes wide and saturated with a fierce sincerity. “Yes,” Tyler answered, his voice a low, melodic rumble of absolute conviction. “Yes, I’m in love with Harry.”
Sirius offered Tyler a happy, relieved smile, his gaze drifting over toward his godson who was currently being engulfed in a frantic, celebratory hug by Enid. “That’s my boy over there, Tyler,” Sirius murmured, his British drawl thick with a sudden, poignant warmth. “I fell in love with him the very moment James first put him in my arms, a tiny, screaming bundle of Potter defiance. Since the day I walked out of that prison, I’ve done everything within my power to protect him, to care for him, and to make him feel that he is loved and that he is truly special. I’m happy to see you doing the same.”
Then, Sirius’s entire demeanor underwent a jarring, microscopic transformation. He stared at Tyler with an intensity that made the air feel suddenly thin, and the barista realized with a chill that the Sirius who enjoyed pranks and embarrassing his godson had vanished entirely. He was now speaking with the Lord of the Most Ancient and Noble House of Black—a man who had survived Azkaban and walked through the fire of a wizarding war.
“But remember this, Tyler Galpin,” Sirius began, his voice dropping to a hollow, resonant pitch that carried the staggering command of his bloodline. “If you break my godson’s heart—if you hurt him in any way, physically or otherwise—I will do one better than your father. I won’t just shoot you. I will utilize every ancient, dark secret in my family’s repertoire to ensure that nobody ever even knew you existed. I will erase you from the very tapestry of this world.”
Tyler stared back at Lord Black, the cold, clinical finality of the threat settling into his bones. He knew with absolute clarity that the wizard meant every syllable. Even the Hyde within him, a predator that knew no other rival, seemed to shrink back in a rare display of primitive fear at the raw, unchecked power of the man before him.
“Understood, sir,” Tyler managed to get out, his voice a hoarse, respectful rasp of total compliance.
Sirius’s lethal composure evaporated as quickly as it had arrived, replaced by a sweet, charming smile that once again masked the predator beneath. He reached out, wrapping a companionable arm around Tyler’s shoulders as he began to steer him back toward the shore. “I’m glad we had this talk, mate,” Sirius told him, his British drawl regaining its playful, mischievous lilt. “Now, you absolutely have to tell me how dinner last night went. Did you enjoy the specific, subterranean charm of the bistro?”