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BREAKFAST was quieter than usual. Athena was lost in thought, slowly bringing a forkful of scrambled eggs to her mouth, chewing absentmindedly. Druella seemed completely absent, a fact Athena noticed but knew better than to mention—not after the glare Druella gave Lucinda for asking earlier.

Lucinda had her head down more than usual, her puffy eyes suggesting she had cried herself to sleep. Athena had asked if she was alright, but Lucinda had only offered a reassuring smile, without saying anything.

Athena snapped out of her thoughts when she saw Lucinda playing with the food on her plate instead of eating it. Worry creased her brows as she pursed her lips.

She grabbed both of their empty cups and poured black coffee into them, handing the filled cups back to the girls. Druella didn't even notice, but Lucinda gave her a small, grateful smile before sipping from hers.

Athena returned the smile, though her concern was still evident.

Her attention shifted sharply to the Great Hall doors as they burst open and a flock of owls swooped in, letters clutched in their beaks.

Her eyes locked onto a familiar owl that flew straight to Abraxas, dropping a letter in his lap before flying out.

Her shoulders slumped as she watched Abraxas stare at the letter with pursed lips before opening it.

She could feel the tension radiating from the Slytherin table—something that always happened when students received letters from home.

Druella hadn't even noticed the letter in front of her until Lucinda gently nudged her. She took it delicately, her posture stiff as her eyes carefully followed the words on the page.

A shocked frown flickered across her face before she tucked the letter into her bag.

"They're proud of me," Druella mumbled, disbelief lacing her voice.

It seemed like she was talking to herself, so Athena and Lucinda exchanged glances, pretending not to have heard her.

The Slytherin table gradually returned to its usual murmur of conversation, but Athena and her friends remained quiet. Athena's gaze drifted toward the Bloody Baron, whose ghastly figure shimmered as he floated above the table, his gruesome appearance and foreboding presence sending a ripple of unease through the hall.

The Baron's piercing eyes locked onto Abraxas, who was in the middle of eating.

Abraxas looked up, his face a mix of irritation and curiosity.

The Bloody Baron, with a dramatic flair, hovered directly over him and began recounting one of his many spectral misadventures. His chilling voice made the silverware tremble.

Abraxas, unimpressed, rolled his eyes. "Not now, Baron," he muttered, hoping the ghost would move along. His mind was still on the letter he had just read, and he had no patience for the Baron's antics.

But the Bloody Baron was undeterred. He continued his tale, his ghostly form casting an eerie glow over the table.

Eventually, his attention shifted to Athena, who sat nearby. His mischievous grin widened as he drifted toward her, making the air around her grow cold.

Athena looked up, her expression a mix of annoyance and confusion. "Do you mind?" she asked, her tone sharp.

The Baron seemed to enjoy her discomfort, hovering even closer and regaling her with increasingly absurd stories of his haunting escapades.

The other Slytherins watched, some amused, others sympathetic. Abraxas, meanwhile, ignored the scene and focused on his meal.

After what felt like an eternity to Athena, the Bloody Baron finally floated away, leaving a trail of cold air in his wake. The students exchanged looks, some chuckling softly while others shook their heads.

Athena sighed, sipping her coffee.

Her attention was caught again when Abraxas stopped behind her, poking her shoulder.

She turned, her face portraying boredom.

Abraxas stood there, his friends having already left the Great Hall. With his hands in his pockets and his blond hair gleaming in the light, he crouched down and whispered in her ear, "Mother expects a detailed report on your associates, your academic performance, and any incidents that could tarnish the Malfoy name. Include every relevant detail."

Athena tensed, her glare sharp. "Why didn't she tell me herself? Does the Malfoy heir have to do all her dirty work?"

Abraxas's expression grew cold. "It's not dirty work; it's a family obligation. Mother has her reasons. If you have a problem, take it up with her." Without waiting for a reply, he slung his bag over his shoulder and walked out.

Athena nearly scoffed but held back. She stood, grabbed her bag, and walked briskly out of the hall, heading to her first class: History of Magic.

She couldn't believe the nerve of her brother—always siding with their parents. It had always been that way: Athena taking the blame while Abraxas pointed fingers.

