Orion looked at Regulus, one brow lifting in silent question.
Regulus merely smiled.
Calm. Polite. Untouched.
Only then did Orion turn back to Dumbledore.
The Headmaster folded his hands atop the desk. "Mr Black was the last person known to be with Heir Malfoy before his collapse. Given the circumstances, I was hoping he might provide insight into whether Mr Malfoy exhibited prior symptoms of the induced coma in which he now rests."
Orion leaned back into the chair.
"Are you doubting my son, Lord Dumbledore?" he asked mildly.
His posture was relaxed. His expression composed.
But the temperature in the room dropped several degrees.
Dumbledore did not flinch.
"It is merely standard procedure, Lord Black."
His tone remained gentle, but there was steel beneath it. He had not survived wizarding wars and political storms by being easily intimidated.
"With families such as yours and Lord Malfoy's involved," Dumbledore continued, "I would be remiss not to ensure every possibility is considered."
With a wave of his wand, a delicate teacup floated toward Orion.
"Tea?"
Orion accepted it without breaking eye contact.
Dumbledore's gaze shifted to Regulus.
"Mr Black, you are free to return to your class."
It was not dismissal.
It was a probe.
Their eyes locked.
Blue against grey.
For a moment, the air grew thick—subtle pressure brushing against Regulus's consciousness, like cool fingers testing the surface of still water.
Legilimency.
Careful. Controlled. Almost polite.
Regulus did not react.
He had been trained for this since childhood. Noble heirs were not left defenseless.
He allowed his thoughts to drift—to harmless classroom recollections, to potion ingredients, to idle curiosities about Slughorn's next lesson.
A perfect wall.
Dumbledore's gaze sharpened, just slightly.
He was close to catching something—
The faintest shift in the room broke it.
Orion set his teacup down with deliberate softness.
"You are not particularly subtle, Lord Dumbledore."
The words were calm. Almost conversational.
But they struck like a blade laid gently across a throat.
"It is quite illegal to pry into the mind of the heir of a Noble House," Orion continued. "In truth, it is illegal to pry into anyone's mind without consent."
His grey eyes were cold now.
"Surely a wizard of your standing would know that."
Silence followed.
Dumbledore leaned back, fingers steepled.
"I assure you," he said lightly, "I have done nothing improper."
Orion's lips curved into a faint smile that held no warmth.
"You have always had the unfortunate habit of inserting yourself into matters that do not concern you, Professor."
A pause.
"And of deciding what is best for everyone else."
Regulus remained seated, composed—but he did not miss the shift in the Headmaster's eyes.
This was no longer about Lucius.
This was a quiet war of territory.
Dumbledore finally inclined his head.
"I seek only the safety of my students."
"And I," Orion replied smoothly, "seek the safety of my family."
The message was clear.
The Black heir was not to be touched.
After a moment, Dumbledore turned back to Regulus.
"You may go, Mr Black."
This time, it was genuine.
Regulus rose gracefully.
"Thank you, Professor."
He inclined his head first to Dumbledore… then to his father.
When the door closed behind him, the silence that remained in the office was far heavier.
*******
Back with Madam Pomfrey…
"You are telling me my son was brought to you like this by Regulus… and he has been in this state the entire night?"
Abraxas Malfoy did not look away from Lucius as he spoke. His voice was calm — too calm — the kind that came only when control was being forced into place.
Lucius lay perfectly still upon the infirmary bed. His breathing was even, almost peaceful, as though he were merely asleep instead of trapped somewhere unreachable.
Madam Pomfrey clasped her hands together.
"Yes, Lord Malfoy. Physically, he is perfectly stable. His magical core shows no damage, no curse residue, no poisoning." She hesitated before continuing. "However… his mind appears locked. As if he is reliving memories — or perhaps trapped within them."
Abraxas's jaw tightened.
"In my professional opinion," she added gently, "it would be wise to transfer him to St Mungo's, to the Janus Thickey Ward. Mind-related injuries fall beyond my specialization."
A long sigh escaped Abraxas.
For a moment, hope felt cruel.
Everything had seemed to align — the Rathores' revelation, the possibility of crossing dimensions, the chance of finding his wife again — and now his heir lay unconscious.
He stared at Lucius's face, searching for some sign.
Anything.
Footsteps echoed through the corridor.
Measured. Hesitant.
"May I come in, Lord Malfoy?"
Regulus Black stood at the entrance.
For a brief second, Abraxas froze.
Those eyes.
Grey — but softer. Achingly familiar.
Vishaka.
The resemblance struck him harder than he expected. After meeting the Rathores and hearing her name spoken aloud again, emotions he had buried for years surged dangerously close to the surface.
"What is it, Regulus?" he asked quietly.
"Uncle… I wish to speak with you alone. If I may."
There was fear in the boy's eyes, carefully hidden but unmistakable.
Abraxas noticed immediately.
"Come," he said, placing a reassuring hand on Regulus's shoulder. "Let us go somewhere quieter. Your father and I had a place we favored during our school days."
As they walked down the corridor, Abraxas asked casually, "Where is Orion?"
Regulus huffed softly. "Last I saw, he and Professor Dumbledore were having a… stare-off. The Headmaster attempted Legilimency."
Abraxas stopped mid-step.
"He did what?"
"Tried to enter my mind."
A dangerous smile crossed Abraxas's face.
"That old coot truly has lost restraint. Attempting Legilimency on a Black heir — and in front of Orion, no less." He shook his head. "The man has courage. Misplaced, but admirable."
He glanced sideways.
"You blocked him?"
"Yes, Uncle."
"Good," Abraxas murmured approvingly. "You were always skilled."
They reached an old door tucked behind a tapestry. With a subtle wand motion and a whispered incantation, the locks disengaged.
The door opened.
Inside lay a cozy room frozen in time — mismatched chairs, scattered books, abandoned chess pieces, and old Quidditch posters peeling at the edges.
A teenage sanctuary.
Memories of laughter lingered in the air.
Abraxas turned sharply toward Regulus.
His gaze hardened.
"Now," he said quietly, "tell me what you did."
Regulus physically flinched at the intensity.
"Relax," Abraxas added immediately, softer this time. "I am not angry. I simply need the truth."
Regulus inhaled deeply.
"I showed him a photograph."
He pulled it from his robes — the same photograph he had taken from Lucius's unmoving grip.
"The moment he saw it… blood started coming from his nose. Then his eyes… his ears… and he collapsed."
His voice faltered.
"I only wanted to know if he recognized my mother. I didn't mean to hurt him."
Abraxas took the photograph slowly.
The world seemed to still.
His fingers trembled — barely perceptible — as he traced the outline of the woman's smile.
Her eyes.
Her posture.
Alive.
For a moment, the powerful Lord Malfoy disappeared, replaced by a man staring at a miracle.
A devotee before a long-lost deity.