It didn't sit right with her. She longed to be close to him, like the siblings she'd seen at Yule. She wished Abraxas would show, just once, that she mattered as much as their parents did. She had never given them any reason to treat her like an outsider.

She had always followed their wishes, even when she didn't want to go to Beauxbatons each year. She did everything she could to uphold the Malfoy name, excelled academically, made the right friends, and kept her ambition on display.

Yet, she received no appreciation. Her parents didn't care enough to notice, and if they did, they would scold her for trying to surpass Abraxas.

Shaking her head, Athena snapped out of her thoughts as she entered the classroom. Her eyes landed on Riddle, hunched over his History of Magic textbook. She rolled her eyes, took a seat a few desks behind him, and pulled out her own book, determined to outscore him on the upcoming test they had in five minutes.

Abraxas Octavius Malfoy sat in the courtyard instead of attending his classes. He knew that if his father found out, he'd face a twenty-minute lecture, but at that moment, he couldn't bring himself to care.

He pulled a letter from his bag and opened it again, leaning back against the tree, his jaw clenched. The Malfoy crest on the wax seemed to mock him, as if it were pointing and laughing.

He reread the letter, his father's familiar cursive demanding his full attention.

'To Abraxas Malfoy,
I trust this letter finds you well, my son.

Firstly, provide a detailed update on your academic performance. It is essential that you maintain the highest standards in your studies. Your success in these areas is not merely an expectation but a prerequisite for your role as the Malfoy heir. Any deficiencies in your academic achievements will be considered unacceptable and will reflect directly on your readiness for the responsibilities that lie ahead.

Secondly, I require a comprehensive account of your current social circle. It is crucial that your associates align with the values and standards expected of someone in your position. Your choice of friends must not only reflect well on you but also enhance your standing and preparation for the role you are destined to inherit.

As previously communicated, your position as heir entails significant responsibilities and pressures. You are expected to uphold and advance our family's legacy. This involves rigorous preparation, unwavering commitment, and an understanding that there is no margin for error. Your performance in both your academic and social engagements will be scrutinized and will have direct implications for your future role.

Lastly, your mother requests a similar letter from Athena, detailing her academic progress and social associations. While I ask this of you due to your responsibilities as heir, she asks of Athena for the purpose of ensuring our family's reputation remains untarnished. We accept nothing less than excellence.

From, Septimus Malfoy.'

When he finished reading, he folded the letter and placed it back in his bag. Letting out a heavy sigh, he gazed up at the sky. The sun's bright, indifferent rays mocked his inner turmoil, their warmth a cruel contrast to the cold weight of the expectations he constantly carried.

Athena didn't understand. She believed he had it easy, that the attention and pride from their parents came without a cost. But she didn't know the burden he bore—the constant pressure to live up to the Malfoy name.

He wished he had someone to confide in, someone who understood. But none of his friends were that type.

Antonin Dolohov delighted in the power his name carried. Cygnus Black was the same. Dorian Nott was too busy partying to care about the responsibilities tied to his surname.

And Riddle? Riddle was a different story altogether.

He had only befriended Riddle because of their shared ambitions and plans. It was a connection that would make his parents proud, something that would increase the Malfoy family's influence if everything went according to plan in the coming years.

Septimus Malfoy would not only be proud but also elated.

Abraxas closed his eyes, the weight of the letter still heavy on his chest. Thoughts of Athena surfaced unexpectedly. "Athena, oh Athena," he whispered, her name a brief comfort amid the suffocating sense of duty.

Memories of her laughter, her unwavering support, and the ease she brought into his life contrasted sharply with the cold demands of his father's letter.

In his mind, her presence was a fleeting escape from the relentless pressure.

He thought back to when they were simply siblings, when the Malfoy name hadn't driven a wedge between them.

Back then, the expectations and duties felt distant, overshadowed by their shared moments of joy.

When they were four, six, and seven years old, their twin bond had been real.

Now, they were just twins. The bond was gone.

If anything, he knew she resented him. She despised the fact that he received everything she longed for—their parents' attention, pride, and expectations.

But she never knew the cost that came with it.

Maybe he would've told her if he didn't have bigger things to worry about.

He wasn't brought into this world to maintain a sibling bond. No, his purpose was to make their parents proud. To prove why he had always deserved the title of heir.